Beyond Boundaries

Chapter Ten: It Is Supposed To Hurt

It was dawn when Harry returned to Hogwarts. The sun had just peeked over the horizon when he stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, feeling all his worries, problems, confusions and frustrations crash down again. I'm too young for this! He thought. I'm only seventeen! I should be one of the students at this school, not one of the teachers! He sighed. He was supposed to prepare for his NEWTs at this time, joke around with his friends, make plans for the future, fall in love, snog in the corridors, get caught out of bounds, etc, etc. Saving the world should not be a part of his schedule at all. And yet, here he was, making plans, trying to save the world, and being so close, but yet so far away from the girl he loved. He had never really understood the saying: 'So close, but yet so far away', but now he did. He was a living example.

He shook his head and Shifted back into his Christian form, before he started on his way back to Hogwarts. He didn't care if anyone saw him on the road; after all, he was a Professor. If he wanted to spend the night at a pub, getting drunk, no one could stop him, as long as he came to his lessons.

~*~

Hermione didn't come to Defence Against the Dark Arts that day. Harry inwardly cringed; when Hermione skipped a lesson, something was really bad off. And he had a suspicion that it wasn't a severe headache that kept her from coming. He had to make sure that she came to her private lesson that evening, but anyway, 'Plan Knock-Out Voldemort, Part One', was about to be set in action. He wondered if it was fate that had given him seventh year Slytherin and Gryffindor in the last lesson Thursday evening.

"Ms. Zabini, please stay after the lesson," Harry called when the bell went off, and the class started to file out of the door. He rolled his eyes as all the girls in the room sent her envious glares, instead of the usual sympathetic ones. Now I know why all teachers usually are above fifty.

~*~

Blaise Zabini wondered what was going to happen. She hadn't done anything that could get her into trouble, at least she didn't think she had. She looked at Professor Atos, waiting, and understood why so many of the girls were swooning over him. It wasn't that he was so extraordinarily handsome, (well, okay, perhaps) but he had a certain air, a charisma that attracted you. And now, his ice-blue eyes were looking at her intently.

"I would like to know why you and some of the other students are spying on me." he said simply. Blaise froze.

"W-what do you mean, Professor?" she stuttered.

"I mean just what I said: Why are you and your friends spying on me." he said. "Or stalking me, if you want." he added as an afterthought.

"We- I'm not stalking you Professor," Blaise said, desperately. He knows! He knows! How is it possible?

"Okay," the Professor said, casually, leaning back in his chair. "So you're not stalking me. Then you really have to tell me why you, two Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff and two other Slytherins spend so much time around me. You know, standing in the shadows outside my office, listening through the keyhole, following me down the corridors, listening when I'm talking to the other teachers, trying to gain entrance to staff-meetings -unnoticed of course-, and so on."

Blaise had nothing to say to that. She was white as a sheet, trembling and sweating. I'm going to end up in prison! I bet he told him! He promised he wouldn't tell! Professor Atos noticed how frightened the seventh year Slytherin girl was. His expression softened.

"Sit down, Blaise," he said gently, using her first name, and showing her a chair. "Don't worry. I know your secret, but I'm not going to use it against you."

He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows.

"Yes, I know." Wha-? "I also know that you want to get away from it." He'll use me! Just like- "I won't use you, Blaise. True, I need you to help me, but I assure you, that if you tell me and the Headmaster about your...'problems', and decide to help us, you shall never fear Azkaban." He's lying! He's lying! "I'm not lying, Blaise." Perhaps he isn't... And anyway, it's my best chance...

"What do you want to know?" she asked, hoarsely, fear evident in her voice.

"Why you are spying on me, and what you know about Voldemort's" -Blaise flinched- "movements," he said, pouring her a cup of tea. From where he'd got that Blaise had no idea. "And don't worry, the room is sound-proof."

"I don't know why we're spying on you. Our orders are to spy on you, and report everything, absolutely everything, about you. From eye-colour to teaching-method." She took a nervous sip of her tea. "And I-I don't know anything about...His... movements. Only the inner circle does."

"Uhm..." Professor Atos said, thoughtfully. He stirred his own tea, which Blaise hadn't even noticed he'd poured. "You don't trust me, do you," he said. It wasn't a question. She shook her head. "Perhaps something I could tell you would make you trust me more?"

"Depends on what it is," she said, stiffly.

He was still stirring his tea, not looking at her. "Mmm." He looked at her, his eyes intense. "I need you to find out what Voldemort" -Blaise flinched- "knows about the Bonded at the Ministry."

Blaise's eyes widened. "The Bonded? But no one knows who they are! I highly doubt He does, even!"

"I believe he does," the Professor answered, unfazed.

"It's way too dangerous! I'll try to help you, just to get out of this... mess-" She looked as if she was about to cry for a moment. "-but this is way too dangerous! I'll get killed!"

"Better than the Giant's prison."

Blaise looked at him, wide eyed.

"You don't trust me. You think I'll just use you for my own good, and then throw you to Azkaban afterwards, don't you?" Atos said. Blaise swallowed. That was exactly what she'd thought. He paused for a minute. "Blaise," he said at least. "Do you know about the Citatios and Pectals?"

"Yes," she answered, wondering where he was going. "It's a legend. The Citatio is a very powerful wizard, and the Pectal is a very powerful witch."

"It's not a legend." He shimmered a second, and a seventeen year old, black-haired, gold-eyed boy, with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead sat in front of her, casually drinking his tea. "Definitely not a legend," he stated, and though his eyes were glowing gold, Blaise could have sworn that they sparkled mischievously.

She stood so fast that she overturned her chair. "Potter!" she cried.

"And oh," Harry said, as if remembering something important, ignoring Blaise's cry of surprise. "Please don't tell Ron about this."

~*~

Okay, here we go.

"Harry, are you sure this is going to work?"

Well, perhaps not..."Of course Sirius!" Harry said, impatiently. "Don't worry!" Sirius however, didn't look so sure.

"Can't we just wait and see if Zabini has something useful for us?"

"Sirius, she probably can't gain us much information!" And it isn't solely because of Voldemort I want her to co-operate with us either.

"But-"

"Sirius!" Harry exploded. "Shut- Err. Be quiet please! I need to concentrate! It's not like getting past the Apparition wards is easy!"

"You're going to apparate?" Sirius asked. "How's that possible?"

Harry sighed. "No, I'm not going to apparate. I'm going to do something similar, so similar that Apparition wards can be a problem if you don't concentrate enough. It also takes more energy than apparition. So please shut up." He shuddered a moment, thinking about the time when he'd been injured, and hadn't been able to do it. He'd had to fly from the edge of the wards to the castle. With that horrid cut it had been pure torture.

"If it's not apparition, what is it then?" Sirius asked, confused.

"I don't know if it has a name. I call it 'Wandering'." Harry answered.

"'Wandering'?" Sirius asked, incredulously.

"Yes, it's a kind of portal that I create, and then I have to walk through it. If I make it invisible, which I'm going to do, I will, when standing in the middle of it, be invisible myself. Thus, I'm able to pretend to step out of thin air. Are you finished with mothering me now?"

"I'm not mothering you!" Sirius said, annoyed.

"Fine, then don't object to me going. Have a nice day, I'll be home for dinner." His eyes glowed slightly, and he took a step forward...and disappeared. He managed however, to say: "See you later, mum!" before he did so, and at the same time smile annoyingly, sweetly.

"Little brat," Sirius muttered under his breath. "I hope he's okay."

~*~

Finally, here we go.

The door opened, and a short, stout and bald man came in, carrying a handful of papers. He sighed and closed the door behind himself.

"Good evening, Minister." The man spun around. Then he froze. A young man sat in his chair, with his legs propped on his desk, smirking at him.

"W-wh-who are you?" the Minister stuttered, taking a step back, fumbling with the door handle. But, unfortunately, it seemed like the handle had...err...malfunctioned.

"My name..." the other man said, mysteriously "is inconsequential." There was a small gust of wind -from where the Minister couldn't guess, as every window, as well as the door was closed- and blew a few black strands of hair out of the young man's face.

"Harry Potter!" Minister Fudge cried, terrified. "What-what are y-you d-doing here?!"

"You have, in your charge, something that belongs to me."

"Let me out! You're criminal! I'll call the guards!" Fudge yelled, and raised his wand. Harry frowned. Curious. Every word he'd said had been positively loaded with Persuasion. It should be able to break through every mind-spell or potion in existence. That much power would have Persuaded Dumbledore to walk off a cliff, and yet, Fudge was screaming and trying to curse him. Not good. He waved his hand irritably, and the Minister's wand appeared in his hand. If he should, accidentally, get cursed, Sirius would never let him hear the end of it.

When the Minister discovered who had his wand, he turned and tried to break down the door, so he could get out. Harry sighed. What was wrong here? Quickly, he froze Fudge in mid air, before he began his search. There had to be something wrong. It could be that he'd completely lost his Persuasion abilities, but he highly doubted that, as that was impossible.

Carefully, he searched for anything that could make the Minister able to resist him, but he didn't find anything. He frowned, and started a second search, and... What was that? He found the 'spot' -if you could call it that- and went deeper. A tiny, tiny hint of magic, which he could not recognise, but yet, it felt familiar somehow.

Gently, he 'touched' it. And felt positively convulsed. A feeling of distrust and disgust radiated from this tiny, tiny 'knot' of magic. His eyes widened at the power in it: No one but Voldemort could have done this, and if he wasn't completely mistaken, it was a Talent. But what kind of Talent, he didn't know. He frowned, and tried to destroy the 'knot'. Then he felt it. He suddenly knew who this magic was directed at. Himself. Somehow, with an unknown Talent, Voldemort had planted distrust and disgust into the mind of the Minister, so that every time he heard the name 'Harry Potter', he would stop believing everything he heard or saw about him. Only hard, true proof could in any way convince him, as the magic, Talent, spell or whatever it was, didn't destroy his ability to think. Whether Fudge had that ability or not, was another question entirely. He had to remove it before he could have a nice, long chat with the Minister.

~*~

Now it has to work! Can't I just get a thing right for once!

"Good evening, Minister." The man spun around. Then he froze. A young man sat in his chair, with his legs propped on his desk, smirking at him.

"W-wh-who are you?" the Minister stuttered, taking a step back, fumbling with the door handle. But, unfortunately, it seemed like the handle had...err...malfunctioned.

"My name..." the other man said, mysteriously "is inconsequential." There was a small gust of wind -from where the Minister couldn't guess, as every window, as well as the door was closed- and blew a few black strands of hair out of the young man's face.

"Harry Potter!" Minister Fudge cried, terrified. "What-what are y-you d-doing here?!"

"You have, in your charge, something that belongs to me."

"H-how did you m-manage to get in h-here?" Fudge stuttered. Perfect! Harry thought. He chuckled slightly.

"No worries, Minister, I did not apparate. Would have been difficult, as I don't know who the Bonded are." The Minister's mind started to swirl around the Bonded for a minute, and Harry instantly read everything he was able to catch, and stored it for later use. He planned to use a pensieve and go carefully through everything later, together with Remus, Sirius, McGonagall and Dumbledore. And as he was here, he could just as well get back what belonged to him. "All I want, is my belongings. My trunk, which contains everything I own: school books, pictures... in short, memories. I would like to have them back. Since you know I'm innocent you will not refuse to give them to me, will you?"

"No, of course not," the Minister said, having calmed down. "It is currently locked into your vault in Gringotts. I'll write a letter to the Head Goblin, and you will get your key and everything." The Minister grabbed a quill and some parchment from his desk, which Harry still sat behind, and wrote a quick letter and placed his sign on it.

"Perfect," Harry said, and snatched the letter out of his hand. Even though this wasn't the main reason he was here, he wanted them back, nonetheless. He sighed. His first wand however, was lost. It was procedure to snap wands from expelled students, and even though he had a new wand now (Ebony, griffin tooth, eleven inches) thinking about his first wand made him nostalgic. He turned to go.

"Mr. Potter?" the Minister said, hesitantly, as he turned the door handle. "Would you like to have this back?"

Harry's jaw dropped. Between the Minister's fingers was his wand, his very first wand. "B-but-but-" Harry spluttered, angry at himself for not being calm and collected. "Wasn't that snapped?" He asked, confused.

"It refuses to be snapped, so I thought you might want it b-back," Fudge said, staggering backwards as Harry stared at him.

Harry quickly composed himself. "Yes, I'd very much like to," he said, stalked over to where Fudge stood, grabbed his wand, pocketed it, and left, without as much as a backwards glance.

~*~

"Three are found. We are missing yours."

"I haven't found him yet. He's not yet ready."

"You know that, theoretically, it can be a she?"

A snort.

"Hasn't happened for three millennia. Don't think it's going to happen for another three either."

"Just hurry to find him. Or her."

"It's a legend, Asham. A female against a male would be the perfect balance between the two strongest, but it will never happen."

"Never say never."

"A stupid phrase."

The man, called Asham, chuckled. "But hurry."

~*~

Harry rubbed his temples. He didn't quite have a headache, but he had a building storm behind his forehead. They had discovered one thing: Voldemort could not get past the Apparition shields. The shields had been modified less than six months ago, so no it wasn't just to kill the Bonded, so now it wasn't enough to kill the Bonded, the shields were now Bonded to the very earth, so you had to destroy London before you could apparate in. Ergo, Voldemort would have to walk in, or fly on a broomstick, but then he would be discovered before he was halfway in, so that wasn't very likely.

"Either he has another way of getting in, or he isn't planning to attack the Ministry at all," McGonagall concluded.

And how very likely was that? Harry growled. They were getting nowhere!

"Harry?" Sirius asked carefully. "You're alright?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, yes. Fine. Just a little stressed." I have a training session with Hermione in less than fifteen minutes Sirius! How can that be alright?

He knew of course, that he had to apologise for what he'd said, not because he owed Hermione anything, but because he didn't really mean it. And he'd hurt Hermione by saying something he didn't mean, and that was wrong. But how should he apologise? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? He knew Hermione very well, and once she had settled on something, it was hard to get her to change opinion. Perhaps he should wait a little, until she'd calmed a little and had time to think...

"I have to go now," he said. "I shall meet Hermione in a few minutes."

He didn't notice the concerned looks he got from the others present in the room as he left. They were wondering if he wasn't driving himself too hard, and all of them were cringing at the thought of Harry and Hermione in the same room; they had all seen how it ended last time...

~*~

Harry slammed two books onto the table. Hermione thought he looked tired and worn out, and his eyes were... dead. They didn't shine and sparkle in the way she remembered so well from two years ago.

"This," he said, holding up the thinnest one, "is a book I have written myself. It has notes mostly, written like a diary, from my experiences with my Power. Your Power is very similar to mine, though I got my Power at an early age, and was steered by this 'instinct', which taught me much of what I can do today, while you, the Pectal didn't get your power before you were seventeen, and don't have this 'instinct'."

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "Then why do you always say 'trust your instincts' to me then, if I don't have any?" she asked.

Harry looked a little ashamed. he said.

Hermione fell off her chair when she heard Harry's mental voice in her head.

"You're a Telepath?" she asked, dumb-founded.

he answered.

"I am? But why haven't you taught..." She trailed off. It dawned on her. "You are my 'instinct'." She stated quietly, anger building inside of her. When she spoke again, her voice was dangerously calm.

"I trusted you as my teacher, in fact, as more than a teacher. I looked at you as a friend. And yet, you lied to me. Everything about you has been a lie. True, you have taught me about being a Pectal, that's no lie, though you haven't told me all, and I guess you've left out pretty much. But why? If you hated me so much, why bother to train me? Why don't you just walk away and let me have my own life? I was your friend once! I thought I knew you! But I don't, because the Harry I knew wouldn't do this to a friend, even if he hated her!" The last bit she screamed. Harry bowed his head. When he looked up, she could see that he was angry too.

"Hermione," he started, not using his Telepathy any longer. "I didn't do this to hurt you. Don't interrupt," he said as he saw her open her mouth. "If you never got your Powers trained, you could end up in two ways: dead, or with your Powers locked up inside, not being able to use them at all. You wouldn't even know they were there, but you would feel it, in a certain way. You would feel empty, like something was missing. You would never be whole. You would be an empty shell, with a beating heart, breathing lungs and thinking brain, but you would not really be alive. Your Powers are a part of you, and whether you like it or not, the Powers need you as much as you need them." Harry lowered his head.

"I don't hate you Hermione, I really don't. Maybe you hate me because I lied to you, but I certainly don't need that as an excuse. I was sentenced to Azkaban for something I didn't do, and you believed it. Yet, I don't hate you. I have forgiven you for that, as it is human to make mistakes. But we can never be friends in the way we were. However, we don't need that, we only need to co-operate. And now that the cat is out of the bag, we can start your real training." He turned back to the table. It was Hermione's turn to look down, ashamed.

"This book is about Talents," he said, and picked up the biggest of the books he'd brought. "It is the most detailed I could find," he added, and handed it to her. The title read: Citatio And Pectal, by Ramses II, Pharaoh of Egypt.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, she also trying to act as if everything was normal.

"In the big Library in Alexandria. You know the one that muggles thought destroyed by Muslims lots and lots of years ago?" he asked. She nodded. "This is a copy of an old book. The original was on scrolls only, written by Ramses, besides very old, so I figured I couldn't take them. The fact that it was written in hieroglyphs didn't make it any better." He smiled slightly. "So, I chose to take a copy written in English, in book form."

"But I didn't think normal commoners were even allowed inside the Alexandria Library, much less allowed to borrow books, and still you did!" Hermione said, a frown on her forehead. Harry grinned slightly.

"Ahh, yes, I haven't told you about my Persuasion Talent."

"Persuasion Talent? No, you haven't told me much about how it works either," Hermione said, her voice edged with irritation.

Harry sighed, and looked straight into her eyes. "Hermione," he said. "Say after me: I hate reading." Hermione's eyes glazed over. Say 'I hate reading...' Say 'I hate reading...'

"I...hate...read..." What? I don't hate reading! "What!" she said, confused. "Why did I say that?"

"My Persuasion Talent." Harry said. "I'm impressed. No one has yet accomplished what you just did."

"What did I do?"

"You managed to break the spell. You didn't finish the sentence. It is stronger than the Imperius curse, and works much like it."

"But Harry, that's dark magic!" Hermione said, horrified.

"Magic is only dark when it is used for evil purposes, Hermione. I haven't used my gift to kill someone, or anything else illegal. Except that book, that is. Sometimes need comes before morals. You now understand how I could get this book?"

"Harry, you stole it!" she exclaimed, but Harry just chuckled. Neither noticed that they behaved like the last two years never had happened.

"No, I did not. The librarian gave it to me." Harry grinned again.

Damn, he was cute when he smiled like that. Hermione thought.

"Well, anyway," he said, and became serious again. "I can now tell you more about your Talents. I can sense those Talents we both have, and I have also seen a couple of your Talents in my visions. You already know you can Manipulate Water and Earth, that you have a little bit of Voice, plus Telekinesis, Healing and Empathy," he said. Hermione nodded. "You also have Telepathy, Soul-searching and Beast-speaking." His visions had showed versions where he told her about that, but he had hoped it wouldn't end up that way. He would have preferred that she found out by herself.

Hermione sighed, accepting what he'd kept secret. "What I want to know, is what kind of Talents you have," she said stubbornly, and it was Harry's turn to sigh. Why couldn't she just accept that he was a Citatio and let him have his secrets to himself?

"Well, I'm a Voice, a Persuader, and a Telepath like you. I also have Telekinesis like you, I can Manipulate Air and Fire, and a bit of Water," he said, and Hermione nodded. "I'm a Seer too, but I'm not sure weather or not that's a Talent" Hermione nodded again; the newspapers had mentioned something about that, so it didn't come as a very big surprise.

"I'm also a Shapeshifter and a Mind-reader."

"A Mind-reader!" Hermione said horrified. What if he read my mind!"

"Yes."

"Err... Have you ever read my mind?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes," he answered. Hermione blushed bright red, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't...you haven't... you..." she stuttered.

"I haven't read anything you wouldn't want me to read, Hermione, I promise. I have read it a few times, but I've just touched 'the surface'. I wouldn't want to see anything you wouldn't want me to see." He said this kindly, smiling slightly at her stuttering.

"Oh."

"And Hermione?"

"Yes?" she answered, still beet red.

"Could you stop trying to get through my shields? You are a very strong Empath, and it gives me a headache." Hermione blushed even more, and quickly withdrew.

"Thank you," Harry said rubbing his temples. "And yes, I will teach you how to shield your mind. And yes, I read that thought. The number of times I've read your thoughts is now two."

The rest of the lesson was spent teaching Hermione how to shield herself mentally. At the end of it, Hermione was sweating from the effort, and shivering slightly. Harry laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing herself not to bury her head in his chest and just cry in frustration. The Pectal Powers had mostly good effects on her, as she now remembered everything she read after just reading it once, and everything she heard after just hearing it once, but it also made her so much more emotional, especially when she was tired. She could end up crying because of small, stupid details, or screaming at nothing. Another shiver ran through her body, and this time it was not because she was tired. Damn you Hermione, she thought to herself. Falling in love with a man who doesn't trust you and probably despises you. Stupid, stupid, stupid!!!

"Okay," he said hesitantly. "But before you leave, I want to show you how we are going to continue your training." She nodded. "Look at this," he said. A small shimmer, and a tree started to grow out of the stone floor. Hermione's eyes widened, before she realised it was an illusion, not Earth Manipulation. The tree stretched upwards, twigs and branches started to form, it got leaves, green leaves. Then, beautiful flowers popped out everywhere. Hermione gasped. The tree reached up to her torso, and was the most beautiful tree she'd ever seen; silver trunk, dark green leaves, and shining yellow flowers. She looked at Harry, confused. How could this help her training?

"Do you think you can copy that?" he asked. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Never," she said. She hadn't yet managed any illusions, as it was almost as difficult as transfiguration, when she used Pectal Powers. She didn't yet know how to do it.

"Of course you can. You just have to copy what I did. Analyse what I did with my magic, and then do the same yourself. It's quite simple." And it was. She followed his magic, sensing where he had 'twisted' it, where he had 'tied' it up, where he'd 'spread' it, and where he'd 'gathered' it. Seconds later, another tree, with white flowers accompanied the yellow one. But the strain had been too much, and Hermione was exhausted. She stumbled, but before she could fall, Harry caught her in his arms, steadying her. Oh dear, she thought, as -she didn't know exactly how they had ended up in this position- his face was only inches from hers, and she was painfully aware of the fact that their bodies -though he probably didn't think of it that way- were more than innocently touching.

"Err... Sorry," she said.

It was a stupid thing to do. She knew it the instant she did it. She didn't intend to do it. It just...happened.

She could sense that he had relaxed a bit, and didn't hold his mental shields so strongly. Though she was tired, it had no effect on her Talents. Too late, he realised what she was trying to do. His eyes widened in shock and horror, but before he could get his shields up again, they were completely crushed under her pressure. She gasped, horrified because of what she'd done, and horrified because of what she sensed.

Fear and horror, confusion and astonishment. But what shocked her most of all, was the feeling of concern and love. Directed at her. What? He started to pull away, horrified as she now knew his hidden secret. But she didn't let him. In later years she could never explain why she did it.

She tilted her chin a bit up. As her lips connected with his, he froze. Two seconds later she realised what she was doing. Shocked, she jumped back, blushing furiously, being horrified because of her actions. Not knowing what to do, she panicked and ran for the door.

But then Harry regained his senses, and managed to grab her by her arm before she was halfway there. He turned her around to face him, and Hermione looked into his green (gorgeous) eyes, but instead of the anger and disgust she'd expected, she saw...hope.

"I'm-" 'I'm sorry' was what she had intended to say, but trailed off as Harry's green eyes fixed on her brown eyes. What is he doing? she thought, bewildered, as Harry leaned forward. He isn't going to... He tilted his head a bit to one side and leaned even closer. He is! She could scent his breath now. Mint. Oh God. Mint tea had always been Harry's favourite.

Harry's soft lips met hers for the second time that day, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She moaned softly, emotions she'd never felt the like of enveloping her, and she was totally unaware of her surroundings. All she knew was the sweet, sweet taste of Harry's lips. This...Is...So...So...

"Ahem."

Wonderful.

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