Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Chapter XIV

Apprentice?

Of everything imaginable, this was not what Harry had been expecting.

He had thought of charms and spells, vile potions, trials and tribulations... but not this.

The thought of becoming Dumbledore's apprentice was mind boggling. The most powerful wizard in the world had just offered to make him his apprentice, to guide and teach him... teach him what, exactly?

Something must have shown on Harry's face besides astonishment, because Dumbledore asked: "You have a question?"

"Well, sir... what will you teach me? I mean, apprentice in what?" Harry asked.

This seemed to catch Dumbledore off guard, as if he himself had not thought of this yet.

"Well..." the old wizard said, "Ah. Well... what would you like to learn?"

What would he like to learn? That was a question no one had ever asked Harry before, not personally anyway.

What would he like to learn? A hundred different thoughts popped into Harry's head; learn how to defeat Voldemort? Transfiguration? How to become a Charms Master? Dragons, alchemy, the list was almost endless.

"There are so many things... what could you teach me, sir?"

"Excellent question, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said.

"I could teach you charms, curses, potions, alchemy, the gift of languages and many other things."

Dumbledore's demeanour seemed to change subtly; gone was the twinkling in the eyes, gone was the benign smile.

Instead, Dumbledore began to radiate power, shadows seemed to spring up in the office as the light seemed to subside; Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the very air seemed to crackle with magic.

"I could teach you the twelve known and four secret uses of dragon's blood, the secrets of the Philosopher's stone, the five minor and two greater Words of Power.

I can show you how to make Wizard's Fire, that most perilous of magical manifestations, ordained for only those most powerful of magic users.

I could make you a sorcerer and teach you how to conjure illusions that would bewitch and befuddle the greatest minds of the age; I could make you a warlock and teach you the most powerful curses; initiate you in the secret Flame of Alnof and teach you ancient and forgotten magic.

Would you like to become a healer and go out into the world? I can instruct you.

Learn the secrets of Hogwarts and become the greatest builder of our time.

I can teach you to kill and heal, build and destroy."

Then Dumbledore's face softened and the smile was back.

"I'm also told I'm a fair dance instructor and musician, and I know an interesting variation on ten-pin bowling.

What would you like to learn, Harry?" the enigmatic wizard asked with a broad gesture. "You have only to ask."

Harry contemplated what he had just been told; so many things to choose from, so many interesting options. This was more of what he wanted to learn; not the rigid courses that were the rule in a school, this was real life.

What should he choose? How should he choose?

Sorcerer, Warlock, Healer... it all sounded like something he would want to learn at some point in his life.

"All of it." It was out of his mouth at the moment he had thought of it, before his brain could wrap itself around it.

All of it? Impossible, Dumbledore would probably laugh and tell him to make a choice; worse yet, what if he said yes, think of the amount of homework.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said with an exuberant smile, "all of it, it is."

Gaping for a moment at the Headmaster's unexpected reaction, Harry had trouble focusing on his next question; with effort he found his voice.

"Professor, may I ask how this all will help with my magic? Will you be using magic to keep me calm like you did at the trial? Or wards like you did at The Burrow?"

"Neither, Mr. Potter.

You must understand that when you become my apprentice, we will form a bond.

This bond is not just an agreement between you and me to teach and learn, but also a bond of magic.

You and I will become linked, and through this link my magic will protect you from your own magic.

This is completely different from what I did before.

Before, I blocked your emotions from your conscious mind and your magic, preventing any disturbances. I think it is at this time obvious these methods are not viable."

Harry felt a shiver as he remembered how close he had come to losing control or even going over that edge, not once, but three times. No, blocking his emotions by magic did not work.

"All right, what do I do?" Harry asked.

"Ah, the impatience of youth," the headmaster said with a small smile.

"It is not you, who does; but rather we, who do, and not yet.

To form the bond between master and apprentice is not a matter of waving a wand and saying a few incantations.

It is a profound ceremony, not only magically but also socially.

In the old books I have read on the subject it was not unheard of to have hundreds of guests at a ceremony followed by a feast, especially if the youth came from an important family."

Harry was horrified with the prospect of the attention the ceremony would get. Hundreds of people would want to be present; although he was loathe to admit it, both Dumbledore and The Boy Who Lived drew attention.

Dumbledore saw the horror on Harry's face and smiled while saying:

"I think we can discount the formalities and keep this a private ceremony, but the ritual magic is necessary.

We will have the ceremony tonight.

Lemon Drop?"

*****

Dumbledore and Harry were still drinking tea and discussing the details of what would happen that night, when a knock came up from the gargoyle; its sound came from down the stairs, but the clarity was as if someone was knocking on wood next to Harry's ear.

Dumbledore made a gesture with his wand and Harry heard the distinct sound of the gargoyle moving.

"Harry, I've taking the liberty of inviting a guest. As I understand it, you have had no time to buy new clothes... Ah, our guest is here."

A small man, just about Flitwick's size entered the room. On his face were incredibly thick glasses, which enlarged his eyes to the size of saucers. He wore complicated robes which were covered with needles and pins; around his neck was a measuring tape.

With him he levitated a large suitcase, so large in fact that it came all the way up to the top of the little man's head when it stood upon the floor.

Behind him followed several House-elves, all dressed up in the same manner, wearing uniforms that were made up out of what seemed like cloth leftovers put together; they too were levitating suitcases.

"Ah, Albus, my dear friend, how are you today?" the little man said in a surprisingly deep voice with a very stiff accent.

"Fine as always, Gregory.

You look well."

"Life is good to me. Tell me, how are those robes with the stars and moon motif working for you?"

"Ah, yes, some of your finest work. I wore them to the opening feast last year."

"Last year? Has it been so long? I seem to remember making them only yesterday."

Dumbledore produced a wide smile

"You always seem to think that.

Now, let me introduce Mr. Harry Potter to you.

Harry, this is Mr. Gregory Fillamment."

The small wizard stepped forward and grabbed Harry's outstretched hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

Confused as to the purpose of the little wizard, Harry politely smiled and underwent the familiar flick up to his scar.

"How do you do?" he returned politely.

"Harry, Mr. Fillamment is my tailor. He makes all my clothes and robes. I've asked him here to make sure you had clothes," Dumbledore explained.

"I'm very honoured to add you to my clientele, Mr. Potter.

I cater to a very exclusive circle of people, but it's always a pleasure to include a wizard of your esteem," the small wizard said with a smile.

"I've brought with me some samples, so you can see what you would like.

Albus has given me to understand that you will need a full range of clothing including Muggle and school wear."

The tailor and his house-elves were placing the numerous suitcases next to each other as if on display while the little wizard kept talking.

"Normally I specialize in exclusive robes and cloaks, but with the help of my assistants, there will be no problems meeting your needs. I even took the liberty of visiting a colleague of mine and have provided footwear."

Having finished placing the suitcases around the room, Mr. Fillamment waved his wand and the suitcases were enlarged by half. Quickly the numerous house-elves went to their respective suitcases and opened them like you would a closet with one door.

Each suitcase contained either a range of clothing or was filled with cloth samples.

The fabric samples ranged from the normal to the absurd in colour, and from plain to incredibly intricate designs that seemed to deceive the eye and change every few seconds.

The clothes had the same broad spectrum in choice.

Harry saw robes, simple and complicated; Muggle clothing, ranging from simple pants and sweaters to suits, tuxedos and everything in between.

There were socks, cloaks, coats, hats, shoes, gloves and, to Harry's embarrassment, a full range of underwear.

"Since I knew nothing of your preferences and tastes, I took the liberty of bringing a wide variety of choices. I think we can discard most of it very quickly and then choose your attire.

What would you like to choose first?"

Completely overwhelmed that all these clothes were there just for him, Harry could only stand there, gaping.

He had never had more than the hand-me-downs from Dudley and his school robes. The only truly nice clothing he had ever had was his dress robes, which were now destroyed, and the formal robes and clothing Dumbledore had given him.

What did he know about picking out clothes?

Picking up on Harry's wariness when it came to selecting clothes, Mr. Fillamment stepped forward.

"Maybe it would be easier to start with your school robes?" he asked.

Harry, still gawping at the wide assortment, only nodded.

"Please extend your arms so I may take your measurements," the little wizard said and proceeded to have his magical measuring tape measure every square inch of Harry's body.

"Now, Hogwarts robes are of course black," the tailor said while writing in his notepad, "and you are a Gryffindor?" he asked while looking over the rim of his spectacles.

Harry nodded once more.

"And you will of course need ties, sweaters, and so on in those colours, with the right crest.

Now, what would you need in other circumstances...?

Robes of course, cloaks... You were raised by Muggles, weren't you?" he asked, but not waiting for an answer, Mr. Fillamment continued to write in his note book. "So you will want Muggle clothing as well. You'll of course need the basics like socks, shoes, underwear (boxers or briefs by the way?) and shirts. Will you be requiring dress- and formal robes?"

Harry looked at Dumbledore to answer these questions, by this time completely overwhelmed.

"A few formal robes and cloaks for now Gregory, dress robes can wait," the headmaster said with a smile.

Harry was beginning to worry. Not that he minded the clothes, but he had never had that many to begin with and to buy an entire wardrobe just like this would probably cost more money than he had ever spent in his life, but Dumbledore seemed to take it all in stride, so he would too.

"Will you want them in traditional style?" the tailor asked.

Again Harry looked at the Headmaster for answers; he had no idea what the little wizard was talking about.

"Traditional, Gregory. I will provide you with the proper colours and designs later."

"No need, I am quite sure I have them. Now as to casual wear, what colours and fabric would you like? Feel free to look at the samples I brought," Mr. Fillamment said with a gesture toward the suitcases.

Harry randomly looked into one of the suitcases.

There was a wide variety of colours to choose from. Gryffindor red, blood red, dozens of variations on red; Ravenclaw blue- 'Cho wears that colour often' an unbidden thought came- brown, black, Slytherin green, grey, yellow- Hufflepuff yellow... like Cedric had been wearing the day he was killed...

"Black."

"Excuse me?"

"Black, I want my clothes to be black."

"Black is always a good choice. And if I might add, combined with some shades of green they would..."

"You don't understand," Harry said, his back still turned to the two elder wizards, "I don't want colours, I want black."

"But surely you want some colours?" the little wizard exclaimed. "You could wear some colours to great effect. Green, like I said, or red and even blue would suit you very well. Maybe..."

"Black!" Harry said with a harsh voice, turning towards the tailor, fixing him with an intense stare.

A bit of shock and then disappointment was visible on the tailor's face.

"As you wish, sir. What material would you like me to use for your various choices?"

Harry's mind was distracted from his thoughts of yellow.

Materials? He had never thought about what his clothes were made of; his clothes had always been hand-me-downs from Dudley or simple Hogwarts robes.

"What materials?" he asked a bit confused.

"Well, yes. What materials would you like me to use?

I could use simple wool, merino wool, cashmere, angora, mohair, linen, raw silk, silk charmeuse, watered silk, fuji silk, lace, cotton, velvet, satin, organza, crepe de chine, corduroy, fur, leather, tweed, shimmer cloth..."

"I think it best to let you decide that, Gregory," Dumbledore interrupted, "although you should take into account that Harry is not one of your regular customers, but rather a bit younger."

Harry's face clearly showed his relief. Of the materials the little tailor had listed, most were a big unknown to him.

"But no lace," he added at the last moment, remembering Ron's dress robes.

"It will be my pleasure," Mr. Fillamment said, the congenial smile returning to his face.

"There is one thing though; Mr. Potter will need Ceremonial Robes for tonight. Do you think you can get them done in time?" Dumbledore asked.

"That shouldn't be a problem.

Normally when I take an order, I complete it and then send it off, but under the circumstances, and seeing as to the size of the order, I think I can just send off what I have finished," the little wizard said. With a wave of his wand he closed the suitcases and the house-elves started to levitate them out.

"I'll get to work on the Ceremonial Robes right away, and then on the rest.

Mr. Potter, it's been a pleasure meeting you."

The little wizard shook Harry's hand.

"You will be most pleased with your clothes, that I can promise you.

If you ever change your mind about the colours you only have to owl me."

******

Harry sat on top of the south tower overlooking the lake which sparkled in the afternoon sun.

Hogwarts was peaceful without its students and the only thing Harry could hear was the wind, a gentle breeze that swept around the tower.

From this height the Giant Squid seemed tiny and, if he looked a little to the left, he could see Hagrid's hut, small like a toy.

After he and Dumbledore had gone over the ceremony that was due to take place that evening, they had eaten a quick midday meal brought to them by a beaming Dobby.

Dumbledore had given him a small, old book about the apprentice ceremony and the traditions and customs that were a part of it.

He had then dismissed Harry and told him to seek out some peace and quiet, read the book, and then reflect on what was going to happen and what the implications were, as was traditional.

After reading the book, feeling better prepared with knowledge of what was to come, Harry had positioned himself cross-legged on top of one of the battlements and had tried to clear his mind of all the questions that kept flying through it.

Dumbledore's apprentice.

Voldemort.

Proctor.

Magic.

Wards.

Cedric.

Kill the spare.

Instead of the peace and quiet he had sought, Harry was confronted with his own internal turmoil.

Turmoil he had been reasonably successful in ignoring so far, but now, at this time of forced contemplation, he had nothing to distract him, nothing to hide behind, no where to run.

He closed his eyes.

In his mind's eye a scene in the English countryside surfaced.

Strange that, in his memory he could see every little detail, while in reality he had been so distraught that he had barely seen a thing.

In his mind he saw the idyllic lane; he saw the moss covered stone wall that ran along the path, the meadow behind it, the grazing cows in the distance.

He heard birds twitter in the trees next to the small path he walked and he could almost smell the grass.

He could even hear a distant church bell sound.

Then the scene shifted.

The meadow was burned to a crisp, the trees blown away and the wall destroyed.

The birds and cows had fled before the violence he had unleashed.

He remembered Diagon Alley.

He remembered the store.

He remembered with clarity how close he had come to killing everyone dear to him only yesterday, the few seconds that had stood between life and death.

The Weasleys.

Ron and Hermione.

Hermione.

She had been his steadfast support through all of this, more than anyone else, and he had almost killed her.

He had vague memories of her sitting on his bed while he had been separated from his body, locked away within the walls of his own mind, unaware of his identity.

Through a haze that clouded his mind he remembered her soothing him, stroking his hair and his forehead.

And he remembered himself calming down at her touch.

He remembered how she had listened to him talking about his nightmares; listening to problems that were no one's but his own. Listening to what he had done in his dreams and in reality... and still being there, still being his friend, giving a simple answer in just holding him.

Through the tranquillity he found in thoughts of his friend, Harry felt himself spiral down into the quiet centre of his being.

Slowly his mind was surrounded with the warm, bright light that was the magic in his core.

Here he felt safe, like a baby in the womb.

He felt himself float on that stream of nothingness for what seemed like somewhere between an eternity and but a moment.

His peace was suddenly disturbed by a tugging sensation.

"It is time, Mr. Harry Potter Sir," came the quiet voice of Dobby.

Harry opened his eyes and saw that it was dark, the sun long set, the stars twinkling in the clear night sky.

His shoulders, back and legs ached; he had been sitting in the same position for hours, oblivious to the world around him.

He felt that he had found a little peace...enough for now anyway.

"Yes, Dobby, it is time."