Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Chapter IXX

"You're pathetic, Potter," Moody whispered into his ear. He was bent over Harry who was, in fact, lying on the floor, desperately trying to push himself up.

"I know it, you know it, and they know it," he continued in a soft and reasonable tone, throwing a quick glance at the other candidates. "Why don't you just quit? It'd be so much easier, hmm?"

"No," Harry groaned, meanwhile doubling his effort to do another push-up.

Moody stood up and turned to the other students. "DISMISSED. YOU WORTHLESS BUNCH REPORT TO MASTER STRYNGER... and tell him Mr. Potter will be... late."

He turned back to Harry, ignoring the students who were filing out, most of them throwing Harry encouraging gestures and looks that all went unnoticed.

"So, Potter, not ready to quit are you?" Moody whispered in a low, menacing tone.

Harry grunted and shook his head in response, not having any energy for more. He tried to push himself up again, but his arms wouldn't cooperate and all it accomplished was to increase the ache in his muscles.

Moody had been yelling out questions during morning exercise. As usual, Harry was his preferred target.

Unfortunately, he had given the wrong answer to one of Moody's more obscure questions. He would have had a hard time answering that question in a class, but with his mind clouded in exhaustion it was nigh on impossible. Now he was paying the price: thirty push-ups.

Not easy at any given time, but it was the fourth time in a row, and that made it into a large problem, he wasn't even half way.

"I'll make you a deal, Potter," Moody continued in that soft, lethal voice that could give anyone goose-bumps, "you give me five more push-ups and we'll call it even. I won't call on you during lessons anymore if you give me five more push-ups."

Five more, and then he'd be done. It sounded like heaven.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed. With shaking arms he managed to get himself up.

He collapsed back down.

"Good, Potter. That was one; four more to go. You think you can make it? Or would you just rather quit?"

Again he strained his muscles and managed to get himself up.

"That's two, Potter. Three more to go."

Panting, Harry lay on the floor, summoning every scrap of strength and energy he had left.

"What are you waiting for, Potter? I haven't got all day, or should I just take this as your wish to leave? You've already gotten farther than I had expected you too. There's no shame in quitting"

He pushed and got himself up and collapsed again, panting and tears streaming from his eyes.

He couldn't do it, he was too tired, his arms were burning and his chest was aching.

"Come on Potter, two more," Moody said in an angry growl.

He just couldn't do it. It was over, he would quit. Moody had won.

With that admittance, if only to himself, came peace. He'd get to sleep as long as he wanted in a nice soft bed; he could take a nice long hot bath, eat and drink as much as he wanted, nobody was going to yell at him tomorrow, throw spells at him, or make him learn things he'd forget two minutes later because he was too tired. Tears streamed over his cheeks, he was so relieved.

"Are you quitting on me, Potter? Is that it? Are you truly that pathetic?" Moody spat, and walked away from Harry.

Harry turned his head just a bit so he could see what the former Auror was doing.

He was standing a few feet away, his back turned.

"I expected more out of you, Potter. Here was some one I could teach, I thought, to finally pass on all of my knowledge to someone who truly understood, someone who was worthy. But no, you're weak. You would lie around here and wait for Voldemort to come along and end it all for you, wouldn't you?"

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the remark, but too tired to get upset about it.

"And after he killed you, he'd go after those friends of yours. The Weasley boy, right? But you don't really care," Moody said those last words in a careless voice.

Harry's eyes flew open. Moody still had his back turned to him.

"That's right, Ron Weasley his name is. He'd probably get a simple Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra, a fraction of a second of excruciating pain and it would all be over. But that's not enough to get you going, is it? Because. You're. Tired," Moody spat.

Harry turned his head toward the ground and put his hands on the floor. He looked for any energy left, took a deep breath and pushed... and failed.

Moody's voice turned cruel and cold.

"And let's not forget that little Muggleborn girl you keep around. She's kind of pretty; I wonder what Voldemort would do to her? Cruciatus curse maybe? He does seem to despise Muggleborns. He'll probably give her to his Death Eaters; there are some lowlifes amongst them that wouldn't balk at raping a cute little thing like her, just for fun."

A moment of silence.

"JUST. BECAUSE. YOU. WERE. TIRED."

Harry growled; an angry sound that seemed to start somewhere in his chest and reverberated in his entire body. In quick bursts of desperate strength he pushed himself up twice, fell to the floor and rolled over, panting, tears streaming from his eyes, this time from exhaustion beyond what he had ever thought was possible.

A vague figure loomed above him, obscured by the tears... it was Moody.

"So, now you know.

You know what will happen if Voldemort isn't stopped, the damage he will do, what world the ones who survive his rising will live in."

Moody sighed.

"Today you have learned to use a valuable aid; you know that anger can be used, can give you strength when you need it. Use your anger, Potter, it can save your life. Use everything you have; you, of all people, are going to need it," Moody almost whispered, an unfamiliar, kind inflection in his voice.

"I'm sorry you had to learn that lesson so young, and I'm sorry I had to be the one to teach you," sadness and emotional fatigue was clear in his voice.

Harry felt his eyelids drop and the last thing he saw was Moody leaving the room, after that, he was asleep on the hard stone floor.

****

"Close your eyes, relax. Now breath in, hold... and breath out," Dumbledore's voice whispered into Harry's private little world.

Every time he and Dumbledore did these exercises, every time he touched his magic in this fashion, he tumbled further and further into his core. He had discovered that the white light he had floated in was much vaster than he had ever imagined. It was strange to give physical dimensions to a place that existed only in his mind, but it seemed the easiest way to cope.

"When you are certain you are relaxed, I want you to open your eyes and cast the charm," the Headmaster's serene voice echoed.

Taking one more deep breath Harry slowly opened his eyes, raised his wand and said very calmly: "Wingardium Leviosa." His voice was soft and even.

Nothing happened. Even this seemed like a pretty good sign to Harry; at least the feather he was trying to levitate hadn't exploded.

"Again, if you please, Harry," Dumbledore said encouragingly.

He took another deep breath, calmed himself and again said: "Wingardium Leviosa," this time with just a tad bit more power behind it.

The feather seemed to shiver for a moment before slowly but surely rising into the air, responding to Harry's wand movement.

"All it takes is time and effort," Dumbledore said with a beaming smile.

Happy to have done his first magic in months- well, intentional magic anyway- Harry felt laughter bubble up inside him. As he made the feather float over the Headmaster's head he felt exhilaration... and promptly the feather burst into a thousand little pieces, all of them twirling down on the top of Dumbledore's head.

"Control, Harry, you must learn control," the headmaster sounded a bit exasperated. "Even so," the wizened wizard sighed, "I am very pleased with this progress. We will continue practise tomorrow. Remember to do some of the meditation we practised tonight."

Harry agreed, but knew that if anything, he'd be asleep as soon as he had a moment's rest.

*****

The following days seemed to go by in a flash.

The days were still overly filled with Quarterstaff training by Master Strynger, lectures on duelling by Flitwick, Protocol lessons by McGonagall, etiquette with Sinistra, sessions with Dumbledore and exercise with Moody. It seemed to Harry, however, that since his first successful casting of a spell, he had passed a bump, and everything seemed easier, if no less exhausting.

Or perhaps it was because Moody's words had struck at a vulnerable spot, Harry admitted to himself in reflective moments, rare and far in between though they were.

He'd do anything to protect his friends... his family. He would do what was necessary.

Soon the 31^st of August was there, the day before the other Hogwarts students were to arrive.

Morning started as usual.

"WAKE UP, YOU LAZY SODS. I'LL BE DAMNED IF NOT ONE OF YOU QUITS BEFORE THIS WEEK IS OVER. ASSEMBLY AT THE FRONT STEPS IN FIVE MINUTES. MOVE IT!" Moody's now familiar voice blasted through the shared sleeping quarters.

Without conscious thought, Harry hurried to hastily wash himself. There was no time for showers, there had been none for the entire week- except in the evenings when no one took the opportunity, favouring sleep -and he felt filthy.

Quickly he slipped into his exercise clothes, already stretching his muscles as best he could, anticipating the gruelling effort that awaited them.

After morning exercises -which were a lot harder and more intense than he could have imagined in the beginning of the week- they made their way to breakfast. Everyone ate as fast as they could, knowing eating could be over at any time.

First on their program was a lecture by Professor McGonagall.

"The relation between Prefects and Proctors is a delicate one. Prefects have no authority over Proctors, but Proctors may override Prefects if they deem it in the best interest of security.

I must, however, stress that Proctors have little authority when it comes to other areas of a Prefect's duties, and they may not interfere between Prefects and students except in emergency circumstances.

You would be well-advised to leave Prefects alone unless there is a very direct reason for you to interfere, for example during an emergency.

Next we will look at the..."

Harry let his conscious mind drift away, absorbing most of the material, but not hearing it.

****

Limping, they made their way towards the Great Hall. They had just concluded a particularly nasty training session with Quarterstaffs, and Harry could feel bruises all over his body. Cho had been his partner; she had not been kind and had not said a word to him.

Moody had told them he would meet them for a practical duelling session before dinner.

That statement had elicited a lot of sub vocal groans. This meant that dinner would be very, very late tonight, even to this week's standard.

The doors to the Great Hall were closed, not an every day event.

The first two to arrive, the 7^th year Gryffindor named Howard and the 7^th year Ravenclaw Devon, opened the doors so that the rest could walk in.

Instead of the expected training mat, there was a large table in the centre of the Hall.

Before it, with their backs to it, stood every instructor that had tortured them this week: Moody, Strynger, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sinistra, Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, who had taught them emergency medical procedures. Sprout and Snape were also present, apparently in their capacity of Heads of House.

The Great Hall was decorated as if for a great feast, with elaborate hangings, House banners and festively floating candles.

It was enough to make them all freeze in their steps. What was going on?

"Welcome candidates," Dumbledore's cheery voice sounded, "if you would be so kind as to join us?"

As they were indicated, the students lined themselves up, opposite the teachers.

"It is my great pleasure to be the first Headmaster in 350 years to initiate Proctors to the service of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore began his speech.

"It has been long since any headmaster saw the need to reinstate the Protectorate Council, but in these dangerous times to come, I am sure you will all come to share my reasons for doing so.

I am very pleased that our trust in the abilities of the students we chose for this singular student authority has not been misplaced. All of you have made it through your testing week, without having quit or given reason to be dismissed."

McGonagall stepped forward with a scroll in her hands. "As I call out your name, please make your way to Professor Dumbledore who will give you your Proctor badge, then the present teachers and instructors would like to congratulate you. After that, please return to your place in line."

Using her reading glasses she peered upon the scroll and called out: "Catherine Bell, Gryffindor."

As Katie stepped forward towards Dumbledore, the Headmaster turned back to the table and retrieved a golden badge with a large P on it.

"Congratulations," he said, as he handed Katie the badge with two hands. "We are all very proud of you and are sure you will be an exemplary Proctor. This badge will symbolise both your authority and your duty, never forget it."

"Thank you," Katie said, a proud look spreading over her face.

She took a step sideward and was congratulated by McGonagall. "You have done Gryffindor proud, not only by completing this week, but also by the way you supported your house- and schoolmates."

As Katie moved sideward again, to be congratulated by Professor Flitwick, McGonagall looked at her scroll again and called out: "Jean-Paul Cardinale, Slytherin."

"Cho Chang, Ravenclaw."

"Roger Davies, Ravenclaw."

"Owen Dervorshire, Hufflepuff."

"Howard Everard, Gryffindor"

"Phalu Freedman, Slytherin."

"Jennifer Hawker, Gryffindor."

"Henry Pereson, Hufflepuff."

"Harry Potter, Gryffindor."

"Congratulations, Harry. I am very proud of you, as would your parents have been. This badge will symbolise both your authority and your duty, never forget it."

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You do Gryffindor and Hogwarts proud." McGonagall said.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I hope you will soon be able to take part in practical duelling lessons. I can't wait to see what you can do," Flitwick piped up to Harry.

"Devon Smythe, Ravenclaw."

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Very commendable effort on your part," Sprout said in a brisk tone.

"Well, well, Potter, I'm surprised you didn't go running to the Weasleys on the first day, especially since you did not have Ms. Granger to prompt you," Snape said in a disdainful voice, then he leaned forward and whispered "Just remember that all that glitters is not gold."

As Harry moved left he heard McGonagall call out the last name: "Blaise Zabini, Slytherin."

He could just see her past Smythe, as she received the last badge from Dumbledore.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You show promise with your Quarterstaff, keep up the good work."

She looked supremely confident, just like she had all week, never once being fazed by Moody, or at least not showing it.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I hope to see a lot less of you this year, but I'm afraid that this Proctor business will only see to it that you come my way far more often than with Quidditch alone."

What was it about her that irked him so?

"Mr. Potter, you will soon have the makings of a true English gentleman. I hope you will not forget the things I taught you? I'm quite sure you will need them."

She was pretty, sure, but she was also a Slytherin, an arrogant bitch and she seemed to know things he didn't.

"Well done, Potter. I know I've been tough on you this week, but it was necessary. If you're interested, I'm willing to come back and give you those duelling lessons you missed as soon as you're able," Moody said, a smile on his lips that made his face only look scarier.

Harry returned back to his place in line and waited for the last few Proctors to do so as well.

"As was tradition in times past, Proctors were not only bound to Hogwarts by duty, but also by magic.

The oath you have been taught is magical in nature and should not be taken lightly. It is just as binding as any magical contract.

It is an intricate part of Hogwarts, just as are the wards, shields and other magic endowments," Dumbledore told them.

"If you are still willing to commit to the school, please repeat after me:

To Protect

To Defend

To Preserve both student and school

This is my duty, this is my task

To stand above the houses and serve all

As was set down by the Hogwarts Four

Gryffindor, with courage to the fore

Hufflepuff, loyal to the last

Ravenclaw, with mind and magic

Slytherin, that cunning may preserve

I will not falter in my duty

To the Protectorate Council I pledge.

*****

Harry was taking a shower. His first shower in over a week, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. He had already washed his hair twice, and still it felt unclean.

He grabbed the shampoo bottle again, lathered his hair and just stood still for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of the hot water on his body.

"Hey, Potter, you still in here?"

"Yes," he shouted back, recognizing Everard's voice.

"Well, get out here. We're going to have a little party to celebrate the end of Hell Week."

Hell Week; that was what was fast becoming the official nickname for what they had just been through.

After the initiation ceremony -the end of Hell Week- there had been a celebration dinner in the Great Hall. Butterbeer had been served and for the very first time, Harry thought he could feel the impact of the diminutive amount of alcohol in the brew.

It was as informal as he had ever seen a gathering where both teachers and students were present.

His conversation with Dumbledore had been interesting enough, especially after Smythe had joined them. The Ravenclaw seemed to know the Headmaster outside of school.

After this small celebration, they had been told that the evening was theirs, and that their trunks with the things they had not been allowed to keep for the week would be sent up to the dormitories they had shared during Hell Week. They would be moved to their real housing tomorrow.

Dumbledore had sent them away, but his last remark to Harry had been to see him in the morning as he had a 'little job' for him. The mischievously twinkling eyes had set off all kind of alarm bells in Harry's head; he wondered what the Headmaster had meant?

"Potter, are you coming or not?" Everard asked, his voice now next to the stall Harry was in.

"I'll be out in a minute," Harry replied.

"Best hurry up. Can you believe they are still letting us share a dormitory with the girls? If not for that I would have been asleep the minute I walked in here. That, and the fact that Freedman brought a bottle of rum in his trunk," Everard said in a happy but tired voice.

"I think the staff thought we'd just be too tired and go to bed straight away."

After Harry had finished his shower and put on some of the new clothes that had come with his trunk, he headed into the shared dormitory.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns," Smythe called out in a boisterous voice.

"Freedman, give Harry the bottle, he hasn't had any yet," Jennifer Hawker said, equally loud.

Not really surprising, considering she was sitting in Smythe's lap.

Harry was handed the bottle and with a big sigh of contentment took a large swig. The smoky drink hit like a sledgehammer. He took another swig.

"Hold on there, killer. Merlin, I didn't know 5^th years could drink like that," Freedman said, creating general hilarity and laughter.

Harry made his way to his cot and sat down like a bag of bones.

"Ah, but then again, Potter isn't your average 5^th year, now is he?" Katie Bell said with merriment.

God, he hoped this was not going to be some Boy-Who-Lived fan club meeting.

"Of course not," Pereson bellowed like only he could, "he's Proctor material."

A general cheer went up, proud faces all around. They had really done it; they had survived Hell Week and were now Proctors.

"A toast to The Protectorate Council, hip hip...," Freedman said, after which he took a swig from the bottle.

"Hooray," multiple voices cheered.

The bottle was circulated again; Harry took another swig, and then passed it. He could learn to like rum, but he thought he preferred whiskey.

Tired, he sat back and listened to the conversations around him.

It turned out there were more bottles to be shared, and one by one they were opened.

The celebration had been on for about an hour and Harry was pretty sure that so far, he'd had rum, whiskey and some kind of brandy.

He wasn't particularly fond of that brandy; quite frankly it had tasted awful.

That was why he was now nursing the bottle of whiskey. No one seemed to mind much as it created too much of a burning sensation going down for most of them (except for Smythe, whose bottle it was. The 7^th year Ravenclaw, however, seemed to be otherwise... occupied, however).

He threw the bottle back again, scanning the room. Cho seemed to be in quiet conversation with Roger Davies. Four others were playing Exploding Snap.

Jean-Paul and Owen were singing all kinds of songs involving drinking, liquor and 'Wein, Weib und Gesang' of which Harry had no idea what it meant.

He tried to stand up, but immediately fell back to the bed a bit dizzy.

Carefully he got up again, walking towards the door to the hallway. He definitely needed some fresh air; being exhausted and drinking did not go well together.

He leaned against the cool wall in the shady corridor. The only light available was from a few magical torches; no smoke, only light and heat.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his thoughts together.

"Can't ickle Potter take his booze? A few mouthfuls enough to knock you on your arse?"

Damn! Zabini.

"Get lost Zabini, I'm not in the mood for your games," Harry sighed.

"Oh, but I am, Potter. I am.

What? You scared of a little girl, Potter? You? The big bad hero?" she said scathingly.

Those last few words hit a little too close to home for Harry's peace of mind; they were very much like what Vernon had once said.

He looked up and caught Blaise's eye. "Don't think I will ever make the mistake of underestimating you, Zabini. You might get away with that cute girl act with some people, but I've seen what you can do with a wand," he said in a tense tone of voice.

"Oh, Potter, you think I'm cute? I feel so honoured. Not many girls can say that the Harry Potter thinks they're cute," she replied in a sarcastically sweet voice.

"That's not what I said..." Harry muttered.

Blaise only laughed.

"Are you going to sod off or should I find somewhere else to stand for a while?" Harry asked.

"Oh please, Potter. By all means stay. I wouldn't want you to get lost in the castle. Who knows, You-Know-Who might catch you, and what would the Wizarding World do without the Great Harry Potter?" she said with an arrogant smirk on her face.

"You would know about that, wouldn't you Zabini? You're a Slytherin after all, practically a Death Eater in training," Harry sneered, his tongue getting ahead of his tired mind. He regretted the remark immediately.

Blaise took one fluid step towards Harry and with her face only a few inches from his hissed: "Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Potter. You might say the wrong thing."

"What is it you want, Zabini?" he answered in a low, growling voice.

She didn't reply, but instead stared into his eyes and then, after a brief moment, grabbed his collar and pushed her lips on his, pinning him against the wall.

Harry gasped in surprise and she used this moment to push her tongue in his mouth.

It was nothing like Harry had imagined his first kiss to be. He had conjured up fantasies about gentle kisses in a romantic setting with a girl he truly loved. Their lips and tongues meeting in a pleasurable dance, both exploring new things.

Instead his first kiss was hard, wet and full of teeth clashing as instinct took over and he tried to kiss her back.

Instinct also told him to put his arms around her waist and close his eyes.

He tried to drive his own tongue into her mouth, but she wouldn't let him.

Instead of the dance he had imagined, this was a battle for dominance.

She suddenly pulled back, just as unexpected as the kiss itself had been. He groaned, finding he had been enjoying the kiss despite the circumstances.

Blaise threw him a cold look as she straightened her clothes.

"Don't make anything out of this, Potter. It doesn't mean a thing; not a thing."

She stalked back to the temporary dormitory, leaving a profoundly confused Harry who couldn't help again noticing she had very nice legs.