Chapter Seven of 'Natural Selection'- Spellcrafting

[lomonaaeren]

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Seven—Spellcrafter

Harry eyed the owl that had swooped down and was now waiting on the sill of the large window it had come through. He’d been walking to a study session he was holding with some of the other seventh-year Gryffindors for the Defense NEWT, and this didn’t look like a school owl or one he’d seen before.

The bird was large and handsome, a black owl with white edgings to her feathers. She hooted encouragingly and waved her leg at him. It had a large, creamy piece of parchment held onto the leg with leather bindings, not the simpler twine most people used.

Slowly, Harry reached out and took the letter. The owl hooted at him again and settled down in the rumple-feathered way that said a reply was expected.

Harry unrolled the scroll and found himself staring at a completely unfamiliar kind of handwriting. It swooped and scrawled back and forth in a way that made it seem as though it must have taken hours to craft. Harry could barely read it. He skipped to the end to see the signature, wondering if this had been mis-sent to him.

He choked when he saw the name.

Holy shit.

He went hastily back to the beginning of the scroll and squinted until he could make out some of the simpler letters, which led to making out others, although he still had to read half the paragraphs by guessing the words from the letters he could make out, rather than just straightforward reading.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Word has recently reached me of your proficiency in spellcrafting. I salute you. This is no easy gift to master, or to figure out how to employ in the middle of one’s seventh year, struggling as you must be with revising for NEWTS.

It is also one that will inevitably lead one into dangerous territory as the Arithmancy and the runes necessary to master the gift become more complicated. I would hate to see someone so promising destroyed young by a miscast experiment or misplaced rune. In consequence, I would like to offer you an apprenticeship with me, to commence in the coming August. I judge that some few weeks after the end of your NEWTS would give you time to consider what you want to do and in particular, choose between what seem likely to be many offers.

I would, however, appreciate an indication of your current interest in my offer. Please write back, just a simple note. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
Narcissa Black, Spellcrafting Mistress.

Harry went back through the letter in a slow daze, trying to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He thought he must have, surely had, since he could barely read the bloody thing.

Yes, all right, so spellcrafting was a rare talent, and one that many people chose not to exercise even if they had it, because of the dangers that Madam Black had talked about. But it was still absurd that the best-connected and most well-known spellcrafter in Britain had reached out to him after what must have been foggy reports of a single demonstration in a seventh-year Defense class.

Narcissa Black was…

She had been married to Lucius Malfoy at one time, and was the mother of Harry’s classmate Draco Malfoy, but she had reclaimed her own name and her freedom after discovering that her husband was donating money to various blood purist causes that had made the family look exceptionally bad when revealed. Everyone knew that. And everyone knew reports of her talent, that she was the best spellcrafter in at least two hundred years, that she had invented thirteen spells in common use and at least twenty more used mostly by specialized Healers at St. Mungo’s, since her concentration was Healing magic.

Harry had a hard time connecting his knowledge, and his own degree of reverence towards her, with the letter in his hands.

Of course he was going to write back. But he would have to explain how things really stood, how he’d barely started down the path that a spellcrafting mistress of such quality would expect her apprentice to occupy, and he’d been working more off necessity and institution than a deep love for the field.

Once she understood that, she would probably rescind her office of apprenticeship. Or she would hear something from her son, who didn’t like Harry for being a Gryffindor and for being one of the main reasons the Gryffindor Quidditch team won all the time, and rescind it.

But it was nice to bask, for a moment, in the idea that a dream like this could come true.

*

“What is wrong?”

Harry blinked and looked up. Tom leaned a hand on the back of his chair and reached down to smooth a hand over the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry didn’t seem to be aware of the way he went boneless, tilting towards Tom.

“I got an interesting letter,” Harry said softly. His eyes were shut, but his hands remained on the parchment on the table, obscuring the words he’d written there and meaning Tom had no idea who it would be to. Harry had written the letter back to Black and Lupin the other day, sitting at this same table in Tom’s private quarters. “From Narcissa Black, wanting to me to apprentice to spellcrafting with her after I pass my NEWTS.”

Tom froze for a moment. That was a rival he hadn’t suspected.

But not a rival in the most traditional sense, he decided after a short struggle. There had been no sign that Black was a Parselmouth, and that meant she wouldn’t be able to show Harry snake magic or how to use his familiar in casting to best effect. And it would be good for Harry to grow away from Tom as well, to have the chance to fully develop all his talents.

That was what his rational mind was telling him, at least. The possessive fire roaring in the center of his chest wasn’t as calm about it.

“You will accept, of course.”

Harry twisted around and stared at him. “Why?”

“Why…Harry, it has been ten years since she last accepted an apprentice, and he is now the most prominent spellcrafter in Germany! Of course it would benefit you to have someone who would develop your talent like that.”

“But I don’t have the kind of education she probably expects,” Harry said, going back into Parseltongue again, to Tom’s private relief. It showed more of Harry’s emotion when he did that, unlike the mask he had tried to fasten over his face a few minutes ago. “I got into spellcrafting because I had an interest in protecting the secrets of my Parseltongue, not an actual interest in it. I’d disappoint her.”

“Harry, do you understand exactly how rare spellcrafting talent is?”

“I know there aren’t very many of them. But I also know there are people who give up on it because it’s dangerous.”

“It’s not as rare as Parseltongue, but not much more common. Of course Madam Black would express an interest in your ability, and of course you should give her the chance to evaluate it.”

Harry blinked and blinked. Tom sat down next to him and reached out a hand to Esmeralda, who was coiling up next to him and placing her chin in the perfect position to hold. Nagini was curled up on the other side of the room, asleep, and probably wouldn’t be jealous in any case.

“I…but what if I’m a disappointment to her?” Harry whispered.

“I can’t imagine that you would be. Talent, dedication, the ability to modify spells suddenly and without prior warning.” Tom smiled smugly at the glare Harry gave him. Yes, he had been responsible for making Harry demonstrate his ability in front of the seventh-year class, and it had been a good decision. Look at this consequence. “If you wish, tell her your fears. She will either dismiss them or confirm them and then you don’t have to worry about showing up one day and disappointing her.”

Harry nibbled his lip and nodded slowly. “Yes. All right. That’s a good idea.”

“I am a fount of good ideas.”

“Not enough, given that I’m the one about to do this.”

Tom opened his mouth to ask what Harry meant, and then moaned as Harry leaned forwards and kissed him softly.

The kiss escalated quickly, given who Tom was. He held Harry against the back of his chair for a moment, kissing him sharply enough that the boy tilted his head back and his breaths began coming short. It was hard to tear himself away, but Tom remembered his promises.

And he needed Albus on his side to deal with Harry’s family more than he needed to fuck Harry right now.

It was still difficult to close his eyes and distance himself from the stirring heat between them, and Harry’s sweet, brilliant smile. Tom cleared his throat with some difficulty and leaned back in his chair.

“You seem to have decided on our relationship more than you initially did,” Tom said, and then winced at the harsh note of his voice, which made him sound as if he’d been snogging Harry for hours.

Harry simply smiled at him. Then he said softly, “You support me more than anyone ever did. I think your faith in me might be misplaced this time, but it’s a good idea to let Madam Black decide on her own. You’re magnificent, Tom.”

It was something Nagini said all the time, but of course Harry meant it differently, and feeling Harry’s hand rest in his own…

It was something Tom would be willing to die or kill to continue feeling, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself to a squeeze of Harry’s hand before letting go.

*

“Can I join?”

Angela’s voice was so small that Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard her at first. He blinked and turned to look. She was standing on the outside of the group of seventh-year Gryffindors, plus a few people from other Houses, meeting in a large room that Harry thought had used to be used for dancing lessons on the fifth floor. She was tracing her toe on the floor and biting her lip.

“Sure,” Harry said, before anyone else could come up with an objection. He shoved a chair near the edge of the group back with a blast of wandless magic that made the others stare at him. Harry cleared his throat. “Er, sorry.”

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked with a shiver as if she wanted to pounce physically, not just verbally.

“Esmeralda helped me channel it,” Harry said, realizing as he spoke that it was true. He’d mostly used his wand for everything he did in the past, even spellcrafting, or else ink and parchment. He looked down at his snake, who was sliding her head into view up the leg of his chair. “Why did you want to do that right then?”

Angela jumped and squeaked at the Parseltongue. None of the others did. They were getting used to it, and Hermione in particular was leaning over as if she was about to fall off her chair in excitement.

“I thought it might impress your sister. She smells uncertain all the time. As if she might turn her back and run away because she’s afraid.”

Harry nodded. “And how did you do it?”

“I used our bond. It’s settled now.” Esmeralda’s tail moved in what was obviously a smug sweep on the floor. “You’ll find that it’s attached to your magic, and mine, at all levels. And now when one of us has a desire, it’s much easier to translate into reality.”

“So I might be able to cast a spell even though I don’t know the incantation?”

“You can imitate the effect, and so can I. I have been Summoning mice all morning. It’s very entertaining.”

Harry smiled, touched her head behind her eyes, and turned to face the others. “Esmeralda has a completed familiar bond with me,” he explained. “She wanted to shove the chair out just then, and so I wanted it, and we acted together.”

“But I have a familiar, and we can’t do that.” Hermione looked absurdly disappointed.

Harry listened to Esmeralda for a moment, and then chose his words carefully. Hermione was sensitive about her relationship with Crookshanks, especially since some of the more immature Gryffindors had teased her about having such an ugly cat for nearly a year. “Esmeralda says it may not be a full bond. How much time do you spend communing with him?”

“Communing…I mean, I spend a lot of time petting him, and he’s always nearby when I’m working on homework.”

In the Gryffindor common room, not the library, Harry wanted to say, but he caught himself. He didn’t know how much time Crookshanks spent with Hermione in the girls’ dormitory, after all. He inclined his head. “Okay, but spending time with him and communing aren’t the same thing.”

“What is communing?”

That was from Ron, who, although he had a little owl named Pigwidgeon as a gift from Sirius, didn’t have a familiar as far as Harry knew. He glanced around the circle and found everyone staring at him. Angela was leaning nearer the way Hermione had been a few minutes ago.

Harry found himself flushing. He was—well, he was getting used to the stares that followed him because he was a Parselmouth and Tom Riddle’s acknowledged chosen, and some of the seventh-year Defense students staring after they found out about his spellcrafting talents hadn’t been too bad. But he found it odd when people treated him like he was as knowledgeable as a professor.

But he could see Angela watching him with the same intensity, and maybe this was a way to repair the relationship with his family, which Harry knew he would never be able to bring himself to give up completely. He smiled as confidently as he could. “How about I show you?”

“Not that good with words, Potter?” muttered Zacharias Smith.

Harry ignored him. Since Harry had shown off his spellcrafting ability, Smith was only a minor prat instead of the major one he’d always been. Harry held out his hands, and Esmeralda crawled into his lap.

Some of the other students gasped. Harry thought they probably hadn’t realized how big Esmeralda was before now. But no one ran screaming, although Angela’s hands tightened on the edges of her chair as if she’d like to. Harry closed his eyes and sank inwards, down and down, to the pulsing blast of magic that awaited him in the center of his chest.

He’d started consciously pulling magic from there when he started casting more complex spells, and then when he designed them. It wasn’t a place, not really. It was a state of mind. He could see it now, the swift arcs of blue and crystalline and purple light dancing around a silvery center.

He wondered for a moment if other people had the same colors or different ones, but then his bond with Esmeralda swam into view, and all Harry could do was stare in awe.

Green and brilliant gold, the colors were deeper than any of the ones Harry had ever seen when communing with his own magic before now. He touched them, or did something similar with mental hands, and felt the ringing triumph invade them. Yes, very different from what he’d always felt before now.

Harry?

Esmeralda’s voice drifted in his ears like the ringing sound. Harry nodded absently, still studying the colors. Are you ready?

Yes. This is more conscious than what we already did, not different.

All right. Can you take me through it slowly, so that I can explain it to the others?

Esmeralda sent a wave of affection, and the colors of their bond danced faster and drifted over the others like falling snow. Yes. Are you ready?

Harry sent back a wordless affirmation, and they dived together into the communion.

It was a stretching and wrapping and flexing of the bond around them both. Harry realized that he’d been doing it when he spent time with Esmeralda in the Forest, focused on her, although their incomplete bond hadn’t allowed him to do any kind of magic. And since then, when he touched her and spoke to her and thought about his Parseltongue, a deeper communion had been going on.

The bond brightened and wove around them, touching magic at every level from their cells to their auras. Harry shuddered with wonder and delight. Doing it consciously was something he wanted to experience again and again.

Perhaps mindful of the fact that they were sitting around the table with other people, Esmeralda didn’t let Harry simply stay in the shimmering web of power for as long as he would have otherwise. She drew him gently back, and the pulsing colors flashed once and began to disappear, rather like the spots of color Harry could see if he pressed his hands to his closed eyelids. He sighed and opened his eyes.

Angela was the first to speak; the others were watching them with wide eyes. “You looked so…peaceful.”

Harry held back the temptation to say something like, “You thought I would look murderous?” That wouldn’t help him to have a good bond with her going forwards. He nodded. “Focusing on the bond like that is deeply peaceful.”

Angela looked away.

“So how do you do it?” Ron asked, looking almost as eager as Hermione. “And can you make a pet you already have into a familiar, or do you have to get a new one?”

Harry smiled and began to tell them, while watching Angela from the corner of his eye. She turned back around and watched with wide eyes. She was looking more at Esmeralda than at him, Harry noticed, and there was an expression almost of yearning on her face.

How interesting, Harry thought, and decided he would have to follow up on that.