Chapter 149: Sus AF GADDAAAMNNN

Thank you to my new P/- atrons: Diegomas, Aryaan, stinj eloot, Luis Z

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There was something absolutely cathartic in going all out for the first time in months.

The duelling tournament had been fun, but even Apollo hadn’t merited Harry’s full attention as he’d been keeping aces up his sleeve for the finals, and for real-life situations.

Against Snape, Harry used everything, but as expected, nothing quite worked.

His disarming charms were deflected, his water eruption was frozen, his wasps were set aflame, and his enchanted mist dispelled, even if it did take Snape a few extra seconds to do so.

After Harry lost the first duel, they continued with the second, the third, the fourth, and then finally, at the end, the thirteenth. 

Thirteen duels, eleven losses, one draw, one win.

“Got you with that old wandless pull on the cape trick, didn’t I?” Harry joked after they finally wound down. He’d really used everything, just not legilimency, which, against Snape, likely wouldn’t have worked anyway.

The floor was wet and burned at the same time. The magical protection over the classroom had cracked in the middle of their last bout, the benches and tables having been obliterated.

“You did,” the professor admitted with a curious expression on his face. Half dour, half satisfied.

The dark-robed man waved his wand over the classroom, which set in motion a twister of repair that left everything as spotless as it had been before their impromptu fight.

“How would you rate yourself, Evans?” The man then continued as he strode past Harry to sit behind his desk.

Harry tilted his head and thought about the question. “I don’t have anyone who can challenge me at the U17 tournament anymore. Basically, that means I’d only break a sweat against people who graduated from their respective schools. I’d say I’d be able to face the average adult witch or wizard at this point.”

“A curious perspective,” Snape answered, before shaking his head. “But do you really think the average adult witch or wizard would stand a chance against even Antrakosis? The Greek boy who somewhat unfairly “won” the tournament after your double disqualification?”

Harry crossed his arms and started pacing. “I guess not, they don’t practice, do they? So even if they might know more spells, those will usually be household spells, or things they need for work.”

“Precisely,” Snape drawled. “Fact of the matter is, that there has always been a warrior caste in any society, and even someone who is a beginner on that path will triumph over any civilian nine times out of ten.”

“So what does that make me?” Harry asked, thinking of Tonks, who was now approaching junior Auror status, but who he was still fairly sure he could beat in a duel quite easily.

“I’ll explain it in terms you can more easily understand,” Snape replied. “The average Death Eater in the last war was about as good in a fight as the average Auror. The auror had more experience, but the Death Eater used darker, more powerful magic. An even match. You are at that level.”

“So what, that makes me about as powerful as the average mook?” Harry asked.

“It seems like it,” the professor replied. “I think that if you entered the adult duelling tournament, you would have 50/50 odds for some of the fights until the competition improved somewhere in the top 64, at which point you would get kicked out with your tail between your legs.”

“Is that good?” Harry asked.

Snape quirked an eyebrow. “For your age? Obviously…” he drawled. “You’re just starting your fourth year, with this pace of progression, you might be able to win the adult duelling competition quite handily in your seventh year.”

“What does that mean, in terms of strength?” 

Snape sighed and put a hand up to his temple. “Well, I’d say you can reach about my level in four years.”

“50/50?”

“Yes,” Snape replied.

Harry silently pumped his fist.

“Satisfied?” The professor asked.

“Of course,” Harry said. “You might have judged my level, but I’ve also judged yours; you’re good, more than good even.” The Snape he’d faced today was about as good as the Voldemort-possessed Quirrell he’d faced last year.

Snape crossed his arms. “And where would you put me?” he asked.

Harry thought about his next words for a moment before deciding that there was no point in not being truthful. “There’s the average auror, then there’s Dumbledore. In the middle are people like Moody and Bellatrix Lestrange.” In the books, Moody had taken about 12 Death Eaters with him when they’d finally cornered him. The difference between Moody and Dumbledore was that even if Dumbledore hadn’t been able to take down fifty Death Eaters, he would always be capable of escaping. Harry waved his hand. “I think you’re around there. You could take down six to twelve aurors or Death Eaters before they got you?”

Snape stared at him and steepled his fingers. “Very high praise,” he said sarcastically.

Harry shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“So it seems,” the professor muttered. “Regardless, we’re running short on time. One question, Evans, what is the difference between dark magic and non-dark magic?”

“Dark magic requires negative emotions to fuel it, whereas neutral magic simply requires will and intent,” Harry replied.

“Yours is the true definition, not the one proposed by the ministry,” Snape commented. “Most governing bodies define dark magic as spells that can cause damage to the victim. Asinine, obviously. They care more about effect than composition. It's problematic as the curious witch or wizard might attempt to learn a “dark curse,” that is, a curse that has a negative effect on the victim, and find it relatively harmless to their psyche. Since the ministry creates a false category, this young magical then fails to see the danger in real dark magic, which necessitates the user to steep themselves in hatred and sadism.”

Harry nodded along. He’d known that. “All dark spells are curses, but not all curses are dark magic.”

“Have you ever considered delving more into the topic?” Snape asked. “I noted that the way you fought was not truly standard. I sense an anxiety around you. I suspect your duelling adventures are more a result of trying to feel safe rather than true passion for the sport.”

Harry looked at the man blankly.

This was the first time somebody had managed to analyse him so frankly.

It likely wasn’t hard to see for anyone observant if they took into account Harry’s history, but his duelling had simply been a way for him to train his survival skills; that was true.

“World's a dangerous place,” he answered non-committedly. 

“I agree,” Snape replied. “Anyway, I’ve assessed your current levels. Frankly, my suggestion would be to continue participating in duelling competitions even if you’ve likely lost interest. The fights are sanitised, but what you need most is experience against a variety of different opponents. It will force you to evolve and innovate.”

Harry pulled a face before rolling his shoulders and sighing.

Snape was probably right. The U17 duelling competition and the preparation for it had gotten him to this point. Stopping now because of a bad experience… It was the easy way out.

“Your fighting style has reached the point where there are no more easy fixes or easy improvements,” Snape continued. “You react, you attack, you defend. You make a mistake, you know what it was, and you correct it. You lose, you know why you lost, and what to do to improve. In essence, I feel like I’m facing a mostly developed wizard.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that rather than working on fundamentals or style, I feel it would be more beneficial if I helped you develop new weapons that you can incorporate as you see fit. I’ll obviously offer my area of expertise, after all, you already have Flitwick for Charms, and you can consult Professor McGonaggal for matters of transfiguration.”

“And what is your focus?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll admit at this point that I was fascinated by dark magic when I was younger,” Snape said blasely. “Real dark magic. It came easily as I was already consumed by hate and rage due to the circumstances of my life at the time. Leaving Britain helped me re-evaluate, realise that practising that sort of magic was having a negative effect on my outlook on life, my psyche, and my relationships with others.”

“Wow,” Harry interrupted. “Good on you for acknowledging that you had a problem.”

Snape sent him a scathing glare. “Thank you,” he said sarcastically, before shaking his head. “As I was saying. I was fascinated by dark magic. However, I stopped practising it. It was around that time that I discovered the difference between true dark magic and curses. The boundary between legality and true evil. Is a spell that intends to lacerate an enemy with incurable wounds truly dark if one need not harbour any ill intent to cast it?” he asked rhetorically. “What about a spell that channels one’s hatred for the opponent into making their blood literally boil?” He paused. “These are two very different spells. Although you’d best not use either in a duelling competition. However, if your skills are a tool for survival rather than duelling, then perhaps this is an avenue you should explore.”

Harry tilted his head and considered it. It wasn’t like he fundamentally disagreed with the government banning such magic. After all, even if a laceration curse wasn’t technically dark magic since it didn’t harvest any negative emotions, a curse aimed at lacerating another organism with incurable wounds would inevitably only be used for lacerating other living beings with incurable wounds.

“That’s the societal ethical dilemma, isn’t it?” Harry thus answered. “There are spells that are not suited for being taught to the general public because they only have one real effect, and that is to harm others. But, if used responsibly by a person with decent moral values, these same spells can be used to protect oneself in the worst-case scenario. On a personal level, learning some good curses is good, on a societal level, if everyone makes that decision, then everyone knows dangerous magic, which is bad, since it can needlessly escalate any small confrontation.”

“Crouch allowed the usage of the killing curse in the war,” Snape said helpfully.

“What is legal may not be ethical, and what is ethical may not be legal,” Harry responded. “The law is blind, but reality is not. Context matters. If I had Voldemort at my knees and the only way to truly get rid of him would be to cast the killing curse, I would. The Wizemgamot would judge me in this case, and while the law would say that there is no excuse for casting the killing curse, they might just agree to give me a few hours of community service instead.” He smirked. “In the end, the verdict that would fall would primarily be influenced by political interest, not legality or morality. In that sense, what do we truly owe society?”

Snape leaned back and stared at Harry as the boy rambled on.

The student eventually stopped, then nodded his head.

“Let’s learn some curses,” he decided out loud.

Snape smirked. “Let’s,” he said succinctly.

-/-

Harry’s life at Hogwarts gradually descended into routine, as was common for many a school-aged individual.

But despite the routine, he hadn’t forgotten about the true purpose of this year.

He had to learn the animagus transformation.

He had to confront Rosier and find out what the man knew.

For this purpose, Harry started gathering the ingredients.

The animagus transformation was at the same time complex and relatively straightforward.

If you did everything correctly, it would work; if you didn’t, it wouldn’t.

It was essentially one big instruction manual that could be condensed into three stages.

The first stage consisted of keeping a mandrake leaf in your mouth from one month to the next, full moon to full moon.

One then had to take a crystal phial struck by the moon’s rays to keep the resulting goop before adding one’s own hair and a silver teaspoon of dew taken from a place that had not seen sunlight or been touched by human feet in seven days. The last ingredient was the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth.

The mixture had to then be put in a quiet and dark place where it would remain undisturbed.

Then came the wait.

One needed a thunderstorm; it didn’t matter if it took a week or seven to arrive, but during that time, one needed to use a spell every sunrise and sundown.

If everything had been done correctly, the potion turned blood-red. Drinking it allowed for the transformation, which would be easier or harder depending on one’s already present human transfiguration skill.

This was Harry’s first ritual, and he didn’t have a buddy, other than Dobby, to bail him out if anything went wrong.

The phial, the mandrake leaf, the silver teaspoon and the chrysalis weren’t a problem. You could simply buy these things. None of them were even regulated, a part of many other potions.

Harry still sent Dobby on three different trips to different apothaceries, with other random items mixed into the order so as to not raise any alarm bells. The place where the dew would come from was also relatively easy. There were thick forests in certain regions of Scotland. Forests so deep that the dew that gathered on the grass never saw sunlight or humans.

In fact, the depths of the forbidden forest qualified for this step perfectly well.

The main issue was actually the thunderstorm.

The phial could not be disturbed, so Harry couldn’t simply keep it at Hogwarts and then Dobbyport to whichever place in the world had a thunderstorm at the time.

No, he needed to pick a place, and then hope.

Unfortunately, the thunder season in Britain was generally from July to August.

Fortunately, there were also more regular thunderstorms on the island of Jersey in the south of England.

It took Harry two months to gather the ingredients, identify where the dew could be gathered, find the appropriate cave on the north-west Scottish coastline and enchant it with a muggle-repelling ward that would hold the necessary few months.

Ironically enough, it was one Halloween that he was finally ready to start the process, the full moon on bright display over the sky.

He’d ditched the Halloween feast for this moment, reverently holding the mandrake leaf in his hand as he stood on the Hogwarts grounds.

“Transformation,” Harry muttered to himself, brought the leaf to his mouth, and tucked it into his upper lip like the world’s most magical tobacco pouch. 

“Now I just have to try to not swallow it, ever,” Harry muttered a bit awkwardly, working through the new obstruction.

The sky was clear, so he stayed out for a bit longer, looking at the moon.

It was glowing. It was beautiful.

After an hour or so of moon-gazing, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, towards the great hall where he knew his friends would soon be coming his way.

It was halfway there that he found it.

On the ground floor, near the great hall.

The petrified body of a sixth-year girl that he vaguely knew from his arithmancy class.

Laying on the ground in front of a window, stone.

Harry choked. Swallowed the mandrake leaf. Gasped for breath.

Footsteps.

“Harry?” a confused boyish voice asked, causing Harry to turn around and see the golden trio looking at him, looking at the petrified body, horrified.

More footsteps.

The feast had ended.

-/-

AN: Holy shit I feel so evil, nyahnyahnyahnyah one piece ass laugh as I post this shit.

THis chapter was brought to you by an extra chapter poll on p/- atreon. The normally scheduled chapter coming as planned in 2 days.