Well of Shadows
Explanations & Advice
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Eight
~ Explanations, Introductions and Advice ~
Harry did not want to go to class right now. It was not that he had didn't enjoy Defence Against the Dark Arts; he actually considered it his favourite class. Aside from his second year when they had
been stuck with that bumbling idiot Lockhart for a teacher. No, it had nothing to do with the class or the, admittedly, somewhat eccentric new professors teaching it.
He was just too fatigued to garner any enthusiasm for it.
The previous afternoon, in which he and Ginny had had to explain recent events, seemed to last forever before they were finished. As he trudged wearily along the corridor to the waiting Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, for his first lesson therein, Harry began to recall how the conversation had gone.
"What the blazes d'you mean Draco Malfoy is this Well of Shadows?" Snape had asked in his usual belligerent tones, alternating his fierce scowl between Harry and Ginny.
Harry had sighed, resigned to the fact that he would never manage to have a conversation with the Potions Master that was not confrontational. It was a simple fact that he would have to endure. He had tried to elaborate as best he could. "Sometime over the summer, I'm afraid we don't know precisely when, Voldemort was able to change Malfoy into the Well of Shadows."
Charlie, who had been sitting on a chair just behind his father, had asked, "What is this Well you keep mentioning? Is it like the Order of the Phoenix?"
"No, the Well is simply a force," Harry had explained. "It has no... no motive, no intelligence guiding it like the Order does. Instead it is just raw power - a nearly endless, relentless supply of it. The Well is more ancient that any of us can dream, and controls forces that we are often unaware even exist. There is no consciousness behind it, besides whatever Malfoy can supply it with now that he is the Well."
"You keep saying that," Professor McGonagall had observed. "What d'you mean that young Malfoy is this Well?"
Harry had pursed his lips and mulled over how to explain it as clearly as possible before he had given an answer. "The Well of Shadows is just like any ordinary well," he had said, "you use it to obtain something from somewhere. In the case of a normal well, you lower a bucket down the shaft to get water at the bottom. The Well of Shadows is similar, only you're not drawing on anything as harmless as water."
Hermione, ever the clever witch, had caught on first. "Dark magic. Shadows."
"More or less," Harry had agreed. "The Well, in this case Draco Malfoy, draws its power by absorbing or disrupting certain magical essences surrounding it. Unlike the Order of the Phoenix, the Well's power does not regenerate over time. Like any other well it will eventually run dry if it does not get anything to replace what is used. That is why everyone on the stage, during the fight, felt the sensation of cold when they got near to Malfoy. He was draining them. Their magic, their life force, the very essence of their being - their souls."
"Once their magic is extracted," Ginny had continued for him, "the Well transmutes the magic, refining it into a form it can use. Shadow. A completely different kind of magic."
"Great Maker," Molly Weasley had breathed in horror. All of those assembled around the two hospital beds had been visibly shaken and disturbed by what they had learned.
Bill, with his knowledge of curses, had asked, "But if it gets its power by draining the magic out of people, why would You-Know-Who use it on someone else? Why risk having Malfoy drain not only us, but him as well?"
Harry had then delivered the news that no doubt would cause many sleepless nights in the future. "The problem, the danger, is that becoming the Well of Shadows puts a terrible strain on whoever is unlucky enough to be chosen."
"A strain? How so?" Dumbledore had asked.
"The energy, the power poured into the Well is vaster than any one person can safely contain. Just creating the Well requires the sacrifice of a hundred wizards and their magic. Can you imagine having the life energy of a hundred people transferred into you? It's not like the Order, where the power is stored around you, here the power is stored inside you, making you the Well."
Ginny had then summed it up. "After about a year, depending on how heavily the Well uses its powers, it will eventually kill him. As it is, the stress will cause an increasingly unstable state of mind. Tom knows the consequences of being the Well of Shadows. He's using Malfoy as a... I think the Muggles call it a Fire-and-Forget weapon."
Harry had nodded his agreement. "Exactly, though not quite as simple as it may seem. Voldemort will use the Well to wear down our defences, decimate our forces while sparing his own. He won't have told Malfoy what's going to happen, but it won't help him in the end."
"What d'you mean by that?" Fred and George had chorused.
"Malfoy's going insane," Ginny had explained, "even now, after less than a couple of months, he's starting to develop a god complex. Sooner or later he's going to decide that Tom will make a better servant than master."
Snape had looked alarmed. "You mean he will turn against the Dark Lord?"
Harry had chuckled mirthlessly. "If we're lucky he might totally annihilate him and all his Death Eaters and spare us the trouble of doing it ourselves."
"Is there any way to stop him?" asked Dumbledore.
He had exchanged a pensive look with Ginny. "There is a way to... dispel the Well, but it will not be easy. We'll need to make full use of Hogwarts' resources to pull it off."
Ginny had then added, "Even with outside help it’s going to take us months to design and implement it. After that it's basically a waiting game."
"Wait a moment," Percy had said, frowning thoughtfully as he fingered his bottom lip. He had looked at them through his horn-rimmed glasses and asked, "How did You-Know-Who change Malfoy into this Well of Shadows?"
"There are a number of ways he could have discovered the ceremony," Harry had admitted. "The process is recorded in some of the older, darker and more obscure tomes of magic: The Necronomicon, the book of Skelos..."
Percy had shook his head and interrupted, "No! I mean how did he do it? What was required to make the Well? You said something about a sacrifice?"
Ginny nodded. "Yes. One hundred wizarding folk and their magic would be needed give the Well sufficient impetus to become self-sustaining."
"Then why didn't we know about it?" Percy had asked incredulously. "I mean if You-Know-Who had to murder a hundred people to do it... where are the bodies? You can't just lose track of a hundred people! Not all at once!"
As he finished his journey through the corridors, arriving at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry pondered Percy's excellent question. The possible answers and their implications were almost as disturbing as the revelation that the Well of Shadows had returned.
The remainder of the day had been spent in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had loudly and persistently commanded that he and Ginny stay overnight for observation. After Dumbledore and the other professors had departed, Harry and Ginny had gone to visit Ron, accompanied by Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys.
Suffice it to say yesterday had not been particularly restful.
Waving a muted hello to the ever-enthusiastic Colin Creevey as the mousy fifth-year passed by, Harry shifted his bag and stepped inside the classroom. Hopefully the new professors would be able to provide a distraction from Harry's increasingly depressing and worried thoughts.
Hopefully.
***
Harry settled into his seat next to Hermione, who had been granted permission from Madam Pomfrey to finally discard the sling around her right arm. Despite this improvement Hermione was still looking more haggard than normal. She had retired to Gryffindor Tower late the previous evening to bathe and catch up on her sleep. Unsurprisingly Harry and Ginny had woken up in the morning to find that she had slipped out sometime during the night and was at Ron's bedside.
Having just come off his free period, after having dropped Divination at the start of his fifth-year he had one every other day, while Hermione had been attending Arthimancy Harry asked, "You doing all right?"
"Reasonably well," she responded. Hermione's right arm, which she held close to her side as though pressing against a stitch, shifted languidly as she made a nondescript gesture with her hand. "At least in Arthimancy I don't have to use my wand like we had to in Charms."
The Gryffindor sixth-years had had Charms with Professor Flitwick that morning before lunch. Hermione, due to the injury to her arm, had experienced mounting frustration as she struggled to accomplish even the easier charmwork they had been revising. She no longer had the control of motion needed to direct her wand's movements.
Harry set his books, some blank parchment and quills on the desk and gave her a commiserating squeeze on the shoulder. "It will get better, Hermione. You just need time to get used to it."
"Maybe," she answered, obviously struggling with her books and other things with only her left hand to handle them properly.
~Harry?~
He settled back in his seat, aware of the other Gryffindors chatting quietly around him, and responded to Ginny's silent call. Yes? What is it? he asked, Where are you?
~Muggle Studies~ came a quick answer, ~Harry... what's the difference between a CD and an LP?~
Harry was watching as the two Professors Proteus entered the classroom, talking quietly as they made their way to the desk at the front. CDs are smaller, he told her. He smiled softly and then added, Y'know this might constitute cheating...
Ginny's thoughts were a blend of mock indignation and humour. ~I promise not to ask for your help during any tests.~
"All right settle down, you lot," announced Gregory Proteus. He was standing behind the teacher's desk, leaning over it with both hands on its top. He smiled amiably and said, "It's not like this class is a Muggle CD that we can pause or rewind if you're not paying attention."
Harry, quite naturally, almost fell out of his seat.
For a moment, several of them in fact, Harry wondered if perhaps his new professor could read minds. The idea would normally have seemed ridiculous. However, since Harry had been doing just that with Ginny he had to wonder. The slightly bemused, yet also mysterious smile Gregory wore did not help dissuade him from this disturbing thought.
The Gryffindors quickly ceased their conversations and sat up straight. Harry glanced at Hermione to see if she had noticed anything, but his friend was already paying studious attention to the two professors at the front of the class.
"For the sake of clarity," began Hilary Proteus, pulling out the chair behind the desk and reclining lazily in it, "since there are two Professor Proteuses, we'd like for you to call us either Hilary or Gregory in order to avoid confusion."
"Yes, Ms Granger?" asked Gregory as Hermione's left hand shot up.
"Professor Proteus-" she began and lowered her arm.
"Gregory," interrupted Gregory, correcting her and smiling mischievously as he did.
Hermione's face showed her unease. Harry had to smile though when she quickly collected herself and resumed by saying, "Professor Gregory."
Nobody was able to completely stifle their snickers of amusement, especially the two professors, who seemed delighted by Hermione's impromptu designation. Hilary, clapping her hands together in light applause, smiled up at Gregory as he leaned back against the blackboard.
"Yes, Hermione, what's your question?" he asked.
"Isn't it... inappropriate to use your given names?"
Gregory bobbed his head around and finally shrugged his shoulders before answering. "To some degree I suppose it is, but we won't tell the other members of staff if you don't." He ran a hand through his unruly mahogany hair and asked, "Any other questions before we begin today's lesson?"
None of the students seemed to think of anything particularly important and so Gregory pushed off from the blackboard he had been leaning against. He quickly crossed to the desk that Hilary was still lounging behind and lifted something up from behind it and settled it on top of the desk, in full view of the students.
"Excellent," he said as he moved the large, covered cage. He placed a hand on the cover and in a very serious voice said, "I must ask you not to scream."
Harry, feeling an extreme sensation of déjà vu, shared an apprehensive look with Hermione. They, as well as the rest of the Gryffindors, could clearly remember the last time one of their Defence teachers had placed a covered cage before them.
"Yes," Gregory said dramatically, whipping the cover off the cage and exposing to the class the creatures trapped within its bars.
The reactions from the Gryffindors could be broken down into many different categories. However, there was one aspect about them that was the same. Horror. Dumbstruck, disbelieving horror at what was revealed to them.
Parvati, whose long dark hair had suffered the ignominy of being chopped into an uneven looking crew cut by Madam Pomfrey several days earlier, gave a loud eep of alarm and immediately ducked underneath the desk. Lavender, sitting next to Parvati, uttered a similar sounding yelp and jumped out of her seat and backed up against the wall behind her.
Dean, obviously deciding to save what he could, began stuffing all of his books and rolls of parchment back into his bag. Seamus sat rooted to the spot, looking very pale and staring with disbelieving wide brown eyes and a shocked open mouth. Neville, who was seated between the two boys, immediately clamped his hands over his ears and began whimpering in a decidedly un-Gryffindor-like manner.
Next to Harry, Hermione fumbled about her robes with her left hand before grabbing her wand and aiming it unsteadily at the cage. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and she swallowed convulsively several times as her wand trembled in her hand.
Harry simply sank his head against the desktop with a soft thud.
"Yes," repeated Gregory with a dramatic flourish, "freshly caught Cornish pixies."
"Have you lost your mind?"
Harry looked up when Hilary asked this, silently hoping that perhaps only the one half of the two new professors was insane. He could all too clearly remember the pandemonium the Cornish pixies had caused four years before when Gilderoy Lockhart had presented them to the class.
Gregory, grinning in a manner not unlike Fred and George, said, "According to my business partners, yes."
"My brothers are hardly a pair of men I'd trust to make any judgement with regards to your, mine or anyone else's sanity," stated Hilary, rolling her eyes and shifting in her seat.
Gregory shrugged helplessly and turned back to the class, where the students were beginning to recover from the surprise of seeing the pixies. Parvati was peering cautiously over the top of the desk she was hiding under. Lavender had pried herself away from the wall and resumed her seat while Dean had apparently decided to wait and see what happened before making a break for it. Neville, however, was still covering his ears.
"No need to get so worked up about it," mentioned Gregory, sitting on the corner of the desk next to the pixie cage. He wagged a finger at his students, smiling with what seemed to be his customary good humour. "I know all about your little 'adventure' with these particular creatures during your second year. However, I should point out I am hardly as inept as that bumbling charlatan Lockhart was."
He rose up from the desk and indicated both Hilary and the pixie cage. "I'm here, with my lovely wife along for the ride, to teach you how to deal with these and other creatures. Just dumping you in the deep end of the pool without any prior experience is not the way I teach. Most of the time."
"As I recall," observed Hilary, "the first time you ever taught anything, your students lived in mortal terror of being called down to assist you in your demonstrations."
"Yes, well," he retorted, "we all have our little problems."
***
The remainder of the lesson proceeded relatively well after that, once the students had recovered from the shock of seeing the pixies again. Harry had to admit that, after the initial worry, it had actually been an informative and enjoyable experience. Well, perhaps not all that informative since Harry had the collective knowledge and wisdom of the Order on the Phoenix as his beck and call. Despite this, he had still enjoyed the class just as much as he did when Professor Lupin had taken it, perhaps even more so.
The two professors had worked well together and played off against each other in perfect harmony. After giving a brief, yet comprehensive, description of pixies and their habits, Professor Gregory as they had quickly come to call him, had proceeded to demonstrate neatly and efficiently how to control the little terrors.
Professor Gregory's manner of teaching, assisted by his wife --they apparently alternated their lesson plans-- was a style Harry found very comfortable. It was not unlike his own actually, when he taught Practical Fighting Techniques, although much more refined and somewhat less likely to send his students to the infirmary afterwards.
How I wish we'd had these two back in second-year, instead of that idiot Lockhart.
~Anyone would've been better than Lockhart~ agreed Ginny, who, Harry knew, was already on her way to Gryffindor Tower after finishing her class on Muggle Studies. Her thoughts were tinged with a cheeky amusement. ~Even Neville could fly circles around him - and you know how Neville is on a broom.~
The two professors were just dismissing the class, but only after giving them a short assignment to work on over the weekend. Harry, having packed his bag, tentatively offered to help Hermione with her own things, but received a very firm negative shake of her head.
Harry was more than a little worried, as he had been very aware throughout the class of how Hermione was struggling with her right arm. It was not only difficult for her to use her wand, but she was also struggling to write to her notes properly. Her hand, indeed her whole arm, tended to shake unsteadily when she tried to use it.
Nobody had said anything though, not even when it was clearly evident that Hermione was on the brink of tears by the lesson's end.
He was almost out of the classroom, trailing after Hermione who was leading the way, when he was stopped by Professor Gregory's voice. "One moment, Harry," he had called, walking unhurriedly over to the doorway. "If it's not a bad time I'd like to speak with you for a few minutes in my office."
Harry paused and glanced at Hermione. He was worried about her and had been intending to escort her back to Gryffindor Tower before they went down for dinner. He was about to explain this when Hermione shook her head and waved him off with her good arm. "Don't fret, Harry," she said with a hint of annoyance, "I'm just going to start writing that letter you wanted me to send."
"Okay," he acquiesced reluctantly. After a pause he told her, "You can use Hedwig to deliver it. Just wait for me so that we can go to the Owlery together before dinner."
Hermione nodded in agreement and hurried down the corridor, holding her right arm close to her side as she went. Harry watched her go with a bit of trepidation, but was relieved to see that Neville, as well as Lavender and Parvati had hung back in their own trek to the tower and were quickly moving to keep Hermione company.
From behind him Gregory clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "She'll be fine. Now why don't we get to the office? I believe you know the way."
"I'll let you two play by yourselves," said Hilary from inside the classroom. She was still sitting at the teacher's desk and was sprawled idly in the chair. Tucking a stray strand of her golden hair behind one ear, she told them, "I'm going to the library to find material for next week's lessons. I'll see you in the Great Hall."
"So what's your opinion of my darling wife?" Gregory asked after they had walked together a fair distance down the corridor leading to the professors' office.
Harry's first thought was along the lines of, I think the two of you are amongst the craziest people I've ever met. Including Fred and George.
Harry's second and third thoughts were identical to this.
Harry's fourth thought was to be diplomatic and so he said, "She's... interesting."
"You have no idea," grinned Gregory as they strode along. The professor's sea-green eyes were twinkling with merriment not unlike Dumbledore's often did as he said, "Y'see, Harry, they say men are from Mars and women are from Venus. My wife, on the other hand, is from some distant planet that astronomers have yet to discover."
It was lucky for Harry that they had reached the professors' office and had stopped just outside the door, otherwise he might have tripped over his own feet. Gregory laughed and clapped him on the back as he swung the door open and gestured for Harry to enter.
Harry had never been inside the office during the time, in his first year, when Professor Quirrel had held the post. He had, however, ventured within during the tenures of the other professors that had taught him over the years. Professor Lockhart, in Harry's second-year, had covered over the walls of the room with dozen of pictures and posters of himself, all smiling inanely. Remus Lupin, during Harry's third and fifth years, had filled the room with all manner of strange and interesting specimens he was planning to teach about. Barty Crouch Jr, who had been masquerading as Mad-Eye Moody in Harry's fourth year, had played the part of an eccentric and paranoid old Auror and had displayed his dark magic detectors wherever he could fit them.
By contrast to all these the office was now completely empty and bare of any sort of decoration or paraphernalia. Instead there were only two barren desks, with accompanying chairs. A few books were scattered about, although Harry recognised them as being copies of the set textbooks which the students themselves used. The walls and the many shelves along them sat empty of anything to indicate the nature or personalities of the two professors using the room.
"I know it's a little bare at the moment," Gregory said, following Harry into the office. "It's just that our departure from home was something of a rush, so we didn't have the time to bring anything with us. We quite literally arrived in Hogsmeade with nothing but the robes we were wearing."
The only thing Harry saw that had not been supplied by Hogwarts itself, was sitting on a small table in one corner of the room. It looked suspiciously like a Muggle electric kettle, but without an electrical cord to plug it in. Resting next to the kettle was a silver tea set, surrounded by a wide assortment of small boxes and tins. Other than these few innocuous items the room was completely Spartan.
"Coffee, Harry?" asked Gregory, striding over to the table and kettle, while motioning for Harry to pull up a chair in front of the one desk.
"No thanks," Harry declined, sitting in the proffered chair, "I don't like coffee all that much, really."
Gregory set the kettle boiling, having evidently enchanted it earlier to run without electricity. Harry wondered if this meant that Mr Weasley would have to arrest him, since it was technically illegal to charm Muggle objects.
"I quite agree," concurred Gregory, setting up a pair of teacups next to the kettle and reaching into one of the tins. "Too bitter for my taste, but my wife loves the stuff."
"So does Ginny," commented Harry, reading the label of the tin Gregory was searching through and seeing that it was a brand of mint-flavoured tea.
Gregory placed the tea bags in each cup. "I know," he said as he lifted the kettle and poured their drinks. Setting the kettle down, he picked up the teacups and placed them on a small silver tray with some milk and sugar. He crossed to the desk Harry was sitting by and set the tray down in front of Harry before dropping into the chair on the other side of the desk.
"Help yourself to some milk and sugar once the tea's drawn," he offered, waving at the respective containers. "I hope you don't have any objections to drinking tea? I think we have some hot chocolate if you'd prefer that…"
"No," confirmed Harry, "in fact, mint tea is my favourite."
The sociable professor grinned. "Mine too. Hilary's rather partial to the taste as well, although she never drinks it."
Harry reached for the milk jug and poured a dollop into his cup. "What did you want to speak with me about, sir?"
Gregory was busy spooning sugar into his cup and answered without looking up. His voice, until now fairly light-hearted and easygoing, was eminently serious. "Miss Granger."
"What about her?"
"My wife and I are not blind, Harry," said Gregory, offering him the sugar. "In fact I think just about everyone is more than able to see the difficulty she is having adjusting to her injury."
"It hasn't even been a week," Harry replied cautiously. "You can't expect her to become perfectly adept or comfortable with it in such a short time."
Gregory was stirring the milk into his tea and shook his head. "We don't. What we're worrying about is how she is adjusting on an emotional level. Hermione is a very independent and also very stubborn young lady. She might not be willing to admit that she will be needing help with tasks she was once perfectly capable of handling on her own."
Harry grimaced. "We'll be there for her. All of us."
"I don't doubt it," agreed Gregory, clinking his teaspoon lightly against the rim of his cup. "However you must find a way to help her when she needs it."
"Ginny and I are already working on it," admitted Harry, sipping at his tea. He looked with a touch of approval at his cup, pleasantly surprised by the quality of the drink. He mentioned as much to Gregory before continuing, "Unfortunately it will take years before we can help her regain full use of her arm."
"Oh?" Gregory cocked his head in question, "What's the delay?"
Harry frowned and set his tea aside, "The potion we're considering is very... intricate. And many of the ingredients are either very rare or need to be obtained as specific times. The earliest we could manage to brew it won't be for another seven or eight years."
A sad smile of understanding graced Gregory's lips as he nodded. "Until then, Harry, you and your friends will have to help her in other ways. Maybe not as grandiose as fully restoring her arm, but just as important to her. Something, a goal, in her life for her to strive towards. A distraction from her troubles if you will."
"I'm always open to suggestions, sir."
"It's her right arm that was injured, Harry," Gregory leaned forward, his eyes narrowed into a penetrating gaze that seemed to challenge Harry. He smiled knowingly, "If her right hand can no longer be used as she needs, teach her to use her left hand."
Harry shook his head. "But that would take months, maybe even years..."
"Not necessarily," replied Gregory, lifting his cup to his mouth. "You're ambidextrous, aren't you, Harry? But you were born right-handed. Until your fifteenth birthday the only thing you used your left hand for was as a place to strap your wristwatch."
Harry was immeasurably relieved that the professor didn't say anything further about the possible uses Harry might have found for his left hand. He certainly did not want to be embarrassed in front of a man he had only just met. His relief, however, only lasted until Gregory smirked and added, "Among other things."
***
Their conversation had gone reasonably well, which pleased Gregory as he watched Harry depart his office and silently make his way to Gryffindor Tower. He smiled as he recalled the younger man's acute embarrassment earlier.
Some things can't be changed, he thought to himself as Harry disappeared around a corner.
"He looks just like I did at that age," Gregory mentioned when he felt a presence behind him.
His wife, Hilary, came to stand next to him. She slipped an arm around his waist and leaned slightly against him. Her hazel eyes were sparkling as she said, "You certainly were cute - what happened?"
Gregory rolled his eyes before ducking his head down to lightly brush his lips against hers. After they separated from the kiss, he asked, "Did you manage to plant the book in the Restricted Section?"
"Yes," Hilary confirmed with a sharp nod. "It went off without a hitch. Madam Pince didn't notice a thing. Are you sure they won't discover it's a fake?"
"They won't," he stated confidently. He was still looking at the corridor Harry had walked down, his expression taking on a slightly pensive note.
Hilary noticed his changing mood and asked, "He's certainly going to have an interesting night tonight, isn't he?"
His laughter rang softly through the air as he nodded in agreement, "All three of them are, though I think Harry's morning is going to be far more interesting than his night will be."
TBC...