The Mentor- Part 2

AN: Back to a poll winner. Thanks for voting and hope you enjoy!

Casting-

Morgana- Martina Erregue

“Again, Harry.” Miss Le Fay instructed, her tone strict but not unkind. Her blunt, no nonsense teaching style was something that he’d become entirely accustomed to since starting his ‘remedial lessons’.

Every moment, from when he stepped foot in school until the final bell tolled, he spent with his mentor. Save for a recess for lunch where he chose to keep to himself. For months, it’d become his routine, and he couldn’t be happier for the change.

The middle of their personal classroom had been cleared of any obstruction. Miss Le Fay stood opposite him with only a small sphere between them. She stared at him intently, waiting for his next attempt.

There was no overeffusive movement or flourish, he just bent his arm at the elbow and extended his hand. There’s a time for style and showmanship and it only comes when the fundamentals are perfected. Her words echoed in his mind clearly.

Focusing on the ball, for what felt like the thousandth time of the day, and probably wasn’t that far from the truth, he attempted to push it away from him. He’d held it in his hand before. It was light, no more than a kilo in weight. Yet as he tapped into that newlly discovered, newly understood power within him, willing his magic to the fore, it did little more than shift forward before rocking back to its original position.

Sweat formed on his brow as he pushed with everything he could muster. And with his new regiment of potions intended to counter his previous malnourishment, he could muster far more than he used to. His arm started shaking, fingers flexing, veins popping along his forearm and yet, despite his efforts, it refused to budge. He dropped his arm with a gasp, not even realizing that he’d stopped breathing in his desperation to succeed.

His failure stung, but while he felt only disappointment, his teacher smiled, “Well done, Harry. You moved the ball.”

“Barely,” he grumbled.

Frowning, she stepped closer, looking him right in the eye, “Harry, what was the purpose of this exercise?”

“To force me to feel the connection between my will and my magic and make it manifest.” He recited her lesson word for word. It was the first time he could remember that someone took a genuine interest in him, and it made him an extremely attentive student. And I’m learning magic!  “Because understanding the connection properly will allow a wand, once I get it, to enhance my command and precision rather than become a liability that limits my ability to perform magic.”  

“Precisely,” she offered a reassuring smile, “and tell me, did you feel it just now, when you finally managed to move the ball?”

Reluctantly, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he conceded the truth, “Yes… I felt it.”

“Then it was a success.” She moved to his side and gestured to the ball, “Now, try again.”

Still drained from his last attempt, Harry didn’t hesitate to fall to her instruction. Again, he raised his hand, directing his magic. To his utter astonishment… it rolled. Granted it didn’t go flying across the room as he imagined, but it steadily kept rolling until a dull thud emanated as it hit the far wall.

Equal parts elated and confused, Harry turned to his mentor his brow furrowed, “How… did I do that?”

She tried to hide her chuckle, but didn’t quite manage it, “Because for the last… oh, half of your attempts, I was actively holding it in place with my own magic. I’m impressed that you managed to overcome it.”

“Why?” One thing he’d come to appreciate about his new mentor was that she encouraged questions, as many of them as he had.  She didn’t simply tell him to do something and then expect him to follow aimlessly.

“The answer is twofold,” She started him as she returned the ball to its original position with a casual flick of her finger, “You have enough natural affinity for magic that allowing you to attempt the task without added stressors would’ve resulted in near immediate success.”

He couldn’t see how his success could be negative in this situation, “And that’s bad because…”

“It isn’t inherently bad, Harry. But can you imagine why the alternative is better?”

He paused to think about it for a moment before answering slowly, the thought still fully forming as he spoke, “Because… if it was too easy… I might not fully connect and feel my magic.”

That caused a full-blown smile from his mentor and that made him feel far more accomplished than anything else, “Exactly! It’s also worth remembering that great ability, great people even, are often tempered and made through difficulty. When everything comes easily, it makes it more difficult to face true adversity.”

He nodded, taking in her every word, “And the second reason?”

“To prepare for a much more intricate understanding of magic.” She placed a hand on his head, “For now, you couldn’t sense my meddling, my magic, but with time and experience, you will.”

“And what happens when I can?” He asked.

“It becomes possible to find the slightest flaw in ancient wards, to rest control away from another magical of their own spells, to sense the smallest machinations and charms meant to influence you.” He hung on every word, enamored with any explanation of magic and its intricacies, even if it would be years until he understood them for himself.  

“Wicked…” he said without thinking only for her to laugh at his candidness. Blushing he rushed past it, “So, do we go again?”

Looking to her watch, she shook her head, “No, I think you’ll find that’s all for the day.” His shoulders slumped at the news. She reassured him, “None of this is going anywhere. It’ll all be waiting for you tomorrow… just like it was yesterday.”

“Of course, Miss Le Fay.” He replied softly, “it’s just far better being here than…”

“I know, Harry.” She comforted him, “but things have been better, yes?”

He nodded. His relationship with the Dursley’s changed since he started his ‘remedial lessons’ and he couldn’t help but suspect that his mentor had something to do with it. They weren’t kind to him by any stretch of the imagination, but rather than treating him as a live in servant they just… left him alone, mostly. He still had his chores, but he wasn’t punished for making small mistakes anymore. They even gave him a proper room.

“Good, now, be sure to do your reading tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Retrieving his bag from beside his desk, he tucked one, solitary book into it. It was a rather odd book, he’d come to find out. Their next lesson filled its pages each day, but never more than that. The first time he realized it, he had to ask Miss Le Fay why. Because there will come a time when you can fully explore every facet of magic with good sense as your guide. But, for now, you must walk before you run. Exploring the depths of magic without the necessary base can lead to awful things.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he headed for the door. As he left the room behind, he couldn’t wait until he returned the next day.

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Morgana didn’t know exactly what to expect of Harry when she first met him. She knew of his parents but had never met them personally. And even then, it would be unfair to assume that he’d be anything like his parents when he never truly knew either of them. What she made of him now that she had the pleasure of educating him was rather simple… he was exceptional. Every bit as inquisitive and capable as the pair of them if Amren is to be believed.

It was that undeniable brilliance that had left her evaluating the exact end goal of his mentorship.

She was pulled from her own musings by her pupil, “Miss Le Fay…”

Sitting behind his desk, there was a bubbling cauldron next to him and a spread of ingredients in front of him, currently waiting to be added as the potion simmered. He was working on the Wiggenweld Potion, something he’d learn when he reached Hogwarts as well. Given his forced habit of cooking, he’d proven to be rather adept at the fine art of potion making for someone his age, “Yes, Harry?”

Expecting a question about his current work, instead he broached a more sensitive topic, “When we first met… you said that someone was looking for me, that you were keeping a promise…” There was no real question there, but she understood.

Setting down her fountain pen, because she refused to remain mired in the need for an inkpot and quill, she gave his question all the considerable attention it deserved, “I was wondering when you’d ask me that.” Now that she knew him, she was fully aware that he wasn’t going to just forget such a significant statement.

“Was it my parents… that you promised, I mean.” She could understand the hope in his voice, but it ignored the very obvious fact that the someone looking for him was still around.

“No, Harry, I’m afraid I never met your parents.” He deflated slightly at that, so she added, “Though, I’ve only ever heard good things about them.”

“My Aunt Petunia says they were nothing more than lazy drunkards who got themselves killed in a car accident.” He said it so nonchalantly, as though it’d been drilled into his head for years.

Morgana didn’t pry into the details of his treatment at the Dursley’s, willing to wait until he broached the subject, even if she knew it wasn’t good. Instead, she placed subtle compulsions, tied directly to him but that went below the notice of the ward on Number Four to improve his life. Hearing such a terrible lie raised her hackles, and she had to force down the urge to go confront the two fools responsible, “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Moving from her seat, she sat on the edge of his desk looking down at him, “Your parents were magicals, just like you, and exceptionally talented ones at that.” He grinned as she confided, “There are others who can tell you more, but I know your mother was considered the brightest witch of her generation and a true prodigy in the field of charms. “

“And my dad?”

“Was brave and talented in the field of Transfiguration.” Amren knew less about James than Lily, and so Morgana knew even less than that.

“So,” The way he swallowed and nervously moved his hair away from his face, she knew he would ask a difficult question, “how did they die?”

There was no gentle way to explain such senseless violence, and she knew that he deserved the truth, or at least what she knew of it, “They were murdered in their home in Godric’s Hollow.”

He took the news better than most. He swallowed hard, his voice coming up raspy as he fought back tears, “Why?”

“There was a war in magical Britian, the Blood War,” he listened to her every word with rapt attention, “The blood purists, those who believed that only those born to two magical parents had a right to magic, were led by a man named Tom Riddle, the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort.”

“Dark Lord?”

“Along with Dark Lady, it’s a title ascribed to powerful magicals with command of dark, often esoteric, magic.” Whatever else she thought of him, she could concede this much at least, “Tom Riddle is one of the most powerful magicians of the last century at least.”

“And my parents fought against him?”

Morgana nodded, “With far more success than most. When they had you, they went into hiding but they were betrayed.” There was still the matter of Sirius that needed to be dealt with. Unfortunately, exonerating him would be mor difficult than freeing him, “Tom came for your family directly. He intended to wipe out the entire Potter family that night.”

“Me? He tried to kill me?” He panicked.

“Yes,” In her voice, a bit of magic calmed him, “Your mother’s sacrifice and an ancient ritual protected you. When he performed the Killing Curse on you,” Her hand went to his head, “it rebounded, eviscerating his body and leaving you with this…” She brushed her thumb across his scar.

“You said his body.” It wasn’t a question, just an astutely observed fact.

Aged and learned as she was, Morgana knew of the vile magic he used to unnaturally extend his life. She even knew of the aborted attempt to create another using Harry’s murder, and the resulting shard that attached itself to the very scar she’d just touched. She just didn’t know how far he’d gone in his pursuit of immortality.

Fortunately for Harry, his mother’s protection didn’t end in death. In time, she’d teach him the full scope of things, but only once she had a clearer picture of her own. For now, the basics would suffice, “Yes, his spirit remains tethered to the world by fragments of his soul imparted into at least one vessel.

“And… could he return to a body?” She expected him to sound worried. Horror would be perfectly understandable given the circumstances. Instead, he seemed determined.

“Yes, it’s possible.” The magic necessary would be incredibly difficult to achieve, especially as nothing more than a shade, but it was possible.

She could see the recognition behind his emerald eyes. If Tom ever returns to a body, he will want Harry dead beyond all others. He nodded seriously, “Alright.” Thinking that was the end of their conversation, she made to rise only for him to remind her, “I’m still curious who you promised.”

Morgana smiled, “An old friend, who also knew your mother.” Before he had the chance to ask, she added, “Her name is Amren, and it’s better if she explains things.”

“Will I meet her?”

“Yes.” Amren was eager to meet Harry but recognized that piling on too much too fast may not be the right way of going about things.  The Wiggenweld on the desk changed color and Harry quickly went back to work.

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It was the last day of Harry’s mundane school term, the third Friday of July, and they were having the same discussion for what must’ve been the twelfth time.

“So, it should be coming next week?” Harry asked.  His lessons were nothing short of fantastic, but he was looking forward to meeting wizards and witches his own age when he went to Hogwarts. It was odd to both dread and eagerly anticipate something at the same time.

“Yes, and remember…”

“Just tuck the letter away and open it when I’m alone.” Regardless of how much better life was with the Dursleys had become, they still despised all things abnormal. And telling them about my invitation to a school of witchcraft and wizardry would definitely qualify.

“Exactly, and then?” she asked.

“Meet you here, and you’ll accompany me to Diagon Alley to retrieve my school things.” He wasn’t sure how that was possible, considering he didn’t have any money, but he didn’t have any intention of getting bogged down in details.

“Good.”

He furrowed his brow, “And what am I supposed to do until then?” Since learning the truth of his parents’ deaths, his dedication to improving himself and learning everything he could about magic had become resolute. Even a week of lost time felt like too much.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of reading to do for the week.”  Miss Le Fay assured him, “I’ll have some things of my own that I need to attend to.”

“And while I wait to head off for Hogwarts?” He made no mention of just how much he’d miss her when he left.

“Our lessons will continue, no need to worry. Your school was a convenient excuse to introduce myself without any suspicion from your family, among others.” He understood, thanks to some of her offhand comments, that someone was keeping an eye on him, “Now that we know each other, alternative arrangements can be made quite easily.”

“Brilliant!” Harry didn’t try to hide his relief.

She chuckled slightly at that, “Now, if we could get back to the topic at hand…”

“Sorry, miss,” he said contritely.

“Which families comprise the Sacred Twenty-Eight?” His most recent assignment regarded magical history, something he needed at least a rudimentary understanding of before entering the world properly. Magicals, even those who don’t believe in blood purity, value their traditions. Offending them thanks to ignorance will be no less of an offense and make you unnecessary enemies where you could have neutrals onlookers or even fast friends.

“Abbott, Avery, Black, Bulstrode, Burke, Carrow, Crouch, Fawley, Flint, Gaunt, Greengrass, Lestrange, Longbottom, Macmillan, Malfoy, Nott, Ollivander, Parkinson, Prewett, Rosier,” He hesitated before recalling the next, “Rowle, Selwyn, Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Slughorn, Travers, Weasley, Yaxley.”

“Which of these are considered staunch blood purists?” she asked.

“Avery, Black, Bulstrode, Carrow, Flint, Gaunt, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Rosier, Travers, and Yaxely.”

“Significant because?”

“Members of all families named were either convicted or accused of serving Tom Riddle in the last blood war.”

“Very good,” She smiled, “Which family was labeled ‘blood traitor’?

“The Weasleys.”

“Why?”

“They spoke out against the list despite their inclusion, saying that they definitely had muggle ancestry and weren’t ashamed. The families who were proud of being included, or who wished they had been, labelled them in retaliation.”

“Were there any notable exclusions?”

Harry perked up at that question, replying proudly, “The Potters… and the Browns, Moodys, Crabbes, Goyles and Princes.”

“Why were the Potters, in particular, excluded?”

Harry frowned, “There was speculation that it was simply because Potter was a common muggle surname…”

“But?”

“But so are names like Black and Parkinson.” It must’ve sounded like complete gobshite at the time.

“True, so?”

“It’s more likely thanks to the outspoken pro-muggle stance of Henry Potter, Head of House Potter, in the Wizengamot at the time of the Pure Blood-Directory’s release.”

“The Wizengamot is…” She prompted.

“The predominant governing body for magical Britian, similar in structure to the House of Lords. It predates the Ministry of Magic.” He added one other tidbit he found quite interesting, “Houses can be Noble, Ancient, or Noble and Ancient depending on longevity and accolades.”

“You certainly took your reading seriously.” Miss Le Fay complimented him.

Flushing at her praise, he explained, “It was interesting, learning a little about my family history and… I don’t want to make a fool of myself when I head off to Hogwarts.”

“You won’t, Harry.” She said with such undeniable confidence that he couldn’t help but feel it himself, “Quite the opposite, I think.”

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“Now I believe that’s everything.” Morgana surveyed his list, deliberately avoiding one very important item.  The rest of his purchases were stowed in his trunk and shrunken down into his pocket for convenience.

They both knew she was just teasing him, but with a cheeky smile, he reminded her anyway, “I still need to get my wand.” He still looked very much like himself, save for the fact that she’d hidden his scar. Despite that no magical had seen him in over a decade, the whole of magical Britian knew of it.

“Ollivander’s should be, ah…” she looked just behind him, pointing to the worn side of the centuries old store, “just here.” It existed long before Diagon Alley and had been serving the witches and wizards of Britian since before even she was born. They moved it whole at least three different times, if memory serves.  

Showing an incredible amount of control, given the circumstances, Harry opened the door and headed inside. The store certainly made an impression with shelf after shelf stacked with wands in their cases. From within the stacks behind the counter, a raspy voice greeted her pupil, “Ah Mr. Potter… I was wondering when I’d be seeing you here.”

It was only then that he noticed her stepping through the door. There was no wizard alive, not even Nicholas or Pernelle Flamel, that could recognize her, but for some reason her presence gave the wandmaker pause, “Madame… how do you do?”

“Well enough, Mr. Ollivander.” She replied plainly, tone making it clear that he ought to focus on Harry.

“Shall we begin then?” Not waiting for an answer his measuring tape zipped around her pupil, “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. It feels like just yesterday that your parents stepped through my door.”

Always ravenous for any tidbit about his parents, he asked, “What were their wands made of, sir?”

Humming to himself, Ollivander grabbed one wand from the shelf before darting across the store to grab another, “James had a wand of mahogany, eleven inches, pliable… a perfect tool for transfiguration.” He grabbed a third wand before adding, “Lily’s was willow, ten-and-a-quarter inches, swishy… wonderfully suited to charms work.” Moving to Harry, he offered the first wand, “Try this.”

What followed was the difficult process of finding Harry a suitable match. A bottle shattered, the windows cracked, and he pulled hundreds of wands from the shelves, among other mishaps as he went through the process. Despite the struggle, Ollivander remained unflappably optimistic, “Worry not, for every wizard there is a match. You just must remember, it’s the wand that chooses the wizard.”

As the wandmaker disappeared behind his stacks, Harry turned to her, brow furrowed. She offered a reassuring smile before Ollivander emerged from the stacks. He didn’t say anything as he offered him another wand.

The response was immediate, the pulse in Harry’s magic as though it’d found a home… though something about it felt imperfect. The scrunch of Ollivander’s eyebrow made her think he realized it too, “Curious…”

“What’s curious, sir?”

“That wand is holly, eleven inches, its core a phoenix feather… from a phoenix that gave just one other feather.” He glanced from Harry to her before he continued, eyes darting to where his scar ought to be, “Its brother gave you that scar. But that isn’t all.”

“What else?” Morgana asked.

“The core is undeniably attuned to Mr. Potter, and the holly seems appropriate as well, but there’s something missing.”

“Missing?” Harry couldn’t hide his confusion.

“Most wands are made from a single wood and the core within, but there are exceptions.” Ollivander explained as he waved his own wand and several blocks of wood came to land on the counter from his workshop in the back, “Two pieces of wood can be grafted together to perfect the match. If you would, Mr. Potter, while holding your new wand take hold of each of these blocks.”

Falling to instruction, it was the third piece, dark, knotty, and still covered in bark that gave him pause, “This one.”

“Blackthorn,” The wandmaker held out his hand for the holly wand, “often associated with warriors. There are some who see the trees as sacred, as revered meeting places for the fairy folk.” His eyes darted to Morgana as he moved back to the counter, “Your wand will be ready in a few hours, Mr. Potter. You can pick it up at your convenience.”

As they left the shop, Harry commented, “That was interesting.”

“Very.” She agreed.

“So… should we just wait until it’s done or…?”

“No, there’s one last person I’d like you to meet.” She gestured for him to follow, “Come along.” They headed toward the apparition point, to keep up appearances, before she offered her arm. But rather than apparate, she stepped into the Otherworld.

Harry, astute as ever, surveyed the verdant landscape for just a moment before he realized, “I’ve been here before.”

From behind them, Amren replied, “You have. I was disappointed that I missed you, but it was probably for the best.”

Turning, Morgana made the necessary introduction as his eyes widened at the sight of the fae, “Harry this is Amren and…”

Unable to restrain herself, the fairy revealed, “I’m a relative of yours… your great-grandmother, actually.”

For the first time since meeting him, Morgana saw Harry stunned to silence. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

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AN: If this continues to win in the poll, I don't intend to labor every year, but these early moments feel necessary to set up the dynamic and establish how Morgana becomes part of his life. I figure two maybe three more chapters before a time skip.

Until next time!