[Living For Tomorrow] Chapter 5 - Unforgettable

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Chapter 5 - Unforgettable

A scratched and old blackboard, desks lined up to the walls of the room, and a white circle painted in the middle of a dusty hardwood floor; it was the old, no longer used DADA classroom. Harry Potter and Professor Flitwick had made it their base for their duelling training sessions.

“Piertotum Locomotor!” 

As Harry cast that spell and pointed at one of the desks on the side, the piece of furniture appeared to come to life. Under his command, the desk’s four legs started moving like the flexible limbs of a living being. The desk started performing all sorts of spectacular flips and agile attacks, almost like a kung fu fighter. 

“Excellent spellwork, Mr Potter! I couldn’t have done it better myself!” Flitwick praised him and clapped his hands in enthusiasm. 

But the boy didn’t share his excitement. 

“Professor, when will we start actual duelling practice?”

The Charms Professor had been tutoring Harry for two months now, but they had yet to have even one proper duel. Until then, Flitwick had only made him practice his aim, his footwork, and basic spells such as the Lumos Charm, the Shielding Charm, the Stunning Charm, the Disarming Charm, and so on. 

It was only recently that he had started asking Harry to practice his Animation Charm, but even then, the professor had yet to teach Harry any spells or techniques that he did not know already. Most of those Charms were spells that even third and fourth-year students knew how to cast. 

“The basics are very important, Mr Potter. I cannot stress that enough.”

At the unconvinced look on his face, the tiny professor smiled. 

“How about a small demonstration? Let us have a duel. I shall not use any curses and no Transfiguration or Conjuration spells. I shall only use the Charms I’ve been making you practice so far. You may use whichever spells you want.”

Harry immediately perked up at his proposition. 

“Is that really alright?” he asked for confirmation. 

Professor Flitwick snickered under his moustache. 

“Don’t worry. It will be over in seconds. I will even let you cast the first three spells without retaliating,” he boasted uncharacteristically, almost as if he was goading him.

Harry suspected that even with those self-imposed handicaps, Flitwick still would mop the floor with him, but he could not help his rising excitement at the thought of fighting against a famous Duelling Champion like him. 

The two of them presented their wands as a sign of respect before walking to the edge of the circle painted on the floor. 

“You may start,” Flitwick said. 

Harry was quick to fire a Blasting Curse, and he even did it nonverbally at that. But Flitwick merely batted his spell away with his wand, not needing to cast a full-powered Shielding Charm for the sake of stopping it. 

He fired a Cutting Curse and a Conjunctivitis Curse but Flitwick easily sidestepped his Cutting Curse and cast a Shielding Charm to protect himself against the third. 

“You’ve had your chance. Prepare yourself,” Flitwick warned him before his wand became alight. 

The moment Harry saw the first ray of light, he instinctively cast a Shielding Charm and closed his eyes. And it was not a moment too late because, a split second later, a blinding white light, so bright that it hurt his eyes even through his closed eyelids, filled the room. 

The light had yet to fade away when his Shielding Charm rippled as a group of heavy objects slammed themselves against it. 

Gritting his teeth, Harry dropped his shield and instantly cast the strongest version of the Banishing Charm that he knew before Flitwick’s animated desks could land a hit on him:

“Depulso Maxima!”

All the objects around him were blown back violently, but the tiny professor did not say a word. Merely pointing his wand in front of him, all the desks and chairs froze in midair.

Harry took the chance to fire an Expulso Curse, aiming through the gap between the floating desks, but Flitwick merely tilted his head to avoid his spell. 

The boy was not given a chance to fire another attack because, right after firing that Expulso Curse, the desks and chairs frozen in the air were hurled back at him. 

Just as Harry was about to cast a Shielding Charm once more, the tiles under his feet unexpectedly moved courtesy of Flitwick’s Levitation Charm, and Harry lost his balance, stumbling back several steps. In a hurry to regain his balance and panicking at the sight of the numerous desks being hurled at him, Harry did not even see the red jet of light that slammed into him. 

It was only after his wand was snatched out of his hand and he was blasted backwards that he understood what happened: he had lost. From the beginning until the end of their short duel, he had played into Professor Flitwick’s palm. 

Flitwick walked to Harry and handed him his wand. 

“Shielding Charm, Lumos Charm, Animation Charm, Freezing Charm, Levitation Charm, and a Disarming Charm. These are the only spells I used. As you can see, merely knowing powerful curses does not turn someone into a skilled duellist. Strategy, casting speed, reaction speed, good aim, and rich creativity are far more important. Mastering the basics comes first. Only when casting these basic Charms becomes as easy and natural as breathing for you, only then will I teach you more offensive spells, and we’ll start duelling in earnest.”

⁂

Later that evening, Fleur was in the Common Room, playing Exploding Snap with her three friends, Elspeth, Elora, and Simon, the 6th-year Prefect. 

Normally, the classy white and blue Ravenclaw Common Room was rather quiet because many Ravenclaws liked to study in their tower instead of going to the library. But, seeing as it was Friday evening, not even the Ravenclaws were studying. The ruckus that Fleur and her friends were causing when their cards blew up did not cause a conflict; instead, quite a few other of their housemates joined them. 

When Harry returned from his Duelling training with Flitwick, he was surprised to see the first and second floors of the Common Room filled with groups of students who were having fun, playing Exploding Snap or Gobstones.

Noticing his arrival, Fleur waved at him and called out his name. 

“‘Ey, “Arry, do you want to play Exploding Snap with us?”

“Oh, hey. Sorry, mate. I’m a little too tired today. Maybe some other time.”

It was less about tiredness and more because of how troubled he was. 

After showering and brushing his teeth, he changed into his pyjamas and got into bed. Alas, he could not easily fall asleep; his mind kept replaying his duel against Professor Flitwick.

‘I couldn’t do anything. I was completely helpless . . . He beat me without even trying.’

‘But what if it was Voldemort instead of Flitwick? What if Voldemort was trying to kill my brother again, like last year, and I didn’t have the element of surprise? What could I have done to stop him?’

Tortured by that sort of thought, it was barely two hours later that he finally closed his eyes. But, somehow, his consciousness did not fade away after falling asleep.  

‘Not this again. Oh, god, not again,’ Harry prayed. 

He knew what was coming. 

⁂

He was in the body of his four-year-old self again. He was drawing a picture on a piece of paper. He was not particularly talented, as all the figures he was drawing looked like sticks, but his parents were watching him with hard-to-contain smiles on their faces. 

It was a drawing of what looked like a happy family. The two bigger figures were holding each other hands. A smaller figure was holding the hand of the one who looked like the father, while the mother had a small, oval bundle in her arms, a baby. 

Seeing his older son drawing a picture of their family and his wife slowly swaying with their youngest child to put him to sleep, James smiled. It did not take much for a normal man to be happy: a pretty wife, healthy children, and a warm and cosy home was the dream of many—and he was living that dream. 

James ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately and pecked Lily on the cheek before standing up. 

“I’ll go put on some tea. Chamomile or Rooibos?” he asked. 

“Rooibos,” Lily answered. 

Harry wanted to shout, “Dad, don’t go! At least take your wand with you!”

But not a sound came out of his mouth. Trapped in his younger self’s body, Harry could do nothing but watch as his father walked to his death. 

“I want Chamomile!” his younger self piped in too, making both parents grin at how cute he was. 

“Sure, sure, you’ll get your chamomile,” James said with a laugh as he left the bedroom. 

A few seconds after James left, a peculiar sound like that of the sound of glass breaking in the distance was heard, and Lily’s face became livid.

“Lily, he’s here! Take the children and run! I’ll hold-”

“Avada Kedavra!”

His younger self didn’t know what was happening, but the panic on his mother’s face set him on edge, and he looked at her, scared. 

With little Matthew sleeping in her arms, Lily grabbed Harry’s arm tightly too and tried to Disapparate together with her children. 

For a moment, their silhouettes appeared as though they were warping in space. It looked like she had succeeded . . . only for all three of them to be pushed back and sprawl on the bed forcefully. 

Startled by the abrupt, rude awakening, little Matthew started crying out loud. 

Knowing she could not pacify Matthew instantly, Lilly stood up as quickly as she could and grabbed Harry in her arms, running with him to the closet. 

“Mommy, what’s happening?” Harry asked in fear, on the verge of crying. 

Lily almost burst into tears. It took a superhuman effort not to start crying. She forced herself to smile instead. Those were her final moments; she was sure of that. She wanted Harry’s last memory of her to be that of a brave mother who smiled and protected her children until the end. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said in a whisper. “Stay here, and don’t come out. And don’t make a sound. Can you do that? Please, Harry.”

His younger self nodded obediently, and Lily hurriedly closed the doors of the closet and rushed back to baby Matthew, who was crying on the bed. 

Although the doors were closed, Harry could still see what was happening outside through the gaps in the closet doors’ louvre. 

He saw him. Red, demonic eyes peeked from underneath the hood of his long, black cloak and a deathly-white pale hand wielding a white yew wand. He looked like the incarnation of the Death Reaper. 

“Not Matthew! Please, not Matthew!” his mother cried, putting herself between Voldemort and her child. 

“Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now!”

“Not Matthew, please no, take me, kill me instead!"

Voldemort tried to push her away, but his mother was relentless.

“Not Matthew! Please! Have mercy! Have-” 

However, the Dark Lord was not known for his patience. 

A blinding green light filled the room, and young Harry watched petrified with horror how his mother collapsed on the floor, never to make another sound. 

Voldemort laughed as he aimed his wand at the one-year-old boy crying on the bed. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

⁂ 

He woke up with a start and covered his face with his arm. Sensing the wetness on his forearm, he knew that he must have been crying in his sleep. 

For many years, Harry had wanted nothing more than to forget the scene of his mother being murdered in front of his eyes. However, he was different now. He still hated watching it all happen, but he did not want to forget it. 

He did not want to forget his brave parents, who had laid their lives down so that he could live.

He did not want to forget the monster who took away his family from him. 

He did not want the passing of time to dull his hatred. 

But, above all, he did not want to forget that feeling of despair and helplessness. He did not want to forget about his weakness as he could do nothing but hide and watch helplessly how his mother died. 

“Never again,” he whispered. 

He wiped the tears off his face and stood up from bed. He grabbed his wand from under his pillow, pulled the curtains of his bed to the side, and stood up. 

Grabbing his backpack (which held his training clothes, some fruits, and a bottle of water) from a chair close to the bed, Harry cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and left the bedroom. 

He did not know that his French roommate was still awake, having just returned from playing in the Common Room. 

Knowing that he sometimes got nightmares, Harry always cast a Silencing Charm when he went to sleep so Fleur did not hear him talking or crying in his sleep. 

However, although it was night and there were no lights in the room other than the rays of moonlight peeking through the tall windows, Fleur could clearly see him with her superhuman eyesight; she could see his dishevelled face and his red eyes.

⁂ One week later ⁂

“In today’s lesson, we will cover a truly thrilling event of the 18th century and all of its triumphs and tragedies. But more specifically, we will address the devastating effects it had on the wizard milling industry . . .”

It was the beginning of November, and the cold Scottish weather really started showing its fangs. Nonetheless, while the temperature in the corridors made one’s teeth clatter, the classrooms were warm and cosy. That, coupled with the heavy rain splashing rhythmically against the colourful stained glass of the large windows, the tiredness accumulated from sleeping too little every night, and Professor Binns’ droning voice made it a losing battle for Harry to stay awake. 

Stacking up a few books in front of him on his desk, Harry laid his head on his arms.

“Are you really going to sleep again? Are you not worried about your OWL? You ‘ave been sleeping in almost every ‘Istory class until now . . .” Fleur said in a whisper. 

“I have no plans on passing the History OWL.”

Fleur was stupefied, not having expected such an answer. 

“W-What?!”

“The History OWL is required only if you want to apply for a job at the Ministry of Magic, and even there, only the Department of International Magical Co-operation cares about it. Maybe the office positions in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures need it too. But other than that? I’d rather not waste my time learning about what Gorg the Rancid or Grank the Burly did 600 years ago.”

Elspeth, who was sitting at Fleur’s right, snickered. 

“Classical Harry. Don’t bother with him, Florent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“If a class isn’t about fighting or blowing up stuff, you don’t care about it.”

“You got me there.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned his head away from the two of them, burying his face in his elbow to block out the light.

Taking that as a sign that he was done talking, Elspeth and Fleur left him alone. Less than two minutes later, he fell asleep. 

But then, a rather loud voice came from the seat behind Harry’s, startling him awake:

“Professor Binns, may I ask a question?”

It was not only Harry who was unsettled by the question; the rest of the students all turned to glare at the one who dared to disturb the tranquillity of the History of Magic class. After all, Harry was not the only one who was taking a nap; one particularly daring Gryffindor boy had actually come to the class with a pillow. 

Professor Binns froze for a few seconds, seemingly not used to students participating in class. 

“Yes, Mr Bread?”

“It’s Brunt, sir. I’m Felix Brunt,” the boy corrected the professor, his face flushing in the process. 

A few snickers were heard when the ghost professor butchered Brunt’s name. 

“Ah, yes, what was your question, Mr Brunt?”

“I may be wrong, but it appears that the Golbin rebellion from 1762 exploded out of nowhere. Usually, before other Goblin rebellions actually started, there were various attacks and moments of social unrest. Why was this rebellion different?”

Professor Binns went to the blackboard and started writing as he explained:

“It would be wrong to look at the Goblin Rebellion from 1762 as an isolated event. From 1752 to 1762, a total of four Goblin Rebellions took place. They should be studied not as isolated rebellions but as events that belong to the same social movement. As you all know, two Ministers of Magic were fired in the process for their inability to deal with the situation. It was only after Hesphaestus Gore came in the office that the Goblin rebellion was snuffed out.”

As Professor Binns resumed his droning, the rest of the class fell back into a state of lethargy. Harry was about to lay his head on his arms and go back to sleep again when someone kicked his chair from behind. 

“What’s your problem, pillock?” Harry turned to glare at him. “Have you nothing better to do?”

It was not lost on Harry that even the earlier question that Felix Brunt asked the professor was for the sake of making noise and bothering him, not because he was exceedingly interested in the History of Magic. 

“Sorry, I was just stretching my legs,” Brunt said, playing the fool. 

The rest of the class continued in the same manner, with Brunt asking a question and making a fuss every time Harry appeared to fall asleep. It was to the point where the rest of the class was starting to get annoyed with him too. 

Due to Felix Brunt's irritating behaviour, Harry was forced to stay awake and listen to Professor Brunt’s lecture. 

“[...] Unlike other Goblin rebellions, the 18th-century rebellion consisted of other magical races such as Werewolves and, although they are only unconfirmed rumours, House Elves too.”

That particular tidbit of information caught Harry’s attention, and he actually asked a question himself for the first time since he came to Hogwarts.

“Professor Binns?”

Maybe because Felix Brunt had already asked him several questions during that class, the ghost professor did not appear to be surprised when yet another student called out his name. 

“Yes, Mr Potter?”

“What the heck, why does he remember his name but not mine?!” a voice came from behind, but Harry ignored it in favour of asking Professor Bins his question.

“What makes you think that House Elves were involved in the Goblin rebellion too?”

“There are two main reasons for that. The first reason is that the Goblins and Werewolves managed to stay one step ahead of the Ministry of Magic for the better part of the decade-long rebellion. It was why Minister Albert Boot and Minister Basil Flack could not quell the conflict and were fired. But that would not have been possible without a traitor or a spy amidst the wizards. There is absolutely no chance for a wizard to have sided with the Goblins, especially during those times when the hatred and discrimination between races were at their peak. Then, the next question would be: who else would be privy to information that only wizards and witches know? The House Elves.”

The discussion about House Elves raised the interest of other students too, and another Ravenclaw, a boy named Roman Inkwood, interjected:

“But, Professor, how could House Elves be part of the rebellion? They are magically bound to their masters, aren’t they? It’s simply impossible for them to betray us.”

“That is not exactly true,” Professor Binns corrected him. “House Elves are, indeed, bound by magic to serve their masters. But they can betray them at the cost of punishing themselves. If a House Elf hates their master enough to go as far as to mutilate or even kill themselves in the process, they could very well join hands with the enemy. Other than directly attacking their masters, the House Elves can work against them at the price of inflicting harm upon themselves, a level of punishment proportional with the gravity of their betrayal.”

That piece of information floored many of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students in class.  

“The second reason why I believe that the House Elves participated in the 18th-century rebellion alongside the Goblins and the Werewolves is that, only a few weeks after the death of Vargot in 1762, the rebellion fell apart. Keep in mind that Vargot was not the head of the rebellion; Urg the Unclean was. Vargot was just an infamous fighter among the Goblins’ ranks.”

“That being said, some historians suspect that Vargot was, in fact, a renegade House Elf and that he had ties with the community of bound House Elves. But after Vargot was killed in battle, there was nobody left to feed information about the wizards’ plans to the Goblins, so the rebellion fell apart.”

“Nevertheless, this is a conclusion I have reached based on unconfirmed information. It would be best not to take it as a fact.”

⁂

As Saturday drew close, a feeling of anticipation and excitement could be sensed among the students. 

Breakfast in the Great Hall that Saturday was a much noisier affair than usual. Whereas, usually, many students would be quiet and half-asleep during breakfast, it was completely different today. Not only were they all in high spirits, but it could also be seen that many were wearing some of their better clothes and that the girls had put in extra effort in making themselves pretty. 

Fleur was also very excited at the prospect of not only visiting Hogsmeade but also seeing her parents again after two months of being apart. 

But while the French boy was chatting in excitement with Elspeth and Elora about the things they were going to do and the places they were going to visit in Hogsmeade, Harry was reading the new edition of the Daily Prophet. 

Former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Armando Dippet, passed away in a potions accident by Rita Skeeter.

Having passed his Ancient Age Flying exam last year, Armando Dippet passed away earlier this week, only a month after his birthday, at the age of 355. The ancient wizard was found in his Potions laboratory by his neighbours when they came inside to check the cause of the pungent smell coming out of his house. The initial investigations of DMLE concluded that the feeble wizard must have accidentally lost his balance and fallen into the cauldron, drowning with the Invigoration Draught that he had been in the midst of brewing. 

Rita Skeeter was far from being Harry’s favourite journalist, but the article sounded less sensational than the usual rubbish she wrote so he kept on reading. 

‘How did this guy live 355 years?’ he thought in amazement. ‘He was born 100 years before the United States even became a nation.’

He wondered how much knowledge Armando Dippet must have amassed during such a long life.

‘How many rare and secret spells did he know? Is there any country on Earth he has not been to at least once?’

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when someone called out his name. 

“What about you, ‘Arry? What will you do in ‘Ogsmeade?”

“Huh? I’m not going,” he replied. 

“I don’t want to sound nosey, but may I ask why?” she asked curiously. 

“I’ve already seen what there is to be seen in Hogsmeade.”

“Ah, I see. . .”

Seeing the French boy’s downcast look, Elora let out a sigh. 

“We told you not to bother with him. This lazy bum never does anything with us.”

“I don’t think ‘Arry is lazy. He may just have other plans,” Fleur unexpectedly defended him. 

“Mhm. I’m going to help Matt with his homework,” Harry confirmed. 

“Ah, forget about him, Florent. Elora and I will take you everywhere!” Elspeth said, quite excited at the prospect of going on a date with the gorgeous French boy. 

“Hey, don’t leave me out of it!” Simon piped in too. “I want to come with you all too!”

“I don’t recall hearing anyone invite you,” Elspeth shot back at him. 

Fleur glanced at Elspeth and then at Simon. 

‘At Beauxbatons, someone tried to sue me for stealing her boyfriend. I might get sued here for stealing people's girlfriends instead.’

She did not know whether to laugh or to cry. She had not expected girls to show such a strong interest in her, but she was not blind; Fleur knew that Elspeth was crushing on her, thinking that she was a boy. But Fleur could also see that Simon fancied the vivacious redhead despite Elspeth’s antagonistic attitude towards him. 

“Come on, Lizzie, don’t be like that. Why not let 'im come with us too? The more, the merrier.”

“I mean, s-sure, if you insist,” Elspeth sputtered, caught off guard that Florent would use her nickname instead of calling her by her full name like always. 

Simon flashed Florent a grateful smile. 

But while Fleur was carefully juggling with social life matters, Harry went back to reading his newspaper, not concerned in the least with the inner dynamics of their little group. 

She looked at him quietly for a few moments. Despite living in the same bedroom as Harry for more than two months, she barely knew anything about him as a person. 

He was nice to her and helped her whenever she got in trouble, but he did not spend any time with her outside of classes. When he was not doing his homework or working on Professor Flitwick’s special assignments, Harry always disappeared off somewhere and only returned to the dorm very late at night, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning. 

At first, Fleur had been inclined to think that he just did not want to be friends with her. As time passed, however, she understood that he did not have anything against her in particular. He did not spend much time with the rest of their little group of friends either. 

But, above all, Fleur could not stop thinking about the scene from a week ago when she saw him waking up in the middle of the night, grabbing his backpack, and leaving the bedroom. She did not see him for two days straight, as Harry did not return to the Ravenclaw Tower until the end of the weekend.

Something unusual was going on with him and she was starting to get worried about him.