Arcane Academy

Chapter 8

Harry walked silently beside Tristan as they headed back to their dorm room. He frowned and subtly glanced around the corridor, feeling as though someone was watching him. There was no one but Tristan and him in the corridor, though. Despite that, Harry’s frown deepened. For the past two weeks, ever since the Halloween festival in fact, he constantly felt like someone was watching him, and it was seriously beginning to creep him out because no matter how hard he looked, he never saw who the culprit was. His dorm room had become his only safe haven from the hidden eyes, and that was only because Zenith had warded the hell out of it.

“What’s wrong?” asked Tristan, looking down at the brunet.

Harry jumped slightly at the sound of Tristan’s voice and looked up at the faerie. “I feel like someone’s watching me.” He finally shrugged and smiled weakly. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid, though.”

Tristan frowned and looked intently around the corridor. A slight movement to his left caught his eye, and he growled softly when he realised what was going on. That damn bastard, Octavius, was using his shadows to spy on Harry.

“Do you see something?” asked Harry worriedly, looking toward the area Trisan was currently glaring. He didn’t see anything, though. It was just one of the many shadowy spaces along the corridor.

The shadows were completely still now, and Tristan sighed softly before turning back toward Harry. “No, nothing’s there.” He didn’t know what that demon was up to, but he was certainly going to find out. Octavius would die a slow and painful death if he even though about hurting Harry in any way.

Once back in their room, Harry found a letter waiting for him on his bed. He picked it up and smiled happily when he saw Remus’ familiar handwriting. He couldn’t wait to find out what the twins had done to Dumbledore this week. Remus’ weekly letters, detailing the twins’ antics with accompanying photo, never failed to brighten his mood. Just last week, the werewolf had sent photos of Dumbledore wearing red robes with devil horns on his head and a long forked, red tail lashing angrily behind him. The Headmaster’s white beard was replaced with a thin, curling moustache, and a short goatee. Now that was a fitting image for the old man.

Harry eagerly opened the letter and pulled out the enclosed photo. One look at the image, and he laughed so hard his sides began to hurt. Dumbledore’s hair and beard were replaced with dozens of tiny snakes, hissing and biting at the old man. What made it even better was the fact that Harry understood every insult the snakes spouted.

Tristan sat on the bed beside Harry, wondering what had caused his laughter and blinked in surprise at the photo. “It’s a male gorgon. That’s a first.”

“Gorgon?” asked Harry curiously, unfamiliar with the term.

“Yeah, you know like Medusa from Greek mythology,” said Tristan.

Harry just stared blankly at the redhead. He felt that he should know what Tristan was talking about, but they hadn’t discussed Greek mythology at Hogwarts, and he’d never gone past primary school of his muggle education.

Tristan shook his head in exasperation. “There were three gorgons in Greek mythology. All of them were female, and two of them were immortal. Medusa, however, was killed by a Greek hero named Perseus. The gorgons had venomous snakes rather than hair, and their gaze could turn any living creature into stone.”

“So they were basically half human, half basilisk?” asked Harry, grinning when Tristan nodded. He then smirked down at the photo. “How fitting.”

Tristan saw the smirk and couldn’t help but ask. “Seriously, Harry, what did that man ever do to you? That way, I can make sure I never do the same. I don’t know if I could survive the resulting humiliation.”

Harry tensed at the question, ears laying flat against his head. “I doubt you ever have to worry about that, Tristan.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Tristan warily.

“Unless you succeed in almost killing me, of course,” said Harry flatly.

Tristan stared at Harry in horror. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, he didn’t dirty his own hands with the deed, but he was certainly just as responsible,” said Harry calmly. “After all, he is the one who left me in care of magic hating muggles after my parents died. I’m sure you can imagine their response to being burdened with the very thing they hated.”

Ignoring the soft growl of fury from Tristan, Harry continued his story with forced calm. “When I started at Hogwarts, I got a reprieve from their abuse for nine months, but the school turned out to be just as dangerous in its own way. Dumbledore had a nasty habit of setting up events so that I would be forced to face the very man who killed my parents, barely surviving each encounter. However, each summer, I was forced to return to my relative’s house. For my safety, of course.”

Harry’s fists clenched in remembered rage at what happened next. “This summer was the worst. Almost as soon as I got back to my relative’s house, my uncle beat me until I was unconscious. I was only there a few days, but each night, Vernon would come into my room and beat me as viciously as he could. Fortunately, my aunt finally grew a spine and contacted Remus. When he found me, I was in a coma and very near death’s door.”

“What happened then?” asked Tristan in a whisper. He couldn’t believe anyone could be so cruel to someone as kind-hearted as Harry.

“Remus informed Dumbledore that he was taking me to St. Mungo’s for my injuries, and the Headmaster threatened to have him arrested for kidnapping if he took me out of the house. His plan was to send the school’s Potions Master to heal me enough to keep me alive and to leave me be.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tristan burst out angrily. “What the hell was that man thinking?”

Harry just gave him a mirthless smile. “Remus, of course, refused. Snape, the Potions Master, proved to be an invaluable help. When he saw the state I was in, he healed me to the best of his abilities and told Remus to take me and get as far away as possible. He then told Dumbledore that we were already gone when he arrived.”

“How did you get away, though?” asked Tristan intently. “That bastard can’t find you, can he?”

“My best friend’s oldest brother, Bill, gave us a portkey to his cottage in Egypt,” said Harry with a slight smile. “He figured that Dumbledore would never suspect him from helping us because Dumbledore had just tried to Obliviate him about my true condition.”

“You’re right then,” said Tristan abruptly. At Harry’s bemused look, Tristan added, “I’ll probably piss you off more times than you count, but I will never willingly hurt you like that. Or let anyone else, for that matter.”

Harry stared at the faerie in surprise before a sweet smile crossed his face. “I know.” As much as that warmed his heart, though, he knew he would eventually have to return to England to face Voldemort, and Tristan just couldn’t protect him from that, no matter how much he may want to. That stupid prophecy mandated that he was the only one who could kill the snake-faced bastard, after all.

The bedroom window suddenly swung open, and a falcon swooped into the room with a letter clutched in its beak. The falcon flew toward Tristan and dropped the letter in his lap before flying back out the window, which shut back automatically. Tristan scowled and opened the letter. The scowl quickly turned into a fulminating glare the longer he read until finally, he tossed the letter aside with a disgusted sneer.

“Bad news?” asked Harry hesitantly.

“My oh so loving parents decided to go on a six month diplomatic mission to the Veela nation in France, so I’m stuck here during the Christmas holidays,” said Tristan irritably. “They do this every damn year. Last year, they went to the Elemental nation in Greece, and the year before that was the Inu Yokai nation in Japan. It’s been this way ever since Callandra died. Although they deny it, I guess they really do blame me for letting Apollo hurt her like that. I tried to tell her he was no good, but she refused to listen to me. Apollo was her world, and he destroyed her.”

Harry’s ears drooped in sympathy. “Tristan,” he said softly, stemming the words of blame uttered by Tristan. “Callandra’s death was not your fault. You tried to help her, and she refused your help. She trusted the wrong person and was hurt for it. It was not your fault. And quite frankly, if your parents can’t see that, then they are complete and utter fools.”

Tristan stared at Harry in shock. Harry was the only one besides his grandmother who had defended him like that. The rest of the family was perfectly content to follow his parents’ example and place the blame for Callandra’s death squarely on his shoulders. In fact, they’d probably rejoice if they were never forced to see him again.

Harry suddenly grinned and bounced on his feet excitedly. “Since you won’t be going home for the holidays, why don’t you spend them with me and Remus? I’m sure he and Bill won’t mind the added company.”

“You want to spend the holidays with you?” asked Tristan softly, a small kernel of hope unfurling in his chest.

“Of course. Christmas is much better when you’re surrounded by friends and family,” said Harry happily. He heard Tristan sigh softly, and he looked at the faerie only to see an unbearably sad look on the redhead’s face. “You don’t want to?”

“I do,” said Tristan quickly. “I was just surprised is all. You’re the first one who’s ever asked me.” He smiled slightly and tugged on Harry’s ear. “Perhaps you should ask your guardian if it’s alright first, though.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow,” Harry promised. For some reason, though, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d disappointed Tristan in some way. Perhaps he would discover why over the holidays.

XxX

Harry hurried into the dining hall, feeling a bit paranoid. Once again, he’d felt like he was being watched, and it was beginning to wear on his nerves. As he walked into the dining hall, he felt something grab his ankle and tug. Harry fell forward only to crash against someone’s chest rather than the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” said Harry quickly. He tried to step back, but strong arms wrapped around his waist, keeping him place. He looked up at his captor and froze in shock. It was Octavius Winters, one of the very demons Zenith warned him to avoid at all costs. “Thank you for catching me, but you can let me go now. I’m fine.”

Octavius merely tightened his arms around Harry. He finally had the little kit right where he wanted him, and he didn’t want to let go. He’d noticed the little brunet in his Ancient Runes class and had been fascinated with the boy. The Kitiara just seemed to shine with a mixture of pure power, innocence, happiness, and strength. It was an irresistible combination to the shadow demon.

“Octy-baby, what are you doing? The brat seems perfectly fine.”

Octavius growled softly at the nickname and the person who’d spoken it. He absolutely hated that bitch, Sheila. Ever since she’d been informed of her betrothal to the Winter’s heir, she’d latched onto him like she owned him. Wouldn’t she be in for a rude awakening when she realised that Claudius was the Winter’s heir, and not him?

“I’ll see you around, little kit,” said Octavius softly, reluctantly releasing the green-eyed brunet. He then glared darkly at Sheila and stalked out of the room.

Harry, on the other hand, just stood there in shock. What was that all about?

“Are you alright, Harry?”

Harry blinked in surprise and looked up to see Zenith standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. “I’m fine. I just tripped on something.”

“Octavius didn’t do anything to you?” asked Zenith worriedly.

“No,” said Harry slowly. “Why?”

Zenith just shook his head and ushered Harry over to an empty table. That little meeting had just confirmed the rumours he’d heard, and that worried him immensely. Octavius planned to court Harry. And if that was so, Harry’s life was going to get a great deal harder. For one thing, Sheila would be out for his blood when she found out. That bloody wench was a possessive bitch when it came to Octavius.

“So what are your plans for Christmas?” asked Harry with a grin.

“I always stay here over the holidays,” said Zenith calmly. “My parents both died several years ago, and my grandfather doesn’t celebrate the holidays.”

“Well, why don’t you spend the holidays with me? I asked Tristan to come, as well,” said Harry hopefully.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” asked Zenith with a fond smile.

“I’m sending a letter to ask today,” said Harry quickly. “If Remus says it’s alright, will you come?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Zenith promised. Even the prospect of having to spend time with Tristan didn’t change that. In fact, ever since Harry had moved in with the weather faerie, the redhead hadn’t been nearly as abrasive as before. Harry truly was a little miracle worker.

“Wouldn’t miss what?” asked Grey as he sat down at the table.

“Harry asked me to spend the holidays with him this year,” said Zenith, smirking smugly at the were-tiger.

“What? No fair. I wanna spend the holidays with Harry, too,” whinged Grey childishly.

“Stop sulking,” Zane ordered calmly. “You have to spend the holidays with your own family.”

“It’s still not fair,” pouted Grey.

Zane just sighed in exasperation. And that was why Grey would never have a chance with Harry. Simply put, the shifter was too immature for the Kitiara to view him as a potential mate.

“What about you, Zane? What are you doing for the holidays?” asked Harry curiously.

“I’m spending them with my betrothed’s family this year,” said Zane softly.

Grey suddenly sat up and glared at the Incubus. “Betrothed? When did that happen?”

“My parents told me of the arrangement last year,” said Zane.

“And why am I just now hearing about it?” Grey demanded angrily. “Who is it?”

Zane raised an eyebrow at the blond. “Careful, Grey. You sound like a jealous lover.”

“Been there, done that,” snapped Grey. “As I recall, we decided that we were better suited as friends. So again, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t concern you,” said Zane bluntly.

“I see,” said Grey softly. He slowly pushed his plate away and got to his feet. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

“Please excuse me,” said Zane, rising from his seat and following the were-tiger out of the room.

“Well, that was awkward,” mumbled Zenith quietly.

“I hope they’ll be okay,” said Harry softly.

“They’ve been through a lot together,” said Zenith reassuringly. “I’m sure they’ll work something out. They’ve been best friends too long for them not to.”

Harry sighed softly. “I certainly hope so. I don’t like seeing them hurt and upset like this.” He finally pushed his plate away and stood. “I need to send Remus a letter before class, so I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Be careful, Harry,” said Zenith.

“Of what?”

“Octavius has taken an interest in you, and that attention can be a dangerous thing,” said Zenith solemnly. “Be especially wary of Sheila. She’ll attack you in a heartbeat if she believes you’re trying to take Octavius away from her.”

“Great,” muttered Harry. “That’s just what I need. An insanely jealous demon out to get me over someone I hardly know. Why can’t my life be normal for a change?”

Zenith just snorted. “Normal is highly overrated. We would never have met if you were normal, Harry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Harry. He flashed the Dracken an impish smile. “I still haven’t decided whether that’s a good thing or not, though.”

“Brat,” said Zenith fondly. “You better hurry if you want to send out that letter. Class starts in twenty minutes.”

Harry cursed softly and rushed from the room.

XxX

Two days later, Harry finally received a reply from Remus. A wide grin curved his lips as he read the letter. Not only could Tristan and Zenith spend Christmas with him at the cottage, Bill had also arranged for the Weasley family plus Hermione to spend Christmas in Egypt this year. He couldn’t wait.

As he hurried to the library for his tutoring session with Zenith, though, a harsh hand grabbed Harry by the hair and slammed him against the wall. A fall of fiery red hair fell across his face when the figure behind him leaned down, jerking his head back uncomfortably. Harry silently groaned when he saw who held him immobile.

“Let me go, Sheila.”

Sheila grinned nastily and tightened her grip on his hair. “I don’t believe I will. You see, I don’t like it when sluts like you try to seduce my man away from me.”

“Good for you,” snapped Harry irritably. “So what does that have to do with me?”

“Oh, don’t act all innocent, you little whore,” snarled Sheila angrily. “You’ve been sniffing after Octavius, and I won’t allow it.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve barely said two words to Octavius since school started. In fact, the only time I’ve spoken to him at all was the other day when I tripped into him,” said Harry incredulously.

“Liar!” growled Sheila, digging her fingernails painfully into Harry’s scalp.

Sudden fury roiled through Harry at the accusation. He was sick and fucking tired of being labelled a liar just because people didn’t want to hear the truth. He reached back and grabbed the hand Sheila had in his hair, causing her to hiss in pain when ice began to form around her hand.

Sheila quickly released Harry and stepped back, cradling her hand against her chest. She watched with a hint of fear as the brunet turned around to face her with a look of cold fury on his face. She could practically see the magic swirling around the Kitiara, and a small voice inside her head whispered for her to run. She stupidly ignored the warning, though, and sneered at Harry.

“Is the little slut angry?” she taunted. “You don’t actually think you managed to hurt me with your little ice display, do you?” She smirked and formed a fireball in her other hand. “Ice is weak against fire.” She surrounded her frozen hand with fire to melt the ice only to gasp in horror once the ice was gone. Her entire hand was black. “What did you do?”

“As you’ve just seen for yourself, ice is just as deadly in its own way,” said Harry casually. “Frostbite’s a bitch to deal with. You could possibly lose that hand altogether if it’s not healed properly, so you may want to run along to the infirmary as quickly as possible. Time’s a ticking, you know.”

“L-Lose my hand?” screeched Sheila. She sobbed harshly and ran down the corridor.

As soon as she was out of sight, Harry fell back against the wall and slid to the floor. He was little horrified himself about what he’d done. Yes, Sheila had attacked him first, but what he’d done was just cruel. She could really lose her hand because of him.

Harry finally climbed to his feet and trudged to the library, looking as miserable as he felt. He headed straight for Zenith’s table and sat down without a word of greeting, dropping his head to the table with a soft thump.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” asked Zenith worriedly. He’d never seen the brunet look so miserable.

“I’m a horrible, cruel person,” mumbled Harry unhappily.

Zenith blinked in surprise at that response. What in the world could have possibly happened to make him think that? “Why do you say that?”

Harry sighed and lifted watery green eyes up to gaze at Zenith. “Sheila may actually lose her hand because I froze it enough to cause frostbite.”

Zenith could only stare at Harry in shock. “Pardon me?”

Harry scowled at the Dracken. “You heard me the first time. Zenith, I feel horrible about this. I want to heal her, but I’m afraid that if I do, she’ll think that I’m weak or something and try to attack me again. What do you think I should do?”

Zenith smiled at the brunet and brushed a strand of dark hair out of Harry’s eyes. “I think you should do what your instincts tell you to do. And if she does try to attack you again, just remind her what could have happened if you hadn’t stepped in to help.”

“You’re right,” sighed Harry. “She’s so unpleasant, though. She slammed me into the wall and almost ripped my hair out with her damn claws.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” asked Zenith immediately, already rising from his chair.

“Just a few scratches is all,” said Harry quickly. “They’ll be healed by morning.” He smiled at the relieved look on Zenith’s face. He got to his feet and grabbed the Dracken’s arm. “Come on. Sheila may still be in the infirmary. Besides, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else until I do this.”

“Alright,” said Zenith warmly.

When they reached the infirmary, Harry was disheartened to hear someone crying softly. Dread settling in his stomach, he slowly walked over to the curtained off bed and pulled the curtains aside. Sheila sat on the bed with her blackened hand clutched to her chest with tears streaming down her face.

“What do you want? Haven’t you done enough?” she demanded tearfully.

“That’s why I’m here,” sighed Harry. He reached for her hand, ignoring her efforts to avoid his grasp, and cradled it between his own hands. Taking a deep breath, he pulled on his healing magic and sent it rushing into the appendage he held.

Sheila gasped in pain as the magic rushed through her previously numb hand, slowly turning the blackened skin to its original cream coloured skin. When all traces of frostbite were gone, Harry dropped her hand and staggered back a few steps before Zenith wrapped his arms around the brunet to steady him.

Sheila just stared down at her hand in shock. The medi-witch had told her there was nothing she could do to heal her hand and that the only option was to amputate the limb completely to avoid the risk of infection. How had this boy managed to heal her so completely?

Harry sighed and slumped a bit in Zenith’s arms. “I’m tired, Zenith. I caused a lot more damage than I realised.”

“Then go to sleep. I’ll get you back to your room safely,” said Zenith softly, shifting the brunet so that he was holding him bridal style.

“Okay,” mumbled Harry sleepily. Knowing the Dracken would keep his promise, he finally gave in to his exhaustion and fell asleep in Zenith’s arms.

Zenith turned to leave but paused at the door to give Sheila a hard look. “Don’t come after him again. I will make what he did to you today seem trivial in comparison.”

Sheila froze at the threat. Zenith may seem mild mannered compared to most demons, but he was first and foremost a Dracken, and Drackens could be some of the most vicious creatures in the world when they or someone they loved were threatened. It seemed that this Dracken had finally found the one he wanted to protect the most.

Sheila finally nodded curtly. She would keep her distance from the boy. She rubbed her newly healed hand absently. One encounter was more than enough to convince her.

“Wise decision,” said Zenith coldly, turning back around and leaving the room.

Zenith carried Harry up to his dorm room and settled the brunet on the bed. Harry sighed softly and nuzzled his cheek deeper into Zenith’s pillow, relaxing into a deep sleep. Zenith smiled wistfully at the sight, wishing it were him Harry was cuddled against. There was still hope, though. Trust was only the first step.