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Harry Evans Chapter 94: The Chosen One
🕑 Added 2024-10-19 13:55:28 +0000 UTCPenny and Cedric were the first to leave their impromptu dealing lesson meetup. They were covered in various disgusting colours that Harry didn't want to name for fear of eliciting so much disgust in the reader that they unsubscribed.
They’d come back, for sure. The way that he taunted them as he handed them their asses on a platter would make sure that a seed of hatred would grow inside their frail little hearts and that they would enter the path of hatred and revenge.
“Little brother, you are weak because you do not have enough hate,” he muttered to himself.
He turned around completely untouched by any splash of colour, to see that Neville was looking at him with new appreciation in his eyes and a fair bit of respect. While Penny and Cedric were not expert wand wavers by any stretch of the definition, they were very competent third-year students who could mostly trounce anyone else in their year if they so desired. Humiliating them so utterly was probably impressive to look at from the outside.
Harry gave the younger boy a tight smile at which Neville grew a tad pale.
“Your turn now,” Harry said at which the first-year Hufflepuff shakily stood up from where he'd been resting.
At least he was brave, Harry thought. He just hoped that his hard work would match up. The boy had a long way to go.
“We'll start simple, you cast the spell first and then you let me cast it. Take whatever time you need to dodge and don't rush casting the retaliation spell. I won't do anything until you do. Eventually, the tempo will change and we might start getting other ideas but that time is not now,” Harry instructed.
Neville nodded resolutely and raised his wand in a traditional duelist greeting, which showed that he at least had some education. Harry did the same. They then swished their wands downwards at the same time and entered their stances.
“Flipendo!” Neville incanted, and the ball of force lit up in Harry's magical senses as it appeared at the tip of the boy’s wand and shot at Harry's torso. He easily sidestepped the spell and then flicked his wand at Neville without saying anything. The boy's eyes widened and before he could dodge, a completely invisible explosion slammed into his chest and threw him backwards. His wand flew into the air and Harry lazily raised his left hand, summoning it to him so that it wouldn't damage itself when falling to the floor.
The holly and phoenix feather wand spun through the air and landed grip first in his hand. It felt warm and comfortable but not his style. Too much destiny.
Neville groaned from his newfound position on the ground.
“How did you do that?” the boy gasped out between groans of effort as he struggled to his feet.
“Well, I'm sure you've seen your parents or someone else use magic without saying the incantation,” Harry shot back.
At this point, Neville managed to steady himself on all fours and stared at him in wonder. “Yeah, but I thought we'd learn that in sixth year or something,” the boy said, stunned.
“Neville, Neville, Neville,” Harry started shaking his head with each repetition of the name. “Your mastery of the knockback jinx has already reached a point that most third years would find difficult to replicate. How long have you practised, accumulatively? Three hours, four hours?"
The boy stood up and rubbed the back of his head. “Around two,” he said.
“I think it's quite obvious that most students only put in the amount of work they need to pass the class. I think you could get at least this spell down by the end of the day, to the point where further improvement is too much of a chore. Perhaps it could even be silent. After all, silent casting just comes into effect at the point where you can stop thinking about saying the incantation and just think the incantation inside your head. It's the next step of what we started earlier.”
Harry levitated the boy’s wand back to him and saw as he clutched it protectively to his chest before again entering his stance.
So, bravery and a willingness to work hard. Why, these almost seemed like the qualities a boy who lived could need to survive the future.
Prophesied as it was.
“Let's see how far we can get you by the end of the day,” Harry said with a smirk. “En garde boy, en garde.”
The battle commenced.
-/-
It was when dinner time struck that Harry decided there wasn't much point in training Neville anymore for the day. They'd been at it for more than four hours at this point and the boy was brought completely to the edge of his limits. Exhausted physically and mentally. Barely able to stutter out a spell and dodge a feather thrown by a toddler.
Harry himself was feeling some of his exhaustion but refused to let it show. The older Hufflepuff shoved his wand back into the holster hidden by his sleeve as the boy who lived collapsed on the floor in exhaustion for what seemed like the umpteenth time.
“I think you should go eat,” Harry suggested. “And rest afterwards. Perhaps get a pepper-up potion somewhere before the duel.”
“I thought- you said- that we'd continue- after dinner,” Neville said as he fought for breath.
Harry tapped his chin with his forefinger. “Did I? I don't seem to remember that to be quite frank. Ignore that if I did, I guess. What you need right now is rest. I overestimated your stamina. There's no point in improving you further if you have to go to the hospital wing instead of to the duel afterwards.”
Neville looked up with stubborn eyes, which slowly morphed into hopeful ones. “How did I do?” the boy asked.
Harry wondered. How had Neville done indeed? He’d started as a somewhat athletic young boy capable of over-exaggeratingly dodging Harry's knockback jinxes as long as they weren't sent at him too fast. He’d finished looking like a third-rate with a fourth-rate spell repertoire. The improvement in terms of physical movement alone had been staggering. It was obvious that no one had ever sat the boy down, or stood him up really, and just sent spells at him for hours on end while telling him to dodge. It wasn't even an improvement that could be measured by saying he had gotten twice or three times as good. He’d gone in as nothing, and come out as something. It was impressive. There was something about the boy. Something which gave him the talent he would need to fight for his life in the future.
Just like Harry Potter, who had been, despite his lack of trying, quite good in a scrap in the original novels.
The knockback jinx had been the largest surprise. Neville had managed to cast it silently once at the end there. The only issue was of course that this silent casting took longer than the incanted one. Still, it was an immense feat that the boy had managed it at all.
Harry knew he had the boy hooked. He’d seen in his eyes the realisation that he'd progressed so far in such a short time. The older Hufflepuff knew that this sort of progress was like a drug. Coming out better every day of the year simply by putting in a bit of effort.
And considering that Harry was currently the only one willing to teach Neville what the boy would inevitably need to know. Willing to suffer through the boy's clear subconscious desire to learn how to protect himself, no matter how well hidden it was behind the pretence of needing it for the duel against Draco Malfoy… Harry was the boy's only supplier of one of the world’s most addictive drugs.
The name of the drug was: ‘I want to get good at fighting so I can protect myself and my loved ones in case a dark wizard tries to kill them, or me, or both. Look at me, I’m a sad orphan with trauma and this is my coping strategy.’
As long as the adults in Neville’s life refused to prepare him for what was to come, as much as the adults in Harry Potter's life have done the same, that's exactly how long would Neville be under Harry’s thumb.
“I would say that you did remarkably well for your age. I saw similar improvements to you when I first started two years ago. Unfortunately one improves the most in the beginning, while it is those miniature improvements down the road which truly decide the result of a fight. I would suggest you stick with this path for the moment, you seem to have some talent in it and as the boy who lived there will always be a target on your back,” Harry said, not afraid of using some disingenuous tactics to keep the boy motivated. Although, saying that there would always be a target on the boy’s back was simply the truth.
Neville nodded resolutely, his face growing a bit pale at the reminder of his status in the eyes of the dark magic community in Britain. Namely, being undesirable number 2 for ganking their dark lord, while Dumbledore still held the undesirable number 1 position for being real political opposition and a bonafide badass.
“Who knows? I'm sure your motivations are different but perhaps in a few years you will also enter the duelling circle,” Harry hummed thoughtfully.
“Regardless, do tell me the results of the duel. I assume Harley will be your second?”
Neville chuckled weakly as he got to his feet. The boy dusted himself off with his hands, forgetting that he was a wizard. Or, perhaps he didn't know the scouring charm yet.
“I don't have much choice in the matter. Harley will only ever not be my second over my dead body,” he said meekly but threw a look at Harry which glimmered with respect.
The implication came through. Considering the second would have to step in in case the primary couldn't make it, Harry would be a much better choice. There likely wasn't a single student in the castle who could beat him in a duel except perhaps for some 7th year who'd been working hard in solitude without showing anyone the results for the last few years.
“Well, I'm sure you'll do great. Just remember. Hit'em hard, hit’em fast and most importantly, don't get hit. As long as you don't get hit, you can continue to fight another day. The second you do get hit, you lose momentum and usually the duel,” Harry reminded as he walked the boy to the exit of the abandoned classroom.
They’d destroyed it quite badly. The tables were bent, the chairs broken and the dust lay on the floor in weird swirls from being picked up by all the kinetic energy being thrown around.
Neville nodded as they exited, started walking in a corridor, and came to an intersection. The boy turned to the left while Harry turned to the right. One would go down, one up.
“You're not going to dinner?” the boy who lived asked as he stopped and looked at Harry.
The older of the two shook his head. “No, don’t feel that hungry after exercise usually. I'll calm down first and then get something from the kitchens.”
“All right, thanks Harry, I appreciate it. I know Harley didn't approach it in the best manner but she means well, I hope you know,” Neville said and then stormed off the way only a teenage boy could storm off when he’d exercised for hours and hadn’t eaten for longer.
Harry was hungry as well, but he could simply have something delivered to him in the Room of Requirement.
The reason why he was going to the Room of Requirement?
Harry had always considered himself as someone gifted with a sizable amount of talent. But today brought upon a rather uncomfortable realisation. He wasn't talented. He’d simply started delving into the mysteries of magic at a very early age, had a ridiculous amount of knowledge for someone who hadn't even finished his Hogwarts education and had an adult work ethic to hold over all of his peers. The results that he'd achieved in the last years were quite frankly the minimum he was allowed to do considering all the advantages he had.
The only talented person here was Neville. Harry held his right hand in front of his face to look at the slight tremors that were still going through it. They were caused by holding up the shield charm against the boy’s spells at the end of the session.
Neville never tired, never faltered. After he collapsed the first time he just stood up and kept going. The improvements were astronomical. The instincts... phenomenal.
There was something deeply wrong with the boy. Harry would have liked to believe that it must have been the experiences of Voldemort flowing out of the scar because no 11-year-old could truly be this prodigious.
But, Harry wasn't so sure. Some people were just born freaks.
And he’d just met a little freak on a shortcut path to becoming a big old monster.
The reason he was going to the Room of Requirement?
To train, so that he'd be left in the dust in 20 years instead of 10.
Maybe there was something about that prophecy. Power he knows not. Perhaps something more tangible than a mother’s love? Well, Harry was willing to take up the role of mentor for the young hero for now.
However, the mentor must never be surpassed by the student until the student's quest is done.
Harry just hoped he had a choice in the matter.
Although, in addition to talent, one needs to be willing to work hard for the rest of one's life. Most people didn't have that...
The question was.
Did Neville?
Comments
bor902
So basically, like a normal person? I also have moodswings where im like. "I CAN DO ANYTHING; IM THE BEST," to, "Can't believe I've lived so many decades just to be some random dood"
Zachary Partridge
Harry keeps jumping from the "throne of god is empty and i can take it" mentality to "I'm nothing special I'm just an adult that studies real hard". I'm not sure how intentional this is on your part, but its kind of jarring to go from one mentality to the next. I have whiplash.
ReadAthon45
“looking like a third-rate with a fourth-rate spell repertoire” is this a Yugioh reference by Seto Kaiba? Also Great chapter.
bor902
3 kg is a lot considering Harry at the moment weighs only around 45. This means that he would be snorting approximately 7.5% of his bodyweight in Don't Care. I think a more reasonable amount would be 139 grams alongside a springle of benadryl to keep him on his toes
Aldhere
I'm still finding it funny that Harry over here is playing both sides with Neville and Draco both looking up to him as their mentor. Like both sides are going to go in their duel thinking they were taught by a great teacher and they won't disappoint him by losing whilst Harry is busy in the corner snorting 3 kilograms of Don't Care
bor902
sad but necessary so we can permanently switch the POV to the real chosen one. Tragic!
Green0Photon
Ah, but the mentor must tragically die at the worst possible moment
Thomas Brusilovsky
That first paragraph lmao
