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Dazed and confused were still the words best used to describe the abominable state in which Harry wandered the halls of Hogwarts several days after having read the letter from Skeeter and having somehow managed to bumble his way through his meeting with Dumbledore despite his emotional volatility.
It had really taken all of the self-control, all of the emotional regulation, and even some small amounts of mind magic to control himself as much as he did during that meeting when he would have rather been screaming into a pillow anywhere else in the castle.
That sort of control came with an inability to actually emotionally reset back to a healthy emotional equilibrium after such a disastrous piece of news that shifted one's worldview.
It was something that Harry had found himself doing in his previous life as well. Whenever his life had gone down the shitter, like losing a long-term relationship, failing an important exam, or getting kicked out of his shared flat, he always first controlled his emotions to deal with the material consequences of the events that had transpired. Getting the stuff from his now ex-girlfriend's apartment and paying his last share of the bills. Passing the exam, which, if he failed twice, would bar him from the study program. Finding a new flat.
This time, it had actually been something relatively easier. He'd only had to keep it together to have a simple conversation, which, of course, wasn't necessarily that simple but thankfully only lasted around an hour.
Then, he'd felt all the emotions that Skeeter's letter had made him feel impact his soul like a cement truck full of diarrhoea.
Thankfully, his friends were used to him disappearing for long hours at a time, probably thinking that he was simply going off on his own to practise some or other form of obscure magic. They would all duel on the weekend and hang out at meal times, so what was the point of wondering where he was?
Just that for one of the first times in years, ever since he'd come to Hogwarts, he hadn't secluded himself to work on his magic.
He'd simply sat on a variety of benches looking at the Forbidden Forest or the lake. Occasionally, he would go to swim in the Room of Requirement and consider asking for a bottle of wine before eventually shaking his head. It was never good to use substances to numb oneself in times of emotional reflection.
He'd go running if you could call completing half a marathon a run. It was very literal that he'd used running to technically run from his problems, to put his body in a biological state where he could process them.
The endorphins of a good jog followed by a nice meditation session really were something that couldn't be beat when it came to reestablishing emotional stability.
It was like this that Harry killed the time before the weekend, which heralded the visit to Hogsmeade, where he would meet Skeeter, who was justifiably leery of breaking into Hogwarts too often to talk to him.
Three to four days was how long it had taken him to process some of the most disgustingly, horrifying, mind-numbingly excruciating information that he had ever come across. Back when he'd realized that he was a product of rape as a child, having glued together the clues, he hadn't truly cared. He hadn't been that close to his family back then. He'd been too busy mourning his past life. Yet by now, he'd recently processed most of the grief that came with losing your body, family, friends, education, future hopes, and life partner. C'est la vie?
The family issue mattered because Lily Evans hadn't been just Harry's mother. She'd also been Petunia's sister, Vernon's sister-in-law, and the aunt that Dudley never got to meet despite his insistent asking as a child and inability to understand that dead people were dead and would never, ever come back.
Still, Harry would argue that the biggest victim after his mother was himself. He didn't like putting himself in a position of weakness even in the privacy of his own mind, but… Knowing now that he was conceived through sexual assault, which had clearly been intended and planned long beforehand. Never knowing his mother, not knowing the identity of his father, and now not even knowing the reason for his existence, hurt him more than he would have thought.
He'd already had parents in his last life, inadequate as they had mostly been, except for some uncharacteristic shining moments of brilliance from his mother. He was not a child, and he didn't need to be taught anything or coddled by anyone; he had mental models that were perfectly capable of bringing him whatever success, emotional or material, he desired.
It still hurt, and for a few moments there, he was thankful that whoever had originally been supposed to wake up in the body of Harry Evans hadn't done so. If he, an adult, was experiencing so much suffering through the circumstances of his existence, then how would an actual child have coped? They'd have been dealing with One Piece levels of tragic backstory here.
It was fortuitous then that he wasn't a child and that he had managed to deal with the implications of the new information that he had learned in a somewhat expeditious manner.
He was a student as well, and students didn't really get to go on vacation whenever they thought they needed some time to recalibrate and sort out their thoughts. No, students had to keep attending classes no matter their circumstances, and Harry had a very special class to attend, which forced him to get over what he'd learned.
It was a very special class because it was a one-on-one tutoring opportunity with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in return for Harry correcting the first and second-year homework.
The red-haired boy stood with his head tilted to the side in front of the door to the classroom as he heard the clock ticking down in his head. The seconds until he had to knock on the heavy wood and enter the room where either the servant or the dark lord was waiting for him were running out.
By telling Quirrel about their deal, James Potter had truly left him one last stinker. He'd orchestrated Twix in his first year and was the reason Greyback appeared in his second. It seemed that both Potter and Evans were cursed to bring about a storm of shit wherever they went, which probably made it a good thing that they'd never combined their accursed genes in this world.
Although, to be fair, Harry wouldn't particularly mind learning something from Quirrel as long as the man didn't either try to recruit him, kill him, or mutilate him in some other fashion.
Now that he thought about it, maybe his situation as a Hogwarts student wasn't so unique. He was sure that ever since Voldemort had cursed the position, many students had been forced to deal with the possibility of being murdered by their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
"What an asshole," Harry muttered to himself, further perpetuating the slander that he was adopted from the U.S.A. Then he sighed, shook his head, and knocked on the door.
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Harry found Professor Quirrell walking large circles in the empty classroom and slowly chanting under his breath as he waved his wand in a recurring infinity pattern above his head. Every pass that the appendage did made it almost seem like the hand would knock down Quirrell's purple turban, but it never came to that.
"Good afternoon, professor," Harry greeted and went over to the desk, where he quickly saw a large stack of parchments sorted into two rows, which, going by the titles of the essays on top, were the assignments of the first and second years. Without any further consideration, he stuffed the things into his leather satchel.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Evans," the man greeted back as he finished his rounds. The desks had disappeared seemingly, and what was left was a large empty space, perfect for practice of any sort.
No one could say that Hogwarts classrooms were particularly small, so Harry and the professor would have 250 square meters to move in.
"Is it really okay that I first get a lesson and then correct the assignments?" Harry asked. Did he look that reliable? he mused.
"Your successful cooperation with Professor Potter last year makes you credible, or else I perhaps would not have been so inclined as to offer the lessons on credit," the man replied. "Regardless, I have now warded the area to the best of my ability, which should suffice for whatever the two of us can get up to today. It will also allow me to not worry about damages to the classroom once the year starts progressing and we start covering more violent material," he finished, hinting at an escalation of what had already been for Harry and his year group, a rather violent exchange of knockback jinxes.
"I am curious to see the lessons that will necessitate such protections," Harry said as he flared his magic sentence to touch the protective energies spreading around the room. It was powerful enough magic, but nothing that he hadn't already seen before at the dueling tournament. Quirrel's signature was just different enough from the castle that he could still make it out despite the violent background humming that the location provided every hour of the week.
"A bit of this, a bit of that," the professor said before going to stand at the other side of the room and crossing his arms over his purple robe with his wand in one hand, idly pointing towards a wall. "But how about we simply begin instead of discussing what shall come to pass regardless? I was thinking perhaps we could take four sessions of half an hour with 15-minute breaks in between. I've always found that intense exercise followed by a bit of rest makes for the best," he said, not elaborating further.
Harry didn't have anything to say against the plan, so he simply stood opposite of the man and nodded.
"Let us first start with the difference that you will note when comparing my lessons with those of Professor Flitwick," the professor started with a lecturing tone. "Could you perhaps tell me what those will most likely be?"
Harry curiously tilted his head. For someone possessed by a megalomaniac Dark Lord quite obsessed with telling other people what to do, the man's teaching style involved a lot of questions.
"I imagine the difference between your teaching and that of Professor Flitwick is that my opponents in the dueling circuit won't be trying to kill me, whereas the things that you will be training me to face might potentially do so. You also brought up the last time that duellists don't face any significant usage of the Dark Arts, which any wizard or witch who wishes to consider themselves well-rounded should at least know how to counter."
"Correct," Quirrell said with a small smile, "but incomplete. I most certainly can teach you how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts much better than Flitwick can, simply because we will be focusing on different things. Additionally, however, I can also represent an opponent who does not symbolize the manner in which a duellist fights. I went to the effort to confer with Flitwick, and he told me that he is somewhat inadequate as a representation of how things might look in a real battle. That is the thing with athletes, I imagine, as you know from perhaps even muggle sports. They train their bodies to fulfill a certain function, and those habits stay ingrained with them for the entirety of their life, even after they retire. Flitwick is a duelist, and unless he spends a lot of time reteaching himself how to fight, he will always fight like a duelist. I, on the other hand, have no such habits."
Harry slowly nodded in understanding. "Regardless of anything else, having a bigger variety of opponents is always helpful," he muttered to himself.
"Exactly my point," the professor confirmed happily. Something must have put him in a good mood recently. Harry couldn't imagine what.
"Considering my... passing familiarity with dark wizards, I can better model myself to represent an opponent that is less traditional, let's say. Considering that magic, war, and all things, in fact, lead to each other if one expands one's circle of knowledge far enough, I'm sure you will be able to draw some lessons that will be applicable to both self-defense and dueling."
Harry simply nodded again at the words. If nothing else, being taught by a Dark Lord or someone possessed by a Dark Lord should teach him something. The only thing Harry was worried about was if the man would try to kill him in the end. "Where do we start? He asked instead of voicing that particular worry.
"A good question. I have recently started composing a series of lessons on the Unforgivable. I'm now simply awaiting the confirmation of the ministry and of the headmaster that I can proceed with it as planned. I will most likely not get permission to do anything but demonstrate the three curses on a creature of minor intelligence, let's say, a centipede or a spider. Are you familiar with the spells, Mr. Evans?"
"The three Unforgivables?" Harry asked. "Avada Kedavra, the killing curse; Crucio, the torture curse; Imperio, the control curse," he said briefly.
This explanation made Quirrell give an approving and thoughtful look. "Correct, although the fact that you can list the incantations is a bit surprising."
Harry refused to blush at the remark. The incantations were hardly a secret, being often mentioned in different books in the context of 'if you hear these words, run.'
"Let's start with the Killing Curse, considering it's the one you must learn to deal with if you don't wish to die immediately," Professor Quirrell muttered as if thinking. "I will now cast a colour-changing spell that I have modified to have the same wand movement as the curse and create the same shade of green that it is known for." He paused. "Curiously enough, a colour distinctly similar to the one in your eyes," he said. Then he slowly pointed his wand to his right and slashed it down at medium speed. A bright flash of green erupted from it, and a thin spell beam hit the wall, causing no damage or discolouration.
"It is this shade of green you should become familiar with because the second that you see it, you have to make a plan on how to survive the encounter," Quirrell warned.
"Is it possible for a dark wizard to use the spell wordlessly or change the colour?" Harry asked curiously, eliciting a surprised blink from the professor.
The man shook his head. "It's an incredibly powerful piece of magic dealing directly with the soul. It is not something so easily modifiable. I imagine that someone talented enough could remove the wand gesture," he said slowly, "however, the rest, I don't believe so. The more powerful and complex the spell, the harder it is to change it and to cast it wordlessly." He shook his head, the turban tilting precariously to one side. "Regardless, we've gone off-topic; let's first discuss how to survive the killing curse before we talk of modifying it."
"Alright, how do I best go about that then?" Harry asked.
"Considering that the Killing Curse is unblockable by all magical shields, unlike the other two Unforgivables, although the control curse is problematic because it is somewhat invisible, you will either have to dodge or conjure something physical to obstruct its path. At first, I would suggest simply starting with a stone; it is one of the least complicated conjurations and requires less effort due to the low complexity of the material. Let's start!" he suddenly announced, pointed his wand at Harry, and swept it down.
A bright flash of green light erupted in the room, and Harry found himself dodging the relatively fast incoming spell rather than blocking it. He'd used it to kill the diary back then, and the flash of light reminded him exactly how deadly the effect was.
"A good reaction," Quirrell called from the other side of the room as he took steps backwards to give Harry more time to counter. "But dodging is one thing that you've definitely learned with Flitwick. Here, we're going to go about it a bit differently! Now, defend!"
Another fake Killing Curse flew at the now-sweating Harry, who had to reassure himself that the man wouldn't actually try to kill him, especially considering that he'd told his friends where he was going and to go to Dumbledore if he didn't return on time.
He managed to prevent himself from dodging, but instead of a stone, what he conjured in the path of the spell was his now rather well-practised wasp. The creature was promptly obliterated, but it protected Harry with its life until the end.
Quirrell paused again to say something. "Good, good, dueling already taught you the hand-to-eye coordination and the reflexes necessary for successfully blocking the curse; however, I would very much advise against using animal conjuration again," he shouted, slashing down his wand.
Harry just barely remembered the incantation for conjuring a stone, but in his hurry, he conjured it in the wrong spot in the air. Seeing that he was about to die, he had no other option but to duck underneath the spell. However, the movement was too slow, and the spell nailed him right on forehead.
Harry's life flashed before his eyes, and then he blinked and realised that he was still amongst the living.
If nothing else, the practice would desensitise him out of his initial fear and instinctual reaction to the spell, which meant that if he was ever faced with it in reality, he would be able to react more efficiently. It wouldn't be a completely new situation.
"You're dead," Quirrell commented from the other side of the room, "see how easy that is? There's a reason that the Dark Arts are considered the pinnacle in terms of combat magic."
"I see," Harry said slowly.
"Good," the professor said. "Now you are likely getting the approximate gist of the exercise. The next step that I will proceed to, now that you have understood what you are doing, is throwing in some stunners, which you are free to deflect, and some shield breakers, which I would advise you to dodge. You wouldn't like what happens if they hit your wand mid-deflection."
Harry nodded, thinking that, all in all, the exercise was eerily similar to the one that James Potter had used last year to teach him when to untransfigure an attack and when to blast it.
But if two highly competent individuals were using a similar teaching technique, then that likely just meant that it was effective or considered to be the norm in the Wizarding World.
Harry blinked, and without warning, there was a flying glowing yellow spell hammer flying at his torso. Quirrel did not like to announce his attacks.
Harry managed to dodge, only to then immediately have to deflect a bright red stunner. His concentration was disrupted enough that the green-colored spell splashed against his torso, killing him once again.
"Tut, tut, tut, Mr Evans. I would have thought that you would be better at this considering all of the training you did last year," the professor commented with a sadistic smirk as if he wasn't progressing the lesson at a speed that no Hogwarts student would truly be able to follow and required a reaction speed and a mastery of conjuration that the man would be lucky to find in a talented fifth-year student.
The trick worked regardless. "Again," Harry ground out, re-entering the pose that minimised his profile and made dodging easier. Left foot behind the right, right arm forward, and left hand behind. The basics of the basics.
"It's good to finally see some determination in your eyes, boy. Magic is highly reactive to emotion, and listlessly going through the motions isn't going to get you anywhere today," Quirrell said harshly before smirking. "Of course, when facing death, only ability will save you."
They then started dancing, or rather Harry danced while Quirrel stood in the same spot, sending out a rapid variation of the same three spells, his speed alone keeping Harry on his toes.
Every time that it seemed like Harry adjusted, the purple-robed man would show that he was actually capable of creating more complex patterns at faster speeds until the boy eventually succumbed to death.
Then, the whole thing started again from the beginning.
The half an hour that the professor had said they would complete before the first break passed incredibly quickly and left Harry physically and mentally exhausted.
The desensitization was well underway, and he didn't even feel the urge to repress a flinch anymore when he saw the ugly green light heading his way. The first step was being able to face the spell head-on. The actual blocking of it was, of course, a work in progress.
"A short break," Quirrell announced as he walked past Harry to sit behind his desk. The student did the same, sitting in the chair like an exhausted boxer right before the twelfth round.
"Tea?" the man asked.
Harry, like last time, simply shook his head and took a water bottle out of his satchel. He gulped down the life-saving liquid at a fairly fast rate and saw that he might need to refill it at some point, so as not to dehydrate himself with how much he was sweating.
"Suit yourself," the professor remarked as a tray appeared in front of him, teapot already steaming. The house really did wonderful work, and it seemed like professors got a lot of privileges in how they received whatever food or drink items they desired, whenever they desired.
The professor took a sip from his cup before sighing in contentment. "Hogwarts has the best tea, you know?" he muttered, almost to himself. "They have a house-elf who specialises in making it, pruning the leaves for the perfect experience. Once you leave the school, you'll miss it for the rest of your life." He then blinked, as if exiting a memory, and waved away his previous words. He then switched the topic. "I can't help but ask, while we're having this break, and in consideration of my previous position as the muggle studies professor... What do you think about the divide between the two societies as someone who has now experienced living in both?" the man asked.
Harry tilted his head curiously. "In what way, professor?"
Quirrell gave him a thin smile. "In the manner of which society is superior and what the point of the statute of secrecy actually is, of course," he said blithely.
Harry froze at the audacity of the question and held back a sigh.
How to answer a thing like this diplomatically would take some thought.
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AN: I hope ya'll appreciate the humour in Harry being asked the question. It's like if Hitler was your history teacher, held you back in class, and then asked you about your opinion on jews. Support me and read ahead on Patreon