"Can I ask you something?" Harry said eventually.
"You can ask. I may not answer."
He smiled slightly—the first real smile she'd seen from him. "Fair enough." He turned to face her more fully. "I've seen you do a bit of wandless magic. Are you actually any good at it? Casting spells without a wand? Tonks says you're crazy strong…"
"Yes."
"Could you teach me?"
The question hung in the air between them.
Alisa studied him—this boy who was somehow both younger and older than his years. Who carried the weight of a world's expectations on shoulders that shouldn't have had to bear them. Who had just shared his deepest fear with a near-stranger because he sensed she needed connection as much as he did. And she hadn't even shared her secret back…
"Why do you want to learn?" she asked.
"Because I'm tired of being helpless." Harry's voice hardened. "Every time I face Voldemort, every time I face Death Eaters—if they get my wand, I'm done. Useless. Last year, during the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort took my wand before he tried to kill me. If it hadn't been for Priori Incantatem..."
"Oh, I didn't know."
"Yes." He met her eyes. "I don't want to be dependent on a piece of wood. I want to fight with my own power. Like you do."
Alisa was quiet for a moment.
Wandless magic wasn't something that could be taught easily. It required a fundamentally different relationship with your own magical core—an understanding of magic as an extension of self rather than a tool to be wielded. Most wizards never developed the capacity, not because they lacked power, but because they'd been trained from childhood to channel through a wand.
But Harry...
Harry had power. Raw, instinctive power. She'd felt a few of the times he had been in turmoil—the depth of his magical core, the intensity of his will. With proper training, proper guidance...
"There may be a chance for you to do it. It won't be easy," she said finally. "Wandless magic requires you to unlearn everything you've been taught about spellcasting. Most people can't do it."
"I'm not most people."
"No. I suppose you're not." Alisa smiled despite herself. "Very well. I'll try and teach you. But I warn you—my methods are not gentle. In Russia, we train through hardship. Through pain. Through failure. You will struggle. You will fail. You will want to give up."
"I won't."
"We'll see." She stood, brushing off her robes. Harry rose with her. "Meet me tomorrow evening, after dinner. There's a clearing in the forest near the Gamekeeper's hut. It's private enough. We'll begin there."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." She extended her hand. "Do we have a deal, Harry Potter?"
He took it. His grip was firm, his palm warm against hers.
"Deal."
They shook once, then released. But something lingered in the air between them—a current of understanding, of mutual recognition.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "For listening. And for—what you said about the darkness. About it not being me."
"I only told you the truth."
"Still." He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. "It meant a lot."
He turned to go, then paused.
"Alisa?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you came to Hogwarts."
Before she could respond, he was walking away, his silhouette growing smaller against the darkening grounds.
Alisa watched him go.
What are you doing? she asked herself. Getting close to students. Getting closer to him. Teaching him. Opening yourself up to—
To what? Connection? Hope? The possibility that she wasn't as alone as she'd convinced herself she was? Hadn't Tonks taught her that much?
Her dick stirred beneath her skin, and she felt the familiar ache of suppressed arousal. But for once, it wasn't the only thing she felt.
There was something else too. Something warmer.
Ugh. I have to go and find Tonks again. I hope she's not too busy…