Pencil to Paper
A/N: This story starts in Goblet of Fire. It's sort of modern-day; it was 2013 when Harry was eleven. Harry has a friend that is my own character; he doesn't know either Hermione or Ron. They might be out of character, so I apologise. Also, Harry's hair is like it was in PoA, because that's the way his hair really should be.
Harry sat with bated breath, waiting in apprehension for Dumbledore to announce who the Hogwarts champion for the Triwizard Tournament was. He hadn't put his name in the Goblet, but things did have a way of going against him. The whole Hall was silent, awaiting the next champion.
Harry glanced around, noting the eager looks on some of the Hogwarts students' faces, surely belonging to those who had submitted their names into the Goblet. A paper flew out from the extraordinary object, the sides of it singed a little. Dumbledore grabbed and looked it over, before saying the name aloud.
"Cedric Diggory!"
Harry, who had no idea who that was, guessed that said person was from Hufflepuff, for those loyal cheered and clapped. Some slapped the back of none other than - Harry assumed - Cedric Diggory. The Boy Who Lived rolled his eyes as practically every female student raked their eyes over the champion's body, ogling him.
Diggory, grin plastered on his face, made his way to the Head Table as the Beauxbatons, Durmstrangs and Hogwarts students roared with approval. He stood next to Fleur Delacour, the champion of Beauxbaton Academy.
Dumbledore caught Harry's eye, and the boy knew that the man was awaiting for something that concerned him to arise. But, as Dumbledore swung around to lead the champions to somewhere else after addressing the students, nothing strange happened. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief; for once he was spared a dramatic year.
The professors left, disappearing through a door off to the side. Some students got up from their seats to leave the Great Hall, while others remained, chatting away. Harry checked his wristwatch, which showed that the time was already nine. He looked to his left, where his best friend, Chloe Pollock, was wiggling her eyebrows at him.
Harry found himself smiling back; the girl knew how much he wanted, just for once, his life to be normal - well, as normal as it could be, being in a magic school and everything. And right now his wish was granted.
They were sitting away from each other because they had been separated by the sea of students, so they had to gesture to each other. Chloe and he had devised a whole hand signal language so that they could communicate even from a distance.
Harry tapped his watch twice, which meant to ask if she wanted to come along. Chloe tugged her ear discreetly, which meant, Thank you, but no thank you.
With that, Harry got up from his seat, manoeuvreing his way past the throng of students that were leaving the Hall. He made his way to the Gryffindor common room, passing by only a few people. Once faced with the Fat Lady, he said, "Wronski Feint," and the portrait swung open to admit him.
The common room was empty and no fire crackled in the fireplace. He decided to retire to bed early, for even though there were visitors, they still had lessons. Tomorrow, a Tuesday, he would have a morning Transfigurations class with the Slytherins. And unless he wanted Malfoy to taunt him and for Professor McGonagall to have a reason to deduct points, he better get some sleep.
He awoke with a start, and for a moment he wondered if he was still in the nightmare. He whipped the curtains aside, feeling his shoulders relax once ensured that he was not in a graveyard. His harsh breathing gradually steadied, and his heartbeat began to normalise. He glanced at the window to find that the sun was still sleeping.
Harry sunk back on his bed, trying to fall asleep as Neville Longbottom's snores filled his eardrums. It was to no avail, even after twisting and turning to settle into a comfortable position. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep the dream out of his mind.
Sighing, he got off of his bed and padded to the bathroom, knowing that he wouldn't fall asleep any time soon. Once showered and clothed, Harry rummaged through his trunk, searching for his three of his five prized possessions.
He smiled in satisfaction as he brought out a pencil, eraser and a sketchpad. The eraser, worn with time and use, was short and small, no longer like how it used to be. He had kept the pencil since he was nine, given to him by a kind girl named Amelia.
On the first day of school, he had been writing with a very short pencil, since the Dursleys hadn't bothered to buy him a new one. The girl noticed it, and offered him her own pencil, insisting even though Harry had profusely refused. In the end he took it, touched that, for once, somebody didn't dislike him.
The sketchpad was something that Dudley hadn't wanted. Mr. Dursley had another sister - not Marge - who was a professor teaching college students about art, and she had sent Dudley the sketchpad as a gift.
Dudley clearly did not share her love of art.
Harry had been sitting in the garden when he saw the pad sticking out of the garbage can. He had seized it once that he was sure the Dursleys weren't looking, not caring if the sketchpad was dirty. He rifled through the sketchpad, realising that the pages were completely blank and clean.
So he snuck up to his cupboard and hid the pad inside, knowing that Vernon would have his head if they found out about it.
And now, just as he had on that very faithful day, he rifled through the pad, its pages now marked with drawings. Drawing was not something he had planned to make as an ambition, but he was passionate about it.
His drawings didn't start off very nice either. Countless of times he'd put pencil to paper, trying to draw a flower from the garden, only to growl in frustration. Amelia, the very kind girl, would sometimes sneak him to her house when he was done with the work Aunt Petunia had given him, which was usually in the evenings.
The first time he arrived at her house, he was amazed at the beautiful paintings and drawings that hung on the walls. He had asked, wonder-struck, where they had bought these pieces of art, only to be even more blown away that the art was created by Amy's dad, for she couldn't draw a cartoonish cat to save her life.
Harry felt sadness just looking at an empty house, felt happiness looking at a family, backs facing him, holding hands while standing. He didn't need to see if they were smiling to know that they were feeling grand; the drawing just screamed it.
And there, in the house of the only friend he ever had, the eagerness to draw bloomed within him, which led to him coming here every day, learning from Amy's father. Unfortunately, their time spent together came to an end, for Amy had to move house.
Harry smiled sadly as he stared at a drawing of Amy. He was too young to know it then, and maybe he was too young to get involved in any of that, but he now knew that he liked Amy. She was always so very kind and smart, cheering people up even though she was upset. She made him feel normal for once...
He snapped the pad shut before standing up. He hadn't drawn since Amelia left, which was on the year he would turn eleven, the year he would find out he was a wizard. She would've liked that; she loved magic and fantasy. Harry shook the sense of nostalgia away before leaving the dormitory.
He sat in the chair placed around the fireplace, but he hadn't bothered with a fire. Dawn was already breaking, he noticed while staring out the window, light peeking through the haze of darkness. Though Hogwarts offered many beautiful sights to capture in his sketchpad, he couldn't bring himself to draw.
He always had the pad in hand, thumb caressing its cover, trying to summon the courage to start drawing. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of; perhaps that the last drawing in there had been of Amy, and he wanted it to end with her.
He didn't want to forget her.
As time went on and images from the past appeared in his mind's eye, more students woke, heading for the Great Hall. He ignored the stares he received from his fellow schoolmates; they should be used to him doing this by now.
He was only broken out of his stupor when Chloe snapped her fingers in front of him. Harry jolted upright, having slouched in the chair during the replay of his life. He blinked furiously, and found Chloe smiling at him. As he grabbed his three items in his lap and stood, he greeted his friend.
He stretched his legs and arms, hearing his arm socket pop as he did so. "Wait here," he told Chloe, before heading for his dormitory. Stashing his things in the trunk and grabbing his book-filled satchel, he returned to the common room, finding the redhead on the chair he was in.
She got up at his approach, and together, they made their way through the portrait hole. As Chloe talked, Harry nodded along at different intervals, pretending to listen. Instead he was just focused on Chloe, who was completely the opposite of him.
While she was a social butterfly, he wasn't. He wasn't on bad terms with any of his schoolmates - other than Malfoy. He didn't suck at interacting, but almost eleven years of his life he was ignored by everybody - Amelia excluded - and he had grown used to being by himself.
Chloe had just barged herself into his life, and though he hadn't liked that at first - for he thought she was a stuck-up, being popular and all - he had grown fond of her. She wasn't arrogant like the students he'd faced in primary school.
She wasn't as dull as a brick.
Because, like someone he saw on TV once said, 'You know when sometimes you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later they're as dull as a brick? Then there's other people, when you meet them you think, 'Not bad. They're okay.' And then you get to know them and… and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality's written all over it. And they just turn into something so beautiful.'
Chloe fit into the latter category.
Her eyes twinkled in excitement as she spoke animatedly, the grin never sliding off her face. While she was extremely gorgeous and most boys pined over her, Harry saw her only as a best friend. That was, to some people, unbelievable, for there was once he was approached by a boy who asked if he was batting for the other team, since he didn't have any romantic feelings towards the redhead.
He resisted shaking his head in amusement, for Chloe would surely know he wasn't listening to thing she was saying. The wound their way down the stairs to the Great Hall, the ceiling displaying a blue sky with puffs of clouds drifting by.
The Hall was even more crowded than usual with the additional students, which meant that the noise made skyrocketed too. Both of them managed to wedge their bodies in between two Gryffindors who'd been kind enough to make as much space as they could.
Wanting to get out of the Hall as soon as possible, Harry grabbed a toast and buttered it before spreading apricot jam on it. He wolfed it down quickly, and since Chloe had the same thoughts, he didn't have to wait long before they could leave the hustle and bustle.
They reached Transfigurations class fifteen minutes before it started. The classroom was deserted, nobody having arrived yet. They took their seats beside each other, and when they were all settled, textbooks beside a needle set on the table, Chloe let out a short laugh.
Harry looked to her questioningly, wondering if she'd gone bonkers. "What's funny?"
Rolling her eyes at his look, Chloe answered. "Nothing. It's just that... well, it's the first time we're this early. McGonagall would be surprised."
Harry thought about it, a smile playing at his lips when he realised she was right. "Imagine the shock she'd get. It's like Snape dancing voluntarily."
Chloe screwed her face into a grimace, which made Harry laugh. "Thank you for putting that image into my mind."
Harry was about to retort when Professor McGonagall filed in, and that signalled the end of their conversation. He glanced at the woman, who peered at them with a small glint in her eyes, but said nothing. Harry opened his textbook, turning to a random page. It was the start of a new chapter all about Animagi, and his godfather popped into his head.
Harry smiled softly - last year was an incredible year, for he found out that he still had a loving family left. He read up on that chapter even though it was far away from their current topic, and was only interrupted when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, sending the other students' heads to snap up.
He watched as she began scrawling some information on the board.
"Today we will begin transfiguring a needle into a quill." As she said that, she used her wand to conjure - though you couldn't just make something out of nowhere; Harry assumed it was taken from a poor old lady's sewing kit - up a needle. "As you might have noticed, the needles are already provided - they are on your tables.
"Raise your wands" - the whole class did as instructed - "and point it at the needle. Repeat after me: Pinna Atramentum."
Wands waved and a chorus of 'Pinna Atramentum' filled the classroom. Shortly after that a bang resounded, and all heads turned to the source of the commotion. Harry watched as Neville sat in his seat, his lips quivering with soot all over his face.
Harry's blood boiled as he heard Malfoy and his gang stifling snickers, but he remained seated as the Head of Gryffindor rushed to the clumsy boy. He could see just how hard Neville was trying to keep the tears from spilling onto the cheeks, and Harry stood, his chair scraping against the floor.
"I'll bring him to the hospital wing if he needs to!" he blurted out without any much thought. Heads whipped his way, but he ignored them. He stared right at Neville, who shot him a grateful look.
"He does not suffer any injuries, Mr Potter, but if you would like, you could take him to the boys' lavatory to wash up." For one moment, he thought he saw the corner of her lips twitch, but it disappeared a second later.
Harry moved to Neville, carefully gripping his arm to lead him to the classroom door. "Don't mind the stares," he whispered in a gesture to reassure the boy. They stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind them. He heard Professor McGonagall speak again, continuing on with the lesson.
"Harry, I'm sorry you're missing out-"
"Don't be." Harry finally released his grasp on Neville's arm, giving him a small smile. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."
Neville looked like he was about to object, but thought better of it. Harry led Neville to the nearest boys' lavatory, and by the time - according to his watch - they finished up, Transfigurations class was over. Again, Neville tried apologising, tripping over his words, but Harry saved him the trouble.
They met Chloe in the Transfigurations classroom corridor, Harry's satchel and Neville's textbook in her hands. She handed the items to both of them, receiving words of thanks. But Neville's smile was wiped off his face when he patted his robe pocket, which was empty.
Harry's brows furrowed at the anxious look marring the boy's face.
"You haven't seen my wand, have you, Chloe?" Harry could hear the near hysteria in his tone, threatening to break through the surface.
The redhead looked bothered when she answered, for it was a negative. Harry went for the door, holding up a finger to signal for them to wait before disappearing into the classroom. He ran over to Neville's table, but felt the worry eating at his insides when he couldn't find the boy's wand.
Not wanting to disappoint Neville, he bent over and looked under the table, but the result was the same. He whipped out his wand and tried, as a last resort, to summon Neville's wand, shouting, "Accio!" He waited for a beat, but the wand didn't come. He scanned the classroom one more time before leaving, feeling his heart drop at the hopeful look on Neville's face.
He shook his head, feeling terrible - even though it wasn't his fault - at the despair that was clear on Neville's face.
"Oh." The word felt like a slap to his face. "Um, but thank you. Thank you so much for helping me, Harry and Chloe. I'll be off now." Before Harry could get a word in, the boy turned and left.
He exchanged looks with Chloe, who looked as horrible and confused as he felt. Who would steal Neville's wand? And the answer hit him like a tsunami.
Malfoy.
Harry stormed off to the boys' dormitory, ignoring Chloe's cries for him to stop. He would've felt bad for not telling her what he planned to do if he wasn't so riled up. Why would Malfoy do such a thing? his brain said, and Harry snorted at it. He's Malfoy, that's why.
He reached the Fat Lady, booming the password at the portrait. The Fat Lady, who had been looking bored only a few seconds ago, jumped, clutching her chest in shock. Harry, consumed with rage, didn't bother to apologise as he screamed for her to swing open.
He wasn't Neville's closest friend, but the boy was a friend all the same. And for a horrible thing to happen to the innocent boy... Harry clenched his fists as he walked through the gap created, hearing the Fat Lady mutter about rude students.
A few students lounged about in the common room, some of them sitting in the chairs at the table, the scratching of quills mixing in with the crackle of the fire. His footfalls entered the well of other sounds as he stomped to his dorm.
He slammed the door behind him, and a torrent of sobs filled the room. Harry froze, eyebrows furrowing, as the muffled sobs arrested his attention. A figure could be seen behind the curtain, which was drawn around Neville's bed, lying down.
Harry decided it best he left Neville to let it all out and not disturb him in his emotional state. Silently, he opened his own trunk and took out the Marauders' Map before shutting it again. He closed the door behind him softly as he left, trying his best to shut out the cries.
He took out his wand and recited "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" before pressing his wand against the seemingly blank parchment. Words started to appear, and he found himself gripping the parchment tightly as he read 'Wormtail.'
After getting his anger under control, Harry unfolded the parchment, showcasing a map of Hogwarts. He scanned the paper, having to look through more names as there were more students before finding exactly who he was looking for.
Malfoy was currently in the Slytherin common room, and Harry had no way of getting there. Muttering curses under his breath, he tapped the parchment with his wand, saying, "Mischief managed." He stuffed the paper carefully into his pocket before slipping out of the common room.