Author's Note: I posted this story a few years ago under my old pen name, but later deleted it. Now I'm posting it again.
Harry looked down at the blood covering his hands, and found that it really didn't bother him for some reason. Maybe he deserved it? This was his third week of detentions with Professor Snape, and he had only arrived here at Hogwarts a month ago. Tonight he was organizing the porcupine quills the first-year students would need when they brewed the Boil-Cure Potion, and their pointy tips had caused at least a dozen deep cuts on his hands. Of course that is why the Professor had him do it without any protective gloves on.
"You know Potter, you really should consider ingredient preparation as a future career option," Snape remarked. "Given your lack of intelligence and magical skill it is probably the best job you could hope to find. Or perhaps you will simply return to the muggle world where you belong."
During his first Potions class Harry had been stupid enough to take Snape's bait, and he paid dearly for his moment of cheek. Now he simply ignored the Potion Master and continued with the painful work. Harry had a vague idea of how he was going to deal with the greasy bat, but his plan would take some time. For now he had to suffer in silence.
"Get out, and try not to bleed on anything as you leave."
The hallway outside the classroom was dark—too dark. Harry felt the ambush before the Slytherins sprang it, but there was only one way out of the Dungeons so there was nothing he could do about it. The first Stinging Hex hit him in the leg. He dropped to the floor in pain, but managed to stifle his scream. Dealing with Professor Snape had taught him an important lesson: challenging the Slytherins' dominance only made them more angry.
"Hey squib, guess what we have on the menu tonight: salt," Philip Jugson said a few minutes later after the hexes and curses had stopped. Jugson's father was a Death Eater who was now serving a twenty-year term in Azkaban. He and several other members of the next generation of evil had been attacking him after his detentions for past two weeks. "Grab the little shite, and hold out his hands."
Despite the pain Harry thought it was kind of poetic—literally pouring salt in his open wounds. Who would have guessed that the children of the dreaded Death Eaters could be so clever? Dealing with the hexes had been worse than this, so again he didn't cry out. Still, it was a long and painful trip back to the Ravenclaw Tower that night.
"What are two things that can never be eaten for breakfast?" the eagle knocker on the common room door asked. Harry thought that this was the single worst part about being in Ravenclaw. He was so bad at these logic puzzles that he ended up sleeping out on the stone floor of the hallway one night. Since then the enchanted knocker had decided to go easy on him.
"I don't know… lunch and dinner?"
"There may be some hope for you yet boy," the patronizing metal bird said as it opened the door.
It wasn't much of a surprise to Harry that he didn't get along with his male roommates; none of the boys at Hogwarts liked him at all. He was just glad that Kevin, Antony, Terry, and Michael were content with ignoring him. But instead of pressing his luck Harry sneaked into the room of the first-year witches, who let him sleep on the floor each night. They even stole a nice mattress for him, which they hid under Hermione's bed every morning.
The female Ravenclaw prefects knew about this, but let him get away with it because they felt sorry for him. Besides he was only eleven, so how much trouble could he possible cause? As for Professor Flitwick... well, the Head of Ravenclaw didn't seem to care what went on in the Tower.
"So Potter, how did it go tonight?" Su Li asked.
Of the three first-year witches she was the one less affected by Harry's special Charisma, and the one who most enjoyed taking the mickey out of him. The Chinese witch was tiny, but definitely not frail. Su was the only first-year who knew anything about dueling, and she often defended him from the Slytherins and Gryffindors between classes. In response to her question he held up his hands.
"Is that salt mixed in with the blood?" Padma asked. The adorable Indian witch was planning on a career as a Healer, and she enjoyed studying and healing his various wounds after the nightly Slytherin ambushes.
"Oh Harry, how can the Professors let them get away with behavior like this?" Hermione cried as she hugged him.
Harry held his hands above his head to avoided getting any blood on the girl's pink nightgown. He liked the little flying elephants, and didn't want to get any stains on them. Hermione was so desperate for friends when she arrived at Hogwarts that Harry never thought about using his Charisma on her. It was totally unnecessary.
"Hermione, let go of him. We have to clean those cuts before I can heal them," Padma said as she brought over a porcelain basin of hot water and several clean towels.
"But why are they treating him like this? He is Harry Potter, the greatest hero in the entire magical world," the bushy-haired muggleborn wailed.
"Granger, I have explained this to you before," Su said. "The only thing that matters to most witches and wizards is the strength of your wand. Do you honestly believe that Headmaster Dumbledore is both the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW because of his fashion sense? No, he holds those offices because he is a powerful wizard. Harry on the other hand is not a powerful wizard, and that makes many people angry. They were hoping for more from their little hero."
By now Hermione had calmed down a bit. "But it is not his fault. You can't control which kind of magical abilities you are born with."
Padma rolled her eyes at her roommate's naïve. "Shut up already. I am going to heal Harry's cuts. Do you want to watch or not?"
Of course they wanted to watch, they were Ravenclaws. All three witches were brilliant and insatiably curious about new kinds of magic. Padma's healing technique was crude—and more than a little painful—but it got the job done after a few minutes.
"Thank you," Harry said as he flexed his now-healed hands. "I don't know that I would do without the three of you."
"I do," Su replied as they all got ready for bed. "You would have taken a leap off the Astronomy Tower by now. Especially if you had to sleep in the same room as those four wankers every night."
"Well done," Minerva told Harry. "You have successful transfigured a matchstick into a pin, and it only took you three months."
His daily lessons in Remedial Transfiguration were still a major disappointment. Harry knew that he had the strength to do magic like this—it was just that he couldn't focus that magic through a wand. The runes inscribed on his bones prevent that from happening. Of course they also kept him alive in a magically-saturated environment like Hogwarts. He was doing even worse in Charms, and his attempt at flying on a broom had been a nonstarter. Worst of all was Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Professor Quirrell regularly brutalized him in front of his classmates.
On the other hand Herbology and Astronomy were a breeze, although the fact that those classes were taught by witches might have had something to do with it. The History of Magic was easy, and Potions was fascinating. Even with Professor Snape's constant abuse Harry thought he might have a future as a Potions Master. At least that's what he told himself. It was a way of pretending that he had some sort of future as a wizard, a way of pretending that he wasn't a squib. The Squib-Who-Lived... that was his unofficial title around the castle.
"Professor, we both know that I'm useless with a wand. There is no way I will pass Transfiguration, Charms, or DADA unless my medical condition improves. Is there any chance I will be able to visit St Mungo's Hospital during the holidays?"
As Harry asked this question he fired up his Charisma, and felt the runes being to burn inside of his body. A look of love and devotion quickly came over the Professor's face. He knew that what he was doing was dangerous close to the Imperius Curse, but a check of his wand would provide no incriminating evidence for the Aurors.
"I am sorry, but Albus wants to keep you away from any outsiders he can't control," Minerva replied with complete honesty. "He is also worried about your safety outside of Hogwarts, but most of all he is concerned about his own political future. Having you under his control gives him a great deal of power in the Wizengamot."
"What about the troll that attacked the castle on Halloween? Did that have anything to do me?"
"No, Albus thinks the troll's attack was part of a larger attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone from the third floor. The defenses we put in place worked, but the thief fled before we could catch him. Or her."
What the hell is a Philosopher's Stone? Harry wondered. His three witches would know. "Tell me more about these defenses on the third floor."
As the Professor droned on the pain from the runes became unbearable. There was definitely a time limit on his abilities, especially when he used them on someone as powerful as Minerva. These few minutes of effort would cost him days of constant pain.
"Thank you Professor McGonagall, that's enough for now."
"What were we talking about?" she asked as his control finally broke. Harry rarely forced a witch to forget her memories like this, but after what Minerva and the others had done to his Aunt Petunia he really didn't care about giving her brain damage.
"My chances of passing the OWLs."
"You know Mr Potter, there just might be a way for you to gain an OWL in Transfiguration, but it will require a great deal of work from you over the next several years."
"What do you have in mind?"
"As you know I am an Animagus, and I think I could teach you how to become one despite the limitations on your casting abilities. If you passed the theoretical half of the exam, and you were a registered Animagus that would almost certainly be enough for a passing grade from the Wizarding Examinations Authority."
"Would you be willing to teach my friends too?"
Minerva gave him one of her rare smiles. "I would be glad to include Miss Granger, Miss Li, and Miss Patil in this endeavor."
"Oh Harry, this is such an incredible honor. To be personally tutored by the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts," Hermione cried as she finished up a letter to her parents. "I am going to take this straight up to the Owlery before dinner."
"I know we are Ravenclaws, but if I ever start acting like Granger will someone please cast a Cruciatus Curse on me until I come to my senses?" Su pleaded after Hermione left.
"Forget her. What do you two know about something called the Philosopher's Stone?"
Both Padma and Su had heard stories about the Philosopher's Stone, and they quickly told him all they knew about the legendary artifact. The Li family even had some dealings with the reclusive Nicholas Flamel and his wife Perenelle from time to time. It seemed that the six hundred year-old wizard had a taste for certain magical items from China that only their family business imported to Europe.
While the vast majority of goods in the magical world were transported by Portkey, some items were too fragile or too volatile to be moved by magical means. That is where wizards like Guo Li and Purander Patil came in. They and their wealthy families had spent decades building specialized transportation networks that stretched all around the world.
On any given day Guo Li had a fleet of over sixty yachts sailing between China and Europe. Their heavily warded cargo holds contained magical goods valued in the millions of galleons. The Patil fleet that sailed from India was nearly as large. Some muggleborns had tried using aeroplanes to undercut their business, but most purebloods thought these modern muggle methods were too risky. Besides, with the use of Wind Charms intercontinental shipping usually took no longer than a week or two.
"Do you think it would be possible to get a letter from me personally delivered to Perenelle Flamel?" Harry asked Su. "Not to Nicholas Flamel, but to his wife."
"Maybe, but something that important would have to wait until I see my mother during the holidays. I don't know if she will do it, but if she does you will owe my family a huge debt. Is that clear, Potter?"
Su's mother Xiu had been born here in the United Kingdom to muggles who happened to be Chinese immigrants. Like Harry's own mother she had attended Hogwarts, but unlike Lily Evans she had not been able to find a wealthy pureblood husband. Instead after graduation she had been hired as a secretary to Su's father. After giving birth to two wizards and a witch, Xiu had risen to the status of an official concubine, and she was now the head of the London branch of their family business. That made her a very powerful witch he couldn't afford to double cross.
"Very clear, Su."
Harry wasn't sure what to expect as he waited for Perenelle Flamel at the front gate of the castle. She was over six-hundred years-old, so maybe a female version of Headmaster Dumbledore? What he got was a very short but attractive middle-aged witch dressed like a muggle businesswoman. Thanks to his late Aunt Petunia he had a keen eye for fashion, so he knew that her couture clothes and tasteful jewelry cost more than most people's cars. Maybe more than some people's houses.
"You must be Harry Potter," Perenelle said as she took in his ragged appearance. Months of abuse by his fellow wizards had taken a harsh toll. "No wonder Albus is keeping you hidden here in the Highlands far away from civilization."
"It is an honor to meet you Mrs Flamel," Harry said as he desperately tried to keep his composure. He knew he might have to use his Charisma on this witch, and the prospect terrified him.
"Mr Potter, your letter contained some disturbing information. If you were lying to me about any of it I will make sure that you suffer—even if you are under Albus' protection."
"About Headmaster Dumbledore..."
"He and my husband are on the other side of the world at the moment. You said in your letter that my Stone is here at Hogwarts."
Harry took a deep breath. "Yes, it is hidden on the third floor behind some minor defenses. If you would please follow me?"
He quickly learned that Perenelle was not someone he wanted to piss off. The small witch had no problem with butchering the Cerberus they encountered, and even after they were free of the Devil's Snare she kept hitting it was a powerful light spell until it was completely destroyed. Harry had never heard a plant scream before, and it was a sound he would never forget.
"Can you fly, Mr Potter?" Perenelle asked when they reached a small room full of enchanted keys that were buzzing about like angry bees.
"No, my magic doesn't seem to react properly to brooms."
"That is a pity. Flying is one of the most rewarding aspects of being a witch or wizard," Perenelle said before she graceful hopped on the old broomstick and retrieving the one key that would open the door in front of them.
"A chessboard? That is what Minerva contributed to this farce?"
With a flick of her wand all thirty-two chess pieces were transfigured into beach balls. It was kind of annoying, since they still tried to attack the two of them as they walked across the giant marble chessboard. By this point Perenelle was visible angry, and she barely slowed down as she killed the troll. Walking through the fire was fun though, and the Flame-Freezing Charm worked just like his textbook said it would.
"This was Albus' brilliant idea: the Mirror of Erised," Perenelle said in disgust when they reached the end of their quest.
"Yes, the Headmaster showed the Mirror to me a few days ago. This is the last line of defense for the Philosopher's Stone," Harry explained. Then he felt something in heavy in one of his pockets, and quickly handed it over to the witch. "Mrs Flamel, here is your Stone just like I promised in my letter."
Perenelle studied the beautiful red object for a moment before turning to study him. "Are you hungry? You have returned my husband's property to me, so I believe that I owe you a dinner."
"Sure, dinner sounds great," Harry replied.
"Good. Let us be on our way before any of Albus' lackeys try to detain us. This Portkey will take us to France."
The twelve-course meal in Paris was fantastic, even if Harry wasn't sure what he was eating half the time. And who knew that wine tasted so good? Perenelle made polite conversation, but she avoided answering any of his more important questions. It was time for a more direct approach, so he let his Charisma reach out and enter the powerful witch.
"Why would your husband risk your lives by giving Headmaster Dumbledore the Philosopher's Stone? It wasn't even protected that well."
"Mr Potter, what you have to understand is how boring life can get after six-hundred years on Earth. Albus Dumbledore and his little political dramas have always been a source of great amusement for Nicholas. And there is also the fact the Albus could... how did my hairdresser put it the other day? He could suck a golf ball through a garden hose."
Harry blushed. In fact he thought his cheeks were going to catch on fire. "My mother heard some interesting rumors about the Headmaster, but I had no idea that your husband was gay."
Perenelle snorted. "I wish. My dear husband will fornicate with anything if it has a pulse, and he wasn't always that discriminating in the past. Although I will admit that Albus was a very handsome man in his youth, and he could play very well on both sides of the pitch. Anyway, Nicholas thought it was hilarious watching your Headmaster run around Eastern Europe looking for the disembodied spirit of Tom Riddle. That is why the Philosopher's Stone was at Hogwarts. The senile old fool wants to lure the ghost back to the Highlands."
By now Harry was in a great deal of pain, but this information was too valuable to pass up. "Who is Tom Riddle?"
"That was Voldemort's real name. Personally I would have gone with Lord Riddle. It has a better ring to it."
"I thought You-Know-Who was dead?" a confused Harry asked.
"Albus thinks otherwise. He believes that the so-called Dark Lord will return from the Great Beyond," Perenelle replied dismissively. "Knowing Nicholas as I do, he probably hopes to see his friend Albus fight one last great duel before his death."
By now the pain was too intense for Harry to continue with his questions. This performance was going to leave him in agony for a month.
"Will you please take me back to Hogwarts?"
"Yes, of course."
When they returned to the castle they were met by Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel himself. Like his wife, he was very short by modern standards. He was also so fat that he looked like one of those beach balls she had transfigured up on the third floor.
"Albus, don't even think about threatening the boy. I am a trained Necromancer. That means I can kill you, and then I can bring you back to life and kill you again."
"Perenelle, please allow me to explain."
"I am not interested in hearing your excuses. Nicolas, it's time to go. We are going to have a long discussion about your ridiculous plots, and it will involve a great deal of pain. For you."
The famous alchemist said nothing. He just smiled like he was looking forward to it.