Harry was happily patrolling the school corridors in search of any potential threat to his fellow students; a ferocious beast? A devious bully? Maybe the ruthless manipulations of a first-year who has dreams of world domination? No matter, Harry would slice the danger in dices using the legendary Sword of Gryffindor. Oh, how he loved that sword.
"Greetings, passerby!" he called happily, before abrutly stopping in his tracks: there was something wrong with the jovial passerby...
Maybe it was that he wasn't exactly passing by, more like standing perfectly still in the middle of the corridor with a terrified expression on his face. Further investigation revealed the standerby had cold hard skin, his eyes were completely glassed (No wonder, they must have been open for hours!) and only his clothes, glasses and bag weren't still as stone.
He'd seen this before, Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, had been found petrified some time before. Of course Harry had done nothing to save the notoriously evil beast, even if it pained him a little to see the equally evil caretaker that sad; slaying evil was okay, purposefully making it sad... that's just twisted.
Since then however, Harry had spent twice as much time patrolling Hogwarts, only stopping by when he encountered somebody to make sure everything was alright: there was this one time for example when he strolled across young Ginny Weasley's path.
She had been heading toward the girl's bathrooms, which he generously indicated were out of service, and clutching an open diary against her chest, certainly hoping he wouldn't read her personal confessions. Poor girl didn't know heroes respected privacy.
After a minute of small talk ("Are you certain there is no dragon threatening your family and those you care about? No abductions, no demands of sacrifice for Dark rituals?") Ginny had seemed to get very annoyed with his presence, which he therefore gracefully removed from her way, and he could only hope he hadn't made her late to wherever she'd been hoping to go as she'd claimed she would soon be.
Wait, you can't be late to the bathroom, can you?
Nah, it's probably nothing...
So there he was, epic Sword drawn, ready to defend against any oncoming danger, before returning his attention to the petrified student. With a generous smile he produced a bottle filled with a red potion from his pocket, and poured some of its contents in the half-open mouth of the student. He had to tip the entire teenager back for it to get into his digestive system but it did the trick and soon heat returned to the softening skin.
The Elixir of life was neat, and turning lead to gold to give to the poor was nearly just as good. Since he'd rescued - no, not stolen, heroes don't steal - the Philosopher's Stone, he'd been making great amounts of the Elixir of Life and sometimes sneaked into St Mungo's to help the most injured 'mysteriously recover'.
He'd decided not to simply distribute the thing as there was no doubt many would try to steal it for eternal life. His way saved less lives but it ensured that the solution would function in the long term. He also eliminated selling it, for the happiness in Neville's eyes when he was told his parents would recover from insanity was enough payment, though it was too bad his friend had to leave the school for a year to spend time with them, his education being handled by tutors for that time.
The Lead-To-Gold-To-The-Poor project was also running quite smoothly and he would, soon enough, sell a few metric tons of pure gold to the goblins before asking them to redistribute everything between several charity foundations.
The student coughed once, looked confused for a moment, took his glasses off, looked even more confused, and turned toward Harry.
"What just..."
"Fear not, fellow wizard! I have come to cure you of the most impeding ailment that is petrification!"
An eyebrow slowly raised on the unknown student's face, his features already contracted in the deepest expression of thought. "Why don't I need my glasses anymore?"
Harry merely flashed another smile, drank some of the red potion himself and, after a few seconds, removed his own glasses. "It's that potion, remarkable stuff. Do you have any idea what it is that petrified you?"
"I... what is that thing?"
"Not important. The petrification? Others might be in danger!"
Looking defeated, the confused one answered "I only remember seeing eyes. I think there might have been hissing too, but I wouldn't bet on it."
"I thank you, fellow wizard! You may wish to visit the Hospital Ward for a more thorough examination of your current health status."
And he strode away, openly ignoring the other's protests and questions.
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"Ah, finally I catch you alone, fellow hero!" Harry exclaimed, striding in the professor's classroom.
Gilderoy Lockhart didn't even turn from the mirror he was using to fix his hair; instead he flashed a smile at reflection-Harry, and answered just as joyfully:
"Harry, how nice to see you! I suppose you need advice with your fanmail so you sought out the most famous wizard in Britain?"
Harry's expression darkened.
How does he dare? Most famous wizard? I dare believe that's me!
"Excuse me, Professor, but... I can't remember you doing anything even remotely heroic in this castle. Would you care to refresh my mind?" he asked, his normally cheerful voice cold. He didn't become a hero for the fame but nobody, nobody would usurp his title of Most Famous Wizard in Britain.
"Umm, well, there was the time last week when I made the most epic last stand against a group of seven year bullies attempting to brutalize a defenseless third year! What did you do?" Lockhart replied, his hesitancy turning into ferocity.
"Fought an unknown Dark creature in the Forbidden Forest to save the unicorns!"
"Oh yeah? Prevented a drunk Ravenclaw prefect from tearing through his Common Room portrait when he couldn't solve the riddle!"
"Sought retribution when my Archnemesis attempted to lead me into an embush, confronted him and his minions, came out of the battle victorious and unharmed!."
"I told the Elves to change yesterday's menu when I realized they were going to mix pudding and strawberry ice cream for dessert. Saved the meal I did!"
"Vanquished the greatest Dark Lord of the millenia at age one!"
"Only because I didn't get there first! Besides, that wasn't even in the castle! Outside Hogwarts I stopped an Inferi invasion from annihilating Congo!"
"Want me to get back to Hogwarts? Try this one: I saved a maiden in distress, from a grown Mountain Troll, by stabbing IN THE HEART WITH A LEGENDARY SWORD!" and he unsheathed Gryffindor's sword, chopping off half of Lockhart's hair in the same movement.
Deciding his professor's shocked stare meant victory, Harry smugly walked back out of the office to enjoy a celebratory Butterbeer in the kitchen.
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"Poppy, do you have any idea yet how Potter heals all the petrified students?" Albus asked. The boy wouldn't look him in the eye whenever he attempted even the lightest Legilimency probe since Severus had tried the same and he associated that inquisitive look with evil people.
"I'm sorry Albus, still no idea, but I can't exactly refuse him the right to enter the Hospital Wing if he's going to heal everyone in there in under five seconds every time he visits, and if I question him he just walks away."
"We must find a way, in the meantime try to get a peek at what he does in there, whatever it is cannot be that complicated if a second-year discovered it."
"Do you even think before you speak sometimes? He's not just a boy, and he's not lying when he introduces himself as 'Professional Hero, here's my card, the Floo adress is there. Please call the Goblins for more information.'"
Dumbledore had a surprised expression, "What exactly do you mean Poppy?"
"I mean Harry protected his peers from a Troll, saved the unicorns, subdued over ninety percents of the bullies who used to roam our halls, and he does patrol the corridors at night to help stave off evil. We've never managed to catch him out of bed, for some reason, but he's been seen out several times, and he keeps proclaiming that 'Evil will take advantage of the night to infiltrate the people's stronghold of civilisation.'"
Albus sat on the nearest bed and decided he'd get a good night's sleep before thinking about Harry Potter any further.
"Do you have any Headache Potions left? I have quite the mighty one incoming."
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"... need ter follow the spiders," Hagrid said.
Harry turned to Hermione, "Tell me, I need a gorgeous witch to accompany me in the Forbidden Forest, would you care to accompany me?"
He just called me gorgeous! was Hermione's only line of thought at that point, "Of course I will, handsome hero!"
"Great, we already have the Cloak, let's go right now!"
"Wait, go where?"
"The Forest, where you just agreed to go. Come, princess! We have to save the innocent!"
Hermione reluctantly followed her best friend past the treeline, and they searched for spiders for over an hour, and, when Hermione finally believed he'd let her go, she heard his voice: "Right here, follow me!"
A sigh and over twenty minutes of walking behind a long line of eight-legged creatures, Harry brought them to a stop under the Cloak.
"Do you hear the clicking sounds?"
She did, and nodded.
"Let's walk slowly now."
Another minute and both stopped in surprise when they were suddenly in front of a car-sized spider, dashing madly around while a distant voice shouted "I smell humans! They're not Hagrid, bring them to me!"
Hermione attempted to get Harry to turn back around, but he grabbed her arm in a strong grip, blocking her. She whispered a small "Why?" in his ear, and the serious look in his eyes when he turned around to completely face her frightened her. His features were cold as steel, and he had started slowly unsheathing Gryffindor's Sword.
His voice was low, and yet powerful, for it was all she heard when he spoke.
"We're surrounded."
A second later, Harry flung the Cloak toward the sky, raising the Sword in a threatening and striking pose; "BRING IT ON!"
Hermione stepped back once, only to trip on a root and fall on her behind. When she looked back at Harry, he was fighting a mesmerizing dance in the middle of a dozen giant Acromantulas, the Sword occasionally catching the seldom ray of light in a magical glint.
Spider body parts were flying around Harry, and he dodged, parried, deflected, and hit in the same movements, until all around him were lying on the ground, dying in a disgusting pool of Acromantula hair, fluids, and small parts.
More were standing in a wider circle around him, carefully assessing their opponent. Suddenly, there was an orchestra of clicking, the creatures getting excited for an unknown reason; Harry merely looked around himself, taking in his environment. There was no glee or good mood visible in his expression, only awareness of lethal danger and cold calculation, with the aim to survive, save his friend, and nothing more. No heroics, only the fight of a cornered warrior.
Hermione had no idea where he'd learned how to use his sword in such a graceful, effective and deadly manner, but his technique was flawless, and morbidly beautiful. It was a new facet of Harry she was discovering at that moment, but her thoughts were brutally interrupted.
An Acromantula, easily three times as big as the largest one Harry had vanquished so far, stormed into the wide circle, batting away deeply rooted trees as it rushed toward the boy. The thing was truly huge, and at full speed it had reached Harry less than a second after it was first seen.
The... thing's first blow sent Harry flying several meters high in the air, but he managed to sever one of its front legs with an overhead blow as he fell back down hard on the ground.
Both opponents stepped back, Harry favoring a leg while the Acromantula prepared another tactic.
"My name is Aragog, and you have attacked my family. Die, human!", and Aragog went on its second rush, jumping before reaching its prey, intent on crushing him under its considerable weight.
Only, an instant before impact, the Cloak slipped from the tree branch it had landed on after he first threw it, and covered him back again. Aragog hit the ground, hard, but without any meat to devour under its legs. It stepped back, running around wildly, looking for the human, and caught another scent.
The beast started heading for a panic-struck Hermione; Harry appeared back, tossing the Cloak aside, right under Aragog, and drove Gryffindor's Sword in its belly.
"No! No! No..." it clicked, attempting to lift itself off the sharp blade, but Harry started hacking it from the inside and, finally, Aragog died.
"Back off, all of you, your Lord is dead! Save your miserable lives and run, because my sword is still hungry!" he taunted, and the pack scattered around the Forest.
Harry picked the Cloak back up, brushed his clothes in a useless attempt to straighten them, and led Hermione back under it to head for Hogwarts again. He refused to answer Madam Pomfrey's questions as to how he ended up like this, and why his friend was in a state of shock.
It was only a week later that hermione asked the question that had been on her lips for a long time. Harry had gone back to his cheerful self the day after the fight.
"Who taught you how to fight like that?"
Harry smiled at her, "There is this portrait called Sir Cadogan, a fine Knight this one, and you see..."
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"Serpensortia!" Draco cast at Harry while smirking the usual 'Evil Future Dark Overlord Smirk'.
Gilderoy Lockhart, of course, recognized this as the perfect opportunity to get back at Harry; who better to save than precisely him if he wanted to prove himself the greater hero? The blond wizard stepped forward, raised his wand, and opened his mouth, only for a a disappointed groan to get out of it.
Harry looked back at him, holding a half-serpent in one hand and his sword in the other.
Lockhart looked back at Harry.
Harry shrugged.
The second half of the snake twitched on the ground.
Draco was confused.
Lockhart left.
The students clapped, and Harry bowed, brandishing the slain viper like a trophy.
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"Why would we use Polyjuice?" Harry asked.
"To infiltrate the Slytherin Common Room and ask Draco if he's the Heir of Slytherin, of course," Hermione replied confidently. She was sure that if she was the one who designed the plan for once, there wouldn't be any mortal danger involved.
"Ha! Sometimes you have to drop the cunning Hermione, doesn't fit you. Wait here."
And he left, Hermione gaping in outrage behind him.
Five minutes later, Harry came back in Myrtle's bathroom, which had become their new Headquarters despite his complaints over the overall lack of epicness the setting offered. At her questioning look, he grabbed something in the air, pulled the Cloak out of it, and revealed an unconscious Draco floating in mid-air. Before she could add anything, he levitated the boy straight in a stall, bound him to the toilet seat, and cast a quick Ennervate.
"What, where am I? Release me Potter, or my father will hear of th-" he finished his phrase with a gulping sound when a blade came to rest against his throat. He looked into his nemesis's eyes, and only refrained from gulping a second time because it hurt against the sword.
Harry spoke, "I have one question for you, Evil Kid. And you're going to be honest with me, because, if you lie, ..." he moved his mouth closer to the Malfoy heir's ear, and loudly breathed in, then out with the words "I'll know it".
The overall effect of waking up bound to a toilet seat and immediately getting interrogated by a sword-wielding psychopath was rather creepy to poor Draco.
He nodded, and Harry moved back, the sword tip now drawing light patterns on his throat. "Are you the Heir of Slytherin?"
the reminder that the Heir was in the school again brought back some of Draco's defiance, and he spat "No, and I only wish he'd reveal himself to me so I could help him!"
Harry smiled and delibarately used a bludgeoner instead of a simple Somnio to knock him back out. He turned back at his female friend, still smiling, and said "Wasn't too hard, see?"
Of course Harry also spent a week in detention, cleaning the corridors with Filch, but he didn't mind because he could still somewhat defend the castle during those nights.
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"Professor?" Harry called out from the half-open door.
"What do you want now, Potter! True heroes don't compare their wands, I'll have you know!" Lockhart snapped, still irate over the boy's lack of consideration for his reputation.
"Come on, you shouldn't be that mad just because I received ten more Valentine's cards than you did, professor. See you around!" he joked before leaving Lockhart to fume in his office.
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Harry handed the obviously enchanted diary to Hermione. He was the hero of the group, but he still immensely respected his friend's intellectual abilities, and since he recognized it from his much earlier encounter with Ginny Weasley, he decided not to have fun with the thing that was mysteriously thrown up by the toilets.
Two days later, she came back to him with only two pieces of information: the thing was tainted by Dark Magic ("So be careful with it or I'll tell Professor McGonagall on you!") and Tom M. Riddle, the first owner of the diary went to Hogwarts fifty years before them.
Knowing the quickest way to investigate was to ask someone who already had the answer, he went to the first professor he could think of who had been working there for that long: the Headmaster.
"Hello professor!"
"Hello Harry, but let me ask, how did you get past the gargoyle?"
"I brandished the Sword, called it a foul beast and pretended to attack. I'm such a Slytherin sometimes," he joked.
"Of course, of course... So, what brings you to my humble office, Harry? I hope you haven't discovered anything dangerous in the corridors. Lemon drop?"
"No thanks, and nothing of the sort Headmaster, I discovered it in the toilets." Dumbledore was, once again, confused. "Does the name Tom M. Riddle ring any bells?"
After ten minutes of refusing to either answer the old wizard's questions or meet his eyes, Harry got the answer he was looking for: Tom Marvolo Riddle was the young Lord Voldemort.
"I can only advise you not to do anything drastic with that information, Harry. It is a lot of trust I put into you today," he said before the student could left.
Harry was perfectly serious when he turned around to answer, "I know when the time is for heroics, and when it is for sensible decisions, Headmaster. I appreciate your trust," and left.
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Indeed, he recognised a situation when heroics would be a liability, not that he liked the idea, but he accepted it. Of course, he could try to communicate with the thing, engage in a long mental struggle to try and overcome the Dark Lord's will and magic, maybe fight an avatar of Lord Voldemort in his Hogwarts years, or even seek the Beast of Slytherin and defeat it after the most epic confrontation.
But, alas, no. It is sad to be sensible, but it is sometimes necessary, he thought when, not smiling this time, he brought Gryffindor's Sword down on the Diary.
A scream, or rather a soul-vibrating shrill, echoed in the castle that night.
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It was a good year... Wonder what next September will bring, though I do miss Neville, he thought as he entered his Uncle's car, readying himself for a hard summer. Heroes often had difficult backgrounds, and it was maybe the worst part of being one.