I don't own Harry Potter. Any parts of this that resemble the books are probably from it.

A/N. Thanks to all those who reviewed. About the spelling and grammar, at GCSE I got an A* with one question wrong on my maths exam. The first one. I barely scraped a B on my English exams and yet here I am writing fanfiction. I shall try my hardest. As for the definitely/defiantly error I spent half an hour staring at it knowing it was wrong but not why. At least I didn't forget how to spell any again.

To the guest who said Harry was an utter moron, I'm curious to what you mean. His only source of magical info is Hagrid, Tom and books. The first two aren't exactly wizarding geniuses and Harry doesn't exactly know what he is looking for in books. He spoke to Tom when he wasn't working, which was rare, and Hagrid is a half-giant which causes a lot of differences between him and Harry.

Felius, I did put a small sentence in on him checking the vaults in Chapter 1, but this will be expanded on later.

January 8th 1992 – Gryffindor tower

Harry was in a foul mood. He had visited the Mirror of Erised, having idly figured out the inscription, really? Backwards? Was that the best they could do? He had spent most of his days over there during holidays and he had been livid when earlier today he had gone back and the bloody thing had vanished! He had gone to the library for the first time in weeks, noting that he hadn't been since he had first seen the mirror, normally going every few days, nor had he been to see Hagrid.

He had found out that the Mirror exerted a strong attractive force on any who had seen it making them want to come and see it again and again and again. Possibly until they withered away in front of it.

That annoyed him. He had yet to find what was wrong with his magic and that had cut into his time researching what was wrong. Although a small part of him, that he had been trying to crush, said that if he withered and died but got to spend all his time with the image of his parents, would he care?

He heard a roar, and looked out the window to where Hufflepuff were still celebrated their victory over the dejected Gryffindor Quidditch team. Whilst Gryffindor had some of the best chasers, beaters and the best keeper, they were really let down by the pathetic seventh year seeker. Despite his abysmal flying however he was still the best Gryffindor could field in that regard.

Harry had thought about trying out for the team until he was told that everyone on the teams had bought their own brooms and they were much better than the school ones. Whilst he enjoyed flying and the practice matches that occasionally formed in their flying lessons, he doubted he would be any good on the teams.

Not to mention the fact that he didn't really like the twins. They had pranked him several times and whilst he would have enjoyed them and laughed about it, no one was willing to undo the bloody things and he was leery of trying to finite himself, less he find himself missing a limb. In the end he resorted to finding his head of house, he had given him a disappointed look and had sighed. She seemed to be doing that a lot when he was around. As did Professor Flitwick for some reason, although Snape seemed to take an obscene glee in it. Bastard.

Dumbledore just avoided him. He couldn't prove it, but whenever he had seen the Headmaster he had moved away from him as soon as he could, turning down corridors he knew led nowhere or back up staircases he had just came down. At least Hagrid was his friend, thinking of it, he had best visit the man, having never thanked him for the present.

January 21st 1992 – outside Hagrid's Hut

Hagrid had been acting suspiciously lately. It had started a few weeks after he had visited the man to say thank you. Whenever he encountered him after, whilst feeding Fluffy or exploring the forest, and offering to visit him, he would come up with some bizarre reason for him not to. He had presumed Harry's reason for not visiting had been that he was overcome with emotion and wanted to deal with it privately. Harry could see that his actions could be seen like, and so decided not to correct him.

He shivered and started internally circulating his magic around his body in an attempt to keep warm, one of the useful little things he had learnt from a book on magic control in the library. Apparently it was a precursor to the warming charm, although attempting to cast that had left a melted patch of wall in the abandoned classroom he now used to practise. He had found it after hunting around the castle looking for somewhere to practise potions, seeing as Snape was worse than useless, after having nearly set his bed on fire with one impressive explosion.

He put the thoughts of his practise room out of his mind as he approached Hagrid's hut and banged on the door. It opened a couple of inches and a sliver of Hagrids face appeared, as well as a wall of heat.

"Oh 'ello 'arry," he said, eyes darting round, "do yer need somethin'?"

"No, just thought I'd visit you. Can I come in?"

"Well, now's no' very good time 'arry, don' s'pose we coul' meet a' Fluffys?" he replied nervously. There was a cracking noise behind him and he spun round, Harry taking the chance to push his way in and look around, reversing his magic flow in an attempt to cool down from the sauna he now found himself in.

His eyes were drawn to a large egg in the fireplace that Hagrid was now pulling out and placing on the table. He drew up a chair and sat down eyes never leaving it as a small claw sliced its way out.

"Hagrid," he asked, interest obvious in his voice, "what creature's egg is this?"

"Dragon, the book says I go' a Norwegian Ridgeback, rare they're."

Harry stared at it. It was beautiful in its own way, stubby wings shown the mighty pinions they would grow into, the sparks it sneezed out, the beginnings of its fiery breath. The whole creature showing the mighty beast it would grow into.

"How fast will it grow? And how large do dragons get? What about its diet? And its..."

"Don' worry 'arry the books told me everythin' I need t' know," Hagrid interrupted with a chuckle, "Glad t' see you're as enthusiastic as I am 'bout it. He'll nee' name thoug'. What 'bout Norber'?"

"How do you know he's a male? Is it the spines or the horns or the..."

"Er, I don' really know, jus' kinda guessed," Hagrid said sheepishly, flipping the dragon over in his hands, ignore the bites and scratches it was attempting to give him. "Oh. Mayb' Norber'a's a better name."

Harry snorted, that was Hagrid through and through. "May I?" he asked, reaching out to touch the newborn.

"Go fer it," he replied.

As he ran a winger over Norberta's stubby wings and felt them twitch, he once again thanked his magic for the gift he had with animals. When Hagrid attempted to do this Norberta would try to bite him, but him? It was like she was a small and adorable, albeit spiky, kitten.

February 7th 1992

Norberta had grown a lot during the last week, almost tripling her size. She was eating through Hagrid's chicken at an impressive rate but as she got bigger she started wanting larger sources of food and drink. Her breath was becoming a problem as well. As she hadn't got it under control accidental sneezes now shot out a small amount of flames, rather than just the sparks she had been capable of earlier. After she nearly set Harry's cloak on fire and Hagrid started regrowing his beard for the third time, he decided to do something.

He didn't have to spend long in the library before he found what he was looking for. 101 Essential Spells for a Dragon Breeder wasn't a new publication by any means, but it did contain a flame proofing chapter. Wards and runic arrays didn't look like something Hagrid would be able to cast, not that he would be able to having his wand snapped. But Harry was fairly sure the laws said nothing about using an umbrella to cast spells, regardless of the fact it had pieces of a wand inside it.

Norberta was sat near the fire, curled up like Fang usually was, not that Fang would protest losing his spot by the fire to Norberta. A bloody coward was what Hagrid called him, but Harry thought that the boarhound was probably more sensible than Hagrid realized. Harry had the book out and was most definitely not teaching Hagrid the wand movements. Or the incantations. Or why it was necessary for a man living in a wooden hut to have these.

The two of them doubted anyone would visit often enough to be suspicious of why Hagrid would offer to meet at the castle, save perhaps the Headmaster. They would be fine raising Norberta. They looked at each other and grinned when Norberta sneezed, and the curtains didn't catch fire.

February 25th 1992

Harry ducked under Norberta's tail as she swung it through the air, the spines on it now hard enough to do some damage. It was getting harder and harder to hide her, and it was only Harry noticing that she would soon be too big to fit through the door to Hagrid's hut that stopped her being stuck inside, until she grew through the roof in an attempt to get out.

She was now just inside the forbidden forest and the two of them were trying to find a way to stop her wandering off and hurting the other creatures. They had thought about chaining her up, but had decided that was too cruel and instead erected a crude pen, as she was still too young to fly.

They were amazed that no one had noticed her, as her roars were definitely audible from the castle and her bright sheets of flame lit the occasion tree on fire. Harry had informed the centaurs of her location and they had also directed him to several herds of non-sentient animals that they were now using as her feed.

He was currently trying to refill her food and water, and whilst he had managed to put the deer carcass in her pen, she had now decided she wanted to play rough-and-tumble with him. He had rather enjoyed it when she was less than two feet long, but playing with a creature taller than Hagrid that was rather spiny and didn't notice was not on his to do list. At least she had stopped trying to nuzzle his hand, those horns were sharp, for god's sake!

As he was doing this, and Hagrid was currently engrossed in reinforcing the wall of the pen that was between Norberta and the castle, he didn't notice Professor McGonagall making her way towards them, curiosity evident on her face.

"Hagrid? May I ask what you're doing here?"

Hagrid froze. "Oh, er, nothin' in particula' Professor, jus', er..." he turned and dropped the hammer on his toe.

"Gah!" they heard Harry scream and rushed over to the wall, Hagrid trying to block McGonagall's way and her trying to see peer round his bulk and over the rough wall. "Norberta!" they heard Harry shout, "What have I told you picking me up?"

They heard a muffled whimper and McGonagall pushed past Hagrid, to see Harry being hung upside down, his arms crossed and glaring at Norberta, who looked a little abashed even with his leg firmly gripped between her jaws.

"Oh!" he said, as he caught sight of his paling transfiguration teacher, "hello Professor. Can we, er, help you?"

McGonagall tried to keep her voice steady. "What is going on here...?"

Dumbledore's office

"...and of all the foolish, not to mention dangerous, things you two could have done, a dragon? What were you thinking?" Professor McGonagall ranted at Harry and Hagrid, both of whom were staring sheepishly at the floor. She had quickly gotten the story out of them and then dragged them off in front of the Headmaster, who was looking mildly amused at the whole thing.

"I have to say though," he commented, "you have done remarkably well hiding this from everyone. May I ask how?"

"Well Sir," Harry started, "no one was really looking and you didn't expect to see a dragon and, well, it just kind of happened..."

"Yer can't blame 'arry 'eadmaster, it's not 'is faul'. It just kinda' snowball'd from Fluffy and, I shoul' no' have tha'..."

Professor McGonagall looked appalled. "Surely you haven't taken him to see that monstrous creature have you?"

"Fluffy's a lovely creature Professor," Harry burst out, "You just haven't got to know him yet. And I found him by myself so don't blame Hagrid for that!"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just go," she eventually replied, "go on, back to your rooms."

Harry and Hagrid glanced at each other, shrugged and turned to leave. As he was closing the door behind himself he heard McGonagall start speaking.

"At least we don't have to worry about finding a replacement for Hagrid any time soon..."

March 3rd 1992 – Harry's practice room

He was sat in the practice room waiting for one of the potions to finish brewing. He was practising a swelling solution, wanting to get a head start on the second year curriculum before Snape ruined it for him. He had most of the first year potions down pat and had started experimenting but when he melted the stirrer with one variation on the forgetfulness potion that should have decreased the time it took to brew, he decided to stop trying different recipes, knowing he could not afford to replace his equipment if something failed.

He had been waiting patiently but quickly got bored and pulled out his wand. He prudently moved away from the cauldron and started on the levitation charm. It was apparently the simplest spell, other than Lumos and he didn't want to try that on his wand. He closed his eyes.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing. "Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing. "Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing.

He so desperately wanted it took work. He pulled the magic from his core, through his body to his hands, where his wand work take it and feed it into the spell. He visualized it floating about eyelevel and willed it, wanted it so desperately to work.

What Harry hadn't noticed was that he had spilled some of the swelling solution on his hands and, after the third attempt at the charm, his wand had dropped from his slightly numb fingers. Without the wand creating a bottleneck in his magic, the feather shot up to eye level.

He opened his eyes and gaped. As he did his concentration slipped, and the feather started to drop. He reincanted the words and concentrated on keeping the feather up, not noticing his wand was still lying in his lap. His hand still pointing at the feather, he tried to gently move the feather up a little more.

It rose.

Harry could have jumped for joy and screamed to high heaven if he wasn't so engrossed in the slow circles he was making the feather go in. A slight 'POP' from one of the bubbles in his potions drew his attention and the feather fell. He stirred the potion and noted there was still a little time left to go before it was finished.

He turned his attention back to the feather, determined to repeat his first feat of magic. 'Oh, I didn't realize I had dropped my wand.' He picked it up and tried again.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing. 'What the hell!' he thought furiously, 'I just did it!'

"Wingardium Leviosa." This time it worked and Harry noticed that it wasn't a feather floating at eye level, but his wand, spinning in lazy circles. He watched it clatter back to the ground and tried to work out how this was possible. All the books he had read had shown wand gesture and movements, not a single one said that you could do magic without it.

But, thinking back, he had never had a wand prior to Hogwarts and, although Tom had said that that had been accidental magic, perhaps it was different for him. Did you have to have a certain magical strength to use a wand? Did it come with age? After all children performed magic without them. Did that mean the headmaster had to use a staff to channel his magical might and he was also the oldest person he knew of, so that fit both theories.

Now though he good show his classmates that he wasn't a squib, his floating feather would prove that to all of them. Then they could stop calling him Squibby and he could gain some more friends!

No.

That wouldn't work, after all they had been levitating feathers for months now. He would have to catch up with... No, he had to surpass his classmates, show them that they had all been wrong about him. He could endure their taunts for a little longer. He had the theory down perfectly for everything so it was just the practical that had evaded his grasp, but not anymore.

He was worried though about the timing. It would not be long until the end of year exams, and given how long it had taken him to get this far he might not be ready for them. What if he failed?

No, it wouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter... His grades were good enough in all the theory, that it shouldn't matter how badly he did practically, he would still pass.

He heard the potion start to hiss, showing it was ready for the final ingredient. He wanted to finish with it quickly and get on with his new spell casting abilities...

May 5th 1992 – Transfiguration classroom

With exams coming so soon all the teachers were reviewing previous subjects, with Professor McGonagall currently asking them to turn a mouse into a snuffbox. No one had noticed Harry was using his left hand to wave his wand about, and his right to direct the flow of magic out of his core, through his body, ignoring the pull his wand had on it, out and around the mouse. It was changing very slowly as Harry defined exactly how he wanted it to look.

He had practiced earlier and thought he had it, before realizing he had created it completely solid. He imagined that would probably lose him points.

After practicing for a week or so he started to show a small but constant improvement in class. It hadn't stopped the name calling, although that now seemed to be restricted to people who disliked him rather than everyone.

He was so engrossed in the transfiguration that he didn't notice Longbottom stroll up to him.

"Need a hand? Try visualizing what you want to happen, I tend to find that helps."

Harry stared, had Longbottom just offered him some advice? "T-thanks," he replied, maybe he wasn't such a prick...

"No problem Squibby."

Yes. Yes he was a prick. A huge one, with no limits to his prickyness. Harry glared at his back at turned to look at his transfiguration. Ouch, the rat appeared to be still alive, stuck half way with no legs. Longbottom had confirmed he was on the right track with his spells and he began reforming the image of his snuffbox.

He hadn't been too bad lately, though he kept rubbing his forehead and shooting Quirrell suspicious glances throughout his lessons. Whilst he had toned down the insulting it was still more common than Potter in his speech, although he wasn't as bad as some of the Slytherins. He was beginning to wonder if anyone other than Hagrid knew his first name.

Whilst he wasn't making much progress on the friends' front, his magic was a different matter. He could now cast all of the first year spells to an acceptable degree and was now working on speeding up the rate of casting. He wasn't sure if there was a time limit on his exam practicals and he didn't want to risk it. Harry had also been practicing how much concentration he had to put into the spells. Ideally he wanted to started the spell then let it finish itself off with a minimum of concentration. He had wanted to train until he could do it subconsciously, but he had realized that if he did and then accidently thought of something, it would happen. That was probably taking it too far.

He had been tempted to move onto the second year curriculum but decided that getting through his first year was more important. He noticed Professor McGonagall leaning over his shoulder, a small smile on her face.

"Well done Mr. Potter, it's good to see you haven't let your lack of success get you down."

June 22nd 1992 – Fluffy's corridor

Harry had been up in the corridor since he had finished his exams. He hoped he had done okay, he knew he had on the theory, but the practical? He had run out of time on his Charms test and Snape circling his desk had not improved his confidence in potions. He had also gotten some odd looks from the professors as he had been muttering what he wanted to happen under his breath.

Fluffy was currently tearing pieces of meat from his latest meal, a cow, held between the left and right heads whilst the middle ripped chucks off it. Harry himself was perched on his back with a fork, trying to give the Cerberus a good scratching. Fluffy seemed to only notice he was being petted when Hagrid did it and knowing the half-giant's strength had prompted Harry to find a new way to scratch the beast.

As it was his position was completely invisible from the door and when he heard it open, Quirrells muttering following it, he decided to stay where he was, even as Fluffy rose from the floor and towered over the man.

"Stupid beast," he heard the man mutter, "now, what was it that oaf mentioned, Music to make it sleep?" Harry heard a muffled 'pop' before strains of classical music filled the room, Fluffy beginning to sag underneath him.

"Bloody mongrels collapsed on the trapdoor," was the next thing he heard, before he felt Fluffy's body rise and start to float backwards. Quirrell was going down the trapdoor he realised, and knowing what was down there he had to tell someone. Hagrid hadn't really been able to keep the secret that there was a philosopher's stone hidden in Hogwarts to himself, not that Hagrid could keep anything to himself.

He waited until he heard Quirrell curse about the Devil's snare, so that's what the writhing had been, before climbing down from Fluffy and hurrying over to the door. He quietly pulled it open and headed for the Headmasters office, hoping that the password hadn't changed.

It didn't take long for him to reach the office at full speed and he recited the password he had heard when he and Hagrid had been brought here.

"Lemon drops!"

Nothing happened. 'Oh hell!' Harry thought, now what was he suppose to do? He was saved however by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who looked at him curiously and asked why he was trying to get into the Headmasters office.

"Professor Quirrells gone down the trapdoor in Fluffy's corridor, Professor," he hurriedly told her, "I think he's after the stone!"

She gave him an appraising look before responding, "You're the second student who has told me of someone going after the stone tonight, a stone they should not know about. Yours at least tells me who, but I am less inclined to believe you than the first person who brought this to my attention. Why should I believe you?"

"He put him to sleep with a conjured harp and jumped straight down! I swear it Professor!" he shouted out.

"On what?" she replied idly, as she continued on down the corridor, barely paying attention to him.

"Pardon?"

She sighed, "What do you swear on, Mr. Potter?"

He rolled his eyes, "My parents! The Castle! My Magic! Does it matter?" He felt strange sensation go through him, as if his magic had turned inside out. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Yes Mr. Potter it does," she said, looking rather alarmed before pulling herself together and conjured a match then holding it out to him, "Transfigure this please."

He did. "Happy now?" He snarked.

"For you? Yes. In the wider sense? Most definitely not. Now please excuse me, I have a stone to save." He watched her hurry off, calling for the paintings to get Filius, Severus and Pomona.

'What the hell just happened?'

June 25th 1992 – Great Hall

Harry was currently sat alone at the Gryffindor table listening to some second years tell extortionate tales about Neville Longbottom and how he defeated Quirrell three nights earlier. The rumours had started out fairly believable from his point of view. The heads of house had confronted Quirrell after getting past the defences they had sat and finding Longbottom and his cronies halfway, Weasley looking rather injured and supported by Finnegan with Dean and Longbottom himself in the next room staring at a piece of paper and some potions. This had then descended into a running battle to the entrance hall where Longbottom had got the drop on Quirrell from a balcony and managed to burn straight through his body as he landed on him.

Now though, the heads of house were merely bystanders, rubbing their hands together and encouraging the Boy-Who-Lived, who was heroically duelling the fleeing thief until he defeated him, rather than the other way around. That was one of the tamest rumours.

He wouldn't have pegged Quirrell for it though, the man had hid his abilities well, and being able to duel all four heads of house was no mean feat. He stopped worrying about it as Dumbledore stood up, the babble dying away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; in third, Ravenclaw with four hundred and twenty-six; Gryffindor, has four hundred and sixty-two points and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two."

The Slytherins broke out in cheers, whilst Harry snorted, more than half of those points are from Snape.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "For great courage in the face of adversity and a willingness to do what he had to, I award Mr. Neville Longbottom, twenty points."

As the rest of Harry table burst out in cheers, ecstatic about beating Slytherin for the first time in years, he shook his head in disgust. He may not have liked the Slytherins but this was cruel, could he not have awarded the points before hand?

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

"Now tuck in for our last meal of the school year, before we all head home."

That struck Harry like a thunderbolt. Home. What was he going to do over the holidays?

Next chapter will be a short summer interlude before the beginning of second year.