Chapter 4- Control and Chaos
"Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers"- Voltaire
The library was a reclusive place, habituated by students of all years at Hogwarts. However, an observant outsider would note that the majority of the students which currently resided in the library shared the same house affiliation, not doing anything to disprove any common stereotypes about that particular house.
Therefore, it was no surprise to see Harry Potter, a new member of the house of the Ravens in the, working alone at a table located at the back of the library. Scratching his jaw absentmindedly with the hand not currently clutching his quill, the raven-haired first year cast his gaze back to the sheets of parchment scattered sporadically across the worktop. On these sheets of parchment were headings such as 'The sorting hat', 'muggles having magic?' and 'how to tamper with a fire-proofing draught' containing various scribbles, most of which were messily crossed out.
With a small inarticulate cry of frustration, Harry ripped out another sheet of parchment, a fresh piece as he wracked his brain for ideas on how to change his thought process. Several minutes of silent contemplation passed as Harry began to mentally process various methods which he could undertake to complete this task when it hit him.
The Sorting Hat was the one who set this task. The Sorting Hat worked (if that was the right word to describe its role) at Hogwarts, which was a school. By extension, from that logic, it could be said that the hat worked as an educator much like the rest of the staff at Hogwarts. Thinking back to a primary school science lesson where the teacher asked the class to prove/disprove the existence of gravity (through the process of experimentation), Harry smiled as he recognised parallels between the situations.
The hypothesis that the Sorting Hat had eluded to was that 'muggles had magic.' 'A hypothesis must be falsifiable.' Harry recalled, as an image of an old muggle psychology textbook which he had read flashed through his mind. Harry then paused as he replayed the conversation which he had with the hat. The Hat had certainly eluded to the idea of muggles having magic, but there was an area of ambiguity in the object's answer. Mindful that the Hat was capable of manipulation, as demonstrated by their exchange in the headmaster's office, Harry picked up the quill and wrote 'beware of theory induced bias,' and 'be wary of manipulative magical objects' below the heading 'hypothesis.'
Satisfied that he had made apparent what he needed to be wary of, Harry then moved on to working out what should his hypothesis be. 'Do muggles have magic?' ended up being his final answer, given his reasoning that the answer the question was closed (a yes/no question.) Harry then moved on to finding out how he would test if muggles had magic or not. Several minutes passed by as Harry realised that the only way he could answer that question would be if he could define what magic was, something which he knew that he could not properly articulate.
Doubtful that he would find out the answers from a textbook (although it wouldn't be without value to identify a textbook's definition to see what a commonly accepted definition of what magic was), it would probably be a question which he had to ask to a professor. Remembering a conversation, he heard in passing from his dorm mates concerning an individual meeting with their Head of House, Professor Flitwick, Harry decided to make a small note of this to ask him.
That done, Harry frowned as he returned to the main sheet of parchment in front of him. Whilst he had formulated a plan of action to tackle that particular problem, it wasn't immediate in that he had no intention of looking for a textbook to explain what magic was at this current time and that his meeting with Professor Flitwick would not be another week or so. Running his eye over the other sheets of parchment, Harry noticed a common occurrence whereby the theme of the 'sorting hat' was rather prominent.
Identifying that it was the notion of focusing on the 'sorting hat' itself which was what led to him formulating a hypothesis and questions into what magic was, Harry decided he would draw his attention back to the magical object. Then the thought hit him, 'how did the hat draw the conclusion that muggles had magic?' Of course, the hat could have simply plucked the idea out of thin air, but it was unlikely given that their exchange seemed to be rather premeditated in that the hat had held this idea for a while and had waited until a sucker (i.e. someone like Harry) needed something from the hat so that he could barter the favour in exchange for testing the theory.
Picking up the quill, Harry wrote slowly and very deliberately 'how did the hat come up with this theory?' onto the middle of parchment before circling it. The next few minutes were spent creating a mini spider-diagram as Harry attempted to map out how the hat could have come up with the theory.
Harry concluded after the parchment was completely covered in scribbles legible to only its maker that the hat's main inputs (or influences) were students. It was after all the hat's job to look through a group of 40 plus first years every year for the last nine hundred years. Moreover, Harry suspected that the population might have been higher previously given the long-term slowdown or slump of birth rates and family sizes in Britain. Furthermore, Harry recalled the speed at which the hat could look through his memories and ability for the hat to process his deepest ambitions in two brief encounters.
Whilst the hat had in theory, looked through the minds of virtually every witch or wizard in the country for the last few centuries, there was a small problem. Looking through the mind of wizards such as Merlin or Albus Dumbledore might have been useful at their prime, the hat only saw them at age 11.
Harry suddenly paused as a rather sobering thought appeared in his mind. If the hat had seen the mind of every single witch/wizard, in theory the hat would have read the minds of murderers, rapists and other terrible people. Mindful that Britain was still in its recovery phase from what some dubbed the 'blood war', Harry felt a pang of pity for the hat. Suddenly he felt that his 'bastard' comment was somewhat uncalled for, given the magnitude of the job that the hat had to do. Shaking his head to rid himself of any niggling feelings of guilt, Harry ruthlessly focused his mind back onto the topic at hand; the influences of the hat that weren't students.
The most obvious influence of the hat would most likely be the headmaster/headmistress of Hogwarts. Harry knew from experience that the hat resided in the headmaster's office, perhaps given its sentience, acted as a faux advisor as such to the headmaster. Whilst Dumbledore looked to have been headmaster for quite a while, Harry wasn't oblivious or naïve to believe that he was the only headmaster that Hogwarts ever had. The man looked hundred and fifty (give or take ten years), not nine-hundred. Therefore, Dumbledore would have had predecessors, something which Harry could research, rather easily as well. Smiling to himself as a thought popped into his mind, it was of a somewhat grateful convenience that there was a certain source where he could find out both the history of headmasters of Hogwarts and the Sorting Hat.
Harry found himself several minutes later examining one of many bookshelves in the library before his hand suddenly shot out and pulled out a rather old tome, with a battered, worn cover. Trying and failing to hide a smirk, Harry tucked the book under his arm, the title of the book clearly visible to any onlooker as he made his way out of the library, he had no intention of spending any more time cooped indoors on a day like this. Perhaps a nice stroll out to the grounds where he could read the book in peace was on the cards.
Harry watched in respectful silence as the Transfiguration Professor lectured the class on the spell which they were due to learn. Keeping his eyes glued to the front of the classroom, Harry let his concentration wander slightly. He had learnt the spell previously and was confident on his ability to perform the spell. But the professor, Minerva McGonagall was the deputy head of Hogwarts, thus it would be tactful to be covert in his daydreaming as opposed to two of his classmates; Isobel and Maria he believed their names to be who were passing notes back and forth at a rather frantic pace.
"Miss MacDougal and Miss Glossop, is there anything you two would like to share with the class regarding Gawp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?" Harry hid a smirk as he watched the two Ravenclaw students faces flush to the point that their faces reminded Harry of overripened tomatoes.
"Now as I was saying, the incantation for this spell is cimexfors."[1] The proud Head of Gryffindor stated, "Would any person like to volunteer to perform the spell?"
Naturally, almost all of the hands in the room went up from the Ravenclaw contingent. Harry noted that the two girls who had been called out were amongst them, their blushes still present. Deciding that he would prefer to watch and perform the spell when everyone's attention was not on him, Harry kept his hand down. He watched on silently with mild curiosity as the professor picked Cedric, surprisingly he was the only non-Ravenclaw to volunteer for this task.
'It would have been more entertaining if one of the girls from before were asked.' Harry mused to himself, confident that neither of the girls would be able to perform the spell and that they only volunteered in an attempt to save face with the Professor.
The class watched in silence as Cedric made his way to the front of the class and slowly withdrew his wand. Carefully, he tapped the beetle on the desk in front of him, making sure that his pronunciation was as clear and articulate as possible.
To his relief and delight, the beetle suddenly morphed into a black button.
"Very good Mr Diggory, 5 points to Hufflepuff," the transfiguration Professor said, a smile on her face, "Could you please tell the class what you were thinking when you performed the spell?"
"Um I focused upon how I wanted the beetle to transform into the button and making sure that the incantation was perfect."
"Excellent Mr Diggory." Professor McGonagall said, "You may take a seat." She waited until the Hufflepuff had returned to his seat before continuing. "How many of the class are familiar with the muggle sport golf?"
Approximately a third of the class's hands went up, Harry's included at this question.
"And how many of you are familiar with Quidditch?"
Harry noted that all of the hands which were not previously up were now up.
"Good good." The Transfiguration Professor remarked. "Now the principle is the same in both golf and the beater's role in Quidditch. In both sports, it is important to be physically strong so that you have the power to hit the ball or bludger where you want them to go. However, it is equally as important to be able to have proper technique, otherwise you could have all the strength in the world, but your accuracy would be low and your strikes inefficient." She paused, making sure that her words were received by the class before continuing.
"We apply this analogy to transfiguration, where the wand movement and incantation are the technique, whilst intent is the power generated." Professor McGonagall explained in a matter-as-fact tone.
"Later on, in your time at Hogwarts, you will hear the term 'intent-based magics' being used to coin Transfiguration and other subjects which you will study. This is because it is the intent or rather the imagination of the caster which allows them to display finesse, something which is required of more complicated transfigurations." Drawing out her wand, she gently tapped another beetle on the desk, making clear the incantation as she performed the spell.
Harry watched as she held the newly transfigured button up against Cedric's attempt. It was apparent that the professor's button was more clearly defined, whilst Cedric's button was beginning to wriggle as if the spell was losing its effect.
"Now, I would like all of you to try the spell. Remember that whilst both intent and technique are important, do not attempt to sacrifice one for another." The Head of Gryffindor instructed sternly.
"Cimexfors." Harry muttered as he performed the spell. To his expectation, a newly transfigured ebony coloured button lay in the palm of his hand.
"Excellent Mr Potter," The transfiguration professor praised before her attention was diverted by an occurrence at the other side of the room. It had appeared that Harry's prediction from earlier had come true and one the girls, Isobel had failed to perform the spell and to his amusement, a foul, viscous grey smoke began to emerge from her wand.[2]
"Class please turn your attention to Miss MacDougal who has performed an unbalanced spell where the intent is strong but the technique is wayward." Professor McGonagall commented not impolitely as she silently vanished the foul-smelling grey smoke. "Miss MacDougal, could you please attempt to perform the spell again, but this time could you not touch the beetle."
"Cimexfors." The young Ravenclaw uttered, before the Head of Gryffindor stopped her, a half-smile on her face.
"Try to emphasis the first sound. If it makes it easier, imagine that the sound is the sound in the muggle practice Tai Chi." The Professor advised, before instructing her to perform the incantation on the beetle. To her delight and to the disappointment of the class, no thick grey smoke emerged from her wand, instead, in her hand lay a newly transfigured button.
"Very good Miss MacDougal," The Professor praised as the bell to end class was heard, before she shortly dismissed the cohort.
Quietly and carefully, Harry packed away his belongings and made his way out of the classroom, where his housemates were currently dispersed. He imagined that he had enough time to go to the Ravenclaw tower to drop his bag off before lunch. His thoughts were disturbed by a meow from a rather large tabby cat. Wary of the size of the cat, Harry chose not to pet it and instead began his trip to his dorm.
To his amusement, he ran into his dormmates, one of which was clearly trying to prove his proficiency of the cimexfors spell. Seeing that this would be an amusing, if not, curious spectacle, Harry decided that he would stay a bit and watch.
"Where did you get a beetle from Robert?" Another one of the first years, Maria, asked tentatively.
With what Robert thought to be a charming smile, he simply retorted, "Nicked it from McGonagall's class, figured that it's just a beetle, I can borrow it to practice."
"Cimexfors." He incantated confidently. Harry watched on with mild pleasure as the spell backfired much like Isobel's spell had done, with a viscous dark grey smoke coming out of his wand.
"Magic in the corridors." A rough voice crooned, as the smoke began to disperse. "Detention." The wielder of the voice snapped.
"He was only trying to get rid of a beetle, the spell simply backfired." Roger intervened, hoping to save his dormmate from detention.
"Detention to you as well." The man with a hunched back snapped as he stalked off, tabby cat following him.
"Who was he?" Maria asked.
"My brother told me to be wary of Filch." Roger answered. "He said that Filch has got a hatred of all things magic."
'Perhaps Filch and Vernon should meet, they would make great acquaintances.' Harry thought to himself darkly.
"Then why does he work in a school of magic?" Maria asked curiously.
"Beats me." Roger admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "I think my brother said that he was a squib." As if that answered everything, the Ravenclaws made their way to lunch, via the tower.
At lunch, Harry found his thoughts being led back to the lesson which they had just sat in. He admitted that McGonagall's style of teaching was very refined, she balanced being strict and efficient with impartiality that should be expected of the deputy Headmistress. But he felt his mind being drawn towards the events in the corridor. The encounter with Filch was rather unusual, plus Maria did raise a good point, why would a man who allegedly 'hates all things magic' work in a school of magic?
Roger had alleged that the man was a squib, a word which he sworn that he has heard before. Wracking his brain for the answer, several minutes passed before he remembered; Steven Jorkins in passing had admitted that he was a squib which was why he did not go to Hogwarts.
So being a squib meant that one couldn't attend Hogwarts, presumably because they couldn't use magic. Fishing out a small notebook from the pockets of his robes, Harry scribbled a note to look into how squibs are formed in general and if there is any research into what squibs can/not do.
It was cold. Harry did not like the cold, nor did he like early mornings. Shivering as he wrapped his scarf tighter around his body as he tried to ignore the biting chill from the Scottish gale.
"Cheer up Harry." Cedric, ever the enthusiastic called out, noticing the other boy's dislike of the conditions. "It could be raining."
"Don't jinx it." Harry retorted darkly, amongst many other things, Harry did not like water.
The two boys made their way in relative silence towards their seats which were thankfully dry. Although a drying charm wasn't beyond either of the first years, it was good to see that they were not required to use their wands. Moreover, the seats seemed to be warm, as if someone had just sat on them.
"Cedric, these seats are still warm, perhaps someone else had just been sitting here and we've commandeered their seats." Harry remarked cautiously, not particularly willing to get in a confrontation with an older student.
"Nah it's fine, the seats are warm because of an enchantment." Cedric replied, "I actually asked my dad about the charms work involved in the seats, and he told me that warming and drying enchantments are applied to the seats in every stadium in the country." He explained, the enthusiasm from before returning.
"So, I'm assuming there's a keystone somewhere to make the enchantments relatively permanent?" Harry asked, casting his eyes over the pitch where one could see droplets of dew on the freshly cut grass.
"How do you know about keystones?" Cedric asked, surprised by his classmate's knowledge. To his surprise, Harry simply shrugged with a knowing smile on his face. "Never mind, but yes, my father said that there is a keystone in each stadium, but they don't make this information public knowledge."
Harry titled his head in slight confusion, and Cedric noticed this and chose to ask his unasked question. "This was because a few years ago, at Ballycastle, a bunch of the home fans found the keystone and altered it so that the enchantment wouldn't work for the away fans. Instead it would make the seats uncomfortably wet and cold. My father was at that match." Cedric explained, with a small laugh, as he recalled the memory.
The two watched patiently as the stands began to fill up with students of all houses, making small talk to pass the time.
"Rodney and Vicky did say that they were coming to meet us, right?" Cedric asked, wary that the match was due to shortly start.
Harry motioned at the seats next to them, "I've reserved these seats for them so they can sit there if they come."
Sure enough, Cedric felt his eardrums explode as a loud excited shout of his name was heard. "Say the devil's name once and she appears." Harry muttered to Cedric who let out a bark of laughter as the pair went to greet the exuberant Gryffindor and less enthusiastic Slytherin accomplice.
"Morning." Harry greeted curtly, as the two quickly made their way to their seats.
"Look you can see the teams." Vicky exclaimed as she pointed towards the field, where the four could see fourteen players stride out onto the field, broom in hand.
"And now we can see the two teams making their way to the field," The magically amplified voice of the commentator was heard.
"Playing in green, we have the Slytherin Quidditch team against their arch rivals the Gryffindor House Quidditch team." Harry watched in mild amusement as the stadium erupted in jeers and boors to ecstatic cheers. It wasn't so hard to miss the unpopular reputation of a certain house in green and silver.
The four watched as the game began, Cedric and Vicky being the most vocal out of the four as the match progressed. Harry was comfortable watching quietly, making sure that he would remember the exuberant atmosphere of a Hogwarts Quidditch match. The bipolar nature of the crowd, displaying a spectrum of emotions, from joy and elated cheer when their team scored a goal, to a more darker side when their side conceded or decision went against their favoured team.
Listening to Cedric describe the nature of the rivalry between the two houses, Harry cast his eyes out to the pitch where the match had taken a slightly darker tone. Harry was no stranger to the term contact sport, having been accustomed to plenty in the muggle world; rugby, football and Dudley's sadistic version of fox hunting, "Harry hunting", but it was clear that certain plays were not within the rules of the game. For example, Harry seriously doubted it was legal to be able to grab another's hair, or to yank one's broomstick abruptly.
The shrill trills of the referee's whistle became increasingly common as the match went on as the crowd began to become more and more agitated. Tensions were high, both on the pitch and in the crowd as the chants perpetrated by the Gryffindor contingent took a darker turn.
Chants went from "Stand up, if you hate Slytherin," to personal attacks on players. The house of Slytherin were no better, retaliating with scathing chants about Gryffindor players as the atmosphere of the stadium turned to one of malice. Harry fleetingly wondered if and more importantly when the match would turn seriously violent and the staff would have to intervene. He also fleetingly wondered what was for dinner that night, hopefully the elves might decide to deviate from the tried and true bangers and mash. A curry every once in a while, would be greatly appreciated.
"And the seekers are pulling into a dive. Will it be Higgs or Towler who emerges with the golden snitch to win the game for their teams?" The commentator announced as the stadium turned a deathly silent as all eyes were focused upon the duel between the seekers as they used their brooms to wrestle the other on the path to the elusive golden snitch.
The crowd gasped suddenly as one player, the seeker in red dived forward, leaving his broom behind as he made a desperate grasp for the snitch. Time seemed to slow as everyone watched the other seeker, Higgs, speed forward and angle the side of his broom into the midriff of his opponent. Naturally this knocked the Gryffindor off-course, into the ground. Fortunately for the Gryffindor, he was only several feet from the ground so the fall, whilst painful, it wasn't going to kill him. Unfortunately, it also meant that he was able to get up to watch his rival speed forward and grasp the snitch between his fingers, before raising up the captured object to the crowd.
"Ah shit, the little wanker has caught the snitch. The cunts in Green win." The commentator swore, despite the admonishment of Professor McGonagall, not even bothering to censor his language. The crowd seemed to agree with the commentator, as the stadium was filled with the sounds of booing and jeers at the Slytherin Quidditch team.
"Oh wow." Harry remarked, as the Gryffindor seeker, the one which was knocked off his broom uncourteously, withdrew his wand from his Quidditch robes and marched over to the Slytherins, despite his teammates attempting to hold him back.
Harry watched as the Gryffindor opened fire with a curse of a nasty red colour, which the Slytherin seeker scrambled to avoid. Soon enough the Gryffindor seeker found himself outnumbered, but this was brief as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team rushed to join their comrade in combat. Shouts plagued the air, despite the desperate attempts of the professors to diffuse the situation. Naturally, they failed.
"Well guys, this was eventful," Harry remarked as the four watched in varying degrees of horror as a small group of students, clad in red and gold, jumped onto the field, to join the skirmish.
[1] The spell to transform hair into flowers is given as 'herbfors', with the morpheme 'herb' presumably referring to a type of plant/plants in general and the suffix '-fors' as being a suffix used in general to denote a transfiguration. This is because in canon, the spell for transfiguring beetles into buttons was never revealed, only the wand action. Thus 'cimexfors' is a compound where the morpheme 'cimex' means 'bug' in Latin, thus the compound means 'transfiguration of a bug.'
[2] This is a play on a scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets where Ron consistently failed to perform the spell, and ended up conjuring a "foul grey-smoke" which led to him squashing his beetle.
I would like to take this time to provide an answer to something I saw in both a PM and review. This is basically the idea or concept of resourcefulness. Personally, I see there being different kinds of resourcefulness, for example, Snape (a character which will be studied heavily during the course of this fic), is resourceful as shown by his ability to both obtain the resurrection stone, know what it was, and to be able to use it.
A lot of fics on this website have included an extremely resourceful Harry, something too unrealistic for someone of his age. Most of these fics include a Harry with a large family fortune, or some magical inheritance which he manipulates the goblins to receive. This fic won't have this. I personally think that the most resourceful people are those who have little but make the most out of what they have (e.g. connections/allies etc.) That will be the nature of certain characters in this story.
On another note, I am on the hunt for a reliable beta to improve the standard of this story. If you are a beta/know of one, please do leave a message in the review section/PM
Disclaimer: All of this is owned by she-who-must-not-be-named.
As always, leave a review down below.
JoBH