Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.
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Muggle-Raised Champion
Chapter 6 – Let There Be Light
12:20pm
Thursday, 3 November 1994
Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
.
Harry stepped into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, looking around with interest.
His first thought was that it was positively huge, easily three or four times the size of Stonewall High's exercise gym. Four long tables ran the length of the hall, bench seating on either side, obviously for the four Houses to eat at. A fifth table, this one much smaller, ran perpendicular to the others, sitting up on the raised platform.
For the teachers, he figured.
One side of the hall was bedecked in great stained-glass windows, letting in sheets of light, while above him, the ceiling mimicked the sky outside, complete with clouds gliding across it. Magic, he had to remind himself. Dozens of wall scones dotted the walls, waiting to light the room at night, not that Harry could tell how just wall sconces would be enough to light up a room this size.
His inspection was interrupted by a trio of boys materialising in front of he and his four new friends. Harry's eyebrows rose even as he internally berated himself. Two of these boys were built along the same lines as Dudley and were obviously not people that one should normally be able to overlook. The expression on their faces made him believe that they were probably just as smart as Dudley was as well.
The third boy was different. His platinum blonde hair was immaculately slicked back with nary a hair out of place. His green-trimmed black robes appeared to be of the highest quality and his facial expression telegraphed his high opinion of himself for the world to see. Harry was content to reserve judgement before deciding if the boy's opinion of himself was justified.
"Finally decided to come to Hogwarts, did you, Potter?" the blonde-haired leader of the three drawled.
"Hi, you obviously already know that I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you," Harry said with a false cheeriness.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and that's Goyle," he said, indicating the two hulking brutes behind his shoulders, "and I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
"Are you really?" Harry replied, thrusting his hand out to be shaken. "I've never met anyone named Draco before. That's kind of a cool name."
Draco Malfoy seemed slightly taken aback by that and it took him a couple of seconds to return to what was obviously a pre-prepared speech.
"Now that you're here, you'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
Harry had noted the way Malfoy's eyes darted to both Neville and Hermione as he stated 'the wrong sort'. And in that, Harry had the boy's measure.
"Can you really?" he asked eagerly. At Malfoy's conceited nod, Harry continued. "In that case, I'd better know before I go wrong: what makes a family the right or the wrong sort?"
Malfoy stared at him before his face morphed into what was seeming to be its customary expression: a haughty sneer.
"Well, you see, Potter, most of it comes down to breeding," Malfoy explained.
"Breeding, you say?" Harry echoed thoughtfully, momentarily ignoring the horrified expressions that Hermione, Neville and Susan were now throwing him.
"Yes, exactly," Malfoy nodded. "Those magical families that can trace their families back at least fifteen generations are the ones that have the most magical power."
"So families with a magical strength derived from a long magical history are the ones that I'm looking for?" Harry confirmed.
"To begin with," Malfoy cautioned. "Of course that is only the start. You will find that those families inevitably also come with the most money and influence within society and on the political scene."
Harry nodded in understanding before turning to Neville. "So, Nev. I've gotta ask: how far back can you trace your magical heritage?"
'Um, twenty … twenty-three generations, Harry," Neville replied.
"Good, good. Susan? Same question."
"Twenty-seven generations," she replied.
Daphne's eyes narrowed when he turned to face her. Harry knew that she'd picked up that something was going on here but he was certain that she had no idea what it was.
"Before you ask, the Greengrass family can trace its magical heritage back nineteen generations."
Hermione's head had dropped before he even turned to ask her.
"I'm a first generation witch, Harry," she told him dully. "Both my parents are muggles."
She turned to go but Harry quickly reached out and caught her arm, holding her in place. Once he was certain that Hermione was going to stay, he turned back to Malfoy.
"So I should be friends with Neville, Susan and Daphne. Oh, and you, too, I presume," he summed up.
"Well," Malfoy drawled. "Myself and Daphne, definitely. The other two, probably not."
"Why?" Harry asked incredulously. "Both Susan and Neville have longer family histories than Daphne does."
"True, but their families have sullied themselves by getting mixed up with muggles," Malfoy confided, leaning closer.
"Interesting," Harry replied. "What about me? Where do I fit into this? I'm descended from two Ancient families: the Potters and the Peverells. Am I considered as being from the 'right sort of families'?"
"Ordinarily, you would be," Malfoy replied reluctantly, "but your father sullied both of those families by marrying a mudblood."
Harry frowned in confusion. Here was a term that he didn't recognise. He turned to Neville with a raised eyebrow, but it was Susan who answered.
"'Mudblood' is a derogatory word for a first generation witch or wizard, also known as a muggle-born." She then went further to help him understand. "Malfoy and Daphne are what are called Pureblood. Neville and I are classified as Blood-traitors. That basically means that we've 'sullied' ourselves by associating with muggles or muggle-borns. You, on the other hand, having one magical and one muggle-born parent, are known as a half-blood."
"Ah, thank you for that, Susan," Harry smiled before turning back to Malfoy. "So, who I should befriend comes down to what their family status is. And their family status will also tell me how much magical power, money and influence they have. Is that about right?"
Malfoy gave a shaky nod at the distinct summation.
"If all that is the case, I've got to wonder why in the world you're talking to me, a half-blood, in the first place?" Harry mused before waving that question aside. "But that's for another time. I want to see more of this family blood standing and how it works." Looking over Malfoy's shoulder, he pinned Crabbe and Goyle with his gaze. "I take it by the fact that you're with Draco here that you're both purebloods?"
When he got confirming nods, Harry began to boldly grab each of the six around him and rearrange them. Crabbe and Goyle he stood beside Malfoy, with Daphne beside him. Next came Neville and Susan and then a gap for himself, with Hermione on the end.
"So this is how the standings work?" he asked, before pointing to each grouping. "Purebloods, blood-traitors, half-bloods and first generation magicals. Right. Right. Now, I want to see this in action. I can't do much magic yet, but I can produce a light. I'm guessing that that's all beyond simple for the rest of you. Now, if you all make a light, am I right that the lights at this end," here he pointed at the pureblood end, before switching to point towards Hermione "will be brighter than that end?"
"That's right," Malfoy said firmly, but Harry caught the trace of uncertainty in his voice.
"It'd help if we all really push our magic into the spell, Harry," Susan suggested.
"Push the magic into the spell?" Harry mused, running one hand through his hair. "Okay, I think that I can do that. Now, we're going to need a judge. Someone impartial."
Looking around, Harry now realised that they'd gathered a crowd. Dozens of black-robed Hogwarts students surrounded the line-up that Harry had made. He considered asking one of them before he found the perfect solution.
Rushing out through the crowd, Harry skidded to a stop in front of the closest teacher. This man was tall with straight, greasy black hair that was parted in such a way as to form curtains to either side of his face. He also had the largest beak for a nose that Harry'd ever seen.
"Potter. What are you doing out of uniform?" the man drawled.
Taken momentarily aback, Harry glanced down at himself, before waving the question away.
"If you mean the robe, Sir, I know that it's not a part of Stonewall's uniform, but I wanted something that'd make me blend in more with the wizarding world. But who's going to tell them, hey? Now, I was wondering if you could help us, Sir?"
"Help you, Potter?" the man asked in wonder as though he'd never been asked such an outlandish question before in his life.
"Yes, Sir," Harry nodded. "You see we're having a debate over there about blood status and how that equates to magical power. We're all going to produce a light and we need someone to tell us if the brightness equates to the appropriate blood status."
While he was talking, he'd managed to lead the teacher back with him. As soon as he was there, he slipped into place between Hermione and Susan.
"Well, get on with it, then," the teacher drawled.
Harry paused, watching as the others pulled their wands and muttered or said, "lumos." Seeing the end of their wands light up with a white light, Harry nodded, lifted his hand, opened his palm and willed there to be light.
Instantly, a ball of white light the size of a tennis ball hovered above his palm. He smiled at it and cocked his head, examining it for flaws. Then, remembering what Susan had said about pushing his magic into the spell, he willed the ball to be brighter. His eyes squinted as the ball grew half again as big while increasing in brightness nearly ten-fold.
Harry could feel sweat forming on his brow the longer that he pushed his magic into this bright incandescent ball on the palm of his hand. Finally, he could hold it now more and willed it to extinguish.
Breathing hard, Harry bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Finally, he lifted his head to look at the teacher.
"So, did it work how it was supposed to? Who was the brightest?"
"I believe it safe to say that you produced the brightest light, Potter," the hook-nosed teacher replied, with some weird look on his face that Harry couldn't identify.
"Oh. Well, then what about everyone else? What was the order of brightness?" Harry asked, straightening as he felt his strength begin to return.
The teacher's lips pursed and Harry wondered if he was going to answer. Then, after taking a glance at the gathered crowd, he gave the results of their experiment.
"Miss Greengrass and Miss Granger produced an equally bright lumos. Mister Malfoy and Miss Bones' lights were only slightly less bright. Next was Mister Longbottom, with Messrs Crabbe and Goyle producing the dimmest lumos."
"Thank you, Sir," Harry replied with a nod before turning to Malfoy. "Well, it seems that your theory of blood status equalling magical power is in error, Draco."
Malfoy looked about to protest in some way, shape or form, a protest that Harry was loathe to allow.
"The results were clear and judged fairly and impartially by Professor …" Harry looked quizzically at the teacher, realising that he'd forgotten to ask his name.
Thankfully, the man came to the rescue. "Snape."
"Professor Snape. And it is very clear exactly what that experiment demonstrated. You, Draco Malfoy are a bigot. I suggest that you have a good, long, hard think about what happened here today and how that measures up to your blood status view of the world."
Shifting his eyes to the other two large boys, Harry nodded to them, "thanks for helping out."
Their confusion over how to respond only caused Harry to shake his head before he turned to smile at his friends.
"Shall we go have lunch?" he asked.
The other four formed up around him as they moved away from the crowd. Once more focussing on the now crowded tables, Harry spotted a potential problem.
"Um, where should we sit?" he asked, waving his hand ahead of them.
"It is customary to sit with one's Housemates," Daphne told him.
And indeed, apart from two groups of students in different coloured robes – one group in sky blue and the other in blood red – each table was dominated by Hogwarts students wearing only one trim colour.
"Well, that could be a problem?" he mused. "I guess that, if you guys are willing to have me, I'll just have to rotate amongst you every meal."
"You could sit with me at the Gryffindor table today, if you want," Neville asked hesitantly.
"Sounds great, Neville, thanks. We'll catch up with you girls later," Harry smiled before allowing Neville to lead him to one side of the Hall.
Space was made for the two of them amongst others who Harry thought looked to be the same age as them.
"Hi, I'm Harry," he said, looking around at everyone.
"Harry, these are the Gryffindor fourth years," Neville introduced, indicating each one. "That's Dean and Seamus beside you, this is Ron next to me, and across from us are Lavender, Parvarti, Fay and Alice."
A chorus of 'hellos' were given as well as handshakes all around.
"That was some show you put on over there," Seamus stated in an Irish accent as he spooned potatoes onto his plate.
"Yeah, I guess it was," Harry shrugged. "Couldn't be helped, though."
"What do you mean?" Fay asked. "Did Malfoy say something?"
"In a way," Harry replied. "He offered to introduce me to the 'right sort of families'. And then he had the audacity to explain about blood status, insulting most of my new friends, and me as well, come to think about it."
"How'd you know that that light competition would give results like that?" Neville asked.
Harry shrugged. "To be honest, I didn't. All that I could go on was two facts. One, I'd been given four tutors who are top of their classes here and coincidentally representing every type of blood status that Malfoy was going on about. And two, I knew his type."
"You picked up that he's a bullying git from that one small conversation?" Ron asked.
"Yeah. You see I know bullies. I should after having to suffer them all my life – at home, in primary school and the first couple of years at Stonewall. And there was no way that I was going to let him get a toe-hold into the idea that he could bully me here," Harry explained, before turning to Neville. "Sorry to put you and the others on the spot like that. I know what it's like to have unwanted attention – I've been getting it every time I'm in the Wizarding World with that Boy-Who-Lived crap."
"Crap?" Ron spluttered. "But you're ruddy famous!"
Harry stared at him as though he'd just grown two heads.
"Why in the world would I want to be famous for not dying when my parents did?" he asked. "I'd much rather have them still around than all that stupid fame."
"But isn't that what got you into the TriWiz?" Dean asked.
Harry shrugged. "Probably. At least, that's my guess – someone sticking my name into that bloody cup and hoping that it'd come out. I'm assuming that the press has been going wild with their being four Champions and The-Boy-Who-Lived being one of them."
"They have," Lavendar nodded. "There's been something about you and it on the front page every day since."
"So you don't know how your name got into the Goblet?" Parvarti asked.
"Nah. How could I? I was tucked away down in Surrey. Didn't even know this Tournament existed until two wizards knocked on our door that night," Harry shook his head. "The question of how my name got into, and then came out of, that cup is one for the … the … ah … magical police."
"Aurors," Neville supplied helpfully.
"Aurors, right, I'll try to remember that. Anyway. If I couldn't have entered, then I can't see how I can be made to compete," Harry stated.
"Then why are you here if you're not going to compete?" Fay finally asked into the silence that Harry's statement had created.
"Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I'll 'compete'. At least enough not to lose my magic," Harry confirmed. "And as to why I'm here, let's just say that competing in a competition that I have no hope of winning is a better alternative that what I already had."
"How can you say that you have no hope of winning?" Ron asked incredulously. "After seeing what you can already do with your magic, there's no way that you won't win!"
"You mean the light thing?" Harry asked only to receive a vigorous nod. "I only taught myself that so that I could get my homework done. By the time that I'd finished work and done my chores, I'd run out of my electricity allotment for the day and I needed light to see what I was doing. So I taught myself this."
Harry lifted his hand and produced his light ball. Around him, there were oohs and ahhs galore.
"Took me months to work out how to do and then even longer to make it stay lit when I wasn't focussed on it."
"What else can you do without a wand?" Seamus asked eagerly.
After vanishing the light, Harry turned his palm and willed the salt shaker in front of Dean to come to him.
"And that concludes the extent of my magical powers," Harry told them.
"Not likely, Harry," Neville shook his head. "If you can already do that, I don't think that it's going to take you long to learn to do the same things that we can."
Harry shrugged noncommittally. The talk then evolved into the others telling Harry all about the magic that they'd learnt and what Hogwarts was like and the classes, as well as the teachers, all interspersed with a little about each of themselves as well.
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1:35pm
Thursday, 3 November 1994
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
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"You are certain that those are the subjects that you wish to pursue," Professor McGonagall asked Harry as they walked the corridors of Hogwarts.
"Yes, Ma'am," Harry replied. "Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes both sound fascinating; and both Daphne and Hermione assure me that Arithmancy will be incredibly useful."
"Hmm, as long as you aren't feeling pressured into something that you don't want to do," Professor McGonagall persisted.
"Not at all," Harry assured her. "The only other option was Muggle Studies and Hermione said I'd do much better at that not studying it than attending the classes."
"Yes, I am quite aware of Miss Granger's feelings towards that particular subject," Professor McGonagall stated, her lips thinning considerably.
As they walked, Professor McGonagall produced a piece of parchment from her pocket and tapped it with her wand. She then presented it to him.
"Your schedule. As you can see, the vast majority of your classes are in the evenings, that was the only way that we could work the individual instruction time between you and the professors into your schedule. Those classes will begin on Monday. That will give you tomorrow and the weekend to begin reading up on each subject.
"You will also need to discuss appropriate times to spend with Misses Granger, Bones and Greengrass, as well as with Mister Longbottom. Do remember that they are giving up their own personal time in order to offer you tuition. Do not abuse it."
"Of course not, Ma'am," Harry quickly assured her.
"The rest of your time you will be expected to self-study," Professor McGonagall continued. "For safety's sake, I would suggest that you begin primarily with the non-wand based subjects until you have had some instruction in the wanded subject areas."
"Yes, Ma'am," Harry agreed.
For some minutes after that, the two walked in silence. Harry was fairly certain that they were on the third floor, somewhere in the northeast part of the castle. Quite unexpectedly, Professor McGonagall stopped beside a sculpture of a magical knight of some kind. At least, that's what Harry thought that he was supposed to be.
He was wearing medieval armour, with a sheathed sword on his right hip and a shield mounted on his left arm. The primary way that he differed from a regular knight, though, was the existence of a wand clutched firmly in the knight's right fist.
"Sir Rogeric, this is Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall said to the sculpture. "He will be residing within the quarters that you guard for the foreseeable future."
"Um, hello?" Harry said, feeling incredibly foolish for talking to a carved piece of stone.
The knight's helmet shifted to face Harry before he bowed slightly in greeting.
"You'll need to set Sir Rogeric a password so that he knows who to let into your rooms," Professor McGonagall told him.
"Um, okay," Harry said, thinking furiously of a suitable, and easily remembered, word. One word immediately stood out in his mind; in fact it was the word that had been fairly common in his life quite recently.
Stepping closer to the knight, Harry whispered his choice, "Rowan."
With a nod of understanding, Sir Rogeric stepped to the side, revealing a plain wooden door. At Professor McGonagall's gesture, Harry stepped forward, opened the door and entered.
Inside he found a quaint little sitting room made up of two recliners and a two-seater lounge in deep blue fabric grouped around the small coffee table that sat before a small fireplace. At the back of the room, directly in front of a large window, was a table, one hard-backed wooden chair at each of its ends. Two doors were set on the wall to his right; a tall, empty bookcase set in between them.
"You will find a private bathroom through one of those doors, and your bedroom through the other," Professor McGonagall told him from the doorway. "If you need anything, come find one of the staff and we'll be more than willing to help you."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry smiled.
"Now, if you will excuse me, I have a third year class of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins to teach shortly," she said before nodding to him and closing the door behind her.
Leaving the two doors for now, Harry crossed the room and circled the table. He threw open the window and grinned to find a view partly filled with the Black Lake, the rest taken up with a long expanse of grass before it disappeared into a dense forest.
A flash of white caused him to step back in time for his snowy owl to glide through the window, before perching on the back of one of the chairs.
"Hey, Hedwig," he said, reaching out and stroking her breast feathers, "told you the first thing that I'd do would be to open the window when I was given my room."
Hedwig blinked slowly at him in what Harry took as a grin.
"I'll make you a proper perch as soon as I can," Harry promised. "For now though, I hope you don't mind if I check out the rest of this place."
The first door that Harry opened was his new bedroom.
The first item that he noticed was the chest of drawers beside him, but that was only out of the corner of his eye. What really captured his attention was the enormous four-poster bed. Grinning maniacally, Harry raced forward, intent on throwing himself on what looked to be luxurious softness. Just before he leapt, though, he came to a screeching halt. A package had been placed in the very centre of his bed.
Curiously, Harry picked up the brown papered object. His head cocked as he pulled the slip of parchment loose from where it had been wedged under the string ties. Then, unfolding it, he read the message:
Your father left this in my possession before he died.
It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.
