Disclaimer: You know it. I don't own anything you recognize as someone else's work.

S

"Lemon Drop?"

Harry gave the Headmaster a strange glance before his eyes were distracted by the curious artifacts shoved into every nock and cranny.

"Mr. Potter…I'm sure you can guess why I've called you up to my office."

"The examination." Murmured the unconcerned boy as he eyed the odd looking bird.

The gray-haired wizard titled his head in acknowledgement before glancing at the creature that held the boy's attention.

"That is Fawkes; a phoenix."

Harry kept his eyes on the fire bird.

"The Chinese believed the phoenix to be a primordial force of the heavens and the bringer of good fortune." He finally turned to look at the old man. "Do you think they were right?"

An elderly hand reached to stroke the bright colored plumage. The phoenix trilled in pleasure and both wizards felt the magic weaved into the air. Albus Dumbledore smiled at his old friend, as always comforted by the sweet song. His distraction was all that was needed to miss Harry's reaction. The green-eyed boy sucked in his breath in shock, startled to sense the warm caress of fire curling around his very being. For a minute Harry was startled; the feeling of his magic rising to meet the birdsong was pleasant and unwelcomed. He didn't want something he didn't know touching him so deeply.

"The G-Greeks…held the belief that when the phoenix felt its time to die it would built a nest of wood and be consumed in its own fire, a new bird springing from the pyre."

The Headmaster gave the boy a pleased smile. "Muggle mythology I believe?"

Harry nodded, narrowed eyes suspiciously eyeing the bird.

"Phoenixes are indeed consumed by their own fire when they undergo a Burning Day. However they are reborn once more from their own ashes. Curious creatures, immortals who have always held a strong affinity for power and healing. And to answer your question, yes, I have always believed Fawkes to be a bearer of good fortune."

"Even today?"

"Even today," The Headmaster confirmed. "Both Professor Quirrell and Professor Flitwick will be made aware of your situation. You will continue to attend their respective classes because while you might not be able to perform the necessary spells it is always wise to know what others are capable of."

Harry nodded, not inclined to reveal the turbulent emotions that had half-convinced him he'd be sent to the Dursleys. Not quite ready to admit to himself if it would have been a good or bad thing.

"Now Mr. Potter, how have you settled into Hogwarts?"

A raven-head tilted to look at the old wizards, brilliant green-eyes meeting twinkling orbs head on. Blue eyes stared at the boy for a second before looking away; blinking rapidly as if to clear a bothersome speck.

"As well as can be expected."

The Headmaster nodded, "Feel free, Mr. Potter, to come to me with any concern. You should remember it is both my responsibility and pleasure to oversee the care of the students housed here."

The child nodded his understanding before slipping from the room with what was becoming his trademark quietness.

Alone now, Albus Dumbledore rubbed his brow to ease the curious headache that was building. Not entirely sure if the events of the meeting were for the best or not.

Harry James Potter; a clever child, a pleasure really. He still had the potential to be a powerful wizard no matter whatever limitations the healer studies had uncovered.

But his mind…his mind was a curious thing. There had been none of the natural (however faint) Occlumency shields most human minds were born with. Instead, Albus had been sucked into a whirlwind of memories; thoughts and images always moving too fast to clearly show any one thing. So many thoughts spiraling much like a tornado he'd once seen. Before he'd known it he'd been ejected as seemingly as he'd entered, not quite knowing how'd he had done either.

Harry Potter didn't have natural occlumency shields; would probably never be able to learn the discipline. It still didn't mean anyone would ever be able to slip into the child's mind unwanted. And still there was an echo of foreign darkness…

If Albus wasn't as convinced as he was to begin with, one look into the boy's mind would have seriously called into question the child's sanity. For now all he could do was lay another deed at the feet of the ill-fated Killing Curse and wonder what strange miracle had come about that awful night. He was beginning to think young Harry hadn't blocked the curse as well as first believed. There was more damage than a cursed scar.

It wasn't worrisome. Yet.

S

Harry watched the Devil's Snare curl around his fingers, the soft vines tangling and untangling in a dizzying dance.

He didn't know why he was there. Didn't know what inspired him to hide out in the Greenhouse. But then again, he had never been one to overly question his instincts. Had that been true he'd probably be a sniveling insecure brat ingrained with the knowledge he was worthless and deserved the Dursleys' disdain. Harry had happily curbed the illusions of his relatives. He might still be a worthless sack of space in their eyes but at least that sack of space could bite back.

That still didn't detract him from his original thoughts.

Recent days had only brought troubling news. The odd mismatch of talents made little sense in his mind. It was all well and good to know a Killing Curse had been blocked and deflected but it did little to help him figure out the possible consequences.

To his way of thinking Harry could manipulate matter and unmatter, the ability to form and reform molecules into solids and gases. That was the basics of Transfiguration; the later years of schooling fleshing out Transfiguration Theories into their more complex forms. As far as he could tell he wasn't bound by the normal restrictions his peers were in this point of their youth.

Herbology was another fascinating subject in itself. So many plants possessed unique properties that nature and magic could only bring about; the potency of magical herbs was startling. The ease which his hands took to the earth also helped. He might not always understand or even agree with the explanations given but his hands knew the earth. Short of giving birth this was the next best way of touching life. Somewhere between a seedpod and the first unfurling of a plant Harry decided life had come and that had always served to stump him. Herbology was just another way to touch that life.

Potions was a rather dubious subject. Theoretically Harry was quite brilliant on the subject. His fascination with the raw materials translated to the many ways combinations of active and potent herbs could be brewed. He knew which herbs were useful for what, which were opposed to each other, which were complementary. But it didn't help he'd never correctly brewed any Potion. It wouldn't do for Snape to think Harry's brain cell had company.

History and Astronomy had the general consensus of being a bore and a half. Harry might have force fed the subject into his head but he wasn't happy about it.

DADA was a chore. The stuttering professor usually attempted some sort of lecture before assigning the next chapter in their text. The week and a half spent on Night Mites and their cousins, Dream Mites, (little bugs that induced intense nightmares and dreams that untreated lasted for forty-eight hours) had been particularly…enlightening. He hadn't even tried to perform any defensive and offensive magic but it looked like he might never be able to. Class didn't worry him as much as it should—the current professor didn't even assign the second years any practical work.

Charms was a cross to bear. First year was meant to explore a general overview of what Charms were capable of doing. It was also meant to practice rudimentary spells to build up 'magical muscles' so to speak.

And Harry would never be able to do it.

Not like they did.

He could manipulate the air around his intended objects to make them float or he could push the air pressure one way or another to make an object come to him or away but he couldn't make the object itself float. He could mimic many of the Charms but he'd eavesdropped enough on the older years to know there were things he probably would never do.

And that led him to his current dilemma.

Every wizard and witch, as soon as they received their wand, had the potential to turn it against him. It was a world where every man, woman, and child was armed with a revolver. They were dangerous. Fallible human beings that could at any time fall prey to the viciousness of emotions and let their sensibilities carry them away. Remorse wouldn't be of help if Harry couldn't protect himself from permanent damage.

So did he want this?

Was the bounty of magic enough incentive to become a second-class wizard? Was it worth it?

He wasn't brute enough to think magical powers (and physical strength) were what the world ran on. Harry could play their mind games just as well; could certainly find the strength to become powerful enough his own way to ensure the wizards didn't think about his magical strength. But it left him vulnerable and that was the one thing he'd struggled never to be. Never again the little boy that couldn't do anything but see. Never again the child that had to keep silence in a boastful world.

So he was left with a choice.

A whole world armed in its every gesture and a boy who would never be able to cast even the weakest shield. Was he prepared to forgo regular schooling, the chance to become a part of another society, just so he could learn magic, become a pretty icon on a pedestal? Could he deny the power that bleed from his very being? And if he could, would the strange spurts of accidental magic stop? Magic that he sometimes couldn't control; a shattered vase in his anger, a cracked tea set frozen when he had swallowed his words.

He didn't know.

A slight thump made him look around only to see a familiar toad making its way toward him. A funny creature with a curious attraction to Harry. He'd spotted the toad wandering into his room several times. As it was his dorm mates were convinced the creature belonged to Harry.

"Trevor…?"

Crouched in the back of the Greenhouse Harry titled to the side to peak at whoever had entered his sanctuary.

"Trevor, it isn't funny you know. Why do you always have to be so much trouble?" A boy's voice half-heartedly complained as he scanned the different rows of plants. "Come on Trevor, where are you?"

Harry glanced at the stalker-toad. "Trevor?"

The toad blinked back at him.

"Trevor!...eh, hello?" Uncertainty immediately invaded the whole boy as he spotted Harry. Flustered the child glanced nervously at Harry before his eyes settled on the toad. "Trevor!"

Harry raised a curious brow. He recognized the boy faintly as a Gryffindor; the Longbottom child who seemed intent on blowing up the Potions lab (if Harry didn't do it first).

"Sorry, sorry," The boy apologized for no reason. "That's my toad. He runs away sometime."

"Longbottom?"

"Ah, yes…Neville Longbottom. Just call me Neville."

"Harry Potter."

The boy fidgeted, "I k-know."

Harry titled his head, honestly lost at what to do with Neville. Shrugging Harry hoisted the toad in one palm and dusted himself with the other hand. Afternoon classes were already over and homework was no doubt breeding in his book bag.

"Thanks." Neville muttered as he took the toad back. "I lost him again. Half the time I don't know what I'm even doing here."

"You're here aren't you?"

"Yeah…"

"Then you're the only one who can convince yourself you don't belong here."

"Oh…"

"Goodbye Longbottom." Harry split off onto another hallway, a faint goodbye following him.

S

Boom!

Strange flakes of gold exploded into the air, each shinning brilliantly before settling onto every surface available (much to the displeasure of several neatly groomed girls). Startled first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs eyed the specks and the curious boy who caused it all.

The boy in question, a certain 'dunderhead' by the name of Harry Potter, ignored their curiosity. Interested he held up his palms to catch the golden powder. The specks flared a warm gold on contact with his skin. All around him the same reaction was repeated as the power lightly dusted several students and their forgotten cauldrons. And because of that it was quite a surprise when the powder merely fell inert when it touched the table.

"Potter…" Professor Snape choked out, a mix between exasperation and rage making him sound rather strangled. "Whatdid…you…do?"

Harry ignored him, not willing to let the first thing of interest to happen in the class escape his attention. Twisting his fingers in concentration he called his magic to the surface, the lazy power shimmering as it waited for a form of Harry's choosing. And like that the golden powder still floating in the air streaked toward him, splotches of shimmer neatly coating his entire body and ruining what was probably a rather nice school robe.

"I think it likes magic." The boy said surprisingly calmly (or so his classmates thought). It was quickly agreed that the blotchy red blooming on the Professor's face was not a nice color.

"Potter! Detention! Everyone—out!"

Even for Potions, the students set a record as they nearly scrambled over each other to leave. Still it was surprising that the last boy to leave was the instigator of the whole mess. Harry eyed his teacher curiously, keen to remember the sight. His bat-like professor had escaped most of the mess but lanky black hair had still been dusted with gold powder—powder that was no longer quite powder. Harry didn't think it wise to mention that the professor now looked like some of the ladies from Petunia's usual beauty parlor, the ones that raved about hair highlights.

"What are you looking at boy! Thirty points from Ravenclaw!"

Definitely not wise.

Outside students milled about. Letting the door slam behind him Harry glared at the starring children. "Take a picture why don't you and send it to your mum—baby's first time being thrown out of class."

Goldstein laughed.

"Harry?" An awkwardly bend Padma called out, long black hair stubbornly holding a golden glow. "I don't think this is going to come out."

Li, whose own hair was kept chin length, shook it once. "It is rather beautiful."

"Well…" A glowing Goldstein unsuccessfully stifled a smile. "Potter I hope you like the effect because I assure you, mate, you got the worst of it all."

Harry looked down on his robes that had gained a gold shine. The skin on his hands glowed as if he'd deliberately stuck his palms onto real gold. No doubt his face was sporting the same look. All around him students pushed out their hair (which had taken most of the damage) and studied it either in amusement or frustration.

Padma, having given up on her endeavor, was fluttering around Harry in fascination. "I think it looks nice Harry. How you're going to explain this to rest of the school, I don't know, but it's absolutely brilliant."

Hopkins ruffled his own sun-touched brown hair before saying, "What I want to know is how you did that."

"None of the ingredients we were using could have done this." Grant, his roommate, added.

Harry, who had begun walking back away, explained to his fellow Ravenclaws who'd followed his example. "Of course nothing we were assigned would have done that. Frankly nothing in our potions kit would have done anything similar. S'why I filched some of the ingredients from the Potions cabinet behind my lab station. Brilliant, wasn't it?"

"For ruining most of our robes I highly think it to be simply awesome." Grant praised, trading mischievous looks with Wayde. "Figure you could replicate it?"

"Perhaps. Did you notice what it did?" Real excitement colored Harry's voice; the Harry who'd had Malcolm and William as troublemaker friends finally coming forward. "It reacted to magic and only magic."

"What's so brilliant about that?"

Padma shook her head ruefully, "Probably because it was a complete accident."

"Well," Harry gave her an amused look. "I knew it was going to blow up like that. I just wasn't planning on the rest."

"Dear Merlin," Hopkins shuddered. "Did you see Snape?"

Goldstein grinned. "I think it's a brilliant look for him. He's always wearing those black robes; I say it's about time he shine up a bit."

"Oh, Harry—he's going to chop you for potions ingredients." Padma teased gleefully.

"Or just make sure Ravenclaw never wins the House Cup." Li reckoned.

"Seriously," Goldstein studied the mess of black and gold locks on Harry's head. "I don't think its going to come out."

Harry shrugged. "Probably worth it if Snape glows."

"Really, Professor Snape is going to kill Ravenclaw." Grant unsuccessfully tried to say seriously.

That night the Great Hall was treated to a rare sight. It wasn't enough that a good group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs showed up with a glow several upper-year girls compared favorably to summer tans or that more than one dark head was sun-streaked.

No, it wasn't that at all.

Every single student sat forward, mechanically raising spoons and forks to their lips. Occasionally one would mutter to their neighbor but for the most part students stared at their Potions Professor from the corner of their eyes. The dark, pale-faced man was gone. In his place a gold-streaked, golden-skinned glaring man practically grinded his meal between clenched teeth. If anything he looked worse off then when Harry had last seen him.

"I told you it reacted to magic." Harry crowed quietly.

Li didn't bother to hide her grin. "He probably tried to banish the whole mess. If it did what I think it did it all came toward him."

"Harry," Padma bit a giggle. "No one is ever going to find your body."

"Frankly I don't think he'll ever admit to himself I did it on purpose. Snape will probably chalk it up to me being a complete idiot."

"Better a complete one than a half-hearted effort." Li pronounced.

Nearby First Years bit their lips to hide laughter. They all had a feeling if they so much as let a giggle loose Snape would be taking names.

S

"I must say Severus, this is a new look for you." Albus said, twinkling blue eyes cheerfully oblivious to the foul glare the Potions Master threw at him.

Heads around the staff table shied away to hide twitching lips.

"If we could begin the staff meeting." Severus Snape grounded out between his teeth.

"All he needs is a red robe and he can cheer for the Gryffindor Quidditch team." Professor Sprout coughed quietly to Madam Hooch. Both women ducked as they bit their lips to stifle inappropriate giggles.

"I did notice a number of students sporting a similar…look." McGonagall began, dignified enough to keep her amusement private.

"Yes," A snarl curled around tight lips. "First-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The fool of a boy, Potter, created this from a bungled up potion; not that I expected otherwise from the infernal dunderhead."

"Honestly Severus, I don't believe Mr. Potter is a dismal as you say. He is quite brilliant in Transfigurations."

"I however don't believe in coddling the little hellions."

"I don't—"

"Minerva, perhaps it would be best we begin the meeting?" Sprout interrupted, fascinated eyes repeatedly falling on her fellow Professor.

So far ignored, Flitwick leaned over to study Severus. "You say this was an accident?"

Severus was about to snarl again before he noticed the rather intent frown Flitwick sported. That and Flitwick was also a fearsome Dueling Champion. "Yes."

"Albus, look at Severus with mage sight. Tell me if you see what I see."

The Headmaster, always up for a good mystery, did as he was told. And frowned when he saw Severus. "Dear me, this is quite unexpected."

Severus hid his worry and instead spat the first thing that came to mind. "If Potter did something I swear I'll feed the boy to Hagrid's monstrous creatures."

"What exactly were you brewing?" Albus finally asked, smiling at the unexpected results whatever the original reason. Seeing Severus throw the old man a foul look most everyone remembered Albus Headmaster had always been a bit mad.

"Egatnia's Balm."

Having experimented quite a bit with Potions during his apprenticeship with Nicholas Flamel the Headmaster was very aware the Balm shouldn't have been capable of doing anything like this—even if it was brewed incorrectly. "Do you know were Mr. Potter deviated from the process?"

The Potion Master scowled. "I'd be surprised if he even got the first step right."

"Filius what do you think?"

The Charms teacher scratched his beard. "Strange…Stupefy."

A red flash flew from Filius' wand and struck Severus soundly in the chest so fast no one was even quite sure what had happened. A second later the spell fizzled and dissipated.

An ugly flush was creeping up on the Potion Masters face. Unconcerned Albus adjusted his spectacles as he peered at the young man more closely. "Quite interesting."

"For those of us who don't know?" Minerva prompted.

Filius cleared his throat, turning to face his fellow professor even as his curious eyes drifted back to the younger man. "Under mage sight I would not have been able to see the difference between a Muggle and Severus. If I try I can see his life-energy but I can not see his magic. Once I cast the spell the effect lessened somewhat and I suspect another three or four spells would banish the effect—as well as the interesting color."

Severus twitched at the word banish. He was quick to remember what brought about his whole predicament. He'd attempted to banish the mess that covered his classroom only to have the strange substance attach itself to his body.

"A-Arree y-you say-saying it h-has d-defe-fensive properties?" Quirrel nervously added.

"Yes, yes," Flitwick nearly bounced before stilling and studying the man once more with interest. "I wonder how Mr. Potter did it."

Seeing interested glances prod him Severus answered tightly. "I'm afraid I haven't an untampered sample. The substance reacted…unfavorably to magic. It bonded to the surfaces it touched."

"It would be interesting to see the effects replicated but I suppose the rather…visible aftereffect would ruin any attempt to go unnoticed."

"A couple more Stunning spells and you should be back to your charming self." Professor Aldwin, the Ancient Runes instructor, said dryly.

Severus scowled more heavily. Albus ate a lemon drop. The Potion Master sent the Headmaster a suspicious glare. "If we could begin…?"

"Of course." Albus smiled placidly. "Filius if I could have a word with you afterward? Very well then, our first order of business is…"

S

"Potter! Hold on a second."

Turning to see Marcus Flint walking toward him Harry signaled Li and Padma to go on ahead. Both girls gave him suspicious looks before continuing on to the Great Hall.

The Slytherin boy stared at Harry's mismatched hair for a second before letting loose an amused smile. "I suppose this is your fault?"

"Me? Why would I ever admit to such awful disregard for potion lab procedure?"

"Deny all you want but my class meets right after the first-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and I'm very confident I know who keeps decorating the lab walls."

"I have quite a reputation of being awful in Potions. You should know better than to accuse me of deliberately doing anything as elaborate as this."

Flint scoffed, unwillingly smiling. "I know enough to know you had a very real hand in whatever mess was a foot."

"And why would I ever admit anything to a Slytherin? Especially when our put upon Potion Professor is your very own Head of House?"

"Cunning is universal; Slytherins are just known for using that skill to get what they want. A concept I'm sure you're more familiar with that you would like everyone else to believe."

Harry just gave the older boy his Almost-Smile and said nothing.

"Anyway I didn't call you to play another wonderful rendition of You-Have-No-Proof/ I-Won't-Admit-Anything. You, Mr. Potter, are cordially invited to play Quidditch with me and a few of my snake-like mates."

"You know, I've seen the brutes you call a Slytherin Quidditch team. It isn't exactly the most reassuring offer I've had."

"Not to worry; we reserve those fellows for bludgering the other Quidditch teams. You can say it's our strategy. No, tomorrow it will be just a couple of blokes from a few different years—I think one or two from another House. Afterwards we usually play Exploding Snap or gobble stones in our Common Room." The offer was surprisingly friendly for someone who up until then had perplexed Harry with his intentions.

"And what's to prevent some of your dear mates from taking a little revenge on account of a misused spell gone astray a certain Lord?"

"Really, I thought you wouldn't be as foolish as to believe all those nasty tales they throw about. Not all dark wizards crawled from Hogwarts' dungeons."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You would be surprised how far back Hogwarts archives the Daily Prophet and Warlock Times. All those names convicted or otherwise can't be a mere coincidence. Ten years isn't such a long time—especially when some people are still serving Azkaban sentences for crimes of war."

Flint raised an interested eyebrow. He was smart enough to pick the odd-wording being used. For a boy who had been stripped of family and made into an icon he was being remarkably cold to towards a very real war he had stopped (if not single-handedly at least severely hindering it) . "Crimes of war?"

Harry's mouth twisted as if swallowing something unpleasant. "One of my teachers said 'History is written by the victors' (1). It's only a crime if you lose and frankly I don't believe the Ministry didn't make some other boy an orphan along the way."

Marcus Flint was silent for a moment, slightly stunned that the little First-Year (even if he was Harry Potter) understood a concept some of his more thickheaded mates would never see. A concept he sometimes still fumbled with (because it wasn't said but the Flints had dealt on the wrong side of the war not so long ago).

"It happened." Marcus said unusually sincere. "But you must remember Death Eaters wore masks. Aurors didn't have the luxury of hiding who they were—not when their very own Ministry was so desperate to make heroes of their soldiers."

"And that's why they all earned the risk of having their unlucky fates. My…parents fought and they risked my welfare alongside their own when they became targets. Those who donned on masks risked retribution for going against society's accepted norms; they also risked their families and livelihoods should they ever be publicly suspected. Recent history has so far shown me that Dark and Light are two sides of a political issue and I've yet to be convinced on the merits of either one because there is simply no proof."

"And the question of blood-purity?" There was something guarded about Flints whole body as tense as it was.

Harry thought the older boy was either asking a question he never would to someone else or was holding back his disagreement. Either way Harry needed for Flint to understand who Harry was and could be. He needed to know if Flint would understand Harry couldn't follow the stories fed him. If the older boy planned on filling his 'impressionable' head with fairy tales Flint needed to know how far they would travel and how little they were worth.

"It simply hasn't been studied as in depth as it should be to deserve the bloodshed it has caused. The race of Men has always been in the habit of saying things that aren't necessary true.

"I'm sure you know the Dark Lord Grindlewald's history better than I but what I haven't seen mentioned in any of the history texts is the Muggle mirror of the wizard's war. To put it simply a man spearheaded a campaign to build an empire composed of his perfect bloodlines. It embroiled whole countries in war for years and in the end as many as 62 million people lost their lives. Right this moment there are dozens of other wars going on around the world—both between countries and within their borders; quite a number are currently fighting over the superiority of one race's, one religion's, one birthright's over another. So what was so different about this war?"

"Besides the fact it was ours?"

"But you're forgetting—I'm a product of the last war, not a participant."

"Potter, you broke the Dark Lord's power. I don't know how much more involved you can get than that." Despite the seriousness of their discussion Flint quirked a smile at the odd observation, both because it was truth and the farthest from it.

"But no one ever asked me anything besides if I wanted to die and even then it wasn't so much asked as done…sort of."

"There are some that would call you traitor for saying such things."

"And they ask more of me than I would blindly give. My parents died for their philosophies. I know very well it wasn't just a question of ideology. A certain Lord ordered some very gruesome things and because of that he certainly deserved a nasty end; but spells came out of many wands and more than He killed. So then why did it become a question of my life for theirs?

"Should they live and die because of you?" Marcus curiously prodded, "That's what they call you—the Boy-Who-Lived; their Savior. Without you so many more would have died before an end came to the whole matter."

"I might have been the easiest route to end open conflict but I certainly didn't solve anything. The question of blood supremacy hasn't been answered and a large portion of those who perpetuated the matter were never caught."

"So you think it's only a matter of time?" Flint asked more sharply than he intended. He didn't know if he should be more unnerved or less hearing such dangerous speculation coming from the mouth of a child, albeit one who had vanquished the Dark Lord. It unsettled him to hear the very real possibility come from a mere boy when someone in his family's 'social' circle should have realized the last war's hostilities had never ended.

"I can't say." Was Harry's frustratingly vague answer. "I doubt it will happen tomorrow or the day after but those too quick to trust peace are the last to believe it has ended."

Both boys glanced at each other through the corner of their eyes, their stares assessing and impenetrable. "Your previous teachers seem to be quite good."

And like the Slytherin and Ravenclaw boys relaxed as they put away their tension. "It passed the time."

"Huh."

"I don't have a broom." Harry finally said.

Marcus stared at the boy for a second before realization hit. "Don't worry about it. I'll persuade someone to lend you a broom."

"So long as it finds its way uncursed into my hands."

"Potter…you're so suspicious."

Harry gave the older boy a dry look. "And that's a bad thing?"

S

Saturday's dawn came quietly. Both students and teachers took the opportunity to earn an extra hour of sleep or two. It also happened to be the perfect opportunity to experiment a bit more with talents that had so far been kept from prying eyes.

It had rained the night before and the air was sharp with the scent of morning dew. None of that mattered to the heavily cloaked boy who journey to a small glen not quite inside the Forbidden Forest but hidden from anyone peering out of one of the many castle windows.

Walls and turrets of stone rose in the air. From his spot on the ground, hands bedded into the cold earth, he could watch everything with fascination. A year ago he wouldn't have thought himself capable of doing anything of the same scale. For one, Harry hadn't believed it necessary. Even back then he had known he'd been born with some very odd gifts. He was not about to call himself a freak because of it so Harry had accepted the fact and moved on. But now that he knew there to be a world capable of raising mountains and leveling them, well, Harry had never been one to be left behind.

Around him the earth rippled like fluid water, churning like quicksand before freezing all together. Twisting his fingers he watched a stone wall, smooth and cold, shift. In the weak light it gleamed icy blue, the instantaneous shift from earth to a crystalline structure seemingly effortless. For a second the moonstone surface glittered coldly; and with a crack the thing crumbled. Fine moonstone powder settling over the glen.

He wasn't at all upset by the failure. Crystals were commonly used to bleed excess energy from potions; the energy needed to break crystal bonds usually up to the task of equalizing dangerous reactions. As such crystals were more delicately formed than his simple earth mounds. He would need time to channel the right amount of energy in a steady enough stream to transfigure crystals. And in the end this would be his most effective defense because Harry had yet to find a reason to trust Hogwarts to protect him; had yet to think Hogwarts itself wouldn't hurt him in the end.

It would be a month or a year, a season or decade, before everyone knew exactly what was wrong with their Golden Child. And Harry didn't think human nature would disprove itself and let itself understand what was different. Common sense being anything but common.

His heart or intuition, whatever the strange feeling was that had served him well in the past was telling him it was only a matter of time before the illusion he used failed. And knowing what he did, he held the very real fear they wouldn't understand Harry. Not his own gifts or his lack of theirs.

People burned witches. Harry didn't want to know who witches' burned.

S

Warren Reed was a half-blood Slytherin.

He wasn't the first and certainly wasn't going to be the last. After four years at Hogwarts he'd learned how immovable certain facts were in the minds of his peers. Under the drivel Binns fed the students it wasn't hard to see which attitudes had prevailed after the last Wizarding War. While it was true many of those who had heeded the Dark Lord's call had come from all walks of life it was also true Slytherin had been saddled with a the public dogma of supporting blood-purity.

Sometimes Warren had the feeling everyone thought the little first-years were led into the Dungeons and made to swear they would be indiscriminate bigots for the rest of their lives. Furthermore when the time came they would raise indiscriminate bigots of their own.

So by the time he was a Fourth-Year Warren had gotten used to the fact there would always be Hufflepuffs that eyed him strangely and Gryffindors that tried to catch him drinking blood or summoning the devil and Ravenclaws that were waiting for him to go running off into the night to rape and pillage some unfortunate fool. However he was smart enough to see not everyone believed the same prejudices fed them—just enough to make most situations mildly uncomfortable.

The last War had divided the Houses and they had never quite healed. Warren didn't think his Hogwarts career would include the final bridge between that divide.

"Mate, you coming or what?" Phillips Vercruysse, his best-friend, nettled. The tall boy with a broom in each hand jittered lightly as he impatiently waited for Warren to pull on a sweater.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Why such a hurry? Afraid Belinda will go wandering away after Flint again?"

Phillips scowled. "Everyone knows he wouldn't touch her last year—that fact hasn't changed this year."

"I still think she's a bloody useless witch."

Phillips sneered. "She can be as useless as she wants. She's still hot."

"That all?" Warren scoffed. In truth he'd disliked Belinda Scott since first year. The girl was as dumb as a brick but had the annoying habit of being there when something horribly embarrassing happened. (He still shuttered when thinking about the time he accidentally touched the sap of the Materad Vines. Bright orange hands were embarrassing enough without Belinda the Witch shoving his robe sleeves up so everyone could see.)

"It's enough, isn't it?"

Warren led the matter drop, not because he agreed but because he already knew Phillips would be as thick as ever.

"Whatever."

Warren and Phillips descended down to their Common Room making no effort to hide their brooms. It was a matter of pride. All around the eyes of lounging Slytherins followed them. Some were arrogant in their indifference and others twisted in their envy. It didn't really matter; it just meant they weren't invited to socialize with Flint's crowd, the Circle as some were known to call it.

Most of them had enough dignity not to sneak off and watch from the Quidditch stands; but there were always some that thought they could blend into the gatherings. While they might enjoy the day of rubbing elbows with the elite it was common knowledge Flint didn't like public scandal. He dealt with such matters quietly, either going after them himself or pointing them out to one of his eager-to-please minions.

Had Albus Dumbledore been more inclined to watch the happenings of Slytherin House he would have been uneasily reminded of another dark-haired boy. A brilliant boy who eventually became a much feared man. One who had cultivated the attention of other students, many of which eventually grew into positions of power, either by their own merits or through their families. It was also true some of the older staff members would remember Professor Slughorn and his 'get-togethers'. Either way this generation had Marcus Flint and his Circle.

It wasn't to say Marcus Flint was the next Dark Lord; after all Professor Slughorn had only ever aspired to promote himself. Even Severus Snape, who watched his House as closely as he dared, didn't quite know what to make of Marcus Flint. Because, wasn't it true Tom Riddle had been Hogwarts Golden Child once upon a time? And only a precious few knew how disastrous that tale had ended. So there was little to do but watch and wait. And maybe grow a little uneasy when the Boy-Who-Lived decided to take up Flint's invitation.

There were more than enough people to make up two Quidditch teams. Slytherins were easily spotted, their numbers making up the majority of those there. A scattering of Ravenclaws and the odd Hufflepuff blended in seemingly. Everyone of note from the scarily-brilliant Third-Year Ravenclaw Simon Provost to the sickenly-wealthy Slytherin Sixth-Year Julius Ayers to the half-blood Warren Reed who was practically guaranteed an apprenticeship with a rare Enchanter. The Circle was conspicuous in its absence of Gryffindors; Flint having suspected there would be more hexing than talking involved (even if he thought Jack Slopper would have been a brilliant addition—most powerful Defense student in decades).

Their Families came from different circles, their blood-purity diverged, their ethics spanned the spectrum but what was true was that all those invited to the Circle wielded power of a kind. It wasn't that hard to see just what kind of attention the child coined as the 'Boy-Who-Lived' could garner. It was well known that the small Ravenclaw didn't invite curiosity (even going so far as to forcibly discourage it). However what little was known was gossiped about with abandonment.

Warren knew all this. Knew it even before (having been abandoned by Phillips) he'd plopped down next to a dark-haired boy.

" 'lo mate, Warren Reed, Fourth-Year, Slytherin."

Expectant eyes implored the smaller child who'd up until then had merely eyed the rest of the crowd either with recognition or interest.

The child looked at him and studied him a strange intensity (strange if he hadn't felt at one time or another the grueling stares of Flint and Snape). Intense jade-eyes blinked at him once before shifting back to the disarmingly mild green they'd been.

"Harry Potter, First-Year, Ravenclaw."

Warren nodded, relieved that the boy wasn't a braggart. He'd hex himself before he'd willingly give Belinda Scott the time of day and he wasn't about to spend time with someone of her ilk. He had been slightly wary such a public figure would be nothing but a windbag; quite the opposite of the dark, quiet boy who seemed to pick out every last thought Warren had ever entertained in just one look.

"I remember when you flew across the Lake. You ever think of playing Quidditch?"

Easy green-eyes (all the more deceptive Warren knew) flicked up to the quick game already in progress. "To be honest, I've never really learned how the game is played."

Warren sighed dramatically. "Now that's just cruel. You'd be brilliant if Ravenclaw ever decided to give you a try. Not a Beater…someone's liable to sit on you before the game's half-way done. You aren't big enough yet to be any kind of Keeper; perhaps a Chaser or Seeker—you've got enough talent to out fly half the Quidditch players here."

Warren was intuitive enough to sense the boy's amusement even if his face only revealed lazy interest.

"You play on your House team?"

"With the Brutes? I'll have you know I enjoy being relatively healthy…and unbroken. It isn't a secret what strategy our quidditch team follows."

"Would that be Pound-Them-Till-They-Stop-Twitching?"

Warren laughed. "I admit it might be a bit crude but it works—we've held the Quidditch Cup for the last couple of years. Mind you, if Gryffindor ever finds a half-way decent Seeker they might be a challenge. They finally trained their Beaters up enough but they lost their Seeker. This year the only way Ravenclaw's Chasers will hold on to the Quaffle is if someone magically binds it to them. And Hufflepuff lost five out of seven people. Diggory's quite good as a Seeker but their only chance is if he catches the Snitch before their line-up is completely obliterated."

The younger boy was quite for a second before drawling ever so slowly, "You know, this all might mean a bit more if I knew what was so special about Beaters, Chasers, and Seekers."

Warren scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess you really did mean you didn't know the rules. No worries; there are four balls. Two balls—called bludgers—go after everyone. Beaters—two of them—bat the bludgers at each other or at other members of the opposing team with. One quaffle is passed around three Chasers. One Keeper protects the hoops from scoring quaffles. And finally the Seeker looks for the Snitch, earning a hundred and fifty points and usually winning the game."

"I take it it's the general idea to help the Seeker of their broom?"

Warren gave a ruthless smile. "It's definitely a workable strategy."

Harry couldn't help but be amused. "There's nothing like a game that's already rigged in your favor? I should probably say something about it not being fair."

"Should?" Warren prodded, deciding right them that the Boy-Who-Lived was nothing like the Harry Potter sitting next to him. Whoever betted the boy would be a Gryffindor never had a chance. And Warren thought, given half a chance, he might like Harry Potter.

"It works, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," A quick smile flashed across Warren's face as up in the air one of the Seekers narrowly avoided a close encounter of the Bludger-kind. "So tell me little Ravenclaw, why are you here playing Slytherin games? You're a smart boy, no? Surely you know what the Circle is really about?"

Warren wasn't a Slytherin for nothing as sly eyes landed on a coolly amused Marcus Flint; his figure surrounded by boys and girls who would grow to be quite prominent or at least powerful figures in the Wizarding World.

"Haven't you heard?" There was something entirely too mocking about the tone the boy used. "I'm Muggle-raised; I'm so impressionable I'll believe anything."

Warren laughed. "I take it half the things I've heard about you are as useful as dragon dung."

"Well…" A half-smirk flashed almost too fast to catch. "Isn't dragon dung supposed to be miracle fertilizer? But really, I'm new too all this—not an idiot."

"So if nothing I know is true and everything I think is colored by an icon, how did Flint ever figure you to be something more than a pretty face?"

"Who says I'm not just that?"

Warren studied Harry with exaggerated care. "A little runty, not enough muscle; huh, I suppose the glasses have charm. The scar would be a negative if it wasn't so famous. Give it a few years, avoid the sun, and you might have what it takes to be a chocolate frog-eating windbag living off the misses' money."

"Gees Warren, with you around who needs Career Counseling?"

Startled both boys looked behind them. She was a thin girl, tall to the point of being gangly. Her features were too large to ever be pretty in a classical sense although Harry had never met someone with such fascinating honey-colored eyes.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Meet Helena Blair, Forth-Year, Hufflepuff—although who fed the Sorting Hat dragon weed when it did that I don't know."

The girl sat down, awkwardly trying to contain limbs that seemed to escape her at every turn. "Always such a charmer. You're still sore I keep beating you in Potions."

The boy huffed before jokingly adding, "Snape should at least have the decency to sabotage other students work so a Slytherin can get top marks."

The look Blair gave Warren could only be described as foul. "What are you talking about Warren? I still got top marks with him trying. Snape hates everything that wasn't born into this world clutching a baby snake."

Harry couldn't help but snort at the matter-of-fact tone. Snape was universal. Harry himself had probably single-handedly ruined any chance Ravenclaw had at winning the House Cup.

"And who's your little friend?"

"Harry Potter, First-Year, Ravenclaw." Harry interjected before Warren could open his mouth.

Predictably honey-eyes flicked up to Harry's neat fringe, his scar concealed as always, before she flushed slightly under the bored look the younger boy send her. "Hey! Didn't you curse half the Ravenclaw first-years with some golden mess."

A potion student enthusiast, Helena couldn't help herself as eager fingers twitched to grab a handful of duo-colored strands. Green-eyes fixed her with a hard stare before appearing to decide something. Helena didn't know what to make of the feeling.

"It was a Potion's accident."

Helena laughed. "Bugger that; I know Potion accidents and they are usually a lot more messy and a lot more painful than two dozen kiddies with an odd mess on their heads. Besides, practically nothing in a first-year lab kit has what it takes to do this."

Harry's face was bland of any mischief though Helena couldn't help but notice bubbles of laughter that seemed to float up to moss green-eyes from a great depth. "And why would I deliberately sabotage my own Potion? It simply isn't very considerate to the all the hard Professor Snape does trying to teach us potions. Potions that might very well save our lives one day. Heaven only knows we're all liable to drown in our morning shower."

Helena gave a ringing laugh, everything about her seemingly larger than normal. Harry knew her to be the most brilliant Potion student since Severus Snape himself. It was a given the girl would be apprenticed to a Potion Master as soon as her Hogwarts' certificate was dry. No thanks to the bitter fortitude Snape implored each time he saw the Hufflepuff girl. He certainly wasn't going to give a Hufflepuff any advantage by cultivating her interest in the subject.

Warren wiped an imaginary tear. "My Head of House is largely misunderstood."

Unsurprisingly Helena Blair and Harry were unimpressed.

"Why you persist in defending—Lestrange! What's the bloody idea?" For a second Harry saw the ground before his head snapped up, the back of his collar clutched in the cold hand of 'Lestrange'. Still twisted away from his attacker Harry could only see the faces of a furious Helena Blair and wary Warren Reed.

"And what have we here?" Even Harry could tell Lestrange was sneering. "Itty-bitty Potter thinks he can come play here."

The constant chatter and bubbling laughter had fallen silent. Harry knew they were watching him now; these privileged children who were flirting with their own self-importance. So Harry did the only thing he could. He relaxed. His collar pulled tight as Lestrange fumbled with his hold, fingers no doubt stretching his favorite sweater in odd places.

Harry had never been one to count on others to get him out of trouble. Even if some in the crowd were inclined to help him they were smart enough to try and defuse the situation less they break the wary House truce that made the Circle possible.

Harry had done his research—thoroughly, thoughtfully, and meticulously. He'd practically memorized the list of suspected Death Eaters. He had made it a point to find out which of the children he would be sharing a boarding school with came from questionable pasts. Lestrange had been easy to spot. Sylvan Lestrange, Fifth-Year Slytherin; his birth was announced more as a scandal than any real proclamation. The son of the youngest Lestrange daughter (a girl herself barely out of school and unwed to boot) should have been shuttled off to some small Wizarding school and forgotten. An unpleasant blip on the family legacy; true till the day the elder Lestrange brothers had been convicted of the torture of two Aurors, earning lifelong sentences that were sure to rob them of their sanity. Besides a decrepit great-aunt or two, Sylvan Lestrange was all that remained of the once grand family and the last to bear what had become a distasteful name.

First thing first, Harry had to think. He needed for Lestrange to let him go. He needed something flashy enough that it would make the boy wary of Harry and simple enough a First-Year could theoretically do.

And the air shrieked as it twisted to his will. Lestrange grip was gone. All around startled shrieks erupted as surprised students felt an icy wind bite exposed skin. A powerful funnel of wind had erupted between both boys, gossamer power fluttering as it took shape. A startled Lestrange was send tumbling to the ground and Harry skidding as he found his balance.

Harry turned to face the boy. Ice-blue eyes glared from ruffled black hair, his image calling forward an odd familiarity Harry couldn't explain.

"Lestrange," Harry drawled softly, starring down at the other boy as he recalled every lesson in snobbery he'd ever seen. "I wasn't aware you were so eager to meet me."

A few snickered from behind as ice-blue eyes narrowed. "I've a score to settle with you, you little brat."

"If you really feel it necessary…I'm sure all these witnesses won't mind turning around. Or were you just planning on throwing a couple of harmless jinxes, a little something to show us all what someone can do against a First-Year."

The boy snarled as he got back on his feet. "You're the reason my uncles are in Azkaban. I intent to pass on their regards. Anax Rebolis!"

A wicked flash of purple light spiraled toward Harry. For a second no one knew what they were watching as the earth shifted, a wall of earth springing upward and exploding with a dull thud. Through the dust emerald eyes met icy-blue head on, both boys clutching wands defensively.

"How's it feel Lestrange? Attacking a first-year?" Helena finally jeered from the sideline, having successfully escaped Warren's attempt to hold her back and keep her silent.

Lestrange's face contorted. "Expellimerus! Taratengella! Seperumtiosa!"

Harry twisted to avoid the first spell, twirling his wand as the earth reformed. Silica grains shifted, reformed and replicated. The mount of earth shimmered once before a quartz wall reformed, a pale pink color giving it a soft shine. The spells were absorbed, beautiful lights twisted into the crystal structure. From all sides the quartz glowed with yellow and green lights as the magic bounced from point to point, amplifying all the meanwhile till it glowed a searing white. Harry frowned, he had to be careful now. His fingers twisted in one hand as the other clutched his wand. Individual crystals shifted and turned to prevent the magic from dissipating into the ground and in a second…he let it go. It crackled into the ground, exploding earth obscuring the figure of Lestrange as the magic ripped the ground apart.

Sylvan Lestange had never seen anything like this. Crystals themselves were Fourth-Year Transfiguration and even then he'd never seen it done on such a scale. Starring incomprehensibly at the magic racing toward him he could only remember the words of his Ancient Runes professor. 'Crystals store and magnify spell work, it is why they are so often used as keystones for wards and diagrams. Leaching magic from crystals however is done with much care as they tend to react explosively when the crystal chains are broken.' Funny, Professor Aldwin must have meant something like this. A second later he was flying, arcs of white-colored magic dancing across his body and numbing what skin they touched before flickering away.

And like that the impromptu duel was over in a matter of minutes. In the aftermath a shaking Sylvan trembled as he hauled himself to his knees, blind hands looking for the wand he'd dropped.

"Enough." Harry didn't jump as the artic voice hissed from besides him. "Lestrange—you've had your shot at him. You'll to us all the favor of ceasing your disruptive behavior."

Lestrange flushed a dull red and despite being at least two or three inches taller than Marcus Flint the former looked away. Picking up some unseen cue the other students erupted in chatter, the Quidditch game having never even noticed the activity on the ground. Flint leveled a heavy glare on Lestrange as he made himself scarce.

"You've yet to bite with intent, Aspling." Flint commented softly.

Still intense green-eyes stared up at Flint. "S'not something I can get away here. And besides, how can I win something I didn't even care about?"

"That doesn't mean Lestrange doesn't care and if you don't you've given him half the battle. He definitely cares. That family has a reason to hate their disgrace; his mother was jailed on some petty law and a nice chunk of their family fortune was funneled as restitution for the exuberance his uncles indulged in. The only chance Lestrange has at an acceptable marriage is he confounds some foreign witch."

"And thanks to the whole mess I've expectations placed on me by every person I meet to be someone they think I should be. And even if I never amount to more than Groundskeeper my head will be on a pike the second someone wants to make a statement to the Wizarding World as a whole."

Flint studied the Quidditch players up in the air with a feigned interest. "Not to worry Aspling, you'll be the most influential Groundskeeper ever."

Harry rolled his eyes as the older boy moved away, the Quidditch game finally coming to a close. Even if most everyone was getting back to their own business Harry still felt stray eyes trying to pick him apart.

The tense standoff was broken as Helena rushed toward Harry. "I'm sorry—don't think I didn't want to help you, I did!— but if anyone but you and Lestrange did anything it would have been a free for all. And believe me, any bigger brawl and Flint would have had a chat with us afterwards"

Warren followed behind her, an apologetic look saying it all. Looking at the still shredded ground, Warren gave Harry an admiring look. "I heard you were McGonagall's prodigy; didn't believe the old girl was right outside some Gryffindor favoritism."

"I'm not a Gryffindor."

Warren grinned. "That's what you want everyone to think. You don't fool me—I know you're infiltrating the Ravenclaws; no doubt you have some nefariously good plan up your sleeve."

Helena gave the older boy an incredulous look. "And how you figure that?"

"Simple," Warren said, hands fluttering around Harry's head. "Potter here has a shifty-face."

"Dear Merlin, you're a real piece of work." Helena muttered to the heavens. "Honestly, you gave me a fright when Lestrange rounded you up—boy has a terrible temper."

"Aspling!" Three heads turned to the caller, one in recognition and two in surprise. "We're forming new Quidditch teams. You'll fly against me."

Helena gave Flint a confused look before quick understanding had her fluttering around Harry again. "Dear Merlin, have you ever even played Quidditch?"

"I seem to recall this is how you fist learned." Warren quipped from besides Harry.

"And we all know how pleasant that was—broke my arm ten minutes in. The least I can do is keep an eye on you in the air." Helena muttered as she herded Harry toward the forming teams, an amused Warren trailing behind.

Flint rolled his eyes at the sight. "Blair, you'll be useless playing against your chick. You're with McGaven; Reed you're with me."

A blond boy, the supposed McGaven, sighed. If he hadn't seen Potter fly earlier last month he would have thought Flint was deliberately sabotaging his team. That and Flint didn't like playing against teams staffed with talentless idiots (something about the Slytherin team snuffed that temptation).

"Right then," McGaven began as he gathered his seven-person huddle. He quickly divided up the positions. "Potter you'll be a Chaser. Blair—don't give me that look—you're the best Keeper out of all of us."

"Potter—Harry," Helena said as she pulled Harry aside. "Don't worry if you've never played. Most of us only play casually and even those with talent for the most part don't play on a House Team. Honestly, practice three times a week and weekend games would kill anyone's study hours. You'll be using Harper's broom; charm your sweater purple—that'll be our team—here let me do it."

With a push Harry was up in the air, a little hesitant and a little unsure about the whole thing. Flint—acting as a Seeker—grinned at him before zooming into the air. Harry stared at the game, the Quaffle already flying in the air.

"Potter!" A purple-robed girl warned as she flung the ball toward him.

For a second Harry was absolutely sure he would fumble it, mess his team's line-up. Worry was shoved to the side as Harry caught the Quaffle, not even sparing a second as he spiraled away from an incoming Bludger. Spinning away from a depressingly large opposing Chaser Harry figured if he didn't think too deeply he should be fine. Harry shot upward, flying away from a ramming Chaser, letting the Quaffle fly to another purple-robed Chaser. A gray-robed Keeper lunged and missed as the Quaffle flew in through a hop.

Spinning once-more Harry thought he just might like Quidditch.

S

The Slytherin Common Room could only be described as dark. Throughout the room sitting lounges were scattered about, empty save the Cicle memberes who'd comanteered the room from its former occupants. There was more than one uninvited Slytherin currently sulking in their dorm room.

In one such area Harry could be found discretely pressing knuckles to his stomach; calling every last shred of will power to stop him from chucking to his stomach's content.

"Merlin's beard, there's something completely depraved about feeding an eleven-year old firewhiskey." Helena complained half-heartedly, lazily rolling an empty shot class. Harry rolled his eyes as he took another deep breath, watery eyes finally clear enough so he could sit back upright.

"Blair, you were the one who gave him the first shot." An equally lazy Warren reminded.

Across the Common Room a set of cards exploded, shrieking students leaning away from a soot-covered boy.

"And I'm a horrible person; my dear mum would trash me herself if she heard about half the things I did here."

"So you're finally going to break the Hufflepuff code of silence and admit to everyone how your House really is just brimming with Britain's finest axe-murderers or my personal favorite, how all the Hufflepuffs are secretly conspiring to take over the Ministry from the inside out."

Helena took another shot, finishing it off with a string of coughs. "I swear you seem to think you're not a proper Slytherin if you're not involved in at least two conspiracies a year."

"Three if we get lucky." The boy quipped. "Potter? You ready for another shot?"

Harry eyed the full shot class Warren offered before plucking Helena's empty one and filling it with some more of the throat-searing, tongue-lashing drink. "If I'm going to drink I should at least trust the glass."

"See?" Warren gestured vaguely to the younger boy. "Slytherins aren't the only ones paranoid."

Harry was proud to say this shot went down a little more easily. Releasing a few puffs of smoke, he rejoined the conversation. "Paranoia is a must if you're spending the afternoon in the Slytherin Common Room."

Helena giggled, easily tipsy this late in the game. "Especially when Harry and I are the only non-Slytherins still here."

"Not true; Daniel O'Connor is still here."

Helena snorted, "I'd take a Slytherin over O'Connor any day."

"Charmed, my dear." Warren toasted her.

A lull in the conversation was broken as soft honey-eyes drifted over to Harry. "Harry, it's a bit late to be saying this but maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to stick so close to us the whole day. It's true enough we're part of the Circle but…"

As the girl fumbled with words Warren smoothly followed, remarkably sober for someone who had been steadily working through the Fire whiskey bottle, "But there's a class and then there's class."

Harry rolled his eyes, settling in comfortably against the dark green lounge. Shrugging he answered and hoped they weren't thin-skinned enough to be offended even if they shouldn't be given who they were. "Flint likes me; it doesn't mean squat if someone he won't stand against does something. As Hufflepuff and a half-blood you're both here on talent; talent that hasn't been proven in the world even if everyone can see it's already there. Because of that neither of you will step out of the rules Flint sets less you find yourself uninvited; rules that include letting the little First-Year Ravenclaw live."

Warren smiled fondly, "You're a manipulative little shit, aren't you?"

"You're wrong about something." Helena surmised, immersed in an alcoholic enough mood to be blasé about the whole thing. "Flint does like you enough, 'Aspling'."

Harry flushed lightly at the nickname and couldn't help but think alcohol was relaxing his normal composure. "I've nicknames more bothersome than that one."

"But the Ice Prince didn't invite you here because of your most famous one." Warren whispered, leaning in till the three companions made a tight triad. "You could have been a flamingly powerful bloke but that doesn't mean anything if you're as a dumb as a rock and as shortsighted as a bat. Most of here see more than our little friends. Our world is a rotting thing, made worse because everyone's too afraid to know what's really out there."

"And what would you say?" Harry whispered to Helena.

Her head titled carefully, lids slowly dropping. "Our world is a chained thing, trapped by its expectations."

Harry eyed the two. "And Lestrange, who's as far from you two as can be, what would he say?"

Warren nodded in consideration, automatically glancing around for the missing boy. "Our world is a stagnant thing, too sick to see its power."

Harry titled his head back and shook his head. "And me? What do you think of me?"

Warren grinned roguishly. "I have two lovely words for you—apposing juxtaposition. The boy I met today is very much like the Ice Prince; you're both playing games within games and no one else but you two has a clue as to what you're really doing. But the Boy-Who-Lived is a saintly child who was made in the image of his people or at least how they wished they really were. The thing is you're both of these things and I don't know you well enough to say which face you'll choose when you have to."

Harry leaned back, breaking their circle. He didn't say anything as he took another shot, soft green eyes deceptively placid. Warren just shook his head content to let the moment pass. Helena nodded along, sleepy agreement murmured softly.

"It's about time we take the girl here back to Hufflepuff; she's wasted." Warren finally sighed. Standing up he hefted Helena till she had one arm around him. "Come on Potter, you might want to leave right about now. They're only going to get more idiotic from here on."

Harry looked back at the room that had lost about half of those it originally had. Without thinking about it his eyes sought out Flint. The older boy was smirking cruelly at a younger boy held none too gently by Flint's goons.

"There's always a few idiots that can think to sneak into the Circle." Warren whispered quietly as they made their way out of the Common Room.

Harry looked back at the intruder. A pale boy made paler by the whole situation; ice blond hair was pristinely combed. Harry didn't like the look of the child. For a second pale eyes looked up and glared at Harry before they returned to whatever censure Flint was laying out.

The boy would be trouble. Worrisome if not for the fact there were some half-dozen children in Ravenclaw alone who had mommies and daddies as former or current Azkaban inmates. A fact they no doubt blamed on him.

Like he said, funny.

S

It wasn't till the last day before holiday that Harry understood how bothersome that child would be.

"Potter…" The word was savored, powerful and rich, breaking the library silence. "Now, now…where do you think you're going?"

Bored green eyes flickered up to the pale boy. Seemingly unconcerned the black-haired child continued to pack his book bag.

The pale boy just smiled.

"Is there something you wanted Malfee?"

"Malfoy," The boy twitched automatically much to Harry's bemusement. "Draco Malfoy. I wouldn't forget that if I was you."

A black brow arched in idle curiosity.

Besides Malfoy two other boys made themselves even more menacing. It would have been more effective had neither boy possessed more than a passing resemblance to Dudley at his finest.

"And your…companions?" Harry drawled softly, pausing long enough for all of them to know that wasn't what he wanted to call them.

"Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe."

"How…quaint." Green eyes flashed briefly, an arrogant tilt to the green-eyed child transforming him from a bookish Ravenclaw to more than a match for whatever scheme brewing.

Malfoy sneered but Harry was pleased to see he'd lost some of his confidence. "Listen well Potter. My father is part of the Board of Directors and let's just say he came upon a recent suspicious medical report. Who should it concern but Hogwarts Golden Boy?"

Harry stared back calmly at the boy even as inwardly he cursed rather creatively. He didn't need pretentious manipulative children thinking they knew all the cards in the game. Harry wasn't about to lose to such upstart threats but he was all too aware making the information widespread had the potential to hurt him. There was a reason the two-day examination had been fobbed off as a bout of flu.

"You seem to think the matter is terribly important." The bored tone seemed to irritate Malfoy more than anything. As it was the pale boy easily flushed.

"And you don't seem to realize what it means. All your little Ravenclaw friends follow you so easily because you're the boy wonder himself. You really think they'll want to sit next to you if they knew what you really are? There are wizards who would not suffer you to live."

A squib.

But…Malfoy was still so unsure for someone who should have thought they could ruin Harry.

Harry gave the boy a practiced laugh, sharp and cruel. "And you seem to think I haven't learnt enough magic to make things unpleasant for you."

"Yes," Malfoy spat with no little resentment. "McGonagall's pet, aren't you? Will you transfigure a match into a nettle?"

"Draco Malfoy." Harry murmured softly, carefully considering the boy before him. "So ready to confront me; so ready to see me cower before you. Did you consider what it means when you become an…obstacle in my path?"

Harry Potter was a distorted image. The Boy-Who-Lived and Flint's Aspling. So little substance given to either claim yet neither could be denied. Harry Potter didn't play games lightly.

Finally. There was a hint of wariness in his eyes. Malfoy was Slytherin enough to finally realize the boy with the mismatched talents was more than he reflected. Malfoy was also arrogant enough to continue. "Save the threats when I don't hold your dearest secrets in my hand. You'll do well to remember that. After all, it would be such a shame if everyone was to learn your little secret."

Sneering for parting sake the boy sauntered out, his grunting brutes quick on his heels. Somewhat bemused Harry watched the flushed boy glare hotly once before disappearing entirely. Inscrutable green-eyes watched the whole proceedings without betraying a thought.

"My dearest secrets…" Harry quietly mocked, slender hands picking up his book bag and two library books that caught his interest. Deep within him a powerful force curled, restless with the threat it sensed. Harry, having never really known what he carried, subconsciously soothed that power till it settled back into his core.

The boy, trouble that he was, was still not worrisome though no doubt he would be plenty of trouble. Still he was a parrot who said words heard from his father's lap; no real understand but plenty of suspicion. His father though...no amount of money could ever completely hide the plots Lucius Malfoy dealt in. And his attention was worrisome.

S

TBC….

19 November 2006