Well, I finally managed to make it through all the boring parts I wasn't keen on writing, and thought up some twists that I'm rather proud of, I've still got four chapters written before I run out of material-all in all I'm quite pleased. I also have this problem where I write pages and pages of things that would take place in fourth year and I'm not even sure if I want to bother with fourth year in this story XD not a big success, lol

Nonetheless! This chapter and the next few were a bit difficult to write because they seemed so slow moving to me, but they're kind of plotty bits, I guess? Or at least they're all so closely interconnected I can't delete one section without having to go back and delete all the other related sections XD

Still, I hope you guys like this chapter, and I'll stop rambling now! :D

Chapter Ten: Maybe a kneazle?

In the aftermath of Halloween night Harry decided to face life with a new philosophy: if you ignore it, hopefully it will go away.

It didn't seem to be working on Percy, who apparently thought he was so mighty a warrior that even the portrait killer Sirius Black would run in terror from his pompousness.

"Shove off Percy!" Ron yelled for the fifth time today, "We're trying to do homework!"

They were really that desperate to get rid of him that they would even resort to doing homework with Hermione.

"I can help!" Percy chirped happily, and sat down—he'd only been hovering before! Harry glared at Ron who was gaping, his face all blotchy.

"But!" Ron stuttered out, "We have Hermione!"

"Yes!" Harry agreed, "We only need one person to help us!"

Hermione didn't seem aware that they were talking about her, she was buried behind so many books that it probably blocked out the sound of their voices. Just how was she taking so many classes anyway? Probably independent study, she was probably responsible enough to teach herself all those different subjects.

"Hermione looks like she has plenty to study," Percy said, not looking the least bit convinced, "So what are you two working on?"

"Actually!" Harry declared, quickly standing up, and shoving all of his books into his bag in one motion, "I just remembered I needed to ask Hagrid a question!"

"Yes!" Ron agreed hurriedly, not bothering with his books, "we need to ask Hagrid a question about a class that you didn't take, so we'd best be off!"

The two of them ran off, and Madam Pince's yells rang down the hallway after them. They stopped running when they reached an empty hallway and stood there, trying to catch their breath.

"Sorry," Ron panted, "I bet my mom put him up to it."

"He'd be rubbish as a bodyguard anyway," Harry muttered, "Now Fred and George could do some damage."

Ron snickered and Harry grinned as he thought of how Fred and George would booby trap the whole castle to defend Harry, and everyone—especially Professor Snape would get caught in them constantly because the twins wouldn't limit them to just Sirius Black.

"Not a bad idea, really," Ron said with a grin, "we should put them up to it."

"Nah," Harry said, shaking his head, "they'd probably mess the whole school up and say they were just trying to help out."

"Yeah, they do that all the time at home," Ron said morosely and he kicked the wall, "now they don't have to do any chores."

Harry wasn't sure why the Weasleys would have chores to begin with—wouldn't magic take care of everything for them anyway?

Harry set off down the hallway, dragging his feet under him, the noise echoing down the hallway kind of eerily. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ron was following silently behind him, as Harry turned away he caught sight of a nearby window—it had a perfect view of the quidditch pitch. Harry strode over to it and stared down at the empty field.

"Excited about the game?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "Excited to play more than anything."

"I heard they want to limit the practices," Ron commented, "which is total rubbish!"

"Total rubbish," Harry agreed, and he tilted his head just enough that he caught sight of something on the field. Blinking, he leaned forward until his head was against the glass and then he stared until he finally figured out that the black mass was a dog—a very large black dog. Just like in the dreams he'd been having lately, where he was wrapped in scarlet and just beyond he could barely see the dog and the two suns in the glasses…

"Do you see," Harry pointed to it, and Ron pressed his nose against the glass staring down as well, "the dog?"

Ron's brows scrunched deeply and then he cupped his hands around his eyes as if they were binoculars and then said, "Yeah, wonder what it's doing down there."

Harry shrugged though Ron wouldn't see and then Ron added, "And there's something else with it, an orange sort of thing."

"Maybe a kneazle?" Harry suggested, "Hagrid said he wanted to get some for class."

"Reminds me, mate," Ron said, pulling his attention away from the window, "you were acting right odd last time we went to visit him."

"I was just thinking about stuff," Harry replied, a little too quickly, it seemed from the way Ron began to look suspicious rather than curious. Harry remembered more about all the strange magical effects from the potion Snape had given him than the actual weekend itself. Suffice it to say, that Harry remembered nothing of what happened at Hagrid's except for the way the warming spells that had been used on the tea stuck to his hands.

"Like what?" Ron demanded.

"You know," Harry said, nodding towards the window, his mind easily wandering to the recurring dreams he'd been having, "I've been having odd dreams about black dogs."

"Sounds like the rubbish you write for Trelawney," Ron scoffed, not wanting to be deterred from getting his answers, "I'm not Trelawney! You won't get away with saying rubbish like," Ron's voice went all high-pitched and he began mocking, "'I saw a dog on the quidditch pitch like I been dreaming about! Must be the grim!'"

"I don't talk like that!"

Harry did not talk like that!

"I don't talk like that," Ron mocked in his falsetto, blinking hurriedly and making a kissy face at Harry.

"Bloody twit!" Harry growled and he shoved Ron, not hard, but just enough to get the point across, "Besides, I saw another black dog the night I left the Dursleys—"

"Think it's following you?" Ron asked with a snicker.

"Well, of course it is," Harry said rolling his eyes, "obviously it's the grim, and it's going to follow me until I die!"

"Oh right!" Ron exclaimed slapping himself in the face, "How could I forget!"

"Prat," Harry snorted in affectionate amusement, "bit weird though, right? Dreaming about a dog and then seeing it?"

"I dream about eating chocolate," Ron replied with a shrug, "and then later when I'm awake I eat chocolate."

"This is why we have to make up stuff for Divinations; you know that, right, Ron?"

"Dunno, you could probably write that stuff, and Trelawney would love it," Ron said, rubbing his forehead, "but only if you called it the grim and not a big black dog."

"What do you think she'd say it meant?" Harry asked, as he watched the dog trot off to the forest and the kneazle dart off in the opposite direction.

"Don't think you should be asking for Trelawney's opinion," Ron advised sagely, "or mine, but I'll tell you what I think anyway—I think it's right odd you're dreaming about stuff you've been seeing since summer, and I think it means that you've probably got more divinations-ical talent in your pinky than that fraud's got in her whole third eye."

And that was why it didn't take a person with a lot of divinations-ical talent to see why Ron was Harry's best friend.

But that didn't explain why Ron still had to do chores considering that there was magic.

"What kind of chores do you have to do anyways?"

"Well, there are the gnomes, of course…"

Harry was not allowed to practice fire charms with the rest of the class when Flitwick decided out of the blue to cover them. Not that he would be missing much, the lecture portion of the lesson managed to take almost the entire two hour class time. So Harry tapped his wand against the parchment that he'd used to take notes on—he normally didn't take notes in Charms because theory wasn't as important as in…say…Transfigurations, but Flitwick had also decided out of the blue to grade their notes from the class.

Hermione was happily producing piles of her blue-bell flames and Ron was gleefully setting Dean on fire.

Harry spun his wand between his fingers and frowned, this was like when he was younger and Dudley would keep all the other kids from playing with him—he would be surrounded by everyone else having fun, but unable to participate…That wasn't to say that Harry didn't realize why they'd had this lesson, or why he couldn't set things on fire as well. It was obvious really; Harry's fires would not be harmless and this course in fire safety was a direct result of Harry burning off his own face.

Harry scratched his brand-new skin and looked over to Neville, he wasn't managing to make any fire, but he was managing to make a lot of orange gloop.

Still frowning Harry stared down at his notes until the words all blurred together, and the sound of his classmates turned into a nonsensical roar...and then the bell rang and Harry quickly jumped to his feet, bored out of his mind and more than ready to leave.

"Mr. Potter!" Flitwick chirruped over the noise of the classroom, "I wonder if you would stay behind a moment?"

Harry wondered why professors worded orders as if they were requests and the student could say no. Briefly Harry debated saying no, that he couldn't stay behind today, but perhaps another time just to see what would happen…but decided he didn't want any more detentions after how well the last few had gone.

Dragging his feet, and avoiding Hermione's gaze Harry made his way up to where Flitwick stood upon his desk so that he could keep watch over the classroom.

"Yes sir?" Harry asked, feeling a headache beginning on the sides of his head. His eyes couldn't help but drift longingly to where the rest of the Gryffindors were rushing out of the classroom, joking and laughing.

"Ah yes!" Flitwick said happily, and he hopped down from the desk. He gleefully rubbed his hands together and said, "I wanted to run through a few exercises with you today."

"Exercises?" Harry repeated skeptically, "what do you—"

"I was wondering if you could try casting blue bell flames for me," Flitwick continued as if Harry hadn't even spoken, "aim for the back of the classroom, cast as you would any other spell."

Harry readied his wand and then cast the spell, but instead of harmless flames spreading from his wand like little flowers; large balls of white flame burst forth and promptly caught several desks and part of the floor on fire.

Flitwick hmmed solemnly as if he'd expected that to happen, and tapped his chin as he thoughtfully watched the classroom burn.

Harry wondered if he should maybe do something to stop the fire…

Flitwick clapped his hands as if he'd finally come to a conclusion on the matter and then, with a wave of his wand the fire was put out and all that remained were ashes and half-burned furniture.

"Again, please, Mr. Potter."

Uneasy, Harry once more cast the charm without holding back and the spell produced the same results.

"May I see your wand for a moment?" Flitwick asked and Harry wasn't sure that he should, but he figured if he couldn't trust a teacher, then who could he trust…not even Snape had proven himself exceptionally dangerous or untrustworthy, even when Harry was incredibly vulnerable to attack. Harry held his wand out and Flitwick carefully took it and examined it for a moment before saying, "Could you cast the spell once more?"

Startled Harry blinked and stammered, "but my—"

"It's my understanding that you've previously been able to produce fire without your wand in hand," Flitwick hedged, his tone testing.

This was true, but, "That's different!"

"How so, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick asked, with his head tilted and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was being interrogated.

"I can only do it when I focus on something," Harry explained, "something specific—"

"So you weren't aiming for the back of the classroom then?" Flitwick asked with a smile, and Harry blinked in shock before blushing and shaking his head, "Once more, Mr. Potter, with focus."

Lips pursed Harry turned to look at the back wall of the classroom, and decided on a spot to burn. He readied his wand and cast and this time, a white bolt flew from his wand with enough force to knock him back a step. The fire was so bright that Harry wondered if he'd burned his eyes out, but after a few blinks the room—or rather the lack of room came into focus.

"Well," Flitwick said slowly, "I have been trying to talk the headmaster into granting me a larger room."

Harry swallowed and then said, "I didn't mean to…"

"Of course you didn't!" Flitwick said easily, completely unconcerned, "if I had been worried about the classroom I would have told you not to destroy anything, no, no, I'm trying to figure out how much control you lack so that we can get this," the professor waved a small hand quickly, signifying that Harry was the 'this' he spoke of, "sorted out."

"Wait," Harry demanded, alarmed at what this could mean, "What does that mean?"

"We can't have you accidentally burning yourself and your classmates several times a week," Flitwick said, and though his tone wasn't accusing, it was in fact rather calm and understanding—which somehow served to remind Harry that he was a head of house and he probably had to be calm and understanding fairly often. But then Snape was also a head of house and he was certainly none of the above. "With enough practice though, we can get this all under control."

Harry didn't think that was the best plan, he'd certainly burned up enough things recently on purpose and accidentally—it wasn't as though he was lacking practice.

"So I just have to destroy this classroom enough times and then I won't destroy anything else?"

Flitwick just stared at Harry as if he couldn't believe that those words had just come out of Harry's mouth in that specific order, but they had. Harry reiterated, "Because that's how this practice is going to work then?"

After a long moment of Flitwick staring at him as if he suddenly understood why Harry was Snape's least favorite student, the professor said, "Perhaps we need to address this another way."

"How?" Harry demanded getting impatient. "I admit sometimes I do it on purpose, but sometimes it's on accident and if I just sit here and zap everything out of existence it's not going to make me stop doing it other places!"

Flitwick looked a bit taken aback by something Harry said, and he asked, "So you can produce fire on command?"

Harry blinked, confused, "I thought you knew…"

"Tell me every time you've created a fire, intentionally or unintentionally," Flitwick said, as he walked behind his desk and sat down—he looked like an odd, wrinkly child sitting at and adult's desk and Harry shuffled his feet as he awkwardly stood in front of the desk. He wished he could sit down so he'd feel less like he was in a courtroom about to be sentenced.

"Well," Harry said slowly, wondering if he should admit that he'd set Snape's things on fire and also tried to set Snape himself on fire…after a moment though, he realized that he'd hurt his friends more than he'd ever hurt Snape with his…abilities, and he'd rather not burn his friends up into nothing. "First…there was Snape's quill."

"Professor Snape's quill?" Flitwick asked, as if he couldn't believe Harry was talking about Severus Snape, that perhaps Harry meant another Snape.

Harry nodded his head in solemn agreement, "and that was kind of an on purpose accident," Harry tried to explain, "I wanted to burn it, but it just happened without me really consciously making it…and then I set a bunch of Snape's other things on fire…on purpose, and then the next morning I set some parchment on fire for Ron and Hermione, on purpose."

Harry paused for a moment, thoughtfully recalling all that happened since and just what he'd burned and realized, "Ever since then, it's all been on accident…"

"You mean burning Miss Granger and the incident in your potions class?"

"And," Harry paused when he remembered lighting fired with his wand when he'd just been trying to produce light, "one time," Harry swallowed at the sensitive memories of the evening when he'd burned Hermione and when he'd looked over his photo album, "I tried to cast lumos…and…"

"I take it didn't go all that well?" Flitwick asked with his same calm and understanding tone. Harry was abruptly reminded of how Professor Lupin spoke to him or Snape with his own calm and understanding tone of voice…Harry really must be a wild beast in need of taming for everyone to talk to him as if he were likely to—Harry bit his lip to try and keep the inappropriate, mostly hysterical laughter in—likely to set everyone on fire.

Flitwick didn't seem a bit troubled by Harry admitting this, merely thoughtful—the professor was a true academic, it seemed. He merely had to think through Harry's fiery bouts, which was fortunate as Harry wasn't really keen on thinking through much of anything going on in his life at the moment. Especially not now when he felt sick and like his whole life was entirely out of his control, an assumption which Harry found reasonable considering he couldn't really control his magic, his emotions, or the people around him.

Flitwick hummed to himself as he considered all that Harry had said and then finally came to a conclusion, he returned Harry's wand and asked, "All the times you managed to successfully produce fires on purpose, were you using your wand?"

Harry shook his head, and Flitwick looked as if he'd found the solution. A wave of Flitwick's wand and a few murmured charms had the newly renovated room cleaned up, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed it looked as if no damage had been done to the room at all…excluding the telling lack of desks.

Something hit Harry in the head, and he blinked and shook his head trying to get his bearings back. It was a pillow, and it seemed to come from one of the supply cabinets that Flitwick was digging through.

"I know I have several more of those," Flitwick's muffled voice came from inside the cabinet, "just have to find them, while I look you try to burn that fellow to smithereens just as you did Snape's quill."

That meant wandlessly then, Harry decided and he tossed the throw pillow a bit as he wondered if this would make much difference in his control…probably would help more than destroying whole walls. Harry shrugged and tossed the pillow to the floor—time to get started, then.

Hope you liked it! :D