Cinders and Scars
Part I
Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, voiding that of original content and characters.
Chapter Ten:
No Rest
Midnight has come, it is all Souls' Night and a ghost may come; For it is a ghost's right, His element is so fine, being sharpened by his death, to drink from the wine-breath while our gross palates drink from the whole wine. On the soul's journey, how it is whirled about, wherever the orbit of the moon can reach, until it plunge into the sun; And there, free and yet fast, being both Chance and Choice, forget its broken toys and sink into its own delight at last. *
- William Butler Yeats, All Souls' Night
October 31st, 1991
On Halloween morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. The students chattered with uncharacteristic mirth as Flitwick bounced objects across the classroom. Hermione, once more, was the first to succeed with the charm. Harry had been partnered with the prodigy, who playfully tickled him with her feather. "Stop that," he laughed, knocking it out of the way.
Wayne and Ernie were doing surprising well, whereas Zacharias somehow managed to set his feather on fire. "I don't think your brows can take any more singeing, Zacharias," Hermione said truthfully, leaning over to correct the boy's wand grip.
Zacharias scowled, but it lacked it's usual contempt. It seemed the holiday had put everyone in a good mood.
Flitwick quickly threw up a shield as Hannah's feather exploded. The fair-skinned girl coughed, ash littering her long hair.
"Guess that really . . . blew up in your face," Wayne joked. Harry groaned.
Ron was struggling with his feather, breathing heavily through his nostrils. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he chanted, waving his long arms like a windmill. The edges of his feather fluttered slightly but did not comply.
"You're saying it wrong," Hermione sighed, trying to help. "It's Wingar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the "gar" nice and long."
Ron's face went red at her advice. "Stay out of my business!" he snapped, shoving her away. "It's a wonder anyone can stand you, you're a nightmare, honestly!"
Hermione's face went red.
The class bell rang and Harry tried to comfort her. She shoved him away, grabbing her class books. Feeling steadily irked, Harry made a point of charming the Ron's book bag to float precariously up to the ceiling. "Hey!" Ron shouted, jumping to grab it.
"Great going, Weasley," Zacharias spat at the redhead.
Ron scowled defensively. "She annoys you too!"
"Yeah, but you don't tell it to her face!"
By the time Harry pushed past them and rushed into the hall, Hermione was gone.
Harry rubbed between his eyes, sighing.
Wayne soon caught up with him, tugging him toward the Great Hall. "I'm starving," Wayne whined, his stomach rumbling. The Hall was enchanted with holiday-appropriate decorations, the tables vibrating with cacophonous music. The moment Wayne sat, he scooped up a plate of treats, mouth watering. "This is brilliant," he moaned around a mouthful of candied ham.
The other first years nodded in agreement, tongues nearly wagging as they took a helping of pumpkin pie. Justin licked the sugar off his fingers, making a horrific lip-smacking sound. "Too bad Hermione isn't here," he said idly. "Though I suppose with her parents being dentists, they'd be a bit disapproving."
"Hey, didn't your parents die tonight?" Zacharias asked abruptly, looking at Harry.
The boy blinked. "I - I don't actually know," he leaned back, the meal suddenly unappetizing. "Is it?"
Susan nudged Zacharias, disapproving of his frankness.
"It is," she said gently, laying a hand on Harry's. "Are you feeling well?"
Harry's stomach roiled. "No - I - " he swallowed. "I actually feel rather ill."
Everyone exchanged looks. "Poor Harry," Susan muttered, pushing away her plate. "We shouldn't be celebrating! We should hold a memorial, or something - "
They all turned their heads as Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror plain on his face. "TROLL! TROLL!" The Defense professor fell to his knees about halfway to the Head Table, eyes glazed as he looked upwards the - for once - subdued blue eyes of the Headmaster. "Troll, in the dungeons . . ." the professor murmured, tipping sideways. "Thought you ought to know."
Hermione splashed her face, staring in the bathroom mirror.
Her eyes were sore and bloodshot, a reminder of her breakdown. She clenched the edge of the sink fiercely, trying to resist breaking down in tears again. Gradually, a foul stench reached her nostrils.
Muffled thumps could be heard outside the chambers. A hand flew up to cover her nose as a great green skull ducked through the bathroom door, the troll's nostrils flaring. Hermione pressed herself back into a wall, slowly reaching for her wand. The troll dragged it's long club across the tile, his shoulders hunched as he sniffed for fresh meat. "Please be a dream," she whispered, fingers tightening around her wand. "Please."
The troll stopped slowly, and turned it's ugly head in Hermione's direction.
The creature's dark eyes glowed in the darkness, a guttural growl rising in it's throat. She heard a gasp from outside the chambers, and Hermione ducked just in time as the troll swung it's club. "Get down!" Came a panicked voice.
Percy Weasley flicked his wand fiercely, and the club slid out of the dazed beast's grip, banging against the floor before rising. In that fraction of a second, in which the troll stared down it's own weapon, he knew -even in his limited capacity for intelligible thought- that he was dead meat.
The club collided with the creature's skull, making a sickening crack. Eyes bulging before rolling back, the troll collapsed to the floor, knocking Hermione into a small puddle of water. Gagging at the blood seeping from a visible dent in it's thick skull, Hermione looked up at the pale-faced prefect.
Percy pulled himself up, eyes flicking between the troll and the first-year. "Are - are you injured, Miss Granger?"
She shook her head, curling in on herself. "Is it dead?"
"I think," Percy swallowed. "I - I think not. Just knocked out."
"How'd you know I was here?" Hermione asked weakly.
"Ron told me you were missing, and McGonagall was in the dungeons so I - I took the prerogative. I swear, I didn't know the troll would be here. It was supposed to be in the dungeons!"
"Why is there a troll in the school anyways?" she asked, standing on shaky legs.
Before he could respond, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room.
"Mr. Weasley!" she said in astonishment. "Miss Granger!" Hermione had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white and pressed. "What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Hermione looked at Percy, who was still standing with his wand in the air.
Bolstering himself, Percy slipped away his wand and stepped forward. "Professor, it was a complete happenstance. Hermione had been absent at dinner and was unaware of the troll's, erm, existence. My younger brother, Ronald, noticed her absence and notified me. Thinking that you were detained in the dungeons, I thought I could fetch her quickly; but the troll found her first."
McGonagall fixed her gaze onto the troll, lying prone on the tile. "Are you injured, Miss. Granger?" she asked, lips pressed.
Hermione shook her head weakly. "No ma'am. P - Percy knocked out the troll before it could attack."
"Well - in that case . . . " she floundered. "I still say you were lucky! Not many full-grown wizards could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll, Mr. Weasley. You win Gryffindor five points. You did well with your duties, however a professor still should have been informed. Professor Dumbledore made it quite clear that no students should be in the corridors. The headmaster will be informed of this. You may go."
The two hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else. Hermione glanced shyly up at the prefect, who seemed flustered at McGonagall's proclamation. "Thank you, Percy," she brushed her fingers against his robe sleeve. "That was very brave of you."
Percy puffed his chest out, cheeks reddening to match his hair. "All in a day's work, Miss. Granger," he said pompously, before relaxing his posture. "It - it was very scary, wasn't it?" he admitted. "But I didn't really think about it. I just did."
"I daresay you saved my life." Hermione tilted her head. "I wonder if the headmaster will give you an award for special services to the school. Hogwarts, A History claims there hasn't been an award given since the 1940s, when another Prefect caught a rogue beast that was said to kill a girl. The circumstances are very similar, no?"
Percy's eyes widened with excitement. "Do you think so? I mean - I'm glad you weren't killed." They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Pig snout," Percy graciously escorted her into the commons.
Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. There was a very embarrassed pause as the other students glanced up. Ron, flushed with relief, came up to Hermione with a plate. Avoiding her gaze, he thrusted it into her hands. "Sorry," he murmured, before hurrying off.
Hermione glanced up at Percy, the prefect darkly amused. "Is he always so eloquent?"
Percy snickered, before slamming his mouth shut, blushing. He awkwardly patted her shoulder and went to join the other prefects. Hermione sighed, plopping down beside Lavender Brown. She picked at her meal, trying to get the vision of dark blood and green skin out of her head.
At that moment, she glanced up and met the sharp brown eyes of the young prefect. Together, they smiled. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.
Large pillars cast shadows across the hall. Cobwebs cascaded down from the ceiling, clutching onto a towering stone golem creature. Torchlight flickered weakly, the stone cressets etched with the Hogwarts insignia.
Soft growls could be heard in the far-most door.
Suddenly, Snape came striding into the corridor, wand a lit as he made to unlock the door. The dour professor opened the door with a sinister whine. Severus could sense a dark, virulent magic in the air, and kept his feet planted firmly on the floor, heart pounding in his chest. He eyed the shadows around him, feeling an unnatural presence.
Not a minute later came a tell-tale growl and an enraged yell.
Severus' rapid spell-casting and guttural barks filled the empty corridor. There was a slamming, rattling sound, and a few lengthy swears before Snape limped into the hall. His pale face was flushed with heat, his robes disheveled. Blood cascaded down his leg, a long tear in his black pants.
Snape took a minute to breathe, leaning heavily against the wall. He glanced down at his injury with a grimace, and conjured a stark white bandage. The mere effort of bending over to expertly wrap the wound seemed to exert him.
A glowing, eldritch tabby came prowling into the room - a corporeal Patronus. The cat came up to Snape and blinked it's silver eyes. "The troll has been found in the first-floor bathroom," the Patronus voiced, the Scottish lull of McGonagall strained. "Heads of Houses, please alert the students to remain in their dorms. Any students found in the halls should be brought to my office for questioning. All staff, report to the Headmaster's office after curfew." The cat dispelled away without a sound, leaving an eerie blue glow on the floor.
Snape heaved an exhausted sigh, clambering to his feet. He limped out of the hall, his robes lacking their usual billow.
As soon as he left, Quirrell suddenly appeared, the man's Disillusionment Charm fading away. The wizard stood tall, head held high - a far cry from the simpering fool of a Defense teacher that he behaved as. The purple turban caused his head to look bulged in the dim lighting.
Quirrell swore darkly, pacing back and forth. "A hellhound, my Lord. The half giant's work, most certainly."
There was a soft hiss, imbued with the increments of Parseltongue. "That insipid fool thinks he can protect the Stone with a pup and a series of traps?" A high, unnaturally cold voice mocked. "Flamel is naive to trust the old coot with his precious entity. They have both gone insane with age." Quirrell nodded vehemently in agreement.
There was a pause.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" The voice spat. "You are the expert on trolls, are you not?" Quirrell squeaked and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.
The corridor was silent. Even the Cerberus was mute; and that was never good.
When hell-hounds cowered in fear, you knew; something wicked was afoot.
November 9th, 1991
Before Harry knew it, the first Quidditch match of the year was upon them.
The entire school, from the Ravenclaw Towers to the Hufflepuff Basement, were buzzing with excitement - betting, theorizing and daydreaming of what potential entertainment could occur in the forthcoming battle between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Rivals in all competitions and conquests, there hadn't been a fair match between the two houses in decades. This competition spurned the Hogwarts student body into attending these matches with great joy and anticipation.
Harry sat comfortably beside Draco and Wayne, eyes roaming the grassy pitch in search of his muggle-born friend. Somehow, herd mentality had even drawn Percy Weasley and Hermione to the field. They sat in Gryffindor stands and were promptly lost to the world as they began to debate the 'possible negative effects of giving rowdy teenagers a broomstick and a bat'.
Madam Hooch, her voice magically enhanced, let out a shout. "Now, I want a nice, fair game, all of you."
"Like that's going to happen," Draco snorted next to Harry, bouncing on his seat in a rare show of boyish enjoyment.
The weather was chilled, a frisk breeze brushing back Harry's dark hair. He was wearing Hufflepuff colors, the grey and yellow drawing out the bright gleam to his eyes. As he tugged his hat over his ears, the dozen players rose up, high into the air at Hooch's whistle. They meandered above the stands and Harry craned his neck to catch sight of the visibly shaking and faintly green-looking Gryffindor Seeker. The Quaffle was tossed up into the pitch, the Bludgers and Snitch were released . . . and they were off.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too - "
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall admonished. Draco and the other Slytherins protested Lee Jordan's blatant favoritism.
Off and across the pitch, red and green blurs trekked, tossing back and forth a large brown blob, while the two Bludgers whipped past their heads. The Slytherin Beaters were good. They knocked the Bludger towards any Gryffindor player in their way, having no regard for fair play. Angelina Johnson was smacked in her side and right elbow twice in the first few minutes, while Katie Bell was nearly startled off her broom. Miles Bletchley was Keeper. While he usually wore a sour expression, when he missed the next dive, he looked completely murderous.
"Gryffindor scores!" Jordan cheered, earning moans and frustrated shouts from the Slytherin side.
Theodore Nott whipped around his scarf like a lasso, showing more enthusiasm than Draco had ever seen. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at every missed play - Gryffindor or not. Harry let his eyes wander over to the Gryffindor stands.
His gaze immediately fell on Hermione, looking uncomfortable and out of place in the rowdy crowd. It was clear Hermione was not there to support the team, and Harry could see a vague outline of a book in her robes pocket.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the Snitch?" Harry snapped to attention as a flit of gold streaked past the stands. Terence Higgs caught sight of the Snitch first, the Gryffindor Seeker following close behind.
Draco was screaming encouragements to the second-year Slytherin, and Harry was on the very edge of his seat.
Just as Terrence's broom pulled ahead, there was an enormous crash. Marcus Flint blocked the Gryffindor Seeker's course, sending the boy spiraling painfully towards the grass. A roar of fury erupted from the Gryffindor stands.
"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating - " Lee was concluding.
"Jordan!" McGonagall growled from the commentary stand.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul . . . "
"Jordan, I'm warning you," she waggled her finger.
Lee raised his hands. "All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone , I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor. It's taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play. Gryffindor still in possession."
The Gryffindors seemed to be proving a point; they were even more boisterous than before, outright screaming as Slytherin came into the lead. Harry searched through the stands once more, waving a small hand at Neville as he cheered on the lions.
When Terence finally caught the Snitch, Harry laughed at the Slytherin's joyous screams. They were ecstatic from the 160-70 point win. Draco's grey eyes were wild, cheeks flushed with color as he jumped to his feet. Blaise smacked a wet kiss onto Daphne's flushed cheek, while Crabbe and Goyle gave the uncomfortable Theo a bone-crushing hug.
Soon, Harry, was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, along with a highly reluctant Draco and Hermione. Harry leaped at the chance to join Hagrid, remembering the newspaper clipping.
"This is Hermione," Harry introduced to Hagrid. Hermione gave a polite wave.
"Excellent game," Hermione said awkwardly.
"It'd be more excellent if we were out celebrating with everyone else," Draco grumbled.
"Quiet," Harry hushed. "Hagrid? What do you know about the three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor?"
Hagrid dropped the teapot. Draco threw his hands up. "Real subtle, Harry."
"How - " he tried to pick up the shards, nearly cutting himself. Draco waved away the debris with a flick of his wand. "How do you know about Fluffy?"
"Fluffy?" Hermione questioned. "He's yours?"
"Yeah, he's mine. I bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the . . . well, it don't matter. It's lost, anyways."
Harry plastered on a smile. "Hagrid. Is it that package you got from the vault you lost?"
"What vault?" Hermione asked.
"You know that vault at Gringotts that was broken into?" Draco chimed in, leaning forward excitedly. "Earlier that same day, Hagrid removed a package from it." He glanced at Harry. "And then he lost whatever was inside it."
Hagrid looked harried. "Stop tellin' e'ryone this stuff. It's top secret, it is."
"It's just Draco and Hermione, and they're trustworthy," Harry plied. "Come on, tell us."
The interrogation flustering him, Hagrid slammed down his tea cup. "Now, listen to me! Yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget the vault, Harry. What was in it is between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel - "
The Philosopher's Stone! Harry's inner friend broke out, glee strumming from his scar to his toes. That's what it was.
Harry shared a look with his friends, giving a slow smile. "Nicolas Flamel, huh?"
Hagrid looked furious with himself.
Late December, 1991
Christmas was coming.
One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.
Due to the basements being only a few degrees above freezing, on the day of the first snow, a note could be found beside each Hufflepuff's pillow, describing in avid detail the strongest, longest lasting warming spell their Head of House could recall. Harry had utilized it immediately, his ever-present chills and puffs of steamy breath abating as he hurried up to the Great Hall to meet Hermione and Draco.
His own trunk packed and rolling behind him, Harry and the others rattled their way down into Hogsmeade where they would be boarding the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had with her a pile of books, weighing down her bag until Draco reluctantly taught her a light-weight charm. She was still reading, trying to find any mention of Nicolas Flamel and his stone.
But the Hogwarts library had been suspiciously absent of them. All they'd found in the past few weeks was a small excerpt in Hogwarts, A History. It had read: 'The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. This stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.'
As they boarded the train, Hermione rifled through her bag, handing Draco a small book on magical artifacts. "You know what to do," she said idly.
Draco gave out a loud groan. "Can't we do this over the holiday? We've access to a rather large library. I'm sure we'll find something."
Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, if you want to waste your vacation, so be it! But I'm going to get all the reading in that I can."
"Then do so," Draco flapped a tired hand. "But do it elsewhere."
The Gryffindor huffed angrily and grabbed her bag, grumbling beneath her breath. "Owl me, then, Harry, if you find anything," she said, slamming the door.
"She's only trying to help," Harry said to the blonde. "You could try to be a bit kinder."
Draco arched a brow. "If you really wanted her help, you'd tell her that you have the damn stone."
Harry pressed a self-conscious hand to his outer pocket. "She's a Gryffindor. Her morals are a bit more steadfast than mine." Harry said meekly.
"Yeah, but you're a Hufflepuff," Draco pointed out. "And that certainly hasn't stopped you from being deviant. I still don't know how you ended up there; you're a Slytherin at heart."
Harry sighed, leaning back into his seat. He took the stolen stone from his pocket, watching the light flicker off the red and orange glass. "Sometimes, I wonder the same.
* 'An idle mind is the devil's playground,' - Philippians 4:8
Notes:
Significance:
In the next few chapters, there will be no rest for the wicked nor the weary; both of which, Harry is.
The 'idle mind' comment is in reference to Harry's recent, calmer attitude. He's been so distracted by school that he's nearly forgotten the turmoil that's going on in his own mind, not to mention the lurking darkness around him.
Theme of Poem: Chance