Mastermind Hunting

by Louis IX

This is a story of the life of Harry Potter. From his disappearance with his friendly relatives to Dumbledore chasing after him around the world, while Voldemort and muggle secret services loom in the background. Technology, Prophecies... one word: power.

10. Hogwarts’ Staff and Staves

MASTERMIND HUNTING, by Louis IX
Check first chapter for summary, disclaimer, and other warnings.

PART 2 – Learning to Fight... Hidden
This part comprises chapters 10 to 17 and covers Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

Chapter 10 – Hogwarts' Staff and Staves
posted August 11th, 2005

After activating the feather-light charm with the appropriate command word, Harold Thomson hauled his trunk in the train and pulled it behind him as he searched for a free seat. The train was leaving in five minutes, and the first cars were crammed. After passing another full compartment, he heard frightened squeals coming from it, and three students rushed out. Guessing that the place was less full now, he approached.

A black student with dreadlocks, looking older than him by a year or two, glanced his way with an inviting smile. "Morning. You're here to see the tarantula?"

Harold smiled. "Well... actually, I'm searching for a place to sit, but why not? Are those seats taken?"

The other seemed to think for a second. "I'm waiting for a few friends, but I think we can all squeeze in. Here, let me help."

"No need-" started Harold, but his trunk had already been grasped by the eager student, who, surprised by its weightlessness, dropped it in surprise.

"As I was telling you," said Harold, easily hoisting the luggage on the overhead compartment, "no need, thanks."

"Wicked." A pause. "I'm Lee Jordan." said the black student, his hand forward.

"Harold Thomson." answered Harold, shaking the proffered hand. "Now, what is the tarantula about?"

"It's a large and hairy one. Three Knuts to see it, and five if you want to pat it. It's highly venomous, though. If you dare to take it in your hands, you get all the Knuts I received before."

"Has anyone taken it yet?" asked Harold, half-tempted to take the bet.

Lee smirked. "Nope. And I open the box after receiving the payment. Ah!" he exclaimed, looking outside.

Harold looked in that direction, and found nothing really unusual. Except that a tribe of redheads had entered the platform. A fiery red, which immediately reminded him of someone else. Someone called Bill. Three of them immediately took a run towards the last wagon, while the older-looking teen merely huffed and went for the first.

"What?" he asked.

"Here are two of my friends: Fred and George." Lee looked at Harold. "The twins." he elaborated.

"Alright." answered Harold, looking around the platform in case he'd see an interesting thing or two. And he found one.

A blond one. Looking in his general direction. Memories of a fight...

He sat down quickly, his breathing a tad heavier than normal.

"What is it?" asked Lee.

Harold blinked, before returning to his normal self. "Nothing. So, about the tarantula?" He transferred the three Knuts from his purse to the older student, and the few minutes afterwards were spent in discussion about magical beasts and then about the school. More a one-sided explanation from Lee, really, because Harold confirmed being a first year.

In the middle of Lee's humorous – although honest – description of teachers and courses, the two similar redheads entered the cabin and sat, panting slightly.

"Wow, Lee!" said the first. "We knew that Ron didn't like spiders-"

"-but it's even worse, isn't it, Fred?" continued his identical brother.

"Indubitably, George." Fred answered. "We left poor Ickle Ronniekins with our trunks-"

"-and I'm sure he won't move a muscle-"

"-until we arrive." they finished together, before taking a few breath to calm themselves.

After a couple seconds, George added "And Ginny was in a right state, too."

"Why?" asked Lee.

"Well," Fred answered, "she has made her calculations and she thinks that her Harry will be on board."

"Of course, due to Ron's tardiness, she couldn't browse the crowd for her hero." George stated.

"Therefore, she was in a right state." Fred nodded, confirming his brother's words.

"And she even suspected us of having kept Ron up yesterday."

"Us!"

"As if we'd do anything like that!"

"Like... informing him about the horrendous tests needed for the Sorting."

"Exactly! We'd never do that!"

"She's mental." they finished together again.

Despite being funny as they held themselves as innocence personified, the twin's banter was as tiring as watching a match of tennis, and Harold turned his head to see London suburbs as the train passed them, tuning the twins out. However, two words caught his attention mere seconds afterwards.

"...Harry Potter."

He turned abruptly. "What?"

"What what?" answered one of the twins.

"Why what what?" said his brother, an amused glint in his eyes. He looked at Lee who understood.

"Who why what what?" he said.

"When who why what what?" repeated the first twin.

Harold closed his eyes and sighed. It was probably a game of theirs. Despite being half a second away from flipping their mind, he wouldn't. 'No use of abilities.' he scolded himself. He had to be patient, though, as the rolling game was already counting a dozen words. He smirked.

"What who why where whom when why where whose when who why what what?" he said.

A silence.

A cheer.

"At last! We have a player!" said a twin.

"We have a winner!" said his twin.

"Nobody played their games before." Lee informed Harold.

"I'm George Weasley." said the first twin, his mouth twitching at the corners.

"I'm Fred Weasley." said the other, with the same facial tic.

Harold didn't even have to parse their mind to know that they had switched forenames.

"And here is our dear friend Lee Jordan." said the one who had called himself George.

"I know." said Harold. "I'm Harold Thomson."

"You know?" said the real George.

"He saw the tarantula already." stated Lee.

That raised another discussion about magical beasts, Fred and George informing them that they wanted to catch an acromantula to put in Ron's dormitory, just for the fun of it. After asking – and getting – information about what an acromantula was, Harold decided that the twins were indeed dangerous persons to live by. He had lived dangerously all his life, though, and wasn't against little hazards to keep him on edge, especially funny ones.

They bought a handful of candies as the woman selling them passed by the compartment, and a moment of calmness ensued, which Harold used to utter the question he had wanted to ask earlier.

"What were you saying about Harry Potter? And who is he, by the way?"

"You mean you don't know about Harry Potter?" asked Fred.

"'he 'oy-Who-'ive'?" asked George, his mouth full.

Lee rolled his eyes. "The one stuffing himself wanted to say "The Boy-Who-Lived," I think." Seeing George's dark gaze, he back-pedalled. "Now, I could be wrong. It could have been "'he 'oy-Who-'ive'," for all I know."

George had swallowed at that point, and had recovered his usual cheerfulness. "Exactly! That's precisely what I wanted to say!"

"Glad to have been of service." Lee curtsied.

"To answer your questions, know that Harry Potter is a hero in the wizarding world-" Fred said.

"-because he brought an end to the Dark Lord's reign of terror." George added, starting the tennis-match-like exchange again.

"But he's a mysterious hero, as nobody ever saw him."

"Our mother used to tell stories about him to bring our sister to sleep-"

"-and she now has a crush on the poor boy."

"She really made calculations, you know-"

"-and she found he should be entering Hogwarts this year."

"She's been in a right state all morning."

Harold tried to interrupt the match. "So, you have one sister, Ginny, and one brother, Ron?"

"Actually, her forename is Ginevra, but she'll get revenge if you call her that." said Fred, wincing.

"And we don't have only one brother-"

"-thankfully-"

"-we have Ronald, sure-"

"-only thinks of Quidditch, and to feed himself-"

"-we also have Percy-"

"-who is prefect for Gryffindor."

"The disgrace!" said the two jokers at the same time, shaking their head in mock chagrin.

"And before him, we have Charlie-"

"-who is now working in a dragon reserve in Romania."

"And even before, Bill."

"He's curse breaker for Gringotts, and works in Egypt at the moment."

"You didn't know about Harry Potter?" asked Lee, effectively interrupting the banter.

"Huh?" asked Harold, a bit stunned by the sheer amount of information and the subsequent realizations.

When Lee repeated his question, he shrugged. "Sorry. Muggleborn, here."

A pause.

"If you are a muggleborn, how comes your trunk is charmed?" asked Lee.

It took half a second for Harold to come up with a proper answer to that. After all, honesty was a good weapon sometimes. "I come from Switzerland, and bought my trunk in Anether Road, the equivalent of Diagon Alley. I asked if there were any options, and when the shopkeeper acquiesced, I asked for an explanation about each. I got it charmed with feather-light only, but I think I'll get it enlarged next year. The required supplies are quite numerous. And heavy."

He smiled at their stunned look and shrugged. "What? It's what we call "practical intelligence." Are wizards devoid of it?"

That started another bout of good-natured tongue lashing between the pureblood Weasleys and the supposed muggleborns, only interrupted by the entrance of three girls.

"Ah, our chasers have caught the train!" said Fred.

"And what if we didn't?" asked one of the girls, a tall black one with long hair held up in a ponytail.

"Besides," continued another one, a seemingly younger one, "Oliver has just said it would be the three of us, it's not a definite move of his part."

"Come on," interrupted George, "once he has decided something, it's bound to stay, you know that."

"And if you hadn't caught the train," said Lee, looking at Angelina intently, "I'd have kidnapped the train driver and turned the train around."

"You and your mouth!" the black girl answered, but an amused twinkle had appeared in her eyes.

Sensing that the six of them surely had summer stories to tell, and as there wasn't much space in the compartment anyway, Harold stood to leave. The twins stopped him and made the necessary introductions before allowing him to leave. He shook hands with Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell.

Harold walked idly the length of the train, watching the magical teens interact. From what he remembered from Hogwarts: A History, there were four Houses were students got sorted following certain traits of character. Bravery tended to put you in Gryffindor, loyalty was Hufflepuff's specialty, Ravenclaws were known for their intelligence, and Slytherins were supposed to be cunning. There were points given and taken to a student's house following that student's studies and behaviour, and, at the end of the year, the House Cup was given to the house having the most points.

That paragraph had made him snort. How could the House Cup be given in a fair way when all the brains were in one House? When he had read about the importance of Quidditch points in the House Cup run, he had understood better, but it still didn't make sense. Bravery and cunning could be attitudes to get points through sports, but loyalty wasn't. And the school records listed in the book had proved that: in the thousand-or-so years of exercise, the Hufflepuff house had gained the House Cup only 27 times. And grouping the students by character traits would surely bring prejudice between houses. He decided that he would do his best to change things.

His musings were interrupted by an altercation going on in a compartment. By the sound of the voices, a girl was telling a boy off. Two gorillas were waiting at the door, and Harold recognized one of them as he had taken the platform gate's location from his thick father's mind. His first reaction had been to go there to make friends, but they growled in a menacing way when he advanced, and he revised his judgement. He didn't let their intimidation technique work, though, and looked in the compartment.

There was the blond boy again. He couldn't remember his name well, but he clearly remembered being cheated in what should have been a fair fight.

"...and when little mudbloods like you comes to Hogwarts, it's the disgrace of the whole wizarding world. Magical education should be reserved to purebloods." the blond was saying. "You shouldn't be allowed in here, and I'll make sure that my father knows about it. He's on the Board of Governors, you know, and-"

Harold had heard enough. Bullies were the same everywhere. As the same girl was telling the blond boy that it was only his opinion, Harold tried to enter the compartment, only to find his way blocked by two strong hands on his chest. He looked at the hands amusedly, then at their owners.

A mere second later...

"Excuse me?"

The blond swivelled around, drawing his wand in what should have been a graceful and obviously rehearsed gesture. But the wand fell short and clanked on the floor. Its owner fumbled after it, blushing furiously, before standing again.

"What is it?" he drawled, before taking the scene into account.

A young boy, seemingly his own age, was clutching one finger from each of his bodyguards in each of his hands, and they were kneeling beside him, in obvious pain.

"For a pureblood, you sure have a remarkable way of drawing your wand." Harold said, before putting a bit of pressure on the gorillas' bent fingers, eliciting yelps from them. "And your bodyguards are quite delicate, too. They could benefit from lessons of fighting the muggle way..."

The blond boy whose name he finally remembered – after all, his mind wasn't so badly ordered, was it? – seemed ready to explode at that comment, but Harold's two next words changed that.

"...like you."

Draco Malfoy reeled backwards, gaping wordlessly and paling dramatically. After a full minute of silence, Harold gave a final squeeze to the brutes' fingers, took the blond by the shoulder and shoved him outside.

He then turned toward the still-standing girl, who looked at him questioningly.

"I guess I have to thank you," she said, "but you shouldn't be fighting in school. He would have gotten what he deserves sooner or later."

Of all the reactions she could have had, he had never thought of that, and he fumbled for an answer.

"Well... err... nice to meet you too?" That bought him some time, and he thought about what she said before continuing. "If it's the same to you, I prefer when bullies get what they deserve sooner instead of later. And right now seemed to be a good idea. We aren't even on school grounds yet. Even Hogsmeade isn't on Hogwarts grounds, which is why Hogwarts: A History lists so many student fights and illegal duels happening there."

It took a moment for her to process all this, but when done, she looked at him with bright eyes. "You have read Hogwarts: A History?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? As a muggleborn, there are many things I didn't know about the school."

"I'm a muggleborn too, but my parents didn't want me to be buy magical stuff until late August." said a boy with curly brown hair and equally brown eyes. "Justin Finch-Fletchley." he said, extending his hand.

Harold shook it, before turning back to the bushy-haired girl who had sit down in meantime. She looked more amenable, and he sighed. "Let's start again. I'm Harold Thomson, muggleborn. Nice to meet you all."

"Hermione Granger. Muggleborn, too. Nice to meet you too."

"I'm a half-blood." said another boy, with sandy hair and an undeniable Irish accent. "My mother is a witch, and didn't tell my muggle father until they were married. Quite a nasty shock." He smiled and shook Harold's hand. "Seamus Finnigan."

"I'm muggleborn, but I don't want that fact to prevent me from studying." said a serious-looking girl at the window. "I'm Tracey Davis."

"I'm Neville Longbottom, pureblood." said a shy-looking boy in a corner, patting a toad. "But when I see people like that one, I'm ashamed of it."

"You don't have to, you know." answered Harold. "One of my friends once said that opinions were like assholes: everyone had one but some smelled worse than others."

They laughed, and that was the start of a conversation which didn't stop before nearing Hogsmeade station, when an announcement reminded the students to change into their school uniforms. Harold returned to Lee's compartment to change, idly reflecting about Malfoy and his goons' absence on the remainder of the trip.

As the train stopped, he steeled himself and smiled. Harry Potter was going to Hogwarts, and he seriously hoped not to be recognized.

---

The giant man who welcomed the first year seemed sympathetic enough to Harold, despite his massive bulk. It was late at night already, and several students were tired already. However, the pitch black lake they crossed and the imposing and magnificent stone castle truly were sights to behold, keeping the little first years a bit more awake.

Once inside the majestic dining room, Harold looked around. So that was the Great Hall and Sorting Ceremony? All students were there and, once a student got sorted in a house, that house applauded or cheered. He immediately noticed that Lee, Fred, George, Alicia, Angelina, and Katie were in Gryffindor.

After a while, he noticed that the sorting Hat wasn't taking the same time to sort students. Some, like Malfoy, got sorted the moment they put it on, and the boy made a beeline towards the Slytherins who welcomed him like a prince. Others, like Hermione or Seamus, needed a longer time to be sorted, and the used piece of garment seemed to actually ponder things before deciding. Hermione landed in Ravenclaw and Seamus in Gryffindor. Of their train compartment, there also were Neville, who was surprised to get into Gryffindor; Tracey Davis, who looked disgusted at being sorted in the same house as Malfoy; and Justin Finch-Fletchley who was unsurprised when he sat with the Hufflepuff.

And then, it was his turn. He went to the stool, catching the black-clad Potion Master's gaze, and sat down, before putting the overly large hat on.

He immediately heard a voice in his fake mind. "What is this? What in the hell is this? I've never seen a mind in such a bad shape. You'll have to ask lessons on how to organize one's mind, young man. I don't even find your qualities in there! I need them to sort you, you know? I'm sorry, but I can't choose. You are a wizard, though, and you should be sorted. But I refuse to take that responsibility. Let the staff VOTE!"

Harold didn't even have time to argue, as the last word was yelled in the same way as the other students' house name, and a commotion ensued. Hermione was looking left and right at her table, assuring that it had happened already – a dozen times in the thousand-odd years the school had been running. The staff members looked unsure of what to do for a moment until Albus Dumbledore stood to run the vote.

"Let's vote then, if Alastair can't decide. For Slytherin?"

Unless they knew the person, each Head of House had to vote for his or her own house. Besides, each of them secretly wanted more students. Severus Snape, however, was gleeful – something which, on his person, only showed by the slightly upturned mouth corners – as he didn't raise his hand. Focused on the insolent boy, he even missed the alarmed gaze his godson Draco threw his way.

"Very well, then." said Dumbledore after a pause. "For Ravenclaw?"

Flitwick raised his hand, while still looking at Snape inquiringly. After all, they all knew that Snape had interviewed the boy. Why wouldn't he want him in his own house? Unless...

His musings came to an abrupt halt when Trelawney raised her hand too, and the diminutive teacher refrained from slapping her. With her usual accuracy in petty predictions, the boy wouldn't go Ravenclaw, that was sure.

"For Hufflepuff?"

Sprout raised her hand, and Hagrid surprised several teachers by following suit.

"For Gryffindor?"

McGonagall raised her hand. And, to the surprise of everyone who knew him, Snape did, too. The vote was done and accounted for, though, and no recourse could be filed.

"Well," said the Headmaster, "it just seems that the votes are tied, so, as our tradition states, our new student has a vote. What do you choose?"

Harold looked around. Everybody was looking at him. He didn't want that. He wanted to hide, not to look overly brave or studious. The word escaped his mouth without even thinking about it.

"Hufflepuff."

Harold Thomson sat at the Hufflepuff table, between Justin and a newly sorted girl named Susan Bones, under a somewhat stunned and delayed applause.

---

The next day started with the Heads of House giving out the courses planning. Most of the courses were arduous, especially for the students raised as muggles. Not only arduous, but jam-packed with information, homework, and they were sometimes dangerous. Not wanting to raise unnecessary suspicion, and not that sure that he could get away with it, Harold refrained from obtaining answers from the teachers' mind and focused on the courses the normal way.

The first courses were mostly introductory lessons, and went well for everyone. Until the Potion lesson, that is.

After calling the roll, sneering when he uttered Harold's name, the Potion Master spoke a global introduction to his subject, which could have been frightening if Harold hadn't perceived that it was rehearsed. Several students paled and Hannah Abbot even got her teeth chattering. The pink-faced Hufflepuff girl with her hair in pigtails wasn't helped by the generally dank atmosphere of the dungeons. Afterwards, Snape grilled several of them with questions – as if 11-years old students were supposed to learn the whole textbook before the year! When it was Harold's turn to be interrogated, the boy kept silent, looking at his teacher with wide eyes. That cost him some points, but he wasn't the only person to do so in that particular classroom. For Snape, it confirmed his lack of abilities.

The Potion Master then paired them before demanding that they brew a lotion to heal boils, only displaying the recipe on the board. Then, instead of answering questions or giving explanations and advices, the man continually belittled their work. He ignored the raised hands, and kept passing through the benches, silently approaching students from behind, and speaking up at the worst moments, thus disturbing even the most focused students. After two hours of constant bickering, Snape's haughty demeanour became a little more disturbing when he began to twitch at random times, as if itching or batting a fly away. It disturbed the students even more, and few of them succeeded in brewing the lotion correctly.

Harold had said nothing during the whole period. Susan Bones was another Hufflepuff girl, this one wearing her hair in a long plait down her back, and he had been paired with her. Because his apathy, she had had to brew the potion mostly by herself, succeeding in obtaining just the proper ointment even if Snape only scowled at the result. When the double period ended, she grasped her things, and walked away stiffly, heading toward their House cellar, and leaving Harold to bottle the lotion.

Harold hadn't really cared about the Potion lesson because, during the whole three-hour period, he had prodded around his teacher's mind, and he was now sure he could do something about the man. He would have to be careful, of course, because the man's mind was like a bunker, and he suspected that it was heavily defended, too. Harold thought that the best time to actually do something to get his revenge would be by night, because the man's mind should be less protected. In scheduling his revenge, he also chose to use only the eve of course-free mornings, which left only Saturdays and Wednesdays. Their Thursdays mornings were free because of the Astronomy course, which was scheduled at midnight, every Wednesday.

He began to explore the castle, first by discreetly following the Potion Master a couple of times after dinner. He wanted to learn about the man's quarters, and found them – unsurprisingly – in the dungeons. He didn't try anything more adventurous, though, because he constantly felt observed, again, like in China and in France, and even more so when he was out of Hufflepuff cellar after curfew. He tried to shake the feeling, but it always accompanied him, even when he was in a closed room. He tried unused classrooms, tower tops, bathrooms, but the faint feeling didn't go away. The only moments he felt freer, although by a tad bit, was when out of the castle proper for the Herbology period.

On Thursday evening, his homework finished, Harold decided to read Hogwarts: A History again, to check if there was anything said about student surveillance, and found something interesting in the chapter about the school staff: "...and the Headmaster has all power and knowledge on the school. Since Albus Dumbledore's tenure, it has even been proven time and again. The reasons behind this are not know, but we can suppose that the Headmaster has the castle under a spell of some sort, even if it would be very taxing for his health to keep it going all the time. However, no such spell is known to exist, and other ideas have been researched. Some suspect that the castle itself is alive. After all, after receiving so much magic during its creation (see chapter 1- Building) and in the subsequent thousand years of hosting magical children, this idea could very well be proven true. At the date these lines were written, our fine squad of investigators had been refused the right to explore the fabled castle's lowest dungeons (where an ancient dragon is rumoured to be sleeping – see chapter 1, again). Now, the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, held by..."

Harold looked at his watch and, noticing the advanced hour, put the heavy volume back in his trunk, before cancelling his Light spell and going to sleep.

---

Despite being sorted in different Houses, Harold and the five others from the train compartment tried to find time to discuss together. And Hermione being there, they eventually discussed homework and studies, too. As access to the common rooms was restricted, they often found themselves either in the Library or out on the grounds. In the first years' schedule, the whole Friday afternoon had been freed, and the first time the study group met that day, on the lake shore, they had already several interesting stories to tell, the prominent one being Neville's.

That very morning, the first years got their first accident of the year, during Snape's three-hour course with the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Neville had unknowingly switched lines while copying the recipe and succeeded in melting Seamus' cauldron after only half an hour of class. The boy hadn't thought that adding the porcupine quills without taking the cauldron out of the fire first would be dangerous, and Snape had been of no help either. Not only the man wasn't telling them the ingredients' properties, but he was also keeping silent the how and why about mixing and stirring. Neville's melt cauldron resulted in damaged furniture and shoes, an irate teacher, loss of house points, Neville obtaining angry red boils on his person, and a one-way trip to the infirmary with the help of Seamus.

That weekend, Harold decided to explore the castle again, but found nothing particularly interesting. No ancient dragon. Ho hidden treasure. But the feeling of being observed was still at the back of his mind, and he returned to Hufflepuff cellar exhausted and empty-handed. Having spent all his Saturday in empty dank corridors, he decided to spend the next day resting and doing his homework.

Susan, who had been cold to him for two days because his lack of help in Potions, was also doing her homework alone in the common room also, and he decided to do something about it. He went to her just as she was finishing her Transfiguration assignment, and apologized. The two of them started to discuss about teachers, and she eventually conceded that if Sprout was as "fair" as Snape was, she would give points to Hufflepuff, by the hundreds. The two of them resumed their budding friendship. Like Hermione, she had an ingrained respect for authority, thought, and only grudgingly admitted Snape's unfairness.

The next week, the students spoke of only one thing: Quidditch. The first years had their first flying lessons scheduled on Thursday and tryouts had been scheduled over the week's evenings.

Once Thursday came, the fifty-or-so first years went in the castle inner bailey accompanied by Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. On the way, some students paled when others told them jokes about mortal accidents happening in the previous years. Once they rejoined Madam Hooch, flying instructor and Quidditch referee, everybody noticed the circle of brooms around the stern woman.

"Okay everybody. I want you to listen, and listen well. Any mishap here could cause broken arms or worse, so pay attention." the flying instructor had everyone's attention at that point.

"On the ground are disposed 24 brooms, which belong to the school. They are working perfectly, even if some of you have better brooms at home. You perhaps wondered why you weren't allowed to bring them here? The answer is simple: you are not going to play Quidditch, so there is no need for you to bring it."

"Professor?" asked Hermione, whose hand had shot in the air so fast that Ron Weasley, who was beside her, was almost knocked by it. The redhead muttered a string of words ending with "... mental, that one." and unsuccessfully bargained with his other neighbour, a tall black boy going by the name Dean Thomas, to switch places.

"Yes. You are?" Rolanda Hooch's voice resounded in the courtyard.

"Hermione Granger, professor. I read, in Hogwarts: A History," at that, some of her House mates groaned aloud, but she continued undeterred, "that there have been players taken in the first years, the last of whom dates back a century."

Madam Hooch stayed silent for a moment, and the students began to talk between themselves. Hermione had just made a few friends in a few words, as many students looked eager to fly, now.

"Quiet!" shouted their teacher, before speaking in a normal voice again. "Unfortunately, I wasn't around to check about the conditions of their recruitment, a century ago. You should ask the Headmaster, though. He was."

Several students laughed silently at the joke while others groaned about the failed opportunity.

"Now, now, now. As you can see, there are not enough brooms for all of you. Slytherin and Ravenclaw, you go first. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, you go with Madam Pomfrey, who will brief you with flying accidents and basic healings methods used to heal them. We'll switch in a hour." she brought a whistle to her lips and blew a shrill note which got everyone moving and in place in less than a minute.

While the others were learning how to fly, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs learnt that there were several kinds of flying accidents and other mishaps. The nurse wasn't really into the brooms, but she told them about the bruised muscles, broken bones, and cracked skulls, that she had had to heal during the years.

As he knew about broken bones, and as he had his own healing methods, Harold tuned her down, absentmindedly looking at the other houses practising their broom flight, or, in one particular case, showing off. Draco Malfoy was prancing on his broom, mocking the Ravenclaws' attempts, particularly Hermione's broom which hadn't moved from the ground. It visibly didn't disturb him that half his House was barely doing better, and in some cases, even worse: at the end of the lesson, his two bodyguards had yet to lift their brooms from the ground.

After the required hour, the houses switched places. From the corner of his eyes, Harold saw that Malfoy was completely ignoring the nurse's speech, discussing animatedly with his goons while showing them something and pointing in their general direction.

He was abruptly distracted from his thoughts by a face appearing right in front of his. Madam Hooch wasn't quite happy. "You, what's your name and what did I just say?"

Harold looked around in shame and saw that his fellow students were doing... something with their brooms. Or trying to. Susan was looking at him and motioning something but he didn't understand. "Harold Thomson, Madam. I'm sorry, I got distracted."

Honesty was something this teacher appreciated, and she nodded curtly. "I said that you had to stand beside the broom, extend the hand on top of it, and say "Up," and next time, I will remove points."

"Yes, Ma'am." he said meekly. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Her lips twitched, but she turned around before he could see her smile, and she went to Ron Weasley, who had succeeded in getting his broom in hand on the first try, and was now mounting it. Harold looked down and frowned, concentrating.

"Up!" he commanded.

And the broom obeyed, shooting upwards. Harold hadn't thought that it would go that fast and failed to catch it. In fact, he had thought that it was his job to levitate the broom, and had added his own power to the broom's, resulting in the piece of charmed wood levitating 10 feet from the ground. He knew he could get it from that height, and he crouched, ready to jump for it, before remembering where he was. Looking around, he noticed that Hooch was looking at him and he straightened up, before shrugging in a "what can I do?" gesture.

She didn't have time to fetch it, though, as a student had just lost control of his broom. Visibly, Neville was flying for the first time of his life, and had crouched on the broom in fright. The move however, made his broom zip forward, and he was quickly followed by an upset teacher who was trying to catch him, yelling instructions at the same time.

Looking back to what happened in front of him, Harold noticed that Madam Pomfrey had interrupted her course too, to jog after the departing brooms. Malfoy had seized the opportunity to taunt the Gryffindors.

"I knew the dunderheads couldn't get something past their thick skulls! They even forget their Remembrall!" and he produced the glass ball. "I found it where you were sitting with Pomfrey. It's a shame, really."

"Hey!" yelled Ron Weasley. "It's Neville's! Give it back!"

"You want it back, Weasel? Catch it, then." and Malfoy threw the little ball in the air with all his might. Ron, who was sitting on a hovering broom already, shot after it. Unbeknownst to most of the people present, Ron was one of the most accomplished fliers in their year, having spent his whole childhood playing pick-up games of Quidditch with his brothers. That's also why he was such a fan of Quidditch.

The red-haired boy shot after the glass ball as if it were a Snitch and caught it barely inches before it smashed on a tower wall. He smiled at the catch and shot back before any of the teachers saw him. After all, Hooch had clearly said to just hover, not fly. His shot of luck stopped short, though, as a stern yell caught him just as he landed.

"Mister Weasley!"

The addressed boy turned around and paled, while Malfoy smirked. From the tower he had just left, a red-faced professor McGonagall was addressing him.

"Come up here immediately! On foot!"

Harold pitied the departing redhead as McGonagall was known not to get angry often, and when she was...

"He shouldn't have flown." said Susan as they were going back to the castle. All the students were discussing the event, some placing bets on Ron's punishment while others were discussing Neville's wounds. The boy had been found by the two teachers in a rose bush, his wrist broken.

"Did you want Neville's Remembrall broken instead?" Harold asked her.

"Well... no. But he still shouldn't have left when the teacher expressedly told us not to."

"Oh, come on, Susan. It's a magical school, here, and there are dangers in each classroom. Remember our first Herbology lesson?"

"Still..."

"What do you think about Malfoy?" asked Harold, trying to derail his friend's thoughts from Ron.

"I don't know... he should be punished, sure, but he didn't break a direct order, though."

"I'm sure Malfoy will never break a direct order from a teacher, Susan." he said, looking her in the eye. "But he will do whatever he can to make others do it."

"We'll just have to denounce him, then."

"Alright, alright. Let's just hope that next time he does that, there will be with as many witnesses as today."

And they went to their common room. Once there, Susan found Hannah and they started to discuss the latest Witch Weekly issue with a second year who happened to be reading the magazine there. Harold smiled, and gathered his belongings to head for his study group's daily meeting.

---

Two hours afterwards, in Gryffindor's common room...

The red-faced redhead entered the almost deserted common room and erupted in a giant whoop of joy. Dean and a bandaged Neville, who were playing Exploding Snap, looked at each other inquiringly, before going to their classmate.

"Hey, Ron, what's up?" asked Dean.

"Sorry." Ran answered. "I just had to let it out."

"What? Why?"

"Well, I went to McGonagall, and she dragged me through several corridors. I was freaked out of my mind. I thought I was going to be expelled, you know? But she just went to the fifth-year Charms period and fetched Wood."

"Wood?" asked Neville. "Oliver Wood?"

"Yes!" answered Ron excitedly. "Our Quidditch Captain!"

"Why did she want him?" Dean enquired.

"That's what I asked myself, but she took us in an unused classroom, and told him... ah, I still hear her words…" he said with a dreamy smile, before trying to imitate their Head of House. "Mr Wood, I just found your Seeker."

"WHAT?" the two others asked at the same time.

"Yes. When Oliver answered the same thing, she confirmed it and let the two of us together. Oliver asked me about Quidditch and I told him that I played since I was old enough to mount a broom. You see," he explained, "with five older brothers, we often played pick-up games of Quidditch at home, and, as the youngest, I often played Seeker." he smiled widely. "And I refrained from whooping until I came back here. Oliver told me it would be a surprise for the other teams."

The others were speechless for a moment, but eventually recovered.

Dean first. "Congratulations, mate."

"Wow." said Neville. "I thought you were going to be punished." he added matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I have. McGonagall told me that if Gryffindor doesn't win their first match, she'll rescind the offer and give me detentions during each Quidditch match."

"For the year?" asked Dean in concern. After all, should they lose, it was a harsh punishment for somebody who loved Quidditch as much as Ron.

"For the seven years." he answered glumly.

A pause.

"You'd better win, then." said Dean, patting him on the back and trying to sound encouraging.

"Yeah. We'd better win." the redhead repeated, smiling. "But Oliver has high hopes on the team. The twins are incomparable beaters, and they spent the summer rehearsing new moves. Oliver plays Keeper, and he told me the chasers were very good. I don't know who they are, though."

Ron looked around, and spotted the singed deck of cards.

"So, you played for two hours straight?"

"Well, since I was pretty alone until Neville showed up, I finished my homework."

Said Neville winced, patting his wrist bandage. "Just released from the nurse's realm a few minutes ago."

"We were killing the time until dinner." finished Dean with an amused glint in the eyes.

"Dinner!" shouted Ron enthusiastically and the two others laughed. Since they first saw him at the feast, they had understood that the boy was eating like four. "What? I'm a-"

"-growing boy. We know." interrupted Dean with a smirk.

On the way to the Great Hall, they were rejoined with Harold, Seamus and Hermione, and Susan, seeing them from a distance, trotted a bit to rejoin them too.

Remembering something, Ron dragged Dean a little behind, his face reddening again. "Err..." he said without conviction.

"What?"

"CanIcopyyourhomework?" he muttered.

"What?"

Ron sighed. "Is it alright if I copy your homework? With all the fuss about Quidditch, I sort of forgot about it."

As low as he had wanted his voice to be, though, there were certain keywords which made a certain girl react. Hermione twirled around.

"You forgot about homework? How can you forget about homework? And it's not allowed to copy homework!" Hermione ranted, her mind on a set track. "You could have bad grades, and even be expelled!"

The two boys looked at each other, shrugging. Ron then tried to appease her by saying "But they won't know, if I change the words and switch paragraphs."

"Are you saying the professors are dumb, Weasley? They will know!"

Harold had walked a few steps back with Susan in tow, both equally interested by the by-play. "If he came to our study group, we could help him, though, right?" he asked her, trying to mollify her to help their distraught classmate.

She looked at the two of them for several seconds, before huffing. "Right. But don't procrastinate further, because we can't help you more than that."

"Huh... prostate?" asked Ron. "What is it?"

Hermione blushed a beet red, before yelling "Pro-cra-sti-nate! It means putting off your homework."

She then left toward the Great Hall, muttering about uncultured youth. At the same time, Ron was looking at her, mumbling "Mental. This one's mental."

"If you join our study group, you'll get used to it." said Harold, whom Ron had forgotten. The redhead jumped and, turning back to him, apologized about it.

"It's nothing." Harold said. "We meet every afternoon at 5:30, in the library."

Ron paled. "Don't tell me you spend all the afternoon there!"

"No!" Seamus chuckled. "It's merely a meeting point. We also spend time outside."

"Seamus? You belong to... that group?"

"That group, as you said, helps people doing their homework. You're in or not?" asked Harold, before feeling a tug at his sleeve.

"Yes?" he said, turning around and meeting Susan's gaze.

"Can I come, too?" she asked.

He smiled. "Of course. The more the merrier." He saw her serious look and amended "I mean... the more, the more hard-working we get on our homework. Of course."

"Yeah. I believe you." she said, her tone denying her words. She was smiling, though. "See you later." she said, before hurrying for the Great Hall too, leaving the five boys in the corridor.

"So, what were you doing earlier?" asked Ron to Harold, as the group resumed walking toward the food at a more sedate pace.

"Well... I went to the study group as usual. As everyone was almost done with the regular homework, Hermione and I just played chess before heading to dinner."

"You play chess?" asked Ron eagerly.

"Yes. I'm not that strong, though." answered Harold.

"In my trunk, I have a magical board I can bring tomorrow. Even if it was my grandfather's, it's still working."

"I'm not sure the workaholics out there will still like it, but you can always bring it. You said it was magical? What is so special about it?" asked Harold.

Ron looked horrified that someone wouldn't know about the wonderful properties of charmed chess boards, and he spent the rest of the walk to dinner explaining them to a nodding Harold, while the other three were discussing Neville's potion.

At the Great Hall doors, though, three Slytherin boys were waiting for them.

"So, have you packed yet, Weasel? When is the expelling verdict carried out?" asked the blond menace.

"Watch your mouth, Death Eater spawn!" retorted Ron.

"Your filthy family doesn't deserve the pureblood status, Weasel. You can't even afford your own robes." the blond guffawed and, at a sign from him, his bodyguards chortled too.

Ron was getting red behind the collar, and Harold noticed the Potion professor nearby, obviously waiting for a reaction from the Gryffindors.

"Come on, Ron, he's not worthy." he said, and proceeded to lead the redhead inside, with the three other Gryffindors around.

Malfoy, emboldened by their apparent lack of reaction, launched another tirade. "What is it, Shorty? Too afraid of us to discuss?"

Harold stopped mid-stride and turned around, smirking. "When I will have broken your gorillas' fingers and beaten you to a pulp, then we'll discuss."

Despite Crabbe and Goyle's frightened step back, Malfoy continued. After all, even if it was a shameful memory for him, he distinctly remembered winning a muggle fighting tournament. "You? Beat me to a pulp? Let me laugh! How do you think you can achieve that?"

"Easily. Especially when you don't have your magic bracers." Harold whispered, before leaving a blanching Malfoy on the doorstep. Quite disappointed that he hadn't been able to remove points, Snape left the intersection, unseen by everyone.

Harold sat between Justin and Susan, and discussed with both about the apparently growing study group. Several times during the meal – which Malfoy incidentally skipped – he felt a burning sensation of being observed, and turned around to see Ron staring at him. The redhead wasn't even talking with his friends. When he left the Hall, Harold heard someone run after him and turned around to see Ron skidding to a halt in front of him, while Hermione was looking at them curiously. He drew a deep breath. "What?"

"You know Malfoy." Ron wasn't asking a question.

Harold sighed again. "Let's find a proper place to talk." and he led them in an unused classroom, closing the door afterwards. He expanded his senses and found that no one else was near. Looking up, he was startled to see Ron with his wand drawn, looking around.

"What is it?"

"Did you feel that?"

Harold rolled his eyes. 'Here it comes again', he thought. "Feel what?"

"There was a surge of magic nearby."

"I know." answered Harold, kicking himself at the same time.

"What do you mean, you know?" asked Hermione.

"Let's say that I know and it's not dangerous, alright?" he said. As they weren't convinced, he showed his locket and told them a carefully prepared lie. "It came from this medallion. It's charmed to detect intruders. There's no one else here except us."

They bought it, though.

"Alright. So. How do you know Malfoy, and what did you tell him for him to pale and miss dinner?" asked Ron.

"Well... I'm a muggleborn, okay?" They nodded. "I've lived in several places in the world, and I once participated in a muggle tournament with my brother and... well... let's just say I made it to the finals. And there was that blond boy, who I knew I could beat, but he had bracers which I'm sure allowed him to cheat. When he won, I just got his name from the board before passing out."

"I can understand that." said Hermione. "But if you saw his name, yours was on the board too, right? He should remember it and stay away from you."

"I think he'll stay away from us, now. But, about the name thing, from all we know about him, do you think he would actively try to remember his participation in a muggle fist fight?" Harold asked, grinning, although he crossed his fingers internally, hoping that Hermione wouldn't ask too many questions. She was way too clever for her own good.

They thought about it, before smiling as well, and they left the room, returning to their respective quarters.

---

The next weeks passed in a whirlwind of activities as everyone finally got into school's full swing. For her birthday, Hermione received a box of sweets from Ron and a book from Harold: Magical Geniuses and Their Works, both obtained through owl order, because it was on such a short notice. The next morning, Ron, who had complained time and again about the shame of playing Seeker on an old school broom, received a large package which needed at least half a dozen owls to carry. With it came a letter from his parents.

Dear Ron,

Congratulations on your selection in Gryffindor Quidditch team! Fred and George wrote us about that, but, knowing the twins, we asked confirmation. We are really proud of you, son, and wanted to show it. Your dad wanted to buy another muggle car to experiment, but we scraped that and got you this present instead. Several other persons contributed as well, and you should thank your Head of House profusely. Consider the broom an advanced Christmas present, though.

Your loving,
Mum

Once in the safety of their dorm, with Dean, Seamus and Neville waiting anxiously, Ron ripped the package open and fell in tears upon seeing what was inside.

"A Nimbus 2000! Can you believe it? My own broom!"

Life hadn't been easy on Ron. The youngest Weasley boy had always been given hand-me-downs from his older brothers. His clothes were more than used, his pet was Percy's and even his wand was Charlie's old one. That's why the mere fact of owning something new which wasn't food brought so much emotion from him. As a result, though, he was even more determined to win the next match and started the practises with enthusiasm, after thanking McGonagall like his mother said – profusely. Ron also showed himself more rarely at the study group, and had to be coached by his three dorm mates on many of his assignments.

Someone else was coming less often, too. Tracey Davis had begun showing dark circles around her eyes and alleged that the work was tiring her, using that as an excuse to progressively stop coming.

The academic life was going on full swing, now, and the school prepared to end October with an enormous feast, judging by the gigantic pumpkins growing in the gardens. For Harold, the only dark spot of the week was the Wednesday morning, when Snape constantly took points from him. Justin even joked once about the man just taking points because Harold breathed. Harold had read his books, though, and did his homework, but it never seemed enough for the man. At the end, he decided that Snape was the kind of sadist teacher needing some student to belittle in order to show off. And Harold, despite answering correctly to questions by now, was constantly the butt end of his jokes and jeers. He hadn't felt sure of himself enough to react or to seek the man out of the classroom, and the constant feeling of prying was beginning to tire him down.

That October, 30th, the day started as usual, with the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw double period of Potions.

Snape barked after them as usual, and made a complicated potion recipe appear on the blackboard. He then retrieved the assignments, while the students started to brew today's potion quietly. After mere minutes, Snape decided to be his usual cheerful self and started to grill the students, starting with his preferred target: Harold.

"Thomson! What are the differences between aconite and monkshood?"

Harold looked up sharply. Of course, he knew his books. He also knew that, following the books' timeline, they shouldn't know about these ingredients before the Spring term.

"None." he said, before returning to peeling his shrivelfigs.

"What?" asked Snape.

"None, sir." Harold said, not looking up.

A stunned pause. Snape wasn't looking particularly happy.

"What part of the asphodel must be used and how is it prepared?"

A silence.

"Five points from Hufflepuff, Thomson. You'd better-"

"I wasn't informed you talked to me."

Another shocked silence.

"Five other points from Hufflepuff for your cheek, Thomson! Now answer the question!"

"I'd say it depends on the potion used, but in our textbooks, they only speak about powdered roots, so I suppose it's the answer."

"What?" the teacher's tone was ominous.

Harold sighed and looked up. All the Hufflepuffs groaned. That couldn't be good.

"Roots. Pow-de-red." A second of silence, before he added "Sir."

Snape was panting. How that... that dimwit... how dare he...

"Where do you find a bezoar?" he lashed.

"Goat's stomach. Sir." was the calm answer.

"What's a mandrake used for?"

"Restorative Draught, sir."

"Where do you get a lionfish's spine?"

"At the apothecary, sir. Are you quite finished? I need to stir my potion, now."

The class waited with baited breath, as Snape's face had progressively changed from its usual white to a deep red. The man was positively glowering as Harold looked down and resumed his stirring.

When the man recovered enough to speak, he barked "20 points for your rudeness and 20 other points for your wrong answers! Detention for a week! And... and... and you'll come with me to the Headmaster. Now."

"As you wish." said Harold, giving his ladle to a shell-shocked Susan before stepping out of his workplace. Snape grasped his shoulder in a grip which should have been painful if Harold hadn't just increased his skin toughness.

Snape seemed disappointed at the teen's lack of reaction and pushed him forward. "Walk." he said, and they left the stunned classroom.

Harold didn't know where the Headmaster's office was, and just walked idly, deciding that Snape would tell him id he went astray. When he arrived in a dead end, though, he turned back with a questioning gaze... and noticed that the teacher had his wand drawn. Harold steeled himself, ready to drop as soon as the man uttered a spell. The word he heard, though, was one he knew very well by now.

"Legilimens."

He let himself be hit with it. He distinctively felt Snape invading his mind again, but this time, the man was inquisitive and vengeful. Thankfully, as to appear more "real" should he have a meeting with the Sorting Hat again, Harold had duplicated his academic and Hogwarts-related memories so that they were in Harold's mind as well as Harry's. Snape purposefully destroyed these duplicates, before removing traces of his passage. The man was skilled, true, but he had been misled. Harold decided to play along for a moment, just to see what the man would do with a witless student.

He blinked. "Mister?"

Snape looked at him inquiringly. "Who am I?"

"I don't know, mister. Where am I?"

"You are a dimwit and you'll stay there." and Snape whirled around, wanting to get back to his own classroom.

"Yes mister, but I don't want to be alone! I want to stay with you." and Harold started to trot alongside him.

"NO! Stay back!" ordered the man.

"But, mister, I'm afraid of the dark! Please!" he begged, doing his best acting so far.

The man was undeterred, though, and pressed on. Harold could have followed, though, but he was left alone in the castle, and could make a good use of his freed time. What to do, now? Decisions, decisions... His eyes lit up before closing.

First, he had to take an insurance on his life. He took a moment to rebuild his mind in the state it was before Snape's mass destruction, and then went to his Head of House's office. He got lucky, because she was just leaving for one of her Herbology periods. She gave him a strange look when he asked about the Headmaster's office location, but understood when he mentioned the Potion Master. He seemed truthful and it looked like Snape's job to send helpless student through the castle, so she answered, giving him the password as well.

Once he had passed the gargoyle, Harold ascended the stair, and knocked to the door, waiting with baited breath.

"Enter." said the Headmaster's voice.

He slowly pushed the door, and found himself in a strange office room, cluttered with many intricate items. Nothing was unusual per se, but he felt that several things weren't as they looked. And there were many portraits, too. An old and gentle voice interrupted his musings.

"What can I do for you, my dear...?"

"Thomson, sir. Harold Thomson. I have just been... kicked out of the Potion classroom, and the teacher wanted me to come here, so here I am."

"Well. I'm sure Professor Snape is right behind you, isn't he?"

"I don't know, sir. He just gave me the password and returned. I don't know why, perhaps he had something on the fire."

The Headmaster chuckled, and another chuckle came from a large seat in front of his desk.

"See, Cornelius?" asked Dumbledore. "Everything is going well. Nothing changed."

The large seat trembled as a fat small man extracted himself from it. "So true. So true." the man said.

"Well, Harold. I would love to have a discussion with a bright student, but my time is already taken. I must ask you to return to Professor Snape while I will continue to entertain our dear Minister of Magic."

"Minister? Sir? I'm sorry. Oh..." Harold hadn't realized the small man's identity, and a moment of confusion ensued.

"Now, now, my boy. It's alright." said the Minister of Magic soothingly.

"I'll leave, then. Sorry to have bothered you." said Harold, walking back to the door.

Just before he closed it, though, he heard the Minister saying "And give good old Snape my regards."

Harold then returned to the dungeons and ended up right behind the classroom's door. Sitting against the wall opposing it, he closed his eyes and slowly expanded his senses until he could pinpoint Snape's exact location. Once done, he resumed the first Potion lesson's activity: mind prodding, although this time, he went deeper. He had turned his own idea of defence into an attack technique, and started to dig into the man's mind.

---

When Snape had returned in the classroom, he had been feeling so elated about his revenge on the brat that he disregarded the relative chaos which reigned and went to his desk. The stunned students, though, resumed their brewing quietly, throwing anxious gazes to their Professor.

Said professor had been reading the assignments, when he started to feel an itching sensation on his forehead. He automatically rubbed his fingers, then his whole hand on it, but it didn't calm and intensified until a headache seized him, making him groan in pain. Wincing, he took a potion from one of his numerous pockets and downed it.

It didn't have any effect.

The upset teacher looked at the vial in wonder, even smelling it, but it really was a headache calming draught, which should have had an immediate effect. What was happening to him?

And, as suddenly as it had begun, the headache subsided and a knock was heard at the door. Nobody dared to move, and the Potion Master barked "Enter" from his desk.

It was Filch.

"Err... there's one of yer brats... just so you know..." and the man left, leaving the door open so that Snape could look at Harold Thomson sitting on the ground opposite him, and... smiling? He blinked. Of course not. He wasn't smiling. It must have been an illusion.

"Well... what are you waiting for? Enter!" he barked again.

"As you wish, mister." Harold answered from outside, and he went to his place. Under the bewildered teacher's gaze, he checked at the cauldron, thanked Susan, and went to slice some horned slugs before adding them.

"What in the hell?" asked Snape.

"What?" asked the teen innocently. "I went to Dumbledore, like you asked me to. And, by the way, the Minister asked me to send his regards to "Good old Snape." too." he added, looking the teacher in the eye. He had half the mind to add "but I don't see any Good Snape around, only an old one, so it must be someone else." but he refrained at the last second. The situation was already tensed like a violin string.

A very long pause ensued, while Harold resumed his brewing and Snape didn't move at all. The other merely followed the recipe's steps, not really caring about their potion at all. Thankfully, none of the ingredients were volatile today.

"Who... who are you?" Snape finally managed to mutter.

Harold froze. And immediately kicked himself. The question had been expected. He looked up and smiled. "I'm Harold Thomson. I'd say that it's nice to meet you but, as the feeling wouldn't be returned, I'll abstain."

"You can't be!" Snape said, his tone defiant.

"Why?" asked Harold.

"You must be some... Polyjuiced impostor!" Snape drew his wand, and swished it in a complicated move, while chanting "Revealo imbibus effectus."

Nothing happened.

"No! I can't believe it's you."

"You'd better."

"There is... there are... other ways..." the man was looking left and right while Harold looked at him impassibly.

"I know!" Snape jumped to his feet again and intoned "Finite incantatem."

Now, that was a very bad idea, thought Harold. Snape was a powerful wizard. More powerful than Josh ever was, and Harold felt the glamour on his eyes fade away. He groaned and closing his eyes, concentrating on rebuilding the illusion through his other ability.

"Open you eyes!" Snape barked.

At the same time, Harold was focusing on a colour. 'What was it, again? Grey? No, brown. Let's give it a try."

He concentrated for a second, feeling the magic at work, and then opened his eyes.

And the bell sounded the period's end. Most of the cauldrons were a mess of unsupervised heating. The only usable potions came from two cauldrons out of the seven pairs, one of which being Susan and Harold's. The usual score for a Potion class, anyway.

Snape absently watched as the two pairs put bottles of potion on his desk. It didn't need a rocket scientist to determine that whoever was in detention tonight would be scrubbing cauldrons. Wait... it was Harold anyways.

A short time later, a red-faced Susan was dragging Harold by the sleeve toward Hufflepuff's cellar, ignoring the flow of students headed for the Great Hall. When there, she whirled around and demanded "What was that?"

"What was what?" he asked innocently.

"Don't play that game with me! I thought we were friends!"

His mood darkened considerably. How couldn't she see that Snape was an abusing teacher and needed someone to put him back where he belonged?

"Is this all you think about? Because I answered truthfully to an obnoxious teacher?"

"He's a teacher!" she shrilled, as if it was the only reason to respect anyone.

"He has been a human being long before being a teacher, you know? Teachers can have defaults! They can be wrong!"

"You have the Headmaster to report him to, then. And what was it with the broom?"

"Huh? What broom?" he was quite taken by surprise by the abrupt change of subject.

"Still playing innocent?" she asked sarcastically. "Okay, I'll refresh your memory: Thursday, September 12th, 4:30pm. Your broom shoots up and you were going to jump 10 feet to retrieve it."

"What? No..."

"Don't deny it! You were ready to jump and at the last second you looked around and caught Hooch looking at you."

"Well... err..."

"And today, you play the cool student and manage to get 50 points taken from the House. Where is the respectful Harold I made friends with? I don't even recognized you this morning!"

"I'm here, Susan. Listen, points aren't the most important-"

Oops. Knowing Susan, it wasn't the best thing to say. Hermione was really rubbing on her.

"Points aren't important?" she was practically shrieking and tears began to flow. "It's our life we build here! Our future! And I can't let you ruin mine! Our friendship is over, you hear me? It's over!"

She turned and ran through the girls' dormitories archway. A few seconds later, her dorm door could be heard slamming.

Harold was upset. Not only did he lose points because of the twisted teacher, but the man was starting to cost him his friends, too! He decided to do something about it, and decided to go to the man's quarters and do something about his mind right there. Remembering about his earlier problems, he waited for the next early morning to act.

He came back from the Astronomy period at 1:30am and went to bed like the others, but he didn't sleep and waited for the others to snooze before starting to work his plan out. He had reflected about it during the previous evening, before the Astronomy lesson, and had realized that it was quite risky, which was why he now took the Ravenclaw ring from his locked to put it on. The second he did so, though, he felt the ring emit a wave-like magical signal, and he swore.

How could he not think about it? Put on one of Hogwarts Founders' magical garb while in the school! Of course it would raise an alarm. He tried to remove the ring unsuccessfully for a minute, but stopped when feelings and emotions started rushing toward him from everywhere at once. Recognition, gratitude, curiosity, eagerness. He collapsed under the strain.

"Hello again, Harry, and may I offer my congratulations on joining Helga's House? She was my best friend, you know." said the blue-clad woman, her eyes twinkling. "Or should I say "Harold" now?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to hide his uneasiness.

"Relax." answered Rowena. "I know about you because I knew about you beforehand. The castle, however, despite having grown in consciousness and magical strength, is unable to enter anyone's mind, and therefore unable to report your presence."

He exhaled loudly, but she wasn't finished.

"Conversely, it is quite happy to have found a reminder of my old self, and if, as I understand it, you want to hide that, you'll have to ask it. It's fortunate that you did this so early in the morning, or it would have been discovered quickly."

"Ask?" asked Harold, not quite understanding.

"Yes, ask. It's really alive, you know?" she seemed to reflect about things a bit, before nodding. "Alright. Each of the Founder's private quarters was located where your House is, except Helga's. It seems her rooms have been taken up by the kitchen... and the old cellar became dorms for your House."

She grew silent, as if pondering things, while Harold distinctly felt someone or something discussing with her. After a few seconds, she shrugged. "Whatever. Sorry for the wait. I couldn't prevent myself from looking at every little change made on the castle. It has been a thousand years, you know."

"It's alright." he said, quite astounded that a Founder would ask for forgiveness from him. He blinked, before remembering the previous topic. "You said something about me asking Hogwarts something."

"Yes. You have to establish a mind connection between the two of you, and then you'll be able to communicate with it easily."

"How do I do that?"

"It would rather be "Where do I do that." Each of us Founder had a way to do that and, not knowing the others', I can only tell you mine. You simply have to find my private study. Its entrance is located near my House's common room entrance."

"But... I don't even know where it is."

"I know, I know. I'll just give you a memory containing the map to it. Once you'll be able to talk to it, Hogwarts will furnish its map at a moment's notice."

"Well... I can only thank you so much, milady."

She laughed. It was a pleasant high and crystalline sound. "No need to thank me, my dear boy. After all, as long as you wear that ring, I enjoy living as a part of you. So it's me who should thank you."

The two of them looked at each other, before the woman prodded his shoulder. "You should go, now. Better take advantage of your early waking hour to actually find my study. I should tell you to hurry before your Headmaster notices the castle's state, but the man is gone, or so Cassie told me."

Harold at paled at the mention of his Headmaster, but his slightly afraid expression turned into a curious one.

"Gone? Cassie?"

"Yes." Her eyes were twinkling amusedly. "Cassie is my own nickname for Hogwarts. After all, it's a diminutive of "castle", isn't it? And, speaking about your Headmaster, according to her memory, he left yesterday evening, heading towards America..." She waited a second for effect. "...in search of Harry Potter."

Harold found himself in such an alarmed state that he woke up, panting. It took him a few minutes to get his bearings right again, and, shaking his head to remove any traces of sleepiness, he escaped the cellar.

Rowena had astutely affixed the directions to her office to his own memory of the castle, and he made a good use of it to reach the place. He entered an unused classroom – which was, if Rowena's indications were true, her quarters' reception room – and spoke the required Latin sentence in front of the back wall's window.

Said window immediately went dark blue and opened like a door, and Harold entered a well-furnished office – if you didn't take into account the thick layer of dust on everything. Still following the Founder's memory, he went to a low cupboard and opened it with the ring. Inside rested several stone bowls full of a silvery liquid, which use he couldn't fathom, but each labelled differently than the others. Following the instructions, he took one of them out, carefully depositing it on the cupboard top. He then bent, until his nose touched the liquid, and entered the swirling liquid.

He took a cursory glance around, and saw that Rowena was there also, although she had a younger appearance. They were in a circular room, without any door. The moment he decided to ask where they were, though, another presence shimmered into view.

It was exactly that, a presence. It wasn't human, nor animal. It was a crude statue which had barely human attributes.

"Nice to meet you again, Cassie. You have progressed, I see." said Rowena.

The statue turned its head toward her and nodded.

The woman then pushed Harold forward and said "This young man wishes to stay anonymous. Can you hide his presence from any prying eye?" she paused for half a second before adding. "Can you help him moving around as well?"

The statue looked at him, and he felt the weight of its experience as well as the exuberant youthfulness of its mind. It nodded, and Harold had the eerie feeling that it winked at him.

"Thank you." he said, and the statue shimmered out. The next second, both the woman and the boy followed suit and Harold found himself back in Rowena's study. He took a second to check if his "I'm being observed." feeling was there, but it wasn't, and he almost jumped in joy, barely restraining himself. After all, it wouldn't do to knock and break Rowena's ancient artefacts, would it? Very carefully, he put the stone bowl back at its place in the cupboard, and took a second to contemplate using the others.

"Later." a small voice said in the back of his head, and he smirked before closing and locking the cupboard's doors. He turned around and noticed that the office door, being closed, has transformed into a see-through pane. 'Thoughtful.' he reflected. 'One can look out before exiting so as not to get caught.'

"And it sees through invisibility spells and concealing charms." Rowena's voice added smugly, making Harry reflect about the charms involved in such a feat.

As nobody was there, Harold merely stepped through and paused just a second to check that the study's entrance still looked like a window. After all, people searched for secret passages in dead ends, but never on windows.

He had wanted to exact revenge on the Potion Master but, that day, he constantly felt Cassie tugging at his mind, preventing any form of deep concentration. The castle's spirit was like a lonely dog who had just found a person to play with: always jumping around, bringing strange items and being generally friendly. The problem was that Harold couldn't very well tell that to others, and he went through the day without really taking his fellow students and classes into account. He also completely missed today's meeting of their study group.

Susan was visibly still upset, snubbing him everywhere, and she didn't even show herself at the study group herself, even if he wasn't there to notice it. Tracey had long since disappeared from the group, but there was also one disappearance which defied the unwritten rules of logic: Hermione was missing.

When Harold entered the Great Hall, he remarked Susan's absence and asked about it to Justin, who pointed out the girls' afternoon absence. The curly-haired student launched into a blow-by-blow recounting of what they did while their studies leader was off, but Harold wasn't listening anymore, his gaze unfocused.

Cassie's signals were different.

From playful, they became alarmed a few seconds ago. He focused on his connection to the castle and asked what was wrong, and he almost choked when the pictures arrived. Quirenus Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, was bringing a... huge... and monstrous... creature, in the school!

He surprised Justin, jumping off the bench in the middle of the boy's sentence. A long time before professor Vector would warn the whole school, Harold slipped out of the Great Hall almost unnoticed. However, he saw his route to the dungeons blocked by Malfoy first, and then Filch, and it took a bit of time to modify their memories. Once done, the long-legged monster had already moved around, and Quirrell wasn't with it anymore. Harold concentrated to get a global feeling of everyone in the castle. Several professors were scouring the school, and Snape was waiting somewhere... waiting... for Quirrell. Susan was in her dorm. And, at the same time...

He heard a scream nearby, quickly followed by another.

... Hermione and Tracey were in the girls' toilets, with the troll.

He started to run, missed the red and gold missile tumbling from an adjoining corridor, and suddenly found himself in a tangle of limbs from which emerged the not-so-surprised face of Ronald Weasley.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing. I just followed you, and stumbled across Malfoy and Filch. Both were looking lost. Lost! As if they had just been Obliviated! And these screams..."

"There's a... creature... in the girls' toilets."

"Let's call the professors, then."

"They are too far." Seeing the redhead's confused face, he explained more. "Hermione and Tracey are inside, too. We have to act now."

And he stood up, before charging in the toilets. Once there, he had the misfortune of stopping, and Ron ran into him, once again pushing him on the floor. 'Let's not make a habit of this.' was all he could think coherently, before looking at the huge and ugly stump of grey flesh, vaguely humanoid in shape, which surely didn't have a place in a girls' toilets. In front of them stood a very very large creature, armed with its personal odour and a club as large as a century-old tree trunk. Hermione was in a corner, shivering in fright, and Tracey was in another, mumbling incoherently.

"By Merlin!" whispered Ron. "It's a troll!"

Said troll seemed to have had problems choosing a target, but he was now decided, and raised his weapon to strike...

"Move, Hermione! Move!" Harold shouted.

The yell attracted the creature's attention to him, and his attack missed the petrified girl by mere inches.

"What can we do? What can we do?" asked Ron.

Harold looked at the frightened girls, at the enormous creature, and took his decision. The hell with being discreet! These girls needed help, and they didn't know enough magic to put the beast down. He turned to the frightened Ron and shook him.

"I'll distract him, and you get her! You hear me? Go grab her and flee!"

The other teen had a flicker of understanding in his eyes, and that was all Harold needed.

Turning around toward the scene again, he first tried his control over time, extending his arms and internally screaming.

'STOP!'

It had been a long time since he last had done it, and he didn't know if the numerous modifications brought to his mind allowed it to work. Only a bit slower... only a bit. It seemed to work, though, as the troll's downward strike, heading toward Hermione, was slowed to a crawl. Ron hadn't moved yet. Damn. With his current speed and her squatting position, Harry couldn't get her out without hurting her.

Harold concentrated again, focusing on increasing his skin's toughness again, as much as possible. And he finally closed his eyes for a mere second, serenity flowing in his veins, along with a sense of what to do. A sense of which moves were the right ones to execute next.

As if he was in the slow-motion scene, he ran quickly around the slow-moving troll and jumped onto one of the numerous basins, before crouching on the one nearest the creature and Hermione. Taking aim, he launched himself against the troll's club. It moved slightly out of the way, but not enough so that Hermione wouldn't be harmed. He instantly took another decision, jumping on the sinks again, and, using his feet as anchors, he pressed with all his might against the slowly descending club. A foot too close... a few more inches...

He was so focused on his task that he didn't register that the metal sinks on which he had taken anchor were bending around his feet, leaving footprints. At last, the club landed clear of Hermione, tearing metal and throwing tile shards in every direction. Harry merely grabbed a plank from the broken toilet stalls, and put it between Hermione and the incoming shower of shards. He then took a breath and noticed that Ron had finally started moving. Good.

Next...

He looked up at the troll, and jumped on the sinks again, using the prop to launch himself onto the creature's stupid-looking head. Once sitting on its shoulders, he noticed that his control over time was slipping. The people around him were moving a tad quicker. Ron had almost reached Hermione, and the troll was raising his weapon again, looking at it and wondering why it missed.

Closing his eyes, Harold remembered a particular scene. His brother's broken arm. The scoffing monks. The pile of clay tiles. The anger he had felt. Yes, he could feel it again. He didn't know that he was putting quite the show, but no one looked anyways.

He raised his right arm, and slammed it down on the creature's head. Hard.

The creature had hard bones. It was the only thing which protected its species against decimation. Harold had added magic to the strike, though. His stone-like hand crushed the bone, and the little bit of grey matter underneath didn't stand a chance. Harold made good use of the still slightly slowed time to jump down and fetch Tracey. Contrarily to Hermione, the Slytherin had merely sat in shock, so no limb was ripped out of its socket when he cautiously took her in his arms.

The troll was wobbling on unsteady legs for a moment, and Harold jumped over several scattered planks and under flailing arms as thick as himself, until he was standing beside Ron and Hermione at the toilet's entrance, a semi-conscious Tracey in his arms. They looked as the beast wobbled a last time before falling sideways, destroying several more sinks and stalls, and shaking the room like a small earthquake.

After a moment of bated breath, Ron, whom Hermione was still clutching desperately, spoke up in a shaky voice.

"Is it... Is it dead?"

"It doesn't move." answered Harold, slowly recovering a regular heartbeat. "Doesn't breathe. Sure seems dead to me."

The troll thick leather-like skin hadn't yielded when he struck it, though, and he immediately took a decision. He went to Ron and Hermione's minds, and slightly changed their immediate memory. He didn't have the time to guess if they were good liars or not, and he suspected that Ron wasn't anyways. For them, the troll would have fallen victim of his own club, cleverly levitated and dropped by Ron's Wingardium Leviosa.

It was just in time, too, as several teachers barged in the war zone look-alike. Appropriately, they were the Heads of House – bar Snape, who was being brought to the infirmary.

"Sweet Merlin!" said McGonagall upon arriving first. She put her hand to her heart in shock.

"By my mimbulus Mimbletonias!" swore Sprout.

"What happened?" asked Flitwick.

The teens were quite at a loss for words. What were they going to say?

"We heard about the troll..." began Harold.

"...and we knew Hermione and Tracey weren't in the Great Hall during the alert." Ron continued.

"Yes, because we share a study group."

At that, the teachers registered the situation. Four students, four Houses. They looked at each other. Was it a sign that the Hat's warnings were true? Were they in time of need? Was inter-Houses cooperation necessary?

Ron hadn't caught the teachers' private glances, and continued. "We heard a scream and arrived to see the... the troll."

"And then... it's kind of blurry, really. There were shouts, and the girls were being targeted. Ron used the Levitation spell, I think." said Harold, finishing with a look between a blushing Ron and a proud Flitwick.

"It was nothing, really." Ron managed to utter. "The club fell on the troll's head."

"I'd say he's dead, but I'm not sure." concluded Harry.

"What were you thinking? Taking on a troll this size!" exclaimed McGonagall.

"You could have been killed!" Sprout cried out.

"In the meantime, I think these gentlemen deserve some points, ladies." Flitwick piped in. "If they hadn't been there, we would have to deplore more casualties. I'd say that 10 points each would be a good thing."

"Yes, a good thing indeed." stated McGonagall.

Harold was looking at Flitwick with wide eyes. "Casualties, sir?"

Flitwick looked at him, then at McGonagall, who shook her head. "Well... everybody will be told the story later, I guess."

The boy closed his eyes, activating his connection with Cassie. He quickly learnt about the fight that had occurred between Quirrell and Snape. The castle hadn't registered the evil presence of Voldemort, though, and, despite knowing that something was off, Harold didn't suspect anything about a third partner. Quirrell was dead, now, and Snape was recovering in the Staff part of the Hospital wing. He smirked internally. Snape, being seen lying between his students? Not likely. He opened his eyes again, and nodded.

"Harold, if you can release Miss Davis, I'll put her in a stretcher and bring her to the Hospital wing." said Sprout.

The boy started to comply, but the semi-conscious girl grasped him tighter.

"She must be in shock." stated McGonagall. "Can you take her there yourself, Mister Thomson? Or should I conjure a stretcher for the two of you?" her lips twitched, and Harold, picturing the situation, blushed.

"No, Professor. I'll... we will be alright."

"Good lad." said Sprout, before looking at Hermione. "Well, make it the four of you. I'm sure Miss Granger needs a potion or two."

"Mister Weasley? You can escort her?" asked McGonagall.

Ron nodded, and the four teens left the teachers to deal with the large and smelly corpse.

"Well..." started McGonagall, drawing her wand. "Let's get to work."

She promptly transfigured the dead troll into a small cupboard. On top of being an impressive work of Transfiguration, it also confirmed the creature's death, since transfiguring living creatures was much more difficult. Her two colleagues looked at the piece of furniture for a second, before wrinkling their nose.

"No." said Sprout. "The troll's stench is one we can't hide. I suggest we just get rid of it and repair the room."

"Alright." said Flitwick, before turning toward the sinks. "I'll start wi-" he stopped suddenly.

"Filius?" asked McGonagall. "What is it?"

The diminutive teacher didn't answer, and his two colleagues looked to where he was staring. Transforming the huge troll into a small cupboard had uncovered a singular object.

"What is it?" asked Sprout.

"It's a sink." stated McGonagall absentmindedly.

"Thank you, captain Obvious." muttered Flitwick, before approaching.

"What do you think caused it?" enquired Sprout.

"I don't know." answered Flitwick. "But I'm sure these four hid something from us."

In front of them, half destroyed by the troll's fall, was a metal sink. With a deeply embossed footprint.

---

The Potion Master didn't wake for a full week, and the students – the non-Slytherins, that is – breathed a bit. Almost all of them enjoyed the fact that their Headmaster, a renowned Alchemist himself, was replacing the greasy-haired teacher. No student brewed anything that week, but the first years learnt quite a bit about the basic precautions over potion making. Incidentally, the other years did, too, which brought a deep frown on Dumbledore's already wrinkled forehead – the old man also had to find a replacement for Quirrell and treat other problems, like the Slytherin House.

Tracey Davis had awakened after a day of rest and she told Harold, Hermione and Ron about her House mates' attitude at her being friend with other Houses. For them, she was a traitor and she had constantly been harassed in her common room and even in her own dorm. Despite this, the returning Headmaster had put her back in the dungeons, and she started to miss the meetings again.

At the end of the Potion-free week, the first Quidditch match of the season took place, starting at 11am, and pitting the Gryffindors against the Slytherins. It was a pitched affair, because, despite Madam Hooch warnings about wanting a fair game, the Slytherin played their best tactics, one of which consisting in offing the opposing Keeper and Seeker by whatever mean possible.

After half an hour in the game, Gryffindor was leading by 50 to 0, and Oliver Wood saw an approaching Quaffle. Just as he lunged with his broom toward the threat, he also noticed an incoming Bludger in the corner of his eye. 'Devious' what all he thought as he swerved his course to still protect his goals while avoiding the Bludger. What he didn't see, though, was the other Bludger aimed to the path he had had to take to avoid the first, from behind.

WHACK!

The Gryffindor team and supporters groaned as their Keeper and Captain fell to the ground – which, thankfully, was permanently charmed with Cushioning Charms: no need for heavier injuries than what the players got in the air.

Ron was overlooking the stadium from the Seeker's usual vantage point, and he swore internally. Not only were the goals almost defenceless, but their whole team was at a disadvantage. The team hadn't practised underhanded moves, and couldn't take their opponents off the game like that.

However, with the twins doing what they could to guard the goals, it wasn't completely lost. Especially as they succeeded in using their new moves against the opposition. One of them consisted in beating a Bludger with both bats, thus doubling its velocity. It was a tricky move to do as both Beaters had to be in perfect coordination, but the twins seemed to share a mind link and they did the move a dozen times, disrupting the enemy's Chaser formation enough to prevent the same number of goals.

After another half hour, the score was tied at 90, and Ron had escaped more Bludgers than he had in his entire childhood. The constant onslaught had also forced him to move around the stadium and he was thankful that his broom was performing so well, otherwise, he would have followed his Captain to the infirmary.

That's during one of his low swoops to avoid the two Bludgers that he caught a glimpse of gold. The Snitch was under the Slytherin Keeper! If the tricky little ball was hiding under players, it was normal that they hadn't seen it yet. He finished his move slowly and found himself right under his target. A quick look around confirmed that nobody had seen the fluttering ball, and he shot forward.

Hooch blew her whistle to denounce a foul from the Gryffindor Seeker against the opposing Keeper, but, seeing that the younger player had the gold ball in his hand, she raised her arms.

"End of the match! Gryffindor wins!"

Ron landed, and looked around, a wide smile on his face. Behind the applauding team members, he spotted the Gryffindors, as well as many members of the study group holding thumbs up. To his utter shock, he also saw his usually stern Head of House winking at him.

The party in the Gryffindor common room had already started when their Captain was released from the infirmary and came through the portrait hole, sporting a bandaged head. Ron had already had too many butterbeers and was slumped unconscious in an armchair near the fire. The others saw their Keeper and cheered, something which made him wince. He was then prompted to speak up.

"Glad to be here. It's definitely a better atmosphere than the infirmary."

Some students confirmed it loudly and other laughed.

"Especially as Snape holds half the Hospital wing."

Shouts and jeers could be heard, directed against their nemesis House's Head.

Oliver got taken in the moment and began to make the show. "You know what I heard there?" he whispered, although everyone heard it.

Interested faces looked at him in askance.

"I've heard hisses behind the door!" he exclaimed.

"I bet he was talking to snakes!" yelled Jack Smith, an inebriated seventh year.

"Yeah!" added his friend John Doe, equally intoxicated. "We spent six years with him. He took more points from us than any other House."

Jack nodded, before speaking up again. "The man is evilness incarnate. All Parselmouths are. I'm sure..." he wobbled a bit and straightened against a nearby chair. "I'm sure he was a Death Eater."

In the shocked silence, John thoughtfully added "And still is, old chap. And still is."

To be continued in next chapter: Hunting Gifts...

Where did I put staves in there?
Except the troll's club of course.
In next chapter, no recourse,
And the hunt will proceed there.