Author's Note:

Hey everyone! Thank you all once again for all the reviews, favs and follows. You made my day, as usual. I hope I'm not sounding like a broken record here, because every time I say it I still mean it from the bottom of my (black, shriveled) heart.

Sorry about missing yesterday's update. I was out of province—I forgot to say something about it on Thursday's update. Because it's easier for me, my update schedule has now officially changed to Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.

One of my lovely readers asked who was in the Slash pairing. I can't believe I missed that in the summary. I'm so sorry, guys. It's fixed now if you're curious. ;) I hope none of you are disappointed, and no, I won't change my mind on it. It's this or nothing.

A few of you were hoping for changes in the timeline/events. They start here. They're only small, but that's how it always starts. ;) I didn't want to change anything earlier than this because, like with Hermione's sorting, I didn't want things to change for no reason. Since I couldn't find a reason to make the troll incident happen differently, it didn't.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the entire story would have taken place in a country I was more familiar with…

(Recall that at the end of the last chapter, Harry realized that his skills with magic and reacting in stressful situations are nowhere near the level he thought they were, and if Tom were to return before Harry had improved himself, he would be very disappointed.)

Chapter Nine

With this new realization, Harry started to re-think everything. He was barely aware of walking all the way up to the common room, had no recollection of speaking the password to the Fat Lady, and didn't even notice the Hallowe'en feast that was still in full-swing. He ascended the stairs to his dorm and fell onto his bed, pulling the curtains shut. All the while, he was reconsidering every action he'd performed in the last two months.

He'd thought he had everything under control, but did he really? After all, he hadn't even realized that his own skills were severely lacking. Sure, he was doing as he hoped to in his classes (that is, passing in decent work and with a good grasp on the spells, but nothing too noteworthy), but had he let his mask slip? Had he accidentally said something he shouldn't have? Had he learned to perform a spell too quickly?

Then there was the matter of his friends. Sure, it was easier to pretend to be friends with Ron when he was actually enjoying their conversations, but had he at any point given the ginger the idea that he was not as valued as he might think? Had he disregarded the Weasley in a way that a true friend wouldn't have? There was no telling for sure, and Harry was too panicked and horrified by this possibility that he didn't dare check. Surely if he had, his mandatory friend had forgiven him by now.

Then there was the fact that everyone was expecting him to be their savior. But how could he show them he was brave as his house suggested when he froze up upon seeing a mountain troll? At what point would they all realize that he was a fake and abandon him? Then where would he be? What would he have to offer Tom? He'd have no followers, no skill with magic…

No. That would never happen, if he had anything to say about it. With a sudden burst of clarity and energy, Harry came to a realization: he couldn't change the past, but he could change the future. From now on, he'd be extra vigilant and he'd practice his spell work as often as he could. He even knew the perfect place to do it.

… … …

Unfortunately, "as often as he could" turned out to be less often than he'd hoped. The main obstacle was his friends. They'd established a schedule for spending time with Harry which left him virtually no alone time. If he was always expected to be with one of them, when would he have the opportunity to go off on his own?

Surprisingly, he got his answer the next evening. He'd landed too hard and twisted his ankle in Quidditch practice, and the Weasley twins had helped him up to the Hospital Wing. As he was entering, he spotted a frantic seventh year Ravenclaw speaking to the Mediwitch, Madame Pomphrey. "—been studying so hard already, and I still have to do classes, and—and—please can I have one or two… or three Invigoration Drafts? Please?"

The concept of Invigoration Drafts stuck in Harry's mind as the Mediwitch dealt with the frantic student, then fixed Harry's ankle with a scolding and a huffy rant on how rough Quidditch could get.

It was only when Harry was lying in bed that night that the idea took full form in his mind. If he could make himself some invigoration drafts, he could get up much earlier than his dorm mates, practice his magic, then go to classes with no one the wiser with the help of a little energy boost. He flicked through Tom's memories to make sure this was a feasible idea. It was a fifth year spell, Harry learned. It didn't look too difficult to make, but then again, Tom made everything look easy. He'd owl order some, but Dumbledore would be suspicious if he found out, so that was out. He'd just have to try making it himself then. The draft was also addictive, Harry learned. He'd just have to make sure to not take it on a regular basis and try instead to sleep as much as he could during the night. Other than these two obstacles, his plan should be fool-proof. His dorm mates were heavy sleepers—they'd never find out. As long as he could avoid patrolling teachers, all would be well.

With this finally concluded, Harry began the process of sorting his memories from the last two days. After the incident the night before, his mind had been in too much turmoil, and he'd fallen asleep having forgotten to sort the newest memories and place them behind his Occlumency shields.

As he sorted the memories, he re-watched them, purely to make sure he hadn't let his mask slip too much since he'd last sorted his memories. He didn't find too much in the way of slipping masks, but what he did find was much more curious.

He watched the memory of the previous night a couple times, specifically the aftermath of the troll incident, just to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought. He hadn't been paying particular attention to Quirrell in those moments—the wrath of Professor McGonagall was much more pressing—but in reviewing the memory, he could clearly see the uncharacteristically calculating look on the Defense professor's face. When he first entered the bathroom he'd appeared quite faint. But as the Transfiguration professor was dealing out punishments, Quirrell had been examining the troll's head where the club had hit it several times. With a sudden spike of horror, Harry realized—McGonagall hadn't recognized how advanced Harry's version of the Levitation Charm had been, but Quirrell had. In fact, he'd almost been admiring it. So Harry would have to do damage control, he realized. He'd speak to the man tomorrow.

And with that, Harry drifted off to an uneasy sleep filled with shadows that disappeared the moment he tried to identify their forms.

… … …

The silence of the lazy Saturday afternoon was shattered by three sharp taps.

"C-c-come in," a voice called from the other side of the door.

Harry stood in the doorway, smiling nervously at Quirrell. "These are your office hours, sir?" he asked. At the professor's jerky nod, Harry continues, "I wanted to talk to you… about—about Thursday night, and the… erm… the troll incident"

"Of c-c-course, Mr. P-Potter," the professor replied. "H-how c-can I h-help you?"

"Well, it's…" Harry sighed then, a large, resigned sigh. "I wanted to know… what makes Dark Magic… well… dark?"

At this, a sudden alertness entered the professor's eye. "Why do you ask?"

"Well… I… when we took out that troll, it was like I felt something… come over me. And I don't want to get into something illegal. So I want to know if that was Dark Magic and how to… well, how to not use it."

"From what I can tell, Mr. Potter, it was an advanced version of the Levitation Charm, nothing more. You needn't worry about the authorities considering it to be dark."

"But—sir, what makes magic dark in general? I mean, I have no idea how I did that. What if I do Dark Magic by accident? Like I said, I didn't even know what I did there until it was done." Quirrell looked intrigued at this; Harry ignored him. "So what if I cast a dark spell?" He looked frightened at the thought.

"Dark Magic is not necessarily evil," Quirrell said ponderingly. "Not all Dark Magic is banned precisely because some of it cannot be harmful. For example, some healing spells are Dark Magic. Similarly, there is some Light Magic that has been banned because it is harmful. However, the definitions of Dark and Light Magic have been rewritten in the last several years by the Ministry, based on what is banned and what is still allowed."

With this, Harry was intrigued. "So you're saying that Dark and Light Magic are essentially the same?"

"yes and no," Quirrell tapped his chin with his fingertips for a moment, looking for the best way to phrase his thoughts. Finally, he said, "the most basic explanation is that Dark Magic is sentient. It is pulled directly from the Earth itself. It is created naturally, but it has been left to build up for hundreds of years. So when it is let out, it is like an eager puppy. After it has—stretched its legs, shall we call it—it is eager to do the caster's bidding as long as the caster treats it well and is strong enough to control it. So, Mr. Potter, if you are strong enough to control it, it will do as you desire. As long as you do not wish harm on someone, Dark Magic will not be used for evil purposes. And I would wager a guess that you are magically strong enough to handle quite a bit of Dark Magic, Mr. Potter."

"Wow! Thanks!" If Harry was intrigued before, he was positively fascinated now. "So then what about Light Magic? Where does it come from?"

"Firstly, I should explain that Dark Magic, in all its eagerness, leaves a residue behind. This, combined with a witch or wizard's magical signature, makes it easy to track. However, that residue is recycled and reused in many ways. It powers wards, for one, and helps magical plants to grow. Those less informed call it Ambient Magic. However, this residue is also reused in the form of Light Magic. As it is only a remnant of the original spell, it is no longer sentient; therefore, it is much easier for a caster to bend it to his or her will. So you see, our world needs both kinds of magic to function optimally. Magic should never be wasted, nor should it be exhausted from one place."

"Wow! That's amazing! So then—" But before Harry could ask his question, a timid knock sounded on the door.

Quirrell's demeanor shifted in less than a second, leaving Harry with whiplash. "Y-yes? Wh-who is it?"

The door opened to show a fifth year Hufflepuff carrying a giant stack of books. "I had a couple questions," she said, "but I can wait."

"N-not to worry," Quirrell managed, "w-w-we were almost d-d-done h-here, anyway."

"Can we finish that conversation later, professor?" Harry asked eagerly. When the Defense Professor looked frightened enough that Harry thought he'd say no, Harry added, "I'll be back next Saturday at the same time. Thank you so much, Professor Quirrell. You were a great help." And with one last warm smile, Harry backed out of the door.

After rounding the first corner on his way back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry allowed a small smirk to cross his lips. He'd known all that information, of course. He'd merely decided to see if that shrewd, intelligent light would re-enter the professor's eye when discussing Dark Magic. After all, that's what had triggered it two days before. Because as much as everyone liked to pretend otherwise, both the beginners' and advanced Levitation Charms were dark magic. The former took very little power, so almost any first year could control it. Plus, it could only lift up to thirty pounds at once, and it could not make things move fast, so all those who attempted it would be safe for the most part. However, the latter, the version that Harry had performed, took much more power and raw intent to make the object being levitated move exactly where and how quickly the caster intended.

However, one thing bothered Harry about that conversation with Quirrell. As soon as that spark of enthusiasm re-entered his eyes, the man's demeanor became very familiar. But no matter how Harry thought on it for the rest of that day, he just couldn't put his finger on where he'd seen it before.

… … …

That Friday afternoon was Harry's first Quidditch match. For once, Harry's Boy-Who-Lived persona and Harry himself were feeling the same nervousness for the same reasons. Thankfully, Fred and George were there to lighten the heavy, tense atmosphere by taking over Wood's before-game speech.

However, the nervousness returned to the team as they entered the Quidditch stadium to loud cheers from ¾ of the school. Despite the biting November winds, Harry's hands grew sweaty on the handle of his Nimbus Two Thousand, a gift from McGonagall upon joining the team.

The Team Captains shook hands, the balls were released, and the players took off. As soon as Harry was in the air, all his nerves took a backseat to the exhilaration he always felt when flying, the feeling that he'd been released from all his duties on the ground. After a few laps of the pitch, he took his place high above the game and out of the action.

He heard the commentary in the corner of his mind as he calmly searched for the Snitch. The Slytherins were playing dirty, it seemed, and the Gryffindors were stepping it up in response. He had to dodge incoming Bludgers a couple of times, but Fred and George were always there in an instant to redirect the deadly iron balls.

About fifteen minutes in, Harry caught sight of the Snitch hovering thirty or so feet down and in front of him. A quick look around showed the other Seeker trying to get in the way of the Gryffindor Chasers' play. This was a strategy Wood wanted to teach Harry in the near future. He would have been down there if he knew what he was doing, but in this instant he was glad he didn't yet know the techniques necessary to pull it off. Out of nowhere, he tipped his broom on a sharp angle down towards the elusive golden ball.

He caught the Snitch in a firm grasp even before the Nimbus Two Thousand had hit full speed, and just like that, the game was over.

Author's Note:

So, what do you think of my magic system? XD I've heard many explanations, but I don't know if I've heard this one in its entirety before. If you have, let me know. I tend to borrow things from people, then forget where they came from…

Any guesses why Quirrell's demeanor is familiar? :P (That was a joke. Sorry.)

Notice the lack of tampering with Harry's broom? I wonder why? (This time I actually do know the answer. :P) Here starts the trust of Quirrell and a lack of distrusting Snape. Where this goes we shall see (the "we" also includes me, because honestly, my characters are the ones driving here). Harry knows the story behind Snape thanks to Tom's memories, but could the Boy-Who-Lived see past his bullying ways to request help from him if an emergency situation came up? Would Snape even help him if he did ask? Is this a spoiler or is it just a theoretical question?

My chapters have definitely lengthened. I just have so much I want to fit in, and then I reach a certain point and decide that's more than enough. I like the length they are now. What do you guys think?