Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter, but I do own this story and the ideas behind it.

Feedback - always appreciated, thank you.

My thanks to Fyreheart, who gave special permission to use a chapter out of his wonderful What If one-shots, the one-shot in question is Chapter 3 - Silent Vigil, where Harry goes to McGonagall, and discovers to his disappointment she doesn't remember what Halloween did to him, and she had taught his parents for seven years.

Author's note - I received some rather offensive Guest reviews concerning this story. Mostly how cliche this story is. Let me ask you something - How many original ideas for Harry Potter are there? Harry Potter has been on Fanfiction since the 90s and you can find different takes on various ideas every day. Time travel stories - go to the time travel communities, you're bound to find something there. Dark Harry - dozens, too many to count. Female Harry - again, too many to count.

Virtually every idea has been done already. To the guest reviewer, whoever you are, if you have an original idea then write one for yourself, and then find out if it's cliche or not, otherwise don't waste my time.

To my other reviewers, my apologies. But I get so frustrated with people who don't have anything better to do with their time.

Anyway, on with the chapter.

Bad Impression.

The classroom was perfect, and it gave the impression Hogwarts had either once taught more subjects than what was being taught today in this century or it taught subjects that had been lost in the mists of time, but Harry didn't care. It had taken him days to fully explore a large chunk of the castle. Hogwarts was vast. The stone corridors and passageways were a bit of a maze, so Harry had needed to use red spray paint to make markers so then he could find his way before becoming confident enough to find his own route.

It was clear these corridors and dusty old classrooms had barely been touched for decades. Desks were covered with layer upon layer of dust and spiderwebs, the sight of which made Harry smirk - let Ron Weasley come in here without freaking out. He had discovered the redheaded moron's fear very quickly, and he had capitalised on it a dozen times over. It might have been cruel since it had terrorised Weasley, but Harry felt justified since the little shit and his bitch of a mother were plotting to steal his family's money, and marry him off with that girl.

It had been a month since he'd arrived at Hogwarts and he was already thinking of escaping the morons in Gryffindor tower. Sleeping in a room with two boys who could recite the lyrical buzz of the chainsaw in the Texas Chainsaw massacre was bad enough, but having to put up with one boy (the redheaded twonk) and his attempts to become friends was becoming a chore.

Even now Harry was angry about how he'd been manipulated into being sorted as a Gryffindor. It hadn't taken him long to realise he didn't like any of the Gryffindors. It didn't help that they had forced him into playing that stupid game Quidditch, and if he had known he was that good at flying then he wouldn't have suddenly gone after Neville's Remembrall like that.

Harry shook his head as he remembered that flying lesson. Didn't the stupid wizards know anything about Health and safety? The brooms looked like they were a second away from being turned into kindling just by being sat on, never mind being flown. Harry had raised the issue, not really being afraid to with Madam Hooch; the woman had given him a long suffering look, and told him she had raised the concern a thousand times each year, but the Board of Governors refused to hand over the cash, even though they had it in abundance. The more Harry lived in the magical world, and he'd only been living in it for a few months, the more he realised how bent the people were.

Malfoy had jeered at him, calling him a coward because he was afraid of a broomstick, but Harry had ignored the blonde fucker though he had promised himself to kill the moron at some point if he went too far. Unfortunately Neville Longbottom had proved his fears right - he had zoomed around the place, completely out of control, the front of the broom smashing a few times into a wall, and then he'd crash-landed into the ground with a broken wrist. The remembrall he'd then had rolled right into Malfoy's hands.

The blonde had thrown it away, and Harry had gone after it. He wasn't trying to prove anything to himself, he knew how good he was, and besides, he had survived child killers, gang fights, even people chasing after him, if he could survive that then he could survive this stupid school. He had flown after the stupid glass ball, wondering how Neville's grandmother could be so stupid to send it to him when a notebook he could write little details down would've been better since then he could recall things easier than holding a glass ball that filled with red smoke whenever he'd forgotten something - how was he supposed to know what he'd forgotten? All the stupid thing did was just remind him he'd forgotten something, not what he'd forgotten for god's sake?

Truthfully, he didn't know why he'd gone after it.

Part of him liked to think it was to get back at Malfoy, to make the blonde twat look foolish, but another part was telling him it was because, unlike many of the other Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom wasn't as pretentious. Everyone else seemed determined to be his friend in some manner and it was getting annoying.

His new spot on the Quidditch team had soon become public knowledge because Oliver Wood wouldn't stop going on about it. Harry had quickly found the tower unbearable, and so he'd found the perfect place to get away. True, they were a few abandoned classrooms, but since this part of the school was practically abandoned, and Filch and his mangy cat probably didn't see the point in patrolling this part of the school Harry was safe to convert the place into his own little kingdom. The only things missing were a bed, something to provide warmth, and a bathroom (no way was he going to bother with the bathrooms in this part of the school, fuck only knew the state of them at the moment), but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Getting to the classrooms to clean them out wasn't really that difficult, finding time for them was since he had lessons and also had to cope with Weasley following him around like a puppy, trying to cosy up to him and become his friend.

Frankly, his efforts would be rejected even without the knowledge he and his family were planning to con him into marrying that red headed girl of their's and steal his family fortune, but he couldn't forget and forgive the way the kids in Surrey had treated him.

After flicking his wand for the final time, Harry admired the work he'd just finished. The classroom had been caked with so much muck and dust he had been leaving footsteps in it, but after a few wand flicks the rooms were practically ready. He vanished the old furniture which was falling apart, and tried looking for a replacement table, a couple of chairs, and a bed when he came to that little problem.

But there was one room, he was focusing on the most.

An art studio, converted out of an old classroom. He'd cleaned out most of the space, repairing only a few basics - he'd vanished the majority of old classroom furniture because it was useless, but in the art room he'd kept a few and spent time repairing and cleaning them. Now he had plans for Halloween.

A slow sigh escaped Harry's lips as he thought about the bloody day. The Dursleys had never let him forget that Halloween was the day he had ended up in their so called care, and each year they would take great delight in physically or psychologically tormenting him about how he'd lost his parents. But after his escape from Privet Drive, he hadn't really bothered to think much about the stupid festival anyway, but he'd always found ways to keep himself busy so then he could forget Lily and James Potter. Petunia might have told him the truth - not that she'd had much choice at the time - about how they had both died, but after he'd learnt how they had been hunted by Voldemort….. He came to see them both as weak, weak because instead of coming up with a better plan, they had both died.

But Harry was grateful to them since it meant he had grown stronger for it, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling they would have wanted him to be happy, not abused, not alone, not hounded for something he couldn't even remember when he was being mobbed by idiot wizards in the streets.

People at Hogwarts were talking about Halloween, giving no thought at all about what it meant for him, but he hoped to avoid it this year. He'd managed it for years, having had better things to do with his time. He had made a tradition a few years back, he would hide himself away with some food and drink, he'd started drinking cider or other alcohols after using a disguise to buy it without giving a fuck about those stupid laws about it not being suitable for kids, and he'd spend his time brooding on his own, watching a movie (if he could get inside a house), or he would spend his time smashing up the fronts of shops and using a baseball bat on cars to get rid of the pent up rage he had always felt towards his parents for being weak, for Voldemort for murdering them and leaving him alone, for Dumbledore who'd dropped him off at the Dursleys and didn't have a thought about coming back to check on his progress there, for the Dursleys for constantly reminding him that Halloween was the day he'd been orphaned.

Harry had also found a more peaceful way to get through the night. He would hole himself up somewhere, and graffiti walls. He had gotten into graffiti a couple of years ago, and he had become very good at it once he'd gotten the basics, but most of it was easy enough to learn. The only problem with spray paint was it was expensive to buy the paints, but thanks to the money he had now at Gringotts and a deal with the goblins who apparently hated muggle money so much they gave it out to him for free to stick into a bank account in the muggle world that wasn't an issue anymore, and getting it all at Hogwarts wasn't difficult. Bargain. The more muggleborns that came into the magical world, the more cash he'd get for free, and they'd been stockpiling it for years. Give it a whirl with accounts being opened in different cities under different names, and he'd have a fortune. Steal a few things, maybe even see other branches of business, and he may never need to steal again.

Harry knew that a feast had been laid on for Halloween, but he didn't want to be there. He wanted to continue his traditions, but while he was tempted to just go ahead and stay in the rooms he'd sorted out he didn't want to try his luck and attract unnecessary attention towards himself.

"Mr Potter, please come in," Professor McGonagall said as she escorted him into her office.

Harry did as he was told, his eyes scanning the neatly arranged office of the Transfiguration's professor, but he paid them no attention as he focused on his Head of House.

"Have a seat," the professor instructed, gesturing towards one of the empty chairs in front of her desk. "What can I do for you?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I am not going to attend the Halloween feast, Professor," he said solemnly as he looked at his Head of House, deciding to get to the point, though he had never been one for small talk.

"Why, are you ill, Mr Potter? You should know the Halloween feast is mandatory," McGonagall said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I am in perfect health, Professor," he replied, "but with all respect, I would like an exemption from the feast for tonight. Surely you know why it's important?"

The Transfiguration professor didn't hide the annoyance in her voice. "Mr Potter, you are not special to deserve concessions-"

"Don't call me special!" Harry interrupted, hissing with fury, unable to control himself as he began losing his temper.

McGonagall was furious. "Mr Potter-!" Unfortunately, that was the snapping point.

"Don't call me special! How dare you sit there and tell me that, without bothering to work out why I want to be exempted from sitting at the feast. Did it ever occur to you what this day means to me when people are celebrating it?!" Harry snapped, his voice rising with each syllable. He knew he was going too far, but this idiots foolishness was really pushing his limits.

McGonagall's anger faded into an expression of confusion. "What do you mean, what does this day mean to you?" she asked.

Harry closed his eyes. "Professor," he ground out, "stop using your mouth, start using your brain, and think about what you know about me, and about Halloween?"

He had to restrain the urge to add think to the question, but it was such a near thing; he was so sick and tired of everyone from the teachers and the staff thinking they knew everything about him, especially with all the lies about how he loved his fame (if he ever caught the prick who thought it was a good idea to write stupid books about his life and presenting them as 'facts,' then they would need to invest in a good tombstone, if witches and wizards were indeed buried) and be caught out when they didn't know anything about him at all.

Surprisingly, it took McGonagall a while to actually get an idea of what he was talking about, when she did, he had the sadistic satisfaction of seeing the woman pale and clap a hand to her mouth.

"Mr Potter," she said, her voice more quieter, more respectful after her recent blow up, "I'm sorry-"

Harry held up his hand, his expression hard, stony and cold. "I would like to spend the Halloween alone, and I don't want to be bothered then or ever," he said as if McGonagall hadn't spoken.

"Yes, yes of course," Minerva replied, but she was worried and scared. She was worried that the boy she had known as a bubbly, cheerful baby was so cold and so seemingly apathetic, but she was more scared that she had forgotten about the significance about Halloween for him. For the last decade, Minerva McGonagall and everybody else had celebrated Halloween, and it had never occurred to her how it would look to the boy, the last Potter, to see how the Wizarding world seemed to celebrate his parent's deaths even though truthfully they had forgotten the cost of the defeat of You-Know-Who.

"Right, I think we're done here," Harry said, clearly wanting to get out of the room, not that the old witch could blame him, "I hope you will ensure the other teachers know and don't interfere?" he added.

Minerva nodded sadly as she watched him leave the room, knowing that one or two of the staff would definitely try to interfere with the boy's wishes to be left alone. Albus would try to definitely get the boy to look beyond the deaths of his parents and move on, and would use the night as a means to get the boy to open up about what he had been doing for the last few years.

And Severus….. Minerva rubbed her eyes, wondering what was so special about Severus despite the fact he had been a supposedly repentant Death Eater who'd turned spy, not that it had done much good in the long run since Dumbledore had never seemed to act on any information Snape had provided to make any headway during those terrible last few years of the war since all Dumbledore had done was try to protect Snape.

Minerva had no idea if she could keep Severus from going after the boy to force him to attend the feast, out of some sick sadistic pleasure to make him suffer for all the bullying James Potter had inflicted on him when they'd attended Hogwarts together, but she doubted the boy would take it lying down. From what she'd heard from whispers and reports from various sources, the more reliable coming from the less biased teachers that said Potter was nothing like Lily and James, in fact he was quiet, introverted and preferred his own company despite the numerous attempts by students to get him to sit with them and 'hang out' but she had heard how violent the boy could be, as Draco Malfoy had found out.

She didn't know the details, but from what she had heard Potter had punched the Malfoy scion in the face hard enough to knock out one of the blond's teeth after Malfoy had said something to the boy to push him that far, and considering how Potter usually shrugged off insults and ignored Malfoy, who was already shaping up to be the bully of the first year students, it must've been substantial.

Harry left the office and took a deep breath, thankful that his metamorphic ability hadn't shown up; he'd learnt recently, thanks to small encounters with Malfoy that when he got mad slight changes to his default appearance just showed up, like a slight change of colour to his hair and eyes, but fortunately Malfoy was too obtuse to notice anything. The only reason Harry knew was because it happened in a boy's toilet, and Harry had been facing the mirror at the time, making it easy for him to get with it and restore the default appearance. That had been lucky, if it had been revealed…..

He had made the mistake of revealing his ability to Hagrid, who had probably blabbed it to Dumbledore since he had such a hard on for the old wizard, and he had no intention of revealing it to anybody else, never mind Malfoy or Snape.

Thinking of Malfoy made him shake his head in irritation - Snape was one thing, but at least he didn't have to deal with the greasy fuck all day. He just didn't understand what Malfoy was hoping to achieve by attempting to rile him up, one thing was for sure the boy had gotten what was coming when he'd punched the blond in her mouth.

He'd gotten into trouble over it with Snape, but Harry was seriously thinking of finding some way of killing the pair of them with something quick, painless, and untraceable.

When Halloween came, Harry just counted down the hours so he could get away from the other students. He had received a letter posted by McGonagall - once more the woman offered sincere apologies, but she mentioned she had gotten him an exemption for the Halloween feast and even instructions for how to get into the kitchens in case he got hungry. Harry was thankful for the information, since it gave him an edge in case anything went wrong in the next few years and he couldn't attend the feasts anymore, and put the letter away when Weasley began poking his nose in again. It was strange - he had punched Malfoy because the blond was annoying, yet Weasley was annoying, just as annoying as Granger was.

The rest of the day was the same old - he would trudge with the rest of the first years, past the other years, and then go into the classrooms, learn a few things and leave. But he couldn't deny he was learning magic after spending so much of his time putting up and struggling with a trial and error system that was only good in actual emergencies than actually making it happen deliberately and freely whenever he'd wished.

The only problem was the Ollivander wand - it might have 'chosen' him (he'd have to look up wand lore at some point to figure out if wands did choose the wizard as Ollivander said), but when Harry used it, he felt like the wand was being forced to help him cast the spells in the first place, and yet when he used magic for the custom wand he'd purchased the spells he used were more powerful, and more effective. He had the feeling that Ollivander had conned him into buying the wand in the first place, and he was thankful he was only using the fucking thing in his classes and not all the time and was using the custom wand to test them out. If magic was a river, then the custom wand was like a river flowing freely whereas using the Ollivander wand was the equivalent of his magic being blocked off by a dam, but he didn't have a clue why Ollivander would give him such a faulty wand in the first place.

"…..She's a nightmare," Ron Weasley's irritating voice broke through his thoughts as he walked amongst the first years away from their recent Charms lesson. "No wonder she doesn't have any friends!" he added, speaking to his idiot cronies, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, who laughed themselves sick like it was the best joke they'd ever heard in their short, miserable pointless lives. Harry was thankful Weasley had latched on to Thomas and Finnegan as friends, but while he found the redhead obnoxious and irritating he had to give the guy marks for effort.

Unfortunately the boy had been annoying him all day…..

But he didn't have time to think about that because he felt someone shoulder past him, Harry caught the glimpse of a head of long, bushy brown hair. Hermione Granger stormed past Harry, clutching her books close to her chest, and he was sure he caught the sight of tears making their way down the girl's cheeks.

Harry paused for a second, hardly surprised Weasley was causing other people problems - he had already begun mocking Longbottom for things Harry couldn't be bothered finding out, though he had the feeling it had something to do with the rotund boy's inability to fly. Harry thought it a bit rich that Weasley could deride other student's inabilities when he wasn't a straight A student himself.

But he was surprised by the feeling he had suddenly - he felt sorry for Granger, a girl he had never really spoken to aside to tell her to fuck off whenever she nagged him and the other first years, and even a few older students, into studying hard like she did, but he knew his sympathy had little to do with her feelings and more to do with his own burning annoyance towards Weasley.

Harry followed Granger to the girl's bathrooms - oh how pathetic, he thought to himself with a mental sneer at the other first year's immaturity - he was too far behind for the girl to notice him following her, and he walked in, ignoring the girl who was coming out who squeaked in shock when she saw him, but he was more interested in Granger.

He didn't know why he was doing this. He'd never really had much time for Granger. He found her attitudes to life and her black and white view of the world annoying and more than a little worrying because the magical world had thrown her clean out of her comfort zone, but he guessed he was trying to be nice as opposed to who he really was.

The bushy haired muggleborn wasn't hard to find in the bathroom - she was sniffling behind the closed door of one of the cubicles, but as Harry approached the cubicle, he paused as he wondered what he was going to say; he had never been good with offering comfort, but then again no one had ever offered him comfort even during that time at the foster home in Brighton.

"Are you alright?" he asked, deciding to get it over and done with.

"Potter? What are you doing in the girl's bathroom? You shouldn't be in here!"

Harry's jaw clenched in annoyance. She was going on about rules when she was upset? Typical. "I'm only here to see if you're alright," he ground out, "I don't know what set Weasley off this time, but he does that; lashes out at everyone around him whenever their backs are turned or to their faces, and always because they are either better than him or just an easy target. What did you do?"

Granger's voice was still shaky, sounding like she was a moment away from crying like a three year old who hadn't received the Christmas present she'd wanted. "I tried to help him in charms," she explained, "I corrected the pronunciation of the spell he was using, tried to stop him from poking someone's eye out when he was waving his wand around…."

"And when you demonstrated it, he flew into a fit of jealousy?" Harry sighed, remembering Professor Flitwick praising her for getting the levitation spell right. "Yeah, I've seen it."

He had. He had managed to transfigure a mouse into a ball only a week ago, and Weasley had pushed his face close to Harry's like he thought it would intimidate the black haired boy, said that the Boy Who Lived didn't need to show everyone else up, but Harry had ignored him even if it was tempting to simply break his neck. But he hadn't because the redhead was too insignificant at the time for him to bother.

"And that's when he spewed out to his brainless cronies you were a nightmare and you didn't have any friends?" Harry went on.

"You heard that?"

Harry snorted. "Bit hard not to when Weasley has a voice you can hear from Aberdeen," he replied. "So, you came here to cry?" He couldn't help but sneer at the last word of the question. He had long since abandoned the need to cry because he had nothing in the world to cry for.

"I thought you were here to make me feel better."

"I can tell you one thing, holing yourself in here, crying, will just make things worse," Harry said, though he wondered if he was making the right decision saying what he was going to say. "Granger, this school…..it's the equivalent of Secondary school, basically. Do you honestly think others are going to take a girl crying? No. They're not, they're gonna bully you if they hear you crying, holed up inside a bathroom cubicle, and you're not exactly popular in the school as it is."

Not giving Granger the chance to argue back, he went on. "Do you really think your popular with all your nagging? I can tell you, you're not. Why is it you just nag people to study up and do brilliantly in class, and yet whenever someone gets a higher mark than you do, you throw a temper tantrum and storm off to the library? You're like a little girl who doesn't get what she wants with that attitude, the only thing missing is you stomping your foot," Harry said, his mind conjuring memories of Dudley yelling at his parents and doing exactly the same thing Granger was more or less doing before he shook his head; while it had been fun seeing Dudley Dursley angry with his parents because they hadn't done what he'd wanted, this wasn't the time to think about them.

Unfortunately, his silence had given Granger the time needed to regain her confidence. "How DARE YOU-!" she began, but he was quick.

"Shut your mouth!" Harry snapped forcefully. "I'm right and you know it. Why do you do it, Granger, why is it you keep nagging people to study and yet you throw yourself into a rage just because someone does better than you? It's stupid!"

There was no reply from the other side of the cubicle; clearly its current occupant was stunned by how forceful he'd been.

Harry relaxed a bit and carried on, "Listen to me. What is it to you if they don't do well in their exams? What is it to you if they leave Hogwarts with terrible marks? Why should you care if they can't get good jobs because they have terrible grades because they didn't care about their futures? It's THEIR PROBLEM, not yours. You're not our mum," he said, adding himself to show Granger he was with everybody else who'd been annoyed by her, "and we don't you to be."

"I-I was only trying to help," Granger tried to say.

"If that were true, then you would have just told people to study up," Harry pointed out brutally. "But whenever someone got a good mark, you'd throw a fit. Take last week when Sprout awarded Neville Longbottom 5 points for getting the planting of that thing right," he said, not even pretending to care about what they'd been doing. Gardening had never been one of his favourite times at the Dursleys, why should herbology be any different? "What did you do? You threw a fit because Neville Longbottom, a guy who doesn't really do well in any class, did brilliantly in herbology class and gained points for it, and instead of being pleased for him because he's clearly gifted in that stupid class, you accuse him of cheating before you run up to the library! Why can't you let other people answer questions for a change, hand in good homework for subjects that are out of your comfort zone, and just grow the fuck up?"

Harry didn't know if Granger was about to say something back as a retort, not with the door in the way, but he didn't give her a chance to respond.

"Look Granger, you're clearly smart. Let the others like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown botch up their lives; let's face it, Ron Weasley's never going to amount to anything even if his mother forced Dumbledore into allowing him back into the school. Weasley is too obsessed with chess and his own stomach to care about lessons, and even when someone does better than him, which happens every day, he is too jealous to get it into his thick skull he could do better if he applies himself; you and I could do that easily, so could anybody with some common sense, but not Weasley, and he grew up aware of the magical world. In the future, perhaps he might look back on his life and wished he'd done things different, but I doubt he has the brain power to look beyond his own faults."

Harry sighed and leaned against the cubicle. He had said too much, he was out of breath after talking to someone he didn't even like, but he was just so tired of Granger's one track view of the world.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Granger's question was quiet and judging by the thoughtful tone in her voice, she was clearly curious about what had made Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, possibly the most famous person in the school barring Albus Dumbledore, hate someone like Ron Weasley.

Harry was a little surprised by the question, but he supposed he should have expected it since he had focused on Weasley's bad points more than anybody else in the school. "That, Granger, is my concern alone; it has nothing to do with you," Harry replied in a harsh tone he hoped just told the girl to stay clear of it before he decided to leave. "Think about what I've said, and just focus on yourself because let me tell you, no-body else will; you are on your own. The teachers are not going to come and comfort you 'cause mummy and daddy aren't here for you," he went on, knowing it was slightly immature to call Granger's parents that, but he wanted the girl to see she had to be a grown up herself rather than a big kid whose body was the only thing growing older. "I speak from experience - no one cares about comforting kids, not even McGonagall. See you around, Granger."

Harry walked out of the girl's bathroom, ignoring the sound of Granger calling for him to come back.

"Does master wants something else to eat?"

Harry chuckled through the mouthful of succulent roast chicken he was currently trying to get through at the moment. "No, thanks," he replied once the majority of the meat had been swallowed. "I'm fine for now, but I'll let you know."

The house elf grinned, not at all abashed by the refusal and went back to work. Taking a generous sip of butter beer - he might prefer cider and stronger spirits, but the house elves were clearly under orders he couldn't counter to not give the students' alcohol stronger than ordinary beer or even rum - he couldn't help but smile at the house elves who were working themselves off, but they weren't unhappy. Instead, they were pleased and happy to be working.

Harry had to do some research into the lives of house elves, but he didn't think it was anything for him to worry about unless they were being mistreated - he didn't know why he cared so much, but there was something about the house elves that tugged at his heart strings. It could have been the fact they reminded him of himself - tiny, expected to cook for others when they were probably more than capable of getting up off their arses to put in some effort, though he doubted Draco Malfoy's mother was even prepared to do that type of work - but unlike himself, the house elves here didn't seem abused, they weren't cowering away in fear of being beaten up because they were trying to compensate for their height and their inability to see what they were doing, but he had the feeling it was much different in other places where houses elves worked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. He would think about that later, though truthfully he didn't see why it should matter to him; he wasn't here to hold hands of other people and shield them away from a world that was rotten on the inside.

His mind turned to Granger. He didn't know for sure if the bushy haired muggleborn girl had left the girl's bathroom by now, but what she had said still continued to nag him (it frustrated him that even when she hadn't meant it to nag him, her question did just that) about why he hated Ron Weasley.

Truthfully Harry preferred Weasley to remain out of sight, out of mind more than anything else, but this morning… His mind went back to breakfast.

Harry was eating alone as was his custom, and he was close to the doors of the great hall in case of trouble when the unwelcome presence of Ron Weasley announced itself.

"Hey Harry!" The loud voice of the obnoxious redhead boomed, shocking Harry so much he almost dropped his spoon, and he had to endure the sight of Ron Weasley sitting down on the bench opposite him. The boy pulled a number of platters containing eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns and piled amounts that only Dudley could have managed to eat in one go.

Harry didn't bother answering, he just went back to eating his breakfast. Unfortunately Weasley wouldn't shut up, so Harry tuned him out. But the thick moron had to say something else. "Hey, Harry, you're a bit glum today. What's up? This is the day you beat You Know Who. Cheer up!"

Harry glared at the moron, and out of the corner of his eye, he could already see some of the most forward thinking and sensitive members of the House glare at the idiot.

"It's also the day my parents were murdered, you fucking moron!" Harry hissed, wishing he could call the bastard something stronger than a moron, but he didn't want to make any of the Weasleys suspicious of him when he hadn't even spoken to the twins or Perfect Prefect Percy if he accidentally revealed to them, he'd overheard the plans to steal what little he had left; a fortune may not sound like much, but while he might not have any family that he knew of, he wasn't going to let anybody take what he had left, especially people as greedy as this fuckers' family.

Harry stood up, picking up his bowl and his bag and he walked away and looked somewhere else to sit and eat. After he found himself a decent seat, he ate furiously wondering what he could do to make Weasley, all of them, pay the price.

As he sat down, he wondered what it would take for the moron to realise bringing up someone's dead parents and they should celebrate it on the day of their deaths was a bad idea, but he doubted it. Weasley lacked the intelligence for such thinking.

Harry shook his head and resumed eating of his meal, putting Weasley out of his mind as he ate. He might consider his parents as weak for not doing what he himself would've done in their place, but he didn't know their situation well enough to judge them, but they were his parents. Glancing up at the ceiling, knowing that everyone (including Granger if she'd swallowed her immaturity) was at the feast for a second before he looked down again. He wondered if he really wanted to go to the small den he'd made out of those classrooms in that abandoned part of the castle, or if he should just stay down here until it was fairly late. When McGonagall had given him the route and instructions for how to get into the kitchens, he hadn't expected to stay in the kitchens, but there was something about the house elves that were genuine. Indeed, apart from a few he'd met so far, the house elves were genuine - they didn't corner him, asking him to show his scar, didn't call him the Boy Who Lived or whatever, and they didn't seem interested in what he'd done tonight eleven years before.

Instead, they went around the kitchen, cooking and laughing to themselves, chatting in their voices with their limited understanding of English and asked him if he wanted anything else to eat, but otherwise they seemed happy to just leave him to it. After he was finished, he reached out for the pudding he'd asked for, and he ate the apple pie with warm custard and let out a slight moan of approval before taking a swig of butter beer. He was beginning to think he should be coming down here more often.

Harry was about to leave the kitchen to head upstairs, though what he would do after he left the kitchens he didn't know just yet when he heard the elves cry out in alarm.

"What is it?" he asked them frantically as they ran about the kitchens, putting away their tools, plates while shoving platters of food into massive cupboards that reminded Harry of the inside of a fridge.

"Troll, Master! There be a troll in the school!" One of the elves said not even trying to hide the fear all of the house elves were feeling, the voice high pitched enough to tell Harry it was a female elf.

Harry grabbed one of the elves. "Calm down, and tell me about trolls; I've only been in the magical world a short time, so why are you panicking?"

"Trolls be very dangerous, master," the elf replied, following his order to calm down. "They also be very stupid, they should not be's in the castle."

"What can they do?" Harry asked.

"They be smashing the school up, master," the elf answered, looking impatiently around clearly wanting to resume getting the kitchen sorted, "they be killing the students."

So much for Hogwarts being the so called safest place in Britain, Harry thought darkly to himself as he remembered what Hagrid had told him when they'd gone to Gringotts together the day after the massive Keeper of Keys had visited him in the muggle world. "Is there anything I can do to help; with the troll in the school, I doubt it would be safe for me, and I like keeping myself occupied-"

"No master," another elf interrupted firmly, "you stays and sits at the table you sat at, and let us do the work."

"Yes, we's keep busy," a second elf added while in the middle of clicking her fingers (her voice gave her away) and instantly turning down the fires. "Yous the wizard, we be house elves, you no need to do anything."

Harry didn't like the sound of that reply though he knew it was not his business to get in the way; if there was one thing he hated, it was other people forcing others to do the work when they were more than capable of doing it themselves, but there were times when even he knew it was necessary. But Harry was bothered by the way the house elves seemed to think that they didn't matter in the grand scheme of things compared to them.

Sighing in frustration, he sat down at the table again and watched as the house elves meticulously sorted the kitchens out. The Hogwarts kitchens were vast. Harry had been to many places in his life, and the only thing he could think of that even remotely matched the size of the kitchens was the entrance and reception area of the Science museum in London.

Seeing the four long tables in watching the house elves deposit food onto them before they disappeared gave Harry a clue about the way the school fed everyone in the different houses while bringing down platters and bowls back down again when the students were finished with them. Harry had looked over the preparation areas with a professional eye, and knew that while she wouldn't have liked the presence of the house elves and deemed them freaks like she had deemed him and his mother, Petunia Dursley would have grudgingly admitted the house elves knew what they were doing.

The house elves quickly cleaned the kitchens ready for when they would use it, and Harry was curious about whether they slept or not because they must have been slaving all day to make all of this food when he noticed a small group of house elves chatting to each other, the general air of relief spreading through the labyrinth kitchens, and the elves began smiling happily again.

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously.

"The troll be gone, master," one of the elves relied.

"Is it dead?"

"Yes, master," the elf's large ears lowered slightly as though saddened by the loss, though the look of relief was still present, "trolls be too dangerous to keeps or tames, so they has to be killed, especially in a school."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Is it safe for me to leave?" he asked.

"Oh yes, it be safe master," another elf replied; Harry wished they wouldn't keep calling him master, but he would worry about that later.

"Thanks for dinner and pudding," Harry said as he prepared to leave, but he wasn't expecting the reaction he got.

"Master…..thanks us!" One of the elves cried.

"Master is so kind!"

Harry left the kitchens, his ears ringing with the praise of the house elves.

Author's note - Hermione isn't really going to have much of a role. She's going to be the naggy type of character, if I can be bothered to add her, but she will think of Harry Potter once or twice. Who knows, she might actually take up some of his advice though she probably will be naggy?