Advisory Whatever: This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. It has: Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.
A/N: Right, so… my haphazard schedule was further thrown by two weeks of ear infection, followed by an on-off dose of hay-fever, paperwork, and a bit of brooding. This chapter… frustrating. I hope it turned out fine for all the trouble it gave me. A bit short but I stuffed a bit in here... I guess it's not entirely laid back a story, but as long as it's happy doing as it pleases I suppose it's fine. Next chapter should finally be moving into December if what I type decides to obey my notes this time rather than force me to rewrite my notes to suit the story. And I still haven't edited some mistakes I found in earlier chapters with grammar and this no-sense-making thing where the twins have 2 galleons before Harry's donation that I need to change to sickles...
I'll be busier soon but I'll work on this even if I manage only 50 words a week!
CHAPTER 10 - A Sense of Adventure
Blaise always thought that Harry's room was interesting. It looked messy, but everything was actually in order. The bed was certainly always made, though that may be from disuse. There was a hammock hanging up in one corner, reminding him slightly of a spider's web if spider's webs were green and brown. Books were everywhere, sorted into piles in spots assigned for specific classes. Work stations, of a sort. Harry would finish with one essay and leave it to dry, rolling around on the floor to reach the next assignment. Blaise always thought it was easier to do the homework as it was given. It made no sense to him to put it off and have to do it all at once. He remarked on this several times, always receiving the same guilty smile telling him that it was flaw rather than a preference. So this time he didn't bother saying anything about it. He sat at the neglected chair and reread the book Harry had lent him.
"I'm finished," Harry sighed, "though McGonagall will dock points for it being a centimeter short."
"Why not add more?" Blaise wondered.
"It felt finished. I don't like adding useless stuff." Harry shrugged and stood to stretch.
Blaise closed the book and put it down on the desk behind him. He looked thoughtfully at his ever cheerful housemate. The only one he could stand outside of class. It wasn't really true that Harry disliked useless things—he wouldn't chatter so much if he did. It was more likely that he was just in a hurry.
"Because it takes time away?" he asked.
Harry grinned at him. "You've caught me."
He shrugged and didn't respond, though he did watch curiously as Harry fished around in his pockets. His arm went in elbow deep before he apparently found what he was looking for. He paused and looked over to Blaise with a curious expression.
"Want to come along?" he offered.
Blaise considered it. "It has been boring lately."
Harry snorted. "There've been accidents left and right."
"Longbottom is considered normal now," he muttered.
The clumsy Gryffindor was the subject of a lot of mockery to begin with, but everyone was used to him. Trips, stumbles, and potions explosions now only had students sighing and getting out of the way. People could get used to things so easily if they were exposed to them often enough. Things like towering castles, inky black lakes full of dangerous creatures, and potentially fatal explosions. Hogwarts had its fair share of mysteries and Blaise was sure that he hadn't seen half of them. He just needed to go out of his way to find them now that the public ones were no longer remarkable.
"Where to?" Blaise asked.
Harry grinned and pulled a cloak from his pocket. It was long, silver, and spilled over his hands to pool on the floor like liquid. An invisibility cloak of very high quality. It was no surprise that the hyper-secretive Potters would own one. Blaise pulled his stare back to the face of his housemate.
"Anywhere we want," Harry told him smugly.
A pleased feeling stirred in his chest and he found himself smiling back very faintly, very quickly.
-()_()_()-
"It's right here!" Hermione quietly exclaimed. "Just wait until you see it."
Camellia followed warily but quickly, ignoring the chill of apprehension in her stomach. Hermione was pulling her through the third floor, heading straight for the corridor that their Headmaster had forbidden the exploration of. If what Hermione was so enthused about was the very thing that would cause the painful deaths of whoever carelessly approached, she was going to have words with the girl. The incident with the troll must have had the opposite effect than it should have. Rather than making Hermione a little more cautious, the fight apparently made her bolder.
Hermione grabbed the handle of a door and yanked it open more forcefully than needed. Hesitantly, Camellia stepped forward. Then she stopped just shy of the threshold and didn't dare move an inch more.
"Oh you've got to be joking," she breathed, head shaking.
"Isn't it amazing?" Hermione asked. "I've read all sorts of myths and fantasy tales before, but I didn't really think about it. I'm here in a magical world now and those creatures are real and I didn't even realize it, not even after the troll. Not until Neville ran into me looking white as a sheet and told me about this! Camellia I can't believe I was just treating this place like any other school. There's so much to learn that I could never see in the muggle world. It's like a fairy tale!"
Camellia could barely focus on Hermione's happy babbling. Her eyes were on the enormous hellhound that was seated in the corner of the unused classroom, tail thumping on the floor. All three heads were panting, tongues lolling between massive teeth and dripping thick globs of saliva.
"You've been casting spells for several months now and it didn't sink in?" she asked disbelievingly.
Her friend shrugged sheepishly and turned back to the hellhound that was still staring at them. She brushed off Camellia's incredulity and returned to her original topic.
"I want to go in," Hermione admitted, "but even though he looks friendly enough, I'm not sure if it's a good idea."
"No," Camellia said slowly, "it probably isn't."
She had an appreciation for beasts, having grown up in the middle of a wild forest. It wasn't nearly as strong as Harry's, and she tended to keep her distance even as her brother approached and sometimes played with all sorts of creatures. She always just watched and was content with that. Her mind was not changed. There was no doubt in her thoughts that this was the very thing the Headmaster was warning them against approaching. The question of why Dumbledore was kenneling such a beast had no answer that she could think of. For all she knew, he could be involved in a beast smuggling ring and using the castle as his base of operations.
"What are you two doing here?"
Camellia whirled around, heart racing, and she noticed Hermione do the same. Due to their spell of panic it took a moment for them to register who it was that had spoken. Camellia huffed quietly when she realized and forced herself to calm down.
"Harry?" Hermione tentatively confirmed.
He adjusted his glasses—something Camellia knew was pointless due to the enchantments on it to prevent slipping—and offered them both a smile. Zabini was behind him eyeing the hellhound with vague surprise.
"I see you've found Fluffy," Harry said conversationally. "He's not supposed to have visitors, but I think it's a shame. He's lonely."
"Of course," Camellia said dryly, "and I suppose you've been coming here often?"
In response, he strolled into the former classroom like he owned it. Hermione started hyperventilating when the dog, Fluffy, became excited and didn't relax even when it became clear that Harry was in no danger. He scratched each head equally and cooed to the beast as though it were a puffskein. But Huffy didn't have fangs the size of broadswords or legs as thick as logs.
"Why is he here?" Camellia asked.
Harry didn't turn around. "Why are hellhounds usually around?"
Hermione noticed first of the three outside of the room that there was a conspicuous square of wood in the corner. A trap door.
"Discreet," Zabini murmured.
"Don't bother with it." Harry waved. "It's locked very well and it made Fluffy uncomfortable when I got close to it."
Camellia shot a look at the towering hound and decided that was more than enough reason for her. She remained standing awkwardly outside of Fluffy's room alongside of Hermione and Zabini, neither of whom felt any need to break the quiet that had fallen over them. Their lack of conversation was a good thing in the end—it allowed them to pick up the faint mewing echoing off the walls of another hallway. Harry flicked out the family cloak with a practiced movement and backed out of the room to cover them all. He closed the door behind him.
"Some…my… Norris?" Filch's voice, barely audible, carried over.
Harry shuffled them down the hall. It wasn't the path that she and Hermione had taken to get upstairs, but she trusted that her brother knew his way around by now. Sure enough, after a few odd turns, they found themselves overlooking the railings fencing in the steep drop to the ground floor. The staircases were moving every which way.
"Shall we leave you to get back on your own or walk you back?" Harry wondered.
Camellia wasn't enjoying the close proximity of three other bodies and thought that, chance of detention or no, she would prefer to go off on her own.
"Can't we look around the castle more?" Hermione demanded.
Camellia felt a headache coming on. She clamped her hand over her friend's in a vice grip.
"Bed," she insisted.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Harry teased.
Zabini cut in before she could retort. "I haven't been to that area."
"Gryffindor tower?" Harry asked.
Camellia could feel the cloak shift when the taller boy nodded. So Harry decided that was the way to go. With a sigh she went along, dealing as best as she could with the discomfort of being huddled so tightly. Her arm was frequently brushing against Zabini's, but she couldn't think of how to go about getting him to switch places with Hermione in front of her. Plus he was tall, so if he was in front of her she wouldn't be able to see. Just as she was pondering the merits of demanding a full shuffle, she found herself walking into Hermione's back and receiving a face full of frizzy hair for her inattention.
"Where did you hear about all these shortcuts?" Hermione asked.
Harry shushed her. "Dad," he whispered.
They were at the foot of the Gryffindor tower. She hadn't even noticed.
"Elusmus," Hermione murmured to the portrait.
The sleeping Fat Lady swung open with a loud snore. The common room was empty of everyone but the Weasley twins, both of whom were looking expectantly at the doorway with a piece of parchment spread between them. Harry shoved both her and Hermione out from under the cloak. The Weasleys didn't look surprised to see them.
"Have fun," Harry said.
The portrait fell shut.
"Have fun, he says," said the twin on the left.
"But was it to them or to us?" mused the one on the right.
"I don't think anyone is having fun right now," the left decided.
"Not anymore, no!" Hermione huffed.
Camellia pinched the bridge of her nose and resigned herself to after curfew quests for adventure.
-()_()_()-
The paperwork that came with holding so many public offices was never-ending and, not for the first time, Albus Dumbledore wondered if he really should have taken them all. In his old hands was yet another letter from their esteemed Minister of Magic, pleading for advice on yet another trivial matter (whether the napkins for his dinner party were gold or violet was irrelevant as long as there were napkins at all, he privately thought) and the Headmaster was feeling a little weary. With a sigh he dropped the letter and pondered the best way to respond without giving away his true opinion on the matter—that perhaps Cornelius should focus more on the controversial new proposals brought up by Clarence Greengrass than his flamboyant dinners—only for his fireplace to ignite itself with a flash of emerald green. His brow furrowed at the interruption. It was a well-timed one if he were to be honest with himself. With a thought he granted the request for a call and stood to greet whoever might await him in the blazing firebox.
He was surprised to see the head of James Potter floating in the flames. The young man's face was not displaying any negative emotion, very much the opposite of how Lily had looked about seventeen days ago. It was a relief to not see it.
"Morning Professor," his old student greeted. "Mind if I step in for a chat?"
Dumbledore shook himself out of his stupor and nodded. "Of course, come on through."
The bespectacled man stepped out, dressed as casually as ever. No matter the event it seemed that James couldn't bring himself to dress extravagantly. His knee length robe, a flattering almond color, quivered as he brushed himself off. Little soot clouds dissipated into the air, absorbed by the filtering enchantment that bubbled the hearth. Dumbledore waited patiently for James to collect himself.
"I'm sorry about the sudden intrusion," James said sheepishly. "But some questions were keeping me up all night. It was driving me mad."
Dumbledore offered a reassuring smile. "It's no trouble at all. I was just thinking that a distraction would not be amiss."
To underline his words, he gestured grandly at his desk. Despite being a very large one, it was looking rather dwarfed under the deluge of parchment stacked upon it. James let out a rich laugh at the sight of it, voice as mirthful as it was when he was still a student. A feeling of nostalgia washed over him for a moment, though it was soon chased away by curiosity. Dumbledore reclaimed his seat behind the crowded desk and motioned for James to sit at the plush armchair in front of it.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked.
James sighed and his face fell into a more solemn look that matured him far beyond what suited him. "What's going on here?"
"I am not sure what you mean…?" Dumbledore prompted for elaboration.
"Look, I don't mind the hellhound—not after hanging around a werewolf every month for a huge chunk of my schooling here—and I can brush off the troll since no one died." He rubbed his cheek tiredly. "But there's something wrong with your Defense teacher and I'm running my head in circles trying to find out what."
Keeping his voice measured Dumbledore asked, "What makes you think there is anything amiss with Quirinus?"
James pulled a file out of his robes and waved it in the air. The name Quirinus Quirrel was neatly marked at the top. It looked a little worn, like it had been incessantly thumbed through. Dumbledore propped his elbows on the surface of his desk and weaved a bridge for his chin to rest on. James's face did not change. It was still a mixture of expressions. Tired, determined, and quietly demanding. Much like he had been ten years ago when the news of the prophecy was broken to him. He shook off the old memories.
"You have been researching him?"
"Harry was worried," James admitted, "and that worried me."
"I see," he said, "Harry was out after curfew and chased by him. It's no surprise that he was a little scared by—"
James cut him off. "That wouldn't be enough to scare my son. Believe me; he was almost mauled by a mugbear once and still tried to… never mind that. That wasn't what made him nervous. He said Quirrel was talking to a disembodied voice that sounded like a snake while sneaking around the Restricted Section of the library well after midnight. If that isn't suspicious behavior, then Amelia needs to update the training regime."
Not for the first time and not for the last he wondered where the Potter twins had grown up.
"I would not dare try to suggest that Amelia is behind on the times," Dumbledore assured the man, "or that your training was lackluster."
"Then just what is going on here?" James asked again.
James seemed sincerely oblivious and Dumbledore wondered how much he knew or suspected.
"I thought that Lily would have relayed my words," he said carefully.
"Lily?" James looked startled.
"She came to my office just after three in the morning to ask a similar question following the attack of the troll… though she seemed more concerned about Miss Camellia's unsupervised tangle with the creature than anything."
James's brow furrowed and he ran a hand through his hair. It took on the appearance of a bird's nest and Dumbledore amused himself for a moment wondering what sort would take shelter there.
"I didn't know she came here," James admitted.
The information took Dumbledore by surprise. "Truly?"
He buried his face in his hands. "Lily, really?" he muttered.
The two of them sat in silence for a moment before James straightened himself up with a shake of his head. Dumbledore leaned back and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, waiting.
"I'm sorry about that," James offered. "She's still very… upset with you. I, honestly I'm not happy about some of the things you did myself, but three in the morning is uncalled for."
"It's been ten years since the news leak, James," Dumbledore sighed.
He understood that he had perhaps toed a line in allowing news of Camellia's vanquishing of Voldemort to get out to the susceptible masses. The people were desperate for any sort of positive update, and explanation, and Dumbledore had felt an obligation to give them one. He couldn't have foreseen the extremity of their fanaticism, the over-the-top adulation that led to the Potter's secret movement.
"That isn't… the only reason," James said.
Dumbledore racked his brain for any other instance where he might have slighted the woman and came to another event, one that occurred shortly before Lily had become pregnant. He didn't think much of the moment; it hadn't even seemed important at all, but what else could it be?
"The Potions position?" he guessed.
James nodded.
"That is more than a little petty," he told him.
He had an uncomfortable flashback of passing over another for a position in his school. That, however, was an entirely different state of affairs.
"You gave the position to Snape," James said, "who hates children and who is far more petty than Lily could ever be."
"You're letting your old rivalry color your judgment," Dumbledore said disapprovingly. "Severus was in need of employment and because of his situation had few other options available."
"A situation he put himself into," James spat. "He took the job solely to spite her when she cut her withering ties to him."
Not wanting an escalation, Dumbledore decided to nip this line of conversation there. "Let us agree to disagree."
James looked unhappy but cooled his temper and leaned back. He returned to the topic he came for to begin with.
"In regards to Quirrel…" he sighed. "I still trust you enough. I do, because you have done a lot of good for a lot of people, but my family comes first. If anything happens, if he does anything, I will be back."
"I understand, James," Dumbledore told him solemnly. "And I assure you that everything is under control."
The auror tiredly nodded and stood. "Lily will be looking for me soon. Sirius is visiting for dinner."
"It was good to see you again, my boy. Give Sirius my best."
He watched his old student step into the fire and vanish, spiraling off to his elusive home, and sighed. It could have gone better, he thought. Fawkes chirped a few notes that typically never failed to lighten his load—it did nothing to diminish the paperwork that he not longer had a distraction from.
-()_()_()-
There was certainly something wrong with Quirrel and that irritating stutter was only the tip of the iceberg. Harry rolled the nub of his quill between his fingers and stared blankly ahead of him. The professor was pacing wildly and gesturing with his hands, though he stopped every few moments to adjust the heavy purple turban on his head. Harry would have glared at it if his mind weren't so numb from the unintelligible lecture. He could only sometimes make out the words hag or jinx between the t-t-t-t-t-tarp or whatever it was that the man was supposed to be saying. It was nothing like what he had seen that night in the library—the chilly and confident side of Quirrel that no one would guess that he had.
"Th-then y-you must fl-flick your wand t-to the l-left and…"
That was the eighth time this class period that Quirrel put his hands to the turban. Harry wanted to throw something at it. If their expressions were anything to go by, so did most of his classmates. Hermione was dutifully taking notes though, somehow. Harry wondered if she used short hand or included the stutter just to be sure she missed nothing. Mell's friend was the thorough sort; he didn't put it past her. His own piece of parchment was blank save for the neatly printed November 18, 1991 at the very top. He looked to either side of him. Acacia, as she'd insisted he call her, had tried and given up on taking notes. There were doodles of puffskeins, fairies, and fancy repetitions of her name. She was good at astronomy and charms, but most other things left her flustered. It was no surprise that she had quickly lost interest in Quirrel. Blaise, on the other hand…
What is that?
Harry angled his should-be notes toward his friend so that he could read the hastily scrawled question. Blaise gave him a bland look. Then he passed Harry his own page.
Unravel turban
crush life from the annoying
ugliness must die
Harry passed it back without a word. He hadn't known that Blaise liked writing poetry. In fact, perhaps he was better off not knowing that.
"V-vampires and o-other things are n-not affected by su-such l-low level s-spells," Quirrel droned on.
Vampires were also not going to be reliably deterred by a garlic scented turban. The pungent smell was probably awful to them—Remus certainly got sick around anything with traces of it—but Harry wondered about the truth of that rumor surrounding the mauve colored monstrosity. He tapped his quill against his thumbnail, pocking it with tiny black stains from the congealed ink on the tip. His fingers were already dyed. He sighed and looked at Quirrel again. The image now just didn't mesh with the one he saw before. This Quirrel, scared of his own shadow, would never chase him down the castle's midnight darkened halls. Was there something about that invisible serpent that gave him confidence? Or was this person an overly elaborate act? His actions in the library threw questions in every direction. The book he was after had detailed information on hellhounds; strengths and weaknesses and habits were all recorded there. Fluffy was protective of a conspicuous trap door. Quirrel, capable of that cold voice and angry pursuit, was likely able to do other things.
Quirrel could be responsible for the troll.
Harry glowered at the thought as it rolled into his head. He couldn't help glancing to the right. Mell was looking just as bored as anyone else despite Hermione nudging her to pay attention. His sister's eyes flickered over to meet his and the dark expression on his face softened into a smile. She scoffed and turned away, but her lips were quirked upward at the corners.
He had no proof so was it alright to do anything? Harry shook his head and looked forward. His eyes met Quirrel's.
"H-homework is s-simply to r-read the next ch-chapter and be pr-prepared for the t-test next class p-period," he told the class.
Harry wasn't listening. The sudden pounding headache that pierced his temples stole all of his attention. Then the bell rang, finally, and he was one of the first out the door. He had a moment before his next class. Should he rest in a dark room or just go to the infirmary? His inattention sent him crashing into another quick-moving body.
"Are you alright?"
A black and yellow tie—Hufflepuff. Harry tried to smile, but he grimaced instead.
"Just a headache," he told the other boy.
Understanding filled the Hufflepuff's grey eyes when he noticed where Harry had come from. He nodded slowly.
"That class does that to the best of us." He clapped Harry shoulder. "If you're sure you're alright."
Harry managed a proper grin this time. "I'm sorry for running into you. I'll be fine in a bit."
"Well alright," the boy said. "Just find your way to Madame Pomfrey if it doesn't clear up. I have class now. See you around."
They parted ways and Harry resisted the urge to massage his scalp. The pain felt exactly like that night. He wondered if Quirrel knew who he had been chasing through the halls. Then he wondered what to do about it if he did. He shook his head and joined the crowd, deciding that to think upon it later.