Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover

Chapter Ten
School Day

Updated 20 November 2010

The Monday before September first had finally arrived, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were making their final preparations to leave for America. Because of the seven hours time difference, they would not have to report to the school until nearly three p.m. local time. It was a bit weird, not having Mrs. Weasley (who after all was not very enthusiastic about their leaving for another country, especially Ginny, her youngest) not shouting up at them to hurry up or they'd miss the Hogwarts Express.

Harry still felt ambivalent about going to America, but having nearly a week to think about it had strengthened his resolve to go and learn as much additional magic as he could, especially wandless magic. That kind of magic could come in handy in a duel, especially if he ever lost his super-powers and his wand, which was going with him to America, even if he might not need it there. Surely he and the others from Hogwarts would not be expected to simply stop using their wands once they got there, would they? But they'd had no word yet from Professor Potter on what to bring, what not to bring, or even how they would be getting there. He hoped that the professor, who sometimes seemed a bit absent-minded, hadn't forgotten them.

In fact, it had been a very quiet, even lonely week at the Burrow after his talk with Professor Dumbledore early last week. He had thought he would see the headmaster another time or two, intending to talk Harry into staying at Hogwarts, but he never returned. Hints dropped near Mr. or Mrs. Weasley had produced no results — they had not mentioned talking to him either, even in the course of Order business.

And the one person he really wanted to hear from, Clark, had been silent as well, though Harry knew he couldn't expect Clark to simply fly over and see him on a whim. So of course, Harry had flown over to Kansas several times to see him. But Clark had not been at the farm the times when Harry flew by, miles overhead, peering into the barn and other places where he might have been. Where Clark was, he could not guess — Harry thought perhaps he was out patrolling as Superman, stopping crimes and averting disasters from behind the scenes rather than openly, as he had done before he left Earth five years earlier. Harry had considered being an Auror when he left Hogwarts, assuming he could get the required five N.E.W.T.s, a goal that was now gone forever since Snape would not take students with O.W.L.s below "Outstanding."

But with a bit of training, Harry reckoned, and some extra magical ability, he might be able to become someone like Superman. Harry smiled, imagining himself in a skin-tight costume, wearing a large "P" on his chest, flying to save some hapless passengers on a shuttle flight threatened by some space disaster (hopefully without some madman with a handful of kryptonite waiting for him!).

"It does seem a bit weird, doesn't it?" Ron asked later during lunch that day. "We'd be sitting on the train right now on our way to Hogwarts, if we weren't going to America in a few hours."

"If we go in a few hours," Hermione said, worriedly. "I wish Professor Potter would hurry up and send word on how we're getting there!"

There was a sigh from the vicinity of the stove, which they all studiously ignored. "I just hope you all know what you're doing," Mrs. Weasley said reproachfully. "I didn't think this was a good idea, and all this just confirms it!"

"Mum, it's not that big a deal," Ginny looked up from her plate, trying not to snap at her mother, something she'd been wanting to do since Mrs. Weasley began her "aggrieved mother" act. "We'll go, we'll be back for Christmas holidays, then again at spring break, and back for the summer. Then, rinse and repeat," she added grinning mischievously.

"I'll thank you not to make light of this, Ginevra," her mother said, severely, and Ginny put her head down, knowing that using her full name was a measure of how upset her mother was.

"Oh, no!" Hermione suddenly looked around at Ron and Harry. "I just realized! Did either of you write anyone else at school and let them know we wouldn't be coming?"

"Won't Dumbledore or McGonagall tell everyone at the beginning of year feast?" Ron asked. "I mean, we're three of the most popular people there —"

Ginny snorted. "What?" Ron looked indignant. "Lots of people know us!"

"Harry's popular," Ginny pointed out. "And Hermione was performing spells last year that even N.E.W.T.-level students have trouble mastering. What did you do, Ron, other than save a few goals at Quidditch?"

Ron scowled at her. "And what about you, then? Fussed that I didn't include you with us popular students? Maybe if I'd said 'boy-crazy' you'd have felt better —"

"Oh, shut it," Ginny snapped at him. "It's not like you've ever even kissed a girl yet, unless we count Aunt Muriel!"

Ron got red-faced, but before he could retort their mother rapped on the table with a large wooden spoon. "Enough of that! You'd both better show a lot more maturity or I'll keep both of you home and teach you magic myself!" Both Ron and Ginny glared at each other but neither spoke again during the meal.

After lunch Ginny returned to her room to finish packing; she threw Ron a final smoking look before disappearing up the stairs. He, Harry and Hermione retired to Harry's bedroom to talk about their impending journey. Hermione shut the door to the room, then took out her wand and waved it, making the door Imperturbable. "Just in case," she said, as she sat down on the bed next to Ron. Harry had seated himself on his trunk. "I assume you haven't mentioned anything about your new powers to Ginny?" Hermione asked Harry.

"What? Oh, no…" Harry shook his head. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about them — the powers he really had, versus what he'd told them. As far as they knew, Harry's magical powers had just increased, allowing him to hover in mid-air or float about, and he was stronger and faster than he had been, though he hadn't shown them just how strong he really was, yet.

And Ginny? Harry wasn't sure just what he should tell her. For a while it had seemed like she sort of fancied him, but in the time since he'd become interested in Cho Chang she'd developed friends of her own, including male ones (to the annoyance of her brothers Fred, George and Ron). Last year it had been Michael Corner, followed by Dean Thomas. She and Thomas had still been seeing one another at the end of their fifth year — Harry remembered Fred asking her during the summer if she was going out with him, and she said yes. Now, of course, that wouldn't be happening, Harry realized, but Ginny didn't seem too upset about it — she hadn't said anything about missing Dean, or Michael — or anyone for that matter — from Hogwarts.

"Harry!" Harry blinked, startled by Hermione saying his name so unexpectedly. "Didn't you hear me?"

"No, uh —" Harry had been so caught up in his thoughts that he'd momentarily blocked out everything around him. "What?"

"Have you heard anything yet from Professor Potter?" she asked again, patiently, though there was an edge to her voice that Harry knew was due to her fear that they might actually miss some of the first day of school. He shook his head, and she frowned, looking at him as if she somehow thought he was responsible for their transportation not being arranged yet.

Ron, however, was still thinking about the one thing that had been on his mind since he learned, last week, about Harry's "new" abilities. "D'you think you could fly us there, Harry? I mean, if you can fly, and you can pick up this bed —" (Harry had demonstrated his strength to them last week doing just that) "—then you should be able to fly the three of us to America." Ron beamed, seeming to think this would be the best way for them to get there.

Hermione was shaking her head in astonishment. "Ron, the school must be like six thousand miles from here! It's — just before one now. Harry would have to fly us at…three thousand miles an hour. None of us could hang onto the bed at that speed!"

"Yeah, I guess not," Ron looked disappointed, and managed to act a bit sheepish about the suggestion. "But it would have been brilliant to get there on a flying bed!" Hermione looked at Harry and rolled her eyes.

Harry was grinning for a different reason. "We're never going to top showing up to Hogwarts in a flying car, though," he pointed out.

"True!" Ron agreed enthusiastically. "Too bad it got a bit peeved with us when we flew it into the Whomping Willow."

"You flew it into the Willow, Ron," Hermione added, flatly. "And tore up several branches — Professor Sprout was as angry at you as I've ever seen her. You nearly got yourself and Harry expelled from Hogwarts — Dumbledore only just allowed you to stay, over the objections of Professor Snape, if I recall — and you both got detentions!"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, reminiscing. "Good times."

Hermione laughed, though whether it was with Ron or at him was uncertain, and stood. "Well, I'm going to pack the last of my things and get Crookshanks's pet carrier ready to go — I assume we're allowed to bring our pets, Harry?"

Harry looked at her blankly. "I dunno," he shrugged. "I suppose…" he hadn't heard Professor Potter say they couldn't, but he'd never bothered to ask. "I guess we'll find out when we get there."

Hermione's hand started to move toward him, and Harry's senses kicked into super-speed. He wasn't sure what she was going to do, but as he watched, she'd pressed her thumb and middle finger against one another and her hand was moving into position in front of him. As he watched, her middle finger slowly began to move, sliding along her thumb until it hit the heel of her hand. If he'd been listening at normal speed he'd have heard the sound of her snapping her fingers at him, but at super-speed it was only a dull thud, greatly amplified. Her mouth started to move and Harry slowed his senses back down to normal.

"I wish you'd wake up a bit before we left, Harry," she said, sounding reproachful. "It's like you've been sleepwalking for the past week. We've had to cover for you a couple of time now when you went flying off to heaven knows where!" One positive thing that had happened last week after Dumbledore's visit was that the restriction of them being housebound until their return to school had been lifted, and they had gone outside a few times for some Quidditch pick-up or just being outside in the sun and air once again.

Harry opened his mouth, but bit back the sarcastic remark he'd intended to make. She might be right — he'd been moping about the last week, trying to decide whether staying in Britain or going to America would be the better choice. But maybe it was just guilt rather than indecision — he'd already pretty much decided he would go; it was just the idea of leaving most of his school mates and all the people he knew in the world, to go to a strange place that he really wanted, deep down, to explore.

It was sort of how he'd felt when Hagrid told him he was a wizard, back on his eleventh birthday, and he began imagining the possibilities that would bring. Back then it had been simple — he was going to escape the virtual slavery he felt trapped in at the Dursleys, and that he wasn't utter rubbish like they'd pounded into him for the preceding ten years he'd lived with them.

Yes, Harry decided: he was not going to feel guilty any more! He was going to go to America and learn as much as he could about American magic. Who knew, somewhere along the way he might come upon the solution to rid Britain of Voldemort and his Death Eaters without having to destroy his own soul in the process.

=ooo=

Finally, as three o'clock drew near, the four students had collected their trunks, cages and carriers in the Burrow's kitchen. Hedwig was in her case, as was Pigwidgeon; Crookshanks, Hermione's pet cat looked out of his carrier, his squashed expression seemingly glowering frustration at being locked up for this trip. Arnold, Ginny's pet Pgymy Puff, slept silently in its small cage. Hermione was pacing up and down the kitchen, twisting her hands together nervously.

She finally spun to face Harry. "Are you sure Professor Potter hasn't sent you anything to bring us to the school yet, Harry? It's almost three!"

"Nothing yet," Harry replied. It was getting close, he knew — perhaps the professor was busy with preparations for the first day of school, and had overlooked this detail. On the other hand, he'd been very enthusiastic about their coming…

"I can't believe he's forgotten us!" Hermione cried, actually stamping her foot in frustration. "Oh, we're going to be late, I just know it!"

Harry put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Hermione, don't worry about it — he knows we can't get there without some type of magical transportation from him."

"What if it's a test?" Hermione suddenly said. "What if he expects us to find our own way there?"

"Then he probably wouldn't have told us he'd provide a way there," Harry reasoned. "Right?" Hermione looked skeptical for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

"I suppose so," she said. "But at least we knew where and when the Hogwarts Express leaves King's Cross!" She spread her hands to indicate the blouse and jeans she was wearing. "We don't even know what we're supposed to wear at the school!"

"I'm pretty sure clothing will be appropriate," Ron said, deadpan. When Hermione gave him an Oh, really, Ron? He just shrugged and said, "Oi, just call me intuitive…"

Harry only wished he could be as casual as Ron — he was getting really worried that Hermione was right, that the professor had somehow forgotten about them. If only there was something he could do! He sighed, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, feeling his wand back there —

— and something else in his pocket. Something he didn't expect. Pulling it out, Harry saw it was a small parchment envelope addressed to him. It had the same flowing script as the earlier letter he'd gotten from the Professor:

Mr. Harry Potter
c/o The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
Devon

Hermione's head spun at the sound of crinkling parchment. "What is that?" she asked immediately, seeing it in Harry's hands. "Is that it?" She rushed over to stand next to Harry, looking as if she might snatch the envelope from his hand.

"I think so," Harry said, turning away slightly in case she made a grab for the letter. "Let me read it, Hermione!" He unfolded the letter inside and began to scan it. It read:

Dear Harry,

My most sincere apologies to you and your school mates! It has been such a busy weekend filling in teaching positions for this year that providing your transportation nearly slipped my mind!

This letter will serve as your key to teleport to the school — it will activate at precisely 3 p.m. your time, bringing you and anyone else touching it to the main foyer of the Academy.

Once again may I tender my sincerest apologies for keeping you in anticipation of its arrival, and I eagerly anticipate the arrival of you and your friends at Potters Field!

Very Truly Yours,

Professor Phineas Potter

Dean, Potter's Field Magical Academy

"Well, there you are," Harry said, looking up at Hermione. "This is how we're getting to America."

Of course Hermione was still quite nervous about how all of their baggage, pet carriers, and so on, were going to get there as well. There was a mad scramble while all their trunks and cages were set in a circle so the four of them could touch their belongings while taking a corner of the letter. Finally, with just over a minute left before three p.m. everyone was ready to go. Mrs. Weasley's eyes were bright as she hugged Ginny goodbye.

"Don't forget, you are all coming back to the Burrow for Christmas this year," she said, sniffling as she let go of her daughter. She looked at Ron, smiling though she was shaking her head. "Oh, I hope you all know what you're doing — it's a long way from home."

"Don't worry, Mum," Ron said, as she hugged him tightly as well, "Mmmf," he added, because she had squeezed him quite tightly. "I'll make sure none of them put a toe out of line."

Mrs. Weasley snorted amusement; Ron was about as likely as Fred or George to be the cause of trouble, not prevent it! She reached up, patting him on the cheek, then turned to Hermione and hugged her as well.

"Have a good year," she said softly as she let go, and Hermione beamed happily at her. At last she turned to Harry, and while he was still a bit unsure just how pleased she was with him, as he was the instigator, from Mrs. Weasley's perspective, of a lot of her woes this summer, she still looked sad to see him going. "Take care, Harry, dear," she said, giving him a long hug as well. "I hope you find what you're looking for." Harry nodded, too touched by her sentiment to speak momentarily.

Then Mrs. Weasley glanced at the cuckoo clock over the fireplace. The minute hand was quite near the three o'clock hour. "Oh! You'd better all get ready!" she said, scurrying out of the way so Harry could hold out the letter from Professor Potter. Silently Hermione, Ron and Ginny reached out, each taking a corner, while their other hands remained touching their trunks.

The minute hand on the clock moved a fraction; suddenly, the small door over the clock face swung open and a miniature hippogriff poked its head out, screeching once, twice, and a third time. Hermione closed her eyes in anticipation of teleporting, as did Ron. Ginny, her eyes still open and looking at Harry, rolled them slightly. Harry grinned back at her.

Nothing happened.

"Are we there yet?" Ron asked. After several seconds he opened one eye, looking around. "So what the —"

With a flash of light the four of them suddenly vanished from the Burrow, traveling several thousand miles in a fraction of a second, to suddenly find themselves in a crowded foyer full of students being jostled as lines formed around them.

"Hey," a tall sandy-haired fellow looked around at them, annoyed. He was nearly as tall as Ron. "You're late. No teleporting into school after eight a.m. — you might schlack someone!"

"Sorry," Harry said, automatically. "We were using a letter the Professor gave us to get here."

"Which professor — oh," the kid nodded, seeming to understand. "You're the foreign students Dean Potter told us about, right?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. He looked around at all the students milling about them, just as the other Gryffindors were doing. "Uh — he didn't really tell us what to do once we got here," he said, hesitantly.

The kid stuck out his hand. "I'm Jimmy Taylor," he said, as Harry took it. "I'm a proctor." At Harry's blank look he added, "That's kind of like a student leader — I can tell you what to do to get started today. Most students other than the new ones know the routine." He pointed along one wall of the foyer, where tables were lined up end-to-end to make a long row.

"Get into the line that has the first letter of your last name. What's yours?"

"Uh —" for a moment Harry didn't know what to answer. "It's — Harry Potter." Jimmy pointed to the third line from the left.

"Okay, you get into that line, that's for the letters 'K' through 'P,'" he said. Harry thought he might react to his name, but Jimmy seemed to ignore it. "Hi," he smiled at Hermione, who smiled back at him, a bit shyly. "And what is your name, Miss —?"

"It's Granger," Ron answered immediately, before Hermione could say anything. Jimmy raised an eyebrow but smiled. "That's the second line," he pointed it out for Hermione, and she nodded in understanding. Jimmy turned back to Ron.

"Is your name Granger, too?" he asked, sounding mildly condescending. Ginny snorted.

Ron frowned at her. "No," he told Jimmy, curtly. "It's Weasley."

"It's the line on the left," Jimmy said. "Tell them your name and pick up your packet, then go down the corridor on the right, to the cafeteria." He glanced at a watch on his wrist. "We have an assembly the first day of class, it starts at 8:15. After that the new students will go to orientation. Even if you've been going to a magical school before now, you'll want to attend it. See you later!" Jimmy rushed off before Harry could stop him.

Harry looked at the others. "Well," he said, "I guess we go get our packets now." The four of them headed for the line they were supposed to stand in. Once in the queue, Harry began looking around the room at the students there. In spite of how busy it had seemed when they first arrived, there were not that many students left in the lines; most of them seemed to already have their packets and were simply standing around talking with one another or slowly making their way down the corridor toward the cafeteria Jimmy the proctor (whatever that was — maybe like a prefect?) had pointed them to.

Ricky should be here as well, Harry recalled, but didn't see him standing in line or milling about anywhere. He went up on his toes to get a better look around, but felt his feet leave the ground for a moment; Harry quickly settled back to the floor. A brown-haired, curly-headed boy behind him was watching him with some interest. "Looking for someone?" he finally asked Harry.

Harry glanced at him. "Uh, yeah," he said. "He's a first-year."

"First year?" The boy looked confused. "You mean sixth grade?"

"Er — right," Harry agreed. "I mean it's his first year here."

"I haven't seen you around before," the kid said, sounding friendly. "New here?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I'm Harry Potter," he added, motioning toward himself.

"I'm Ed," the boy smiled. "Ed Word." He extended his hand toward Harry. Harry shook it, wondering what his last name was. Edward what?

"You're from England, aren't you?" a girl standing next to them one line over asked. Harry nodded at her, and she smiled engagingly at him. "I just love that accent of yours!"

"Well, bloody 'ell, Tricia," a boy standing with her in line said, rudely affecting an exaggerated British accent. "If Oi'd known that, Oi'd 'ave begun speaking like a limey years ago!"

"That's not a real British accent, though," Tricia sniffed dismissively. "He's got the real thing," she said, pointing toward Harry.

"Big deal," the rude boy scoffed. "So he was born in England — so what? That doesn't make him any better'n any of us."

"I never said it did!" Tricia objected hotly. She raised a hand as if preparing to throw a spell. "You take that back, Dalton!"

Dalton didn't flinch, but he raised one of his own hands in a gesture that looked like a spell ward. "I didn't say anything wrong," he pointed out. "You'll get in trouble for hexing me if you aren't careful, Trish."

Tricia lowered her hand, looking angry, but said nothing. The kid next to Harry said, in a low voice, "They actually like each other, believe it or not."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry muttered. It looked like things weren't going to be very different here than they were at Hogwarts; some people were easy to get along with, others, not so much.

Harry was now at the front of the queue; the person regarding him from across a table with a handful of packets on it was a thin, sandy-haired man, dressed in a dark blue, pinstriped suit, white shirt and thin, black tie, all smelling of old cigarette smoke. After a moment, the man made a gesture of impatience, waiting for Harry to give his name. "Uh, Harry Potter," Harry finally responded.

The man handed him a packet with his name, "Potter, Harry James" inscribed on the label. "Potter, huh?" the man remarked casually as Harry took the packet. "Related to the headmaster, are you?" His accent was British as well, Harry realized, but different than his own Surrey; it sounded more Londoner, with maybe some Liverpool mixed in as well.

"Er — maybe," Harry said, with a shrug. "Er, are you —"

"See you in class, then," the man said, indicating Harry should move along. Harry stepped out of line and walked down the hallway to the cafeteria, where he found Ron, Hermione and Ginny loitering near the door waiting for him. All of them had their packets.

The cafeteria was a fairly large room — by no means as big as the Great Hall, back at Hogwarts — but it had quite a few seats in it. Harry and the others found four empty seats near the front, and all of them were looking around at the roomful of students laughing and talking together. The first two rows were filled with students with different-colored packets, Harry noticed — blue instead of black covers, as theirs were; and the students seemed to be the youngest group in the room. They must be the first-years (or sixth graders, he corrected himself).

"Doesn't look like as many students as there are at Hogwarts," Ron whispered to Harry, looking around as the seats began filling up with the last few students.

Hermione leaned over, whispering as well. "I counted about 300 seats," she said. "That's about half the size of Hogwarts. I thought there would be more."

"There's still a lot of variety here," Harry noted quietly. He had seen students of several different ethnicities — white, black, brown, yellow, and he didn't recognize at all.

"I wonder how many Houses they've got," Ron whispered to Harry.

"They don't have Houses here, Ron," Hermione leaned over once again, shaking her head as she answered.

"No Houses?" Ron blinked, trying to wrap his head around that unfamiliar idea. "How d'you sleep with a bunch of strangers around you, then?"

"I suppose we'll find out." Ron sat back, looking vaguely unsettled.

At 8:15 Professor Potter stepped out onto the raised stage and the room almost instantly fell silent. The elderly wizard walked up to the podium, smiling benignly out at them. "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Professor!" the school chorused back, startling the former Hogwarts students. They had not expected the response.

"I trust you all had a pleasant summer?" Professor Potter looked around as many students smiled or nodded. "Very good, very good indeed! I had a very interesting summer as well, and I'd like to tell you all about it…"

The room half-groaned, half-chuckled at what was apparently an ongoing joke between them and the dean. "I would," Potter continued, "but you all have better things to be doing today than listen to an old man ramble on.

"You will see a few new faces at the front of your classrooms this year," the professor went on, "but that will come later. For now, before we give the cafeteria over to our newest students, for their orientation this morning, I would like the students whose names I call to stand, introduce themselves, and tell us a bit about where they come from." Potter held up his hand and a sheet of parchment appeared in it. "Let's see… ah, Marianne Suzanne Addams!"

A small, dark-haired girl in the first row stood. "I'm Marianne Addams," she said after a moment, in a voice so quiet Harry wondered how anyone could hear her. "I live in Portland, Maine." She promptly sat down.

Professor Potter consulted the next name on his list. "Jonathan Clark!"

A black-haired boy with horn-rim glasses stood in the second row, turning around to look at the other students. "I'm Jonathan Clark," he said. "I come from a small town in Kansas…" He fell silent, pushed his glasses higher on his nose, then turned and sat down.

"Richard Dolan!" Potter called out next.

Ricky stood, turning and grinning at the others. "Howdy," he said, drawing a few chuckles from the throng of students, but he didn't seem to mind. "I'm Ricky Dolan, I come from Kansas, too! I live mostly in Smallville with my mom, but I spend some time with my dad, too." He looked over at Jonathan. "Hey, Jon! We might be neighbors! What town do you live in?"

Before Jon could answer, however, Professor Potter smiled brightly and broke in. "Plenty of time for socializing later, Ricky — for now, let's proceed with the introductions…"

Ricky nodded, looking disappointed as he turned to sit down, but then he saw Harry in the row behind him. "Harry!" he whispered, over his shoulder. "I was looking for you earlier! An' here you are, right behind me!"

"Hi, Ricky," Harry leaned forward to speak quietly to him. "I'm glad you made it."

"Yeah." Ricky looked around, obviously excited. "I can hardly believe that I'm here! I'm glad Mom and Mr. Kent worked out a deal to send me!"

"I am, too," Harry agreed, smiling, then sat back in his chair as other students were being introduced. The only thing more he could have hoped for was for Clark to be here as well — but obviously that wasn't happening as Clark wasn't here.

At the next name called a boy stood, one with straight black hair and rather unusual clothing that looked more like soft leather than cloth. "I am Aaron Hanging Cloud," he told everyone, "I am an Anishinaabeg from North Dakota." There were a few claps from around the room — whatever an "Anishinaabeg" was, Harry thought, there were more here than just Aaron.

The next kid whose name was called made quite a contrast to Aaron. "I'm Stuart Jefferson," he said, after standing in the first row. He was tall for his age, lanky like Ron, with fair skin and sandy hair verging on red. "I live in Virginia with my parents. And we are direct descendants of Thomas Jefferson, by the way."

Hermione made a soft pffft'ing sound with her lips. "What's that about?" Harry asked, leaning toward her.

She shook her head, as if declining to answer, but then leaned over and whispered back, "Oh, just the idea that someone would name-drop like that, even here…"

"Name drop?" Ron whispered. "Who's Thomas Jefferson?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll explain later."

Stuart had sat down again. "Aleecia — er…" Professor Potter was hesitating with the person's last name.

A small, blonde girl a few seats from Ron stood. "I'm Aleecia Krystovovitch, from Queens, New York," she said, her name and location rolling smoothly off her lips in a faintly Eastern European accent. "My parents and I emigrated from Lithuania five years ago to the United States, and I've been looking forward to attending school here."

She sat down amid a smattering of applause. Ricky was staring at her, then turned around to whisper, "Wow, she's cute! Isn't she, Harry?"

Harry felt both Hermione's and Ginny's eyes on him as he replied, "I guess so…she's a bit too — er, blonde, for me, though," he finished, not wanting to admit that he might find a twelve-year old attractive.

With Daniel Zungia from San Diego, California rounding out the group of sixth graders, Professor Potter added, "Now let's give them all a round of applause to welcome them to the Academy!" Everyone in the room applauded for several seconds.

"And now," Professor Potter continued. "I have a special treat for all of you before classes begin, a —" Someone in the group of students caught his attention, reminding him about the other new students.

"Oh, right you are, Erica!" Potter looked embarrassed. "I'd almost forgotten, we have three new students joining us from across the Atlantic!" Harry tried to sink into his chair — he had hoped they wouldn't be noticed at all! Potter looked around, seeing them in the third row. "Would you three stand, please, and introduce yourself?"

Hermione stood up immediately. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "I'm from London, England. I've been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past five years."

"Where?" some girl said near the back of the room, and several students laughed. Hermione's face flushed, and she sat down without further comment. A moment later Ginny stood, looking around the room.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," she said, and a wolf whistle sounded from someone nearby, provoking more laughter (and causing Ron to look around sharply for its source). Rather than be embarrassed, she grinned, adding, "I'm from England as well, in case you couldn't tell — I live near a small town named Ottery St. Catchpole, in Devon county." She sat down amid murmurs and comments; most of the students there had been favorably impressed by her.

Not to be outdone by his younger sister, Ron stood up almost as soon as Ginny started to sit down. "I'm Ronald Weasley, Ginny's older brother," he said, still looking around for the source of that wolf whistle. I was a prefect and on the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts." He glanced at Harry, giving a small wink as he said the last part. He sat down again.

Harry stood. By now the first two rows of students had turned and were watching him. Even though Harry had gone through five years of notoriety, with all of its ups and downs, he felt mightily self-conscious. He turned and looked around at the students behind him. "I'm Harry Potter," he said, a bit hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "I've — ahem — been at Hogwarts for the past five years as well. I, um, live in a town called Little Whinging, in Surrey."

"Potter, eh? Aren't you the Boy-that-Lived?" someone asked. Harry glanced over, seeing it was Dalton, the boy who'd mocked his accent earlier.

"Isn't he the kid that some maniac named Voldewort is after?" someone else asked. "Maybe he skipped town so they couldn't find him."

Several muted conversations sprang up about Harry's reasons for coming to America before Professor Potter put up his hands, signaling for silence. "We can discuss recent events in England some other time," he told them cheerfully. "But for now, let's get to that special treat I mentioned earlier. Thank you, Harry."

Harry sat down, feeling mortified that a simple introduction had turned into an impromptu debate, even if only for a few seconds. He scrunched down lower in his chair, trying to become inconspicuous once again.

"Alright, everyone!" Professor Potter said, clapping his hands together. "I know many of you have been looking forward to this — our newest teacher is one I've been trying to bring to Potter's Field for years, either as a special guest speaker, or in a teaching capacity, and I'm pleased to say that he has finally accepted both of my offers. May I introduce to you the one, the only — the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth — Doctor Stephen Strange!"

Everyone broke out into thunderous applause as Ron and Harry looked at one another, then at Hermione and Ginny. Both of them shrugged, shaking their heads. Strange strode to the podium dressed in a blue embroidered tunic with a golden sash about his waist and a long, flowing red cape with bright yellow embroidered border. He wore black leggings and boots. Everyone else in the room seemed to instantly recognize him, though to Harry he looked more like Severus Snape's dapper older brother, assuming Snape had a brother. His hair was shorter, white at the temples, but he had a goatee similar to Snape's.

It took nearly a minute to get everyone calmed down enough to stop applauding and return to their seats, before Strange began talking. His voice was calm and deep, similar to Professor Dumbledore's, Harry thought, but younger and fuller sounding. "Thank you, Professor Potter, and students of the Academy. I am deeply honored by your enthusiastic reception of me, and I look forward to teaching the students here.

"However," the American wizard went on, "before I can do that, I must be completely honest about my current status." Murmurs of conversation filled the room as students wondered what Strange would tell them. "I am no longer Sorcerer Supreme."

The room broke out into cacophonous shouts of surprise and dismay. Harry and the others were looking around in confusion. This seemed like bad news, Harry gathered, but he didn't understand why. Even Professor Potter looked surprised and almost alarmed by this revelation.

"Stephen, I'm so sorry to hear this!" the professor exclaimed. "I — I had no idea… does — does this mean that Earth is currently…unprotected?"

What did that mean, Harry wondered. Even if this Dr. Strange could no longer protect Earth, Superman was back, wasn't he?

Professor Potter's question had prompted an increase in the volume of questions and rumors floating about the room. Dr. Strange put up his hands, signaling for silence. When the noise calmed down he answered, "There is nothing to fear, Professor — Earth is still well-protected. A new Sorcerer Supreme was selected to take over my duties in my place. It is she who will give your class the opening speech of the school year. May I present my —" Strange faltered for a moment, then turned as he stepped aside, saying, "— the new Sorcerer Supreme, Clea."

A bright flash of light appeared over the stage, and a young woman with striking white hair appeared in the air above them, dressed in a reddish-purple body suit with black leggings and boots. She floated down, landing in front of the podium Strange had just stepped away from. The room was filling with applause once again — it seemed many people recognized this person, just as they had Dr. Strange.

Harry stared at her. He had expected interesting things to happen at this school but nothing like this! The woman silently scanned the cheering students in front of her; for a moment, her eyes locked with Harry's, and he felt a thrill of something like anticipation along his spine. Then her gaze passed on, and she held up her hands for silence. After several moments the cafeteria became quiet once again.

"Thank you, Stephen, and thank you, Professor Potter, for giving me the opportunity to speak to your students today," she began, nodding toward Strange. Her voice was melodic and sensual, Harry thought. She looked out toward the young faces staring at her in rapt attention. "While Stephen is no longer Sorcerer Supreme, you will find that he is an excellent teacher. I know this because he was my teacher and mentor — he helped me develop the skills I needed to become the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.

"That is why I am here today, to tell all of you about the importance of a good education. Though my parents loved me, they did not think me worthy of the magical knowledge they possessed, and sought to protect me from that knowledge. That 'protection' left me incapable of adequately looking after the people I was born to govern. Stephen gave me the knowledge, and the wisdom that must needs go with it, to do so.

"As you continue to learn more about magic and what it is capable of, learn also that your knowledge must be tempered with true understanding — not merely 'book' understanding or even that which comes through experience, but the capacity to understand all other living things as we exist together in the multiverse. I myself am still learning these things as well," she smiled.

"I will return, from time to time, throughout this school year," Clea concluded, "to see how all of you are doing, both with Stephen and the other teachers here. I look forward to seeing you again. Thank you." With that she faded from view.

The room filled with applause once again as Harry looked over at Ron, Hermione and Ginny. The two girls were both impressed by the woman, as was Ron, if his enthusiastic clapping was indication enough. Harry had found her intriguing as well — she seemed so young to have attained as lofty a title as 'Sorcerer Supreme,' whatever that meant.

As the applause died down Professor Potter stepped to the podium once again. "Very good," he told the assemblage. "Now I think most of us are ready to begin classes. New students please remain in your seats — we will begin orientation as soon as everyone else is off to their first lesson of the day." The room quickly cleared, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, along with perhaps thirty sixth graders, in the first three rows.

"Alrighty then," Professor Potter said, beaming down at them from the stage. "Before we get started, any questions from any of you?" He looked around the room, waiting for a response. All of the younger students, perhaps still accustoming themselves to the new surroundings, looked cautiously around at one another but no one raised their hands. Hermione suddenly put up hers, and Potter nodded toward her. "Yes, Miss Granger, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," she said. "I just wondered if you'd explain what the two speakers meant by 'Sorcerer Supreme.' I've never heard that term before."

A few of the younger students seemed to think that was funny, but Potter looked delighted by the question. "Ah! I suppose you wouldn't have heard of it, Miss Granger, as the British Ministry of Magic does not acknowledge the Sorcerer Supreme in the hierarchy of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"But what is a Sorcerer Supreme?" Harry spoke up. "I mean, what's his job supposed to be?"

"It is the title granted to the wizard or practitioner of mystical or magical arts who has the most skills or commands the most magical resources in our universe," Potter answered.

"But how could anyone know that?" Hermione asked. "Weren't they saying that Doctor Strange used to be Sorcerer Supreme and now Clea is? Who decided that Clea could have the title? Did Doctor Strange give it to her?"

Professor Potter shook his head. "I do not know the particulars, Miss Granger; suffice it to say, Doctor Strange may tell us in his own, good time, if he chooses to. I am not so sure that the change of title isn't temporary. For now," he concluded, "I am content to have Stephen here at the Academy teaching."

"But it doesn't make sense," Hermione persisted.

Potter looked interested by this comment. "Why not, Miss Granger?"

"Well, it does," she amended, quickly. "I mean, there's always been a question about who was more powerful in Britain, Professor Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort —" next to her, Ron flinched "— oh be still, Ron! — Anyway, it can be hard to define what 'more powerful' means…"

"Go, on, Miss Granger," the professor prompted her.

"In terms of age, Professor Dumbledore seems quite powerful, but he has made statements over the years that led me to believe he thinks Voldemort is a more powerful wizard in terms of knowledge."

Potter was scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, well… I must say, Albus has always been a bit self-deprecating, at least publicly. In private, however, he is quite proud of his skill and knowledge in the magical arts."

"And yet," Hermione pointed out, "neither he nor any witch or wizard I've ever met, nor any book on magical organizations and titles has discussed becoming or holding the title Doctor Strange spoke of, until now."

Professor Potter nodded, looking somewhat sad. "It is unfortunate that the Ministry continues to resist many of the advances magic has brought to the world, my dear. It is one of the reasons I wanted to bring you and your friends here to the Academy — I believed your skills were being wasted in the provincialism that Britain has chosen to mire itself in. For now," he suggested, "we should continue with the orientation so that you can begin learning about these things."

Hermione said nothing, but Harry could tell by the set of her lips that her curiosity was roused by all the secrecy surrounding the magical title that had apparently recently changed hands. He was curious, too — about the new Sorcerer Supreme. If she was really powerful enough to beat any other wizard on Earth, he pondered, she might be able to help him with Voldemort. Harry hoped she would return to the school before too long, so he could broach the subject with her.

"To begin the orientation, I would like to explain the different kinds and classes of magic we teach here at the Academy, for those of you who have not yet had any experience with it — and for those used to a different methodology," Potter glanced toward Harry and his friends. "Let's go through the kinds of magic first.

"There is arcane magic, an innate ability that certain humans and demi-humans possess, as well as some flora and fauna. It is part of a biological predisposition of the genetics of the organism, though the exact mechanism of generation is not understood. Most, if not all of you, have this predisposition."

Harry glanced at the students in the rows in front of him. Most of them were listening attentively, though Ricky was figeting already and several other students seemed to know this already. Hermione already looked bored, though she was listening politely, as was Ginny. Ron was examining several of his fingernails.

"Primal magic is the ambient magical energy of the plane or dimension," Potter went on. Hermione looked up, interested now, as was Harry; they had never been told of this kind of magic back at Hogwarts. "Some universes have regions of high magical output; just as a star puts out light and heat, there are places where magic tends to flow. Some practitioners are able to sense and direct this magic, either to channel it to other places or within themselves. One of our teachers, Miss Johar, is a primal magic specialist."

"There is incarnum magic, which is generated by the soul of a sentient being," the professor went on. "In more mundane circumstances it might be thought of as psionic magic. Incarnum magic may be cultivated through meditation and training, even if one does not possess any arcane magic capabilities.

"The final kind of magic is excarnum magic, magic obtained through petition of a magical or extradimensional being. This kind of magic is potentially the most powerful, and therefore the most dangerous — the being may require certain actions in exchange for this magical ability, or expect complete fealty in exchange for said magic. Doctor Strange is one of our experts in this magic, and when you are ready for his courses you will learn more about it.

"That's it for the different kinds of magic you'll be learning about here at the Academy," Potter said, gesturing over their heads. "There is usually a ten-minute break between classes, to allow students to move between classrooms. Since we're close to that break let's take a few minutes; have something to drink, if you like, there are now milk and juice boxes on the tables behind you." They looked around, seeing that several tables had replaced a couple of rows of chairs behind them, tables filled with iced bowls containing cartons of drinks, as the professor had said. Most of the students jumped up immediately, dropping their packets on their seats and running to the tables to grab their favorite drinks.

Hermione and Ginny looked at one another, nodded, then both got up to look for something to drink. Harry and Ron, not wanting to be in the mad scramble of twelve-year olds, remained seated. After a moment, Ron glanced at Harry, saying, "Pretty wicked cool stuff he's telling us, innit Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I never thought there might be more to magic than what we've been learning these past few years."

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Can't understand why the Ministry doesn't want this stuff taught —"

"Knowing Fudge,' Harry muttered, darkly. "It's because he's afraid the Ministry couldn't control people as well."

"Yeah," Ron agreed again. He looked at the table were the drinks were. "I wonder if they got any pumpkin juice…?" He wandered in that direction, and Harry was about to follow when Ricky turned up beside him.

"Hey, Harry!" Ricky beamed at his older friend. "I'm glad to see you guys here! I was kind of afraid I wouldn't know anyone when I got here!"

Harry smiled at him. "You seem to be doing okay so far, Ricky. How did you get here this morning?"

"A Teleport Token." Ricky dug into his pocket and came out with a round, gray circle that looked like a poker chip. "I just held it in my hand and a few minutes before eight — poof! — I was in the room out front. It was cool!"

"We came the same way," Harry told him, "except it was a letter, so we could all hold onto it at the same time."

"That would be cool, too!" Ricky drained the carton of orange juice he was holding, then asked, "D'you think we'll be in the same classes, Harry?"

"I doubt it," Harry shook his head. "This is only your first year."

"It's your first year here, too," Ricky pointed out.

"But I've been going to magic school in England for the past five years," Harry reminded him. "So have my friends — except Ginny, she's a year behind us."

Ricky looked disappointed by this. "Well," he shrugged. "We'll still see each other around, won't we?"

"Sure," Harry nodded. His hearing caught the sound of Professor Potter clearing his throat — he was about to begin speaking again. "We'd better get back to our seats, Ricky," he suggested.

"'Kay," Ricky waved and went back to his seat as Professor Potter called them to attention once again. Everyone retook their seats.

"Next," the professor said, "I want everyone to open their packets and take out their schedules." There was a rustling of paper as everyone did this. "Most of you will start with the beginners' classes, while those of you transferring into upper grades will be assigned classes approximating your current level of development and your ability to learn."

Harry looked down at his schedule. It was a grid shows days of the week across the top and periods along one side. The school day here was divided into eight periods, beginning at eight a.m. and continuing until four p.m., when the last period ended. The fifth period, from noon until one p.m., was lunch. Scanning his classes, Harry saw that the same courses were repeated on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays: Advanced Potions, Advanced Abjuration and Evocation, Incarnum Intermediate, followed by Intermediate Science and Math (Harry puzzled over that for a moment — they took no such courses at Hogwarts), then lunch, then Advanced Alteration, then a class called Wandless Training (good, that was one skill he was anxious to learn), and finally Advanced Enchantment and Illusion.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays he had Advanced Conjuration and Summoning, Advanced Universal Arcane, Advanced Herbology, Intermediate Reading and Literature (hmm, another Muggle class, Harry thought), then lunch, then Intermediate Necromancy, Artificer Intermediate, and finally Excarnum Basics.

Ron was looking over his shoulder at his schedule. "Looks like we've got the same courses, Harry," he grinned. "Even here they can't keep us apart."

Hermione had her hand up. "Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Potter pointed toward her.

"Aren't there going to be books for these classes?" she asked, holding up her schedule.

"Of course," Potter nodded, and several students groaned; one made a ca-ching sound. "But don't worry, your books are covered under your tuition. The school has a small bookstore next to the library, where you can bring your schedules and receive a copy of the books you'll need. You will turn in the school's copy at the end of the school year."

"But —" Hermione's hand was still in the air. "What if we want to keep the book? Do we have to pay anything extra?"

"Oh, no," Potter shook his head. "You merely make a magical copy of the book."

"We can make copies of the books?" Hermione seemed surprised at the idea.

"Of course," Potter smiled at her. "It's just a book, my dear — there's nothing special about any of them."

"I don't think we were allowed to do that with our books at Hogwarts," Hermione said, looking both doubtful and delighted at the idea. "But it certainly makes sense, now that I think about it, allowing us to magically duplicate a book if we want to keep it. All the Ministry-approved textbooks had anti-duplication jinxes on them."

One of the sixth grade girls put up her hand. "Professor, could you tell us some more about the different classes. What will we be learning in Alteration class, for example?"

"Of course, of course," the professor replied. "Let's see, why don't we go through the different schools alphabetically? Abjurations are protection spells, creating physical or magical barriers. They can also negate such barriers or interfere with other spells.

"Alteration spells change the properties or characteristics of their target subjects, be it a living creature, an object, or even a state of affairs.

"Conjuration spells summon or transport creatures or objects to the spellcaster; they can transport creatures and objects over great distances. Conjuration spells can also be used to heal damage to living beings, even to the point of reviving one at the point of death.

"Divination spells reveal information to the caster. They enable you to learn information long-forgotten, to predict the future to a degree, to find things that have been hidden, and to counteract spells meant to deceive.

"Enchantments affect the minds of other beings, allowing you to influence or control their behavior.

"Evocations are spells that create objects or energy from 'nothing' — really, from your store of magical energy or ambient magic from your surroundings. They are normally cast to create an energy focus that is used as a tool, or sometimes as a weapon.

"Illusions are spells that alter the perception or create false images or sensations, to deceive the minds of others."

"Necromancy spells can create, manipute, and sometimes destroy life or life forces. They usually involve death and the condition known as undeath. Here at the Academy it is taught with the goal of making you aware of such spells and how to counteract them.

"The final school of magic," Potter concluded, "is known as universal magic. These are spells that have effects too broad to place into one of the other schools, or they perform a very specific effect that does not fit into another category.

"You will find classes on all of these schools at the Academy, at the beginner, intermediate, advanced and Master level of study. There are also classes on the different kinds of magic, as well as Herbology, a class for studying magical plants and other organic materials. We also have classes for Potions and Artificer, which deal with creation of magical liquids and ointments, and with magical objects, respectively."

Potter stepped out from behind the podium and walked to the front of the stage, then floated gently to the floor of the cafeteria in front of the first row of students. "Now I would like us all to adjourn to the Bookstore, where we will check out the books you will need for your courses and pick up whatever other materials you will need." The group of students, along with the four ex-Gryffindors, trailed him through several corridors to a set of double doors with the sign posted above it: Academy Bookstore and Library. As they stepped inside, it was immediately reaffirmed to Harry they were in a magical building.

The Library was an enormous room, with the ceiling seemingly dozens of feet over their head, studded with numerous candle chandeliers. Rows and rows of bookshelves were arrayed before them, all finely polished wood, with comfortable, sound-deadening carpet beneath their feet. Harry had the impression there were already quite a few students making use of the room, but even with his super-enhanced senses he could barely hear anyone beyond the people around him.

Professor Potter, after looking around for several moments, turned and gestured for the students to come closer to him. He kept gesturing everyone closer and closer until they were all standing nearly front to back. "The Library keeps conversations from traveling very far," he told them. "You must be within a few feet of the person you're talking to, or in contact with them in some way, to hear them. For example, if you're both sitting at one of the tables, as long as you're both touching the table you can hear each other, even if you're at opposite ends and whispering. We've found that helps keep the noise level down to a dull roar," he winked at them.

While the professor helped the younger students sort out what books they needed, Harry and Ron compared their schedules with Hermione's.

"I wish they had Arithmancy and Runes," Hermione said, disappointed they were no longer on her schedule of classes. "I did want to keep up on them, if possible, as well as these other classes."

Ron was shaking his head at her. "Of course you would," he said, almost admiringly. "Hard to give you too much school work, isn't it?"

She laughed, though she gave him a look as if she thought Ron should know this about her by now. "I'll still need them after I'm out of school, of course."

Ron shrugged, looking around the Library. "I can't believe how quiet this place is. It looks bigger than the Library back at Hogwarts, and I thought that was the biggest lot of books I'd ever seen."

"It must be," Hermione agreed. "It must have quite an Extension Charm, to be this large. I wonder… perhaps this Library has some books on Arithmancy or Runes I haven't seen at Hogwarts. I might be able to do some independent studying." She started walking toward a shelf with an "A" on it. "Want to help me look?" she asked, looking around at them as she walked away.

"No," Ron said. She shrugged and kept walking. Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged as well, and they both followed her. Soon she had them searching along different aisles of books — the A-section itself seemed quite extensive. There were books on strange subjects like Alchemy (which had been mostly replaced by Potions at Hogwarts) and Aura magic, along with mundane subjects like Agronomics, American History, Anthropology, Archaeology, and others he'd never heard of.

At the end of row of bookshelves, Harry stopped, looking around. Ron and Hermione were nowhere within normal eyesight, and his hearing could not pick up their voices in this magically sound-dampened room. He was considering using his X-ray vision to spot them when a voice said, "Are you looking for someone?"

Harry spun, surprised. It was the same voice he'd heard earlier! The young woman, Clea, was standing one row over, a book in her hand. She was taller than Harry expected, though not unusually so. As Harry stared at her, she replaced the book she was holding on the shelf and turned to him, smiling. "Hello," she said. "I'm Clea, a friend of Stephen — I suppose I should call him 'Professor Strange' in front of you, you're one of the students here, is that correct?"

"Uh… hi," Harry said at last. "Yes, I — er — recognized you. From before, that is," he added. "When you were speaking — um, at the…" his voice trailed off, making him feel stupid. Why was he having such trouble talking?

"I noticed you earlier," Clea said, nodding thoughtfully at him, as if he had not just spoken like a tongue-tied idiot. "You are one of the Hogwarts students who came over, Professor Potter mentioned he had several coming over this year."

"You know about Hogwarts, too?" Harry asked, surprised. He had hardly expected anyone in America to know about his school, or Voldemort, but several students had mentioned them already, and now it seemed this powerful witch did as well.

Clea smiled again, making the corridor around them fairly seem to shine with her radiant beauty. "Of course, Harry. It's a wonderful little school; it's a shame the Ministry holds you all back so much." Harry said nothing, though this was the second person that had made that claim. "I know that Professor Potter was happy that you came here; he sees a lot of potential in you — and so do I."

"You do?" Harry asked. The notion made him feel oddly warm.

"Of course," Clea nodded, taking a step closer to him. Harry was suddenly feeling much warmer, whether from the heat that seemed to emanate from her body or from his own, he wasn't quite sure. "I sense in you a strong desire to learn, Harry."

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked her. "Did you ask the professor who I was?"

"I'm the Sorcerer Supreme," she gently reminded him. "I do have ways of learning these things on my own. Stephen taught me well." She gazed at him for a long moment. "And, I may soon consider taking on a student of my own, someone who can fill the role of Sorcerer Supreme on their own, someday, when I am ready to pass on the title."

Harry blinked. That sounded intriguing! But — "What about Doctor Strange? Wasn't he Sorcerer Supreme before you? Wouldn't he be your first choice?"

Clea's expression turned sad. "I'm afraid Stephen's days as Sorcerer Supreme are done. He is a great man, and has done great things in his life, but such things are in the past for him, now. The title must be bestowed upon young, fresh minds. Something for you to think about, Harry Potter. I will see you again soon." She touched his cheek with her palm, then disappeared.

Harry was still standing there, hand to his cheek where she had touched him, when Hermione and Ron appeared a few minutes later. "There you are!" Ron exclaimed. "We've been trying to find you for a while now, Harry! Didn't you hear us calling?"

"I tried to tell you," Hermione said to Ron. "Sound doesn't travel in here unless you're both touching the same thing, or several things that are all in contact with one another."

"Well, we're all touching the floor, aren't we?" Ron pointed down at it.

"Apparently that doesn't count," Hermione argued. She looked back at Harry. "Professor Potter is ready to help us find our books now," she said. "He's helping Ginny right now. Are you coming?"

Harry nodded, following them out of the Library corridors toward the bookstore section. But he kept glancing back to the corridor where he'd met Clea, wondering when they would meet again.