A/N : In some of the stories I've read there will be a character who will 'swear on his magic' in order to affirm they are telling the truth, or some shit like that. In my story, swearing on your magic means literally nothing. It's like, if you swear to God and whatever you say is wrong, you're not going to feel the wrath of God and instantaneously burst into raging hellfire. So yeah.
A/N 2: Not J.K. Rowling or Warner Bros. Don't own anything you recognize. Quite poor, honestly.
Pertinent Prophecy Presentiments
Chapter 10: Bigger Than Me
While spring was slowly giving way to summer the students of Hogwarts were inundated with a massive increase in homework. Harry didn't really mind that much, since all the material was basically review for him at this point, between his preparation for a magical education last summer and his diligence during the year he was far ahead of his peers. What did worry Harry, however, were the four other students with whom he would need to compete for the top academic spot of their year. The only class the Slytherins had with the Gryffindors was Potions but Harry knew through observation and inquiry that Hermione Granger was a force to be reckoned with in regards to academics with the effort she put in. Anthony Goldstein and Lisa Turpin, whom as Ravenclaws Harry shared the majority of classes with, were both incredibly bright and had a strong academic drive, while Harry, and he imagined Granger, saw knowledge as a means to an end these two simply wanted to learn for the sake of learning, practically living in the library. Finally there was Tracey, his housemate who had probably started the year off knowing less magic than the muggleborns, since they were given introductory information, but through sheer force of will established herself as one of the more knowledgeable and magically capable students in the first two years, like Harry she had made it a priority to study ahead.
"Why don't you try harder at school?" Harry asked Sophie one day while he was working on a History essay that she had only done an acceptable job on.
She thought of how to word her response for a moment, "magic is cool and all, but school is just school. I know, that you know, that I know a lot more than I put into essays and whatnot. I figure as long as I'm sure I know all I need to well enough for the exams, the essays are just repetitive. Then I can spend more time catching up to you, you nerd," Sophie teased. She finished with a question, "why do you try so hard at school?"
"For one, my mum was always top of her class. I'm pretty sure if she was still here she would encourage me to be so as well," Harry told her sadly. "Also, people respect achievements. If I keep doing what I am, I'll be respected and it'll be a lot easier to do politics later. So they would've wanted me to do it for that reason too. Oh, and, she may not act like it but Dora is wicked smart, so if I don't do well I'll be the disappointment in the family."
"I know, she was telling me how hard it is to become an Auror. Bloody hell it's a lot of work. It sounded intriguing, though," Sophie said.
"Something you're interested in?" Harry asked.
"Maybe. I mean, Dora's cool and she likes it. Besides, she told me that because I do art I'd especially have a really good critical eye to look over crime scenes and stuff, and it'd also probably help with concealment and disguise. Which is pretty cool," Sophie mused. "It's not like I want to go into the family business selling rugs, the only reason I would is if I could do grandfather's job, travelling the world finding rugs to import. Or I could paint. I think if I had to do it for money it wouldn't be as fun, though, I like it more as a hobby."
"Maybe you could convince him to take you as an apprentice of sorts, train you for when he doesn't want to do it anymore," Harry offered.
"I wish. But he's set on Aaron since he 'has some quick acting business spunk' apparently," Sophie said, changing her voice to a poor imitation of her grandfather's while quoting him.
"That's bollocks," Harry declared. He sighed and said, "I'm not going to get anything more done on this essay at the moment, if you're going to be an Auror your duelling skills will have to be top notch. Want to go a few rounds?"
"Definitely, let's go."
Over the school year the two of them duelled once or twice a week in an out of the way room they'd found on the fifth floor, it was an enjoyable activity to do in their downtime. Even if Harry was much better than Sophie he was teaching her what Professor Quirrell had taught him during the private lessons. She was, much like Harry himself, an intuitive duellist and when Harry described how spells could be used unconventionally to produce unexpected effects she'd gotten quite creative, making their duels consistently interesting and keeping Harry on his toes. Though he explicitly did not teach her any of the Dark Arts he'd been learning for several months now as he had no idea how to explain where he learned it all, and furthermore, Harry had grown somewhat wary of Quirrell.
His suspicion was sparked after the troll incident but the way he talked about the Dark Arts and the benefits of immersing oneself within them was off-putting, no matter how much power they promised, however Harry played along because he did not want Quirrell to be suspicious of him in turn. Another factor was the gradual degradation of the professor's physical attributes, as if a curse was affecting him. Over the year he'd become increasingly pale and thin, taking on a sickly appearance, his movements were slower now than in September and his reactions were lethargic and more delayed. Whatever was hindering Professor Quirrell, Harry hoped it wouldn't cause him any problems.
Despite his ills, Quirrell's lessons were as informative as ever and continued to push Harry's magical development to the limit. Much of the winter and spring terms had been dedicated to learning both the Dark Arts and what had been labelled 'dark magic', the difference being that the Dark Arts, which included true dark magic, required genuine malicious intent and desire to inflict damage in order to work while so-called 'dark magic' was dangerous for any number of reasons, from being exceptionally dangerous and powerful to incredibly volatile.
For Harry this meant that while using the Dark Arts he had to pretend Professor Quirrell was a Death Eater, and while he suspected it may have fueled his wariness of the professor it provided him with enough anger to fuel the spells, not to mention he relished in the feeling of power which flooded through him afterwards, there was something enticingly primal about them. Meanwhile, when performing some of the spells Quirrell had taught him which the Ministry had classified as dark Harry made sure to stay as focused as possible, lest something go wrong. Before he had begun learning he thought to himself this wouldn't be an issue, he was skilled enough to not make pitiful mistakes, but he had been so very wrong. For example, there was a curse which Harry liked to think of as a much more concentrated banishing charm that caused a small area to be significantly damaged called the Sledgehammer Curse, and when he was first learning the spell it had a tendency to explode just after leaving his wand, blasting Harry backwards. This was why it was 'dark', both dangerous to hit other people with and for the caster.
"What are you doing wrong?" Professor Quirrell had demanded the second time it occurred.
"Nothing! I have the incantation, the wand movements and intent for it to work," Harry nearly snapped, frustrated with his failure.
"Intent to what?"
"To hit you of course," Harry actually snapped this time.
"Intent to hit me? With what? A puffskein? Oranges? Your shoe?" Quirrell asked bitingly. "Mr. Potter, when working with magic this powerful your intent cannot be so foolishly vague. Your spell has enough power, obviously, but your intent simply 'to hit' does not propel it anywhere. So you see, your spells are actually imploding because you're putting all this force behind the spell but not supporting it to direct it anywhere. Therefore, you must desire for the curse to do severe damage to my body. I assure you, you will not hurt me. Intent to bludgeon, shatter bones, mangle flesh and maim organs is required. Nothing less will suffice," he explained. Fixing Harry with a penetrating look he asked, "can you do that Mr. Potter? Or are you weak, like the rest?"
Listening to his professor's explanation, Harry fortified himself to begin casting the spell once again. Apparently, the Sledgehammer Curse was where the lines blurred between what were the Dark Arts and magic tagged as 'dark'. Hearing the last words spoken by Quirrell angered him, he wasn't weak! Bringing his wand to bear, Harry cast while getting up from his seat on the floor, "percussus!" This time it worked, a purple spell leaving Harry's ebony wand and rocketing across the classroom.
Quirrell instantaneously levitated a log, which was part of the conjured environment in use today, into the path of the spell. When it made contact a large dent was made on the side facing Harry, but with a loud crack the back blew out, showering the professor in splinters. Silently banishing the log towards Harry, who caught it with a spell from the elm wand in his right hand while simultaneously casting another offensive spell with his left, Quirrell calmly spoke, "and that is why this spell is good to know. The gouging charm merely goes through an object, the banishing charm not dense enough without significant concentration and the blasting hex or reductor curse have some form of explosion." Smoothly untransfiguring the oversized rabbit Harry had sent at him back into the log, he instructed, "only cast that spell now, until you are sure to perform it without fail."
The lessons continued in that vein for the remainder of the school year, Quirrell would teach Harry a spell, he would work on it until it was ingrained into both his brain and magic, and then the two of them would duel while Harry incorporated the spell into his arsenal somehow. It was fairly efficient and by their last private lesson, Harry was confident in his ability to hold his own against wizards far older than he in a fight. Though, probably not someone who was trained like Dora as an Auror or Sirius as a Hit-Wizard. He was capably versed in the Dark Arts, Professor Quirrell had informed him back in January they would focus on them more than anything else because knowledge on dark magic was severely limited, while he could learn conventional magic just about anywhere on his own time.
Today was the last Friday before exams and their final private lesson. After healing his visible wounds and hitting his clothes with several reparos so it didn't look like he'd been duelling in them, he had to do this after every lesson as the magic holding them together would fade over a week, Professor Quirrell deemed him worthy of some parting guidance.
"Two pieces of advice Mr. Potter, before we go our separate ways. Firstly, on the seventh floor you will find a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet, pace past it thrice thinking repeatedly of finding the lost and found, and the entrance will be revealed. There you will find items stored for centuries, but most importantly a wide selection of literature that will interest you may be found. I suggest keeping this room secret, not many know of it, I doubt even the Headmaster does. Use it well," he informed. Harry knew immediately he and Sophie would quite enjoy exploring the room, especially if, like Professor Quirrell said, it held everything ever lost at Hogwarts over centuries.
"Secondly, I have been profoundly generous, tutoring you throughout the year and giving you the tools you so desperately sought to become a more powerful wizard. In the future, there will come a time when your skills will be required. I suggest you answer the call of my … associate, you will not like the consequences otherwise," the second portion was said in a highly threatening tone that confirmed Quirrell was indeed a very dangerous wizard and sent shivers along Harry's spine.
Before Harry could even figure out how to respond to that, if at all, the professor left the room with the listless gait he'd developed, leaving the boy thinking he was in way over his head, his suspicions over the recent months crashing over him in waves. Was Quirrell going to try to become a new dark lord or something? Did he only train Harry so he could become his figurative bludger, to hurt others? But it wasn't like he could talk to anyone about it, he'd been learning the Dark Arts from Professor Quirrell for six months now! Slowly making his way back to the Slytherin Common Room to shower, change and begin final revising for the exams he would take over the next two weeks, Harry resolved he wouldn't stop getting better and training, until he could defend himself and his family from whatever may come.
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Harry didn't sleep much that night, but fortunately, it was easily passed off as preparing for the exams as the majority of the school looked similarly tired. Hedwig also arrived with a letter in the post on Saturday morning from Sirius, which was a sure way to cheer Harry up. The letter had details of Sirius' political maneuverings, unnecessary reassurance that the first year exams didn't really matter much and a small note that the Flamels hadn't contacted him yet.
"Any news?" Sophie asked as she settled onto the bench across from him.
Feeling safe his reply wouldn't be overheard in the noisy Great Hall, Harry answered, "yeah, Karkaroff's going to be out of a job at the end of the year. Good for Sirius getting that to be a condition of the exchange program, his reaction to learning that Death Eater was Headmaster was not very good."
"Aunt Sarah mentioned. And what of Beauxbatons and the Board of Governors?" Sophie asked.
"Beauxbatons was glad to endorse it, especially considering the last time the tournament was held at their school a cockatrice got loose apparently injuring loads of people and doing a lot of damage. The Board was hesitant at first, something to do with getting rid of tradition, but Sirius thinks they're coming around. He says half the reason for it is because they'll have way less paperwork to do. The main problem now is Dumbledore, like Sirius thought he's opposed to sending students to Durmstrang where they may fall in with the Dark Arts and his allied board members are following his lead," Harry informed her.
After hearing of the possibility of being able to attend a different school Sophie and Harry had researched the two others and their differences from Hogwarts. Beauxbatons taught more theory of magic than Hogwarts, at the sacrifice of less practical work and not teaching as much advanced magic, while it also had a wider variety of speciality elective courses. One of these was a class focusing how to create magical paintings, which Sophie was interested in. On the other side of the spectrum was Durmstrang, solely focused on the practical applications of magic with the theory almost as an afterthought, if the students wanted to learn theory they could on their own time, according to several sources. It was far harsher as well in both climate, being located in the far north, and culture, with a sink or swim attitude, since it was an invite-only school if someone couldn't cope they were heavy-handedly encouraged to depart for one of the lesser schools scattered around continental Europe. Harry, who was tentatively thinking of going to Durmstrang because of the promotion of learning advanced material and their open tolerance of the Dark Arts, wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with those difficulties, but as he'd been told, the best potions are brewed over flame.
Exams went off without a hitch for Harry, there was only a week of school left during which teachers would assign summer homework and briefly touch on what material could be expected next year. Hogwarts would've settled into a lazy mood, except for the fact the very day after exams were over the Boy-Who-Lived and his friend Ron Weasley were in the hospital wing, and Professor Quirrell had disappeared. Harry briefly wondered if he had told anyone of his fears it could have been prevented, but ultimately decided the consequences wouldn't have been worth it. The rumours Harry heard before the morning post had even arrived were quite diverse but the most popular one was that something had happened within the third floor corridor, which Harry found almost believable. He was also glad the Philosopher's Stone was long gone by now so Quirrell had no chance to get his hands on it, even if it was powerless at this point.
After the post arrived, in which Hedwig delivered Sophie and Harry's weekly letters from Sirius and Sarah, though they hadn't contained any mention of the Flamels, Dumbledore stood and made his way to the dais from which he'd made his start of term announcements. "I am sorry to announce that Quirinus Quirrell is no longer a resident of this castle. He attempted to steal a research project of mine from the forbidden third floor corridor. Disgraced, he has fled," he told the students with a grave tone and a disappointed look on his face. Then with a more serious gaze and tone implored them, "a group of students were involved in stopping him. I ask you to preserve their privacy, they have done this school a great service."
So Dumbledore went with the actual reason the Flamels had given him the Stone as a cover story, Harry thought sharing a glance with Sophie. He wondered if Sirius would get word from the Flamels and if he would, or could since they may not inform him of the details, tell Harry exactly what went on between the elderly couple and Dumbledore. It certainly seemed amusing in his imagination. The next morning, Sirius' owl arrived with a thick letter. It was Sunday so the hall was relatively empty, therefore Harry pocketed it and with a nod of his head towards the doors indicated they would read it once they left, thankful that Blaise and Daphne were off down the table socialising with some older Slytherins.
The letter was rather humorous, even without what Sirius' imagination had cooked up as to how events played out. "The thought of Dumbledore being 'chastised like an errant child' for not letting someone know their stuff's gone," Sophie chuckled.
"You have to imagine, though, in comparison to the Flamels everyone pretty much is a child. Sirius' idea of Perenelle chasing Dumbledore around with a cane is golden, and completely possible, she is one scary woman."
"The comment about the Stone being here and in a fairly obvious place to distract from anyone who wanted to harm Longbottom, what do you think of that? Wouldn't the wards protect from those things?"
"I dunno if the wards are as strong as they're fabled to be. Remember the trolls? And Sirius and Dora got in without anyone noticing, though that was on the day of a quidditch match. Of course, the wards are good, but not perfect," Harry surmised. "Anyway," he continued, "he is right about the bludger attack justifying his actions."
Conceding his point, Sophie laughed, "I think my favourite part is that they never told Dumbledore how they got the stone back, because he'll be wondering about it for the next forever and a half, and that he 'needs to lighten up.'"
"Sirius will tell him eventually because of the Durmstrang thing. From the letter it sounds like they don't know Longbottom was involved, and he will probably tell his grandmother which will make it useless, unfortunately. Think we should tell him?"
"It'll only be useless if she tells everyone else though, which is what Sirius would have to threaten to do. But let's tell him anyway, maybe she'll help him with that committee he was trying to get going," Sophie concluded.
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Considering the recent revelations about Quirrell's character, Harry was hesitant to investigate the lost and found room he'd been told about. There was every possibility it could be a trap, or he could come across a cursed object he wouldn't have the skills to deal with it or Merlin knew what. Although he knew Quirrell was still out there biding his time, and Harry had every inclination to get on with continuing his magical studies, he deserved a break with some time to relax. Consequently, Harry joined the throngs of students spending their time along the sloping grassy hills leading to the lake with Hogwarts castle towering behind them, enjoying the sun, looking back at the school year and discussing summer plans.
"Guh, I cannot wait to be a second year so we don't have to put up with the pranks from Slytherin anymore!" Daphne declared, after reverting her hair back from being literal green grass. "The Weasley's are bad enough to deal with. Is being safe walking through the common room too much to ask for?"
"Apparently," Sophie drawled. Her hair had previously been charmed into dreadlock-like ropes, giving her a scary appearance. "Unfortunately we can't all be like Harry, seeing where pranks will be before they even happen."
"Hey, let's see you try having Sirius for a godfather, Remus as an uncle and Dora as an older sister! Honestly, the school year is practically tame to the things I'll get into over the summer. I swear on my magic I'll get woken up by a No-Flame Firework tossed through my window and a gravity inversion illusion in the hallway on Sunday morning," Harry lamented.
"Sirius, as in the Lord Black? That does sound rather deplorable," Daphne noted. Then she asked, "what else is everyone doing for summer? I cannot wait to ride horses around the farm again. By far my favourite way to travel, even if brooms are faster nowadays."
"I will split my time between Italy and Britain. I am never sure as to my mother's plans," Blaise said in his cultured voice.
"I think we're being tutored by Remus again. Right, Harry?" Sophie asked, and he nodded, it had been in his last letter. "Other than that, probably spending as much time out of the house at Grimmauld Place as possible. Sirius said he's a studio set up for me!" she proclaimed excitedly.
The three other heads swivelled in Harry's direction. "I heard there are a chaser and seeker position opening on the quidditch team. I'll be flying a lot because I want to become the Chaser. I noticed over Winter Break that I lost some endurance and stuff, so I have to make up for not flying at all this year."
"Malfoy's going to try to become the seeker, allegedly," Blaise mentioned.
"I hope not. I'd rather not deal with the annoying bugger, even if he has left me alone since that fiasco at his Ball," Harry said, causing a round of chuckles. "Still, if he does, I just want to play quidditch."
"Wasn't your dad a chaser?" Sophie asked softly.
"Yeah. Yeah, he was, and captain for his sixth and seventh years too. I hope I'm as good as him," Harry replied.
When the End-of-Term Feast finally came around the residents of Hogwarts were buzzing with anticipatory energy, and Slytherin was nearly bursting with exuberance, breaking the usual decorum they held themselves with, because they would be winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. Talk throughout the hall came to an abrupt halt when the Boy-Who-Lived made his first public appearance since the third-floor debacle everyone assumed he'd been in. A moment later, Dumbledore once again approached his dais for announcements, drawing the attention of the room.
He raised his arms in welcome and cheerfully announced, "another year gone! And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were … you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.
"Now, as I understand it the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."
Slytherin house exploded in cheers, stamping and banging of goblets against the table. Harry was ecstatic to be part of it and was caught up in the moment. Even the ever dour Professor Snape was vigorously clapping. Dumbledore waited for their celebration to calm before continuing.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin. However recent events must be taken into account," Dumbledore proclaimed. Harry thought, he wasn't going to give Longbottom and his friends points for going down the forbidden third floor corridor, was he? That would be ridiculous. The room went very still, and along with Harry the, Slytherins were waiting, waiting to see if the Headmaster would take their glory from them.
"Ahem, I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes … First - to Mr Ronald Weasley … for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Gryffindor's cheers were outrageously loud, even louder than Slytherin celebrating their win. Harry couldn't believe it, the Headmaster was giving them points for breaking the rules. Well, he thought to himself, now was as good a time as any to be a true Slytherin and bend the truth to his benefit. So as the noise started dying down, he glanced at his friends with a reassuring look, he wanted them to be sure he was quite sane, and started laughing like mad. Maniacally. And as the hall fell into silence, it was impossible to ignore.
Dumbledore's voice carried over, "is there a problem Mr. Potter?"
"You see Headmaster, you're rewarding students for breaking the rules and entering the forbidden third floor corridor. If I had known I would be rewarded for getting past your tasks, I would have spoken up much earlier! In November, in fact. By myself. If beating the chess set is worth fifty points, how many do I get?" Harry called out.
The Gryffindors looked shattered. They had hoped the Headmaster would reward his old house for showing their proper qualities, they'd hoped to unseat their rivals, the Slytherins, right in their moment of triumph. Longbottom and Weasley were glowering at Harry, but he couldn't find it within himself to much care, while Granger was looking at the Headmaster with a puzzled expression. In contrast, Dumbledore looked even happier and his smile widened. "Ah, thank you for solving that mystery for me, Mr. Potter. I truly appreciate it. Now, please be patient, I will get to you in a moment."
"Second - to Miss Hermione Granger … for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." The mentioned girl buried her face in her arms, not knowing how to deal with all the attention. The Gryffindors clapped for her, but still somewhat subdued.
"Third - to Mr Neville Longbottom … for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." Which tied them with Slytherin, who knew what Dumbledore would've done if Harry hadn't spoken out. The hall was silent as they waited to see what would happen in regards to him.
"For a display of true cunning and ambition, and impressive magical prowess I'm positive would be a sight to behold, I award Mr Harry Potter … One hundred and ten points."
Once again Slytherin house celebrated their victory of the House Cup for the seventh year running. Except for this time Harry was buried under a pile of people hugging him in congratulations. From the look on Sophie's face, she clearly approved of his manipulation of the truth for the house's benefit. The celebration continued after the feast with a party in the common room late into the night. As Harry was clapped on the back, got his hand shook or a hug from nearly every person in Slytherin and received his first kiss from a third year girl he didn't even know the name of, he decided it was undoubtedly advantageous to be the hero.
The next morning at breakfast, exam results were handed out by a student's head of house. Snape handed Harry his with a nod and a brusque, "Very well done, Potter."
Knowing he meant winning the Cup last night, but also hoping he meant his results, Harry slowly opened the parchment. Scanning rapidly, noticing he got all Os, Harry searched for the class ranking. In McGonagall's near-perfect script at the bottom, there it was. 'Year Rank: 1.' Harry let out a relieved sigh, and looked around at his competitors, they all knew who each other were, giving them nods of recognition and they were returned in kind. Though, the determined set to Granger's face was certainly a mask to hide her disappointment. Harry wondered how close they were in overall points among their classes, it had probably been ridiculously close.
Later that morning as Harry rode in one of the horseless carriages, that smelled faintly of mould and straw, down to Hogsmeade Station past the magnificent wrought iron gates of Hogwarts, he hoped the summer would be just as promising as it seemed.
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A/N: Feel free to PM/review with any questions, concerns, discrepancies or opinions. In fact, I would love to hear some criticism. Especially constructive criticism because, you know, that's the most helpful kind.