Part Two: Directionless

A Morning Meeting

Worthwhile as a friend. Worth being a friend to at all. Such foreign concepts, Harry had a hard time internalizing them at all. He woke several times during the night, convinced that this was all just a dream, but the faint shimmer of the lake above reassured him that Hogwarts was real.

Professor Quirrell had tried to prepare him, but words couldn't describe what Hogwarts meant to Harry. Even after only one night there was something unbelievably freeing about just being in the castle. The atmosphere could hardly have been more opposite the Dursleys' house. A chaotic, beautiful, inexplicable place of wonder and freedom.

Even if he didn't yet feel any more powerful or self-assured, he felt lighter. He hadn't realized how much weight living with the Dursleys had placed on his mind until it was gone, his mind free and his horizons unrestrained.

The lake was still dark overhead as Harry stood and stretched, too full of energy to return to sleep. His roommates were all still asleep, so he moved quietly as he washed and dressed and carefully made his bed.

He was good at moving quietly. No one so much as stirred as he slipped out of the dorm, closing the door softly behind him. Harry resisted the urge to run down the hall, down the stairs to the common room. He had so much eager energy rushing through him, he could hardly bear to move slowly and carefully.

The common room was decorated comfortably, clusters of armchairs and sofas scattered about, tables of various sizes in matching styles scattered between. The candles hanging from the ceiling in green globes still glowed, though the white wall-torches were unlit and the fire in the hearth burned low, giving the place a cozy dimness. The room was actually a bit chilly, though Harry hardly minded.

He circled the outer walls, glad of the chance to fully examine the room without everyone else about. Portraits of past Slytherin alumni nodded or waved at him as he passed their frames, though most were asleep. Each was labeled with their name and year, occasionally another few lines were inscribed beneath them.

'Minister for Magic' here, 'Hero of the Battle of Starhill' there, 'Author of' this or that. But most were simply the portrait and the name and date, the manner of earning the right to ornament these walls unspoken.

He was so focused on the walls that only a sharp hiss of warning prevented him stepping on a thick black-and-purple snake coiled by one of the fireplaces.

"Watch where you're going, master," it hissed, obviously quite put out. "I've come with a message for you and would appreciate not being flattened in the process."

It didn't sound nearly as respectful as most snakes Harry had encountered.

"I'll be careful," Harry said, stepping around its coils and sitting in the nearest armchair. "What's your message?"

"Master-not-master wishes to speak with you if you awaken before seventh hour."

Harry glanced at the clock beside the noticeboard, which showed it to be nearly six.

"Plenty of time, then," Harry said. "Can you take me to him? I don't know my way around."

The snake shifted irritably, but nodded. "Yesss, I know the way. Follow."

Professor Quirrell sat in his office, wearing deep purple robes and a pointed black hat with a thin purple band that actually went quite fetchingly with his light brown hair. He'd looked so completely different in each situation Harry had seen him, he was beginning to wonder what style he actually preferred to wear.

"Harry, thank you for coming. I rather expected you might be an early riser."

"My aunt and uncle didn't leave me much choice in the matter," Harry said. He'd expected to feel bitter about it, but Privet Drive already felt like a different life entirely. Though everything was new and strange here, overwhelming despite Quirrell's attempts to prepare him, nothing here felt even remotely similar to his former life.

Hogwarts was freedom, a chance to start over. It already felt like home.

"It suits my purposes well," Quirrell said. "As we both have much to do during the day, mornings may be best for our meetings and lessons."

He motioned Harry to a large and comfortable-looking chair. Harry sat, though he was feeling very restless now. He wanted to do something, not sit still. Get outdoors and explore the grounds, perhaps. But it was very early morning. Harry wasn't sure what the school policy was on students wandering outdoors alone in the early morning, but suspected it would be something along the lines of 'get back inside, idiot'.

"So, Harry," Quirrell said. "What is your main goal for the future?"

"I'm going to learn magic," Harry said. "Isn't that the point?"

Quirrell leaned forward. "Indeed. But, apart from that. Do you have no ambitions?"

"I've wanted to get away from my aunt and uncle and Dudley for so long, it's hard to believe I'm really free." Glorious, exhilarating, but even now he had a hard time not flinching when Gregory walked past - his heavy steps could have matched Dudley's stride for stride. It seemed his past would not be quite so easy to discard.

Harry pushed aside the thought. Wizards weren't like that. Here, he could excel without fear of reprisal. "I want to learn everything there is to know about my true power, I want to learn to control it safely."

"Ah. You want to prove yourself, don't you?" Quirrell asked quietly.

Harry nodded. "They always said I was worthless, a freak," he whispered, his hand tightening on his wand. "I don't want it to be true."

"Trust me," Quirrell said. "It isn't." The professor leaned back in his own chair, hands clasped on the desk in front of him. He glanced at a desk calendar planner, sighed. "I'm afraid I won't have time to meet you every day. You're not the only student I'll be tutoring individually."

Harry nodded, looked down at his lap. "That's alright. I don't want to bother you."

"That is a habit you need to break," Quirrell said firmly. "Look at me properly."

Harry looked up.

"You may have the heart of a Slytherin, but right now you have the goals of a Ravenclaw and the attitude of a Hufflepuff," Quirrell said. "I can see past your fear to the strength you've tried so long to hide, but I am older and wiser than your housemates. They will not be so understanding nor so perceptive. In our house, you do not sit by and wait for power to come to you. You must reach out and seize it by any means necessary. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, stared at his knees. "I understand."

"Look at me properly," Quirrell instructed. "You make yourself appear weak and foolish."

"Maybe I am weak," Harry retorted, meeting his teacher's gaze only to look away at once. "Maybe I'm foolish. I'm only in Slytherin because I asked to be, maybe that was a mistake."

Quirrell shook his head. "Oh, don't think that, Harry. You've been here one night, that's not long enough to make such a sweeping judgment. Look at me."

Harry did so, feeling very small.

"I'm here to help you," Professor Quirrell insisted. "Our house is not one forgiving of weakness, but one designed to push each to their limits. Only through overcoming anything in our way do we attain our truest greatness."

"I don't want to be pushed right now," Harry said, fighting the instinct to look away. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Right now I want to recover from the nightmare that my life has been up to this point. I want to learn how to control my true power. And I don't want to have to worry about what people think about me."

It made Harry feel unwell just thinking about the sheer amount of attention he already had with his unearned reputation. He imagined the crowds as a vast hunting beast that would dog his steps until he stumbled, then devour him without hesitation.

"You should not worry what they think, but you must be aware. You must be ready to direct their allegiance as you desire. You must be able to forge alliances, even if you can't stand the other person."

"I have you, and Draco offered to teach me what alliances were worth my time."

"Draco, the Malfoy heir?"

Harry nodded. "If there's another Draco, I haven't met him."

Quirrel tilted his chair back a bit as he considered, tapping his thumbs together. "That could be a very useful alliance, but you must not show weakness."

Harry nodded. "I've been trying to follow all your advice. I haven't made any promises, and I've been vague and mysterious as much as possible."

"Being vague won't work with Malfoy if you plan to be allies. You need a firm hand dealing with that one."

Harry nodded. Draco was a pureblood wizard, which automatically inferred additional status and power even without taking his family's considerable political influence and wealth into account. Harry may be the wizard savior hero, but he was also an ignorant half-blood whose parents had made controversial alliances and then died, leaving him to grow up with muggles.

Harry could hardly be in a much worse position, aside from his reputation as the-boy-who-lived - which may end up being more a detriment than a help.

He slumped lower in his chair. He'd been here less than a day, and already his freedom from trouble was looking to be at its end.

"Sit up straight, look me in the eyes," Quirrell reminded.

Harry sighed, but obeyed.

"What do you want to know this morning?" the professor asked. "It's been a long time since we last were able to speak in person."

Harry nodded, tried to remember his list of questions. They just didn't seem important right then, when placed against the urgency of finding his place in Slytherin.

"How do I show strength, when I know so little? How can I prove to Draco that I'm worth his time, and that I know what I'm doing? What should I do about Pansy? I don't know anything."

Quirrell sighed. "I wish I could be of more assistance, but though I know much about the general families involved, I do not know the specifics of their children. I have been away for a some time, traveling the world. I can only teach you general techniques for dealing with others, I cannot tell you specifically who you can trust. Draco Malfoy would be a valuable ally, there can be no doubt, and you of value to him. If you see an opportunity, take it, if not. . . it may be better to wait another year, until you're more confident of your place. Exactly where the balance lies, I could not say. I've never even met the boy, though I know much of his father."

Harry understood completely, he felt just as lost in uncertainty. But unlike Quirrell who as a teacher could avoid Slytherin alliances completely, Harry had no choice. The longer he delayed, the harder it would become to break in. Right now, everyone was new. Though they had family members to tell them about Hogwarts, the castle was still a new place with new relationships to be formed.

"How do I make friends?" he asked faintly. "I don't understand people at all. I've never actually had a friend my own age."

Quirrell chuckled darkly. "Ah, Harry. People are the most inexplicable creature of all. In this as well, I have but little experience. And to be perfectly honest, I haven't ever been particularly good at forming relationships with children. Adults are so much more reasonable. Allies, yes, I have had many allies. Friends. . . I couldn't say."

Harry watched as the professor absently twisted the ring around his finger, showing the heavy gold band, then the large green stone. He felt a strange pull toward that stone, a desire to see it closer, to touch it.

The professor didn't notice Harry's focus, staring past into the middle distance.

"I can only repeat the same bland useless advice I have been given. Be friendly. Take an interest in their lives. Care about them." Quirrell laughed, mocking, his tone warning. "But remember that they are also Slytherins. If you care too much, you will be exploited. If you trust too far, you could be betrayed. What an impossible balance to try to walk."

Harry felt despair seeping into him. "What can I do then?" he whispered.

Quirrell met Harry's eyes, his expression earnest. "Become great. Followers are quite as useful as friends, and cost much less to acquire and retain. Strength attracts admiration, and people find it much easier to follow those they admire."

Harry nodded slowly. It was the feeling he'd gotten from his classmates already. People wanted to follow him, wanted to 'be his friend' because he was famous. If he managed to not mess up, maintain his already mysterious image, and expand upon it with his own exploits. . .

"Can you teach me more magic?" Harry asked. "Everyone knows more than me."

Quirrell nodded, smiling. "I have prepared an advanced plan that should maximize your magical skill and expand your future potential, as I rather suspected you would desire magical knowledge. First, can you still perform the light charm I taught you?"

Harry stood and brought his wand up in front of him in a quick, smooth gesture. "Lumos."

The wand tip flared with light, flickered, faded, flickered again, then sputtered out. Harry frowned, brought it up again. "Lumos," he said, more insistently.

Again the light flared, brightly at first, then sputtering and winding down to a dim glow. Then it flashed brightly one last time before going dark again.

"LUMOS!" Harry shouted, angry now. The light flickered, brightened, stayed at a steady glow for nearly five seconds, then sputtered and died away again. "LUMOS, lumos, Lumos!"

Quirrell finally held up his hand. "It seems your wand is quite temperamental. Perhaps try mine again? It seemed to like you the first time."

Harry put away his own wand, accepted the professor's. Long and pale, engraved patterns coiling sinuously around its length, its handle worn to icy smoothness over its years of use. Harry felt instantly comfortable with it in his hand. "Lumos," he said firmly, and brought the wand up. Its tip lit and stayed alight, faint but steady.

"This is longer," Harry said. The light went out as his concentration lapsed, but he hardly noticed, turning the wand over in his hand. "This isn't the same wand you had at the shop. Do you have two?"

Quirrell smiled. "Well noticed, Harry, very good. Yes, I have two wands. That one, I. . . inherited, you could say."

He pulled out the shorter wand, twirled it. "This was my own, but it doesn't seem to like me much any longer. It fails the most simple spells. Perhaps jealousy, perhaps we've just grown too different to work together as we once did. It matters not, that wand works perfectly well for me. And for you, it would seem."

"What type is this?" Harry asked, turning the wand over in his hands. The coldness tingled against his hand, but didn't chill his fingers, instead the cool power of the wand seemed almost to warm him. A paradox of magic.

"Yew, with a phoenix feather core," Quirrell replied. "I acquired it during my travels, actually. It is surprising it works so well for me, considering that I am not its original owner."

"Whose was it?"

Quirrell shrugged. "To be perfectly honest with you, I don't believe the man from whom I obtained it had any idea whose it had originally been. He claimed it belonged to 'a legendary wizard of nearly unstoppable power,' but to my knowledge such wands do not tend to drift around the world like so much easily purchased tourist bait. Still, I felt a connection to it even then, decided to give it a chance."

Harry nodded, looked at the wand hesitantly. "Will using this make my own wand jealous? If it has reservations about me as it is. . ."

Quirrell smiled. "I doubt that anything we do will make a difference. Your wand is being stubborn, as phoenix-core wands are wont to do. It will choose to accept you in time, I am confident of that. Until it does so, you may continue to use mine in our practice, though I must insist you attempt to use your own during regular classes."

"Thank you," Harry said, then added as an afterthought, "Lumos." The wand lit, glowed steadily. "What now?"

"I'll be officially teaching from the standard curriculum books this year, but most of them are not particularly useful apart from specific situations. We could start with basic attack and defence spells. They'll be very weak for you at first until your magical strength is better developed, but it will give you a head start on the future years."

"Attack and defence spells?" Harry asked uncertainly. When he'd pictured learning magic, it had been more demonstrative, mundane, or utilitarian. Light, fire, conjuring rain, transfiguring a chair to be more comfortable, charming a dishrag to wash things on its own. Most of his textbooks seemed to reinforce that impression.

"I teach Defence against the Dark Arts, Harry. Many creatures of darkness lurk in our world, and many more who are useless irritations. But as much as we must defend against werewolves and gargoyles and fire-crabs, the greatest harm to our world has come in the wars against Dark wizards, or in opposition to those who are misguided fools."

Harry's sense of safety and surety, his confidence that wizards were better, cracked slightly.

"Like Lord Voldemort," he said faintly. "But there aren't any like him around any longer, right?" He desperately hoped it would be true.

Quirrell folded his hands, his expression grim. "I'm sorry, Harry, but there is no way to be sure. Dozens of Lord Voldemort's followers have been captured and imprisoned, but the obvious threat is not always the true one. The Ministry of Magic, sitting back and ignoring the world for the sake of their own power, could well be considered a greater threat to our lives and happiness than Lord Voldemort ever was."

Harry inhaled sharply. "The Ministry of Magic?" he asked. "But aren't they in charge of everything wizards do?"

"The fact that they are in such unquestioned control is the start of the problem," Quirrell said, then added, "They are very near to incontestable. They monitor magical transportation, compose the rules of manufacturing and conduct all enforcement of magical law. If a wizard or witch gets on the wrong side of the Ministry, they can make your life all but unbearable."

Harry tightened his grip on Quirrell's wand, the magic's cold warmth seeping through him. "I want people to be free," he said, quiet but firm. He started to lower his eyes, caught himself and straightened instead. It took a great effort of will, years of instinct fought hard, but this was his chance to start over. He would no longer be anyone's servant. He would no longer sit quietly and mumble agreement.

Harry already associated magic with confidence. He had felt strongest after his first meeting with the professor in the park, only his deep instinct for survival had buried that spark of defiance as he'd reached his relatives' home. Now, he needed to be confident and strong to show his house he could stand with them.

Here he would not be powerless.

"Teach me to protect myself," Harry said, meeting his teacher's eyes with fierce determination. "Teach me to fight and win."

Quirrell smiled. "I would like nothing better."

Author's Note: This update almost didn't go out today, I realized at the last minute that the first section was very broken when I went to submit it, but once I actually got started on it the corrections were fairly straightforward. However, I'm still having trouble with this arc's overall flow, which may end up causing delays in the future.

Happy Pi day!