Chapter 8, Part Three: Hogwart's Professors
As Harry turned to sit down, he noticed astonishment in his classmates' faces.
Ernie's eyebrows were furrowed suspiciously, but he caught himself quickly.
First, the tiny wizard read the scroll that contained their names and then introduced himself.
"Theory of magic… Has anybody bothered to read this particularly tedious piece of writing?"
Harry laughed in relief. He'd tried. He really had, but that was the only book that had managed to put him to sleep (natural consequence of reading after a strenuous day or a short night).
"It is my job to introduce you to the basic theories of magic. So, let's start… There are many different ways of how we could categorize magic. Any ideas?"
"Nonverbal and verbal magic, that can be further categorized into magic with or without a wand," Susan offered.
"Good. Now let's look at the subjects you have. How would you categorize them?"
"Herbology isn't really magic at all, neither is History and Astronomy," Hannah chimed in, looking a bit confused, "Potions sounds a bit like cooking, so…"
"I wouldn't make that mistake," Harry contradicted, "Potions… No, clearly a form of nonverbal and wandless magic. In most cases. There are potions that need an incantation or a specific flick of the wand. Potions clearly is magic. Herbology can be magical; some things cannot be done without help. I agree with History, though."
"Charms, Defence and Transfiguration... That can belong to every possible category, it depends on the power of the wizard," Eloise offered.
"Very good," Professor Flitwick beamed at them, "Excellent. Now, any other ideas?"
"Potions, charms, transfigurations, hexes, curses," Ernie stated thoughtfully.
"So, what we had first was a definition of the way we let the magic come to life, now we speak of magic's purposes, except for potions that describe a form of magic. Good idea. Please, discuss the way you have before."
"What about Rune magic?" Justin asked, "I read about that. It doesn't fit into this definition."
Harry didn't say anything while the others were discussing the matter.
Categorizing magic… Impossible. Not if you took Goblin and Elven magic into consideration.
What was magic in the first place? Energy? Life? What about those who couldn't perform it?
What did the magic he'd so far come across of in common, what set the singular occasions apart?
Bricks moving… The warmth of apparition… Potions as liquid magic… Safely landing from a fall…
"Fire, Earth, Air and Water," Harry whispered carefully.
Surprised, Flitwick caught his gaze, "Please explain, Mr Potter."
"All magic, it doesn't matter if Rune magic, potions or a charm, with a wand or without it… It all comes down to the four elements. Wingardium Leviosa – Air, turning a match into a needle – metal, so it's earth. Herbology – closer to earth you can hardly get. Potions – liquids, but I guess every element is important there, fire included. How else could you make the water cook?"
There was silence, before Ernie argued, "What about Reparo?"
"Earth," was the prompt reply given by Eloise, "Whatever you put back together, the element Earth is most likely a part of it."
"But, premonitions… What about divination?"
"Spirit," Harry said, "The fifth element of magic." Kertak had mentioned it once or twice.
"I'd like to break off the discussion for now," Flitwick interfered, his eyes widened and his face looked almost childlike in delight, "Your house deserves ten points for these excellent ideas. Mr Potter, very well argued. Most likely, there is a lot of truth in your idea. Anyhow, certain scholars support another theory that I would like to explain to you." He sounded about as excited about the scholars as Kertak did when talking of wand-carriers in general. Harry was barely able to suppress a grin.
"Mr Waffling and his study group have categorized magic as follows," he cleared his throat and with a short flick of his wand, words appeared at the blackboard, "The principle of how we hold the wand for different purposes. Potions is not taken into consideration, it is a category of its own. Rune magic isn't mentioned at all."
Flitwick's high voice was calm and he spoke slowly giving time for Harry's peers to write things down. The emerald-eyed boy on the other hand took all the information in without writing it down. Instead, he drew senseless figures with a pencil (he'd taken along from the orphanage). Harry had noticed long ago that it was simpler for him to learn things by heart while he was being active. At home he walked, ran, cooked, baked, folded the laundry, carried a toddler, changed a baby's diaper while listening to whatever his peers were talking about.
That had been a problem at Primary school for his teachers hadn't accepted any disturbance of class by physical activity (and if he was only playing with his hands), especially the school he'd attended during his stay at St Mary's. Teachers hadn't been very fond of Harry and stated he was having problems focusing on the lesson. He'd given up trying to make them understand that he was able to remember things better that way.
He hoped that Hogwarts' professors were a bit more open-minded than those he'd come across of so far. In order not to move, he'd noticed that scribbling things helped him just as much as when he was shifting in his seat or played with his hands. As long as he could convince the teachers that he was taking notes, there wouldn't be a problem.
Not that Mr Harper had cared much for his explanations.
"Charms possesses three basic ways of holding a wand: neutral," only the fingertips touched the wand with the index finger on top and the rest to the side. Elegant, but unsteady, "Defensive," his hand curled around the wand, the forefinger straightened, the back of the hand that covered the wand directed at the person or object in front of him, the tip of the wand looked towards the roof, "And offensive." This time, there was no change in the grip, Professor Flitwick merely turned the wand in a half-circle and the tip of the wand was directed at the potential target.
"Transfiguration possesses exactly one way of holding a wand." It looked the way one held a pencil.
"Defence is very closely related to the 'offensive' and 'defensive' ways of holding a wand I've shown earlier for most spells you learn in Defence are in fact charms. There are exceptions, of course. Though most curses are performed by holding the wand 'offensively,' there are some where the wand has to be held differently. Then there is the principle of a hex or, as it is also called, jinx. You hold them like this." The only difference to 'offensive' was that the hand itself was drawn back above the tiny wizards head, "Well, that's it. Transfiguration, neutral, defensive, offensive, hex and the exceptions. Let's practise them."
What followed was a lesson between giggles and really hard practising. Professor Flitwick called one of the five basic ways of holding a wand and they had to do it. It took a moment to get used to it, but nothing bad happened, except for that one time when Justin's wand flew out of his hand wildly spreading sparks, but the adult wizard flicked them away casually as if it happened every day.
Before they were dismissed, they were also introduced into the principle of Wingardium Leviosa. Next lesson, they would learn another category: wand movements.
He asked them to summarize what they'd learned today until Thursday. Before Harry left, he once again bowed 'student to teacher,' which was formally returned. The eleven-year-old was almost outside, when the professor called him back.
"It is a rare occurrence to meet a human knowing the goblin ways," his Gobbledegock was absolutely flawless.
"It is rarer to meet a goblin descendent to be a proud carrier of the wand," Harry replied, not quite sure if he was being impertinent. Amongst goblins, he wouldn't be, but Professor Flitwick was indeed a special case.
He was glad to hear the adult chuckle kindly, "My mother was human, my father a goblin, young Mr Potter. I grew up learning the ways of the goblins for it was at a time the Ministry wasn't too fond of what they called 'mixed blood' and it was unlikely for me ever to be introduced to Hogwarts."
Harry furrowed his eyes in confusion and continued in English, "Ministry, sir?"
Surprised, Professor Flitwick glanced at him, "You have not been told of the Ministry of Magic, Mr Potter?"
"I'm afraid not," then his eyes widened remembering a time, when Kertak had told him that he withheld information in the cases he feared that he wouldn't be able to provide it neutrally, "I've much to learn."
"And that you will," the wizard, that was almost a head shorter than him, smiled confidently, "You may always come to me if you are in need, Mr Potter."
Harry swallowed heavily at yet another blunt offer for help (this was becoming a habit), bowed in thanks and whispered hoarsely, "Dàio, nashòr."
In the afternoon, they had History of Magic. When they sat inside of the classroom, they already knew that it was a ghost who gave those lessons, but they all jumped as Professor Binns entered through the blackboard.
He didn't even bother to look at the name list, but instantly started to talk in the most boring voice Harry ever happened to come across of.
"History of Magic will inform you on every important decision and occurrence that happened ever since the Magical Community of Wizards and Witches in Great Britain was formed," it was amazing how dull he made this sentence sound, "We will begin with particularly important events that are summarized as the 'goblin rebellions.' They will be our topic in the course of this first term." Harry looked up, completely focused.
Kertak had told him of those, had mentioned the events when wizards and goblins alike hadn't acted very honourably on several occasions.
"The first rebellion happened in the country outside the city of London, 1512, and was not a rebellion in the strictest sense, but a group of five goblins who murdered three wizards."
After they'd killed one of the goblin's wives for 'impertinent behaviour.'
The wizards had been extremely loyal members of the Magic for Wizards community, a group of wizards that had wanted to establish the exclusive use of magic by wizards. Ten years after the terrible crime, nobody ever heard of the community again. It was said that this happened thanks to the collaboration between some goblins and witches.
"The next report of violent behaviour by goblins towards wizards and witches happened in Wales, 1545."
Er… What?
Harry shook his head to refocus. No explanations, nothing? It hadn't been mindless slaughter. It had been an act of retribution. Surely, there were other ways and Harry had never been a supporter of the 'eye for an eye' principle, but this sounded as if the five goblins had been nothing but bloodthirsty monsters.
"…Seven Aurors were killed when they attempted to get the skirmish under control." And executed them all in the process. But again, Professor Binns didn't elaborate.
Harry couldn't take it and lifted his hand in protest.
At first, he was being ignored until the ghost finally took notice, "Yes, Mr…"
"Potter. Sir, 1512, the three wizards were part of a community that was called…" As if he hadn't talked at all, the teacher continued with his lecture taking Harry aback. With narrowed eyes, he watched Professor Binns, whose eyes nervously surveyed the room catching emerald every once in a while.
Oh.
That wasn't denial. This man (ghost) knew it. He simply didn't say it. He consciously withheld information.
For the first time, Harry picked up his quill and started to write down everything his teacher said. He wouldn't stand by doing nothing. To his dismay, he saw his peers falling asleep, one by one, under the boring tone of Professor Binns voice. Without noticing, they became defenceless against their History teacher's opinions.
At the end of the lesson, he quickly threw all his things into his bag. He was so angry, his hands trembled.
He knew he wasn't neutral, he knew the customs of non-magical humans and goblins better than the customs of wizards and witches. However, what that ghost had been telling in there, was not the entire truth.
And he knew it!
His eyes darkened as he walked down the corridors in search of Professor Sprout (she'd told them to go to her if there was a problem). Instead of finding her, though, he saw Professor Flitwick turning around a corner.
"Nashòr, ka ramalaî'nèsh peka?" ('Teacher, may I speak with you, sir?')
Surprised, the tiny half-goblin stopped dead in his tracks, "Mr Potter, you seem distressed."
Indignantly, Harry explained what he'd just heard, the attempt of Professor Binns to ignore the goblins' view.
"Professor, I cannot bear this, not without protest. Kertak and Nilràu Natruk have done so much for me." To his astonishment, he saw Flitwick's eyes widen. Did he know them? "I know there have been mistakes on both sides, Kertak knows this, too. He made sure I knew. He's always been fair for he suspected that I was a wizard and he didn't want me to despise my own kin, therefore he never spoke truly ill of the wand-carriers. But if this is what Hogwarts teaches future generations, how can there ever be a consensus between goblins and humans?"
Defeated, the tiny wizard's shoulders fell, "Mr…"
"Don't tell me I'm too young for this, sir. Please, don't insult me that way." Emerald eyes firmly looked into eyes that possessed a very light brown, almost similar to a golden colour.
"May I see your notes?" he was asked instead. Harry handed them over without hesitation. Carefully, his Charms teacher read them through.
"I will take this to the headmaster and we will look for a solution. Furthermore, I want you to talk to Professor Sprout about your protest. There is no need to force this class upon you if you find it so abhorrent."
"Dàio, nashòr," Harry bowed in relief. He wanted to add more, but couldn't think of anything, so he simply said, "Thank you, sir, that was very kind of you. Have a good afternoon."
As he walked away, he heard Professor Flitwick say, "I'm sorry, Severus. You were saying?"
To have flabbergasted Severus Snape was not a feat easily done and the Charms professor was proud of his young pupil to have managed it.
Black, cold eyes bored into his, but Filius Flitwick merely smiled.
"Severus? Do you feel alright?" it was a question innocently asked, but both of them were able to hear the faint amusement in the half-goblin's voice.
"Potter sounds awfully distressed over the less than flattering representation of goblins in History class." The words were spoken quietly, thoughtful. Black eyes fixed on the spot, where Lily and James Potter's son had just disappeared.
"Yes, very much like Lily Evans in the face of injustice, don't you think?" Mischievously, the more than two times shorter man smirked, but it was met with an indifferent expression. However, the thoughtfulness had not yet left his former student's eyes.
"Is it acceptable for you to discuss the matter at dinner, Severus? I would like to meet with Albus as soon as possible."
"Of course, Filius," the Potions Master replied quietly, nodded shortly in form of a goodbye, turned and walked towards the staircases that led into the dungeons.
As soon as he was gone, Flitwick thought over the conversation he'd just had with Mr Potter.
Nilràu Natruk.
A Nilràu taking care of a human child.
Who'd have ever thought?
After having explained himself to Professor Sprout, she'd asked him to be patient and wait until the issue was solved, that she would personally talk to the headmaster. Their readiness to assist their students' worries surprised Harry; he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever asked for assistance by an adult.
It was strange and would take some time to get used to, but the knowledge of having the possibility to approach someone warmed his heart. Not that he hadn't been able to go to Sister Augustine, but he never did, simply because she had too much on her hands in the first place.
He wasn't the only one to think so. Two weeks into his arrival at St Mary's the duties of solving problems had been split between him and Alex.
Currently, he was in his Common Room finishing his homework... He wanted to do it right; he wanted to do it well. By now he was able to recite everything he planned on writing for Herbology, Charms and History. His contemporaries were all finished and currently either playing games or were out studying.
"Don't you want to go somewhere quiet?" Susan asked him with a smile, "It's pretty loud in here."
"It kind of reminds me of home. Apart from the sleeping hours it's never quiet, so I'm used to it," he replied, returning her smile.
"You've been working on it for two hours, do you want me to help you?" Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed in worried. It was her genuine concern that kept him from out-right refusing her.
"You can't unless you have an extra wrist at your disposal that you can lend me," he explained, his frustration not evident but recognizable, "I'm not used to writing."
"Really? But I thought you were Muggleborn. Didn't you go to Primary school, or something? We are taught by our parents and depending on their education we do better or worse at first, but I always thought that Muggleborns go to school," she looked at him in confusion.
"Usually, we do," but street kids weren't welcomed with open hands. Besides, even if they did let you back home, school didn't exactly provide enough food to nurture your friends, "I didn't really. I learned to read elsewhere and there never really was the need to write anything, so I'm a bit unpractised at it." It wasn't exactly wrong, just not entirely honest.
"But you can write and read?"
"Yes, just the former very, very slowly. It's tiring," he answered truthfully. Without asking, she sat down telling him that it'll come, he'd just have to practise every day. She even offered to help him, which he'd gladly come back to as soon as the feeling to his hand returned. She smiled and went her way.
Unlike the adults' help, hers didn't confuse him at all. Friends and friends-to-be helped each other whenever they could. That was the way things were.
It took him another hour to finish his homework, his hand red. Hadn't it hurt so much, he could have almost said that the last ten minutes passed a bit less strenuous than before. Maybe, Susan was right. He just had to practise every day.
Dinner would start in about an hour allowing him to seek out another place of Hogwarts.
The hospital wing.
He had no idea where exactly he was supposed to go. He left the Common Room and walked upstairs towards the Great Hall. He passed several older students on his way, some of whom he recognized to be Hufflepuffs. One or two seemed to remember his face as well for they smiled at him when he passed.
As he turned around a corner, he noticed another presence doing the same. Swiftly he turned aside thereby avoiding a direct collision with the stranger. It was that blond boy who'd been called Malfoy at the sorting. Two large boys who looked at him gloomily flanked him. Harry had encountered enough bullies to know that they were used to apply their size and strength not to protect but to put fear into those weaker than them. It was enough to make him wary.
"Watch it," the blond boy sneered, he looked up and down Harry's wardrobe (his new cloak covered the majority of his shabby clothes, but his shoes were worn, and he'd opened the cloak for it had been too warm in the Hufflepuff Common room revealing his old, pampered shirt and the oversized trousers he'd received from Char several years ago) and his lips curled into a nasty smirk, "It's remarkable how the standards at this school have declined."
Maybe, it was due to absurdity of the statement itself or because the son managed to speak just as arrogantly as the other Malfoy he'd met (most likely his father), Harry didn't care. He snickered, "You've been here for what, two and a half days and you already sound like an old man. How is it possible to compare something you cannot possibly judge? Be careful copying the opinions of adults, it might keep you from having thoughts on your own."
The pale boy looked at him flabbergasted, but he regained composure quickly. An emotion Harry couldn't quite grasp flickered over the boy's face, before the sneer returned, "Be careful, Potter," Malfoy murmured quietly. So, he'd already been mentioned by Lacius, "It's unwise to make powerful enemies so early in life. You do know whom you've opposed, don't you? And I am Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. My family is one of the most powerful Pureblood families in the country. It would be foolish to get on the bad side of either of us, the Longbottoms or the Malfoys."
"Neville's my friend," or at least as good as, "So I'm hardly opposing the Longbottoms, I'm just not particularly fond of Lacius, and as for what you said… The Wizarding Society works with clans as well? That's interesting." Kertak had always been very secretive when it came to Goblin Society, but he did know that clans or, as they were also called, kinships were an important part of it. It was fascinating to see that the wand-c… wizards and witches worked with a similar principle.
"What?" Confusion was written all over the boy's face.
On the other hand, maybe it wasn't exactly the same principle.
"Well, you just said your family has a lot of influence. Clan is more commonly used to describe not only mother, father and children but grandfather, grandmother, aunts and uncles, cousins as well. You just said your family is powerful, so I assumed that Wizarding Society is built upon the principle of different clans. It seems as if I'm mistaken," Harry shrugged. Professor Flitwick had mentioned a Ministry earlier. He'd definitely have to get into this.
"Lacius was right," Harry lifted his eyebrows at the scathing tone, "Whoever introduced you to the magical world did a lousy job."
Without knowing it, Malfoy had entered extremely dangerous territory. Insulting Harry's friends was a very stupid thing to do. His tolerance wasn't very high for that.
"What, do you want to guide me, too?" Harry asked with a very small smile. His green eyes blazed coldly. They spoke a clear warning and back home he'd be left alone within seconds. He felt his muscles tense as one of the large boys moved almost imperceptibly to the side and behind him to cut off a possible escape route.
Fool!
"As if I would interact with a worthless orphan like yourself," Malfoy sneered coldly. Harry's fists clenched.
'Get yourself a grip! It's not the first time an Other called you worthless. Just let him, step away!'
And he did. Fighting would lead to hurting this oaf still standing in the same position as he had before. It bothered him more than usual to be called worthless, maybe just because he hadn't heard it in six months.
The last time by Sullivan.
Slowly, Harry shook his head as he felt the other large boy attempting to close the circle. Before any of them could react however, Harry ducked beneath the 'bodyguards' and swept around the corner.
Instead of running away he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
Do not be seen!
He heard the startled sound uttered by Malfoy and his companions; for a couple of Others, remarkably fast reaction in order to pursue him.
As always, they walked right past him allowing him to continue his journey.
Not far away, he heard a muffled sob and immediately walked towards it. There was a young girl, maybe a year or two older than him, who held her hand a little awkwardly and was accompanied by no other than Gabriela Cornell, one of Slytherin's Prefects, as Millicent had told him.
"Everything okay?" Harry asked worriedly, approaching them quickly.
Gabriela looked at him no less suspiciously than yesterday morning, but she didn't hold her gaze as long this time, "Yes, everything's under control. There was just a little accident in Potions, wasn't there, Sybille?"
The other girl just nodded looking rather pale. Harry furrowed his eyebrows and drew closer. There was a pretty nasty gash on her right arm, as if burned.
Harry reach forward out of habit, ready to ease the pain, but then noticed something strange. Heat radiated from the wound causing the young wizard to pull back his hand. This wound was blazing angrily.
"Potion?"
"Yes, Confusing Concoction," Sybille muttered then she hissed in pain, only to whimper again, "I confused ash with oak causing to heat the potion too quickly and a splash hit my arm. I hate to have Potions lessons so late in the afternoon. My focus just isn't the same."
"The professor is already looking for a solution, don't worry," Gabriela said and as she continued talking, Harry continued examining the hurt arm.
It was strange. The heat wanted to penetrate her arm and her own body temperature just gave way without fighting back, but there was something holding it back. Harry focused a little more, and there it was, that faint bit of shimmering air whenever magic was used outside of a body. Then he could feel it, next to the aggressive, penetrating power; there was a calm, soft but equally powerful layer over her arm, separating the body from the attacking energy.
Suddenly, he was glad not to have intermingled with this in order to soothe her pain. This was way beyond the things he knew about healing.
"What did he do?" Harry asked curiously as they started to walk towards the infirmary.
"Who told you to come with us?" Gabriela asked sharply yet Harry didn't even blink. His question, she ignored.
"I was just looking for the Infirmary myself, so…" He didn't get further for the tall girl advanced him and softly grasped his hand that was still covered in ink.
"No, I'm not hurt," the young boy told the Prefect firmly, "I just wanted to see where it is. My ink's red."
"Writing your contracts with blood, Potter?" Gabriela asked with a smirk, which he returned. They both stopped doing so when they heard Sybille whimpering again.
Harry couldn't watch this, he didn't know how long it took to get to the hospital wing and he had no wish to find out with a hurt individual next him. He couldn't do anything with the wound for there was the danger of ripping up the protective layer. But pain was difficult because it was coursing through the body, namely to the brain.
It was strange, really, there were three centres in a human (or goblin, or house-elf, or cat, or any other being that breathed) body, the brain, the heart and somewhere right above the hip ('Where a mother carries her unborn child'), but though your heart could feel pain, it was always connected to the head.
The brain therefore was the centre for pain, speech, moves, everything. It was odd that poetry always spoke of the heart when it simply existed to make sure your body was receiving enough blood. Still, without the heart there was no life, so they weren't wrong.
The lowest centre he couldn't really name and he'd found absolutely no book on the subject. Maybe, Hogwarts' matron, Madame Pomfrey, knew something about it.
For now, all that mattered was the head, though.
Carefully, he laid a hand on Sybille's shoulder that held her injured arm. As they walked (his friends had long ago found out that he was faster when they grew absolutely still), he tried to soothe the constant assault of heat shooting from her injury to her head. It was a bit like blowing at a hot soup. He didn't want it to become cold, but it had to adapt to the rest of her body. The moment he felt her relax, he knew this would do until they were in the library.
Neither Sybille nor Gabriela noticed anything, Sybille only that the pain lessened somewhat.
"You didn't answer my question, you know," Harry commented quietly, "What did he do?"
"Who?" Sybille asked in confusion.
"Professor Snape, I mean, he didn't just send you up here, right?" He was quite sure that this layer-trick didn't come from Sybille, it was a stranger's magic.
"Well, he sent for Gabriela?" it sounded more like a question than a statement. Harry frowned, "He just told me to go to the hospital wing."
"He didn't draw his wand at all?"
Definitely not a man he wanted to cross, then.
"Yes, to get rid of my potion and all that, but he never pointed his wand at me," she shuddered a bit at the thought. Blaise and Millicent hadn't gone into further detail when it came to their Head of House, but obviously that respect they were talking about bordered on fear.
On the other hand, if the man were every bit as icy calm with a wand as that type of man handling a pickpocket, Harry would shudder at the thought of being at wand-point as well.
Before he could really get lost in thought, they opened the doors that seemed to lead into the infirmary.
Madame Pomfrey, a middle-aged lady with kind but very strict eyes (reminding him more of Sister Margret than Sister Augustine), looked at them and sighed, "Severus told me this was likely to happen. Scheduling Potions so late into the afternoon! Stupid. Come here, child and sit down." The latter was spoken very softly and Harry decided to like this person immediately.
She extracted her wand and flicked it over the wound, pierced her lips thoughtfully before she looked at the three children in front of her, "You two may leave. Thank you for bringing her here," she said to Gabriela and Harry, but Harry immediately explained that he wanted to talk to her after she'd finished with her work on Sybille.
At first, she looked at him a bit puzzled, which was swiftly replaced by shier bewilderment and worry. The woman dismissed Gabriela and told the other two to stay put.
"Thanks for bringing me here, Gabriela," Sybille whispered quietly, but she received a kind smile from the rather sever older girl.
Definitely a typical Alex.
Alexandra would have fit wonderfully into Slytherin.
The moment, the Slytherin Prefect left, Madame Pomfrey returned with a potion. She poured it carefully over the injured arm and Harry could feel the acidity disappear. Then, she waved her wand and that strange layer was gone as well.
A moment later, Madame Pomfrey took another potion and let a drop fall on the wound. Harry quickly noticed that this didn't bother Sybille at all. Then, the matron tapped the arm right above the injury and the wound sealed within seconds.
Harry's eyes widened in awe. It seemed so casual, as if it was nothing at all. Harry couldn't seal wounds; he could only make them stop bleeding… Sometimes.
'Don't move! Don't move! I'm a get help!'
'Help me…'
Painfully, Harry looked away. If only he had known what to do back then. That Accidental Magic surely hadn't helped and he'd been so terribly scared. Maybe, that magical core of his simply wasn't active at all.
"Child? Child?" the matron sounded rather worried when she was forced to call him a second time.
"Yes? I apologize, Madame. I was lost in thoughts," memories more like, but that wasn't an issue for now. To his surprise, he noticed the door to the Hospital wing close. Sybille seemed to have left already.
"Do you not… Oh, child!" she softly took his hand, only to frown a moment later, "That isn't blood," she was definitely experienced, "What can I do for you?"
"My name is Harry Potter," she only nodded as if that news didn't surprise her at all, "And I am a First Year student at Hogwarts, Madame. I would very much like to learn from you, if that is possible."
She stared at him as if hearing such a request for the first time. Harry gulped.
Was he being rude? He wasn't sure. Dealing with adults wasn't his thing. He'd come across many adults in his life, but very few whom he spoke more than one or two sentences with.
He decided to continue his halfway prepared speech, "I live in orphanage in London, where I received the task of making sure its inhabitants obtain medical care if needed. However, sometimes the doctor is too far away," or (in Sullivan's case) you were not allowed to bring them into a hospital or (in St Mary's case) it was simply too expensive to get stitches for mere gashes, "Therefore, I've acquired some knowledge in first aid. I would like to improve and advance my understanding of healing."
"You are a First Year, you say? This is your first week? There is no way for me to teach you anything just yet. First, you have to learn the basics of charms and transfiguration before I could teach you any healing or diagnostic spells," she didn't sound condescending at all, flabbergasted described her expression a lot more precisely.
"That I understand. I mean, I've just seen you use two spells and two different potions for what seems a superficial wound." Wherever that strange layer had come from, it had made sure the wound didn't go deeper and the matron had known of its existence (how else could she have removed it?). He couldn't wait to learn more about this, "But I could help you do the inventory or clean the medical supply, I don't know, Madame. I would just like to learn from you very much."
She looked at him in surprise before she examined him for a long time, "Very well, Mr Potter. You will very soon see that regular classes are demanding enough, therefore I think it wise to only meet on Sunday afternoon at five o'clock for this is when I actually do the inventory. As soon as you've settled in and given your interest is as keen as it is for the moment, you may help me on a regular school day."
Harry thanked her profusely, at some point he was pretty sure to have said 'Dàio!'
Her confusion definitely seemed to say so.
Happily, Harry left the Infirmary a moment later. Additionally to finally learn more about healing, he also had the feeling of having just made him a bit more useful.
The rest of the week had their ups and downs.
Rock bottom he'd hit on Wednesday morning in Defence class.
The pain he'd felt that first night at Hogwarts didn't return, but he was so on edge the entire lesson, he had problems keeping in his seat. Even if he had the ability to listen to the stuttering speech of the teacher, he couldn't focus. His instincts told him, screamed at him, 'Run, you bloody idiot! Run.'
Having such a feeling for two hours was extraordinarily strenuous, and as he was finally able to escape the classroom, he was so exhausted, he failed horribly at focusing on Transfiguration where they had been supposed to repeat their performance on Monday. Transfiguration took focus and energy, he lacked in both for the entire lesson.
Professor McGonagall had actually asked him, whether he felt ill, but he'd declined. He didn't feel ill; he just… had a really bad feeling.
He knew better than to tell a teacher of his mistrust concerning one of their colleagues.
Thankfully, Susan and Hannah were kind enough to help him with his homework they'd received that morning. They gave him their notes, discussed the lessons and in the end, they even finished their homework together. Those two were true Hufflepuffs for they were extremely patient with his abysmally slow writing. This kindness had prompted Harry to take them along to Hagrid, who'd welcomed them with open arms.
Harry was particularly fond of Fang for he loved dogs. He was neither what people called a dog person or a cat person. He cherished them both equally for what they were… Dogs were partners, cats were company.
A good afternoon was followed by a wonderful Charms lesson where they learned that Waffling divided each category into subdivisions concerning the principle of 'wand-movement.' Very interesting, especially as they were allowed to practise them a bit.
There was just one tiny problem. His quill kept moving whenever he practised flick after swish. He learned very quickly not to do so.
Professor Flitwick luckily hadn't noticed it.
Astronomy was interesting, but the stories of the constellations weren't told in the first two lessons, only the names of the planets.
Before Harry was able to grasp what was happening, it was already Friday. This week had passed far too quickly. He couldn't wait to write Kertak and Char of his week full of wonders and magic. He missed them even more than he'd thought possible (and he'd expected quite an amount of pain), but thankfully his newfound friends from Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff (Hannah and Susan weren't part of their group, but they were the ones talking to Harry in regular class) kept him from feeling wistful.
Though, they never had the possibility to eat as a group for the rest of the week, they occasionally met separately for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Hermione he'd once met in the library and Ron had introduced him to chess over their long lunch-break on Thursday. He wasn't very good at it, while Ron seemed to be a genius at it. Blaise had joined them a little later and Ron soon found a good opponent to test new strategies. Anyway, he still insisted on teaching Harry whatever he knew.
It was Friday and Harry was about to meet the only teacher whom he hadn't met personally yet. Together with Hannah and Susan, they used the underground corridor that Cedric had showed them the evening before that would lead them to the dungeons beholding the Potions classroom. To their shock however, the walls must have somehow changed their structure for they suddenly stood in front of a blind alley.
"Oh no," Susan murmured, "Cedric said this only happened on Tuesdays. He specifically warned us not to take this route on Tuesdays."
They were late. Classes would begin in ten minutes. Harry determinedly shouldered his cauldron and told them to wait. He took a step forward and touched the wall.
'Would you please move aside? We're late for class,' he thought pleadingly, but the wall didn't even respond. Stubbornly, it stayed right where it was.
No bricks.
Harry drew the Rune for 'transparency,' but for a moment it seemed as if the wall was laughing at him. He had no time for this.
They would have classes with Professor Snape any minute, and if the man were the kind of person he expected him to be, delay would be interpreted as utterly rude.
'Move aside,' he thought determinedly, laid his hand on the wall and pushed. It gave in allowing the Rune to do its work. Like this, they were all allowed to walk right through it.
Both girls looked at him seemingly rather shocked. They didn't have time to linger though.
Quickly, Harry ran across the corridors and had to stop a few corners later for his friends were falling back. He reached the door and opened it the minute their Potions professor entered the classroom through another path. Harry stood still for a moment.
They weren't late, but they weren't seated like everybody else either. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lacius' sneer. Neville, who sat right next to him, looked worried. Harry's gaze was mainly fixed on black eyes in front of him; he nodded respectfully and soundlessly advanced the closest table. His friends followed his example, though not as quietly as he did. It didn't seem to matter. The tall man's eyes were fixed on him. Harry couldn't determine what the man thought.
His eyes were cold and empty reminding him of dark tunnels. Never before had he seen a person possessing an eye-colour so dark, one was inclined to call them black.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he spoke barely above a whisper, but Harry was enthralled as if he'd been spelled.
The man's voice was deep and quiet; his tone was silky, almost soft with a rough edge to it. He was a storyteller, plain and simple, one of the few deserving to be called such. Sully had had a similar voice, but its silk had covered up the rough edge. Harry knew that he'd never have a problem listening in this particular class. He'd remember every single word.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…" Flitwick, McGonagall, Sprout, they all loved their subject with passion, however Snape's soft tone spoke of life itself, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." The last sentence was like a bucket full of cold water splashed into Harry's face.
He surely knew how to work with his voice.
That was a very dangerous man.
Then, Snape took the class register and spoke their names. When Lacius' name was spoken, the entire room held their breath, but to Harry's great relief it was dismissed with nothing more than the blink of an eye. Lacius didn't look very happy at the dismissal.
On went the list until, "Harry Potter." There was an edge to the name, Harry instantly was wary of. The wizard, no matter how quietly he'd murmured it, had almost spit 'Potter'.
Their eyes met again, and Harry was quite aware that the man knew his name. He managed to force his features to remain blank. He'd learned long ago that demonstrating fear in the face of a predatory being was never a good idea. He was still convinced that Professor Snape wasn't cruel, but carnivorous animals weren't either, yet they still killed their prey and defended their cubs to death.
Or Fletchlings, as Blaise had told him they were called.
Before the silence started to disquiet his students, the Potions professor continued with the name register.
As he ended, Harry felt his heart starting to pound.
And not in a good way.
"Potter," it was frightening and fascination at once to listen to such a silky tone when it spat a word, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry's eyes went wide for a moment. He hadn't expected the lesson to start with a quiz. He didn't know what the combination resulted into, but he knew what each plant did.
"Asphodel itself belongs to the lilies," 'my mother's name.' As soon as he'd heard her name, he'd specifically searched Lillian plants and their meaning in his schoolbooks, "Its root has sedative qualities, especially in powdered form," powdering a root enhanced its effect, as far as he'd read in his Potions book, "And wormwood causes depression if not then destruction of the nerves, but the latter is avoided due to making it an infusion. I'm not sure what the exact result is called, but it definitely puts you to sleep or causes you to become immobile at the very least."
While he talked not avoiding the teacher's gaze for a second, he tried his best to find out whether or not he was right with his interpretations.
When he'd started to speak, the man had stiffened a bit, a sentiment followed by surprise only to become unreadable again.
Snape was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, "What did you do, Mr Potter? Learn all the ingredients without glancing at the possible combinations?"
Harry was at loss for a moment. What did he want to hear? He hadn't learned the book by heart; he'd lacked the time to do so.
He hadn't known this was a requirement at this school. Still at loss, he remained silent.
"Well, if you don't answer, then please answer the following question: where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Bezoar, all he knew was that it saved humans from most poisons, but if used on a goblin, it could be deadly. The latter had been a mere side-note in the book, but Harry had marked it. However, he was completely unable to say, where it came from.
"I don't know, sir." Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Hermione's hand lifted and smiled at the sight of his enthusiastic friend. It froze instantly, when he saw the Potions professor's eyes narrow dangerously.
"I wonder why your lack of knowledge amuses you, Potter."
Harry managed to keep his eyes open, but as despair overcame him, it was hard not to.
Why? Why did adults always misread his actions?
Suddenly, he heard a satisfied snicker knowing exactly whose voice it was. He clenched his jaw, but remained still. Snape held his gaze as he spoke, "And I simply fail to understand why it would amuse you, Mr Longbottom. Perhaps, you want to answer the question in Mr Potter's place."
"Bezoar is a stone inside of a goat's stomach," the sky-blue eyed young wizard said with a slight sneer playing around his mouth, "But Potter grew up in Muggle London, sir," Harry turned his head quickly enough to make his neck hurt. He stared at the Longbottom brothers and noticed Neville looking miserable.
Orphan, Malfoy had already voiced it. Lacius had told him, who'd been informed by Neville. But they couldn't know he'd lived on the streets. There was not a single person living inside of this castle who knew this, not for sure. Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid had seen enough to suspect it, especially Professor Dumbledore, who'd seen Sister Augustine's notes (who did have her suspicions, though he'd never confirmed it), but Lacius couldn't possibly know… "He probably never left the safety of his orphanage, sir, asking him about the contents of a farm animal's stomach might be a bit much."
So, he didn't know anything. Harry was so relieved, he didn't even get angry. For a moment, he was just grateful that this piece of information wasn't news to the majority in this class.
He despised Lacius' tone, though. It wasn't a sneer, or condescending, rather compassionate, really, but it had a false edge to it.
Snape turned his head towards the Boy Who Lived. Either that child was arrogant to the point he lacked common sense or he was suicidal for his false, compassionate smile didn't disappear when the tall man approached him.
"Longbottom, Potter's upbringing is not topic of this class, and it might be wise not to speak of matters entirely unknown to you. As it is, you may answer one last question… What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Wolfsbane is a draft that was mentioned two months ago in the Daily Prophet for people suffering from lycanthropy," Lacius said promptly, "Monkshood is a plant."
Wrong.
Harry saw Snape's lips curl ever lightly, "Perhaps, I shall repeat my question. Potter, could you please tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
The eleven-year-old had no idea whether or not Snape wanted him to be able to answer the question.
'Monkshood, wolfswood, aconite,
Three words, one fate in sight,
Bane of wolf and hood of stone,
Cerberus spit on soil,
And up you grow!'
Thank you, Kertak for your great ability at telling stories.
"It's the same plant, sir, also called aconite, it's highly poisonous."
An almost imperceptible nod came from the Potions professor as if it caused him physical pain to admit Harry was right.
"From now on I suggest you to be a bit more careful at prematurely judging your peers, Mr Longbottom. What you were talking about was Wolfsbane Potion and, unless one intends to poison someone suffering from lycanthropy I advise you not to use wolfsbane in said potion. There is no need to worry for it is unlikely for you to ever be capable of brewing it."
Harsh.
The man could certainly fight simply with the mere power of words, or voice.
"The both of you lack in precision. Though Potter was correct in his musings concerning the ingredients, he failed to mention that asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Longbottom on the other hand simply failed to listen by assuming that I was talking about the Wolfsbane Potion, not the plant. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
At that, Harry lifted his eyebrows. Did he mean the insults or the information? Gingerly, he picked up his quill and started writing, but before his first sentence was written, most of his peers were already finished. Determinedly, he continued writing when Snape continued with the lesson announcing they would be brewing a potion to cure boils until the bell rang. Harry was incredibly grateful for the man's voice for Harry registered every spoken word effortlessly in his mind allowing him to continue with his notes.
Bezoar is found…
He spoke of the potion they were about to brew before he declared the general rules they would have follow, "The first rule seems rather simple at first sight, but there will be those among you unable to obey…"
Powdered root of asphodel…
"You have to pay attention," the latter he spat, and Harry instantly knew that he was talking to him.
'Please, don't be another Mr Harper,' Harry thought feeling a little desperate. Harper at least had been stupid enough for Harry to outsmart, he doubted to succeed in that should he decide to oppose the wizard in front of him.
Warily, the orphan looked straight into those black eyes, and for a moment he thought to have seen a glimmer inside of the dark tunnels.
"Be so kind to repeat what I've said these past few minutes," his tone was icy.
"'For the rest of the lesson you are inquired to brew an undemanding potion to cure boils,'" Harry quoted effortlessly, he even adjusted the melody of his speech to the professor's voice, "'It is simple for it only contains six different ingredients. You shall see that most potions acquire ten to twelve different components…'"
"Detention, Potter, for mocking a teacher." He hadn't meant to mock him; he'd simply done as asked!
"You will report to me tonight at six o'clock, inside of this classroom." Harry's heart started to pound uncomfortably.
That wasn't good.
Alone with male adults, human adults, in an enclosed room was never ever good. Outside (beneath the tree at St Mary's with an elderly adult) was no problem. He had the possibility to run. When the doors closed, on the other hand, he was entrapped.
What if there was a Sullivan behind the cold features? What if he'd read the man incorrectly?
Professor Snape continued with his lecture telling them that it was important they followed the instructions thoroughly and that he would tolerate no experiments inside of this classroom.
An inflexible being in the subject beholding the most potential… Wonderful.
"…That is until you reach a level where experiments become essential to understand the art of potion-making in its entire beauty, a level, I'm afraid, only few of you will be able to reach."
And maybe, he just didn't want any accidents in his class.
A few minutes later, they were put into pairs safe for Harry, who remained alone and started chopping and weighing the six ingredients necessary.
Lacius seemed to be doing all the work alone, mainly because he kept hissing at Neville whenever he dared to touch an ingredient. It pained Harry to see his friend so subdued.
He wasn't thrilled with the fact that Neville had told his brother of Harry living at an orphanage, but he hadn't exactly asked his new friends to keep it a secret, either. Despite that, who was he to demand loyalty of Neville thereby forcing him to break loyalty to his twin brother? He wasn't that cruel. He wouldn't ever break his loyalties either, not for people he hardly knew.
Snape swept around between the desks and criticised everyone in the room. Only with Hermione, he found little for censure. Harry was told to stew his horned slugs more thoroughly, but otherwise, he was left alone.
By the end of the lesson, they all were inquired to hand in a vial of the potion what they'd managed so far, and Harry was pleased to notice that he managed to finish the potion. It was a bit off-colour, but not by far.
Weren't he supposed to return to this classroom this evening and hadn't Professor Snape's reaction been so hostile, Harry might have left the dungeons with a satisfied smile.
So, the first encounter between Snape and Harry is over. Others will follow. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I did by writing it.
Thank you sooo much for the reviews, they always make my day!
It's early in the morning, so I don't dare writing more since I don't do coherent that time of day -)
Please, review!