Sitra Ahra
Eighteenth Movement: An Eclectic Manner
September 1, 1992
"Please, please stay safe this year," Perenelle urged whilst embracing Harry, squeezing him tightly.
"Smothering him to death would not be a promising start," Nicolas mused.
"Feel free to ignore the comedic prodigy," she replied, not loosening her grip. "Do not hesitate to write us if you need anything. Anything, Harry."
"I won't," he assured, fully interpreting her message. He still hadn't fully decided if he would take her up on the offer, but if the memories proved to be too much…then he probably would.
After exchanging his final farewells with the Flamels, Harry began to make his way through the platform. King Crossing was sparsely populated at this time of morning, which suited him just fine. Lugging his trunk through the crowds of people at term's end was one of his least favorite things to do.
With his early arrival, once again he had his choice of compartment. Boarding the train, he went all the day to the back, taking the rear compartment. He quickly hoisted his stuff onto the overheard racks, marveling at the wonders of the feather light charm, before taking a seat. Putting his hands behind his head, he relaxed, waiting for his friends to arrive.
Hermione and Tracery arrived together, already bickering with one another.
"Already?!" Harry asked, mock exasperation in his voice.
"Yes, already," Tracey snapped
"Did you two plan to get here at the same time, so you could start arguing right away?"
"No," Hermione corrected sharply, "once we got on the train, Tracey seemed to have an issue with the fact I was excited for Defense this year."
"Of course I did!" Tracey exclaimed. "Lockhart's a fraud, which should have been obvious after reading even one of his books!"
"He is not!"
"Wait; hold on," Harry broke in. "You two waited until actually getting on the train to fight?"
Tracey and Hermione both turned to him, glaring daggers.
"No, this is progress," he clarified. "That means you went at least a minute without arguing. That's great!"
Before the two girls could retort, the door opened again, admitting Neville.
"What's going on guys?" he asked, glancing warily at the tense faces of the two girls.
"Oh, you're missing a great debate on the merits of Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry quickly replied.
Neville grimaced.
"Well, in that case, does anyone know how to cast a deafness spell?"
Harry laughed at his comment, even the girls were helpless to hide their grins.
"Truce?" Hermione asked with a shrug.
"I suppose," Tracey replied with a shrug, "but we really need to work on our arguing. It's getting far too easy for Neville to distract us."
"It's a gift," Neville deadpanned, drawing snickers from everyone.
"I think we'll be alright as long as Harry is still around to antagonize us," Hermione said with a grin.
He took a small bow from his seated position.
"I'm here to help."
"Oh, great," Tracey said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, "then you'll help us store our trunks?"
"And by help, she means do it completely," Millicent added, stepping into the compartment. She placed her trunk at his feet, looking at him expectantly.
"I am not a house-elf," Harry declared, crossing his arms.
"So, Hermione," Millicent began, turning to her friend, "what was your favorite part of Gadding with Ghouls? Mine was when-"
"I surrender!" Harry exclaimed, getting up.
"Thank you," Millicent said sweetly, sitting on the opposite side of the compartment.
"This is asinine," Harry fumed, withdrawing his wand. "Am I the only one who knows the featherlight charm?"
"Probably," Neville offered, "I know I couldn't get it to work."
Shrugging, Harry cast the charm on the trunk, before placing it on the racks. Neville, taking pity upon him, helped him get the other two girls' trunks up as well.
"Do you think they have any morals at all?" Harry asked after hoisting up the final trunk.
"Maybe some," Neville replied while sitting down. "After all, they haven't started talking about Lockhart."
"Touché," he replied, moving over the door, pointing his wand at it.
"Sera!"
"What was that?" Hermione asked as the grey spell hit the door, clearly intrigued.
"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm sick of idiots ruining our trips on the Express. Any objections?"
Unsurprisingly, there were none.
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As the ride progressed, each one of Harry's friends described their relatively uneventful summers. When it came to be his turn, he briefly considered telling his friends about his past, but ultimately decided not to. While Crowley and Sylvia had made him promise to say nothing to anyone else, the factor that ultimately stilled his hand was that he didn't really have the complete picture. At this point, what could he really tell them?
Having nothing further to say, it passed onto Tracey.
"You know, it's strange," she began. "Last year, I really was thinking about leaving Hogwarts behind, going back to secondary school. But after a week at home…"
"You started to miss magic pretty quickly, didn't you?" Hermione asked, a note of familiarity in her voice.
"Yeah, I did," she admitted, almost sheepishly. "I tried to bury myself in magic, reading books, going over wand movements…but it just wasn't the same. It really felt like a part of me was missing."
Tracey stopped for a moment, letting out a sigh before continuing.
"It was even more than that, though. Even my old friends, after spending a year at Hogwarts, they almost feel like strangers to me. Not being able to tell them exactly what I was up to…it changed things. It was like there was an invisible barrier between us. Even though the wizarding world has some huge problems, it's beginning to feel like home to me."
"I know what you're talking about," Hermione added. "When I wanted to light a candle, it just felt wrong using a lighter, when I had a perfectly good wand in my pocket."
"Yeah, the whole 'underage magic laws' are pure bullshit," Tracey observed, turning to the other three. "Let me guess: you guys were free to practice magic over the summer?"
Almost guiltily, Harry nodded, with Millicent and Neville doing the same.
"I mean, I'd do the same thing if I could," Tracey clarified, "I don't blame you guys or anything, it just sucks for Hermione and myself. I already feel like I'm behind from not being able to practice."
"You'll do fine," Neville reassured, "you always were one of the best in class. Maybe next year all of us can spend a week at my place? It would give us a good chance to practice."
"Yeah, that'd be really great," she replied, smiling at Neville. Beginning to blush, he opened his mouth to reply, but a light knock at the door cut him off.
"If it was one of those idiots who always seem to show up, I think they would have pounded on the door," Millicent observed.
Agreeing with her, Harry rose to his feet, casting a whispered unlocking charm on the door. He cautiously opened it, revealing a tiny girl.
"This doesn't appear to be the bathroom," the girl observed, looking around the compartment beyond with a wide-eyed curiosity. Though roughly the same height as Tracey, she was much frailer, looking as if a strong wind would take her away. Long, scraggly blond hair reached almost to her waist.
"It doesn't," Harry agreed with a smile. "The nearest bathroom is seven compartments down," he explained, pointing down the hallway.
"Oh," she replied lightly, staring at his uniform with unblinking eyes. "How did you manage to break the brain-stem curse?"
"I…uh, what?" Harry asked unintelligently, feeling rather lost.
"Well," she began, pointing towards his green and silver tie, "centuries ago, Salazar Slytherin placed a curse on the Sorting Hat. Whenever a student was placed in Slytherin, the Hat made their brain-stem heavier, pushing their nose permanently into the air."
Unable to formulate a response, Harry merely continued to stare at the odd girl. What the hell was she talking about?
"Don't worry," she continued, giving him a light pat on the arm, "you seem to be okay, so maybe the Hat figured out how to break the curse."
Without further comment, the girl turned away and began skipping down the hall, whistling an unfamiliar tune. Shaking his head, not exactly sure how to react, Harry closed the door. Upon turning around, his friends let out the laughter they had been holding in and began cracking up.
"I am so glad I didn't answer the door," Tracey said between guffaws.
"Yeah, I don't even know what that was," Harry said, sitting down amidst the dying laugher.
No one else had an answer either.
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"Firs' years over 'ere!" Hagrid's voice rang out through the night air, echoing across Hogsmeade station. As the younger students gravitated towards the voice, it struck Harry that they wouldn't be taking the boats across the lake this time around.
As he watched them migrate, he noticed the young, odd blonde girl flagging considerably behind the other students, struggling with a trunk that looked nearly as big as her.
"I guess no one told you, but you're supposed to leave the trunks on the train."
"Well, that would explain why no one else has theirs," she replied, before beginning to drag her trunk back towards the train.
Taking pity upon the young girl, he withdrew his wand, and cast a feather-light charm upon her trunk. She stumbled with the sudden weight change, before glancing backwards.
"Thank you so much," she said, before tilting her head to the side, seemingly contemplating him. "You seem far too nice to be a cold-blooded killer. Perhaps they were wrong."
Before Harry could even react, the girl turned and made her way over to Hagrid. He merely stood for a moment, slightly shocked by her words. A cold blooded-killer? Who were 'they'?"
Shaking his head, he walked back towards his friends, who were still just standing around.
"Where do you think everyone else goes?" Neville asked, looking around the platform.
"We could just follow the other older students," Hermione suggested.
Slightly surprised he hadn't thought of it first, they followed Hermione's suggestion. Their path took them down a dark road, each side lined with tall pine trees, obscuring the already scant light from the skies above. Further down the road widened into a large clearing containing a large grouping of carriages, which the older students appeared to be getting into. This, however, became a minor detail in Harry's eyes, as what was drawing the carriages drew his full attention.
The closest comparison that he could make was to horses, but even that was a stretch. These things had bright, shining white eyes without pupils. Their bodies were black and skeletal, whilst large bat-like wings sprouted from their backs. In short, they looked like something out of a nightmare.
"What are those things?" Harry asked disgustedly, pointing at them.
"Um, I believe they're called 'carriages'," Tracey said sarcastically.
"No, the things in front of them," Harry testily replied.
"I…I don't see anything," Hermione said, following his line of sight with her eyes.
Harry turned and looked for any sign of jest in her gaze, but all he found was honest confusion. What the hell? Was he going crazy?
"You're not crazy, they're just thestrals," a familiar voice spoke from behind him. Turning, he saw the thin, reedy form of Theodore Nott.
"What?" Harry asked again, still bewildered by the sight.
"Thestrals," Nott repeated wearily, as if disappointed, before making his way towards the nearest carriage.
As Nott disappeared within the carriage, Harry found himself getting frustrated. How the fuck was he supposed to know what these 'thestrals' were?
"Come on," Hermione said, tugging on his arm slightly. Shaken from his wanderings, Harry allowed himself to be lead to a nearby carriage.
"What did you see?" Hermione asked him as soon as he sat down, her voice concerned.
Feeling out of sorts, Harry described what he had seen. Tracey shook her head following his explanation.
"This…this doesn't make any sense."
"They're real," Harry insisted.
"I believe you," she replied, "since Nott seemed to see them as well, and even had a name for them."
"Thestrals," Hermione supplied.
"I was there, I heard it," Tracey remarked icily, "but still. Why would a creature be invisible to most people?"
They chewed over the subject for a short while longer, but got no closer to an answer. More than anything, though, Harry was grateful his friends were taking his claim seriously, as opposed to dismissing it as a hallucination or something.
"Why did that weird girl call you a killer?" Millicent asked, changing the subject.
"Who knows?" Harry said with a shrug. "Maybe she's been reading the Daily Prophet's gossip page."
"No, I don't think so," Hermione disagreed, "the Prophet has hinted at things, but never come out and called you a 'cold-blooded killer'. No, it was probably someone on board the train that told her."
"Maybe those idiots in Gryffindor are trying to turn new students against you?" Tracey threw out.
Hermione let out an indignant huff at the generalization, Millicent nodded.
"They did warn us last year," she reasoned, before turning to Hermione and Neville. "You two really need to watch out for yourselves this year."
Hermione looked ready to argue the point, but was distracted by the carriage coming to a stop. Looking out the window, Harry saw that they were at the foot of the stone steps that sloped upwards to the main entrance of Hogwarts. Leaving the carriage behind Harry and his friend climbed the stairs, a mere small part of the sea of students flowing through the large doorway, their footfalls on the flagged stone echoing throughout the entryway.
Entering into the Great Hall, he was unnerved by the sheer number of evil glares directed in him. Had he been elected school pariah or something?
"Potter!" a loud, booming voice thundered behind him. Turning, he saw the hulking form of the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Marcus Flint, moving towards him. Students shrank from his mere presence, making a clear path for him.
"Welcome back," Flint roared, greeting him with a monstrous handshake. Smiling in spite of the vise-grip crushing his hand, Harry was glad to see the psychotic captain again, if nothing else for protection's sake.
"It's good to have our Captain back."
Flint scowled at his comment.
"They let me back, but I ain't Captain anymore…well, not officially," he finished with a grin.
Looking around, Harry saw Higgs slinking his way over to the Slytherin table, as if trying not to be noticed.
"I guess they also let that sorry excuse for a Seeker back as well," Harry said loudly, motioning in Higgs' direction, who grew slightly red at the jab.
"That cunt," Flint snorted derisively, "I'm goin' to kill him the first chance I get."
As Higgs paled visibly, Flint winked conspiratorially at Harry, before sitting down. With slight amusement, he noted that it was hard to tell if Flint was serious or not. Chuckling lightly to himself, he sat down beside his two friends in Slytherin. To his surprise, while the rest of the school seemed to have an issue with him, that same attitude did not hold within his own House. Slytherins he had barely exchanged words with greeted him enthusiastically.
Right after Derrick had clapped him on the back, Harry turned to his two friends.
"This is a bit…different."
"Maybe last year's good will from the last Quidditch match carried over," Tracey offered with a shrug.
"Maybe," he replied, watching the incoming first-years shuffle towards the front of the Great Hall, fear and wonder in their eyes. Just a year ago it had been him in that same place, wondering where the Sorting Hat was going to send him. Before their looks of bewilderment, McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat upon the waiting stool. As its brim ripped wide open Harry tuned out the song, and began to study the first-years.
Opposed to the looks of anticipation and fear upon the faces of the students, the odd blonde girl merely looked around, as if mildly interested by the surrounding events. Looking around, he saw another first-year, a blonde boy, had a camera strapped around his neck. Apparently no one had told him muggle devices didn't work at Hogwarts. Unsurprisingly, a great deal of the students looked at the Slytherin table with trepidation.
It took him a moment, but he realized that of all tables, the Slytherin table had noticeably fewer students than the other Houses. With Draco and his goons gone, it left only six second-years within Slytherin. Even the muggleborns might notice the lack of students at the table.
"Look, there's your future husband," Tracey said to Millicent, pointing at the staff table. At the far right sat Gilderoy Lockhart, in resplendent mauve robes, smiling brightly at the incoming children.
Millicent glared at Tracey, but took it no further, instead opting to pay attention to the song.
Polite applause echoed out over the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat's song concluded, which Harry added to mechanically. With a final look over the four tables to quell any whispering, Professor McGonagall looked down towards the list within her hands.
"Bradley, Farren."
A small, dark-haired boy moved toward the stool, gingerly placing the Sorting Hat upon his head.
"Ravenclaw!"
Placing the hat back on the stool, the boy ran over to the appropriate table to cheers.
"Chambers, Piper."
As the red-faced, pigtailed blonde girl made her way to the hat, Harry turned to his two friends.
"Do you think first-years notice that our table has less people?" he whispered.
Millicent shook her head.
"Probably not. If they're anything like I was, they can barely notice their name when it's called."
Chambers became the year's second Ravenclaw, before McGonagall called again.
"Creevey, Colin."
Creevey turned out to be the small blonde boy with the camera. After a minute's deliberation, he became the year's first new Gryffindor, and was greeted by raucous applause form his new House.
"Say hello to your future enemy," Tracey whispered mischievously, prompting a chuckle from Harry and Millicent.
"Dorny, James," became the first new Slytherin. To the dismay of the professors, his sorting was met with hisses from the Gryffindor table, which quelled after a rage-filled, withering look from McGonagall. The transfiguration professor said nothing else, but Harry was thought that come tomorrow morning, Gryffindor might have negative House points. At the very least, she was definitely going to ream all of them out verbally.
The pale boy looked dismayed by the choice of house, prompting Harry to put in an honest effort in cheering for the boy, who brightened slightly at the support. Harry and his friends greeted him warmly, all shaking his hand before he sat, his expression no longer pained.
Onwards the Sorting marched, the reactions between the Slytherins and Gryffindors becoming increasingly heated. "Harper, Wilson," drew a particularly heated response from the Gryffindors upon being sorted into Slytherin, causing the Slytherins to respond even more enthusiastically. McGonagall looked increasingly apoplectic, as if she was considering interrupting the Sorting.
"Lovegood, Luna," she practically spat out.
The odd blonde girl immediately skipped over to the Hat, placing it upon her head.
"Her name's quite fitting," Tracey observed dryly, prompting a chuckle from Millicent.
"Ravenclaw!"
On her way to her new house, Luna favored Harry with a wave, drawing a heated look from a small red-headed girl that had yet to be sorted.
Upon "Robins, Demelza," being sorted into Gryffindor, Harry scanned the corresponding House's table. While most of the students were hugely enthusiastic in their praise, he couldn't help but notice that the Weasley twins and their younger brother Ron were rather subdued. They certainly clapped and such, but were neither enthusiastic in their welcome nor partook in the belligerence the rest of their House displayed. His heart going out to them, Harry decided that at breakfast the next morning he'd personally give his condolences to the Weasleys.
"Weasley, Ginny."
"Another one?" Tracey whispered.
A redheaded girl, the same one that had glared at Luna, rose to be sorted. The Hat had barely touched her head before she was sorted into Gryffindor, receiving the loudest applause of the Sorting. At its conclusion, Dumbledore rose from his seat at the staff table.
"There will be a time for words, but now is not that time," the Headmaster said, before food appeared on all of the tables. Loud applause and cheers met his words before the ravenous student populace tucked in.
Throughout his meal, Harry occasionally glanced at the Headmaster, trying to sort through his thoughts regarding the man. Clearly, he owed the man an enormous debt for freeing him from the thrall of the horcrux, but had Crowley not rescued him from his parent's home…he would have faced a childhood of misery. He knew on an intellectual level that the Headmaster had never actually gotten a chance to condemn him to such a terrible childhood…but still, he couldn't help but feel as if he had been betrayed in some fashion.
After the students, Harry included, had gorged themselves fit to burst, Dumbledore rose to his feet.
"Now that you've all been properly fed, I believe the time has come for a few words. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."
At mention of the reclusive caretaker, Harry thought back to last term, and the vague warning he had received. What had Filch been referring to?
"…interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch," Dumbledore continued, "but now, allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lockhart."
In the wake of wild praise, most of it from the female population of the school, Lockhart rose to his feet. He smiled winningly to the rest of the school, raising both hands in acknowledgement of the praise.
"What a fraud," Tracey spat.
"You may not like him," Millicent countered, "but at least he won't try to kill us like Quirrell did."
Thinking back to the summer, Harry recalled how Lockhart had thrown a tantrum when someone had threatened to upstage him. Sure, maybe he was a baby, but surely not a murderer, like Quirrell had been.
Hopefully not, anyway.
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The next morning, Harry rose early, hoping to catch the Weasleys twins early. Being one of the first students to arrive to breakfast, he quickly wolfed down a plate of eggs and kippers, keeping an eye upon the doorway.
Slowly, the Great Hall began to fill up, but still there was no sight of the Weasley twins. However, there was no shortage of Gryffindors shuffling down, almost all of which glared at him with dislike. Apparently McLaggen hadn't been bluffing: all of Gryffindor did seem to have it out for him.
Wonderful.
"Good morning," Millicent greeted, sitting next to him halfway through breakfast. "How'd the apology go?"
"Well…they haven't exactly arrived at breakfast yet," Harry admitted with a sigh.
Millicent winced, the sleepiness beginning to leave her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"Eh, it's okay. I'm starting to think that maybe I should have planned this better. I mean, have you ever seen the Weasley twins show up to breakfast early?"
"Not really," she admitted with a shrug.
Looking away from Millicent, his gaze drifted over to the entryway, just in time to see the Weasley twins drift through the door. They both looked slightly disheveled, as if they hadn't slept a great deal. Well, now or never.
"Wish me luck," he said, getting up from the table and making his way towards the Gryffindor table. The table was nearly full, and every pair of eyes, narrowed with mistrust, followed his movements. The weight of their gazes was almost heavy, but trying to get past it, he opened his mouth to address the twins.
"What do you want, Potter?" Seamus sneered before he could begin, giving Harry pause. What the fuck was going on? Was Finnegan channeling Malfoy?
Ignoring the sandy-haired boy, he addressed the twins, who were regarding him with guarded expressions.
"Um, Fred, George, do you have a minute?"
"We have all the time in the world," Fred lightly remarked, his voice devoid of its normal playfulness.
"But," George continued, "our time is at a premium, and we really would like to fit breakfast in before the rigors of class begin."
"So if you've something to say, we'll hear it right here."
Right then.
"I…I'm very sorry about what happened to Percy," Harry said, looking the twins in the eyes. To their left, he saw Seamus began to grow red with rage, but the twins seemed somewhat assured by his words.
"Thanks," George replied.
"Um, is Ron coming down anytime soon? I'd like to talk to him as well."
"Fuck off, Potter!" Seamus snarled, losing his temper. "It's not enough for you to kill Percy, you have to taunt his family about it?"
Harry was slightly taken aback by Seamus' vehemence, which unnerved him far more than the ridiculous claim. How could anyone take such a stupid thought seriously?
Before Harry could defend himself, Fred spoke up.
"Finnegan, just stop talking," he ordered, his eyes narrowed.
"Come on, Fred!" Seamus urged his tone exasperated. "There's obviously some sort of cover-up going on here, and Dumbledore's probably the only thing keeping him out of Azkaban. We can't trust those filthy snakes-"
"Shut the fuck up!" Fred demanded, slamming his fist down on the table, spilling his juice. Seamus looked like he had more to say, but chose to keep his mouth shut.
"Thanks again," George said, turning back towards Harry, "but I think you should wait a little before talking to Ron. He's…not really handling things well."
"Um, okay," Harry agreed, before turning and walking away.
On the way back to his table, his thoughts mostly centered around Seamus, and his seemingly psychotic antics. He really seemed convinced that Harry was in some way responsible for Percy's death.
But why? Really, what the hell was going on?
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"So, how bad do you think this is going to be?" Harry whispered.
"Well, for us, it's going to be torture," Tracey reasoned, "but for our good friend, it's going to be like ninety minute fantasy."
As Harry began to laugh uncontrollably, Millicent scowled.
"I really hate you both. Where's Hermione when I need her?"
Harry snickered loudly at Millicent's comment. When they had tried to ask Neville about Lockhart's first class, he had burst out laughing, before quelling beneath Hermione's silencing glare. Whatever had happened, it surely didn't reflect well on Lockhart.
"You know," Tracey began mischievously, "I did hear something about pixies getting the better of Lockhart during his first class."
"Lies, all lies," Millicent denied, shaking her head.
At that moment, Lockhart chose to make his appearance, making his way out of the Defense office. Clothed in bright turquoise robes, wavy blond hair styled to perfection, he looked like he was on his way to a photo shoot, as opposed to a Defense class.
Making his way to the front of the class, he cleared his throat loudly, before reaching down and plucking Daphne's copy of 'Gadding with Ghouls' from her desk. Pride bloomed out across her face at being the one Lockhart chose, causing Harry to chuckle to himself.
Lockhart held the book high, displaying his own winking, smiling picture on the front cover.
"Me," he said unnecessarily, pointing to himself and winking as well. "Gildory Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of 'Witch Weekly's' Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
"You just did," Tracey said under her breath, rolling her eyes. Harry let out a snort of laughter, which seemed to satisfy Lockhart, as he didn't have to wait for anyone else to laugh.
"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books, well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them - how much you've taken in."
As Lockhart began to pass out test papers, Harry began to wish he had actually looked at the books. He had once started to read 'Magical Me', but upon thinking of Lockhart's tantrum at Flourish and Blotts, he had rapidly found something else to do. Even if he didn't like Lockhart very much, he still did have to pass.
Upon passing out all the tests, Lockhart returned to the front of the class.
"You have forty-five minutes – start – now!"
Looking down at the paper, Harry began to read. With each passing sentence, he became more incredulous, wondering if this class was just some colossal prank.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color? What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy's Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
What the fuck?
Shaking his head, he glanced to the left, to see that Tracey seemed to be having similar misgivings, judging by her look of disbelief. Looking back at his paper, he decided if Lockhart wasn't going to take this seriously, neither was he.
Lockhart's favorite color? Clear. Lockhart's secret ambition? It's a secret. Lockhart's greatest achievement? Convincing the Board he could teach.
Forty-five minutes later, Lockhart collected all of the quizzes and began to read them out loud, much to Harry's amusement.
"Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in 'Year of the Yeti'. And a few of you need to read 'Wanderings with Werewolves' more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"
Lockhart gave the class another roguish wink, but no one even bothered to fake a laugh. Blaise, and even Daphne, were staring at him in disbelief. At that moment, Harry wished he knew how to simulate a cricket chirp with his wand. Definitely something he needed to research.
"I mean, just look at this!" Lockhart cried, looking at another quize. "Honestly, why would anyone think my favorite color was clear?"
Flipping the page, he continued, oblivious to the fact that Harry was shaking with the effort of keeping his laughter in.
"My greatest achievement is-" Lockhart sharply cut off his reading, a look of fierce annoyance on his face, before covering it with a chuckle.
"Well, I believe that's all for today," Lockhart said, despite the fact the class still had thirty minutes left. Feeling as though he had hit the lottery, Harry wasted no time in gathering his stuff together.
"Oh, Harry," Lockhart said, just as he was ready to flee, "could you hold on a moment? I wanted to talk to you about something."
Harry, feeling wary, nodded. He should have known he wasn't going to get away so cleanly with ridiculing Lockhart.
"Do you want us to wait up for you?" Tracey whispered to him, to which Harry gave a slight nod. He didn't know Lockhart that well yet, but he did want someone outside in case things went wrong.
So far, his track record with Defense instructors was not good.
"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asked cautiously, once the room had cleared.
"Your answers on the quiz were amusing," Lockhart stated, his smile radiant as always. "That's something I would have done when I was younger. Like you, I used to be quite the hellion."
Harry shrugged.
"I didn't read the books beforehand, since I expected you'd assign reading. Since I didn't know any of it, thought I'd make you laugh."
Not exactly true, but Lockhart didn't have to know that. Not like Lockhart was telling the truth anyway. Harry had seen the annoyance in his eyes, and could tell the professor had not appreciated it.
"Though, I could not help but detect anger behind your words, Harry, which I understand. After all, I did pull the spotlight away from you at Flourish and Blotts."
"Uh, what?" Harry asked, unable to articulate anything more complex.
"Harry, Harry," Lockhart began, as if he was giving out sage-like advice, "I understand your thirst for fame, but you have to cultivate a positive image first, so that the media can't turn you into a monster."
Was this guy serious?
"Sadly, the important Wizarding publications view you as a monster, but I can help you. Would you like that?"
"Not really," Harry answered dismissively.
Lockhart looked confused by his statement.
"Why not, Harry? The things they say about you in the Prophet….rumors are a vicious thing, but they are effective at destroying a person. You're twelve years old; people already think that you might be a Dark Wizard. What are they going to be saying in a year, Harry? Two? Three? Think about it."
He really didn't want Lockhart's help, nor did he trust him…but what if he could deliver? Would people stop blaming him for Percy's death?
"What could you do?"
"Absolutely anything, if you know the right people," Lockhart replied with a wink, "which I happen to. When you become as famous as me, people are just itching to do you favors. What do you say?"
Hesitantly, Harry nodded.
"Okay, sure."
He may not like Lockhart, but if he could actually deliver on his promise, wouldn't it be worth it, despite whatever Lockhart wanted in return?
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"Did Lockhart give you a detention?" Millicent asked earnestly upon his exit from the Defense classroom.
"No, he offered to help me," Harry sighed
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I know," Harry said with a shake of his head. "He said that he had friends that could make my problems with the Prophet disappear."
"Really?" Tracey asked skeptically, hands upon her hips, "and just what did he want in return?"
"He didn't really say," Harry admitted, beginning the walk towards the Charms classroom.
"And this doesn't bother you at all?"
"It kinda does, but then again, I pretty much know Lockhart isn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He definitely wants something from me…but if he gets the Prophet off my back, it's probably going to be worth it – whatever it is."
"Just watch yourself," she warned. "I really, really don't trust him."
"We're not talking about Quirrell here," Millicent pointed out. "You may not like him, but he's famous, and really talented. You could probably learn a lot from him."
"If you're really lucky Harry, he might show you how to curl your hair," Tracey remarked with mock enthusiasm, causing him to start laughing, despite his best efforts to hold it in.
"You both suck," Millicent said matter-of-factly, right as they entered the classroom. Due to their early release from Defense, they were the first ones to arrive. They chatted idly to fill the time until Charms began. As the minutes stretch out, the classroom slowly filled with Slytherins and Hufflepuffs.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts," the diminutive Charms instructor squeaked, perched perilously atop a stack of books behind his desk. "I trust that you have all had a wonderful summer, and have now come back, eager to fill your minds with knowledge?"
A few exaggerated, good-natured groans met his question, causing the tiny professor to smile wide beneath his tufts of white hair. Professor Flitwich brought a certain joy to his profession that was unmatched by any of his peers. It was a small wonder that he was almost universally praised by his students.
"To start off the term, we will begin by working on the freezing charm. Does anyone know the incantation? Yes, Miss Bones?"
"Congelo?" the auburn-haired girl answered hesitantly.
"Well done Miss Bones," Flitwick answered kindly, "earning your compatriots in Hufflepuff two points."
The professor went on to explain that proper wand movements and intricacies associated with the charm, before imploring them to pair up and practice the spell.
"Do you know how to do this?" Harry asked his two friends, prompting Millicent to shake her head.
"I got it to work once last year," Tracey admitted, "but it's been so long…too bad I can't practice," she ended bitterly, before withdrawing her wand, and jabbing it forward.
"Congelo!"
At her command, a faint blue spark emanated from her wand, but that was all.
"Fuck," she swore beneath her breath.
"That's going to be way better than my first try," Millicent replied, looking at her wand mistrustfully. She understood magic as well as anyone, but just didn't seem to pick up spells as quickly as Tracey.
"A promising start, Miss Davis," Professor Flitwick encouraged, before turning to Harry. "As for you, Mister Potter, I want you to work with Mister Macmillan today."
"Okay sir," Harry answered, following the professor over to the student in question. Harry had never really exchanged words with the blonde Hufflepuff boy, but Ernie didn't really look happy to be partnered with him.
"Um, do you want to try first?" Harry asked awkwardly.
"No," he answered coldly, crossing his arms.
"Okay then," Harry answered, slightly apprehensive. Sighing, he performed the freezing charm, solidifying the water within the goblet in front of them. Not exactly surprising, since Nicolas had taught it to him over the summer.
"Excellent, Mister Potter," Flitwick beamed, "you've just earned Slytherin five points."
Turning, Flitwick went to observe the other students progess, leaving behind only the glaring Hufflepuff.
"What's your problem?" Harry asked, losing patience.
"I don't want to be partnered with a killer," Ernie replied snobbishly, nose in the air.
"I guess it didn't take long for the Hat to cross Ravenclaw off the list, did it?" Harry mocked.
Ernie began to bluster, but Harry cut him off.
"Do you know how to think, Macmillan? Do you think Dumbledore would have let me come back if I killed anyone?"
"Then what about the Prophet?" he asked defiantly.
"Fuck the Prophet," Harry spat, causing Ernie to take a slight step back. "They also said I was going to take Voldemort's place, and that hasn't exactly happened yet."
Ernie, flinching slightly, looked like he was about to reply, but Zacharias got there first.
"Why don't you go work with Justin?" Smith suggested, pointing towards the other end of the room.
"Uh, yeah, sure," Ernie agreed, giving Harry one final fearful look before making his way across the room.
"You should probably ease off," Zacharias suggested.
"I'm sick of being called a murderer," Harry replied with a scowl, crossing his arms. "Where is all this coming from, anyway?"
Zacharias shook his head.
"Potter, I know you grew up in the muggle world, but you're a wizard. When are you going to start learning about our world?"
"I'm doing pretty good here," Harry said, but Zacharias shook his head.
"That's not the point. Hogwarts is only a small part of our world. Do you know anything about Britain's wizarding families?"
"Not really."
Zacharias sighed.
"The Macmillans are a Light, pureblooded family, just like the Weasleys. They don't trust you at all, and think you had something to do with…well, Percy's death," he finished awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "Ron has taken it really hard, and has been telling everyone he can that you're guilty."
"And they just believe him?!" Harry asked incredulously.
"Of course it's stupid," Zacharias agreed, "but the Prophet is saying it too, and a lot of people still trust them."
"Well, thanks for letting me know."
While Harry was grateful for Smith's explanation, more than anything he was dejected, unable to think of how he could ever hope to fix things.
How do you convince someone you're not a murderer when you can't tell the truth?
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"Harry, is that the Quibbler?" Millicent asked, her expression incredulous.
"Yeah, it is," he admitted, placing the publication within his bag, hoping that no one else would make a big deal over it.
"Um, why? Everyone knows most of the stuff in there is nonsense."
"Well, some of it is," Harry conceded, "but it's the only paper in Britain that doesn't work with the Ministry at all. I mean, sure, it has a lot of strange articles, but nothing in it is as stupid as the stuff in the Prophet."
"Yeah, true," she replied, nodding her head slightly reluctantly.
"You can read it after I'm done if you want," he offered, a teasing grin upon his face.
"No way," Millicent claimed, shaking her head back and forth, "but you have fun with your strange paper."
"I will," Harry assured, fighting the urge to take out the Quibbler and check out the housing advertisements. There would be plenty of time for that later, behind the fastenings of his bed.
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A voice called out to him, trying to pull him from his dream. In it, he had been flying at night, high above the city in a flying motorcycle.
"Harry, wake up."
Groaning, a five year-old Harry burrowed deeper into the covers, hoping the voice would go away. Why couldn't they just let him sleep?
"Wake up Harry," the female voice urged again, shaking his shoulder slightly.
"I wanna sleep," he complained from beneath the covers.
"Maybe tomorrow," she said, "but today we have a lot of stuff to do."
"Fine," Harry grumbled, throwing off the covers. Looking to his right, he saw through the window that it was still night. When he had gone to sleep, it had also been night. They had kept him up late last night, playing games, even though he had wanted to go to sleep.
"It's still dark," he whined to Callie.
"I know," she replied apologetically, "but there's a lot we have to do today, so we have to start early."
Yawning loudly, Harry crawled out of bed. When were they ever going to let him sleep?
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Within the Potions classroom, the split between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins was like a line in the sand, separating two warring factions. Splintered away from main Gryffindor force Hermione and Neville sat, seemingly ostracized by the rest of their House.
In Harry's opinion, it appeared that the cold stare of Professor Snape was the only factor that kept the animosity from spilling over the line. Despite the insults and threats that had been exchanged between the two Houses during the first week of class, a healthy fear of the Potions Master had kept the hostilities to mere looks of dislike.
Much like Flitwick had, Snape began the class by taking roll call. Passing over Harry's name, Snape practically spat it out, but had no further comment on the matter. Since last year, even when the Potions professor had handed him his second-year schedule, they had not exchanged any words. Did Snape blame him for being possessed by Voldemort?
"During our first class," Snape began, as roll call finished, "I explained that you are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. If the first year's exam grades are any indication, very few of you have any grasp of subtlety or exact art."
Smirking slightly, the professor surveyed the Gryffindors, who appeared to be the target of his ire.
"The syllabus for first-year Potions is little more than the following of simple instructions. Unfortunately, it would appear that many of you lack the mental capacity to follow simple steps. The potions that we will be studying this year are more volatile than last year and are far more precise. The pathetic efforts I received last year will not suffice this year. After all," Snape began, letting out a shark-like leer, "it would be a tragedy if any foolish students hurt themselves due to their own incompetence."
The Gryffindors fumed beneath Snape's callous remarks, but wisely kept their mouths shut. In stark contrast to last year, Malfoy and his cronies weren't around to heckle the Gryffindors, so it was mere silence that met Snape's comments, as opposed to laughter.
Apparently finished mocking his students, Snape set them to brewing an Insomnia Draught, the very same one Harry had brewed halfway through the summer. Certainly not the most difficult Potion, but he had discovered it didn't turn out right if one over-stirred by even a quarter-revolution. Harry began to move his stuff over to Tracey and Millicent's table, but Snape's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Today you will be working with Nott, Potter."
His black eyes seemed to be searching for challenge from Harry, but he offered none.
"Good luck," he wished to Millicent and Tracey, before moving his stuff over Nott's desk.
"I guess we're partners today," Harry said to the thin, reedy bespectacled boy.
"It would seem so," Theodore replied, before taking out his cauldron and setting fire a beneath it without any further comment.
Slightly mystified, Harry began to measure ingredients. Nott very rarely had anything to say, mostly keeping to himself during their first year. Apparently quite intelligent, the only person he ever seemed to have any reaction towards had been Malfoy, and even then it had been very passive dislike. Even more strange was that Theodore could apparently see thestrals. Harry wanted to ask how long he had been able to see them, but thought perhaps it was too personal of a question.
For the most part, the two Slytherins worked in silence. Fortunately, it appeared that Theodore was more than competent with brewing, sparing Harry the burden of having to carefully watch his every movement.
Why had Snape partnered them together? Last year, the professor hadn't a problem with Nott working by himself. With four less Slytherins this year, was Snape trying to build a sense of camaraderie between the remaining Slytherins?
"Does it bother you that Professor Snape is forcing you to work with others?" Harry asked out of nowhere.
"Not really," Theodore replied expressionlessly, "I understand why he's doing it."
"Yeah, House unity and such."
Theodore shook his head.
"That might be a part of it, but it's not the point. You've seen how closely Snape's been paying attention to us this class, correct?"
While normally the Potions Master occasionally graded papers throughout class, today he had not stopped his patrol of the classroom, paying the closest attention to the Gryffindors.
"Yeah, I have," Harry said with a nod. "Can't you just feel the good-will coming from the Gryffindor side of the classroom?"
"Snape knows that the tension between the two Houses is going to ignite, he just doesn't want it to happen during his class, and it's easier to watch three cauldrons than four."
"That makes a lot of sense," he agreed.
Harry looked down to begin working again, but a loud boom quickly drew his attention. Darting his head to the right, he saw that acrid smoke was pouring from Ron and Dean's cauldron. What the hell had they been doing?
"Weasley, did you bother to read the instructions?" Snape snarled as the class turned to watch the spectacle. "If you had-"
Abruptly cutting off his diatribe, Snape withdrew his wand and brought it up. A lit rocket, frozen halfway in a trajectory towards Harry's cauldron, flew into Snape's hand. Livid, he extinguished the flames, rounding on Seamus and Lavender's desk.
"Tampering with other students' potions, are you Finnegan?"
Harry, who had missed the incoming projectile due to the explosion, turned on the sandy-haired Gryffindor.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"
"I will handle this, Potter," Snape said curtly, cutting Harry off, who was still fuming. The Insomnia Draught was a fickle potion, but if the rocket had went off in the cauldron, it very well could have ignited it.
"No better than you deserve," Seamus mocked, not intimidated by Snape's death stare.
"Quiet, Finnegan," Snape snarled, before turning to the other Slytherins. "Class dismissed, take your cauldrons and get out of here."
Harry, still raging, threw his stuff together and stormed out the doorway. What the fuck was wrong with the Gryffindors this year?
"Wait up!" Millicent implored as she exited the classroom. Willing himself to calm down, Harry turned and waited for his classmate, who was quickly followed by Tracey.
"Did Finnegan lose his marbles?" Millicent asked, still uncomprehending that that boy would dare to challenge Snape.
"It's not just Finnegan, they were all in on it," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, the explosion must have just been a distraction," Tracey agreed.
"I don't think I've ever seen Snape so angry," Millicent observed. "Finnegan might have been off his rocker today, but whatever detention Snape comes up with…you know, I don't think he'll ever do anything that stupid again in class."
"Maybe," Harry replied with a shrug, "but then again, he is a Gryffindor."
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All things considered, Harry was quite glad that the first scholastic week had drawn to a close. Between the whispered rumors and half-truths he heard during every walk between classes, not to mention that half of the Gryffindors seemed to have gone insane, the weekend gleamed even brighter than normal.
"This is great," Harry said, walking towards the library with his two close friends within Slytherin, "a night without any Gryffindors."
"Oh, did Hermione and Neville get re-sorted?" Tracey asked sarcastically.
"Fine, without any Gryffindors we don't want to see," Harry clarified, sending a mock glare in Tracey's direction.
"Well, who knows?" Millicent said with a shrug. "Maybe tonight Weasley and Finnegan decided to read up on thirteenth century history?"
"And perhaps tonight they're going to make me Minister," Harry said with a chuckle.
"Do you really want to jinx tonight?" Millicent pointed out. "With your ability to find trouble, I wouldn't be surprised if we…"
She trailed off as they turned the corner. At the sight in front of her, she shook her head, giving Harry an incredulous glance.
Up ahead of the trio, perhaps thirty feet down the hall; three first-year girls had their back to Harry, cornering another, small first-year girl. Luna.
Though her back was to the wall, there was no fear within the blonde Ravenclaw's eyes, only a faint disinterest. Unblinkingly she stared at the three girls surrounding her.
"I thought we were friends, Luna," the girl in the center, a redhead, demanded. "Why are you defending that murderer?"
"Because I do not think he is a murderer," Luna answered simply, as if it were obvious.
"You heard what Ginny's brother said," a dark haired girl accused, stomping her foot to emphasize the point. "Even the Prophet says it's true."
"I believe that Ron may have an infestation of wrackspurts in his mind, then," Luna explained, "if he believes the Prophet."
"What?! Are you calling my brother a liar?" Ginny demanded, moving a step closer to the blonde girl.
Sighing, Harry stepped out of the shadows. Maybe Millicent was right; perhaps he should stop jinxing them.
"Is there a problem here?"
The three girls jumped with surprise. Turning around, Ginny let out a squeak at seeing him, and fled down the hall, closely followed by her two classmates.
"They seem to find you terrifying, but I don't know why," Luna said, confusion in her voice.
"Why were they bothering you?" Millicent asked kindly.
"During Charms class, Ginny was telling everyone what a monster you were, which I found odd since monsters typically aren't nice to people they don't even know. She didn't seem to like me pointing this out."
While Harry was humbled that someone went out of their way to defend him, it was his fight, and he certainly didn't want other people dragged into it.
"Thanks for defending me, Luna, but you may want to keep your opinions to yourself, or at least when you're not around other Ravenclaws."
"Why is that?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence.
"Well, the Gryffindors seem a little…off this year," Harry explained, "but they'd probably leave you alone when you're around your friends in your House."
"Oh, that," Luna replied, comprehension dawning on her face, "the other Ravenclaws don't seem to care much for me, but thanks for the concern. I really must be getting back to my dormitory."
Whistling, the strange girl took off, skipping as opposed to walking.
"She's…rather odd," Millicent observed.
"Just a bit," he said with a forced smile. Internally, he felt for the young girl. If things had gotten to the point of being cornered a mere week into the term…what would be happening in a month? Two?
No, if Luna was going out of her way to defend him, he had to do something to help her. Thankfully, he knew exactly what he needed to do.
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At breakfast the next morning, Harry was certainly not surprised at the amount of glares he received from the scattered Gryffindors. It had almost become part of his morning routine: wake up, use bathroom, get dressed, go to breakfast, and get glared at by Gryffindor.
"You know, I think I'm becoming immune to their glares," Harry said, motioning towards the Gryffindor table.
"Eh, when you see something every day, it stops being scary," Millicent said with a shrug. "They're going to have to try harder."
"I'm kinda hoping they don't," Harry admitted. "Before we know it, they'll be shooting fire out of their eyes."
"Look out," Millicent said, her eyes widening. Spinning around in his seat, he saw Ron approach the Slytherin table, his expression apoplectic. His ears were a bright red, which also seemed like an ill omen.
"You," Ron said, pointing at Harry, his finger shaking slightly, "we need to talk."
"Um, okay," Harry said cautiously, starting to get up.
"No, we can talk right here," Ron said with a sneer, "so everyone can hear us."
Resigning himself to the fact that the Gryffindor wanted to make a spectacle of their encounter, Harry sighed, getting to his feet. If Ron was going to yell at him, he wasn't going to take it sitting down.
"What's on your mind?"
Without warning, Ron jabbed a finger into Harry's chest, surprising him and pushing him back slightly. He almost toppled over the bench, but Tracey braced him, preventing him from falling.
"It's not enough that you kill my brother, but you have to terrorize my sister?!"
The overwhelming urge to curse Weasley struck Harry, but he swallowed the impulse, realizing that Ron still hadn't gotten over Percy's death, and was merely lashing out.
"I don't know where you're getting this from, but I had nothing to do with his death."
Ron, his face and ears beet-red, stepped forward, bringing them face-to-face.
"If you ever bother my sister again, I'm going to make you sorry."
"If she wasn't ganging up on kids, she wouldn't have a problem," Harry snapped back, tiring of Ron's posturing.
At his comment, the redheaded boy glared at him. Harry was slightly shocked that he could practically feel the waves of pure hatred radiating off Ron. It was almost as if…he really did want to kill him.
"Mister Weasley, return to your table at once," Professor McGonagall ordered, making her way over to the Slytherin table. Ron ground his teeth for a moment, before turning and following her orders. She watched his progress, before favoring Harry with a curt nod.
"You should return to your breakfast as well," she ordered.
"Professor, he's going to hurt someone if he doesn't get help," Harry said.
"Thank you for your concern, Mister Potter, but Mister Weasley is going through a very difficult time right now," she explained, before making her way back to the Gryffindor table, presumably to talk to Ron.
For the first time, Harry was truly unnerved by the second-year Gryffindor. He knew Ron was angry, and coping with Percy's death badly…but how long would it take until Ron actually dealt with it?
He certainly hoped it was soon. If it wasn't, at the rate things were going, the entire school would be rallied against him by month's end.
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Author Notes:
Well, back to Hogwarts again. So far it looks like year two will be more like canon than year one was, but I guess we'll all see as it develops.
After some reader feedback, I decided to scale back the scope of the flashbacks to Harry's childhood. They will still occur, but only the major ones will get more than a few paragraphs.
Any comments, suggestions or criticisms would be deeply appreciated. Even a quick "I liked it," or, "it sucked" will suffice. I'll make an effort to answer every review I get. Thanks to all that have reviewed, it has kept me writing as opposed to playing Bioshock 2, which I've already beaten on medium, and am now trying on hard, which I'm finding it providing more fun.
Thanks to my co-conspirator, mira mirth, for her valuable assistance with plotting, characterization and continuity. Also, Ellisande deserves credit for his assistance with continuity and making sure I followed canon rules.
Thanks to my beta, the lovely Princess Serine. Her dedication and quick turnaround shaved a few days off the posting date.
DLP Thanks:
The Lord of Chaos, psihary, shinysavage, CheddarTrek, Inert, Cosmos Gravitation, ZerotheDestroyer, KrzaQ