The One where the DADA Professor is the Dark Lady.
RESTLESS
Book 1: The Third Riddle
6 Silver Lining
Transfiguration Classroom
The Class after Lunch, 2nd September 1991
Even considering all the discipline and strictness one saw when they looked at Minerva McGonagall, it was never doubted that she was, first and foremost, an excellent teacher.
Transfiguration is the Magical Art of creativity, the exploration of imagination, the branch which literally bends matter to its will and reshapes it according to a caster's wishes.
A beautiful, complex art which requires a strict teacher, to stop students from exploring too much... and accidentally annihilating themselves, other pupils or god forbid, school property, and yet a teacher that still retains that inherent imagination and perfectionism of a transfiguration prodigy.
It has always been extremely difficult to find a person patient enough to teach step-by-step cautious transfiguration to students and someone crazy enough to be proficient in transfiguration to able to teach it in the first place.
And professors, when found, were generally uniquely qualified and served for a long term. At Hogwarts, when a teacher approached retirement, they generally trained the best of their students to follow them, in a 1000s year old chain of excellence.
Like Albus taught her. And like she hoped to teach her own Apprentice. It was a delicate balance. And while Albus had, in his time, leant more towards the crazy, Minerva believed in a strictly guided learning curve.
Which was why she was currently resting on her desk as a cat, watching the Slytherins enter through the door for their first day of classes, the Ravenclaws already seated, ready with all their books. Atleast most Slytherins were. There were two absentees.
That Gryffindor in Minerva was eagerly waiting for that first shock and awe the children felt each year when she turned into a human from a cat.
But just as most of the class began whispering and talking when Minerva didn't make an appearance, as she herself geared herself for the jump and transformation, the door to the class silently opened and in rushed Harry Potter and Alexa Watson.
Minerva paused mid-step. The class quieted down. All creatures, both human and feline stared at the newcomers. Harry Potter.
After his rather... spectacular entrance into the Great Hall, almost immediately followed by a completely unexpected sorting, Harry Potter had gone ahead and challenged both Severus Snape and the Lestrange family to a Duel, just after insulting the purpose of Slytherin house and just before he ran off with Watson to God knew where.
Minerva would've scoffed at the rumours but it was a confirmed fact that all the Prefects of Slytherin and Professor Snape woke up the next morning in the Hospital Wing with the memory of the night's events ending somewhere in the middle of the search. For Potter.
For those doubting the existence of the Challenge... today's breakfast took that away in a rather... irrefuttable way.
"I'M COMING FOR YOU HARRY POTTER!" screamed the Howler, as those few kids wishing Potter humiliation felt their mouths hang open, "HOW DARE YOU FUCKING DO THAT! THE RECKONING COMING FOR YOU WILL MAKE YOU BEG ME TO KILL YOU!"
Howlers generally burn away. This one, Minerva was sure, almost exploded.
So, Harry Potter, who the Slytherins and Gryffindors, both swore hadn't spent the night with them and who had then been calmly, if dispassionately, eating his breakfast (Bacon, Scones, Coffee (Black)), went ashen-faced infront of half the school, quickly eaten his breakfast and pulled out parchment and a muggle pen to write a letter in reply.
Then he got up from the Hufflepuff table he was sitting at, with Watson and Black and three completely unexpected others and rushed off to the owlery.
Minerva had heard that the Phoenix (who she was sure had landed the Howler after opening it and hitting Harry just out of spite) had just flown back to the Owlery to further irritate Potter.
Why? The Howler, you see, was not from Bellatrix Lestrange, who was currently thought to be vacationing in Belgium. It was from Lady Lily Potter. And all of Magical Britain knew that you don't ever want Lily Potter angry at you. Unless you're feeling sucidal, of course.
And so the class went silent and Harry Potter, who bless his soul, appeared to be a far cry from the confident boy she'd seen. He appeared almost... desperate. Ms Watson, who appeared to have dragged Potter to the class, now let go of his hand and walked over to the first bench.
Potter instead looked at Minerva... the cat.
"Are you McGonagall's?" he asked dispassionately. The class kept staring at the scene.
Normally Minerva would've chosen this moment to scare them into order by assuming her true form. Potter, however, looked a bit too despondent. She instead nodded once, though stiffly.
"I didn't know she had a cat. She appeared more of a Lion person. But I have been wrong before. And Albus never said..." He spoke in a whisper, that didn't carry to the class. But then his eyes suddenly focused and filled with resolve. It made Minerva wonder yet again, like all of Hogwarts must be, on how Potter succeed in entering Slytherin. The next words Potter said were quite peculiar, enough to make her lose her line of thought.
They were loud and clear. Yet, somehow she felt they were meant for her alone.
"Kitty, our DADA Professor is the Dark Lady."
Potter paused as if he'd delivered an ominous piece of information.
"And I told that to Albus Dumbledore. Which he immediately forgot. So, I wrote that to him. He forgot that too. He also forgot when I shouted that at him and when I tried to write that on his hand, he batted it away."
Potter's words didn't register. It was strange. A part of Minerva knew that what Potter was saying was important. Very important. But to try and remember it felt like trying to hold a fistful of sand. It kept seeping through her mind, confusing Minrrva along the way.
Potter continued speaking as she saw behind him most of the class appeared similarly confused. "So I told Alexa and Jon. They kept forgetting it too. I told Neville Longbottom. And then my brother and when that didn't work, I told Malfoy. Draco Fucking Malfoy. And all of them and the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors and Mum..." Potter agitatedly took out a letter. (Minerva wondered how he received correspondence from his mother for the second time in 3 hours.)
"None of them seem capable of retaining the simple fact that our Fucking. Defence. Professor. Is THE DARK LADY!"
Potter's voice rose to a scream near the end as he waved a letter infront of Minerva's face. She tilted her head and wondered what had made him so angry.
His breath was flushed as he breathed out in huge gasps. The class behind her appeared similarly oblivious of the object of his rage. Minerva shrugged and jumped off her desk.
And now, after years of practice, shifting skins from cat to human was hardly a hindrance for her. Not even taking a moment to let the students get accustomed to the revelation that the cat was their professor, as she moved between the desks of her class, she stated, "Today we'll have a small theory lecture, an introduction to Transfiguration, you could say, immediately followed by a week long practical session on converting Matches to Needles. Take out your quills and parchment."
Minerva was disappointed with the lack of shock and awe displayed by the class. She glanced at Potter. It was all his fault. His shouting at a cat must've taken away the novelty of that cat's conversion into a teacher.
Potter looked rather resigned as he ran his hand through his hair and corrected the position of his glasses. "Professor?" he asked, questioning her glare.
"Detention. With Filch."
"And why is that?" Potter raised an eyebrow.
'You spoiled my yearly surprise.'
"I do not condone swearing in my classes, Potter. Especially if you use it without provocation. Now go sit in your proper place."
Potter didn't move. "With. Out. Provocation." He took out a coin and made it dance around his fingers. And smiled at her. Even Minerva could tell the smile wasn't entirely true. "Indeed. Let's ignore Homicidal Dark Ladies teaching teenagers how to battle and convert fucking matches into fucking needles."
"Double Detention Potter."
"Of course Professor."
As she began her first lecture, Potter took his place at the last bench. 'Just like his father. I hope he learns to take life seriously soon.'
Surprisingly Harry Potter was only the second most shocking development of that day.
"Hic! Hic! Hic!"
Mammals have a flap that loyally gaurds the entrance of their windpipes, separating it from the oesophagus: the epiglottis.
"Hic! Hic! Hic!"
However, sometimes in case one gets astonished at inopportune times, say when they're drinking their favourite cider while cheerfully gazing at their students, the alcohol may enter the windpipe and cause Hiccups and coughing.
"Hic! Hi—"
Thankfully, if you happen to be the Charms Master of the generation, you have a charm for everything. Including a charm that extracts wine from the wind pipe, brings it back up, purified, to the mouth for a taste, before sending it straight back to the food pipe.
Filius didn't even pay attention to fluids entering his lungs as he had a much more significant news to share.
"Cut off my head and hang it sideways! (A Goblin equivalent for: Bloody Hell) Pam! Draco Malfoy's sitting with Jim Potter! And neither are bound in ropes." In fact, the three kids appeared quite relaxed.
Professor Sprout (Pam to some friends, some relations and some 'enemies who had been friends but then they called her PAM') didn't disappoint in her reaction. "Crikes! What do you think happened, Filius?"
"The third boy sitting with them is Neville Longbottom." That he was half declared a squib, from a completely Light oriented family, for whom Augusta Longbottom had requested tutoring lest he fail at Hogwarts went unsaid. "At this point I'm starting to doubt the strength of a Half-Goblin's mental constitution, Pam."
Filius glared down at his glass of cider. And then he breathed in some air and before another thought may enter his mind, he drank down all of it in a single gulp.
'Goblins find it hard to get drunk,' Filius thought as he refilled his glass, 'and if this cider has any hallucination generating tendencies, I must explore it... in the spirit of experimentation, of course."
Charms Classroom
The Class before Lunch, 2nd September 1991
"So, Professor Flitwick drank a lot more wine than he could handle. He's currently unavailable," explained the Head Girl to the 1st year Slytherins and Ravenclaws.
Three students raised their hands. The Head Girl started with the most popular option. Magic knew that half of Hogwarts wanted to question this kid themselves. She may as well learn something about him...
"Is it true that you were unable to return from patrol duty owing to complications along the way? And that a Ravenclaw boy was also found missing too? And that you're dating now?"
The same question had been asked so many times that day that it didn't even phase her.
"I didn't take you for a romantic, Heir Potter. At the young age of Eleven too."
"Oh no, Milady. I'm just interested in the... new possibilities for late night detours I might take this year. With your cooperation, of course."
Everyone knew that Potter had already taken a 'detour.' But with none of the Slytherins willing to accept what happened and the first year perpertators maintaining their silence, there was no proof other than the instant when she and her new boyfriend had seen some of them.
And if she accepted that she left four firsties to fend for themselves against her fellow Prefects... she'd become the Head Girl with the shortest term at Hogwarts.
"No, you may not take detours, Heir Potter. I was returning from patrol duty when I caught the estranged Ravenclaw. And after taking the time to berate him for being out of bounds, I gave him a month's detention."
"With Filch?"
'Oh you rascal! You want me to accept that too.'
"No. He has a month's detention with me." She couldn't stop a small measure of excitement from entering her voice.
Half the class started laughing. The other half just appeared confused. As the first half explained the mechanics to the others, she pointed at the second raised hand.
Potter's smile was slightly smug but overall, he didn't appear too interested. Instead stared at the class and frowned a bit.
"Heiress Aldaine?"
Cold and precise. "I was under the impression that Goblins are incapable of getting inebriated."
"You're correct. But drinking too much of any fluid always carries a chance of upsetting one's stomach."
The answering hand movement was almost imperceptible. It still imparted the message: 'Carry on.' She still didn't know where these noble fools got their endless confidence.
She nodded at the last raised hand.
"So, what are you teaching us today?" asked a Ravenclaw, Mike Corner if she remembered correctly.
The Head Girl smiled a true smile then. "Now all of you look at me. That's it. Normally Professor Flitwick would supervise this but due to the aforementioned gastrointestinal complications, I'll be supervising the beginning of your magical education. Now, the first spell you need to know about is Lumos."
There was a little excitement was all the firsties too out their wands. The Head Girl showed them the wand movement.
"Let's practice it now, shall we?"
They were made to practice the movement. She corrected those few who were doing it incorrectly.
"Now cast in groups of five please. Too much light is bad for your eyes."
Most of them could easily cast it. Watson, Aldaine, Selwyn, Tony and Kevin Earnest (as Ernstwhile was way too long) even got it on their first tries. Others took five more tries at most (Crabbe). Most of them, that is, except for Potter.
Potter was staring at his wand tip with a self satisfied smile on his face. That in itself was nothing interesting. So were most others. What was interesting was that the wand held in Potter's hand gave off no light.
And the class began that to notice that one by one. "Heir Potter, please try again..."
"Huh?"
Some laughed, some stared either at him or his wand.
"The Lumos charm Mr Potter. The one that lights up your wand? The one we've been practicing."
Potter stared at his wand, then at the class and finally waved his wand infront of the Head Girl
She sighed. "Yes Potter. That's your wand. Now your wand movement was right and I think you can say Lumos. Look around you and think about the kind of light you want."
Potter glared at the stick of wood in his hand. "Lumos!"
As the whole class watched the tip of the wood, nothing happened.
Not on the 1st try. Not on the 5th. And not even on the 150th or so, which was last before the period ended. When the students began to leave, the Head Girl was sure she saw Magnus Selwyn make eye contact with Potter before his lips formed a single word, one which Potter ignored as he went on his way. And one which would be repeated throughout Hogwarts that day.
A word already associated with Harry Potter.
Squib.
"And this is exactly how pointy it should be." McGonagall hit the Needle with her index fingernail. It made a soft ting.
"The sound comes first. See for yourself and if you hear the small metallic ting, your work is half done."
Minerva looked around at the rather irritated children who had been trying to convert a matchstick into a needle, after a half an hour long lecture and subsequent practice. And heard relieved sighs from more than half of them as they heard the required 'ting.'
There were always exceptional cases however. Such as Ms Aldaine (Minerva didn't believe in all that Political titles conferred to 11 year olds) and Ms Watson. Most others had some small metallic parts visible on their matches.
Other than Harry Potter, that is, who was holding a match, completely wooden, in his left hand and observing it very carefully as if mapping its shape in his mind. He would intermittently hit it and smile when it produced no metallic sound.
Minerva approached him and casually asked, careful to not sound discouraging, "Any progress, Mr Potter?"
Harry looked up at her and answered seriously, "None whatsoever, Professor. No one believes me when I say that our Defence Professor is the Dark Lady, Daphne over there still dislikes me, no one can see my Lumos and now I'm pretty sure that you think that this needle here is a matchstick."
Potter held out the matchstick to her. Minerva patiently smiled as she explained to him, "Potter, do not be disheartened, it can take time for some people. Show me your wand movement, will you?"
Potter showed her the wand movement. It was correct. Transfiguration of most small things didn't have an incantation. Just intent, wand movement, visualisation and the capacity of sharing magic with the surroundings.
"Not everyone gets it right immediately, Mr Potter. You have to keep trying, without rest, with determination. And magic won't fail you."
Potter answered immediately, "But it has Professor. I'm unable to display my result to you and am completely incapable of lighting up a room for others. And it really wasn't for lack of effort."
"See, that's justthe motivation you need. Such an optimistic approach can only lead to success."
Potter laughed and if Minerva hadn't been so sure of his resolution, she'd have called it almost... defeated.
The optimistic approach didn't lead to any success for Harry Potter. The matchstick remained wooden, it remained soft, it remained brown. It did not gain any metallic properties.
Not even the Ting!
Minerva had taken it as a personal affront. She dismissed the class a bit early and made Potter stay back.
No child of James would ever not excel at Transfiguration as long as Minerva had any say. The talent ran in the boy's veins. And she'd be damned if she didn't make it present itself.
"Did you want it to happen?" The softness had left her voice. Minerva knew that Potter knew that Minerva only wanted the best for him.
"Yes, Professor." Potter's eyes were full of resolve, his wand held tight in his hands.
Harry was sitting on a transfigured hard backed wooden chair, for maximum concentration.
"Really want it?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Did you imagine the needle in your mind?"
"Yes, Professor."
"And see its colour?"
"Yes, Professor."
"What colour did you see, Mr Potter?"
"Silver, Professor. Lustrous and shiny."
"Like this?" Minerva waved her wand and 10 needles appeared out of thin air only to be suspended between their eyes. Potter pointed out the colour he imagined.
Minerva compared it with the needles handed over by the children who'd completed the assignment. It was the same.
"It is the same, Professor."
Minerva waved her wand and the needles vanished. "Try again. This time before me. And use a new match. Fear not Potter. We're gonna do this and Bloody Hell, I'll change my damn name if you're not able to produce a silver lining in this needle before the sun rises on the horizon tomorrow."
Minerva pointed a finger at the afternoon sun. Potter nodded.
An Hour before sunrise
"How's Athena for a new name, Professor?"
Fourteen hours straight. With Tea, Dinner and the midnight Tea in class and Harry Potter had still failed to produce an acceptable silver lining. It was about an hour before sunrise. And as a mind relaxing exercise, they were discussing new possible names for her.
"I don't know, Potter. My mother did want to name me Athena."
"Then she may have been right. And no offense Professor, but it does have a better acoustic quality than Minerva."
"I've noticed that too. In the end, however, it came down to the 'M'."
"The 'M'?"
"Yes. My mother wanted both my first and last names to start with the same letters, the 'M' here. Minnie and Mac. Big and small," explained Minerva.
Harry smiled. "How philosophical, Professor. And I completely agree with her on this. It's quite difficult to find a proper nickname for Athena."
"Yes. Somehow 'Thena' just doesn't cut it. And don't get me started on 'Ath'." They laughed at the ridiculous nickname, until the laughter lapsed into a comfortable silence.
"You're a good kid Potter."
Minerva was not commenting on his capability in theorizing nicknames. Potter had continuously been working hard at his matchsticks (They'd used over 300), without any visible lack in enthusiasm or showing any tiredness.
They had changed initial woods, changed target metals, changing the process of approach (Lateral, Transverse, End-wise) and though she was sure that a squib would've made a needle out of a matchstick by now, atleast there was no lack of hard work and determination on Potter's part.
Minerva respected that.
Minerva decided then and there that of all the students of Hogwarts, if there existed one that deserved a needle out of a matchstick, it was Harry Potter.
She got up from her seat and called out to him as she walked to the door. "Come along, Mr Potter. We might as well walk through the halls of Hogwarts on my last night as Minnie Mac, the Gone girl."
"And here I thought there existed no worse nicknames than 'Ath'."
Minerva chuckled as she shut the door behind her and Harry.
The Forbidden Room
Exactly 24 hours ago
Albus decided that enough was enough.
raised his hand and the strange muggle pen ('A Marker,' he remembered) stopped midway through its journey, along with Harry Potter's right hand. And Harry himself, for that matter.
"I quite respect you, Harry Potter," said Albus, doing his impression of he imagined Gandalf must speak to Frodo. "But to show such needless aggression to try and bring me around to your Point of View will be an exercise in futility for you." He shook his head sagely.
And Harry Potter, his body half in the air, with his left foot 3 feet ahead of his right, continued insisting... whatever he was insisting.
"But Emily Riddle is our Defence Professor. I mean Artemisia is our Defence Professor. Sorry! Emily Riddle is Lady Artemisia! You must understand, Albus!"
Albus was reasonably sure that whatever Harry was saying must have major implications but for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to consider his words when they were said in such an unseemly manner.
Unless Harry believed that the children of Hogwarts were at risk, Albus was unwilling to even process his words, unless he sat down and said them from his chair.
In Harry's defense, Albus had disregarded his words when he'd spoken them from his chair too (And for the record, Albus loved that Vintage armchair. He wished he had one as old as that.) Albus couldn't exactly remember why.
'Well I must have a good enough reason... maybe?' Not even he could understand the complexities of human reasoning.
What he did remember was that Harry had become extremely agitated when Albus kept on ignoring whatever he said. And he had gone to great lengths to try to make sure that Albus received whatever information he was ignoring. It was in the middle of that that Harry had lost his calm.
Albus took a moment to observe Harry's countenance. The boy came across as somewhere between exasperated and murderous. Albus really hoped that they didn't come to blows. There were already very few players like Harry (and none on the Progressive side) and Albus hoped that he would come bear some of the Light's burden as he grew up.
Albus then remembered that he had petrified Harry in mid-air for quite some time. He waved his hand and the Eleven year old rushed back to his seat, which took most of the blow of his landing.
There was a perfunctory pause which Harry broke, "You're a right bastard, Al." Thankfully, he sounded calm.
Albus shrugged, "So they say Harry, so they say. But enough of that. Let's return to what you were saying again."
There was another pause as Albus waited for Harry to continue. The boy took his time as he thought things over.
"Nah! First I need to see why you're behaving like you're behaving. We'll come back to that topic some other time. If we'll talk again, of course..."
"Of course, we will." Albus was kinda 34-35% sure of that. They were optimistic odds.
"Now the most important topic of discussion. What the hell is behind the glass wall?"
Albus glanced back at the Black wall. "Oh that. Yes, that Harry is Betty's home."
"Betty?" Harry got up from his seat and walked up to the glass.
"Betty." Albus waved his hand and the glass cleared and became transparent. Harry gasped. And Albus was proud to know that people like Harry almost never gasped.
The cavern (for it could only be called that) was a marshy ecosystem. The water touching the glass rose up to somewhere near Albus' thighs. There was a Kappa colony seetled on the east side, a grindylow colony in the water itself, and lots of fishes too swimming about here and there to serve as food for the others.
And in the middle of the floor-high swamp trees and reeds and the pool of water, currently washing herself on the far bank was Betty. She was beautiful. She was majestic. She was chewing on a Grindylow skull. And yet, she was the best of a Hydra.
"You see Harry, I was in need of a... Safeguarding system, I think you can call it. So some negotiations were held between us and the Crete Magical Wildlife sanctuary and they agreed to give Betty here a vacation."
That was not completely true. Betty the Hydra was actually on the run from the Wildlife sanctuary when Albus had caught her just before she killed off a minor village. Harry didn't need to know that.
"And which one of them is Betty, again?"
"Hmm, I suppose five identical 12 foot long heads can be confusing. Sweet Betty is the one chewing on the Grindylow skull."
She had always been the most civilized of them. Rad, Max, Pit and Tim had never been the most well mannered of snakes. 'But they too have their uses,' Albus thought, chuckling at seeing them try and fail to tear apart each other.
"They look pretty much the same to me, Albus. And none of them look like they belong in a school."
"No they don't. The Lernaean Hydra are an endangered Greek species that possess 3 or more heads. Runespoors are a lesser genus of Hydra but much less rare. Anyway, Hydra have sleep inducing breath, sharp eyesight, crushing bite strength and they're very quick to attack."
"Multiple heads means they can attack from different sides. And take in their regeneration powers and the most accomplished wizards will fall to them."
Harry's eyes were trying to touch his forehead. "And all the creatures within the glass..."
"They're all in a permanent lethargic state due to the tranquilizing effect of Betty's breath. I don't think they even notice the threat they live in... until they die, of course. Betty there is cultivating a colony. She's smart. She knows how long she's here for and so will be judicious in her diet."
Harry touched the glass. "But why? Why use her? What if its set loose? The other heads will kill all of us."
"Harry, Betty possesses the Central Nervous system of the Hydra. She can regulate the movement of the secondary heads."
"Wait! If your Betty's killed..."
"Then the Hydra dies. But the cutting off of other heads leads to regeneration of one or more. All Hydra begin with two heads; one primary, one secondary. And it is only through misadventures of bold and intellegent creatures, Harry, that they succeed in becoming so mighty."
Harry gulped. "Message received, loud and clear." Albus smiled. He did always like to pass on messages. He nodded happily and with another wave of his wand, the glass turned black.
Both retook their seats, with Harry sitting heavily in his armchair.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"So... how do you go through the glass?" asked Harry finally.
Albus waved off the question. "You just need to want to pass and touch it with the tip of your wand. It'll allow you to visit Betty." 'If you are agreeable to death by mauling and being chewed down.'
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. Any other safeguards you're hiding other than the Slythery leviathan?"
"I don't know." Albus smiled.
"What?!"
"I don't know what the other safeguards are, Harry. I asked Pomona, Hagrid and Silvanus's help in setting up this ecosystem. Other than that, Emily, Minerva, Filius, Severus, Aurora and Ms Bennet have all set up their own traps, some solitary, others by many teachers at the same time. And I have specifically asked them to gaurd the knowledge of each trap with their lives..."
"...and not tell you what they are. So that if you are comprimised..."
"As the non-magicals say Harry, the show must go on." Harry looked at the black glass and his eyes seemed to fill with emotion.
Albus continued his explanation. "Finally, each of these professors possess the knowledge of a small string of letters that open the final rune matrix in which the stone is kept."
"Which stone?"
"The Philosopher's stone."
Pause.
"Uh... What's the Philosopher's Stone?"
Albus raised an index finger. "What a shameful Quest for knowledge it would be Harry, if I simply gave you the answer now. And there, now I've told you all you need to know about this plan of mine. Now get Emily from where you've sent her out of the room and revive your friends and... the others. Leave Severus, though."
Harry nodded and got up. Just as he was opening the door of the room, Albus gave his parting advice, "I know you still desire to pass through the traps, Harry. I will tell you this: You will fail. You will die. And even if you succeed, the prize waiting for you will just be a fate worse than death. This corridor is not your concern, Harry..."
"And I'll leave it alone," said the boy whose childhood Albus had stolen as he softly closed the door behind him.
Albus didn't believe him for a second.
The Corridors of Hogwarts
The Hour of Dawn, 3rd September, 1991
The sun, Minerva knew would present itself within the hour. Even now the darkness of night fought a losing battle as the first few rays, red and orange, displayed themselves for inspection.
It was solitary corridor. Minerva had ensured that there existed no paintings, that the only way in had strong Notice-me-Nots and that most of the corridor appeared untidy to all.
The corridor only took one turn. A turn that drastically changed how you saw it. This part did contain paintings. Paintings that encompassed whole walls but unlike many others at Hogwarts, they did not contain any intellegent life in them. Just Landscapes. Of her life.
The corridor ended at a solitary armchair, red and gold and well sat on, facing the huge window, if it could be called that.
It was difficult, being Minerva McGonagall. To be responsible, strict and yet love the children as if they were your own... and yet never show it. Her family was dead or estranged for decades, her husband dead for some years, her own children non-existent. And yet she had to carry half the burden of making Hogwarts work and teach and keep her students safe.
The window, Minerva decided, couldn't be called that. It would always be the 4th wall of the corridor, blasted apart on the day she lost her husband and the only place at Hogwarts she felt truly free.
Six floors high with a floor wide drop. And an armchair stuck in place just a feet from it. And sitting on it, comfortably drinking Earl Grey while looking out at the vast expanse of Hogwarts grounds, the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. That was when she truly felt peaceful.
Harry Potter, earlier beside her, was now looking at the paintings. "They have given me an office, Mr Potter. I hate it. You see, it didn't contain a window, making me feel quite constricted. They say something about a few of us Gryffindors. They say we make our own paths."
"And so you made your own window?"
Minerva laughed. "Yes. That's precisely what I did. I like it here. The wind, the chances of death, the openness..."
"And the feeling of home," completed Harry.
Harry spoke monotonically, almost devoid of emotion, "You think Professor that you do not have another place to return to. The landscapes of the highlands that are all there in your paintings contain no signs of human life. The time you feel most a peace is alone. With no one, not even a magical painting to observe you."
"Yes." Minerva didn't laugh this time. It was true. And it wasn't something to be proud of.
"Come here, Mr Potter."
Harry walked up towards the drop. And sat down just beside her on the floor, a foot from where he could fall to his death. He looked as relaxed as Minerva herself felt.
"I heard what happened in your Charms class today." Of course she had. The Boy-Who-Died unable a perform a Lumos charm was simply too unexpected. It was all most had talked about at Lunch. She didn't say anything else. She didn't need to.
Minerva conjured a matchstick. 'The last one,' she vowed. She handed it over to Harry, who took it gingerly. Then she looked away from him.
"Do you know how Transfiguration works, Harry?"
He shook his head.
"The Muggles, I've heard have a law. The second law of Thermodynamics, they call it. It basically states that the universe will always try to increase the amount of chaos in it. And Magic, Harry is the only exception to the rule. You see, Magic is just an expression for a fourth dimensional energy wave that every body possesses in its existence. And when we use magic, we use that energy."
"And how do we use that energy? We, all magicals, that is, have a rather special organelle in our cells. Something which cannot be replicated and functions as a resonance wave creater. When we do magic, it's because the fourth dimensional waves given off by us have the same frequency as the natural frequency of Magic itself. It bends matter and energy to our will and makes it be utilised however one sees fit."
"When we're tired due to use of magic, it is because that wave creator is tired. For squibs, it malfunctions, for non-magicals, it doesn't exist."
McGonagall now looked down at Harry, who held the matchstick in his hand. "And you Harry Potter, are one of the best fucking magicals to ever live. You, Harry Potter, are not a squib. And you Harry Potter and going to take out your wand, point it at that damn piece of wood and give me a damn needle."
"Tell me, Harry, can you do that?"
This time, Minerva saw, that Potter didn't seem to possess the mad resolve that had driven him all day. He was not looking at the matchstick as if it were a puzzle. His wand, when he took it out, was held loosely in his hand. He didn't touch the wood of the match. He didn't even make the correct wand motions.
And that moment, not that Minerva would tell the boy that, as she took in the calm confidence of his demeanor did she understand that the whole day all of Harry's hard work had been modeled on her style of learning. The slow and steady style. The one the maximum chances of success.
But this boy before her resembled her predecessor far more. And like Albus, she believed he got magic.
And Harry's eyes sparkled as a spell, which she was sure wasn't the Transfiguration spell (it was thin and Purple) passed through his wand and hit the match.
And though nothing happened, Potter began grinning like a lunatic and got up from where he sat and punched his fist with the wand into the air, which gave off a round of sparks.
"Woooohoooo..."
Minerva waved her wand and the match rose into the air while she saw Potter slowly calm down and not jump off into the dawn sky as she feared he might do. Her heart warmed at seeing the joy in the 11 year old's eyes.
Then she looked at her open palm and scrutinized the match very well. She sighed. It was unchanged.
"Well, you've tried your best, Mr Potter. I think we will need even more practice sessions but soon I hope that you'll make some progress." Minerva would've been forced to declare Harry a squib but whatever that purple light had been, it was most certainly magic. And so, there was still hope.
Though not for her Name, she thought, as she was sure that the sun would appear on the horizon any second.
But then Potter surprised her by hugging her. And he hugged hard and fast and held on for a few moments before then let go. Minerva smiled internally.
"You did it, Professor," said Potter softly grinning as he took the match she still held in her hands. And with his wand, again foregoing wand movements he simply pointed it at the match.
And Minerva didn't understand. She couldn't explain what she was seeing. She didn't know what had happened.
But without the slightest hesitation, as if it were waiting for it since it were created, the match turned into a perfect silver needle. One that even made a most satisfying 'Ting!' when she hit it later with a finger.
And as the first rays of the sun hit their faces and as some of them reflected off the silver match, as Minerva McGonagall smiled at the grinning Harry Potter, they left her corridor.
It was late.
And Merlin knew she needed some rest.
The Corridors of Hogwarts
The Hour of Dawn, 3rd September, 1991
Exactly 24 hours before Minerva McGonagall held the precious silver needle in her hand, Harry Potter walked through the corridors of Hogwarts with another female Professor.
But Emily Riddle was much younger, more more energetic and not nearly as loving and caring as Minerva McGonagall. The corridors they walked through contained paintings and they'd already passed the Poltergeist once too. None of them had paid any attention to them.
Emily's Charm work had never been anything less than excellent. And Notice-me-nots she'd mastered well before her O.W.L.s. "So, Harry, it appears that I've been asked to tutor you. For six months."
"Six months, yes. I know."
"And you don't seem too pleased about it."
"I'm not."
"I'll be your teacher for an year, Mr Potter. Atleast tell me something about yourself. And the reasons for that smouldering rage you direct at me."
The boy stopped and glared at her. "You already know quite a lot more about me than I'm comfortable with, Professor." Emily felt Harry really didn't like her. They continued walking then, she with her hands clasped behind her back.
"We must, at the very least, form a working relationship. As acquaintances if not friends."
"Why are you so interested in me, Ms Riddle? Even more importantly, why are so interested in my survival? I thought you of all people..."
"Mister. Potter. I only have two rules that I request you to follow. They are firstly: Do not in any way talk about my past. And secondly, never ever talk about my future. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to ensure your survival in the Duel against Ms Lestrange and that's exactly what I plan to do. Neither more nor less."
Potter didn't reply. "Did you get it, Mr Potter?"
"Yes, Ms Riddle."
"I like the cheek. Ah! There's your brother!" Emily waved her wand and the unconscious body of Jim Potter rose into the air and rushed to towards the Gryffindor Tower. And Silvia Garcia immediately followed, though her path led to the Dungeons instead.
"Would you please wake up atleast one of them?" Emily was quite proud at being successful at obliviating Garcia so quickly. For a Spainish Estate Heiress to have only Level 4 Occlumency in the Halls of Hogwarts was shameful.
"Why Harry? Do you not feel comfortable alone with me?" asked Emily innocently, "And 'thank you for stopping the breakout of a civil war, Professor. You were ever so kind, Professor.' "
"Oh no. I absolutely love walking around with the person who tried to kill me as a 15 month old. Just praying that the Boy-who-Lived survives the journey back to his tower." Harry jabbed at his thumb back at the flying Jim Potter, who, though well on way, was still meeting quite a lot of bumps in a way too perfectly coordinated to be accidental.
Emily was quite the perfectionist. Yet when compared to the smooth sailing that Draco Malfoy received, Emily accepted that this could be called partiality. "Yet it still stands to reason, Harry, that an actively agressive relationship between us will only hinder your learning and lead to your death in exactly 6 months. And I noticed that we are now ignoring the 14 foot boat that just went into your pouch."
The Potter Heir turned to look at her in the eyes, "Does it look like I care? And don't you say a word against my canoe." He held the bag defensively away from her.
"Well you should. And you're not angry at me Harry, not really. Neither one of us are foolish enough to hold silly grudges. You're just desparate for information. And the best way you see to get some is by appearing to be a ridiculously angry teenager."
"Oh no... I really wanna kill you. Now ordinarily I would be open to negotiations. But first I need you answer a few questions if you will, Ms Riddle, starting obviously with why isn't there a bullet sized hole right here," he said, pointing at his heart, "when I stand the chance of exposing you to the world?"
"What chance? And I've always believed in a clean kill, if you know what I mean."
Harry laughed, "I don't know, I could just tell them that you're Lady Artemisia. Could this be more easy?"
Emily laughed too. She was enjoying this. "Yeah... please try that. I'd love to accompany you whenever you're causing the revelations too."
Harry narrowed his eyes, "If you do accompany me, it will only be in chains. Now, would you like some grapes?"
"No thanks," She said, "I'm on a no fruit diet."
Harry Potter took out some Grapes. They looked well washed, juicy and just the right hue of green. He began to eat them one by one.
"There is no no Fruit Diet," he said between grapes.
"Well, there is one now. Now Harry, your first assignment begins tomorrow."
"I thought I made it–" he paused to eat a single grape. Emily conceded that it looked delicious, "Pardon, that I made it perfectly clear that you will not be teaching me privately."
"But Harry, if I am who you claim I am, you know that I won't take no for an answer. Besides, who said anything about privately?"
"Oh so you want to teach assassination techniques to 11 year old Slytherins, Professor?"
"No Harry. As you must know, there's more to battle magic than outright killing. And truly, most of your Slytherin classmates already know quite a few assassination techniques. And they'll tend to stick to traditional methods when they try to kill you."
"That's reassuring."
Emily continued, "No, your lesson won't occur in the DADA classroom. It'll take place in the Transfiguration class. And Professor McGonagall will teach you. Say Harry, is there a reason why Ms Fiona Grace gets a nice place on the carpeted floor while Mr Lark Dawson has been suspended upside down with a rope by his ankles."
They'd reached the 2nd Floor.
"She's the Minister's Daughter," Harry quickly answered. Emily just scoffed.
"Fine, fine. She's a cute girl. And frankly Professor, Jim told me that the Dawsons have been known to insult the Potters."
"Well that can be called a plausible excuse."
"Whatever. It was fun." Emily half agreed with Harry, something she decided to display by sending Dawson back along a Bumpy road to the Hospital Wing. Upside down, of course. Fiona followed more comfortably.
"So what did you mean by Transfiguration?"
"Oh you'll see. It's an excellent Magical Theory and I feel that McGonagall is the best person to teach you. And if you pay attention Harry, you may learn more than just magic."
Knock! Knock!
Emily had risen at the crack of Dawn solely to surprise Harry by wandlessly opening the door so that he could see her in...
"Fuck!"
...a bathrobe. A thin, unsubtle, purple bathrobe. It was translucent. It left little to the imagination.
Harry held his hands over his eyes. "It's not fair! I went on screaming for McGonagall to just give up. That she couldn't see the match, that it wasn't happening for hours! And she thought I was behaving well!"
"Then I gave up and followed her instructions like a good little boy and yet she didn't fucking tell me anything except for the Magical Permittivity of types of 250 freaking types of wood and the Formation Tendency of 50 metals for twelve straight hours! I had breakfast in that room just now! I know almost everything there's to know about every fucking tree in GB and then some!"
"And here I came to rant at you and you Professor Riddle dare stand in a negligee! I've had it!"
Emily laughed as she created a robe out of thin air and put it on.
"It was worth seeing your reaction, Harry Potter."
"Why did you have to spoil my first day?!"
"Please Harry. I know that you'll find some use for whatever you learned today. But tell me, at the end of the day, did you or did you not present Professor McGonagall a silver needle?"
"I did that alright. Apparently the needle is to be shelved in the Professor's most miraculous treasures of Transfiguration." Harry said in perfect deadpan. And the energetic anger in his behaviour vanished like a mask taken off.
"And do you know why you were given that assignment, Mr Potter?"
"I do." His eyes were far too calculating. And Emily loved that challenge brimming just beneath his innocent face.
"And?"
"And Professor, you were able to magically manipulate two whole classes and a very accomplished teacher into believing what you wanted them to. You were able to protect what I think is your true identity from Albus Dumbledore and many other able friends and allies of mine."
And Harry, who'd been stepping forward towards her now took out his wand.
"And I haven't been to think up a reason why you want me to have that power."
Emily walked up to her armchair and sat down. "But this was completely obvious, Harry. If you must know, I believe that sometime in the future, you should have the ability to reveal my true identity to all. No, tell me if you learned something else."
Harry sighed. "I tried to make myself believe that that part was accidental on your part. But I guess that was never a possibility."
"No, there wasn't."
There was a pause as he ran a hand through his hair and readied himself.
"Yes, I know the code Professor McGonagall has used to protect Albus Dumbledore trinket. And no, I'm not telling it to you."
"Excellent! Now off you go!"
Emily waved her wand and the floor beneath Harry moved to take him out of the room. She shut the door behind her.
Her Transfiguration skills were pretty good too.
7th Floor Corridor, Hogwarts
Exactly 24 Hours ago
"The hell do you think happened here?!" asked Emily.
She saw Harry take in the scene, the tied up bodies of Alexa Watson and Lord Jon Polaris, the two unconscious 7th years and fainted in the middle of it all, a pudgy boy with a bleeding fist and two wands beside him, one snapped, the other intact.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, Ms Riddle, but I think I owe my survival to Neville fucking Longbottom. And don't you dare send them flying away. I want a story and I want it now."
"Believe me Harry, I'm going nowhere."
A/N: But I am. Bye.
An experiment on my part. Only the teachers (and their substitutes) have POVs in this chapter.
Targcest, they say it contains. Though there will be sexual scenes, the 2nd faction Blacks are bad because it makes them disgusting. Artemisia can sometimes be quite a refined villian. So we also have Bella, the impulsive one. I don't think that Jon Black will engage in it. Nor will Mr Potter. And frankly that was 2 chapters. Out of 30? And I think I wrote the war part well.
Magic is a 4D energy wave? I quite like that theory. How did Harry use it for perception manipulation: It takes away some of the fear, it gave him some of the needed confidence. And Harry Potter, no matter what Ol' Minnie thought had been trying to show her a needle for the last 14-15 hours.
Emily has her reasons for whatever she does.
Point out plot holes, Review, Favourite, Follow, ask Questions, etc.