Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
A/N: I'm back! We've got even more lessons today, covering Hermione's private lesson, DADA, History and Flying.
We've got Harry worming his way into Hermione's head, converting the first lioness.
Now, onto the reviews!
Blue Lancer - I have not tried to be accurate with the nobility. The English peerage would not work for such a small society, and this is fiction - it does not have to be one hundred percent accurate. It suits my purposes, so it is what I use.
Anyway, onto the story!
Chapter 9: Gifts, Ghosts and Goyle's Stupidity
Harry sat brooding in his newly transfigured throne, courtesy of Professor Snape. The twisted remains of the regal chair that he had claimed, it was a magnificent sight. It was made of a rather rare metal named zirconium, of a rich black colour, and was inlaid with silver serpents. Throughout, there were Black Onyx and Emerald stones, embedded into the surface. The seat itself was lined with a deep bottle green cushioning. What made it look so sinister, however, were the rows of silver blades, sticking out, giving an imposing feel. It was truly a throne fit for the Dark Lord of Slytherin. On his left stood Pansy, with a small couch further on where Tracey and Daphne sat. On his right lurked Draco, randomly setting his hand on fire, before extinguishing it. Such a simple action helped to confirm power.
Flint came slinking over, nervously approaching the Dark Lord in waiting. 'M-m-m-my L-l-lord,' he stuttered. 'About, Quid-d-d-ditch. W-w-when would you like the try-outs?'
Harry glared at him, inwardly smirking at how he recoiled. 'Why bother me with this utter drivel? It is of no consequence to a first year such as I. Actually, just one thing. No seekers. I will be getting that position, one way or another.'
'S-s-sorry, m-m-my L-l-lord,' he whimpered. 'O-o-of c-c-course, m-m-my L-l-lord,' he said, bowing as he hastily retreated.
Harry went back to brooding. What to do, what to do. He was fairly confident in his grip in Slytherin - they respected family and strength. But where next? It would be harder, slower. Hufflepuff would fall as the others did - no special measures for them. Ravenclaw respected knowledge - that would come in time. But Gryffindor would be hard. He had a couple of ways in, being on speaking terms with the first year boys, but he would have to be careful. They notoriously hated the Snakes. But then there was Hermione.
She would surely be indebted to him, helping her with her gifts and 'warning' her about Psychometry. Through her, he could establish a link, a faith in his good will. That would allow him to slowly poison Gryffindor. And he could start tonight. This was starting to look very interesting.
When the Slytherin clock chimed quarter to four, Harry gracefully stood up, making for the door. 'Nobody is to follow me,' he announced. 'I am making connections that … other Slytherins would be incapable of making. I must be alone.' He strode out of the door, letting it slam behind him.
Focussing, he changed his appearance slightly. He now sported longer blonde hair, was about an inch taller and had dull blue eyes. Even though he left the rest the same, due to his current inexperience, he was fairly confident in his disguise. Despite that, he focussed again, disillusioning himself. Less chance of being discovered if less people looked directly at him, failing to detect his presence. He snorted. All this just to prevent Draco from following him!
He made it to the Library just after four, and watched as Hermione made her way to a shadowy section just out of view, exactly as he had instructed. He made his way towards her slowly, dispelling his metamorphmagus disguise, instead trading it for his Viper form. He slid behind the bookcase, dispelling the disillusion. He slowly slunk through the books, heading towards Granger. The woman in question whipped her head round.
'Harry?' she whispered. 'I thought I heard something. I can't see you, though.'
'That, dear girl, is because you are looking too low,' he hissed.
Hermione looked up and stifled a yelp. Harry dropped down, changing to human form as he fell. 'Lovely to see you, dear. What would you like to do first, Hypermagism, or Psychometry?'
'Hypermagism,' she said immediately. 'It affects me the most.'
'Alright,' He replied coolly.
'So the first thing to know is that it only affects your sight and hearing. Sight is not the problem - you just see further and sharper. No harm in that, and it's not really something you can control. Hearing however, boy, can loud noise hurt. I'm going to teach you some meditative exercises. If you do each twice a day, you should have it down pat in a couple of weeks.' He taught her some mental retreat exercises, mainly focussing on isolating the level of volume and controlling it, like a mental switch between normal and hyper. After a little while, she became proficient at entering the trance, and he deemed it was time for the next Gift.
'Hypermagism can be far more jolting, but only in a magical location, because its activation requires a trace of historic magic. It must also be kept secret. I suppose you could use gloves, but it would be more practical to learn it. A similar exercise to the former could be used to locate the trigger, so it is only used on command.' Hermione nodded profusely, taking notes in muggle invisible ink.
'Hermione, I would like to give you some advice,' he said.
'Huh? For which Gift?' she asked.
'Neither - for life. Call it a bonus lesson,' he replied. 'I see you using muggle invisible ink. Don't. There are better ways. This is an example of why Purebloods such as I see Muggles and Muggleborns as weaker - not lesser, just needing aid. It is a lack of power or knowledge. In fact, knowledge is power, and power is life.'
She frowned. 'But I thought it was all about blood status.'
He snorted. 'The so-called Light side tells you that. Sure, some have forgotten the true meaning. The true meaning is that pure magical history equals knowledge, and knowledge equals power. For instance, at this moment I am stronger, for I know how to charm it so only I can read it. If you charm a quill with the spell Quia Oculus Meitantus, only you can read it. There is no chance any others can read it with a UV light.' It was a risk, releasing a spell of his own creation, but one he was willing to make.
She thanked him profusely, and made to leave. With his vipiric speed, he gripped her wrist momentarily, halting her exit. 'You know,' he said casually. 'The Light Side is not really good, is it? They treat you as inferior, things to be protected. They wouldn't teach you spells like that.' He then strolled off, hands in pockets, allowing her to stew in her thoughts. That went marvellously, he thought. Already sowing the seeds of doubt into the lion's den.
The next day, Harry and his companions made their way to the Great Hall early, preparing themselves for the day. Today, he was wearing a navy trench coat with a singular end, a darker attire than his previous, with a more military style.
Alongside him, Harry brought a cheap muggle calculator and a Latin dictionary, as well as his Spell journal, in which he compiled his collection of spells. While eating, he pondered the situations that may require a new spell.
'So, Harry, what have you got there?' Pansy asked, leaning over, frowning at the empty book.
'This, Pansy, is my Spell Journal, in which I record my new spells. It is hidden from all others' sight.' He picked up the dictionary, and started thumbing through it. 'Any ideas of what could need a new spell?'
It was Theo who spoke first. 'You know, I have an idea. It's not a spell, it's for potions. You have drinking potions, and you have an area of effect potions. But what if you want to force someone to have a potion without drinking it, and without affecting others?'
Harry slapped his forehead. 'Why didn't I think of that?' He dumped his gear back in his back. 'Yeah, if I could administer an effect through a scent? How could I do that?' He bit into a slice of toast, and he began to scribble furiously, seemingly doing some complex equations.
The other houses began to pour in, and so Harry was forced to abandon his line of thought. 'So,' he drawled. 'What have we got, my advisor?'
Pansy pulled out her timetable. 'Defence, History and Flying.'
'Promising,' Harry said sitting up. 'History is a fascinating topic, and Flying is, well, flying. Plus, in Defence we get to learn offensive hexes. Just hope the teachers are decent, unlike Flitwick. I wonder why Father would never tell us about History at Hogwarts?'
That answer was discovered almost immediately upon the lesson. At first, Harry was excited. A History lesson taught by someone who actually lived it! Then he found out he was alive only as far back as Riddle's childhood. Then he listened to the lesson. It was on the Goblin Revolutions, and should have been interesting. It wasn't.
He just droned on, and on, and on! Spouting the stupid side pureblood supremacy, thinking themselves superior to such an intelligent and magical powerful race. And his voice! Uh, his voice could bore the legs off of an Acromantula! Harry even called out to a passing seventh year, who confirmed he was always like this, and Binns didn't even notice! Something had to be done.
As they were packing up, he leaned over to Draco. 'You head on,' he whispered. 'I've got some important, ah, business.' Draco momentarily looked surprised, before smirking.
After his class had left, Harry fished through his potions bag, ignoring Binns' continued drone. Finding the blood red vile, he strolled over to Binns, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. 'Professor?' he asked. No answer. 'Professor!'
Binns' head jolted up. 'Ah, Mr Black. Can't you see I'm teaching?'
'You're not, though,' Harry said calmly. 'Everyone's left.'
'Sit down, you silly boy,' Binns droned.
Harry snapped. 'SILLY BOY?! You're the one 'teaching' an empty class.' He pulled the vial out of his pocket. 'You know what this is? No, because I made it. It's an impact potion, reacts with the skin, or in your case, ghostliness. This is the only thing that can harm a ghost. And if you don't change your so-called 'teaching', I will use it, and force you to the other side!'
Binns raised his voice. 'Silence! I am the teacher, sit down with your class.'
Harry gave a cruel smile. 'Just remember, sir. This could have been avoided.' He uncapped the vial, revealing a small nozzle. He pressed down, and a jet of blood red liquid squirted out. On contact with the ghost, it gave a burst of steam, and began eating through his intangible body. Binns' face contorted in pain, and he made a silent scream of agony, slowly being ripped from the face of the universe, with the potion slowly disappearing. Within minutes, both the potion and Binns showed no signs of ever existing.
'Perfect,' Harry said, smirking.
Defence too went off to a bad start. As soon as he entered the room, he nearly doubled over in a pain emanating from his scar, but he fought to move on.
'W-w-welcome, s-s-students to this l-l-lesson on Defending oneself f-f-from the D-d-dark Arts.' Harry frowned. The stutter was uneven and inconsistent. 'Of c-c-course, we have an e-e-expert here, eh Mr P-p-potter?' Now that he was closer, Harry could smell a waft of garlic from his turban.
He raised his hand politely. 'Sir. If you don't mind my asking, how did you get that stutter?'
'A g-g-good question, Mr Potter,' he said. 'Over the s-s-summer, I was on a trip to Albania, and I was ambushed by a v-v-vampire. It has had a tremendous effect on me - I am t-t-terribly frightened of Vampires now, and have developed a st-t-tutter.'
Lies, Harry thought. The stutter was just too inconsistent, and was unrelated to his fear. The man would definitely be one to keep an eye on, that's for sure.
The class then moved onto learning the benefits of the Stinging Hex, a hex Harry had honestly never thought of as useful. But while intrigued, Harry still kept one eye focused upon the mannerisms of the man. They were also given an essay on the differences between charms, hexes and curses. Something was definitely up, and it wasn't the garlic.
Now was his moment. His moment of glory. His moment to trick his way on the team. For now was no other time than his first in school flying lesson.
He had discarded his trench coat, for it was quite unfit for flying, and replaced it with a black leather jacket, more streamlines, similar to what muggle bikers wore.
He was, however, struck by a sudden realisation upon reaching the quidditch pitch. How was he to join the Quidditch Team? What could he set up to show his splendour, and prove he must join the team.
'Welcome, budding fliers,' a woman called out, marching onto the pitch, broom in hand. She had shocked grey hair, and peculiar, yellow eyes. 'My name is Professor Hooch, and I will be teaching you the art of flying. Now, everyone go pick up a school broom, and lay it down next to you.'
There was a mad scramble to the broom shed, with Harry managing to reach it first due to his agility and athleticism. He pulled open the doors, and a pile of tatty, worn brooms collapsed on the floor in front of him. He sighed. It would have to do. He picked up the one that appeared to be in the best condition, a Cleansweep, and strode back towards the centre of the field, where Hooch was waiting.
When they had all returned, Hooch continued. 'Now, raise a hand above your broom, and say Up. Force it into your hand, activating its enchantments. Note this is not necessary for your own broom, for it is keyed to your blood.'
'Up,' Harry said, and his broom shot into his hand. He was the first to do so, with Draco, the next to succeed, taking three tries.
'Now,' she continued once all had managed to retrieve their brooms (though Neville took twenty-five tries!). 'I want you all to mount your broom like this, and gently tilt upwards to rise gently into the air. Note I say gently. No one is to go above head height!'
Harry tilted backwards casually, thinking and plotting. This was no use - how could he possibly join the team! He kicked the base, and leaned at an angle at a nearly vertical broom, a skill that even Draco had not yet managed to grasp. It consisted of him leaning away from a broom 45 degrees off being vertical, while not pushing to travel upwards. He began to fly around in lazy circles, watching the rest of the class.
Most of the class seemed to have no idea what they were doing or simply disinterested. The only three competent at flying were himself, Draco and Theo. The most interesting, however, was Neville. He was just lifting into the air, rigid with fear, and he jerked his broom handle upwards, and suddenly shot upwards, far beyond the limit previously set. Hooch did not have time to admonish him, however, for the boy soon came flying straight back down, albeit without his broom. He landed with a sickening squelch, and there was no doubt he had broken his bone.
Hooch gripped her wand and levitated the whimpering boy, before turning back to glare at the class. 'While I am escorting this boy, none are allowed off the ground. Do I make myself clear?'
Once Hooch was out of sight, Harry resumed his lazy flight, confident in seeing her in time to abort his flight.
'What's this, eh?' A thuggish voice called out. It was Goyle, and he was holding a small, shiny object. 'It's a Remembrall, eh?'
Ron stepped forward. 'Give it here, Goyle, it's not yours!'
'Ha!' Goyle scoffed. Harry sent him a subtle glare, but he was too pig-headed to notice. 'Finders Keepers, eh! But if you insist…' He swung his arm back, and launched it off into the distance, the small light object making quite a distance. At the speed it was going, it would surely shatter.
Might as well get some brownie points, Harry thought. He kicked the broom back into a flying position, accelerating towards the tiny object. Keen eyes following the ball, he expertly followed it's arc through the sky, bobbing erratically from the breeze, strong enough to affect the small object. He darted after it, and stretched out his hand, fingers just out of reach. Why were the brooms so slow!
Out of an adjacent doorway, a man in a billowing black cloak strode out scowling.
'Excuse me sir!' Harry yelled, kicking down on his broom, launching himself in a somersault over Snape's head, the broom sliding between the Professor's legs. Harry landed feet first on the broom, now gripping the shining Remembrall in his hand. His broom spun around, and he headed straight for the training grounds. Snape watched, eyes wide. He knew the boy could fly, but he didn't know he was good. He broke into a light jog, following the broomstick.
Harry glided to a stop, and tossed the glinting ball to a stunned looking Ron. In fact, all those who were fanatics of Quidditch were looking at him, wide eyed. Those who weren't were focused behind him.
Harry slid off the broom, turning to face the glowering Hooch and apathetic Snape. Hooch looked ready to launch into a rant, but Snape reached him first. 'Potter,' he drawled. 'You are to come with me to the Headmaster.' He whipped round, and the two strode towards the castle, ready to face the consequences of his actions.
A/N: Corruptive spirit, Quidditch prodigy, plagued with incompetent teachers! Yup, that's Harry!
Next week we see the consequences of this chapter, so tune in for that.
Please review, send OCs and plot points. Both praise and criticism are welcome!
See you all next week! By-ye!