November rolled around, and with it, the beginning of Quidditch season. The stands were packed, students cheering and jeering in turn as the teams lined up on the pitch. In addition to being the first match of the term, this game was also particularly promising because it was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. The age-old rivalry promised a dirty, foul-filled, highly entertaining match. What had people even more excited than that, though, was the presence of the Boy-Who-Lived out in the field, standing amongst the older players.
In an unexpected turn of events, the Iron Lady of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall herself, had abandoned all pretense of objectivity and nearly tossed the boy at Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team. According to the rumor mill- which was more accurate than many would believe- she'd seen the boy flying in direct violation of Madame Hooch's orders during the First Years' flying lessons. However, instead of punishing him as many expected, she'd rewarded him for his impressive maneuvering. Draco Malfoy, who was also in the air at the time, had similarly been protected by Professor Snape, but was not promoted. It was yet another point of contention between the sons of James Potter and Lucius Malfoy- as if they needed more reasons to hate each other.
Lee Jordan rattled off the names of the players as they took the air, starting with Slytherin, moving to Gryffindor, and finishing off by proclaiming Thomas Potter as the Youngest Seeker in a Hundred Years, making three-fourths of the crowd go wild. Obviously, Slytherins wouldn't be caught dead cheering for a Lion, especially the Boy-Who-Lived.
The wave of noise battered Harry's eardrums, and he pressed his palms against the side of his head, breathing deeply to suppress the unholy ire rising up within him.
"Why did I let you drag me here?" he grumbled.
"Because you needed a break from studying?" Cho Chang, an Asian Fourth Year Ravenclaw, said next to him. She smiled up at him prettily, making his face contort into a silent snarl. Used to his fierce expressions, Cho just giggled and slapped him on the arm. Her fingertips lingered, but Harry paid it no mind. She was always rather touchy with him. "Seriously, what are you even doing in your dorm room all day?" Cho asked as the game kicked off. The majority of the students were silent now, watching anxiously, waiting for the action to start.
"I'm not in my room all day," Harry growled defensively. "I go outside. Sometimes."
"Yes, that's why I found you sitting in the Common Rooms with a dumb look on your face, while a river of blood poured out of your nose," she retorted sharply, brows furrowing into a glare.
Harry grimaced, wiping away the phantom sensation of crimson on his upper lip. "It happens. I just needed to… Let the pressure off. I'm fine," he insisted.
"Harry, stress-induced nosebleeds are not fine," Cho chided. "You're lucky I'm physically incapable of dragging you to the Infirmary, mister."
Harry made a face at her, and she made one back. Cho was the first to break down into laughter, and Harry allowed himself a small smile. They turned their attention back to the game, where Thomas' broom was bucking like a bull in a rodeo.
Harry's grip on the railing tightened, while Cho gasped. "What is he- he's not in control!" she cried, voice nearly lost in the mass panic of the students.
"Someone's cursing his broom," Harry muttered, too low for her to hear. He cast his gaze around the Quidditch Pitch. It was notoriously difficult to tamper with a brand-name broom, due to the heavy warding designed to keep people from doing exactly that during professional matches. He immediately discounted anyone wearing the robe of a Hogwarts student, regardless of House- even a Seventh Year probably wouldn't have the knowledge and skill to do something like this. Meaning, he focused his attention on the teachers' stand, across and to the left of him.
They were all staring at Thomas with horrified fascination, and the Headmaster had his wand out, ready to catch the boy should he finally lose his grip. However, Dumbledore's wand hung at his side, and his lips were pursed tightly. Instead, it was Professor Snape who was muttering rapidly, the tip of his wand barely poking out from the billowing sleeves of his dark robes, pointing straight at the Gryffindor Seeker.
Harry's emerald eyes narrowed- it didn't make sense. Professor Snape wasn't the pinnacle of cunning, or the penultimate Slytherin, but he was obviously good, considering he'd survived for seven years without suffering an unfortunate accident, while a war raged outside of Hogwarts, ratcheting up tensions in the Snake Pit as children were forced to choose sides. The Potions Master was nowhere near fool enough to attempt to kill the son of his school rival in such a public setting. There was something else going on, but without many clues to go off of, the Fourth Year Ravenclaw was left with a riddle without an answer. How frustrating.
As he observed Professor Snape, movement near the teacher caught his eye. A young girl, wearing red-trimmed robes, with brown, bushy hair, was weaving through the crowd, heading straight for the professors. Tracking her progress, Harry watched as Granger accidentally bumped into Professor Quirrell, nearly making him pitch over the railing, then point her wand at the flowing hem of Professor Snape's robes. A moment later, azure fire began to eat away at the fabric- the Bluebell Flame charm.
Startled, Professor Snape quickly set about extinguishing it, and while he was distracted, Harry glanced over at Thomas. Miraculously, his brother had finally gotten his broom back under control. Harry's eyebrows furrowed further into an aimless glare.
A troll on Samhain, a Cerberus in the off-limits room on the Third Floor (he'd gone exploring one sleepless night, drawn by the unfamiliar scent of beast), and now, what looked like Professor Snape attempting to kill a student, though Harry knew the situation was probably more complex than it seemed.
Something was going on at Hogwarts, and he really didn't like it.
It was Tuesday evening, the tail-end of Harry's Care of Magical Creatures class. He remained behind to help Hagrid, as he normally did. Today's lesson was on nifflers. Harry and the massive man were shaking down the mole-like creatures, in case one of them stole something valuable from one of the students without their notice. Professor Kettleburn was wrangling a pack of the creatures, which were trying to yank his polished prosthetic arm away from him. They loved shiny things, and the fake arm was one of the shiniest things in the immediate vicinity.
"Off, ya little beasties!" Kettleburn barked, attempting to shake them off, to no avail. It didn't help that once Hagrid and Harry had finished checking a niffler's pouch, they'd chuck the small animal at the Professor, further compounding the problem. One particular niffler hit the triple-amputee square in his bandaged face. "Oi, you two! Are ye trying to help me or the critters!?"
Hagrid laughed heartily, and Harry smiled. They eventually finished up the task, leaving the Professor to his animals, and walked into Hagrid's hut. The half-giant (at least, Harry suspected he was a half-giant, considering his size, immense strength, and the abnormal toughness of his skin) quickly set about brewing some tea.
"Made a batch of rock cakes last night," Hagrid told Harry, nodding at his table, where a plate of the pastries sat innocently. Normally, Harry would politely decline, but today, he wanted to test how effective his latest experiment was. Picking up one of the treats, he bit into it warily. Normally, they were hard enough to strain his jaw, but today, his teeth cleaved through the stone-hard dough like it was just a normal rock cake. He chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.
"Raisins?" Harry asked with a raised brow. Hagrid smiled.
"Aye. Thought I'd try somethin' new." Harry tilted his head in acknowledgment. It wasn't bad; the dried grapes added a bit of flavor to the otherwise-bland snacks. Plus, Harry liked having something to chew on. The two sat at the table. Even though Harry was somewhat tall for his age, he still felt tiny in these chairs which Hagrid had carved himself, made for his incredible size.
"So, nifflers. Not the most exciting beasties. Can't wait 'till we get to the good stuff," Hagrid began conversationally.
"Good stuff?" Harry baited.
"Yeah, like kneazles, fire crabs-"
"Cerberuses?" Harry cut in. Hagrid startled terribly.
"W-What?" the half-giant asked nervously, "What about Cerberuses? Ain't no- Professor Kettleburn would never show a buncha Fourth Years a Cerberus," Hagrid insisted.
"Really? Then that one on the Third Floor must be for the upper years. What's its name?" Harry questioned casually.
Hagrid narrowed his eyes. "Professor Dumbledore said for the students to stay away from the Third Floor corridor."
The Fourth Year shrugged. "Only if they wanted to avoid certain death. I knew I would be fine, and did you honestly expect that to work? I doubt I'm the only one to have gone and checked it out. I know for a fact the Weasley Twins got there before me."
Hagrid deflated. "Yeah, the Headmaster didn't think it would work, either. But Harry, you promise me you'll stay away from there, alright? That Third Floor room ain't got nothin' to do with you kids- that's business purely between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel." A moment passed. Hagrid's back straightened up, a fearful expression coming over his face. "I shouldn'ta said that. I should not have said that." The massive man jolted to his feet, and a few seconds later, Harry was being herded out of the hut. He went along without a fuss. "You- you gotta get ta dinner, Harry. Please, don't tell no one 'bout this, alright? And don't go botherin' Fluffy too much- I know how ye like them gnarly beasties."
"I won't do anything too drastic," Harry agreed. "But I'm not promising to stay away from Fluffy."
Despite the potentially disastrous leak of confidential information, Hagrid couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I figured that much. Go, shoo. I'll see ye on Friday."
"Until then, Hagrid."
Harry was silent throughout dinner, despite Cho's incessant prodding. Eventually, she gave up when he hadn't responded for ten minutes, and turned to her best friend, Marietta Edgecombe, striking up a conversation on whatever girls talked about. Meanwhile, the emerald-eyed teen was thinking deeply.
Nicolas Flamel was the premier Alchemist in the world, famous for creating one of the most renowned magical artifacts ever; the Philosopher's Stone. With it, Flamel was able to do two things (as far as the world knew. There were probably other functions he hadn't shared, and never would); the first was to turn any base metal into gold. This had been a dream that spanned generations of Alchemists, though initially they were only concerned with transmuting lead into the lustrous metal.
The second function was outlandish, even by the standards of magic; immortality. Through some unknown process, the Philosopher's Stone was able to produce a substance known as the Elixir of Life. How it worked was up for debate. The prevailing theory was that it extended the drinker's life span by a certain amount, thus necessitating a dose every few years. Some said the Elixir permanently halted aging. Others thought it might just slow aging to such a degree that it wouldn't be noticeable for centuries. One thing the speculators could agree on, though, was that it certainly worked.
Nicolas Flamel had been alive for six hundred years, a testament to his achievement. Neither he nor any Alchemist since had been able to produce anything that topped the Philosopher's Stone, though it certainly wasn't for lack of trying.
Headmaster Dumbledore had apprenticed under the Immortal Alchemist for a period of time, resulting in his thesis for the twelve uses of dragon blood. That explained how they knew each other, aside from being two of the giants of the Wizarding World. So, it wasn't far-fetched that the Headmaster could have business with his old master.
But, what was that business? And why would it require placing a Cerberus, the guard dog of the Underworld from Greek mythology, in a school full of children? Obviously, the three-headed monster was guarding something, and it was something of Flamel's, but Harry just could not bring himself to believe that the Headmaster would be foolish enough to hide something like the Philosopher's Stone in this very castle.
Nicolas Flamel had lived for a very long time. It was impossible that there had never been an attempt on the Stone before, which meant Flamel must have become incredibly adept at protecting it. Otherwise he wouldn't be alive to this day, and somebody would have usurped his position as the only known immortal wizard in the world (there was also the slight possibility of someone having successfully stolen the Stone, and Flamel just making another). There was no reason for Flame to give the Stone to Dumbledore for safe-keeping.
On the off chance that Headmaster Dumbledore had made the incredibly foolish decision to hide the Philosopher's Stone in Hogwarts, then why? What could possibly justify doing something so dangerous?
The troll. Whoever had let the troll in had probably done so as a distraction, to give them time to prod the defenses of the Stone (if it was the Philosopher's Stone). Mountain trolls, dumb as they are, don't simply wander into a place as heavily warded as Hogwarts. They have to be purposefully brought in, by someone who was able to procure and wrangle a troll. It probably wasn't a student, then, meaning Harry was once more left staring at the staff with a discerning eye.
Eventually, dinner ended without Harry eating a thing, and he sighed. He wouldn't be finding out anything more tonight. He absentmindedly followed Cho back to Ravenclaw Tower, unease stirring in his gut.
The next morning in Potions, Harry spent more time watching Professor Snape stalk around the room than brewing. Eventually, the Head of Slytherin took notice (or maybe he just finally got fed up with it, if the twitching eyebrow was any clue).
"10 points from Ravenclaw, Potter. What, pray tell, is so interesting about me that you have spent the last five minutes staring at me?"
Cho, whom he was partnered with as usual, elbowed him in the side, but he paid her no mind. "Do you like dogs, Professor?" Harry asked.
Snape narrowed his eyes. "What does that have to do with this lesson, Potter?"
"Nothing. Answer the question."
"Another 10 points for your cheek. And, for your information, I loathe the filthy creatures."
"Hm..."
Together, Harry and Cho completed the Wit-Sharpening Potion. As they were packing up, the Asian girl elbowed him again.
"What is wrong with you today?" she hissed. She wasn't exactly angry- more irritated that he lost them 20 points in the course of one very short conversation. She knew he would make up for it later, he always did, but that did nothing to quell her momentary aggravation.
Harry said nothing, making her scowl. "Well, fine! If that's how you're gonna be, then you can go to lunch on your own!" Cho huffed, gathering her things and stomping off to fall into line with Marietta.
Harry paid her no mind. He had no plans to go to lunch (nevermind the fact that he'd skipped dinner last night, and breakfast this morning). Instead, he decided to investigate the Third Floor corridor a bit more thoroughly.
According to a bit of research he'd done last night, trained Cerberuses had a fatal weakness; the best method to train them tended to involve conditioning them to fall asleep when they heard music. It was simple to Conjure a harp and Charm it to play by itself, and sure enough, the three-headed dog nodded off soon after. Harry cast a glance at the floor of the room, where a patch of dried blood stained the stone.
Professor Snape had been limping in class this morning. It was difficult to tell beneath his billowing robes, but Harry had noticed how one of the man's shoulders dropped lower than the other whenever he took a step. He must have come to check up on the Cerberus, but dropped his guard. The only reason Harry was so sure of it was because he'd smelled the beast on the man. It was a strong scent, so he was able to sense it despite not walking right up to the Potions Master and sniffing him.
A particularly powerful Levitation Charm moved the magical creature out of the way, allowing Harry access to the trapdoor underneath it. He'd seen the corners of it peeking out from under the dog's paws last time he was here. Opening it up revealed nothing but darkness. It was a long drop down to wherever it ended.
Harry's eyes, however, were well equipped to deal with the dark. His round pupils elongated until they were vertical slits- the eyes of a feline. He could see a mass of writhing vines, shifting this way and that in the black. Judging by the almost prehensile movement, he figured it was Devil's Snare. Harry stepped over the edge, falling halfway before casting Arresto Momentum, then floating to the ground. The vines ghosted over his skin, but didn't wrap around him as they might others. Instead, they prodded his robes curiously, shifting out of his way as he walked toward the door in front of him. It opened into a downwards-sloping hall. His keen ears picked up the sound of flowing water.
Eventually, the corridor opened into a brightly-lit room. To Harry's confusion, there was no water anywhere in sight, nor could he hear the light trickling anymore. Instead, there were dozens of keys with wings attached, flitting about randomly in the air. They all looked exactly the same. Off to Harry's left, leaned against the wall, were four broomsticks of rather poor quality. They looked to be about the same age as the shoddy school brooms. On the far side of the room was a wooden door with a silver lock.
Harry strode over to the door, pointing his wand at the knob. The Unlocking Charm, Alohomora, didn't produce the desired effects, but the Door-Opening Charm, Aberto, did. It seemed whoever warded the door only protected against the one spell.
Beyond the rather useless barrier was another nearly-pitch black room. Harry's eyes were still in cat form, though, so he was easily able to see what looked like a massive chess board. The floor consisted of black and white tiles, and rows of pieces stood on either side of the room. Even the pawns were bigger than Harry. Oddly enough, there were four pieces missing on the black side- the side Harry entered from. Behind the white king was the door, from which emanated a horrible smell. This time, though, Harry could recognize it- another mountain troll.
The Fourth Year moved to step onto the oversized chess board, only for the black queen to block his path with her sword. She pointed to the empty space beside her- where the king should be. It was inconspicuously missing. Alongside the king, a pawn, rook, and bishop were also absent. Harry paused. Was he supposed to take the place of the king, and then play through a game, assumedly winning, before he was allowed to pass?
Yeah, fuck that.
His wand flowed into his hand in a rush of quicksilver, and he pelted the black queen with a Reducto, blasting her to pieces. She began reforming quickly, the scattered debris puzzling itself back together, but Harry was already moving on, tossing Bombarda Maximas at anything that got in his way, heedless of the gouges and furrows he was carving in the ground. Soon enough, he reached the door. Another Aberto opened it, and he slipped through, leaving destruction in his wake.
Sure enough, there was a mountain troll in the next chamber. It had been staring at the door, startled by the copious noise, so when it saw Harry, it bellowed a war cry and charged the teen, club raised above its head. Like he did with the chess pieces, Harry blasted its head to pieces with a low-powered Bombarda, careful not to send the gibs flying too far, lest they splatter against him. This time, he didn't bother harvesting the corpse. He'd already gotten everything he needed from the last troll. Stepping around the decapitated corpse, Harry moved on.
When he entered the sixth trial, a rush of air from behind made him spin around, only to find that purple flames were blocking his entrance. A quick glance confirmed that a curtain of black fire was similarly blocking the way forward. In the center of the room, there was a table, on top of which sat seven vials of varying size, filled with different colored liquids. A scrap of parchment sat on the right side of the table, and Harry gingerly picked it up, wary of triggering any traps. When nothing happened after thirty seconds, he allowed himself to read.
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind. Two of us will help you, whichever you would find. One among us seven will let you move ahead. Another will transport the drinker back instead. Two among our number hold only nettle wine. Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line. Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore.
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four: First, however slyly the poison tries to hide, you will always find some on nettle wine's left side; second, different are those who stand at either end, but if you would move onwards neither is your friend; third, as you see clearly, all are different size, neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides; fourth, the second left and the second on the right are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Yeah, no. Harry shot a Flame-Freezing Charm at the curtain of black fire impeding him, and stepped into the inferno without hesitation. When he passed through without even feeling the heat, Harry rolled his eyes.
This seventh chamber was… Empty. Completely and utterly empty. Was he supposed to find the trial? What a pain. Then again, there wasn't an obviously visible door like in the other rooms, so maybe he'd reached the end. Occam's Razor- the simplest answer was usually correct. Harry half-heartedly tossed around a few detection spells, ones to reveal anything invisible, or sound out hollow areas behind the wall. As expected, they turned up absolutely nothing. There really wasn't anything here. What a waste of time.
Still, what was the point? Who made this obstacle course, and for what purpose? With a Cerberus at the entrance, Harry expected at least something resembling a challenge, but instead, he'd gotten a series of tasks that even his little brother Thomas could do. Maybe.
FIrst Years learned about Devil's Snare and the Lumos Charm, and they had flying lessons, so ostensibly everyone in the castle knew how to handle a broom, meaning they could easily pass through the second and third trials. Chess was a bit iffy- not everyone had the tactical acumen to win, but it wasn't impossible, and the logic puzzle barely required half a brain. The only things Harry could see a First Year having issues with were the Cerberus and the Troll.
Even then, Harry found the weakness of the three-headed dog in a book in the library. It wasn't even in the Restricted Section, so anyone could find it. The troll, though…
Was Samhain a warning? Some sort of foreshadowing? Having a troll somehow find its way into the castle would provide some incentive for students to study up on them, at least a bit. Aside from their incredible strength and magic-resistant skin, trolls weren't much of an issue for people with a bit of intelligence. The beasts were dumb as a doorknob, just swinging their clubs at anything close enough, and even at things that weren't. They did require some heavy spellcasting to bring down, but one could just as easily Levitate said clubs and drop it on the troll's head, knocking it out clean. Alternatively, a distraction would work, and it would be child's play to sneak past the creature while it was looking the other way.
The Headmaster was the one who warned the students away from the Third Floor corridor, so Harry assumed the old man knew of, and had a part in putting together, this obstacle course. Meaning, Dumbledore had either allowed the troll in the fifth chamber into the castle, or brought it in himself. And if he'd done so with one troll, then why not another, but this time releasing it to roam the halls? Housing the Philosopher's Stone, which many would literally massacre for, was by far more dangerous than a single, stupid mountain troll.
Which brought Harry back to the question of why. Why was this gauntlet of meager trials made? And at the same time that the Headmaster was bringing in the Philosopher's Stone? Was he going to hide the Stone in the very room that Harry stood in, but just hadn't gotten around to it yet? That was like begging for it to be-
No. There was no way. There was absolutely no way in Hell that Headmaster Dumbledore, widely regarded as one of the most powerful and intelligent men in the Wizarding World, was using the Philosopher's Stone as bait.
Bait for who? Someone dangerous, if the Headmaster was going to such extreme lengths to lure them in. There wasn't anyone currently like that in Magical Britain, though, not that Harry had heard of. The last truly dangerous person he'd heard of was the Dark Lord Voldemort, who was killed almost a decade ago. Was there a new up-and-coming Dark Lord that was biding their time in the shadows?
No. Harry was assuming things- dangerous things that would keep him up at night, too worried to sleep. Maybe the Headmaster was just doing it as a favor for his old master. He was only holding it for now while Flamel put in place a new security system for the Stone. It would be out of the castle soon enough. This is just a temporary measure.
As he trekked back the way he came, Harry futilely tried to convince himself that he was right. That this innocent lie was actually the truth.
He failed miserably.
Yule Break started in a week, and Cho had been steadily growing more concerned as the days passed. Harry looked, for lack of a better word, like shit. She knew he sometimes got really into his magical research, forgetting to sleep and eat for days, but he normally just ended up being really cranky. He didn't become jumpy, twitching at nearly every movement around him.
The way he stared at the Headmaster whenever they were in the Great Hall was also somewhat worrying. It was almost as if her friend was trying to kill the old man with the force of his glare alone, and ended up being too distracted to eat. She did her best to force something into his mouth, but usually didn't have much success.
Cho sighed. It was Monday morning, and Ravenclaws had double Transfiguration, along with the Gryffindors. However, Harry was nowhere to be seen.
"I see Mr. Potter is playing hooky again," Professor McGonagall said lightly, though there was an underlying trace of irritation. Cho grimaced.
"I haven't seen him at all this morning," Cho admitted truthfully, glancing at the empty seat on her left. McGonagall nodded curtly.
"Perhaps he simply chose to sleep in today," the woman suggested. A frown pulled at the corner of her lips. She was rather fond of that boy- he was the son of two of her more memorable students, so she made sure to look out for him, as a favor to James and Lily. As a result, she noticed him coming to her class looking rather ragged more often than not; disheveled hair (beyond the infamously untameable Potter hair), bags under his eyes that were akin to bruises, and a general sense of fatigue in everything he did. Whenever she asked if he was feeling well, or if he needed to visit Madame Pomphrey, he just gave her that blasted blank stare. Eventually, the silence grew so awkward that Minerva would clear her throat, then get back to the lesson.
It was the eyes. No matter how exhausted and overall unhealthy Harry looked, those emerald eyes were always sharp, focused, seemingly glowing. It was unnerving; the only other person Minerva had ever met with eyes like that was the Headmaster, though his jolly twinkle was more annoying than perturbing.
The clarity of his gaze also made Minerva hesitant to impose a sanction on his access to the Restricted Section. Sure, Harry might not take care of himself, but he seemed to always know exactly how far to push it, and would rest once his mind began to grow weary. At the very least, he hadn't died yet, despite overworking himself this way for nearly his entire Hogwarts career, so Minerva would trust him to at least stay alive.
Cho was decidedly less certain of Harry's ability to keep himself breathing. After Potions next period, she planned to rush back to Ravenclaw Tower and knock down his door. And, a little under two hours late, that's exactly what she did (well, she didn't bust in like a madwoman; Harry had altered his runic lock to grant her access, so she could come and go as she pleased).
Harry's dorm was rather cramped. Cho knew her friend could easily expand it with masterful Charm work, but instead, he'd done the opposite and shrunk the room. According to him, it was more convenient to have everything in arm's reach. If he needed space, he could just go to the Common Room.
His twin bed was shoved against the far wall, and his desk was placed next to the head. He'd had the house elves remove all the other furnishings. It was a testament to how small Harry had made his dorm that both pieces of furniture were touching the corners of the room, with barely any space for adjustments. His trunk sat under his bed, and that was it. Highly minimalistic. And also incredibly dark; the walls were charmed black, midnight purple carpeting covered the floor, and blackout curtains hung over the windows, completely shielding his tiny space from any sort of light. Harry had told Cho he could see in the dark- though he didn't explain how- and proved it by writing out a Transfiguration essay in the pitch-black, but she still couldn't believe it.
Cho pulled out her wand and cast Lumos (Harry had disabled the built-in light runes, and somehow managed to prevent light flooding in through the open door), casting a quick glance around the room. The covers on his bed were shunted to the corner of the mattress- he never bothered with fixing his sheets- and there were various piles of Muggle stationery littering his desk. She picked up a random piece of lined paper, and immediately set it back down. The Arithmantic equations sprawled across the page were complex enough to make her head hurt with just a glance.
She didn't understand why Harry was taking either Ancient Runes or Arithmancy as electives; he knew far more than those classes could ever teach him. She suspected Harry could take the NEWTs today, and pass them with straight O's. Cho had asked him, once, why he didn't simply take the exams and finish his education. Harry merely said that he wasn't done with Hogwarts yet. Despite her prodding, he wouldn't elaborate, so Cho reluctantly left it at that. She never asked again, knowing she would only receive the same answer.
Anyways, that wasn't the point. The point was that Harry was not in Harry's room, meaning she really needed to find him and make sure he was alright, which had the potential to be quite the chore. If he wasn't in his dorm, or the Common Room, then he was probably in the Library. And if not there, then he might be in the Forbidden Forest. He sometimes went there to get away from all the drama in the castle, which meant Cho was definitely not going to find him. She had a policy about not romping around in places where she would probably be eaten alive by some sort of creature.
With a sigh, Cho left the room, closing the door behind her. She had an idiot to search for.
Unfortunately for Cho, her suspicions were correct; Harry was in the Forbidden Forest. He'd gotten another stress-induced nosebleed somewhere around five in the morning, and it didn't stop for twenty minutes. He'd needed to sip a Blood-Replenisher from his potion stock to stave off the lightheadedness. That's when he decided he'd ditch class today, and headed down to the Entrance Hall. Once he was through the main doors, his bones contorted, fur sprouted from his skin, and he dropped to four legs. Bounding towards the tree-line, the massive direwolf let loose a keening howl, alerting all in the forest of his arrival.
Harry trampled through the thicket for an indeterminate amount of hours, keeping his mind clear and moving purely on instinct. He chased some deer, played tag with a unicorn, and got into a scuffle with a group of acromantula. Sometime past noon, he stopped at the shoreline of the Black Lake, panting heavily, tongue lolling out of his elongated mouth. Harry lay down on his stomach and dipped his neck, lapping up the water greedily. He stayed like that for a while, alternating between staring out over the lake and drinking from it- running around like that had left him absolutely parched.
It was so peaceful that he didn't even notice when the sun began to approach the horizon, painting the sky a myriad of hazy oranges and soft purples, with every shade in between.
The skull-splitting headache that had haunted him for weeks had lessened dramatically, but hadn't quite gone away, and it wouldn't until he actually ate and got some sleep. That was fine- he was used to operating under this much. At this point, he barely even noticed it. He also didn't notice when someone snuck up on him, until their shoe scuffed the dirt loud enough that his pointed ears twitched.
The direwolf yipped, shooting to all fours and whirling around, baring his teeth at whoever dared to surprise him. It was Granger, and she froze, scared of his sudden hostility. Harry forced himself to relax; the girl was probably just curious. He didn't have a reason to bite out her throat. Not at the moment, anyways. He straightened up out of his feral stance, towering over the First Year. She looked up into his emerald eyes.
"...Harry?" she asked hesitantly. Harry barked, making Granger jump, but she smiled tentatively. "You can turn into a wolf, too?" she wondered. "I did some reading about Animagi after… After Halloween, but the books said people could only change into one animal. How…?"
Well, she was right about that. Normal Animagi couldn't, but Harry wasn't actually a proper Animagus, so those rules didn't apply to him. He loped over to her and nosed at her bushy hair. He didn't feel like changing back now, not yet ready to deal with the anxiety that his lupine brain muted.
Granger giggled, placing a hand on the side of his snout, pushing him away a bit. "Stop that," she chided, "My hair's messy enough as it is. I don't need you making it worse." Harry went along with it, backing up a few steps so he wasn't crowding her. He titled his head, staring at her inquisitively. It took her a moment, but the bright girl eventually caught his meaning.
"What am I doing here?" she asked. Harry barked in affirmation, amusing her for some reason. "Nothing, really. I just wanted to… Get away from the castle for a little bit. The other students are a bit too loud- it's hard to study in there."
She was lying. The First Year didn't have either her school bag or a book, and there was an air of gloominess hanging over her. She must've come out here to escape the bullying of her classmates, despite the chilly December air. It didn't seem like Granger had learned the Warming Charm just yet, either, since she was shivering ever so slightly. It'd get worse soon enough, though. Harry shifted back into his human form, startling Granger.
"Harry?"
"We're going inside. You'll freeze out here," Harry said, leaving no room for argument. He could've easily used a Warming Charm on her, but he'd been running around wildly for long enough. His stomach twisted with hunger.
Granger had to jog to keep up with his long legs and brisk pace. "Where are we going?" she asked when they passed the threshold of the Entrance Hall.
"Kitchens," Harry grunted, leading her to the Dungeons. Soon enough, they were in front of the portrait of the fruit bowl. Harry tickled the pear, then stepped back as the painting swung open. The students walked in, and Granger gasped at the sight of hundreds of house elves working tirelessly, washing dishes or preparing meals.
One house elf, Tilly, popped up in front of Harry. "Mister Harry Potter be returning!" Tilly squeaked joyously. "Yous be needing anything from Tilly? And who be this?"
"I-I'm Hermione Granger," the girl replied hesitantly. "What exactly are you?" she asked tactlessly, curiosity overriding her manners.
"Tilly is being a house elf!" Tilly cried proudly, bouncing zealously, making her ears flop around loosely. "We is helping wizards and witches do things, like cook and clean."
Granger nodded slowly. "So, like servants?" Harry sighed- house elves didn't like being compared to servants. Sure enough, Tilly gasped, scandalized.
"No no no!" she cried. "House elves nothing like servants! Servants be getting paid," Tilly hissed. The word incited a wave of anger throughout the kitchens, every house elf making some sort of noise to let their displeasure be known.
Granger blinked. "You… Work without being paid? That- that's sla-!"
Harry clapped a hand over her mouth. "Can you get us some food?" he asked Tilly. The house elf glanced at Granger- who was pulling uselessly at Harry's hand- warily, but nodded, popping away to do so. Harry forcefully navigated Granger over to a nearby table, shoving her into a chair before finally removing his palm.
"They're slaves!" she cried indignantly, slapping his hand away, regardless of the fact that he was already withdrawing it.
"They're not."
"They are! Being forced to work without pay is the very definition of slavery!"
"They aren't forced to work. They do it because they enjoy it."
"Stockholm's Syndrome," Granger diagnosed quickly and unprofessionally. "Just because they feel sympathetic to their captors does not make their treatment right!"
Harry grimaced. "They… Their kind wasn't kidnapped and brainwashed into what they are today," he began slowly, pondering whether or not he should be telling this story- and to a First Year, of all people. But, he had a feeling she'd understand what he was saying for the most part, even if it didn't all make sense right now.
"So, what, they were born that way?" Granger scoffed skeptically.
"Yes, actually."
The young Lioness was not expecting that answer, if the way her eyes went wide and her jaw slack was any indication. Harry pursed his lips.
"It was… An experiment, performed by Rowena Ravenclaw, during those days before the Statute of Secrecy. Back when the Muggle Celts lay siege to Hogwarts, doing their best to kill every single wizard or witch within." Granger straightened up, clearly interested in the impromptu history lesson. "The Magicals were outnumbered- there were maybe a few hundred of them in the walls, while the Celts and their allies had an army of tens of thousands."
"Why were they trying to kill the Magicals?" Granger asked gravely, but eagerly.
"Because the Magicals were sick of being abused and exploited for their magic. Children who showed any signs of magic were targeted, since they couldn't defend themselves like grown wizards and witches. They were kidnapped and locked away, and their parents were slaughtered. They were kept weak through starvation and beatings, and the unsanitary practices of the time led to many illnesses that their magic should have prevented, but couldn't, since it was too busy just keeping them alive."
A hand slowly rose to cover Granger's silent gasp. "That's…" She trailed off, not knowing what words could describe such depravity.
"Yeah. And it gets worse. Males were used as tools, only given access to a wand or staff when it suited the local lord's purposes. Since they didn't have a formal education, their magic was guided only by intent. If their spells failed, they were tortured and beaten until either they succeeded, or died. Some of those kids killed themselves, but most were too afraid of death- they suffered the longest."
"And… The girls?' she asked hesitantly. But Harry had a feeling she already knew, given the paleness of her face.
"Breeding stock," Harry confirmed. "They were tied down and the lord's knights, or the lord himself, would force themselves upon the girls. It didn't matter how young they were, as long as they were old enough to have children. And if they weren't, they were locked up until their bodies could handle the stress. Most didn't survive childbirth, and their babies also died soon after. Eventually, the practice was discarded for being too inefficient- so few Magicals lasted for any prolonged period of time under those conditions, and the Muggles didn't want to waste resources keeping them alive. But the Magicals didn't forget. They were scared to live amongst Muggles now, after word spread of how their kind was treated in certain parts of the country, and many Magicals fled their homes, seeking refuge anywhere they could. For those on the British Isles, Hogwarts was the closest place."
"I suppose the Muggles did not take kindly to losing access to the convenience of magic, hence why they attacked Hogwarts?" Granger asked, making the logical connection. Harry nodded. "How is all this relevant to the origins of house elves?"
"I'm getting there," Harry insisted. "As I said, the Muggles had the Magicals completely outnumbered. Most of the people living in Hogwarts were wizards and witches, but some were Muggleborns, and had begged for their family to be granted shelter, too. The Founders, who were leading the defense, allowed it, which resulted in more people living in the castle- more than they could feasibly take care of. With the number of Muggle soldiers at the wall, they needed every wand they could use, usually leaving the majority of the Magicals exhausted, wounded, or dead after a battle. The Muggleborns' families tried to help as much as they could with cooking and cleaning, but without magic, there wasn't much they could do, considering how few of them there were.
"This is when Ravenclaw stepped in. She knew they couldn't last much longer like that; wasting energy that couldn't be spared on menial tasks was getting a lot of the weaker Magicals killed when they suddenly ran out of power in the middle of a battle. She took a few of the witches that were pregnant-"
"What were they doing getting pregnant in such a situation!?" Granger cut in. "Don't they know that it would only hinder them in battle?"
Harry shrugged. "Most magical birth control methods hadn't been invented yet, and they needed any comfort they could get. It was a hopeless situation. They figured they wouldn't last much longer, so had to enjoy themselves when they could. And, that tended to be at night, with their lovers."
Granger blushed at the not-so-subtle reference to sex for pleasure. Intercourse for reproduction purposes was far easier to think of clinically, and she was beginning puberty- of course she would be embarrassed by this part of the conversation. Harry continued on without paying her reddening face much attention.
"Ravenclaw took a few of them deep into the Dungeons, and… She experimented on the unborn children. I don't know exactly what she did- she burned her notes afterwards, and never spoke of it- but I do know that many compulsions were weaved into the very existence of those fetuses. Compulsions to be subservient to Magicals, to follow orders without complaint, to enjoy the work they did. These new creatures also had their bodies twisted; they were magical beings, but they had no access to their own magical cores, as Ravenclaw designed. Only bonding with a witch or wizard would open a connection to their core, making the bond necessary for them to survive."
Granger stared at him for a long while, wide-eyed and completely silent. Then, she cast a glance around the room, at the hard-working warped humans. "Ravenclaw wouldn't do something like that, would she?" she asked, desperately wanting him to say he was wrong. Harry frowned at the despair in her voice- if he said that entire story was just some elaborate prank, she'd probably latch onto the comfort of the lie, never paying the truth a second thought.
"She would, and she did. Books might paint the Founders as some sort of saints, but they were just as capable of cruelty as anyone else." It was propaganda at its finest- Harry never could get over the fact that most of Magical Britain just accepted that the Founders were such wonderful people when historical accounts of them were so obviously, blatantly biased. Only their achievements and victories were recorded, leaving their dark pasts buried for eternity. He'd heard stories even worse than the origin of the House Elves, but he'd spare the First Year for now. She was looking a little green around the gills, and he didn't want to watch her throw up just before he ate.
The two sat in silence for a while after that, simply listening to the bustle of the busy House Elves. Eventually, Tilly scurried back over to them, two plates floating in the air behind her.
"Tilly is bringing Mister Harry Potter and Missy Bush-Hair their food!" Tilly announced. Harry nodded and thanked her. Granger was too upset to speak, flashing the elf a weak smile. Harry ignored the obvious turmoil in the girl, instead turning his attention to his plate- Indian curry. He quickly dug in, appreciating the unique taste and ample spice.
"Are you going to eat?" Harry asked, after watching Granger merely stare at her food for five minutes.
"How… How do you expect me to eat this? After what you just told me… Don't you feel guilty exploiting these poor creatures?" she asked tearfully, her emotions finally escaping her hold. Granger buried her face in her hands, letting loose a keening wail as she began sobbing her heart out. "How could anyone…?" Her words became incomprehensible blubbering.
Harry sighed. He took a sip of water, then got up and walked around the table, dropping to one knee to be eye-level with Granger. "What's done is done," Harry began, "Ravenclaw performed her experiment nearly a millennium ago. After so many generations, the need to be subservient to wizards and witches is imbued in the very essence of House Elves. There's nothing that can be done for them," he finished, hoping that the girl would see reason and stop crying. Instead, it just made her sob harder. A frown tugged at one corner of his lips. That hadn't worked very well.
What were his other options? Telling the girl that it would be okay? No, useless platitudes never helped anything. Trying to distract her with another subject?
"Do you… Want to hear about some of the other things Ravenclaw has done?"
More tears. In hindsight, that particular topic was probably one of the worst things to mention in this situation. There was only one other thing he could think of; physical comfort. Slowly, Harry wrapped his arms around the girl, and pulled her towards him so she could bury her face into his shoulder. Granger clutched the front of his shirt like a lifeline, twisting the fabric in white-knuckled fists. Her whines were muffled, yet the way they reverberated in his bones made them seem infinitely louder.
He held the young girl for an unknown amount of time, until her sobs finally began dying down. By then, his robe and shirt had soaked through, but he figured it would be in poor taste to mention that to the distraught First Year. With a wave of his fingers, he twisted the ambient magic that was layered so thickly in the air at Hogwarts, and used it to dry and clean the wet spots.
Encouraged by the lack of noises that Granger was making, he pulled back slightly. Well, attempted to, at least. She clung to him like a cat to a tree branch, with a dog barking up a storm down on the ground. He patted her on the back a few times, to get her attention.
"You need to eat," Harry said firmly. This time, when he pushed her away, she went with the motion and sat properly in her chair. He pushed her spoon into her hand, and the girl took the hint, scooping up some rice and mechanically placing it into her mouth. Chew, swallow, scoop, repeat. She ate on autopilot, and Harry remained kneeling next to her seat.
He'd gotten too used to interacting with people his age these past few months- they were much less likely to cry, and in the first place, he wouldn't tell any of them the story he'd told Granger, and he had been unprepared to deal with tears. So why had he done it, Harry wondered? Had his mind degraded more than he'd expected after weeks of sleepless nights, kept up by his baseless worries? Had he just wanted someone to speak to? Someone to share this story that he found equal parts fascinating and horrifying with? Had he sensed a kindred spirit, a fellow Ravenclaw despite the trim on her robes, in this girl with a spark of intelligence in her eyes that shone like a star compared to his perpetually-bland classmates?
Or was it because the loneliness draped over her shoulders, the miasma of sorrow that stung the nose of his direwolf form when she'd approached him out by the lake, reminded him of another young girl? An image of platinum-blonde hair, bordering on silver, flashed through his mind, and he shook it away. Now was not the time to take a stroll down memory lane. Harry tuned back into the real world to find that Granger had cleared her plate, and was taking careful sips from her glass of water.
"Done?" he asked quietly. Granger set her cup down, and nodded slightly. He finally stood, and took a step back. Understanding his silent message, Granger also stood up, and they walked out of the kitchens in silence. The House Elves merely watched them leave, acutely aware that neither was in the mood to exchange farewells (not that Harry ever was, really).
For a while, they simply walked through the halls, saying nothing. Classes were done for the day, and homework at Hogwarts was laughably easy- at least, it was for Harry, though he suspected the same applied to Granger. They rarely ran across other students, who eyed the unlikely duo oddly before continuing on their way, since most people were now winding down in their Common Room with friends, or studying in the Library. It was Harry who finally broke the silence.
"Why did you come outside, earlier?" he asked, voice flat such that his question came out as more of a statement.
"I had nothing better to do," Granger responded in a similarly blank tone.
"Homework?"
"Already finished."
"Friends?"
"None."
Harry grunted. "I thought you got on with Thomas and his fellow hooligans?"
Granger's careful, emotionless mask was finally broken by a scowl. "They've made it perfectly clear how little they actually want to be friends with me. I won't waste time where I'm not wanted." Her voice was as bitter as pure dark chocolate. Harry's tongue recoiled at the analogy.
"Is it because of the troll?" Harry ventured, curious.
"Not really, no," Granger replied. "That was… Just a turning point, I suppose." She didn't elaborate further, but it was enough of any answer. How poorly was she treated by his brother that nearly being murdered by a mountain troll was an afterthought?
"Thomas…" He began, then sighed. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Thomas is too caught up in his own legend," Harry said slowly. "Lily wanted to raise him as a normal kid, but James grew up a spoiled brat, so he thought all the fame was a good thing. He never tried to hide how popular Thomas was. Encouraged it, actually. There were charities and galas in the name of the Boy-Who-Lived, and Thomas attended most of them. People threw themselves at his feet, and I suppose that gave him a bit of a big head."
"A bit?" Granger spat venomously. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, sounding incredibly frustrated. "Are you trying to excuse how horribly he's been acting to me all year?" Now the little Lion was glaring at him, and Harry was almost tempted to raise his shoulders the slightest bit so that he was looming over her, tense his muscles in just the right way to activate her primal fight-or-flight instincts, but tamped down on the urge.
"No. He's made mistakes, and he deserves whatever he gets because of them, but… Thomas is a good kid. He just doesn't have perspective. He can't see that he's just a kid who got lucky when he was an infant. What I'm trying to say is, don't hold this against him in the future. He's been trapped in this… This echo chamber, ever since he could understand words, where everyone's been telling him how great he is because of something he doesn't remember. Raise any kid in that kind of environment, and they'll grow up believing they're the second coming of Merlin."
"And?" Granger goaded.
"He'll get better. Now that he's in Hogwarts, surrounded by people who won't just mindlessly worship him and tell him he's the greatest- mostly- he'll realize he's not that much different from any other kid."
Granger peered up at him thoughtfully. "Well, he has become much less boastful after all those detentions from Snape."
Harry nodded, his point made. "Exposure to different opinions will make him take a closer look at everything he's been told when he was younger, to see what's true and what's been wildly exaggerated. Hopefully, it won't take him too long until he realizes what a fool he's been thus far. I'm not holding my breath for Weasley Number Six, though."
Granger giggled at his last comment. "You're a good brother, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "Lily and James can't be here, so it falls to me to watch out for him. I think you'll be a good friend for him in the future, once he's got his head out his ass. He could do with someone smart to keep him out of trouble."
"I'll keep that in mind," she replied uncertainly, not quite believing that Thomas would ever grow up. She resolved herself to wait and see- it was the least she could do for the Fourth Year who'd saved her life. "Speaking of trouble, by the way…"