Ascension: The Silver Spears

by Define Anachronistic

(AU) Harry Potter is different. No one is more aware of this than him. His relatives acknowledge his existence only when necessary and despite growing up surrounded by creature comforts, everything he has ever owned is either a hand me down, stolen, scavenged or lent to him out of pity. He has no one to rely on. He tells himself that he prefers it that way. But no man is an island.

6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER FIVE

Baby Steps

Harry awoke slowly the next day, confusion slowly seeping into his waking thoughts.

He was lying on a bed softer than any he had slept on before and his surroundings felt oddly silent. Even in the earliest hours of the morning, there was always some kind of noise at Privet Drive; A dog barking, the rumble of a car driving past or even some insomniac's television playing too loudly. However, right now, there was silence. He opened his eyes.

His surroundings were unfamiliar too, but they had enough clues to let him know where he was, and with that, he was able to remember the events of the previous day. The blue curtains that hung from his luxurious four poster bed helped him recall his sorting into Ravenclaw. The uniform that hung neatly from his open wardrobe door reminded him of how he had left it strewn across the floor in his exhaustion. It was the last thing that made him sit up in bed. He had no recollection of unpacking his trunk, but his books were organised neatly on the shelves, his clothes were all on hangers or folded tidily in the wardrobe and his desk was neatly set up with his writing set and school bag waiting for him to start first day.

Harry jumped out of bed and began looking through his trunk and searching his new room, but found nothing missing, and everything he couldn't see when he had awoken was in the drawers by his bed. Who could have come to his room while he slept and unpacked all his things without waking him? How had they even gotten into his trunk? Dave, from Scribbulus Writing Instruments, had assured him that no living thing could open his trunk without his express permission. Was that just a lie? Harry groaned, dreading the idea that he had been ripped off.

The ray of sunlight peeking through the curtains stopped his train of thought. Drawing them back to see a view of the sun's earliest light hitting the mountains, he found his new manual wind watch and saw that it was a little past six in the morning. Deciding that he wasn't going to get any answers here, he made his way into the bathroom that was connected to his room.

Harry had been wary that by the positioning of the bathroom, he was going to have to share it with his next-door neighbour, Michael. Mercifully, there was only one door to the bathroom and that was from his dorm. He took note of the toilet by the far wall, the large bathtub to his left and the basin, mirror and clothes hamper to his right. His towel and toiletries had already been laid out for him. Despite this continuing invasion of his privacy, he couldn't help but smile. He still wasn't sure what it was about baths that relaxed him so much, but he was grateful to have it.

It was only after an hour had gone by, did he finally leave his dorm and make his way to the common room. He had put yesterday's underwear in the hamper, only to have it disappear. He hoped it hadn't been destroyed or anything because those were his lucky pair. His new uniform seemed to have changed also, with a blue trim on the robes and a blue and bronze tie replacing the black. It must have been the enchantments Madam Malkin spoke of. Leaving behind the ceremonial hat, and with his hair and uniform as neat as possible, he stepped into the empty common room, ready for his first day.

The common room seemed smaller last night. Now that it was empty, it was much larger in his eyes, almost serene as the pink early morning clouds that drifted pass the invisible ceiling and the rays of sunlight streamed through the large windows. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a beautiful painting. He had only just taken a deep breath and begun to enjoy the sensation, when the common room door opened, and a small man hurried in.

The man was tiny, barely up to Harry's chest, with a great tuft of white fluffy hair, an aquiline nose and a giant handlebar moustache that was half his size. He wore smart robes that looked like they belonged to a Victorian school teacher, but they were flying by him chaotically as he entered the room in a near sprint and came to a stop as he caught sight of Harry.

"Oh, Mr. Potter! You're already awake! What luck!" The tiny man said in obvious relief. "Come now, the Headmaster would like to see you immediately." He turned, leaving Harry, mouth fallen open, to stare after him. Gathering his wits, he hurried after him.

"Why would the Headmaster want to see me on the first day? I haven't broken any school rules. I think." He added unsurely. All summer, he had tried to remind himself that he would be entering a whole new world, one with its own history, culture and beliefs, and not to react to any strange behaviours he might see as they might be considered normal there. Perhaps that was why he was being called to see the Headmaster; He must have broken a rule he didn't know about yet. Perhaps wizards weren't supposed to bathe on certain days?

"I have no idea!" The tiny man remarked happily, unknowingly destroying Harry's newfound certainty of the situation. The two had reached the bottom of the winding staircase and were half running down the corridor. Paintings, actual moving and talking paintings, were warning them to slow down as they passed. "I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? I am Professor Filius Flitwick. I am the Head of Ravenclaw House and the Charms Professor of Hogwarts School." As he offered an awkward mid-run handshake, his silver Ouroboros caught Harry's eye.

"Are all teachers Masters of their craft?" Harry asked interested. "I only ask as I saw Professor Hagrid wearing a silver Ouroboros too." Flitwick smiled, seeming glad that Harry had asked the question. Whether it was because he wished to flaunt his achievements or he was happy a member of his house was showing intellectual curiosity, Harry wasn't sure.

"All Professors must have a Mastery in the craft they wish to teach here. Hogwarts has no shortage of applicants and as such the Headmaster has his pick of the absolute best." Flitwick said this with a slight tinge of pride in his voice, and why shouldn't he be proud? Harry's new Head of house was a part of the absolute best.

They finally came to a stop in front of a tall griffin statue and Harry took a moment to catch his breath and glance at Flitwick with slight incredulity. Despite his Head of House's small stature, he had found it difficult to keep up with him and even now the Charms Professor didn't look the slightest bit out of breath. Flitwick glanced up at him and asked, "Are you ready?" Harry, finally breathing steadily again, straightened his back and fixed his uniform of imaginary creases before nodding.

"Jelly Slugs," Flitwick told the griffin statue, which made Harry glance at him again, this time with uncertainty. Was that some kind of wizarding curse word? Before he could verbalise his question, the griffin began to rotate upwards, revealing a set of stairs that were also rising upwards underneath it. The sight of it left Harry annoyed. Why was the Headmaster the only one with a magical escalator? With so many floors from the Great Hall to the Ravenclaw common room, Harry wished that they were all over the castle.

Together, Harry and Flitwick stepped on and allowed themselves to be carried upwards towards a large door with a bronze griffin knocker. Knocking twice, there was an immediate response of, "Come in!"

The door opened to a large circular room, about half the size of the Ravenclaw common room, stuffed to the brim with an amount of clutter that would put Lupin to shame. Shelves upon shelves of books of all sizes, some of them appearing Muggle in origin, and walls that had dozens of paintings of former Headmasters and Headmistress upon them. To his right there was a fireplace with a cosy seating area and to his left, a large desk by the sunny window. In the middle of all of this was a pacing Dumbledore, today wearing a set of electric blue robes, who stopped only once he caught sight of Harry.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I'm glad it was you who arrived first. Please have a seat." The Headmaster indicated one of the squishy armchairs by the fireplace, while he took the one opposite from it. As Harry took his assigned seat, Professor Flitwick came to stand by his side, almost protectively.

"You dragged my student out of bed before timetables could even be handed out, Headmaster." The diminutive Professor spoke in a surprisingly strong voice. Harry didn't remember being dragged out of bed, but he had the feeling Flitwick was just trying to make a point. "He deserves an explanation. Why have you called him here?"

Dumbledore, clearly nervous before, looked decidedly uncomfortable now. "I expected this to happen, but not until Harry had settled in. Lord Akingbade has forced my hand."

Flitwick was stunned by this, as he sat down immediately upon hearing the name, as though his legs were about to give out. "The Magister? Why on earth-?"

Dumbledore cut him off, as he leaned forward to stare into the eyes of an increasingly confused Harry. "Harry, whatever happens you must-" He was stopped by three thunderous knocks on the door before it swung wide open.

Through the open door, silhouetted by the bright light of the entrance foyer, was a tall imposing man wearing a long, majestic, scarlet cloak. He carried a long, intricately carved, ivory staff in his right hand and wore a bronze amulet in the shape of an eye around his neck. As he stepped into the room and into the sunlight streaming from the window, his snow-white hair and well-trimmed beard came into view, contrasting with his wrinkled dark brown skin. Harry had lived a sheltered existence at Privet Drive, but he knew immediately that there were few in the world who could ever exude power and authority as this man did with his every step. He knew exactly who this was, as his picture was in Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century:

Lord Babajide Akingbade. The 48th Magister of the International Confederation of Wizards.

Dumbledore and Flitwick both jumped to their feet, and after a moment, so did Harry. "Lord Akingbade! An honour as always!" The Headmaster and Flitwick bowed their heads in a sign of respect which led to Harry doing the same.

"Lord Albus, Master Flitwick," Lord Akingbade nodded at each in turn before he turned to Harry. His previously stern expression softened when he locked eyes with him. "Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure." His English was both flawless, and without a hint of accent.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Akingbade." Harry hoped he didn't appear as intimidated as he felt. Having a former Magister in the room was bad enough, but the current one as well? He must be in worse trouble than he thought.

"If you had let me know that you were coming, I would have sent Professor Hagrid to greet you at the gates." Dumbledore said this in a friendly manner, as Akingbade took his seat in front of the fire and between he and Harry, but it came off as almost chiding. After the Magister sat, the other three took their seats.

Akingbade smiled as he fiddled with an ornate golden ring on his index finger as his staff hovered unmoving from where his hand had left it. "You know better than most that no doors are closed to the Magister." There was a definite edge to his smile when he said this, but it faded as he turned back to Harry.

"You recognised me when I first came into the room. How? You were raised amongst Muggles, and you certainly haven't had time for a History lesson yet." Harry wasn't expecting an interrogation when he had woken up, but it was clear to him that such a thing would be happening now.

"I made sure to read a few wizarding history textbooks over the summer in order to prepare for school. Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century was among them and in it was a picture of your inauguration." Harry was pleased with himself for keeping his voice level while Akingbade's dark eyes searched him for any trace of deception. He must not have hidden his nerves as well as he had thought, or perhaps Akingbade was simply perceptive, because he was quick to put Harry at ease.

The Magister smiled at him reassuringly. "Calm yourself, Harry. I realise that this must be a strange time for you, but I can assure you that you are in no trouble. I have merely come from Memphis to ask you a question. What was it like for you, to be raised amongst Muggles?" The question, coming from the wrong person might have sounded quite offensive, almost anti-Muggle, but Akingbade asked in a way that was clear it was just an honest question. So, Harry did his best to answer honestly in return.

"It wasn't perfect, but if I could go back and change anything I wouldn't." He himself was surprised by this answer, but he knew as the words left his lips, that it was the honest truth. While Harry had always envied Dudley and children like him for the protection and support their parents had provided them with, he had always carried himself with a certain level of pride because he had been able to thrive without any of it.

At his response, Akingbade turned to Dumbledore with a look so intense that the air around him seemed to turn red. "Which of my Advocates warned you? Which one of them told you I was on my way? You've clearly prepped him before my arrival. Or do you normally meet with First Year students before lessons can even begin?" The Headmaster smiled innocently, and it was only then that Harry realised that it was not he who was under interrogation, but Dumbledore.

"I don't understand." Harry said, and was surprised by how weak his voice sounded. Perhaps it was just nerves, but he felt like he was trying to speak while under water.

Akingbade turned back to Harry and explained, "After your parents' defeat of Lord Voldemort" (Flitwick twitched at the sound of his name but the other two men ignored him) "your upbringing and security was left to the Confederation to decide, as you had no immediate wizard family members. The Magister of the time, your Headmaster, decided it would be best for you to grow in isolation, both to protect you and to ensure you didn't grow up to have a-," He glanced at Dumbledore. "How did you put it? "A big head?" Akingbade asked. Dumbledore appeared unabashed, as he simply gave the Magister a single nod. Looking scornful, Akingbade turned back to Harry.

"He refused to share your location after he resigned his position. He claimed your current security was perfectly capable of continuing with their assigned mission."

Dumbledore was quick to respond, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, a shimmer of cool blue seemed to emanate from his robes. "As you can see, they were. It all happened during my reign, Babajide, so the boy's safety was my responsibility to oversee. To move him at such a young age would have only confused him."

Akingbade shot back. "Your time had passed, Albus. If anything had happened to the child it would have been during my reign, which makes it my responsibility! If your security had been compromised, if his accidental magic broke the Statute of Secrecy, if even one Muggle pierced through the Veil and saw him for what he really was, it would have been on my head, not yours! You had no right to hide him from me!"

"I had every right! Nowhere in the world would he have been safer-" Dumbledore began to respond before Flitwick interrupted them both with a shout.

"Gentlemen! There is a child present!" Harry wasn't sure why his Head of House was making such a fuss, he had seen a lot worse than two old men having a petty row, but then he realised where the problem lay.

He had stopped breathing.

The colours that he had thought he had imagined or were a trick of the light were actually there. Translucent coats of energy seemed to surround each Sage as they glared at each other; a cool blue for Dumbledore, a fiery red for Akingbade. The entire office was filled with two foreign and oppressive energies, clashing so intensely against one another, that Harry's body had forgotten how to breathe. It was only when Flitwick had called out did the two realise what had happened, and with some visible effort, managed to reign their energies in.

As their coats of energy faded and dissipated into the air, Harry choked and coughed for a moment, before taking in deep gulps of air, eyes wide, as both men turned to him regretfully.

"I am sorry. I seem to have forgotten myself," Akingbade said this to both Harry and Flitwick who, when Harry glanced at him, seemed a little pale and jittery, but fine otherwise. This was in comparison to Harry, who felt as if his heart might explode.

"I think it's for the best if we put this behind us, old friend," Dumbledore said, hands wide. "As you can see Mr. Potter is healthy and happy. You have my word that I will not interfere with the Confederacy's watch over him. He is, like the rest of us, under your protection." He gave a sweeping bow, which in the wrong context, may be considered mocking.

Akingbade shook his head warningly. "Don't you old friend me, Albus." He sighed. "I think we've kept Harry long enough. It is after all, only his first day." Harry, grateful for the dismissal, stood and headed for the door as quickly as he could, leaving Flitwick to deal with parting niceties.

Stumbling out into the corridor, Harry collapsed into the first window alcove he could find, curled his legs up onto the sill with him and pressed his still burning forehead against the cool glass. He tried to steady his still erratic breathing but couldn't manage it before Flitwick found him.

"Here," came his Professor's voice, "this should make you feel better."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Flitwick wave his wand over him and he did, almost immediately, feel better. His temperature, breathing and heartbeat all returned to normal and the disgusting layer of sweat disappeared from both his skin and his clothes. He felt as fresh as he had when he stepped out of his morning bath. Even so, it took him a minute before he felt comfortable enough to speak.

"What was that?" Harry asked, not even upset at how frightened he sounded. "I felt like I was about to die, but neither of them had even moved from their seats. They didn't even move a finger!"

Professor Flitwick did his best to explain. "That was something no WOMBAT student should ever be exposed to." He sighed, twirling one end of his moustache in some kind of nervous tic. "When a powerful sorcerer, often a Sage, loses control, their excess Mana begins to leak from their bodies. This can be used offensively, but it more often happens accidentally, as you just witnessed."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Does this happen regularly? Sages losing control?" Flitwick grimaced.

"The human body can only hold so much Mana naturally. Its why accidental magic is so common in children, as they have no other outlet for it." Flitwick did his best to explain. "Sages, however, spend years, decades even, training to expand their natural Mana reserves so that no spell or technique is beyond them. This means that they must keep a tight rein over themselves at all times, or more vulnerable people, people like you, can get hurt."

Harry's rising anxiety must have been clear to see, as Flitwick hurried to reassure him, "Emotional discipline is a necessary quality for sorcerers of any level, as you cannot succeed without it, so no, it truly doesn't happen all that often." This failed to reassure him.

When he was ready, Harry stood and followed his Charms Professor back to the common room, but as he did there was a question he couldn't shake from his mind. Before they could climb the winding staircase, he asked, "Voldemort was just as powerful as that wasn't he? My parents actually fought against someone like that?" Flitwick, who had jumped at the sound of Voldemort's name, turned to Harry and said only one word:

"Yes."

That one word kept him lost in his own thoughts as they climbed the steps and entered the now blue skied common room. It was only the sound of his own name being repeatedly called that snapped him out of it. Terry was sitting amongst the other First Year Ravenclaw boys and was frantically waving him over.

Harry walked over and asked, "Where's the fire?" Terry finally stopped moving his arms like a madman as Harry took the seat next to him on the sofa.

"No fire. I just needed you to save me from these two. Anthony is reading yesterday's paper like a weirdo and Michael isn't even speaking to me. They're literally killing me with boredom." Anthony glared at him over a copy of Evening Wizarding World News.

"I know you only use the word literally when you mean figuratively just to annoy me. It's not working." His forced calm was plain to see, as he was very clearly lying.

Terry grinned, as he was finally given the response he was hoping for. "You started it! With your early morning "I'm pretending I'm a hundred years old" bit!" Terry snatched the paper from him and mimicked Anthony's supposed behaviour, wrinkling his face like an old man as he turned a page. Anthony looked like he was about to kick him when Harry spoke.

"You're kind of a lot to deal with in the morning, you know that?" Anthony smiled and Michael, still pretending he wasn't listening, snorted. Terry adopted a hurt expression.

"I thought I finally found someone who would take my side. I'll never forgive you for this betrayal, Harry. Never!" Harry rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable against the back of the chair.

"Never is a long time." He said simply.

"Where were you?" Michael asked suddenly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Were you worried about me? I'm touched."

Michael ignored him as if he hadn't responded. "It's the first day and you came in with Professor Flitwick. Where were you?"

Terry perked up. "Did you get in trouble for exploring before curfew was lifted? I wanted to go too but Anthony wouldn't let me."

Anthony spared Terry a reprimanding frown, before turning to Harry. "I knocked on your door earlier, but you didn't answer. I thought you might be a heavy sleeper, but I couldn't open your door. As it turns out, only Prefects and members of staff can enter someone's else's room without permission."

Terry smirked. "He had to learn that one the hard way." He mimed someone being electrocuted.

Anthony rolled his eyes. "It was just a little spark." He did look a little embarrassed though.

Harry normally would have kept something like this to himself, but it was such a strange experience that he felt the rare need to ask for the opinion of a peer. Or in this case, three. So, he told them of the meeting in Dumbledore's office.

"The Magister was really here? Lord Akingbade?" Michael asked awed. For the first time since Harry had met him, he wore an expression that wasn't annoyance or cool amusement.

Harry raised an amused eyebrow. "You a fan, then?"

Michael nodded, unabashed. "He's killed more Dark Wizards than anyone alive."

This sounded like the wizarding equivalent of what a kid would say about their hero. "He's scored more goals than anyone!" was something Harry had heard a lot of on the playground. As such, he didn't place much importance on Michael's words, at least until he saw Anthony and Terry exchange strange, pitying looks. Michael saw it too, as he immediately withdrew into himself.

"Did you get his autograph?" Terry asked, clearly trying to move past the awkward moment. "I've never had a famous person's autograph before". He perked up as he seemed to remember who he was sitting next to. "Harry, can I have your autograph?"

"No." Harry said. Terry slumped. "How weird is it that the Magister came to see me himself?"

"Extremely weird." Said Anthony, his retrieved newspaper was now discarded atop the other publications on the coffee table. "It'd be like if the Muggle Queen or Prime Minister came to see a specific student. I've never heard of it being done." Anthony shook his head slowly before asking, "What were they like? Lords Akingbade and Dumbledore?" Harry only had one word:

"Scary."

Before they could say anything else, Professor Flitwick came down from the girl's staircase, where the recently roused First Year girls followed him, still in their pyjamas. When Lisa Turpin sat on Harry's other side, Terry shrank in his seat, clearly hoping she couldn't see him. Harry did not appreciate being used as a human shield.

Once all the girls had joined the boys in front of the fireplace, their Head of House began to speak.

"Now I know it's a little early, classes don't begin until nine. However, as it is your first day, you will need more time to get adjusted to the school and your timetable. Going to class late is acceptable during your first week, but that does not give you the excuse to go back to sleep once I have finished speaking." He said this with a warning look to Su Li, who looked like she was about to nod off in her seat. Flitwick flicked his wand and a stack of books appeared from thin air.

"These are your student handbooks. In it you will find a map of the school, your timetables and a list of all the school rules." The stack separated as each handbook floated to a student. Harry caught his and examined it. Its leatherback was dyed blue, with a bronze eagle emblazoned proudly on the front and his full name, Henry James Potter, written in neat cursive in the same shade as the house mascot. There was a bronze, keyhole-less lock, which kept it firmly closed.

"Like your dormitories, these handbooks can only be opened by yourselves, a Prefect or a member of staff. Whenever one of your teachers assigns homework, it will appear in the assigned page of your handbook, as will any detentions or points you have earned throughout the school year. The House Point system is important as it ensures that the winner gets first pick on next year's Quidditch training schedule, has control over the social calendar and has the reserved carriage for themselves for every journey that year on the Hogwarts Express."

"As you might have been able to tell from the colours of the train yesterday, Slytherin were the winners of last year's House Cup. Gryffindor for two years running before that and Hufflepuff the year before that. It has been a long time since our house has held the Cup, in fact, it has been twelve years since Ravenclaw's last victory, and we have the lowest number of wins in the history of this school."

"That is not to say that we are inferior to other houses," Flitwick was quick to get that idea out of their heads, "only that the students who are lucky enough to find themselves in the House of the Wise are curious by nature and seek knowledge and wisdom for its own sake. This is in contrast to the other houses who seek out these qualities to help them with their ambitions or future glories. I wish to teach you that it is possible to do both."

Anthony spoke now, a little eager expression came over his face. "You should know that better than most, sir. Was it three or four times you won the Duelling World Cup?"

Flitwick, already dynamic in his speech, seemed to perk up at this. "It was five times I'll have you know. But no one ever seems to count the Doubles Championship." He sighed dramatically and there were chuckles amongst some of the students. Harry wasn't one of them. He had never heard of the World Cup before, but he did know that duelling was how wizards showed off their power. To win even once, much less five times against the best the world had to offer, must have made Professor Flitwick incredibly powerful. First Dumbledore, now Flitwick. It was enough to make Harry wonder if all his new teachers were deceptively powerful.

After they had settled down, Amanda raised her hand and asked tentatively, "Sir? Why do we have so many free lessons?" She quickly lowered her hand, her cheeks turning pink when everyone present gave her their attention. Harry flicked the pages of his handbook until he reached the timetable and saw that she was right. They seemed to have each subject for an hour per week, which left half of their schedule conspicuously blank.

"I'm glad you asked Miss Brocklehurst." Flitwick said with a smile to the still embarrassed girl. "Unlike Pendle's or any Muggle school you may have been to, we try to encourage self-study at Hogwarts. Our school library is one of the largest collections of magical knowledge outside of the Magisterium. If there is anything you don't understand when it comes to your schoolwork, then the Fifth Year Prefects, Miss Clearwater and Mr. Watkins, are more than capable of helping you. If you feel you still do not understand, you can find every teacher's office on your school maps and their office hours in your handbooks. If you would be more comfortable with a peer tutor, one will be assigned to you."

"We are a competitive school, and as such exam results have the utmost importance to us. WOMBATs will take place at the end of your second year and any student who does not achieve five Exceeds Expectations at minimum will not be welcomed back for their third year. This may seem harsh, especially to those of Muggle backgrounds, but we wish to focus our attention and effort on the students who put in the required effort to succeed in their courses. Each of you have the potential for a certain level of talent, your names will not have appeared on the Book of Admittance otherwise. As such, I expect you to live up to that potential, no matter what obstacles may present themselves to you." Flitwick's smile now had a bit of an edge to it, as though he were throwing a gauntlet down and challenging them.

"Good luck."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Looking back, nothing surprised Harry more than how quickly he became used to life at Hogwarts. Meals in the Great Hall weren't as grand as they had been during the Start of Term Feast, but every day he found himself having seconds, sometimes thirds at every meal. In his mind it was quite unnecessary for Penny to wander down to the First Years spot at the table, at least once a day, and remind them to eat their fill in order to get their strength up for a day of spellcasting, because Harry was far from the only First Year to undertake a newfound quest for gluttony.

Despite a lifetime of cleaning up after himself, he almost immediately began to use the Automaton services like everyone else. The first time he saw one of the floating metal creatures, it was in the middle of the night, as he was getting up for a glass of water. His bathroom door had opened and one a three foot tall, square headed, faceless, metallic creature floated silently out of his bathroom, with his laundry hamper in hand. Harry would have done the natural thing and run out of the room, but the creature had beaten him to it, leaving Harry to stare at his closed door, afraid that it would come back.

"It was an Automaton," Anthony explained, after Harry explained why he looked so exhausted. He had been too afraid to go back to sleep.

"Muggles have Automatons," Harry said doubtfully, "I've seen some on school trips. They don't look anything like that."

"A lot of Ingenieurs take inspiration from our more mundane brothers and sisters." Anthony said admiringly. He had not kept secret that it was his hope to one day become a Master Enchanter. "We use Automatons for rough work."

"Aren't there spells for that sort of thing?" Harry hadn't gotten around to reading it just yet, but he was certain he had purchased a book for household spells from Flourish and Blotts.

Anthony shrugged. "It's easy to not think about that sort of thing at all. You just buy one Automaton and it'll take care of your housework and meals for about a decade, then you take it for refurbishment." Harry was disgusted by this at first, (A whole world where no one took care of themselves?), but then he saw how much time he was saving by not cooking his own meals and cleaning up after himself, so he quickly got off his high horse.

It was fortunate he had all this spare time, as with his excess of coursework, he needed it. It wasn't the fact the assigned work overwhelmed him, in fact it was a lot lighter than he had expected after Flitwick's warning, but it was his need to catch up that stressed him.

It started with their first lesson; Transfiguration with the Gryffindors. With just a flick of her wand, Professor McGonagall, after giving them a sharp warning about the WOMBAT exams and how they were less than two years away, transformed her desk into a lion and her blackboard into an eagle, and made the two carry out a fight that seemed more like an elegant dance. She returned the two creatures to their original states with a round of enthusiastic applause from the class.

"At a certain level, Transfiguration is more of an art form than an exact science. It is the most dangerous Esoteric Art you will ever learn at this school and as such you will be treating it delicately until, if you have proven yourself talented enough, join my O.W.L class in your third year here." She paused for a moment to let them understand that they were dealing with something that should not be messed around with. "This year we will focus on Transfigurations of a similar sizes and shapes, but what matters more is that you understand the most basic of theories and laws before the year is out."

With that she began to explain the most basic and essential Laws of Transfiguration and told them to memorise them by next week, before handing them each a matchstick and asking them to turn it into a needle. Harry thought that he had prepared himself well for this class in particular (Hagrid had told him in a letter that one of his father's three masteries was in this subject) but while the theory seemed easy enough to understand, the practical portion of the class was so much more difficult. By the end of the lesson, he had only managed to turn his match silver, which he would have been pleased by, if the others hadn't done so much better.

Before he had even managed to affect his match at all, Anthony (who seemed to have even a better grasp on the theory than he did) transfigured his match completely. Michael seemed to have taken Anthony's warning to heart, as he had paid attention to the lecture and managed a full transfiguration by the time the bell rang. Terry's work had annoyed him the most as he hadn't put any effort into it all. Instead of focusing on the lecture, he had cracked jokes with a couple of Gryffindor boys he knew from Pendle's and cost Ravenclaw five house points. Then, as soon as McGonagall assigned them their task, he had got to work and managed the full transfiguration before anyone else, even Anthony.

Terry was right before, Harry thought, he is a genius. It did little to soothe him, in fact it had the opposite effect, as Padma, Lisa and two Gryffindor kids had managed to turn their matches into a needles by the end of the lesson. Harry, who had always sat comfortably at the top of every class, now felt irritated that there were seven people who were clearly better than him. He might have learned to bare it, had it only been one class, but his lacklustre performance wasn't limited to just Transfiguration.

In Charms, Harry had failed to make his wand tip light up with the Wand-Lighting Charm. He felt like his head was about to explode when Susan Bones shot him a superior smirk from across the room with her wand tip lighting up the entire room. His stomach dropped when he entered Professor Slughorn's classroom for the first time and saw that the only available seat was next to her at the front of the class.

"Don't even think about it!" She hissed at him. Harry ignored her and sat down anyway. Professor Slughorn, a short, balding, portly man with a walrus moustache, took the register and stopped at Harry's name before smiling at him like they were old chums. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Susan glaring at him, but when he turned to face her, she had already turned back to the front.

Their first Potions class prioritised safety. They were told to always wear dragon-hide gloves and mermish crystal goggles, to always ensure that their cauldrons and vials were clean before every brew and to always check that they have all the necessary ingredients on hand before beginning. Harry was certain that this was the class that he would thrive in. He came from a long line of Potions Masters, and even his own mother had a Potions Mastery amongst her many qualifications, so surely that had to count for something.

As it turned out, it didn't count for anything at all. He shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't inherited his mother's talent for Charms either.

Slughorn had assigned them something to "get their feet wet"; A simple Burping Beverage. There were chuckles from around the room, and from what Harry managed to gather, this was more of a tool for childhood pranks than it was an actual potion. It took only fifteen minutes to make. Despite the simplicity of it, Harry still struggled, and whether it was because he added the crushed beetles too late or stirred it anti-clockwise one too many times, but his potion was more of a toasted brown colour than the bright gold that the board advised they should have.

It didn't help the way Slughorn peered into his cauldron with a hopeful look, only to walk away disappointed. Susan was really starting to get on his nerves, as she was shaking with silent laughter at his failure. If Harry had been the worst in the class after putting in no effort, he would have been able to brush the whole thing off. However, it was the fact that even after he had tried his best, he was only a mediocre brewer. That was what grated on him.

"Maybe you should give yourself time to adjust," Terry suggested, with surprising empathy. He had picked up on what was upsetting him without Harry needing to say anything. "You've only known about magic for, what? A month? You'll be running circles around the rest of us by the end of the year, I guarantee it." Harry didn't believe that but was grateful that he tried anyway.

Divination was something of a joke. Professor Trelawney taught at the very top of the North Tower, in a small circular room that smelled heavily of incense, which didn't help them take their bug-eyed teacher any more seriously when she spoke of omens and oncoming death. They had all decided to follow Michael's lead by pretending to pay attention to her stuttering lecture and lying on their homework.

Hagrid's class was a reprieve as they left the castle to go work in the creature sanctuary on the inner edges of the Forbidden Forest. Spending a morning chasing around bowtruckles, adorable little stick creatures, around a wooded paddock was enough to lift Harry's mood. He left class with a broad smile on his face, especially after Hagrid told him he was welcome for tea in his home anytime.

Herbology with the Slytherins was just as interesting as the small and stout Professor Sprout spent their entire first class guiding them through the seven giant greenhouses, examining the different magical plants and learning about their various utilitarian and recreational uses.

Astronomy was fun, even for Harry who had never held much interest in the stars. They learned about the importance of celestial movements and the impact it could have on all six Esoteric Arts. Also, wandering back from the Astronomy tower at midnight, trying not get lost in the dark castle with his sleepy classmates was a bit of an adventure in and of itself.

History of Magic with Professor Archibald sounded boring on paper, but it was a truly fascinating lesson. Their frail looking teacher began their own journey in the subject with a lecture on the murky origins of wizardkind. "No one is entirely sure how the first wizards came to be. Were they born with their Mana reserves? Or was it an outside source of energy that they discovered and then learned to harness internally? Historians have argued about this subject for millennia, to this very day in fact. What we do know is that the first sorcerer of recorded history was the Great Sage Thoth, born in what would one day become Lower Egypt, eight thousand years ago. He discovered the power of symbols, Runes, and took the time and effort to carefully pass down his knowledge to subsequent generations. Thoth's power and longevity was so great, that for thousands of years after his death Muggles worshipped him as a deity."

Archibald's voice was dry, but the subject matter was terrific in Harry's mind. It motivated him to stay behind after the lesson was over in order to ask for more recommended reading. It hadn't escaped his attention that Muggle raised students had an extra free lesson, while their wizard raised counterparts had Muggle Studies. History of Magic was his best bet in understanding his new world.

Arithmancy was taught by a young Professor by the name of Vector. She managed to keep a certain half of the class focused on the basics of Numerology, but it wasn't because the topic was so fascinating. She was much younger than the other Professors, and very pretty. Harry was more than a little interested in the idea of using Numerology for spell-crafting but pushed that out of his mind for now. He couldn't even keep up with his coursework, so why would he think adding a difficult side project would help? Also, after eight thousand years, you could pretty much find any spell you needed from a teacher or a book, according to an uninterested Terry. In contrast to Anthony, who was enraptured by both the subject and its teacher, seemed distinctly unimpressed.

Runes had left him hungry for more. Professor Babbling stood tall and stoic at the front of the class and had taught them a spell that would let their wands carve any shape into any non-fauna surface, Tenmo. "There are hundreds of Runes, and each carry a different meaning. In order to achieve complex results, Artifices must have a certain combination of Runes placed upon them." She drew back her sleeve, revealing a silver Ouroboros, and asked them to do the same. Harry saw what he had noticed before, runes that blended seamlessly into the bronze.

"As any Ingenieur could tell you, placing one Rune on an Artifice is quite easy. Placing several, dozens, or even hundreds in a specific combination takes both skill and discipline. You can only imagine how difficult it must be to invent your own Runic Complex."

Babbling continued. "As you may well know, the first Runes were discovered by Thoth. Yes, discovered, not created. The brightest minds of the Magisterium believe that these symbols already exist and are simply waiting for us to discover them and their combinations. However, trying to carve any old shape with the Tenmo charm could lead to nothing but a destroyed Artifice if you are lucky, mortal injury if you are not." On that happy note, she led them in their attempts to cast the Tenmo charm.

The biggest shock of the week came when he entered the Healing classroom for the first time. Hestia Jones sat at the teacher's desk, patiently waiting for them to all take their seats. She explained, once the lesson began, that their only goal before their WOMBATs was to be able to cast a wide range of diagnostic charms and be able to heal minor wounds. Hestia (Professor Jones, Harry reminded himself) wowed them by casting a diagnostic charm on a Hufflepuff. A colourful three-dimensional mirror image of the boy hovered in front of the class, and she was able to tell exactly what he had eaten in the last three days and that his left elbow had a small bruise on it.

Once class was over Harry approached her and she greeted him warmly. "I couldn't tell you who I really was, sorry." She said this despite not looking sorry at all. "It was Dumbledore's orders." Harry left a little while later without asking about Lupin. He was angrier at him than ever as he still hadn't written back.

Much to his joy, the one class he excelled in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell looked a little awkward wearing smart teaching clothes instead of the casual wear Harry had first met him in, but he taught like he was born to do so. Not only was Harry the first person to cast the Verdimillious Charm, which earned Ravenclaw ten points, but by the end of the class no one else had even come close to emitting as many green sparks as he did. Quirrell had even given him another ten points for finding all the Dark Artifices hidden within the room. In retrospect, Harry should have guessed that this would be the class he excelled in. After all, wasn't his wand meant for a militant wizard?

That success had lit a fire under him, as he spent the evening in his dorm, instead of hanging around the common room with his new friends after class, as he had all week. At his desk he flicked through his Transfiguration book and began to write different topics that were covered in Transfiguration, from now to the WOMBAT and wrote at least three spells underneath each. For example, transfiguring objects of a similar size and shape, then similar size but different shape, then similar shape but differing size and then objects of different sizes and shapes.

His idea was to master at least three spells from each topic during his own time, hopefully he would get used to the method and be able to translate that to any spell McGonagall or the examiners could ask of him. If this failed after a certain period of time, he would have to swallow his pride and ask Penny for help. Not Christopher, he was a prat.

Harry began to do the same for Charms, Potions, Runes, Healing and after some thought, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Just because he was excelling now didn't mean that would continue next week. He wanted to keep what slight advantage he had over his classmates.

The last class of the week was Flying. Harry had little interest in trusting a piece of wood to keep him from falling from a hundred feet in the air, but wisely kept his mouth shut. The rest of his year, especially Michael, were excited for a chance to show off their aerial skills or fly for the first time and he didn't want to stand out unnecessarily.

Professor Hooch, the Flying Instructor, looked like the embodiment of the word "hawkish". She snapped at the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to line up next to a broom as soon as they had entered the Quidditch pitch and to summon them to the hands with the word "Up!" They all did so.

"Whoa!" He would probably later regret letting the stupid sound slip from his lips, but at that moment he was shocked that the broom had jumped into his hand so quickly. He wasn't the only one. Next to him he could see Michael, holding his own broom, looking at him warily.

"Didn't you tell Anthony that you've never flown before?" He asked, with surprising sharpness.

"Yeah." Harry probably would have told him off for eavesdropping on conversations he always claimed he wasn't a part of, but he was too distracted smirking victoriously at Susan, who had failed to make her broom even twitch. Her angry glare only made his smirk widen.

Hooch taught them how to mount and grip their brooms (He was incredibly grateful for the cushioning charm that seemed to have been placed on the seat. That was not an area of his body he wanted to place all of his body weight on.) and to hover in place. Harry enjoyed the way the Cleansweep Ten reacted to his every movement. Hooch then told them to separate by house (there was no need as they hadn't intermingled at all) and tasked them with flying a simple lap around the pitch.

As soon as she blew her whistle, Michael took off like a bullet, and with a competitive grin, Harry shot after him. It was close, but Michael's head start had given him the advantage, or at least that was what Harry claimed when he lost.

Before Michael could retort, Hooch cut in, looking interested in the First Years for the first time. "Then why don't the two of you race? We have time," she said over the Hufflepuff's protests, "as your housemates aren't done yet." It was true, while Anthony had just finished, the girls were moving at a sedentary pace (not caring about racing at all, apparently) and Terry, finally, appeared to be struggling with a class. He flew at a snail's pace on a wobbling broom.

Without a word, both boys mounted their brooms and waited for Hooch to give the starting signal.

"GO!"

They took off like cannonballs. Making sure to stay on the outside of the white line that marked the Quidditch pitch boundary, they zoomed through the air, neck and neck. Harry glanced at the other boy from the corner of his eyes and mimicked his grip on the broom. It was a gamble, as it was different from the one Hooch recommended, but it paid off as his speed increased and he overtook him. Being the heavier of the two seemed to work against Michael in a test of pure speed. Harry didn't have anything against the other boy, but after bragging like he had earlier, he couldn't allow himself to lose.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something headed towards the end of his broomstick with incredible speed as he reached the goalposts three quarters of the way through the lap. On instinct, Harry forced his broom into a sudden and steep dive, and looking up, he saw Michael fly through the space where he had just been at a sharp angle. He had cut through the pitch and in front of the hoops instead of behind like they were supposed to, and the cheat made his way towards the rest of the class at top speed, as though he were still racing. By the time Harry landed, Michael was already being told off by Hooch.

"You could have knocked him off his broom!" She was shouting, but the boy appeared defiant.

"It's allowed in Quidditch."

"This wasn't a match! It was just a race!" Seeing that he was unapologetic she said, "Saturday Detention."

Michael's eyes widened. "What? That's not fair!"

"Noble of you to admit it. Two Saturdays, then. Would you think three would be fairer? Or perhaps four?" Hooch asked, coldly. Michael wisely kept his mouth shut and stomped to the back of the group to be on his own. On his way there he glared at Harry, who rolled his eyes back at him with contempt.

"I thought you said he was nice," Harry asked Terry, as the three of them lounged on the grass while the Hufflepuffs took their turn around the pitch.

Terry looked confused. "I said he was nice when he forgets not to be. Didn't I say that?" He asked his brother for confirmation, who was cloud watching with his hands behind his head. Anthony merely shrugged. "Besides, he's always a prat when it comes to Quidditch, which is why we always got along. I never play the stupid game, so he hasn't got anything against me." Harry sighed and made a mental note to never go to Terry if he wanted accurate information.

Once class was dismissed, Hooch held Harry back. "Ravenclaw try-outs are on Sunday." She said simply. At Harry's blank look, she clarified, "Quidditch try-outs." He still said nothing. "You have the speed of a real Seeker, you know." When he continued to say nothing, she added, almost slyly, "Your father was an excellent player when he was in school. Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup four times while he was on the team." Harry wanted to call her out on using the memory of his dad like that, but he liked the idea of having something in common with his father too much to care.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

When Saturday rolled around, Harry was prepared to spend the entire day locked in his dorm, repeatedly attempting his first three spells of what would one day become (hopefully) a full Transfiguration repertoire. After a hearty breakfast, he returned to his room and sat at his desk with his notes and books laid out carefully before him along with a small twig he wanted to turn into a needle (he was too embarrassed with his own failure to ask Professor McGonagall for a matchstick). Before he could even get started however, there was sudden and rapid knocking on his dormitory door. He contemplated ignoring it, but the knocking wasn't stopping. With a frustrated huff he got to his feet and opened the door.

"What?" He asked Terry shortly. Of course, it was him. Who else would be so annoying on a peaceful Saturday morning?

Terry clearly knew he was being irritating, but judging by his smile, he didn't seem to care. "Anthony's gone off to Chess Club." He said this as if it explained his behaviour when it really left Harry with even more questions.

"There's a Chess Club?"

Terry looked even more amused by his ignorance. "Didn't you see the club signup sheets? They're on the notice board." Harry stepped out of his room, forcing Terry to shuffle backward, and made sure to close the door behind him. If even half of the anecdotes Anthony had about his brother were true, then he didn't want to leave Terry amongst his belongings unsupervised.

"Show me," he asked, partly because he was genuinely interested, but mostly because he didn't want the other boy to see the books on his desk. It was one thing to be bad in class, but it was another to work hard and still be bad in class. Despite whatever trite Flitwick spewed about teachers respecting a student's efforts, there was nothing more pathetic than hard work that went unrewarded in Harry's mind.

Terry, seemingly happy just to have company, led the way down to the common room, all the way to a large notice board by the entrance. "They just put that up," Harry said, frowning at Terry, "It definitely wasn't there after breakfast."

Terry chuckled, "You caught me. Professor Flitwick just came and put it up. I just wanted to see if you wanted to join a club or something." Harry was grateful for his thoughtfulness, at least until he added, "Anthony left me for Chess Club anyway and I'm not joining a club on my own."

Harry rolled his eyes. "There are worse things to be than alone, Terry." He moved to examine the board and all the various extracurricular clubs that Hogwarts offered. There were some obvious ones like Quidditch or clubs that were basically extra classes like Charms Club. Others were more mundane such as Art, Languages and Choir, while a few had words he didn't even recognise such as Gobstones or Quodpot.

Harry took the quill that was floating by the notice board and signed himself up for the Languages and Charms Clubs which met after dinner on Tuesday and Thursdays, respectively. Terry groaned.

"I only got you down here to join the Potions Club with me." Harry raised an eyebrow. He had considered joining Potions Club as well but with two clubs and Quidditch (depending on tomorrow's try-outs) on his schedule it might be too much. Despite this he saw an opportunity.

"I'll join Potions Club with you if you join Charms Club with me. I like to have company too." He gave Terry his friendliest smile, which seemed to work as he snatched the quill from Harry and scrawled his name on the Charms Club signup sheet. He passed the quill back to Harry who paused before writing his name. "I'm not sure I like Potions very much, so if I join, you'll have to help me, okay?" Terry was just as good in Charms as he was in Transfiguration, but he was a force to be reckoned with in Potions. Professor Slughorn had sung his praises, after he had added certain ingredients to make his Burping Beverage both tasteless and colourless, calling him an "intuitive young talent". Harry was hoping some of that talent would rub off on him.

Terry smiled and waved him off. "Of course, I'll help you! What are friends for?" That made Harry feel bad for using him, but he made sure his face didn't have a trace of guilt on it after he had turned back around when he finished writing his name on the Potions Club signup sheet. He wasn't doing anything wrong, just asking a friend for a favour.

Harry told himself it had nothing to do with guilt when he asked, "Want to explore the castle? I overheard some Gryffindor kids talking about a secret passageway behind a tapestry on the fourth floor." Even though he would rather get back to work in his dorm, it put him at ease to see Terry rush out of the common room ahead of him with a joyous whoop. I keep him company and he helps me study, Harry thought, there's nothing wrong with a fair transaction.

The two boys spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon running around the castle, making notes in their maps of any secret passageways they found (two), trick steps (three), rude paintings (eleven), helpful paintings (all of them except eleven), walls pretending to be doorways (four) and doorways pretending to be walls (only one). Harry's nagging guilt faded, and he found himself having as much fun as he had on the Hogwarts Express. He had been in a bad mood all week and some goofing off was just what the doctor (healer?) ordered.

When they reached the end of another secret passageway that had led them from the seventh floor all the way to the third in what seemed like only half a dozen steps, they emerged from behind a tapestry in front of a very odd sight. The grouchy caretaker, Argus Filch, was standing at the other end of the corridor in front of a rather graphic piece of graffiti which depicted him doing something that was both disgusting and physically impossible. That wasn't even the strangest part. Floating ten feet above his head was a small, orange eyed, court jester, who was laughing silently.

Harry was shocked out of his confusion when Terry burst out laughing. Filch whirled on them and barked, "Stop right there!" even though no one was running away. When he got close enough for Harry to see his nose hairs, (poor Terry had the better angle from his height) he asked them in a menacing tone, "Do you two know anything about this?" Terry still laughing, simply shook his head.

Harry shrugged innocently. "I don't know anything about this, but I think it'll be easy to find the perpetrator." The jester narrowed his eyes and even Terry gave him a wary look. Apparently, the no snitching rule extended to wizards, so Harry quickly changed tack. "You just have to ask yourself, "How many people know I'm that flexible?" It obviously won't be a long list." Filch didn't even seem to have to time to comprehend his mocking jab before the jester burst out in a demented cackle. The caretaker ignored Terry's resumed laughter as he took off chasing the now flying court jester around the corner, shouting "PEEVES! GET BACK HERE!"

"What on earth was that thing?" Harry asked once Terry had regained control over himself. They had resumed their exploration, in the opposite direction of Filch, and were making their way to the second floor.

"Peeves the Poltergeist," Terry explained through a slight hiccough, "He's been here causing chaos since the castle was built and no one can get rid of him."

"I must've read Hogwarts: A History five times this summer and I think I would've remembered something about a poltergeist."

Terry snorted. "That'll be great advertising, wouldn't it? "Come to Hogwarts! There's a Poltergeist who will pelt you books and chase you out the loo with a toilet brush!" Harry gave him a strange look. "It happened to my mum once." He explained. "Everyone who grows up wizard knows about poltergeists in schools. Yes, there's others," he added before Harry could ask, "They seem to be created by an environment of humour and malice, and who's better at that then kids? Anyway, Muggle-borns aren't told about ghosts and stuff before coming here because their Muggle parents are a superstitious bunch." He said this, tarring all Muggles with the same brush, the same casual way Hagrid had spoken with condescension regarding the Muggle's and the London Underground. It made Harry feel awkward. Should he correct him? He hadn't wanted to correct a teacher before, but Terry was a peer, a friend even.

Before he could decide, they came across a set of wide-open double doors. Inside there were three levels, filled to the brim with shelves and glass cabinets packed with trophies, plaques and medals. Harry wasn't interested, but Terry's eyes lit up as he began searching for something amongst the displays. Harry was about to ask him what he was after, but his eye caught sight of two words that made his stomach flip:

Head Girls.

Moving over to the right-side wall, there was a long list of names and school years written in black on a giant, polished wooden plaque that spanned almost the entirety of the wall. On the very top were the words Head Boys and Head Girls. He found who he was looking for almost immediately:

1972/73

James Potter and Lily Evans

It was hard to believe that, only eighteen years ago, his mum and dad had been students at this school. Had they ever struggled with their spellcasting? Did they ever feel uncomfortable around their peers? Was there ever a time when they doubted they could succeed? These questions and more rattled around in his mind, to go forever unanswered by the two people he wished to ask. He felt rooted to that spot, staring helplessly up at their names, and it took a considerable amount of effort for him to forcibly turn away from the wall and walk over to Terry, who was searching for something.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked quietly.

"More of my parent's trophies. I've already found six. Here's another." Terry pointed at a plaque which read:

Wizarding Schools Potions Championship 1962

1st Place

Robert Boot

For the first time since Harry had met him, Terry looked a little sad. He had gathered, from morsels of information thrown out here and there by Anthony and Terry, that Mr. and Mrs.. Boot were high ranking officers within the Auror Corps. Aside from a repressed surge of dark and petty jealousy that Terry's parents had made it through the war unscathed while his had not, Harry had not given it much thought. It was clear now, by just the look on his face, that maybe having your parents around didn't mean everything in your life was perfect.

"Your dad's name is Bobby Boot? Your grandparents should be ashamed of themselves because that's awful." He wasn't sure what made him say that. If anyone had said something similar about his dad, they would be walking away with a fat lip, but Terry was far more easy going than him. He reacted as though Harry had shocked the laughter right out of him.

"Don't say that where anyone could hear you." He wheezed.

Harry grinned. "Imagine one of his Aurors saluting him. "What are your orders, Bobby Boot?" Terry gave a guilty groan as he descended into further chuckles. "Did you know my dad's middle name was Fleamont? After my grandfather. I think it takes a very cold person to give a baby a name that they're definitely going to get bullied for. Bobby Boot isn't quite as funny, but your dad must hate it."

Terry nodded, smiling wide, as he caught his breath. "I think it's why he insists on everyone refer to him by his full name or title; Commander."

Harry nodded, starting to get a clearer picture of Terry's dad. "You know I have some idea of what it's like to have parents you want to live up to." Terry looked up at him sharply, cheeks tinged with red. "I only just learned about my parents a month ago and the pressure is already starting to drive me up the wall."

Terry nodded slowly, still looking a little embarrassed. "It's not like they put any expectations on me or anything," he said quickly, as if he were afraid Harry would get the wrong idea, "but sometimes, when I'm with them, people seem to expect a more," he paused and looked around as if searching the air for the perfect word, "impressive son. They're both war heroes and I'm just..." He trailed off, his words abandoning him.

"Normal?" Harry guessed. Terry nodded. "I know exactly what you mean." He didn't add any words of reassurance, as he knew that they would come off as hollow. Even though his parents were still alive, Terry seemed to mirror exactly how he felt about his own parents, a mixture of pride and insecurity.

They made their way out of the trophy room and tried to find the route to the Great Hall. Even though it was almost two in the afternoon, they hoped lunch would still be served to them. It was only when they passed the graphic graffiti of Filch, did Harry remember his previous dilemma.

"Terry, do you remember what you said before? About Muggles being a superstitious bunch?" Harry asked with little hesitation. After their conversation in the Trophy Room, he felt braver. Perhaps it was because Terry shared his parental insecurity, but Harry felt he had a better grasp on who his new friend was.

"Yeah, what about it?" Terry replied, as they found the main staircase and began to climb down to the Entrance Hall.

"Not all Muggles are superstitious, you know. Actually, Muggles aren't all anything. There's lots of them, billions in fact, and they're all different." Terry gave him a strange look.

"I know, we've learned about them in Muggle Studies." Terry said, looking quizzical.

"I know, it's just I heard Professor Hagrid say something similar and Professor Quirrell asked me what it was like growing up among them, like he immediately assumed the worst." Harry wasn't sure if he was getting his point across, but Terry didn't seem to take any offence.

"A lot of people think that Muggles are animals, but my family is definitely not like that." He said calmly, as though he sensed how strongly Harry felt about this. "Muggles are different from wizards though. But different doesn't necessarily mean bad. In fact, it could be a good thing." He glanced at Harry with a smile. "Maybe you can teach me some stuff about Muggles?"

Harry smiled back, with relief. "Only if you teach me stuff about wizards." He retorted, feeling much more comfortable asking for a favour now. Terry agreed happily to that request, as they entered the Great Hall.

Both boys stopped and groaned when they saw the Hall was barren of both people, and more importantly, food.

After dragging themselves back to the common room, feeling much more tired now that there wasn't the promise of immediate sustenance, it felt like forever before they reached the bronze eagle knocker.

My life can be measured in hours. I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick, fat, I am slow, wind is my foe. What am I?

Terry groaned dramatically, back to his usual self. "I can never get these stupid things right."

"You are a candle." Harry said, before turning to Terry as they crossed the threshold. "First thing you should learn about Muggles; They sell books of riddles in stores."

Terry snorted. "That is so useless, except for this exact scenario." Harry silently agreed.

They made their way over to Anthony, who was sitting by a window, taking advantage of his solitude by completing his homework in peace. Harry noticed the short stack of records on the windowsill beside him, the small black earbuds he had in each ear, and the way he was nodding along as though he were somehow listening to the music without wires. He looked up as they crashed onto the chairs around him and Terry propped his feet onto the table, uncomfortably close to Anthony's open inkpot.

"There you two are. I was worried you had gotten yourselves into trouble." Anthony said smiling, removing the Wireless from his ears, before shoving Terry's legs off the table. He reached over with his wand and tapped one of the vinyl jackets with his wand. The tinny music that was still playing from his Wireless switched off.

"It wasn't as easy as you claimed, babysitting this one," Harry nodded his head at Terry, "I'll have to charge you double." Anthony snickered while Terry scowled at him before turning to Anthony.

"How boring was Chess Club then?"

Anthony rolled his eyes, "It wasn't boring at all. There are some really capable players in this school. I'm really looking forward to playing against all of them." Terry rolled his eyes right back at him. Anthony ignored this. "You should think about joining a club yourselves." He said to both of them.

"Already have. We're both doing Charms and Potions Club and I'm doing Languages. I think Professor Hagrid told me something about Translation Charms?" Harry said.

Anthony nodded. "Yeah, Language Club is mostly for Muggle-borns. Everyone else went through the Translation Charm process back at Pendle's."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Process? How many languages can you speak?"

"Twenty-four." Terry said, proudly.

"Twenty-five." Anthony said, smirking at his brother, who returned the look with a rude hand gesture.

"Why would anyone need to know so many languages?" Harry asked, a little stunned.

"We're more interconnected than the Muggle world. The language barrier used to be a big problem in the early days of the Confederacy, but some Mind Arts Master invented the Translation Charm to get around that. We have more in common with each other, despite our nationalities or native languages, than we do with the Muggles who share our homelands." Anthony explained.

Harry nodded slowly. It made sense to him now, why Terry had easily decided to keep him company in Charms Club but never even offered for Languages. As if to agree with this thought, Terry said, "They'll take you through some of the most spoken languages in the world first, you know, like Mandarin and Spanish, so that even if you have only two or three languages under your belt, you can still find a common language with sorcerer from a different country."

"Is it really that common to meet witches and wizards from other countries?" From the way the two were making it sound, he would be bumping into people with other nationalities every other week. "It's just, I don't even think I've met anyone who hasn't had English as a first language before."

Anthony smiled. "My mum was from South Africa. My dad met her while he was stationed at the Auror Citadel in Johannesburg."

Terry nodded. "Yeah, most of my family still lives and works at the Shanghai Citadel. My grandmother only came to the London Citadel when the war with Grindelwald was heating up."

Harry wasn't too surprised by this, but before he could ask any of the questions about travel and cultural barriers that were at the forefront of his mind, his stomach rumbled loudly enough for the other boys to hear. This seemed to remind Terry of his own hunger as he grabbed his belly and groaned as though he had been shot.

Anthony looked unaffected by this display, as if he had seen it a million times before. "Didn't you two eat in the Great Hall? The Automatons even served us lunch at Chess Club."

Ignoring Terry's grumble of "lucky you", Harry explained about their day of exploring and even brought out his map to show Anthony all that they had discovered. Harry was distracted when out of the corner of his eye he could a tiny, but familiar figure, through the window. As he turned to watch, the figure climbed down from the mountains and opened the western gate.

He got to his feet. "I think I've solved our food crisis. Give me a minute." He heard Terry cheer behind him and Anthony mutter something along the lines of, "Food crisis? Dinner is in four hours", while he hurried up to his dorm. Just as he had hoped, Argos was there waiting for him at his window.

"Whatever it is I pay you, it isn't enough." He said as he opened the window and ushered his owl inside. Feeding him an owl treat, Harry turned to his long-abandoned desk and began to write a short note on a torn piece of parchment.

Hagrid,

Is it still alright if I come over for tea? Just write back no if you're busy.

Thanks,

Harry

P.S Is it alright if I invite two of my friends?

Harry grimaced. Inviting himself over was rude enough, but inviting other people? Still, he was really hungry. Promising Argos another treat upon his return, Harry gave him the letter and watched him fly off. He watched from his window as Hagrid stopped as a tiny dot landed next to him. There was some movement, then he continued walking as the tiny dot flew back to Ravenclaw tower.

Harry fed Argos his promised treat, and read Hagrid's reply, a simple yes scrawled on the back of his original note. Grinning, he left his window halfway open in case Argos wanted to leave, before making his way back to the common room.

"Come on," Harry said, not stopping as he passed his friends, "We're going to Professor Hagrid's for tea."

Terry leapt up looking delighted with the prospect of food, while Anthony calmly packed away his things before following after them. "I thought you had already eaten." Despite his statement, he looked glad his brother was joining them.

"It would be rude to turn down an invitation, especially from a Professor." He paused, before turning to Harry in worry. "We were invited, weren't we? All of us?"

"Of course! What do you take me for?" Harry decided it was for the best that Anthony didn't see his note. "Professor Hagrid is a friend, we've been writing back and forth all summer, and he told me I can bring two friends over for tea. Aren't you lucky to make the cut?" He added teasingly.

Anthony scoffed. "Who else are you going to invite? All the other First Years are terrified of you!"

"No, they're not!"

Terry laughed. "You look like you're about to hex anyone who breathes in your direction after class."

Anthony added. "It doesn't help that you have an," he paused as if searching for a polite word, "aloof air about you."

"What he means to say is that our year mates are scared of you because you walk around the castle like it belongs to you. Even Second Years get out of your way in between lessons. It's dead convenient for getting to class on time, though." Terry added thoughtfully.

Harry groaned, thinking about his poor reputation amongst his peers, as the three stepped out of the Entrance Hall and made their way to the stairs that led to the grassy lawns. "I've been trying to be nice! I didn't even notice people didn't like me."

"We didn't say they didn't like you. Just terrified of you."

"Intimidated." Anthony corrected Terry quickly. "Anyway, we know you haven't noticed. You're off in your own world most of the time, aren't you? But we know better. You're not scary at all!" Anthony mimicked knocking on a door, his dark eyes wide and innocent. "Excuse me? Can I please share this compartment with you? I promise I won't cause you any trouble." He said this in a high-pitched docile voice. "Honestly after that performance, it was hard for us to take you seriously." Terry was snickered, while Harry punched Anthony on the arm.

The three boys walked around the school, away from the lake and the mountains, across the sweeping lawns towards the edge of the forest. It wasn't his first-time seeing Hagrid's house, as the Care of Magical Creatures class met there before Hagrid escorted them to the Bowtruckle's wooded paddock, but the sight of the building still gave him pause. It was a humongous, three story, wooden structure, with a porch going all the way around the house and clearly built for a man of Hagrid's proportions. That meant that everything, even the stairs leading to his front porch, were sized for him, as the boys discovered when they struggled to climb the five giant steps.

Reaching the huge door, Harry raised his fist and knocked firmly, and was immediately answered with booming barks. He saw the other two give the door wary looks, which only turned truly scared when Hagrid's voice said, "Back Fang! Back!", from behind the door.

Harry knew that Fang was only a friendly boarhound from Hagrid's letters, but saw an excellent opportunity to get back at Anthony.

Turning to face the others, he said, "I forgot to mention, Hagrid breeds magical creatures as a side job. He keeps them in the enclosure, but often nurses the sick ones in his house. Fang is some kind of Crup-Chimera breed he's doing for Gringotts. Whatever you do, don't look it in the eye."

"Why? What happens if-?" Anthony stopped talking, as there was a sound of claws scratching frantically against the door and Hagrid struggling with something. When the door finally opened and a large black boarhound came bounding out, Anthony and Terry both let out high pitched yelps as they scrambled back. Hagrid looked astonished by their over-the-top reactions.

"Don't worry he doesn't bite!" He tried to reassure them but stopped when he saw that Harry was laughing. "What did you say to them?" Harry quickly explained. "Well, I do breed animals, but I never keep the dangerous ones in my own house." Anthony and Terry slowly calmed down and Fang grew bored with the strangers that refused to greet him, so he hurried to Harry who didn't even need to bend to scratch his ears, he was so big.

"That was not funny, Harry." Anthony tried to be upset with him, but he mostly looked embarrassed.

Harry smirked. "Regret not taking me seriously, yet?"

"You really need to learn how to take a joke mate." Terry said, clutching his heart, as Hagrid ushered them into his home and led them to the sitting room. Anthony and Terry made themselves comfortable on the sofa while Harry sat down in a giant armchair that was half the size of his four-poster bed. Fang nestled his head in Harry's lap while Hagrid went into the kitchen only to return a minute later, his wand focused on the cups, saucers, plates of rock cakes, sandwiches and teapot that came levitating into the room beside him. He settled it all down at the coffee table in the middle of the room.

Harry made introductions. "Thanks for letting me invite my friends on such short notice, Hagrid. These are my housemates, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot."

"It's no problem, the more the merrier." Hagrid smiled at him before turning to the others. "I remember your dads, you know. Joined at the hip they were." Anthony perked up at this as they helped themselves to the food.

"What were they like when they were our age?" He asked eagerly.

"They were good kids for the most part, but there was this one time-," Hagrid began to tell him a story involving a young Robert Boot and Andrew Goldstein, forty Cornish Pixies and a ruined Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L exam. By the end of the tale, all of them were laughing, but none harder than Terry.

"I don't think my dad would have wanted us to have ever hear that story." Terry got out through his chuckles. "The way he acts, he was born perfect."

"Ah, all kids make dumb decisions now and again. The real question is whether or not you can learn from them." Hagrid said wisely.

Harry had liked the story, but he was more invested in the rock cakes. "Hagrid, these are delicious. Did you make them yourself?" Hagrid looked pleased.

"Yes, I did," he said proudly, "and it took me ages to get the recipe right too. Would you like some more?"

"If it's not too much trouble." Harry replied, his good manners thrown out the window. Hagrid returned to the kitchen and while he was gone, Harry glanced around the room with interest. It was a simple sitting room, warm and cosy, not at all what he had expected from a rough outdoorsman type like Hagrid, with squishy armchairs, footstools and the sofa in the centre of the room. There were some pieces of furniture that looked as if they had been handmade such as the bureau in the corner of the room, which had a large cage sitting upon it.

Once he saw movement inside said cage, Harry stood, dislodging Fang's head from his lap which made the dog whine, and made his way over and examined it. At the very bottom of the cage was a tiny, serpentine creature with shiny teal scales, a bird-like head and feathered wings. When Harry's shadow loomed over it, it craned its tiny head to look up at him and asked in a young child's voice, "Food?"

"I see you've found the Occamy." Hagrid said, as he came back to the room and placed the plate of rock cakes on the table in front of Harry's seat.

"I'm not the only one who's a little hungry." Harry smiled, as he reached a finger into the cage to stroke its smooth scales. "I think the baby wants food." Hagrid gave him a strange look as he made his way over.

"Baby? No, Occamy's can change their size as needed, this one's just being stubborn." Harry shook his head, sure of what he had heard.

"It definitely spoke in a child's voice." Harry turned back to the cage and asked, "Hungry? Food?" Hagrid took a sharp breath as the Occamy used its wings to bring itself to Harry's eye level. "Yes! Yes! Food! Hungry! Food!" Harry turned back to Hagrid, still smiling, only to find the giant staring at him in surprise. It was only then he realised that the conversation that Terry and Anthony were having about their dad's boyhood misdeeds had stopped, and they were staring at him too.

"You're a Parselmouth?" Anthony asked.

"A what?"

"Someone who can speak with snakes."

Harry glanced at the Occamy. "It's only happened once before. Does this thing really count as a snake? It has wings."

"That's really rare around these parts." Hagrid said, ignoring Harry's observation about wings. He was moving now to feed the apparent flying snake. "You said it was a baby? I just thought it was being stubborn and refusing to change size."

"Slytherin was a Parselmouth, you know. You-know-who claimed to be descended from him when he proved he could speak to snakes. Gave a lot of people a grudge against Parselmouths." Terry said, before adding almost guilty, "I wouldn't do it in front of Michael if I were you."

"Why not?"

"He hates anything related to the Dark Arts." Anthony said, after sharing an awkward look with Terry. Harry had gathered that much after his comment about Lord Akingbade.

While Harry hated the idea of having something in common with Voldemort, he was more worried at that moment, how others would feel about it and, more importantly, how it would affect his life. "Some people? Not most?"

Anthony seemed to understand. "There are too many Parselmouths around the world for them all to be either good or bad." He assured him. "Most people know that. It's just the self-righteous idiots you've got to look out for."

"Give us a hand, would you?" Hagrid asked. He jerked his head at a stack of old newspapers on the floor by the bureau, while he was cupping the Occamy in his hands. Harry handed him an old copy of the Daily Prophet after he put the flying serpent down on the shelf. There, now at the top of the stack, was an issue from over a month ago. GRINGOTTS BREAK IN!

"Hagrid? This says that Gringotts was broken into on the same day we were there. "The targeted vault had been emptied earlier that day." That sounds like-" Hagrid cut him off.

"I told you. It's Dumbledore's business. Alright?" His voice was unusually stern. Harry saw that his eyes were pinched with worry.

Harry raised his hands in a gesture of peace as he made his way back to his seat. Hagrid was right, it had nothing to do with him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next day was bright and sunny, a clear blue sky above the heads of all the Ravenclaw Quidditch hopefuls, as they stepped out onto the pitch. Harry followed Michael from a distance, as he had all morning. He did this as the other boy was the only person who he was sure was trying out for the team.

Remembering Terry's offhand remark about the gruff, Quidditch loving boy, Harry made sure to mimic his behaviour. Harry had waited for him in the Great Hall, only eating when and what he ate, going to the changing rooms when he did and checking and putting on his equipment the same way he did. While Harry had tried to obscure his imitation by reading at the Ravenclaw table and only following from a distance, Michael should have noticed him by now, and Harry had prepared himself for a row; The other boy had made it clear that he held Harry responsible for his two Saturday Detentions when he had glared at him all throughout dinner last night. Now, however, Michael didn't seem to notice him at all. He didn't notice anyone. He was too focused.

Harry tried to calm his nerves. During the rest of his time at Hagrid's, he had quizzed his friends on everything they knew about Quidditch. Anthony wasn't much of a fan and Terry didn't care for the sport at all, but Hagrid was a treasure trove of information. Now he felt reasonably confident that he at least knew the basic rules of the sport.

A familiar face stepped in front of the small crowd of boys and girls. Robert Hillard wore his Quidditch gear as neatly as he wore his school uniform. Beside him, there was another Sixth-Year boy and two Third Years, a boy and a girl, and they all wore the same tight, form fitting blue and bronze uniforms, goggles around their necks or on their foreheads, with Nimbus 2000s held tight in their grips.

"Separate yourselves into two groups," Robert was not wasting any time, "Chasers to my left and Seekers to my right." The group was quick to listen, but Harry was momentarily indecisive as Michael had moved to join the Chasers group. Professor Hooch had said something about being a Seeker, but Harry had only done so well yesterday because he had mimicked everything Michael had done. He had hoped to continue that today.

After a moment, Harry moved to the Seeker group, but only because there were only seven other people trying out. It was definitely the smaller group. The three players around Hillard separated themselves and headed towards different groups. The Third-Year boy swaggered up to the Seeker group, and his flyaway red hair and cheeky grin made Harry immediately label him as a troublemaker.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Eddie Carmichael." As he said this there were groans from all around Harry. Apparently, the other Seeker hopefuls knew who he was, so his introduction must have been for Harry's benefit. "I'm a Beater, but I'm going to lead you fragile little Seekers through the warmups. Try not to break any bones or whatever."

Despite his silly warning, he led them through a simple series of stretches and warmups. Why they needed this for flying on a broomstick, Harry wasn't quite sure, but he saw the other two players leading the Chaser hopefuls through identical exercises while Robert observed both groups from a distance. Only once they were deemed sufficiently warmed up, were they told to race around the pitch in their groups.

The Seekers went first, and Harry was a little surprised at how easy it was. He had assumed yesterday that all Quidditch players were as fast as Michael, but none of the other hopefuls came close to him. Even the Second-Year girl who kept up with him during the first stretch, slowed down as she took the first turn, while Harry managed to maintain his speed. He was pleased at the impressed looks the Quidditch team members were giving him as he landed.

The Chaser's race was equally interesting, but only because Michael left all the others in his dust. When he landed long before his rivals, he gave Harry a strangely familiar superior look, as though the two of them had been competing against one another all along.

Hillard began to lead the Chasers to one side of the pitch with the Keeper in tow, leaving the Seekers with the Third Years. "This is my partner in crime and fellow Beater, Maria Acardi." She was a dark haired, olive skinned girl who seemed equally as mischievous as Eddie.

"Don't worry, you lot are in safe hands." The way she said that, smiling at Harry and the Second-Year girl, but ignoring the older students, made him feel as though they were planning something. Robert must have agreed, as he called out, "I've changed my mind! I'll test them myself once I'm done with the Chasers! Don't move!" The Beaters slumped as they now had to babysit them instead of playing whatever trick they had planned.

The Chasers try-out was a joke. Only Michael really stood out, both in speed and accuracy. A brown haired, Fourth-Year girl was the only one who could keep up with him, and together they managed to get past the Keeper several times. By the time the Chaser try-out had ended it was clear who was and wasn't going to make the cut, as some upset players just left the pitch entirely.

Once the Seeker try-outs started, Robert simply held up a small golden Snitch between his thumb and index finger. "It's pretty simple. I'm going to release the Snitch. You need to catch it, quick as you can." He ignored the protests from some of the older students, that his chosen method was only one style of Seeking. Instead of responding, he simply released the Snitch, leading the Seeker group to mount their brooms and launch themselves into the sky.

Harry knew it was only luck that had let him catch the Snitch the first time around. He had flown high, hoping that gold would glint off the sun, when the Snitch buzzed by his ear. He had caught it before anyone could even see him begin to chase it. The second time his original idea of glinting gold had worked, and the third time the other Seeker hopefuls had decided to tail him. That had been a critical mistake on their part as Harry had already proven himself to be much faster than they were. There was not a fourth try as Robert called it to an end.

Robert called them down. "Harry's our new Seeker." He said simply. Most had left the pitch immediately, but a Seventh-Year boy had decided to try and argue his case for a fourth try. While that was happening, Harry got himself acquainted with the rest of the team as Maria was kind enough to demonstrate cool down stretches for him to mimic.

"Marcus Belby." The dark and gloomy looking Keeper introduced himself to Harry without looking at him. His arms were crossed, and he was glaring at the guy who was arguing with the Captain. "I'm going to go help Robert."

"I don't think he needs any- and he's already gone," Maria said, as Marcus stomped his way over to defend his Captain.

"Fiona Wood." The new Chaser introduced herself to Harry in a quiet but thick Scottish inflection. "You're a really good flyer." Harry returned her smile.

"So are you, and your aim is something else." Apparently, Fiona was one of those people who couldn't take compliments very well as her freckled face turned pink and she fell silent. Before Harry could figure out something to say that would make her more comfortable, Robert and Marcus came back.

"We're a young team," Their Captain said, "Hufflepuff and Slytherin have got mostly N.E.W.T. students with the occasional talented O.W.L player in the mix. I didn't bring it up last year and I think we paid the price for it." Maria and Eddie looked uncomfortable for the first time today. "But that's why we're going to focus a lot on speed, tricks and manoeuvrability during practices. We're going to win the Quidditch Cup this season, I'm sure of it."

"Of course, you're sure. You have me, don't you?" Michael said arrogantly. Harry was shocked that a new player would say something so brash to the Captain, and he clearly wasn't the only one. Only Marcus looked unsurprised when Robert only chuckled.

"Alright, you're dismissed. First practice will be posted on the notice board." As the team walked back to the changing room, Harry noticed Michael and Robert hang back. He was surprised that instead of telling him off, the older boy grabbed the younger in a headlock and they began play-fighting.

After showering and changing, Harry made his way back to the castle, surprisingly tired after try-outs. All he had done was fly a broom, but his body was aching in strange places, as he had used muscles that he normally wouldn't in order to control his broom. He couldn't wait to have a warm soak in his bathtub once he got back to his dormitory.

As he followed the route to Ravenclaw tower, he felt as if he were being watched. Glancing around, he saw only a large landscape painting and two suits of armour. Resuming his walk at a slower pace, he kept his ears sharp. Something was definitely wrong.

He was right.

"Petrificus Totalus!" A voice shouted from behind. It was the reflection on the polished suit of armour that saved him. A jet of white-blue light was about to hit his back at high speeds.

Throwing himself to the side, the jet of light (Was that what a Martial Spell looked like?) moved through the spot where his torso had been a moment earlier. It hit the suit of armour but dissipated with no effect.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry took off running so fast that he would have been impressed with himself if he weren't, you know, running away. Just as he neared the turn, two other spells flashed behind him, multiple voices calling out their incantations. He managed to dodge the first one and duck under the second, but the first voice, the one that had almost struck him from behind unawares, shouted a third. "Flipendo!" just as he was rounding the corner.

To his horror, the orange jet of light caught him in the side. It lifted him off his feet, spun him into a sideways somersault, once, then twice, and sent him careening into the suit of armour that he had seen the reflection of the first spell at the beginning of the attack. Harry was slightly dazed but managed to pick himself up from the now scattered pieces of armour by the time one of his assailants grabbed him by his shirt front and slammed him against the wall. In the back of his mind, Harry was more than a little disappointed with himself. He hadn't even managed to get out of the corridor.

There were two of them. They were both rather large boys, but even if they were small for their age, Harry wouldn't have liked his odds. They were at least Fifth Years, Slytherin, and, as they had just displayed, had him beat when it came to spell casting. "What the hell are you idiots thinking?!" Harry said loudly. He wanted someone to hear, preferably a member of staff, but was too proud to explicitly call for help.

One of the boys, the tall one to his left, seemed to understand what he was doing. "Silencio!" Harry opened his mouth, to swear at him loudly, (In his experience, nothing brought teachers running faster than a kid shouting out curse words.) but no sound came out. That was awfully bad for him.

The dawning fear he felt must have been apparent on his face as the muscular boy holding him to the wall, began to laugh. "I've been wanting to do this all week, but you never go anywhere alone, do you?" He asked, as he adjusted his grip to hold Harry against the wall with one hand, as he levelled his wand at him with the other. "Everyone has been talking about you since the Sorting, like your something special. Something to be respected. The son of those two butchers. It makes me sick." He pointed the tip of his wand at Harry's face.

There were times when Harry's curiosity got the better of him and it led him into trouble. This was not one of those times. While the boy began his wand movement, Harry reared his leg back as far as it could go against the wall and kneed him hard between the legs as hard as he could. Tearing himself from his weakened grip, he turned to the other boy, sucking phlegm from his nose to his mouth as he went. Just as the boy parted his lips for an incantation, Harry spat the gathered ball right into his open mouth. He had been aiming for his face, but that was even better. The boy let out a shrill scream of disgust before spitting on the ground, and Harry took off running as fast as he could.

Only a complete idiot would fight fair in this situation.

Round the corner, jumping down a short flight of stairs, he didn't slow down, not when he could hear his assailants giving chase. He could not call for help, so he made sure to make as much noise as he could, knocking over suits of armour and marble busts as he went. He was fast, but his stamina wasn't all that great, and he was already tired after try-outs. The older boys were gaining on him. But just as he was planning to stand his ground and attack them as they rounded the next corner, his salvation arrived. Or rather, he ran headlong into it.

"What the-! Mr. Potter! Running is not allowed in the corridors!" Professor Quirrell began to berate, but he stopped when Harry began to frantically gesture towards his mouth. The Defence Professor didn't seem to understand until the Slytherin boys came charging around the corner. Only then did his face light up in comprehension and then darken in fury.

"Myrose! Fredrick! Did you attack a First Year?!" Harry slumped against the wall, trying to catch his breath, listening to Myrose and Fredrick get verbally eviscerated by Quirrell. After he was done shouting, he handed out their punishments. "One hundred points from Slytherin. Each. And Saturday detentions until the end of term." Over the sounds of their protests, he added coldly, "Another word and I'll ensure your suspensions." That shut them up. As they turned back the way they came, the shorter one, Myrose, gave him a filthy look, but Harry ignored him. He was too busy trying to mime at Quirrell.

"Stop waving your arms like that, you look like a demented duck. Finite Incantatem." Just like that, Harry could speak again. The second he could, he explained everything that had happened in a rush, not because he wanted the two punished, as that had already been taken care of, but because he was now jittery with adrenaline and couldn't control himself as much as he normally could. He led Quirrell down the path he had come from, and the man listened patiently, waving his wand and repairing all the damage Harry had done along the way. When he was finished, they were back where the attack began, on the route to Ravenclaw tower.

"He said something about my parents. He called them butchers." He remembered. Quirrell sighed.

"The last few years of the war were the bloodiest. There were increasing attacks, so Aurors began using the Dark Arts less cautiously, and your mother and father were on the very front lines." He paused as if considering something. "That might be why Myrose attacked you now that I think about it. His parents are law abiding citizens, but his older brother was a proven Death Eater. Your mother managed to capture him, but only after severing his legs."

Harry looked up at him in shock. He couldn't imagine anyone so closely related to Petunia Dursley getting their hands dirty like that. "It's not like he needs them. They don't exactly let inmates out for exercise in Azkaban."

"Myrose's brother was that bad then?" Azkaban, Harry had read, was the Confederation's maximum-security prison. Unlike other wizard prisons around the world, this was only meant for the most heinous criminals, and it was so secure only high ranking Aurors, and officials were allowed to know its location. It was an environment meant to simulate hell on earth, so if his mother had permanently maimed a man who had been sent there, he had clearly deserved it.

"Oh yes. His predilection for the most vulnerable of Muggles was made known at his trial. A truly vile man."

Harry was a little worried. "Professor? Is Myrose the only one in the castle with a grudge against my parents? Or are there others?" Quirrell's grimace was all the answer he needed. "Do you think you could teach me a few defensive spells? Just enough to escape, and get help? I don't want to think what would have happened to me if you weren't here today."

Quirrell had appeared unsure, until Harry had said that last part. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to teach you a thing or two. It's not like you wouldn't have learned them eventually."

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed, pleased that Quirrell got it. "I'll just be learning these spells when I actually need them instead of learning them for an exam." Quirrell's lips quivered as though Harry had said something amusing, but when he looked at him properly, his face was serene.

They stopped in front of the winding staircase. "It would be my honour to teach you, Harry Potter." Harry thought that he was joking, as he had been in the Leaky Cauldron, but his face was deadly serious. Before he could respond, Quirrell turned and walked away.

Much later, Harry would look back on that moment with both regret and resignation.

Author's Note

I'm writing this AU story with an anime structure in mind. This includes an internal energy for the magic system. I use Mana the way it's used in Black Clover, as a limited internal energy that is turned into magic.

I've based the four main boys' personalities on the four-temperament ensemble. This is a fancy term I learned from TV Tropes, but basically, I'm using similar characterisations as TMNT. Harry=Leo, Michael=Raph, Anthony=Donny, Terry=Mikey. This probably sounds silly, but I think it lines up well for their development as a group and as individuals.

I'm not writing House Elves, and if elves ever show up in this story, they are gonna be powered down from canon. They're way too powerful.

The word Ingenieur was taken from the movie The Prestige. It sounds fancy.

A Master Enchanter is someone who combines Runes with Charms to create permanent enchanted items which can last indefinitely and can work independently of the enchanter, even after their death. These permanent items are called Artifices.

An Ingenieur is someone who goes into business for themselves, or joins a company, and creates Artifices, like automatons, for private use. They are fairly rare, highly prized, and well paid, skilled workers.

For example, Flitwick is a Master Enchanter, but not an Ingenieur as he did not go into business for himself. However, Fred and George in canon would be considered Ingenieurs as they use their talents to create Artifices for profit.

Please review. I want to know if this classification makes any sense.