Surprisingly, the teachers were not particularly upset that Harry had missed the entire first week of school. He picked up his schedule from McGonagall when he returned from Hogsmeade on Saturday evening, after a delightful day out with Daphne Greengrass. Then, he ran around the castle, chatting with the other professors to get all the work he missed. It was mostly review work, which some of them said to simply ignore, since they remembered his improved performance last year, so they thought there was not really any point.
Snape was not even snappy. Sure, he insulted Harry, but that seemed to simply be an ingrained reflex at this point. The man knew exactly why Harry had to go to St. Mungo's, since Harry told him before leaving on that day a month ago. Apparently, Snape seemed to realize that Harry Potter was not a spoiled brat, but an abused child- much like him, though that part went unsaid. It helped that, upon doing a bit of soul-searching, Snape remembered that Harry had never exactly acted like James Potter- no pranks, no bullying, no insane rule-flouting, no constant conflicts... Well, there was a lot of fighting last year, but that was more defense on the boy's side, since the school seemed to collectively decide that a law had been passed stating that Harry Potter must be attacked on sight. Other than looking like the man whom Severus Snape hated with a passion, there was not much similarity. Even the looks were offset by Lily Evans'- he'd never think of her as Potter- emerald green eyes. So, Snape could ignore something as simple as facial structure and hair color.
The new Defense Professor was a man named Remus Lupin, who apparently knew, and was friends with, Harry's parents. He seemed nice enough, if a bit too thin. At the very least, he was neither incredibly conceited nor a stuttering mess, so there was promise. He'd just have to wait and see.
Professor Babbling of Ancient Runes was a bit cross with him, but understood once he'd explained his situation. She assigned him some runes to memorize for Monday's class, with a warning that failing to prepare now would destroy him later on.
Surprisingly, Hagrid was the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, which Harry only took to fill in the second required elective slot. Divination and Muggle Studies were definitely a waste of time, and like he'd told Ginny, Arithmancy was more for spell creation/modification, which he wasn't interested in. Hagrid also gave him a piece of advice; apparently, the book they purchased for that class had a special opening mechanism. If you didn't stroke the spine of the thing, it would try and bite your fingers off, which Harry filed away with Occlumency. He was quite fond of his fingers. Other than that, there was nothing he really missed, besides a few periods of interacting with flobberworms and salamanders.
Sunday was spent finishing the little bit of missed work he was given, turning it all in, and then training hard in the Room of Requirement. After a month of lazing about, coupled with his growth spurt- he was still eating a lot, but managed to limit it to just three meals a day- nearly all of his physical progress was gone, save for the strengthening. He had to retrain his footwork and dodging skills, as well as his aim. The only positive was the increased strength and stamina he'd gained, which lent itself well to continuous repetition, allowing him to gain some ground.
Monday morning was… Odd. Harry had gone on his morning run around the perimeter of the castle when he'd stumbled across some weird creature. It was vaguely humanoid, floating in the air, clad in tattered black robes, a hood covering its head. Well, if it had a head. When the thing turned to Harry, skeletal arms and bony fingers held limply in front of it, Harry could see absolutely nothing beneath its hood. It was almost like there was a void where the head should have been. Black smoke wafted of the creature.
It drifted over slowly, and grabbed one of Harry's hands in its own. Idly, the boy noted that the thing's fingers were quite cold. It smelled faintly of rot, and made quite wheezing noises, which may have been its breathing.
"What exactly are you…?" Harry asked it, not receiving an answer. Instead, the thing just squeezed his hand and let go, but remained hovering near him.
"Would you like to join me on my run?"
No answer. Harry took off at a brisk jog. A few minutes later, he looked back, and saw the thing floating sedately alongside him. Apparently, it did want to join him, and Harry smiled lightly. It was always nice to make new friends. Hopefully, it wouldn't abandon him like his very first one.
Speaking of non-human friends, he really needed to check on Naga. So, after his run, and waving goodbye to the ghastly being, Harry wandered over to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Thankfully, the ghost did not come out to bug him, so Harry just descended into the Chamber of Secrets. One long jog later, and he was standing in front of Slytherin's statue.
"Naga?" Harry called, looking around, occasionally moving to glance behind pillars. Suddenly, quick as lightning, something wrapped around his leg, causing him to almost trip mid-stride. He was barely able to save himself by grabbing onto a nearby pillar. Looking down, he saw the green, scaly hide of his friend, though it was much thicker than before. Trailing his eyes up the baby basilisk, Harry couldn't help but smile. Naga, who was once small enough to drape over his shoulders like a scarf, was now probably longer than he was tall, including his new height.
Mother.
Harry reached down and grabbed the snake's head and midsection, the rest of which wrapped around him in a serpentine hug.
"Hi, Naga. Did you miss me?"
Yes. Food.
Harry gasped, feeling distinctly like a proud father. "Since when have you started speaking? Anyways, I brought you something. When was the last time you ate?" Harry asked, Summoning the piece of meat he'd dropped by the kitchen to grab, and dropped it by his feet. He'd set it by the foot of Slytherin's statue while he went to look for Naga.
Long. Sleep long.
Harry frowned a bit. The poor thing probably hadn't eaten since his impromptu incarceration at St. Mungo's.
"Sleep? Did you hibernate?"
Yes.
"Aw, sorry. I didn't mean to leave like that, but I got stuck somewhere, and they wouldn't let me leave."
Is. Okay.
Harry grinned widely, stroking the crown of the basilisk, who reveled in his warmth. Naga slithered down his body, and attacked the bloody beef, jaw unhinging to shove the whole thing down his gullet. Meanwhile, Harry was stroking the rest of the snake's body, noticing some places where scales were beginning to flake off. He wondered how many times Naga had shed so far. Which reminded him, he needed to get someone to help him skin the dead basilisk. He should put Naga up in Slytherin's statue- didn't exactly want to tear apart his mother right in front of him. With a flick of his wand, Naga went rocketing up into the air, into the waiting maw of Slytherin.
Bye. Mother.
"Bye!" Harry called, waving at the snake, even though he couldn't see the gesture. With that, Harry left the Chamber of Secrets through the way he came.
Harry quickly rushed up to the Room of Requirement for a shower, changing into his new acromantula school uniform, packing all the necessary books, parchments, quills, and inkwell into his bag, and took off for the Great Hall. He needed to talk to the Headmaster, who was always in the Hall for breakfast, so he may as well kill two birds with one stone.
"Headmaster!" Harry called, once he neared the staff table. The old man looked up, and smiled at him. A few of the other Professors waved at him, and returned to their own conversations, giving him some privacy.
"Ah, Mr. Potter! Nice to finally see you back. I trust your stay at St. Mungo's went well? Although, judging by your new look, I'd say things went marvelously. Your spectacles, in particular, are quite stylish.
"Thanks, Headmaster! Once I saw them, I knew I had to have them. The medics did a number on me- fixed up all types of old injuries. Even made my eyes better; I can actually see now!"
Dumbledore blinked, confused, so Harry continued on. "Apparently, my old prescription was a horrible match, so everything was blurry even when I wore my glasses. It's fine now, though. Anyways, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to know if we could do anything with the scales of the basilisk in the Chamber. When I went to get a wand holster at Ollivander's, he said that the hide of a really old basilisk would make for better material than dragonhide."
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Yes, I suppose we should. It's a waste to simply let it rot down there, when there's so much that could be done… I will contact Gringotts. I know that the goblins are skilled at stripping hides from an animal, which is why they often work with dragon preserves. It will be quite expensive, Mr. Potter- I hope you are prepared for a large bill."
Harry rubbed his left thumb over the rings on the same hand. "I don't think money will be much of a problem, Headmaster."
Excellent!" the old man said, clapping his hands together in joy. "Now, why don't you go sit down with your friends and get something to eat? Miss Weasley and Miss Granger seem quite intent on burning holes into you with their stares."
Harry did as was suggested, rushing over to the Gryffindor table. He gave quick, one-armed hugs to both Hermione and Ginny, who split apart so he could sit between them. Harry grabbed a plate of eggs, another of bacon, and a rack of toast. He quickly slapped the three foods together to make a sandwich, devoured it, then made another. The process continued until the toast rack was empty and the plates mostly clean, and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. His stomach had been killing him.
Wait, I forgot-
A vial suddenly appeared in front of him, and Harry smiled. "Thanks, Pitts," he muttered, then chugged the potion down, grimacing at the taste. He chased it with some water- he'd never really gotten around to developing a taste for pumpkin juice. It just rubbed him the wrong way. Ginny and Hermione were staring at him with wide eyes while he wiped his hands and mouth with a wet napkin, water conjured with a flick of a finger.
"What's up, girls?"
"Think you broke 'em, Harriekins!" Fred said, signaling the approach of the Twins.
"Never seen someone eat more than Ronnie, mate!" George said, walking side-by-side with his brother.
"And definitely not so cleanly!"
"Too right- That boy could learn a thing or two from ya."
The group collectively glanced over at Ron, sitting next to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, hands smeared with grease, flecks of food scattered across his cheeks and uniform. Everyone shuddered in unison.
"Er, I was just really hungry? I had a growth spurt over the summer, so I'm hungry nearly all the time now. You shoulda seen me when I was at Mungo's."
"Harry!" Hermione cried, broken out of her trance, "What were you doing at St. Mungo's!? What happened to you!?"
"And why are you so… Tall?" Ginny asked, much more quietly. Even sitting, his head rose a good few inches above Hermione's. The redheaded girl had to actually tilt her head up to look him in the face.
"Oh, right. So I was in Diagon Alley, doing my school shopping, and I came across this glasses shop. I stopped in to buy a new pair, since I didn't really like my old ones, and they rope me into getting an opto-medic to check me out. He says my current prescription is a horrid match, and is actually making my vision worse, then he asks me where I got them from. I tell him, then he's taking me to St. Mungo's, and they're doing tests, and then they keep me in there for a whole month while they fix things up. Apparently, this is the height I was supposed to be this entire time, but I had a lot of bone damage that didn't let me grow properly. It's fine now, though."
Hermione, being the quickest of the lot, was the first to start asking questions. "Well, where did you get your old glasses?"
"My aunt picked 'em up in a Salvation Army box."
Hermione gasped, but the Weasley's seemed a bit confused.
"What's that mean?" Ginny asked, not having heard of the Salvation Army.
"The Salvation Army is a Muggle charity organization, which collects donations from people to give to those who need things, such as clothes. What his aunt did was horrible because there was absolutely no way it would have been his prescription. The thing about prescriptions is that they're custom-made, since everyone's eyes are different and therefore need different amounts of help to see properly, meaning hardly anyone has the same prescription."
"Still not seeing the point here, Hermione."
Hermione sighed. "It's like… Slapping a bandaid on a hole in someone's stomach! It'll hardly do anything at all, and if left like that, things will definitely get worse. Harry, how bad did they say it was?"
Harry scratched at his cheek. "Well, the opto-medic said I would've gone blind in a few years if they hadn't caught it. Before twenty, he said."
That got a reaction from the redheads.
"That would've been a right bummer, mate."
"Imagine having to tap around with a cane all the time. Would've been bloody annoying."
"Well, at least you've got a good excuse if ya accidentally grope a bird."
"Yeah, but he wouldn't even know if it was a pretty bird. What if it was a bloke?"
The Twins shuddered, and Hermione yelled at them indignantly.
"That still doesn't explain how you wound up in St. Mungo's, though," Ginny pointed out, turning all attention back to Harry.
"Right. I told him Aunt Petunia only picked those old glasses up because she didn't like me. They definitely had the money for a proper pair."
Hermione nodded. "That would explain it. He probably thought that you'd been abused; if they were willing to do something like that, what else would they do? Sounds like he was right, too, if your Muggle family caused all that bone damage. Oh, Harry, what did those people do to you?"
"A bit of this, bit of that. Nothing I really feel like talking about. Anyways, we should probably go. I think classes are gonna start soon."
Startled by the abrupt topic change, but respecting his wishes, the Gryffindors all went their ways, only Hermione sticking with the boy, since they had the same class at the moment. She was staring at him, concern written all over her face, and Harry couldn't stop himself from poking her in the forehead, which he could now easily reach.
"What's got your knickers in a knot?" Harry asked, enjoying how her face crinkled at his crude terminology.
"Harry! Don't say such things! And I'm just worried about you… What if those people try to hurt you in the future?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. I told the Headmaster about it, and he's letting me stay at Hogwarts for the summers now. Without classes, I can get so much duelling practice in."
"You get to do magic over the summer? That's not fair!" Hermione exclaimed, crossing her arms moodily.
"Aw, is someone jealous?" Harry asked, leaning away when Hermione took a swing at him.
"Prat!" she cried, resuming her sulking. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing the girl against his side.
"I'm just playing, 'Mione," he said, twirling a strand of her curly hair around his fingers. Not like it'd get any more messy, honestly. Hermione grumbled a bit, but leaned into him anyways.
"Welcome back, class. I hope you've done your homework, because I'll be collecting it now. Hold them up!" It was six inches on the abilities, habitats, and weaknesses of Red Caps, little dwarf-like creatures that liked to beat the hell out of anything that moved. However, Lupin was already showing himself to be different from his predecessors, and the other Professors as well. Whereas they asked for a minimum, Lupin asked for a maximum length of six inches. It forced the students to focus only on the most important parts, something which thoroughly threw Hermione out of sorts. Harry, however, could appreciate the decreased workload.
With a flick of his wand, the papers being waved in the air were snatched by an invisible hand, flying towards the Defense Professor and touching down in a neat pile on his palm. He shuffled through it for a few moments, occasionally glancing at particular students.
"Ah, a bit long there, Ms. Granger. Remember; practicality is key. The less you have to sort through, the more likely you'll be able to perform in high-stress situations. Speaking of which, you did very well in that aspect, Mr. Potter. Would've been less than an inch, if not for the spacing. Now, today, we'll be doing something a bit more practical. As you all know, I will be focusing on Dark Creatures this year. So, I've brought in one to show you! Gather around my desk, and I'll go retrieve it."
The students wandered down at their own paces, chattering excitedly. Malfoy was bragging about how he'd take care of whatever it was with his advanced skills- honestly, the kid was almost as arrogant as Lockhart. For once in a long time, Harry found himself agreeing with Ron Weasley, who shouted for the blond ponce to shut up. Daphne Greengrass sidled up to him, bringing a brunette with her.
"Hello, Harry." He nodded at her, then returned to fiddling with the rings on his fingers. He hadn't had much time to get used to them- the month in St. Mungo's didn't count, because he wasn't in his right mind during that mess.
"This is Tracey Davis. She's also a Slytherin." Harry nodded at the brown-haired girl, who waved cheerfully. They stood in silence for a moment, before Daphne elbowed him in the side.
"Aren't you going to introduce Granger?"
Harry stared at her for a moment. "Why? She can introduce herself, right Herm-?" He looked to the girl, who was glaring fiercely at him, hair a bit frizzier than normal. He blinked, then turned back to the two Slytherins. "Right then, this is Hermione Granger. She's a Gryffindor, and probably gonna be top of the class for the Third Years."
This time, it was Hermione's turn to elbow him, digging into his ribs a bit. "Harry!" she cried, seemingly scandalized. Now Harry was rubbing his side, staring in shock at the girl, who crossed her arms and turned away from him. He glanced towards Daphne and Tracey for help, but they were too busy giggling. So, he sighed, and went back to his rings.
Should I move the one on my right middle finger to my left thumb, just to have them all on one hand?
The return of Professor Lupin broke him from his musings. The man walked in with a floating wardrobe trailing behind him, covered in mirrors and shaking like it was in an earthquake. Hermione, surprised by its rattling, took a step back, along with many other students. Lupin set the wardrobe down, and turned to his class.
"Alright, this is it. Would anyone care to take a guess as to what I've got in there?"
"That's a boggart!" Dean Thomas shouted, hand shooting into the air a moment after he'd started speaking.
"Yes, very good, Mr. Thomas! I suppose the choice of container might've given it away?"
Dean nodded. "I read in the textbook that boggarts like dark places."
"Well, though you were correct, it would not do to make assumptions based on such simple facts in the future. I could have had any number of creatures in this wardrobe, whether they liked the dark or not. For example, what if I were to open a door, and a vampire walked out? I've heard they are quite fond of the dark as well."
Dean nodded, seemingly chastised. Lupin smiled. "Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like? It's important you are able to tell the difference between two creatures, else you might end up trying to set fire to a salamander, and the only thing you'll succeed in doing is feeding it."
Hermione's hand shot up into the air. "Nobody knows exactly what a boggart looks like, Professor. They are shape-shifters, that take on the form of a person's greatest fear."
Lupin nodded. "Yes, that is what makes them incredibly terrifying. Well done, Ms. Granger." Hermione smiled at the praise. "If you were to ever run across a boggart without being prepared, you could very well end up paralyzed by terror, which the boggart will feed off of. If your greatest fear happens to be… Say, a dragon, the boggart will be able to use those massive teeth to take a bite out of you. That is why, in this class, we will be learning how to combat boggarts. Does anyone know the Boggart-Banishing Spell?"
Surprisingly, Neville Longbottom raised his hand timidly. Alongside Hermione, of course.
"Mr. Longbottom?" The bushy-haired girl seemed put-out that she wasn't called upon.
"R-riddikulus!"
"Yes, indeed! Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Longbottom, because you will be the first person to demonstrate how to successfully use that spell! Come forward- don't be shy."
Neville paled, walking forward on shaky legs. Hermione suddenly seemed very grateful that the Professor hadn't called upon her.
"Do you have any idea as to what may come out of that wardrobe, Mr. Longbottom?"
Neville thought it over for a moment, before nodding. "It- it will probably be Professor Snape, sir."
Lupin smiled, but it was small. His eyes showed an indecipherable emotion; almost like a mix of pity and regret. He muttered something to himself, but it was lost in the laughter of the students.
"What is something that you find immensely amusing, Mr. Longbottom?"
Neville looked confused, so Lupin elaborated. "Knowing the spell is all well and good, but the thing that truly weakens a boggart is laughter. The purpose of the Boggart-Banishing Spell is to transform your greatest fear into something absolutely hilarious, so much so that you will forget all about your terror. Now, what would make you laugh the most?"
"My… My Gran's clothes. She's got this eagle hat, and…"
"Ah ah, no need to explain, Mr. Longbottom. If you see it, we will see it. I'm going to open this wardrobe, and when Professor Snape comes out, I want you to picture him wearing your Gran's clothes, and cast the spell. Ready?"
Neville looked like he'd rather turn on his heel and run out the classroom, but he nodded anyways. It seemed like his Gryffindor bravery had come in late, but better that than never. Lupin walked off to the side, and pointed his wand at the wardrobe. The door knob turned, unlocking it, and the rattling stopped. Slowly, the door creaked open, pushed open by a pale hand, which was then followed by billowing black robes, greasy hair, and a pointy nose.
Professor Snape stalked across the floor like he did in Potions class, clothes flaring gracefully in non-existent wind, the same way they did when he was coming over to Vanish Neville's potion. Neville squeaked, but raised his wand in a shaking hand.
"R… Riddikulus!" Neville shouted, jabbing the stick at Snape. The man stumbled back as if struck, and his robes shifted from pitch black to a hideous green. A gaudy red handbag appeared on his arm, what looked like a stuffed cat around his neck like a scarf, and, as Neville had said, an eagle hat on his head.
The class burst out into laughter, Professor Lupin the loudest of all. "Well done, Mr. Longbottom, well done!" he cheered, clapping. "Now, off to the back with you! The rest of you, form up in a line!"
Ron was first. His boggart turned into a massive spider, and even Harry, at the back of the line, shivered. Evidently, it was worse for Ron, who was closer, the main focus of the faux-arachnid, and actually had a crippling fear of spiders. The boy shrieked and ran. The spider lunged, but glowing ropes sprouted from Lupin's wand; an Incarcerous spell. They wrapped around the spider's legs, bringing it to the floor hard, where it began clicking its pincers together furiously, still eyeing Ron. The redhead stood at the back of the classroom, at the top of the stairs, pressing his back to the wall. He looked about a minute away from passing out in fear.
Lupin cleared his throat. "Right. Well, we'll speak of this after class, Mr. Weasley. For now, Ms. Patil, you're up."
Things continued on in that trend, students facing their fears with laughter. Nothing crazy or unusual; snakes, other spiders, puddles of blood which had the kid green with nausea, an incredibly vicious dog, and in Draco's case, a man sneering down at him. Judging by the platinum blond hair, pulled into a long braid, this was the father that was always hearing of things from his son. However, he seemed quite angry, or disappointed, in his son, and the Malfoy Heir looked close to tears as he cast the spell.
Tracey's fear was horses, apparently. Granted, it had ridiculously sharp teeth, but still. Daphne's was a piece of paper, the words Marriage Contract written across the top in big, bold, flowing letters. Hermione's was, predictably, Professor McGonagall giving her a paper with a red T covering the majority of it. She looked appalled as she cast the spell, turning to join the crowd of students with an irritable look on her face.
Harry was the last in line, more to spite Crabbe and Goyle, who tried to wrestle him from the spot, than fear of facing his fears. A silent Full Body-Bind- cast by the barest of flicks from a wand already in his hand- and a sharp glare sent them on their way. Lupin looked hesitant to call on him, emotions battling across his face for a moment, before he sighed in resignation, and beckoned the boy forward.
The room was silent, all eyes on Harry. Even those who had previously been locked in conversation with friends- or goons, if they were Draco- went quiet. All eyes were on Harry, wondering what exactly the Boy-Who-Lived was scared of. After all, he had supposedly destroyed Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries; what could he be scared of? Or, they were looking for blackmail material- also in the case of Draco.
For a long while, Professor McGonagall with cat ears and a fuzzy tail stared at him. Then, she became a swirling maelstrom of colors and shapes, switching forms at incomprehensible speeds. Finally, it settled on the floating, robed form of a decaying creature, bony fingers outstretched to reach Harry. He tilted his head, confused, and the beast lowered its hands. Then, it switched again, into something much stranger.
Muttering erupted from the crowd of students when the boggart became Harry Potter. However, it was not a duplicate of the actual person. Instead, it was smaller, scrawny, wearing massive wire-frame glasses. This was Harry Potter from First Year, and nobody knew what to make of it.
Boggart-Harry brushed a finger over his lightning-bolt scar, pushed his massive glasses up his nose, and began walking forward slowly. Once it got close to Harry, it beckoned for him to lean down, cupping its hands over its mouth. Obviously, it wanted to tell him a secret of some sort.
Bemused, Harry glanced over at Professor Lupin, who simply shrugged. The man had no clue what to do in a situation such as this. Boggarts normally did not show this much intelligence. So, Harry decided to humor the boggart, and lowered his ear.
Evidently, the Third Year did not like what he was hearing. Lupin was alarmed to see the thunderous scowl suddenly appear on his face. The rest of the class, who could only see the back of his head, were surprised when Harry's left fist, covered in his glinting Heir Rings, swung up to slam into the underside of the boggart's jaw. It bit its tongue, black blood spewing out of its mouth, some it flying onto Harry's face, but the creature just smiled an inky smile.
"What's the matter, freak? Can't handle the truth!?" Despite having spat its tongue out onto the floor- a black, squirming mass- it was talking just fine.
Any other words or taunts it would have thrown were cut off by the same left hand attempting to cave in its face, snapping the wire-framed glasses. Harry's right finally came up, smashing a heavy cross across the boggart's face, twisting its head to the side and causing it to fall on its back. Harry had dropped his wand to the floor in favor of a more physical approach.
"Mr. Potter!" Professor Lupin cried, rushing forward to stop his student. However, Harry was no longer listening. He leapt on the boggart, pinning its arms to the ground with his knees, and began raining blows on a younger version of his own face. The first two were accompanied by the crackling of glass, until the spectacles were sent flying. The succeeding cracks were those of bone, both in the boggart's face and in Harry's hands.
Lupin reached the angry boy, and reached out to grab his shoulders. Harry's head snapped up, and he roared. A pulse of uncontrolled magic slammed into the man, sending him flying. The wave spread out across the classroom, snatching up papers, shifting desks, and pushing students back a few steps. Hermione, who had been running forward to try and help her friend, was knocked onto her rear.
"Don't think this changes anything, boy!" the boggart shouted between blows, somehow still able to formulate words while missing the majority of its teeth, lips swollen to balloons, and jaw shattered like its spectacles. "You're still weak! You can't even kill an eleven-year-old!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The blows stopped for a moment, and Harry clamped his hands onto the sides of the boggart's head. With another feral growl, crimson-tinged flames burst from his hands, wrapping around the boggart's face. It began laughing maniacally, like it had just been told the funniest joke in the world. The inferno grew stronger with Harry's rage, each stoking the other in a perpetuating cycle, until the boy was surrounded by it. The flames leapt into the air, coalescing into a blood-red skull which stared menacingly at the crowd of students with empty eye sockets, jaw silently clacking together in a lipless cackle. They watched on in terror, so frightened that the entirety of their bodies were stiff. Luckily, this prevented their bladders from emptying themselves in their pants. Unfortunately, it caused more than one heart to skip a beat.
So focused were they on the fiery apparition of death, that they did not notice the flame tornado appear in the room, which dispersed to reveal Headmaster Dumbledore. The old man gasped at the sight, but his eyes hardened. He raised his wand, and from it burst forth a flood of water, which doused the fire. The flames fought back, boiling away much of the water upon contact, but Dumbledore pushed harder, and eventually, the blaze was snuffed out, revealing an unconscious, half-drowned Harry Potter laying next to a large black spot on the ground.
"Professor Lupin, please escort the students to the Great Hall for the remainder of the period. I will take care of Mr. Potter."
Lupin looked like he wanted to argue, but did as he was told, and herded the students out. Hermione tried to break away and run towards Harry, but an idle flick of Dumbledore's wand placed a magical shield in front of the girl, which she bumped into. Frustrated, Hermione slammed her fists against it, distorting the silver light, before Professor Lupin caught up and dragged her away. Within a minute, Dumbledore was left in an empty classroom.
The old man sighed, finally releasing the Shield Charm, and cautiously walked over to the unconscious boy. Just to be safe, he hit Harry with multiple Stunners, as well as a Full Body Bind-Curse, along with several other jinxes that would make movement difficult should he wake up. Dumbledore floated the boy up, and laid a hand on his shoulder. With a small gesture to Fawkes, the two were wrapped up in the warm, gentle embrace of orange phoenix fire, and moved instantaneously to the Hospital Wing.
When Harry woke up a few hours later, he was absolutely exhausted. He groaned, rolling over to try and get some more sleep, when a voice interrupted him.
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry reluctantly lifted his head, cracking open his bleary eyes to get an eyeful of white. Blinking and rubbing the crust out from between his eyelids, Harry took a better look, and realized he was looking at white hair. A lot of it.
"Headmaster?" Harry asked groggily, forcing himself into a sitting position.
"How do you feel, Mr. Potter? You've been asleep for quite a bit of time."
"Really? Feels like I hardly slept at all… I'm so tired."
Normally, the Headmaster would have chuckled at the admission. The fact that he didn't set Harry on edge, though he didn't quite know why. He unconsciously sat up a bit straighter when Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh.
"Headmaster?" Harry asked once more, feeling the trepidation in the air, like the old man was treading on glass with bare feet.
"I'm not quite sure how to say this, Mr. Potter… Do you remember what happened? It would save me a great deal of trouble."
Harry tilted his head, digging through his mind a bit. "Um, we were in Defence class, and Professor Lupin was showing us a boggart. It was my turn, and it transformed into… Me. A younger me, but still me, and it said…"
Dumbledore subtly slipped his wand out of its holster when Harry began to glare aimlessly, the air around him heating up. Steam curled off his skin, and his emerald-green pupils raged in his eyes like hellfire.
"Mr. Potter, please calm down."
Harry didn't do anything of the sort. Instead, he simply turned his scowl on the old man, who sighed, and snapped his wand up. Before the boy could even react, he had been hit with a half dozen Calming Charms, which caused the room to cool down a bit. When Harry realized what had just happened- that Dumbledore had pointed his wand at him- his anger boiled over once more. This time, crimson fire sprouted into existence, dancing in the air.
Dumbledore shot up, the force of his sudden movement tossing his chair back, where it slammed into a wall.
"Mr. Potter, I will not say it again! Be calm!"
Dumbledore Conjured a stream of water, and made it circle the boy in a ring, quenching the flames as they appeared. Harry swallowed with great difficulty, and dropped his head, breaking his tense stare-down with the Headmaster. Slowly, the room once more cooled down. This time, however, it stayed that way. For a few moments, the only sound in the Infirmary was Harry's deep, measured breaths. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles popped, but they eventually relaxed as well. With one final, heavy exhale, Harry leaned back against his pillow, resting his head on the wall. He did not look at Dumbledore, though.
The old man, seemingly satisfied, Summoned his chair with a wave of his hand, and sat back down.
"That's… That's all I remember. How did I end up in here, sir?" Harry asked, fiddling with his Heir Rings. On a whim, he plucked the lone band off his right hand, sliding it onto his left thumb, and clenching his fist once more. The once-cool metal was now blazing hot, though it didn't feel much different to his feverish skin.
"Well, as you may have noticed, Mr. Potter, your anger seems to have become incredibly potent. I have a theory for why, though that will come later. According to Professor Lupin, whatever the boggart said to you enraged you, and you began to attack it. After striking it a few times, you managed to Conjure enough fire to burn it to ashes. However, the fire that you created is… Problematic, to say the least."
Harry stared at the old man. As Dumbledore spoke, he was beginning to recall more and more of the events which lead up to him being in the Hospital Wing. Now, the last thing he could remember was being surrounded by a red blaze, then feeling like he was drowning, and finally passing out.
"What of it, Headmaster?" Harry asked, anxiety showing in his trembling voice.
"Have you ever heard of… Fiendfyre?"
Apparently, there was more to Occlumency than Harry had thought. The book he'd gotten had only mentioned its application in organizing the mind, which he discovered gave him what equated to photographic memory, as well as speeding up his mental processing capabilities, which led to faster reading and enhanced reflexes. It was dead useful for dueling, since he hardly had to think about what spell to use and when, and he had an easier time seeing where to move to dodge certain things. It also helped with his classes, because he could just read the text, and then spit the answers back out when required.
However, he'd simply assumed that was the extent of Occlumency. He'd never known that it could also be used to suppress and lock away emotions. He vaguely remembered the Headmaster's comments about using it to defend his mind against intruders, but he'd never actually thought about it. That was what Dumbledore wanted him to do now; learn to suppress his suddenly-fierce rage.
It seemed the boggart incident had been the metaphysical equivalent to lighting a match in a room full of flammable gas; big boom. Really big boom. It had shattered his mental fortitude, and the effects showed. These days, the slightest things pissed Harry off, whether it be someone bumping into him, accidentally dropping something, someone talking too loud- hell, he even woke up angry. His body temperature was always running high, only a few seconds away from exuding a cloud of steam, then erupting into an all-consuming inferno.
He wasn't immune to the heat, either. He was constantly Conjuring water to drink, only to do so again within the next ten minutes when it all inevitably turned into sweat, which evaporated instantly. For some odd reason, his skin became prickly whenever his temperature spiked, and he was stuck futilely scraping at his arms in an attempt to make it stop, much to the concern of Hermione and Daphne. Tracey at least had the sense to not say anything.
They'd stopped commenting, however, when Harry nearly roasted them alive with a fiery exhale. They made sure to stay a fair bit away from him after that, communicating with him only through notes, and his temperature permanently rose another few degrees. He was a walking fog machine now, much to the disturbance of nearly everyone in the castle.
At the very least, he hadn't blown up in a hellish blaze since the boggart incident, so that was something. It was exhausting, however, to constantly be trying to keep himself calm, only for his mental shields to continuously melt in the face of his rage. By the end of the final class of the day, he was expelling so much heat that people could not come near him without starting to sweat as if they'd ran a Muggle marathon, and his headache was nearly blinding due to the backlash of having his mind's defenses broken consecutively.
Things boiled over- in both the emotional and physical sense- during Care of Magical Creatures one day. Today, Hagrid had decided to go a step up from salamanders, and introduced the students to hippogriffs. Harry quite liked how the creatures looked. They were exotic in a fascinating way, unlike flobberworms, which were just plain nasty. He especially appreciated the white one, whose plumage reminded him of his own vain snowy avian.
Hagrid led that same one away from the flock with an entire fish, and when it got closer to the class, tossed it the snack. The hippogriff snatched the fish out of the air, swallowing it in an instant, then turned its attention to the class.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid asked. Behind him, the creature puffed out its chest. "Class, say hello to Buckbeak. He's a hippogriff; half eagle, half horse, and seven kinds of fierce. They're proud creatures, hippogriffs. Very easily offended- you do not want to insult one of them. See those claws? It may just use 'em on ya! Now, who'd like to come and say hello?"
The entirety of the class backed up, which Harry heard more than saw. He was far more focused on the intelligent glint in the creature's eyes, which stared right back at him.
"Alright then, Harry, come on up, lad!" Harry stepped forward. "Remember, you'll have to let him make the first move- it's only polite. Also, bow, and then maintain constant eye contact. If Buckbeak bows back, then he'll come a bit closer. If he doesn't, run. Ready?"
Harry nodded excitedly, and walked forward about ten paces before halting in his tracks. He simply stared at the hippogriff, whose attention was now more focused on him than the whole crowd of students. Harry bent ninety degrees at the waist, held it for a good five seconds, then straightened up, locking eyes with the creature once more. For a long while, they simply stared at each other, before slowly- but not reluctantly- Buckbeak's head lowered. His head straightened, and he cantered on over to Harry, who was smiling widely now.
Harry rose a hand into the hair, holding it out in front of him, and Buckbeak continued his approach. When he was close enough, the hippogriff extended his neck a bit, sniffing cautiously for a moment, then bumping his beak against the palm.
Carefully, Harry rubbed the hard beak, and scratched at the feathered skin. Buckbeak squawked quietly, seemingly content with the ministrations, and trotted forward a bit to nibble at his hair. Harry switched focus to the beast's neck, stroking the soft plumage with long, steady motions.
Idly, he heard the class clapping, before something Hagrid said caught his attention.
"Would ya like to ride him?"
Harry nodded vigorously, hardly comprehending any words after that. Instead, he turned all his attention to Buckbeak.
"So, what do ya say we go for a quick fly-around?" Harry asked, grinning wider when the hippogriff threw its head back with a screech of challenge. It lowered its neck a bit, bending a foreleg so Harry could haul himself up on to the winged back, which he did with haste. Hooking his legs in front of the joints connecting the wings to his back, Harry clapped Buckbeak on the side.
Buckbeak took off, quickly accelerating into a full gallop, before tossing himself off a cliff, wings flaring majestically. In just a few powerful flaps, the two were well over Hogwarts, about equal with the tops of the towering spires. Then with a few more, they were in the clouds, and Harry could not contain his shouts of joy, which were accompanied by a few gouts of fire that ripped from his throat. Buckbeak joined him in his cheers, screeching loudly enough that the noise echoed off the stone walls of Hogwarts. Suddenly, Buckbeak fell into a sharp dive, and Harry had to wrap his arms around the hippogriffs' neck to avoid being forcefully separated by the gales. His screams became mixed with terror, but they were still quite exuberant.
They dove for well over two hundred feet, before Buckbeak's wings snapped out, and they were suddenly horizontal, the creature's talons skimming the surface of the water. Buckbeak slowed down here, simply gliding above the Black Lake. Harry was breathing deeply, coming down from the adrenaline high, which he hadn't felt since the last time he'd played Quidditch, or even ridden a broom- it had been a long time. About a year, now. He'd forgotten how much he loved flying, and was grateful to Buckbeak for reminding him.
They drifted for a little bit, Buckbeak doing a few loops and twists, flying upside down at one point, before they eventually circled back around, landing near where the rest of the class was. Most of them were applauding, cheering his bravery, but Harry was paying attention to none of it. He swung himself down to the ground, and threw his arms around the hippogriff's thick neck, earning a few gentle pecks on the shoulder in return. When Harry let go, he was smiling the widest he had in awhile.
Then, Draco Malfoy had to ruin it. The ponce- unable to stand being shown up, as he probably thought of it, by the Boy-Who-Lived- shoved his way to the front of the class, swaggering over to Buckbeak.
"You're not so dangerous," Draco sneered, "You big, ugly thing. Glorified chicken, that's all you are."
Buckbeak did not like that. Hagrid tried to warn the blond, but the half-giant was simply ignored, and Draco came closer. Buckbeak reared up on his hind horse legs, screeching angrily. On the way down, the hippogriff lashed out with a talon, slicing a gash down the arm Draco had raised in the panic, tearing through cloth and flesh. Buckbeak shrieked once more, while Draco was whining on the floor.
"Oh, it's killed me, it's killed me!" he sobbed, cradling his arm.
While the class yelled and pissed themselves, Harry was a bit more involved with trying to not start a forest fire. His body temperature skyrocketed, breaking well past the point where he was steaming. Fireballs appeared in the air, orbiting Harry, who was scowling thunderously, emerald eyes glaring at the idiot that insulted his new friend.
"You'll pay for this, you filthy half-breed!" Draco yelled at Hagrid, who had the boy in his arms to carry to the Hospital Wing. Harry growled, a blood-curdling noise which cut through the commotion. The fire turned from a comparatively gentle orange to a crimson red, taking on the form of hundreds of floating skulls.
Hagrid turned, fearing that some horrible creature had appeared from the Forbidden Forest. When he saw Harry wreathed in Fiendfyre, he dropped Draco and took a big step back. A second later, the half-giant realized what he'd done, and snatched up the screaming whelp. When Hagrid looked up, Harry was gone.
The only thing that remained was a patch of charred earth, burnt foliage, and dying orange embers.
Harry came back to his senses an indeterminate amount of time later. His skin felt feverish, and the whole of his body ached. Groaning, Harry rose to his feet, attempting to dust off his robes. His hand came in contact with the bare skin of his chest, and he looked down, only to get an eyeful of his nude body.
Harry blinked, confused, and glanced around. It looked like he was in the Room of Requirement- he'd recognize the cobblestone pattern of these walls anywhere. The floor was covered with shattered stone, splintered wood, and piles of ash.
With a thought, Harry summoned his trunk, and pulled a new set of clothes out of it. He cast the Water-Making Spell on himself as an impromptu shower, along with a few Scourgifies and Drying Charms, then donned his new clothes. He'd have to replace those at some point.
Remembering that he had been in class before blacking out and somehow ending up here, Harry exited the Room, and came face-to-face with Dumbledore.
"Headmaster?"
"Ah, Mr. Potter!" Dumbledore greeted him, tucking away the book he'd been reading, and Vanishing the leather armchair he'd been sitting in. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm exhausted… How did I end up here, Headmaster?"
"That would be my fault, once more. I've had Fawkes monitoring you ever since your first blow-up last week, just in case it happened again, and I'm glad I did. Today was much worse than last time- you raged for near-to an hour. Luckily, the Room of Requirement provided plenty of outlets for you to vent. Would you care to explain what angered you so?"
Harry nodded slowly, taking in the information.
"...I was in Care of Magical Creatures, and I'd just finished taking a ride on Buckbeak, one of the hippogriffs, when Draco walked up and started insulting him. Buckbeak scratched Draco, and he started screaming at Hagrid, too."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, insulting a hippogriff tends to evoke such responses. I fear I will have some trouble in the future from Lucius Malfoy- he will not sit still while his son has been attacked, regardless of the fact that Mr. Malfoy was the one that caused it. I must warn Hagrid to tread carefully…"
"I… I didn't mean to get so angry, Headmaster. I really thought I was in control, but… I suppose I don't like it when people insult my friends."
Dumbledore chuckled, clapping a hand on the downtrodden boy's shoulder. "An admirable trait, dear boy, but your execution of your defense leaves much to be desired."
Harry nodded. "I'm trying my best, it's just that my mental shields keep… Melting! I don't know how else to explain it."
Dumbledore frowned, stroking his beard in deep thought. "No, it's quite alright. It does, in a roundabout way, make sense. If your anger can physically manifest itself as Fiendfyre, then surely it would do the same within your mind? Perhaps the issue is in the method you've chosen to suppress your anger; Fiendfyre is incredibly hot, and can liquify stone, given enough time. So, in order to prevent that…?" Dumbledore trailed off, gesturing for Harry to finish the thought.
"I have to find something that doesn't melt?"
"Not quite, Mr. Potter. I was thinking more along the lines of, if there is no fire, then nothing will burn. What say you?"
Harry blinked. "You mean I need to somehow extinguish the fire completely rather than just hold it back?"
"Exactly, my boy! How you choose to do so is up to you, though I'd recommend against simply using water. It may be able to quench the flames, but liquids do not form very effective barriers against external attacks. I'll excuse you from classes for the rest of the week while you think this over, since it would be rather dangerous for you to go out while in this state. Come find me when you think you've come across an answer, and we shall speak more."
He was so cold. His movements were stiff and slow, his blood freezing in his veins, hardly flowing. He could barely even think anymore. He needed heat.
A weight was covering him. Soft, plush… A blanket, his sluggish mind supplied. It made things worse, however- how can a blanket insulate heat when there is no heat to insulate? And then, Harry began to feel it.
His heartbeat was ever-so-slightly slowing, weakening. His chest was rising less consistently, his lungs taking in less air with every passing second. He was dying. The cold was killing him.
Then, unbridled fury filled him. He'd trained for so long, studied so much, had so many things left unfinished. He couldn't just die of hypothermia, of all things! With that rage came a blaze, and with that inferno came heat.
For just a moment, the frozen world burned, a song of ice and fire heralding the start of a new battle between old foes.