Chapter Seven: The Four of Cups II
AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. Two chapters ago (I write two chapters ahead) I doubled my reviews for the story over 2 days, and that was a special feeling. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I realize we are past 48 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world. I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Sorry, this chapter is a little shorter.
Note again, I like having Harry's grandparents be Dorea and Charlus.
The Four of Cups.
The next morning began as the day prior, minus a few details. Harry's face remained wetted with tears, and he journeyed as the lone Slytherin first year to breakfast.
Tuesday's were strange for on his class schedule, as the day started later than most of the other days. Tuesday and Wednesday stood apart as oddballs where instead of starting at eight in the morning they began at ten. This weird schedule stemmed from the bane of a consistent sleeping plan, Astrology. The session began at ten at night for the first year Slytherins and continued till midnight when the fresh NEWT students took it according to a passing sixth year student. Despite the interminable day. However, Harry, already up and ready at five in the morning and dressed and prepared by six, the conditioning from his earlier lifestyle hard to break, was used to long days.
Harry walked in his isolation, the dank and cold halls of the dungeons looming around, moisture congregating along and smelling of an unseen mold. Despite the heavy traffic present on his path, many of the rooms on the journey from his common room to the Great Hall were unkempt and unsanitary. After taking the final stair to the Entry Hall he saw a plethora of older students chatting with members of opposite houses, embracing each other and talking in hushed tones. The room felt like an important political ball, with less formal attire, with many of the group dancing around in strange courtship dances, full of blushing and teasing. He heard many mentions of Hogsmeade, and many more answers to said question, not all closing in smiles, most concluding with held back tears.
Another spectral being floated through the room, this one much less frightening than the Barron. It was a man wearing a robe that looked suited for a monk, being large in stature. He seemed to be a holy man, with a cross proudly displayed upon his chest. This was strange. What he had gathered from how the Dursleys had described the church, they despised magic and saw it as a path to hell. To make matters stranger, if a religious man was a ghost, did that mean that the Christian God was, in fact, the true God?
No one else in the hall seemed to regard the spirit, but his curiosity overcame Harry, never mind how the reminder of the sun had always warned of using cation in situations such as these. He approached the large spirit, who was examining the children like Harry before. As the boy came closer, an odd event began originating. The grey's that formed his coloring scheme separated, developing into more diverse hues. His flesh gained color in the same fashion. Startled the dead monk peered around the chamber with concern, and some fear. Then he gazed at Harry. His eyes swelled and his expression became engulfed with hysteria. He gawked at Harry unable to comprehend what he saw; a stare Harry wore looking at Vernon in his rage. The hall around the pair proceeded as normal and Harry maintained his march forward. Suddenly, one child under the monk moved, when passing under the robe it shifted with the brush, the boy swiped at his head, as if scratching an itch. The monk turned to flee, hysteria in his face, though his voice not producing a sound. His flight through the wall was blocked, bouncing from the surface, his fear magnifying at that action until, he retreated up the main staircase into the deeper part of the castle.
In the Hall no one acted as anything occurred, a glance about showed him that no one noticed the bizarre encounter.
Harry shook off the unusual happening of the last few minutes, eager to eat for the day, the opportunity of receiving food a recent one, and his appetite grew immensely since his days of care in the medical center. The Great Hall's doors were wide open, extensive enough to fit an elephant through with room to spare and entered the glorious room. The unmasked sky above appeared a slight overcast with the sun just beginning to ascend. He turned left, away from the empty Gryffindor table, before the rambunctious Hufflepuff table abundant with joy and laughs, past the Ravenclaw table full of warm smiles and to his table, the table of his house.
It was virtually barren, with only a few solitary members sitting around. From the modest fragment of meals he attended, he made some observations about behavior at this table. First, the more prominent people perched near the end of the hall, as if saying they are proximate to the educators. The current head boy was a Slytherin, and his fellow prefect sat straight across from him at every meal they attended.
Harry remained at the edge of the table, as near the entryway as possible, back to the entryway.
He loaded his plate with a mixture of eggs, potatoes, and pastries in disinterest, still in disbelief that he could eat food with others, that he didn't even need to prepare it himself. He sat, crunching away at the foods, going so far as grabbing a sausage link. While he ate the room trickled and filled with members of various houses, the Gryffindor's finally entering. A pair of students who also entered did not escape his notice, despite facing away he knew the voices, or voice, as Hestia's warm laugh saturated the hall. The twins looked just as they had the preceding day, a regal set, with the tender smile of Hestia and the serious look of Flora. That was until Hestia saw him staring. Her grin dipped, Harry turned from the two students. If he continued to watch her beam drop, he would cry there in the hall. That is something that no one wanted. When the twins sat Harry technicality he was sitting next to Hestia, though that was only because of the lack of other first years to fit the space between them.
He finished his food without a word, leaving the magnificent room and walking to the stairs to escape to the library for a few hours. The steps of the Grand Staircase presented him with the path to the library. A true wonder to behold, spanning an entire tower from the ground floor to the carapace, rumor said the home of Hogwarts's books to be even larger, from conversations he had overheard a restricted section existed below his feet extending beyond the catacombs of the ancient wizards buried beneath Hogwarts, deeper than even the Black Lake's lowest point, full of knowledge that students never should see, or perhaps even the living.
Harry was content to the first floor, passing Madam Pince, a stern-looking woman who was always engorging herself on a book. While exploring the maze of paper and binding Harry overheard a student say she was attempting to read the library's full roster, a comment which caused Harry to scoff. A hundred lifetimes would pass before the books were all studied. He browsed the texts, skimming his fingers along the spines, wandering through sections on Transfiguration, Charms, The Dark Arts, Herbology, and endless more. The tomes of the library held more topics within then the Vatican had works. It always saddened Harry that he found nothing similar to his grimoire, never feeling a spark to read, never sensing the connection. Working through the archives he picked a work that shared a title with one referenced in his required Transfiguration text, the grabbed book being about theory, and cracked the volume at one of the many tables scattered about the chamber.
Like every other book he had read, it spoke of vague concepts such as willpower and concentration. It made equations with no basis, no derivations, as if people just made the stuff up to explain how the magic worked rather than by finding the basic rules of magic and building upon them. In terms of Chemistry it reminded him of living only in the macro-world, never falling into the micro. This lead Harry down a rabbit hole of going to reference after reference to find where the first equation of the book had come from, he was on his 4th work when he noticed the time, having only fifteen minutes to get to his first course, The Preservation against the Darker Aspects of Magic. After hefting the book's back, he took off in a run, hoping not to arrive at his first class on magic late.
The Four of Cups.
He was not late. Harry had arrived just before the clock hit ten, taking a seat in the back of the room, the odd number of students making it, so he was alone in his spot. Not that this was new. The class flooded his eyes with a sea of green and silver and yellow and black. From a side door the professor appeared. He was easily recognizable to the boy. He was a youthful man with hazel eyes clad in a purple turban. Wearing a tight smile across his face and a strange-looking tome in his off-hand, a strange symbol etched on the cover unknown to Harry, placing it on his desk he leaned against it to look around the room, weighing the group, after the impromptu staring session he pulled out a clipboard.
"Welcome to your first day of classes in your first class ever at Hogwarts," He looked around the room wistfully, "I remember my first day, I was a Ravenclaw myself, you know, so you will only gain the best tutelage on this subject." A few of the students gave loud laughs at this, that list included most of his fellow housemates, only he and Moon absent from the jest, "Now, I will teach you," he read from his sheet of paper, "Preservation against the Darker Aspects of Magic, what a mouthful," he cracked a full grin, "in my time we just called it Defense Against the Dark Arts, much shorter." He joked again to the glee of the group. "Now, we must take role-call, so we make sure we have no lost lambs."
The professor sounded off names in alphabetical order, sounds of here peppered around the room. Then he asked for Harry. He replied with a horse here; the noise reverberating ever so slightly in the quiet room. To that, much of the class turned around to bore at him, the Slytherins with contempt and the Hufflepuffs with fear, the room whispered to each other as Harry sank into his seat, wishing everyone would stop. The professor granted his wish as he continued role, giving the children something else to focus on, the brief attention spans not allowing them to continue watching him as a show. Harry was already near tears. Why was he treated like this? Why was he alone? What had he done wrong?
The professor finished his class role-call, placing down the clipboard and pulling out his wand. With a whisper, he pulled a wheeled chalkboard to his person without moving an inch. When he wrote on the board, the whole assembly groaned, all because of a single word, Syllabus.
What followed comprised a one-hour seminar devoted to discussing what topics his class covered, focusing primarily on the principles of dark magic and its combatants and dark creatures. He also discussed how they would do theory most often all year, but, if practical lessons occurred, they happened on Tuesday. They formed double blocks for practicals in all classes, but they would not be having that for a few weeks as a firm basis in charms is needed to go into detail. Meaning the weeks leading up to those days would hold lectures on magical creatures that were considered dark. The entire time splashing in lines that caused a percentage of the group to laugh, bringing cheer to every face at least once, excluding Harry, for nothing could bring him from his current depression. Professor Quirrell let them go after only an hour, saying they needed their first charms class before they could get into most of the subject.
Many students were out the door, but since their next class was after lunch Harry was in no rush, packing his bag with the unused items, careful that he organized it well. He saw a shadow fall onto his desk as the professor stared down on him, a smile that went to his eyes upon his face.
"So, Mister Potter how do you think I did today?" He asked.
"I think you did wonderful, sir," Harry answered not meeting the man's eyes, remembering how last time he got accused of something for it. The fear and anger held within those eyes, which presently held kindness, Harry wished to never meet again, more so knowing this man had defeated vampires. If Gilderoy Lockhart had taught him anything it amounted to we feared vampires for a reason and, more frightening, someone capable of defeating one.
"Is that what you actually think? Or are you just saying that?" His tone was kind and bouncing. He never sounded serious, even when teaching.
"I think you did good professor, you sounded like you knew a lot about this stuff, and you seemed to enjoy it too." Harry blushed as he added, "I think that is very important in a teacher." He remembered Mrs. Carlson and shuddered as if a cool breeze hit.
"You don't think I overdid the jokes?"
"No sir, it looked like everyone liked them lots."
"But not you." Quirrell didn't ask a question.
"I didn't understand them, sir, I don't exactly get all the jokes." He looked at his hands. Twirling his fingers. Harry lied, the joke about how messing about in class would lead to detention until they spouted a beard longer than Headmaster Dumbledore's was funny. However, not enough to break his face.
"You know Mister Potter; I never caught why you were with Professor Sprout that day." He said on a random tangent.
"Oh, she was just helping me shop for school." He replied with an enormous smile. His experience with her was the happiest that he ever had.
"Why didn't your guardians?"
"Oh, umm," he stopped wondering how to explain it, "well, I am an orphan and I lived with my Aunt and Uncle." Calling Vernon and Petunia as such tasted strange, but the best way to escape this conversation, which was increasingly becoming uncomfortable.
"I don't recall James having siblings, I didn't know him well mind you, he was many years above me and in Gryffindor. And Gryffindor's have little time to spear on Ravenclaws," Harry's eyes lit up and his head shot up, searching the eyes of the professor for anything about his father.
"You knew my dad?" His excited voice entered. The professor's face shifted strangely; it looked odd. His face appeared the same but seemed more forced somehow. His voice darkened.
"I did, we can talk about that later. Before that though, remember what I said about my turban young man, now go to lunch, wouldn't want to miss out on eating with your friends." He turned; his voice hard. Harry couldn't tell if tried another joke or if the man didn't know either way, it was cruel, Harry had no friends, he was alone.
The Four of Cups.
In the Great Hall Harry sat at the end of the table, a full person's length away from his roommate. He added food to his plate when Goyle turned his attention to him.
"Already in trouble on your first day, Potter?" The boy seemed less hard than Harry was accustomed to.
"Oh Greg, what makes you say that?" Draco asked him.
Goyle looked down in slight resignation for what he had done as if he felt bad for his question. "Well, as I was leaving class, I saw Professor Quirrell going up to talk to him."
"Really, wow Potter. I've never known someone to get kicked from class for being a squib in the first class. Especially when they used no magic ." This time Nott spoke. "Maybe he smelt the dirt."
Harry never replied to them, picking over his food, his appetite gone.
"What, did the muggles never teach you to speak?" Interjecting was a female voice, Parkinson. "Whatever, anyway Draco, what did you think of that muggle lovers' class?"
People trickled into the Great Hall again, having had their classes released. The rest of the first years entered smiling and laughing. He picked at his food, disappointed in himself for not eating it but not being able to find the will.
"He seems to know what he is doing, so the headmaster has that going for him, apparently, they still haven't found Professor Mulgrave and don't even know where to begin their search."
"Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard," Lily Moon chastised the boy, "I never understood why you always see it fit to dishonor him."
"Politics," Blaise responded with a single word, looking uncomfortable. Lily stared, her face blank.
Daphne Greengrass expanded upon the statement since Blaise was acting as if his answer was enough of an explanation. "Lucius Malfoy is one of the main figureheads of the conservative party. Whereas Dumbledore is the driving force behind much of the liberal agendas. This is despite his claim that he is nonpolitical." Her voice was practiced, she constructed each syllable to sound perfect.
"It doesn't help that Professor Dumbledore has a tonne of political weight, the love of the people, and the savvy to block nearly every proposition that Mr. Malfoy has put up this last year." Tracey Davis, a brunette with curly hair and a plain face. He noticed a look of disgust shot at her by Nott and Crabbe. The looks lasted till a hard glare from the piercing blue eyes of Greengrass made them yield.
"Yes, yes," Draco said, his ability to control any surrounding crowd was a wonder. When he spoke, people listened. His voice was smooth when he wanted it, and captivated those nearby, "Professor Dumbledore is very good at all of his jobs, I swear the man has rediscovered how to build a Simulacrum somehow."
From the table behind a voice cut in, Li if he remembered correctly. Her voice had a strange accent attached to it. Turning to look at her she fashioned as one of, if not the best-dressed person in the room, with a subtle golden necklace draping to her breast marked with an odd-looking stone, a regal-looking beret adorned in her soft straight black hair. Her apparel only amplified that which was natural to her, she appeared Chinese with cunning brown eyes, "At home, they say the Langgan Emperor has as many Simulacrums as countries in the world, maybe Headmaster won it from him in ten-pin bowling." She said chuckling, a thin accent veiled in practiced English.
"And over here we say the Bloody Immortal is a liar who plays his people like puppets," Nott cut in, a sneer on his face, venom in his tone. Li's face turned to a hideous frown, baring her teeth; she went for her wand. That was until one senior of the table walked past them, ready to leave the hall and overhearing the conversation. The head boy.
He glared at the boy, "That was not polite, definitely not befitting of a future seat holder to have such culturally insensitive views." His voice was more practiced than even Draco's, soft yet projecting power. He was a cool boy with long black hair with a slight wave to it, a black so dark he had only seen once in hair before, his own. His eyes were a gray haze and carried around authority. He was tall and regal, his posture perfect and his grin bright, though now, where the smile normally sat arose a sinister and fierce frown with a set of matching grey orbs.
"I am sorry Cepheus." Nott bowed his head in either embarrassment or shame with a mixture of fear.
"We are in public, Nott." He spat at the boy.
"Sorry Mr. Black."
"Very good," He turned to Li and gave a half-bow, a large degree of respect for his position, "Sorry Miss Li for the slight against your family, please remember that his views are not shared by the whole of Slytherin who hopes for wonderful relations with the Langgan Emperor moving forward." The regal boy's voice was well pronounced and authoritative, despite him apologizing he controlled the conversation. His face wore a smile and held a seductive power.
The girl of his attention had a flood of color to her face, "It's alright Mr. Black, I would never hold the actions of one against the majority." She turned away with a shy blush.
"Thank you." He bowed again and took to leaving the hall only to stop short next to Harry.
"Harry, it is nice to finally meet you, I had wished to see you at the Black Family Christmas at least once, not only are you the future head of the family, but I am told by Regulus how Dorea would be oh so disappointed that you never showed." He gave a quick turn and left the hall, leaving a baffled Harry in his wake. Harry looked around for a safety line but saw that their section of the hall had become a telly with a splendid football match on the focus of even the teacher's table on the spot. He didn't understand why Black told him about the Black Family Christmas. And how was he the head? He caught the eye of Malfoy, who had a strange appearance, a balance of hate and longing.
Harry fled the hall.
The Four of Cups.
The halls of Hogwarts were stunning. Layers of bricks that hummed with power constructed the walls, his favorite being the ones with alluring arch ceilings. After a quick detour to grab Alastair, Harry roamed into the castle proper. His next class was Transfiguration with the stern Professor McGonagall on the first level of the building. He had long since abandoned that floor though, instead opting to follow the twist and turns of the third story, an empty place as most were feasting. As he explored, he found many interesting things, classrooms with wonderful odds and ends still within, paintings of important people from before Merlin, even a haunted broom cupboard which, as he walked past, moaned.
Though as he stalked the halls, he noticed he was being stalked as well.
At first, it was minor things, the sound of faint laughter adding to his footsteps, the racket of clattering as objects behind him fell, the soft ring of bells, the noise of wisping movement, always behind him. It was only as a ball-shaped object connected with his face he knew for certain someone pursued him.
"I got the rotter
I snagged me a Potter
I caught him dead
Be better in bed"
A singing voice, and not pleasurable to listen to, sounded around him as the ball exploded, releasing a foul stench. Harry chocked as his eyes burned, closing them and laying on the floor in the fetal position.
"Look at him lie
Smells like a sty
His stink alone
A reason for no home"
Harry tried to call out for help or for it to stop. It didn't matter, no words could escape.
"The lonely bolt
Not cut for holt
The meanie boy
Has no toys
But Peeves knows
Just like your toes
Your reigns running amuck
Just like four cups"
Harry forced his eyes open, red and crying; his assailant spoke of The Four of Cups, it knew something. He saw another aberration. This one was strange, dressed in real clothes with bright colors, like a court jester, bells and all. His eyes grilled Harry, the orange glow unnatural in every sense, the dead floating around was one thing, Harry's senses told him this was something worse.
"He reads and reads
Yet he bleeds and bleeds
The throne she sat
Bores the fool's hat
Without the sun
You'll burn as a bun
Without clear mind
In the tower, you'll reside
You'll pick the sword
Or be embered
Walk with thirteen
Or join it in between
I got the rotter
I snagged me a Potter
I caught him dead
Be better in bed"
The little man broke away, leaving a sobbing, confused, and coughing boy alone on the third floor.
The Four of Cups.
Harry stumbled into the Transfiguration room, sweating, stinking, and crying. Professor McGonagall was marking attendance when he arrived in the classroom. She stared at him as if he was a specter of the past, an echo of a time lost. It distracted her until the gagging started. Near the boy children covered their exposed noses with the flaps of their robes, matching tears on their faces as the ones on Harry. His hands positioned on his knees and his breathing heaved, each breath brought with it a more sickening smell.
"Mr. Potter, I hope you have an excellent reason for being late?"
"No ma'am, sorry ma'am" Harry let out, taking the furthest seat in the class, hoping to spare his fellow students from the terrible odor, it spared no member of the room, snake and eagle alike glared. The stench continued its deadly pursuit to claim the whole classroom as row after row of students fell to its unnatural stink.
"How did you get a dungbomb Potter? It's the first day of class," Zabini yelled over the room in amazement, coughing the entire time. The professor gazed in his direction, but her eyes never saw him. Her expression became pensive as she leaned over her desk.
"He's a Potter since when has time ever stopped them?" She questioned herself as the class gaped at her. Her mind suddenly catching up to the present she bore into the late child, "I should hope I will not find them in my office, or Slytherin should lose so many points a decade from now they still will be negative." Despite the harsh words, her voice had a bounce of joy new to the group. Harry went to defend himself but found himself cut off by the professor returning to roll. By the time her introductory seminar was complete, Harry no longer stank of a sewer. The class finished, and the two groups made their way to charms.
Harry once again sat alone as the sprite professor explained charms, how it comprised the most diverse subjects and had the most branches. It was entertaining to watch the small man hop around the class as he lectured, using his wand to show the many tasks that could be accomplished, if only one knew the proper words and motions. He even mentioned how next class they would try a spell, Lumos, the same one that had stalled Harry the past morning.
After his classes, Harry stuck near his fellow student, or as near as they let him, praying to avoid the monster of Peeves again.
The Four of Cups.
The following dinner was less festive than the former two. Many students intermingled throughout the Great Hall, talking with friends both old and new. Joyous laughter and bitter complaining sounded all around as old and young students discussed the first day of classes. His table still sat segregated, with Harry alone. He skimmed his copy of Carpe Diem Collective while devouring his food, his hunger ever-growing in his new setting, despite his turning stomached unrelated to his heath. Cornelius Fudge had bungled a trade treaty with the Republic of Egypt, under the rule of 'king' Hamed Al Sadat, which was the foremost source of many magical ingredients, the implications of the loss unknown, though the main ingredient in wolfsbane will now skyrocket. In other news, a horrible storm started off the coast of Taiwan, in the Philippine Sea. Eyewitnesses said it was the worst they had ever seen, and a crackpot saw a tentacle monster rising from the depths. France would host next year's Quidditch World Cup.
The time waiting for Astronomy had Harry follow his classmates, the hours stretched thin in his lonesome walk. The training provided by his former guardians was helpful for the task. Eventually the sun set, and the group moved to the joint astronomy class. The entire class of first years arrived at the seventh floor of the East Tower, referred to as the Astronomy Tower, and looked upon the landscape branching out. To the south the Black Lake loomed eerie and dangerous, east held the sprawling township of Hogsmeade, a town so large the horizon appeared before its edge, to the north rolling shadow's of hills glistened in the starlight, to the west was the Forbidden Forest. The expansive forest sucked the light from the stars overhead, holding nothing but a rustling mass of shadow, banked on the sea of trees stood a single brown hut, a small abode with puffs of smoke spewing from a stone chimney. Above them the sky shone in a wondrous beauty unknown to Harry, the universe towering above Harry had never been so clear and busy. The streets of London held no equal to how cramped they were until Harry saw the sky for the first time, bundles of clouds moved in front of the peppered starfield. The sun's above each housing planets of their own were uncountable, the insignificance of his life was on display when compared to everything.
"Welcome students to your first Astronomy lesson." A quiet voice echoed over the silent chamber. The tribulation of transition from gawking at the ocean on high to watching his profession weighed on Harry. The professor introduced herself as Sinistra. She was a short woman with an appearance freckled mirroring the sky. Her wavy hair hung under her little hat full of shining constellations. The class was not the total length of the normal session, students practicing how to put their telescopes together being the only task. The sharp professor flew around the room to help Harry's struggling peers, her grace unmatched by most dancers. When Harry achieved his construction, he peered through and made up stories for the shapes he found, tales of friends coming for him, and he located his lighting bolt in the west. Once the entire class finished and packed, they headed to bed, a majority through shut eyes.
Another night without conversation had Harry quickly sleeping.
In his dreams, he saw the horrible sky.
In his dreams, he screamed.
The Four of Cups.