Something Familiar (Mk.2)
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Something Familiar (Mk.2)
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Chapter Ten
"Skool Daze"
AKA
"Spoon 2: The Ladeling"
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And now, some brief highlights from the trio's introduction to wizarding education!
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Monday, First Period: Charms
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"Harry Pott- Ack!"
Harry, Hermione and Neville watched with distinctly unimpressed expressions as the diminutive Charms instructor fell off his pile of books. The small man, obviously somewhat excitable to begin with, had seemed agitated and eager right from the moment they'd entered the room, and now it became clear why. It seemed he was among those in the older generations that considered the Boy-Who-Lived the best thing since the portable magic-powered automated bread-slicing apparatus.
"Ouch. That looked painful…" Neville muttered.
Harry and Hermione nodded solemnly. The three were among the few who didn't laugh, though it may have been because the event was just as embarrassing for Harry as it was for Flitwick.
The instructor quickly regained his footing, dusted his robes off and hopped back up onto the stack of books. He was so short that it clearly would have been impossible for him to see over it without some form of aid, but the situation in general left Hermione wondering exactly how stupid wizards were.
"Why doesn't he just get a shorter desk?" she whispered to the boys.
Harry nodded and added, "Or some kind of step-stool…"
"Welcome to your first Charms class!" Flitwick squeaked excitedly. "Charms is a wonderful art, focused on temporarily altering an object's physical and magical properties, or even adding new ones! You can accomplish almost anything with the right charms. On top of all that, the subject itself serves as a gateway to the more advanced art of Enchanting."
Hermione immediately raised her hand.
"Oh, a question already? Excellent, Ms. Granger. There are few things better than an eager student. What is it?"
"Can you use charms to make things float? For example, things like books, chairs or even step-stools?" Hermione asked.
Flitwick nodded enthusiastically. "Why, yes you can. In fact, that's exactly what the first charm we'll be using does! The Levitation Charm can make just about anything float, provided you have the power and concentration to do so."
"...seriously?"
This time Flitwick's nod was quite serious as he replied, "Charms is a quite serious subject, Ms. Granger. I would hardly joke about such a thing. Now then, the wand movement is as such, and the incantation is 'Wingardium Leviosa!'"
As soon as he finished the wand motion, Hermione's text lifted into the air.
"...seriously?" Herimione repeated, her tone so dry that it could dehydrate a Saharan Narwhal.
Following the demonstration, class proper began. Flitwick quickly passed out a collection of large, brown feathers. Soon the room was full of mispronounced incantations, janky wand movements and quietly swearing students.
It didn't take Harry long to discover that Ollivander had been quite right about his birch-and-quartz wand. Trying to use it felt just a little bit awkward, making it just a hair harder to cast than he thought it should be. It was sort of like writing with a ballpoint pen when the ink was slightly dry, causing the tip to freeze up and skip every now and then.
A second, much more disturbing problem arose a moment later. A subtle elbow in the side from Hermione caused him to look to turn his attention away from the feather. Flitwick was standing at his side, his head just about level with Harry's and his eyes shining in admiration as he looked at the boy.
"Um… Hi?" Harry said uncertainty.
Flitwick's gazed didn't waver in the slightest. "How did you do it?" he whispered, his voice full of awe.
"Do what?" Harry asked, his confusion evident.
"Riddle. You killed him as a child. How?"
Before Harry could reply, Neville chimed in, "Oh, he's the infamous baby-murderer."
"He did it with a head laser," Hermione added. She reached over to lift Harry's bangs, exposing his scar. "See? That's obviously a head laser scar."
Harry had to fight down a giggle. At this point he wasn't sure whether Hermione actually believed that, or if she was just messing with their instructor. It didn't really matter either way, he supposed. Regardless of her reasons, it was obvious that the two were the best friends ever.
"A head laser," Flitwick gasped in awe. "Amazing!"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, but I didn't even get to keep his skull. Someone else took it, I guess."
"A shame. It would have looked lovely over your fireplace," Flitwick said sadly. "A head-lasering. I wish I was there to see it. Watching that lovely young man be lasered into oblivion would have been fantastic."
"'Lovely,'" Hermione repeated. "Didn't he kill a lot of people? How is that lovely?"
Flitwick stared at her in confusion, then made a surprised face. It was pretty clear something had just now occurred to him. "Oh, yes. Of course. Terrible, terrible man. That's what I meant to say."
"Right. I can totally see making that mistake," Hermione said blandly. "The keys are right next to each other."
Harry, on the other hand, was carefully studying the instructor's face. That earlier statement about the skull had given him an inkling of an idea. Now that he was looking for it, the set of Flitwick's jaw and general structure reminded him of…
"You seem like you'll be an awful teacher," Harry declared respectfully. "Is it too late to ask for a replacement?"
Immediately, Hermione gasped, "Harry!"
A quiet moment passed as Flitwick examined him. Whatever he found there obviously met his approval, because he broke out in a wide grin. Harry wasn't surprised to see that it looked more like the smile of a goblin than a human.
"Awful, is it? Well, we'll see how well you keep up, you ignorant brat!" Flitwick snapped happily. Without further ado he whirled around and walked away.
Hermione stared after him with an obvious look of confusion on her face. "What… what just happened there…?" she asked quietly.
Neville shook he head and shrugged.
The witch shot Harry a curious look, but then scowled when it became obvious he didn't intend to answer the question. Muttering under her breath about insane classmates and instructors, she turned back to her feather. She was so distracted in her annoyance that she didn't even notice that the large, brown feather had mysteriously been replaced with one much smaller and whiter.
The owl hanging out in her hair was looking mighty proud of itself. It had stopped freaking out a while ago, and now seemed to be rather enjoying being carted around like some sort of imperial ruler.
Harry briefly considered pointing out how odd it was that someone wearing an owl was calling him insane, but decided against it. His friend seemed prone to sudden and unexpected outbursts of irritation and had no problem expressing herself during them. Who knew how she'd react to a roosting owl?
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Tuesday, First Period: Transfiguration
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As it turned out, the answer to the previously noted question was quite different than anyone would have guessed.
Harry had no idea when or how it had happened. He had no idea at what point she'd actually noticed the owl in her hair, nor did he understand why it was exempt from her newly discovered hatred of nocturnal avians. All he knew was that she'd come down into the common room just after he woke up, cradling it in her arms. She then proceeded to spend the rest of the morning cooing and fawning over it like it was a feathery infant.
The wizards of the group quickly learned two things about the tiny owl. The first was that her name was Headwig, as named by Hermione's cheshire. They must have sat through the explanation ("She was sitting on my head like a wig! Isn't that cute?") a couple dozen times by midday. The other thing they learned about the owl was that referring to her as an "it" was a punishable offense. Considering that Hermione's idea of punishment appeared to be punitive violence, it was a good lesson to remember.
"Isn't she just the cutest?" Hermione asked again as they waited for Transfiguration to begin. She'd been pretty freaked out by the cougars lounging by the professor's desk at first, but the sheer cuteness of her new pet had helped her recover in record time.;
Harry examined the small owl.
She was roving around the table, moving about in small hops. With each tiny bounce her wings would flare a bit as she carefully maintained her balance. Every now and then she'd stop, tilt her head at an absurd angle and examine something through a pair of mostly upside down eyes.
"Yeah. Cute," Harry agreed unenthusiastically. He probably would have put a little more feeling into it, but the owl made him a bit nervous. Every time the small bird looked at him, he had the sudden and irrational feeling that she was wondering what he tasted like.
Angel, likewise, didn't seem to know what to make of Headwig. She had been laying (in cat form, thank the gods) on the table for the past five minutes, carefully watching the owl bob around with great interest, her eyes following every movement. Harry had at first thought she was considering attacking and eating the owl, but the impression he got from her stance wasn't quite right for that.
Headwig had hopped closer a few times, presumably to make friends, but had been rebuffed by a barely audible growl each time. She was understandably put off by it, quickly hopping away at the sound.
Needless to say, the attitude wasn't scoring any points with Hermione.
"I swear, Harry, if that cat tries to eat my cute little Headwig…" Hermione hissed.
Headwig turned to give Harry an admonishing glare. A chill ran down the boy's spine.
"She's not going to eat your owl, Hermione."
"Are you sure? She has a history of trying to eat little owls. She's a known offender and should probably be on a list of some sort."
"She's not going to eat your owl, Hermione," Harry repeated in the exact same tone. "Anyway, shouldn't you be more worried about Orchid? I mean, she's a plant that eats all the things, right? Neville had a hard time making her not eat wizards, so why would she have second thoughts about little owls?"
Hermione slowly turned to glare at Neville.
Neville slowly turned to glare at Harry.
Harry slowly turned to glare at Hermione. He didn't have any particular reason for it. It just seemed like everyone else was jumping off a bridge into knife-wielding mug-snake infested waters, so he may as well do the same.
"Thanks, Harry," Neville said sarcastically. Raising his arm, he pulled back his sleeve to show bare flesh. "Orchid isn't even with me right now. I think she must be on Angel."
The three first-years turned to look down at the Familiar in question. Angel, sensing their gazes, turned to look back at them and said, "Miyah?"
"Okay, how the hell does that work?" Hermione demanded. "I mean, I can almost see the clothes, because magic, but Orchid is another living being. Where does she go?"
"That actually occurred to me earlier. I just decided to ignore it, because thinking about it hurts my brain," Neville replied.
"That's not exactly the best- Oh dear," Hermione cut off, eyes widening as she stared across the room.
One of the cougars had, at some point, dragged itself up off the floor. It had climbed up onto the professor's desk and now sat there, watching them. Its eyes held the sort of judgemental look only a cat could manage, the intensity of which obviously scaled upward as the cat got larger.
"W- what's it doing?" Hermione asked nervously.
Harry shrugged. "I dunno. It's probably someone's Familiar, though. That means it's not going to do anything crazy," he said. There was a brief pause, then he looked down at Angel. "Uh, it's not going to do anything to hurt us. Crazy might still be on the table."
As if in answer to Harry's remark, the cougar suddenly bunched itself up. Before anyone had a chance to react it flung itself forward, lunging toward the first row. The students there - and Hermione, despite being in the back row - let out panicked screams. They were ultimately pointless, though, as the cat never reached them.
McGonagall landed neatly on her feet as the last of her fur vanished.
She loved the first day of class. She'd been pulling that trick on first-years for decades and it still hadn't stopped amusing her.
"What you just saw was an example of an advanced Transfiguration: the Animagus Transformation. It is one of the few inherent spells that can be learned and trained, and allows one to turn into a specific beast at will," she declared loudly. "Transfiguration, at its height, can create almost anything. It is also the foundation upon which the more complex arts of Conjuration and Alchemy are based."
The students, many of them still trembling, looked on in silent awe. After a few moments a young Gryffindor - one Harry didn't recognize offhand - raised his hand.
"Does that mean we can learn to turn into big cats?"
McGonagall shrugged and replied, "The Animagus Transformation requires a certain knack for the art. In addition, the learner does not choose the beast they become themselves. It is, most commonly, a form that resembles their familiar, but there are exceptions to the rule."
"Oh…" came the sad reply. Apparently the wizard really wanted to be a big cat. Frowning, he turned his gaze down toward his Familiar. The little chinchilla looked back up at him curiously.
Chuckling, McGonagall magnanimously stated, "If it's any consolation, wizards have been known to become dire versions of their Familiars with a fair degree of regularity."
There was a brief pause as everyone pictured a 60-kilogram chinchilla. There were a few scattered giggles around the room.
"Now then, to class. I would like you all to come to the front of the room and pile your textbooks in this corner," McGonagall ordered, pointing to one side of the room. When no one moved, preferring to give her confused looks instead, she urged, "Come on. Let's not waste time."
A few more confused mutters came from her students, but they formed a queue and followed her instructions. Even Hermione divested herself of her text, though she gave it a long and reluctant look before adding it to the stack. Soon there was a large pile of books in the corner and the students were once again seated.
"Excellent. Now then, incendio!" McGonagall snapped. She jerked her wand to the side, hurling a small fireball into the stack. The textbooks erupted into a pillar of flame, filling the room with heat and smoke.
Hermione lunged forward, forcing Harry and Neville to restrain her, screaming, "No~!"
"Don't mourn those stacks of trash, Ms. Granger. They're not worth the paper on which they're printed, and they're printed on some very cheap paper," McGonagall stated. "The Ministry-mandated curriculum is useless. The approved texts consist of nothing but premade spells. There is no point in learning to turn a pincushion into a hedgehog."
"...but how can you teach something else?" Hermione asked with obvious horror. "It's… Ministry-mandated."
"Because I am a master transfigurist, and my position allows me to get away with quite a bit that others would not. There is also the fact that the OWL and NEWT scores for the subject have improved dramatically since I took over," McGonagall said smugly. "Prepackaged spells are easy to cast, but ultimately quite useless. True Transfiguration consists of a series of aspects strung together, each syllable and wand movement indicative of a single part of the change. This is what we will be learning."
Hermione continued to stare at the corner they had piled their books in. Nothing remained there but a pile of ash. "But isn't it better to learn it the way the Ministry says?"
McGonagall turned toward her desk and pressed the tip of her wand against it. Smiling, she whispered a long incantation, one that took almost thirty seconds to complete. Finally, she gave the ironwood surface a sharp rap and said, "Mutatio."
A spike of black metal thrust itself out of the desk, then turned to some sort of gelatin. The gooey shaft turned into a cube, then a pyramid, and finally a sphere. That orb became glass and turned into a rat. The rodent only made it halfway across the desk before turning into a crystal butterfly. It fluttered across the room to land in front of Hermione and collapsed into a pile of shimmering glass.
"The Change Spell is one of the pinnacles of my art. It requires a deep understanding of Transfiguration and almost every aspect, but can effect almost any change you desire. It can also be 'programmed' to execute several changes in succession, as I did here," McGonagall explained. "It is quite possible, though draining, to cast it without most of the incantation. A true master can even use it sans wand. It is far more useful than every spell in those bundles of trash lumped together."
"I- I guess that makes sense," Hermione muttered reluctantly. "You still could have let me keep the book…"
McGonagall gave her a humorless smile. "Trash should be disposed of properly, Ms. Granger. Now, please come forward and begin handing out your new texts. They contain the most basic aspects, which will form the basis for more complex changes in the future."
The new text was less than a quarter the thickness of the original, earning it happy cheers and approving looks from some corners of the room. The cheers quickly faded as the books were opened, revealing the complex diagrams, pictures and transfiguration theory written within. At that point, only Hermione wore a happy smile.
"Incidentally, roughly one out of five students drop this subject at the end of their third year. Half of those that remain drop it before the fourth year comes to a close," McGonagall said with a wicked smile. "Those that remain are typically able to pass the exam for the lowest degree of mastery immediately following their graduation. I do hope some of you are among them."
Nervous muttering came from all over the room. Hermione, however, slowly broke out into a smile. At that exact moment, she decided to forgive their instructor for destroying her text. In fact, she was quite certain McGonagall would quickly become her favorite professor.
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Tuesday, Second Period: Herbology
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Harry and Neville watched the plants nervously.
The plants were watching his every movement. He was absolutely sure of that, even though they were just as good at hiding their eyes as the dreaded bush. They wanted him to think they were eyeless and harmless, but he wasn't about to be fooled by their act He knew they were observing him, just waiting for him to let down his guard and give him a chance to strike.
He wasn't about to give them the chance. He kept one hand under his robe the whole time. It made caring for the green bastards - a task that nearly made him vomit in his mouth - quite difficult, but it let him keep one hand on his only defense. The large shard of glass was razor sharp, with one end blunted to form a grip. He'd spent their whole lunch period paging through his new Transfiguration book and learned the aspects needed to create it in record time.
He really would have preferred a few gallons of napalm, but the manual was sadly lacking in that area. He'd scanned through it several times, but couldn't find a single transmutation that would make a suitably flammable material.
Neville was watching the plants for much the same reason.
There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that they were watching him. It was a bizarre, completely insane thought, but for some reason he just couldn't shake the feeling. His every move was being observed and studied with great interest. There was no way a plant, something that clearly lacked eyes, should be able to watch someone, but there was no doubt in his mind they were.
Every now and then one would sway toward him. At first he had thought it was the wind, but the way some of them moved couldn't be brushed off that way. In fact, some had actually moved against the wind.
The intensity with which Harry had studied his transfiguration book at lunch was almost frightening, but Neville was starting to think his friend had the right idea. At the very least, he should have asked Harry to make him a "Plant Poker" as well. It hadn't seemed necessary at the time, though.
It was something to remember for the future.
The only thing that kept him from being completely freaked out was the Familiar wrapped tightly around his body. The images she had put in his mind, while being very disturbing, also reassured him a great deal. She had vines that could crush bone and thorns that could pierce flesh, along with poison that could kill a dozen men. Surely she could handle a few lesser plants.
Of course, it didn't occur to him that Orchid was why the plants were acting odd. For them, it was like a goddess had descended from heaven to walk among them. The power and grace she possessed was nearly irresistible..
Finally, the situation came to a head. One of the plants stretched out a thin branch to lightly touch Neville's arm. This seemed to embolden its neighbors, which quickly did the same. Soon they were all reaching out toward him, wrapping around his body to intertwine with Orchid and lifting him into the air.
Neville struggled briefly, wishing he had a sharpened piece of glass hidden in his robes. Without any form of leverage and all his limbs bound, he quickly found his thrashing was useless.
Then, suddenly, a thought crept into his mind.
How dare they touch him without permission!?
"Orchid," he growled. "Trash them."
His Familiar obviously needed no further prompting.
Enough! she screamed in his mind, lashing out with vines of her own. They were far thicker than the other plant's limbs and lined with thorns. The edges, sharpened like the blade of a sword, easily tore through the other plants.
Free from his bondage, Neville plummeted toward the ground. Orchid's vines darted out of his robes and caught him just before he hit it and gently set him on his feet. They then curled toward the other plants in what was clearly a threatening gesture.
Behave.
The plants immediately jerked their ruined limbs back. As one they shuddered, then sagged in disappointment.
A wave of relief swept through Harry. He had been seriously considering ways to skive off the class for the entire year, including diving face-first through one of the glass windows. Massive facial trauma had to count for something, especially if he claimed he had an unnatural compulsion to dive through glass plates. Now it appeared he wouldn't have to execute his brilliant plan at all.
Thank God he had an insanely dangerous man-eating plant to protect him from the insidious bushes.
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Wednesday, Second Period: Potions
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It was only Harry's second Potions class and he already hated it.
Now, most people would probably assume that his animosity toward the class stemmed from the fact that Snape was an enormous douchebag. While the greasy bastard definitely fit that particular mold - a fact which no one outside of Slytherin would disagree with - that wasn't why he disliked it. It was certainly a contributing factor, since the asshole had been riding him since he set foot in the classroom, but the real problem was Angel.
She was up there again, crouched on one of the heavy, iron chandeliers that lit the room. It was one of those gothic affairs, all dark metal and wicked points. A single chain secured it to the ceiling. It was thick and heavy, more than enough to support the massive weight, but undoubtedly not strong enough.
His Familiar was up there, once again demonstrating her impressive balance and flexibility by somehow wedging herself into the meter of space between the light and ceiling.
Now, anyone observing the situation might wonder why she was in human form. Surely she'd fit much more easily and comfortably in her tiny kitten form, right? Of course she would, but there was one minor problem with that.
Her claws weren't long enough.
Angel sat half laying, half hanging from the chandelier, her eyes following Snape as he paced back and forth across the room. From where Harry was sitting, it looked very much like she was trying to get the timing of his movements down. That was a bit worrying, especially considering the way she had a single, metal-slicing nail resting gently against the only thing holding the massive hunk of pointy metal hanging over Snape's head.
Harry was playing a rather difficult game. He was both attempting to brew his potion when Snape was looking and frantically motioning for his Familiar to cease and desist when the instructor's back was turned.
"Are you stupid and blind, Potter?" Snape snapped, leaning over to examine Harry's ingredients. "Or perhaps you're just too stupid to cut your Muckroot evenly."
Angel's finger twitched slightly, raking her claw gently across the chain. Harry was absolutely certain he could see flecks of metal falling from it. She'd been doing that nearly every time Snape gave him shit and he was starting to wonder exactly how long the poor chain would last.
Of course, it might not be such a bad thing if it snapped...
Surprisingly, it wasn't Angel that caused the first Potions disaster of the year. That one came from a very unexpected source.
Once it became clear that Harry wasn't nearly intimidated as he should be, Neville quickly became Snape's favored target. The poor boy lacked the steady hands and fine dexterity to properly prepared some of the more difficult ingredients. He also had somewhat poor timing, making it hard for him to add ingredients properly or stir with the right rhythm. It was all his friends could do to keep him from making a critical mistake. It wasn't something they minded doing, but it did give Snape the perfect chance to get a little harassment in.
His cruel smile made it pretty clear that Snape was rather proud of himself. In particular, he appeared to enjoy the way the boy trembled each time he loomed above him. Such things, as we all know, are like sweet candy for the scumbag assholes among us.
Beneath Neville's clothing, the vines entwining Neville's body rustled and shifted in annoyance. Alura une were naturally sensitive to human emotions, being built from the ground up to manipulate them, and the Bond only heightened that sensitivity. The fear and discomfort her Keeper was feeling was quite irritating.
It was a new feeling because, as previously noted, alura une don't experience emotions in quite the same way humans do. The annoyance was interesting and actually worth exploring for a moment, but it quickly became tiresome. At first the only way she could think of to get rid of it was to eat the bastard causing it, but she had been clearly instructed to not do things like that anymore.
After a few moments, another thought drifted into her mind. It was a strange and alien thought, one that didn't suit an alura une at all, but she had also been told she could think in other ways now.
Beneath that discomfort and fear, there was a faint undercurrent. It was just a hint, but it was an acceptable feeling of anger and disdain. It suited someone like her Keeper so much better than his fear, and surely he would mind if she…
Neville didn't notice as the vines around his limbs grew tiny thorns, the anesthetic agent they oozed rendering him unable to feel the pricks. A minor, targeted sedative to reduce the fear, the smallest hint of a narcotic to ease the discomfort and a special cocktail to excite his more suitable emotions should be just right.
Get off my back you greasy so of a-
"Neville, you okay?"
The unexpected question made Neville start in his seat, bad enough to nearly overbalance himself. Turning to look at Harry in confusion, he replied, "Yeah, of course. Why?"
Harry wordlessly pointed down at the table in front of him.
An impressively deep scratch had been gouged into the ironwood surface. It zigged and zagged unevenly, as if done in great haste and with an excessive amount of force. As Neville's eyes followed it, the source quickly became apparent. The very tip of a chopping knife was lodged in the table, sans the rest of the blade.
Neville lifted his hand to stare at his knife. The tip had broken clean off, shortening the tool by a good centimeter.
"Huh."
"Damn," Hermione said with an obvious degree of awe. "That has to be at least a millimeter deep. That's like digging a trench in a cast iron skillet."
"If I ever upset you, please tell me," Harry requested. "I'd really like to know before I upset you too much."
"Harry, what are you… why are you sitting way over there?" Neville asked in confusion.
Harry carefully examined the space between himself and Neville. Mysteriously, it had widened to nearly half a meter, leaving him at the very edge of the table.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Neville. I've been sitting over here the whole time."
"No you weren't," Neville accused. He pointed down at a set of very obvious marks on the floor. "Look, you left scrapes on the floor when you moved your chair. Now that I point that out, how the heck did you do that without me hearing it?"
Harry gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look and replied, "There was nothing to hear. I'd only make a noise if I moved, which I obviously didn't."
"You are so weird…" Neville muttered, sweeping his chopped materials into his hand. Frowning he dropped them into their bubbling cauldron.
The cauldron responded by melting.
It was the weirdest thing Harry had ever seen, but only because there was a dog with a human face that had been permanently erased from his mind. Not much could top that, in both weirdness and sheer, gut-wrenching disgust factor.
One moment the cauldron was perfectly normal, then the next it was sagging into a glowing pile of molten metal. There was neither burst of heat nor flash of flame. It was as if the implement had suddenly given up on life, said, "Screw it," and went to have a nap.
The three friends sat there silently, eyes on the bubbling mound of pewter as they processed what had just happened.
It didn't take long for the laughter to start. It began in the Slytherin side, of course, but even a few of their housemates joined in. Snape, far from helping keep things under control, was giving them an amused sneer from the other side of the room.
They're laughing at me. They're laughing at my friends. They're acting like they're better than us, when they're no better than a bunch of ignorant cattle trampling a field of flowers.
Flowers, Orchid echoed. Somehow the brief hallucination conveyed the sense of an amused giggle. Thorns.
"Hermione, why did our cauldron melt?"
The witch turned away from the laughing students, her angry glare softening as she faced him. "It's okay, Neville. It was just a little mistake. The Windpuff sprig you put in was too coarse. You have to chop it more."
"So… coarse sprigs are bad?" Neville replied. "Like, dangerous bad?"
Hermione shook her head. "The heat transfer is purely tactile. It won't do much more than melt the cauldron. The only way you'd get hurt is if you were dumb enough to have your hand in there, but that's a bad idea anyway because the potion's pretty caustic at this point. Why?"
"Orchid saw Lady feeding King yesterday, so she kept trying to feed me fruit. When I asked where she got it, she said she can make almost any plant she wants," Neville responded.
"Okay. So?"
Neville smiled faintly. It was the kind of smile someone gave you just before declaring they were going to eat your soul and wear your face as a skin-mask.
"Orchid, I think everyone over there forgot to up Windpuff Sprig in their potions. Could you help them and toss some in?" he asked, still smiling. "Make sure it's a lot, too."
Helping! Orchid cheered gleefully. A thin creeper snaked out from under Neville's robes. Tiny buds popped up before blooming into chunks of wood. Each was about the size of a golf ball. The vine whipped around, building up a significant amount of force before snapping the Windpuff Sprig into the air just as Snape turned away.
The hunks of sprig crossed the room on a high trajectory, passing a curious Angel as they sailed by the chandelier. They then succumbed to gravity, plummeting toward the Slytherin cauldrons with unerring accuracy. Several students looked up in confusion as there was a small splash in their cauldron.
As previously noted, coarsely chopped Windpuff Sprig wasn't a great thing to have in this particular potion. It stands to reason that a sprig doesn't get much more coarse than being completely unchopped.
What happened in each cauldron immediately afterward can only be described as a massive exothermic reaction. In case you napped through science class, that means things got really hot, really fast. A bubble of heat, roughly the size of a basketball and so intense you could actually see it erupted around each cauldron. Pewter pots didn't so much melt as liquefy. They instantly turned to molten metal, keeping their shapes for just a brief moment before collapsing into puddles. Said puddles then quickly ate through their tables and splashed down onto the stone floor, leaving a wide hole ringed in eerie green flames.
The student, of course, immediately began freaking out. As the emerald flames began to spread across their tables, they scrambled backwards, knocking over chairs and sending books flying. Half the Slytherins made a panicked bid to grab their things, while the rest abandoned them and dove for the exit.
Harry, Hermione and Neville watched the chaos with wide eyes.
"Wow. I didn't even know ironwood could burn. That's a lot of really, really weird fire," Neville observed.
Hermione shrugged as she calmly began packing her school bag. "It may be hard as metal, but it's still wood. Its ignition point is insanely high, but as you can see it actually burns quite well. Breathing the fumes it gives off for a prolonged period of time isn't exactly a good idea, so we should probably leave."
"I thought you said it wasn't dangerous…" Harry remarked. He was watching the flickering flames in wonder, the awed look on his face bordering on disturbingly fascinated.
"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting Nevillle to throw a whole chunk of it in every cauldron in the room, was I?"
Neville's eyes widened. "Orchid, don't!"
His panicked command was just a bit too late. Orchid's vine had already snapped out again, launching chunks of sprig toward the Gryffindors. A moment later the other side of the room, thus far busy laughing at the Slytherins for their misfortune, had joined their wild attempts to escape.
"Well, now both sides of the room are on fire," Hermione observed. "I guess it's safe to say class is cancelled. Here."
Neville accepted the damp wad of cloth, looking down at it curiously.
"Tie it over your mouth," Hermione said as she followed her own instructions. "Going for the door right now would probably get us killed. This'll help with the fumes while we wait. Hopefully the exit clears before it gets too hot in here."
"Sorry," Neville apologized. His voice was a bit muffled by the wet cloth, but the sincere regret in his tone was obvious. "I'm pretty sure Orchid thought you were upset she missed some cauldrons. She was trying to help."
Hermione paused in packing her things, giving him a thoughtful look. "Considering that our professor seems to be intent on messing with us, we weren't exactly learning much. Self-study isn't necessarily a bad thing and I'm pretty sure no one can blame us for this. All the evidence is a little too on fire to actually be used as evidence. So… good job, I guess?"
Helped! Orchid said happily.
It should, at this point, be noted that the alura une had changed how she communicated a bit. She didn't really understand it, but it was obvious her Keeper's friend didn't enjoy expelling the colorful fluids. They were actually quite pretty, so it confused her a bit, but she didn't want to be a nuisance. Thus, as with Angel, she had taken to either injecting her words directly via thorn or carefully controlling how far her pollen spread.
(So just kind of assume she's communicating by using whoever she's near or attached to as a translator when needed. No way in hell I'm having someone echo everything she "says" every time she speaks.)
"Good job," Hermione said considerably more firmly. "So… she can make any kind of plant?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Hermione shrugged. "No particular reason. I was just thinking about doing a little research on antagonistic potion reagents. It might be useful if our Potions classes are all going to be like these first two."
"Just… please warn me next time you're going to set the classroom on fire," Harry asked softly. His eyes were still fixed firmly on the odd flames. "It's really cool, but I think I almost splashed water in the boat."
"Must you keep bringing that up?" Hermione muttered. She gave the only exit from the room an appraising glance. It was still clogged with students, who were so busy fighting each other that no one had really made much progress. "I made Fred show me the Shoving Hex. I'm pretty good at it and I bet no one would notice if we slammed them right out the door. Let's go study or something."
"And maybe not set anything on fire…" Neville muttered as he looked around. The flames, which were starting to get pretty enthusiastic, were probably about five minutes away from being considered an inferno. "I can't believe I burned down a classroom."
Harry gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "It's okay, Neville. Everyone has a little 'oops' now and then. I mean, the Adder accidentally bit my uncle a bunch of times. It happens."
"Harry, I'm pretty sure those weren't accidents and I'm really sure burning down part of a school isn't something that 'just happens' to people," Neville said.
Giggling, Hermione retorted, "You know, I've got some empirical evidence that suggests otherwise."
"Man, Fred and George are going to be so jealous. I bet we've burned down more classrooms than them," Harry declared. He started to laugh, but then froze as the color drained from his face. "You don't think they'll… uh… try to beat us, do you?"
Hermione and Neville immediately went pale, their faces now matching Harry's.
"Please don't even joke about that…" Hermione muttered as she surveyed the classroom. "The fire's getting pretty bad and it looks like I missed my chance to 'help' everyone out the door. We should probably get out of here…"
Both boys nodded in agreement.
"Great. Has anyone seen my red quill? It's my favorite and I'd rather it didn't turn into ash."
"I don't think you have to worry about it," Harry said, pointing at the melted cauldron. The end of a red feather could be seen in it, swirling around gently despite the lack of a current to move it.
The three first-years stared at it, carefully evaluating the situation.
"Why isn't it on fire?" Harry finally asked.
"Are you seriously complaining that something isn't on fire?" Hermione asked. "I mean, it's kind of weird, but I think we have enough fire. Actually, I'm pretty sure we have a fire surplus."
"'Kind of weird?'" Harry echoed. "Hermione, it's a feather. A feather in a puddle of metal. It's all oozy and red and hot still and the feather's in it. I'm like 102% sure it should be on fire."
"It's obviously a magic quill, Harry. Granted, I don't really see why you'd enchant a quill to be molten-pewter-proof, but I'm pretty sure all wizards are insane. Maybe quills don't burn."
At this point, both muggle-raised students turned to give Neville curious looks. The pureblood gave them an exasperated one in return.
"You guys realize I've never tried to burn a quill, right? I mean, you don't just go around lighting quills on fire. There's no way a normal person would just be like, 'Hey, I wonder if quills burn,' and toss one in a pool of melty cauldron."
Hermione through for a moment, then turned and snatched the quill Harry was packing up and tossed it into the pool of cauldron with a, "Hey, I wonder if quills burn."
The quill, of course, instantly vanished in a puff of smoke.
"Hey! My quill!"
"Oh, sorry. Can I borrow your quill, Harry?" Hermione asked, belatedly.
"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to ask first," Harry grumbled.
Hermione shrugged and made a dismissive gesture. "Well, I couldn't do that, could I? You wouldn't have let me borrow it if you knew I was going to throw it in the fire-puddle. Besides, it was for science, Harry. Don't you think one little quill is worth it?"
"Why didn't you science your own quill? You have more, I know you do!"
"Because it might have burned, like yours did. Why would I just go and waste my own quills like that? I've already lost one today," Hermione explained reasonably, with a thoughtful look on her face. She examined the pool of metal carefully for a moment, then her hand shot out to pluck the red quill out of the mess. A couple of quick flicks got most of the metal off, allowing her to study it critically. "Or maybe not. I wonder if it still writes."
"My quill... " Harry said sadly.
Hermione sighed theatrically as she carefully slipped the reclaimed quill into her robes. "I told you, Harry, it was for science. You should be glad you could contribute to mankind's understanding of the world."
"Magic," Neville corrected. "Not science."
"Right. Magic. I've got to get used to that, I suppose. Ah, here we are!" she exclaimed. She extracted a ballpoint pen from her bag and tossed it into the pool. The pen instantly melted and became nothing more than a discolored spot in the former cauldron. A moment later even that was gone.
"Hermione, why did you think a muggle pen wouldn't burn?"
"I didn't, Harry. That was just a control test, because setting a baseline measurement is always important. It was also because I hated that color, but it was part of a stationary set my parents gave me as a gift. Now I can honestly say I dropped it and lost it."
"...right. I guess you did both drop it and lose it. It's technically true."
"Technically," Hermione happily agreed.
"Uh, guys? People aren't punching each other any more. We should probably leave," Neville pointed out. "Because, you know, fire?"
With another exaggerated sigh, Hermione said, "Fine. It's not like we can't find another cauldron, and I'm certain we can reproduce the mistake. Let's just go."
The trio finished packing their things and made their way out of the room, debating how they could break the news to the twins without turning it into some sort of warped competition.
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
Wednesday, Way-Too-Fucking-Late Period: Astronomy
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
"I don't get it. Astronomy was mainly used for ritual magic and little else. Why are we learning a supplemental skill for a dead art?"
"..."
"Zzz…"
"You guys suck."
Don't worry, baby. The Adder's got your back. Oh, shit, that kid looks loaded. Hold that thought, back in a sec.
"Great, even the snake abandoned me."
"Weird, why does that snake have a spoon? Hey little guy, you someone's Familiar? What are you doing with- Oh God, my spleen!"
"...okay I feel a little better now."
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
Thursday, First Free Period: Library
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
"You're not going to get my eyes cut out, set me on fire, or make me carry around a bunch of makeup, are you?"
Harry looked back across the table at Draco in confusion.
With Hermione off doing whatever witches did when there weren't any boys around and Neville passed out in the common room - apparently accidentally drugged into oblivion by his Familiar - studying in the library seemed to be the logical course of action. He'd been quite happy to see Draco sitting alone at a table, intently reading their Transfiguration text. The other boy was pretty much the only other student he even remotely knew, so Harry had happily sat down by him to say hello.
Draco had immediately fixed him with a half worried, half suspicious look and asked him that rather odd question.
"Uh, no? I don't think so, anyway."
"See, it's just that terrible things seem to happen to me when you're around," Draco clarified. "It'd just be nice to know if the ceiling was about to drop on my head or something."
Thinking back to his previous interactions with the other boy, Harry rubbed the back of his head and chuckled sheepishly. "Oh. Sorry about that…"
Draco considered him for a moment longer, still frowning, then sighed. "Fine. I guess none of those were your fault, really. I'd appreciate it if you could ask your friends to avoid dumping melted metal in my lap and order your Familiar to let me keep all my body parts, though."
"Yeah, definitely. I can do that," Harry agreed, nodding happily. He paused to think briefly, then giggled, "You think carrying around a box of makeup is as bad as getting set on fire?"
"Yes. You would too, if you realized the horror and pain that stuff can cause," Draco said seriously. "If I could use a hot poker to burn my last birthday out of my brain, I'd do it right away and be happy about it."
Harry winced at the disgusting images that evoked, but thinking about Luscious immediately brought to mind several ways it could be justified. Just thinking about them made him consider a hot poker, so he could only imagine how Draco must feel.
"I'll let you know if I ever figure out how to do that," Harry offered seriously.
"Thanks," Draco replied, just as seriously. Gesturing down at his text, he asked, "Do you understand any of this at all? I can see changing one part easy enough, but how are we supposed to do everything at once?"
Harry's face brightened. He'd like to make things up to his friend, even if Draco didn't really hold him responsible, and this was something he could definitely help with. Yanking an inkwell out of his bag, he slapped it on the table and said, "It's easy! Watch!"
Draco's eyes followed Harry's wand intently as it made several sharp motions, each accompanied by a quiet syllable or two. The boy then gave the inkwell a sharp tap, causing it to twist and deform.
"Harry? Why did you turn your inkwell into a big, sharp chunk of glass?" Draco asked slowly, eyeing the sharp stabbing implement with suspicion.
"It's a Plant Poker," Harry said proudly, as if that explained everything. "You use it to poke plants."
"Right. Of course. How silly of me," Draco sighed. "I should have recognized that immediately. After all, everyone needs a good Plant Poker."
Harry's eyes slowly widened, a look of wonder spreading across his face. "Draco… you understand? You know? That's great! No one else seems to get it!"
"Of course I get it. So, what is it I get, exactly?"
Harry started to open his mouth to reply, then froze. His eyes darted back and forth around the library, finally fixing firmly on the potted fern sitting in one corner. Understanding crossed his features. Leaning forward, he loudly and clearly said, "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. There's nothing to get, right Draco?" while winking conspiratorially.
The blonde groaned softly, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands. He was seriously starting to wonder if knowing Harry was safe, both physically and mentally. "Of course there's nothing to get, Harry," he replied, deciding simply agreeing was probably easier than asking for an explanation. Whatever reason the other first-year had, it would probably just hurt his brain anyway.
"You should come hang out with me and Hermione and Neville," Harry said suddenly, definitely not changing the subject before the plant realized they were on to it. "I bet they'd like you.
Dracos frowned, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. "That's… probably not a good idea. Father would probably be happy if I spent time around the Longbottom heir, but I doubt he'd want me hanging around with Granger."
"Why not?"
"She's a muggleborn," Draco replied. "He doesn't mind muggles as much as most purebloods - mainly because they make 'the most gorgeous clothing' and all - but I doubt he'd be okay with me being buddies with her."
Scowling, Harry asked, "Just because her parents aren't wizards?"
Luscious was creepy as hell, without a doubt, but he didn't seem like a bad guy. If that was the way he thought about people, though…
"It's not like that. Not exactly," Draco said with a shrug. "Like I said, Father is pretty okay with muggles. He says it's really an appearance thing. A lot of his associates and friends are very old-fashioned about things like that."
"Oh. So it's like getting seen talking to snakes."
Draco gave him another confused and slightly weirded-out look. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's a little different. You look a lot less crazy talking to a muggleborn than a snake. Your… uh… your snake doesn't talk back, does he? Because if he does, that explains a lot."
"I'm not evil, I promise!"
"Evil?" Draco said, blinking in confusion. "I wasn't saying you're evil. I was saying I'm pretty sure you're insane."
"Oh, okay," Harry said with obvious relief. "I was a little worried there for a second."
Draco had to fight down the urge to slam his face into his palm again. He was seriously starting to wonder if being around Harry was a good idea. His father seemed to be strongly in favor of it, though, and the other boy was actually pretty likeable. The only real problem was that he seemed about three millimeters away from being completely nutters.
That was a fairly big issue, as far as Draco was concerned.
"Speaking of insane, did you hear someone let a knife-wielding mug-snake loose in the castle?" Draco asked. "I've never even heard of that breed before, but apparently there's one running around. Mugging people, of course, and weilding a spoon at that. Who ever heard of a mug-snake stabbing blokes with a spoon?"
Hehehe, the Adder hissed from within Harry's robes. Ph33r t3h 5p00nz.
Harry blinked, trying to ignore the weird twinge that the Adder's comment sent through his brain. There was something distinctly wrong with it but, like so many things recently, it seemed safer to not really think too hard about it.
"Maybe it's some sort of subspecies?" Draco mused. "But really, what kind of stupid snake mugs people with a spoon? You'd have to be a moron or a coward for that to work."
Harry paled.
Oh, it's on, bitch! You better pucker your cheeks, 'cuz the Adder's bringing the pain…
"Harry? You okay?"
"Yes. Yes I am. In fact, I'm not worried about me at all," Harry replied.
Draco gave him a weirded-out look for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. He was already coming to the conclusion that trying to figure out why Harry did what he did was a lost cause.
"Right. So what do you think about McGonagall? Father doesn't like her very much, but even he admits she's a good teacher. These texts are a lot more interesting than the ones the ministry told us to get."
"Yeah," Harry agreed really. McGonagall materials were, by almost universal consensus, far more interesting. The only ones complaining were those like Ron, who thought the little bit of extra work was way too much. From what both the twins and McGonagall said, more and more students would be joining that school of thought as time went by.
"Why doesn't Luscious like Professor McGonagall?"
"Oh, she tried to kill him, I guess," Draco said dismissively. "Almost got him a couple of times, too."
"Yeah, I guess that'd do it…"
Draco nodded, then leaned forward across the table. Looking back and forth, much like Harry had just done, he whispered, "Don't tell Father I told you, but he has these crazy scars here and here." Draco pointed at his chest, indicating areas just to the left of his heart and by his right collarbone, just beneath his neck. "He uses illusion spells to cover them up, which is something he'd usually never do. He says it's practically a crime to hide under something like that, no matter what you look like. Even the worst ugly is better than fake beauty, he says."
Harry started to open his mouth, but Draco quickly continued before he could say a word.
"He says that. Him. Personally, I think there's many cases where fake beauty would be a blessing. Have you seen Millicent yet? Supposedly she has both troll and troglodyte in her blood, but I'm not sure that's quite enough to explain it…"
Making a disgusted face, Harry asked, "Is she that one that looks-"
"-like she hasn't showered in a few weeks? Yes, that's her. From what Pansy says, her bathing routine involves a hammer and chisel, among other things. Have you ever heard of a belt sander?" Draco inquired. "I guess it's a muggle thing, but why would you need to sand a belt? It'd get in your trousers for sure, and no one likes that."
"It mostly stays on the belt," Harry said absently. "Why would Professor McGonagall try to kill Luscious?"
Draco shrugged and replied, "I'm not sure. All he's ever really said was that it was over a difference of opinion."
"That must have been a big difference of opinion."
"Must have," Draco agreed. "They're more or less okay now, I guess. They're polite to each other at least, and they haven't tried to murder each other lately."
"Well, that's good."
Nodding, Draco glanced down at his wrist toward an expensive-looking wristwatch. "I don't mean to be rude, but it might be best if you left now. A few of the upper-years are having a sort of study group and people will start arriving in a few minutes. Some of them probably aren't very fond of you."
Harry blinked, brow furrowed in confusion. "Why not? I've never even met them!"
"Probably because their fathers don't like you very much," Draco said with a shrug. "It's a… difference of opinion thing again."
"Oh," Harry muttered. Thinking for a moment, he asked, "Does that mean I have to try to kill them."
"Please don't!" Draco quickly responded, unsure as to how serious Harry was. "Their parents are business associates of Father's. He'd be pretty upset if you murdered someone and it affected his portfolio."
"Draco? I was just kidding," Harry said awkwardly, a bit thrown off by the serious response.. " Well… I'll see you later?"
"It is a fairly small school, you know," Draco said, but he was smiling faintly as he did so. "I'd say chances are quite good."
That was more than enough to satisfy Harry, who quickly packed his things and left.
Watching him leave, Draco's smile changed to a faintly dissatisfied frown. Harry, while clearly insane, seemed like a pretty good bloke. Even under normal circumstances the Malfoy heir would have most likely enjoyed being friends with him. Somehow that just made the current situation that much worse.
"Make sure you're friendly with that adorable little Potter. Cuddle up nice and cozy now, understand? The Potters are an old family with some wonderful holdings. It could make for a beautiful relationship later on and the boy himself might be nice to have at hand."
"What on Earth did you mean by that, Father?" Draco muttered under his breath.
A faint movement in the corner of his eye caused him to break off from his musing. Turning to see what it was, he immediately froze.
The Adder was coiled up on the chair next to him, head raised and back arched. Around his head was a tiny black bandana. The eyehole cut into it made something like a little snake mask, cleverly hiding his identity.
'ey gringo. Yeer seel-ver or yeer life, the Adder (somehow) hissed in a bad, faux-Mexican accent. Seriously though, load up the napkin and tie it to my back, he continued, jerking his head toward the square of cloth spread out on the table. Any funny business and you get the spoon, capische?
Draco stared down at the snake through frightened eyes, his gaze fixed on the soup ladle clutched in the Adder's mouth.
That's right, bitch, it's a big fucking spoon. Believe me, you don't want to know where you're about to be pulling it out of…
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
Author's Note
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
You've probably figured it out by now, but the world in Something Familiar isn't anywhere near as nice as it was in cannon.
Right from the get-go, this story was intended to be a mix of lighthearted and funny with dark and violent. So far we've had almost the happy side of things almost exclusively. That is eventually going to be changing. I'm not talking horribly graphic descriptions of blood and gore, since I'm not really into that, but there's probably going to be at least a few decapitations.
Oh, and there's also a chance that someone will get eaten.
Speaking of moar violence, it always bothered me that magical skirmishes in the halls were treated like they rarely happened in cannon. Magical violence and assault in general seemed to be pretty infrequent. To that I say: what the fuck!? If you give a 13-year-old kid a loaded Nerf gun, the first thing he's going to do is shoot the nearest child with it. If you give the same kid a magic stick that can make people puke slugs, trip them, set things on fire and generally wreak havoc on anything he feel like pointing it at, what the hell would he do with it?
Sedately walk down the hall, then spend four hours learning to turn a turtle into a condom.
Yeah, sorry, you didn't phrase that as a question. You're also fucking wrong. There would be spells flying almost constantly. The nearly nonexistent level of supervision at Hogwarts would just make it that much worse.
I mean, Jesus… Just thinking about giving me a wand when I was that age gives me cold chills.