Chapter 9. Slackers and Fools
If Harry had thought seeing a fourteen-year-old McGonagall weird, seeing a twelve-year-old Hagrid was downright bizarre.
After Harry had settled into the seat across from Minnie, Al patting him on the back, he had instinctively scanned the Gryffindor table only to double-take at the massively tall boy towering over the other second-years. He had been impossible to miss. A swift kick from Minnie and a shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" as the sorting continued had stopped his initial gaping but Harry had been unable to stop himself from sneaking glances at Rubeus Hagrid throughout the sorting. Even Dippet's announcement about the Inter-House Dueling Tournament couldn't pull Harry's attention for long.
The same could not be said for Harry's fellow fourth-year Gryffindors; they all but breezed through the obligatory introductions before the speculations began.
"Surely they'll separate students out by year," Minnie guessed to the others, "Otherwise, it'd be unfair."
Harry couldn't stop staring at Hagrid as the Gryffindors nodded in agreement. He'd forgotten that Hagrid would be at Hogwarts.
"If it isn't separated though, my money's on Moody," one boy— Ignatius, Harry reminded himself at a glance—stated confidently. Several seats over, Hagrid's laugh boomed.
"No way," another disagreed, and Harry couldn't remember his name, "Alastor's great and all but have you seen Flitwick?"
The familiar name snatched Harry's full attention. "Flitwick?" he asked Al quietly.
"Filius Flitwick," he elaborated to him and Harry couldn't find it in him to be surprised. "He's a Ravenclaw. A fourth-year like us."
Harry nodded.
"Be realistic," Cynthia Bones was countering, looking the spitting image of her descendant Susan, "It doesn't matter how good Flitwick and Moody are. They're not seventh-years. Whoever wins the tournament is going to have experience and the seventh-years have the most."
Uninterested, Harry's eyes wandered back to Hagrid, who Harry noticed fondly, had an entire chicken on his plate. God, he looked so young.
The debate continued.
"—exactly what I was saying! They've got to be separating students out by year," Minnie maintained. "It's only fair."
The protests of the boy whose name Harry didn't remember—was it Aaron? Anthony? Something with an 'A'—were cut off with a sharp crack as Septimus Weasley smacked his hands down on the table.
"Okay fine," the redhead started dramatically.
"Say it is separated by year," Bilius Weasley continued.
"Who's winning our year?" chorused the twins.
"Flitwick, of course!" the boy-whose-name-probably-started-with-an-'A' said impatiently.
"Are you sure?" a girl asked doubtfully and Harry found himself cursing the speedy introductions, "What about Tom Riddle?"
Just as Harry stiffened at the name, Hagrid made eye contact with him—Harry flinched and looked away.
He'd forgotten. Forgotten that Hagrid's education had been one of Tom Riddle's earliest casualties.
"Oo, yes, Riddle's definitely a contender!" Ignatius was saying, "Have you seen him duel? He's brutal!"
Guilt squirmed in his stomach as Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, at the boy he had spent so many hours with that summer.
"How about you, Evans?" Cynthia said suddenly, drawing Harry's attention back to his fellow Gryffindors. "You any good at dueling?"
"I dunno," Harry said truthfully. "I haven't dueled much, to be honest." He flashed back Lockhart's horrendous dueling club and winced.
"That'll definitely change," Septimus said ruefully.
"Merrythought loves dueling," Bilius explained.
"Wouldn't be surprised if she opens the class with a free-for-all," Septimus continued.
"Mm, doubtful," Minnie said dismissively. "I bet she'll pair us up."
As arguing broke out over what the first Defense lesson would be, Harry's mind wandered to spiders and bathrooms and snakes.
Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, curtains drawn, spelled journal spread open in front of him.
"You never cease to intrigue, do you, Evans?"
The cursive penmanship shone on the page in green ink. Harry just stared at it, numb. All he could see was Ginny, her face white as marble, and as cold, laying on grey stone.
"What on earth did you say to the hat to make it gasp? To make it laugh?" Tom wrote.
Harry ignored it. All he could hear was memory Tom's voice: "She won't wake. She's still alive but only just." How could he have forgotten about the Chamber?
"You'll tell me your schedule once you get it tomorrow, will you?"
He hadn't forgotten about the Chamber, really. He'd just forgotten how close Tom must be to opening it now. "It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance," memory Tom had said. And here they were at year four...
"You should let me spell your journal to let you know when I write."
How much did Riddle know about the Chamber already? "I found something this summer" Tom had said before at the platform.
"Goodnight Harry."
As the ink oozed out of the page, Harry's stomach dropped. "Wait," he scrawled, "What did you find?"
"So you ARE awake," Tom replied.
"Answer the question," Harry wrote, "What did you find this summer?"
"I'd rather tell you in person," Riddle responded. "And what about MY questions, Harry? Are they to be ignored?"
Harry rolled his eyes but scribbled, "It's not my fault the hat gasped. I'm funny. And yes, I'll show you my schedule tomorrow."
"Perfect," Tom wrote. "Do you want to meet after breakfast?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yes," Harry replied. Anything to find out what Tom knew.
The vivid hospital room ceiling drifted away as Harry woke to blackness and itchy eyes. His hands clumsily patted at his face in confusion to find—Oh yeah.
After a moment he sat up, carefully pulling his new sleeping mask off as he went. He'd forgotten. Dumbledore had given him the sleeping mask the day before, having charmed it to hide the gold light his eyes emitted as he slept.
"While I do know many a witch and wizard who enjoy a little Lumos in the corner while they sleep, it's only polite to give your new roommates an option, hm?" Dumbledore had said.
Harry had agreed.
Eyes now free, Harry pulled open the curtains, scrubbing at the golden sand in his eyes. Seeing six beds when he was used to five was just as weird to see this morning as it had been last night; it made the room seem smaller.
Similar to his time, the dormitory housed all the fourth-year boys. These included himself, Ignatius Prewett, Septimus and Bilius Weasley, Al Longbottom, and Atlas Abbot. Harry had been relieved last night to find Atlas' name on the boy's trunk; referring to him in his head as "boy-whose-name-probably-started-with-an-'A'," however accurate it was, had been awkward.
True to the early hour, Atlas and the others, with the exception of Al, were asleep. Seeing another person awake, the boy waved at Harry, yawning. Harry smiled back before standing up and making his way to the bathroom.
When Harry emerged, Al was sitting at his desk fully dressed and the other Gryffindors were still sleeping.
"Mornin'," Al said quietly as Harry began getting his bag together.
"Morning," Harry smiled.
"Nice not being the only one who gets up early," Al whispered. "It's usually just me."
"Mm," he hummed noncommittally.
After a moment, Al asked, "When you're set, would you want to wait with me for Augusta and Minnie in the common room?"
"Yeah," Harry said, pleasantly surprised, "Yeah I'd like that."
Once Harry was ready, they made their way down the stairs striking up an easy conversation as they waited for the girls. Between the physical resemblance and the same friendly air about him, Harry couldn't help comparing Al to Neville, though Al seemed to have a quiet confidence that Neville lacked.
After a couple of minutes, Minnie and Augusta joined them, and the four of them made their way to the Great Hall. Along the way, Minnie was quick to give Harry advice he didn't need about navigating the castle.
"—and the moving stairs certainly don't help, but after a while, you'll get it," she said as they entered the Great Hall.
"Yeah, they sound tricky," Harry said somewhat absently, scanning the Great Hall for Tom. It didn't look like he was there yet.
"It's just a matter of timing really," Minnie said as they sat at the Gryffindor table. After a pause, she asked, "Who're you looking for?"
"Oh, er, Tom Riddle," Harry confessed, "We planned to go over our schedules this morning."
As Minnie's eyebrows quirked, one of the prefects began handing out schedules. "You know Riddle?" Minne asked, surprised.
Harry nodded and then took the schedule Al passed him with a quick thanks. "He was one of the first people I met when I toured Hogwarts end of last year. We also both worked in Diagon over the summer."
"Cool," she replied as she examined her own schedule. "Hey, what subjects are you taking?"
In answer, Harry rattled off his classes, finishing with "—Care and Divination."
"Divination?" Minnie asked, wrinkling her nose.
"Er, yeah."
"Why?"
Harry blinked.
"Don't mind her," Al said from across the table as Harry shifted awkwardly, "Minnie doesn't understand Divination."
Minnie tutted, rolling her eyes, "It's not that I don't understand Divination," she sighed, "I just find it to be a very imprecise branch of magic which holds little to no value to those without Sight. There's no reason why the everyday witch or wizard needs to know Divination. The subject should be a special study for those who qualify, not a full-blown elective course."
At her passionate tone, Harry's heart ached. Hearing her talk like this... He missed Hermione.
"If you ask me," Minnie continued, "the only people who take Divination are slackers or fools with visions of grandeur."
Augusta smirked and elbowed Harry in the ribs, "So which one are you then, Harry?" she teased.
"Oh, erm..."
"Oh, leave him be," Minnie chastised, looking slightly sheepish, "You know I didn't mean it like that."
Harry smiled awkwardly and began to serve himself breakfast. "It's alright. Though, if I had to choose, I suppose I'd rather be a slacker than a fool."
Augusta snorted while Minnie frowned. "Good choice."
"Don't worry Harry, I'm a slacker too," Al said with a friendly smile. "For I will also be taking Divination."
Harry grinned, "Nice!"
"Minnie and I, however," Augusta said, "are not. Gimme your schedule."
The sudden demand startled Harry, who, having just placed the sausage tongs down, was unable to stop it as Augusta's fingers brushed against his bare arm in her pursuit of his schedule. Resultantly, he had no time to prepare himself before the sight of Augusta splitting into three overwhelmed him and the Great Hall vanished.
Eager to get it over with (and slightly curious), Harry reached for one of the golden future strands and allowed it to dissolve into sand, color bursting to life in his head.
And then he was back.
"What on earth was that?!" Augusta yelped, snatching her hand back as if burned.
"Your eyes!" Al burst out, "They glowed!"
"Shh!" Harry immediately shushed them, glancing around them to see if anyone else had seen. Empty as the Hall was, it appeared no one else had seen anything, though a couple people were looking at them either curiously or with annoyance at the loud outburst. "I can explain, just—be quiet," he begged.
While Augusta seemed unable to decide whether to examine her hand or Harry and Al gaped like a fish, Minnie's shrewd eyes studied him through narrowed lids.
After a pregnant pause, she spoke. "I think I need to amend my statement.
"...What statement?" Harry asked with dread.
"I said the only people who take Divination are slackers or fools with visions of grandeur," she said. "It looks like I forgot to include fools who think they can hide their grandiose visions."