Chapter 5: The Hungry Wizard
As with my other fics, I am phasing out below-text answers to reviews, except in anonymous or explanatory cases. Geronimooo...
In all honesty, Ron probably thought Harry was absolutely insane, but then again, most of Gryffindor seemed to have some form of mental instability, so it wasn't as if Harry stood out that badly; in any case, that was what he told himself as he cheerfully packed up his bag for the day ahead. Harry wasn't exactly looking forward to the monotonous routine of scholarly life, as Sirius liked to put it, especially since he was on strict orders not to steal any forms of transport while he was at it. Seven years was an awfully long time to go without blowing something up, turning someone's worldview on its head, or accidentally attracting an entire platoon of confused aliens, but on the bright side, he was under orders 'not to screw with the humans' and to 'avoid detention', not necessarily to 'be a good child'. Considering the potential of some of the spells he'd glimpsed in the books he was now stuffing haphazardly into his bag, classes couldn't be that boring, and in any case, if they were, he could always just jump out a window.
"You're eager," Ron commented, an inkling of confusion on his face as Harry squeezed his pencilcase in between The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and A History of Magic. "You know it's a school day, right?"
"Well, yes, I do," Harry replied, frowning slightly as he threw the bag over his shoulder. "And there's waking up early and routine and all that gross stuff. But we also get to learn magic, Ron."
"Trust the one who nearly killed himself on the stairs without a bloody care to be excited about turning strings into wires," Ron grumbled. "Have you seen Scabbers? He's gone missing?"
"Nope," Harry chirped. "He's probably out exploring. A place can change a lot in a year, you know."
"I suppose," Ron agreed. "Breakfast?"
"Definitely," Harry nodded gravely.
"Breakfast," Harry said to nobody in particular, "Is the only meal in which you can eat sugar as the bulk of your meal and nobody questions you. This makes it the most important meal of the day – well, after midnight snacks, because that's when fish-fingers and custard don't get questioned. Midnight snacks and pregnancy. But I'm not pregnant."
Lavender stared at him as if he'd started speaking Gallifreyan, a spoonful of porridge hanging halfway between her bowl and her mouth.
"What's a fish finger?" Neville asked shyly. "I thought fish didn't have any fingers."
"You don't know what a fish finger is?" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "Were you raised under a rock?"
"He was raised under his grandma," Parvati whispered. "I met her at Diagon Alley. Close enough, I think."
"How many other people at this table don't know what a fish finger is?" Harry demanded.
Ron tentatively stuck his fork in the air.
Harry huffed. "Where are the kitchens?" he asked, glancing around at them all. "Anybody know?"
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You're not allowed in the kitchens! You'll get in trouble before we even get to class!" She clenched her hands nervously on the table, ignoring the other students' irritated gazes.
"Probably, yes," Harry agreed. "I mean, technically I got in trouble after the staircase incident, didn't I? Anyway, how can you, Ron, not know what a fish finger is? You've eaten two plates of breakfast already!"
"Not whole, I hope," Dean snorted.
"No, not whole, you don't get the crunch if you don't chew them… oh, no. The rest of our year is just as oblivious as you are, aren't they?" Harry groaned and rubbed his forehead as, down the table, Percy Weasley gave him a very cautious look.
"Probably. I don't think pure-bloods eat fish fingers," Seamus said. "They're more a muggle thing."
"That's it. I'm introducing you all to the wonders of fish fingers and custard," Harry said, jumping up and smacking his hand on the table.
"Harry," Hermione begged, "Please at least wait until after our first day of classes to get into trouble."
Harry pouted. "Fine," he grumbled, plopping back down into his seat and picking up his toast. "I will wait until after our first day of classes. And then, you will find out what wonders you have been missing."
True to his word, Harry found ever class nearly as exciting as Hermione did, which was quite the achievement, considering, especially when his teachers were rapidly discovering that the 11-year-old was not in the slightest an ordinary child, or even three strange children stacked atop each other in a cloak. For all Harry's enthusiasm, it was still school, and nothing like the laissez-faire adventuring Harry was used to, but still, Harry enjoyed his day; it wasn't exactly far off to believe, either, that Harry's nature as a concentrated force of chaos might have… mitigated the ordinary caveats of the educational institution.
For one thing, his levitating feather had shot out the window halfway through class and never come back.
"It's the frame of reference," he explained calmly as Hermione had a near-meltdown behind her. "At least, I think it is. Uncle Moony said something about intent? Anyway, if you think of it, gravity can work sideways as much as it works up and down – well, more like up and down is a matter of where the largest source of gravity is – so I suppose it levitated out to the forest somewhere. Professor Flitwick, can I have another feather?"
Flitwick frowned at the large hole in the glass. "No, Mr Potter, I think not. How about you practice levitating something heavier instead?"
"Teach me!" Ron exclaimed, as Harry picked up The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and started practicing with it. "I want to throw stuff out the window too!"
"Well, first of all, it's more a floaty movement than a slashing one, unless you're hoping to stab someone in the eye, which is honestly a genuine application of weaponry… eh, might stain the wood though," Harry commented, letting the book drop with a thud onto the table in front of him. "Also, Hermione's right. If you say the made-up words wrong, it won't work as well. It's psychological. I think. Uncle Doc reckons catchphrases put you in a frame of mind, anyway, and that's why Auntie River is crazy. Wingardium Leviosa."
"Um." Ron blinked, watching Harry attempt to levitate his book at a 30 degree angle and promptly send it hurtling into a wall at high speed.
"Damn it, there must be a relation to gravity, maybe that's why I lost the feather… Oh yeah, and remember the feather's meant to go up instead of down. And don't think of explosions too much, or your magic'll do what Seamus's did."
"Blow up?"
"Blow up."
After Ron left his feather permanently welded to the stone ceiling, Professor Flitwick decided Harry wasn't allowed to teach his peers anymore.
"What did you use as your reference point?" Hermione gasped. She happened to be one of the quicker to ascribe to Harry's theory, no matter how difficult it may have been to understand. "There's no way any of us should have that much power!"
"I just wanted it to float off the table."
"…the table. Holy cricket, Harry, he used the table."
"Good," Harry said decidedly. "You're learning."
"Do you even know what rum tastes like?"
"…no."
"Right, there's your problem. Have you considered red cordial?"
"Oh, Merlin," Professor Sprout groaned. "Mr Potter, what are you pouring onto the puffapods?"
"Red cordial."
"Why would you do that?"
"Well, it's going to turn back into water later, and anyway, it's better than letting Seamus drink it all."
Professor Sprout eyed Seamus beadily. The other boy was hugging his plant and telling it his life story. It wasn't a very long story, granted, but still, it was mildly concerning. "…Mr Potter, are you sure that's red cordial?"
"It's entirely possible he may have imbued it with properties akin to alcohol, Professor, but it is, physically, red cordial, soon to be water."
"I see. Well, Mr Potter, keep Mr Finnigan safe, please. He's going a little too close to the cross-breeds."
"Yes, Professor."
"…Harry?"
"Yes, Ron?"
"That's not a needle."
Harry picked up a syringe off his desk and inspected it. "Well, the end's silver and pointy, isn't it?" He turned it over in his hands, tapping the end carefully with the tip of his finger. Okay, so maybe he'd had vaccinations for every known disease in the universe, but it wasn't like it had left a lasting impact on his psyche, honest!
"Can you make a sewing needle?" Hermione asked testily. "Surely if you can make that monstrosity you can make a simple sewing needle."
Harry aimed his wand at the syringe and a quarter hour later picked up the result. "Well…"
"Harry Potter, that is bright purple," Hermione huffed, holding out her own, pointy, silver, match for comparison.
"At least it's pointy."
"Why does it smell like custard?" Ron asked, irritably poking his own match, which, while sharpened, had also caught fire.
"I got distracted."
"Harry, where are you going?" Percy asked sharply, as Harry grabbed Ron by the collar and Neville by the sleeve.
"Kitchens. Have you seen them?"
"You're not allowed in the kitchens," Percy told him sternly. "They're off-limits to students, even Prefects."
"Oh, okay. Come on, everyone."
"…where are you going now?"
Harry frowned. "Um… library?"
"Curfew for the lower years is in five minutes, Harry." Percy crossed his arms. "In any case, that's the worst lie I've ever heard, and Fred and George tried to convince Dad I was gay last year."
"Dunno why we tried it, he's a wet blanket. Depressed, more like," George chirped from the other side of the room.
"Georgie, puns are beneath us."
"Shh, Freddie, don't give away our secrets."
Percy huffed, and turned back to see Harry dragging half of Gryffindor's first-years out the portrait hole. "POTTER!"
"RUN!" Harry yelped, and took off like a rocket. Having been dragged along, the other students didn't have much other choice than follow him – so follow him they did.
"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Neville wailed, stumbling along at high speed.
"Nope!"
"This was a bad idea!" Ron yelped. "We're going to get caught by Filch! Or – something!"
"There's no such thing as a bad idea, only good ideas that didn't work!"
"TRUST ME, HARRY, I LIVE WITH FRED AND GEORGE, THERE ARE INDEED BAD IDEAS!"
"We're going to get expelled," Neville moaned.
"Nonsense, they'd suspend us first. Or give us lines or send us into the forest or something."
"SEND US INTO THE –"
"Neville, you're magic, they're magic, nothing makes sense. Calm down, I didn't learn how to identify twenty types of alien spider for nothing."
Ron flinched even as they ran down the hallway. "There are HOW MANY types of alien spider?"
"Well, Uncle Doc says there's at least thirty-five, but he blew a few up. Shame, really?"
"I think he's doing the world a favour," Ron said weakly, and Hary hummed in thought, but gave no further voice to the matter.
They continued running for a good few minutes, before slowing to a stop, panting, in a small alcove on the fourth floor. "Do you two have any idea where we are?" Harry asked, and as they shook their heads, he beamed. "Me neither. Think we can find Peeves?"
"Peeves? Why would you want to find Peeves?" Ron hissed.
"He's scary," Neville added.
"Yes, he is, he's composed of the combined mischievous will of an entire school of magical children, not all of which are friendly children. It's be a bit stupid if all he did was put whoopee cushions on chairs," Harry told them briskly, wiping his hands on his robes. "But let's face it, we're sneaking into a corner of the castle on the sly to introduce society to a game-changer, I think he'll be on our side, especially considering mustard looks a lot like custard if it isn't too yellow."
"…Harry."
"Ron."
"We're going to get into so much trouble," Neville groaned.
"Not if we play things right. Stay hidden there for a moment."
"Wait!" Neville yelped. "Where are you going?"
"Don't worry, I'm just going to smash this ink bottle against that ugly tapestry."
"Harry," Ron said slowly, "I think, since Percy isn't here and Hermione seems like she'd take up the role, I have to tell you that, no matter how bloody ugly that thing is, it is also very old and valuable."
"The ink's washable. Permanent ink's no fun, it doesn't bleed everywhere when it rains. Toodle-pip for… three seconds."
As it turned out, Harry was right in his suspicions about Peeves.
"Nasty teachers tried to imprison Peeves once, yes. Gave him lots and lots of weapons, and trapped him in a box."
"What happened?" Harry asked, inspecting the box of fish fingers presented to him by the House-Elves.
"Peevsie got out!" the apparition said gleefully, and proceeded to bounce around the kitchen as if it wasn't full of pots of hot water and sharp objects.
Meanwhile, Neville sat in the corner with a mug of hot cocoa as Ron cheerfully ate a carton of custard with a spoon. "This is… insane."
"Boy-who-lived, mate."
"We're going to get into so much trouble."
"Nah, we'll pin it on Peeves. He's a poltergeist, he won't mind."
"Isn't that a bit rude?"
"He's a poltergeist. Notoriety is his thing."
"O – oh."
"C'mon, Nev." Ron gave Neville's shoulder a gentle shove. "We're Gryffindors! We're not lost anymore, we – we can pull this off."
"Harry intends on feeding us fish dipped in custard."
"Fish fingers, boys!" Harry called out, handing the box back. "Thank you, Tippy, that's perfect. Now, Floppy – do you all have names like that? – where are the bandages?"
"Harry," Neville asked, "Why do we need bandages?"
"Some people go insane when exposed to good food. I saw someone bang their head on a table once and I'm not having that on my record until I'm at least thirteen."
"Should… shouldn't you not want it on your record at all?" Ron asked. "Considering uh, Mum tends to…"
"Eh. Uncle Moony and Uncle Rory might be a bit cross, and Uncle Doc might wince a bit, but the other three will think it's funny. Also, I've been running away from aliens since I was one, so honestly two years without causing any trouble is pretty good."
"POTTER!"
Harry looked up from breakfast to see Professor Snape storming over to him, hair splattered with custard – or mustard? – and a fish finger stuck to his robes. "Professor?" he asked, tone as bland as if he had been asked about the weather. "Is something wrong?"
Snape, for his point, spluttered and huffed and made various other noises of anger.
"I don't get it," Harry grumbled, pouting slightly. "At least I'm eating them and not throwing them."
As Professor Snape attempted to build up a head of steam, a fish finger flew through the air and hit Harry smack on the glasses, leaving a smear down the glass. Harry blinked, his vision suddenly obscured by something yellow. Mustard or custard. He couldn't be quite sure, really.
"Ah. Now I remember why we stopped doing this."
My writing has been wobbly lately. Wibbly-wobbly. As in the plot bunnies got out, dammit. Anyway, I hope you liked this installment.
R.R
frankieu: (#^_^#) Who knows what's in Harry's head? Not me, I don't want to know. Poor hat, indeed.
0sleep: Ah yes, the rare specimen known as confused!Draco. He is indeed going to have a very interesting time. Especially explaining to his father that yes, fish do indeed have fingers, look!
PheonixQueen15: Ah... ( ;O_O) With regards to writing chapters... heh... but I'm glad you found it enjoyable!
HovernyanML: (ง^ワ^)/
notwritten: I'm glad you think so :D
WrathofAjax: Thank you!
Phoenix: "Son, I regret to tell you, this is yet another example of the crazy Black curse. You know there's a reason why we don't visit Aunt Bella? Yes? This boy is worse."
Plew A.E: Oh god yes, they're freaky... anyway I hope you enjoy!
Fall2Glory: Confusion shall reign supreme over the house of serpents.
Muse: I try :)
AliceCullen3: I'm glad!
SisterofNightmare: Thank you! Characterization is one of the harder things to get down, I think O_o so I'm glad you liked it in the prior chapters!
hibarishikaru21s: Thank you!
Plumalchemyst: I am getting there... slowly...
ZaynaKai: Aw, thank you! I try my best!
xeunobre: Crazy Harry shall return! ...I have to say, I've never seen the phrase 'literally giggled' before, although I guess giggling has a different connotation to laughter... *mind goes off on irrelevant tangent for the next half hour*