Halloween morning was almost delightful. The lovely smell of baking pumpkin was wafting down every corridor. Even though today was the anniversary of his parents' death (a fact which he had discovered a few years prior), he was in good spirits as he made his way to his first class for the day.
Charms with Professor Flitwick was a class Harry struggled in, but after a brief conversation between the Professor and Headmaster, Harry was given more than ample time to focus on his spellcasting. In a class with Slytherin and Gryffindor (again), Harry had been partnered up with Neville again. After receiving their instruction from the Professor, Harry had allowed Neville to go first in his attempts, which the young man found to be quite difficult, and Harry's wand had simply refused to do much of anything to the feather at first.
It should be easy, Harry reasoned, he'd done it before with Headmaster Dumbledore.
While he was trying to work it out, he heard Hermione bickering with Ron Weasley. He idly wondered if Professor Flitwick was of sound mind, putting those two together. They absolutely did not like each other, and while the few times Harry and Ron had come into contact, they had been relatively civil, Ron clearly had no patience.
After Hermione had inadvertently shown him up by correcting his diction and enunciation–(Harry had to admit, Ron carried a pretty thick Devon accent as much as he had a thick Scottish accent)–Ron's face had been tomato red, and once the class had ended, he had stormed out with Seamus Finnigan and Neville in tow.
The rest of the day went alright, they didn't see much of the Weasley boy after that incident in Charms. Harry had felt concerned about if he was going to be okay or not, Hermione certainly didn't. As the evening fell and classes ended, they went to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast.
After everyone was seated, a thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceilings, causing the tables to rattle violently. On the solid golden plates that lined the tables, the feast appeared in all it's hot, steaming splendor.
Harry dug into the feast, grinning madly. As he ate, he somehow ended up in a heated debate with Draco about which professional Quidditch team was best. This spirited debate came to an end when the doors of the Great Hall were flung open, Professor Quirrell sprinting into the hall with terror on his face.
"Troll! In the dungeon! Troll!" He came to a stop before Dumbledore. "Just thought you should know," He murmured before collapsing face-first onto the ground.
There was an uproar of terror from the students, including Harry and Draco, before Dumbledore's roaring voice asserted itself over the din.
"Silence!" The elderly headmaster commanded, before looking firm and disgruntled. "Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately! Faculty, come with me."
Gemma began to cordon the Slytherins back to their dorms, but Hermione stopped, a horrified expression on her face.
"Hermione?" Harry asked.
"They're taking us down into the dungeons… when there's a troll on the loose. What kind of idiotic idea is that?"
"I suppose you're right, but we can't just lounge about out here, what if the troll shows up?" Harry said, grimacing.
Harry heard a noise and realized it was someone being loud and obnoxious in the boys' lavatory nearby.
"Do you hear that, Hermione?" He asked.
Hermione looked towards the lavatory and nodded. "It sounds like there's someone in the boys' toilet ranting, you don't think…"
Harry shook his head. "Fancy saving a Gryffindor?"
Hermione let out a laugh. "Alright, Potter. Let's see if you're actually Slytherin or not. Do you plan on just charging in, guns blazing?" She asked.
"No, no. That's not my idea at all," Harry said. "I don't want to confront the thing, my wand is almost completely useless."
They began walking down the corridor towards the toilets. The first thing they noticed was Professor Quirrell. He seemed to be proceeding in exactly the opposite direction of the dungeons in which the trolls were supposedly let loose. Harry opened his mouth to shout after the Professor, but stopped, as he watched the troll enter the boys' toilet.
"What are we going to do, Harry?" Hermione asked, clearly terrified.
"Bloody hell," Harry said quietly. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
Harry took off in a full sprint towards the boys' bathroom, drawing his wand.
"Harry, no!" Hermione screamed, chasing after him.
Harry burst through the door, glaring at the troll. He had already eviscerated the stalls, and Harry could only barely see Ron's ginger hair and writhing body from underneath the splintered wood. Harry took a deep breath and moved his wand as Hermione came charging into the room.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Something actually happened, though perhaps not what Harry had intended. Harry swore he could feel his wand hiccup, and instead of levitating the troll's club, it exploded. The troll screamed in pain, as now dozens of pieces of flaming hot wood were now embedded into his skin. The troll was also now missing an ear and an eyeball, as the explosion had also removed a small chunk of his face.
He tumbled backwards, before falling over, slamming his head into the hard stone walls, and collapsing unconscious.
There was now a silence.
"Wow," Hermione muttered. Just then, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore appeared in the doorway.
"H-Harry? Miss Granger? What are you both doing here! Explain yourselves, immediately!" Professor McGonagall cried, her voice wavering.
Hermione breathed. "It's my fault, Professor. I… stopped Harry as we were heading down into the common room because the troll was loose in the dungeons, I didn't think it was very wise to file down there with a troll running about. Then, we heard Ron ranting in here," She gestured to the boy underneath the pile of broken stalls. "and we wanted to help him get out of here. We didn't realize the troll was coming straight for him."
"And how did you… dispatch of the troll?" Professor Dumbledore asked, glancing down at the gore that was on the floor and walls.
"I tried to cast the levitation charm… my… wand hiccuped, I guess, and the troll's club exploded."
"Harry… James… Potter…" Minerva growled in a very low voice. "How could you do something so foolish, risking your life against a fully grown mountain troll!"
Harry lowered his head. "Sorry, Mum."
Minerva wrapped her son in a hug, and Harry could feel her trembling. Suddenly, he felt very bad about his heroics. "I'm still proud of you, regardless."
"Indeed," Snape said cooly. "If I may, twenty points to Slytherin… perhaps for sheer dumb luck if nothing else."
"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore said. "Mister Potter, would you mind following me? Professor Snape, please escort Miss Granger back to her common room, and Minerva, if you could please take Mister Weasley up to the hospital wing."
"Headmaster?" Snape asked an unspoken question.
"Just her common room, Severus." Dumbledore said.
Harry followed Professor Dumbledore back to his office quietly, his head low.
As they climbed the steps, Professor Dumbledore gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please, take a seat, Harry."
Harry sat down and Dumbledore sat across from him.
"A very… foolish, yet brave thing you did today. Not many eleven year olds can take on a fully grown mountain troll, and live to tell the tale."
"Mum was saying that," Harry said with a sigh. "If you're going to expel me-"
"My dear boy, why would I expel you? As far as I can tell, you did this school and your friends quite a service. But that is not why I have brought you here. As you know, and as we have discussed in the past, you have yet to be able to pair with a wand that will obey you."
"Yes," Harry said quietly. "Have you found anything?"
"To some extent," Dumbledore said with a dry laugh. "Tell me, young Harry, have you ever read the Tales of Beedle the Bard?"
"Oh, yeah! Mum's read that to me loads of times!"
"Then I assume, you are familiar with the Tale of the Three Brothers?"
"Oh, aye," Harry said with a nod. "Three brothers attempted to cross a perilous river at twilight, and because they were wixen, they were able to defy death by summoning a bridge to cross it. Death was upset that he had been bested, and offered the three brothers something as a parting gift. One brother chose a stone to revive long lost love, one brother chose a wand that could be unconquerable, and the third brother chose a cloak to hide from Death and his enemies."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, gently peering at Harry with his twinkling eyes. "Perhaps you are a bit young to know the knowledge I will share with you, but I fear you may need to understand your position in all of the game of chess we are involved in sooner, rather than later."
"Sir?" Harry asked.
"The story goes deeper than just a children's tale. There were indeed, three brothers, Ignotus, Antioch, and Cadmus. Wether they truly tricked Death, or were simply geniuses in their own right, is a matter for debate, however…" Dumbledore said with a sniff. "Cadmus, who received a stone of resurrection in order to bring back the woman he loved, found life with his beloved unfulfilling. She longed to return to the afterlife, and ultimately, Cadmus followed, and Death claimed him as his own."
"And then there was Ignotus, a man who, in all of his righteous wisdom, lived a very long and happy life, free and true to himself and his family, and never imbibed in greed and power-lust. He fashioned for himself an invisibility cloak that would last forever, and it has passed from father to son for generations, in fact,"
Dumbledore stood up and walked over to a wooden box on a nearby shelf, and picked it up, before walking back over to his desk. Setting the box on the table, he tapped his wand to it once, before the box opened. He lifted up a silky, black-but-kinda-silvery cloak, and placed it on the table.
"Ignotus Peverell's descendants lived for many generations, though their names and faces have certainly changed. The last descendant of Ignotus to bear this cloak perished before he could pass it to his son."
Dumbledore gently extended the folded up cloak to Harry.
"Sir?" Harry blinked in shock.
"Your father left this in my possession shortly before he died, and I figured tonight was perhaps the best time for me to return what is rightfully yours."
"T-Thank you, sir," Harry murmured, gently rubbing the fabric between his fingers.
"But there is more, young Harry, more that I wish I did not have to share with you, but in the interest of sparing you the psychological torment of your magic failing you, it is perhaps best we had this conversation now, rather than later."
"The third brother, Antioch. He was a combative man, believing in force of will, and strength of violence. He fashioned for himself a wand of unimaginable power, made of an elder tree– this wand as we know it, has become known as the Elder Wand. This wand is very dangerous, and… can lead to unfortunate happenings."
"Why-"
"Allow me to finish, young Harry, and then I shall answer any question you may have, alright?" Professor Dumbledore said, before nodding.
"The Elder Wand has changed hands many times since Antioch was so violently cut down in the dead of night. But, ultimately, oh, about fifty years ago, the wand ended up in the hands of an old friend of mine. He instilled terror and fear among men, and ultimately, he and I got into a duel, a great one that ended it all… and in the process, I won the loyalty of the wand."
"So you're the one who has the Elder Wand?" Harry interrupted again.
"Alas, no," Professor Dumbledore said, sighing. "You see, as many years passed, I became sedentary, and comfortable in my mastery of such a wand. I was challenged to a duel by Voldemort, the very same man who gave you that scar, and I, unfortunately, lost."
"You lost?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"It was not my finest day," Dumbledore said, his eyes betraying nothing other than a deep seated regret behind his eyes. "But ultimately, Voldemort won mastery of the Elder Wand, and with it, he believed he would conquer everything. Ultimately, this night ten years ago, he darkened the doorstep of your parents' home, and killed them in cold blood, but…"
"He couldn't kill me, or failed."
"Indeed, for some reason, you survived the killing curse. Voldemort's body was destroyed, and the wand disappeared, no doubt stolen from his corpse. At first, I believed that the wand's power had been finally broken and there could be no master… but I was wrong."
Dumbledore took a deep breath and sighed. "You are the rightful master of the Elder Wand, Harry."
"Me?!" Harry's eyes bulged. "What'dya mean, me!?"
"Magic is a very fickle thing, my boy. Your survival of the killing curse, and Voldemort's own undoing by his spell rebounding, ultimately meant that you had won the loyalty of the Elder Wand. Where ever on Earth it should be, it is yours. I have a feeling it will reunite with us eventually."
"Is this why I can't really perform magic?" Harry asked, scratching his head.
"Indeed. If you notice, your wand is made of rowan, Harry. Rowan wands tend to be more compatible than not with people who bear elder wands."
Harry glanced at his wand, and back up at the Headmaster.
"I understand, Harry, that you have been given a waiver for Flying classes by Professor Snape. I should like it if you could come up here during that class period. If you should ever hope to possess the Elder Wand some day, and not be utterly corrupted by it, perhaps it is time I mentor you in some things that may come to help you."
…
The following morning, Harry went up to the hospital wing to see how Ron was doing. After being cleared to enter by Madame Pomfrey (she was always very nice to Harry and fussed about him making sure he was eating enough), he walked down to Ron's bed.
Ron was in the company of some others. Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, as well as a whole cacophony of redheads. Harry blinked.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I just came to see how Ron was doing," Harry said.
"I can't thank you enough, Harry, for saving this knob's life. I told him not to go off moping like a girl," Seamus said, grinning.
"Mum, Dad, this is Harry Potter. He saved Ron's life," Fred said. "Seriously, thanks for saving him."
"It's not a big deal, everyone. It's common human decency. Here, Ron, I brought you some Bernie Botts' Beans."
"Cor," Ron said with a grin, accepting the gift from Harry.
Harry spent the next while being thanked and being treated to Devon hospitality by the Weasley family, including Molly and Arthur, the parents. Harry had discovered that his biological parents had been close friends of the Weasleys, and that he'd actually visited their home once before with Minerva after Fred and George had gotten into trouble.
Harry didn't remember either event, but his memories before 8 years old were spotty at best. After graciously accepting an invitation to visit The Burrow (their home, he guessed) at any time, Harry left to go to class with a wave to Ron.
Ron became the second "friend" Harry had in Gryffindor, strengthening the hopefulness Harry had in mending the irreconcilable rift between the two houses.
Something Harry noticed, not long after, was the fact that Snape seemed to walk around with a strange gait, as if he was almost constantly in pain.
…
Once November had finally arrived, the weather began to turn cold. Harry adored the cold. Fond memories of bundling up by the hearth with Mum and Lala, playing in the heavy snowbanks, and sledding down the hills with some of the kids in the village. As well, Quidditch season began.
The first game of the year for Slytherin was against Gryffindor, a typical grudge match, so the stands were packed with students. As could be expected, most of the stands were bathed in red-and-gold colors, students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were almost unanimously united in keeping Slytherin from winning the match.
The match itself was accompanied with a hilarious commentary by Lee Jordan, another Gryffindor, and a close friend of Fred and George Weasley. His commentary often got him the scorn and consternation of Harry's mother, but it was worth a good laugh.
Harry frowned at Slytherin's rather aggressive style of play. Several times they'd committed rather ludacris fouls that did more to set the field up for Gryffindor than Slytherin. He idly wondered if Marcus Flint was actually intending on winning the game, or if he was just interested in landing his entire team in the hospital wing.
With no distractions, Gryffindor rallied hard, and Marcus Flint himself ended up out of the game after taking a nasty bludger to the leg. No foul of course, it was his fault because he'd gone after the Gryffindor Seeker, some third year bloke named Johnson, with much malice.
Ultimately, the game ended in a Gryffindor victory, a rather broad 180 to 20. As they filed out of the pitch, Harry was in a rather cross mood.
"Is the captain of the team an idiot, or is he just trying to look like one?"
"What do you mean, Potter?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow.
"You've played Quidditch before, or at least watched it, right Draco?"
"Of course, Father took me to the World Cup last year, courtesy of the Minister's office."
"Then tell me with a straight face that Slytherin's strategy of literally bludgeoning every single person in sight is a winning one."
"We have had the Quidditch Cup for the last five years, Potter. Just because you're a protégé doesn't mean you can be the ultimate authority on tactics," Pansy Parkinson said, her face sour.
"By sheer luck or mass tactics, and nothing else. Gryffindor didn't exactly roll over and let us run the table; and I'm not claiming I'd do a better job, I'm just saying that the Captain should do a better job."
Harry's comments warmed him to some people in Slytherin who agreed, including members of the Quidditch team itself… though certainly not to Marcus Flint, who on a couple of occasions tried to hex Harry. One time, as he was getting ready to strike, it had been in the hallway with Professor Snape nearby. Snape had quickly stunned the boy and dragged him off to his office.
The second time was without any teachers around, but Harry's wand hiccuped again, causing Flint's robe to spark on fire with a bright green flame. After those two attempts, Flint largely left Harry alone, simply ignoring him or calling him a "nosy little first year".
Harry idly wondered if that would hurt his chances at making the team next year.
…
"Harry," Dumbledore began with a quiet murmur. "If you should wish to truly master the Elder Wand some day, as it is your right, you must learn the necessary skills to make the most of your magic, and as well, block out some of the more negative aspects of magic that will attempt to lure you into a false sense of being."
"Sir?"
"There are techniques used by wizards of great repute and skill, including myself, Professor Snape, and Voldemort, that allow for them to read your mind and know your most intimate thoughts. The art of closing your mind to invasion is called Occlumency, the art of invading another person's mind is Legilimency. We shall, through our lessons together, begin to build for you the basic tenements of these skills so that when the time is right, you will be able to resist Voldemort and any negative forces that seek to impose on you." Dumbledore explained carefully.
"Is the Elder Wand really that dangerous?" Harry asked quietly.
"It can be, if one does not have the humility and grace to handle it. Something I am sure you are capable of, Harry."
It wasn't long after the lessons began, that Harry had his first encounter with something that didn't quite sit right with him.
Harry had always dealt with migraines after DADA classes, but he simply assumed it was just something having to do with the overwhelming scent of garlic and death that lingered in Quirrell's class. Today was different; his sensitivity to it was much worse, and it felt like his scar was going to burst open and spew fire it hurt so badly.
He had them practicing wand movements for basic spells, and when Quirrell had come over to judge his wand movements, Harry's headache continued to worsen to the point where he was standing as stiff as a board, and the last thing Harry remembered was the Professor mentioning that he needed to tighten up his stance.
When he awoke again, he found himself in the hospital wing, gauze wrapped around his head. A couple of concerned individuals were peering at him, though without his eyeglasses they were simply colourful blurs.
Though, given the dominant colour of each blob, he could reason quite well who was whom. The dark, black blob to his left was most likely Professor Snape, given the man's overwhelming adoration of the colour black– the blue and white one to his right was likely Professor Dumbledore.
When his eyeglasses were plopped back onto his nose and he could see again, he was pleased to know he'd gotten it wholly right.
"Mister Potter, we're very glad to see you're alright," Snape said with a wheeze. Harry doubed he'd ever seen Snape so frightened and worried ever.
"Indeed, you gave us all quite a fright," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes sparkling with concern.
"W-What happened?" Harry asked, rubbing the area where his head was currently gauzed up.
"That is something we'd like to ask you, Mister Potter," Snape said, his voice quiet and low. "Madame Pomfrey says you were left here by Professor Quirrell, and you were bleeding profusely from your scar… to the point where she had great difficulty closing the wound with normal magic."
"I don't remember much, sir. I remember practicing the wand movements for the Body-Bind curse, and I remember Quirrell approaching me to critique my stance, he placed his hand on me, and then I woke up here."
Harry got very little out of the two professors, and they soon adjourned from his room, with Dumbledore giving advice to Harry to continue practicing the meditation methods they had discussed, and that he would return soon. Harry had managed to fall asleep soon afterwards.
…
The dream he had was most unpleasant. He could not see anything, but he could hear the sickening hissing voice of a man commanding his displeasure to a man who only referred to him as "Master". The hissing voice was clearly displeased about something, and Harry didn't have to be an investigative journalist or a police officer to know that the voice belonged to the man who had murdered his parents – Voldemort.
He had his own assumptions as to whom the pleading and begging voice was, and he felt his suspicions were firmly validated the next day when Quirrell had come to visit him. Quirrell's presence had triggered not only a migraine, but a burning sensation in his scar. He had also, strangely, noted that Quirrell's hands were wrapped in gauze, as if something had happened to them.
Harry wasn't a bloody moron. He could add numbers together and come to the conclusion that two plus two was four.
When he was finally discharged from the hospital, he made quickly for Professor Snape's office. Knocking on the door quickly, he waited before the door opened, and Snape looked at him.
"Yes, Potter?"
"Professor- I think something dark is attached, or something, to Professor Quirrell."
Snape blinked, slapped his hand on Harry's mouth, and pulled him into his office. He closed the door quickly and waved his wand, casting a number of spells Harry didn't recognize. He aggressively pointed at a chair by his desk.
"Sit, Potter."
Harry sat down and Snape folded his arms and looked at him carefully.
"Explain yourself."
"Sir, every time I come within five feet of Professor Quirrell, come into physical contact with him, or otherwise make eye contact with him, it feels like my scar is going to burst open and a million bees are going to come flying out of there. Also, I had a dream last night, where this… voice, a disembodied hissing voice, was commanding its displeasure at someone who was pleading for mercy."
"And you think this means Quirrell is… trafficking in dark arts?"
"I don't know, sir, I think there is something attached to him… whatever it is, they're stuck together."
"You have a habit of being quite nosy into affairs you shouldn't concern yourself with, Potter," Snape mumbled, before making his way to the hearth. He threw something into the fire and shoved his head into the hearth. A few moments passed before he withdrew himself and glared at Harry.
"Professor Dumbledore will be joining us momentarily."
And Dumbledore did, in his full grace. However, his soft, sparkling smile soon faded into a cold contemplative look as Harry went through his explanations. Dumbledore nodded and stroked his beard.
"Then there is great danger."
"The boy is annoyingly clever, Albus. Nosing about in business he shouldn't bother with."
"My question is," Harry murmured, "is why Professor Quirrell would traffic in dark arts when he seems so meek and timid."
Dumbledore let out a great sigh, and seemed to sag a bit.
"Humans are complex creatures, and there was once a great Muggle philosopher who spoke volumes about the duality of man," Dumbledore said with a contemplative look on his face. "The ability for a person to do great good, great evil, or all sorts of things in the middle. There is many questions to answer, Harry, but you must be cautious with how curious and inquisitive you are towards subjects of great sensitivity."
"But sir-"
"I understand, it isn't a hard conclusion to reach, and I agree. There is something deeply suspicious going on here, and I have had to be very specific about which steps I take as a result."
"Severus," Dumbledore wheezed. "Is there a way we could have Mister Potter escape his DADA lessons with Professor Quirrell? Perhaps it is time Mister Potter gets… advanced lessons."
Snape nodded stiffly, before turning to address Harry.
"Potter, you will report here during your DADA period. If anybody asks, you are… receiving special instruction to accommodate your wand issues. You need not explain yourself to anyone, except perhaps your mother, but I shall take care of that myself," Snape said, a smirk on his face.
Harry nodded once, looked at Snape. "But sir, if my wand barely works, how can I expect to be able to perform advanced spells?"
Snape looked to Professor Dumbledore for advice, and Dumbledore gave a sage nod. "Things will work out somehow. You shall simply have to try as hard as you can, Harry. For that is all we can do right now. In time, I think, your true wand will present itself to you. If there is one thing I can say about the Elder Wand, it does not like to be divorced from its true master for long. It grows restless, angry, and bitter."
The new schedule for Harry had set was… of mixed popularity in his social circles. Neville and Ron had copped quite quickly to the real reasons, and had been both understanding and supportive, even if Ron was mortified at the idea of Harry being around Professor Snape longer than was necessary. The redhead seemed to have it lodged in his brain that Snape was up to no good, or at the very least, had malicious intent behind nearly everything he did. Maybe where Gryffindors were concerned, that much was true… but Slytherin, perhaps not.
On the Slytherin side of things, well… it was a mixed bag. Draco had given Harry a deeply concerned look, one that asked more questions than the tight-lipped blond cared to ask in a forward manner, but some others hadn't been nearly as supportive. Harry had noticed Hermione was not being nearly as friendly and warm to him as she usually was– avoiding him in the halls, ignoring him at breakfast and lunch.
Things came to a head one afternoon a week later, when Harry had come into the Great Hall to find Hermione and Draco in a debate.
"…-sn't fair that he is getting special instruction from the Headmaster and Professor Snape while the rest of us have to toil away at the pre-existing lesson plan!" Hermione was angrily grating out towards Draco, who simply gave her an expression of disbelief.
"In case you didn't realize it, Harry isn't exactly like the rest of us, is he? He's got a bunch of problems he's looking at, and if Professor Snape and the Headmaster think it's best he receive special instruction, then who are we to complain about it?" Draco questioned.
"It's not fair!" Hermione protested.
"Life's not fair, you insufferable little mudblood," Malfoy had loudly muttered under his breath, causing a very still silence to settle over the Slytherin table. Harry had, on sheer instinct, drawn his wand on Draco and had it aimed directly in his face.
"You don't call her that," Harry said cooly towards his friend. "Apologize."
"Put your wand away, Mister Potter, before I make you put it away," Snape's voice came as the Professor descended from the staff table.
"Yes, sir," Harry said, stowing his wand away.
"Twenty points from Slytherin for drawing your wand on another student," Snape said. There were murmurs of displeasure down the Slytherin table.
"He called her a mudblood, sir," Harry said.
Snape glared at Malfoy and straightened up. "I see."
"Mister Malfoy," Snape drawled slowly. "I thought you and I had a discussion at the start of term about such crass and offensive language. Detention, and another twenty points from Slytherin."
Another round of disgruntled mumbling came rumbling from the Slytherin table.
"Shut up," Snape said briskly. "This is none of your concern. Perhaps if the rest of you were more willing to make sure your fellow housemates weren't casually tossing around slurs like they're ill-gotten Sickles, you wouldn't have just lost forty points. I expect better from my Slytherins. Is that understood?"
There were smatterings of understanding from the students, and Snape returned to his perch. Harry's appetite was thoroughly destroyed, and he glared at the two before turning on heel and leaving the Great Hall altogether.
Today's first block period was, unfortunately, DADA, so he made his way directly to Snape's office and hung outside the door, grumbling about Hermione and Draco. Snape showed up about twenty minutes later, and said nothing as he let Harry into the office.
"I'm sorry, Professor, for earlier," Harry said after Snape had closed the door.
"Acknowledged, Potter. Now let's begin, hopefully that coward Quirrell hasn't completely spoiled your appetite for proper Defense Against the Dark Arts," Snape said with an authoritative sweep of his cloak.
"Now, any Professor with no experience in either the Dark Arts or the defense against them thereof, would tell you to open your book and read nonsense chapters. Where Potions would require your absolute adherence to the instructions as given with some variations… DADA is a practical application of wandlore, not nearly as much a theoretical one, as much as the Ministry and textbook writers try to tell you it is," Snape explained, twirling his wand in his hand.
"Potter, I will take you through some of the first year jinxes and hexes, and I want to see what mastery I'm working with here. I should hope your wand isn't too much of a hassle to deal with this simple task."
The first task was simple– lumos. The wand-lighting spell, something very basic, Snape explained, it could be done by a first year with barely a functional set of limbs, let alone someone who was as "annoyingly clever" as Harry.
It had taken a couple tries to cast it and control the power of the spell, but the third attempt had Harry finally have a solid glowing wand.
They seemed to settle into a rhythm this way over the weeks, the concern of a certain turbaned professor hanging over their heads.