Chapter 3
I need a place to practice duelling by myself and using defensive spells without anyone being able to find me.
I turned on my heel and walked back in the direction I'd come.
I need a place to practice duelling by myself and using defensive spells without anyone being able to find me.
I reached the end of the tapestry of trolls and turned myself around again.
I need a place to practice duelling by myself and using defensive spells without anyone being able to find me.
This time, when I turned there was a door waiting for me where once there'd been a blank wall. I'd expected a grand double door covered in designs with an elaborate lock, but instead, it was just an ordinary door, indistinguishable from the hundreds like it in the castle. I glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, opened the door and entered the Room of Requirement.
It had taken me a week to actually find the room. The books and films entirely failed to convey how bewilderingly hard it was to navigate Hogwarts. Landmarks moved, passageways and staircases often lead to completely different destinations and that was before taking into account the sheer size of the castle. A Muggle building on the same scale of Hogwarts would be hard to find your way around. Once magic entered the equation, all bets were off.
In answer to my request, the Room had formed a space roughly the size of one of the Transfiguration classroom. Along the wall to my right was a bookcase filled with what I hoped was a similar selection of tomes to the ones Harry had found. Along the left was a series of targets, including several human-shaped mannequins. Finally, opposite the door was a number of trunks, chests and cupboards that I suspected contained assorted objects that the Room thought I could use.
Closing the door behind me and turning the key I found in the lock, I went over to the far wall first. Most of the books would be as far beyond me as the Transfiguration book that Professor McGonagall had given me, so I was probably better off to see what equipment I had to work with. I had some ideas that I would need some props for and was worried about having to enchant or purchase them myself. Either proposition was rather beyond my abilities as it stood.
The first chest I tried was locked but yielded to a quick "Alohomora".
The lid was immediately thrown up by a dark object rocketing loose from inside. Flinching back, I narrowly avoided being struck by the objects return journey downwards. Instead of falling to the ground, it veered left and began whipping around the room. Now that I had some distance, I could see it was a dark ball of some so—oh. I'd accidentally released a Bludger. What a still-functional Quidditch ball was doing in the Room, I had no idea but I didn't have time to ponder the mystery before the Bludger came for my head again.
Constantly turning to keep the ball in my sights, I moved into the centre of the room, regularly having to jump to one side or the other when the Bludger made another pass. After a few minutes like that without the ball slowing down in the slightest, it finally dawned on me why the Room had produced it for me.
Taking aim carefully, I let loose with one of the more basic spells from the basic Defence manual I'd gotten—and the only one that I was moderately confident with—slashing my wand in what could only be described as the shape of a mountain range.
"Immobulus!"
The spell seemed to work, but the jet of light came nowhere close to hitting the darting ball. Considering that Bludgers were supposed to be hit, that didn't reflect well on my aiming ability.
"Immobulus! Immobulus! Immobulus!"
Each spell missed. My wrist was soon aching and my patience running low. I forced myself to calm down and breathe evenly, then began trying to aim more carefully. A few minutes later, I successfully tagged the Bludger with the spell and it slowed to stop near-instantly. Relieved, I retreated to the back wall of the room and slumped against the chest that the Bludger came from. Curiosity momentarily getting the better of exhaustion, I lifted myself up high enough to see into the chest. It contained at least seven other Bludgers, all straining against their bindings. I tried to picture a time when I would try and practice against eight homicidal autonomous cannonballs at once and came up blank. If that day ever came, it was in the distant future.
After a few minutes of regaining my breath, I decided that I wasn't learning anything by sitting down. Moving to the centre of the room, I pointed my wand at the frozen Bludger and hesitated. Steeling myself, I undid the Charm.
The Bludger flew straight at my head.
—tN—tN—tN—
My classes varied in terms of how interesting they were. Charms and Transfiguration were both interesting enough to keep me engaged for the most part and my self-study had put me put me ahead of most of my classmates. McGonagall had smiled approvingly when I'd managed the needle Transfiguration on my first attempt and asked me—after class—how I was finding the book.
When I'd said it was interesting but a bit too abstract for my current level of understanding, she'd told me that was to be expected and that I could talk to her if there was anything, in particular, I wanted to know. I was probably going to get a reputation as a teacher's pet before long.
Professor Flitwick had been delighted with my ability to perform the first few spells on the course, but otherwise hadn't approached me like McGonagall had, for which I was quite grateful. Given his usual disposition while teaching, I didn't doubt he'd be accommodating if I asked him for help with any extra-curricular projects.
Potions... Potions class was a different kind of interesting. Good laboratory discipline from near-forgotten Science classes combined with the additional reading and research I'd done combined to keep me from making any dangerous mistakes and left me with 'adequate' results. It was about as good a response from Snape as I could hope for. Remembering his Legillimency mid-class had not been conducive to concentration though and I had to remind myself that Legillimency was complex enough that Snape was unlikely to start prying unless I gave him cause.
Nonetheless, I added the study of Occlumency to my list of extra-curricular study topics.
History of Magic was as dull as advertised and I generally read or got a start on my homework during classtime. Binns didn't notice and I suspected that the books on the same topics in the library would be easier to digest.
Gardening had never been a hobby of mine, but Herbology was interesting enough. Professor Sprout was patient and cheerful enough that I could almost overlook the fact that some of the plants we'd be working with could kill us if we weren't careful. Almost. Again, the advance reading I'd done let me avoid any mishaps, though Sprout took more care in giving instruction than Snape did.
Astronomy was... tiring. Irregular and hard-won sleep haunted me across both of my lifetimes and I resented the additional chunks taken out of it to stare at the stars. The views were nice enough and Sinestra was able to explain the significance of the different constellations and astral phenomena quite well but I lacked the personal engagement that even History of Magic demanded in me.
My first flying lesson didn't go terribly well. My broom did answer me on my fourth or fifth call and I didn't lose control and crash horribly, but I felt distinctly uncomfortable in the air. No matter how much I assured myself that I had a good grip, that the charms on the broom would help, the feeling of imbalance persisted until my feet rested on solid ground once more. I'd never been a fan of heights anyway.
—tN—tN—tN—
I had yet to receive a satisfactory explanation for why the magical world preferred to write with quills and parchment beyond that it was traditional to do so. After a brief learning curve, I had no issues with it, though I preferred a codex format to scrolls for my non-class-related notes and writings. For the sake of conforming to wizarding tradition, however, I'd decided to scribe my letter to the Headmaster on parchment and have it delivered by one of the school owls.
From the first night, after I'd calmed down enough to think through the revelations properly, I'd planned on taking what information I thought would help to Dumbledore. Whatever faults he may have, I trusted him to be able to deal with Voldemort's Horcruxes efficiently given detailed knowledge of their locations. There were other incidents that I wanted to avert but stopping Voldemort quicker—without paying such a high cost—was a higher priority.
I wanted to tell him other things as well, such as Sirius's innocence and the Dursley's mistreatment of Harry—and if I perhaps exaggerated the effects that may have him to ensure he took action, who could blame me?—but I suspected that they would take longer to resolve, especially if he wanted to keep Pettigrew on the board. Dealing with the Horcruxes was a formidable task by itself. Forearmed with knowledge, I doubted Dumbledore would fall victim to the ring's curse as he had in the Half Blood Prince. The locket probably wouldn't pose too much of a difficulty to retrieve, particularly once Sirius was freed. The diadem would likely be recovered within a day of my letter's arrival if only to verify its authenticity.
The remaining three would prove more difficult. I had complete confidence in Dumbledore's ability to somehow extricate the cup from Gringotts eventually, but it was an endeavour that would likely take some time. The diary was protected by defences of a more political nature but could be located with relative ease once Lucius put it to use. Indeed, it'd almost deliver itself into Dumbledore's hands.
The issue of Harry was another matter. All I could do on that front was to detail the circumstances on which Harry could theoretically survive the process and hope that the Headmaster's immense knowledge and skill would enable him to replicate the event in some form. It was entirely out of my hands.
One by one I detailed the hiding places of each soul fragment. I described their properties and how they defended themselves. After some consideration I relayed how they could be destroyed, the methods employed in canon. Dumbledore would want some explanation for my knowledge and I doubted he could be easily deceived. Certainly, the default excuse I'd concocted in case the matter arose with another—that I had a peculiar manifestation of a Seer talent—would not fool him for an instant. I had to hope that Dumbledore would either not press the issue once he was certain of my sincerity or else draw the correct conclusion for himself. Not an impossible turn of events.
More hesitantly, I wrote about the true events behind the betrayal of the Potters. I had no doubt that Dumbledore would be most upset at the idea that he'd allowed an innocent man to go to Azkaban. I spared a moment to consider how he'd go about freeing Sirius but resigned myself to suggesting that any release of Harry's godfather be done as quickly and quietly as possible.
I also mentioned the true fates of Barty Crouch Junior and Bertha Jorkins. I wasn't convinced that I had Bertha's surname spelt correctly, but I was equally sure that Dumbledore would deduce who I was referring to. Crouch wasn't quite as important to fixing things, but being aware of his presence on the playing field was important to any kind of strategy to manipulate Voldemort's return to our own benefit.
Once I was sure I'd covered all of the 'backstory', I started telling an abridged account of the series. Voldemort's possession of Quirrel, the attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone—theories about Dumbledore's real intentions behind that particular debacle aside, I suggested a few changes that he may want to consider when the time came—the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, Lockhart's duplicity—itself an actionable crime, if not on the scale of murder—the events that had lead to Voldemort's return and the course the war had taken. In particular, I took care to provide as much detail as I could on what deaths I could remember. The caretaker of the Riddle house, Amelia Bones, Barty Crouch Senior... each death that could be prevented should be. With the exception of Voldemort and certain Death Eaters, of course.
By the time I'd reached the end of my fourth scroll of parchment, I had exhausted every topic that I could think of. I was sure there were more details that would be of use, but I couldn't think of them. It didn't matter too much, probably. I would be at Hogwarts for five full years before the start of canon. That was plenty of time for me to send any other details I recalled to Dumbledore or for him to seek me out and shake loose anything I'd forgotten.
I finished my letter off with a suggestion that Dumbledore take a more active role in getting the Minister on side. I started to detail possible strategies in which Fudge could be manipulated but then I realised that I didn't even know if Fudge was in power yet or who his predecessor was. I settled for suggesting that Dumbledore get someone high up in the Department of Law Enforcement on side, even if it took the reveal about the Horcruxes to do it.
Dumbledore didn't trust himself with power and I wasn't too ashamed to play on that fear and recommend he find someone else to carry the burden. I had no idea if it'd work or if he'd see through my feeble manipulation. Either way, I couldn't see it turning out too badly. Not unless—
I hurriedly noted that the last few items were only my own ideas rather than being a product of any knowledge of the future. Giving Dumbledore what facts I knew was all well and good, but I didn't trust my plans enough to risk him taking them as ironclad advice. I explicitly confirmed that I knew the future in the process, but by that point, I was sure Dumbledore would have figured that much out.
After a few more moments of contemplation, I added my name to the end of the letter, adding in the postscript that I didn't want to draw too much attention.
My letter done, I bound the sheets of parchment into one bundle and checked the time. It was the evening of the first Sunday of term. I thought Dumbledore usually sat with the rest of the staff at breakfast in the mornings and decided to leave my house early to send an owl shortly before he would—hopefully—arrive. A part of me was paranoid that the letter would be lost—or worse; intercepted—if I didn't personally see it being delivered and letting it out of my care for the shortest amount of time seemed the best way to go about it.
I considered putting it off until I'd learned spells that would ensure privacy but dismissed the idea. Anyone intercepting mail bound for the headmaster would be able to break whatever feeble enchantments I might manage to bewitch the letter with. I was just letting my lack of confidence get to me, falling back into my bad habit of procrastinating. Dumbledore needed the information as soon as possible and I'd already delayed enough by not starting the letter until I got to Hogwarts and then leaving it until the end of the weekend to do it. I'd send the letter in the morning.
I turned in early that night, setting my alarm clock to wake me early. My room mates would be annoyed, but I could always fall on the excuse that the piece of Muggle technology was acting up around Hogwarts.
I fell asleep with the letter clenched in my hands.
—tN—tN—tN—
Eating in the Great Hall was an 'Experience' with a capital 'E'.
It was the largest room devoted to the consumption of food I'd seen in the sum total of my life experience. The illusion of being open to the sky only added to the impression of being in a vast space. I considered it a great pity that the ceiling hadn't been featured more in the movies outside of a few choice dramatic moments.
I entered the Great Hall that Monday morning after running all the way from the Owlery, which some genius had placed a considerable distance from the main building. I was sure there was a reason for it, but it didn't change the fact that I'd nearly worn through my shoes and tripped on my robe's hem trying to race an owl across the distance. Logically there was no need for such a rush. The owls did seem to deliver all the post at the same time and Dumbledore may not even have arrived yet. But paranoia and logic didn't get along too well and the former tended to ignore calls from the latter.
And so I arrived, panting and nearly bent over, in the entrance to the Great Hall. The majority of people still hadn't arrived for breakfast yet so I didn't receive much attention. Professor's Flitwick and Sinestra were present however and gave me somewhat odd looks from the staff table. Dumbledore was, in fact, seated in his usual spot but seemed to have neither an unopened letter on his place nor was he troubled as I imagined he surely would be if he had read my message already.
The tables were lined with a wide selection of foods. Many students gravitated towards the plates of bacon and eggs, but I stuck with the more pedestrian options of porridge, occasionally with some toast on the side. I had reasoning for my choices, in the event they were ever challenged, based on the proven nutritional values of porridge and the role played by breakfast in the body's dietary needs. The simple truth was that they were familiar and comforting. And eating in the Great Hall was... Not.
Eating in canteens bothered me. Normal restaurants didn't, even if they technically held more people. They were more private, somehow. Eating in cafeterias and similar places was nerve-wracking. There was the constant feeling of someone looking over my shoulder. Of being crowded by people with little respect for personal space. Of being surrounded by people who were just flat-out unpredictable and prone to flailing and moving when I wasn't expecting. Inviting disaster. They were loud and noisy and smelly.
And, ultimately, they were friendly. People called out to each other all the time. Conversations were struck up over plates and across tables. People tended to leave me alone, books acting as a kind of conversation-repellant but there were always the people that would come up and start asking what my book was about, how I was liking it, had I also read these other ones and so on. I just wanted to be left alone.
That morning I didn't even have the full protection of a book. I was spending too much time craning my neck to watch and see if Dumbledore had gotten my owl yet. I was fairly sure he'd spotted me looking—in any case he seemed to be doing a bit too good a job of not looking at me whenever I glanced at him—but I didn't care about that overly much. He'd know who I was once he got my letter anyway.
Then the owls arrived in a great squawking, flapping, storm of feathers. Most students had entered the Hall by this time and conversations shifted as people turned their attention to whatever the owls had brought them. There were a great number of newspapers and magazines, quite a number of care packages from worried parents and—of course—innumerable amounts of letters.
I only had eyes for one person and that was the old man currently untying a thick scroll from the leg of one of the school owls, a curious expression on his face. I watched, my porridge forgotten, as he unfurled the parchment, waving his fingers over it a few times first—presumably to look for any curses or other surprises it may have harboured—and then examining its contents. Then I wasn't the only one neglecting their breakfast.
I had taken a seat close to the staff table to maximise my ability to observe the headmaster. It was quite a deviation from my usual behaviour which was to seek out a spot close to the doors but a bit away from them so as to best afford me a way out of the Hall without being in the direct path of anything or one coming through them. I doubted that anyone was observing me close enough to take note of the shift in behaviour, especially considering I was so new to the school. It was understandable for a first-year to experiment a bit with sitting in different places, right?
My preparations for surveillance paid off and I was close enough to just about make out Dumbledore's eyes flashing across the parchment, flicking through each sheet in such a short span of time that I could scarcely believe he'd read them at all. He reached the end and pulled out his wand—the Elder Wand—and waved it over the pieces of parchments a few times. Then he read through them again, only marginally slower if he'd slowed at all.
With a sudden motion I couldn't quite follow, he furled the parchment and stowed it away somewhere out of sight. Then he turned his eyes directly on me.
Albus Dumbledore's eyes did not twinkle. There were no tiny lights that danced and sparkled in his corneas. They were focused. Where other people merely looked, Albus Dumbledore saw. His blue gaze did not brook any effort to hide or dissemble. And now it was turned on me, his eyes locked straight onto mine.
I didn't forget to breathe or panic. I just blanked, my every thought leaving my mind as I tried not to panic. I fancied myself as having perhaps stumbled across some primitive form of Occlumency but it was just as likely that Dumbledore wasn't using Legillimency at all. He had never claimed to have any particular skill at it, merely enough to detect the untruths of a deranged house-elf and an unstable teenage boy.
Whatever Dumbledore was looking for in me—be it in my mind or my countenance—he seemed to find it. Or that's the conclusion I drew from the fact that he didn't draw his wand and strike me down where I sat like I imagined he'd do to a clear and present threat amongst his students. He looked thoughtful, perhaps even a tad hopeful. Though that may have been merely my own wistful thinking. Whatever it was, he smiled at me and tapped the side of his nose before returning to his breakfast. A moment later he'd struck up a conversation with Professor Sprout and didn't pay me any attention for the rest of the meal.
A smile and a tap on the side of the nose. If I was interpreting that correctly, Dumbledore was saying 'Thank you and don't worry, this stays between the two of us'. Which was pretty much the best I could have hoped for.
Regardless, my appetite had suffered a direct hit from an Avada Kedavra and I didn't take another bite until lunchtime. I hoped that nobody had noticed my interest in Dumbledore or his letter during breakfast. Even if they had, they'd probably dismiss it as a new student being starstruck and sending expansive fan mail. I doubted that hadn't happened before. Nobody said anything to me about it and the knot in my stomach dissolved as the day went on.
Everything was fine. I'd done what I could and left it in the hands of the most competent person I knew. Dumbledore would take care of everything.
I didn't stop my own preparations and research. If anything, I stepped them up. For good or ill, I'd applied high-grade explosives to the rails of canon. Things were different now and I'd need to be ready for the consequences of that.
