Chapter 4

The Hogwarts library was Heaven itself. I didn't believe in an afterlife, but the Library convinced me that there was a Paradise.

There were no novels among the shelves and few storybooks. Absolutely nothing that I could find in the way of plays or poetry. But once again the world of witchcraft compensated for its shortcomings with pure magic.

Books of charms, curses, potions, hexes, jinxes and countless other wondrous tales. As a first year, most of them were far beyond my ability to even conceive of using but they still fuelled my dreams and aspirations. Unlike in the Muggle world, you could do almost anything with a wand and sufficient determination. Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. There were still ingredients and materials for some of the more intriguing possibilities that required gold and connections to obtain. But for the most part, anything was possible if you could find and master the right spell.

The Animagus transformation was one of the exceptions to that rule. From what I could remember from Pottermore, it required a potion of some sort on top of a spell. I thought there was something about a mandrake, but over a decade of time had sapped my already-faulty memory of any degree of clarity. No matter, I was sure I would be able to find the necessary instructions in time.

For the moment, however, I had to set aside the advanced Transfiguration in preference to more achievable goals. Specifically, I wanted to know about security magic. Security and privacy. Open to my left was a Muggle-made spiral-bound notebook ready to record any spells of interest while to my right was a pile of books that most would have found daunting but I only found intriguing.

Sending the letter to Dumbledore, I had thought of learning spells to try and keep it private. While ultimately not being terribly useful at the time, I could only see advantages in being able to keep things secret. There were a number of spells for hiding writing that I could easily find, but they all had equally-easily-found counter-charms that were specifically noted to be popular among teachers and parents. I took note of them anyway. I had to start somewhere, after all.

Slowly I uncovered one spell after another that had some relation to hiding things or otherwise keeping them out of the hands of others. Anti-theft charms used in many wizarding shops, assorted intruder and proximity alarm spells, various forms of concealment—including one intriguing that worked by sinking one object inside another when it needed to be hidden and would only be released to the correct password. After a while, I expanded my search to include spells for identification and breaking concealment. If there was some magical equivalent to a fingerprint or iris scanner then I wanted to know about it. I knew that Flitwick had somehow taught the Hogwarts front doors to recognise Sirius Black and that the portraits were capable of learning and responding to passwords, but I had no idea how to go about replicating those effects myself.

I had just finished transcribing the description of a spell used in the creation of snitches—specifically the one used to give them flesh memories—when someone picked a book off the top of my pile. I turned to demand it back—my manners were distinctly lacking when it comes to other people messing with my books—and my words choked in my throat. Examining the volume was the amiable figure of Albus Dumbledore.

—tN—tN—tN—

"My apologies for interrupting, but it is uncommon to see such a young student so diligent in studies outside of the set classwork. With the exception of certain troublemakers that is and they tend to have a rather different focus to their reading." Dumbledore replaced the book to the pile and took a seat next to me. My tongue felt too large for my mouth, too slow and heavy to possibly form words. Dumbledore wanted to speak to me. Of course he did. I'd just sent him a very alarming letter and he had no actual reason not to seek me out and get answers himself. Some part of me had been convinced that the initial exchanges of any exchange between the two of us would be of an epistolary nature. "I do hope you don't mind indulging an old man's curiosity for a few minutes?"

Dumbledore had still been speaking and I'd missed a few words whilst I was cursing my own folly. I managed to collect myself enough to nod. It was a sharper motion than I'd intended and I hoped he didn't take it the wrong way. He didn't seem to take any offence, merely waving one hand in the air for a moment.

Peering about curiously, I made out a slight shimmer in the air about us and what few noises persisted even in Madam Pince's realm were oddly muted. I could easily conjecture that Dumbledore had taken steps to ensure we weren't overheard, an assumption he confirmed just moments later.

"On a more genuine note, I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable by approaching you so unexpectedly, Poe. I needed to have a frank conversation with you without drawing any undue attention. Don't worry, none will know a word of what we speak of."

Poe. He called me by my first name rather than my surname. The detail lodged on something in my memory, tugging something free.

He had called Harry by his first name as well, at least in the later books. I couldn't remember the form of address used in the first few.

I didn't have the same connection to Dumbledore, the same justifications for familiarity, as Harry did. But perhaps this was Dumbledore's way of saying that he wanted to? Or maybe I was reading too much into something as minor as an address?

No, I decided, looking back at Dumbledore's even face. It was most likely a token of... Not trust, but the potential for trust. An olive branch, though not exactly since there had been no strife.

I was getting distracted. I forced myself to try and find something to say in response. Anything.

Nothing. My tongue still felt like it'd been hexed into unusability. Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't seem to take offence.

"First of all, thank you kindly for your letter. I'd say that you have no idea how many lives you've saved by coming to me with that information, except that you contacted me precisely because of those lives."

My immediate cynical reaction was that Dumbledore was trying to soften me up with compliments but I quashed that instinct. Trusting Dumbledore blindly was a bad idea, but thinking the worst of him at every turn was just as bad. Maybe even worse.

"Secondly, I'm afraid that I must set a distressing trend in begging for your forgiveness for the third time in this conversation. As marvellous as your intelligence proved, I took the liberty of verifying some of the more easily-checked facts you presented. Until that point, I had a hard time convincing myself of their authenticity."

"I'd expected that. I knew you'd need to check some of it yourself," I said, finally forcing some words out. "May I ask which parts you chose to check?"

"I was able to retrieve the diadem from that most incredible room and confirm its dark nature. I also found proof that a passage existed below the bathroom you indicated though I was unable to gain entry without risking damage to the castle. I'll have to trust that the key you indicated will arrive on schedule." 'The key', I noticed, could refer to either the diary or to Harry. Both of which were capable of opening the Chamber and were set to arrive in Hogwarts on a set date in the future—provided things weren't derailed significantly. "Finally, I paid a visit to Mr Potter's residence. The situation was as you described and I can only hope that there is still time to avert the more dire outcomes you predicted."

I was far from proficient in analysing people's facial expressions, but I thought I could detect a hint of... Something negative. Not quite regret or sadness. 'Horror' was closer, but with a hint of acceptance. Shame.

I let that point slide. The mandatory first station in fixing canon had been addressed and needed no further attention from me. I reached for something else to say.

"What about the— the rest of the items, sir?" I said after a moment of grasping for words.

"Recovering them will likely take some time if I'm to do so without drawing the attention of their creator," Dumbledore answered, which fit with my conclusion. "I've begun making quiet overtures to certain trusted individuals in the Ministry of Magic as well, as you suggested. Securing poor Sirius' release will be difficult—particularly under the current Minister—but I assure you I am working on it. I'm less certain of your suggestion of gaining aid in destroying the... Items from the Ministry, but your reasoning is sound."

Dumbledore sighed. The last admission seemed to have drained him somewhat though I fancied that he was not necessarily displeased by the concept—merely unused to the idea. Then Dumbledore turned his gaze fully on me as he had done after receiving my letter.

"The biggest question that remains for me to answer is what it is that you want out of this."

It wasn't so much a question as a polite-but-firm request for information. Information that I couldn't give him. After a moment of spluttering and stammering and trying to speak, I managed to marshal together a coherent sentence.

"There isn't anything that I want, sir. I just want to be left alone for the most part. I want to learn stuff, get a place of my own, maybe see the world. I don't want anything more out of this."

"Then why contact me?" Dumbledore asked, gentle and curious. Not outright incredulous.

"Because... I had to. I couldn't not tell. I couldn't not do anything. You said it yourself, what I know could save lots of people. Maybe even the world, I think. I couldn't keep it to myself. I'm not strong enough to do it myself, so I told you. That's it, I swear!" I was almost shouting by the end and reflexively looked around to see if anyone else was staring before I remembered that Dumbledore had used spells to keep our conversation quiet.

The headmaster was quiet, his eyes looking at—but not focused on—me. I fiddled with a quill while I waited for him to say something, my gaze wandering over the Library to avoid staring at him. I itched to draw my wand but resisted the urge. There wasn't anything I could do with it anyway.

"Nothing for yourself, you say?" Dumbledore said.

"Nothing," I echoed.

"That is very selfless of you. If you were to demand some great prize or reward then I would, within reason, do my considerable best to accommodate you. I think you know this—or at least suspect it. But you ask for nothing, wanting to be left alone.

"Very well, I will leave you be now. But know that you have done the world a great favour and I shall not soon forget that. If you should ever change your mind, should ever find that you need anything, then get in contact with me. Owl, Muggle post, however you can." The headmaster stood and dispelled the shimmering barely-there barrier with another wave of his hand. "I'll leave you to your studies once more then, Poe."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I hope you have a good day."

"I hope so too. And please—" and now his eyes did seem to twinkle, just a bit "—call me Albus."

He left with a swish of his elaborate robes while I gaped for a moment.

It wasn't until I climbed to my room later that I realised that he hadn't asked about the source of my knowledge. Perhaps he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps he had decided that it didn't matter so long as I was trustworthy. Only Dumbledore—I couldn't think of him as Albus, not yet anyway—knew and he hadn't said.

I had the gratitude of Albus Dumbledore. His respect, even. If I had been reading things right.

What that would mean in the long-term I had no idea. In the short-term, it meant that I found a number of expensive-looking guides to basic enchantments lying on my bed when I returned to my room. When I went to stow them in my trunk to peruse another day, when my head wasn't reeling quite as much, I found the interior had been magically extended to contain an entire bookcase.

An entire, filled, bookcase.

Whose contents were very familiar to me.

I hoped that nobody in the children's home had a sudden hankering for my sci-fi collection. Its absence would be a bit hard to explain.

—tN—tN—tN—

Dumbledore was often out of the castle in the weeks that followed our meeting in the Library and our paths didn't cross for quite some time. I honestly wasn't sure if he was normally that busy though I was convinced that I had added to his workload considerably. In the meantime, I was making my own preparations.

The Room of Requirement continued to oblige me with whatever materials I needed to hone my skills. A part of me wondered if I was using the Room for its intended purpose or if Harry—and later Neville—had come closer to its creator's original intent. Or perhaps I was over-thinking it and the Room wasn't made with any goal in mind beyond the obvious.

Random piles of objects of various weights and densities were provided to test my Levitation spells on. Piles of padlocks and broken lockers served as ideal targets for Locking and Unlocking Charms. And there was always another box of Bludgers waiting for me somewhere.

After a few weeks of practice, I'd worked out that each Bludger had a slightly different pattern. Some were faster than others, some moved more erratically. Some would attack me incessantly, others would hang back and try and get me from behind. Regardless, my reflexes and aim had improved by leaps and bounds. Most days I was able to hit a Bludger out of the air in under a minute.

I was proud of myself for that, considering my generally-poor athleticism in my previous life. Then the part of me that drove me to seek the additional practice out in the first place compelled me to start trying to deal with two Bludgers at once.

And that was how I learned that dodging was also an important skill.

I was still making steady progress on learning other spells though each one seemed to be harder than the last. The basic Freezing Charm hadn't been too hard but the other spells listed were... Trickier.

I had decided to ignore spells such as the Rictumsempra outright. As amusing as they were, I couldn't see them being too useful in an actual duel. Having variety was good and all, but if I actually landed a hit on an opponent I wanted it to do something to actually incapacitate them. While sending an opponent into uncontrolled gales of laughter would doubtless be distracting and impair their ability to speak, the same opportunity could have knocked them cold if I'd used a Stunning spell instead.

Stunning spells were probably a bit too advanced for me for the moment though.

The first-year Defence Against the Dark Arts syllabus—presently taught by a venerable but competent witch whose focus occasionally seemed to lapse rather worryingly—included the Knockback Jinx, the Smokescreen Spell, and the Green and Red Sparks spells. I judged myself moderately proficient at creating smokescreens and sparks though I was still working on the Knockback Jinx. Some of the practice dummies the Room had provided me with turned out to be weighted to simulate the effect of hitting an actual person. Thus far I was able to knock down the equivalent of an average adult one time in five. I didn't plan on stopping until I could throw a dummy the full five metres back to the wall.

The Sparks spells had surprised me with their utility. In the novels, they'd only ever been used for signalling but my textbook had revealed that the Green sparks version could reveal the presence of some hidden objects if used properly while the Red sparks could function as miniature fireworks and cause relatively minor burns in a duel.

Given the class's predilection for varying wildly in quality from one year to the next, I felt justified in devoting more time to its study than any other subject. The theory side of the subject was thankfully much easier than I'd expected, my encyclopedic knowledge of stories and folklore concerning many Dark creatures finally proving itself useful. I'd sneaked a peek at the syllabus for the next few years and I didn't predict any particular difficulties there.

Hogwarts' preference for assigning essays as the default form of homework had caught me off-guard. The format was one of my least favourite kinds of assignment, after all. The teachers didn't seem to expect a high level of quality from us in our first year—except for Snape—so I was able to scrape by with reasonable grades for the moment. I'd have to brush up on my skills if I wanted to pass my later years though, a distinctly unappealing prospect.

On the practical side of things... I was top of the class. Not that it meant much given that it was a class of beginners but it didn't change the fact that I had nearly the entire practical course down pat in the first few weeks. Sure I'd started practicing some of the spells before coming to the school and had been putting in a few hours each day in the Room of Requirement—I'd probably need to be more discreet about that in the future—which was probably more effort than most of my classmates were putting in, but it still unnerved me a bit.

I had a near-perfect practical record in Charms and Transfiguration too though the rather more expansive lists of spells on their curricula meant that I wasn't as far ahead as I as in Defence.

It worried me a bit. Dumbledore aside, surely someone would get curious about the Muggle-born first-year who was consistently ahead of their peers in practical magic? The thought had gnawed at me for quite a bit until I remembered that the same could be said for Hermione Granger and she hadn't gotten any particular negative attention during her first year. Not from the teachers anyway.

Leaving that aside, there were some things that would probably grab attention even if I was the noblest pureblood of the generation. The Patronus Charm, for example.

Conjuring a Patronus fell squarely in the realm of 'spells too advanced for Poe to possibly learn by themselves' but I still found myself facing an empty Room of Requirement on the last weekend of September.

The Room wasn't entirely empty. I'd specifically asked it to provide me with a space that would make it easy for me to think of happy memories. It had obliged me by lining the walls with dense tomes, covering the floor with warm wood and somehow producing a low level of background noise that I couldn't quite place. It was immensely relaxing and I made a note to try and get the same setting for when I started trying to meditate.

Focusing hard on the moment I first received my wand, I felt the wood thrum softly in my fingers, saw the tip light up with crackling sparks that leapt along my arm and tickled me, making me laugh. It was a truly magical—in the literal and metaphorical meanings of the word—moment when the world seemed to whisper to me that it was alright, I was safe and accepted. That there was so much wonder out there for me to find.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Absolutely nothing happened.

I tried for over half an hour, trying desperately to recall any happy moments from either of my lives. There weren't many, really. My memory—so sharp when it came to stories, games and curious trivia—was appalling when it came to details of my own life. I could remember having experienced happiness at times, but not the actual experience itself. Like the difference between watching a movie and reading the summary of it on Wikipedia.

Whether it was my own lack of skill or an insufficiently powerful memory, my attempts to cast the Patronus were fruitless. I'd expected as much. It was noted to be an advanced spell, after all. Even with a teacher it had taken Harry quite some time. The DA had an easier time of it if my memory wasn't deceiving me, but that wouldn't be an option until after I graduated. For the moment, I was on my own. Failing, on my own.

It sucked.

I made a mental note to spend an afternoon trying the spell every month until I figured it out or found someone I could trust to teach me it.