Chapter 16

Exams sucked. And the bigger the exams, the more they sucked.

I hated my OWLs. The weather was outrageously hot every day. The sun lanced at my eyes every time I dared to lift my gaze from the ground and then wrung rivers of sweat out of me in the midst of the exams themselves. Sunny weather was hell.

To be fair, the written exams were the worst parts. I was familiar enough with the theory behind Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts to breeze through those papers with ease. Charms was a bit trickier, outside of a few select areas that had caught my interest. In every other subject, I struggled.

History of Magic left my wrist in pain after I spent literal hours trying to pry every last detail I could recall out of my brain and plastering them onto the parchment. I'd written more than most people, it looked like, but that may have just been my handwriting. In any case, I still had several questions left when I ran out of time.

The Potions theory exam was manageable, but I was sure that I'd made several errors in the recitation of definitions, something that had always proven difficult. The Herbology exam proceeded similarly to Potions while Arithmancy left me drained and confused from what felt like a hundred different formulae rampaging around my skull.

The Muggle Studies exam was almost a refreshing break in the midst of them all. The actual material was quite simple to me, the only real problem came with the sheer volume it demanded in its answers. Presumably to get revenge on students who took it for an easy O, the exam covered what must have been every topic on the course and carried no less than four essay questions. Like with History of Magic, I left the exam hall with questions incomplete.

The practicals were more manageable. Brewing the assigned potions was almost too easy after years of practicing doing so with less-adequate facilities than those provided for the exam. Although the attempt to catch students off-guard by seeding the supplies with a few spoiled ingredients was annoying. Not least because if I hadn't noticed in time someone could have been seriously hurt. I had my potions perfectly brewed in plenty of time, but still left the room in a temper.

I was fairly sure that I failed the Astronomy practical exam. While Professor Sinestra had granted me a few accommodations in the preceding years, there were no such allowances in the OWL exams. The upshot of which was that I finished with a crick in my neck and less than half the questions answered.

To my considerable relief, the practicals for Charms, Transfiguration and Defence were almost too easy. I'd been touching on NEWT spells since halfway through my fourth year and was proficient in all spells on the OWL syllabus. The deciding factor in wowing my examiners though was my proficiency in casting them non-verbally. While Charms posed little challenge, I was almost sure I got full marks in Transfiguration for demonstrating my Animagus form on top of completing the rest of the exam in complete silence.

Defence Against the Dark Arts, however... That was a real treat.

Given Hogwarts' noted inability to maintain a competent Defence teacher—or any other kind of Defence teacher—for longer than a year, the examiners had not seemed all that hopeful. Even Professor Madadin, as competent as he was, could only do so much in the face of so many years of disrupted study.

I ran through the full list of required counter-jinxes, defensive spells, anti-creature spells and had just started on some of the more advanced ones when my examiner asked me to announce what spell I was doing first. I ended up demonstrating most of the spells and techniques I'd taught myself over the preceding five years and explaining the uses of each of them. I finished up by silently casting a Patronus Charm—a feat I only achieved a week before the exam—to the applause of several onlookers. Which, in retrospect, was quite unprofessional.

I wasn't worried about my Defence grade.

—tN—tN—tN—

Witches and wizard were atrocious at secrecy concerns, ironically enough for a population so obsessed with concealing its very existence from the majority. That said I thought they could be forgiven in one particular instance. Specifically, the instance whereby I was visited by a veritable parliament of owls every few days, carrying my ongoing correspondences—now expanded to include Professor Madadin. He was exposed as the victim of some bizarre spell or experiment that left him as a human with many of the cosmetic characteristics of a canine. Still as competent as ever, but inherently unworthy in the eyes of close-minded parents. He left in the night as soon as term ended. And there was a steady trickle of fan mail from people who were still caught up on my being an Animagus.

It did the beg the question of how Harry had never been so bothered by admirers, but I brushed that off as unimportant. The more immediate concern was that my status as a ward of the Muggle government had somehow failed to reach the general public, meaning that none of my well-wishers knew to exercise discretion. After a few weeks of it, I relented and gave Kuro a letter to take to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hopefully, they'd have some kind of solution.

Two days later my mail came in a single parcel carried by an owl. Inside was half a dozen letters tied together in a package with a note on top thanking me for identifying a potential threat to the Statute of Secrecy and warning that my post may be somewhat delayed in future.

I petted Kuro and fed them some owl treats.

"That was easier than expected," I said to the owl. Kuro just hooted back.

—tN—tN—tN—

Postal difficulties aside, my summer was largely unremarkable. I worked a few part-time jobs in the area around the home, exchanged letters almost daily and studied whenever I had a free moment. I did manage to find time to make a few excursions into the other magical parts of London and was particularly taken by a quiet spot called Whimsik Alley.

I kept myself busy and occupied. I had to, or it'd finally sink in that I had finally entered canon territory. While I strolled through London or ferried packages between businesses, Harry might be conversing with a snake in a zoo, cooking breakfast on his cousin's birthday, scratching off another day on the wall of his cupboard. Well, not that last one. Albus had assured me that he'd taken care of that particular problem.

In the end, the headmaster had elected to mail the Dursleys under the guise of a Child Welfare officer and scare them into cutting out the abuse. Some careful surveillance had confirmed the success of the ruse. I knew that it wouldn't solve everything, not even close. But it was the best we could hope for while leaving Harry with his aunt and uncle. Not without intervening very directly and alienating the Dursleys even more.

Other people were able to count too though. Harry's age was a matter of public record and every time I ventured into one of magical Britain's private enclaves I could overhear at least one earnest discussion about the Boy Who Lived going to Hogwarts. The hype was disconcerting.

Even the Weasleys were not immune to animated discussions about what Harry would be like. During my three visits to the Burrow that summer, the topic came up at least once and usually involved a very excited Ginny and a trying-to-seem-disinterested-but-failing Ron. Holding my tongue on the subject was easier with a cup of tea in hand, strangely enough.

Ron and Ginny were appropriately awed by my Animagus transformation when the twins badgered me into demonstrating. I'd not spent as much time as I'd have liked in the air over the summer aside from a few quick jaunts around the city with Kuro—a far superior means of locomotion than trying to catch a bus or walk, even if I did need an owl to make sure I didn't get lost—and so took full advantage of the opportunity to play some aerial tag with the Weasleys. That was fun.

OWL results arrived. I scraped an Acceptable grade in History of Magic and Astronomy, managed to Exceed Expectations in Arithmancy, Herbology and Charms. I scored Outstanding in Muggle Studies, Transfiguration, Defence and Potions. All told, I was fully cleared to pursue Arithmancy, Charms, Defence, Potions and Transfiguration at a NEWT level, just as I'd hoped.

Now all I had to do was survive whatever trainwreck I'd replaced Canon with long enough to graduate.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Long time no see, Albus," I said. Upon returning to Hogwarts for my sixth year, I separated from the bulk of the student body to speak with Albus in a hidden room near the Entrance Hall, as per the request Fawkes had delivered to me the previous week. A silent Disillusionment Charm made slipping away almost too easy, though taking my seat in the Great Hall without getting in trouble would likely pose more of a challenge.

"Likewise, Poe," Albus said, resplendent in his finest robes. "I trust you had a busy but productive summer?"

"Quite. I look forward to next year, when I'll be freed from the Trace and won't be restricted to books. How about you sir? Has there been much progress on... Everything?"

Albus smiled broadly, a touch of pride in his eye.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Sirius has been responding well to therapy and has been officially, but quietly, cleared of all charges. He has been feeling restless of late, so I will have to find him something to do, but it's a positive sign. With his help, I have retrieved the locket. And with the conclusion of our negotiations with Gringotts recently, we now possess all currently existing Horcruxes and can eliminate them when convenient."

"Except for the one that's probably crossing the Lake right now," I noted, compelled to speak in spite of the damage done to the mood. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound pessimistic, it's just..."

"Frustrating, I know," Albus said, understanding. "To be so helpless even when you know so much. Don't fret, Poe. I haven't stopped searching for an answer and I don't intend to. We'll find a way."

"On a related note," I said, changing the subject. "How are the preparations for the Stone going?"

"Quite admirably!" Albus said, smiling broadly. "In truth, I rather wish I could have enlisted your aid in the project given your proclivity for designing such courses. Alas, such an act would have wrought undue attention."

"It's an interesting idea," I said, brow furrowing. "Perhaps make it, or some variation thereof, a permanent fixture? A kind of way to test students' skills under the guise of fun?"

"Possibly, possibly," Albus said, eyes gazing into infinity. "Yes, I think that would be quite well-received. A project to keep in mind once the current threats have been dealt with and order has been put to rights. Feel free to come up with proposals. In the meantime, however, we have a Feast to get to."

"Indeed," I said as we made our way out of the hidden rendezvous. Behind me, I could already hear Albus humming what I suspected was the Hogwarts School song.

Tonight, at least, there was good cause to be merry. Things were going well. Everything was under control. And if, when Harry Potter walked into the Hall, my gaze held apology rather than awe... Then that was a problem for another day.

—tN—tN—tN—

Hallowe'en 1991. A joyous celebration of the ancient festival of Samhain. Also the harbinger of incoming trolls unleashed by possessed Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, but you couldn't have everything.

Dumbledore assured me that he had the matter well in hand and I believed him. With the additional warnings I was able to give him, there was no chance of Voldemort being able to get his incorporeal hands on the Philosopher's Stone. To be on the safe side though, I had installed a prototype remote viewing apparatus in the third-floor corridor. Which was a fancy way of referring to my effort at enchanting a Muggle googly eye to function as a camera.

It had worked quite well in my previous tests and had either gone unnoticed or—more likely—been recognised and left in place by Dumbledore. I had told myself that I planted the bug in order to satisfy my own paranoia about whether or not Quirrel would be dealt with properly and not to indulge myself in a front-row seat for what I hoped would be a brief and one-sided beatdown.

There was no point in taking unnecessary risks though. I convinced Fred and George to loan me the Marauders Map for the evening so I could keep an eye out for any potential troll victims or hostages. I also intercepted Hermione after her Charms class and calmed her down enough to go to the Feast instead of the bathroom. That had been more stressful than I'd hoped. I sympathised with Hermione on several levels, but she was still difficult to deal with when she was a crying mess. Particularly since she had yet to mature out of her insufferable bookworm phase.

When the Feast rolled around and Quirrel had burst through the doors, screaming about a troll in the dungeons, there was nobody left unaccounted that I could tell. Dumbledore did an admirable job of pretending to be surprised and organised a party to search for and remove the troll. As in the original chain of events, students were dispatched to their common rooms under the guidance of our prefects.

I retired to my room claiming exhaustion instead of joining the crowd milling in the common room. I drew the curtains around my bed and charmed them shut for good measure. It took a minute to ensure I was adequately private, then I pulled out the Map and a blank photograph.

As expected, Quirrel was sneaking towards the corridor. Dumbledore must have warned Snape in advance to prevent the Potions Master scaring him off. Snape was not the only one warned. Lying in wait for Quirrel was a half-dozen names I didn't recognise but likely belonged to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Choosing my moment carefully, I tapped the blank photo and activated the charm that would link it to the eye on the corridor ceiling and start it recording. A scene took shape on the paper, giving me a live view of what was going on.

As I thought, there were six wizards and witches in Hit Wizard robes spread out in the corridor. Fluffy—who had been there when I'd checked the day before—had been removed temporarily. I wondered if Dumbledore had let that part leak to Quirrel in order to further entice him. It was what I would have done.

The door of the corridor started to open and the six Ministry officials vanished. I squinted, looked closer, and could make out a few slight smudges moving towards the walls. Disillusionment Charms.

Quirrel entered the corridor, shutting the doors behind him. He looked around but evidently failed to notice the concealed Hit Wizards. As he stalked towards the trapdoor, gone was the nervous, stuttering, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Oh, I thought it very likely he was still nervous, but he moved with confidence, advancing with his wand at the ready. Then he reached the trapdoor and couldn't pull it open.

Stepping back, he waved his wand over the trapdoor and muttered a few spells. It still refused to yield.

It was at that point that the doors opened fully and revealed Dumbledore, accompanied by McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout. After a moment, Hagrid also came into view, looming over the others.

I didn't know what was said between them. I could make guesses though.

I imagined that Quirrel was trying to make some excuse about being worried that someone might come after the Stone while the staff was pre-occupied with the troll—which was, I noticed, unmoving on one of the lower floors. Then I decided he'd likely draw attention to Fluffy's absence and claim that as proof that there was substance to his worries.

Given that the Hit Wizards dropped the Disillusionment Charms at that point, I suspected that I wasn't far off.

Then the wands came out and spells flashed across the corridor. The teachers barely even had a moment to react, the Hit Wizards were faster on the draw. I thought that Quirrel may have turned to threats of some sort and that had provoked the Ministry agents. Whatever he did, he was down.

I stared at the image of Quirrel's still body. The Hit Wizards seemed to have relaxed, Albus had not. The former Defence teacher's body began to crack and smoke, sections of skin peeling off as dark vapour poured out from under it. The Hit Wizards took notice and cast several unidentified spells at the smoke to no effect.

Dumbledore raised his wand to cast but Voldemort's spirit was quicker. The smoke contracted into a dense ball before exploding outwards, blowing the Hit Wizards and other teachers off their feet.

The sudden smog completely obscured my view for several moments before clearing away entirely. Quirrel's remains were charcoal, the Hit Wizards were shakily regaining their footing, and Albus was casting around with his wand as if looking for something.

Albus lowered his wand and shook his head. I could only infer that Riddle had escaped.

Quirrel's remains were levitated away shortly, the Hit Wizards going with him. The staff hung around for a few moments, waving their wands about. Probably adding in a few more protective enchantments. Then they left too and I was watching an empty hallway.

I stopped the recording and put the photograph aside.

Nothing else was likely to happen that was worth my time to watch. In the meantime, I'd had a long and tense day so I got ready for bed and retired for the night.

Regardless of whether or not Dumbledore was able to locate wherever Voldemort's spirit was hiding, this first round had gone to us.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," I muttered to myself, focusing on the hoop on the ground to the exclusion of all else.

I shut my eyes and visualised the hoop as best I could. It was just a few metres in front of me. I could almost feel that distance—even if I was mostly sure that was my imagination. Destination.

I needed to be in that hoop. I couldn't not be in that hoop. I tried to picture gravity itself changing to pull me towards the hoop with moderate success. Determination.

Then I turned. As I did so, I imagine myself coming loose from the world where I stood and sailing through space to land perfectly in the hoop. Deliberation.

In the seventh of the twelve lessons offered to Hogwarts students on Apparition, I finally vanished where I stood and reappeared where I intended instead of tripping and falling over myself. I allowed myself a brief smile and a moment to relax.

Then I focused and tried to go back to where I'd stood before, eyes open. Fast and accurate Apparition was too valuable a skill to not have. However much practice it took.

—tN—tN—tN—

"This place is wicked," Ron said, turning in a slow circle with an awed smile on his face.

The Room had taken the form of a vaulted hall with its walls adorned with innumerable books. The centre of the space was outfitted with a series of chairs and tables for readers to peruse the volumes at their leisure. It was more or less what I expected from a Room created by Hermione to test the Room of Requirement's capabilities. The girl in question had gravitated straight towards the bookshelves, even as Ron had gone to 'investigate' the chairs. The final member of the trio still stood next to, just inside the doorway. The two of us had little occasion to speak with one another and neither of us felt any inclination to address that deficit. The Boy Who Lived looked around the room, curious but wary.

"Some of these books aren't even in the Library," Hermione called out from amidst her perusal. Her voice was half-strangled, her excitement warring with the Library instincts the presence of the books had awoken. "Where did they even come from?"

"I don't actually know," I admitted when it became apparent that the question was not actually rhetorical. "I'm fairly sure that some of them are ones that people have left in the Room and never collected again. I have a theory that it kinda absorbs abandoned objects in the castle at large. But I'm not certain either way, save that it's never once given me a bad reading recommendation."

"And students really are allowed to study in here?" Hermione pressed. She had yet to shed her respect for the rules as she had in the original sequence of events.

"Considering that Dumbledore knows about it and has never warned me against using it, I think you're probably fine," I said. "If anyone does give you hassle about it, refer them to me and I'll take any blame, okay?"

The mention of the headmaster and a transferral of culpability seemed to placate Hermione. She plucked a book from the shelf and took it over to the centre of the room to read. Harry didn't seem quite as certain.

"And this room can help us learn?" he asked, turning away from his careful study of the room to look at me. I did my best to not react. He was a child, for crying out loud. Hero of prophecy or not, there was absolutely no reason for me to be nervous about his attention being on me. I'd checked and double-checked and I had not fallen into some strange alternate universe version of the series where Harry was actually a latent supermage with unrivalled wit and wisdom.

"It can," I confirmed. "It helped me. This is just one form the Room can take. Granger likes books, so it gave her a room full of them. In future, when you're looking for something, try to specify what you're looking for. For me, it usually gave me some books, but also some space and tools to practice with. A selection of targets to practice spells against, for example."

"So it can't just... Magic the stuff into our heads?" Harry asked. I smiled.

"No, I'm afraid not. Magic involving the mind is very advanced and very dangerous. Even if it was possible... No, I don't think the Room would do that." Harry looked at me, his scarred brow creasing in puzzlement. "I believe, though this is just a theory, that the Room of Requirement was built by the Founders when Hogwarts was first made. Hogwarts was made with many things in mind. Security, privacy, comfort, but most of all as a place of learning. To make a room that would grant whatever a student wished, without any effort on their part... It would be counterproductive. Instead, the Room gives you the tools and resources you need to teach yourself. If my theory is right, then this room could be considered one lasting gift from the Founders, one final precaution to ensure the students to come would be able to learn what they needed."

"Wonder if the Defence teachers ran off with no warning back then as well," Harry muttered. He hadn't liked Quirrel, but the turban-clad professor's removal—which had been covered up by Dumbledore to prevent a panic—had taken away what little instruction they had been receiving. Ron had turned to Percy for help—likely at Hermione's urging, I suspected—and Percy had directed them to me. To be fair, I should have expected that, having helped Percy with his own Defence work since he first arrived.

Those days with the eldest three Weasley brothers were preserved in photographs—magic ones that moved—that I now had tucked away in a scrapbook. Such precious and happy moments were not to be trusted to my fickle and treacherous memory. Whenever I dig them out, I couldn't help but smile. By turns comforting, by turns bittersweet. But I smiled.

Harry glanced up from whatever he was thinking about and looked around the Room.

"So, will you be able to teach us?"

I panicked, my face never twitching. I'd never planned on interacting much with the main cast. To take a direct hand in trying to teach Harry himself, especially when he was still in freaking first-year... The panic waned and I took control, analysing the problem and breaking it down.

"I have my own work to do, so I can't fill the role as your Defence teacher, no," I said. "I just don't have the time or the energy. What I can do is show you how I learnt and help you if you get stuck on anything. I've got some notes you can borrow as well, I suppose, from what I was planning out what to try and learn at the beginning."

"That'd be brilliant, thanks."

Harry's smile was gratifying and nerve-wracking to behold. I pushed the sensation to the side and move to leave the Room.

"If you three could come outside for a moment, I need to show you something else."

Harry was right behind me on the way out and together we waited for Ron and Hermione to traipse. One lagged from an unwillingness to have to change again, the other from a reluctance to abandon her new reading material. Regardless, we soon stood before the tapestry of the trolls and watched the Room fade from sight. I turned and strode past the length of wall quickly, summoning the arrangement I'd used countless times before. The door greeted me again.

Harry and Ron were naturally interested in the targets along one wall, Ron even pulling out his wand—it was painful how obviously worn it was—to try shooting some sparks at them. Hermione gravitated to the smaller selection of books, disappointed to lose her previous hoard but determined to catalogue the new ones. While the first-years were occupied, I shut the door and made my way to the locked chests. I couldn't help but smirk a bit. It would be... Cathartic, to be on the other side of this for once.

"There's three of them, so I can start out a bit higher, I think," I said, muttering to myself. Harry nonetheless heard me saying something and glanced over to ask me "What was that Po—" before I tapped the chest open and stood to one side to let the trio of bludgers streak into the air.

Harry yelped, and ducked the first one that came for his head on instinct—his previous Quidditch training coming into play. The noise drew the attention of the others, who looked away from their own work—Ron had somehow given the head of one of the mannequins a pink wig and had been snickering to himself. Ron's reaction was somewhat controlled, taking cover behind a mannequin and letting it take the hit for him. Hermione shrieked and dropped to the ground. Of course, she avoided the troll scenario entirely this time, so she was somewhat lacking in personal experience. Well, that's what I was trying to give them. That said, I had cast a Cushioning Charm on the bludgers before unleashing them, just to be safe.

Actually, how had Hermione become friends with the other two without the bonding-by-near-death-adventure? I pondered the question while the three of them jumped around and shouted at each other—and me, but I pretended not to hear those. I supposed that something else must have happened. Perhaps they went to her with an apology sincere enough to plant the seeds of something more substantial? They didn't seem quite as close as I remembered them being...

Of course, Ron's brother was a Prefect! I recalled the chain of events that led them to seek me out, and formed a hypothesis. Harry and Ron had gone to Hermione to apologise for their behaviour. Hermione had still been angry and requested that Ron ask his brother to help her with her Defence Against the Dark Arts work—she would be the most worried of all of them about the sudden loss of a teacher—and things had spiralled from there. If that was the case, then I'd just become the troll-equivalent... Oops.

I didn't worry too much. They were all smart kids, they'd figure out something to deal with the bludgers eventually.

A cushioned ball of iron knocked Hermione into Harry and sent them both to the ground, where a backstepping Ron tripped and fell also. Their attempt to untangle themselves and get back up was broken by another bludger impact.

I hoped.