Desiring Other Times
Chapter 4 - Discussions
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The first time for anything is always the most vivid. Either it is the very worst or the very best; 'first times' are matters of extremes. The first time I realised I hated my brother and how utterly useless he was, I felt as if I should shake him about and demand why somebody so hopeless could be the Boy-Who-Lived. Perhaps I even felt like I wanted to kill him. But as time flows on, I find that my hate of him seems to have waned, seems to have reduced itself to a sort of irritated intolerance of his presence.
Of course, this may have something to do with my Occlumency exercises, and with my having begun to distance myself from everything. Occlumency helped me by sorting out how I truly felt about everything. And if I began to care less about everyone around me, I wouldn't care less about how stupid my brother was. Is. Whatever.
Apathy may be painted as a point of view that leads to a bleak future. But I guess it just goes to show how screwed up I am if only through Apathy can I perceive the brightest path for myself.
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It was Halloween, and we were enjoying a more elaborate feast than usual when the main doors to the Great Hall banged open and Professor Quirrell hurried in.
"Troll!" he cried hysterically, voice devoid of any sort of his customary stutter. "Troll in the dungeons!" He visibly swayed on his feet. "Just thought you ought to know…" he trailed off and fainted flat on his face.
Some of the Ravenclaws frowned. "Did we just…?" "We did." "Did what?" "Just saw somebody-" "-faint forwards." "What's that got to do with anything?" "People don't faint forwards, idiot." "Don't call me an idiot!" "Well, if you didn't know that, then…!"
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore sent some sparks into the air, then proceeded to give instructions for the Prefects to lead everyone back to their dorms.
In the rush for the doors, Jeremy and Ron and Neville pushed their way to my side.
"Hermione's missing." started Ron.
"Don't tell me – she's in the toilets or something like that."
Neville nodded. "Parvati said somebody called her names and she's been in the first floor bathrooms for a while."
"And you think four first years can defeat a troll?"
Jeremy looked at his friends, shifting uncomfortably. "Well… we were just thinking we should get her out of there before the troll."
"Ah." I shrugged – part of me was wondering why Jeremy had insisted on enlisting my help, seeing as Neville and Ron didn't know me that well anyway. "Fine. Lead the way then."
The snuffling sound of a troll echoed down the corridors when we reached the first floor, and we hurried a little faster to get to the girls' toilets. Just in time to see it enter the toilets. Where Hermione was. Apparently.
"Oh… fudge." muttered Jeremy.
Ron and Neville looked confused. "What's fudge got to do with this?" demanded Ron.
Jeremy and I ignored him. "We're going in." declared Jeremy.
And so Ron and Neville followed right behind Jeremy.
"Here we go again… 'Suffer the children…'" I muttered, trailing behind them at a cautious distance.
As expected of Ron – poster boy for 'I'm a Courageous Gryffindor With No Brain!' – he charged right in with a battle cry, wand brandished but not a spell on his lips. Jeremy and Neville seemed horrified at Ron's actions, and Hermione started screaming from within.
"Oh, great…" Jeremy was already sending several Stunners at the troll, while Neville seemed to be using his intelligence by pulling Hermione out of the way. Ron was still shouting at the creature and random flashes of light appeared (one of the chandeliers was blasted off the roof) as he waved his wand.
"Reducto." I intoned, pointing at the shoulder of the troll's dominant arm. A flash of blue light, and the arm the troll was holding the club in seemed to be dislocated and hung limply. I aimed again, this time for the troll's head. "Concuterus." The Concussion Curse hurtled across the bathroom and impacted with the troll just as one of Jeremy's Stunners hit, and the combined force ensured it was felled.
The thunderous sound the creature made as it hit the floor was surely more than enough to inform the staff as to our position, and when they burst into the toilets, wands brandished, it took them several seconds to take in the situation.
McGonagall was without a doubt furious, while Snape seemed quietly curious. Quirrell, however, was a quivering heap of nerves.
"What on earth were you thinking of? You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?" The three separate sentences seemed to have no direct link, and the lack of logic threw the others for a loop.
Jeremy tried the 'Sunshine-Out-His-Arse' routine. "We noticed Hermione was missing at the feast and… and so she wouldn't know about the troll. So we… we tried to look for her before the troll could get to her."
This was, in essence, what we had sought to do, and even Snape with his Legilimency skills couldn't really fault us for that. McGonagall's lips thinned.
"Why weren't you at the feast, Miss Granger?" she asked. Hermione blanched visibly, and even Quirrell paused in his whimpering.
"I… I uh…"
"Out with it, girl." drawled Snape.
"I was… in here… freshening up." Rather skimming over the truth, but the best lies always contained a bit of truth. McGonagall seemed to get our drift from our expressions and how Hermione seemed very reluctant to elaborate. If anything, her expression grew even sterner.
"Very well. Fifteen points from Gryffindor and five from Ravenclaw for not following instructions." She paused, as if in some inward struggle. In the silence, I could hear the slight tinkle, tinkle of the glittering gems that signified points in the Houses' hourglasses drifting back upwards. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for bravery, and also ten to Ravenclaw for helping a friend in need."
Inwardly I groaned. Enough with the cheesiness! As I projected that, Snape seemed to freeze and his lips twitched. He sent a mental probe in my direction, having already become acquainted with my mind. I gently placed the memory of the incident in the bathroom in the first circle, and watched as he found it. As McGonagall dismissed us (she sent Quirrell with me, as it wouldn't do to have a sole first year Ravenclaw wandering the castle, would it?), Snape edged towards the troll.
"…the boy was casting third year material!" The two professors' voiced bounced a little down the stone hallways, and I activated one my wristbands that could enhance my senses, only using part of the ward so that it only sharpened my hearing.
"Both of them?"
"Well… the Gryffindor one could cast Stunners well enough." Snape admitted grudgingly. "But the Ravenclaw! He pulled off a perfect Concussion Curse!"
Their voices became too far away for me to continue enhancing my hearing without risking severe damage if someone made a loud enough noise in my vicinity, so I deactivated the wristband ward. Quirrell had been silent the entire time we had left the bathroom, and he didn't say anything at all, not even when we reached the Ravenclaw mirror. He turned and walked away, and just as I was about to go through the mirror, a veritable wave of anger and hatred rolled towards me. Clutching at my head, I strode through the mirror, past all the surprised Ravenclaws and up into the dorm.
A wave of my wand later and the curtains were shut about my four poster, magically sealed so that my dorm mates couldn't pry. Groaning, I tapped the tip of my wand against my scar, casting a Chilling Charm. When the pain had receded somewhat, I opened my trunk and pulled out some Nerve Numbing ointment and rubbed it on and around my scar. Eventually, the pain had practically disappeared, so I unsealed the curtains and got up to leave the dorm.
Thomas and Terry were standing there, arms outstretched, just about to try to open the curtains. "Harry! You okay? You walked in here like You-Know-Who was after you!"
I paled a little as something occurred to me. Every time Quirrell was around me, my scar would tingle, or sting. But if I was ever presented with the back of Quirrell, the scar would do a heck of a lot more than just sting. And what Terry had just said… "Shit." I muttered, and flopped back down on the bed.
"What? What's wrong, Harry?"
"I… I… uh, nothing, really. Just tired, you know."
They didn't seem to buy it, but accepted it anyway. "You sure you don't want to come on down and finish dinner? All the Houses have their own feast in their common rooms, because of the troll."
"Mm, whatever. Just let me…" I let loose a yawn. "…sleep… nap a little bit, okay?"
"Sure – but don't expect us to leave you anything!" They left, leaving me to think frantically about how Voldemort had anything to do with Quirrell. And his back.
I waved my hand lazily at the curtains and they swished shut smoothly, the deep blue velvet-like cloth shutting out the light. Stabbing a finger in the direction of my side-desk's lamp, I relaxed in the reassuring illumination of a steady crystalline light.
Quirrell, his back, Voldemort, pain in my scar – how were these related? Thoughts rambled endlessly until all of them hit dead ends, and I was left stumped. It was times like these I wish I had someone to confide in, someone older, wiser, trusted. But that was a silly illusion children held onto, that there would always be someone who could help them, could make everything right again. I knew that even Dumbledore was a far cry from what I what I needed – the way he seemed to treat Jeremy left me shuddering in cold nausea, as if he were a particularly disgusting slug that could somehow take over people's minds. Perhaps that was an increasingly accurate likening, an image that I would irrevocably associate with the Headmaster.
Footsteps sounded up the stairs, then the dorm door opened. The incredibly light footsteps alerted me to the fact that it was most likely not a student – it could only be Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw.
"Mr Potter?" His squeaky voice sounded, pitched so even the curtains about my four-poster bed did little to muffle it.
I could feel his magic sensing out the charm I had placed on the curtains, and begin to softly slice through them. Deciding to save him trouble, I sat up, grabbed my wand (it wouldn't to do be caught wandless when the curtains swished open), waved it at the curtains and surveyed Flitwick's diminutive form.
"Mr Potter…" he began, and I was struck as to how odd it was to have the Head of House personally calling on a first year student. Even if I had just been in battle with a troll. Even if I was the Boy-Who-Lived's brother, and had been present when he had 'defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. The sense of wrongness continued to swirl through me as Flitwick tried to both congratulate my 'helping' (more like perpetuating) defeat the troll and also to reprimand me for not doing as I had been told.
He sighed. "I believe your parents are here to see you. Please, follow me." Blinking a little, I stood up, my wand tucked back into its holster on my right arm. Trailing behind him as we descended the stairs, some of the other students paused to look at us. Flitwick led me out of the Ravenclaw common room, and to what I realised was the Headmaster's office.
"Just along here…" despite his size and apparent age, and also the pace he was setting, Flitwick did not seem at all winded. Rather, he was still as spry as if he had just set off on a morning jaunt. We stopped in front a stone gargoyle, a rather gothic monstrosity.
"Bullseyes." uttered Flitwick, and I took it to be the password as the gargoyle leapt aside immediately. The wall behind the gargoyle split, revealing the cavity beyond. Within was an escalator – albeit an escalator that curved about a central post, like a winding staircase that had become animated. I hopped onto the stone escalator behind Flitwick, and we began the laboriously lengthy ascent.
I dared not look below, as I was afflicted with a small degree of vertigo – for some reason, heights where brooms (or planes, or helicopters, or similar) were not involved had never agreed with me. It was a puzzling condition of mine, although my parents hadn't spent overmuch time worrying about it. They had merely made sure Jeremy didn't suffer from the same affliction (he didn't), and then done the equivalent of a shrug. For many years, I had searched high and low for a potion, a ward, a charm, anything, that could solve my dilemma. So far, my search had been fruitless.
Finally, we reached the top of the stairs. Stepping off of the staircase, I cast a cursory eye over the door – a heavy wooden piece, with brass ornamentation. The brass doorknocker was in the shape of a Griffin (perhaps an attempt to cause visitors to assume Dumbledore had been in Gryffindor – he hadn't), but what drew my eyes was the inscription that was etched rather thinly just at the edges of the door. Making sure I had a clear memory of the door (so that when I went over the memory in the Pensieve, I would be able to make out the inscription), I followed Flitwick into Dumbledore's office.
Within sat my parents and Jeremy. They didn't look up as I entered, even though they were facing in the direction of the door, with Jeremy's back to me. Flitwick fairly bounded up to Dumbledore's side, and declared in his squeaky voice that he had 'brought Mr Potter'. Only then did they glance up, smile in a manner I recognised as being rather fixed, then their expressions relaxed – just as they looked back down at Jeremy.
I cast a sidelong look at Dumbledore. His eyes twinkled from behind his half-moon glasses, but his eyes were on my parents and Jeremy. Flitwick looked at me, then at Jeremy, then back to me, then back to my parents and my brother, and so on and so forth. Eventually, he gave up and merely gazed at my erstwhile family. Seeing as nobody was talking or even looking in my direction anymore, I sat down in the chair beside Jeremy.
He twisted his head to the side, saw me, grinned wryly then returned to reassuring his parents that yes, he was alright, and no, he didn't need to go to St. Mungo's. A chirruping from behind me had me leaping up in fright, and I was halfway to brandishing my wand and yelling out Reducto when my eyes landed on the glorious looking phoenix in the room – immediately, I realised this was the familiar of Dumbledore, Fawkes.
"Ah, that would be my phoenix, Fawkes." Dumbledore's voice weaved into the background noise of the office like a coil of dust kicked up underwater. Fawkes seemed to take offence at being called Dumbledore's phoenix – he squawked and spread his wings in a decidedly threatening manner, then soared up from his golden perch to wing about the circular office, to finally rest on the back of my chair.
Dumbledore looked at me straight in the eyes. "It seems Fawkes has taken a liking to you, Harry, my boy."
I shrugged, turned a little to regard the phoenix. Lifting a hand, I brought it up so that it was an inch from Fawkes' plumage. "May I…?" I asked, looking at Fawkes, but I could see in the corner of my eyes Dumbledore nodding. Fawkes bobbed his head down, and I brushed my fingers gently across the fiery feathers. Despite the fact that the typical phoenix was a creature of fire, with their bones and feathers and organs all made of solidified fire, I wasn't burned. This only happened if the phoenix really didn't want to hurt somebody when physical contact was made, when the phoenix was comfortable with the said somebody.
If anything, this impressed/interested Dumbledore even more. Even Flitwick seemed surprised, although I suppose saying it like that makes Flitwick look like a dimwit that didn't know anything about phoenixes.
"Mr and Mrs Potter? I do believe congratulations are in order for both of your children." In the back of my mind, I wondered if Neville or Ron or Hermione would get the same 'honours'. "For their actions, I award Special Awards for Services to the School and – let me see… yes, I believe fifty points for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."
My parents gasped excitedly and hugged Jeremy. Flitwick's eyes narrowed as he noticed that not a mote of attention was spared for me. Even though I wasn't Jeremy Potter, I was still one of his Ravenclaws', and this blatant favouring of another child did not sit well with him. However, there was nothing he could do without seeming like he was an overbearing parent that believed their child was the best – because that would make him no better than my parents.
I stood when I decided that I had wasted enough time there. Fawkes was jolted into flight, and he swung about the room until he finally landed. On my shoulder. "My apologies, but I'm afraid I have to go now – all this excitement has made me a little tired, not to mention my studies…" I trailed off, sure they would catch my drift.
"Of course, Mr Potter. Don't overtax yourself on our behalf – Professor Flitwick here will take you back." replied Dumbledore, and Flitwick bobbed cheerily. Hearing this, Fawkes finally returned to his perch. We exited the room, with my having not said a single word to my parents at all.
Flitwick and I were outside the Ravenclaw common rooms when he turned abruptly. "Mr Potter, I… I feel I must apologize, truly… for disturbing your sleep when…" He stopped, baulking at outright insulting my parents. Struggling for words, he settled for "Have a good night, Mr Potter." Nodding solemnly, he departed, leaving me to watch his receding back. And to rifle through his mind for anything interesting.
Sure in the knowledge that the human mind generally used (at most) about 10 percent of its full capacity, I copied his mind – not the entirety of it, just his memories and his knowledge, and also a few of the 'subroutines' within his mind that governed how he thought. It certainly wouldn't hurt to know what made Professor Filius Flitwick tick, as well as cut down the amount of time it would take me to fully educate myself.
I held no illusions that Hogwarts was truly the greatest school of magic in the country, let alone the world. Okay, so maybe 'country' might be close, considering the same Ministry of Magic looks after the same pool of wizards and witches. Unfortunately, my parents cared just enough – about their reputation – that I had to go to Hogwarts. As it was, Dumbledore sure knew how to pick his teachers – save Quirrell, considering even Binns knew what his subject was about – as all of them were at least masters of their arena.
What I found in my selective copy of Flitwick's mind surprised me – there was more than a library of Charms knowledge or Duelling knowledge: there seemed to be almost infinite amounts of nicely organised boxes, each of which contained hundreds of pieces of information. This told me several things: that he was either a very organised man or had been along the road towards learning Occlumency but stopped, that he was far older than I assumed, and that he was most definitely a king of Charms.
That very night, I began 'unpacking' the boxes and organising them within the innermost 'circle', the citadel of my mind. Memory may be a fickle creature to ordinary people – even witches and wizards – but to a person that has learned even a little of the theory of Occlumency and put it to practice would face no such problems. Even so, we still had to 'learn' things the same way – in order to have the things stored in our mind easily accessible, easily recallable, one had to make sure the 'connections' were secure and strong. The entire process of unpacking, sorting, connecting (not to mention debugging) would take me several months if I was lucky, two years if I wasn't.
Oh, it was Lisa Turpin. "Can I help you?" I asked politely. She stood there, unsure, flustered. "I… we… we were just wondering what Professor Flitwick wanted…?" At the end of her sentence, her voice lifted up almost two whole notes, turning the statement into a question.
"My parents came to visit." Telling the truth wouldn't hurt. Much. "Professor Flitwick thought I might like to see them."
"Really?" Earlier embarrassment forgotten, Lisa settled herself comfortably in the chair next to mine. "What were they here for? To see Jeremy?"
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. For a Ravenclaw, she seemed rather ignorant of the subtleties required when fishing for knowledge. But then again, she was only a first year student. "Yeah – something like that."
"Wow… I wish my parents would visit me." Her voice was filled with half-veiled jealousy, and I quickly began to tire of the conversation.
"Well, they certainly weren't here to see me." I replied hotly, instantly regretting the words. But only because I could just hear her say 'Well, why would anyone come to see you?' Not wanting to wait and see if my prediction was correct, I stood up abruptly and muttered some excuse about being tired, then strode back up the stairs to the dorm.
Behind me, many of the Ravenclaws gathered about Lisa Turpin. Her voice was loud enough that I could hear her say "How rude! You'd think that he'd be a lot nicer seeing as his brother's the Boy-Who-Lived…" The ridiculous jump in logic she'd performed escaped the others around her and many nodded and made noises of assent. What made having a famous saviour for a brother mean I would turn out nice? Surely it would be anything but that!
I collapsed on my bed for the third time in the last hour, and willed the curtains shut once again. Silent and wandless magic were difficult enough to perform on their own – with wandless being a much rarer skill/talent than silent – but in conjunction, the complexity increased almost tenfold. I had started using silent magic since I was seven, with the help of my late grandfather's wand that I had unearthed from cellar number two. Wandless magic had come later, and I had only started getting the hang of it when I started at Hogwarts.
An Owl hooted quite closely, and I realised it was inside the dorm.
"Harry? It's a letter for you!" Thomas Gravey's voice sounded out. I leapt out of bed, dispelled the magic on the curtains and burst through the fabric, eyes darting left and right and everywhere, searching for the letter. In my haste, I almost collided with Thomas as he had just begun to approach my four-poster bed.
"Whoa! Careful there, Harry!" He chided good-naturedly, handing me the letter. Still having enough control of my faculties to not rip the parchment from his hands, I smiled and gripped the letter. It was unopened, thankfully.
There, on the front, was my name written in gold ink. And father's handwriting. What on earth? Why hadn't he just handed me the letter rather than owling it? Then I noticed the owl. It was the oldest, slowest, most dilapidated owl the Potter family owned – small wonder I had just gotten it: the date was for four days ago. It was a wonder the owl had even managed to get inside the castle and find me!
Dear Harry,
As you may have heard, Jeremy has made it into the Gryffindor Quidditch team!
Actually, I hadn't heard. The gossip lines hadn't caught hold of this little tidbit of information, but it was only a matter of time – my parents would only have sent the letter using this owl if all the others were taken: they weren't that cruel as to deliberately choose this owl over the others if they were free.
Considering the circumstances, we have bought Jeremy a Nimbus 2000.
Wonderful, so they got him the best broom on the market – nothing less for the Boy-Who-Lived, of course. But why were my parents telling me about it?
I have spoken to your mother, and she has agreed that should you reply by tomorrow-
What the hell? They sent a letter to me that might not even get to me and they say reply by tomorrow!
-tomorrow, then we will speak to Headmaster Dumbledore and perhaps he can arrange for you to be able to try out for the Ravenclaw team. Of course, if you get in, we will also buy you a Nimbus 2000.
Good luck,
James the Rockingest Dad in the World
Trust him to put such a signature on a letter. So maybe that might explain why they were so cold to me. Sighing, I dismissed the owl, pulled out a quill and began to scrawl on a new piece of parchment.
Dear Father,
I am afraid your letter did not arrive until today, full four days after you sent me the letter. As such, I was not aware of your proposal until, well, after we had all been to Professor Dumbledore's office.
The thing is, I'm afraid I must decline your offer – it would certainly smack of favouritism if I was even given the opportunity to try out for the Quidditch team, which would certainly not do for your's and mother's reputation, as well Professor Dumbledore's. There is also the issue of my acclimatization to Hogwarts – I am still not quite sure I can handle the-
Sighing, I jabbed my wand at the piece of parchment and set it alight. The letter was going from a clinical refusal to a sobfest. Restarting the letter, I rewrote the first paragraph, then began anew on the second.
Unfortunately, I believe that I am hardly capable of being on the Quidditch team and also balance my school work – that is, if I get in. This situation is temporary, of course, as I am sure I will have gotten used to the workload by next year.
Many thanks,
Harry
Satisfied with this second draft, I rolled it up, sealed it magically and also with a conjured wax seal with the Potter crest, I opened the window next to my four-poster bed. I whistled sharply, a three-note pattern that resulted in my silver-grey eagle owl hurtling towards me from the Owlery. Proffering my left arm, the owl landed, claws clutching but not piercing the sturdy material my wand holster was made of.
"I need you to take this to father." I murmured softly to it, holding the rolled up letter out. It did a little hop, grabbed the scroll in one claw, then flapped its wings once, twice, then three times and it was off, rapidly disappearing into the night.
"How'd you do that?" Terry Boot – why did Ravenclaws have to be so damn nosy?
"Do what?"
"Call your owl. How'd you train it to recognise your signal?"
"I didn't. Someone else did." And it was true – I had purchased the owl from a trainer. Whose shop had been in Knockturn Alley, but I wasn't going to tell that to anyone anytime soon.
Terry seemed disappointed. "Oh. Where'd you get it from?"
"A specialist animal shop in London. Can't tell you anymore than that… the shopkeeper put me under a Secrets Oath, 'cos he doesn't want the entire of Wizarding London coming into his shop."
If anything, Terry is suspicious. "What's wrong with that? Having lots of customers, I mean?"
I sighed. There had to be some way of throwing Terry off. "You'd get crowded stores, less time to train animals and not enough of them to go around. And you'd be forced to sell to people like… like Dark Lords in training." Terry paled a little, then decided that he really didn't want to keep pursuing the conversation.
The letter my father had sent to me (four days ago) lay on my desk. Gazing at it, I wished I could drop my family as quickly as Terry had dropped the conversation.
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Author's Notes:- You don't have to read if you don't want to:
1. Fainting – people faint backwards, not forwards. I'm using the movie here, as the book doesn't talk about which way Quirrell faints.
2. Jeremy and Co. approaching Harry for help – Jeremy knows that Harry knows at least as much as he does (remember they've been 'trained' by their parents). But considering what happened in the last chapter, he believes that Harry would be a great help if they encountered the troll. Not to mention he trusts Harry, as he's his brother.
3. The line Here we go again… 'Suffer the children…' is from Runaways, Season 1, Chapter 15.
4. Quirrell and Voldemort – Harry can tell the difference between his scar stinging and his scar 'burning'. Hence, he realised that when Quirrell has his back to him, it hurts even more.
5. Harry's apparent fear of heights – as stated, he only fears it when there isn't some sort of flying apparel holding him up. Which is strange, because for other people, it's the complete opposite.
6. Legilimency – rather than rummaging through someone's mind, it's much easier and less obvious to copy it, although time consuming.
7. Silent and Wandless magic – Silent magic is taught in Book 5. Wandless magic is hardly mentioned at all. Ergo, silent is easier to learn than wandless.
8. The owl sent to Harry – probably an 'heirloom' of sorts. The others were sent off by the parents to inform everyone else about Jeremy's entry into Quidditch.
9. Harry's refusal – remember him not wanting to be a person that was jealous of his brother? If he turned up for tryouts, actually tried, and hence got into the team, people really would talk about how he was copying his brother in an attempt to steal his brother's fame. The reasons he had begun to outline in the letter also apply, but to a lesser extent.
10. Harry's owl – purchased in Knockturn Alley. Not all shopkeepers in Knockturn are sellers of illegal things, just less… conventional items. A hidden store Harry stumbled upon, selling incredibly well trained animals.
I've had some reviews with people complaining that Harry's a little too powerful, that the Legilimency is too close to being psychic. I apologize for the latter as I've had a lot of influence from X-men (I'm an avid Ultimate X-men fan), but the former? Is he really too powerful? I suppose he is. In the following few chapters, Harry will only get more powerful, but in chapter 14, he. Is. Going. To. Fall.