A/N: And now, the plot begins in earnest.
Chapter 5: Harry Has A Headache
Harry wandered to the History of Magic classroom in a better mood than he had been in for the last few days. The pictures that Fred and George had stuck up on the Common Room walls had finally come down, at Percy's insistence (or perhaps more accurately, a stern letter from Mrs Weasley after Percy had informed her). After a few days, Ginny seemed to have taken Colin aside, and explained, kindly but firmly, that Harry didn't really like being photographed. As a consequence, Harry had not had to worry about anyone popping up from behind a statue to take a quick picture of him for almost a week now, which had done wonders for his temper.
And being calmer seemed to be having a good effect on his surroundings as well. The last time Colin had taken a photo of him, he had just been returning from a Quidditch practice that had taken place in the midst of a dreadful storm. As a result, Harry had not been in a good mood to start with. When the flash went off, it had been drowned out by a loud crack. While Colin had seemed oblivious, Harry had noticed a pane of glass that had shattered.
As he walked to his seat he smiled at Justin, still sitting in the seat next to him. To his surprise, Justin had a nervous look on his face. He smiled back at Harry, true, but it was a tentative, fleeting smile. It didn't reach his eyes. He immediately turned back to the other Hufflepuffs. Harry stared at him in confusion, but the other boy seemed determined not to meet his eye. Harry took his seat, his good mood somewhat soured. Perhaps, he mused to himself gloomily, Justin actually had noticed the way his magic had split the blackboard a few weeks earlier. Paired with the red eyes he had apparently seen, it wouldn't have left him with a good impression.
He spent the lesson in silence, doodling on some parchment while Binns droned on about an alliance between sorcerers and goblins, a very dull subject even by the ghostly professor's standards. At the end of the lesson, he turned to speak to Justin again, but the Hufflepuff had hurriedly packed his bag; he almost ran out of the room. Harry slumped in disappointment.
Severus Snape relaxed somewhat as the second years settled into the brewing process. They were attempting a simple healing potion, something that should keep the Hospital Wing adequately supplied for a while. It was one of his duties as Potions Master, but he preferred to use his talents for more complex, more satisfying potions. Of course, if the Gryffindors were up to their usual standards, he would have at least one batch to brew.
He could not fully relax however. Not while he was in the room.
Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Snape would forever owe him a debt, yet he couldn't stand the thought of being indebted to a Potter. Snape had been an excellent spy during the war, and many of the 'Light's' victories had come from his information. He sneered at the thought. As if it had only been light wizards who had opposed the Dark Lord. But in the end, he hadn't been good enough. He had been exposed as a traitor, presumably on the word of Caradoc Dearborn, the man who had betrayed Sirius Black, and by extension the Potters. Had the Dark Lord not been defeated – he hesitated to say destroyed, not while he still bore the Dark Mark – it would not have been safe for him to leave Dumbledore's side, powerful wizard though he was. Because of Potter, he was free to lead a normal life; none of the Death Eaters left alive outside Azkaban were powerful enough to so much as mess up his hair.
And all thanks to the twelve year old boy in front of him.
He could not bring himself to fawn over the boy as Dumbledore did though. He was James Potter born again, and not just in looks. True, he had never been caught in any of the kinds of misdemeanours that had characterised the Marauders time at the school, but the boy was breathtakingly arrogant. To even think about trying to protect the Stone by himself…
He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head that whispered Harry would not have needed to try and defend the Stone if Snape had listened to him.
Potter differed from his late, unlamented father in only one respect. Power. James Potter had been a moderately powerful wizard, although skilled enough to do a great deal with that power. Potter junior was another matter. At the end of the previous academic year, he had burnt Quirrell alive, from the inside out, leaving only a ruined husk. The staff had known of Potter's sometimes uncontrollable magic before his arrival at the school, but while accidental magic often had wilder effects than controlled magic, what he had done should not have been possible. And their first lesson this term had only furthered his suspicions. When he had taunted Harry over the photographs that pathetic first year had been taking, Snape had been able to feel Potter's magic, pressing against his skull. The boy had great power, and it was dangerously wild at present.
He thought back to the discussion he had had with Dumbledore at the end of the previous term. The Headmaster had promised that if Potter's accidental magic got any worse, then steps would be taken. Could this be seen as worse? There had been no more spectacular outbursts such as those that had occurred during Potter's first year, but the magic was more noticeable now, a constant presence, to those sensitive enough to such things. That close to the surface, it was far more dangerous, particularly since it seemed to respond to strong emotions, such as anger. The boy was a teenager for Merlin's sake! All his emotions were strong!
Snape could feel it in his bones. Potter was a disaster waiting to happen.
There was a crash from the other side of the room. Snape rolled his eyes, striding over to Neville's table with his practised sneer on his face. Potter might be dangerous magically, but at least he wouldn't be killing anyone through sheer incompetence.
Harry sat at the table in the Great Hall, picking at his food. Ron was engaged in another stupid argument about the merits of football and Quidditch with Dean; the Muggleborn Gryffindor stubbornly refused to acknowledge Quidditch as a proper sport, claiming the rules didn't make sense. At this statement, Ron had started to splutter incoherently, made worse when Hermione had butted in to agree.
"Dean's right. Most of the match is pointless; it's all about which Seeker catches the Snitch first. It's too valuable, so unless you have an absolutely appalling Keeper the team that catches the Snitch is pretty much guaranteed to win. It's stupid. You might as well just have a race."
Ron just stared at her, unable to form words to express his shock. Hermione and Dean grinned at each other, acknowledging a good job well done, before turning to other matters. Shaking his head, Ron looked at Harry, frowning in concern.
"Are you all right? You look awful."
"Oh, thanks Ron. That makes me feel so much better."
"Well what's up then?"
"Remember Justin Finch-Fletchly?"
Ron frowned again.
"What, that prat from History? What about him?"
"He was being weird today… You remember he was going on about Lockhart the other lesson?"
Ron nodded, as Hermione's head whipped up at the mention of Lockhart. Realising what she had done, she hunched over again, flushing slightly.
"Well, I didn't like being compared to Lockhart, as you can imagine, and I think I let loose some accidental magic. He seemed scared of me today; I was just wondering if that was why."
Hermione looked up as Ron responded, a puzzled expression on her face.
"Why would you care? He seemed a bit of an idiot to me; that's what you thought as well."
"True, but I don't want people scared of me Ron."
Hermione leaned over to him.
"What do you mean you think you let loose some accidental magic? I thought you got a headache before hand, and it's always been fairly impressive whenever I've seen it."
Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if he completely understood why his magic was acting as it was, but he attempted to explain.
"Over the summer my magic started getting… not calmer, because I still lose control of it when I'm angry. But it's less powerful now. I cracked the blackboard in History of Magic the other day; last year I'd probably have destroyed it. But I lose control over it more often now, over lesser things. I don't know if that means it's getting better or not."
Hermione stared at him, an annoyed expression on her face. Harry suspected this was at least partly due to the fact that she knew full well the library would hold no answers for her in this case. But that wasn't the only thing.
"Why the hell didn't you tell us? We could help you out, make sure you don't end up getting too annoyed! Those photos must have made you feel awful!"
"Hermione, I've been dealing with powerful accidental magic since before my parents died according to Sirius. I appreciate the offer, but really, I'm fine."
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"No, really, I am."
The eyebrow went higher.
"Fine, I'll tell you if I'm feeling weird, all right?"
Hermione sat back, a satisfied smile on her face.
"That's just fine Harry. Thank you. And don't worry about Justin; if he really was scared of you then he needs to grow up – he should have seen what you were doing last year!"
Harry bent over his food again, traitorous thoughts about interfering friends running through his head, but he was smiling. Hermione had at least managed to reassure him. As he shovelled more food into his mouth – to a sigh of exasperation from Hermione – the late post owls began to arrive. He looked up at the sound of a familiar screech, and Hedwig swooped down in front of him, carrying a parcel with a letter attached. He tore the envelope open, recognising the handwriting as Remus's.
Dear Harry,
I'm glad to hear that term is going well, although I am disappointed by the news that you have yet another poor Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; I would have thought that Dumbledore would be trying harder than last year to appoint a good one. I suppose he has his reasons though. I can recommend some decent textbooks if you'd like. As for Snape, I did pass on your message to Sirius, but I'm afraid we then had to 'persuade' him not to come to Hogwarts to express his displeasure; he does take any insult to you personally you know Harry, especially given that he loathes Snape. On the other hand, we've all found the news about your own personal photographer rather amusing – can we all get signed photos for Christmas? Seriously though, if he does hang on your every word, you can easily get him to stop; just tell him. It sounds as if he would respect you enough to tone his adoration down a touch.
Onto more academic matters, I hope the enclosed book will aid your little project. It contains information on a wide variety of Muggle and Magical snakes (I combined two books into one new volume for you). I might have to come and visit you; it's astonishing that you're able to conjure living things after such a short period of time, and I'd be fascinated to see you doing it. I'll try and arrange something with Dumbledore (without telling him why, don't worry). A word of advice; concentrate hard on the kind of thing you want to conjure. That should let you change the variety. Do let me know how it goes.
Good luck, and all the best,
Remus
"Anything interesting?"
Harry looked up to Ron's inquisitive gaze. Relieved that it hadn't been Hermione asking, as she would have undoubtedly wanted to look through the book, Harry just shrugged.
"Just a letter from Remus, he sent me a few things I'd forgotten. Usual kind of stuff, you know."
Ron nodded, the interest already dying in his eyes. Just to make sure, Harry moved the conversation onto the chess game they had played the previous evening, discussing why Ron had beaten him so soundly. As they talked, Harry put the parcel into his bag, covering it with some parchment.
After lunch, the Gryffindors had another Defence lesson. Given the disaster of the Cornish Pixies, subsequent lessons had removed the practical element altogether. Lockhart wasn't even teaching them spells, which had left Harry in a very bad mood. Instead, Lockhart was getting them to act out passages from his books. This did absolutely nothing good for Harry's temper. Even though they had only had a few lessons, his fellow Gryffindors already knew to leave him alone to brood for an hour or so following a Defence lesson; fortunately they always came before a break of some description, meaning Harry was free to disappear. Ron and Neville had a private bet on what would finally push Harry over the edge into another explosion in class; the favourite was his inevitable acting debut.
Fortunately, Harry was too distracted by the thought of the book in his bag, and whether it would actually be any use to him. Lockhart's recitation of his encounter with the Polruan Poltergeist therefore passed relatively smoothly, save for Seamus Finnegan's woeful impersonation of a poltergeist, apparently based on Peeves. However, he wasn't so distracted as to be completely unaware of his surroundings. Theodore Nott was staring at him from across the room, an unpleasant smirk on his pale face. Harry knew he was probably still annoyed about the spell Harry had hit him with, and was likely to be seeking revenge at some point in the future. He didn't think that Nott would be stupid enough to try anything in the classroom though, and dismissed him from his thoughts.
This proved harder to manage once the lesson had finished.
"Petrificus Totallus!"
Harry spun to the side, knocking Hermione to the floor as he did so. Nott was standing behind them, an anticipatory look on his face. Blaise Zabini, Nott's constant companion was nowhere to be seen, presumably distracting Lockhart. Harry drew his own wand, watching Nott carefully.
"This is a really bad idea you know Nott…"
"What's the matter Potter? Scared to damage that goody-goody image you've built up? Are you going to get your cronies to do your dirty work for you?"
Harry blinked in confusion, then looked around. Ron and Neville also had their wands drawn, ready to hex anyone who moved against Harry.
"It's alright guys… I can handle this…"
Nott sneered as the two friends reluctantly lowered their wands.
"You're even more arrogant than I thought Potter. Walking around without a care in the world… You had to have known that this was coming – as if hexing me wasn't bad enough; you had to go and tell Malfoy didn't you! I told you you'd pay…"
"Oh get over it Nott; Madame Pomfrey would have been able to reverse it in a second."
"That's not the point! Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
Hermione squeaked as the spell bounced away from Harry, over her head to fizzle out against the wall. She reached out to drag Harry away, muttering at him.
"Come on Harry, this is really stupid…"
Nott laughed.
"Hiding behind a girl Potter? Nothing more than I'd expect…"
Harry's eyes narrowed in anger, and he raised his wand again.
"Flipendo!"
The spell hit Nott in the arm, sending him spinning and stumbling back, collapsing to the floor – at Lockhart's feet. The professor was watching, a look of deep shock on his face.
"Mr Potter! I'm surprised at you! You know that magic is not to be used in the corridors, and against a fellow student as well! Detention, this evening; eight o' clock sharp."
Harry and his friends began to protest, but Lockhart silenced them with a glare.
"I'm not interested in excuses. You will attend the detention Harry, or else. Now get going, the lot of you."
Nott and the other Slytherins walked off, grinning over their shoulders at Harry. He stood there silently, mouth set. Hermione scowled after them, before turning to Harry, placing her arm on his shoulder.
"Never mind Harry, at least he didn't take points. Come on, let's go and eat."
Harry sighed and nodded, picking up his bag. None of them noticed the shattered pane of glass a short way down the corridor.
A few minutes before his detention was due to start, Harry arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. As he walked through the classroom, the portraits all began to frown and point at him, as if Lockhart had told them why he would be there. The urge to burn them began to rise again, but Harry forced it down. As he approached the stairs, Lockhart opened his office door.
"Ah, Harry, come on in, come in."
Lockhart's office was even more ridiculous than the classroom. There were more portraits hung around the walls, and several fine pairs of robes hung from wardrobes. It looked more like a bedroom than an office, despite the fact that there were staff rooms elsewhere in the castle. Harry was unable to suppress a grimace, which Lockhart seemed to take for admiration.
"Yes it is nice isn't it? It's not much, but it's enough for me Harry. Never let fame go to your head, word to the wise."
Lockhart steered Harry over to the desk in the middle of the room, which was covered in letters.
"Now Harry, I'm aware that you're not exactly unknown in these parts. The Boy-Who-Lived or some such title… Not quite the same as winning the Most-Charming Smile award of course, but then what is?" Lockhart said with a roguish wink.
Harry stared at him incredulously.
"Now, what I'm teaching you in class is obviously extremely important, but I think that a little private tuition outside class could also benefit you Harry. Fame's a tricky beast, you need to know how to deal with it, and I think I can be of some assistance there!"
He pushed a large pile of letters over to Harry.
"I thought we'd start with some fan-mail Harry. It's a long job, but it's got to be done, or people will just lose interest in you, and we don't want that do we? You can start off with some of the more basic ones, you just need to sign my name for them, nothing complicated. We'll cover more advanced stuff later on, how about that?"
Harry nodded slowly, unsure whether this was a stroke of luck or not. Answering fan-mail had to be better than lines or something similar, but Lockhart really was pushing the limits of ridiculousness now. But he took the offered quill, and set to work.
As it turned out, even the minor amusement of seeing what people had written to Lockhart eventually descended into mindless tedium, occasionally punctuated by comments from Lockhart on the nature of celebrity; important advice that Harry would be sure to need apparently. He paid no attention.
As the time passed, Harry's head began to ache. The instant he felt the pain, he froze, concentrating hard. The headache… felt wrong somehow. It wasn't the familiar wrongness of a headache signifying an imminent burst of accidental magic, still recognisable even after its long absence, but something else. It was something foul, something evil, and it was pressing against his skull, as if something was trying to burst out. The best comparison was the sensation he felt whenever he got to close to the site of the Prewitt twins murder. He thought he was going to be sick. The pain suddenly spiked, and Harry gasped. Lockhart looked up at the sound.
"Harry – Great Merlin!"
He hurried round the desk, taking hold of Harry's head.
"Harry, what's wrong?"
Harry had gone deathly pale, as if he had been drained of blood. As Lockhart looked at him, Harry jerked with another spasm of pain. His eyes rolled back, and he fell to the floor, faintly aware of Lockhart calling his name.
Lockhart stared at Harry, his eyes wide. Drawing his wand, he aimed it at Harry's head, and a wave of magic rushed out. Harry jerked again, and his nose began to bleed. Lockhart blinked, swore, and picked him up, running towards the Hospital Wing.
A/N: Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.
Also, a quick note regarding relationships in this series. I've had a few queries about them, and have posted a few details on my author page, for those of you interested who haven't already seen it. However, one point I will make here is that romance is not going to be a main plot strand for this series. It will be the 6th story before it makes any significant appearance, and then only briefly.