A/N Thanks to DZ2, Stormyfiredragon, Undercover Operative, and Ariadne Venegas for reviewing either chapter 2 or 3! Please leave a review on the way out.

FYI, none of these chapters have been beta read. So there may be mistakes. Who am I kidding, there will be mistakes.

P.S. I highly recommend reading 'Among the Gemini Trees' by JAWorley; you'll find it on the Potions and Snitches website. It's a fantastic read.

Ollivander's Shop

Ollivander, premier wandmaker of Great Britain, glanced over the messily written order and frowned. The sender, apparently wanted a wand/staff hybrid- a waff. Waff… just saying the name made him suppress a fit of giggles. He could imagine a tall, dark, serious-faced businessman clutching his 'waff' and screaming, "I shall strike you down with my waff! Bow before the might of my waff!"

It was in this humored state that he made his way back into the shop. His son (and technically intern), Jason, quickly picked up on his mood. "Have you won the lottery, old man?" he asked. Ollivander frowned. "One: I did not win the lottery, for your information. Two: How many times have I told you not to call me old man!?"

Jason merely shrugged. "Just stating the facts. You haven't been this happy since your drunken strip tease."

"I thought we had an agreement not to mention that!"

Jason shrugged again. "So, what amazing thing happened? You haven't smiled for a year, three months, two days, and twenty-two hours."

Ollivander shot him a glare. "Nothing. Nothing happened. Just this order form."

He shoved it at his intern. Jason was lazy, smart alecky, and cocky. If not for his excellent wand-making skill (superior to even Ollivander, but he'd never admit it) he'd have kicked the boy out long ago- even if said boy was his own son.

"Uh-huh. A waff. Okay. I can do it."

Ollivander glared at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. "This doesn't have anything to do with you! I'm making it; this order requires the most precise hands…"

Whistling and cheerfully ignoring Ollivander, Jason strolled to the back of the shop. He appeared several moments later carrying a large, thin, stark-white spiraling stick. "Wha-wha-wha?" Ollivander stuttered.

Jason grinned. "I've been experimenting for years on this, old man! I had a perfected waff lying in the storage room."

It took nearly half a minute for Ollivander to gain enough motor control to step up and smack Jason over the side of the face.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous-"

The boy grimaced. "Of course. Do you remember the disappearing unicorn-hair tragedy of '06?"

Ollivander's tone grew suddenly quiet. Dangerously quiet. "Yes. The stack cost me 500 galleons- nearly bankrupted the shop!"

Jason grinned cheekily. "I used them all to forge this staff!"

The old wandmaker was beyond livid. "YOU DID WHAT?!"

Cheerfully whistling, Jason wrapped the waff in charmed bubble wrap and tied it to the nearest owl's leg. He turned to find a red-faced, outraged Ollivander before him. "Oh, come now, dad. I'm your own son! You can't hurt me!"

Authorities found a shocked Jason the next morning hanging from the clock tower, an inch from the razor-sharp spike, suspended and wrapped in mounds upon mounds of bubble wrap. For good measure, Ollivander also drew a d*ck on his head. Served him right.


Hogwarts

To his pleasant surprise, Harry found the waff at near dawn; an owl, a tired owl, flew it in through his dorm window. He'd just woken up and yawned when a package the size of a table leg burst through and smacked him upside the head. Groaning, he'd opened it to find a beautifully crafted, stark white waff. He smiled. Brilliant.

The waff had the properties of a staff, but the size of a wand- making it superior to both staffs and wands. The small problem was that the waff drew magic in the style of the wand and the staff combined; three hours of use could completely drain an adequately powerful first-year. But Harry was no adequately powerful first-year. He'd estimate his magical ability to be about 3 times the average first-year; and his natural magical regen would certainly replenish his reserves before the waff could drain him.

He'd only learned of the magical regen a few nights ago at the Dursleys while browsing through a mound of books relating or pertaining to magical cores. Apparently, every wizard had a natural regeneration, hence why one could never truly run out of energy for spells. If the core reached a low, the regen would draw on the user's energies to replenish the core's powers- hence why not many chose to use the waff. After a mere hour, most would be at near exhaustion; at two, the average grown wizard would be exceptionally sleepy.

The problem didn't affect Harry simply because Harry's magical core, he'd found out, was much stronger than the average core. His core, apparently, had an insane magical regen- allowing him to power a staff.

A small groan filled the air, and Harry snapped back to the present. His house was waking.

He'd returned the Time Turner nearly 3 hours later to Cho Chang's backpack. Funnily enough, Cho was one of the girls who'd tried to sit with him on the boat. Small world.

It was sad that he learned most of his house's names by glancing on their backpacks' name tags, but he did what he had to do. He didn't want to be caught out as the 'inconsiderate fool' who didn't even take the time to learn his acquaintances' names.

Another groan filled the air- this time from the opposite dormitory. So apparently the girls were waking, too. Interesting.

He slept in his school robes (he didn't bring pyjamas); so dressing wasn't an issue for him. Brushing his teeth, he made his way to the common room. He was the first one down.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed. He loved the mornings- nobody was up, and fresh air wafted through the halls. Two massive plusses. Grabbing his waff (which was so small it could honestly pass for a wand), he made his way down several staircases and down to the Hall.

To his immense surprise, there was already somebody there.

A small, bushy-haired girl sat alone at the stone tables of Gryffindor. "So you're up too, huh?"

She flinched, then quickly collected herself. "Er- yes. You're Harry Potter, right?"

Harry grimaced. This time, however, he reserved judgement. Perhaps Cho had been right at the lake- maybe not everybody was a manipulative bastard. He gave this girl the benefit of the doubt.

"Yes." he watched warily for her reaction. To his surprise, she merely grinned. "I've read about you alot, you know."

"Ah. So you've heard about how my parents were brutally murdered trying to save me?"

The grin slid abruptly from her face. "I'm sorry. It must be hard to be famous for something you don't even remember doing- and something you should probably be ashamed of."

Harry nodded. Here was somebody who understood him! "It is, it really is. People constantly tell me, 'you're the savior!'. I don't give a f*ck if I'm anybody savior. I just want to be normal. To have parents, really."

He suddenly laughed. "Two minutes, and I'm practically telling you my life's story."

The girl laughed with him.

"Sorry, I never caught your name…?"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger."


Breakfast passed by without much event. He hadn't expected to receive anything, but he was pleasantly surprised to find a cookie land on his table. It looked home-baked; a small, red-printed letter lay beneath it. 'A secret admirer' it read.

He closed his eyes. No doubt this 'secret admirer' would be scanning him, watching for his reaction.

Time to draw on his magical core.

He teased out a string of magic and scattered them across the tables. They clung to whatever they touched, forming a solid shell of magic- something Harry could see without the use of his eyes. An image, a magically constructed image, built itself in his mind.

He could suddenly see the entire hall covered in its shell of magic. Excellent.

Quickly scanning the tables, me made out several forms watching him closely. The only one he recognized was Cho Chang. Why would Cho be staring at him?

For the benefit of whichever 'secret admirer' he split his face into a grin and hurriedly finished the cookie. The bell tolled; all of the students stood and exited the Hall.

He couldn't help but overhear the awed conversation around him-

"Harry Potter! The Harry Potter! He's here!"

"Are you kidding me? The Chosen One?!"

"Insane, innit?! I mean, he killed the Dark Lord!"

Grimacing, he quickened his pace. With one hand, he reached to his forehead. He tapped his waff to his ear and quickly performed the disillusionment charm.

He was gone in an instant. Shuffling through the crowd, he made his way to his first class- DADA.

Instantly he was hit with the smell of rotting garlic. Wrinkling his nostrils, he dismissed the disillusionment charm and picked the seat in the back row, farthest from the horrible smell. A teacher, a turban-clad teacher was hurriedly shuffling through notes. At the sight of Harry, he nearly dropped his folder in fright.

"C-can it b-be?" he muttered, his eyes wide. "H-Harry P-p-Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I am Harry, sir. Is there something you require of me?"

The professor, for whatever reason, flinched. "N-no… er…"

The rest of the hall suddenly swarmed into the room, and Quirrell found twenty pairs of eyes staring at him. Clearing his throat, clearly uncomfortable, he began his lesson.

This was, by far, the most unqualified teacher he'd ever met. He taught little of anything important, really, and advised garlic to ward of vampires. Garlic! Harry found himself resolving to read and quiz himself on the DADA textbook; this teacher taught a whole bunch of nothing.

The next class, herbology, went better; Neville, a shy, quiet boy, seemed to excel in the class- shopping through his roots with lightning speed. Harry, who was usually top of every class, beat him by mere seconds. After class, he applauded the boy- who blushed and muttered, "Thanks…"

Ron was nowhere to be found- a welcome relief. They shared a single class together, Potions- which was exactly where he was headed to now. He hoped that the redhead would sit as far away as possible; but, for some reason, Ron was still intent on making 'friends' with him.

Harry found himself idly wondering how much skin an incendio could burn off before the teacher noticed and put the fire out.

Speaking of teacher…

"Potter…"

His eyes snapped to the batlike man in the front of the room. "Our new… celebrity…"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Tell me, Potter, which potion is made when you add the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry answered almost immediately. "You get a potion called the Draught of Living Death, sir."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry racked his memory. This was a question from a third year textbook; Snape clearly didn't expect him to know it. He was beginning to hate this professor more and more.

"They are the same plant sir, found in swamp and forest biomes. First discovered in 1562 by Merlin the Great, they are used in several potions pertaining to drowsiness and dizziness. Muggle botanists call it aconite."

Snape looked taken aback; Harry grinned internally. He wasn't about to allow some bully of a teacher make a fool out of him.

Take that, you overgrown bat!

"Well… WHY AREN'T YOU ALL TAKING NOTES?!" he suddenly roared, making everybody jump. The scribbling of pens soon filled the room. He stalked up to the edge of the table and leaned over Harry, his prominent, greasy nose nearly touching Harry's face. "This isn't over, Potter!"

And then he left, gliding through the room, as if nothing had happened. Harry raised an eyebrow. His expression seemed to say, Bring it on, old man!


Nothing happened, for the most part, in the rest of the classes. The teachers spewed out information he already knew; he quickly found Binns the most boring teacher in all of Hogwarts. He'd taken to sleeping on the desk during class; the old ghost didn't even notice.

He supposed Charms and Transfiguration were fairly interesting. They were taught by competent teachers (finally!). Mcgonagall was an interesting woman; she didn't bat an eye when Harry transfigured his match to a needle with the barest of effort on his first try. "Good, Mr. Potter." she'd said. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Here's another needle, do it again."

Harry had obliged.

"Hm…" Mcgonagall muttered. "I shall have to talk to Dumbledore about this…"

She said nothing on the matter throughout the rest of the class.

Flitwick was an amazing teacher; his style was one Harry truly appreciated. When Harry had performed the Wingardium Leviosa spell on his first attempt, he'd gone as far as to applaud. He also gave the same cryptic remarks: "I'll have to speak to Dumbledore about this…" before dismissing Harry to the library.

All in all, Harry liked Hogwarts and its classes- if he discounted Snape.

It was late afternoon when Mcgonagall's and Flitwick's cryptic remarks finally began to make sense.

The two teachers had found him lounging by the Great Lake under an apple tree, reading a large book.

"Harry…" Mcgonagall began. "We're considering moving you up to a year three Transfigurations class." Upon seeing Harry's joyful face, her tone grew sharp. "Now don't get a filled head, young man! Year three is much tougher than year one, with much harder material."

Harry had simply nodded. "That's fine. I've memorized most of the first half of the second book, anyway."

Mcgonagall had sniffed in astonishment at this.

Flitwick then offered him much of the same deal, except with fourth-year charms- something Harry accepted almost immediately.

"Alright, Harry. You are to retrieve your new schedule at the front office tomorrow."

With that, they'd left.

Already moved up on the first day of school! A very smug Harry Potter made his way back across the lawn and to the Great Hall for dinner.

A/N Please leave a review on the way out! Updates are daily because of a school break; they may come a little slower starting tomorrow.