Warning – English is not my first language and I have no beta right now, so if you see some mistakes let me know what and where they are. If you don't see them, go find a pair of glasses or some English vocabularies and grammar books, because you're either blind or ignorant. Hell, there are probably some mistakes in this warning! Or maybe in this last sentence… or in this one… or in this one… or in this one… I think you got it.
Disclaimer – If by reading this story, you find elements that are similar and/or about something you wrote, then you are either JKR (who owns the Harry Potter Universe by the way) or another fanfiction author who I chose to compliment, criticize or mock somewhere in the story. Enjoy.
Chapter 3: We Shall Conquer! We Shall Conquer!
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was obviously the largest room in the Castle. 'Obviously' because it was intended to gather every single student, teacher and occasionally guest for every meal or so during the school year. But at dinner on a 24th of July when no student nor guest was around and only a short table was placed in the middle, the Hall appeared even larger.
At said stand, sat the same sad saints who almost always say: 'soon some of us shall sail for somewhere else safe'.
Go on, snake-face! Try to say what I just wrote! I challenge you!
Anyway, maybe you were able to understand that the Hogwarts' teachers were seated in the Great Hall, dining, some of them involved in small talk about this and that. The last law approved by the Wizengamot, the interesting essay on the new discoveries about the connection between a wand and his owner, and the taste of vinegar on vegetables were very popular discussions at the short table. But the one that always popped up, obviously I dare say, was the incoming school year.
"I'm sure you'll do perfectly fine, Professor Quirrell," Pomona Sprout was saying with an encouraging smile to the uncertain man in front of her.
"It's not that difficult to teach magical children, really. You have not to worry," Filius Flitwick continued cheerful as always, seated a little more distant.
The new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor looked downcast, not very heartened by his colleagues' comments. "I-I will t-try my b-best…"
"I doubt your best will be enough to break the position curse," Severus Snape said scathingly, clearly hinting whose best he thought would be enough.
"Now, now Severus..." interjected Albus Dumbledore seated at the head of the table, with a warning glance at his Potion Master. "There is no curse on the Defence position. They all were just unfortunate coincidences." He finished with a gentle smile towards the new teacher at his right.
Snape tried with all his might to repress his snort, but everyone knows his might is not a lot.
The Headmaster ignored the Potion Professor's reaction and started eating again. After a little hesitation and a lot of trembling, Quirrell mirrored him.
Filius looked away and turned towards his right and towards Minerva McGonagall. The woman was seated rather stiffly at the last spot of the table, and while that was all normal, her glazed eyes were not.
"Are you okay, Minerva?" the tiny man asked a little worried.
The Transfiguration Professor seemed to come back to Earth and replied hastily, gesticulating a bit with her hands. "Yes, Filius. I'm just a little tired. You know… the acceptance letters… the Muggleborns' visits… and… and all that…" she finished somewhat lamely, a rare event for her.
"Minny," said the Charms Professor kindly, "don't lie to me. We've been friends for a too long time. What's the problem?"
The depressed cat Animagus sighed. "Is it really so much evident?"
"To me, yes. But I know you rather well," replied him with a gentle smile.
"I..." she paused for a moment, uncertain. "I find it hard to start another school year… yet again." The woman sighed again, looking miserable. "This morning I had to force myself to address all the acceptance letters and to make all those visits to the Muggleborns' families. And last year, especially at the end, I…"
Minerva stopped completely, observing the intent expression on the Charms Professor's face. She really didn't know if it was right to finish that sentence. She bit her lower lip, appearing a little like a schoolgirl in Filius' opinion. The tiny man had to hold back the smile that was threatening to make its way though his face. It wasn't exactly the right moment for it.
Dropping her voice like she was about to confess some sort of capital sin, she finally said…
"Last year, I have been bored."
Well, sincerely Filius wasn't expecting that.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Professor, Gryffindor Head of House and Hogwarts' Stakhanovite had been bored of her job!
Not that it was anything humiliating, and then again, it wasn't that strange. Not at all.
Filius watched his great friend and the pained expression that had appeared on her face, and tried to make her feel better. He saw very clearly how someone like Minerva would feel absolutely miserable for something like that.
"Is that all?" he asked feigning nonchalance. "It's completely comprehensible, really. You are simply going through what is called a professional crisis."
The tiny Professor poured himself and Minnie a glass of firewhisky and took a sip from it, inviting her to do the same. "How many years have you taught Transfiguration here at Hogwarts, Minerva? Thirty-five? More? And how much has the curriculum changed through all these years?" Filius let the questions float there for a brief moment before smiling kindly. "Minerva, do you really think there is someone at this table who has not gone through what you are going through?"
The Transfiguration Professor thought about that for a second. She then shook her head and sighed softly, looking very tired.
"I think I have no more passion to share with my students…"
"Passion?" replied Filius smiling good naturedly. "I would not have thought you capable of speaking of 'passion' while referring to yourself," he joked mocking pensiveness, curling his white beard with his hand. "If not for something like: 'I abhor nonsense… with a passion.'"
Minnie laughed heartily at his attempt to reproduce her stern voice with his squeaky one. She too took a sip from the firewhisky ad then chuckled a little again, feeling already better thanks to Filius. She was about to thank him but he spoke again.
"Jokes aside, it's not possible to be out of a passion like the one you demonstrated here every single day for more than thirty years," the tiny man told her with a resolute look in his eyes. He was about to exaggerate a little, but if it was to cheer her up… "No sane person who would see you in class could not notice how satisfied and satisfying you are while teaching. It's almost a palpable feeling. Your lessons make you ad your students feel good." He made another significant pause that she knew had the only purpose of separate the serious part of his speech from the joking one. "At least the students clever enough not to get on your bad side."
Minerva McGonagall was touched – and honestly… a little smug too – by her friend's demonstration of professional respect, and she wanted to tell him so, but apparently he did not have finished yet.
"So you can't simply be out of a passion like yours. Maybe you have temporary mislaid it." He smiled again. "Someone will come and find it for you once again."
The sentence had sounded like an unintended prophesy of sort to Minerva and to Filius himself, and it didn't help the matter that right at that moment, the doors of the Great Hall opened slightly and a little head appeared in the slit. After a second, the Hogwarts' staff watched a little boy enter and advance confidently towards the lonely table. He was very thin, scrawny you could say, wore shabby large clothes and a pair of round glasses slightly askew. But what shocked most of the teachers were his very familiar messy black hair and bright green eyes. Someone glanced at his forehead, but no scar was visible because of a dark fringe.
The boy came to a halt in front of Albus Dumbledore who in the meantime had stood up in all the magnificence of his magenta and electrical blue robe. The old man showed no sign of shock nor surprise, but it's only fair to say that the man have an unfair advantage with his silver beard and moustache thick enough to hide his immediate reactions.
"Good evening." said the newcomer, smiling. "I'm Harry Potter." He ignored the few gasps and the one growl, and continued watching the Headmaster in the eyes. "I would like to speak to you Mr. Dumbledore when you have the time."
"No better time than present, Mr. Potter," replied the old man with a smile of his own. "Follow me, please."
The Supreme Mugwump walked away from the table and quickly exited the Great Hall, Harry in tow. All the teachers stared in silence at the two fading backs until they were not visible anymore.
Needless to say, soon enough everyone started talking, or in Quirrell's case, started stammering about the little boy who had just left the room, about that terrible yet wonderful Halloween night, and about those bright green eyes and those messy black hair.
Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick exchanged a long look.
Then the Charms Professor started waving his hands around an invisible crystal ball and started repeating his last sentence again, now with a mocking prophetical tone in his voice.
"Someone will come-"
The cat Animagus playfully slapped his arm effectively silencing him, but she couldn't restrain a chuckle and he a grin.
"Honestly, you are so immature at times."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Not a step out of the Great Hall, a smiling Albus Dumbledore had already started what he was sure would be a fascinating conversation.
"Mr. Potter, we weren't expecting you this early. I trust you received the Hogwarts' letter this morning."
"Yes, Headmaster, but please, call me Harry. I'm eleven years old and 'Mr. Potter' does not suit me at all," replied the boy wondering how many times he would have to say that in the months to come. "Anyway, I received the letter, but I'm not here for that reason only."
They climbed up the Entrance stairs and proceeded into various hallways, the interest of Albus picked up by the last comment of the boy. They reached the statue of the gargoyle and it leapt aside instantly, somehow sensing the Headmaster's presence.
The two soon entered the office and settled at the proper seats, Albus behind the desk and Harry in front of it.
The room was exactly the same as Harry remembered. All those little instruments on the table were there, as well as the books' shelves on which sat the Sorting Hat, the Pensieve cabinet, and Fawkes' golden perch. The Phoenix was noticeably absent at the moment much to Harry's disappointment, but the boy was almost certain that at some point in the conversation, the bird would have appeared with a ball of fire, just to show-off. With the exception of a window from which entered the last rays of the setting sun, the walls were all covered with the same portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistress of Hogwarts, currently sleeping and producing an irritating cacophony of sounds. They clearly were faking their sleeps. There was no way a human could snore so loudly! Not even a combo of two very tired Ron and Charlie Weasley could reach the snore intensity of just one of those portraits. So it simply wasn't possible.
Sure enough, Dumbledore cleared his throat rather forcefully and the room fell immediately into complete silence.
Harry put his right hand in his pocket and a moment later produced a couple of wrapped candies.
"Do you want a lemon drop, sir? It's a Muggle sweet, obviously lemon flavoured. Maybe it can help your sore throat," he said smiling, offering one to the Headmaster.
Albus Dumbledore had a very funny expression while he reached for one.
"Yes, Harry. Thank you."
They both popped a lemon drop in their mouths, the boy still grinning.
"Hmmm..." was the noncommitted sound of pleasure that came from the Headmaster. "They're quite good" the old man continued with a smile, feeling like he had found himself in a surreal play of some sort.
Harry didn't say anything. He just grinned knowingly, savouring the candy in his own mouth.
"So... Harry, why did you want to talk to me?" the Supreme Mugwump asked finally, watching the mini-James in front of him. Father and son were very similar physically, and something told the Headmaster that the similarities didn't stop at that.
"Well, first thing first, I wanted to accept Hogwarts' invitation. I'm really excited about it and I cannot wait. I heard so many things about Hogwarts that I feel like I know it already," said Harry clearly thrilled.
Dumbledore smiled, while his mind worked at a furious speed. Harry seemed to know more than the Headmaster had thought he would. The simply fact that the boy was right there in front of him was proof of that. The Supreme Mugwump had really no idea how that was possible. What contact could the boy have had with the Magical World?
While that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it surely wasn't in the Headmaster's plans either.
"I'm very happy to hear that," he said, debating with himself if using Legilimency against the Boy-Who-Lived during their first conversation was as terrible as it sounded in his head. It probably was.
"I don't know if you need a written reply, or if my answering right now is enough, but if you want I can-"
"That won't be necessary, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore gently. "You've been magically enrolled here not long after your birth and going to Hogwarts is a right nobody can deprive you of. Your answer is a pure formality to let us prepare properly."
"Good. Now that that's settled, there's an important matter I wanted to discuss with you, sir," Harry said, his happy smile completely gone from his face. "I heard about a man, one Rubeus Hagrid, who is the gamekeeper here at Hogwarts. Is it true?"
"Yes of course. Hagrid is well esteemed by staff and student body," replied the Headmaster furrowing his brow and watching intently the boy, wariness in his blue eyes now.
"And he studied here at Hogwarts for three years despite he wasn't originally enrolled, am I right?" the Potter boy asked with a gloom face.
"Yes," replied the Supreme Mugwump dryly. He didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. Not at all.
Harry paused for a couple of seconds, his eyes fixed on the Headmaster's.
"Did you know he was half-giant?"
Albus Dumbledore sighed, sadness clear in his eyes and features. What had Harry Potter become? A bigot fool, scared of differences, obnoxiously certain of his superiority, of his wizard status? How in the name of Merlin had that happened to the Boy-Who-Lived?
The Headmaster of Hogwarts lifted his chin defiantly. He would not tolerate bigotry, not even from the Saviour of the Wizarding World, especially not from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.
"Yes," he said simply.
The old man was shocked when the dark-haired boy regained his happy smile immediately. Harry clapped his hands once and rubbed them together.
"Perfect! So you won't have any problem in accepting a half-goblin student, right sir?"
Dumbledore was flabbergasted. He opened his mouth a couple of times before stammering.
"Yes... I mean, maybe... err... What?"
"A half-goblin student. His name is Ripcage, a nice bloke, really. A little shy maybe, but I'm sure Hogwarts will be beneficial in this aspect as well. Not a good childhood he had, no no, but he'll overcome that, I'm sure. Yes, children, magical and non, can be quite brutal at times but Ripcage can take care of himself. And he won't be lonely here, I for an instance plan to..."
There. Looking at the Headmaster while continuing to talk, Harry knew he had succeeded. But he could not have failed, really. He had used a foolproof method, one perfected during years of practice.. It was a very simple tactic. It basically consisted in taking someone by surprise by feinting towards a direction just to then go towards another one. Before the victim has the time to completely understand the situation he has got himself into, you inundate him with an endless stream of blabber. Harry had called it "Hermione's pump fake shot". It was quite useful.
Anyway, when he finished, Dumbledore had recomposed himself and was smiling amused, all his thoughts about racist Boys-Who-Lived gone.
"I'm sure we can make the proper arrangements, but I'll have to meet him first. How did you say he's called?"
"Ripcage," replied Harry with a large smile of his own, and then added as an afterthought "Or Rip."
"And is he willing to come study here? Does he understand the possible implications in his decision? It would be an unprecedented situation, and one very much frowned upon I'm afraid."
Harry shrugged. "He's pretty much an outcast between Goblins. I think he would jump at the possibility to have friends and to deepen his contact with his magic and consequently with his dead father."
Albus' eyes started twinkling madly for apparently no reason, or at least Harry didn't see one. He remained silent, continuing to watch the boy, his blue eyes lit up.
"I'm a little worried about your eyes, sir. I think you should go to a muggle ophthalmologist and make him take a look at them. They're not acting normally."
Said eyes widened for a moment. Then it happened.
Albus Dumbledore laughed.
It wasn't a chuckle, nor a giggle. He laughed hard, full heartily, his face twisted in a mask of amusement, his mouth wide open, his eyes shut. It was a belly laugh, long and continuous, and it left Dumbledore breathless, red-faced, a little sweaty, but much more relaxed.
"Oh my..." said Albus with a prolonged sigh, amusement still in his voice. "I hadn't laughed so hard in... I don't even know when was the last time. Thank you Harry."
The boy smiled at him. "You're welcome, sir. People take everything much too seriously. But I think laughter has a great underestimated power."
Dumbledore's eyes started twinkling again. "Indeed it has."
"Uhm, sir... your eyes... they're doing it again."
This time the old man just chuckled lightly.
Right at that moment, there was a soft trill and a loud roar of fire. As predicted, Fawkes had appeared with a ball of flame. The Phoenix extended his great wings and floated gently on his perch, his black eyes unsettlingly fixed on Harry.
"What a beautiful Phoenix, sir. Your Familiar?" asked the boy with barely a glance to the Headmaster. He had stood up at the sudden arrival of the creature and now was staring at the Phoenix with similar intensity.
"Yes Harry. He is my great friend and companion Fawkes. Fawkes," he said turning towards the large bird, "this is Harry Potter." He paused for a moment smiling and probably anticipating the boy. "But you may call him just Harry, I think."
"Pleased to meet you, Fawkes," greeted Harry and the Phoenix chirped softly, his gaze still unwavering on him. "Uhm, sir... why is he still staring at me that way?"
"I really don't know Harry. It's... unusual," replied Dumbledore with a puzzled frown. Fawkes was acting strangely. Usually, he would regard the Headmaster's guests with little to no interest, but with Harry, something had apparently attracted his attention.
A few seconds later, Harry found out what was happening. He understood it when something in both his trousers pockets started warming pleasantly.
Fawkes had sensed his wands.
'Interesting,' Harry thought.
It had never happened in his first life, but then again, he had never had two identical Phoenix feathered wands at the time.
"I think that maybe..." he started to say in a fascinated tone before interrupting himself.
Dumbledore watched as the boy put his hand in his right pocket, his green eyes on the crimson bird. When he pulled it out, he had a lemon drop on his palm.
"Maybe he's hungry?" finished the boy.
He advanced towards Fawkes and held the wrapped candy at his eyes' level. When he started moving it left and right, the Headmaster was shocked in seeing that his Familiar was following it with his gaze. Harry brought the lemon drop closer to the creature's beak but then playfully pulled away when the Phoenix tried to take it. The boy teased Fawkes for a bit more, much to the bird's fun, before finally giving him the sweet, gaining a delighted trill of contentment. The only thing that could have completed that surreal picture, would have been if Fawkes had started waging his tail.
To say that Albus Dumbledore was flabbergasted would have been the understatement of the century.
"Hey pup, do you like it? I have more if you want," cooed the boy while the Phoenix sang happily.
When the Supreme Mugwump had recovered enough from his shock, he and Harry resumed their talk about the half-goblin, light hearted like both wizards were most of the time. They discussed possibilities and risks and to the Headmaster of Hogwarts it was clear which outnumbered which. From his point of view, Ripcage's presence in the school could help things, open eyes, melt prejudices. Especially if the Boy-Who-Lived himself lined up actively in front of it all.
Albus didn't like thinking about Harry that way, but he couldn't deny that the boy's "title" was a power on its own. And talking about Harry Potter...
The boy was not normal. Not that he, the Headmaster, was. The Supreme Mugwump knew he was a little barmy.
But Harry Potter was completely, utterly, absolutely weird.
Surprising enough, Albus Dumbledore found himself looking forward to the school year.
A lemon drop replaced another in Fawkes' mouth, while the old man and the little boy chatted, both visibly amused, judging by the smiles on their faces. Soon they left the Phoenix to his sweets and started towards the Great Hall again. Harry had been invited to dine with the teachers and he had readily accepted. He had yet another important thing to do.
When they reached the now opened doors that led to the Great Hall, Harry stopped in front of them, glanced at the teachers inside and then turned towards the Headmaster.
"Sir, I need you to cast a strong privacy charm," he said quietly.
Dumbledore watched him curiously and a twinkle appeared again in his eyes, while he performed wandlessly the requested spell, smiling intrigued.
As soon as the boy felt comfortable, he dropped the bomb.
"Headmaster... care to explain why Voldemort is in your staff?"
Albus' smile was abruptly wiped off his face and the twinkle backed again in the deep of his pale blue eyes.
"What?" he asked almost breathless, his expression shocked and a little frightened too.
Harry's grin became unwillingly huge. He really shouldn't find pleasure in others' discomfort. But he had seen a shocked Albus Dumbledore so rarely in his previous life that he felt like he had to recuperate in this new one. Anyway, it was better not to let the Chief Warlock wait for this particular answer too long.
"The man with the turban," Harry said without glancing behind his shoulders at the man in question. "He has a strong connection with Voldemort. Too strong. I'm fairly certain he has Voldemort hidden in his panties or something."
It was no easy task for the Headmaster to recover from this shock, but he did. Occlumency, Harry was sure.
"How do you know?" he asked. His right hand held a long wand very tightly now.
Harry lifted a hand to his forehead and showed his lightning bolt shaped scar, until that moment conceived by his black fringe. He said nothing, but Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.
"Are you completely sure?" the Supreme Mugwump asked, his face grave.
Harry nodded unexplainably cheerful. "Yep. But don't worry, Headmaster. I have a plan. You just have to back me up."
Albus was shocked once again. How could the boy ask him to let him face Lord Voldemort, one of the strongest wizards of history? Yes, Harry probably still had poor Lily's protection, and he seemed to have the power to sense Tom's presence somehow. But he could not take the Dark Lord! He had to think it over. The situation was delicate and a hasty move from his part could cause terrible consequences. If Voldemort was indeed back, then he had to take precautions. The Stone had still to be relocated but not in Hogwarts anymore. Maybe Nicolas had to take it back. Maybe the Order was to be reformed and...
Harry sighed. He could clearly see the wheels in Dumbledore's head start to spin very fast. He was probably planning ahead the two years to come – at the very least – or so Harry thought.
"Headmaster," he called but the old man seemed to be deeply in thought. "Headmaster," he said again, more forcefully this time. Dumbledore returned his gaze upon the Potter boy.
"Just back me up," he repeated. "Just introduce me to that man first and there won't be a problem."
Albus watched almost transfixed as Harry entered the Great Hall an instant after, immediately noticed by the Hogwarts' staff. For a moment, he thought to stop the boy magically, but then hurried after him, conceiving the wand in his magenta sleeve. He watched uncertainly Harry's face, then Minerva's, accurately avoiding Professor Quirrell's one. A mask of faked amusement slipped on his face in a split of a second, and he found himself in front of the dinner table all too soon for him. He looked at the boy again and saw his calm, quite normal face and hoped that all went well.
"Harry, this is the Hogwarts' staff. May I introduce you our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell?" asked an apparently serene Dumbledore, gesturing with his left hand at the ever-trembling man.
Harry started advancing towards him with an excited expression on his face, while erecting his Occlumency shields at full force. "Oh, Professor Quirrell! I read your book! It was very interesting. It's a honour for me to meet you!"
Harry extended his right hand and quickly took the teacher's one, until that moment nervously drumming on the table. He immediately felt a strong pain going through his scar and piercing his head, while his ears registered a yell from Quirrell, a hiss from Voldemort and loud gasps of shock from all around. Harry gritted his teeth and squeezed the hand of the Professor with all his strength, feeling the skin of the man blistering and scalding. There was a shout from behind – he was almost sure from Dumbledore – but he didn't pay attention to it.
The normally stammering man tried to free his hand, but Harry reached with his left one and clenched it around his neck. Howling in pain, Quirrell started convulsing wildly and fell from his seat, immediately followed by Harry who found himself on top of the other wizard.
The stink of burnt flesh filled his nose and pain battered at his Occlumency shields as if a strong Legilimency attack was in session. He shut his watered eyes tightly, now with both his hands around the teacher's neck – neck that seemed to melt under his firm grasp – and Voldemort's unmistakable shouts of rage and pain added at Quirrell's ones. Harry received a couple of blows at the stomach – punches, kicks... he really didn't know, but the pain in his head made them appear barely more annoying than a poke.
After what seemed like hours but were just seconds, Quirrell ceased to trash and yell as what seemed like some sort of smoke lifted in the air above him for just a couple of seconds. Then it disappeared with a puff, soon followed by the atrocious pain in Harry's head.
He stayed there on his knees for another second, hands still around Quirrell's squishy neck, breathing hard. He wasn't squeezing anymore and the shrieks of the teacher – certainly former teacher now – had left place to pitiful moans and whimpers.
The man was still alive.
Voldemort had apparently fled earlier this time around. The sucker probably didn't expect an attack, and a physical one too. That had always been his major weakness: he didn't appreciate the inventiveness.
Slowly, Harry stood up and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his hand me down T-shirt. When he looked at it, there was blood together with sweat, coming from his scar, no doubt.
He let out a long sigh and turned. The teachers were all standing there, open-mouthed. Almost everyone had a wand in his hand and was gawking at him with wide eyes.
Dumbledore was in front of them all, half-turned towards him, half towards his colleagues, his wand at the ready. He had a curious expression... proud, sad, relieved and thoughtful, all at the same time.
Harry showed him a little reassuring smile, not even knowing what he was reassuring his Headmaster for.
"Uh, I think he needs medical attention," Harry then said pointing at Quirrell, and his words broke the strange immobility in which the Hall seemed to have been descended. Madame Pomphrey immediately rushed towards the moaning Professor – who in all the ruckus had not even lost his turban, enchanted obviously – and with her wand she stunned him for good measure, and then casted a series of diagnostic charms.
"He isn't in mortal danger, but he has suffered severe burns and magical exhaustion. I'm taking him to the Infirmary," she said briskly nodding towards the Headmaster who nodded in answer.
After a quick Mobilicorpus, Quirrell's body started levitating and floating behind the Mediwitch through the doors of the Great Hall, following her mental orders.
The other teachers didn't know what to do and kept on staring at the Potter boy. Most of them had recognized Voldemort's voice at once, but the younger teachers, who were children during the first war, were more confused than ever and now and then glanced at Albus Dumbledore for help. The Headmaster was about to speak but The Boy-Who-Lived anticipated him, clapping his bloody hands once and then rubbing them together. He wore a serious expression on his face that had a business-like quality to it, a really strange thing to see on the face of a little boy. He took a step forward.
"So, who's next?" he asked turning towards Snape and extending his right arm.
The Slytherin Head of House could simply freeze, his eyes fearfully fixed on that hot red limb. Harry didn't have the slightest idea of how to maintain a strait face before the scared Potion Master, but he managed it just in time to ask...
"Want to shake hands?"
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Harry had just come back from the bathroom and seated at the table in the Great Hall when the Aurors arrived at the doors. Record speed, really. Snape had called them via floo not two minutes before. Anyway, it was a squad of four, and two of them immediately went towards Hogwarts' Infirmary where Quirrell supposedly was. Harry's interest picked up when he caught a glimpse of a pink hairstyle, before the two Aurors followed Snape far from the doors of the Great Hall and out of sight.
The other two, instead, entered the room and made their way towards Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. The old man greeted them friendly and the four discussed for a couple of minutes.
Harry steepled his hands on his lap and waited patiently, his head still throbbing a little. Professor Flitwick stood at his right, next to Madame Hooch and a quite ashen Professor Sinistra. At little distance stood Professor Vector and Madame Pince speaking very quietly to each other. Finally, Dumbledore led the two newcomers at the table and a familiar tall black man took a step forward.
"Mr. Potter, I'm Auror Shacklebolt and this is Auror Coral," said the wizard gesturing at his colleague, a broad man with moustache and currently wide brown eyes.
"Good evening Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Coral..." greeted the dark haired boy with a small smile. "Please, call me Harry."
Kingsley just nodded, his professional expression on its place, while he produced a small note-book and a muggle pen, passing them to Coral. "We have some questions for you."
"Is it a problem if I eat in the meantime? I'm a little hungry."
"No problem, Harry. Please, explain what happened this evening."
Harry took a sip from his pumpkin juice before putting the glass on the table. There still was a lot of food and he happily filled his plate with everything within arm's reach. "I came here at about eight o'clock to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore about something concerning Hogwarts. I entered in here and he was dining along with the teachers." He paused for a moment to swallow some roast beef before continuing.
"As soon as I was at the doors I felt pain in my scar," he said pointing with his fork at his forehead, "and then I sensed a presence that I somehow knew belonged to Voldemort."
He ignored the usual gasps and shudders at the name, but slowed down a little when he noticed that Auror Coral seemed to have stumbled in a… err… spelling difficulty. Harry took advantage of it by stabbing another steak and shoving it in his mouth. Hmmm… House Elf cuisine… "Headmaster, please, compliment the chef for me when you have the occasion. The steak is simply marvelous." He made a guttural sound of pleasure and Dumbledore just nodded his head in acknowledgement, but his eyes were twinkling behind his half-moon spectacle and a faint smile played on his lips.
"I thought about revealing Voldemort's presence immediately, but then I decided not to. I wanted to think about it more," Harry resumed more or less comprehensibly through his full mouth. "Sorry," he added when he had swallowed. He drank his pumpkin juice and then pulled away his plate, showing he had already finished.
Kingsley was watching him very intently, his dark eyes never leaving him, but not in an uncomfortable way. The face of the Auror showed attention, yes, but comprehension too.
"So I just went to talk to the Headmaster in his office. When we came back I told him that the man with the turban had a strong connection with Voldemort and I asked him to introduce Quirrell – I think it's his name – to me as the first thing." Here Harry glanced at Dumbledore and gave him a half-apologetic, half-mischievous grin. "He did it and when I shook the hand of the man he started yelling. He couldn't touch me without feeling pain and I knew what would have happened more or less, even before doing it, just as I knew he was somehow connected to Voldemort."
Auror Coral was scribbling at a fast pace now. Apparently he had finally decided with which of his many nicknames referring to the Dark Lord in his report.
The people in the room were all watching Harry, some in disbelief, others in awe, except for Dumbledore who had yet again another thoughtful expression on his face.
"Quirrell fell from his chair when I put my hands on his neck and then Voldemort started screaming too. I'll have you know…" continued Harry grimacing a little. "It wasn't a pleasant experience for me neither, although I'm fairly sure that for the Dark Lord it was far worse." At those words, a satisfied grin made its way through the boy's face. "Anyway… soon enough, a cloud of something similar to smoke – what remained of Voldemort probably – appeared above us, but after a couple of seconds it puffed away."
"Puffed?" asked Auror Coral in confirmation, uncertain of how to report that particular fact.
"Yep," nodded Harry. "Puffed."
The next ten minutes passed by very slowly for Harry. Kingsley asked him more questions and he tried to answer truthfully when he could. He stayed vague when talking about feeling the presence of the Dark Lord and knowing he would have hurt him if he had touched his bare skin. Then the two Aurors asked confirmation from the other teachers, and Professor Flitwick, McGonagall and Dumbledore mostly, assured them that indeed, it was really Voldemort… yes, yes, it was undoubtedly his voice… had hoped we had not to hear those scary hisses again… but now it ended fortunately… and so on. There probably was the same scene at that same moment in the Infirmary, although with more scowls and nasty comments from Snape.
Anyway, it was decided that Quirrell would be transported to St. Mungo's and watched night and day by Aurors until his recovery. Then there would start a hearing of some sort. Kingsley told Harry to expect to take testimony sometime in August and then he bade farewell and exited with his colleague. The dark haired boy watched them walking briskly towards the Infirmary and talking quietly to each other.
When he turned again, he found himself right in front of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.
"Harry, I'm not certain if I should thank you or chide you," said Dumbledore in a scolding tone.
"I'm certain the Lady behind you has no such doubt," replied Harry with a grin. Albus glanced at his Deputy Headmistress and found her face set in a stern expression of disapproval, with thin lips and arched brows.
"Indeed," said the Supreme Mugwump amused, watching the woman huff a little and adding a slight glare to her already reprimanding face.
"If it can help your decision, Headmaster, I'll start saying I'm sorry you'll have to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in so little time."
"Harry, that's not the problem at all," dismissed Dumbledore with a wave of his hand. "But you put yourself in peril by acting rashly-"
"Sir, I don't want to sound disrespectful, but you really can't use the word 'peril' in a casual conversation in the nineties," Harry interrupted gently.
Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle at that while Professor McGonagall stared at the boy open-mouthed.
"Anyway, I told you and the Aurors already. I had the situation under control, and I didn't act rashly, really. I thought about what to do during our discussion in your office," Harry continued. "Besides, all went well, didn't it?"
He grinned mischievously and gestured with his hands as if saying 'why are we still talking about it?'
Minerva was about to reiterate, but Albus anticipated her.
"Indeed. I must say I find your optimism quite refreshing."
Harry smiled brightly.
"I just had a wonderful day, sir."
Dumbledore was about to reply but the boy beat him once again.
"Well..." said Harry cheerfully, "I think it's time for me to go home."
"Let me accompany you," said immediately the Headmaster.
"Thank you sir, but that won't be necessary."
"Harry-"
"It's not that late and there's still daylight. And I just have to go till Hogsmeade."
"Are you sure?"
"Yep. Thank you for the meal and sorry for all that ruckus. See you in September." He waved his little hand towards the teachers scattered through the Great Hall who replied somewhat hesitantly. "Headmaster. Ma'am."
He nodded towards Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and five seconds later, he had already left.
"What a jovial boy," said Filius Flitwick approaching them.
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes lingering on the still open doors.
"He just had a wonderful day."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Harry apparated home halfway through the street to Hogsmeade, this time directly into the house. The hall was in relatively good conditions considering the state in which it had been just that morning. Dust and cobwebs had left place to shiny and clean surfaces and corners. The furniture was still broken but it had been polished and somewhat arranged. The terrible stink that had permeated the house was nowhere to be smelt, thank Merlin.
"Kreacher," Harry called.
"Yes Harry?" replied the old elf, shuffling in the room. Fortunately, the little guy had no intention of calling him Master, nor Mister to be honest. Kreacher looked very tired, his normally abnormally large eyes a little closed. He had probably worked nonstop all day.
"You did a great job with the house. Twenty points for you. Now rest a bit. Did you eat?"
"Yes, water, bread and toenails."
"Were them good?" Harry asked not missing a beat.
The elf seemed to think it over. "A little salty."
"Tomorrow I'll cook something for you. Where did you take my stuff?"
"In your room."
"Good."
Harry went to his now clean room on the second floor and started unpacking his trunk. He set his first year books on the desk, filled two containers with water and owl treats, opened Hedwig's cage and then proceeded to affix various Cannons posters on the wall above his bed. The snowy white owl hooted happily, drank some water and dashed out of the window. It wasn't dark outside yet, but apparently she itched to fly a little. Harry sympathized with her greatly.
When his wall was properly covered in orange, Harry gave his room a satisfied look and went back on the first floor in the dining room.
It was time to try his wands.
Once there, he drew his old one and used it to banish chairs and table towards the farthest wall, in order to create a reasonably large empty area, not knowing what was about to happen exactly. There had already been a couple of strange reactions between the two wands and he really didn't want to take his chances.
Once he felt ready, he drew his new wand as well.
He felt immediately the two sticks trying to reach one another like two magnets of some sort, but he held them tightly. The wands started warming and vibrating and the attraction intensified. An eerie grey light formed between the two magical tools, followed by a soft humming of power, and in answer they seemed to try to came in contact with each other even more forcefully.
The two wands wanted to fuse together in one.
"Hell no!" Harry shouted.
Sweat drops started pearling his forehead as he doubled his efforts.
"I…like… having… two wands…" he panted between gritted teeth. "Plus… I already bought… two holsters!"
Finally the light seemed to dim and the wands to appease. Harry started to relax and a few seconds later the sticks completely ceased to vibrate and hum. When the grey light disappeared as well, Harry felt comfortable enough to accost the wands at one another.
He started carefully, growing more confident with each second, and as nothing happened when he rubbed them together, he could finally declare himself owner of two almost identical holly and phoenix feather wands.
"Whoo whoo!" he shouted pumping his fist in the air. "I'm too cool! I'm the best! Whoo whoo!"
"Trying to rest here!" came Kreacher's annoyed shout from his cupboard near the kitchen.
"Sorry," was Harry's sheepish reply.
He stashed the wands in his pockets, filing away the little differences between them. He had to use only his old one for now, at least until he didn't find a way to clear the new one from Ollivander's atypical tracking charm. He had already gotten himself noticed in the Ministry with all that Quirrell/Voldemort business.
"Hmmm… I think reading a copy of tomorrow's Daily Prophet is in order," said Harry cheerfully.
"Shhhh!"
"Oops. Sorry."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
"So, Rip, you see. Albus Dumbledore himself dictated that condition. I'm sorry, but there's no other way..." Harry said to the half-goblin with a sad yet comprehensive expression on his face.
It was early afternoon – a really hot afternoon – and Gringotts bank was almost completely empty. Goblins rushed here and there with blocks of notes, clinking bags of gold and occasionally shiny iron spears, but there was only a half-dozen of wizards in the lobby. The room was wrapped in the classic silence you can stumble upon in empty streets just after mealtime.
Harry stood in front of Ripcage near the bank counter the second day of his second life. He wore some cloths he had bought in Muggle London in the morning, a plain green T-shirt, white trousers and shoes, and a green cap. His infamous scar was hidden by both the hat's visor and his black fringe and nobody had recognized him, thanks to the favorable hour as well.
The Daily Prophet had somehow found out everything that had happened at Hogwarts the previous day and had published numerous articles worth a couple of pages or maybe five. 'Harry Potter still looks out for us!', 'The Boy-Who-Lived stops You-Know-Who's rise again' and other titles like that had winked at him from the first page, together with a really up-to-date photo – in which he was a baby – and a very accurate summary of his life – that somehow missed roughly his last ten years.
Anyway, Harry had yet to receive a owl from the Ministry about the incoming – at least according to the Daily Prophet – trial against Quirinus Quirrell. But he was in no hurry, really.
Ripcage was in his normal goblin uniform, scarlet and gold besmeared with ink and what suspiciously looked and smelt like dragon poop. It had that greenish quality to it, you see. And while Harry could not preclude it wasn't some vomit of a possessed little girl, the fact that the half-goblin worked at Gringotts and that Gringotts employed dragons, made 'dragon poop' the most reasonable assumption.
Rip had an expressionless face while he thought about what Harry had just told him, but his Metamorphmagus skills betrayed his true feelings. His hair had just morphed into pale yellow and his eyes into a dull grey.
"Nothing to do then. If in order to go to Hogwarts I have to teach you Gobbledygook then it means I won't go to Hogwarts..." said the half-goblin with a resigned tone.
"What!" Harry practically snarled. "You would renounce at the possibility to go there just because you don't want to teach me freakin' Gobbledygook? Why?"
Rip sighed. "I told you yesterday already that it has always been my dream to go to Hogwarts, to learn about human magic, refine my Metamorphmagus skills… but I cannot break the third law of The Pact."
"Now it's official," the dark haired boy growled. "I absolutely hate the Pact!"
Everytime it seemed he was about to find a goblin willing to teach him that stupid language, that damn third law of that fucking goblin Pact was always put in his wheel like a spoke – You shall protect Gobbledygook's secrets with your gold and life!
Fuck that!
It had happened so many times in his previous life that it was not even funny anymore! Even the other Rip had hidden behind that law refusing to teach him the language.
"Fine," Harry conceded, angry. "I lied about that. Dumbledore said there should be no problem. He'll come here to talk to you soon."
Not even Tonks' Metamorphmagus abilities mixed with Dumbledore's Occlumency skills could have concealed the expression of pure joy on the happiest eleven years old half-goblin of the world… not that there were that many with those characteristics.
"Really?" he asked Harry, who in the meantime had turned towards the bank's doors.
"Yeah, really. I'm going home now," the boy answered in a gloom tone.
Rip was almost bouncing up and down with excitement, imagining himself with a Hogwarts' robe, a wand in hand and young students all around him. And to think that he had been ready to give it all up when Harry had told him that condition…
" Hey Harry!" he shouted at the boy's retreating back and waited until he turned around. "Why did you lie about Gobbledygook?"
Harry just glared furiously at him before descending the marble stairs and out of sight.
"Huh… okay. Thank you!" Rip shouted again, but it came no reply.
The half-goblin stood there for a long moment before getting back to work. Throughout all the day if you had met him, you could not have seen him without a big smile on his brown face and bright green eyes and hair.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
"Come on! Pass that ball to Shreder! He's unmarked!" Harry shouted just to then curse under his breath when Gummin lost the Quaffle having delayed the pass.
It was a hot morning of the end of August and Harry had just pulled his orange jersey off and had tied it at his waist. The sun was high in the sky and there was no shade whatsoever in the stadium stands. The smell of sweat mixed with beer of all kinds had already started to float among the flushed supporters. Deafening chants and sporadic shouts created the classic atmosphere you can only find in a stadium full of sportily desperate men.
The match had started not even ten minutes before and the Cannons were already thirty points under those slouches of the Prides. And they were the home team!
"FINGERS CROSSED, HIGH HOPES AND TWO BEATER'S BATS, THEY WILL GO BACK HOME BEATEN AS RATS! AND IF THEY WANT TROUBLE, THEY CAN KISS OUR… Oh come on! Even I could have saved that one, Giles! If Dorkins had forked out some money, now…"
Harry stopped in mid-rant as the Chudley's Chasers flew in counterattack and scored their first ten points.
"FLYING WITH THE CANNONS!" he shouted pumping his fist in the air, mirrored by almost the totality of the stadium.
He whooped a few times and clapped a few backs, one of which was Ron Weasley's.
The boy stood two seats at his right. Harry had noticed his unmistakable mass of red hair almost immediately – despite everyone present wore or had something orange colored – and had made his way towards him. To be honest, he had seen Mr. Weasley's head first, but it wasn't his fault if Ron was currently a midget. Anyway, Harry had seen the man chuckle at a couple of his shouts, while Ron had looked at him a bit warily.
A short fruitless struggle to reach the Snitch had just ended, when Harry, averting his eyes from the match for a moment, noticed that Mr. Weasley had left his place to Ron, who now sat directly at his right. He wore a orange T-shirt with flying cannon balls and two big black 'C's on the high left. His blue eyes were moving between Harry and the flying players, and his numerous freckles were more noticeable than ever under the scorching summer sun.
"Hi, I'm Ron," shouted the boy over the noise.
"Harry."
"Do you watch Cannons' matches often?"
"Not much. You?"
"No. This is a special occasion. My father wanted to take me to a match before I went to Hogwarts. Pass that ball, dammit!"
"Ronald," said Mr. Weasley in a warning tone.
"Sorry Dad," he apologized sheepishly. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?" he then asked turning again towards Harry.
"Yep. First year. You too?"
"Yeah."
The two interrupted their conversation for a moment of justified cursing – how a professional Chaser could miss that goal was beyond belief, really – before going at it again.
"House?" Harry asked.
"What?"
"What House?"
Ron stared at the boy for a moment.
"I'm hoping for Gryffindor, but I guess Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw wouldn't be that bad. If I'm sorted into Slytherin I'll just jump from the Astronomy tower the first night."
"Ron, I don't want to hear-"
"I know Dad. I was just kidding, honestly," said the boy. He then bent down towards Harry and whispered "I was serious, but before jumping I will ask my brothers to stun me first."
Harry laughed lightly before stopping abruptly and shouting against the ref together with everyone in the stands – Ron too – because of a non-whistle on the Chudley's Seeker.
"What House do you think you'll be in?" the redhead asked.
"Dunno."
Here Ron made a little pause while assessing Harry.
"Do you always talk in monosyllables?"
"No," Harry grinned.
"Then why are you doing it now?"
"Saving voice for chants," said the dark haired boy, his grin huge now.
As if on cue, a moment later the historic anthem of the team started from a little higher on the stands, and Harry joined in very loudly, not missing a beat.
"…THE SUN WILL RISE, ALL THE WORLD WILL KNOW. WE'LL SING TILL DEATH COMES, CELEBRATING OUR COLORS THAT ARE BRANDED DEEP IN OUR HEARTS. WE SHALL CONQUER! WE SHALL CONQUER!"
Two hours later, the match had ended and the Cannons had lost 510 to 240 against the Prides of Portree. Harry, Ron and occasionally Arthur had talked throughout all the game about Hogwarts and Quidditch, and were now following the crowd in order to get out of the stadium. Mr. Weasley had responsibly taken the lead and with it Ron's hand, much to the boy's discomfort and complaints. Harry had grinned but said nothing.
When there finally was enough room to stop for a moment without getting in the way of the stream of supporters, Arthur turned around with a gentle smile.
"Do you want us to accompany you home, Harry? Where are your parents?"
"Oh, don't worry Mr. Weasley. I'm all right," replied the dark haired boy with a slightly hoarse voice because of all his singing.
"Are you sure?"
"Yep. Thank you anyways," he said with a bright smile.
Arthur watched him uncertain for a moment.
"Well Harry, it has been a pleasure to meet you. I hope you and Ron will continue to frequent each other once at Hogwarts."
"I don't see why not."
Harry put on his shirt with the Cannons' sign on it and shook Mr. Weasley's hand. "Good bye Mister Weasley. Ron, see you in a couple of days!"
"Yeah-" replied the redhead boy hesitating a little as if wanting to say something else. "I'll come searching for you on the train. Bye!" he then shouted, waving with his hand.
The two Weasleys watched the boy as he made his way among that orange horde and soon disappeared in it.
Arthur turned towards his son and found him with a slight frown, his eyes still scanning the crowd for Harry.
"Are you okay, Ron?"
"Yeah..." the boy said bringing back his attention to his father, but the frown remained. "But I wanted to invite him for lunching with us now."
Mr. Weasley drew his wand with a skeptic expression on his face and casted a Tempus charm.
"It's not even eleven o'clock!"
Ron just watched his father, puzzled.
"Huh… So?"
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
It was the 31st of August 1991, half past midday to be exact. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was silent except for the shuffling of a newspaper in the dining hall.
Harry Potter was seated at the table, reading. It had been another hot morning and he had given up with his sticky sleep and had left his boiling bed. Now that numerous windows were open and a merciful breeze gently ruffled his black hair, he finally felt comfortable. Sure, he had to wear only boxers if he wanted to stay so, but all the Pixies and Doxies had been chased away so there was no problem, really. Well, it was true that neither he nor Kreacher had been able to find any Nargles, but those little creatures had remained quiet till that moment and Harry had always been a great supporter of the say "live and let live".
And tomorrow he would finally go to Hogwarts. He was really exited.
These first weeks after his travel in time had been funny, mostly. He had rested, flown, played, plotted, and much much more. He almost thought about enjoying a few others that way. But Hogwarts awaited him.
Suddenly, a thought struck him.
What if he went to the Lovegood's shack and jumped in the trapdoor again? He could travel back in time – roughly a month back – and enjoy another four weeks. He could live for years, become old, and then jump in that magic door of sort and be a eleven years old again.
Basically, he would be immortal.
"Another month of fun before Hogwarts…" Harry mused out loud rubbing his chin with a hand, thoughtful.
"Nah! Hogwarts will be fun enough," he decided after a minute of pause. He took a sip from his milk – he was a growing young man after all – and then kept on reading.
After a while, Harry finished with the very interesting month edition of the Quibbler, folded it and took the more boring Daily Prophet. Immediately after reading the big title on the first page, a frown made its way through his face.
Quirinus Quirrell had been kissed by Dementors on Wizengamot's orders.
Harry really didn't expect that.
Quirrell was nothing more than a pawn, a poor idiot who had been first corrupted and then controlled by Voldemort himself. Being kissed seemed a too hard sentence for him. Yes, the man surely had no good intentions and letting him around children was not a brilliant idea, but he hadn't done anything terrible. Yet.
Knowing the future – or better, a future – can give you some advantages and Harry knew that Quirrell would have killed some poor Unicorns, would have tried to kill him, to obtain the Stone, and who knows what else. But he had done no such things yet.
Being kissed just for being possessed by Voldemort? It seemed a little harsh.
Harry guessed it still was very strong the fear of You-Know-Who in the Wizarding community.
Harry had spoken before the full Wizengamot in Quirrel's trial roughly two weeks before. It had been a private session on Albus Dumbledore's request, so no reporters nor guests were present. Harry had recounted the facts exactly as he had done that very night in front of Kingsley and his colleague. It had taken an hour, but then he had not been called again. The Daily Prophet had occasionally reported something about the trial, but not very much, because it had started to fail to attract people's attention by the first week already – except when it had been Harry's turn as witness. He had received a dozen of owls from various journalists, a couple from one Rita Skeeter for example, but after that, nothing.
And now, quite suddenly, this.
Quirinus Quirrell had been kissed by Dementors on Wizengamot's orders.
Maybe it really was time to pay a visit to the Lovegood's shack?
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Author's Note – Regarding Harry and his stay at Hogwarts, I could never picture dear Vernon signing a paper and giving his permission. So I thought that maybe Harry's parents had enrolled their baby just after his birth or something. Anyway, I don't really care.