A Different Start

by Percy Ignatius Weatherby

Aunt Petunia takes drastic action after Harry's eventful first year at Hogwarts. She had never done anything out of love for him before, but will her decision benefit Harry in the long run or prove to be his complete ruin? DISCLAIMER FOR THIS FANFIC: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any profit from this.

5. Chapter Five: Beast-Of-A-Child

Chapter Five: Beast-Of-A-Child: Saviour of the Wizarding World?

"Mr Potter, wake up please!"

Minerva McGonagall hovered over the edge of Harry's bed. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows of the infirmary, making the white walls all but glow. The boy looked peaceful and innocent in his sleep, with an arm carelessly thrown above his head and his thick dark hair in disarray on his white pillow. She almost loathed to wake him, knowing the peace would not last.

"Mr Potter!" He groaned and turned on to his side, his murmur barely audible,

"Leave me alone, Alli."

"Mr Potter, I must insist that you get up now, classes start in twenty minutes!" With a huff Harry rolled over again, only to meet the cold hard floor as he breached the edge. Professor McGonagall bit back a snort as the boy, in a tangle of duvet and night robes, smacked the ground with his palm in frustration and pain.

"I had forgotten that I was here." He mumbled and looked up at his amused teacher.

"The floor in your dorm is carpeted, I trust you will sleep there tonight."

"I don't have a dorm, Professor." Harry braced himself on the edge of his bed and hauled himself back on to it. It was still warm and all he wanted to do was drift back to sleep. He had dreamed of France and his school friends and realised how much he was already missing it. He shoved his duvet to the end of the bed in annoyance and crossed his legs. Professor McGonagall's lips twitched at the sight, he looked so young this morning.

"I assure you, you do! You were sorted in your first year and I am sure your housemates will gladly welcome you back. That is not, however, what I wish to discuss with you this morning." Harry was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, irritated, and was holding back a yawn.

"Ms. Parkinson admitted Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing last night. He isn't waking up, Mr. Potter, no matter what we try and we are quite understandably worried. She told us what happened last night and suggested that this was your doing, is that correct?"

"Yes Professor." His face didn't betray even a hint of regret for his actions. The Professor sighed,

"Well, are you able to reverse what you did?"

"I can try, Professor." Professor McGonagall looked at the boy sharply,

"You will do more than try, Mr. Potter. Go, now." She pointed over to the end of the row of beds where Madam Pomfrey was fussing over a prostrate body and taking notes. Her hair was frazzled and she had two identical dark rings under her eyes. Her eyebrows were pinched into a decided frown and Harry started to feel the pricks of guilt entering his consciousness. She levitated Ron a few inches off the bed, wand held loosely in her fingers, and turned him so that he would lay on his back. Slowly lowering the boy back down onto the crisp linin, the nurse sighed again as she fixed the sheets neatly over his body. Harry rose from his bed in one smooth motion and strode over to the other boy's bed, his bare feet slapping lightly on the cold stone floor.

Harry looked down on the long form on the bed. Even in unconsciousness Ron's pinched face and sunken eyes held a jealous disposition. His hair was a lighter shade than his sister's, but that did nothing to soften the sharp contrast between his locks and pale skin. Harry figured that he looked sickly but that had nothing to do, of course, with what Harry had done to him.

Harry inhaled deeply, nervously, pulling down the sheets that covered the boy's chest and placed his palm firmly on the middle of his breast plate. He was keenly aware of both women's eyes on him but tried to ignore it the best that he could. He withdrew into himself, as he did in his self-taught magical practice lessons, and centred on his magic. Like always, it swirled and bubbled furiously as though it had a consciousness of its own and desperately wanted a release. Sometimes the ferocity of its energy frightened Harry, who spent most of his time doing exercises to tame it, but times like this where he was aiming to let a little go he felt a giddy rush of excitement.

"Awaken," the command was spoken softly but Ron reacted violently, as though he had been doused in ice cold water. The boy flew up into a seated position and grasped at Harry's hand that was still on his chest. Ron looked furiously into the other boy's face, but when he opened his mouth to shout or swear or whatever he intended, he broke into wracking coughs.

Harry gently prised his wrist from Ron's weakened hold and took a couple of steps back as the nurse rushed to perform a diagnosis. Pink spots had now appeared on Ron's cheeks with the effort it was taking him to cough and again Harry started to feel a little guilty. He turned, intending to go right back to bed but Professor McGonagall was hovering behind him with a stern expression on her face, holding out his school uniform.

"Wash up and change, please. Make it quick, I wish to discuss your punishment and your classes with you and I have to get back to my office within fifteen minutes. You know I loathe tardiness." Harry hesitated at the idea of punishment,

"He attacked me first, Professor."

"That is a matter between Mr. Weasley and I." Her gaze bore in to Harry's own, whose eyes flittered imploringly between hers. "You rendered him unconscious, Mr. Potter. Quick!" She thrusted his rumpled uniform towards him, clearly growing annoyed at his backchat.

Subdued, Harry took his clothes from her and scarpered into the infirmary bathroom, firmly closing the door behind him. A new toothbrush and washcloth had been laid out for him at the basin and he eyed the shower dejectedly. He knew that he would not have enough time to wash and briefly wondered if Madam Pomfrey would mind him coming back at lunch. There was nothing Harry enjoyed quite as much as a long warm shower, a luxury he had never been allowed at the Dursley's while he had lived with them. In a jerky movement Harry turned the faucet and held his toothbrush under the running water before deftly squeezing some toothpaste onto the brush. He cleaned his teeth feeling rushed and slightly agitated; he didn't think it fair that he was going to be punished when Ron had attacked him unfairly first. And while, yes he had rendered the temperamental boy unconscious, there had been no lasting damage inflicted on him. Well… at least as far as he could tell anyway. Harry bent at the waist and spat foam into the basin, grimacing at the slight pink tinge it had taken. He had brushed too hard. This time keeping in mind to be gentler, Harry resumed brushing and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the basin intently. He looked simply awful, tired bags underneath his eyes did nothing to compliment the slight grey tinge his skin had taken. Perhaps it was his surroundings, the bare off-white walls and clinical efficiency of the bathroom probably did nothing for anyone's complexion… but if Harry was honest with himself, he knew his sickly expression had something to do with how deathlike Ron had seemed in unconsciousness and how he had been gasping for life the moment he had awoken. The image didn't sit right with Harry at all and he began to wonder what exactly he had done to Ron.

Still brushing his teeth, he always made sure to brush for the recommended three minutes, Harry eyed his wild bed head critically. He had none of his toiletries to hand – L'Oréal styling mousse did wonders with his locks – but he refused to go about his day looking so unkempt. Harry held his hand under the running water before passing his fingers through his thick hair and repeated this several times. It wasn't doing much to tame the cow licks at the back of his head, but it was out of his face and that was all that he asked for. Harry rinsed out his mouth and passed the wash cloth over his face with the cloth. But with his eyes closed he could see Ron's terrified face so clearly, his mouth a gaping hole in his panicked attempt to breathe. Harry snapped his eyes open and threw the flannel into the basin, disgusted. The hot and cold taps had yellow rings around their base, funny how the magic used to clean the bathroom had neglected the small details. It was the small details that Harry feverishly wished would keep him occupied today, he couldn't stand to think that the image of Ron's waking up would haunt him much longer. Slowly slipping out of his borrowed pyjamas, Harry wondered if apologising would help. He reached for his uniform that he had discarded carelessly on the floor and stood straight again, draping his clothes over the still damp basin. He paused, shivering in his boxers and school shirt held tightly in his grasp. Apologising certainly would help the guilty feeling but he didn't want to if Ron refused to apologise too. Harry scoffed at himself, at that disgustingly self-centred thought. He shrugged the shirt on and did the buttons up impatiently. Last night he had told Pansy to keep Ron away from him, but maybe it was more appropriate that he keep away from Ron. He had never tried using his intent in that way on a person before and the results were clearly far from pretty.

He pulled up his trousers in a rush and fumbled to fasten his belt. Today had not started off well at all and he was getting the niggling feeling that he was also forgetting something. Harry pulled on his blazer and did up the buttons. "Something important," he mumbled to his reflection. He didn't look too bad, only a little rumpled and that was mainly because of his hair. Not that it mattered what he looked like, he was going to stick out like a sore thumb in his Dourbies uninform anyway and if he was going to stay he knew he would need to take a trip to a local magical village to buy some robes.

Harry's toes were starting to go numb with cold and he figured that the school really ought to think about investing in underfloor heating. And better insulation for that matter; it was only going to get colder the closer that winter drew near. If there was one thing he hadn't missed about Hogwarts in his time away, it was those frigid early mornings in the dungeons with a cranky Professor.

The was a sharp rapping at the door.

"Mr. Potter, are you ready?" Harry looked down at his bare feet and sighed,

"Where did I leave my socks and shoes?"

To his abject horror he was now staring down at his brown brogues neatly laced up and encasing his feet comfortably. He dropped his arms, which had reflexively crossed at his chest, and tugged at his trouser legs to reveal what he knew would be his burgundy polka dotted socks. He hadn't even thought of using his magic… why was he so out of control?

"Mr. Potter?"

XxX

Harry had been standing at the front of the classroom for a little while now and the professor was starting to become more impatient with each passing second.

"Mr. Potter, would you please find a seat?" Perhaps this was what Professor McGonagall had intended his true punishment to be, forget the detentions she had issued.

"Mr. Potter!" Tearing his gaze from the students in the classroom, Harry fixed his cold stare at the incensed woman standing behind her desk.

"Professor Ridgewood, was it?" She barely nodded. "You don't actually expect me to be taught alongside a bunch of firsties do you?"

"We're actually second years!" The impudent reply came from somewhere near the back of the class but Harry didn't spare the students a second glance. The Professor's cheeks had taken on a rosy glow and she narrowed her clear hazel eyes at the boy.

"You have only completed one year of your magical education so naturally, yes! Until we gain an understanding of what level you are at, you shall be taught with the Second Years. If you do not want to be taught, you can get out of my classroom and stop disrupting my lesson!" Her voice took on a dangerous lilt towards the end of her ultimatum and the students seemed to be collectively holding their breath. Harry needn't be told twice, he left, shutting the door behind him softly.

XxX

I never thought that coming to Hogwarts would have been my own undoing. Professor McGonagall had stood in the middle of my living-room and swished her wand so elegantly in an ark before turning a green cushion into a puppy and I knew, I just knew, that I had to learn that too. Maybe it was the effect of a gorgeous, excited Labrador running in circles around the room or the way it had jumped into my arms, licking my face in an insatiable manner… I had been thoroughly sucked in. Hook, line and sinker. Looking back on it, that whole afternoon had been a ploy to get me to enrol into the school and to secure my parent's hard earned money in tuition fees. I mean, if the Professor had told me anything about what her world was like or what I might be leaving behind, then perhaps I wouldn't have been so quick to agree going along with her. I knew I couldn't blame her though she couldn't have known what it was like for me back then and she definitely didn't know what it was like for me now. She had no idea what it meant to drift in-between two worlds, not quite fitting in anywhere and not quite knowing who or what you were. As it was, in this world I had no name; no class; no money; no connections; no future; no voice; no rights; no love or acceptance: no anything. I was too smart and too intimidating to humour and play around with. I was too much of a threat to teach the old ways – ways that didn't appear in any book that I could get my hands on. Everyone knew that I could pursue any career that I wanted, and that was just the problem – I was too much of a Mudblood to be accepted into potentially powerful position, but too much of an asset discard.

I hated everything that the wizarding world stood for but I loved it for what it was: magical. I loathed hiding away in dimly lit empty classrooms but was simply enthralled by the amount of knowledge I could soak up on what would otherwise be slow-going days. I was a coward who didn't really know what she wanted and I didn't know how to engage with others. I didn't have anyone to tell my problems, fears, concerns.

I sat hunched over a ridiculous sized book and stared at the words that no longer made any sense. I did know, however, that this was what others expected of me. I was holed up in a room all by myself, reading. And I was starting to become sick of it. Not sick of reading, never that! But sick of the entire system and of how people thought here and it was not-so slowly becoming painful. It had been torturous the minute I had come back to Hogwarts for my second year but Harry didn't. He had been the better half of the Daring Duo… or at least the half who had actually liked me. With Harry gone I learnt first-hand how much a name and wealth – status – truly meant in Wizarding Britain. I had quickly been branded an outcast after Harry left, and the experience was not unlike my initial couple of weeks in my first year... I had conveniently forgotten what that had been like in my heightened popularity. And so it had hurt all the more when my House Mates stopped talking to me and when no-one blinked if I was being harassed in the hallways and when the teachers began calling on me less and less. My grades slipped although my knowledge grew. My homework and other bits and bobs went missing. No-one allowed me to sit by them at meal-time. And the absolutely crazy thing about it all was that no-one said a word to me, no-one confirmed or denied what they were doing. It was all left unsaid and it was the silence that killed me. The silence screamed at me to go back from whence I came, that I wasn't wanted and that I was some sort of burden. The latter being something I felt but never understood; I always pulled my own weight.

We had all been worried about Harry at first, but when I realised that he was safe and that he had accepted his new life-style (because if not, he would have let us know through Ginny, or something), I knew that there wasn't anything to worry about. I had voiced this to Ron at the time, but it had been the wrong thing to say. He had reacted badly and that's where it all went downhill. I guess it must have spoken volumes when a muggle-lover like Ron decided to waste no more time and energy on me.

Everything about my past years at Hogwarts reminded me about my primary school. It reminded me of how I was bullied, teased and tormented. I had been so quick to return my acceptance letter when I had found out who I really was and what I was capable of. The call of power had tempted me and I had fallen into the clutches of the Wizarding World, completely unaware of would be in store for someone like me. I had figured that I would get away from everything and start anew with people who were just like me. But nothing had changed.

A tear slid down my cheek, as silent and solitary as I felt in this large unwelcoming castle. I slammed my borrowed book shut, holding it for a moment between my two palms and tried not to sneeze at its musty, dusty smell. Nothing had changed. It was just that muggle teasing didn't usually end up in a trip to the hospital wing, pleading to be seen to as quickly as possible.

Someone cleared their throat and I felt my body jerk violently but I managed to keep my eyes trained on the stone floor. I was certain that I had locked the door after myself, I had learned my lesson the hard way that sometimes it was best to trap yourself before anyone else could have that pleasure. Their long shadow tumbled in to the dark room from the open doorway and I found my eyes trained on the peculiar shape the torso had taken. They didn't have their hands by their sides but they weren't crossing their arms either. If the shape of the shadow was anything to go by, they had their elbows tucked in by their navel and the two knobbly objects at their shoulders must have been their hands. Hands that slowly caressed up and down. I looked up in puzzlement only to find that was exactly what he was doing. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his hands gripped at his arm in an oddly vulnerable hug. It was dark in the room, unlike the well-lit hallway and his silhouette filled the doorway, just as his shadow suggested. The shadow that had stretched out toward me, large and intimidating, and strangely ambiguous. I shrank back into my seat, or at least tried to, the hard wood was unyielding. He was probably another one of Ronald's groupies, he had acquired more of those recently much to my dismay. And he had caught me crying.

"Oh, I don't mean to disturb you! I was walking around and found the painting on the door really cool?" He laughed. His voice was accented and he talked softly. I didn't recognise it, but it was nice… friendly. I hadn't heard a friendly voice in so long.

"Sorry," Why was he apologising? "Don't I know you?" At this I became curious and I squinted harder at where he stood. My tears had started to clear and my eyes were adjusting to the influx of light. He had such a distinct voice and manner about him though, that I was certain that I did not know him. I plucked at my baggy uniform, unsure of myself but I answered anyway.

"I'm Hermione?" Why had it come out as a question, I knew who I was. I almost snorted sardonically at that thought, because more truthfully it would be that I was fairly certain I knew who I was. I tried not to dwell over the fact that most people introduced themselves with last name first and that I had forgotten yet again. I blew out a breath shakily. "Hermione Granger." I said with more conviction. He stepped into the room and the closer he got the more I realised that I did in fact know who it was. I couldn't stop my eyes from darting all over his image, drinking him in – every aspect of his appearance.

"You've changed a lot Harry. You've, ah, gotten taller." I choked out. 'Gotten taller', how much of an idiot could I be? Of course he was taller! The way I had said it, made it seem as though I had not expected him to grow. It had been four years.

"You've changed too Hermione." Really? For good or bad, I wanted to ask, but I knew what that answer would be. "You, ah, look tired…"

I clenched my jaw and looked back down at the floor. What he actually meant was that I looked like crap, I thought dejectedly. My stomach clenched uncomfortably. I guess I always looked like crap, this being how I generally looked. I wondered briefly if that was in the line-up of insults that would be thrown at me sooner or later. The general population of the school never really looked at me though, they saw me for sure, but their eyes almost passed through me and their mocking smiles slithered over my skin, encasing me and turning me into what they truly saw. Fair game. My stomach clenched tighter and I looked back down at the floor angrily.

"What are you doing here Potter?" I forced my voice to harden and I glared up at him, my gaze frosty. I was not about to let myself to get hurt, especially by him.

"May I keep you company?"

Was he serious?

"No." This had to be a joke. He had to have made up with Ron already, they shared a room and for all Ron blustered about the ridiculousness of Pureblood doctrine, he heralded power and status as much as anybody else. And if they had indeed patched things up – I was certain they had – then Harry had been grafted in and he was just messing with my head. Lulling me into a false sense of security. I had never dreamed that Harry would have been just as immature and vindictive as Ron.

I shut my eyes, anticipating the onslaught of insults.

"Ah, well… You'll just have to keep me company then!" I could hear the smile in his voice, but still did not open my eyes. Surely he was just dragging the joke on longer than anyone else bothered to.

"Hey?" His voice sounded much closer than it should have done and my eyes flew open at the intrusion of a hand tentatively touching my knee. I found myself staring into his brilliant green eyes. He was close, crouching down beside my chair. Much closer than I had let anyone get in a long time.

"Why are you crying?" He whispered.

I was crying? Had I even stopped when I thought I had? Sure enough, I felt another drop escape the corner of my eye and dribble down my nose. Once again my vision was blurred with unshed tears and I fought to hold them back.

That plan was blown out of the window – not that there was one in this room – when Harry turned my chair towards him, the wood scraping against the stone floor for a loud jarring moment, and drew me into a warm embrace.

I sobbed. My body heaved and shook with my tears and I tried to muffle the pathetic noises that rushed out of my mouth. I could not believe that after all these years, after so much enduring, that it was now that I broke down. He hushed me softly and held me tighter as I fell to me knees between his legs. I wrapped my arms slowly around his neck, returning the hug as I realised that this was what I had been missing – comfort.

"I wish you never had left!" I managed to gasp out. He chuckled darkly and pulled back, his hands holding me still at my waist. He shifted onto his heels and then, losing his balance, tipped backwards onto the floor with a small, "Oof." He crossed his long legs and looked at my distraught face intently before drawing me into another warm hug. Feeling small and vulnerable, but oddly safe, I practically fell into his lap. I was crying my heart out in Harry Potter's arms. The Harry Potter that I had taken an instant liking to on the train when we were eleven. The Harry Potter that had left shortly after just one year, and I had been so much of a coward I hadn't even written.

Trying to calm my tears – unsuccessfully, of course – I pulled away from him, suddenly embarrassed and regretful that I had ruined his nice, albeit awfully rumpled, shirt.

The flow of my tears ebbing, I wondered again if he the only reason for his sweetness was for his rejection to sting that much more. It had been easy to forget the possibility of why he was really here; it had felt so nice to be comforted. Sitting opposite him on the cold hard floor, I drew my knees to my chest and buried my face in my arms.

"Hermione? What is it that has you so upset? Is it me? Do I stink or something? Is the smell of my sweat making your eyes water?"

I looked up and studied him carefully. There was something in his voice that made me think that perhaps he was genuinely trying to figure out what was wrong and cheer me up.

He was looking at me earnestly, his eyes totally serious. Did he really think that he stank? I tilted my head to the side. I thought he smelt perfectly nice, he used the same detergent that my parents did. He smelt like home. The corners of my mouth turned up slightly at the thought and I ducked my head in embarrassment.

I must have looked awful, with puffy eyes and tearstains down my blotchy red cheeks. No-one ever looked attractive crying I guess, but it was a shame that I had to look so awful on the day that I would meet Harry again, after so many years.

"You're not here to make fun of me?" I sniffed loudly, the question ironing out my wobbly half smile. He grinned, I hadn't answered his question and leaving it open did suggest I had purposefully kept a rude reply to myself.

He scooted closer to me, his legs resting on my feet, and started mopping at my face with a handkerchief. Where had the handkerchief come from? He hadn't even gone into his pocket.

"Of course I'm not here to make fun of you. I didn't even know you were in here, I just found the painting on the door intriguing. And besides, what kind of person do you think I am? I wouldn't do that to you, we used to be the best of friends, remember?" He had put it in the past tense. Of course I knew we weren't the best of friends anymore, but it still hurt a little.

"Yeah." I said softly, and then, "Thank you." He had stopped the gentle mopping of my face and held out the cloth so that I could blow my nose. With an embarrassed huff, I took it from him and blew gently, hating the fact that I was so snotty and disgusting.

"You're welcome." With a little resistance from me – no, that's ok! I'll have it washed for you – he prised the dirty hanky from my grip but by the time his hand returned to his lap, I watched carefully because I intended to steal it back again, it had disappeared. I sat perfectly still for a moment, gobsmacked. How could he possibly know wandless or wordless magic? Those were the two most difficult types of craft to learn and you had to be extremely powerful to do both at the same time! Not to mention it was a practice that had to be taught, it was near impossible to be learnt through individual study. That's what B. T. Harper had written in the first chapter to her Introduction to Advance Magics, anyway. Harry had been at a muggle school for all this time, there would have been no chance for anyone to teach him anything.

I turned wide eyes to his face. Assuming he had been with muggles all this time. He was no longer smiling; his mouth was set in a straight line and his jaw clenched. Was he daring me to ask?

I glanced at his eyes but looked away as soon as mine met, not feeling comfortable.

Green orbs had glittered animatedly but there was something behind that front. Something that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but it had made me look away in uncertainty. It was too intense.

"Aren't you bored? It can't be fun, holed up in here..." He tailed off as he gestured around the room, his eyes following his own hand.

It wasn't fun at all but anywhere else would have been too conspicuous. There were a few other, and more popular, unused classrooms that students were fond of using when their common rooms or the library just didn't cut it. But this one was out of the way, away from the hub of everything so not that many people knew about it. It was bare save for a few tables and chairs and an old stained blackboard. The walls were a drab grey and there was a thick layer of dust settled on the stone floor, save our footprints and I guess our bum prints too.

I checked my watch, second period had just started and lunch was another hour yet. No-one would be in the hallways, which meant I could leave safely. I smiled shyly.

"Yeah, I guess I could do with a little venturing out."

"'Venturing out'? Who speaks like that, Hermione?"

I felt my cheeks go hot and I fidgeted with the hem of my robes, I was wearing the same ones from last year and they had become a bit threadbare. In the past when I still felt able to defend myself, the girls in my dorm would cut me off and laugh at me. They would say that I didn't have to sound so uppity all the time. I thought they were just being spiteful; did I seriously sound so out of touch when I spoke? Harry laughed at my embarrassment and pulled me up by my hand.

"But then, I guess it's okay that you're different." He smiled at me and tugged me out of the room.

Estranged or not, Harry Potter was a really nice guy.

XxX

"I'm really sorry that my leaving caused you so much aggravation. If I'd known, I would have visited, just to kick everybody back in line."

I laughed bitterly. Were currently roaming the corridors in the West Wing of the castle. The halls here were light and airy but were doing nothing for the agitation I was feeling. Harry had asked again – obviously fishing for more details – about why I had been crying, and so I had told him everything. I thought that finally opening up to someone about what was going on would make me feel better but if anything, it had only cemented in my mind how unbearable my schooling actually was. Harry had yet to say much about himself and I found it frustrating that I could be so candid with him but he didn't return the favour. I hitched my schoolbag into a more comfortable position on my shoulder and decided to ask something that wouldn't be too probing, "What lessons have you had so far?"

I watched for his reaction out of the corner of my eye and found he was looking away in uneasiness. It wasn't fair to me that he was refusing to answer such a simple question! I hadn't asked him about his time away, nor his wandless and wordless magic. I was making an effort not to pry! A few moments went by in uncomfortable silence before I ventured again.

"You haven't been to any classes?" I asked snippily.

"Well, no..." He started hesitantly and stopped by a big bay window. I sighed and stepped past him to look over the grounds. The lake glistened in the weak September sun and reflected a few of the sparse trees that led into the Forbidden forest. Harry leaned on the windowsill next to me.

"They want me to go to second year classes." I nodded, still looking searchingly at the view. A large bird of prey was gliding through the forest, it looked magnificent as it disappeared in and out of view between the treetops.

"But it really isn't fair and I have every right not to!" I blanched and turned my attention to the irate boy next to me. It made perfect sense for him to be taught alongside the Second Years, at least for now anyway. Harry's forehead was pressed up against the cool pane of glass and for the first time I noticed that he wasn't wearing his round spectacles.

"But Harry, you have to go to-"

"I was stolen from my school and dragged here, Hermione. I don't think I should have to attend class when all I really need to do is leave." He huffed softly and turned to look at me imploringly. "And the worst thing is, I don't think I can." His mouth was turned downwards in a decided frown and his lower lip jut out slightly. I turned and began walking down the hall again, we had been heading towards the clock-tower corridor and I wanted to see the view from up there.

"Don't pout like that, Harry. It's unbecoming of a man." He laughed and fell into step beside me.

"Oh really? And what makes a man becoming, in your esteemed opinion?"

"He doesn't pout… or whine." I rolled my eyes and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

He pushed me playfully and chuckled softly. "Don't be mean!" He pouted again, exaggeratedly this time I laughed at the sight. I hadn't laughed in such a long time and it felt like an oddly foreign action.

"I'll have you know that many girls find me becoming, thank you very much." He puffed out his chest in mock pride. "I attract them like flies."

"Oh? Your sweat works wonders then?" I teased.

He grinned at me sheepishly, and plucked delicately at his blazer, "Hermione, seriously… Do I actually sme-"

"Why on Earth would you want to hang out with the Granger girl, Potter?" Harry and I both stopped still in our tracks. We had just taken a left onto clock-tower corridor and I hadn't noticed the boy coming towards us. When I was alone, I'd usually make sure that no-one was coming along towards me, I spent most of my time going to and from places peering cautiously around corners and hiding in alcoves or behind suit of armours. I was never on time to anything anymore, either too early or a few minutes too late. The teachers, however, never commented on my tardiness, it was as though I was invisible to them. I had become so relaxed around Harry that the cautiousness which was almost second nature to me now, had not even factored in my head. That and the fact that most students were either in lessons or private study. The boy had stopped walking too, standing just a few paces away from us. His heavy brows were pinched in a slight frown and his thin lips stretched over his gleaming teeth in a cruel grin.

Harry answered him evenly, "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"I think there's a lot of things that you are unable to see clearly or understand, frankly. For one, you shouldn't have come back here – you're not wanted. Or perhaps you do already know that; is that why you are trying to make friends with the Outcast?" His words stung and I felt myself wanting to retreat but I knew that wasn't an option. One thing I had quickly come to learn was that you should never turn your back on a Ravenclaw – they didn't waste time with questions of morality or pride, they were all about results. Be it getting the highest possible score on a paper or perfecting their aim on a retreating target, they had to be the very best.

"What?" Harry said angrily, advancing forward slightly. I felt myself take a step with him, although all I wanted to do was retreat. It was as if I had come way too in tuned with his body, his very being and was experiencing him in overdrive. This wasn't right, couldn't be right. I tried to pull away slightly, from what I don't know, and took a deep breath. The hallway smelt like static; the same dry yet thick smell that permeates the air before a storm.

"You aren't wanted here Potter. You turned your back on all of us! What makes you think we would welcome you back with open arms?"

Did he mean the students or the Wizarding society in general? Either way the boy was talking complete rubbish; leaving hadn't even been Harry's choice!

Harry stepped closer and closer to the boy and soon I found that Harry's towering figure blocked my view of him completely.

"I turned my back on you? I don't even know who you are, I don't have any obligation to you."

The boy scoffed and flicked his mousey hair out of his eyes. "You-Know-Who has returned and you're saying that you don't have any obligation to us?"

I stood, rooted in my spot, trying to make sense of the situation. You-Know-Who had returned? He was supposed to be dead! The papers hadn't announced that and I hadn't heard a whisper of the news from anyone at all. Not that anyone really spoke to me about anything consequential, but surely…

"Are you okay Hermione? What's going on?" I spun around in fright but relaxed, marginally, once I saw who it was. Neville Longbottom stood in the middle of the hallway, his two pudgy hands grasping at the straps of his schoolbag. A light sheen on sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Neville? Y-yeah…" Neville never spoke to me; he hardly spoke at all.

"Let me go, Potter!" The boy shouted from behind me. I didn't turn to see what was happening, the boy's pleading sounded like the ones that escaped my mouth all too often.

"He's definitely back?" Harry growled. His voice sent shivers down my back. Everything was shaking, the corridor seemed to be turning in on itself. Neville's soft round face was horribly distorted, his large brown eyes bulged out of their sockets grotesquely; his mouth, gaping with shock, swirled in on itself – soft pinks warring with darker ones. Everything was topsy-turvy and distorted and the static smell mingled dangerously with the smell of home; only home didn't feel safe anymore: it was overpowering and pungent and it felt dark and I'd had enough. I was too warm – beads of sweat were running into my eyes and down my face… or maybe those were tears. I'd never felt so angry and so suffocated! The atmosphere was thick and heavy and I was taking huge gulps of air because I couldn't breathe and I wanted everything to stop but I was just so angry.

"Harry! Stop!" The dark pinks blinked in and out of sight and intellectually I knew that it meant that Neville was shouting, but Neville never shouted and I refused to believe that those horrible swirls of colours made up his mouth! I tried to grip at Neville's shirt to straighten myself, but I was grasping at air. To me he had looked as though he was in arms reach, but evidently he wasn't. In fact, nothing was in reach because my arms were flailing but I couldn't find anything to hold me steady and I was swaying dangerously on my feet. I wanted to open my mouth and ask Neville for help – or to scream or to something – but nothing was working quite the way I wanted it to and Neville's bulbous eyes were fixated on what was going on behind me. His dilated pupils were so dark and bottomless – I felt myself falling. If it was physically I didn't know (or at least didn't think so) because I felt as though I was falling forever into that dark abyss, and no-one falls forever. But I was.

What was going on behind me I wasn't so sure. Neville's bulging brown eyes widened, if that was even possible, I guess in in disbelief. He looked terrified. He looked terrifying. I couldn't turn around. My head was starting to pound.

"Wand?"

It had to stop, I was slipping.

"Mr. Potter!"

And it did. His magic released me and I heard a thud. Everything went black.

XxX

The conversation with Filius had left me reeling – to be perfectly honest, all conversations about the Dark Lord and our little rebellion group left me feeling that way recently. The man truly thought that Potter was the answer to all our issues (much like everyone else) and it was all I could do not to pull my hair out. It was all so damn frustrating and no-one was listening to reason. How they could all expect the boy to step up to the plate and vanquish the monster, I would never know. The boy had not one ounce of self-control nor willpower to do anything but sulk. We had all already heard of how Potter had stormed out of Ridgewood's class in a childish pique and he hadn't turned up to his DADA lesson either. I sighed, the scowl that had masked my worry the second I had entered Filius's classroom hadn't budged and if anything, I could feel it etching itself deeper into my visage. Potter wouldn't be able to fight; the Order was trying to convince themselves that it was right to send the boy on a suicide mission. He was never going to be ready, not against the Dark Lord.

I was heading towards the main staircase to make it back in time to my office – I had second years to council on their up-coming electives – when a small body all but hurtled into me. When were these little menaces going to learn that they weren't to run around in the hallways?

"What do you think you are doing, throwing yourself around the school at break-neck speed, and during lesson time at that?" I bit out, catching the lad as he fell backwards from the impact.

"S-sorry Professor! Professor Burbage sent me to get some materials from the library –" I fought the urge to roll my eyes; Charity always had one of her students running around for her. God forbid she was actually prepared for one of her lessons, "But on my way to the library I saw Potter and Goldstein fighting! I was heading to Professor Flitwick's class –"

"Show me where, boy. Quick!" I loathe to say that I ran right behind the swift boy, but I did. I hadn't run down these corridors since I was a lad, but I knew time was of the essence. We could not have a repeat of what had happened with Weasley because as much as the ginger nuisance had claimed to hate Potter, he was agreeing to keep his mouth shut about what had happened. I didn't even begin to try and fool myself into thinking that the same could be said of Goldstein.

We sped down the hallway, past the grand staircase – how I wished that things were normal, because ordinarily, aside from staff meetings and mealtimes, I would never leave my dungeons – and the library entrance. We were heading straight for the clock-tower corridor and although this side of the castle was usually so bright you could see dust motes drifting in in the air, the atmosphere was becoming heavy and dark and a sense of dread was settling in my constricting chest. Forget the corridors, according to my chest and laboured breathing, the Lord only knew the last time I had run anywhere. I was severely out of shape, something that had to change soon if the changing climate of the Wizarding world meant anything at all. For fifteen years we had all been in a state of relative relaxation... We had been dormant and stupid.

I rounded the corner of the clock-tower entrance and almost froze when I saw the three students. Longbottom had rushed to Granger's side, who looked as though she was about to drop down where she stood. But Potter and Goldstein, what was going on with them was something else completely, something that brought back so many memor-

"Mr. Potter!" I hissed his name in fright. Goldstein was pressed up against the high ceiling but what troubled me was the blue tinge to his lips – they stood out in his purpling face and his hands scratched wildly at his own neck, drawing blood. I had slowed to a light jog but I still reached Potter quickly, grabbing his shoulder. As if a flick had been switched, he slowly turned around to meet my blazing eyes and in my peripheral vision I saw that Goldstein was slowly being returned to the ground. Did he even realise what he was doing, what he had done? Nothing about Potter's appearance seemed off, nothing apart from his eyes. Behind the glassy surface I could see the storm that his wild magic had left in its wake and it honestly terrified me. My hand gripped at his shoulder, holding him in place in case he decided that he wanted to run off.

"Longbottom, stay here with Miss. Granger and Mr. Goldstein." I looked for the young boy that had led me to this mess and found him pressed up tightly against the wall a few paces away. He seemed as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible. His name was Mark, a third year Hufflepuff and he had probably never witnessed anything quite like this before. I tried to make my voice gentler, "Mr. Lufkey, Professor Flitwick should be in his classroom. Could you please go and tell him what has happened here and that he needs to escort the students down to Madam Pomfrey? Let him know that I had to take Mr. Potter up to the Headmaster's office." He nodded and in a flash, he was gone again. I felt my lips twitch in amusement, he was certainly taking advantage of the circumstances.

I loosened my grip on the contrite looking young man beside me. He hadn't even broken a sweat or lost his breath at what he had achieved and for the first time I wondered if he had the power to defeat the Dark Lord. The small flicker of hope was snuffed as quickly as it had come, we were going to need a lot more than brute force to overpower the madman and as it stood, that was all Potter had to offer.

"Come with me," I intoned to the boy and took off towards the staircase with long strides. Something had to be done about his lack of control.

It was on the sixth flight of stairs – why each floor took two flights to reach, I didn't now for the life of me – that Potter decided to pipe up.

"I'm sorry about the Hufflepuff guy, sir." I whirled around on my heel, teetering dangerously on the marble step and startling Potter who was only a few steps below.

"His name, Potter, is Anthony Goldstein and as he is another one of your victims, I should hope you can find it within you to remember it." A moment of silence passed between us and I looked at the child angrily. How much he had resembled his father back there, tormenting the unsuspecting student; nearly killing him. "Whether it through severe discipline or expulsion, I pray to whichever God is listening that you learn how to control yourself! We have enough on our plates to worry about already, we certainly do not need a beast of a child roaming the halls." The words passed over my lips like icicles and I surprised myself at how venomous I had sounded. The entirety of our climb towards the seventh floor had passed in silence because I hadn't wanted to berate the child – who knew when his next fit of temper would come. I eyed him cautiously and bit back a snort as his hands climbed to clutch at his shoulders. Potter held himself in a protective hug that screamed vulnerability and insecurity. "Pathetic."

I turned around again and recommenced the climb. Ignoring the hesitant footsteps behind me, I furiously asked myself – whosever idea had it been to run a school in a castle, may they suffer forever in the afterlife, I could hardly breathe – how on earth we were going to survive this war.

XxX

Albus felt the two wizards approach before he heard them. The Griffin at the bottom of the staircase always alerted him to prospective visitors, but the two that were coming were special cases to Albus. Both their auras burnt brightly, sometimes so furiously that it was hard to ignore. Albus stacked the papers that had previously been strewn messily on his desk into one neat pile and replaced his quill in the inkwell.

Not before long Severus strode in to his office after a curt knock – come in! – with Harry trailing in cautiously behind him. Albus looked over the two before sighing and beckoning to the seats in front of his desk.

"Don't bother offering any lemon drops, Headmaster, this is serious. Potter nearly killed another student." Albus wasn't quite sure whether Severus meant 'another' in terms of 'fellow' or whether he was insinuating that Harry had attempted to kill Mr. Weasley in the first place. Either way, it was clear that Severus was not over his animosity towards the lad.

"Would you like a lemon drop, Harry? Don't be shy, just because Professor Snape refused his." Harry shook his head while sinking into one of the offered seats, his arms still plastered to his chest. Severus was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat and rosy cheeks coloured his otherwise sallow complexion. He really did spend too much time in the dungeons.

"I trust you heard he also skipped classes this morning?" Lunch was in fifteen minutes and Albus had to get down to the hall before the children in order to keep up appearances. That, and the fact that he was rather peckish. "Are you listening, Headmaster?" Ah, his potions professor was becoming irate.

"Of course Severus. As you know, Harry, there are several things I wish to discuss with you. We don't have the time to talk about all of them now, but to start the conversation – I want to know why you thought it appropriate to skip your lessons. We both know you have trouble directing your magic." The boy seemed to shrink into his seat and his grip on his shoulders tightened. But under the pressure of the silent room, it wasn't long before he spoke.

"How can I participate in the lessons when I don't have my wand?" Albus' eyes flickered to Severus' in surprise. They had known of course that he was doing wandless magic, just not that he had no choice but to. Perhaps this was where the problem lay – he didn't have a medium through which to control his power and he was probably feeling slightly unsafe in a castle full of people that did. They would have to remedy that situation.

"Is that the only reason, Harry?" The boy shook his head,

"I don't see why I should be taught with Second Years! No-one even talked to me about this, it was just decided… I already know the second-year syllabus. In fact, I know up to third year too! Ginny Weasley owled me her reading lists every summer so that I could do some self-study while in France. I've also read up on some other things too." Albus briefly considered reminding Harry how important it was to harness the practical elements of the syllabus and not just the theory. He looked searchingly at Harry's downturned gaze remorsefully, if only there had been more surveillance when he was younger, none of this would have happened. In a flash, Harry's neck snapped back and his face was turned towards the ceiling.

"I don't even want to be here!" He groused to the heavens. Perhaps it hadn't been fair to just thrust him into lessons without first speaking to him, personally.

Claire Ridgewood had been hired to relieve Filius of the First and Second Year students, perhaps she could take Third and Fourth too… that would free up some of Filius' time, if he were partial to privately tutoring Harry. The boy would need some formal training anyway, and who better to do it than a duelling master. The only problem would be Claire's pay rise… there really wasn't any money left. But something had to be done!

"I'm going to speak to Professor Flitwick, Harry, to see if you can have some private lessons with him. In the meantime, however, we are going to need to get you a wand and I must ask you to attend the Second Year classes for now. Okay?" The boy would need some robes too; Hagrid could take him if-

"Headmaster, I believe you are forgetting about the small matter of a student being half strangled by this whimpering dunderhead!"

Albus' head whipped to the man who still stood by the doorway of his office. Couldn't Severus see that this was no way to behave in front of the boy?

"Severus, please!"

"No, Albus! You can't just ignore these kind of transgressions anymore-"

"What about Hermione, then?" There was a pregnant pause after Harry's interruption, the boy had turned in his chair to glare heatedly at the tenacious man, his hands now balled into fists on the back of his chair. "Do you rant and rave to Professor Dumbledore about how your students torment Hermione too?" The boy was beginning to bounce in his seat in anger. Albus watched in great interest at how Severus seemed to swell in indignation and fury at the accusation and how Harry resumed hugging himself protectively in response. Ah.

"Severus, I think perhaps you should teach young Mr. Potter occlumency."

"What?" Severus thundered.

"What's occlumency, sir?" Weary green eyes peered over a narrow shoulder.

"Tell me Harry, has your scar hurt at all? Like it did in your first year?" Severus sighed and seemed to physically deflate. He took measured steps towards the only remaining seat and flopped down into it.

"With all due respect, Headmaster, there are too many unfinished conversations going on at once." Albus smiled slightly and bowed his head in agreement. There was certainly much to be discussed and it didn't seem likely that any of them would make it down to lunch that afternoon.

"Has Voldemort really returned, Professor?" That was as good a starting point as any.

Thanks for reading! P.