Harry was staring at the ceiling.

He had taken to staring at the ceiling when something was troubling him. It was a habit that he knew drove Lara to distraction. He wasn't a still child, he knew, so for him to be doing nothing other than lying on his back on the cold concrete floor in the garage, staring at the plain white ceiling was so out of character that she didn't know what to do with him. So she did what was probably the best thing she could do.

She left him alone to think.

It wasn't helping this time.

Harry sighed and held out his hand, stretching his arm to the side with his palm down. Settling his magic he pushed a bit from his core out through his arm and into his fingertips. He smirked a bit, the first hint of an expression since he'd left the library, and remembered the monks. He'd found, like Lara had, that the Tibetan monks had a rather odd sense of humor. The head monk, he'd never found out their names, had taught him this (most likely classified as useless) bit of magic. He could meditate at anytime, anywhere, while doing almost anything. He could lose himself in his core, as it were, so it helped to have something outside of his self to concentrate on.

Like the bright red bouncy ball that dropped, newly formed, from his palm and smacked the concrete with a dull thwack. The whack of the ball as it met his skin was something he could feel, the sound of the ball bouncing off the concrete was an auditory anchor. He couldn't get too distracted from his thoughts now.

And if he were honest with himself he kind of wanted to be distracted.

Sirius Black.

He'd no clue what to think, say, do… but he followed his instincts and listened as the man poured out his heart and soul. He admitted to his young arrogance, apologized for being too proud, too angry, too lost to have stayed and taken care of Harry. He'd just snapped, and went hunting, forgetting that the only thing that should have mattered to him at that point was Harry… And at this point Harry still had no clue what he'd been talking about.

Oh, he knew the basics of the entire tale. Voldemort killed his parents, was going to kill him, but something unknown happened and Harry hadn't died. Due to this he was famous in the Wizarding world.

That and a sickle would get you some decent pumpkin juice.

What Sirius had told him, what he had sobbed out at times, was a masterpiece of misunderstandings and horrible decisions. Sirius had admitted, he'd gone just a bit spare for a while, and before he'd had a chance to object, he'd been thrown into Azkaban, where he'd continued his short trip to the land of crazy's.

He found out why Lara had been late for their trip to Warsaw, and then admitted that it was probably best that Sirius had spoken with a few mind healers before trying anything as strenuous as meeting the young man he should have raised.

They spoke of so much, yet nothing felt resolved.

Harry now understood why Lara had always told him that his life was complicated. No more so than her own, he'd always joked. But he didn't have a joke ready for this.

No. Not for this.

Sirius had left, he still wasn't ready to be out on his own, he was still staying at a private ward with his own healer on constant standby. He'd been honest with Harry, and told the boy he'd a lot he still needed to go through before they could really get to know each other… which was about as personal as they were willing to get about the future, really.

Remus might have been disappointed that Padfoot didn't just jump in and demand to be a part of Harry's life right away. But he understood the decision, and Harry had said that they'd visit as they could. An olive branch, Remus knew, and one that Sirius had grasped with gratitude. Harry was in no way deprived of people who loved and understood him. The addition of another one could only be a good thing.

Remus smiled down at Neville, who wasn't distressed at the absence of his friend, who was more than happy to ask Remus questions about whatever had caught his interest in the books he'd been assigned to read.

Neville was a bright student, a bit clumsy perhaps, but if Remus remembered correctly his father had been clumsy as well… until he shot up to his six and a half foot height between fifth and seventh year. Judging by the size of Neville's hands, that was more likely the problem than anything else. And judging by the intelligent questions asked, the boy was going to be either a herbologist or a potions maniac.

When Remus first started basic lessons, the boys nagged until he'd agreed around their first year in grade school, he'd been perplexed by their completely opposing ideas of what exactly magic was and how it could be used. They'd obviously talked about it amongst themselves, had most likely stolen some of his magical theory books and puzzled their ways through them, and had come up with two widely different conclusions.

The thing was, Remus couldn't refute either one. Both were valid points, and each one thought out brilliantly. So he taught them separately, keeping each theory as the basic model for the individual lessons and together when theory didn't interfere with the lesson itself.

Neville was convinced that magic was something that came from the Earth. Citing "Mother Earth" as the originator of all life and therefore energy, such as magic, could only come from the Earth's core. He agreed with Harry that there was a core of energy in each person, but that it was replenished by the magic of the earth, not self.

Harry, on the other hand, insisted that each person, when born, had a magical core. What made a person able to use magic were the instinctive blocks or the hereditary ability to access this core. Most magical families had magical children. Squibs were something that happened genetically, just as sometimes brown haired parents had blond haired children. Muggle born students were throwbacks in much the same way as Squibs, just opposite.

Remus had been astounded, and oh so pleased, to have such students. He argued with them during theory talks, and had published many papers (with their permission of course) based on these discussions. As a result he found himself not only a teacher, but a student as well. He believed that no one should stop learning, no matter what age they were. As a result he was contemplating something that he believed would, and could do nothing, but help expand the curious minds he found himself nurturing.

He wondered, seriously, if Nicholas Flamel might be up to taking on summer students?

Harry loved Alchemy. Mr. Flamel was a bright, interested, interesting teacher, and he'd only gotten better as he helped Remus tutor them. Harry and Neville had gotten to the point in their studies by their birthdays that they were doing basic transmutations with chalked arrays and focused energy. In fact they enjoyed chatting with Nicholas about oddball theories they'd been looking into, such as "panacea" or "putrefactio", which Nicholas said wasn't such an oddball theory and then proceeded to explain by purifying water from a pile of mud he'd stomped out into the garden to get. Which in turn pissed off his wife, who had scolded him about mud in the carpet until he snapped at her, "Dear lord you'd think you weren't a witch!"

Harry and Neville had learned early in their relationship with the man that when he argued with his wife it was always prudent to duck. So they munched on freshly baked cookies as Perenelle tried to remember the counter jinx to the hex she'd sent at her husband in her temper. Nicholas, for the most part, was just glaring at the boys, unable to open his mouth to scold their smug grins for he had no mouth at the moment to scold with.

So they were sitting in the large plush chairs in the family room when two separate owls winged in the open window and deposited parchment envelopes on the boys laps.

On the wax seal was the Hogwarts coat of arms.

"Well Harry, we've been summoned," Neville laughed at the sour expression on his friends face. "C'mon now, it won't be that bad!"

"I am having a perfectly fine time going to Muggle School and being tutored magically by two of the most brilliant minds of the wizarding world," Harry pointed out, meaning Remus and Nicholas, who blushed brilliantly with pleasure when he worked out what it was Harry was implying. "I see no reason to go to a boarding school, away from the people I love, to get a substandard education." He waved the open letter in Neville's face. "I mean, read this! It says nothing about basic courses does it? Where's the math? The reading? I'm never going to get into Uni without my A-levels! And we'll be in Scotland! I'd be lucky to be able to at least study for Highers! "

"Harry!" Neville shoved his friends shoulder to cut off the rant. "Do you really think Lara would let you go to Hogwarts and forget about your compulsory education? I think she's got Remus drawing up plans for self study."

"Really?" he asked after blinking for a bit, absently taking another bite of cookie.

"Didn't you talk to them about this? I did," Neville smirked at Harry's obliviousness.

"Well, not really, I was kind of busy yelling at them to really pay attention." Harry shrugged with a quiet blush. Neville had once again done what he was best at… keeping Harry Potter out of trouble. Perenelle thanked the boy once her vases where all back on the table, safe and sound after having floated in the midst of Harry's rant.

Then she snapped her fingers in a brilliant eureka pose, waved her wand at her husband and blushed bright pink as the area his lips should have been suddenly sprouted a tropical yellow beak. Then she placed her hands on her hips and sighed.

"Well shit."

"Harry!"

"He's a dick!" Harry protested when Lara objected.

"Harry," Lara was not amused. Ok, she was a little amused and the fact that she had to consciously stop the smirk was irritating. "That is not acceptable behavior and you know it. Apologize."

The blond weasel standing in front of Harry didn't have to keep his smirk to himself. He lorded his advantage over Harry, as if being so smug and self-righteous would protect him from Harry's swift tongue.

"Alright," Harry said equally. "I'm sorry you're a dick." Harry barely managed to keep his own smirk from growing any larger as Neville snorted behind him, unable to stop the decent into giggling.

"That's not what I meant," Lara rolled her eyes as the boy standing on the stool in Madame Malkins Robes for All Occasions, glared.

"Then you should be more specific, shouldn't you?" Harry returned. Besides, he wanted to know just where she got off, telling him off for defending her. That little prick had just called his Aunt a Mudblood and dismissed her before assuming that Harry would want to shake his precious hand. So Harry had said the first thing that came to his mind. And so what if it had been a bit vulgar? At least he'd been honest.

"Don't you know who I am?" The little ponce was actually puffing up his chest. Neville was still giggling, but managed to wave his hand and smack Harry's shoulder.

"Draco Malfoy," he forced between deep breaths, trying to get his breath back.

"Oh, so this is the git who.."

"Yeah," Neville straightened up and smiled innocently at Draco. "Pleasure to see you again Malfoy, I see you got the dye out of your hair... Pity that, suited you."

"Don't start with me you… you…" Draco didn't seem to be able to come up with anything original, so he attacked with the first thing that came to mind; which happened to be the vulgar turn of phrase that had gotten Harry in trouble with Lara. Of course he'd said it just as the front door jangled open and his mother walked in. She'd stopped so abruptly at the sight of her son swearing at the Longbottom boy, that she'd completely dismissed Harry and Lara, and grabbed her son by his ear; forcing him to follow her back out into the street, shrieking about proper language and blood purity.

"Well, that was an auspicious start to our shopping trip. Wouldn't you agree?" Harry asked Lara, with a bit more cheek than necessary.

Lara just sighed. "You are still going to Hogwarts. If you get kicked out in the first week, whatever, I don't care; but you are still going. Understand me?"

Harry didn't need another reason to hate Hogwarts. But damn were they just piling up! First almost all the wizarding children who'd grown up on tales about him on the train wanted to shake his hand, the only ones to be even vaguely amusing had been the Weasley twins, and those who didn't want to shake his hand wanted to glare at him in a "menacing manner". The muggle borne had no clue why Harry was having such a big stink made of him, which only confused matters when they asked and were told in no uncertain terms that he was Harry Potter… as if that would help.

It got to the point were Harry had barricaded his door and glared at Neville for being singularly unhelpful in controlling the hordes. Neville merely pointed out that Harry would have to pay for his fame somehow, and it was best that they got it over with before term started.

Then he'd been stuck in the last boat (he'd tried to avoid the stares and lagged behind) with Malfoy and a kid named Seamus who couldn't stop from making awe filled "oh" sounds at the sight of the castle. Malfoy smirked, and Harry could only agree, which only soured his mood to be on the same wavelength with Malfoy about anything. Harry had seen the golden tinted ruins of The Great Pyramids; he'd been inside abandoned city's that had been swallowed by the sea. He'd been to Japan and climbed the millions of stairs it took to get up to the truly magnificent shrines. He only felt it was a pity that such a nice castle had been turned into a school for brats who couldn't possibly appreciate it.

He snorted in amusement as they entered the castle, following McGonagall, who promised to be a strict teacher. He was starting to sound like an old man in his own mind. He really needed to work on that.

Then the hush came when his name was called to sort him. He straightened his back and marched to the stool, then jerked a bit when the hat came down around his ears. How completely undignified was this?

After a fairly short argument between himself and the hat he managed to be placed into Gryffindor. The hat wanted to put him in Slytherin, Harry wanted to burn Malfoy's bed down around him. The hat prudently placed temptation out of Harry's sight and went with the second choice. That way everyone was happy, or at least unsinged.

Harry sat down next to Neville and tired, after a full day of battles, ignored everyone around him. He managed to make it up to the dorm only because Neville was guiding him, and collapsed with a sigh onto his new, unfamiliar bed.

He groaned when his pocket rang.

"Harry, just answer it. He'll bug you all night and none of us with get any sleep," Neville complained as he pulled his own pajamas from his trunk. Seamus Finnigan, the half-blood student who'd been in his boat, frown as Harry pulled something from his pocket.

"I thought cell phones and other electronics wouldn't work here…?" he trailed off as Harry turned it around to show that he was holding a little make-up mirror. Instead of showing the room they were in though, it seemed like there were two men fighting over who got to hold the mirror on the other side. He heard a few curse words before the shorter man with the wispy mustache pulled away with a triumphant, "Ah-HA!"

"I got into Gryffindor, everyone is staring at me, the food was good but the idiot headmaster almost broke my eardrums with his stupid school song, and I'm bloody tired, so goodnight!" Harry said while facing the mirror, then tossed it over his shoulder before collapsing back into his bed. Neville caught the flying device and smiled gently, talking to the person on the other side.

"I'm afraid Harry is in a bit of a bad mood right now Remus, did you have any questions that he didn't address? I'm sure I could answer them," Neville shrugged.

"No, thank you Neville, I'll go inform Lara that her nephew is safe and sound in Hogwarts and she can stop pacing the hallway carpet now. Here, talk to Sirius, he's been driving me batters all day."

Neville chatted with Sirius for a few minutes, calling teasingly over to Harry that his dog wished to speak with him and was only rewarded with a middle finger sticking straight into the air.

"Sorry Sirius, he's indisposed at the moment," he laughed as he said goodbye, then covered the mirror with a felt bag that had slipped from Harry's pocket onto the floor by his bed. Then he placed it on the nightstand, slipped the glasses from Harry's face and placed them next to the mirror, then tugged his friends shoes from his feet before flipping the comforter over his shoulders.

Seamus, Dean Thomas and Ronald Weasley watched all of this with puzzled expressions, which Neville caught, but didn't feel the need to comment on. If they wanted to know so bloody much they could gather the stones and outright ask. They would in time, he knew, they weren't all Gryffindor's for nothing.

"I don't get it," his voice was dry, his entire demeanor confused. That was really the only reason Minerva didn't take points for the fact that Harry wasn't even attempting to do the spell.

"What exactly don't you understand Mr. Potter? Do you need another demonstration on the wand movements? Miss. Granger has them down competently." She didn't normally compliment her students on the first day, but Hermione seemed intent to succeed, and she got the feeling the poor girl needed someone on her side.

"No, that's not it Professor," Harry looked over at Hermione and gave the girl a slight smile. He had no clue that it was the first positive notion a fellow student had ever given her. She blushed brilliantly.

"Then what is the problem Mr. Potter?"

"No offense," he started with, because she seemed like a really nice lady and that cat trick had been cool, even if he was a bit disillusioned about animagi. Padfoot had forever scarred him the time Harry had caught the older man licking himself. Apparently the urge to do things the animal would normally do was strong, and if you didn't pay attention... "But when will I ever need to know how to turn a matchstick into a needle? I can just go and buy a needle. Also, I heard how the older classes are turning hedgehogs into pincushions. Why would you turn a hedgehog into a pincushion? And really, isn't it just cruel to the hedgehog? I mean, here he is, a creature with a rational thought process, and then suddenly, he's a pin cushion? Is he aware of what has happened to him? Does he feel the pin being pushed in? I just don't think I can continue until I know exactly what is going on…" he paused in his musing when he realized that most of the class was gaping at him. Professor McGonagall had a frozen smile with her eyes blinking rapidly, trying to respond but unable to follow Harry's thought process. Hermione was looking down at her needle in horrified fascination… but the rest of the class was looking at him like he was insane… except for Neville. The traitor was giggling furiously with his head laid down on the desk. Harry just knew there were tears, and he also knew that somewhere money was exchanging hands.

He'd managed to be the first student ever to render Professor McGonagall speechless. (1)

"You're not only a dick, you're an ignorant dick!" Harry managed to keep himself from smirking. But only just. Draco Malfoy was fuming, his fists clutched so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"That's right Harry! Give that Slytherin what for!" the Weasley kid was cheering him on, Neville was just chuckling softly. Hermione, who'd been the one Draco had insulted, was watching the confrontation with awe. Nobody had ever stood up for her before. Today was turning into a red-letter kind of day.

"Let me ask you a question Draco, I can call you Draco can't I?" he asked, then continued without waiting for a reply. "How exactly is Hermione's blood dirty?"

"Because she's a muggle-born!" Draco shouted, his fat cohorts nodding sagely behind him.

"Uh-huh," Harry nodded as if thinking it over. "She's muggle born. Well my mother was muggle born and my father was a full blood wizard. Wouldn't that make ME the mudblood? I mean, she's got one hundred percent muggle as far back as the eye can see, she'd be a pure-blood muggle, you'd be a pure blood wizard, and since I'm half and half, that would make me the odd one out. Right?"

The crowd that had gathered in the hallway gasped. That couldn't be right… could it?

"But considering that the term itself came from a muggle book I find it just that much more ironic." Harry kept the sneer from his voice, but Neville couldn't quite still his laughter.

"Harry, what do you mean?" Hermione, suddenly interested in debate, having completely forgotten the reason for the fight in the first place, turned to Harry with a frown.

"Have you read the Bible Hermione?"

"Of course!" She scoffed, "It helps with my essays tremendously!" Harry wasn't surprised. He'd known the girl less than a day and already he knew she strived toward perfection… he'd have to fix that later.

"How did God make man?" he asked. The hallway held its collective breath.

"He took the earth and shaped man in his… Oh!" She jumped up and clapped her hands. "Man was created by mud! Woman was created by taking one of mans ribs! Everyone is a mudblood!" She shouted, ecstatic.

"Miss Granger!" The shout was indignant, and horrified. Professor McGonagall was outraged, and the hallway was deserted very quickly. All that were left were Harry, who was smiling indulgently, Hermione who was blushing horribly, and Neville. Neville who was laughing so hard he was squeaking trying to take his next breath. He was failing miserably. Harry absently wondered if, along with the rest of the outdated relics lining the halls, the hospital wing had an iron lung…

allright! The longest chapter yet! I had bits and pieces, such as Harry's first confrontation with Malfoy, and the last part about Mudbloods about a month ago, but I couldn't for the life of me connect them... Until now, so I hope you enjoyed and I had a bit of a note,

1) Just so you know, I was rereading Strains of Melody by hoshi-tachi, chapter six/seven, and this classroom scene popped into my head… I don't know how, I don't know why… but I had to write it down before it went away. BTW, highly recommend hoshi-tachi!