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Little Gem

Life at Hogwarts fell into routine fairly fast for the new first years and for Harry in particular. With wanting to learn everything he could Harry found himself having to keep a schedule in a planner from Flourish & Blotts that he ordered through owl order when he purchased a copy of You-Know-Who, Right? While his extra-curricular studies were quite hectic and chaotic, Harry thrived with the stable base of his classes to keep him grounded. Teachers were enthralled with him and frequently called on him during class, he had only been caught scouting out the Restricted Section three times, Padma fell into an easy, friendly rivalry with him over who could earn more house points, and Harry only forgot to do his homework five times. Everything was going smoothly…

…Until Harry had to make his way to the dungeons for Potions.

Every teacher Harry had seemed to love him, or at the very least love his abilities, except Professor Snape. The Potions professor seemed to absolutely loathe Harry and he had no idea why. When Professor Snape had drilled him on several properties that were not learned until later in the year Harry had answered correctly but this only seemed to enrage the professor. It was horrible trying to prepare ingredients under the loathing onyx glare and it was nearly impossible to be careful around his bubbling cauldron when the Potions Master seemed intent on yelling his name every time Harry went to add a new ingredient.

What made things all the worse that Harry was desperate to know why you had to add flobberworm mucus before the porcupine quills but couldn't ask. He had tried to raise his hand but Professor Snape had ignored him for ten minutes before Harry gave up and just asked anyway. That had only made things impossibly worse and Harry had lost twenty points for speaking out of turn, much to Padma's delight.

Potions seemed like the worst tragedy to Harry because he could see it's potential. The class could be one of the best by far if only the students were taught the why's behind the complicated instructions and the how's of properly preparing ingredients. If only they were allowed to indulge their curiosities of what happened when you over brewed moondew or mixed wing of bat with eye of newt. To just have instructions thrown on the board with absolutely no discussion was a horrendous tragedy and Harry was fairly certain dangerous.

In order to try and counter Professor Snape's hatred Harry spent every Saturday morning in an empty classroom near the Hospital Wing purely experimenting with his cauldron. As it turns out overly brewed moondew turned milky and smelt like rotten eggs while wing of bat seemed to not be affected by eye of newt, perceptibly anyway. Friday evenings after dinner Harry spent the three hours he had until curfew nose-deep in the Potions section, studying every book that looked remotely helpful on the brews in his class text. They taught him how to properly cut flobberworms, when to harvest fluxweed, how to tell ingredients where fresh or spoiled, and he even learned that wing of bat could be dried, ground, and made into an antiseptic cream.

It was a Friday night a month into term and Harry was in the Herbology section of the Library grabbing One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi for reference on different varieties of Hellebore in a Potions text he was reading when Professor Quirrell stepped into the same isle.

"Oh," The professor seemed quite surprised to find a student in the library, "Good evening, Mr. Potter."

"Evening Professor," Harry replied rather strained as he reached up, trying to grab the rather alarmingly large book. The text was seven inches thick and a good foot long, by far one of the largest tomes Harry had yet to come across.

"Here allow me," Professor Quirrell grabbed the book easily and handed it to Harry with an amused smirk.

"Thanks."

"An odd time to be studying Herbology is it not?" Professor Quirrell grabbed a copy of Experimenting with the Sopophorous Bean from the shelf below and then looked to Harry.

"I know, but it's really the only time I have left in my schedule." The elder wizard looked intrigued and sat in one of the wooden chairs. Harry hopped up on the desk and prayed that Madam Pince wouldn't come by. The last thing Harry needed was to give the Librarian any reason to throw him out; she seemed to dislike him almost as much as Professor Snape even though Harry had tried everything he could think of to change her opinion. After a few of the stories she told him about his dad and his group of prankster friends, Harry didn't blame her quite as much. Some of the damage they had caused to the Library would have left him quite furious as well.

It would take time not flattery to show the Librarian he hadn't inherited his father's mischievous genes; though he should probably stop being caught near the Restricted Section in order to prove it.

"Professor Snape is – well I don't think he likes me very much and that makes it very difficult to learn."

Harry's scar was tingling pleasantly and he allowed his eyes to slip closed for a brief moment as his head tilted back to rest on the bookshelves. Something about Professor Quirrell's company was soothing for a reason Harry couldn't fully explain, it was just as if the professor settled something deep within him – like he were always on edge and never realized it until he relaxed. It was an odd reaction but Harry secretly wondered if this was what having a friend was like. Professor Quirrell had never spoken to him outside of class before but just the tranquility the professor provided made Harry believe that he could easily be friends with the plain looking man.

"How are the rest of your classes going?" Professor Quirrell folded his hands in his lap and leaned back against the back of the chair – his right leg coming up to cross over the other. The man seemed particularly at ease tonight which made Harry happy. Mandy had been begging Harry to participate in the social experiment the Ravenclaws were planning but Harry had declined. He wanted no part in deliberately pushing the man's social anxiety on purpose; he rather liked how easily he fell into a steady speech pattern during classes and was not about to jeopardize productive classes.

Harry waved a hand and grinned lazily at the question, "Classes are a breeze, Professor Flitwick has me studying fire charms already. It's Occlumency that's truly frustrating though. Did you know, Professor, that only mediocre Occlumens use the mental barrier? True Occlumency masters hate that barrier; instead they have the ability to call up memories at will to divert Legillimency attacks." Harry sighed loudly and resisted the urge to bang his head back against the bookshelf in frustration. "But to do that takes extraordinary amounts of practice with a Legillimens.

"So my choices are being mediocre or leave my mind unprotected. It's not fair."

The elder wizard chuckled quietly and Harry felt his lips pull into a scowl. "It's not funny Professor!"

"Quite the opposite Mr. Potter, I find it very amusing. You are in a castle with no less than three Legillimens, one of which happens to be a master of the mind arts. You'll find no better opportunity to learn than right now."

Harry's nose wrinkled at that. He was willing to bet a shiny galleon that master was the headmaster and while Harry thought it would be fitting for the headmaster to see the life he had condemned a child to, Harry wanted to lick fire slugs more than he wanted the headmaster inside his mind. "I bet that's Dumbledore – he seems to be a master at everything. Did you know he holds three official masteries? Who are the other two Legillimens, maybe I can learn from one of them?"

Instead of looking dismayed, Professor Quirrell seemed to find humor in Harry's contempt. An expression not commonly shared unless one found the company of Slytherins enjoyable…which Harry did not. Over the course of the term so far there had been four study groups that had been put together, two of which had been with the Slytherin first years. Harry had tried to befriend a loner named Theodore Nott but the boy was painfully awkward and highly skeptical of Harry. Not that he was the only one. Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass – both of whom Harry had never actually spoken to – made their opinions of him quite clear.

'He's the reason we're treated with suspicion – Don't talk to him, he's a filthy half-blood – Harry Tosser – My father says not to trust him because he kisses Dumbledore's fat arse.'

It was only the immature talk of two eleven year olds but it had shown Harry just what people thought of him. While he was by no means happy to be famous Harry had prepared himself for it, what he hadn't prepared himself for was some to worship him a hero and others to see him as the destruction of their revolution. There were old prejudices against dark magic and dark wizards in the wizarding world and Harry had ended their fight for freedom. Harry supposed it was logical that Slytherin – the house notoriously known for producing grey and dark wizards – hate him, but it was rather a shock when some of his Ravenclaw year mates had said nothing to defend him. Their agreements clear in their eyes.

Everywhere Harry turned people were clapping him on the back, sneering at him, or quieting their conversations. The latter being mostly upper year Ravenclaw and Slytherins.

"Yes," Professor Quirrell agreed, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "The headmaster is one Legillimens, however Professor Snape is one, and then of course I am rather skilled as well."

"Professor Snape?" Harry had to fight to keep from shouting his surprise.

"Yes," Professor Quirrell hummed, "though if I am not mistaken Severus is rather lacking in Legillimancy. He is a brilliant Occlumens, better than even the headmaster I'd bet, but he still requires a wand for offensive mental magic."

Harry shuddered and shook his head, trying to calm his racing mind. "Professor, do you think you could help me learn Occlumency? I mean – would you be willing to, that is – "

"I could do far more than that Mr. Potter," Professor Quirrell leaned in conspiratorially and Harry copied his movements, his body almost shaking in excitement. "I could teach you Occlumency and Legillimency."

The smile that curled Harry's lips was sinful.

Professor Quirrell and Harry met three times a week; Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, at four in the afternoon. For hours they would practice, so much so that Harry stopped his studies on first aid spells after the first book was mastered. Professor Quirrell taught Harry how to calm his mind, keep it calm, and what it felt like when someone was trying to access your mind.

Time flew by as Harry studied the Mind Arts. Between musical study with Mandy and his extra-curricular studying October melted into December. On Halloween a troll had somehow gotten into the castle and attacked a Gryffindor –in the girls' bathroom - named Hermione Granger who had suffered from several broken bones, but only missed two days of class much to her classmates' chagrin. By this time Harry was able to fend off Legillimency attacks he was prepared for, for up to five minutes which Professor Quirrell said was an adequate start.

Harry had grown completely comfortable within Hogwarts, and within his house. He loved the ever changing and the chaotic routine he built, but most of all Harry loved Ravenclaw. Despite the trepidation of his house mates he loved the quirks they had and how accepting they were. Padma had decided she wanted to study the charms on Chocolate Frogs one week and so all ten of them had gathered up and released over a hundred of them into the common room. The room had smelt like chocolate for a week but no one had complained.

Then there were the impromptu music sessions that the older years seemed to find relaxing, especially fifth and seventh years. They were prone to freaking out and when one student would sit at the piano to relax, not long after the music would attract others to the common room and they would join in on whatever instrument they could play. Harry absolutely loved these moments and would always find his way onto a comfortable chair so that he could just enjoy the music.

When November rolled in Professor Quirrell began teaching Harry how to peek into others' minds. Apparently wands were for 'mediocre laughingstocks like Severus' and therefore Harry was banned from touching his wand while he learned how to peek into Quirrell's mind. It was difficult at first to even make the connection but as time passed Harry found it got easier and Quirrell had insisted that eventually eye contact wouldn't even be necessary for cursory glimpses.

Only once did Professor Quirrell mention anything he saw in Harry's mind. He had placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, giving him a thoughtful look. "The power you seek won't come from the books you read Harry."

After that Professor Quirrell dropped the subject entirely, much to Harry's relief. The Dursleys were a sensitive topic and Harry wasn't quite sure where he stood on the matter. On one hand he wanted to forget them altogether but then there days, mornings where he'd wake in a cold sweat from nightmares about the muggles. Those days found Harry withdrawn from everyone around him and boiling alive in the overwhelming desire to curse anyone and everyone, especially the Dursleys.

It was on one of these days that Harry had double Potions with Hufflepuff all morning. The day was quite dreary and thunder boomed ferociously overhead, almost as if the weather had felt Harry's emotions. The night had been full of terrors; he had tossed and turned, woken up drenched in sweat, and angrily drifted on the edge of unconsciousness only to be ripped away cruelly. Harry was left with deep purple bruises under his eyes in the morning.

Distractedly, Harry had shoved his books in his bag and grabbed a cauldron before stomping down to breakfast. Everyone noticed, Harry was not one to freeze in fury instead he found himself exploding like a volcano, erupting over a greeting or a glance. He might lack subtlety but Harry had derision for days and it never failed to be less than cataclysmic.

The dungeons ere even more damp than usual due to the rain and Harry took his seat next to Mandy as usual. He nearly knocked her cauldron over when he slammed his cauldron on the desk. She raised a brow but said nothing as Harry grabbed his textbook and flung his bag to the floor. It was then that Harry realized his cauldron was silver not pewter, he'd accidentally grabbed his self-stirring cauldron.

"Bloody hell," Harry scowled at the offending cauldron.

"Twenty points for swearing in class Potter," an oily voice called, almost delightedly.

Harry's head snapped up and he found that Professor Snape was in front of the chalkboard. The silence became deafening and Harry grit his teeth to bite back a retort. At least his daily twenty points were taken and now Snape could turn his attentions to the Hufflepuffs or maybe even to Padma who had taken to trying to get on the Potions Master's good side. It rolled Harry's stomach to watch her fawn over Snape and talk about how he must have suffered a great loss.

When Harry had claimed that loss had been the man's shampoo Padma had nearly snarled at him. Since then she took great delight in Harry's misfortune which absolutely thrilled her friend Pansy Parkinson.

When Professor Snape had taken roll he waved his wand the instructions for the Herbicide Potion appeared on the chalkboard. Mandy only sighed in resignation but Harry glared at the professor for a solid minute before he'd started prepping his ingredients. The Lionfish Spines, Harry found, were too fresh. Crushing them was rather difficult task but Harry's ire found it a decent outlet. Only ten minutes later Harry was ready to add the mushy, crushed mixture to his cauldron when onyx eyes landed on him.

Not for the first Harry wished he could do away with Potions from his schedule altogether. When Professor McGonagall had assured Harry that Hogwarts was the best school for magic, he had naively believed her. So far two of his classes were jokes and the rest provided no challenge whatsoever. A ghost and an overgrown bat who obviously loathed the sanctity of learning were so far below acceptable a muggle would have been able to teach them better.

Was it possible to drop a core class? Harry knew that there were W.O.M.B.A.T.S at the end of every year except for fifth and seventh, which were then replaced by O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. As far as he knew the end of the year tests were just that – tests. They didn't decide whether you could take your O.W.L.S. and as long as you passed them you were free to take the N.E.W.T.S.

Harry realized quite happily that nothing was really keeping him in these dreadful classes. He could teach himself enough to at least pass the end of year exams. During the summer Harry could try to find a tutor – surely there was one somewhere – or work on the next year's curriculum.

"Potter," Professor Snape barked out, swooping down on Harry like a giant bat. "What is that?"

Harry rolled his eyes and decided that he was much better off without. "A roughly crushed mixture of Lionfish Spine and Standard Ingredient, just like the board says to have."

The vein on Professor Snape's forehead throbbed once and Harry took great delight in it. He hoped one day it would burst and the man would simply drop dead in front of the class. "Insolent fool," the Potions Master snarled, "you are using the wrong cauldron. Thirty points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter. Just because you are a celebrity does not mean you can be lazy and hazardous in my class."

An itching appeared just under Harry's skin, irritable and uncomfortable. It was like his veins had become infested with lice. He had never lost more than the usual twenty points before and fifty was almost impossible to make up in a day, he'd have serious work cut out for him. "Maybe if you actually taught us," Harry snapped viciously, "why we need to use a pewter cauldron instead of silver, mistakes like these wouldn't happen."

It would have been comical to Harry to hear the entire class gasp loudly but he raged on, ignoring his year mates. "Thirty points from Ravenclaw you – "

"In fact," Harry raged on, cutting off the professor with a vindictive sort of glee, "maybe if you actually taught potions instead of throwing the ruddy instructions on the board and saying 'Get to work!' then maybe we'd actually learn something. Like," Harry grabbed a snake fang from his bag and chucked it in the cauldron, "what happens if –"

BANG!

The mixture in Harry's bag went volatile almost instantly from the venom of the fang reacting with the silver and the mixture – harmless to the skin but slightly toxic if ingested – erupted like baking soda and vinegar on a much larger scale. Harry wiped away at his glasses and glared at Professor Snape.

The Professor's face was turning a splendid shade of purple and Harry smirked triumphantly. This seemed to tip the professor overboard. Professor Snape drew himself up rigidly and towered over Harry with a sadistic smirk of his own. "Fifty points from Ravenclaw and a week's worth of detention. Now get out Potter, and go see Professor Flitwick."

For a second Harry stared at the Potions Master in surprise but then he grabbed his cauldron, dumped its contents onto the table, and grabbed his bag before he stalked out. "Oh and Potter?" Harry turned and glared. "Don't bother coming back." A smile threatened to break out on Harry's lips.

"As if I'd want to," Harry replied disgustedly, the mere thought of having to sit through another one of Professor Snape's classes was torturous. Harry held his head high even as he felt like raging and left the door open as he left; just as he had turned the corner the sound of the door slamming made Harry smirk.

Without even bothering to change or drop off his bag, Harry searched for Professor Flitwick. The half goblin that Harry had grown rather fond of was having tea with a professor Harry had never met and Professor Quirrell. The three seemed deep in conversation and Harry stopped at the door to the Professor's lounge just listening with a small smile.

"No, no, no," Professor Quirrell exclaimed exasperatedly, "the lay lines around it would cause the wards to fluctuate too severely to be stable."

The witch Harry had never met harrumphed loudly, "You are out of your depth Quirinus. Those lay lines would only serve to enhance the wards. With a properly carved ward stone it's possible those wards wouldn't fall until Merlin walked the Earth again."

Professor Flitwick seemed greatly amused but Harry was more focused on the Defense professor. Professor Quirrell looked about two seconds from hexing the witch. "Perhaps if those lay lines shifted with the orbit around the sun then the changes would be subtle enough to be beneficial. These lay line shift with the moon's orbit, much too fast to hold any sort of stable ward."

"I do wonder what would happen," Professor Flitwick mused with a smile and a cup of tea, "If a Fidelius were cast."

When Professor Quirrell threw his hands up Harry stepped forward and cleared his throat. Both the witch and Professor Flitwick looked up but Quirrell spun around sharply, looking highly relieved. "Shouldn't you be in potions, Harry?" Professor Flitwick asked as he set down his tea.

"Yeah, about that Professor," Harry took a deep breath, "I got in trouble."

Flitwick chuckled merrily, "How many detentions?"

"A week," Harry answered. The witch choked on her tea and her eyes widened.

"A week?" Flitwick asked weakly, his face paling with every syllable. "How many points did you lose?"

"A hundred and thirty."

Harry watched his Charms professor sputter incoherently and turn rather red. "Mr. Potter!"

"It won't happen again Professor I have been asked to not return," The Charms professor seemed so distraught that words were beyond his capabilities and his mouth open and closed with no sound. " I thought I would ask about Hogwarts' policy on dropping core classes."

When Professor Flitwick only blinked the witch spoke with a rather amused smirk. "I do believe it is allowed but highly frowned upon. How will you prepare for the Ministry exams Mr. Potter? "

"Thank you, Professor – "

She smiled wickedly and said, "Vector, Mr. Potter. I suspect I will be teaching you Arithmancy when you reach your third year."

"I look forward to it, Professor." Harry replied with a grin and then turned back to his Head of House.

"I will self-study until I can find a tutor to teach me over summer holidays. I suppose I should also inform you," he continued as if his Charms professor didn't look to be on the verge of a heart attack, "that I will also be dropping History of Magic on the same grounds, the teacher is incompetent."

"There is, however, one problem Mr. Potter." Professor Quirrell spoke up as he poured himself another cup of tea. "Your guardians must give their written permission and since your guardians are muggles they cannot – with full understanding of the possible consequences – sign off."

A sense of dread began to fill Harry and he was pleading for his logic to be wrong when Professor Flitwick found his tongue. "Quite right, during instances such as these the Headmaster is to act in loco parentis."