Author's Note: Okay, so I just have to take a moment and thank you lovely readers for your reviews. I absolutely love reading them because you tell me what you like and what is a bit confusing and it's just such a pleasure knowing that you all like my story enough to give reviews with substance. You all are amazing readers. Okay, I won't keep you any longer. Enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think.

"I was bold in the pursuit of knowledge, never fearing to follow truth and reason to

whatever results they led, and bearding every authority which stood in the way."

- Thomas Jefferson

Little Gem

November melted into December and Harry was assigned to serve his detentions with Professor Quirrell who had been quick to offer Flitwick his help in disciplining Harry. He had not returned to Potions and had also stopped attending History of Magic. Professor McGonagall had explicitly stated her disapproval and had very blatantly tried to force Harry into attending class but when Harry had pointed out just how lacking the two classes were, the elder witch had been forced to bite her tongue. Though she still gave Harry disapproving looks, she had stopped making remarks about it and instead had started comparing his transfigurations to that of Hermione Granger's.

In fact most of his teachers caught on to this and the muggleborn girl who had made no friends – not that Harry had made an actual friend unless Nanette or Mandy counted – was now being congratulated by her housemates as if she had received some big honor. Harry had been perfectly content with ignoring all of this until Granger – with the absolutely enormous tome called Ancient Alchemy tucked under one arm – and her house mate Ron Weasley caught him in the Library one day; her smile, no matter how friendly she tried to make it appear, was gloating.

"You really should apologize to Professor Snape," Granger laid her hand on Harry's arm as if she genuinely cared. "He's really not so bad and he was the youngest Potions Master in a century."

"Professor Snape," Harry told her, not quite liking how close she was, "Could be a secret champion of Werewolf rights and it still wouldn't convince me to return to his class. It's not our job to attend his class because deep down under all the blatant verbal abuse he's a nice person. We are here to learn and I wasn't learning what I think I should be."

Harry had turned to leave when Weasley spoke, "It was brave what you did, you know? I don't reckon I could've, downright scary Snape is."

"It wasn't brave it was a calculated risk. By the way Granger, could you have picked a duller book? Try A Primer of Practical Alchemy if you are looking to learn or Famous Alchemists of History if you're needing famous Alchemists and their contributions to the modern world. Oh and then there is the Encyclopedia of Famous Transmutations if you are searching for a specific achievement – though I warn you, don't spill anything on it, it's very temperamental and starts smacking you. " With that Harry turned away from the wide-eyed Gryffindors and made his way out of the library. When he was out of sight Harry smirked, that gloating smile had died so fast and killing it had left him feeling very pleased. At least he did her a kindness though, he had saved her from losing brain cells.

Ancient Alchemy was possibly one of Hogwarts most boring books and it didn't even cover Spagyric, plant alchemy, or even Nicholas Flamel's transmutations from common base metals into pure gold. Instead the book focused on the discovery of a universal solvent and had an absurdly long section on Dzou Yen and his mad quest for a Panacea. The man may have been the father of Chineese scientific thought but Harry was sure that he was as crazy as he was brilliant.

Though the same could be said for his Defense professor. Professor Quirrell's plan for Harry's week long detention consisted of the Forbidden Forest. Apparently many teachers wanted them to retrieve a number of items from within the depths of the feared trees so Harry had reluctantly packed a first aid kit he had put together and shrunk down to fit inside his pocket. It would handle anything from a nasty cut or broken bone to Acromantula venom.

However the trips into the forest weren't anything like Harry imagined. Professor Quirrell taught Harry how to move about the forest without disturbing the vegetation or attracting any unwanted predators. They walked near the treaty line of the Centaur village and Harry was able to catch a quick glimpse of one of the half man – half horse beings. Together they discovered a clearing where the fluxweed and moondew grew in abundance, happened upon a Unicorn that quickly bolted, and even found a rather fascinatingly large Venomous Tentacular that spit a purple venom instead of green. Professor Quirrell had made short work of digging it up and storing it for his inspection though he was adamant that Harry not tell Professor Sprout because the woman was "insufferable" when it came to rare plant variations. Harry had grinned and promised not to say anything to the stout woman.

The most intriguing part of the whole week was when Harry and Professor Quirrell had been looking for Purple-Capped Mushrooms for the Headmaster who loved the tea you could brew with them but refused to send House Elves to collect them. The pair had been amicably chatting about topics best spoken of outside of the castle walls – cursed daggers – when the professor had stopped with a small smile. Harry had been so focused on ascertaining what had captured Quirrell's attention that it took him a second to realize the man had grabbed Harry's hand and pressed it into a magnificent specimen of a Rowan Tree.

"What is that?" Harry asked slightly bewildered at how the contact made his head a little fuzzy. He didn't have time to ponder it long because then Harry realized that the tree seemed to be humming with energy; it felt alive beneath his fingertips.

Professor Quirrell smiled and ran his hand down the tree bark affectionately. "The wood sprites," he answered. "They are showing that the tree is ready to give wood for a wand."

"Do you know much about wand lore?" Harry asked, contemplating Ollivander's words in his mind.

'Almost as if –' Those words haunted Harry. His was a mind that exceeded in pushing limits and exploring theories, he absolutely loved pondering just how far the possibilities could go. But Harry was left drawing a blank when he tried to track Ollivander's thought process. Almost as if what? It left Harry frustrated to no end and he wanted to be able to talk to someone about this connection desperately.

But when Professor Quirrell said that he knew very little about wand lore Harry was brought back to reality. The man was his open minded defense professor and that was all. Harry could talk about Dark Magic, Dumbledore, or the Mind Arts freely with the man but as much as he wanted to confide in the elder wizard, talking about Voldemort to anyone was just not smart.

So Harry kept silent on the questions that plagued his heart and once again focused on the questions that plagued his mind. Over the course of term Harry had learned a great deal about bias in the wizarding world. Wizards were prejudice against non-humans and muggleborns, the Ministry was bigoted against anything remotely dangerous, and Hogwarts itself was narrow-minded about anything to do with Slytherins. It was driving Harry mad because the one thing they all had in common was that they were all highly intolerant of anything even remotely 'dark'.

It was becoming a problem. Old customs, whole branches of magic, dueling techniques, and books on creatures that Harry couldn't begin to fathom were restricted. There was nothing Harry could do about it so he plunged again into the mundane work of his classes, mind arts, and music practice with Mandy.

One common opinion that was shared throughout Harry's class mates was that Defense Against the Dark Arts was the most enjoyable classes by far. Professor Quirrell was revered in Ravenclaw as the one professor who not only didn't care if debates broke out but encouraged them. It didn't matter if they were meant to be discussing Hags and their quasi-cannibalistic tastes towards children or the smokescreen spell. If a student had a question they were encouraged to ask no matter the content. Debates tended to spring forth over these questions more often than not and it was rumored that upper years were doing the same with fervor ever since word had spread about Harry's very first Defense class.

It was Wednesday and that meant double Defense, much to Harry's delight, and double Transfiguration in the afternoon now that the ridiculous flying classes had ended. Flying was something Harry enjoyed recreationally but was fervently against when in a sporting capacity. He was much too small, according to Mandy, and Harry rather preferred not risking his head with a sport that used a ball called a bludger. No, Harry much preferred burying his nose in a book of complicated theory or even better yet reading a book that was illegal.

More particularly, illegal books accidentally left behind by older students in between couch cushions and shoved under bookcases. Finding these books became a game. It was probably wrong of him but Harry found that he had sticky fingers when it came to these kinds of books. They were precious – knowledge deemed so dangerous that it was illegal to know – and they were just left lying around. Harry found that even with the extensive Hogwarts Library just knowing that there were subjects he was not permitted to research drove him mad. So when he found these precious books Harry never hesitated in collecting them and storing them in his trunk. The forgetful students couldn't report illegal books missing and with the exceptionally clever anti-summoning runes Harry carved in the inside of his trunk, there was no way for them to find the books unless they physically rooted through his things, but Lorelei was told to bite anyone she saw attempting to steal Harry's things much to her pleasure.

Harry had spent the previous night engrossed in one such book. It was called The Black Arts and was so delicious and promising that it had Harry skipping breakfast in favor of a mug of coffee and a brisk walk to the Defense classroom in search of Professor Quirrell. Before, when Harry had questions over glamours and their large scale possibilities the professor had spoken freely about what was called Illusion Magic and how it had been outlawed and stripped away with Harry until class arrived, since then Harry had been bolder with the professor.

"Early again, Mr. Potter?" Professor Quirrell smiled knowingly as he flicked his wand at the door; closing, locking, and warding it. It was an impressive feat that never ceased to impress Harry no matter how many times he witnessed it. "What has captured your fancy this time? The latest article on Golpalott's Third Law or have you found another misplaced book?"

The older man turned back around to the chalk board to continue the notes for Gargoyles that they would be studying. Harry sat on top of the desk he shared with Terry and laid his bag in his seat. "Do you believe in good and evil, Professor?"

Professor Quirrell stopped mid word and he turned and regarded Harry in quiet contemplation. "So Philosophy then? Alright, in what regards? Do you mean the actions of a person or a spell or perhaps just solely the concepts?"

"In regards to magic itself; do you believe a branch of magic can be inherently good or evil?" Harry felt his torso lean forward in anticipation as he watched the professor's mind work. It was fascinating to watch, whenever Harry instigated these conversations it was almost as if Quirrell had complete conversations in his head. Truly the mark of brilliance, Harry thought, because when the Professor did finally engage his responses were quite remarkable.

"I think," Professor Quirrell said slowly, carefully. "That magic itself, as a whole, is neither good nor evil. On the contrary those magics labelled as such are only more powerful and not everyone can master them which has bred fear and prejudice."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, in agreement and in pleasure, as he contemplated how best to phrase his next question. "I believe blood magic could be beneficial and that it's rather ignorant to disregard all possibilities of advancement based on the potential danger."

The older wizard inhaled sharply, not that Harry blamed him. The book Harry had just read had explicitly outlined the consequences of practicing any of the Black Arts, the Dementors' Kiss. The kiss sucked out your soul and left your living body a husk unable of anything more complex than drooling.

But the possibilities were running rampant in Harry's mind. For hundreds of years this knowledge had been stripped away – as with almost all Black Arts – and even before the branch had only just begun being academically explored. People had learned how to make their gardens flourish and how to track a person – hedge witch magic – but the trial of The United Kingdom Council of Sorcerers v Tarquin Crannach aka Tarquin the Terrible ground the progression of Blood Magic to a screeching halt. Tarquin had terrorized Nebuchadnezzar II for seven years before a witch in Babylon figured out that Tarquin had taken blood magic further and weaponized it.

There was so much possibility and yet Harry could lose his soul for trying. He rather felt like a Pegasus who had been chained to the ground and absolutely loathed the feeling.

Professor Quirrell studied Harry shrewdly for several minutes before Harry broke into a lazy grin and shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'I can't help it'.

"Hypothetically speaking of course, I don't believe there are more than a handful of hedge witch journals left from those days – if you could even find them – and Tarquin's grimoire was most certainly destroyed. I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that any scholar would have to start from scratch – a very dangerous and daunting task I must say, not that the Ministry would ever allow such a pursuit."

The words 'dangerous' and 'daunting' – if Harry had any intelligence at all – should have put him off and withered his curiosity. Instead the dramatic words only served to excite him more. How often did one learn of a whole branch of magic that had been wiped from existence? Well, considering this government it might be more than a few times but still Harry was excited to have an interesting project that would finally invigorate and challenge his mind. It was finally a worthy pursuit in the monstrously dull repetition of the Hogwarts curriculum – an opportunity that Harry refused to give up.

If there was any sort of mantra or code that Harry lived by it was that you had to be bold in the pursuit of knowledge, after all knowledge was the greatest form of power and those to meek to pursue it were those not worthy of its gifts. Long ago, before Harry even really understood, he had vowed never to let the Dursleys fully clip his wings. He had been forced to keep his grades low below Dudley's, but while the pudgy boy had paraded his immense size as power Harry had realized that brute force only lasted so long, true power was intelligence and creativity – academic pursuits reaped rewards and rich satisfaction. Abusive muggles had not stopped Harry and now he was determined an intolerant and prejudiced government would not stop him either.

Harry didn't mention blood magic again to Professor Quirrell. As much as he trusted the professor with philosophical questions and discussions on theoretical dark magic Harry just didn't feel comfortable discussing beyond the realm of conjecture with a professor. So on his own Harry began the search the Library for the spells and rituals necessary to enchant and bind a book solely to himself, to make his very own grimoire.

As Harry scoured the library he found that Yule approached rather quickly and instead of getting excited to go home like his class mates, he began to contemplate staying at the castle. On one hand the castle and the Library would be Harry's for hours and hours on end but on the other hand Potter Manor had a Library that while not as extensive held a wider spectrum of books. The spells and enchantments he would need might be there.

A big reason Harry wanted to stay, if he were honest, was that Professor Quirrell had started a game of sorts to help Harry practice his mind arts. In class, in the halls, and even in the Great Hall they would try to catch the other off guard and invade their mind. It became Harry's favorite way of passing time and he was extremely reluctant to give it up because he was excelling by leaps and bounds. So Harry signed up to stay at Hogwarts much to Nanette and Mandy's curiosity.

Harry had yet to mention anything about his home life other than that he had been sent to live with his mother's sister and while no one questioned it, a few seemed to see through the vague story thinking he was lying about where he'd grown up. For a decade Harry had been hidden away and general conjecture was that he'd been hidden in a lavish manor behind every ward known to man and trained, which explained why Harry found classes so easy. It was laughable but Harry generally didn't bother to correct them unless asked.

"I don't know what's worse," Nanette growled the morning of Yule break. Harry looked up at the red headed girl with sleepy grey eyes. She was carrying a book that looked ancient and massive, covered in symbols Harry had never seen before, and was reaching for coffee. "The fact that Dumbledore decorates the castle like a muggle or the fact it's now called Christmas."

This was one reason Harry enjoyed Nanette's company far more than any else in the castle, except perhaps Professor Quirrell. Nanette was one of the only people who didn't watch Harry like they were afraid he would run off and tattle on them the moment they said anything remotely debatable. She was carefree and Harry loved it because she was a wealth of knowledge that was not written down in any book in the library. For a week now she had been catching Harry up on the wickedness of muggleborns and how their muggle culture was slowly contaminating the wizarding world.

"I'm all for literature and music," Nanette scowled into her Potions essay, "but Merlin now we have forsaken our heritage for some raving muggle who says we'll burn in eternal fiend-fire."

"Perhaps you should do something about it rather than complain to me." Harry quipped and dodged just in time to miss her attempt to smack him over the head. He knew better than to engage the older teen in any sort of theoretical discussion on the contamination of wizard culture. Nanette was vicious in her opinions – though always genteel in her articulation – and was not prone to listening to reason from a first year.

"Well someone was doing something about it until you killed him," Her tone was ice and froze Harry to the core. "So maybe it's your responsibility to do something about it."

Voldemort was a touchy subject for Harry and he loathed it when people brought him up. Ollivander's words seemed to haunt him every second that he let his brain go idle. 'Do you believe in fate?' Harry wasn't sure what he believed or how he felt about the Dark Lord but when the wand maker's words rolled in his head Harry felt nauseous. 'No body…no wand…and a boy he can't kill.'

It terrified Harry more than he could possibly say to think of Voldemort – the leader of the Dark Wizards' Revolution – still alive. No body…no wand… Helpless and alone were the two things Harry had grown up feeling and he couldn't fathom the torture of going from so powerful people refused to speak your name to existing without a body or a wand…if it were even possible.

"I am not a leader," Harry tried to reply normally but his throat felt like it was closing. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. "I prefer to be in the background – left to my own insatiable thirst for knowledge."

Nanette didn't seem to notice as she merely scooped eggs onto her plate. "Yeah, Dark Lord business is usually left to the Slytherins."

"You're doing it again." Harry scolded the older girl in annoyance. "You were the one who taught me that the prejudices were full of crap and yet you discriminate too!"

"I was only joking tosser, no need to ruffle your feathers."

The scowl Harry wore was becoming a regular fixture around Nanette. "I actually think it would be brilliant to befriend a Slytherin. I'd very much like to see their common room. Cho Chang says it must be damp and chilly because it's under the lake but I find that hard to believe. I would bet a shiny galleon that it's opulent, there is no way Pansy Parkinson, or Merlin forbid Draco Malfoy, would ever live in anything considered dingy or decrepit."

"Well then find yourself a Slytherin friend and have them take you on a field trip." Nanette snapped irritably.

"Maybe I will." Harry replied purely out of spite though he knew he was more likely to befriend the Giant Squid than a Slytherin.

"Imogen says most of the first years are blood purist twats with two generation ties to the late Dark Lord." Her words were meant to hurt and Harry stiffened slightly.

Why did everything have to come back to the Dark Lord? Could Harry not make a single friend who refrained from talking about the man for one day?

"Meaning I'll never make a friend." Harry said glumly.

Nanette seemed to realize how rude she was being and she set down her mug and sighed. "People don't know what to make you of you Harry. If you'd have been a Gryffindor you'd have been a holy light wizard and the savior of them all before your first meal. If you'd have been a Slytherin you'd have been an even greater dark wizard who was going to replace the Dark Lord.

"But you're a Ravenclaw and that throws them off, there is no huge stigma around our house except that we are generally eccentric. Don't let Malfoy make you think this is about your blood, I'd bet the little prat wants to be your friend as much as those Gryffindors."

By now the Great Hall was starting to fill with people and Nanette seemed content with her attempt at making Harry feel better so he let it go and poured a cup of tea.

"Harry!" Mandy called cheerfully a few minutes later, her trunk floating along behind her. She was already dressed in a peach silk blouse and a pleated navy skirt with thick black tights. Her pea coat was draped over her trunk along with her blue and bronze scarf.

"Morning Mandy," Harry greeted her and watched as she sat down across from Nanette.

"Do try not to lose any more house points while I'm gone," she said looking rather fearful that Harry would, left to his own devices for so long, get into trouble.

"Don't worry I have a new project on book enchantments that I'm working on," Harry said with a secretive grin, "I'll be in the library most of the break."

"Of course you are," Nanette chided with a fond smile, "Because Merlin knows it would kill you to actually study for the classes you dropped or any class for that matter."

At eleven the students who had signed up to go home for break were ushered out of the Great Hall and Harry was left alone. Without the hundreds of students swarming the castle Hogwarts seemed even more immense than usual. With the promises of hot chocolate and fresh cookies from Tinky, one of the house elves, Harry returned to his common room and was content to curl up with Lorelei and finish a book called Security Spellwork for the Travelling Sorcerer.