Disclaimer: Today, class, I will be teaching you a new logical truism: I do not own what I do not own. Irrefutable, ain't it? That being said, I don't own Harry Potter or Star Wars. Or Disneyland, for that matter. Which means that I don't own Harry Potter, Starwars, or Disneyland.

AN: I just want you all to know, that last night I had an awful sleep (barely got any), being sick and all, but when I got up, I had 40 emails in my inbox – only two were for work, the rest were people favouriting/reviewing my story. That made me smile (actually, grin rather wickedly), which is more than the lunch sitting in front of me can say. So thanks, everyone who's read and enjoyed, you've brightened my day.

Chapter 8: Of Feasts and Fairy Tales

"And then, Darth Vader said to Luke Skywalker, 'I am your father.'" Harry paused, taking in the intense faces of the first and second year Ravenclaws on the couches in Ravenclaw Tower, their rapt attention trained on him, except Kevin, who was silently snickering in a corner. He cast a warning glare Kevin's way, and then picked up, "And I think that's all for today, I'll tell you the rest tomorrow."

There was a collective disappointed groan.

Lisa mock fainted. "Poor Luke, can you imagine? Having that monster as your father? It would be like finding out You-Know-Who was your dad!"

"And he was so brave, standing up to the Dark Lord like that…and he got his arm cut off!" Mandy exclaimed, her eyes full of pity.

"And it all really happened, Luke Skywalker is real?" Padma asked dreamily, Lisa and Mandy beside her swooning. Even Cho Chang looked quite smitten.

Harry nodded emphatically. "But it happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away."

"Then how do the muggles know about it?" Michael asked suspiciously.

"A muggle named George Lucas found an ancient holocron from the Jedi Temple, and managed to get all the information off it before it broke down," Harry stated matter-of-factly, ignoring the sound of Kevin's head hitting the wall.

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, the first years getting ready to head off to Charms, which was their only class of the day, seeing as the Halloween feast would be taking place soon after.

Harry had gotten into an easy schedule of going to class, doing homework, and exploring the library over the last two months. Classes had gone well, so far, though every day was a struggle to remain on his teachers' good sides. It was his personal belief that McGonagall was secretly amused with him, but his epistemic commitment to said belief wasn't nearly strong enough to actually act on it. Professor Flitwick certainly was amused by him, and the man/goblin always seemed eager to answer Harry's questions and consider his ideas – no matter how outlandish they were. Professor Sinistra, who taught astronomy, was often impressed with his knowledge of the stars (all that research during his boring primary school years came in handy), and though Professor Sprout was indeed very sweet, she seemed to consider Harry something akin to an out of control child – which, of course, he was, but he was also so much more. Professor Quirrell seemed to have developed a pathological fear of him. Professor Snape…he was ignoring Harry. Apparently the snarky Potions Master didn't know what to make of him – which Harry had been aiming for. Truth be told, after hearing horror stories of Gryffindor Double Potions with the Slytherins from Hermione, Harry was alright with this. The professor would warm up to him eventually. Maybe.

His time in the library, however, was what Harry always looked forward to most. He, Michael, and Terry had Brotherhood of Binns Exorcists, or BoBE research sessions at least once a week, but were getting nowhere – most books only mentioned exorcisms in passing, and Harry was beginning to suspect that there was a greater chance of useful information being found in the Restricted Section, but no one would write a group of first years a pass for the Restricted Section, even if one of them was Harry Potter.

Harry had also taken to looking through the 1940 – 1960 yearbooks, jotting down any names that might have been good candidates for Voldemort's true identity. His main criteria were good grades (it wouldn't do for the most feared dark lord of all time to be an idiot, after all), being in Slytherin (it made sense, the man must have been very ambitious), and being a pureblood (Harry had learnt that many of the political tensions during the war were due to a dichotomy between purebloods and muggleborns). Of course, not all three criteria needed to be fulfilled, but they were a good starting point. The fact that many of Voldemort's followers were from pureblood families led Harry to research them, and he was fascinated to find that the Blacks were considered a dark pureblood family, Voldemort supporters, while the Potters, though pureblood, were not. Fascinating as all that was, however, as of Halloween, Harry had not found the answers to any of the questions he wanted answered most.

That day they had Charms with the Gryffindors, and would be learning the Hover Charm, a sort of levitating spell. Now, Harry had been levitating things since he was eight or nine – immediately, when he got to Hogwarts, he had started practicing the actual charm with his wand. He considered himself something of an expert, and looked forward to fooling around in class, using his expertise as an excuse.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, who perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the spell properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Terry stared down at his feather, glaring, and then taking a deep breath. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Nothing happened. "Damn it! Why aren't you even trying, Harry?"

"Because I can already do it."

Terry wrinkled up his nose. "No way! Prove it!"

Harry glared for a moment, but then suddenly grinned. After mastering the levitating charm, Harry had begun making alterations on how he performed it – especially after he had spoken to Professor Flitwick about the Killing Curse; the professor had highlighted that part of the curse's power came from the fact that it attacked as single object in a single way. So what would happen if a relatively easy charm, like the levitating charm, was divided among several objects? Harry stood up in his seat slowly, swirling his wand pronouncedly in a quick swish and flick, saying carefully, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feathers from all the surrounding desks rose up in the air, wobbling slightly, before they all joined in a torrent, diving down to attack Terry in the face.

Between the exhilaration from casting the spell, the excitement of getting it right, and the picture that feather-mouthed-Terry made, Harry collapsed in his chair, bursting out in uncontrollable laughter, managing a cackle that sounded suspiciously like, "Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha, I am Master of Feathers!"

Most of the students seemed positively shocked by the demonstration, while Michael was one of the few laughing at the sputtering Terry, who looked quite betrayed.

"Oh, oh well done Mr. Potter!" squealed Professor Flitwick, turning to the class, "Not only has he performed the charm, but he also controlled it and divided it among all those feathers. Excellent, excellent! Where did you get the idea to do that, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blushed. "I, er, was thinking about this one Metallica song, 'Master of Puppets,' and I thought it'd be cool to be Master of Feathers. And I, uh, practice a lot."

Terry, who had finally managed to get all the feathers out of his mouth and ears and nose, gaped at him incredulously.

"Oh, splendid, splendid," Professor Flitwick continued, "He's right, you know! Practice makes perfect! Now, get back to practice! And twenty points to Ravenclaw!"

Harry's amused green eyes avoided Terry's death glare, suggesting quietly to him, "Imagine the magic pouring out of your wand and surrounding the feather, lifting it up."

Terry's glare softened into a determined nod, as he got back to work.

Meanwhile, he could hear Hermione giving instructions to her partner, the red-haired Ronald Weasley.

"See, did you see that, Ronald? Harry pronounced it perfectly," she was saying.

Ron only grumbled. "Yeah, well he's Harry Potter, he can do anything. And he's a Ravenclaw! He probably defeated You-Know-Who with his brains!"

Harry snorted, but they didn't hear him.

Hermione scowled, "Honestly, Ronald. Try again!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Harry shook his head – the poor boy was digging his own grave. If anyone could get the charm on their first try, it would be Hermione 'Brainiac' Granger, the smartest Gryffindor who ever lived, who had been invaluable to Harry during his research sessions.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Sure enough, the feather shivered, and then rose several feet.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it as well! Ten point to Gryffindor!"

The rest of class went quite smoothly, with most of the Ravenclaws and one more Gryffindor being able to at least partially levitate their feathers. Terry had attempted to get Harry back for the feather attack, but had failed magnificently, causing Harry and Michael to tease him until the end of class.

On the way out of the crowded classroom, Harry heard Ron Weasley talking to Seamus Finnigan beside him,

"It's no wonder no one can stand her; she's a nightmare, honestly."

Suddenly, a bushy haired projectile flew past the boys, darting down one of the dark corridors.

Harry turned toward Ron and glared. "I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry's glare deepened. "She's got friends, and you'll wish you were one of them by the time final exams come."

Harry stalked off, followed by the other Ravenclaw boys.

"Are you going to go after her?" asked Stephen curiously.

Harry thought about what Jean had told him about crying women the other night. "No, I think that would be…unwise. I'll show her a good book in the library later, and she'll feel all better."

The feast took place a little more than an hour after – Harry was beyond gleeful to find piles and piles of teeth-rotting sweets heavily ornamenting the tables, stacked high in elaborate arrangements. The Great Hall was decorated exaggeratedly in Halloween decorations – pumpkins, bats, and even spiders floated about the ceiling of the Great Hall, which thundered ominously.

But as Harry was shovelling some more pastries onto his plate, he noticed, "Hermione's still not here, is she?"

Terry looked around and shook his head, sighing. "Weasley must have really hurt her feelings."

Harry's face scrunched up in thought, transforming into a smirk a moment later. "Oi Kevin, shove over a little, will you?"

Kevin immediately did so – after the Marcus Flint incident and several others like it, the first year Ravenclaws had learnt that Harry had very good aim when it came to curses, and was not afraid to use it to its fullest. And after seeing his multiple books on curses and hexes, they were all very accommodating.

Harry discreetly tucked the wand under his sleeve, pointing it at Ron and saying quietly, "Mucus ad Nauseam."

Terry winced. "He'll be sneezing and snivelling the whole feast."

"Exactly."

At that moment, Professor Qurrell came barrelling into the hall, quite frazzled and terrified. "Troll – in the dungeons – though you ought to know."

He promptly fainted.

Suddenly, the Great Hall was in an uproar, students darting to their feet and crying out in fear, confusion and disbelief - they were only silenced by the Headmaster's Sonorous charm. "Prefects," his voice rumbled across the hall, "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

However, as Penelope and Robert attempted to gather all the Ravenclaws, Harry froze. Hermione – Hermione didn't know; she was still who-knew-where bawling her eyes out. He had to warn her – but going alone wouldn't be wise, not with a troll on the loose. He looked around the hall; a Gryffindor would be nice to have with him, but the only one he knew was Neville. He supposed he could take any of the Ravenclaws…but then a thought struck him, and it was far too brilliant to pass up.

Harry strode up to the bustling Slytherin table, coming to rest behind a familiar sleeked back mop of blonde hair.

"Oh Draco," he sang, "I could really use your help with something."

Draco's head snapped around. "Potter! In case you didn't notice, I'm a little busy at the moment!"

"Oh, come on Malfoy, I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

"Forget it, Potter, I'm getting out of here. In case you haven't heard, there's a troll loose in the castle."

"I said, I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh," sneered Draco, "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Harry sighed. "Well, for starters, I'll curse anyone you want for a whole week, bar all Ravenclaws and teachers."

Draco faltered. "Fine."

Harry grinned, taking his arm and dragging him out of the Great Hall, unnoticed amidst all the chaos, and down one of the corridors.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about, Potter?" snapped Draco as Harry dragged him along.

"We're off to rescue Hermione Granger!"

"The mudblood?" Draco asked disbelievingly, not at all fazed by Harry's glare. "Let her die, or at least just tell a teacher or a prefect. Why drag me into this?"

"Because, Malfoy," Harry paused, thinking about why the idea appealed to him so much, and how to make Draco understand it. Ah. "I have a political agenda. People need to see that not all Ravenclaws are useless bookworms, and not all Slytherins are evil."

"And getting ourselves killed will help, how?"

"We won't die, Malfoy!" Harry snapped. "Don't you see the beauty of it? All those stories about two great Gryffindorish knights off to rescue the princess from the troll. Well today, it's going to be a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin rescuing the bushy haired Gryffindor muggleborn from the troll! It's like a fairy tale, but ironic! Brilliant, right?"

Draco simply looked unimpressed. "You had better learn some good curses for next week, Potter."

Harry nodded, pulling Draco down another corridor.

"Where are we going, Potter?"

"Well, girls like to cry in bathrooms, right? So I figured Hermione would go to the bathroom closest to the Charms classroom to cry."

Draco seemed to accept that, and both boys continued on, running up a short flight of stairs, happy to see the girls' bathroom nearby – but their happiness turned to horror when they heard a high pitched scream emanate from within.

Bursting into the bathroom, they found Hermione backed up against the wall, terrified, with tears running down her face, as the troll, a horrifyingly ugly creature no shorter than four metres, waddled over to her, knocking sinks and stall doors from the walls, growling stupidly amidst the hissing of ruptured pipes as it approached her.

Hermione looked just about ready to faint, but when she met Harry's gaze, a flicker of hope lighted her eyes.

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, "Distract the troll!"

Draco turned to him, horrified. "What?" he whimpered.

"Get the troll away from Hermione, I need to think!"

Draco looked outraged, face crimson with both fear and anger. "You need to think? Would you like some tea and biscuits to help you along?"

"Well, that would be lovely, Malfoy, but in case you didn't notice, we're in a bathroom, and I don't like tea made from toilet water!"

Draco recognized that as a dismissal, and sighed shakily, gritting his teeth as he cast a stinging hex at the troll.

Meanwhile, Harry was trying very hard not to panic. A troll – a troll, troll, troll, troll…how to kill a troll…It was enormous, strong, with skin tougher than leather and magically resistant – and Harry didn't know any curses strong enough to break it. But even a troll had to have weak spots…the same weak spots that any humanoid creature would always have – eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Harry glanced frantically around the bathroom, eyes coming to rest on a broken pipe lying amidst the ruins of one of the shattered sinks. Taking a deep breath, he drew his wand and enunciated, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The pipe rose up beside him, and he looked over to the troll, which was currently chasing a frantically fleeing Draco. "Oi, shitface!" He picked up a piece of tile and threw it at the beast.

The troll's eyes fell on him, titling it's head, and as it opened its mouth to roar in rage, Harry took the opportunity to thrust his wand forward, launching the pipe into its mouth, watching with satisfaction as the sharp end of the pipe pierced through the back of the troll's skull, causing the great beast to fall to the ground, dead, a pool of blood steadily expanding below it.

Hermione rose shakily to her feet. "You k-killed it."

"Well it's not as though I could have kept it as a pet," Harry drawled, looking over to terrified-looking Draco, whose robe was torn and wet. "You alright there, Malfoy?"

"Splendid, Potter," the boy managed to snap, though he still looked even paler than usual.

Just then, a torrent of loud footsteps approached the bathroom, preceding the arrival of Professor McGonagall, and behind her Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell. Taking one look at the dead troll, the squeamish professor let out a whimper and collapsed onto a pile of rubble. Whilst Professor Snape glanced coldly at the children but went on immediately to check on the troll, Professor McGonagall full-on glared at them.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice.

Draco looked over at Harry anxiously, his gaze holding a slight bite that said, 'I'm so not taking the fall for this.'

"You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Professor Snape, who seemed to have finished inspecting the troll, turned to Harry and Draco; his face was stoic, but Harry could tell that there was rage underneath, along with no small amount of bewilderment.

Suddenly, a small, shaky voice spoke, alerting everyone to Hermione's presence. "Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione managed to steady her legs, and stepped forward, face red with shame. "I went look-"

Harry, realizing that Hermione was going to take all the blame, quickly interrupted. "Hermione was feeling ill after Charms, and didn't make it to the feast. She hadn't heard about the troll, so I thought she should know."

Professor McGonagall turned her disapproving glare straight back to Harry, before Hermione spoke up again. "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now for sure. Malfoy distracted the troll, and Harry launched a pipe right through it. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

"Well – in that case…" said Professor McGonagall fixing Harry and Draco with a glare, "Five points from Slytherin and Ravenclaw each, for directly disobeying the headmaster and going off on your own without a teacher…"

Harry cringed, and Draco looked horrified.

"But ten points to each of you, for caring for the well-being of a student not even in your own house. And for sheer dumb luck."

Harry smirked, but wiped it off his face when McGonagall's glare turned threatening.

On the afternoon of November 1st, the library was quite quiet, and Harry, Terry, and Michael were some of the only students present. Fred and George Weasley had somehow managed to spike the upper-years' punch at the Halloween feast – apparently, most still had hangovers.

Michael looked up from Spirits and Their Ways. "Nothing in here either – I'm starting to think there isn't a way to exorcise ghosts."

Terry nodded, closing his own text. "I agree."

Harry scowled. "There must be."

Terry frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, think for a moment about Peeves," Harry began, "He's able to pull pranks, irritate teachers, and cause all sorts of mayhem – what if his intentions weren't so innocent? What if he actually wanted to hurt people? He easily could - with his creativity, the results would be disastrous...and possibly quite funny. There must be malicious spirits lurking around somewhere; people who died violently, psychologically suppressed housewives, criminals, deranged psychopaths from the mental ward at St. Mungos – and there must be a way to get rid of them."

Michael nodded. "Since you don't ever hear of people being sent to St. Mungos due to a ghost attack."

"Exactly."

"Then why aren't we finding anything?" Terry whined.

Harry tapped his chin. "Perhaps we'll have to go the muggle route…"

"Muggles can exorcise spirits?" Michael asked incredulously.

"That's what they say. There are plenty of muggle religious systems that claim to have ways of exorcising spirits. The trick would be to find which ones are accurate, and which ones deal with the right kind of spirit. But I'm still not convinced we've exhausted all our options," mused Harry.

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Terry, "We've read the entire library section on spirits!"

"But not the restricted section," Harry added.

"You already tried to get a pass, didn't you?" Michael said.

"Well, yes but if I keep trying, maybe someone will relent. Or, we could just sneak in."

"How would we get away with sneaking into the restricted section?"

"I'm still working on that one…" Harry mused, ignoring the dubious stares being sent his way.

"Potter!"

The boys turned around, finding a very irate Draco Malfoy approaching them.

"Hullo Malfoy, what can I do for you?"

Draco glared. "Snape gave me detention! Me! Detention!"

"Well, it happens to the best of us," said Harry, "McGonagall gave me detention after the strawberry flavoured mouse jelly incident in Transfiguration."

"I heard all about that one – you deserved it! Last night was all your fault, not mine!"

"It was awesome, though," Terry piped up, "Harry told us all about the troll!"

"Shut up, Boot! I'm not talking to you!" Draco snapped, turning to glare at Harry, who just sighed.

"Listen, Malfoy, there's nothing I can do about it now. Look on the bright side, I'll curse whoever you want for the rest of the week, as per our deal, so you can forward your evil scheme of asserting your dominance over Slytherin House or whatever the hell it is you're trying to do."

Draco made a noise that sounded like a grudging agreement.

"Do you have a list ready? So I can get an early start?"

Draco dug his hands into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "The underlined names deserve really nasty ones."

Harry nodded, and grinned. "Good, there's a new one I've been meaning to try out – it stimulates the nerves in your spine to make it feel like something's crawling up it for twenty four whole hours. When it's over, a whole bunch of festering spider bites are left - my theory is that the curse actually summons microscopic arachnids beneath the victim's skin, and chew their way out afterward."

Draco shivered. "And people say that Slytherins are the messed up ones."

"Harry's unique, even in Ravenclaw," Michael pointed out.

Draco accepted that easily. "And what of your political aspirations, Potter?"

Terry and Michael turned to look at Harry interestedly as well.

Harry froze – Draco had taken him seriously…great, just great. Did he even have any political aspirations? He really didn't give a crap about what anyone else did…

"I assume you'll be taking up the Potter Family's place at Wizengamot, one day."

The Potters had a seat in Wizengamot? Oh. Harry nodded, "Among other things…"

Draco looked interested. "Like what?"

"Well, I was thinking either space exploration, or world domination…"

Michael's pen dropped. Draco's eyes bugged out. Terry gaped.

"You can't be serious."

"You know, I think I am…"

Who knows? Maybe world domination could be fun.

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