Chapter 5

The walk to Flitwick's office was quiet and uncomfortable as Eric's mind buzzed with thoughts trying to figure out what was going on. Since he had come to the school the professor had never been particularly kind to him despite his usually cheery and cartoonish demeanor every other time he'd witnessed someone interact with the midget. Right now however the gnome radiated none of the palpable aura of menace he'd done on other occasions. Was he about to learn the reasoning behind it? What had caused it to begin with?

Flitwick closed the door to his office and conjured Eric a seat with a flick of his wand. Looking apprehensively at it Eric sat down in the surprisingly comfortable seat and matched gazes with the diminutive professor.

"Did you know, Mr. Stark, that before beginning my tenure at Hogwarts I traveled the world dueling circuit?" he said after a few moments, pulling out a crystal bottle of some pungent amber liquid. "I've fought American's, Chinese, Australians, Arabs and Africans. I became champion on multiple occasions in most of their regional circuits as well. As such I'm always interested when I come across a new form of battle magic." He took a big drink from the glass he'd been swirling around in his hand and grinned, madcap, at Eric.

"I sensed a lot of magic in that corridor, but no recognizable signatures." He gave the boy a piercing look. "None of you had wands out either."

"There's a simple explanation for that professor," Eric said with a smirk.

"Oh, I know!" the little man returned jovially, causing Eric's brow to furrow in confusion. "When Professor Dumbledore came to me at the beginning of the year and said I should keep a close eye on you naturally I wanted to know why! My Ravens are normally the most responsible of students and it's not as if Stark is a wizarding name. Then he told me about McGonagall's reports of a mastery over wandless magic, your obvious trust issues and various similarities to another student of ours who caused… some unusual problems."

The man shrugged his shoulders as Eric perked up. So that was it. He wanted me close so he could keep an eye on me. It was odd that someone would be so altruistic. Was McGonagall in on it? No, that doesn't seem like her. Dumbledore though, gonna have to find something to really twist his gourd about before I go. Spy on me will you?

"I didn't particularly believe it then, but I agreed to keep a weather eye and a firm hand. Imagine my surprise when Penny comes to me with a request to start a sorcery club with you at the spearhead!"

"To be fair, sir," Eric broke in, "Penny's our adviser. She set up our premises and handles the newbies. I'm just the teacher."

"An artist as well, if Penny's descriptions of your cadets intro presentation is anything to go by. I wouldn't have believed her if she hadn't shown it to me in a pensive."

"Su calls it the 'establish your creed' speech; I just call it 'shock and awe'. Always worked in my street show. They say that necessity is the mother of all invention and when it keeps you fed a person can get pretty creative," Eric countered blushing slightly.

"Be that as it may, it's both impressive to find a first year capable of taking on a full grown mountain troll and pathetic that one with that level of power took so long to put it down." He gave Eric a piercing look as he started to protest. "As such, you're going to tell me everything that happened and do a breakdown of your performance. I know when someone is lying to me and there were things you weren't saying. So, let's get to work."

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November dawned bright and cold and brought with it an influx of students, both old and new, to Eric's weekly sessions. Eric's students now consisted of all the first year Claws and Puffs, the first year Lions (Ron excluded) and half of the first year Snakes. Those who held back only did so because they refused to believe a mudblood, let-alone a first year, could possibly teach them anything. Then there was Penny and her boyfriend Percy, the Weasley twins and their friend Lee Jordan and. to Eric's great surprise, Hufflepuffs rising star, Cedric Diggory. The boy had steadily been making a name for himself by competing with his years Ravenclaw's for a spot in the top five students of the year three years running, was the seeker for the Puffs and social leader for his year and those below him. The kid was practically the paragon of his house and he still had 3 years to go.

Eric sat in the quidditch stands watching Harry's first match with Hermione as he contemplated the recent turn of events. It was fairly interesting for the most part Eric mused as he watched the twelve primary players zip around after the quaffle like a flock of budgies attacking a falcon. Aside from the aggression it looked so… graceful. Eric was almost willing to admit he was jealous of them. He looked down at his lap and picked at his robe for a moment considering. He morphed the material a few times, changing the color and mode of dress, thinking.

Ma'am Hooch had mentioned a number of charms that were placed on brooms to allow the riders to fly, but as much as he wanted to do so he despised the school brooms and didn't know anybody whom he could simply borrow one from. Of his friends the only 3 with brooms of their own used them too much and too often for it to be a worthwhile endeavor and convincing someone else to lend him their broom regularly seemed a bit of a stretch. Add to that his general impatience, the fact that first years weren't allowed to have their own brooms normally and his doubt that Dumbledore could simply be convinced to allow someone he regarded with suspicion a broom waiver, he couldn't buy one until the coming summer and that simply wouldn't do.

His cloths however offered another angle of attack. His robes were an enchanted jumpsuit that could reform themselves to any manner of clothing the wearer desired so charming something, say a pair of boots, to fly like a broom shouldn't be too terribly difficult. Add and animate little wings on the sides and he could market them as having come from the Greek God Hermes! Hah! The wizarding world would pay a bundle for that, the silly buggers!

Eric was busy grinning and devising an entire line of enchanted items when something, or rather someone started poking him in the side. He followed the hand quickly back to Hermione and raised an eyebrow. "Eh?" he said intelligently.

"Look up," she said, voice quiet and harsh with worry. "There's something wrong with Harry!"

Following the bucktoothed brunettes pointing Eric quickly found Harry sitting on his broom overlooking the pitch as he had been for the last half hour. His broom was vibrating and the boy had a look of intense concentration on his face. "That is odd," Eric replied, eyes glazing over as he entered his mindscape. Making sure he was sufficiently submerged between trance and reality Eric sent a probe out towards hi friend. Harry! Everything alright up there? he asked, thoughts conveying his apprehension far better than words could describe.

What?! Eric? No! Something's wrong with my broom, I'm keeping control of it but the damn thing's fighting me, like it wants to throw me off! Any suggestions, teach?

Give me a second. Eric pulled back into his own mind and delved deeper into a proper trance. Once ready he sent his thoughts out again and found Harry. From there he looked at the broom the boy was riding, a simple task due to the boys own magic guiding his sight as it flowed in and out of the expensive wooden stick. He was about to start examining the broom when he noticed something odd - just as his friends magic was flowing in and out of the wood to keep him aloft, so more magic was flowing into it from another source.

Eric frowned, his anger rising. Harry!

You found something?

Your broom isn't the problem, it's not trying to throw you off. There's another source of magic flowing into your broom. I'm going to follow it back to the source, but see if you can't find anyone who looks suspicious while you're hanging around, yeah?

Eric began to put actions to words when he was brought partway back to reality by a hand gripping his shoulder. "Eric, Eric! I don't know if you can hear me with your eyes glowing like that, but I think Professor Snape is trying to jinx Harry's broom!"

"I came to a similar conclusion." The redhead replied, his voice eerie as it sounded in both her ears and mind. "I was in the process of following it back to the source." Hermione looked startled for a moment before speaking again.

"You can do that?" the girl asked, shocked.

"It's an extension of what I started teaching you last Saturday," he replied, still using that creepy thought and voice speech. "Hermione?"

"What is it?"

"I think we have a problem. The magic affecting Harry's broom is split between professors Snape and Quirrell. I can't tell if they're working together or against each other from this distance. Cutting one could cause Harry to regain control, the other might really throw him off, but again, I can't see from here which is which."

Hermione looked shocked for a moment before getting a pensive look on her face. "I have an idea," she said and went into her own trance. Moments later the bludgers, which had just been hit by the Slytherin beaters towards a stationary Harry, veered off and shot past him moving ever faster as they headed for the teachers high box. Everybody cried out as the two baseball sized iron balls slammed into the potions and defense teachers' stomachs simultaneously.

As the pair folded over from the impact the crowd screamed and Professor McGonagall screamed foul over the microphone. Eric looked at his mousey friend, respect shining in his eyes. "Very nice casting," he said, grinning wide as Harry shot off towards another part of the pitch. "Dual focus casting on enchanted objects with separate end targets, to boot," he said, praise evident in his voice even without projecting his thoughts toward her. "Keep this up, apprentice, and I might start having to call you colleague by Christmas rather than summer break as I'd expected."

Hermione blushed and lowered her head in acceptance of the praise. The frizzy haired bookworm was still blushing when she looked up moments later to hear Lee Jordan calling an end to the match. Harry had caught the snitch bringing Gryffindor to victory over Slytherin, 180 to 90.

Eric trailed slowly behind Hermione as she and the Weasley brothers bounced up and down around Harry, hugging him and howling Gryffindor's victory. He watched as Hagrid came up to congratulate the team, clapping everyone on the back with his trashcan sized hands and sending them stumbling. As he got closer Harry broke away from the others and went over to talk to the man. Something he said made the half-giant stiffen and usher the boy off, walking quickly and looking suspicious as all hell. Catching Hermione's eye Eric followed.

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They caught up with the pair at Hagrid's door and invited themselves in with a smile and wave. Hagrid looked torn for a moment before ushering them in and closing the door. "So, how do you know about fluffy?" Hagrid asked as the door was closed.

"Fluffy?" Eric asked.

"Giant three headed beast they've got on the third floor." Harry informed him. "It's the reason they told us the hallway would kill anyone who tried to use it beginning of the year. I overheard Snape talking about it after class yesterday."

"E's no monster, Fluffy is; E's a Cerberus I got off a Greek chappie las' yer. Sweet as can be, Fluffy is! People just don understand beasts is all!"

Harry gave the giant an odd look before continuing. "If you say so, Hagrid, but he took a chunk out of Snapes' leg and with what Hermione told me the two of you found I'd bet my Nimbus he was trying to get past it."

"Thas ridiculous!" Hagrid scoffed. "why wud 'e waner do tha?"

"You picked something up from Gringotts the day you rescued me from the Dursley's." Harry countered. "I saw your paper when you invited me over for tea that first Friday, the vault you took the package from was the same one the article said was robbed and now we not only have a great monster in the middle of a school full of kids, someone's trying to get past it." The scared boy explained. "Only logical conclusion is someone's trying to steal the package from its new guardians."

"I wouldn't discount Quirrell either." Hermione said nervously. "Eric told me half the magic affecting your broom came from him and you yourself told me the man was in Diagon Alley same day the vault was robbed. Coincidence is often lack of information masquerading as chance; Denis Lindley."

Hagrid was spluttering as the two of them spoke. "Snape and Quirrell are two of the teachers protecting the stone! They're no' 'bout ter steal it!" the enormous man thundered.

"Higher class jewel and art thieves often work for security consulting firms in the civilian world," Eric piped in, taking another sip of his tea. "Out of curiosity, what kind of stone are we talking about here? A stone tablet of ancient power? Enchanted jewel with special powers?" Eric smirked behind his tankard of Earl Grey as the big man flinched. "Or just a large gem someone could trade for ownership of Northern Ireland, like the Hope diamond?" he continued without missing a beat.

"Naw why wud you say da?" the bushy haired man said shiftily.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the pair of them. "Because Eric's read too many civilian fantasy writers," she scoffed, "it's always something like that! Really."

Hagrid relaxed as Eric's smirk, still hidden by the tankard Hagrid had handed him his tea in, became a full on grin. Target acquired.

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Dumbledore sat in his office brooding. Everything was…unraveling. He plucked a lemon drop out of his crystal candy dish and popped it into his mouth, worrying away at it as he thought. It was hardly as if things were untenable though, he just had to play things a little more carefully was all. When he had originally sent Harry to the Dursley's he had known the boy was going to be in for a rough ride, but what Franz had revealed to him had been, quite frankly, appalling.

The boy's relatives had not been his first choice, not by a long shot, but the situation being what it was he had been sure it would be the best place for the boy. He cursed Black for several minutes straight, turning the air purple as he moved into some of the more esoteric languages he knew. He had fully intended to give the boy to his godfather that night but by the time he'd found the blasted scruffy tramp he was blasting apart a street full of Muggles with a mountain of evidence building over his tousled spikey head. Even now he held some niggling doubts about the man's confession, but the case seemed airtight as far as the ministry had been concerned.

He had been ready to take the boy in himself; all the better to prepare him for the impending return of his old apprentice, but that was not to be either. By the time he got to the ministry and dug out the paperwork the boy's status as The Boy Who Lived had become public and numerous forces within their government were clamoring to take the boy as a political trophy. Dumbledore scowled darkly at that. Nothing good ever came from a spoilt, arrogant ponce when it was time to put the hammer down. He had tried to push the decision in favor of one of his lieutenants, but it very quickly became apparent that the vote was split between Madam Bones, Minister Bagnold's apprentice Fudge and Bartemius Crouch; and not in Madam Bones' favor.

Of the three he had almost been ready to support Bones, the woman was brusque and willful, but they shared many of the same values and opinions, so it could have, at least, been palatable.

Then he had remembered the Evans'. Lilly had a sister who had written him often years ago, begging to be accepted as her sister had, but the poor girl was a squib, unable to even gather sparks off a single wand in Olivander's store. Lilly had sacrificed herself to offer her son protection from the killing curse, surely blood would offer him other protections as well? That had been the idea when he told Minerva of his plans and it had worked, sort of. Squib or not, Petunia Evans, now Dursley, had still possessed enough power for the protection Lilly had given her son to follow the ties of blood and enshroud the Dursley household against those who wished its occupants harm.

He hadn't expected Minerva to spy on the family all day either, but he'd been pleased when she gave him a report on the family. The dislike magic due to Petunia's lingering childhood resentment of Lilly, but they'd seemed normal enough otherwise. He'd expected when leaving the boy there to return ten years later and find an intelligent, independent, healthy boy; if a little socially awkward and attention starved. Essentially, he'd expected to find the boy's friend Hermione, after all, both of his parents had been genius's scoring O's on the majority of their NEWT's. They had held seven mastery's between them at the time of their deaths, for Merlin's sake!

Harry on the other hand was withdrawn, quiet, and until very recently, decidedly average in his schoolwork, relying on the talents of much more capable friends. That was the reason he had allowed Eric's Saturday classes to continue in the first place, in what seemed like a vain hope that it could shake the boy out of his stupor. It was a gamble that seemed to be on the verge of paying dividends if his professor's reports were any indication.

Unfortunately, the turnaround he had desperately prayed for seemed to have come with the loss of his mole in Potter's circle. Ronald Weasley had seemed a straightforward investment at the time. He was the sixth son of the seventh Weasley brother, overshadowed by his siblings, desperate for something to set him apart from the herd and most importantly the right age for Albus' plans. He'd long used the family for their prodigious talents, large family numbers and staunch affiliation with the light. When he'd gone to Molly about using her family to anchor poor Harry to the light, as his earlier plan with Petunia seemed to have threatened that, Ron had melted out of the shadows and promptly volunteered. A short interview with the boy over a game of chess had been enough to convince him. While not nearly as bright or outgoing as the rest of his family Ronald Weasley had shown a marked talent for strategy on the board and an uncanny ability to read people off it. Given these abilities Albus had hired the boy and given the two Weasley's a plan.

It had been simple, or so he thought. Molly would take them through Kings Cross Station in search of Harry and discretely help the boy onto the platform instead of using the flue network like in previous years. This plan of action was aided by Hagrid's absentmindedness in not telling the boy how to get onto the platform in the first place. Once identified, Ron would follow the young celebrity onto the train, join his compartment, and subtly encourage a friendship between them. Hagrid's report on the Dursleys being what it was the boy would likely latch onto Ron and never think to let go.

Dumbledore huffed moodily, as if things could have been that easy. The entire setup had nearly been ruined from the get-go according to Franz. If the hat was to be believed, and it had never been wrong before, Ron had been a solid Slytherin; no questions asked, only the redhead's stubborn refusal to go to the proper house had allowed him to become a Lion.

And then, this fiasco. Potter and Stark had nearly gotten themselves squashed by Quirrell's troll because Weasley couldn't stomach having competition. If he'd relied solely on Ronald's reports the Stark boy was a clear and direct liability, he had fouled up Harry's initial endearment to the Weasley's, done his best to intercede where Ron's placement was concerned, encouraged the boy to befriend Albus's old house (oh, how they had fallen), and been a constant pressure on Harry to practice the dark arts and abandon him.

The truth of the matter was a bit harder to wrap his head around. While it was indeed true that the boy was at the center of many of Albus' collapsing machinations and had effectively ousted Ronald, and thus, Albus' most direct influence to the Potter boy, the Stark boy's influence had actually furthered the old man's dreams well beyond what he had been willing to hope for at the beginning of the year. Both Lilly and James had been forces to be reckoned with on many fields. Social, academic, inventive and adventurous, the pair of them had been like yin and yang, giving him so many hopes for their son that had seemed dashed against the rocks. Under Eric's influence Harry had begun to reach out, making friends in all four houses. Harry's grades and general grasp of concepts in his classes had begun to improve and upon the event that had ousted Ronald Harry had shown both a remarkable ability for command and the power to back it up. A power, it was more than worth noting, that had originated with young master Stark.

The question now was, what should he do about it?

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Penelope Clearwater growled as she felt someone sitting down on her couch in the Aerie and jostling her arm. Taking out her wand she syphoned off the mess the movement had caused. "I suppose you have a very good reason for…" the blond prefect growled she straightened up to stare down the disturbance. "Eric!" she said, startled. "I hadn't expected to see you until next week! Are you rescheduling this week's class? You really should have known about the quidditch match being in the way, it's open knowledge after all," she finished, tone scolding.

Eric smiled at her. "Sorry about messing up your essay," the boy replied, voice unusually soft "I was wondering what you could tell me about the enchantments on racing brooms. I could look it up easy enough, but I get the feeling I'm going to need help learning how to cast them."

Penelope looked at the boy speculatively. Why did he want to know about broom enchanting? I was an odd enough subject to study, most people wouldn't want the hassles, simply going out and buying a broom or carpet for a few galleons. "Normally I'd say you couldn't cast them until fourth year at least, but considering some of the things I've seen you do I wouldn't doubt it too much." The slim blond shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in her seat, lifting her arms over her head and stretching.

"Brooms are, by and large, fairly simple creations. First used in the early 8th century due to their easy transport and concealment from muggles, early brooms were made to replace the Moorish imports of flying carpets. The history of their evolution is quite fascinating from an arithmetic standpoint but at current brooms typically have 10 layered enchantments. Keep in mind however that due to the international nature and long history of magical flight, brooms and otherwise, each of these spells has over a thousand variations and arithmancers are constantly improving them and coming up with new ones. It's quite the business. First, there's the basic charms for flight, breaking and cushioning, because sitting on a broom would become uncomfortable in mere minutes otherwise. Then many brooms are enchanted for weight reduction, wind resistance, impervious charms to ward against the elements, seating charms to prevent the rider from falling off, a wide assortment of anti-theft and anti-summoning charms and, while these are illegal in racing and quidditch, many brooms have impulso charms on them in case the rider needs to cross great distances at speed."

Pulling out a small scrap of parchment Penelope began writing down names of various books along with page numbers and handed them to him. "Most of these spells you could expect your average student to do by fifth year, sixth at the latest. Come back to me if you have trouble with them." The redhead nodded as he walked off, heading for the bookshelves lining the walls of the aerie. Smiling Penny turned back to her essay. It would be interesting to see what the boy did with this knowledge, though she had an idea, there was still a chance the boy may yet surprise her; he certainly had a talent for it.

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Three weeks later McGonagall came around with a piece of parchment taking a list of people who would be staying behind for the Christmas holidays. Eric hemmed and hawed for several minutes before deciding to stay back. There was a lot he could be doing in Diagon Alley, but the Christmas holidays would have the castle mostly deserted, what better time to steal Dumbledore's precious?

Eric pulled out one of his many notebooks and opened it up, a critical eye roving across the designs therein. He'd had to go to the Hogwarts main library to find a book on broom enchanting but he was fairly sure everything would fit together nicely, and if it didn't? Well there was always Ma'am Pince. It was funny how so few people seemed to like the old lady. Sure, she was severe and very protective of her books, but a sugar quill here, a kind word there and a few books returned in pristine condition she was the nicest and most helpful person in Hogwarts.

Kinda like Professor M, hard frosty exterior but on the inside, she really was just a big softie. He hoped she liked the crate of different flavored sugar quills he'd ordered for her Christmas present.

Speaking of Christmas, Eric though as he looked up at the squad of four owls that had just landed on his plate of bacon and hotcakes. He pulled one of the packages out of the box and unwrapped it, examining the parcel for quality before untying and paying the owls a galleon each. The birds hooted appreciatively and hopped down the table to peck away at the sausages before departing. Calling for Squeezy, the kitchen elf, Eric sent the package up to his trunk where he would work on it later and headed for transfiguration class.

The lesson of the day was festive, Professor McGonagall had given them small metal balls and a spell to transfigure the shape and type of metal present. Eric's eyes lit up at the possibilities of such spells, but was told under no uncertain terms that metals such as platinum, gold, mithril, orichalium and silver were off limits due to the magical properties of those metals. Eric shrugged, even with such limitations the metal charmer could become their own machine shop.

Normally the redhead would have coaxed the room into a competition to see who could create the most intricate and detailed ornament as he did every class but today he was distracted, and everybody noticed. The class was almost unnaturally silent as everybody stared at the boy, waiting for his usual antics, but Eric was consumed with his notebook, going over his notes and designs for the enchanting he was going to be doing later now that the cloaks had arrived. McGonagall looked down at the shiny red Christmas bauble Eric had transfigured out of his steel ball and shrugged. It was acceptable work, a little fragile for the base materials it had come from but there was nothing overtly wrong with it that she could scold him for.

"Well?" she said turning to the rest of the class. "Get to work, unless you'd like to have homework over your holidays?" she asked innocently. The effect was immediate and as the children descended into a flurry of murmuring and wand waving she turned back to her second favorite first year. "Eric?"

"Oh, Professor! Is something wrong?" the boy said, looking up startled as her hand gripped his shoulder.

"That's what I was trying to ask you, Mr. Stark. You're not usually quiet. You and Ms. Granger are typically so exuberant."

"Oh, OH! No, there's nothing wrong, I've just been working on something for a while and the parts just came in. Besides, everyone here's in my club except Weasley, if they couldn't do this I'd be ashamed of myself as a teacher!" and indeed, most of the class had completed their transfigurations or were working on making their ornaments fancy.

"Mmm…" the elderly woman replied as she watched the aforementioned redhead succeed in making a steel bell. Not the most imaginative, she thought frowning, and from the looks of it there's no change in metals either. But then Eric's own creation wasn't particularly inspired today either. "Well, I do hope you'll be in a better mood when you finish with this project. I've come to quite enjoy your attitude in class," she said quietly, so only he and possibly Parvarti, whom he was sitting by, would hear. "It's refreshing to see students so willing to learn."

Eric beamed at her before going back to cross referencing his books about layering enchantments and brooms.

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Eric was in the room of requirement a week later, one of the packages spread out on the table. He had just gotten back from wishing his friends happy holidays at Hogsmead Station and was looking forward to his vacation machinations. He giggled at the thought, he was rhyming - the holiday mood in the castle must be infectious or something…

The crate he had received was a rough pine construction holding nine folded leather dusters. Each of them was made of boiled and softened brown leather and, as per his specifications, folded over the torso with eight buttons, flowed all the way down the legs to the ankles with three partings up the sides and back, and a hood. They were all adult sized, but that would be taken care of shortly with a self-tailoring charm he'd found in the Hogwarts library.

Penny had been a great help with his project over the last month and a half, helping him find, plan and correct the layering of over a dozen charms to make this work. The girl had spent several long hours in this room explaining the arithmetic logic behind the order and placement of each of the charms and helped him learn to cast them as well. Hell, she could probably make one on her own at this point, but Eric still felt it would be a good Christmas present. Perhaps he should add a box of chocolates to her gift?

He shrugged as he went over the charms again, miming the wand movements and exact pronunciations'. Each variant charm on the list had been chosen for its dependence on the user rather than energy provided from the original caster. It wouldn't do any good for someone to be using it only for the magic to fail and peter out on them. Self-tailoring, self-repairing, self-cleaning, cleansing, a feather light charm targeted at the wearer rather than the coat, the flying charm, breaking, a charm that would heat or cool the cloak to counter the local weather and an overpowered version of the impervious charm that had been designed for family vehicles that both repelled the weather and, incase of crashes with objects too large to move, subtly repelled the flyer so that they would miss. Finally there were a set of trigger charms set to go off only when the user asked for them verbally. An antitheft charm that bound the item to its first wearer allowing them to summon it with a word, silencing and scent masking charms that had earned him a LOT of questions from Penny and a disillusionment charm, the last three of which would trigger on the commands 'hear no evil', 'old spice' and 'see no evil'.

The difficulty in layering charms according to Penny, at least, was in finding spells that wouldn't fight each other and then ordering them properly so that they'd build upon each new enchantment. 'Magic has a mind of its own' was something she told him repeatedly since he had begun the sorcery club, and the more magic you piled onto an item the more likely it was to develop its own ideas on what it would and wouldn't do.

Eric was hoping that the order of the charms and the magical properties of the number 13 would be enough to layer everything together properly and, should any personality develop, make it so that the garment would be concerned only with protecting its wearer.

Reading over everything for a seventh time and trying not to feel too silly and paranoid, Eric began casting, drawing the tip of his wand across the specified areas on the leather rather than the air as he spoke and pouring carefully measured amounts of magic into each spell. The process took nearly 30 minutes and left glowing patterns lingering on the cowhide, lines of power spider-webbing out to connect each of the enchantments as he poured power into the final charm, the flight spell.

Eric watched in awe as the magic began to connect together, lines of raw energy tapping together and hissing, like hot oil on a frying pan before joining in great flashes of color. The book had described something similar, but this was so soooo much better than moving ink on a page. Finally the spells finished adjusting to each other and sank into the leather making the entire thing glow a soft blue-white before settling back to the simple earthy brown of soft leather.

Warily the dark redhead picked up the coat and shrugged it on slowly, nervous about the results despite a certainty it had worked. As the enormous garment settled, voluminous on his shoulders, the magic in the folds of leather flared up and began shifting, the material flowing around him and shrinking, readjusting and buttoning itself around him. Several seconds later he was dressed in a leather duster, perfectly tailored to him and comfortably snug. He stood there for a few moments giddy with relief and almost missing how the leather had warmed up to counter the frigid draft of the old castle.

This. Is. Awesome. Eric gushed, elated. Concentrating on the room he requested a full length mirror. Standing before it he spoke the command he hoped would work. "See no evil." He said, and watched in fascination as a rainbow of light flowed slowly down the hood to the tails of the coat, leaving a slightly distorted image of the room in place of his body. With shaking hands he pulled up the hood and disappeared completely.

Well, perhaps not completely, he considered. He could still pick out the shape of his body and his hands were clearly visible, but that could be solved by pulling in his arms and moving regularly. The sliding nature of the charm seemed to work better when he wasn't completely still.

Cancelling the charm he went for the final proof of concept. If this didn't work the coat would still be cool, but it would mean he'd failed and missed the entire point. He hopped lightly rising several feet and floating back down, confirming the feather-light charms continued existence and then concentrated. Up. He thought, looking up. Eric shot toward the ceiling and skidded along near the roof, changing directions as he came across something he might hit before he'd even had time to properly grasp that he was flying. With a whoop he took control of the experience and began dancing through the air, singing loudly and off key.

"Look at what's happened to me-e, I can't believe it myself! Suddenly I'm up on top of the world, it should have been somebody else! Believe it or not, I'm walking on air, I never thought I could feel so free-e-e! Flying away on a wing and a prayer, who could it be? Believe it or not, it's just me! Just like the light of a new day it hit me from out of the blue! Breaking me out of the spell I was in, making all of my wishes come tru-u-e!" he laughed happily, singing the theme song of Greatest American Hero as he spun around the large hall the room of requirement had decided to provide for him.

"This is so totally wicked!" he howled. He only wished he could see his friend's faces when they got theirs. With that thought in mind he floated back down to the work table the room had left out for him and shucked his cloak, carefully folding it and placing it in his pouch. He had eight more of these to enchant, maybe he could go flying with Harry and the twins after Christmas. He mused as he began labeling boxes for Harry, Hermione, Fred, George, Su Li, Padma, Penelope, and Blaise. He briefly considered making some for others, but decided against it. Everyone else could buy one from him, these eight were his closest friends and aside from McGonagall and Flitwick, the only ones he felt any real closeness to.

It ended up taking him two more days to enchant all of the cloaks and send them off, only having the stamina to create three of them a day. He shuddered to think what it might have done to him if he'd tried to do it all without a wand. With each new spell he learned in class his control and arsenal expanded, but it still to a lot to create anything new with his wandless skills. As much as he hated it he was beginning to see why wizards preferred wands so much over his more honest way of doing magic.

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The days leading up to Christmas were a blast, with only one other person in the Aerie he had the tower to himself and often stayed up late playing reading or playing wizarding board games with Harry and the twins. He gave them a tour of the tower, laughing at their envious expressions as he showed them the rookery and its special rooms. Fred and George vowed to visit more often so they could use the potions lab for pranking supplies as getting Snape away from the student store cupboard when they were experimenting on new designs was a chore. Eric reminded them about the room's unusual password system and was shocked speechless when the freckled bandits took him outside and answered question after question. The damn door often had Claws stumped and waiting outside the door for someone to get a clue, even HE sometimes had trouble!

When he asked them how they were managing so well they replied with identical superior smirks, "We invent new potions and charms every other week for a lark and we're only third years. You figure it out."

Eric gaped at the pair of them, torn between envy, worship and depression. His expression was so funny Harry was still laughing at him all the way down to the great hall for dinner. It took him until he was most of the way through dessert to get over it. Like attracts like. He decided, if he couldn't be the only special one it was best that they were his friends, he seemed to be building quite a collection of those. Harry had his instinctual grasp of magic and was a raging powerhouse on top of his historic tragedy's, Hermione was even smarter than him though she focused on book learning and control more than the actual magic side of things and Padma and Su weren't far behind her and now Fred and George were revealed as genius inventors.

Eric stiffened, if this keeps up I'm going to have to step up my game to keep up with my own friends… it was a sobering thought.

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December 21st 11:30 PM

Eric stood outside the door of the third floor corridor, thieve's tools in his pocket and a pan with three steaks, shrunken, in his hand. In the legends Heracles and the other heroes bested THE Cerberus by offering it drugged food and for once he saw no reason to break with tradition. The pan he'd shrunken for ease of transport help a trio of large raw steaks from the kitchens. Each of the three had spent the last week marinating in the strongest sleeping potion he could wrap his head around, the potion seeping deeply into every fiber of the thick slabs of meat. Setting the pan down, he pulled out two pieces of metal and slid the picks into the lock. He quickly found the catch and pushed it aside, turning the other pick until the bar slid free of the doors frame.

Opening the door he slid inside and closed it quietly, floating the tray of steaks behind him. Taking care not to look at the dog, he'd just rousted from its nap he reversed the charm on the pan and offered the sides of beef to each of the three heads in turn. The looked between him and the dripping meat several times before whuffing sedately and snapping out at the morsels. He allowed the dogs to chow down on the meat from his position at the door watching them closely. As their heads began to droop again he went over to the left most head and began to scratch one of the dog's massive ears. It moaned briefly, the middle head panting and the third yawned but otherwise they didn't respond.

Pleased with the results Eric began slowly floating the great beast away from its position where it half covered the trapdoor that led on to the treasure room and activated the disillusionment charm on his cloak. Opening the door he drifted down the shaft and closed the door, sealing it with the mass of its guardian.

As soon as the door was closed behind him Eric created a small ball of light with his power that hovered just beyond his palm. When he got to the bottom of the shaft he found himself hovering in a room covered with vines. He shrugged, and floated past it towards the next door. This one wasn't locked and Eric entered softly as he could. The room was dimly lit with a light source high overhead. Hundreds of shapes glittered around the ceiling making the boy nervous. He moved toward the third door and found it locked. Pulling out his tools he opened this door as well and closed it softly behind him.

The fourth room held something he didn't expect at all. A gigantic board set for wizards chess. Eric stood in the middle of the board, invisible, silenced and spluttering. "This is completely out of left field." He said to no one. Shaking his head the last Stark strode towards the black side of the board, only to step back as the pawns raised swords to bar his path. Frowning he took to the air only for the Rooks began firing at him when he tried to pass the barrier again.

The redhead growled deeply. He'd been hoping to be able to get through without causing a ruckus; he was a thief, not bloody Indiana jones! Though he wouldn't mind being Lara Croft he considered briefly, she was hot! Shaking his head free of perversion he considered the problem. Playing his way across the board was possible, it wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with the game and though he lost to Ronald whenever they played, much to the jeering pratt's amusement, he wasn't bad at it either. The problem was, playing his way across the board would be loud and obnoxious and would most certainly call the more human guardians to investigate. While he might not trust Dumbles to allow any of his teachers to know the full range of protections down here the headmaster was by far the most dangerous of the lot and likely the first to come should any alarm be raised.

Eric looked to the sides of the board where the rubble of a previous match, possibly the security test, lay. A grin spread itself across his face. What proper thief would he be if he didn't cheat? Levitating one of the stones Eric began to shape it, the marble flowing beneath his fingers until it looked like a rifled bullet the size of his head. Taking off again Eric drifted near the white pieces and began slowly spinning the stone. Pouring more of his power into it the floating sorcerer slowly but surely removed all of the impurities from the rock. He mended the fault lines, removed the bubbles, mended cracks and sealed stress points, making sure it was as hard and solid as it could be without special charms he'd yet to learn. Satisfied with his work the stone began to spin faster and faster until the rifled groves blurred, becoming smooth to the eye, a backwash flowing over him and threatening to remove his hood. Glaring at the black king, the floating boy began gathering power at a point just behind the spinning rock and shaping it into an impulso spell. As his control on the level of power began to waver he let loose. The bullet tore through its target with a roar of stone on stone and the piece fell to the ground, crown rolling out to the middle of the board.

"Sha Ma'at!" Eric said clearly. King death. It was the original epitaph for the Persian game that would eventually become chess and he felt it appropriated given what he'd just done. Take that he thought as he flew through the unmoving black pieces to the next door.

The fifth room was, in the small boy's honest opinion, the worst of all the challenges to date. The room smelled far worse than any sewer he'd ever had the misfortune to be in and was occupied by a trio of absolutely humungous trolls. Remembering his fight from a few months ago he took a leaf out of Blaise and Hermione's books, transfiguring the stone on the floor to bind them like tentacles before smashing them over their heads with their own clubs until their brains caught up with the multiple concussions. He hoped he hadn't killed one of them, he intended to put the floor back to rights on his way out and leaving to many signs of his passage would mean more to clean up should he get the chance to leave unmolested.

The next room was through a long low hallway and led to an equally small room with a potions rack. As soon as Eric stepped out of the archway and into the room there was a whumph like a gas furnace lighting. Whirling around the junior sorcerers eyes widened to see plum flames blocking his path, all the way down the hallway. They didn't feel hot up close, but hovering the tip of one of his picks through one of the flames still turned the thing white hot.

"Bloody hell." Now that was a security measure. Testing a theory he walked to the other side of the room and approached the opposing hallway. It too roared to life, but the flame there was black, making Eric blanch at the color, memories of each time the dark flames had appeared rolling across his vision. He was trapped, like a rat in a furnace.

The grey eyed boy turned to the table with its row of flasks and vials. It looked like there might not be a way to cheat his way out of this one he thought, picking up the paper that lay on the table with the bottles.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle-wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side
Second, different are those who stand at either end
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third as you see clearly, all are different size
Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

A logic puzzle… Eric felt briefly insulted but then shrugged. Magic seemed to be largely intuitive and all the teachers seemed to favor rote memorization over understanding as a teaching method, this was probably Dumbledore's way at thumbing his nose at a world where too many too often seemed to deny logic.

Eric read the poem several more times pointing at each of the bottles in turn as he worked through the clues. Neither dwarf not giant hold death, he read, pointing at the third and last bottles respectively. Could be wine or passage, but not poison, good to know. To move forward neither first nor last are your friend. 1 possible danger, 7 sends you back. 2 and 6 are twins to taste, either those are wine or Dumbles is a lot more sadistic than I imagined… now there's a dark thought. Poison is always on nettle wines left side. Assuming 2 and 6 are wine, 3 and 7 are safe, that makes 1, 4 and 5 poison.

So, poison, wine, forward, poison, poison, wine, back. Time for proof of concept, do I get out or did Dumbles really build a better mousetrap?

He conjured a spoon and poured some of the largest flask into it. Levitating the spoon into the purple flames he smiled as it failed to burn or boil like his poor pick had. He picked up the smallest bottle and poured it into another spoon, frowning as the entire bottle only just managed to fill the metal bowl. It was a large spoon granted, but the potion was hardly a mouthful. Carefully pouring half of the dark liquid into its bottle the auburn haired boy levitated the spoon into the black flames and sneered. It worked, but there was so little of it. He wished he knew what potion the headmaster had gotten from his potions master to save himself from the dark plasma. Bringing the spoon back to himself he tested each of the other bottles with a pair of their own spoons and watched as they boiled away, consuming the spoons in a flair of white hot metal.

Eric sighed and drank the potion to move forward, grimacing. Oh! Oh, god! It was like ice! running through his blood, setting it ablaze just as surely as flame might. Waving his left hand through the ebon energy he felt it tickle across his skin and plunged forward the rest of the bottle in his other hand. When he stumbled out the other side of the flames the feeling of bitter cold ended and Eric shook himself, both glad he'd thought to bring the safety potion and horrified at the thought of going through that again. He liked the warmth thank you very much!

The room he had emerged into was large, enormous really, with numerous columns supporting a domed roof and a large open space with steps all around leading down like a roman forum. At its center was a simple pedestal upon which lay a red stone. It looked very much like a rough mined ruby through Eric's eyeglass. Surveying the rest of the room he found the walls to be covered in small runes, but nothing else interesting.

Welcome Mr. Jones to your opening act, he mused. The difference here was he was Belloq. He stopped short and pondered that, was he Belloq for taking it from Dumble-jones? Or was Dumble-Jones going to his Belloq as he made his way out of the pit? Or this third thief Harry had talked about? Was he Belloq or Jones? He was getting off track…

Eric moved toward the podium again before veering off to look at the walls, they were so interesting, all those runes. He wondered what they meant? Maybe he should stay here and…No! he was here for the stone! He turned around and pushed forward again before being distracted by something else. This happened several more times, each time he got a little closer before something would happen to either distract him or make him question why he was there to begin with, the effect becoming stronger and longer lasting as he got closer. Eventually he ended up back at the door, about to already stepping into the black flames without the protection of the freezing potion.

Panic welled up in him as he realized what he was doing and was too late to stop himself. Time slowed down as he stared into the dark energy, the faces of the boy's he'd killed when it first manifested flaking away to ash before him. Ironic he mused, as his heart rate spiked pounding in his ears like a kettle drum. And then his foot landed, jarring him as time resumed its normal pace, the redhead stumbling against the wall of the hallway.

It tickles.

He looked at his arms, curtains of ebon energy flowed over them silently, both accusing and laughing as they flowed off his skin and merged with the plasma of the hallway harmless. Eric stared at the fire for several minutes before letting his head fall roughly against the wall. How could he be this stupid? He made black fire! It flowed off and around him and responded to his moods, of course it didn't burn him! He wondered briefly why he was still wearing cloths, with the exception of that time on the Hogwarts express his cloths had always burned away when the fire came… could it be the magical nature of the garments resisted the energy's corrosive power or was it specifically his magic that deterred them? He'd have to try again later with his mundane clothing, but for now he had to figure out the riddle of the stone. Damned protections had tried to kill him! He'd show them… and Dumbles! Just as soon as he figured out how… damn.

So let, see what we've got to work with…Eric thought as he sat down against one of the pillars overlooking the forum. We've got a spell of some sort, probably tied to the podium, that makes it seem less important the closer you get to it. It could be tied to the stone I suppose, but then how would you ever use it? Hagrid's reactions indicated it was an artifact of power rather than a priceless gem and, honestly, he'd seen bigger stones in the hour glasses that tracked House points. Properly cut ones too.

So, stone of power, protective dais, can't get close. Or rather he had, close enough to snatch it even, but then things had gone slightly fuzzy and he'd found himself walking back into the flames where he should have died.

Remote access, then.

Concentrating on the winking light of the ruby he went through the mantra, gathered his power and tried to summon the stone. There was a flash of light near the platform, but nothing happened. Trying a different approach he reached out with his magic and tried to pull the stone toward him. It almost worked, the stone did move, but that same shield of light stopped it from moving too far. Instead, it fell to the edge of the platform and tumbled off the side, where it was caught by a shimmering globe of power.

Eric frowned. This was getting complicated. Bait and switch? That was usually how thieves did it in high security vaults… He pulled out his pouch and reached an arm deep into it. After rifling around for a few minutes he came out with the granite and glass orb that held the 223 goblin gold enchantments. Might be enough? Tossing the orb up and down Eric watched its lazy arc. What if the identifier on the shield needs more than just an equivalent exchange though?

Pulling out his stolen jeweler's spectacle cum spy glass he studied the roughhewn ruby, levitating and turning it so he could see every angle and dimension. Memorizing the design he began gathering sand from around the room, using the lesson on stone and glass transfigurations from earlier in the year to smooth the creation. Soon he had a clear white stone of very similar proportions and, best he could tell from this distance, with similar enough faults and dark areas to imitate his target. Setting the Sorcerer's Stone back on its plinth he went into a much deeper meditation and began the arduous task of transferring the energy from his granite orb into his new rock. The process took him nearly an hour according to his watch which now read 3:57 am.

When he finished the transfer he opened his eyes and starred happily at his brightly glowing stone, a shining orange mirror to his target. Applying his power again he began changing the coloring of the glass to try and tint it light red instead of orange. It took him several minutes but he managed it. Then he added dirt to the outer surface of the glass, making and filling microscopic pores until the glow stopped shining through quite so much. Satisfied he'd managed to forge a good rope-a-dope Eric got an awful, hilarious idea. Eric pulled out a roll of parchment and a quill so he'd be less likely pinpointed as the culprit and wrote a message. Folding and shrinking it the long haired boy attached the note to the bottom of the stone with a sticking charm and disillusioned the paper. He's left to many signs that someone had been here and if someone came soon they'd figure out the deception no matter how hard he tried to clean up. But if he did make it out and Quirell or Snape or whoever they were working for eventually nabbed the gem it'd be an epic kick in the jewels.

Levitating the new rock over to the podium he pulled on the original and allowed its replacement to fall softly atop the shield, which glowed again, defining it's barriers as it was tested. Slowly but surely the rocks traded through the shield. Eric grinned as the Gem finally broke free and flew to his hand. Grinning, Eric dropped the rock into his pouch and left through the flames once more.

He stopped briefly in the potions room to replace the bottle of black flame-freezing potion and take a sip of the purple, retract the binding stone tendrils into the floor and away from the trolls and relock each of the doors on his way out.

It was a good night to be a thief, he decided. Now he was going to head for his trunk in Ravenclaw tower and sleep till dinner.

AN: Don't worry about seeing this again; even the smallest butterflies would royally fisk the hell out of canon if their authors took them seriously. Harry's still going to have his moment of epic and face off with Quirelmort, It just won't be down in the chamber.