First Year, Part 1
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Posted January 12, 2014
4: FIRST YEAR, PART 1
September 1 – October 31, 2001
September 1, 2001
As had been the case with the shopping trip to Diagon Alley, Harry was once again up at an ungodly hour, due to the time difference. Seven hours' difference, as a matter of fact. To make the train at 11 o'clock, it meant they had to be in Trevelyan for 3 o'clock in the morning. That gave them time to travel by floo powder to Erwin, then take a port key the rest of the journey. Harry wanted to get settled on the train with plenty of time to spare.
At 10 o'clock, he arrived by port key not far from Kings Cross, one of the largest train stations in London. The bit about Platform nine and three quarters was a little confusing, but Alice had immediately solved it. Harry was certainly her first case from England, but another co-worker had dealt with that sort of thing before, and so knew the answer.
Now, the small group comprising of Harry, Justin, Mazhe, and Alice stood on the platform for tracks nine and ten, looking for a certain support column. Mazhe wanted to be there to see Harry off, considering he was his best friend. The government was only happy to oblige, since it was nothing to make a port key to the college and back. In this case, Justin had promised to take Mazhe back to Skyrim.
As to how to enter platform nine and three quarters, that was quickly solved a short while later, when a short, plump woman walked by, along with four boys and a girl, all of them with bright ginger hair, almost brighter than Mazhe's.
"-packed with Muggles of course-" the woman was muttering. She stopped at the next brick column, and Harry listened carefully.
"Now what's the platform number?"
"Nine and three quarters!" piped up the girl—she held the woman's hand tightly. "Mum, can't I go?"
"Not until next year, dear. All right, Percy, you first."
The boy, clearly the oldest in the group, steered his cart straight for the barrier—and passed straight through it. Next were a pair of identical twins, teasing the mother as they went—both vanishing quickly in succession.
"Looks simple enough," said Harry.
"Oh. Hello dear," said the woman, "First time to Hogwarts? Ron's new too." She gestured to the remaining boy. He was just as tall as Harry, gangly, with lots of freckles.
"Err. Hi," said Harry, a little shyly. This was someone his own age. Last thing he needed was to make an arse of himself.
"You're wondering how to get onto the platform?" The woman asked, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.
"No, ma'am," Harry answered, "Just didn't know which, uh, column it was." He indicated the column where Ron's older brothers had disappeared.
"C'mon, we'd better hurry," said Alice, shepherding Harry and the others toward the column. They stepped through without missing a beat.
The modern platform was gone, replaced by a busy platform with a shiny red vintage steam-pulled train. The sign overhead read: 'Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock'. Behind him, rather than a solid column, there was a wrought iron gate with a sign above it reading: Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It would be easy to remember from this point on.
"Right. I guess this is where we leave you," said Alice, "You have any problems whatsoever, don't hesitate to write."
"Gonna miss you guys."
"You'll always be my best friend, Harry, but try and make some new ones, okay? Write me in a few days, tell me how it is," said Mazhe.
"Count on it."
"And you'll likely hear from me in a few days," said Justin, "The Ministry's talking to the deputy headmistress about having me work with you via fire call."
"That would be wicked."
After embracing his best friend, and waving good bye, he was off down the platform, pushing the trolley containing his school trunk and Hedwig's cage. Thinking back on it, he realized he probably should have bought some sort of cover so as not to attract so much attention on the non-magical side.
He looked back, and saw Mazhe and Justin just as they vanished through the gate. So he was truly on his own now, for the first time since he'd been taken away from the Dursleys. Nearly four months away from everything and everyone he knew. Really, was this a good idea?
He sucked in a breath, then pushed his cart toward the rear of the train—it seemed like the first few carriages were already full of students. Last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by a crowd of people—strangers.
He picked up bits and pieces of conversation as he moved down the platform... some boy had actually brought a toad as a pet? By the sounds of the person with him—grandmother, likely, it had not been his choice. Seriously... a toad? A group of older boys were gathered around a dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks, whispering in hushed tones—something nefarious, no doubt.
He tuned everything out, and finally found an empty compartment. Rather than huffing and puffing, lifting the heavy trunk on board, he simply gestured with a hand, and let magic do the work. The lift spell was something he mastered several years prior, as he had telekinesis. Combined, he could put things exactly where he wanted them—or send an enemy flying. A few bandits in a camp east of Winterhold had found that out the hard way.
Naturally, more than a few people saw this, but he ignored the questions and climbed aboard. 'You'd think no one around here's seen magic before', he snorted in his mind, as he stowed everything neatly in a corner of the compartment. Up to this point, he'd never actually ridden on a train before—sure, he'd seen them, but never actually been on one. So this was a new experience. The compartment was spacious enough, with two benches which faced each other, and a large window. Outside, a small crowd of people were still pointing and talking amongst themselves—they really needed to get over it. He'd done magic, so what?
The train suddenly lurched, and they were moving, leaving the crowd and the platform behind. A seven-hour ride, according to Alice. Alice had bought him lunch for later, and she'd made sure he had lots to eat before he left, so hunger wouldn't be an issue. And of course, there would be a snack trolley come by at some point.
Harry settled into the forward-facing seat, and pulled out his copy of One Thousand Herbs and Magical Fungi, along with a copy of The Alchemist's Master Primer (a book he'd found in the College library). Potions seemed to be somewhat different than alchemy, but they did share similarities. The worry was, the professor. The Commonwealth had again done its homework with regard to all the teachers at Hogwarts, and of all of them, Professor Severus Snape was perhaps one of the worst. Sure, he was a brilliant potions master, and rightly qualified in the subject, but as a teacher? The man was horribly biased, and in some cases was downright cruel in the classroom. Great, last thing Harry needed, considering potions was a core subject.
Harry's thoughts on the matter were interrupted, as the door to the compartment slid open, and the youngest Weasley boy entered. "Anyone sitting there?"
His eyes flicked to the opposite bench.
"Everywhere else is full."
"No, sit there if you like," Harry answered.
He watched as the boy took a seat, and glanced out the window. Harry shrugged, and decided to be polite.
"I'm Harry. I..."
"Blimey, you're Harry Potter!" the red-head exclaimed.
"Since the day I was born. But... who are you?"
"Ron. Ron Weasley." The boy then fell silent, but looked as though he were dying to ask a question.
"What?"
"Well... I mean... have you really got... you know..."
Ron pointed at Harry's forehead.
Harry rolled his eyes, and pushed his hair out of his face, to reveal the infamous lightning bolt scar.
"So that's where you-know-who—"
"Voldemort," said Harry, flatly.
Ron Gasped.
"What?"
"You said you-know-who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed, "I thought you of all people—"
"It's just a name, and a stupid one at that," answered Harry, rolling his eyes. "He's a bully. A terrorist. Or was."
He fixed his hair to cover the scar up.
"And scars? I've got worse than that."
He rolled up the sleeves of his jumper, revealing a nasty set of puncture marks.
"What did that?"
"Frostbite spider," Harry answered.
Ron visibly shivered.
"You don't like spiders."
"No."
"Sorry."
Harry rolled the sleeve back down.
"Where I grew up, there were lots of things that wanted to have me for dinner. And frankly, spiders were the least of my worries."
Ron shivered again.
"They scare you that much?"
Ron gave a stiff nod.
"I won't mention it again then. Gods, some of the things I saw when I was younger... nothing wrong with a bit of fear. Otherwise you get a big head."
He stuck a bookmark in his textbook, and closed it.
"So, are all of your family wizards?"
That launched into a conversation about their families, or at least Ron's. The Weasleys sounded like a wonderful family, with more than enough love to make up for their shortcomings financially. The boy in front of Harry, however, still seemed to be oblivious to this. Wealth came in many forms, after all, and from Harry's standpoint, the Weasleys were incredibly wealthy.
As expected, the trolley came by sometime during the lunch hour, and Harry bought a few items to share with his new friend. Given he'd seen more than a few of those items before, it wasn't such a shock. The Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans were great fun—he'd had them before, as had Mazhe. Harry smirked (after spitting out one that tasted like dog ear wax).
"What?"
"My best friend's not magical, see? Err... well, not versed in magic like our world. A few weeks ago we had some of these."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He got one that tasted like dog poop."
"Oh, rotten luck there."
"The look on his face was priceless."
"But... you're not supposed to be showing magic to Muggles, least that's what mum says."
"Where I grew up, it doesn't matter. Muggles know about us. And my best friend is magical in a different way. I mean, he wields magic differently."
"No way."
"I was, um, rescued when I was six, from my Muggle relatives in Surrey. I was taken by the Commonwealth of Valicadia."
"Never heard of it," Ron answered, as he unwrapped another chocolate frog. Ron's pet rat had stuck its head into one of the empty wrappers, licking the sticky remnants from inside of it.
"Not many people have. I think the British Ministry of Magic knows about them, but most of the public don't. 'Least that's what my guardians have explained. But I've only actually lived in the Commonwealth itself for a couple of months. I spent the last five years... somewhere else... it's hard to explain, almost like a different world altogether, I suppose."
"Wicked."
"Their magic is different than ours. And that's where my best friend is from."
Their discussion was interrupted by a knock on the compartment door. A small, round-faced boy was there, clearly upset about something.
"Sorry," he said, "But has anyone seen a toad at all?"
"Afraid not," said Harry, shaking his head. Ron did as well, and the boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"
"I'm sure he'll turn up," said Harry, with a smile.
"Yes," said the boy, miserably, "But... if you see him..."
He was gone.
"A toad? Really? Owls are more useful," said Harry, "Though I don't think it was his fault. Saw him earlier with an older lady—guessing his grandmother. I don't think that boy has a lot of say in many things. His position, I'd go mental."
"I would have lost it soon as I could," Ron Muttered, "Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."
Their discussion was again interrupted when the compartment door slid open again. The boy missing his toad was back, joined this time by a girl already dressed in her Hogwarts robes.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one." She carried a bossy tone, bushy brown hair, overly-large front teeth, and chocolate-brown eyes.
"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, impatiently.
"Hold on. Should have offered earlier," said Harry, holding out a hand over his head.
"What're you doing?"
"Just wait," said Harry, and what seemed like a few seconds later, the missing animal smacked into his hand. "Would this be it?"
"Trevor!" the round-faced boy exclaimed, claiming his missing pet.
"You cast a spell wandlessly! How? I mean, I've tried a few simple spells just for practice," said the girl, "No magic in my family at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased—"
"You're a Muggle-born then," said Harry.
"I-" The girl seemed to think a moment, since the boy had interrupted her train of thought. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said, "And this is Neville Longbottom."
"Harry Potter. And this is Ron Weasley."
"Are you really?" said Hermione, "Well, I know all about you of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."
"And all of it's hearsay," Harry said, dismissively, "I was there and even I don't know exactly what happened. Voldemort hit me with the killing curse, and I survived. All I know."
Harry debated about mentioning the prophecy, but chose not to. It wasn't their business.
"But wandlessly…" Hermione was back to her original point. "It's very rare at all… and for an eleven year old—"
"Like I said to Ron, I was raised somewhere else. Magic's a part of life there, right? And they do everything without a wand. For example."
He gestured with a hand, causing the pair of textbooks he'd dug out to lift into the air. They hovered for a moment, then settled back down to their original resting place on top of his trunk.
"Levitation charm," Hermione said, recognizing the spell.
"Except that where I learned it, we call it telekinesis. Moving something without touching it," said Harry.
"Blimey, when did you start learning?" questioned Neville.
He was relatively silent up to this point, impressed with the fact someone his own age had been able to do something that many grown wizards couldn't.
"Shortly after I was taken away from my relatives'. I was six years old. Telekinesis is probably one of the more difficult ones I learned, but probably one of the safest I can show here. Most of the magic I know is offensive… necessary where I was raised, see."
"Why?"
"The wildlife there is, uh, really scary. Never mind the undead things that like to inhabit barrows and caves."
Harry made a nasty face remembering some of the experiences.
"A few times… Gods, Mazhe and Justin saved my arse." Harry grinned though. "Glad for those experiences though. Mazhe's my best friend. Glad I have Hedwig, she'll be getting lots of leg work once the term starts."
"He's beautiful," said Neville.
"She," Harry corrected, "A gift from my guardians."
The conversation flowed freely for the next couple of hours, as the four young people got to know each other. He found out that Neville lived with his grandmother, since his parents had been attacked by Death Eaters—interestingly, very close to the time Harry's parents had been murdered by Voldemort. Hermione, being a Muggle-born, had only recently learned she was a witch. She loved to read, and had already read all of her textbooks, and then some. And Ron… the youngest boy of seven siblings. His twin brothers were in third year, while an older sibling still, Percy, was in fifth year and had been made a Prefect.
The conversation was again disturbed somewhat later, as the compartment door slid open, and three boys entered said compartment. Two of them were rather large, with faces only a mother could love. The third was rather thin, with rat-like features, and white-blond hair. Harry had dealt with people like this before. It usually didn't fare well for them. His age was rather deceiving, after all.
"We heard Harry Potter was on the train," the blond drawled.
"Maybe," Harry hedged, "Who'are you and what do you want?"
The boy frowned at the partial snub. "This is Crabbe, and Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
Ron let out a little cough which might have been to cover up a snigger. Malfoy sneered at Ron.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
He turned back to Harry.
"You'll find some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He held out a hand to shake, but Harry didn't take it.
"I can make up my own mind who the wrong sort are myself, thank you. Now please leave our compartment," said Harry, evenly.
Malfoy's face didn't go red, but his cheeks turned a turned a light pink. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly.
"No…, I don't think we will," answered Malfoy. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either—"
Both Harry and Ron stood up.
"Leave on your own, or leave horizontal," said Harry, calmly.
"Oh, you're gonna fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered. "No, we don't feel like leaving. We've eaten our food, and you seem to still have some."
Crabbe reached for one of the chocolate frogs—and that's as far as he got. A purple orb of magic appeared in Harry's right hand, and he flung it at Malfoy—striking him in the chest.
Malfoy let out a girlish shriek, and his groin instantly became damp, as he fled the compartment, red-faced.
Harry smirked at the pair of gorillas that still remained rooted to the floor. "Care to share in his humiliation? Leave. NOW."
The pair needed no further encouragement, but fled almost as fast as their leader. The purple glow vanished from Harry's hand.
"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, still in awe of what had just happened.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something... closed it... opened again, and still couldn't come up with adequate words.
"It was a fear spell," said Harry, clearing up the confusion, "Doesn't work so well against bandits, but..."
"Malfoy's gonna need a clean pair of trousers... I think," said Neville, quietly.
Hermione at last found her voice.
"But... you shouldn't have done that," she scolded, "You'll be in trouble once we get to school."
"I don't care," answered Harry, bluntly, "If Hogwarts wants to expel me before school even starts, just because I stood up for myself and my new friends, then so be it. Perhaps I should've stayed at the College."
Before he realized it, Harry and his new friends were gliding across a mirror-smooth lake, in small boats. They were heading toward an enormous castle perched atop a cliff side, with numerous illuminated windows, turrets, and towers, silhouetted against the night sky. Harry had seen a few castles after all, having visited the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm, but this... the castle he was now seeing, seemed to dwarf them all. He was then officially impressed.
Then, they were being led up to a set of imposing wooden doors slightly larger than the main gates of Windhelm. Hagrid, their half-giant escort, raised a giant fist, and thumped on the door three times. It opened at once on its own accord, and standing inside was a tall witch in emerald green robes and a tall witches' hat. She had a stern face, and wore a pair of square spectacles. This woman was not someone to cross for any reason, Harry realized.
"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here."
After a brief mention of the procedure that would follow—as well as encountering a few resident ghosts (Harry almost cursed one of them, having already had a not-so-pleasant experience with such things back in Skyrim)—the group was led into the Great Hall by the stern witch. The room was truly magical, lit by what seemed like thousands of floating candles. There were four long tables, at which the rest of the student body sat, their place settings being made of silver and gold—at least it seemed. At the front of the room, on a raised dais, was the head table, where the rest of the teaching staff sat. Professor McGonagall led the first years up to this table, and had them face the rest of the school, with the teachers behind them. Harry looked up, and saw, instead of a solid ceiling, what looked like a clear night sky with an infinite carpet of twinkling stars. It had sounded wicked in Hogwarts, a History, but to see it for real? The description didn't do it justice.
He was lost in thought as the ceremony moved on. Thus far, other than the encounter with Malfoy on the train, things had been rather positive. He'd met three new people—perhaps the main purpose of this exercise. Whether three friends would come of that, still remained to be seen, but one had to start somewhere, did they not? Then, of course, there was his magical education. A castle this cool? He laughed in his head, with the ideas of what kind of things he would learn here.
He was so lost in thought, that he missed virtually all of the sorting. In fact, Professor McGonagall had to call his name twice before he heard. And then he noticed the whispers and muttering throughout the hall. Ah, the fish bowl. He'd been warned about this, of course. He pushed that out of his mind, took a seat on the four-legged stool, and allowed Professor McGonagall to put the rather dirty-looking hat on his head. He was somewhat in the dark, but he waited...
"Hmm," said a small voice, "A thirst to prove yourself? And a sharp mind to boot... but no, courage is your strength, I see... better be GRYFFINDOR!" The last bit was shouted for the entire hall.
Surprisingly, Harry slept well his first night in Gryffindor tower, even with the commotion of everyone settling in. He'd met his dorm mates during the feast—or sooner, in the case of Ron and Neville. Seamus was a sandy-haired Irish boy—half-blood, as Harry remembered now. And rounding out the group, was a dark-skinned boy named Dean. He'd not said a whole lot between the feast and that night as they settled in. All in all, they seemed a friendly bunch, so maybe that wouldn't be such a bad deal in the end.
At breakfast, as Professor McGonagall handed out their timetables, she informed Harry the headmaster wished to see him right after breakfast. A glance toward the head table confirmed he was not there, and so likely still waiting in his office.
"Err... I've not been to his office yet," said Harry, "Where do I find it?"
"I will take him," Percy offered, overhearing the conversation.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. She was already moving on, passing out timetables to the others. Harry chanced a glance at the Slytherin table (Where Malfoy had ended up), and sure enough, the pale boy was smirking. Of course the spineless fool had run to a teacher. Perhaps another dose of fear might set him to rights. He blew out a breath, and turned back to his half-eaten breakfast. He'd expected to make a few enemies here, but before even arriving at the school? That was beyond frustrating.
The headmaster's office was an amazing room. It was circular, with what seemed like hundreds of portraits on the walls—their occupants all seemed to be asleep at this hour. There were book cases filled with books, as well as a number of tables, all covered in small silver instruments which were whirring and letting off little wisps of white smoke. And at the centre of it, rested an enormous desk with great claw feet. The room seemed to be vacant—until a musical cry came from behind him. By the door stood a golden perch, and resting on it, was one of the most beautiful birds Harry had ever seen. It had crimson plumage, roughly about the size of a swan, and black, beady eyes.
"Oh, hello there," Harry greeted, and crossed over to get a closer look.
It seemed to regard the boy a moment, then let out another wonderful string of notes that seemed to lift his heart.
"Ah, good morning, Harry."
Harry turned to find the missing headmaster had appeared at his desk, carrying a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Good morning, Professor. I, uh, received your summons, sir."
"Yes, indeed. Won't you come have a seat?"
Professor Dumbledore indicated a plush chair in front of the desk that had not been there before. Harry grinned in spite of himself as he sat down. Conjuration was one of his more difficult subjects.
"If this is about yesterday, sir..."
"Yes, among two items I did need to speak to you about. I do have to ask, exactly what did you do to Draco? Professor Snape had a most difficult time getting some sort of explanation from him."
"It's hard to explain, sir. Imagine having to experience the thing that scares you the most, multiplied several times over."
"What you describe sounds something like a boggart."
"No. Something worse," Harry answered, "Sir, I've seen people like him. Just like I somehow expected we would be having this conversation—if not this morning, sometime in the near future. The only way to deal with people like that is with brute, irrefutable force. It's the only thing people like Draco Malfoy understand."
"No matter what he might be, it doesn't give you reason or excuse to cause him harm, Harry."
The headmaster maintained a neutral expression, but Harry could read the old wizard's body language. He was displeased with Harry's answer.
"Just like he doesn't," Harry countered, "He will hide in the shadows, attack those who might be weak, then plead innocence. Just like he's doing now. I don't go out of my way to attack people. I don't have time for enemies. But Malfoy crossed me yesterday, because he insulted me, my parents, and my new friends, then decided to help himself to the candies and treats we had without us offering. And not to mention, he also made a not-so-subtle death threat. I only taught him a lesson, and quite honestly, I hope not to have to do it again. It isn't a nice thing to do to someone... but neither is being a git and a bully."
"I see."
Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair a moment.
"Ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for your conduct. Although you acted defending the honour of your friends and your parents, it is still not acceptable to openly attack another student."
"Fair enough. Though points should be taken from Malfoy as well. He did instigate things. I have three other witnesses who can confirm that. He said, and I quote, 'Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents.'"
"Indeed. I shall speak to Professor Snape about his student. I do agree his behaviour was equally unacceptable."
"Glad we agree," said Harry.
"The other reason I asked for you to visit, then. I understand you've not been living with your relatives."
"No, sir, although I wonder why that would matter to you. I was treated like a live-in servant since I was able to reach the cooker. On my sixth birthday, I was rescued by a group of people, taken out of England, and sent to a place where I learned magic, among other things. I was treated well, made loads of friends, and arrived here far better prepared than had I stayed with the Dursleys. Honestly sir, if they died tomorrow I would likely raise a cup to their graves. I can only imagine what kind of things mum's gonna say to Petunia when they meet up on the other side."
Professor Dumbledore frowned, as he took in what the young boy in front of him told him. Surely, things couldn't have been that bad? Although… Minerva had warned him they were the worst sort of Muggles. Still… the protection his mother had given him was far more important than any sort of discomfort the boy might have experienced, and a less-than-ideal existence would have proven the boy a little more malleable. He would have to sort all this out. The more important thing to find out then, was where exactly the boy had been staying.
"Harry, they are your legal guardians. Whoever removed you from your relatives did so without legal permission."
"You can't be serious, sir. I honestly don't know what happened to them, but I know Aurors from the Commonwealth were seeing to them when I was taken away by port key. I can only hope they ended up in jail, they deserved no less."
"You mean the Commonwealth of Valicadia," the headmaster clarified.
"Yes sir. Though I've spent maybe a month there all told. The social workers were very kind."
Dumbledore leaned forward, and steeped his long fingers in front of him.
"I see. I do have to wonder, why did you choose to attend Hogwarts, if you were already enrolled at a school somewhere else?"
"It's simple, Professor. This is the world I was born into. And the place where I was taught most of what I know already… there's only one other boy there even close to my age, and he's going on sixteen. He's my best friend, of course, but still… my guardians thought it was better if I learned magic here."
Professor Dumbledore again leaned back in his chair. Harry Potter was nothing like what he had expected. The boy was not arrogant, but he knew exactly where he stood and what he wanted—and equally, what he didn't want. He obviously had a number of supportive people around him. Still…
"Where was it exactly you were studying?"
"It's a place called Tamriel, and more specifically, the province of Skyrim. They have a college that teaches the magical arts, the College of Winterhold. There are a number of branches of magic someone can study, such as illusion, or alteration, or destruction. Destruction is my favoured branch at this point, but illusion is second, I think. What I did to Malfoy yesterday was in the illusion branch."
"Fascinating."
Inwardly, however, the old wizard was alarmed. The boy was already delving into dark magic, and he was barely eleven! No, the boy needed to be put back with his relatives. The wards would be severely weakened, but if he remained there the entire summer, they should recover. Lots of time to undo the damage. And Dumbledore had the entire school year to tidy things up. He rose from his seat.
"I think that's all the questions I have for you." He drew his wand and gestured at a sheet of parchment. "This is a note excusing your tardiness. Off you go."
"Thank you, sir," said Harry, accepting the note.
Professor Dumbledore watched the boy leave. He was nothing like he'd expected… even physically. He'd noticed that last night during the welcome banquet. The boy looked more like twelve or thirteen, not just-turned-eleven. And the way he carried himself… he acted more like a fourteen or fifteen-year-old. Inwardly, he was more than thankful the boy had decided to come back. It meant there was still a chance… a chance to pull him back to the light side. And the Commonwealth? He would have to speak to his colleagues in the ICW.
He very quickly discovered things were... slow. Terribly slow. Compared with what he had been learning back at the College of Winterhold, it was like someone used to driving a motorcycle being put back on a tricycle. History of magic was terrible, all considering the professor was dead. Yes, a ghost was teaching a core class. Herbology was actually interesting, since he was able to compare the various kinds of plants there to what he knew in Skyrim. But the others? At this point, it was mostly theory, with very little practical lessons.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was, up to this point, the absolute worst. The professor was a blathering fool, as far as Harry was concerned, with the fake stutter. He was a lousy actor. Another incompetent teacher for a core subject. Harry figured the man wouldn't last two seconds in a real fight—he nearly passed out at the bare suggestion of the subject he was supposed to be an expert on! That didn't even begin to deal with the man's appearance. The classroom smelled of garlic—come to think of it, HE smelled of garlic, and wore a turban on his head that smelled even worse. Harry knew he would likely not learn a whole lot from this particular class… at least not by attending it. He would likely get more through independent study.
Potions, on the other hand, proved slightly more interesting, if at first, for the wrong reasons.
"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry had only sat there, totally confused, as had Ron. Hermione, meanwhile, had her hand in the air.
"I, uh, don't know, sir."
"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."
He ignored Hermione's hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
This one, Harry remembered. Hermione knew, too, as her hand was again in the air.
"In the stomach of a goat, sir. It can save you from most poisons."
Snape looked momentarily shocked. Then his lip curled into a snarl. Harry, however, wasn't done. 'Time to pull the rug out from under his show,' he muttered in his head.
"A bezoar won't save someone from these, however." He reached into his robe and pulled out a small bottle. "Consuming the contents of this vial will be fatal. I know someone who can make a batch much smaller than these with much stronger potency."
Snape swooped down to his desk, to inspect the strange potion.
"Where did you make this concoction?"
"It was hastily made with a friend's help," Harry answered, "He's better at alchemy than I am. Though what I understand, potions is much more, uh, colourful as far as what you can do."
"That would be a more than accurate assessment, Potter," Snape sneered, "What sort of ingredients are in this?"
"Something called Imp Stool, along with something called Death Bell… hold on, I might have a Death Bell, they're a common plant in Skyrim."
He dug in his rucksack for a moment, and found what he was looking for. To those observing, it looked somewhat like a pine cone, except that it was a light purple shade.
"Here, sir. I've already shared a few with Professor Sprout, she was most interested in them. You can also have the potion, I've got an ample supply."
"Indeed."
Snape snatched up both items, and marched back up to the front of the room. Intending to put Potter in his place, he was instead treated to a show and tell, and was then completely out of balance.
"For your information, Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death—well? Why aren't you all writing this down?"
The class had progressed from there, with Snape watching Harry closely. The boy was nothing like what he'd expected. He worked quickly and efficiently, and in some ways it was painful to watch. Instead of Harry—the carbon copy of Snape's nemesis—he was seeing Lily, his first love. Snape could never hate Lily, and now, he realized, neither could he hate her son.
Immediately following breakfast Saturday morning, Professor McGonagall brought Harry up to her office, where he was surprised to find Will, Alice, and Justin waiting for him.
"Mazhe wasn't able to come, since Tolfdir sent him out on an errand to Windhelm," Justin explained, "But he did pass along a letter for you."
"Oh, uh, thanks."
"How was your first week at school, Harry?"
"Brilliant," he answered, and began to detail the highlights of his first week at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall politely excused herself, giving the four of them privacy.
"And you're making some new friends?"
"Yeah, I think so. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom—we all met on the train. Neville and Ron are both from Wizarding families, and Hermione is a Muggle-born. Still a really smart witch though, she loves to read."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Justin smirked.
"Right." Harry only rolled his eyes. Then he asked, "Any chance of me getting someone to come in and tutor history? The only thing the professor here is good for, is putting people to sleep."
"I'll look into it," said Alice, "We're certainly aware of the professor here. I do also have to ask... though you said your potions lesson yesterday was interesting... how did you get along with Professor Snape?"
"At first... not well. But I think I may have him, uh, neutralized."
"You didn't—" Will began.
"He started asking me questions no level one potions student would ever know. I got one of them right and turned his unfair pop-quiz into a show and tell. Now as to what will happen in the future..."
"Let us know if he becomes too much, we'll set up some sort of substitute."
"Right. As it stands, it looks like Professor McGonagall is willing to let me come through the floo on Tuesday evenings, to keep you caught up with your non-magical courses," said Justin.
"Sounds good to me."
"That'll also let us come and check in with you periodically. Though it needs not be said, if there's anything that's bothering you, don't hesitate to send an owl. Whether or not people here in magical England care about you, we most certainly do," said Alice.
"It's always meant a lot to me," said Harry, "I didn't really say it enough five years ago, but thank you. My life has been loads better than it was at the Dursleys."
"It was nothing for us to do so, and it was the right thing to do. Your aunt and uncle were monstrous people who had no business looking after you."
"I never asked, but... what became of Dudley?"
"He was placed with his paternal aunt, Marjorie Dursley-"
"Aunt Marge?" Harry let out a giggle. "Having to take care of him twenty-four-seven will be a real eye-opener, I think."
That simply got a smirk out of Justin, as he opened up his satchel, and pulled out numerous books and papers.
"We've got the morning for now, so let's get started."
Harry only grinned and nodded, taking a seat at the table that had been provided.
Unfortunately, the following Tuesday, there was no summons from Professor McGonagall. Immediately, Harry had to wonder if the school had decided to prevent his meetings with the Commonwealth—he'd been warned of that possibility. Did Professor McGonagall change her mind? Or was it Dumbledore? Credence to that, was the fact the headmaster had not shown up for dinner.
He intercepted the deputy headmistress as she passed the table on her way out.
"Professor, did my... uh, friends..."
"No, Potter, they haven't contacted me yet. I will send for you if they do."
"Thank you, Professor."
That, naturally, had his friends asking questions.
"I have non-magical courses I'm taking," Harry answered, simply, "Math, science, stuff like that. I'm supposed to meet with a tutor tonight after dinner."
"But... why do you need those Muggle courses, mate?" Ron asked.
"Because it's what I'm used to. I do plan on completing my non-magical education as well. That's what would be expected of me if I went to school in the Commonwealth. Magical education is only part of the school system there, not separate from it."
"Really?" Hermione was intrigued by the concept. Ron and a few others looked skeptical.
"Sounds like a load of work to me," Ron muttered. There were a few nods of agreement.
"Yeah, if you're not used to it. Me, I've gotten used to it. Try balancing non-magical classes with beginning lessons on the core magics being taught here, as well as the five magical schools being taught at the college where I stayed. Let's see, seventeen or eighteen subjects."
"You're mental," Ron declared, shaking his head.
"Not much of a social life," Dean threw in.
"I was the youngest student in the college. Even if I hadn't had the class schedule I did, I wouldn't have much of a social life anyway. If anything, this is less busy."
It wasn't until breakfast the following morning before Harry learned as to why Justin hadn't come to visit. The letter came by owl, along with a copy of the Commonwealth Standard, the national newspaper.
Harry,
My apologies for not meeting with you as planned yesterday evening, but some terrible things have happened in the non-magical world yesterday morning. A series of attacks happened in New York and Washington, causing a great many deaths and injuries.
Granted, this happened in a foreign country, but to a neighbour all the same. The Commonwealth went into a protective stance, unsure as to how this related to the magical world. Up to this point, the government is still unsure as to whether these attacks were perpetrated by wizards or mundane people, so security is still very tight. That means, no international floo connections (or I would be telling this to you in person, rather through this letter).
As it stands, the government may also be sending security to keep an extra eye on you for the next little while—this according to Will—and although you may not appreciate the extra attention that may draw, understand that the Commonwealth only wants to keep you safe.
With luck, the extra security won't last too long, and we'll be able to pick up on our lessons next week. I send this week's lessons along with this letter, simply touch it with your wand when you're ready. I also attach a copy of today's paper, in case you're curious.
I'll try and answer any questions you have when we next meet.
Be safe,
Justin
"Mara preserve us," Harry muttered, as he glanced at the paper.
TERROR IN NEW YORK, the headline blazed. The picture that took up the upper half of the paper featured a wide-angle shot of the city in question, with a massive column of smoke rising into the clear afternoon sky.
"What happened—Merlin!" Hermione caught a glimpse of the front page of the paper as well.
"A very dark thing, Hermione," Harry answered, "Gods... he didn't explain exactly what, but... massive destruction."
"It was a Muggle plane... or a pair of them," said Dean. He had received mail of his own. "They blew up some really tall buildings, by crashing into them."
"But why?" This from Ron.
"The same reason Voldemort attacked me when I was a year old," answered Harry, "To cause fear and panic. Nothing more. Whoever did this... they're monsters."
That, of course caused the predictable reaction, with numerous sighs and gasps coming from those within earshot. Neville looked about ready to faint.
"Oh come off it, it's just a name and a silly one at that."
As promised, the following Tuesday, Justin was able to explain things a bit better than through the letter. The Commonwealth had decided not to send extra security, and for that, Harry was thankful. He was still getting used to the extra stares and the whispers. Justin simply encouraged him to focus on his studies. They were thousands of miles away from the incident, under some of the strongest wards in the magical world. It was one thing the Commonwealth agreed on: Hogwarts was perhaps one of the safest places to be in.
Their first flying lesson came a week later, paired with the Slytherins. Harry had only seen Malfoy during Potions class—the only class the two houses shared together… and perhaps that was a good thing. It was clear from day one the two houses disliked each other—and perhaps, dislike was rather tame.
The lesson took place on the grounds on the opposite side of the castle to the forbidden forest. The Slytherins were already there, along with twenty broomsticks lying on the ground. Harry had heard George complain about them, something about them acting strangely at high altitudes, among other things. He took that warning with a grain of salt, hearing of their crazy antics from Ron.
The teacher had short grey hair and yellow eyes, resembling a hawk.
"Well? What are you all waiting for?" she barked, "Everyone stand by a broom stick. Come on, hurry up!"
Harry looked at his broom. It wasn't in bad shape, but a couple of twigs were out of order. Still, he was somewhat excited, having not actually flown ever… magically or otherwise.
"Now hold your right hand over the broom," Madam Hooch instructed, "and say 'UP' Nice and firmly."
"Up," Harry commanded, and the broom smacked into his hand at once, but it was one of the few which did. Hermione, who was beside him, could only get the broom to roll over, like some dog unable to learn a new trick. Neville's hadn't moved at all. Maybe it was a fear thing.
"A little more firmly, mate," said Harry, to Neville.
"Up!" Neville spoke, and this time the broom smacked into his hand.
"And Hermione… same thing. Show it who's in charge."
"I… I can't do this."
"Yes you can. It's like an animal. It knows if you're afraid of it."
Hermione let out a huff.
"UP!" she spoke, a little louder. The broom rolled over again, but this time zoomed up into her hand. That got a bright smile out of her.
"C'mon. We're the brave house, right?" Harry whispered, "Best foot forward."
"I suppose."
"No, Harry's right," Neville agreed, "We can do this… I mean, we're wizards and witches, and any self-respecting witch or wizard needs to be able to mount a broom."
"All right, that's enough chatter," said Madam Hooch.
She then began showing each of them how to properly mount the broom, and how to grip it properly.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle. Three... two—"
Unfortunately, Neville kicked off too soon, afraid to be left behind, and with the teacher shouting for him to come back, he was going straight up, out of control. The boy looked terrified, and lost his grip, sliding off the broom, and... with a sickening WHACK, he collided with the ground and did not move.
"Stay back!" Madam Hooch commanded, striding up to the injured student. Harry debated about getting involved, but decided best not to. The teaching staff surely knew what they were doing, right?
Neville finally opened his eyes, and it was evident he was in a lot of pain. His face was ghost-white.
"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch muttered, "Come on boy, it's all right. Up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class.
"None of you are to move until I come back. You leave those brooms right where they are or you'll be out of here before you can say Quidditch."
She turned back to Neville.
"Come on, dear."
As soon as they were out of earshot, the Slytherins burst out laughing.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?!"
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil, a girl with dark skin. It then degenerated into an argument as the Gryffindors stood up for their injured housemate. And then, Malfoy happened to find Neville's remembrall (a gift from his grandmother).
"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Harry, holding out a hand.
Malfoy smiled nastily.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect—how about—up a tree?"
"I said hand it over!" Harry demanded, but Malfoy had climbed onto his broom and taken off. Clearly, the boy could fly, and wasn't exaggerating. Hovering above the treetops now, he smirked, and flung the remembrall hard as he could.
Harry simply held out a hand, and the remembrall instantly changed direction, to fly toward him. There were always other ways... and it looked like Malfoy was due for another lesson. Perhaps something a little more creative this time, since the little fear motivator seemed to have wore off.
They carried on with the rest of the lesson a short time later, with Malfoy clearly in a bit of a funk. Naturally, he put his feet back on the ground and dismounted his broom long before Madam Hooch returned, and so she was none the wiser. The boy was still in a nasty mood all considering, since Harry had once again made a fool out of him, this time in front of his friends.
Harry was a decent flier, easily taking to the broom and quickly understanding how to make it work. It was a release, to leave the ground behind, take to the air, and see things as only those with wings can.. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'I need to purchase my own. The thrill it would be, to see Skyrim from the air.'
October 31, 2001
Harry and his friends were clustered together at the Halloween feast held in the Great Hall. There were enormous Jack-o-lanterns lit with giant candles, real, live, bats, and enough candy and treats to make any boy sick for several days after. Hermione was on Harry's left, with Neville on his right, and beside Neville, was Ron, although he looked a little subdued, even with all the food. Harry was rather displeased with him at the moment, considering what had happened in class earlier in the day.
During Charms, they had been learning the levitation charm—Harry, of course, had been called on to demonstrate several times by the vertically-challenged Charms professor, since it was then well known he was more than adept at it. During the practical part of the lesson, Hermione kept correcting Ron on his wand-movements and annunciation—Ron, of course, did not appreciate it, and demanded, "Okay fine. You do it, if you're so clever."
Hermione had simply flicked her wand at the feather. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather lifted off the desk to hover about four feet above them. The praise from Professor Flitwick did nothing to bolster Ron's attitude, nor did Harry's.
As they headed toward their next class, Ron was still in a foul temper about being shown up.
"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said.
Ron suddenly found himself slammed up against the wall of the corridor.
"You ever say something like that again, I promise you it'll be the last thing you do," Harry said, dangerously. "Hermione's one of my friends. So are you, but honestly my patience with your attitude is wearing thin."
He let go of the boy.
"Grow up."
Harry turned only to find himself in a nearly crunching embrace.
"Air... Hermione."
"Oh Harry... you... you didn't need to do that." Her eyes were glistening with tears, but she smiled brightly.
"Yes I did. Ron needs to think before he opens his mouth. Now come on, we're gonna be late."
"Yeah... right." Ron looked nearly white from what had just happened.
Now, the four of them sat grouped together, enjoying the feast... Ron with perhaps a slight bit of fear concerning his friend now. Harry hadn't pushed him away, but really. His fits of jealousy were getting tiresome.
Harry was just unwrapping another chocolate frog, when Professor Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, looking all out of sorts. He reached the head table, panting, and gasped, "TROLL! In the dungeon—thought you ought to know."
He then collapsed in a heap.
It was instant pandemonium. It took several loud bangs and the headmaster's magically amplified voice commanding, "SILENCE!" before everything calmed down.
"Prefects," he instructed, "Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately. Teachers, with me, to the dungeons."
The remainder of the evening was spent in the noisy Gryffindor common room, with food that had been collected and sent up with the house elves. During that time, a rather lively discussion picked up, centred around the turban-wearing Dark Arts Defence professor.
"Is it just me, or is Professor Quirrell really that incompetent?" Harry questioned loudly. "I mean really. Instead of quietly warning Professor Dumbledore, he announces it to a room full of young children. It was as if he knew it would cause a panic."
"Does sound a bit suspicious," said Hermione, "And you're right. We're not learning anything useful from him."
"Same with us," said Fred.
"Mention the word 'vampire' and he nearly faints," George threw in.
"Don't know if it's the garlic or something else, but every class with him, I walk away with a stabbing headache," Harry complained. "Honestly I'm just about fed up with his class, core subject or not."
"You can't go about skiving off classes, Harry," Percy scolded.
"Even if my health is at stake? He looks at me and it's like someone's driving a red hot fireplace poker into my forehead. Really. I'm just about fed up."
"Harry's right. We aren't learning anything meaningful," said Neville, "I only dread potions more than DADA."
The rest of the evening passed with Harry distracted by this event. Clearly, no one else was learning from the ridiculous turban-wearing farce either. But what could he do? A letter needed to be sent then, perhaps in the morning.
AUTHOR NOTES: So, lots of things pulled from the first book here, adjusted to suit Harry's changed personality. Recognizable bits, of course, © respective authors.