Chapter 28

Against all expectations, nothing terrible happened in the few weeks after I had searched Lockhart's desk.

Sure, I was on edge and prickly as a pear, just in case my intrusion had been detected and Lockhart decided to hunt me down and do… something sinister, I suppose? But my fears were unrealized for weeks. Then weeks turned into a month and nothing came of those fears, so I decided to put it all out of my mind.

Hogwarts was just school again.

Unfortunately, it was still very much Hogwarts, and shenanigans abounded. Not always around me, nor to a scale or degree that I felt particularly noteworthy, but shenanigans nonetheless. I think I am finally getting used to them!

Lockhart continued to be a mediocre teacher — a marked improvement over last term when he was a bad one — but mostly seemed to be rather skittish around McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore and (inexplicably in my year-mates' views) Harry. I thought it was a bit amusing, to be perfectly honest, though some part of me would never stop worrying about whether the man would snap and do something particularly stupid or disruptive to my new ideas for the Harry Potter timeline.

Naturally, I was doing reasonably well in my other subjects too: Transfiguration proved to be mentally stimulating as always, Charms mostly served as a way to bombard Flitwick with dozens of questions, Potions grew steadily more grating as Snape decided I was worthy of "extra attention" during class, Astronomy ended up being loads of busy-work, etc. Sadly, the need to keep my grades up ate into what free-time I had. While I was very good at studying and learning more about magic and the magical world through my coursework, the reading assignments still took time, as did all the lengthy written homework that I needed to complete in order to actually get my high marks in each class — marks which I required to prove that I could handle anything the professors could throw at me.

If I couldn't prove that I was able to handle something as "light" as the second-year workload (by comparison to O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. level courses), I doubted that I would ever get permission to take more than two electives. Also, Dumbledore's letters had given the subtle suggestion that if my grades suffered as a result of my "extracurriculars", then he would take measures to make me refocus on my "actual" academic workload.

I couldn't have that.

So I had to use some old tricks to maximize the time I had — like doing one class' work during another class. History of Magic was great for that; Cuthbert Binns would drone on and on all he liked during lectures, but his assignments were based entirely on material from the textbook. Given I had memorized the textbook and the lectures only served to reinforce what I gleaned from reading, I felt justified in working on other assignments while Professor Binns droned monotonously about the social conflicts between Pukwudgies in the Americas and European Goblins as a consequence of European colonialism.

Of course, this didn't go unnoticed by Padma Patil, who often sat next to me.

"What are you doing?" Padma once asked quietly, a little confused. Like most Ravenclaws, she actually took notes on the History lecture, but had noticed that I was writing out paragraphs. Also, I had the wrong textbook out on the desk.

I tapped the textbook and whispered back. "Charms. Figured I could get a head-start on Flitwick's assignment: two feet of parchment on Engorgement and Shrinking don't write themselves." Though I honestly wished they did.

"And what about History?" she muttered, aghast. "This lecture could be on our exams."

"Not likely." I scoffed.

"And if it is?" Padma hissed.

I paused. "I've read Bagshot's book. That should be enough. Binns' assignments are always found in the texts."

"I said our exams, Kenny. I heard from Rault in fourth year that Binns' exams for second years are going to be from his lectures, not from the book." Padma pointed out.

Huh. I had not known that. Granted, nothing stopped me from memorizing Binns' lecture as I heard it passively. I just wouldn't get much out of it beyond audial remembrance — good enough for regurgitating information verbatim, not so much for in-depth analysis. I doubted I would ever care enough about Binns' class to desire such analysis, but doing poorly on an exam was not acceptable.

It occurred to me that if the lecture-notes were so important, I could always acquire them from someone else. Sure, it rankled my pride, but failing a History of Magic exam? I could just imagine Hermione gloating about it already. "...I don't suppose I could borrow your notes later?"

Padma sniffed, turning in her chair away from me. "And let you take advantage of my hard work? I think not."

"Fine, fine. I'll ask Parvati, then." I muttered. I didn't know why she was putting on airs, considering how I knew Padma often shared notes with Su Li, Mandy Brockhurst, and Michael Corner when they were studying in the library. It seemed odd to be possessive about them now, but I didn't get the chance to puzzle it further.

Padma had whipped around with a small glare, perhaps affronted at the suggestion that her twin might have the better note-taking skills. "Or you can borrow mine now." Her parchment slid to the edge of the desk, enough for me to lean over and quickly scan through her work.

A little perplexing, in my view, but I didn't bother puzzling it out. I made a show of jotting down the main points on my own parchment as my eyes skimmed the notes, memorizing everything. To be honest, it didn't seem terribly different from what was in the textbook — maybe Rault was pulling a prank on Padma?

Whispering my thanks, I went back to my own work — splitting my attention between jotting down a few notes for the History lecture every so often while working on Charms homework — and spared Padma a glance. She seemed far too pleased with herself about something, and I had no idea why. Was it the usual sibling rivalry?

Frankly, I don't suppose I cared to dwell on the subject either, so I put it out of mind. It was just another reminder that I needed to be better about acting like all the other second-year students. It was a terrible hassle, reminding myself to be childish, but doing that was better than being bothered by my peers taking issue with my "odd behavior". A little time spent "fitting in" every now and then gave me more time to myself to work on what really mattered.

~o0o~

Thankfully, the only significant intrusions into my free-time outside of classes were the written homework assignments. After all, I could read quickly, grasp core concepts rapidly, and refine my practical magic skills with increasing fluency, but I couldn't write an essay faster than my hands would permit. Especially since I couldn't always cheat by using a fountain pen in place of a quill — Snape could tell the difference somehow and had scathingly torn into my parchment with a vicious red quill of his own the one time I had given him an essay for Potions written using a fountain pen.

This wasn't to say that I had no time whatsoever for my "extracurriculars" — Neville and I still met with Percy twice a week to get tutoring in Transfiguration in return for being Percy's dogsbodies. It was actually pretty boring, in hindsight. When Percy had brought Neville and I on as his assistants last term, we had this expectation that Percy would be turning us into animals all the time. Instead, he only transfigured the three of us once a week.

So, on Wednesday evenings, Percy would turn Neville or I into some form of animal and leave us like that for about two minutes while the other would help him take copious amounts of notes before Percy changed us back. The remaining two hours would be spent going over the notes and discussing the experience as best we could. On Friday, Percy would perform the experiments upon himself — partial-transfigurations only, so that even if the changes were particularly… extensive, Percy would always be able to hold a wand.

After all, it wasn't like Neville or I had the skill nor the experience needed to reverse a botched attempt at full Human Transfiguration… Though, we also had to become accustomed to the fact that Percy was not a true expert in the art either: he occasionally made mistakes while turning us back. This was a rare occurrence, but I tell you, I really wish I hadn't had to experience that more than once!

I am ever so thankful that Madam Pomfrey had the skills to remove the swishing tail from my rear after Percy had failed to return me fully to human form after I spent a few minutes as a cat — the damnable thing had been a nightmare to deal with. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn it had a mind of its own! It moved without conscious input and swept books off of low tables and tall stacks for seemingly no reason and the base where it met my spine itched. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey ensured that was only a temporary inconvenience.

…Sometimes, I swear I can still feel it writhing from my tailbone, though, even though there's nothing there.

Still, at least it's better than poor Neville's situation; we both suspect that Percy never fully fixed his taste-buds after a few minutes as a dog. Now Neville's palate has been incredibly perceptive of even the most minute differences in taste and, most horrifyingly, he's developed an aversion to chocolate.

I have no idea why — the whole "dogs cannot eat chocolate" issue has nothing to do with their tongues and everything to do with canines being incapable of digesting it properly. But now? Neville can eat chocolate; he just no longer likes the taste of it.

Such a travesty! I had once bribed Fred and George to get some milk-chocolates for me from Honeydukes, but when I offered some to Neville, he refused and claimed they tasted funny — clearly delusional and in denial about no longer liking the taste of chocolate.

Poor chap.

Speaking of chocolates, Valentine's Day had snuck up on me, and I was a little nervous about the whole affair.

In the original timeline, the Basilisk would have been alive, awake, and under the control of Riddle's Memory. Students would be moving through the castle's halls in terror of Slytherin's Monster, and bodies would lay petrified in the Hospital Wing, while the professors could only do their best to reassure the castle's inhabitants with baseless platitudes that they were safe under the careful watch of their teachers.

Seeing his prior attempts at feigning competency had failed and the grim air of the student body, the Lockhart of the original timeline would have proposed that he could handle organizing the Valentine's Day celebrations. Then he'd gone all out to try and lift everyone's spirits… but mostly just caused unnecessary disruptions and general annoyance.

Thanks to my efforts, Riddle's Diary had been captured before the Memory of Riddle could unleash Slytherin's Monster upon the school and terrorize everyone with the threat of the basilisk. Further, the serpent was dead and the Memory had been destroyed. Also, Lockhart was compensating for his recent memory problems by slowly becoming a better teacher week by week so he hadn't yet been outed as a fraud

The castle's mood was fairly upbeat and pleasant so part of me wondered if Lockhart would take charge of the festivities like he did in the original timeline. I had to admit I wasn't looking forward to a bunch of dwarves dressed as cupids running around the castle, delivering garishly romantic presents and reciting poorly written poetry in public.

I mean, the original canon was just ridiculous, alright? One could certainly argue that that timeline's Lockhart had a decent justification for what he did — the castle was under siege from the monster within its walls and everyone was walking on egg-shells. Students (and even a ghost!) had been petrified, and the rest cowered in fear of the monster, jumping at shadows, all while the teachers were powerless to help. It's a wonder anyone could learn anything properly with all that going on. So, Lockhart taking over the festivities for Valentine's Day in order to boost morale was a genuinely good idea.

His execution had been, predictably, flawed.

That being said, I went into breakfast on Valentine's Day debating whether or not it would be morally acceptable to utilize Silencing spells on a 'cupid' if they were going to blurt terrible poetry at me. They had come up when I was skimming through fifth year textbooks to take a break from the headache that was Dumbledore's assignment, and I was rather tempted to seek out acceptable targets to practice on — just to see if I could manage them yet or not.

I was a little disappointed that the Great Hall had not been lavishly annointed in a riot of pinks and reds nor festooned in holiday decorations or sickeningly sweet symbols of romance and love. Even more so when Dumbledore gave some words about the wonders of young love — tempered by restraint, for it was still a school day — and Lockhart just sat there, laughing and posing for non-existent cameras while making small talk with Professor Sinistra at the High Table.

It really was a shame; part of me had been really looking forward to using a Silencing spell on a cupid-cosplaying dwarf reciting Vogon love-poems.

"Now that's a rare look on you," Parvati noted, apparently catching something in my expression as she and Lavender sat across the table for breakfast.

Odd. I had thought I was getting better at being inscrutable. Putting on a pleasant and innocent facade whenever I was within sight of Lockhart had become almost reflexive now. Curious, I asked, "What look?"

"The look you get when you're expecting a present, but nothing has arrived and you're trying not to be disappointed," she explained, a small smirk crossing her features. "Expecting something for Valentine's Day?"

"That isn't —" I began to protest before realizing that was exactly what I was feeling as they had arrived. "...Sure. Something like that."

Lavender giggled. "Ooh! From who?"

"Sorry?"

"Owls haven't brought the mail in yet, but is it a present? Or a letter from some secret romance? Or were you waiting for her to show up and give it to you herself?" Lavender continued, despite the fact that Parvati looked like she'd just tasted something sour for some reason.

In fact, Lavender seemed ready to launch into some sordid tableau of casting me in the role of some romantic drama were it not for a sharp elbow from Parvati to stop that train from leaving the station.

It was a credit to my efforts in honing my Occlumency skills that I didn't flush scarlet and immediately rebut Lavender's words as a knee-jerk response to potential embarrassment; that would've made me look like an idiot. Instead, I rolled my eyes.

Leveling Lavender with a dry look, I said as plainly as possible, "Nothing so tawdry. I suppose I was just expecting to see decorations for the holiday, but there are none."

Parvati cleared her throat, apparently back to normal. "Why? I don't recall there being any decorations last year. Do you remember any, Lav?"

"No, I don't think so?" Lavender said, unsure.

"Professor Sprout conjured roses in glass vases for decoration," I muttered under breath. The ones nearest where I had sat last year were pink and white, and Fred (or was it George? Fred was usually the instigator of their shenanigans, but George had his moments) had snatched some out of the vase to give a mocking serenade to Percy's inability to find a girlfriend… utterly unaware that Percy would be sneaking off later that afternoon to meet Penelope Clearwater and invite her to Hogsmeade for a date.

"What was that?" asked Parvati, leaning over to hear me better.

I waved it off. "Oh, nothing important."

"What's not important?" Neville asked, finally joining the table.

"Hullo Neville, and it's nothing really. The girls are just trying to make something out of nothing." I said quickly.

Neville was amazed. "You're trying Conjuration spells?! That's really advanced magic!" he told Lavender and Parvati, who snorted with repressed laughter.

"Not like that! Kenny's just trying to avoid telling us what he was really expecting for Valentine's Day." Parvati smirked.

"Oh, right. That's today, innit?" Frowning, Neville looked around and ventured a guess. "Decorations?"

I snapped my fingers and pointed at my friend. "Got it in one."

"Just decorations? Nothing else?" Lavender pouted, exaggeratingly. "Noone else on your mind?"

"Just thinking of the decorations, Lavender." I brushed the thought away, keeping my expressions cool and casual. Then my eyes caught on an impending collision a few tables over. "Though if you're looking for drama, I suggest looking at the Hufflepuff Table in a second."

After a moment's deliberation between them, Lavender and Parvati turned in their seats just in time to see two girls heading towards a particularly handsome, fourth-year blond. Unfortunately for Cedric Diggory, both of them had made heartfelt cards declaring their affections for the hearthrob and likely wanted a date at Madam Puddifoot's. I highly doubted they would be willing to share the poor bloke…

I was proven right when an argument ensued, sending Lavender and Parvati into a giggling fit as the fracas across the Hall stole their attention. I took that time to shovel breakfast into my mouth as quickly as possible. By the time the dust had settled, Cedric had fled, the Great Hall was awash with fresh gossip to be had, and I was clearing away my things and making my escape before I got dragged into the gossip circles.

"See you in class, then," I said to the girls as I got up and hurried away.

I winced at how Neville looked like he had been betrayed by my abrupt departure, only then realizing that without me to drag into the gossip, Lavender and Parvati were planning on dragging him in instead.

Poor sod. I'd have to make it up to him later.

~o0o~

If there was one place I knew I could trust to remain constant, regardless of the season or holiday, it was the Hogwarts Library. Madam Pince took special care to ensure the stacks were neat and orderly. Chaos was a fact of life at Hogwarts, but through the librarian's diligence and vigilance, the Library remained a bastion of quiet and order… mostly because we feared being dragged out by our ears for any mischief.

Unfortunately, the knowledge I required could not be found within the available stacks — Dumbledore's assignment continued to be a thorn in the back of my mind on most days. Part of me wondered if the Headmaster expected the task to have such an effect on me: every time my mind wandered and thought about his challenge, I would be driven to distraction. It seemed as if for every question my studies of those texts answered, three more would crop up in the aftermath. Resolving those conundrums only birthed an endless fractal of questions and answers that inevitably pushed against the limits of what I could learn from the seven texts Dumbledore had lent me.

The worst part was the fact that I had 'finished' early. I imagine that Dumbledore expected the task of reading and comprehending the material to take months, and finish up right before Easter. Instead, I'd managed to go through all seven texts, Dumbledore's various annotations, and his additional notes on the various translations and their interpretations by the middle of January. That's when I started to go through the reference lists for each of them.

To actually understand the terminologies, definitions, foundational principles & frameworks, and whatnot within the texts required reading through a mountain of books that took another month to get through. By the end of that, I had rapidly approached an unexpected bottleneck — no matter how much I learned, to actually understand the soul, I required… practical experience.

What I know for certain is that the soul exists. All other descriptions and details regarding its nature arose from postulations or inferences derived from personal experience. Unfortunately, a great deal of such postulations or inferences were likely wrong. Those that weren't, were instead vague or frustratingly opaque. The more I researched to figure things out, the more I ran into the limitations of literature.

After all, how does one describe a soul? "The essence of the self". Then what does "essence" mean? What does "self" mean?

Language was a construct of humanity, used to describe concepts that were generally understandable. But the nature of the soul was too elusive to be described with mere words and simple, straightforward definitions — especially when taking into consideration the fact that the original authors of the texts Dumbledore gave me (and the various supplemental books and scrolls I had taken to reading to understand what those texts were even talking about) had mostly spoken different languages, had lived in different parts of the world, and were born in different centuries.

Thus, all knowledge of the soul that could be learned from those vastly different texts on magical theory, alchemy, vital-breath energies and dragon-lines, the darkest of dark arts, and so much more esoteric knowledge… all of them instead presented frameworks for understanding. As a reader cannot possess the exact same experiences as the author, diagrams and poetry were often used to convey obscure metaphors and analogies which described the means by which fundamental truths could be grasped. But those same frameworks were also abstruse and encrypted, to "protect" the knowledge from those the authors thought "unworthy".

The main take-away I got from my readings was that the soul didn't quite fit a singular framework of magical understanding. In fact, it seemed to fit many of them, based on what I did understand of the texts, even if those 'definitions' were contradictory. Think of it like this: the soul can be described in a multitude of ways, just like light — sometimes you could treat light as a particle, sometimes as a waveform. The truth was ultimately paradoxical.

The soul was a singular entity, unique and untouchable by physical reality. It was also multi-part, heavily aspected, and could be yoked to reality by conscious will. It was immutable and not easily disrupted, but also subject to change throughout an individual's lifetime. The Chinese alchemist, Dzou Yen's work explained that the soul was intertwined with the state of the body, and that magical manipulation of one could influence the other, while more Western theorists believed that the soul was utterly unaffected by the body's condition unless sufficiently dark magic was involved, causing changes to 'spread' from the body to the soul (or vice-versa). Some believed the soul and the mind were one and the same, others believed they were separate, and still others believed the truth was likely more nuanced than that binary.

Regardless, all wizards throughout history agreed that the seat of self-identity and individuality was inextricably linked to the soul… But the details: the hows, the whens, the whys and the whats? Every source on the subject just had different ideas on how to answer those. Putting them together just resulted in a tangled jumble of self-dissension and rampant inconsistencies.

Were all of them correct? Some of them? None of them?

To resolve all contradictions and get to the heart of the matter, I needed practical understanding. Unfortunately, I had no way to get that — while the weeks of research offered me a handful of options, none of them could be attempted safely. Not alone, anyways. If I messed up, I wouldn't be in much of a position to help myself; this was a truism for much of magical learning, meddling with the soul was something I didn't dare attempt lightly.

Forget about learning how to magically strike the soul without affecting any physical, enchanted shell protecting it — the texts Dumbledore had given me either made no mention of such acts or insinuated such a feat was impossible.

If there was one conclusion I could draw from what I did understand, it was this: My knowledge of magical theory and my overall magical skill was simply too lacking to even attempt to touch the soul in such a manner. The takeaway was clear — I needed to "Get Good".

Also, I needed to learn Dark Magic.

It should have been painfully obvious from the start, but any attempt to directly strike the soul and damage it automatically fell under the umbrella of the Dark Arts. Not just any kind of dark magic that could be wielded by anyone with the will and knowhow, either. I needed the darkest of Dark Curses whose uses were deeply ill-advised for any that valued their ethics, morality and/or sanity…

If I planned to get any answers to several of the questions I had after reading through Dumbledore's assigned texts and the various other literature linked to my readings, I needed to study the Dark Arts in deeper detail. As in, far more detail than I could hope to find in the publicly accessible portions of the Hogwarts Library nor in the various "lost" or "hidden" books dredged up from the Room of Hidden Things.

So for the last week, my time in the Library had been spent three-fold. First, I worked on my homework assignments, to keep my grades up. Second, I revised whatever magical theory regarding the soul I could get away with in public. Thirdly, I probed the defenses on the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library.

After all, the fastest way for someone like me to learn the Dark Arts was to steal a few books from the Restricted Section to privately peruse afterwards.

Obviously, access to the Restriction Section was restricted. Students were not allowed to enter that part of the library without explicit permission, much less touch the books and scrolls on those shelves. Those caught wandering in the Restricted Section could be banned from the library for a week (or more) and sometimes assigned detention. Even if you had a professor's signature of permission, students aren't normally allowed to enter the Restricted Section themselves until after they had finished their O.W.L.s — one had to give Madam Pince the permission slip and she would retrieve the specified book for you. Actually using the knowledge contained in some of the darker tomes? Well, the consequences could be quite dire, and not just because you'd get in trouble with the school.

Unfortunately, permission was unobtainable. If I asked any of the professors for permission, they would ask why I wanted books on the Dark Arts. No matter how bright or precocious I am, they wouldn't permit a second year student to study such dark magic. That kind of access was normally only granted to students in N.E.W.T. level D.A.D.A. who the professors trusted not to abuse such knowledge.

Besides, the Restricted Section was not limited to just books containing dark magic and other topics the faculty and Board of Directors deemed inappropriate for the general student body. The Section also contained those that were too rare and/or valuable to be kept in general circulation. Within, one could find Hogwarts' copies of some truly unique and irreplaceable books and scrolls that needed to be carefully maintained lest their contents be lost forever.

Imagine my surprise at finding out that, despite the limits to access and punishments for trespassing, the actual security around the Restricted Section seemed… lax.

In the world of the films, the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library was secluded away from the rest of the school's extensive collection by an iron gate, the door of which was magically locked so its shelves could not be accessed easily.

In reality, the Restricted Section was similarly secluded, but there was no physical barrier beyond a thick rope keeping students from randomly walking into it.

Just a rope…

It was barely enchanted from what I could tell!

Nothing obvious, anyways, but surreptitiously waving my fingers over it while walking by allowed me to feel the faint presence of an enchantment on the rope. No idea what kind of enchantment exactly, but I didn't trust it in the slightest. Therefore, I spent the week testing it with subtle spells I had been studying in secret, employing my skills with nonverbal, wandless magic at random intervals while doing homework at one of the tables nearby.

I still wasn't sure whether it was a trap or not.

Or just another test of some kind. Some kind of puzzle or riddle to be solved. Hogwarts was replete with those; it was part of what made the school such a great place to learn magic, though I often suspected that all the hidden tricks and secrets were just to keep adventurous Ravenclaws and Gryffindors occupied when they got bored.

Speaking of enterprising Ravenclaws…

"Oh! Kenny. There you are. Hello!" came the soft greeting of Sue Li, accompanied by Morag Macdougal. Both girls' arms were laden with books, and they appeared to be searching out a free table.

"Sue, Morag. How are you?" I replied, concealing the smidge of annoyance at their appearance with consummate ease. Occlumency was rather helpful at that. Then again, perhaps I could use the distraction from puzzling about the Restricted Section's defenses, to give my mind time to refresh. "Looking for a table?"

"Yes. Are you offering?" asked Morag, hopefully.

No, I wasn't, but saying that would be impolite. Not sure why some part of me was tempted to say it anyways. I gestured at the empty seats of the small table. "Please, by all means."

"Thanks," Sue said, as both girls hurriedly dropped the books onto the table and took their seats across from me. Curious, I shot a quick glance at the titles. Most of them were fairly mundane — personal textbooks and occasional reference material for homework — but two of them stuck out for obvious reasons.

"That's an… interesting selection," I noted, stifling a smirk. Perhaps it was childish, but if I was going to be distracted by these two, I might as well have some fun with it. "I know that Valentine's is the holiday for that sort of thing, but I would think beautification and entrancing spells are a bit advanced for second years. Do you plan on asking Professor Flitwick about that kind of enchanting in Charms?"

The multitude of ways people react and display a sudden surge of emotion are fascinating. In this case, embarrassment led to Sue's eyes widening in panic and a fidget in her hands. For Morag, it was the immediate flush of red to her skin, spreading from her ears and her cheeks till her face was the hue of a tomato.

"I-It's not like that," Morag managed, stammering a little as she and Sue composed themselves.

Sue explained, "We were just wondering about the subject, that's all. In the spirit of the holiday!"

I allowed a smirk to cross my features, canting an eyebrow sarcastically to perfectly display my thoughts on the matter. "Sure you are. Purely academic curiosity. How very Ravenclaw."

Morag scowled, muttering something under breath (something about poncy Gryffindors, I think), while Sue huffed. "Well! I don't suppose it's any of your business, is it?"

"No, just making an observation," I shrugged, putting on an aloof air. Inwardly, I chuckled at the annoyance on the girls' faces. I'm not sure why it felt so amusing to see them off-balance, like this.

"You won't mind us observing what you're doing, then?" Sue shot back.

"Observe away. I'm just working on Transfiguration homework. We have a foot-and-a-half on Superficial Inanimate Detailing on Animate Transmogrification due next week, and I'm getting a head-start on the assignment." I explained with absolute confidence. "Far less interesting than whatever you two were planning to get up to." It was also partly true — referencing the library texts while writing out my homework was ample cover for my true purpose in investigating the Restricted Section's defenses.

"You've already started the paper? We just got that assignment, when did you finish the reading?" Morag wondered.

Months ago. Also a brief skim to revise it last week, when I realized the trend of McGonagall's lessons would shift to focus on the subject this week. "Yesterday," I lied.

The girls shared a look between them, but said nothing. Uh oh. That was going to bite me soon enough once they got back to Ravenclaw and started gossiping about how I was already ahead of the game on this assignment. The Ravenclaws in my year were rather competitive about stuff like that… and given this is a boarding school, the gossip travels fast.

Best change the subject and distract them. "So, who's the unfortunate sod?"

Sue blinked. "The… what?"

"The poor bloke you're planning on enchanting. Must be someone particularly obtuse, I reckon, if you can't just tell him you fancy him," I said casually, smiling on the inside at the reemergence of embarrassment on both their faces. Goodness, this was too easy. "Not anyone I know, is it?"

"That's—!" Morag broke off her outburst, remembering where she was and immediately quieting down to a harsh whisper before the librarian came looking. "That's none of your concern."

"It wouldn't happen to be Lockhart, would it?" I continued, pretending to ignore her. Gods above, teasing them like this had been an impulse decision yet it was proving to be much more fun than I ever expected. "Nearly half the birds in this school seem to be going ga-ga over him. Can't blame them, can you? He is a very pretty man and he seems to care for his appearance far more than most blokes in the castle, sure. I do my best to stay clean and look fresh when I can, but let's face it, I doubt I'll ever compare to Mr. 'Five-Time Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award', now will I?" Sue seemed utterly confused at this point, much to my amusement. "Even so, he's… what? 29 or so? Young for a professor, sure, but still much too old for any of the students here. Set your sights on someone more attainable, I say."

I took a moment to take in the looks on their faces. That mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and muted horror — it had no right to be so hilarious to witness, but for some reason, it did. My lips twisted into a faint smirk for but a moment, reveling in their distress.

"We're not going to cast an Entrancing Enchantment on Professor Lockhart!" Sue squeaked, aghast when she finally found her voice.

"No? Well, best of luck to whoever the chap is, then. If you need Charms for the bloke to see your charms, he can't be very bright, can he?" I continued, grinning affably. "Just hope his head isn't full of fluff, this pretty face that's caught your eyes. And that it isn't the same bloke you two are after — that's just a whole cauldron of trouble waiting to boil over. Poor sod, he'll be torn in two."

"Oh, just shut up!" Morag spat, face red and finally sick of the teasing. "It's nothing like that!"

"No?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"No."

I shrugged, holding my hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine, I'm done. Sorry."

An uneasy silence passed over us, the hush of the library descending once more. I returned to my transfiguration assignment, as the girls pulled out their own parchments, ink pots and quills.

"Let's just focus on the Potion's assignment, Morag," Sue said quietly, opening the textbook for the both of them as Morag cooled down, still fuming.

I resisted the urge to ask if they were reading up on love potions; Morag would be angered enough to shout and Madam Pince would kick us all out of the library for being loud.

…Actually, how on earth had she not come by already? My teasing and Morag's near-outburst should have been loud enough to draw her attention. I tilted my head, listening carefully to the sounds of the library. In the distance, several sections away, I could hear her admonishing some older students for what must have been a nasty ink spill.

I glanced at the Restricted Section out of the corner of my eye. Distracting Madam Pince. I hadn't considered that option much. Most of my focus had been on bypassing whatever security measures were undoubtedly in place so that I would not be caught for sneaking in. Distracting the librarian so she couldn't catch me while I was in there hadn't been a factor in my thoughts. After all, I would need quite some time in the Restricted Section to find what I was looking for.

That also raised the question: if not for Morag and Sue, would I have chanced it right then? Just for a quick peek at what weighty tomes of forbidden lore lay within?

Like many questions I asked about myself, I couldn't answer.

~o0o~

Two days later, I found myself at that same table in the library. Inspiration had struck, and despite the moral ambiguity of the idea, I thought it worth trying.

I worked on my assignments, watching carefully out of the corner of my eye for who was walking by. Madam Pince was at her desk near the Library entrance, but that modestly-enchanted rope still gave me pause. But I wasn't planning on testing it myself.

Luckily, Terence Higgs (former Slytherin Seeker, bit of a tosser, made a cruel joke when Neville tripped on a stair three weeks prior) happened to be walking by — alone and unsuspecting. I couldn't see anyone else around, nor did I hear anyone else nearby, so the coast was clear for some mischief and data-gathering.

A minor gesture of my fingers under the table and Higgs found himself unexpectedly stumbling as his leg caught on empty air. The teenager pitched forward, arms whirling to catch his balance. A slight twitch of my nose and his fall shifted ever so slightly to the side. An unseen wiggle and twisting of the hand had his shoelaces come undone, just in case.

His arms caught on the rope barring the Restricted Section.

I counted the seconds, watching like a hawk.

Higgs swore as he found his balance again, gripping the rope and pulling himself up. He glanced around at the ground, looking for what tripped him, and found his loose laces. Muttering to himself, Higgs stooped down and tied them. As he did so, he looked around and saw me watching.

"What are you looking at?" Higgs said, darkly.

"Nothing." I averted my eyes back to the open textbook before me, feigning meekness. "Just my homework."

"Really?" The older boy was unconvinced. In moments he had strode over to menacingly lean on the table as he glowered down at me. "Just your homework, is that right? That's good, innit? Means that there won't be trouble, now, will there?"

I had the impression that he would have drawn his wand if he could get away with it. But, thankfully, Terence Higgs was someone who tended to follow the rules (one of the few Slytherin players who had never cheated in a Quidditch game, if hearsay was true), so all I had to deal with was the unpleasantness of a fifteen-year-old trying to threaten a thirteen-year-old. I'm not sure why the boy thought he had to threaten me for my silence — the sight of him tripping wasn't that embarrassing. But who am I to judge the fragile ego of a teenage wizard who had been kicked from the Slytherin Quidditch team because Lucius Malfoy bribed the team to give Draco Higgs' spot?

Given that Higgs had been a Seeker, he wasn't much bigger than I was (perils of a Seeker's build). Plus, Higgs just wasn't a scary person in general, so I had to put real effort into looking intimidated.

"Right, no trouble. Mum's the word." I nodded, affecting the demeanor of Neville when confronted by Snape.

Higgs assessed me, eyes roving up and down. Finally, he nodded, satisfied that I had been sufficiently intimidated. "Good. Because if I hear something different… let's not find out, shall we?"

I shook my head, still counting the seconds in my head and pretending to be scared. It took actual effort to keep from smiling, both at the utterly miserable attempt at threatening me and the fact that I could hear footsteps rapidly approaching from behind him.

"What's going on here?" Madam Pince said, appearing from the library rows behind Higgs. Hmn. Response time was fairly quick. That would be troublesome.

Higgs whirled, putting on a saccharine smile. "Oh, nothing Ma'am. My friend here just dropped a quill and I picked it up for him, that's all."

Madam Pince seemed to stare through Higgs, before looking at me. I decided to play along. "Yeah, he was just giving me a hand. Thanks, Higgs," I lied quite easily.

The librarian hummed, not quite convinced but satisfied with the response. "As you were, then. Remember, silence in the stacks!" she said as she turned to the rope barring the entrance of the Restricted Section. Unhooking one end so she could enter before putting it back, Madam Pince gave Higgs and I a piercing look. "And take care with your quills. If I find spilled ink on this library's pages, there will be detentions and you'll be paying for replacements!"

"Of course, ma'am!" Higgs said with false sincerity, and I nodded with him.

"Good," Madam Pince said, before turning to disappear further into the Restricted Section.

Once she was gone, Higgs regarded me with a new air. I feigned meekness once more. He grunted, and left.

I watched him leave, but my attention was truly on the rope barring the Restricted Section, counting out the seconds it would take for Madam Pince to search it and find no intruders. Higgs seemed fine, though. Whatever magic had been on the rope didn't seem to affect him… I don't think it left any kind of mark on him, at any rate. Nor did it seem to trigger any other effects I could perceive. Given how light the enchantment on the rope seemed to be, I surmised that the charm on it was just a simple alarm — excellent news for me!

Unfortunately, as Higgs had left, someone else stepped into the row where I sat at my table, as if waiting for the show to finish before making their appearance. Another Slytherin, though younger, dirty-blonde and female. She was smirking as she took a seat across from me unprompted, mirth dancing in her eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, curious about this unexpected development. "Can I help you with something, Greengrass?" She must have been close by and likely heard something of what had just happened.

"A dropped quill? Really?" Daphne Greengrass said, voice leaden with sarcasm. "Was that the best he could come up with?"

"Who?" I feigned ignorance.

Greengrass rolled her eyes. "No need to put on airs, I saw the whole thing. Honestly. As if Higgs could be intimidating. He knows a few hexes, certainly, but he's too much of a coward to break the rules like that."

Well, that's certainly intriguing. I smirked. "I wasn't aware you thought that way about your housemate, Greengrass. My, what would the others say?"

"Nothing," Greengrass said with a sardonic grin. "And why would they? It's not like you're going to tell anyone, are you?"

She sounded certain about that. "Won't I?"

"No. If you did, then Terence would ask Graham to help get even," explained Greengrass. "And while Higgs is as terrifying as a gnome, Graham Montague is a thug who would be all too happy to hex you and your other Gryffindor friends in the corridor. But I'm certain you already knew that."

I did. Montague had been party to several incidents between jeering Slytherins and Gryffindors leaping to the Weasley family's defense after the news about Pettigrew was made public, and the brute was quick to draw wands at the slightest provocation.

"An astute observation," I remarked. "So what?"

"So the question is: why did you trip him?" she asked.

I pretended to be confused once more. "I don't follow."

She scoffed. "Please. His shoelaces were fine, I saw him from the next row over. Then, all of a sudden, Higgs trips on nothing, and then they come undone?" Greengrass pointed out, and I realized that I made a mistake when I thought no one else was around. In hindsight, the Slytherin girl was rather quiet and had incredibly soft steps when she walked up to me. No wonder I didn't hear her from the next row over. The question now was how to deal with this… I didn't know what to call it. Cripes and crackers, what was she driving at?

"So? I already told Higgs I saw nothing." I shrugged.

Greengrass scoffed. "It was very well done, you know. Very quiet and clean. But you and I were the only other ones around Higgs at the time. Now, I certainly didn't trip him, but someone did…"

"Perhaps Higgs truly tripped over nothing. It happens."

"Don't make me laugh, you and I both know that's rubbish. I know a tripping jinx when I see one."

"Familiar with tripping jinxes, are you?"

"Familiar enough."

"Familiar enough to have cast it and used the Gryffindor nearby as a scapegoat?" A trap of wordplay that she allowed too easily. Disappointing. I vaguely recalled Slytherins being better at verbal jousting than this, odd memories of japes and mockery in damp, green-lit halls flitting through the back of my mind. I wondered if she would spot the trick.

She did. A wry grin crossed Greengrass' face. "Nice try, but you're the one who pretended to be scared of Higgs of all wizards. You and I both know you'd out-duel him if wands were drawn."

"I doubt that. Higgs is a fourth year, and he knows far more hexes and curses than a second year like myself could." I lied with ease.

"Says the boy who nearly killed Professor Lockhart last year during the Dueling Club," scoffed Greengrass.

My eyes narrowed slightly, annoyed at the reminder. "That was Hermione's spell, not mine."

"Does it matter? You won the duel that put Lockhart — the world-renowned Gilderoy Lockhart! — in the hospital wing for weeks!"

The reminder annoyed me, though I believe I managed to conceal the irritation well enough. "What's your point?"

"My point is that you jinxed Higgs to trip just then and I want to know why?" Greengrass repeated her initial question.

Unfortunately for her, I had no intention of answering. "Supposing I did: Why do you think I would do something like that?"

Greengrass' glare bore into me, as if threatening to hex me until I told her what she wanted to hear. Unlike Higgs, I got the feeling that Daphne actually could and would hurt me if she had the chance. Huh. Legitimate intimidation from a thirteen-year-old. How about that? If not for Occlumency, I might have actually flinched at the discomfort of being stared at by a young girl like this. Thankfully, I possessed the self-control to just pretend I was ignoring her displeasure with my response.

A small, particularly dark and vindictive part of me wondered why I didn't just turn the tables and scare the living daylights out of her. I had the faint recollection of the spells needed to silence her and terrify the girl into submission, the experience with their use that wasn't truly mine… Why didn't I just tear through her mind and rip out her most recent memories? It would be so easy…

Eventually though, the glare faded, and a smile crossed Daphne Greengrass's face. I don't know why, but her expression seemed to move from annoyance (with me, likely) to amusement instead. There was a hint of interest and excitement in her eyes that seemed to come out of nowhere. The giggle that erupted from her lips caught me off guard.

"I don't know. But I'm keen on finding out," she said, standing abruptly. Greengrass smiled down at me, now pleased as punch for some inexplicable reason. "I will see you in Potions, Godewyn."

And then, just as abruptly as she had appeared, she walked off.

Bewildered by the abrupt change in attitude, I watched her go, trying to puzzle out what in blazes had just happened. A dozen theories popped into mind, but none satisfied me, so after several moments of pondering I gave up.

I had better things to do than dwell on the thoughts and attitude of Daphne Greengrass. The timeline had already diverged dramatically from the canonical route and nothing about the future ahead of me and the rest of Hogwarts — nay, the future of Wizarding Europe in general — could be certain. To combat the overwhelming urge to panic in the face of that uncertainty, I had to press forward with mastering all the avenues to power I could to avoid any future unpleasantness caused by the damnable butterfly effect.

I had to continue excelling in academics to keep my parents happy and maintain my position among my nominal peers. I had to delve deeper into the magical arts in my own time so that I wouldn't be made the victim of any older and far more skilled wizards I would likely face in the future. I had to help Neville with his studies because he was my friend (and sorta-cousin) and because I'd promised him I would. I had to assist Percy as he approached the end of his preparations with the Animagus Transformation (the Mandrakes would finally be mature enough in another month). I had to become a more adept combatant without magic so that I could master all the combat arts the Animated Armors had to teach me. And I had to break into the Restricted Section to find forbidden lore to aid my quest to truly understand the soul magically for Dumbeldore's assignment.

For any other second-year student, it would be an impossible burden. To me, it was a worthy challenge and the reward was well worth the weighty effort.

On the upside, I now had several ideas about how to access the Restricted Section without getting caught.

Compared to that, what was the use in worrying about the opinions of a teenage girl?

"Birds," I muttered to myself. "Never can figure 'em out."

~o0o~

A/N: I've been putting off posting this until I had chapter 29 written out to a satisfactory amount and had some rudimentary drafts for the chapters after that. And this chapter was particularly difficult for me because apparently I have trouble writing 'convincing' pre-teen girls, so this is me making an honest try at it. But more importantly, this sets up something of Ken's mental state in the latter half of the school year… both good and bad.