Okay, really quick before you start reading: Alongside Chapter Six I have decided to release updated versions of Chapters One to Five (and the Prologue). Before reading this Chapter, I'd highly recommend you check those out, because - while there haven't been any major changes - the story does have a slightly different (less edgy) feel to it now.

That's all. Enjoy!

~An Emerald amongst a Sea of Stone~

Chapter Six

Between dealing with an increasing amount of course load and his extracurricular activities, Harry's leisure time had been cut quite short these past few days.

Thus, he felt even more irritated than usual at having to attend a Herbology lesson on a Wednesday afternoon.

The subject had still not quite caught his interest - perhaps because his time with the Dursleys had ruined any inclination he had once felt towards plantlife, or maybe just because the subject lacked the whole magic part.

That didn't mean he would allow himself to slack off, though.

With a clap from Professor Sprout's hands, class began.

'Welcome to another Herbology lesson,' she beamed. 'Yesterday we did some theory, and as such, I thought it prudent that we return to the greenhouses in order to get our hands dirty again,' she announced.

'Today, we will be repotting Mandrakes. They are a rare species of plant that I believe most of you will not have encountered before, but that shall be of little matter. Can anyone give me a synopsis of Mandrakes and their history?' she asked.

Longbottom was among the first to raise their hands.

'Yes. Mr. Longbottom.'

The Gryffindor smiled. 'Mandrakes were first cultured over five hundred years ago in magical Canada. They are a key ingredient in magical remedies due to their unique restorative abilities, but at the same time are usually rather expensive - mainly due to their long growth period and the specific climatic conditions and magical saturation required,' he explained.

Sprout nodded approvingly as Longbottom continued to blab away, chest now puffed up.

'Scotland is the only country in Europe where growing adequate Mandrakes is feasible. Coupled with other outstanding factors, this has led to a continent-wide shortage. My father told me about a smuggling ring that existed a few years back - which he only managed to dispatch with the help of Mr. Delacour and his Aurors from the French DMLE. In the end they managed to catch the perpetrators though,' he said with a proud grin.

His father…

Harry twitched - a motion that didn't go unnoticed by Blaise.

The Professor smiled. 'Very good, Mr. Longbottom. Take twenty points for Gryffindor - but you haven't mentioned the most important thing yet. What needs to be heeded when dealing with any form of live Mandrakes?'

Longbottom grinned sheepishly. 'Sorry, Professor. Ear protection, of course. A grown mandrake's cries are able to put careless herbalists into a coma for weeks at a time, and even younger specimens can make you faint.'

Raising an eyebrow, Harry glanced at Blaise, his roommate. The Italian shrugged in response.

Sprout beamed. 'Indeed, Mr. Longbottom. And that is the reason why I have brought some earmuffs for all of you. Our Mandrakes are rather young, but we wouldn't want anyone to end up in Poppy's gentle care, after all.'

The class nodded.

'Now; The Mandrakes need to be transferred into the pots which stand in front of you. And do not be careless!' she urged. 'They need to be completely covered with compost from the stem down. I don't want to see any pot lacking the proper amount of soil - it would prove a danger to everyone! Put on your earmuffs!'

Harry wrinkled his nose, as the scratchy wool settled over his ears.

After Professor Sprout had ensured everyone had accordingly put on their protection, she spelled open the glass door to her right and briefly vanished out of sight. A few seconds later, she returned with a dozen small pots in tow. With a wave of her wand, she distributed the plants among the students. It became obvious they would form groups of two.

The plants in front of them were quite small - with thick, green stems and a handful of large, rounded leaves which bloomed into a crown on top.

Looks like a regular houseplant.

'Now!' Professor Sprout shouted, holding her wand to her throat, likely in an effort to amplify her voice. 'Fill the empty pot with some soil! After that, I want one of you to pack the Mandrake by its stem, yank it out of the soil and transfer it to the new pot. Your partner will immediately begin layering soil on top and pressing it down, until the Mandrake is entirely covered up to the middle of its stem. Is that clear?!'

Students bobbed their heads affirmatively all around.

'Good!' Sprout called, voice still muffled. 'Begin!'

Harry traded a look with Blaise, who, after a moment, gestured towards the large barrel of soil standing by their side. Harry nodded in understanding, and watched as the Italian filled the larger pot with dirt until there was a fairly thick layer at the bottom.

Harry took a breath before gripping the Mandrake by its stem and forcefully yanking it out of the soil. Exposed, now hung a large bulbous onion, the size of a fist with… a face.

What in the world…?

Its mouth opened wide, and he could faintly feel his ears tingling as the plant screamed. Quickly, he placed the whining vegetable into the larger pot, Blaise starting to shovel soil onto it as quickly as possible. Roughly a minute later, their job was done.

After Professor Sprout had assured herself all repotting efforts had been successful, she returned towards the table's far end and signalled for everyone to take off their ear protection again.

'Good job everyone!' she said. 'We'll repeat this process a handful of times now. There are still dozens of Mandrakes to be repotted, after all. Earmuffs back on. I'll return shortly with new pots.'

Wonderful… Harry thought.

It wasn't the first time a lesson's pointlessness had irritated him, but today was reaching new lows.

A speech from Longbottom followed by an hour of repotting plants. How exactly is this supposed to contribute to our education?

There were so much better things he could be doing.

Worse could only be attending another one of Binn's lessons…

To the surprise of no one, Harry had actually followed up on his promise to skip the class. And since he was yet to receive any reprimand, Binns either hadn't noticed his missing attendance, or the ghost simply didn't care enough to notify the other Professors.

Wish it were that easy with the other classes…

McGonagall did her best to supply him with extra tasks, and Flitwick had even gone so far as to provide him with extra books to read during lessons, but the rest?

When Professor Sinistra - the Astronomy Professor - had caught him reading a book on Curses last night, she had taken it away - after all, they were supposed to draw star charts, not read books. When Harry had explained to her that he had, in fact, already completed his assignment ten minutes back, she had suggested for him to help out his less gifted peers.

Like I have nothing better to do…

The only class where he actually learned something was Potions. And even then - the only reason he did was because Blaise shared with him every trick and tweak he knew. The lessons themselves, if they could even be called that, was just following the instructions on the board - no theory or instruction whatsoever. If it weren't for Blaise…

But it wasn't like he could change anything.

What would slacking off earn him other than a subpar grade? Nothing. At worst even a detention with his favourite ghost…

Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks.

With a sigh, he began to fill the pot in front of him with new soil. This day is about to get even longer…

When Harry strode through the gates of the Great Hall the next morning, breakfast was already in full swing.

Yawning, he joined Blaise and the rest of his classmates on the Slytherin table, shovelling a healthy amount of bacon, toast and eggs onto his plate.

'Looking forward to the lesson?' Blaise asked him.

Right. Flying…

Today would mark the beginning of Madam Hooch's lessons. Students had been whispering about it for days, and though Harry wouldn't deny that he looked forward to testing his skills on a broom, he didn't share the same enthusiasm some of his classmates did.

Harry shrugged. 'Not particularly,' he answered.

I'd still rather spend my day in the library.

'Flying is rather uncultured,' Parkinson broke in. 'Brooms make for a terribly slow way of travel. I don't see why they wouldn't teach us apparition or how to make a Portkey,' she sniffed.

Harry didn't deem her statement a response. Enchanting a Portkey was NEWT-level material and illegal, while anything other than side-to-side apparition was nothing more than a surefire way to kill a developing wizard or witch.

Premier magical school indeed.

Davis snorted. 'Brooms aren't for long-distance transport, Parkinson. They're about versatility and flying. Quidditch. Ring any bells?' She snarked.

While Davis was usually a rather bubbly and light-spirited person, that side of her seemed to fade whenever Parkinson was nearby. Parkinson sneered before turning back towards her conversation with Bulstrode.

'Are any of you going to the tryouts later?' Davis asked brightly.

Everyone, Harry included, shook their heads.

Nott shrugged. 'It's not like I have a chance anyway. Malfoy…' he lowered his voice. 'Malfoy's dad promised to buy Nimbus 2000s for the whole squad if Draco made seeker. I would've tried out, but the chances I'll get the spot are pretty much zero anyway.'

How surprising…

'Really?' Davis frowned. 'That can't be allowed, can it?'

'There isn't any specific rule against it. And Malfoy aside - those brooms will probably help them more than a decent seeker ever could,' Nott replied. 'You want to try out then?' he asked.

Davis nodded. 'I wanted to go for Keeper, but Warrington is supposedly rather decent. From what I heard our Beaters were shite last year, so I might have a chance there.'

Nott blinked. 'Well, feel free to try. But I doubt you'll get the spot,' he said with a shrug.

'Why?' Davis frowned. 'Because I'm a half-blood?'

Nott tilted his head. 'That's part of it. But Flint doesn't allow any girls on the team. You'll probably have better chances next year.'

I regret being sorted here more every day…

Even disregarding the blatant bigotry that was so prevalent in Slytherin, the majority of its members were simply spoiled idiots. Now, some were certainly alright, but others…

If he had a knut for each time he saw Parkinson wrinkle her nose at a classmate with dishevelled robes, he'd be… marginally richer than he already was.

If he could keep this up for another seven years, especially with Blaise nagging him to socialise? He wasn't quite sure.

A gong echoed across the Hall, signifying the end of breakfast.

He finished his toast before getting up from the bench and joining the rest of his classmates on their way out the gates. Nott and Davis, still chatting about Quidditch, took the lead.

'How do you figure you'll do?' Blaise asked as they rounded another corner.

'Not sure,' Harry shrugged. 'My father was apparently a rather talented flyer. He won the House Cup a few times back in the day.'

It was something that Professor Flitwick had mentioned to him during their trip to Diagon Alley back in August. He had never given it much thought though.

Blaise blinked. 'Oh. But you've never flown before?' he asked.

'I haven't,' Harry agreed.

'Well, me neither,' Blaise shrugged. 'It's not like our performance is being graded anyway. There isn't a flying class at Sacrovia - at least Mother never mentioned one. It's probably just a Hogwarts tradition to teach first years how to fly a broom.'

'Probably.'

They strode through a pair of large gates onto a plain of grass.

In the distance, Harry could make out a group of students standing in a circle around a woman. Judging by the colour of their robes, most of them were Gryffindors. As Harry and the others joined the class, Madam Hooch counted through the crowd before blowing her whistle.

'I believe that's all of you! Well then - Welcome to Flying Class! I'm sure many of you are excited to make your first experiences in the air. But before we begin I need to make a few things perfectly clear. Flying - while undoubtedly fun - is also dangerous. The main objective of these lessons will not be to entertain you, but to assure that, should you ever pick up a broom, you know what you are doing,' she declared, dimming the enthusiasm of a few students.

'Quidditch accidents cause the majority of serious injuries Madam Pomphrey has to treat every year. And while sometimes a crash cannot be avoided - especially in a competitive environment - it does not mean you can afford to not follow proper protocols when on a broom. Is that clear?' she demanded.

Everyone nodded affirmatively.

'Good.' Her voice lowered in volume. 'Now that the safety concerns are out of the way, I'd like to move on to the practical part of the lesson. After all, one does not learn flying from a book. Follow me!' she commanded.

She led them a couple feet away from the castle where in a circle arranged, rested a few dozen brooms.

Their appearance didn't inspire Harry with a lot of confidence in their functionality. Nevertheless, he took a stand beside the least shabby-looking one, trading a look with Blaise in the process.

This feels like a recipe for disaster…

'Good,' Hooch beamed. 'I see each of you has already chosen a broom. Now - before I explain how to properly pick it up, I want to say one more thing. During these lessons it's important that all of you follow my instructions precisely. No playing around, doing loopings, or any other dangerous stuff. I know some of you are already quite advanced fliers, but this is not the time to show off. If I catch you doing something you shouldn't, I won't hesitate to assign detention. Alright?'

They nodded.

'Good. Now; I want everyone to take their dominant hand, open it wide, and hold it out over their broom. It is, of course, possible to pick up your broom the conventional way, but doing it like this is both traditional and quicker most of the time.'

A few students sighed, clearly uninterested in the lecture.

'Alright. Now - having your broom snap into your hand is rather simple. You only need to say 'Up!'. Clear pronunciation and focus. Brooms are made of wood. Wood is stubborn.'

Everyone started to mutter the catchphrase, Harry taking his time to observe the broom by his feet. It was way past his prime, and he wasn't really looking forward to flying on the thing, but supposed it would have to do.

'Up,' he commanded firmly.

Immediately, the handle snapped into his palm, bristles shaking. To his left, Blaise seemed to have less success, as the only thing the boy managed was for his broom to roll back and forth.

He was far from the only one though.

Some students had been successful, but most did in fact seem to struggle. He noticed the disinterested expression on some of their faces, and that others, Granger on the forefront, seemed rather anxious.

They lack intent.

'Focus,' he told Blaise. 'You don't want it enough.'

The Italian looked up from his broom, nodded and took a deep breath. His next attempt was successful.

'Thanks,' he smiled.

A couple minutes passed as Madam Hooch made her way around the circle, correcting both struggling students and those who had a lacking grip. To Harry's amusement, Malfoy was called out for the latter.

'I've been holding it this way my entire life!' the boy protested.

Madam Hooch seemed entirely unimpressed. 'Then, Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid that you've been holding it wrong your entire life.'

The majority of students held in their laughs as Malfoy's face turned red in embarrassment. Longbottom and Weasley didn't stop sniggering until everyone had their broom in hand a few minutes later. Harry turned his attention back towards Madam Hooch, who had come to a halt amidst the circle of students.

'Great job everyone,' she praised. 'Now - I'd like all of you to try and carefully levitate off the ground - nothing grand, just a few feet. Try to get a feel for the broom and how it moves in the air. And do not lean forward under any circumstances, or you will begin to accelerate.'

Sounds easy enough.

Harry swung himself over the broom, tucked his legs in and leaned backwards. Comfortably he ascended, stopping at a height of about ten feet. He watched as his classmates attempted the same. Some seemed to shake back and forth as they rose into the air. Granger in particular seemed rather to be rather unstable. Then, suddenly, a gust of wind caught the girl off guard, tilting her broom forward.

'Miss Granger!' Madam Hooch cried.

'Ahhhhhhh!'

Granger started to accelerate right towards the castle. Everyone knew what was going to happen. With a loud crash she slammed into the wall, splinters raining onto the grass below. She landed on the ground below with a sickening crunch of her bones.

Most students grimaced.

'Miss Granger! Are you alright?!' Madam Hooch exclaimed, crouching down at her side.

'I- It hurts…' she whimpered, holding her arm. 'I- I think I broke my arm.'

'Goodness, poor girl…' the flying instructor muttered, briefly turning around. 'Alright! Listen here - none of you will touch your broom until I return! I will accompany Miss Granger to the Hospital Wing. You're free to discuss your progress in the meantime,' she declared.

'Poppy will fix you up in no time,' assured tenderly as she escorted the girl back inside the castle.

Everything was quiet, until, eventually, Malfoy decided to break the silence.

'Who else but a mudblood,' he sniggered.

Davis looked like she wanted to surge forward - but she was stopped in her tracks by Greengrass. Weasley on the other hand didn't seem to care about holding Longbottom back from marching up to Malfoy.

'It wasn't her fault. Everyone saw that,' the Gryffindor growled.

For once I get to see a schoolyard fight without being part of it. How refreshing…

Malfoy grinned. 'Oh. Does that rub you the wrong way, Longbottom? Granger… Interesting choice of girlfriend,' he laughed. 'Though she does seem remarkably skilled in… persuasive conversation for a mudblood.'

Whispers were exchanged amongst the students. Davis seemed like she was a hair's breadth away from turning into a Vernon shade of purple.

Longbottom scowled. 'Just like your father, you mean? He seems awfully close with Fudge these days from what I've heard.'

Blaise snorted. Malfoy turned slightly red, his expression morphing into a sneer.

'What are you, Longbottom? The self-proclaimed champion of mudbloods? If Granger is too stupid to fly straight, that's her problem. Why do you even care?'

'I care,' Longbottom snarked. 'Because you're a bigoted, prejudiced piece of shite and someone has to stand up to you. You strut around the school like you own the place when the only reason your family even retains any of its status is because your father managed to weasel his way out of Azkaban a decade ago. You are a pest, Malfoy.'

'My father was under the Imperius curse,' Malfoy growled.

Longbottom laughed. 'That explains where you have your weak-mindedness from.'

'Shut up,' Malfoy snapped. 'At least my father isn't a failure like yours. Everyone knows what happened the night your mother died. How does it feel knowing he was too weak to protect her?'

The plain grew deathly quiet. 'What did you just say to me?' Longbottom whispered, drawing his wand. 'My father-'

Is just as much of a shitstain as Malfoy's. I'm sick of this.

'Expelliarmus.'

A red flash knocked Longbottom to his feet, his wand soaring through the air for Harry to catch. As the Gryffindor's disorientation faded, he stood up and glared at him.

'Siding with Death Eaters after what happened to your parents, Potter?' he demanded. 'I thought you couldn't sink any lower than being sorted into the House of Snakes.'

Harry twitched. 'Tell me, Longbottom,' he said. 'Do you think it is wise talking back to someone holding your wand?'

The boy sneered. 'They'd be ashamed of you. Why are you kissing the arses of the same people that made you an orphan? You're even worse than-'

'Petrificus. Totalus.' Harry whispered.

Longbottom's body went stiff as a board, Weasley managing to catch him just as his paralyzed figure was about to hit the ground. Harry stalked up to the pair, wand still in hand.

His voice was awfully quiet. 'If you dare mention my parents in front of me ever again, I will take the greatest pleasure in using each and every curse I'm capable of casting just to ensure you understand,' he warned. 'You bathe in the glory of your mother's sacrifice, while I lost every last semblance of family I had that night. So do me a favour, and keep. Your mouth. Shut.'

Longbottom's face constricted into an angry grimace. Harry threw the boy's short, pale wand at his feet.

'Finite.'

Longbottom and Weasley thumped to the ground. Malfoy sniggered. 'You show him, Potter!' he cheered.

Harry turned around on his Housemate.

'Don't think I forgot who your aunt was either, Malfoy,' he whispered, loud enough for only a few people to hear. 'If she ever gets to see the light of the day again, I'll make sure her stain from this world is removed. Permanently.'

Malfoy's amusement was replaced by a hint of fear, his face turning a shade paler than it already was. Without another word, Harry turned around and walked up to Blaise.

'I'll head to the dorms. If Madam Hooch asks, tell her I had a headache… I'm not feeling too well,' he told his roommate.

Blaise nodded, doing his best not to look caught off guard. 'Of course. See you later, Harry.'

'See you later, Blaise.'

As Harry passed through the gates leading him back inside the castle, he allowed a long breath to escape him. He shook his head.

I shouldn't have allowed it to get to me. I never do.

Despite the short-term satisfaction sitting down Longbottom and Malfoy had brought him, this had not been a victory in any form.

Not by a long shot.

'Engorgio.'

The pebble in front of Harry grew to the size of a small rock. Taking one last glance at the catalogue on his desk, Harry nodded to himself before brandishing his wand again.

'Avifors.' he incanted firmly.

The rock turned into a blur of colours until - just a second later - a parrot stood in its place. Its feathers were a beautiful shade of fire-hydrant red. The bird tilted his head incredulously, as if to ask Harry what exactly it was doing here.

Grinning, he carefully reached out to stroke its plumage. The parrot leaned into his touch, clearly enjoying the massage.

Next to Harry, Blaise's eyebrows shot up. ''It's beautiful,' he said.

They'd started practising the Bird Transformation Spell in the last lesson, and while the other students still struggled with changing their pebbles into sparrows and chicks, Harry had completed that assignment a while ago. Thus, McGonagall had recommended him to try transforming the stone into a more challenging bird.

Getting a parrot to work had admittedly been more difficult than expected, but that was only a welcome change of pace for Harry.

Blaise's sparrow chirped.

'A fine transfiguration, Mr. Potter,' McGonagall broke in suddenly, voice thick with her usual brogue. 'Twenty points to Slytherin are in order, I believe.'

Harry inclined his head. 'Thank you, Professor.'

She smiled briefly. 'You're very welcome. I'd like to ask you to stay behind for a moment after today's lesson concludes. There is… a matter which I need to discuss with you.' She eyed him somewhat sharply.

He nodded. 'Of course, Professor.'

'Any idea what that's about?' Blaise asked, once she was out of range.

Harry's lips thinned. 'I assume she wants to speak with me about what happened during flying class last week.'

Longbottom probably came crying to her. Not that it's a surprise…

'Want me to wait for you?' Blaise offered.

Harry gave him a faint, grateful smile. 'No, but thank you. I'll head to the library right away.'

'No lunch?' Blaise frowned.

'I'm not particularly hungry,' Harry responded.

A clap of McGonagall's hands concluded their conversation.

'Class is over,' she declared. 'Please revert your transfigurations and clean up. Afterwards, you are free to leave. I will collect the essays on your bird of choice by next Monday.'

Everyone groaned. Harry yawned, having already finished the essay in question after last night's spell practise session.

'I'll see you later,' Blaise said as he dispelled his transfiguration. The Italian grabbed his bag and stood up from his chair.

'Sure. See you, Blaise.'

Blaise vacated the classroom alongside the other students. The last one to leave was Granger, who had seemingly recovered quite well from last week's accident. When the door fell into its lock, Harry walked up to the Professor's desk.

'You wanted to speak with me, Professor?' Harry said politely.

She nodded. 'Yes. I assume you know what this is about,' she replied curtly.

He allowed his eyebrows to ascend, acting oblivious. 'I don't think so, Professor. Would you mind elaborating?'

McGonagall didn't seem impressed. 'Very well. After yesterday's Transfiguration class, Mr. Longbottom approached me with an interesting story about last week's flying lesson. Apparently, you attacked him while Madam Hooch was momentarily gone,' she told him.

Harry frowned. 'I see…' he nodded.

She huffed. 'Well?! What do you have to say in your defence, Mr. Potter? I very much hope you didn't hex a fellow classmate for no other reason than your own amusement!'

He was quick to shake his head. 'Of course not, Professor,' he denied. 'What exactly did Mr. Longbottom say happened?'

McGongall eyed him sharply. 'He claims you attacked him during a verbal face-off with Mr. Malfoy. He said he was… not quite sure of the reasons, but mentioned that you took his wand and used a full-body-bind to incapacitate him,' she said.

Not quite sure of the reasons, huh?

Harry acted surprised. 'Oh? He didn't mention that he was the first party to draw their wand or the fact that he insulted my parents?'

McGonagall's lips thinned. 'He did not.' She paused. 'Perhaps it would be best if you explained your side of things to me in more detail,' she suggested.

'Of course,' he nodded seriously. 'As Mr. Longbottom rightly insinuated, the start of things was a face-off between Mr. Malfoy and himself - a trade of insults more than anything. I originally paid their spat little mind, but when Longbottom drew his wand, I felt it necessary to step in lest a duel broke out.'

The Professor nodded slowly. Harry took it as a sign to continue.

'After I disarmed him, Mr. Longbottom told me that my parents would be ashamed, both for - and I quote - being sorted into the House of Snakes and kissing the arse of the same people that made me an orphan. In a poor show of self-control, I decided to hit him with a body-bind.'

McGonagall's eyebrows had risen to her hairline. 'And you are telling the truth?' she asked.

Harry nodded.

'Then, rest assured, I will be having words with Mr. Longbottom. But his misconduct aside, I'm afraid I still have to punish you for attacking a fellow student,' she said.

'Of course, Professor,' Harry agreed.

'Since you seem to have reflected upon your shortcomings, I believe one unit of detention will suffice. Tomorrow night in my office at eight sharp. But do not let it happen again, Mr. Potter,' she warned.

Harry bowed dejectedly. 'Yes, Professor.'

'Very well. Off to lunch with you then. We'll see each other tomorrow night,' she declared.

Harry nodded. 'Goodbye, Professor.'

McGonagall sighed. 'Goodbye, Mr. Potter.'

That could've gone a lot worse… Harry thought as he stepped out of the classroom.

He was far from happy about receiving detention, but at least McGonagall had heard him out first. Whether Longbottom would receive the same punishment remained doubtful, but it mattered little to him either way. Except for petty satisfaction he stood nothing to gain from paying it any mind.

I've got more important things to worry about.

Coming to a halt, he pushed open the doors of the library. Not bothering to greet the grumpy librarian, he marched right past her counter and sat down at one of the empty tables near the Curse section.

It had been more than two weeks now since he'd begun searching this place for literature on the Cruciatus Curse - yet he was still to have any major breakthrough.

It honestly felt like the library had been purged of any useful piece of information he could have found - not just on the Cruciatus but the Unforgivables in general.

He supposed it shouldn't have been much of a surprise - after all it hardly seemed like a good idea to hand teenagers the recipe for casting such magics on a silver platter - but that took little away from his irritation.

There wasn't even a medical study of some kind discussing the curse's effects. Even the advanced healing texts were, according to Pince, in the restricted section - for what reason, Harry knew not.

Harry had tried to not let it discourage him too much, but in all honesty the frustration was starting to get to him. Recently, his eyes had begun flickering over towards the metal gates marking the restricted section's entrance more often than he would have liked.

No use delaying though…

He got up and headed in between the shelves. A few minutes later, he returned with a dozen books levitating in tow.

Good thing this table is out of Pince's vision.

The librarian would have undoubtedly skinned him alive, would she ever found out he was using magic on her precious books.

He opened Zap Away - Dispelling Dark Magic and began searching its chapters for mentions of the Cruciatus. On the side, he took notes on any other interesting pieces of information he came across.

It was a thing he'd begun doing when it had become apparent that knowledge on the Cruciatus was far more evasive than he'd previously hoped.

Thus, instead of merely skimming through books, he had begun taking his time to expand and subsequently used his research as a means to broaden his general knowledge of curses along the way.

A wise decision, he thought, since - this way - at least it felt like his research wasn't a complete waste of time.

Rubbing his temples, he allowed the fourth book of the day to clap shut. Except for the mention of a potential precursor, this one hadn't contained any mention of the infamous Torture Curse.

'Tempus,' Harry muttered.

I've been here for nearly three hours already.

The temptation to move onto more interesting projects was large - but he wouldn't allow himself to move on until he had at least finished the stack of books that still remained on the table.

Duelling can wait.

After all, he had made a promise - not just to himself, but his mother.

Author's Note:

It's been a while, huh?

These last two months writing has really been difficult, but I'm happy to say that I'm back (at least somewhat). I'm currently still sick, which is the reason why I was able to dedicate so much time to writing again in the first place, but I hope to find a better balance between hobby and work in the near future.

As I already mentioned, alongside Chapter Six, I have decided to release an edited version of Chapters One to Five (and the Prologue). There are no major changes, but there I feel like there *is* a different feel to parts of the story now.

So I definitely invite you to do a reread.

Also: HUGE fucking thanks to Jupiter, my incredible beta. Storyboarding? Editing? Entertainment? This man can do it all, so big thanks to him. He makes ESOS a lot better.

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be, nor will I make any promises, but let's say that ESOS isn't the only thing I still have cooked up.

I have another project which I've been writing on (~25k words so far), but I will only begin releasing that once I have a bit more buffer.

Interested in joining my DC? - /zwpshsfKJn

Anyway, hopefully you enjoyed the Chapter! I'm happy to be back and can't wait to see you in the next one!

Cheers,

Redd