The Sentinel

"Dumbledore put me there?" Harry exclaimed at Hagrid's revelation, even though he should have fully expected it at this point.

"The Headmaster wanted ya to grow up with yer family, away from all the worries of wizarding folk," Hagrid responded casually as he took another sip from his teacup.

My "family" barely tolerated my existence before, and they completely hate me now thanks to you! Harry wanted to bite back.

"But I barely know anything about this world, and everyone thinks I know everything," Harry returned, his voice fluctuating as he barely held control over it.

For good or ill, Hagrid seemed not to notice.

"Ya have time to learn all that," the giant counseled. "Along wit' yer peers."

"They think the Headmaster taught me all my life!" Harry explained with strained calm. "They expect me to be far more powerful than them! And some trained for years!"

On their way to lunch from Potions, Ron informed Harry why everyone wanted to see Draco defeated. The Malfoy heir spent his childhood receiving instruction from the best tutors money could buy. In fact, rumor was that Draco could easily place into third year and even best half of the fifth years in a duel. Naturally, Draco was as pompous as a peacock.

"Don't matter," Hagrid insisted. "Everyone starts at a different place, but Hogwarts has tha finest teachers in the world! You'll learn everything yuh need to know in due time."

Due time, Harry huffed internally.

"Yes, but maybe Voldemort will come back in the next few years?" Harry wondered aloud, because yes he was willing to pull that card. "I'd be his first target…"

"Yer under the protection of the mightiest witches and wizards in tha world," Hagrid stated with complete confidence. "No one'll harm a single hair on yer head here."

And where were these "mighty" witches and wizards all those times I was beaten for having these freakish powers?

Do you know how many times I prayed for this thing inside me to be taken away? To be normal? And now you expect me to learn what others have known their whole lives!

As if McGonagall's first letter wasn't addressed to a "cupboard under the stairs"…

"I understand," Harry said as he took a sip of the delicious caramel milk tea to mask his grimace.

Clearly, Hagrid won't help.

"But if any of yer schoolmates give ya trouble, come straight to me or the Headmaster," Hagrid added.

"Thank you," Harry offered in a grateful tone, despite feeling the exact opposite.

I'm no snitch. Never have been, never will be. That's for weaklings like "Duddykins."

"Look, I know this world's new to yah," Hagrid said in a supposedly understanding tone. "I know you may feel outta step a few times. But we're all here to help. Hogwarts is a tight-knit community."

I'm sure that's how the Death Eaters felt, Harry thought as he restrained from rolling his eyes.

Harry wished he could simply be grateful to Hagrid for bringing him into this world and develop a bond from there. The giant seemed friendly, he prepared tea and cakes as fine as Harry ever had, and he made a very good conversationalist. Heck, he had done all this despite Harry arriving at his hut with neither forewarning nor general invitation.

But however approachable the giant was, however Harry wished he could see a friend in the first person to truly stand up for him against Dudley, Hagrid was too tied to the Headmaster. And for all that teachers claimed to care about the students' wellbeing, they always did whatever made them look best in the end. If their boss praised Dudley and his parents to the high heavens, well then, what could a teacher possibly do as everyone's precious Duddykins made Harry's life hell? What more if it was the "greatest wizard of all time?"

In this conversation, Harry learned beyond a shadow of a doubt he suffered for ten long years because of the Headmaster. Why exactly, Harry didn't know. But adults always had explanations of how whatever they did was "for your own good" when it really just benefited them. Even Sir, it turned out, knew that his beatings would never drive the magic out of Harry — he just said that's what the beatings were for.

So no, Harry could not trust adults when it really came down to it. He certainly couldn't trust someone so fanatical about the Headmaster as Hagrid. And he sincerely doubted he would find a "tight-knit community" that was "all here to help."

Everything's different, but nothing's changed, Harry solemnly realized.

With no help from Hagrid, Harry sprinted toward the castle with only two days and nine hours to figure out how not to make an utter fool of himself in front of Draco. Worse, he had only five hours until the 8:30 House curfew for first years.

The library was the obvious destination, but Harry needed to create an attack plan using at most five moves that he could get down by half-past Friday midnight.

Well, we'll be fighting in a dark corridor, Harry remembered as he jogged through Hogwarts' corridors. Maybe I can stun him with a very bright Lumos.

Harry produced the brightest of the class, and he was sure he could push it further. But it would have to be instant, like a flashbang.

If only I could combine the flash with a bang… Harry wished.

But it did lead him to his next idea. While Draco was stunned, Harry needed to bowl him over — flat on his back preferably. Speed and power beat out fancy martial arts training any day, and posh dojo students could be momentarily flustered if taken by surprise.

If Harry was right though, he'd need to capitalize that moment for the finishing move — disarmament. It was critical he found a way to do this with a flick of his wand rather than physically doing it as he had with Nott. For one, Harry couldn't repeat a move that Draco saw just days ago. For two, Harry doubted Draco would be as close in an official duel as Nott was when he tried to backstab — or back-sting? — him. For three, Draco must possess a quick recovery time to be called the best duelist of Hogwarts' 1053rd class.

Reaching the library not a moment too soon, Harry immediately went to Madam Pince to ask for help. Fortunately, the librarian had taken a liking to him and quickly guided him to books with a list of spells of the nature he described. Better yet, they came with extensive descriptions of their properties and casting methodologies.

"Lumos Maxima, Depulso, Flipendo, Expelliarmus, Accio," Harry recited again and again while he practiced the wand motions for each, faster and faster each time.

He made absolutely certain not to put any power behind the motions, lest he ruin his good relations with the librarian. However, he needed to make sure he had the movements down before he went to practice them outside some place — some place Draco hopefully wouldn't be able to sneak up on him.

The strategy was simple. He would blind Draco with a Lumos Maxima, which apparently was much more powerful than the simple Lumos charm Professor Flitwick taught the previous day's second period. He would then hit Draco's solar plexus with a banishing charm and immediately follow with an uppercut motion of his wand to deliver a flipping charm to his hopefully airborne roommate. Just before or as Draco hit the ground, Harry would twirl his wand in a tight, circular motion to disarm before summoning his opponent's hawthorn wand to his grasp.

Of course, it would all fall apart if Draco struck first. Or worse yet, if Draco deflected some of Harry's attacks. But after five years of brawls with Dudley, Harry decided to hedge his bets on a total commitment to a speed-based offensive. An all-or-nothing play.

"Will you be going to dinner, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pince asked kindly as she walked up to his table.

It was 7:30, leaving only one hour till he had to be back in the Slytherin basement (why, Salazar, why?). Harry's best bet for dueling practice was doing it early the next morning, in which case it would be unwise to go on an empty stomach till the next breakfast.

I should've been raised in this world, Harry inwardly fumed as he thanked Madam Pince for reminding him to grab a bite. How dare Hagrid say otherwise?

Fortunately, he arrived at the Slytherin table so late that he was the only first year left, allowing him to eat in solace for the first time at the castle. Alone time was valuable.

September 5

"Accio!" Harry shouted in rage at a tree twig he'd been with, only for it to crack in two.

"Arrrgh!" Harry yelled as he hurled his own wand away. Despite Depulso and Accio being inverses of each other, Harry found he had much greater talent with the former than the latter.

Luckily, Depulso's the spell I need to put Draco down, Harry reminded himself as he stomped over toward his weapon.

Even so, his anger pulsed through his wand, releasing a shower of sparks and a loud POP! that left his ears ringing for a few minutes.

"Accio! ACCIO! ACCIO!" Harry screamed as a fire of fury burned through his body.

At his last shout, both halves of the twig and a fist-sized clod of dirt suddenly launched themselves at Harry's face. He barely hit the deck in time.

"Performance issues?" a familiar voice sounded from behind the facedown Harry.

Harry flushed with embarrassment as he picked himself up and turned to face Professor Quirrell.

"I…uh…sorry if I was loud…" Harry stammered as he bashfully ran his hand through his dark-brown mop of hair.

"No trouble," the professor assured with a smile. "I must say though, it is rare to see someone out and about so early."

"Besides the Quidditch jocks of course, but you won't find them here," he added as he gestured at the beautiful Flying Class lawn that he and Harry both stood in.

Right, absolutely can't forget meeting Captain Flint tomorrow at dawn, Harry quickly reminded himself.

"Do you go for morning walks?" Harry asked, hoping to divert the conversation from his failed attempts at summoning a measly twig.

"I find it keeps the body fit and the mind active," the professor answered with his usual easy-going smile.

"I like the quiet of the early morning too," Harry said as he looked once more at the rising sun. "It's when I feel…at peace."

"Finding one's center is the key to everything," Professor Quirrell said.

"I find that hard many times," Harry admitted as he sensed a shift in topic.

"What exactly were you trying to do with the branch?" the professor asked.

"Um…I was trying to summon it?" Harry responded with the truth, if not slightly redacted.

"How?" the professor followed.

"I…willed it toward me?" Harry answered in a questioning voice.

"What is magic?" the professor suddenly posed.

"Er…I think it's the power to…the power to change the world around us, if we have the strength to do it," Harry provided.

"And the skill," Harry added as he remembered the Headmaster directing his energy to reverse the fire in the dining hall at the beginning of the week.

"True," the professor approved. "But that also describes the abilities of the hemitheoi, who were quite different from us."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"Demigods is the modern translation, a very arrogant name if I say so myself," Professor Quirrell explained. "The heroes you have heard of in the mythologies — Heracles, Perseus, Theseus, Helen of Troy, Gilgamesh, Beowulf, Arthur Pendragon."

"They were real?" Harry asked.

"Yes, though their tales have been somewhat exaggerated over the millennia," Professor Quirrell said. "Nevertheless, they possessed physical and elemental capabilities that went far beyond what muggles could imagine at the time — hence why they called themselves half-gods."

"What's the difference between them and us?" Harry inquired.

Professor Quirrell smiled.

"To put it simply, they were forces of nature whereas we are authors," he answered. "Their power, while great, was raw and unfocused. Moreover, it was limited in scope. Perhaps Heracles never met an enemy he could not overpower, but his strength meant nothing against poison."

"But we have many powers, right?" Harry asked.

"Our power is to manipulate the transcendent energy that flows through every iota of this world," Professor Quirrell said. "The spells you learn are simply different applications of this energy. Or, more accurately, mantras that ingrain these applications until…"

Professor Quirrell made a beckoning gesture with his right pointer and middle finger, which was answered by the broken pieces of Harry's branch flying into the professor's hand.

"You don't have to speak at all," Harry murmured with wonder.

"The words do not supply the power," the professor explained. "They simply provide focus — hone your intent."

"Like a wand," Harry said.

"Very good," the professor said. "Though why do you think modern wizards use wooden sticks rather than staffs or swords to channel their power?"

The assignment for today, Harry realized.

"They're easier to carry?" he suggested, even though he felt the answer was a bit foolish.

"They're also quicker to take out in a dicey situation," Harry added as he thought of what he'd do if he ever saw Dudley again. "I'll bet they're also more…what's the word…inconspicuous?"

"That certainly is an advantage," Professor Quirrell nodded in agreement. "But you may be surprised how mutable size can be."

Suddenly, the small branch halves in the professor's hands twisted and intertwined together like writhing snakes. Then, with mere seconds of murmuring from the professor, the new stick grew into a staff.

After giving the weapon several test twirls in quarterstaff like fashion, the professor handed it to Harry.

"Lighter than I thought," Harry noted as he spun the staff.

The magic within the staff differed quite a bit from that within his wand. Harry felt his wand added a fiery edge to his power and offered an eagle spread of possibility all while sharpening each effect like a whetstone. On the other hand, the staff's magic seemed to coil with anticipation as Harry's power flowed into it, like a tiger crouching in wait for its prey.

"The staff's power feels more deadly — like it wants to strike something," Harry considered.

"Try it out," Professor Quirrell suggested.

"Depulso!" Harry shouted as he thrusted the staff behind him and pivoted with the movement.

The energy that erupted from the staff eclipsed anything he had produced from his wand over the past two days.

"Wicked," Harry murmured to himself.

"More powerful, isn't it?" the professor said. "Try another spell. Lumos, maybe."

"Lumos Maxima!" Harry shouted as he twisted the staff till it stretched horizontally in front of him.

Powerful lights shone from both ends, lights each brighter than the ones he produced from his wand. But after two or so seconds, the lights began to flicker as Harry found himself struggling to maintain them at peak intensity — or at a consistent intensity.

"Lumos Maxima," Harry repeated as he managed to briefly return the lights to maximum brightness, before they again began to wane and wax.

"Maybe another spell," Professor Quirrell suggested. "Do you happen to know the disarming spell?"

As a matter of fact, Harry did.

After Harry nodded, the professor produced his own dark-chocolate colored wand.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted as he made a strong pivot on his left foot tell he stood at an angle perpendicular from Professor Quirrell — staff held horizontally to his body the whole time.

Professor Quirrell's wand stayed right where it was.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry shouted louder as he made a 180-degree pivot on his right foot till he stood perpendicular to Professor Quirrell again — with the professor positioned on Harry's left this time.

Yet again, the wand remained unmoved.

"Expelliarmus," Professor Quirrell said with a seemingly casual flick of his wand.

At that, Harry's staff went flying out of his hands.

"Try with your wand," the professor suggested just as Harry was about to pick the staff up again.

Harry produced his trusty ivory-colored wand at that and attempted the spell once more.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted as he jerked his wand in the upside-down L movement he had learned from the textbooks.

To his surprise, Professor Quirrell's wand went flying.

"Well done," the professor complimented.

"I used just as much…no, I used more…power with the staff?" Harry questioned.

"So you did," Professor Quirrell confirmed.

"Then how…" Harry started.

"How often do you eat with a ladle?" the professor suddenly asked.

"Uh…not really?" Harry responded, confused as to where this was going.

"Wouldn't you be able to get more food in one bite?" Professor Quirrell followed up.

"Well, yes," Harry noted. "But I wouldn't be able to cut the food. I wouldn't be able to properly bite into the food. I'd end up shoveling it down like a pig."

Like Dudley, Harry remembered with a smirk as he remembered the parting gift Hagrid gave that muggle. Too bad the giant hadn't fully transformed that oaf into a pig.

Maybe that could have made up for Hagrid leaving me there, Harry thought bitterly.

"Indeed," Professor Quirrell said with his own smile. "So you'd say you'd use a fork much more often than a ladle, despite the latter being able to do more?"

Does a ladle really do more? Harry wondered to himself.

"I think a fork does more," Harry returned, seeing the correlation to his wand. "Maybe I won't scoop as much food in one go, but I eat a lot more types of food in a lot more ways with a fork."

"But maybe we shouldn't bother with wands at all," the professor suggested as he shifted back to the magical question. "After all, how much power does a phoenix feather or unicorn tail really have in comparison to a wizard?"

"We don't eat with our hands," Harry countered. "We can, and we did. But with a fork and a knife, we get much better cuts of meat. We scoop pasta, rice and potatoes more nicely. And we can handle all of them at hot temperatures and enjoy them more than with our hands."

"So the wand is just a tool?" the professor asked.

"Yes," Harry answered after a few seconds. "But we bond with the wands best made for our brand of magic. And our wands help us be more exact and precise than we could with a staff or sword. Never mind just ourselves."

"Very good," Professor Quirrell said with a very warm smile. "Few wizards question why we study magic the way we do, even with years of training and experience. And from what I've seen, truly understanding the why will put you ahead of anyone who just knows the how — in due time, that is."

Harry smiled brightly. Maybe he had a chance after all in this new world. A chance to be the best, and not be put down in the dirt like he had for all his life.

"How often do you go for morning walks?" Harry asked.

"I do fancy a stroll every Friday morning if you would like to join," the professor answered amiably.

"I would!" Harry replied excitedly.

12:20 a.m., September 6

The morning talk and subsequent walk with Professor Quirrell helped Harry nail all of the questions in that day's second class. Harry didn't know if he was prouder of the ten house points or of completely outperforming Hermione.

That brings my total up to 50 — in my first week alone! Harry thought excitedly as he found Ron at the base of the Grand Staircase.

"Ready, mate?" Harry's freckled friend asked.

"As I'll ever be," Harry sighed.

This is it. No more practice time, Harry accepted as he and Ron ascended the stairs.

Sometimes, it was better to just get something over with. Harry had spent every hour of his free time for the past three days preparing for the duel, and there was nothing else he could have possibly done. He was either ready to take on the best duelist of his class, or he wasn't.

"Ho, Harry," a voice whispered as he and Ron got to the top of the stairs.

"Ernie?" Harry whispered back.

Out of the shadows came not just Ernie, but Anthony, Justin, Michael, Terry, Oliver, Roger, Susan and Hannah.

"We weren't missing this for the world," Hannah spoke for the throng of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws.

"The humiliation of Draco Malfoy," Anthony said excitedly. "I can't wait!"

You might be treated to the humiliation of Harry Potter, Harry thought worriedly even as he smiled at his yearmates.

"Hope I don't disappoint," Harry said in a soft attempt to lower expectations.

"Not gonna happen," Seamus remarked as he, Dean, Lavender, Parvati and Padma appeared behind Harry and Ron, having just come up the staircase themselves apparently.

"Looks like we've got a crowd," Ron stated the obvious.

"Well, guess we might as well head over to the corridor," Harry suggested. "No way they can jump us with all you guys, huh?"

"Nope," Lavender said with an emphasis on the p.

And so, the collection of first years (quietly) marched to the appointed location of the duel.

"Creepy, huh?" Ron whispered to Harry about the corridor.

"It'll work," Harry replied with more confidence than he'd felt all day. Devoid of windows and torch lights, the hallway ended up being darker than Harry expected — which meant his Lumos Maxima strategy would work all the better.

When they were halfway down the corridor, Harry and Ron turned back toward the staircase as the others shuffled around and behind them. With his yearmates forming an adequate barrier in case Draco or Nott — most likely Nott — started slinging hexes from behind, Harry kept his eyes trained in front of him.

This might be one of the few times in my life I'll be grateful for the cupboard, Harry mused as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and spotted two figures walking toward them from the end of the hallway.

"Here they come," Harry whispered to Ron as he drew out his wand.

"No lights," Harry whispered louder when he felt like a Lumos was about to be cast.

"Ho, Draco. Ho, Theodore," Harry hailed as they closed half the distance.

"Told you, Mr. Ravenclaw," came back a smug voice that was neither of Harry's aforementioned roommates — or anyone he had met.

"Whatever you say, Cormac," the Ravenclaw boy drawled back.

"Uh…who are you?" Harry asked the approaching boys.

"See, he's not the be-all and end-all of wizardkind," the one called Cormac said.

"Maybe he's being polite," the Ravenclaw retorted. "Unlike you."

"I'm Edward Carmichael, by the way," the shadowy figure on the right finally introduced himself. "This lout here is Cormac McLaggen."

"He's in my House, year above us," Ron supplied into Harry's left ear. "Has a bit of a stick up his arse."

"More like a tree…" Parvati added in a mock whisper.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said quickly before the situation devolved.

"So…Slytherin showdown, huh?" Cormac asked.

"Just a friendly contest," Harry replied casually.

"HA! Nothing's friendly with snakes," Cormac snorted.

"Guess you're in for a show, then," Harry retorted with a cock of his head.

"Oh, I know," Cormac responded haughtily.

"My friend somehow thinks you might lose," Edward said with the verbal version of an eye-roll.

Wow, thanks, Harry thought. Then again, that's one lowered expectation.

"Hey, practice makes perfect," Cormac defended his obviously unpopular viewpoint. "Everyone knows how much Malfoy's got. But you? I'm betting you don't have a lot."

Oh my God! He's on to me! Harry worried behind a blank expression.

Ron for his part laughed out loud.

"Headmaster Dumbledore himself raised him!" Ron exclaimed. "No one can beat that!"

The other first years nodded and murmured in agreement.

"Then why isn't he taking Auror trials right now?" Cormac challenged. "Scratch that, why isn't he Head Auror? If he's the most powerful wizard ever, trained by the former most powerful wizard ever, why in Merlin's beard is he a Hogwarts first year?"

Silence.

Well, might as well come out with it sooner than later, Harry decided.

"Dumbledore didn't…" Harry started before his ears, perfectly trained from years with the Dursleys, recognized a tip-toe coming toward them.

"Lumos Maxima!" Harry shouted before he could stop himself from wasting the move.

"Aaaargh!" almost everyone screamed, groaned or moaned as Harry's power lit up the length of the corridor ahead of them with white brilliance.

"Oh…hey Neville," Harry said greeted the lone Gryffindor in front of them.

"Couldn't sense who it was?" Cormac whispered into his ear as Neville shuffled toward them with his eyes still covered.

Only years with Mr. and Mrs. — no, Dursley one and Dursley two — kept Harry from biting back with a cheeky response. In any case, this confirmed that reading minds, or at least a reliable magic sixth sense was a wizard power. That, or Cormac was pulling his leg, which was also possible.

Put reading up on mind reading on top of the mountain of books I need to read, Harry grumbled in his mind.

Thankfully, the hallway light dimmed before Draco and Nott made an appearance, meaning Harry could still use "Lumos Maxima" against them. Even better, Ron and everyone else would be ready for it, so only Harry's opponents would be blinded.

Additionally, Cormac mercifully decided to shut up, which gave Harry a few moments of peace to collect himself before the duel. Or minutes. Several minutes?

"What's the time?" Harry asked after about five minutes of silence.

"12:35," Anthony answered with a bit of annoyance. "Scratch that, 36."

"You think he's chickened out?" Ernie grumbled.

"Slimy Slytherin," Ron hissed out. "No offense."

"Shhh, I think I hear someone," Harry whispered.

The footsteps were almost imperceptible, but in his heightened state of awareness, Harry was sure of them.

And suddenly, right in front of them, a pair of red eyes glowed up.

"That's our cue!" Cormac suddenly exclaimed.

"Run for it!" Edward seconded as the two second-years suddenly took off.

"Wait, where are you going?" Harry asked. But they were quite fast — faster than any of Dudley's muggle gang.

"Do you think that's Draco?" Ron questioned with a point of his wand toward the cat.

"Hmmm," Harry considered. They had seen Professor McGonagall start the year by transfiguring from a cat into a witch. And Draco supposedly was as good as half the fifth years in a duel. Maybe he possessed advanced powers like this — and who knew what else?

A sinking feeling gnawed Harry's stomach as he realized just how terribly outmatched he was. Should he concede now, and spare himself the humiliation?

Never, Harry decided firmly, angry he'd even thought of that for a second. Did his parents concede when Voldemort stormed their house? No, they fought to their dying breaths like the heroes they were.

"I'm ready when you are, Draco," Harry acknowledged the black cat.

Just as Professor Quirrell had shown him during their morning walk, Harry folded his left hand behind his back, staggered his left foot behind his right, pressed his wand vertically against his nose and crouched while slightly bowing his head — but keeping Draco in direct eyesight at all times.

Draco did not bow in turn.

Rude, but oh well.

"LUMOS MAXIMA!" Harry shouted faster than he thought possible, all while summoning a light that outstripped all of his practical trials.

But that turned out to be a huge mistake.

"CHILDREN OUT OF BED!" a tall, muscular man at the end of the corridor bellowed. "CHILDREN IN THE CORRIDOR!"

"Run!" Ron shouted.

This time, Harry followed without asking questions.

Unfortunately, the man pursuing them was faster than any of the first-year wizards. Much faster. The only reason Harry and Ron escaped his grasp for so long was because they were faster than their yearmates. But even then, with the man and his not-Draco cat blocking off the entrance, capture and the rather painful tazing that followed seemed inevitable. For the man and the cat could definitely see through the dark, and it seemed they even saw through the statues!

"I found a door!" Ron suddenly whispered from a bit ahead of Harry.

"It's locked," Ron bemoaned as Harry reached him.

Yelps from Dean and the cruel laughter that followed signaled the fall of one of their last fellow holdouts. The sounds seemed to be from a third-of-the-way down the long hallway, but it would make no difference if they couldn't get the door open in the next few seconds.

"Oh, move over!" a familiar voice demanded as Harry and Ron desperately pulled at the door handle.

Out of options, Harry did exactly as she said with no hesitation. He pulled Ron out of the way after the redhead spent another precious second yanking at the handle to no avail.

"Alohomora!" Hermione commanded as she pointed her wand at the door handle, which instantly opened the metal door.

"Alohomora?" Ron asked as the three hustled into the new room and closed the door behind them.

"Standard Book of Spells, Chapter 7," Hermione answered easily.

How Hermione was so collected, or even how she had been in the corridor without being seen by anyone, were questions Harry would save for another time. The top priority was finding another exit to this room and….

"Guys…" Harry whispered as he realized they were not alone.

"HUH—" Ron started to gasp before Hermione clamped a hand over his mouth.

Heart throbbing in his chest, Harry delicately moved back toward the door they came in. However the madman outside was, he seemed like a fluffy doll in comparison to the sleeping giant three-headed dog.

One which had a very fitful sleeping pattern, or was on the verge of waking up.

After several minutes of inaction, Hermione voiced what they had all been thinking, but hadn't dared say.

"We need to get out," she whispered.

"On three," Harry whispered back.

"One," Hermione whispered.

"Two," Ron followed.

But just as Harry was about to say three, three sets of glowing yellow eyes lit up the room.

"AHHHHH!" a chorus of three voices screamed.

They all pushed against the door with their backs, but either they were weak from fright or they were far slower than the hellhound before them. All the same, the door was barely halfway open before three giant heads lunged at them.

They'd never make it out in time.

So in a moment of pure instinct, Harry thrusted his hands forward and shouted "DEPULSO!" with every fiber of his being.

The three first-years were knocked back through the door just as the hellhound was shoved in the opposite direction, buying them just enough time for Hermione to grab her wand, shut the door and relock it with two more charms Harry guessed were from the Standard Book of Spells.

Harry lay gasping on the floor until Ron pulled him up.

"Harry…you just blasted that cerberus back…without a wand!" Ron exclaimed in amazement as he propped Harry up.

"You also blasted apart your clothes," Hermione gestured toward Harry's shredded cloak, torn shirt and ripped pants.

"Any…standard spells…for that?" Harry gasped out.

"Not that I've mastered," Hermione admitted. "I can do this though. Oculus Reparo!"

Just as Harry took the time to notice his glasses had been shattered — and thankfully fell off his face before doing so — Hermione handed the repaired spectacles to him.

"Thanks," Harry said with a warm smile. "For everything tonight."

"Thank me by not coming up with another clever idea to get us killed, or worse, expelled!" Hermione demanded. Then with a small smile of her own, she disappeared into the night.

"She needs to sort out her priorities," Ron said, still supporting Harry's body weight.

Harry patted Ron on the chest with his free hand.

"So…Draco set us up?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Slimy s—wanker," Ron snarled. "But…I wonder what that hound is guarding."

"Guarding?" Harry asked.

"That thing has no business in a school, but it was standing on a trapdoor," Ron informed. "I'd know…I have to watch out for the ones my brothers conjure all the time!"

"Hmmm," Harry responded as he tested his ability to stand by himself. He managed…barely.

It was a slow walk through the corridor at first, but Ron and Harry found themselves alone. Everyone else had either been rounded up by the madman — Filch, according to Ron — or had managed to escape themselves.

"What he said's true," Harry suddenly told Ron as they reached the Grand Staircase, at which point Ron was due to walk left halfway around the top before heading off toward the Gryffindor tower whereas Harry would descend the steps.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"Cormac, I think his name was," Harry said. "It's true. I…haven't been trained. At all. I was… kept with muggles for all these years and…"

Harry didn't know why he was telling Ron this, but he did.

"I didn't even know I was a wizard till this past Sunday," Harry admitted.

Ron's mouth opened like a trapdoor.

"The…the day we met?" Ron gasped out.

Harry nodded. A minute of silence hung between them.

Is it over? Harry began to worry. Supposedly, you were supposed to confide in friends, and Ron was the best friend he had. But maybe he had shown too much weakness…

But that train of thought was aborted as Ron hugged him tightly.

"Well, if what you did tonight is you after less than a week of wizarding, I'm sure you'll do fine," Ron said confidently. "We'll do fine. Together."

Harry returned the embrace as if it were a lifeline.

After a minute or two, the boys unclasped — but not with any embarrassment like on the train.

"Well, I'll see you around Gryffindork," Harry said.

"Slither safely," Ron returned with a mischievous smile.

And Harry did have a good night. Even if a bunch of half-drunk Slytherins greeted him with laughter when he walked back into the common room, clearly in on Draco's "prank."

"Best part is you didn't lose any house points," one Slytherin third year — Graham, was it? — said with backslaps that nearly made Harry cough. "But those other firsties? Especially the—hic—Ravenclaws? Their prefects are gonna—hic—have them cawing into next year!"

Harry didn't find it amusing how his friends had been set up, but he was capable of laughing at himself. Especially since his self-humor took away from Nott's joy at the situation.

No one seemed more in their element at the common room party than Draco himself though, who took Harry's accusations of cowardice in stride and somehow shifted it all into a competitive but friendly "taste-test" (read — drink-off) of Malfoy wines between the two of them.

And Harry was totally winning — until Cassius abruptly ended it for some reason.

"You should drink more wine," Harry giggled as the seemingly mad third year lay him down on a couch.

"Dormi," was all Cassius said in response.

It was lights out for Harry as he abruptly passed out.