The Seance of Samhain

6:31 a.m., October 31, 10 years after Godric's Hollow

"Do you feel anything different in the air today?" Professor Quirrell asked Harry as they began their walk a quarter-hour before dawn under a beautiful royal-blue sky.

"It's the tenth anniversary of my parents' death, so I can't be too sure what has to do with that and what not," Harry answered. "But I did wake up easier than I've in a long time. And I feel more…focused. Like my senses are sharper."

"I suspected you would, and not just due to your parents' death," Professor Quirrell said. "Have you ever heard of Samhain?"

"The old Irish Halloween festival, right?" Harry returned.

"Named after an early medieval Celtic wizard," the professor informed.

"Did he summon the dead or something on that day?" Harry asked.

"That and more. He set the standard of what's possible with death and soul sorcery, and for the longest time his feats were unmatched," Professor Quirrell confirmed. "He developed a massive cult, muggle and magical, that rallied around his work. But they celebrated him en-masse only one day a year."

"Were his powers strongest today?" Harry wondered.

"The critical question," the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor stated. "Not initially, but his brand of sorcery became strongest on this day."

"Because of the cult?" Harry asked with a measure of confusion. He followed Professor Quirrell's logic, but he didn't understand how a cult would affect an entire field of magic.

"Everything is connected by magic. The physical dimensions of reality, the flow of time, spiritual energy and the emotional pulses of all living beings," the professor explained. "Few can wield magic, but it flows through everyone, and everyone feeds into it. The genius of Samhain was to establish a day on which the vast majority of the planet's populace believed in the netherworld…"

"And their belief feeds into the magic!" Harry exclaimed as he got it. "But why just one day then? Why not a week? A month? Or more?"

"He did own a massive cult," the professor reminded. "But muggle devotion to religion is fickle. Samhain decided that if he could inspire a unique festival at a time of year previously bereft of celebration, belief in the day could spread far beyond belief in him. He was right."

No wonder those muggles always hated Halloween, Harry thought back on Vernon and Petunia's loathing for the holiday — which in turn made it Harry's favorite. Until, naturally, Petunia threw it in his face that his parents died that day.

"Voldemort!" Harry exclaimed suddenly.

Professor Quirrell's face twitched in slight surprise, but he otherwise remained composed at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. It was very refreshing.

"Voldemort chose today to kill my parents — and to kill me — with the killing curse," Harry remembered. He also remembered how for some reason, Voldemort thought he would be a threat of some kind.

This world does not have room for us both, the demigod-like sorcerer had stated.

"Do you think he chose today on purpose?" Harry asked. "So that his magics would be at their strongest?"

Professor Quirrell gave an approving smile.

"I find that very few occurrences are coincidental," the professor said. "The Gaunts were believed to hold the greatest mastery of death-dealing sorcery since the medieval Peverell trio. Many Gaunt names — Corvinus, Tenebros, Stygia, Noctua, Ominis, and that of Lord Voldemort himself — harkened either to death itself or an icon closely associated."

"So he was at his strongest that day ten years ago," Harry said with wonder.

"He must have thought so," Professor Quirrell replied.

10:28 a.m.

"Harry Potter!" called the leader of a trio of Hufflepuff boys two or three years older than Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived walked with Ron and Neville to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The leader, an exceptionally handsome boy with honey-blond hair and blue-gray eyes, gave Harry a box-shaped gift wrapped in shimmering golden cloth and a sky-blue lace.

"Herbert, Malcolm and I want to thank you for freeing the world from You-Know-Who's reign of terror," the boy said with a bright smile. "You're a Potter, so I'm guessing we'll see you on the Quidditch field sooner or later. Here you go, from the three of us."

"Thank you," Harry returned with his own smile as he shifted his arms to fit his new present, the biggest one yet. "And…I'm sorry, but your name is?"

"Cedric Diggory," the Hufflepuff answered.

"Great to meet you Cedric, and you Herbert and Malcolm," Harry addressed Cedric's friends, the former's hair styled in mullet fashion while the latter had a pompadour. The two brunet Hufflepuffs gave Harry a smile and then left along with Cedric for their second block-period class.

"Cedric's one of the most popular guys at Hogwarts," Ron whispered into Harry's ear. "All the teachers say he's the most talented in a generation, and some say the Headmaster himself might take him on as a student."

That last bit concerned Harry.

"I think we'll be late," Neville said as he shifted his arms to better hold the presents he had offered to carry for Harry.

"Honestly, you shouldn't have to go to class today," Ron declared as he readjusted the presents he was carrying. "Heck, none of us should have to go! They used to cancel class on Halloween before you defeated You-Know-Who!"

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise as they started again to DADA. He wondered at first if they used to cancel class to celebrate Samhain. But that didn't make sense, because nothing would change from Voldemort's destruction.

"It was…a very dark day," Neville said with a shudder.

After two more thank you's from passing students, but no additional presents at that time, Harry and his two Gryffindor friends made it to Defense Against the Dark Arts — two minutes late.

"Professor, I'm so sorry, I can explain…" Harry said hurriedly.

"No need," the professor replied with an easy-going smile. "I can see you have your hands full."

At that, most of the class gave the Boy-Who-Lived a round of applause, though a little softer than the one that started Transfiguration. But having gone through both that and the thunderous standing ovation at breakfast, Harry managed not to flush this time from the attention. He instead gave a broad but humble smile while making eye contact with everyone in the room.

Well, maybe he flashed a wide, arrogant grin at his least favorite yearmate. In Harry's defense, he had actually begun to feel the spite that pulsated from Nott daily.

Blaise too, Harry sensed with a bit of surprise as he walked toward his usual front-center seat. He hadn't realized how much his roommate of African and Italian descent disliked him till this moment.

And Millicent possibly, Harry considered as a sat to the tune of yet-ongoing applause. The rather intense dislike he garnered from a third of his Slytherin yearmates didn't matter to him however. There was only one Slytherin he ate most of his meals with, studied and did homework with, hung around in the common room with and flew with outside of practice.

"The mighty Harry Potter has deigned to grace us with his presence," Draco whispered from Harry's left as he sat down.

Harry gracefully stuck his tongue out at his favorite Slytherin.

"Weasley has befouled your manners," Draco softly chided.

"'Weasley' is right here," Ron bit back in a not so whisper from the seat behind Harry.

Cue the downside of Ron and Draco being his two best friends. They didn't like each other. At all.

"Keep an eye on your servant," Draco 'warned.' "Any one of the presents he's holding for you is worth more than his family vault."

"Draco…" Harry sighed.

"He should keep an eye on you," Ron growled back. "Maybe you'll try and finish your lord's work today!"

Some hums and murmurs of agreement sounded from the room, with a few soft claps coming from the second row to Harry's right.

Anthony, Harry's heightened awareness picked up. Though it could have been an educated guess, since Anthony hadn't given up trying to convince Harry that Draco would betray him.

"I don't think…" Harry started.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to commence the class?" Professor Quirrell interjected. Though he spoke in an amiable tone, the room immediately fell silent.

In an unusual maneuver, the professor flicked his wand to pull down all the curtains. Then, fixing a silver-blue ball on a stand two or three meters in front of Harry, Professor Quirrell illuminated the dark room with scenery of a street full of muggle trick-or-treaters.

"Most muggles view Halloween as a time of festivity," the professor began as he gestured at the projection. "Children dress in 'spooky' costumes, or as fictional characters, and roam their neighborhood streets asking for cheap treats. Adults indulge this, that is the adults that are neither watching a 'horror' motion-picture nor drinking and dancing the night away at some club. Teenagers tend to blend the two by hosting costume parties with ample booze — if they can get away with it."

Harry didn't need his growing attunement to spiritual energies to know his Slytherin yearmates disdained talk of muggle traditions.

"They do not know it, but the widespread annual recognition of netherworldly themes feeds into soul and death-related magic," Professor Quirrell explained. "As the religious leaders who believe in the existence of sorcery have thus far failed to discontinue muggle celebration of the day, necromancers yearly find their powers at their apex today."

"What's a necromancer?" Justin asked after the professor acknowledged his raised hand.

"Someone who raises the dead," Hermione answered from Harry's right before the professor could respond.

"True, but there's much more to it than that," Professor Quirrell stated. "Necromancy is the branch of soul magic dedicated to death-related energies, but it has acquired a rather unfair reputation."

"How could it possibly be unfair?" Hermione questioned without raising her hand. "It's…vile. A perversion of nature!"

"Do you believe Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington to be vile?" Professor Quirrell asked.

"Sir Nicholas is not…" Hermione responded hotly.

"I'm afraid he had quite the talent for necromancy. Enough to bind his spirit to this realm during a brutal decapitation," Professor Quirrell interjected calmly. "By your definition, he would be vile. As would the wizard who moved him here. By the way, do you know which founder enchanted the castle to perfectly host disembodied spirits?"

The easy answer is Salazar Slytherin, so I don't think that's the actual answer, Harry immediately considered.

"Any guesses?" the professor extended the question to the class.

Despite no names being called, Harry felt a pressure to answer. He was known to be the star student in this class, and he enjoyed impressing the professor and his classmates with his intuition.

If I'm stronger on this day, I probably have a natural talent for necromancy. Something I inherited, Harry pondered. As a Gaunt, I come from Salazar Slytherin. The Gaunts were the best at necromancy according to Professor Quirrell. But I still don't think that's the answer.

Wait! Harry's mind continued. Just because the Gaunts come from Slytherin and they're the best at necromancy doesn't mean they got it from Slytherin! And I also come from Godric Gryffindor. Wasn't my great-great-great-great-great grandfather Linfred a really famous healer? Maybe that was some soul magic.

Harry put up his hand.

"Yes?" the professor called.

"Godric Gryffindor," Harry answered with confidence.

"Why do you say that?" the professor followed up. His eyes showed Harry was on the right track, but he would need to give a little more.

"Um…well…um…Gryffindor was good at combat, right?" Harry stammered a bit as he thought. "Really good — he never lost a fight! Maybe that had something to do with necromancy?"

"That can't be true!" an aghast Hermione blurted out.

"I'm afraid it is Hermione, and I would ask you not to speak out of turn," Professor Quirrell said. "The wizards most gifted at martial magic tend to have an innate ability to feed on conflict and battle. Godric Gryffindor was so talented that he enchanted his sword to absorb a portion of its victims' powers. And while the sword has been lost, we have all seen the hat that he enchanted with sentience. Thus, it only makes sense he was the one to charm this castle to hold spirits, and guide the first resting spirits here."

"So as you see, necromancy clearly holds varied purposes and cannot simply be categorized as an evil branch of magic…" the professor concluded.

"But every book I've read says it's wrong!" Hermione insisted passionately.

Harry found himself getting annoyed at her. She was his best female friend, but her know-it-all tendency grated on his nerves at times. He didn't fault her for being the most intelligent in their class; in fact, he was happy she took to the study of magic so well. But there was a reason he did his homework with Draco, and why he found kind excuses whenever Hermione suggested they work together.

"Hermione…this is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Harry started with as gentle a tone as he could manage. "He knows more than all of us put together."

"Why do you have to be such a know-it-all anyway?" Ron added with a tinge of bitterness.

Oh no, Harry worried after Ron said the quiet part out loud.

"I'm not a know-it-all," Hermione hotly retorted. "I'm only saying that in every book I've read…"

"Yes, yes, we get you're perfect at reading!" Ron exclaimed with pent-up frustration.

"You're just mad about yesterday's Wingardium Leviosa charm, aren't you?" Hermione correctly accused. "How can you be mad at someone who helped you?"

"I'd have gotten it fine on my own, thanks!" Ron snapped back.

"Is it so impossible to admit you needed help?" Hermione demanded.

Harry winced as Draco sent Ron a very pointed smirk at that comment.

"You're impossible!" Ron exploded. "You like making us all look stupid! Why do you think no one wants to work with you!"

"I…that's not true…." Hermione stammered.

Unfortunately, it was. With thirty-three in their year, whenever a professor asked them to divide into pairs, there would be one odd-one-out who would join a group of two. And that odd-one-out was almost always Hermione. In fact, most professors now asked them to get into groups of three rather than two, though Professor Snape still stuck to the rule of two.

"See, Herm, it's not just us saying it!" Lavender suddenly exclaimed. "You need to calm down and stop acting like you're on top of the world."

"Don't call me that!" Hermione shouted back. "And I don't…"

"You do, you really do," Parvati cut off with clear exasperation.

"If you were just a bit more down-to-earth, then we'd be happy to hang out with you," Padma backed her twin up.

"What she said," Alice agreed. With Luca nodding to her ginger roommate's statement, it became clear none of the girls of Gryffindor liked Hermione.

"I try! It's just none of you want to do your homework until the last minute!" Hermione defended herself brashly. "But working alone isn't bad. Harry works alone, right?"

"Oh no," Harry whispered to himself.

"No, he does his homework with me," Draco interjected. "And we do a lot more than just work, or we wouldn't call each other friends."

With Draco being the most disliked wizard in the class outside of Slytherin, Harry backed his friend up.

"Yah, sorry Hermione, I…I just didn't want to hurt your feelings…" Harry said while running his hand through his hair. "But…I wanted to work with Draco."

"You know it's bad when someone wants to work with Draco Malfoy instead of you," Dean decided to add to the conversation.

"Just take a chill pill — or ten," Seamus offered his own two cents.

With every Gryffindor besides Neville having piled on her, Hermione's eyes began to water.

"Fine! If you don't want me here, I'll just get out!" Hermione shouted. She then fled the room, leaving behind all her things.

"Wait!" Harry called out as he stood up and prepared to run after her.

"Perhaps you should give her some time, Harry," Professor Quirrell suggested calmly. "Heavy things were said, and she will need to process them. Alone, most likely."

And so Harry sat down, and the lesson continued without further interruption.

12:23 p.m.

"How many more presents do you think you're going to get?" Ron wondered from across the lunch table as Harry received yet another gift, adding to the pile sitting on Harry's left.

"Up for another trip to Slytherin after this?" Harry asked hopefully. "The Headmaster just canceled afternoon classes, so we don't have Astronomy."

"Do I have to stand outside again?" Ron replied with a slight whine. "I've taken you inside Gryffindor!"

"The prefects threw a fit about you being as close as you were. They might just kill me if they see you come in," Harry said. He already knew Ron would be staying at Hogwarts over winter break, during which Harry planned to let his best friend into Slytherin, no matter what Gemma said.

Besides, I'm literally a Slytherin. I have every right to, Harry decided.

"I want to see your house too sometime," Anthony whispered into Harry's ear. Naturally, the Ravenclaw figured Harry planned to sneak Ron in at some point.

"I'll try," Harry whispered back. Almost immediately, Anthony turned to his right and whispered into Michael's ear, who then whispered into Terry's. Clearly, Harry's offer now extended to three Ravenclaws. And with Oliver, Roger and Kevin sitting at the table and seeing the whisper chain, Harry would probably have to add another three to the list.

All in all though, Harry greatly enjoyed having friends in other houses. Right now, he was sitting at the Gryffindor table along with all his Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff yearmates, and he'd be happy to hang out one-on-one with any of the guys and even some of the girls. Most were fun to talk to, and even the quieter ones had interesting things if given a chance.

Case in point, Neville was now telling the story of how his great-uncle tossed him out a window to get him to display magic.

"So that's why you bounced that day during flying practice!" Harry realized. "Is that usually what you do when you fall from high places?"

"I try not to be in high places," Neville responded. Harry and a majority of the first-years laughed at this. Harry hoped the reddening Neville realized that they weren't laughing at him, but that he was actually very funny and they liked his story.

Fortunately, Neville brightened when Harry met his eyes, and he joined in on the laughter.

That's what I like about Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs — and even Ravenclaws when you drag their noses out of books. They can poke fun at themselves, Harry thought as the laughter winded down and it became someone else's turn to tell an intense family story.

Apparently, Fred and George nearly got a ten-year old Ron to sign on to an Unbreakable Vow. A slight misnomer, as Ron could have broken it. It's just that his magic would then devour him from the inside out to inflict — in Dumbledore's words — a most painful death.

Maybe the Gaunts aren't so crazy after all, Harry thought with a smile. Once he figured out who to tell he was a Gaunt, he'd definitely crack some "crazy uncle" jokes about Voldemort.

5:56 p.m.

"I am honored to finally be worthy of your company on this fine day," Draco dramatically declared as the two sat opposite each other for the feast.

Harry sighed and chuckled.

"I didn't know Professor Quirrell would invite me to the head table for breakfast, and you could have sat with me at lunch," Harry pointed out.

Draco sniffed at that.

"I hope you have cleansed yourself of that ghastly Gryffindor odor," he replied.

"Stop being such a serious Black all the time, and we've got a deal," Harry returned.

One of Draco's second-year friends, a narrow-faced brunet named Fergus Cowley, took in a sharp breath. But thankfully he didn't have a more dramatic response as Draco took the joke in stride.

"So the Pot calls the Malfoy Black," Draco said with a snort, which turned into laughter throughout the Slytherin table's second-year section. After all, Harry's paternal grandmother was Dorea Black.

Harry wasn't quite ready to concede their verbal spar however.

"On that note, Malfoy, you haven't thanked me yet," Harry started with a smug grin.

Pansy, seated at Draco's left-hand side, put her hand on her mouth as she realized where he was going.

"For what, my very young friend?" Draco questioned pretentiously.

"For freeing your father from that awful Imperius Curse," Harry stated.

"Oh-hoh-ho!" Niall Flavus, a blond, thunder-grey eyed second-year with an appreciation for martial magic, chortled from Harry's left before clamping his hand over his mouth.

The stunned Draco sat like a statue, making Harry momentarily wonder if he'd gone too far.

"Thank you," Pansy broke the silence. "For freeing my mother and the House of Parkinson."

She then blew a kiss at him. And when Harry actually felt it — felt it on his lips — it was his turn to be speechless.

"Yes, th—thank you Mr. Potter," Draco uncharacteristically stammered. "And do close your mouth, or flies will swarm in—into your brain."

"I think 'Mr. Potter' just won this round," Maynard Hutton — a curly-blond haired second year — said from Harry's right.

Harry could feel stares of curiosity and bitterness coming from the first-year section, but fortunately Draco and Pansy were the only yearmates he'd interact with that night's dinner.

"May I have your attention please!" Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's voice rang out from the head table. Resounding through the room, it quieted the hall almost immediately.

"Good evening, students and staff of Hogwarts," Headmaster Dumbledore began his address. "As we gather here today, Hogwarts' 1053rd Halloween, I first want to acknowledge why celebration of this day is possible. I know many of you have already personally thanked Harry Potter, and I do as well for unflinchingly facing the ultimate evil on this day ten years ago. But I wish to bring attention to the sacrifices made on that day by Lily and James Potter, the best witch and wizard of their generation. On a day the dark lord Voldemort converted into one of mourning and terror, they stood up to the darkest wizard of perhaps all time and fought to their last breath. Without their actions, celebration of this day would not be possible."

"Nor would it be possible without all who opposed Voldemort's villainy over the course of his thirteen years of terror," the Headmaster continued. "Many of you lost family members, one that you knew and loved or that you never got the chance to meet, to Voldemort's vile crusade. And each and every one of those lives taken are of equal import and bring equal impact to the final accounting. So now, on this evening, I raise a toast to family. To the family we dearly miss, taken too soon from this world. To the family we still have and hold dear to our hearts. And to the family we form here and now at Hogwarts! To family!"

"To family!" answered a chorus of voices.

Did I just raise a toast to Voldemort? Harry wondered, but rather quickly dismissed as Hogwarts' elves delivered the feast.

7:17 p.m.

"I really have to go with Grindelwald, but it's close from what I know," Harry said as he devoured a treacle tart.

"That's just recency bias!" Niall exclaimed.

"I'm not saying Gormlaith Gaunt wasn't wicked powerful, but Grindelwald has more feats," Harry returned. "Like that time he created a ring of fire that burned his enemies and protected his followers, despite being in a room full of aurors? Aurors who fled?"

"Yah? Well, even muggles still talk about the Great Fire of London till this day!" Niall defended his position.

He knows his stuff, Harry acknowledged internally. The only reason he'd survived so long in this sudden power-ranking debate between some of history's greatest dark lords and ladies was because after a nearly two-hour conversation Harry had with Professor Quirrell about Grindelwald, the professor gave him a copy of Masters of Magic: The Greatest Witches and Warlocks of All Time. A book Harry frankly found more interesting than anything he was studying outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Then again, Niall was apparently the top student of his year in DADA with the possible exception of Gryffindor's very boastful new seeker — someone Harry was unfortunately distantly related to.

"Well, there was that time Grindelwald nearly burned down Paris…" Harry started, but he trailed off as he sensed an aura of foreboding coming from the head table.

Harry's Head of House, Professor Quirrell, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and the Headmaster seemed to be in an intense whispered discussion.

"Students!" the gold-eyed Headmaster suddenly called out.

All eyes turned toward the head table.

"There is a…situation…that the professors and I must attend to," he said ambiguously. "I urge none of you to panic, but until it is dealt with, I request all of you stay in the Great Hall."

"HE'S BACK!" a seventh-year Ravenclaw boy shouted in despair.

"WE SHOULDN'T HAVE CELEBRATED!" a seventh-year Gryffindor girl wailed.

"HE'S COME TO SMITE US!" a fifth-year Huffelpuff boy cried out in fear.

In mere seconds, a din of fear and panic consumed the Great Hall.

"What's with everybody?" Harry wondered aloud as the terror grew so great that it felt like a physical fog.

"Probably couldn't stomach Quirrell's lessons," Niall scoffed.

"What about them?" Harry wondered in surprise.

"Not everyone was up for hearing how You-Know-Who celebrated Halloween," Niall's classmate Irfan Mustaq explained.

"I heard the seventh years got to have a lesson on the twelfth. And they're wailing like babies," Niall sneered.

Harry admittedly wasn't too well versed in what Voldemort did on Halloween. In fact, ever since he'd confirmed he was a Gaunt, he somewhat shied away from the gory details of his uncle's — or more accurately his fourth or fifth cousin's — blood-purist crusade. He did know that Potter manor fell on the twelfth Halloween, and that it apparently was the day that cemented Voldemort's place as the most powerful dark wizard of all time. But seeing how many seventh years were openly crying, there must have been more to the story.

A lot more.

The professors gathered around the Headmaster, but Professor Snape leaned in and whispered something to which the Headmaster nodded. The potions master then exited out a door behind the left end of the head table.

Technically the right if I was sitting at the table, Harry self-corrected now that he had actually sat with the professors.

As for the other professors, the Headmaster conjured a blinding white light that spread over them all. When the light receded, the stage was devoid of wizards.

"I thought you couldn't apparate inside Hogwarts?" Pansy asked.

"He's Albus Dumbledore," Harry answered. Yet again, he was reminded how thoroughly outclassed he was by the wizard who had controlled his life for ten long years. The Hogwarts headmaster could probably blink him out of existence with that level of power.

But for once, Harry could take comfort in that power. Surely, nothing short of a resurrected Voldemort could pose a threat to Hogwarts with Headmaster Dumbledore in the castle.

"Anyway, are we still on for a wine night?" Harry asked Draco as he helped himself to another treacle tart. Harry asked openly since Draco had already suggested they invite the second years to this one.

"Of course, Harry," Draco assured. "Did you think I would forget to get my lord and savior drunk on his day of worship?"

"Tosser," Harry murmured as the table section laughed.

"Yes, Ron?" Harry said on a sudden impulse.

But sure enough, when he turned around, Ron was walking up to him with a nervous expression on his face.

"Hey, everything's gonna be fine," Harry immediately assured, not wanting Ron to be harangued by the Slytherins. "Your mom's with Headmaster Dumbledore, and from what you've said, she's a fierce warrior herself. Whatever they're sorting out will be over in a jiffy."

"It's not about my mom, it's about Hermione," Ron said miserably.

"Well, it was a bit harsh what you sa—what she heard. You'll have to give her a few days," Harry replied as he looked toward the Gryffindor table. Given her yearmates just said they didn't like her, Hermione would likely be sitting alone.

Or maybe, she wasn't sitting there at all.

"She's out there," Harry gasped.

"Can you help me find her?" Ron asked.

"Of course," Harry replied immediately. There was a problem however — the Great Hall doors had just been locked.

"It's no use," Draco stated from across the table. "You would need a prefect to let you out, and I'll take the liberty of assuming Weasley already asked his brother."

"I'm not talking to you," Ron hotly retorted.

"But yes, Percy refused," he directed at Harry.

"Just wait a second," Harry told Ron as he stood up and walked toward the end of the table where the Quidditch team sat. It just so happened Harry knew one prefect rather well.

"Hey, Terence? Could I ask for your help with something?" Harry started once he stood behind the seventh-year seeker.

7:38 p.m.

"Again, make up whatever story you want about whatever dangers you protected Ron and I from. We'll back you up," Harry reassured Terence as the two and Ron began to walk through the halls in search of Hermione.

"Just as long as we're not out here too long, squirt. The Headmaster took all the professors with him for a reason," Terence said with a bit of worry flickering in his steel-blue eyes.

"You think she's still in the girls' restroom?" Harry asked Ron.

"If she's back at Gryffindor, she'll be safe. But if she's there…" Ron trailed off.

The trio walked in silence through the halls. That is, until they came the gory remains of a black cat torn in half.

Given the crushed state of the carcass' midsection and how roughly the organs seemed to have been disconnected, the cat had likely been ripped in two by someone's bare hands!

"Ah—" Ron started to scream before Harry clamped a hand over his mouth. Not that Harry himself wasn't perturbed, he just had a better handle on his reactions due to his time with the muggles.

"W-whatever did that to M-Mrs. Norris….it w-went the same direction we are," Terence stammered as he pointed to the trail of blood that lay ahead. Likely blood that dripped from the killer's fingers.

"L-look Harry," Terence said as he seized Harry by the shoulders. "I know you're worried about your friend. But if it's found her, she's—she's already dead. We should…"

"She's alive," Harry cut off with absolute certainty.

"Harry…" Terence tried with a compassionate voice.

"I can feel her!" Harry exclaimed. "But…she's scared. Very scared!"

With that, Harry sprinted as fast as he could toward the girls' restroom Parvati had told Ron she would be in. Ron ran hot on Harry's heels.

When they entered the restroom, they found Hermione lying among ruins that once were stalls and toilets — with a fifteen-foot brawny giant standing over her.

"Hermione, MOVE!" Harry shouted as the gray-skinned brute brought its spiked iron club down on where Hermione lay.

Miraculously, Hermione rolled out of the way just in time. But with inhuman speed, the crude-faced giant brought its club overhead again for another swing. Hermione would not be able to dodge so soon.

"ACCIO!" Terence yelled out from behind Harry and Ron. Hermione was instantly dragged to their position. And though the shards and fragments littering the floor tore through her robes and into her skin, she no longer faced the pulverization she did a moment before.

Terence stepped in front of the three first years as he moved his wand in a large Z pattern.

"Close your ears!" Harry instinctively shouted at his friends as he sensed the build up in Terence's power.

"CONFRINGO!" Terence roared.

"Protego!" Terence yelled a fraction of a second before a massive BOOM! rocked the room.

Harry felt the Slytherin seeker conjure a protective dome around himself, Harry, Ron and Hermione — shielding them from the fiery shockwave that obliterated whatever was left of the stall area and shattered all windows and mirrors.

"Run!" Terence demanded. The first years didn't need to be told twice.

But the quartet made it only ten meters away from the restroom before the giant smashed its way through the door and bounded toward them.

With a rapid flipped-L motion instantly followed by an upside-down semicircle and thrust, Terence disarmed the brute and banished it back into the restroom.

"Take the club!" Hermione shouted at Harry and Ron as Terence prepared his next maneuver.

Harry took out his wand to perform a summoning charm, but Ron had a different approach.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron shouted with precision.

Immediately, the spiked club floated under Ron's command. And not a moment too soon. The now shouldering giant rushed forward again from the ruins of what was once a restroom and charged Terence.

The prefect fired another Confringo at the monster, a stronger blast than before. Unfortunately, this time it ducked its head while crossing its brawny arms over its chest.

"CONFRI—" Terence attempted again, but was cut off as the injured giant swiped him with a mighty backhand.

"TERENCE!" Harry shouted as his teammate went flying into the stone wall and impacted with a sickening crunch. Blood rushed from the back of his head as he fell face first to the floor and landed in a crumpled, broken heap.

The giant roared with bloodlust and triumph as it approached the fallen Terence to deliver the finishing blow.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron called out again while thrusting his wand toward the giant's neck. The giant's own club swung like a baseball bat and impacted with a loud crack.

"ROOUUUAAARRRGH!" the brute bellowed.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron called out again. The club swung again, but this time the giant caught it. Harry sensed its primal fury radiating toward Ron, seeking to reduce him to a bloody smear on the floor.

"DEPULSO!" Harry shouted as he traced an upside-down semicircle with his wand and thrust forward.

Just like with the cerberus, the blast sent the primitive giant backward. Unfortunately, it had learnt from Terence's banishing maneuver and made sure to fall forwards instead of back, digging its spiked club into the ground for stabilization.

"The nose!" Hermione exclaimed. "Try to attack its nostrils."

The brutish giant wore a round, protruding nose half the size of its face. Given how all attacks had so far failed, it remained the one viable target remaining. But Harry would have only one chance.

Confringo, Confringo, Confringo! Harry repeated like a mantra as he built up the power and force of will necessary to project the blasting spell Terence had.

The words are nothing. You must provide the power. You must call forth the fury from the furnace in your heart, a charming yet commanding voice instructed from deep within him. A voice Harry could not remember hearing, but felt as if he knew all his life.

Embrace it. Be the dragon your family feared. The dragon your family hated. The dragon your family wanted to kill, the voice directed.

"Hunt Harry! Hunt Harry!" Dudley Dursley's voice hollered out as he and his gang pursued Harry out of the school yard. Many looked on, but no help was in sight.

"Heel this second, or I will send you straight to hell," Vernon Dursley's voice bellowed as he reared his fist, coated with Harry's blood, for another hellish blow.

"Make him cry for his mommy!" Dudley laughed as he and his gang of brutes beat and kicked Harry till he lay as a broken, bloody heap on the ground — barely able to make each pain-filled gasp for air.

"One more yelp, and I will wish you had been in the car with your parents that night!" Vernon promised as a helpless Harry, perforated by more pain than he thought possible, wept on the ground for Dudley's viewing pleasure. A final birthday present for Little Whinging's favorite son.

"ARRGH!" Harry roared with all the hurt and hate in his heart. The furnace he kept closed, that he tried to suppress, tried to forget.

That furnace's flame burst through and burned the troll that dared oppose him. Burned straight to the brute's brain, then ravaged the beast from the inside out. Yet as the creature loosed its dying screams, Harry didn't hear it at all. No, he only heard Vernon, Petunia and Dudley. Heard their filthy wails for forgiveness. Scoffed at their sniveling excuses. And consumed their cries of terror as he turned ten years of torment back on them.

"…Harry? Harry!" a voice called out to him.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked weakly, the furnace instantly receding and leaving behind a blasted corridor, a burnt carcass and a broken child.

"Did I—did I do good?" Harry whispered. It was pathetic, but in this moment, Harry found he had nothing better to do than claw for the adult approval he felt so starved of.

"You were a marvel," the kindly Defense teacher assured. "More marvelous than any I have seen…"

Warmth spread through Harry's heart as he let himself collapse into the warmth of his professor's arms. But Professor Quirrell was more than just a professor. He had been as much a father as Harry ever knew — had ever wanted. And in the professor's embrace, Harry felt the safety and security denied to him for so many years. So as fatigue took him, he faded away before he could hear the final part of Professor Quirrell's statement.

"…since myself," the professor whispered with a satisfied smile.