The Sorcerer's Stone
"Tom, you have a visitor," came the quivering voice of the Wool's Orphanage matron from the door behind him.
Tom Marvolo Riddle barely restrained a frown as he sat at his desk. He knew the staff of the orphanage had come to despise him once he began defending himself from their pet ruffians.
"How do you do Tom?" asked a red-suited, middle-aged professional standing next to Matron Coles. A doctor most likely, here to take him to the asylum. He continued to face his window just to show this intruder what he thought of the "visit."
That didn't mean he wasn't watching the man, oh no. Years with the boys the orphanage staff favored taught him how to see with more than his eyes, hear with more than his ears, and feel with more than his nerves.
"Don't," Tom Marvolo Riddle told the nosy professional when the man attempted to open his wardrobe.
He sensed the surprise from the man. Good. Now the "visitor" wouldn't believe himself to be the superior in their conversation, just because of his fancy suit and his well-trimmed beard.
Tom Marvolo Riddle turned halfway around to commence the conversation.
"You're the doctor aren't you?" he began.
"No," replied the professional. "I'm a professor."
Tom Marvolo Riddle barely surprised a flash of surprise when his crystal-blue eyes met a pair of stunning golden eyes. No, a trick of the light, Tom Marvolo Riddle decided. They had to be amber — a unique shade of the most unique eye-color, but certainly not golden. Besides, that mattered little in the scheme of this conversation.
"I don't believe you," Tom Marvolo Riddle flatly denied the professional's claim. "She wants me looked at. They think I'm…different."
"Well, perhaps they're right," the professional agreed with the orphanage staff's assessment as he sat himself on Tom Marvolo Riddle's bed.
"I'm not mad!" Tom Marvolo Riddle rejected the professional's words with a tone more forceful than intended. Something about the man now sitting across from him made the control he'd built up for nearly a decade slip.
"Hogwarts is not a place for mad people," the professional stated in a soothing voice, the one a staff member would use to talk a child down from a temper tantrum. Tom Marvolo Riddle had to press down a spike of cold fury to listen to the "Hogwarts professor's" next words.
"Hogwarts is a school, a school of magic," the professional stated.
Ah, here it was. Here was the doctor's test. Did this old fool think Tom Marvolo Riddle would so easily fall into his trap?
"You can do things, can't you Tom? Things other children can't," the doctor continued in his patronizing tone.
Tom Marvolo Riddle knew he should deny these accusations, or at the very least stay silent. But something about this man irked him in a way he hadn't been for years. So, he decided to tell the truth.
Looking squarely in the man's false-golden eyes, Tom Marvolo Riddle revealed himself.
"I can make things move without touching them," he began. Reaching out with his power to the seven rocks arrayed on his windowsill, he rattled them to enunciate his words.
"I can make animals do what I want without training them," he stated, knowing he had the doctor's full attention.
"I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt, if I want," he finished his self-description while reminiscing on the retribution he exacted on Dennis and Amy, the ringleaders of the children who tormented him for so long.
"Who are you?" Tom Marvolo Riddle questioned the doctor. He phrased it conversationally, as he completed the sentence only in his head.
Who are you, compared to me?
"I'm like you Tom," the doctor claimed. "I'm different," he whispered conspiratorially, as if allowing him in on a secret.
"Prove it," Tom Marvolo Riddle demanded.
Instantly, Tom Marvolo Riddle's wardrobe, the safekeep of his possessions, burst into flames!
Shock, outrage, panic and horror burst through Tom Marvolo Riddle's mind as he instantly rose to his feet. He attempted to use his power to put out the fire, to preserve his prizes, but to no avail.
However, after a few seconds, he could hear the box of treasures banging against the wardrobe wall.
"I think there's something in your wardrobe trying to get out Tom," the professor of magic commented with a judgmental coolness.
Stunned, Tom Marvolo Riddle simply walked over to the yet-intact wardrobe, opened the door, and reached for the somehow-cool-to-the-touch metal box.
After he retrieved his safekeep, the flames vanished and the wardrobe closed shut — standing untarnished as if the fire was but a trick of the imagination.
But the power Tom Marvolo Riddle now sensed emanating from the Hogwarts professor chilled him more than being hurled into a stream on a winter's night. With the professor's gaze boring on his back, Tom Marvolo Riddle numbly opened the box and revealed the prizes inside. The prized possessions of the scum who tormented him for years on end, until he conquered them one by one.
"Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts," the professor stated in a tone that brooked no dissent. His voice radiated such power and command that Tom Marvolo Riddle found he had no choice but to turn and face him.
"You will be taught not only how to use magic, but to control it," the professor declared. "Do you understand me?"
The professor then led the way out of the room, expecting Tom Marvolo Riddle to follow meekly. And yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle would follow, but not before he had the last word.
"I can speak to snakes too," he revealed. The professor stopped dead in his tracks at the door threshold and turned back to face Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Victory was within reach.
"They find me. Whisper things," Tom Marvolo Riddle continued. "Is that…normal, for someone like me?"
He knew it was just the opposite, the snakes told him as much. They sought him out from across the country, and further still, precisely because he was the only one of his kind.
And the flicker of fear in the professor's golden eyes confirmed it.
7:29 a.m., February 28
Harry awoke with a start just as he heard the curtains around his bed being drawn back. He called his wand to his hand and pointed it at the intruder, only to meet a pair of silver-blue eyes.
"Is this how you greet your best friend?" Draco asked while crossing his arms.
"Um…you could have been Nott?" Harry answered bashfully while running his hand through his hair.
"Good morning to you too," Draco muttered.
"Oh no, I'm late for practice!" Harry realized when he saw the large analog clock above the door.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Oh…right, I have a meeting with Dumbledore," Harry remembered the reason he was allowed to sleep in.
"Whatever would you do without me," Draco complimented himself as Harry scrambled to assemble his showering supplies.
7:58 a.m.
"Why so tense?" Draco asked as he and Harry ascended the stairs to the Headmaster's office. "What you did in yesterday's class was self-defense. And the class supported you. You are a hero in their eyes — even more than you already were."
"I'm anything but a hero in Dumbledore's eyes," Harry told Draco. "You know why he kept me with muggles for a decade, muggles who tried their damndest to make me an obscurius."
"Of course one such as he would revile the Gaunt bloodline, but you are eleven all the same," Draco replied. "Surely the 'greatest wizard since Merlin' does not fear a Hogwarts first year."
"He hates all members of the Gaunt dynasty," Harry answered simply. Tom Marvolo Riddle merely mentioning he could speak to snakes struck more fear into Dumbledore than Harry had thought possible. Harry imagined Dumbledore danced with delight on the day Voldemort killed Tom Marvolo Riddle. And he didn't even want to imagine how overjoyed the old crackpot had been on the night Voldemort and his parents died.
"And I'm the last one left," Harry whispered with a shudder.
"Are you…afraid of him?" Draco asked as came to a halt outside the Headmaster's door.
"Yes, more than I've been of anyone, I think," Harry answered.
"You know the effects of Veritaserum?" Harry referenced the truth serum he read about in the Compendium of the Blazing Doe and the Half-Blood Prince.
"Do you think me to be Professor Snape's favorite for my charming looks alone?" Draco haughtily retorted.
"Talking to Dumbledore is something like that," Harry continued. "The usual…control you have when talking to others vanishes. He gets your most raw reaction out of you, all while pretending to be kindly and harmless."
"Isn't this your first one-on-one conversation with the Headmaster?" Draco questioned with a measure of confusion.
"Yes and no," Harry answered, confounding Draco even more.
However, Harry couldn't confidently explain the nature of his visions as of yet. When he elaborated his Defense class experience to Professor Quirrell, the professor suggested his magic may be so similar to Tom Marvolo Riddle's that it created a bond that transcended time and space, and passed memories of similar situations as an echo. The professor theorized that it could be a manifestation of the exceedingly rare phenomenon known as "soul twins," but warned that only fragments of information existed on such connections.
Draco opened his mouth to ask a question, but Dumbledore's door chose that moment to open.
"I'll see you later," Harry told Draco with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
8:00 a.m.
Harry imagined the cool touch of Halogi wrapping around his mind and memories as he stepped through the threshold. Allowing his surface thoughts to focus only on the present and nothing beyond "Halogi's wall," he found himself instantly impressed by the repository of knowledge that lined the walls of the oval-shaped office.
The Agarwood desk of the Headmaster at the center of the room radiated a majesty unlike any other piece of furniture Harry had ever beheld. However, as no one sat behind it, Harry immediately searched the spiraling staircases that winded alongside the bookshelves until he found Albus Dumbledore on a step near the circular balcony behind and above the desk.
"Good morning Harry," the Headmaster greeted with his back turned as he placed a book back in its place. "I hope I did not cause you to awake too early?"
"Marcus would have had me up earlier for practice," Harry assured.
"Ah, yes, you have proven most talented at Quidditch," Dumbledore complimented as he turned to face Harry. "The first first-year starting seeker in generations. And if my calculations are correct, the youngest in Hogwarts history."
"Marcus taught me well," Harry said evenly.
"And not your predecessor, Terence Higgs?" Dumbledore inquired.
"He showed me a lot too, but he decided to hunker down on studying for N.E.W.T.'s," Harry replied. "I believe he plans on following his parents' footsteps in becoming an auror."
"The life of an auror is rigorous indeed," Dumbledore responded as he descended the stairs on Harry's right.
Harry nodded in agreement. Several of his friends already dreamed of joining the Auror Corps, and with the exception of Cedric, they all dreaded the Potions O.W.L. they would have to get an Outstanding on in their fifth year. And he didn't fault them for their fear. Not everyone's mother left behind a book that detailed the fundamental concepts and practices of potion-making , and Professor Snape was hardly the most approachable of Hogwarts' teachers.
"I know you are quite young for this question, but have you considered what you will do beyond Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked kindly as he reached the base of the stairs.
"Some of my friends have suggested I could be a record-breaking International Dueling Champion," Harry answered measuredly.
"Niall Flavus recommend that by any chance?" Dumbledore inquired from where he stood. Despite himself, Harry blinked in shock.
"Perhaps I overstepped, forgive me," Dumbledore continued. "It's just that he ranks among the top three students in the second-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class. And I figure you have much in common given your aspen wands."
How closely does he watch me? Harry wondered, remembering that the Headmaster saw "with far more than his eyes."
"We frequently talk about Defense, yes," Harry replied.
"Professor Quirrell speaks very highly of your aptitude for the subject," Dumbledore said. "I believe you are the student he has awarded the most points so far."
"It is only due to his teaching that I've been able to understand magic," Harry redirected the compliment.
"You do not believe you would understand magic without him?" Dumbledore inquired.
"The other professors know their subject materials inside and out," Harry said quickly. "But Professor Quirrell's door is always open, and he explains magic in a way that works for me perfectly."
"I see," Dumbledore accepted. "You know why you are here?" he asked as he walked to sit on the red-cushioned, golden-framed chair behind his desk.
"Nott fired hexes at me during what was supposed to be a walkthrough of dueling procedure," Harry defended himself. "Anything I did was self-defense."
"Your Incendio could have burnt your roommate alive if Professor Quirrell had not been strong enough to overpower it," Dumbledore stated. "Draco Malfoy also tried to put out the flames on young Theodore's cloak, but the water he conjured vaporized on contact."
Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise.
"You do not remember Draco attempting to talk you down?" Dumbledore questioned. "I suppose this confirms reports that you were in a trance-like state."
Harry remained quiet, finding himself at a significant disadvantage.
"I do not fault you for losing control of your powers," Dumbledore gave a small mercy. "Most witches and wizards have bursts of accidental magic in their early years. It is much of why Hogwarts was established — not just to teach us to develop our power, but to control it."
Harry bristled at his wandless domination of Nott being termed accidental, but he suppressed that feeling as quickly as possible.
"Your power, Harry, is far greater than most," Dumbledore continued solemnly. "You came into our world just half-a-year ago, and you can already do what many wizards cannot with a complete education. You must understand that if you are not careful, many of your peers might come to fear you."
"My friends know I would never hurt them," Harry returned.
"And those who you do not consider friends?" Dumbledore asked knowingly.
"I've never done anything to someone who hasn't attacked me first," Harry answered fiercely.
"I believe you," Dumbledore said calmly. "However, I have heard that your retribution can be disproportionate in comparison to the initial offense."
"That might just be because my enemies failed to hurt me as badly as they wanted," Harry rejected.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore allowed. "But does this not only prove the difference in power between you and them? And, pardon the muggle pop culture reference, but I do believe there is an often quoted phrase 'with great power comes great responsibility'."
"I did not get much of a chance to enjoy muggle culture," Harry deflected with a rancor that surprised him.
"Ah," Dumbledore said with a note of sadness. "I admit, I underestimated the bitterness your aunt held toward the world of magic. As a girl, she wanted nothing more than to accompany her sister to Hogwarts, to join in her new adventure. When your mother died, I thought…but I suppose Petunia blamed the world of magic for her sister's death."
The regretful facade Dumbledore put on could have worked, if Harry didn't know that cat-brained muggle Arabella Figg worked for him. Harry barely held in a victorious sneer.
"Have you spoken to anyone about your family members' deaths?" Dumbledore asked. "Witnessing such an event shakes even the strongest among us."
"My family died when I was one," Harry answered curtly. "And I was the last wizard in the world to know how."
"You do not consider the Dursleys your kin?" Dumbledore queried.
"Most problems Wizarding Europe has had the last fifty years were driven by those who put blood on a pedestal," Harry replied evenly.
Dumbledore gazed at him with an indeterminable expression.
"You can ask Cedric on my views of blood purity," Harry reinforced while crossing his arms.
"You do not believe I would take your word for it?" Dumbledore asked.
"The mere fact I can talk to snakes has you watching me closer than anyone else in this castle," Harry sniped. "I wonder how closely you watched when your muggles nearly beat me to death."
Silence set over the room, and Harry felt a rush of triumph course through him.
"You remind me very much of a boy I met fifty-four years ago," Dumbledore spoke after a minute.
"I hope so. We have twin wands," Harry snarked. A part of him wondered when his strategy for the conversation had flipped from concealing as much of himself as possible to provoking whatever reaction he could from Dumbledore, but here he was.
"Yes, each with a feather from fox," Dumbledore noted.
Of course he knows what a Fox-Phoenix is. Maybe he hid books on that breed just to spite me, Harry bitterly thought.
"Would you like to meet him?" Dumbledore asked in a kindly tone.
"Him who?" Harry questioned.
"Fawkes," Dumbledore elaborated with a slight enunciation between the syllables.
"Oh, Fawkes is a name!" Harry gasped, much of his frustration dissipating at this revelation. "Yes, I'd love to meet him."
In a small burst of flame, Fawkes the Phoenix appeared above Dumbledore's head and flew thrice in a circle above it before flying toward Harry. Instinctively, Harry extended his right forearm so that the majestic sunset-colored bird could perch on his wrist.
"You are quite good with birds," Dumbledore noted with approval.
"My owl is a faithful companion," Harry answered.
"Too many wizards overestimate the differences between us and other species," Dumbledore sighed.
"Magic flows through all life," Harry stated. "Fawkes — he's a bird of fire and healing, right?"
"He certainly helps conduct such magic," Dumbledore affirmed. "The sheer juxtaposition between a Phoenix's destructive and salvatory power makes it so their feathers choose wizards with the widest-range of potential — magically and personally. And Fawkes is a most spirited Phoenix, if I may say so myself."
Harry begrudgingly admired how seamlessly Dumbledore layered multiple meanings in his words.
"So you don't think I'm destined to be a dark wizard because of my heritage," Harry proded.
"I believe the lives we lead to be a summation of our choices," Dumbledore answered. "With your potential and ambition, the chances you will become a great wizard are very high. But how you will choose to affect the world around you remains to be seen."
"I'm loyal to my friends, and some of them want to be aurors," Harry stated.
Cormac already joked about taking him to "snog a Dementor" if he "goes Gaunt." And as much as Harry enjoyed trading jinxes with him, he'd never want it to come to a true clash of wands. The thought of cursing one of his friends sickened him more than going to Azkaban.
"You're very much like your father," Dumbledore remarked ruefully. "He would apparate to the far side of the moon for any of his friends. But to those whose values clashed with his own, he could prove a most formidable nemesis."
"It's a good thing we have prefects and Heads of House who look out for the equal well-being of all students," Harry returned with a sardonic smile.
"Do you not feel you can approach your Head of House regarding disputes with your housemates?" Dumbledore asked with a tone of concern.
"Everyone has their favorites," Harry replied with a shrug of nonchalance.
"Some suggest you are Professor Quirrell's," Dumbledore riposted.
"Professor Quirrell's door is open to anyone who wants to discuss magic with him," Harry countered. "But the Slytherins look down on him for being a muggle-raised half-blood, the Gryffindors think his approach is too theoretical, the Hufflepuffs think his lessons are too unconventional, and the Ravenclaws pride themselves on independent learning."
"And you are different from all the other students?" Dumbledore questioned.
"Your Sorting Hat said I'd excel in any house," Harry stated. "Besides, I don't put as much stock in House conformity as many others do."
Dumbledore gave him a look imploring him to continue.
"Many call Slytherin the House of dark wizards, but one of the greatest dark lords of all time was Emeric the Evil — a muggleborn from your house — who was conquered only by the supposedly 'egregious' Ravenclaw alumnus Egbert," Harry pointed out. "The division between our Houses cripples our already tiny population in this part of the world. Though I guess you can say it helped beat the Death Eaters."
"What makes you say that?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Voldemort had you on your last ropes," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Even though he lost control of his powers that Samhain, his movement would have lived on if he invested in Hufflepuffs and courted a few more Gryffindors than Sirius Black. But no, he stocked his inner-circle with conventional Slytherins, most of whom turned on each other when dragged before court."
"You are quite learned on the history of dark wizards," Dumbledore noted.
"The 'vanquisher of Voldemort' was sorted into Slytherin the day he found out he was a wizard," Harry rejoined. "It was in my self-interest."
"I suppose it would be," Dumbledore allowed, though in a somber tone.
"I suppose I have taken up enough of your morning," he spoke after a minute of silence. "I remember my first year as if it was yesterday, and I certainly would have cared to spend my Saturday listening to the ramblings of some old wizard in need of a good trim!"
Since Dumbledore's first year was exactly 150 years ago, Harry briefly debated whether the Headmaster was being facetious or if he possessed mental powers that acute. The youngest Slytherin decided to err on the side of caution.
"Thank you for meeting with me, and your understanding," Harry voiced in a humble tone and with a bow of his head. Sensing he could take his leave, he turned to make his way back to the Slytherin dormitory before Draco started complaining about stomach pangs.
But the Headmaster apparently had one more thing to say.
"I made many mistakes with Tom Marvolo Riddle, starting the day I met him," Dumbledore called out when Harry reached the office threshold. "If there is one thing I hope for, it is to not repeat the same errors with you."
Unsure whether this was meant as a threat or a token of reassurance — or both — Harry simply nodded and departed.
11:23 a.m.
"You look swell!" Harry greeted Cassius chirply as the exhausted Chaser lumbered into the common room. "Ready to watch the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor match?"
"You'll get yours tomorrow, Pothead," Cassius threatened in an attempted growl that came out as a groan.
"Ha!" Harry barked with laughter obnoxiously. With a flick of his wand, Cassius fired a zapping jinx at Harry's belly button, but Harry wordlessly deflected it and sent one of his own.
"Huh, you're getting better at this kid," Cassius admitted after a hiss of pain as he plopped down on an armchair next to Harry's.
"Maybe you're just getting old and slow," Harry teased.
"Or you're just getting powerful," Cassius remarked as he waved his wand to cast a sound-diluting charm around them.
"What?" he shrugged when Harry gave an exasperated sigh. "Your demonstration in your DADA class yesterday has been the talk of Slytherin."
"I'm pretty sure destroying a troll is a little better than lighting a blood-purist prat's robes on fire," Harry dismissed.
Cassius snorted.
"There were no credible witnesses for your Samhain spectacle," Cassius pointed out. "This time, there were eight."
"I'm not a credible witness?" Harry whined.
"We couldn't ask the troll's side of the story for Samhain, but you and Nott each count as half a witness for yesterday," Cassius explained with a roll of his eyes.
"I guess this is the part where I ask what the general opinions of the House are?" Harry drawled, given that no one else was in the Common Room.
"He catches on…eventually," Cassius mock-complimented. "The main takeaway is that for the first time, your rivals fear you. Not because Dumbledore watches over you like an eagle. Not because Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs will come charging in your defense. Not because war with you would be war with the team. Not even because Marcus would make their lives hell if they cursed you. They fear you for you."
"Aloysius Rowle fears me? That's a new one," Harry quipped. While the fifth-year prefect did not have as personal a vendetta as Nott and Higgs, he knew Rowle viewed him as a "pretender" who "stole the future of the wizarding world by trickery."
While Harry laughed at the theory he tricked Voldemort into killing himself, Rowle unfortunately would not be a laughing matter in a one-on-one duel with his family's history in the Dark Arts.
"Fear you, no. But you have earned a bit of his respect, which is more than a lot of us can say," Cassius stated. The Chaser then looked around to see if there was anyone close to them, silently cast a sound-containing bubble and spoke his next words in a hushed tone.
"His father cared much more about spilling blood for the Dark Lord than the whole 'blood purity' crusade," he informed. "In fact, Thorfinn Rowle was the Death Eater purebloods most feared. If he showed up at your door, you'd either pledge your loyalty to the Dark Lord's cause that night, or beg for death until sunrise."
"The One-Who-Knocks," Harry recalled the moniker the elder Rowle earned during the war.
"That one," Cassius confirmed with a raw vitriol. It spiked Harry's curiosity, but he decided not to press the third year.
"Well, I'm sure Concordia's on her lover boy's side, despite him being an aurors' son. Must be really handy with his wand," Harry sneered. Cassius wore the usual questioning gaze he donned when Harry referenced his shattered relationship with Higgs, but yet again did not ask for details. Unsurprising, as Marcus more or less forbade the House from openly discussing it, much less approaching either party about it.
"Last I saw of him, he had a replica of your scar above each of his eyebrows and a heart between them," Cassius commented with a shrug. Harry projected a look of faux-innocence — not that he wasn't innocent, given that it was Fred and George's work.
"I'd worry more about the Black Widow's son," Cassius suggested. "Him and Greengrass. Snakes like them have no qualms reporting you to professors or sabotaging your relationships with other houses."
"Figured it was one of them who spilled their guts to our glorious Headmaster," Harry growled. As underhanded as Nott could be, he always attacked Harry directly and face to face. And Harry would bet the Potter vault that Nott would never report a rival to Albus Dumbledore.
"You really don't like Dumbledore, do you kid," Cassius remarked.
"Whatever gave it away?" Harry drawled.
"I just don't know how you've managed to be friends with Diggory. Golden Boy kisses the dirt Dumbles walks on," Cassius scoffed.
"Wow, you really don't like Cedric," Harry noted with mock-surprise.
"I'd have hated you more if you wore red-and-gold!" Cassius laughed.
Harry snorted, but he couldn't help but briefly ponder what life would have been like in Gryffindor. Between his personal fame and the Potters' intimate history with the House, he would have experienced an easier time at Hogwarts. But how blind would he have become to the machinations of Albus Dumbledore? Not even Cormac said anything bad about the vaunted Headmaster, so Harry was sure he would have repressed and relinquished any suspicions he held toward Dumbledore in short order.
He sadly might have accepted Hagrid's explanation that Dumbledore simply wanted him to "grow up away from the worries of wizarding folk" — and possibly even the ridiculous idea that he would "learn everything" he needed to know "in due time." Would he have sparred with Ron, Tony and Ernie so earnestly? Would he have engaged Draco with an open mind? Most critically, would he have pursued his treasured conversations with Professor Quirrell?
"Ow! Ow!" Harry complained as his belly button was zapped twice. "Oh, hey Graham," he greeted when he saw the newly-arrived Beater wearing a smirk identical to Cassius'. "Shouldn't you two be eating brunch instead of terrorizing a first-year!"
The predatory looks the two assumed suggested Harry might be their pregame meal.
10:00 a.m., March 15
"What a shame it will relieve you of your breakfast," Draco postured as he and Harry entered the Dungeons "Dueling Chamber." Once a frequented site for the Hogwarts Dueling Ring, particularly when the club went underground figuratively and literally, the now almost-forgotten room typically gathered dust in a remote corner of Hogwarts' underground network. Inaccessible to students of all ages and Houses.
Unless one was the son of Lucius Malfoy, of course.
"Beware the Ides of March," Harry warned. But he didn't need to be a seer to predict Draco's snort.
They walked side by side to the central ring, equidistant from the Crusader-styled shields that hung on the midpoints of the side walls. Engraved on the shields were the mascots of the four Houses — a Barbary lion on the top-left, a king cobra on the top-right, a honey badger on the bottom-left, and a golden eagle on the bottom-right.
In the circle they now stood in, they turned to face each other, simultaneously raised their wands against their noses, snapped their wands to their right sides, and then walked ten paces toward their respective shields until they stood within their starting rings. A circlet of knee-high blue fire sprang to life around each as the rings encapsulated their occupants with protective shields.
Simultaneously, the armored statue at the head of the room lowered its upside-down broadsword until it clanged against the floor. With this signal, the magic of the room reinforced the stone surfaces and activated the six other armored statues posted around the room. With a second clang, the blue fires around Harry and Draco began their seven-second recession. Harry and Draco also took this as their cue to assume ready stances and summon the power for their first spells. For with the third and final clang, the protective shields around each vanished.
"Everte Statum!" Draco yelled an advanced version of the Flipendo jinx while Harry aimed a Mordeo stinging hex at his best mate's mouth.
Draco parried with a nonverbal Averto while Harry focused on his raw power to dilute the effect of the Overthrow Jinx. Feeling that he would only fall on his arse when he lost balance, Harry channeled his internal surge into a nonverbal Depulso.
"Acendio!" Draco shouted as he pointed his wand at the ceiling. Just in the nick of time, he rose into the air above Harry's Banishing Charm. But Harry anticipated that.
"Levicorpus," Harry commanded as he pointed his wand at Draco's shins, wrapping his magic around them like a lasso before flipping Draco upside down and dangling him.
"Tarantallegra!" an unperturbed Draco retaliated. Harry conjured an Armatus protective layer over his body, but not in time to completely nullify the effects of the spasm-jinx cast against him.
"Liberacorpus!" Draco freed himself as Harry regained control of his legs.
"Flagel-liarmus!" Harry shot a fiery whip straight for Draco's wand. The blond Slytherin blew out the flames with a Ventus while twisting his wand rapidly in his hand to avoid disarmament, but the heavy sigh he let out relayed the toll it took on his magic.
Harry focused on Draco's feet and made a swiping gesture with his wand, toppling the taller boy to the ground.
"Rictumsempra!" Draco shouted while pointing his wand directly at Harry's crotch. Had the spell targeted Harry's entire body, his Armatus would have easily repelled it. But alas, Draco gave all of his focus to Harry's most sensitive region…
"Ah-HAH-HA! Damn you!" Harry laughed as he relied on a Domino chant to overcome the explosion of pleasure in his nether regions.
"Serpensortia Jacio!" Draco conjured a venomous serpent and hurled it at Harry's face like a spear.
When Draco did this in their first spar, Harry laughed at the absurdity of his friend hurling a snake at someone who had just disclosed his Parselmouth powers. But when focusing on his serpentine energies distracted him from his martial magic, a then-defeated Harry understood the sheer brilliance of the strategy.
So this time, he reinforced his Armatus to negate the snake's impact, but cast a Baubillious arc of electricity at Draco rather than avert the snake. For as Professor Quirrell suggested in their most recent Undercroft session, if Harry truly could command any serpent, then none should be able to hurt their lord.
If anything, the venom should strengthen him.
"Potter, you fool!" Draco exclaimed as his 2-foot viper sank its fangs into Harry's neck. "Relashio!"
Impressively, Draco focused his spell on two objects — his conjured serpent and Harry's wand. Both flew away from Harry as the bleeding Boy-Who-Lived sank to his knees and clutched his throat.
"Vipera Evanesca!" Draco shouted at his snake. Despite the advanced nature of the Vanishing Spell, years of rigorous training coupled with raw desperation allow him to perfectly dissipate the viper into the ubiquitous energies it came from.
"Yield imbecile, so I can give you a bezoar," Draco insisted while pointing his wand toward Harry's throat.
"Yield!" Draco demanded with a wavering hand as he saw Harry gurgle blood.
In the blink of an eye, Harry seized Draco's right wrist with both of his hands.
"Expel-levicorpus!" Harry commanded. Draco's cream-brown wand lurched out of its owner's hand while Draco found himself pitched into the air upside down once again.
Harry beckoned the airborne wand into his right palm while donning the smuggest grin he could muster.
"You…you…" the dangling Draco sputtered as the statue sentries about the room began clanging their weapons in succession to relay the seven-second countdown. To add further insult, Harry flicked his hawthorn prize at his neck to dispel the blood, revealing fading red marks where there should have been hemorrhaging punctures.
"Wouldn't be much of a Parselmouth if snakes could hurt me, would I?" Harry pointed out.
"Treachery!" the suspended Draco accused as he struggled to wriggle free.
"Beware the Ides of March," Harry shrugged as his best mate attempted to Liberacorpus himself to no avail.
The statue at the head of the room lowered his broadsword to convey the passage of the seventh and final second. Harry grinned smugly at the announcement of his victory.
"Foul!" Draco ranted. "The spell's supposed to be around my ankle, not my wrist, you failure of a wizard!"
Harry released the spell and caught Draco with both arms. Though the sore loser attempted to kick Harry, Draco's disorientation and confusion allowed Harry to easily dodge while he flipped the Malfoy over his shoulder to an upright position.
"Nothing about the spell says I have to hang you by your ankle," Harry explained. "You just learned to do that, since the ankle opposite your target's dueling hand is typically where their active channel of magic will be weakest."
"But you used it on my principal hand!" Draco complained.
"That's because I'm…well…me," Harry answered.
"Unfortunate that you are not wizard enough to fix the rat's nest you call hair," Draco recovered as he combed Harry's bowl of hair with a tap of his finger.
"That's what you're here for," Harry stated with a grin as he returned Draco's wand to him.
6:01 a.m., March 21
"Good morning Harry," Professor Quirrell greeted as Harry walked into the Defense professor's office. "Word is that you are now the best duelist among the first and second years."
"So I guess the Dueling Chamber isn't as secret as Draco thought," Harry remarked as he sat next to Oliver. For his part, the first-year Ravenclaw looked shocked there was such a thing as a "dueling chamber" at Hogwarts.
"The sentries report directly to the Headmaster and the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I am afraid," Professor Quirrell informed. "Hogwarts takes numerous precautions to ensure students do not indulge in darker spheres of sorcery. Terrific use of Expelliarmus and Levicorpus, by the way."
"Uh…thank you," Harry said, still caught off guard that his duels with Draco had an audience. Yet another reminder that the Headmaster saw "with far more than his eyes."
"How's everything, Oliver?" Harry greeted his friend.
"Great…but-we-want-to-ask-you-something," Oliver blurted out.
"Ah, direct as ever," Professor Quirrell observed amusedly. "My nephew's quite excited about the proposition, you see."
"Proposition?" Harry asked.
"Well, um, so I was thinking. You don't really have a place to stay this summer…right?" Oliver asked.
That was a delicate way of putting it. Harry had disclosed to Oliver a few weeks before that vermin that once corrupted his blood no longer polluted the planet — not quite in those words, of course. With only Professor Quirrell, Oliver and Dumbledore knowing of Harry's current lack of a guardian, Harry took the opportunity to research properties he could purchase for his time away from Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the Ministry of Incompetence severely limited options for wizards below the age of majority.
"I haven't found one yet," Harry admitted. If worst came to absolute worst, he probably could entreat Draco or Tony for a room in the esteemed Malfoy Manor or Goldstein mansion respectively. But he did not intend to spend the next five-and-a-half summers as a squatter.
"Well, my uncle was wondering if you'd want to join our family," Oliver offered.
Harry looked between the two of them in surprise.
"I mean…it means a lot…if I'm not intruding," Harry stammered in gratitude. "I'd be happy to help with cooking, cleaning, gardening, yardwork…anything to earn my keep. Even your homework Oliver."
"Not that I said that out loud," Harry dramatically clarified as Oliver teasingly punched him in the shoulder.
"I would not require you to do the sort. You are a wizard, not an elf," Professor Quirrell assured. "But to clarify my nephew's words, I do not mean join the family as simply stay at my home. I would, if you are willing, like to apply to be your guardian."
Harry gaped in astonishment.
"You'd…you'd do that for me?" Harry gasped.
"Of course," the professor answered earnestly. "As you have undoubtedly noticed, the Ministry of Magic is not kind to wizards with no living family in our world. Likely to advantage the pure bloods who run our government, but I digress. If you would like me as your guardian…"
"Yes!" Harry exclaimed before he could comport himself, but neither the professor or Oliver seemed to mind. Quite the opposite actually.
"I would just need you to sign these forms, and I can submit the request before the Wizengamot," Professor Quirrell informed as he produced papers and a quill.
"You don't mind if I work on these right now?" Harry asked Oliver.
"Hey, the sooner I can call you my cousin, the better," Oliver responded with equal excitement.
A nagging voice in the back of Harry's mind reminded him that one of the esteemed Dumbledore's many titles was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and that in his February meeting with the old crackpot, his relationship with Professor Quirrell had been harped upon multiple times. But Harry refused to allow such shadows to obscure the brightness of this moment.
2:16 p.m., March 31
"That smile thou hath hoisted this past week shall be wiped off come Saturday!" Ernie challenged as he and Harry made to leave their Herbology period.
"I don't think that's how you use that word, Ernie," Harry drawled. "If only I could go back in time before you introduced him to Shakespeare, Justin," he sighed at the other male Hufflepuff of his year.
"I can hardly tell the difference to be fair, good chap," Justin responded in an ever-so-slightly fancier tone than normal. Harry rolled his eyes as the Hufflepuffs snickered at his obvious mock-annoyance.
"But surely, I can count on my two yearmates to cheer for me at this weekend's Quidditch match?" Harry implored as he put an arm over each Hufflepuff's shoulders. "I mean, who else would you cheer for? A third year? We 1053rders have to stick together, right?"
"In thy dreams!" the two Hufflepuffs answered in unison.
Harry would have teased them further, but he sensed something that caused him to hang behind, even as his other friends passed through the greenhouse door to enjoy the rest of their day.
"You wanted to speak to me?" Harry whispered as Neville finally came to the exit. As the last students to leave, they each waved Professor Sprout goodbye as Harry closed the door behind them.
Neville stayed silent for the first minute as they walked from Hogwarts' Northwest wing toward the castle's lateral hallways, but Harry was patient. It had been too long since he and Neville talked at length, and even though he couldn't quite place it, a sixth-sense told him that Neville wanted to say something very important.
"Have you ever heard of Nicolas Flamel?" Neville suddenly asked.
"I think I've seen that name in a muggle textbook somewhere," Harry answered. He wouldn't claim to have a perfect memory, but he believed he saw it once in a science class.
"Did that book mention the Philosopher's Stone?" Neville inquired.
Harry shut his eyes and furrowed his brows in thought.
"Yes, I think there was a paragraph or two on it. On a page about how medieval alchemists thought they could use chemistry to turn lead to gold, or make immortality potions out of mercury," Harry recalled. "But the muggles said it was a fool's errand."
Neville deflated at this.
"Did you hear about Flamel's stone from a wizard?" Harry asked.
"Y-Yes, Professor Quirrell told me about it," Neville revealed.
Harry instantly stood at full attention.
"Nev," Harry said while resting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "What I said about the stone, that's just what the muggles thought about it. We know so much more than they do. If Professor Quirrell told you it has these powers, then it does."
"Do…do you think it can h-heal my p-parents?" Neville stammered.
"If the Elixir of Life can give immortality to whoever drinks it, then it should be able to heal them from any injury," Harry stated.
"E-even the Cruciatus Curse?" Neville asked.
Harry's blood froze.
About a month before, Draco mentioned his aunt Bellatrix Black-Lestrange was captured after a duel with Neville's parents, but not before she "tortured them to insanity." All this time, Harry assumed the Black witch used a brutal form of Legilimency on them. But to hear it was the Torture Curse that made them permanent residents of Saint Mungo's…
"Merlin," Harry gasped. "I—I'm so sorry."
Only when Neville lowered his head in dejection did Harry remember the question.
"Wait!" Harry exclaimed before the Gryffindor closed off. "The Elixir of Life is supposed to give you perfect health. No sickness, no aging. If it can do that, then it must be able to restore your parents — no matter what."
Hope swelled in Neville's hazel eyes.
"But did Professor Quirrell say where to find Flamel?" Harry asked.
"H-he said that Flamel and D-Dumbledore were good friends," Neville shared. "That s-s-sometimes, they worked on it t-together."
"Sometimes," Harry pondered. All of the sudden, a rush of memories flashed before him.
"There's something else as well, Professor Dumbledore gave me this," Hagrid told the goblin manager regarding Vault 713. "It's about you-know-what in vault you-know-which."
"Our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death," Dumbledore warned just before the Sorting.
"I wonder what the hound is guarding," Ron mused just after he and Harry escaped the jaws of the Hogwarts' resident cerberus. "That thinghas no business in a school, but it was standing on a trapdoor. I'd know…I have to watch out for the ones my brothers conjure all the time."
"Neville, we're going to fix your parents," Harry declared as he looked directly into his friend's eyes. "We're going to make the Elixir of Life, and make them whole again."
"W-we are?" Neville asked hesitantly.
"Yes, we are," Harry promised. "Because I know where the Sorcerer's Stone is."
