CHAPTER 2: EMBERS OF AMBITION

Harry found himself enclosed in a compact, dimly lit space, cocooned in a gentle, comforting warmth that caressed his skin. It was reminiscent of the snugness of his old cupboard, albeit considerably more comfortable and notably lacking in arachnid inhabitants.

As the darkness receded, he discovered Hermione standing beside an immense black cauldron, her tresses shifting from their usual unruly brown to a lustrous, silvery sheen, in sync with the rhythm of Harry's heartbeat. He couldn't help but be struck by the oddity of the situation. Had Hermione resorted to brewing Polyjuice Potion once again? His fingers moved instinctively to adjust his glasses, only to find smooth, unobstructed skin. Perplexed, he questioned, "Why isn't everything appearing blurry?"

Struggling to disregard the peculiar transformation of Hermione's hair, Harry squinted at the cauldron and inquired, "What are you concocting here?"

Hermione pivoted to face him, revealing enormous, dark eyes that appeared above a menacing, hooked beak. The sight made Harry recoil in alarm.

"Amortentia," she whispered, submerging a ladle into the cauldron, "the elixir of love." She approached him with a wand in one hand and the ladle in the other.

In an attempt to retreat, Harry realized he was immobilized in place. Hermione's brows formed a deep V shape, and her vast, obsidian eyes narrowed. "It's for you, Harry. Precisely what you require. Go on, take a sip." She extended the ladle toward him.

A luminous, shimmering liquid beckoned under his nose. Odorless, sparkling vapors rose from it, gently warming his senses. Harry peered closer and observed twisting, sinuous, silver serpents undulating within the potion.

"I have no desire to consume that," Harry protested firmly, his reluctance evident.

Undeterred, Hermione pressed on, raising the ladle to his lips and asserting, 'It's for your own good, Harry.'

"No," he sputtered, turning his face away. In the ensuing struggle, the silver snakes from the potion slithered down his front, and the ladle clattered to the floor.

'You should've drunk it, Harry,' Hermione hissed, her feathers erupting across her body and her beak menacingly aimed at his throat. A flash of green light seared across Harry's vision, and he jolted upright with a gasp.

He found himself once again in the comforting embrace of the familiar white sheets and square beds of the hospital wing. Harry drew upon a visualization technique, picturing a small, dark ink circle on a blank page, allowing it to anchor him until his racing heart slowed and his breathing steadied.

'Mr. Potter,' Madam Pomfrey's stern voice echoed from the far end of the ward, and the sound of her approaching footsteps drew nearer. 'You're awake. Good.'

'I hope so,' Harry replied, shaken by the bizarre dream. 'That dream is definitely going straight into the "too disturbing to think about" category.'

Madam Pomfrey cast a quizzical glance his way. 'You're in the school hospital wing. Term hasn't officially commenced, but it was so close that the decision was made to have you here rather than at St. Mungo's once your condition stabilized.'

'What happened? I recall falling asleep in the aftermath of the World Cup camp, but after that, it's a blur,' Harry inquired.

'You were discovered by one of the Bulgarian team's cheerleaders after the turmoil of the attack had subsided. She transported you to the nearest hospital point. The Weasley family and Miss Granger then brought you here once it was confirmed that your condition wasn't severe.'

'Are they all right?' Harry asked with concern.

'Miss Granger and the Weasley family were quite worried, but aside from that, they are in good health. However, you, Mr. Potter, somehow pushed yourself well beyond what should be possible for a child your age. During your recovery, you've set a new record for the longest stay in my hospital wing before the term even begins. I dare say it's the first time a student has managed that.'

Relieved to hear about the well-being of his friends, Harry let out a quiet sigh. 'That's a relief.'

Madam Pomfrey fixed him with a stern look. 'This isn't good, Mr. Potter. Frankly, it seems like you come close to the brink of death at the end of every school year. One might expect you to have learned some caution by now.'

Harry offered a sheepish grin. 'It's the beginning of the year. I wasn't expecting any life-threatening situations for months.'

'Regardless,' she replied, 'you are awake now. Once I've ensured you're in good health, you may return to Gryffindor Tower.' Madam Pomfrey touched the tip of her wand to his forehead, causing Harry to flinch.

'Everything appears to be in order,' she remarked. 'You may go, but I hope not to see you back in this bed for the remainder of the year.'

Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the prospect of finally being able to use his wand for magic once more. He quickly charmed his hospital gown to resemble a set of school robes and made his way toward the Great Hall, wearing a pair of borrowed slippers. As he walked, he couldn't help but worry about Hedwig and his belongings.

Ron greeted him with an exclamation halfway across the Great Hall. 'You're alive, Harry!'

'Yes, Ron,' Hermione chimed in. 'That's certainly a warm welcome for a friend who was in a coma due to excessive magic use.'

Harry chuckled at the look of mock outrage on Hermione's face and joined them as they headed toward the Gryffindor common room.

Ron nudged him on the arm. 'So, what exactly happened, mate?'

"I killed someone," Harry admitted quietly, the words heavy on his conscience. He felt a surge of nausea but swallowed it along with the turbulent emotions threatening to surface. "Someone who probably deserved it. Like Quirrell."

His friends exchanged concerned glances. Harry continued, "I'm not entirely sure about what happened. It was just sheer chaos. One moment, I was running with you guys, and then I got hit by something. A few minutes ago, I woke up in the hospital wing."

Hermione crossed her arms, her expression troubled. "The healer at the World Cup said you forced so much magic out of yourself that you should be dead, Harry. It's as though you attempted to channel an extraordinary amount of magic into a spell, and in doing so, it drained your energy to the point where your basic bodily functions nearly shut down."

The memory of the basilisk's death flashed through Harry's mind. He shrugged, saying, "I don't remember casting a spell like that. So, what actually happened to cause all that chaos?"

Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "They haven't told you yet?!"

Hermione let out a sigh and allowed her arms to fall to her sides. "Harry just woke up, Ron. How could he possibly know?"

"Oh," Ron mumbled, rubbing his freckled nose. "Well, it was Death Eaters, mate. They attacked the site, but you can't tell anyone I said that because we overheard Percy and Dad talking before they left for work. Apparently, they went after the Muggles near the site and anyone else they didn't like. It's been absolute chaos at the Ministry, and Dad thinks something's up because Percy's boss, Mr. Crouch, is supposedly resigning—"

"That's not what they officially announced," Hermione interjected, her brow furrowing as she gnawed on her lip. "Mr. Crouch is supposedly resigning later in the year. There's something happening that he's organizing before he can retire comfortably. He's unofficially tendered his resignation, according to Percy."

"Same thing, Hermione," Ron replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Harry shook his head. 'It's not the same thing. This suggests that whatever he's involved in is of significant importance, if he's still committed to it after such a debacle.'

Hermione chimed in, 'There are numerous rumors circulating within the Ministry. Bill mentioned overhearing an auror captain talking about Barty Crouch's son being discovered dead in the campsite.'

A shiver ran down Harry's spine at the mention of Barty Crouch Jr.

'He was a Death Eater, Harry,' Hermione clarified. 'Ron, you really should provide more context when you talk. Barty Crouch Junior was supposed to have perished in Azkaban a while ago. He was a malevolent wizard.'

Harry thought to himself, At least I know he deserved it. A faint murmur rose within him, akin to the prick of rose thorns, similar to the feelings he had about Quirrell.

'What else occurred?' he inquired.

Hermione responded, 'Not much, to be honest. We were all consumed with worry about you. Mrs. Weasley visited every healing point, desperately searching for you.'

Ron added, 'Yeah, Mum was frantic. She thought you were dead.' He rolled his eyes. 'I assured her you wouldn't just give up and die after everything you've been through. About an hour later, some stunning Bulgarian girl carried you to the refugee tents in her arms. It might almost be worth getting injured just to experience that.'

Hermione nudged Ron in the stomach. 'It's not funny, Ron. That was a veela. They're not just attractive, you know. She could have done anything to him.'

'They are undeniably stunning, though,' Harry admitted, only to feel Hermione's elbow jab into his side. He rubbed the spot where her elbow had landed. 'So, when does the term officially begin?'

Hermione answered, 'It starts today, Harry.'

'Where is everyone, then?' Harry inquired.

Ron gestured at the ceiling. 'It's only ten, mate. There's still another hour or so before anyone arrives. You need to speak to Dumbledore about what happened. He asked us to inform you when you woke up.'

'I also need to change,' Harry added.

Hermione gave him an odd look. 'You're already in school robes, Harry.'

'I charmed my hospital gown,' he explained. 'I'm not sure how long it'll hold up.'

Hermione beamed at him. 'That's rather advanced spellwork, Harry. I only read about it last year.'

'Let's see the Headmaster first and get it over with,' Harry decided, heading toward the gargoyle. Anxiety coiled within him as he approached the entrance.

'Sugar quills,' Hermione instructed the gargoyle.

'Ah, Harry,' Professor Dumbledore greeted him with a warm smile, opening the door. 'Come and have a seat. Are you feeling better?'

Harry struggled to push away the unsettling images of Barty Crouch Jr.'s lifeless body. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong. It was self-defense. 'Much better, sir.'

'I was beginning to fear you might not wake up in time for the school year and end up missing classes,' Professor Dumbledore remarked, his fingers steepled. 'It would be a shame to be so far behind on your schoolwork so early.'

Harry couldn't help but think, I'm sure Snape would've been disappointed if I'd missed Potions.

The portraits on the walls of the office snoozed peacefully, while Fawkes fixed him with a penetrating gaze, ruffling his feathers.

'Do you recall what transpired?' Professor Dumbledore inquired. 'I don't wish to pressure you into thinking about anything unpleasant, but some truly horrendous acts were committed against the Muggle owners of the campsite. However, any details you can provide might aid in bringing the culprits to justice, Harry.'

'Actually, I don't remember much at all, sir,' Harry replied. 'We attempted to flee the camp into the woods, but I was struck, and then everything went black. As you're aware, I was later discovered and brought here.'

Professor Dumbledore ran a hand through his silver beard. 'At least you don't have to carry the burden of those memories, then. You're too young to have to endure such things.'

'Professor Dumbledore?' Harry chose his words carefully. 'Is it true about Barty Crouch's son? The Death Eater? I heard he was found in the camp.'

'Unfortunately, it does seem to be the case, though I would advise you to keep this information to yourselves. Widespread knowledge of it might cause significant concern if people start doubting Azkaban's ability to hold its prisoners.'

'We will, Professor,' Hermione assured him.

'You should get ready for the welcome feast, Harry,' Professor Dumbledore suggested, his eyes twinkling. 'As impressive as your charmed robes may be, they might not last the entire meal.'

'I was just about to, sir.'

'Very well, then. This year, try to avoid getting into trouble, Harry. There will be unfamiliar faces around us soon.'

Ron interjected as soon as the gargoyle closed, 'Of course there will be unfamiliar faces, Professor. The first years come every year.'

Hermione chuckled and corrected Ron, 'I doubt he means the first years, Ron. It's probably related to whatever Mr. Crouch was organizing. He mentioned being at Hogwarts to Percy during the World Cup, and he appeared quite upset that Bertha Jorkins had disappeared on him. I got the impression she was supposed to be coordinating and arranging a substantial part of it for him.'

Back in the Gryffindor common room, the fire crackled in front of unoccupied chairs, and the gold and red hangings swayed in the faint draft from the chimney, gently rattling against the stone walls. A stack of parchment rested on the notice board.

'Look, someone has given us our schedules!' Hermione exclaimed, rushing across the floor and pulling both Harry and Ron with her.

Harry shared a knowing grin with Ron. 'Someone who's undoubtedly deserving of a good hexing. She's about to launch into one of us for our choices. Probably Ron.'

As Harry retreated to change, he could still hear Hermione's voice echoing up the stairs, chastising Ron about his choice.

'Divination! Just because you think it's an easy OWL doesn't mean you should suck up that washed-up old bat's drivel, Ronald!' Hermione's rebuke turned her face a rosy shade of pink.

Harry decided to make a quick escape, pulling his own schedule out of the bundle.

Hermione's eyes shot to him, and she swiftly plucked the schedule from his hand, reading it aloud. 'Fourth-year Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. How did you manage to get into those classes without taking the third-year exams?'

Harry couldn't resist a grin. 'Magic.'

She huffed in annoyance. 'Fine, don't tell me. I'll find out from Professor McGonagall.'

Ron, on the other hand, appeared bewildered. 'Why did you choose those? Divination and Magical Creatures are easy OWLs. You've gone and pulled a Hermione, mate.'

Hermione interjected, 'If by that, you mean he's made an intelligent decision about his future, then you're spot on, Ron.' She hesitated, appearing torn, then finally decided to speak, waving Harry's schedule in front of him. 'You might be significantly behind in your electives, Harry. It's great that you want to challenge yourself, but I'm not sure if you'll be able to handle everything.'

A tinge of irritation flitted through Harry, but he replied confidently, 'I'm sure I'll manage just fine.'

Harry's thoughts turned to his list, reinforcing his confidence. Ancient Runes involved a couple of challenging essays but primarily revolved around arrays and intuition. Arithmancy, on the other hand, was the magic of mathematics, making it the most logical of all the subjects. They were relatively easy to visualize and didn't require extensive writing.

'If you say so,' Hermione replied, her lips bitten in worry. 'I'm just concerned you might face real challenges, Harry. You're not at the bottom of the class or anything, but you've selected two demanding subjects.'

Harry suppressed another burst of annoyance and said, 'I'll be fine, Hermione. I know what I'm doing.'

'Well, when you do need assistance, you can always turn to me, Harry.'

Harry clenched his jaw and took a deep, calming breath. 'Of course, Hermione.'

Ron, sensing the tension between the two, interjected, 'The welcoming feast is about to start. We should head down and join everyone.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed, plucking his timetable from Hermione's hand and tucking it into his pocket. 'Let's go.'

In the bustling corridors, students filled the space with their exuberant chatter and echoing footsteps. The castle resonated with a cacophony of noise, much like a thunderstorm. Younger students jostled past Harry as he maneuvered around groups of older ones.

'It's so loud,' Harry muttered to himself as a group of second years pressed uncomfortably close while passing by. 'And they always have to get so near.'

He finally located Neville and Seamus about halfway down the table. Ron settled in beside him, eyeing the sparkling plates with a puzzled expression.

Harry offered a reassuring pat on Ron's shoulder. 'Food will be served soon, Ron.'

The Sorting Hat sat drooping on the chair at the front, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if it would be singing soon. And, as always, that was bound to be loud too.

'Do you think it composes a new song every year?' Harry mused as the Sorting Hat began to sing.

Ron yawned and shrugged. 'I don't know, mate, but my brothers say they've never heard the same one twice.'

'Probably because it does,' Harry speculated. 'Your brothers must have covered the last decade, and it has an entire year to create them.'

'When it's not delivering swords to you, you mean,' Ron quipped.

Harry chuckled. 'It's a good thing it delivers swords. What if there's another giant snake in Hogwarts and Neville needs to kill it? He can't be expected to go fetch the sword himself, can he?'

'Hush,' Hermione whispered. 'You're not supposed to be talking.'

The newly sorted first-years squeezed onto the ends of the tables as Professor Dumbledore rose to address the students.

Harry tilted his head, thinking, If something significant is happening, he'll probably mention it now. Let's hope it's not another deathtrap corridor, a dementor swarm, or a giant snake.

'Before we all become too absorbed in our forthcoming meal, I have a few announcements to make. First and foremost, I would like to welcome Professor Moody to our teaching staff. He will be taking over as the Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. Secondly, I must remind all students of all years that the Forbidden Forest has its name for a reason. And lastly, this year, after centuries, a grand sporting event will be making its return. Unfortunately, this means there will be no Quidditch.'

A murmur of discontent spread through the hall at the announcement, eventually turning into a near uprising. The students seemed less upset about the time a troll had breached the school defenses and nearly killed them.

'The Triwizard Tournament will be hosted at Hogwarts this October,' the headmaster continued. 'A chance, for those who dare to enter, to earn eternal glory as the school champion.'

'Ah, so that's what's happening!' Ron exclaimed as he pounded the table with his fist. 'I'm definitely putting my name in. Eternal glory...'

'Eternal glory,' Harry echoed, but he couldn't help but notice that Professor Moody didn't seem impressed with the news.

Hermione remarked, 'Professor Moody doesn't appear too thrilled about it.'

The new teacher's severe, scarred face wore a disapproving frown, and Harry added, 'He looks like he's been through a lot.'

'He has,' Ron affirmed. 'That's Mad-Eye Moody, that is. Dad says he was one of the greatest Aurors during the war against You-Know-Who, but he's apparently lost it in peacetime, or something like that.'

Neville chimed in, 'His eye is a bit creepy.'

Ron nodded in agreement. 'It's supposed to be magical. I don't know what it actually does, though.'

Harry helped himself to a slice of bread, actively dodging Hermione's efforts to heap food onto his plate. He spread a bit of butter on it and took a small bite.

'You need to eat more than just bread, Harry,' Hermione admonished, trying to spoon half a bowl of potatoes onto his plate. 'You've been in a coma!'

Harry gently deflected the serving of potatoes onto Ron's plate. 'Ron's eaten enough for all three of us.'

Ron, in response, skewered and devoured the largest potato on his plate without taking a breath.

Hermione huffed, 'Just because Ron eats enough food for a small country doesn't mean you should starve yourself to compensate.'

Harry's thoughts turned to his experiences with the Dursleys, and he couldn't help but wonder, Is this what having a mother is like? He furrowed his brow, finding the experience quite annoying.

'I'm doing it out of protest,' he explained. 'The food is all prepared by house-elves. That's practically slavery, Hermione. I can't exploit their efforts in good conscience.'

Hermione dropped her fork as if it had bitten her.

'You've done it now, Harry,' Ron muttered. 'We'll be hearing about this for the rest of the year.'

'Should've taken the potatoes,' Seamus said with a grin. 'Who knows where this will lead?'

Hermione stared down at her plate as if the food had turned to ashes in her mouth.

Seamus rolled his eyes. 'Did you hear about the World Cup?'

'Yeah,' Ron responded, 'Ireland won. Congratulations.'

'Not that,' Seamus continued, still grinning. 'Well, a little bit of that, but I meant the attacks.'

'We were there,' Hermione said.

'Harry was in a coma until this morning,' Ron added. He took a bite that seemed to encompass half a chicken. 'He was carried out of the camp by one of those beautiful Bulgarian cheerleaders.'

All the nearby guys, including Neville, turned to stare in interest.

'You learn that your friend was in a coma, and the first thing you do is think about the cheerleaders,' Hermione shook her head and announced, 'I'm going to the library.'

She walked away, disappearing between the tables.

'Wasteful, that is,' Ron remarked, helping himself to Hermione's plate. 'Can't let good food go to waste.'

Seamus chuckled. 'Imagine what the house-elves would think?'

Dean took Hermione's vacated seat and asked, 'What was the cheerleader like?'

Harry, still focused on his food, shrugged and replied, 'I don't remember. I was in a coma.'

Ron chimed in, 'I saw them during the game. They were gorgeous.'

'Hermione said they were veela,' Harry added, 'apparently, they're not fully human and can charm men with their magic.' He shrugged. 'So they aren't naturally attractive. Well, they are, but they can also cheat.'

Ron laughed. 'Anyone who looks like that is going to charm me. At least until they grow all those feathers.'

Seamus nearly choked on a sausage. 'Feathers?!'

Ron confirmed, 'Yeah, when they got angry at the end of the match, they grew feathers and beaks and started throwing fireballs around. They didn't like that Bulgaria lost.'

'Is that what caused the fires?' Neville asked.

'Nah,' Ron responded. 'Those were Death Eaters, or people dressed like them. Dad said there was no Dark Mark like they used in the war, so they might not have been real Death Eaters—just sympathizers.'

Neville added, 'The Ministry didn't catch anyone, though. Gran was furious that they all got away with it. She spent an hour muttering to herself about how useless Fudge is.'

Seamus grimaced. 'It doesn't exactly inspire confidence. But hey, the Irish won, and that's what counts.'

Harry managed to force down a few more bites and pinched his nose to drink some pumpkin juice.

'Let's head back to the common room,' Dean suggested. 'I've got to unpack everything still, but I'm fairly sure I've brought the new Exploding Snap cards to replace the ones Lavender lost. Anyone fancy a round or two?'

A quiet murmur of mutual consent rippled through the group, and they rose to return to Gryffindor Tower.

'Harry,' three familiar voices called out to him halfway down the hall.

'Angelina, Alicia, Katie,' Harry greeted them with a smile. 'You look quite unhappy.'

'They canceled Quidditch,' Katie fumed. 'This was going to be a really important year for us. We needed to start adding new faces to the squad, like a keeper, or the other teams will start catching up to us.'

Harry chuckled. 'At least you've got the Triwizard Tournament. Eternal glory obviously can't compete with Quidditch, but in a pinch...'

Alicia and Angelina laughed, but Katie remained in a sour mood.

'Aren't you going to enter?' Angelina asked. 'I am.'

'No,' Harry replied. 'I'm going for a nice, quiet year. No snakes, no dogs, no Dementors, and hopefully no more trips to Madam Pomfrey, either.'

'Fair enough,' Alicia said. 'Hogwarts' champion will likely be from the upper years anyway. We know more than you cute little fourth years.'

Harry leaned back to avoid Alicia's attempted pat on the cheek. 'Where do the other two champions come from?'

'Durmstrang and Beauxbatons,' Angelina explained. 'They're the biggest and most famous magical schools in Europe.'

'Some of their students will probably come here to support their champions when we compete,' Harry added.

'Well, good luck, Angelina,' he said and waved a hand toward the tower. 'I promised the guys I'd play Exploding Snap with them.'

'Bye, Harry,' they called after him.

Harry couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something would go wrong, as it often did. Barty Crouch Junior's face and the memories of the basilisk and the ash spell flashed through his mind. 'I should make sure I'm ready,' he thought to himself as he slipped through the stream of students heading from the hall.

As the students filed into the dimly lit dungeon, Snape's trademark drawl cut through the atmosphere, more chilling than the shadows that enveloped them. It was a sound that could pierce through the murkiness of the dungeons better than the faintest glimmer of daylight, the scent of old parchment, or the sharpest blade in one's possession.

Suppressing a sigh, Harry braced himself for yet another class with Professor Perpetual Negativity. There was no doubt in his mind that Snape would maintain his unwavering commitment to making this class as miserable as possible, especially for him.

Snape's obsidian eyes flickered, and his lips curled into a disdainful sneer. "This is the year prior to OWLs, the time when those with a true aptitude for the art of potions begin to distinguish themselves from those who are too indolent to devote themselves to this delicate craft."

Harry couldn't help but wonder where Snape derived his unflattering opinion of him. Presumably, the man had deep-seated personal issues. Spending all his time in the dimly lit dungeons, constantly exposed to noxious ingredients, couldn't possibly be conducive to anyone's well-being, both mental and physical.

With a flourish of his wand, Snape summoned a long list of meticulously written instructions on the blackboard. "Commence."

"At least I have a better grasp of what I'm doing this year," Harry mused, reaching for his brand-new, exorbitantly priced silver-plated knife. The cost of top-tier, non-reactive metal equipment was astronomical, making it no surprise that only families like the Malfoys could afford such luxuries.

Meanwhile, Ron was hunched over his cauldron at the nearest workbench, handling the ingredients with all the finesse of a befuddled troll. His neatly diced toad liver found its way into the frothing potion in irregular, oversized chunks, and he seemed to have added twice as much sneezewort as required.

"It might be wise to finish before that cauldron decides to blow up," Harry thought as he prodded his leeches with the tip of his knife, recalling some of his summer reading. Leeches were notoriously finicky, easily contaminated, and quick to dissolve. The size and shape of the cuts were of paramount importance. His gaze shifted to Malfoy, who was attempting to slice his leeches in mid-air with an air of nonchalance. Poor Pansy Parkinson winced away from his ornately engraved knife. "I've heard rumors that their parents want them to marry," Harry mused, "but it seems he's not too concerned about ruining her looks with that knife. I suppose Madam Pomfrey can probably fix it."

Harry carefully sliced his leeches using his old knife as a makeshift chopping board, making every effort to prevent the slimy creatures from touching the desk or anything else. He deftly flicked the neatly cut squares into his cauldron, and to his delight, the potion began to shift towards the described shimmering turquoise. "That actually went quite well," he acknowledged with a sense of satisfaction.

He couldn't resist a peek at Hermione's workstation as she meticulously prepared a vial. The exact shade of turquoise described by Snape radiated from her small cauldron, but Harry couldn't help but believe that his potion had a bit more of the right kind of shimmer.

"And I'm among the first to finish, so Snape can't come and loiter around me," Harry thought, hiding a triumphant smile. "That should certainly put a damper on his morning."

Snape, in his usual dismissive manner, placed his vial on the rack, but Harry felt the professor's eyes linger on him as he returned to his desk. When he turned around, he noticed Snape had moved on to observe Neville's progress.

Neville's potion had transformed from a passable deep blue into a shade of yellow so glaringly sickly and bright that it drew the collective attention of most of the class.

"Longbottom," Snape tutted disapprovingly. "It was progressing reasonably well, but your unparalleled ineptitude has once again made an appearance." With a disdainful glance, he swept past Harry and his relatively tidy cauldron to return to his shadowy desk.

Hermione finished her potion, followed by Malfoy, and soon the majority of the class began half-heartedly attempting to clean their cauldrons, while Neville desperately tried to salvage whatever strange concoction he had created this time.

Harry observed the bright, lime-green liquid from a safe distance as it emitted a peculiar, high-pitched keening noise, reminiscent of an attention-seeking dog. "It's the same color as the basilisk's scales," he thought, a faint urge to draw comparisons between the snake and not just Neville's potion, but also his encounter with it during the World Cup, seizing him. "I wonder if it's all still intact or if it has decayed significantly."

"If that's all, you may depart," Snape drawled from the obscurity of a dark corner at the rear of the classroom.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how Snape had managed to position himself there without anyone noticing. He imagined Snape sneaking along the line of heavy black curtains beneath his cloak and had to suppress a snort of amusement. "He's not doing himself any favors with those vampire rumors," Harry thought.

"I won't trouble to evaluate your work, Longbottom," Snape declared as he vanquished the contents of Neville's cauldron. "A blank mark for absence would have been more favorable than what I'd assign you for... that."

Harry winced as he headed towards the exit. "Neville seems to have been my stand-in today," he reflected, feeling sympathy for his friend.

'Potter, if you would be so kind as to stay behind,' Snape drawled, his request sounding more like an inevitable summons.

Harry let out a resigned sigh under his breath. "I knew it was too good to be true," he mumbled to himself.

Snape loomed over the rack of vials on his desk and tapped Harry's with the tip of his wand. 'What do you make of this, Potter?'

Harry struggled to suppress a surge of amusement. 'My predictably unremarkable attempt at potion-making?'

Snape's stare remained cool and calculating. 'This is a passable attempt—not quite up to the standard I expect from students considering post-OWL studies, but it's close enough that I might dare to hope for a more extended stay from the school's most illustrious celebrity.'

Harry was taken aback. Snape's words sounded almost like a backhanded compliment. 'Thank you, sir.'

Snape sneered in response. 'Your decision to finally apply the knowledge I've been tirelessly imparting to you is promising. However, the wizarding world expects nothing less from someone of your elevated status. Do not revert to your previous levels of mediocrity.'

'I'll do my best, sir.' Harry edged toward the exit, eager to leave the intimidating presence of his Potions professor.

'See that you do,' Snape retorted before vanishing into his office with a swirl of his dark cloak and robes.

Harry nodded in acknowledgment and quickly exited the room. As he returned to the classroom, Professor McGonagall shot him a brief, tight-lipped glance. On her desk, a cage of guinea fowl clucked and bobbed their heads like chickens.

'Today, we will be transfiguring guinea fowl into guinea pigs,' their stern professor announced, flicking her wand to float the cages in front of each student. 'This type of transformation is as complex as any we will attempt this year, but the connection in names should make it a suitable starting point for all of us.'

The classroom echoed with clucking and the soft hum of whispered incantations as the students earnestly engaged in their transfiguration attempts.

Harry studied his guinea fowl with a quizzical expression. 'I wonder if they source these birds from the kitchens. Maybe I should steer clear of poultry for the next few days just in case I end up eating Neville's.'

'Excellent work, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor,' Professor McGonagall's authoritative voice rang out from the front of the class.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he directed his gaze towards Hermione's guinea pig, which appeared to be rather sparse on feathers and seemed to have some impressive talons. 'That's quite generous coming from Professor McGonagall,' he thought. 'She must be in a good mood, returning to school.' Hermione beamed with pride at the recognition.

Harry scanned the room, noting Seamus's fowl's feathers taking on a vibrant green hue and Ron's guinea fowl seemingly plucking itself. 'Ron's probably already thinking about lunch,' he mused with a small grin.

'Harry,' Hermione nudged his elbow. 'Aren't you going to give it a try? It's really not that difficult, you know.'

Suppressing a flicker of irritation, Harry decided it was time to put his summer of diligent study to good use. He mentally pictured the guinea fowl undergoing a transformation, imagining its feathers receding into short fur, wings turning into legs, and a beak morphing into a small, dark nose. He then tapped the guinea fowl on the head, earning a disgruntled squawk from the bird.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. 'That's not the correct wand movement, Harry. You have to—'

But before she could finish her sentence, the guinea fowl transformed into a perfect guinea pig, and Harry flashed her a radiant smile.

'But... but...' Hermione stammered in disbelief. 'That was your first attempt. It took me almost five tries.'

'Five!' Harry exclaimed, maintaining his broad grin. 'It's not that difficult, you know.'

Hermione huffed and turned her attention to Ron, who was struggling to transform his guinea fowl, which increasingly resembled a roasted bird. Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of hunger himself at the sight.

'Well done, Mr. Potter,' Professor McGonagall praised as she appeared over his shoulder, causing Harry to flinch slightly. 'Twenty points to Gryffindor for a flawless species-switch transfiguration. It seems you may have inherited your father's talent for my subject, as well as his inclination to bend the rules.'

Hermione crossed her arms and continued to work on her guinea pig, using her wand to remove the last few feathers and give its feet a more mammalian appearance. 'I can't believe you accomplished that on your first try, Harry. That's truly fortunate. But still, twenty points for Gryffindor is great!'

"Lucky? Really?" Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose I haven't shown much consistent success before."

A sudden loud bang from the row behind them disrupted their conversation. Neville's guinea fowl cage had rolled onto the floor, sending Seamus's water bottle flying.

Professor McGonagall expertly levitated the cage back onto the desk. 'Focus on the outcome you desire, Mr. Longbottom. Don't just wave your wand about as if it were a baby's rattle.'

Harry couldn't help but watch as the water veered dangerously close to Hermione's bag and stack of books. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and the thought of half the school library getting soaked was truly disheartening.

As the water streamed perilously close to Hermione's bag and her pile of books, she scrambled to protect her belongings while Harry promptly vanished the liquid with his wand discreetly tucked under his arm. 'Thank you, professor,' she exclaimed with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

"Pardon me, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall inquired, her eyebrows slightly raised as she held a stack of paper in her hands.

Hermione backpedaled, looking flustered. 'Nothing, professor.' She lowered her voice and muttered, 'Vanishing is an advanced fifth-year spell. I can't perform a vanishing spell yet. If I could, I'd use it on Ron's stupid Quidditch posters.'

Harry chuckled softly, tucking his wand back into his sleeve. 'Best not let her realize it was me who did the guinea pig spell so well.'

Hermione then produced a thick book and a small piece of parchment. She poked the parchment with the tip of her wand, repeating the incantation for the vanishing spell under her breath.

Harry observed as the torn fragment of parchment gradually started to fade. 'She's picking it up rather quickly,' he thought. 'Hopefully, she won't insist on practicing it all day, though.'

As Professor McGonagall dismissed the class, Harry swiftly packed his things and joined the rush of students heading to the Great Hall for lunch.

Ron let out a groan. 'No chicken.'

Harry chuckled. 'I did notice that your guinea fowl seemed to be transforming into something you'd like to have for lunch.'

'I wonder if he was fantasizing about its taste while trying to transfigure it,' Harry pondered. 'That might explain what happened.'

'My mum does make a mean bird roast,' Ron sighed, serving himself a generous helping of ham. 'Oh well, gammon's not so bad.'

'What did Snape want, Harry?' Neville inquired between bites of his substantial sandwich.

Harry shrugged, his appetite returning after a successful Transfiguration class. 'Told me my work was finally passable and that I shouldn't slide back into mediocrity,' he replied, his eyes tracking a few errant slices of radish that tried to escape from Neville's lunch, only to roll as far as Ron, who promptly speared them on his fork and gulped them down in between bites of gammon.

Ron couldn't help but snicker. 'That was rather nice of him. Did he deduct points to make up for it?'

'No, not today. Surprisingly, he didn't take any points off me,' Harry remarked. 'Maybe he's feeling under the weather.'

'Odd, he usually deducts at least ten points in our first potions lesson. Perhaps he's happy about something and forgot,' Seamus suggested.

'What could Snape possibly be happy about?' Ron wondered.

'He's probably just looking forward to failing us all in our OWL exams,' Neville replied with a melancholic expression, staring into his sandwich as if it were Professor Trelawney's crystal ball. 'My gran will murder me if I don't achieve at least six OWLs, like my father did.'

'You've still got two years to go, Nev,' Ron reassured him. 'Harry has to endure two near-death experiences first; you're at a significant advantage.'

Laughter rippled across the table, with Hermione briefly looking up and continuing her wandwork on a piece of parchment. With her free hand, she picked at the salad on her plate.

'I've already had my near-death experience for this year, thanks,' Harry retorted.

Ron grinned mischievously. 'Doesn't count, mate. The Bulgarian cheerleader cancels it out.'

The guys at the table nodded in agreement. 'She wasn't all that stunning, Ron,' Harry responded. 'And all she did was carry me while I was unconscious. Not much to brag about, really.'

'She was a veela, Harry,' Dean chimed in. 'Those legends about the sirens in the Odyssey are supposedly inspired by veela. You've surpassed Odysseus.'

Seamus, Ron, and Neville exchanged puzzled looks. Dean waved his hands in the air, aghast. 'It's a renowned story! How could you not have heard of it? Harry, Hermione, you've got to back me up here. Everyone knows about the Odyssey.'

Hermione, her attention fully absorbed by the challenging vanishing spell, continued her meticulous wandwork, apparently too engrossed to participate in the debate.

Harry, considering Hermione's obvious struggle, decided it was time to confess. Leaning over her shoulder, he tapped his wand against the small fragment of parchment. The parchment promptly faded into thin air, much like a wisp of smoke dispersing in the breeze.

Hermione spun around as if struck by a sudden realization. 'How did you do that?' she hissed, her curiosity and frustration evident in her eyes. 'I've been attempting this spell since Transfiguration.'

'It's not too complex,' Harry explained, 'you just have to visualize what you want to happen and focus intently when performing the spell. The clearer your mental image, the easier it is to pick up. I found that making things disappear came naturally to me.'

Hermione huffed and reached for another piece of parchment, determined to try again.

Harry caught her hand gently. 'This is an advanced OWL-year spell, Hermione. You have plenty of time to practice it. I can't have you starving yourself. Plus, someone needs to help Dean and me defend the honor of the Odyssey.'

'The Odyssey?'

'See,' Ron exclaimed triumphantly. 'Hermione doesn't know about it, and that probably means virtually nobody does.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I do know about the Odyssey, Ron. It's one of the most renowned stories ever written, and it's over two thousand years old, but I have no idea why you're all discussing it.'

Seamus, looking slightly embarrassed, chimed in. 'Er… Dean mentioned veela in it.'

'Are attractive, part-human women all you boys ever think about?' Hermione's initial flush turned into a frown. 'I assume he was referring to the sirens that Odysseus encounters.'

Harry nodded in agreement.

'He's probably correct,' Hermione conceded. 'But you can't still be obsessing over the Bulgarian cheerleaders! Their allure only works when you're actually looking at them.'

Ron took on a dreamy expression. 'They were like goddesses.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. 'Boys.'

Meanwhile, Ron, Seamus, and Dean began whispering animatedly about veela.

Hermione subtly slid the jug of pumpkin juice between Harry and their hushed conversation. 'How did you become so skilled at transfiguration so quickly?'

Ah, she's finally realized it wasn't just luck, Harry thought.

'I spent the summer reading up on all the theory,' he explained. 'I never bothered with it before because I'd simply picture what I wanted to happen, and with some practice, I'd get the hang of it. It worked decently for me in most subjects, but now that I know the intricate details of what I'm doing, I imagine that transfiguration will become one of my best subjects. It's very visual, which suits me. My dad was supposed to be quite adept at it, too.'

'Oh.' Hermione chewed her lip. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I had no idea he was so skilled at transfiguration.'

Harry chuckled. 'He and his friends became animagi during their mid-school years. You do realize that even basic human transfiguration isn't taught until our last two years, let alone full animagus transformations.'

'That does make sense,' Hermione admitted, her lips twisting into a smile. 'It's great to see you taking your studies more seriously, Harry. I hope you continue to do well.'

As Ron pushed his empty plate away and prepared to leave for Charms, the realization hit Harry. 'I know two of these spells already,' he thought, his expression clouding with concern. 'Hermione's going to be annoyed with me again.'

In the Charms classroom, Professor Flitwick perched on a stack of books at the front, ready to begin. 'Today, we'll be delving into repairing, summoning, and banishing charms,' he squeaked.

Harry frowned, considering the upcoming lesson. 'I know two of these spells already,' he thought. Hermione, seated next to him, opened her book to the same page, indicating that she was equally familiar with these charms.

Flitwick clarified, 'We will begin with the mending charm and address the others after the Christmas break. Unfortunately, theory first.'

Ron let out an audible groan. 'Not a theory lesson.'

The sound of quills scratching over parchment filled the room as the students begrudgingly began taking notes. Harry, however, took the opportunity to flip through the textbook, landing on the section about the banishing charm, while Hermione did the same.

Harry smiled and decided to skip the historical context of the charm, focusing instead on the specific theory of the banishing charm. 'Summoning, but in reverse,' he thought. 'Let's give it a try.'

With a whispered incantation, he aimed the spell at Zacharias Smith's ink pot, a rather pompous Hufflepuff student. A soft ripple of air crossed the classroom but faded before reaching its target. Undeterred, Harry tried again, and this time, the ink pot slid across the desk, spilling its contents across Zacharias's notes.

Satisfied with the result, Harry returned his wand to his sleeve as Zacharias glared around the room. 'Apart from the essays, I should do quite well in Charms this year,' he mused.

'Sir! Sir!' Zacharias frantically waved a parchment splattered with a poisonous green ink toward Professor Flitwick. 'Someone ruined my work, sir!'

'Basilisk green,' Harry thought with a smirk.

'Alright, that's enough for this lesson,' Professor Flitwick announced, waving his wand to open the classroom door. 'I'll see you all next time.'

As the class ended, Hermione packed her books into her bag. 'Did you happen to read further in the book, Harry?'

'Not really,' he admitted. 'I skimmed through some parts. The summoning and banishing charms both seemed quite useful.'

Hermione beamed. 'They are. The summoning charm, in particular, is exceptionally practical; it'll save everyone a lot of time at the library.'

'Madam Pince will have a fit if she catches you summoning her books, Hermione,' Harry remarked, grinning.

Hermione didn't seem concerned as she bounced along the corridor. 'What she doesn't know won't upset her. It's not actually against the rules, anyway. I checked.'

Ron trailed behind them, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 'Of course you checked the rules,' he muttered. 'If I made a fancy-looking list saying all girls have to sit on the floor in the common room, you'd be cross-legged by the fire before I could blink.'

Hermione shot him a withering glare. 'Harry, since you mentioned that you've discovered you're good at the visual aspects, could you give me some pointers on casting the spells themselves in exchange for my notes on essays?'

'Of course,' Harry agreed. 'You really don't need them, but if you want to, that's perfectly fine.'

She nodded enthusiastically. 'I understand all the theory, of course, but my spells never seem to work the first time. I thought it might be worth trying to visualize them as you do to see if it speeds things up.'

'I've learned a good method for improving focus,' Harry explained. 'I found some mind-clearing exercises over the summer. They're Muggle techniques, but I doubt the magical versions are much different. I can teach you the Muggle ones, although it turns out that all the mind magic stuff is in the restricted section.'

'Great idea,' Hermione agreed. 'Ron could use those techniques as well. All he ever thinks about is how much time is left until the next meal.'

Ron shot her a disgruntled look.

Harry chuckled. 'She's not entirely wrong, mate.'

'And she didn't have to say it like that,' Ron grumbled.

'I'm heading to the library,' Hermione announced. 'I want to get that essay out of the way before all the other professors pile on their first assignments. Come on, Ron. If you want my help, it's now or never.' She skipped past the portrait entrance to the tower, with a downcast Ron following in her wake.

Harry murmured the password and slipped into the common room, settling into a chair close to the crackling fire. The other students began to make their way upstairs to the dormitories.

'Last chance for some casual Quidditch!' Katie's voice echoed from somewhere within the crowd. 'Observers are welcome, but you'll still get judged for not participating!'

With most of the common room now emptied, Harry found himself gazing into the dancing flames. The glowing embers and smoke brought back memories of the smoldering camp at the World Cup. A quiet, persistent whisper of desire curled in his chest. 'I wonder if I can do it again,' he thought. He pictured the serpent he had conjured from the ashes and slashed his wand at the fire.

The flames rippled briefly but soon settled back into the fireplace, undisturbed.

'Maybe I need to be more detailed,' Harry thought. He began to visualize the process with greater precision, imagining the basilisk forming from the fire. He pictured the red-tongued flames curling together, taking on the shape of a serpentine creature with menacing fangs and a poised strike.

To his astonishment, a flaming basilisk suddenly lunged from the fireplace, fangs agape, heading straight for him. He threw himself backward out of his chair, narrowly avoiding the fiery serpent, but not before feeling the intense heat singe his cheeks.

'Idiot,' Harry muttered to himself as he pushed himself back to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. 'You nearly set fire to yourself.'

He glanced at the flames and then around the now-empty common room. 'No, it's a terrible idea,' he concluded. With a deep breath, he tucked his wand back up his sleeve, forcing himself to step away from the temptation. 'I can try again later, somewhere quieter, somewhere safer.'

Welcome to PEVERELL_LEGACY on P.A.T.R.E.O.N . This is where the magic happens, where stories come to life, and where you get the first glimpse of what's next.

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