The Faction and the Stone IV

...

The days leading up to Christmas simmered with a strange mixture of eager anticipation and irritated frustration. Festive spirit had very well overtaken Hogwarts; but Harry's spirit was marred by designs for revenge. But how could he get back at Hartin? As far as he knew, the Ravenclaw was a popular student, especially favoured by his Head of House. Even if he'd wanted to do something underhanded, he couldn't.

"Prank him," Wayne had said when Harry confided in him. "Turn his hair into tentacles, or his ears into hooves or something."

But Harry didn't know how to prank anyone, so he tried his best to be patient and whittled down the week. He practised his Giswiften movements until his wrist felt like it was made of lead, and spent two dozen hours reading by the fire. Susan and Alan wrote to him - both were apoplectic about Hartin's ambush, and intrigued (and somewhat disturbed) by the three headed dog in the Third Floor Corridor.

That he hadn't told Wayne. The fewer people who knew, the better.

But even so, his worries were not so bad that he couldn't sleep on Christmas Eve. He went to bed dreaming of food and fun, and hoping that his friends would enjoy his presents. When he woke, the Hufflepuff Christmas tree was already surrounded by yellow and black wrapped presents.

"Hmm," Harry said, his eyes lighting up when he realised some of them were addressed to him. He'd known he would receive presents after his discussions with Susan about Christmas in the wizarding world; actually receiving them, seeing them right there, was something else. Before then, he'd only… "Ah," Harry said, picking through the packages. The Dursley's joke present.

They'd wrapped a pound and a short message in an unnecessary amount of wrapping paper. Harry made sure to discard it all (except the pound). No one else could see that. It would cause questions.

There was a temptation, especially now he'd opened one, to allow himself a little ill-discipline and open the rest. Harry restrained himself; he wanted to open them with Wayne. Instead - after practising his wand movements - he went on an early morning walk.

This early, Hogwarts was steeped in silence. Even the portraits slept. The corridors and galleries unfolded like scenes from a whimsical dream, whose passages seemed to stretch on forever in endless twists and turns.

But Harry had a destination in mind. He set his feet to the spiralling steps of the Astronomy Tower, and climbed. The battlements at her crown looked down upon a panorama of silent silver-grey. There was, Harry thought, looking out at the distant forest, a weight in the air - a presence. It was as though all the snow that blanketed the hills and valleys was murmuring, speaking in a tone too deep, too profound for mankind to hear, only sense at the very edges of their understanding.

He watched, and waited, warming himself with charms, until the pale sun rose gloriously from the east, casting pure, bright light over the Highland hills. Something stirred in Harry's heart. "Magical," he whispered to himself.

A crack broke his reverie. It had come from the Black Lake. Harry watched, feeling tension build. What was that? Was that the giant octopus trying to break the surface?

For a long moment nothing happened, and he almost thought he'd imagined it. Then, suddenly, a great circle of ice fizzed away into nothing, and an impressive ship emerged from the deep - the Methýdrion, even. Harry stared. Even from atop the tower, it was still impressive - bigger than the ship that'd appeared at Halt End. It flew different flags too.

"I wonder what it's doing here?" Harry wondered to himself. Truthfully, he'd almost forgotten that the Black Lake was a working mere, as witches and wizards liked to call it. He watched as the crew of the unknown ship lowered long, flat-bottomed barges into the lake. They were then rowed toward the castle, where Harry knew Hogwarts' jetty waited for them in the cave.

He considered making his way down to them, to watch whoever-they-were unload the food, potions' ingredients and whatever else they were carrying. But Wayne could wake up at any time, so he returned to the common room instead.

"Harry," Wayne nodded when he arrived. He was relaxing in his preferred armchair, two neat piles of presents beside him. The smaller pile, Harry knew, was his. "Off slaying dragons again?"

"Just trolls," Harry returned drolly. "I've got a taste for them."

"I'm pretty sure there's a Bertie Bott for that."

Wayne handed him a present as Harry sat opposite him. It was rectangular, and small; it could only be a book. "From me. Never save the best for last."

Harry smiled. "Thanks," he said, holding the package reverently. It was the first real present he'd ever received. He opened it equally delicately; the first rip revealed a leaf green cover, the third golden yellow lettering. The fifth exposed the title: The Adventures of Jarylo, the Alchemist it said. In the same golden-yellow the outline of a troll had been engraved below the title.

"Funny," Harry said. Of course it would be a prank present.

"Hey, it's not just a joke," Wayne said. "The author's Fulcran Lestrange. Jarylo's alchemy is a little vague in the book, because he didn't know anything about it, but Lestrange was a famed Auror in his time. The duels are all very realistic - apparently, if a little dated."

Harry looked at the book again. He'd never really read a fiction book before. The Dursleys weren't exactly big readers, excluding Aunt Petunia's Bills and Boons romance paperbacks. And even if they were, they'd never lend any to him.

Perhaps it wasn't such a joke after all… "Thanks Wayne."

He only hoped Wayne enjoyed his own present. It'd taken a lot of consideration, after all. What did you buy someone who seemed to dislike almost everything? He watched as Wayne - rather less delicately - unwrapped his own book, Maudlin: Thy Name is Irony. It was a biography of a great wizarding jester (and who knew mediaeval wizards had jesters?). Harry certainly hadn't, until he'd come across a brief mention of one in a footnote of Hogwarts, A History.

Wayne laughed, and Harry relaxed. "Thanks Harry, you've just taken away all my free time."

They continued taking it in turns opening presents, though Wayne started opening two for each of Harry's one, lest Harry run out.

Susan had gifted him a wand holster*, which reminded Harry of the sort of thing an American policeman might wear on a television drama (Uncle Vernon was very keen on Dirty Harry*). Distant friends like Justin and Megan had given him standard gifts like sweets, while Alan's present was a broom polishing kit. Because there is more to life than duelling my friend was engraved into the box.

Harry ran his fingers across the lettering fondly. He and Alan had discussed buying brooms next year, when they were allowed.

Wayne had just opened a gift from his aunt which resembled a magical rubik's cube when the glint of silver wrapping paper caught Harry's eye. It was a thin package, and small, which was likely why he'd not noticed it before. He unwrapped it, revealing something silver, whose surface shimmered like undulating waves. It was strange to the touch, as if water made a flowing solid.

Harry initially thought it was a scarf but, when unfolded, it turned out to be a thin cloak. "What is this?" he said.

Wayne did not immediately answer. For once, he had no clever retort. "That..." he said. "That's an Invisibility Cloak*. That's one hell of a Christmas present Harry, who's it from?"

Invisibility? Harry examined the strange material. It definitely wasn't invisible at the moment. Hidden within the holds was a note on thick parchment paper.

Your father left this in my possession before he died.

It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

He repeated what he'd read to Wayne. "Any ideas?"

Wayne shrugged. "None at all. Just don't sneak off too often, or you might forget you're invisible."

Right, Harry thought, it wasn't exactly a mystery what he'd be doing with this. The fewer who knew, the better...

"Try it on." He held the Cloak out to his friend. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to tell if it's working."

Wayne took it delicately and placed the Cloak upon his shoulders. Everything below his head vanished; it was Harry's turn to gape.

"It works..." he whispered, awed. "It really works!"

Wayne's bodiless head looked down. "I can still see myself. I suppose it'd be much less useful if you couldn't see your own hands."*

"Awesome," Harry said. Then they started; the seventh year who'd stayed was making his way up the stairs.

Wayne quickly threw the cloak over his head, disappearing utterly. "Ha ha!" he cackled theatrically. "It's my Cloak now, you'll never find me!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

He heard Wayne pass him. "Best keep this in your trunk," he whispered.

Harry nodded slowly, watching the seventh year settle down into his own customary armchair. He followed Wayne back to the first year dormitory.

...

...

Christmas dinner was like something from a fairy tale, at least to Harry's eyes. He'd never seen such splendorous food. There must've been a hundred fat roast turkeys, enough roast potatoes to swim in, so many chipolatas that, if put in a line, they would've spanned Hogwarts bridge (or something equally ridiculous). Peas and parsnips, cauliflower and carrots all decorated the table like so much vegetable tinsel, all bright greens and reds. And every delight was bathed in rich, thick gravy that smelled like heaven itself.

Harry's mouth was watering as soon as he walked through the door.

Perhaps most amazing though, were the enchanted crackers. Nothing like the flimsy Muggle versions; his and Wayne's cracker pulled apart with a bang like a clap of thunder, enveloping them thick green smoke. In its wake was a tricorn hat, a joke parchment that told its own jokes, and a very rude parrot.

And when they were finally finished, and Harry thought they could stuff themselves no more, flaming Christmas puddings appeared on new plates.

"Huh," Wayne said. "Let them eat cake."

The dark sugar in the pudding felt like it was exploding in his mouth. For Harry, who'd never had a Christmas pudding before, it was a novel and interesting taste. He doubted he'd ever eat a pudding that tasted quite so good again.

It was not, however, the most interesting moment of the afternoon. That was up at the High Table, where the teachers seemed to be growing increasingly... inebriated. Watching the headmaster chuckle, rosy-cheeked, at an uninspired joke from Professor Flitwick (who himself had almost fallen off his chair) was bizarre. But watching Professor McGonagall give a giggling blush when Hagrid leant over and kissed her on the cheek was surreal.

He would have a lot to tell Sue and Alan, he thought, in his next letter.

When they were finally full, Harry and Wayne took a walk around the grounds, joining a snowball fight at an opportune moment, before returning for a smaller tea of turkey sandwiches, cheese and biscuits and cake.

That made everyone sleepy, so they all retired to their respective common rooms (and Harry made sure to keep a good eye on Hartin all the way). They played push-pull, then exploding snap; and, when they were almost falling asleep in their chairs, they finally went to bed.

It was only then that Harry remembered the Invisibility Cloak and its unknown sender, and then Harry didn't feel so tired at all. Your father left this in my possession... had he really? If so, that Cloak was one of the only links to him... Use it well...

Harry's eyes darted in the dark, looking toward his trunk - or at least, where he knew his trunk was beyond the curtains of his bed. Use it well... He didn't think he'd ever felt so tempted in his life.

He was just about to get up when the curtains of his bed were pulled back, revealing a dark silhouette looming over him. Harry's hand flashed toward his wand on his nightstand, imagining Hartin in the silhouette's place.

"Harry?" the figure said. It was a familiar voice.

"Lumos," Harry cast, lighting Wayne's face in bright white light. "What're you doing?"

"I've found something Harry, something incredible. You've got to take a look!"

Harry's brows knitted together. Rarely had Wayne sounded so sincere; unless this was some sort of joke, whatever he'd found must've been interesting. And besides, hadn't he wanted to use the Cloak? Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be in the Hufflepuff common room…

Harry acquiesced, dressed, and threw the Cloak over them. Moving proved difficult at first, with both boys squashed so close together, but eventually they grew into a walking rhythm which led a narrow corridor on the first floor. Harry thought Wayne was leading him to the Restricted Section of the library, which was just down the way, but they stopped before an ordinary door.

Inside looked to be a disused classroom. Harry could just pick out the faint shapes of desks and chairs piled high to one side. But in the centre of the room - in the centre of the room was something that didn't belong.

It was a majestic mirror, towering as tall as the ceiling, gilded gold, which stood atop two clawed feet. For a moment, he thought it was a Lendish mirror, and his mind wondered where it might lead. Somewhere fantastical, probably - not a sidewalk just off Privet Drive, that was for sure.

At least until Wayne pushed him before it. "Look!" he said. "Look into it!"

Harry peered into the mirror. He saw himself there - but not. He was taller, his face thinner, more defined; around his shoulders the crimson cape of the Aurors laid, trimmed with black and gold.

And Harry... Harry's heart began to ache. For there were others in the mirror. Just behind him stood a woman, a very pretty woman with dark red hair and emerald eyes - eyes, he realised with a pang, that were the exact same shape as his. He stepped closer to the glass.

And then he noticed she was crying - smiling, but crying. She waved at him through the mirror, through the chasm of reality. The dark-haired man beside her put his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy - just like Harry's.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They smiled back at him. They could only smile back at him.

Slowly, Harry looked at the other people in the mirror, and saw more green eyes, more dark hair, more aquiline noses. He was looking at his family. He stared at them longingly, his nose now almost touching the glass, until he saw them blurrily as though through tears. And then he realised he was crying; his cheeks were wet, his mouth wobbling. He dearly wished it was a Lendish mirror.

"Harry?" Wayne said quietly from somewhere behind him.

He wiped his tears on his robe and turned away. They never discussed what the other had seen in the mirror. They returned to their dormitory together, and dreamed of happy times to never be.

It took two to break Harry's discipline. While Halt End had made him wary of magical artefacts - he hadn't forgotten Eric Lyle's warning not to touch the books on the white bookcase in their library - by the third day his discipline was broken. He could barely think about anything else. Wayne had soundly beaten him at exploding snap, leaving Harry's eyebrows singed. Once night had fallen, he found himself under the cover of his Cloak once more, venturing to the library-side corridor.

The mirror, to his relief, was still there. His parents, his family, were still there. Harry through off his Cloak and sat before the mirror. There was nothing stopping him spending the night with his family. Just one night.

"So -" a wizened voice said somewhere behind him. "Back again, Harry?"

Harry jumped, ripping his wand from his holster. His insides felt like lead. He turned in an awkward crouch. Albus Dumbledore was sitting on one of the many desks, his golden spectacles glinting. Fortunately, he was smiling.

Harry lowered his wand, feeling awfully foolish. That was not a fight he could hope to win.

"I - I didn't see you, headmaster."

"Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you," said Headmaster Dumbledore. "That is a very splendid wand holster."

To his great surprise, the headmaster echoed Harry, crouching beside him so they were nearly eye-level. "So," he continued, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the Mirror of Erised."

"Yes," said Harry. Just in case he was to be punished for this, he thought it best not to mention Wayne. "The mirror of desire."

He and Wayne had come to that conclusion after discussing the letters around the mirror: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Reversed - and spaced properly - it spelt: I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "You have found its secret, then? But do you know its truth?"

Harry frowned. Truth? "I don't understand?"

"Let me explain… it shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Later, when Harry lay abed, he could not help but wonder what the headmaster had seen in the mirror of Erised. But he knew he ought not ask; wizards, he'd discovered rather quickly, were private people. Headmaster Dumbledore had not asked him what he had seen, after all…

Then again, that didn't mean he didn't already know.

...

...

The Hogwarts' Express arrived at Hogsmeade on the fifth of January. Harry was waiting at the station, and gave Alan an enthusiastic grasp of the hand by way of greeting. Susan looked like she wanted to hug him, but both were too embarrassed to make the first move. They returned to Hogwarts on the little boats, through a wide channel that'd been cleared of ice.

It was painfully cold; they huddled together on the boat, watching the vastness of Hogwarts loom steadily closer, black against a grey-white sky. Snow blanketed the landscape around them.

"I saw a ship come through the Methýdrion," Harry told Susan. "It must've cleared this water for us."

Alan shifted on his bench, which was very obvious because it moved the entire boat. "What's the Me-me-try-dion?"

"Me-thý-drion," Susan corrected quietly. "It's a way of travel. Ships go through underwater portals."

"Like a submarine?" Alan said, incredulous. "Magic's weird."

Magic, Harry thought, was amazing. "It's awesome. I've looked into it a bit, and they say the Methýdrion's another dimension, or a dimension between dimensions, or something like that, and that it's adjacent to fairyland. Wizards use it to transport stuff over long distances."

"Almost every manor or castle has a mere," Susan added. "The bigger the mere, the bigger the manor."

Alan looked toward Hogwarts. "Huh, a 'mere'?" he said. "So that's how we get our supplies? I always wondered how the Yorkshire pudding got on my plate. Here I always thought we grew them on the Yorkshire pudding trees in Greenhouse four, next to the roast potato plants-" here, he looked slyly over at Susan, "-the stuffing eggs and the- ouch!"

He rubbed his shoulder dramatically, while Susan muttered 'silly' to herself.

Harry was smiling the rest of the day. Nothing was wrong with Wayne's company, exactly - foibles excluded - but Alan and Sue were his first friends; true friends, who'd trusted him, who'd kept with him after the troll, who didn't care about the scar on his forehead. Not that Wayne did either, but he didn't seem to care about much - so the point was mute.

He even went to bed with a smile.

But his good humour was quickly overtaken by his dreams. They were bad dreams; dreams of green flashing lights, of dark red hair and a woman screaming. It'd been a long time since he was haunted by those nightmares, but he remembered having them when he was very, very young in his cupboard.

What had brought them up again? The new year? The influx of people into the castle? Neither were very compelling reasons. He couldn't really begin to guess.

Saturday morning began rather groggily; rarely had he struggled to rise in the morning - but this was one of those rare occasions. At least the dormitories were warm, he thought as he finally flopped out of bed. His cupboard had been freezing in winter.

Nevertheless, he was tired showering; he was tired practising his Giswiften; he was tired eating breakfast; and he was tired skipping stones on the narrow channel of liquid water that'd been cut out of the Black Lake.

He was tired until the appointed hour for the Self Defence Club was looming, and his friends suddenly drew silent by his side. Something seemed to change in the already frigid air. He lowered the stone in his hand, which he'd just been about to skip, and turned.

Gabriel was approaching, striding through the new-settled snow. Her face was flushed from the cold, her breath visible, her steel grey eyes glinting in the faint sunlight. He couldn't decipher her mood, and that worried him. That made his stomach clench awfully, like it was a closed fist, straining.

He dropped the stone. It splashed in the water; and it was like the first sound he'd heard all day. Alan and Susan smiled sheepishly, and excused themselves a little way away.

"Harry," Gabriel said, stulted. She seemed to chew over the words in her mouth.

"Gabriel."

There was a long, long pause.

"I'm…" her voice cracked, as though wobbling on a knife-edge, ready to fall either way. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been distant - I've not been nice to anyone, even my friends. Especially you."

Harry let out a long breath of relief, whose swirling condensation evaporated into nothing. Christmas had proven a lovely distraction, but at the back of his mind, always nagging, was the worry: what if Gabriel drifted further away from him? What if she decided to cut her losses and eject him from the Self Defence Club - and her life.

Now relief washed over him.

"But…"

Or maybe he'd been speaking too soon?

Gabriel made to continue, but the words didn't seem to want to come. "Ugh, Merlin!" She shook her head, her brown hair whipping. "You shouldn't have to deal with this… just wish... I just wish you didn't have to kill it, Harry. There were smelling salts on the table, enough to knock out a fully-grown giant if used properly! And it was carrying a club - that'd be heavy enough to knock it out, and-"

"And how long did it take you to think of those tactics?" Harry cut in shortly.

"I know, I know... it's just- just frustrating. Why did it have to die? We're doing good here, giving people an education they wouldn't get with Hogwarts' apparating-act of defence teachers... the kind of education only a well-stocked Pureblood library could provide."

"The kind of library you have?"

Gabriel's face twisted into something very conflicted. "Knowledge... knowledge should be shared, Harry. Purebloods hoard it; we hurt our fellow witches and wizards."

Despite himself, Harry smiled; that was the Gabriel he knew, always just. Always doing what was right.

"I think we're a little off topic here," Harry said, his smile shifting to a grin. "I think you were just apologising to me."

Her cheeks flushing scarlet, Gabriel gaped for a moment, then laughed. "You little rascal!" she said, ruffling his hair.

Harry leaned away, pouting.

"I'm sorry kid, really." Now it seemed to be Gabriel's turn to grin. "But you know, your little adventure actually stirred up more interest than any posters we ever put up?"

Harry felt his brow furrow. What? After the troll incident, he distinctly remembered the Self Defence Club losing a lot of members.

"Oh, yes!" Gabriel continued knowingly. "So many girls wanted to join, all hoping to be saved by the great Harry Potter, slayer-of-trolls and Boy-Who-Lived!"

Harry flushed down to his neck, turning his eyes away. "But… but why didn't they all show up to the club?"

Her steely eyes darkened. "That's part of the problem the troll… trouble caused. So many people were suddenly interested, some of the teachers were worried they were only interested for the wrong reasons. The club is about defending yourself, your friends, and your fellow witches and wizards. Not about killing magical creatures. We had to turn them away."

Harry bit his lip in thought. That made sense, he had to admit. There seemed to be a great aversion to violence in the wizarding world, a lot of it stemming from the Ministry. And the corridor duels were something of a nuisance already… Adding a bunch of combative students to the club and teaching them to duel would've only made matters worse.

"So," he eventually said. "The club's on?"

"It is," Gabriel agreed brightly. "And we're admitting new members again. Now the teachers aren't telling me not to admit new members, we can't exactly say no, can we?"

And they, Harry knew, would definitely include students whose interest came from the troll's death.

"Sounds like trouble," Harry said, then smiled. "But… we can work on it."

They walked up to the first floor together, where an unusually large crowd was waiting for them. A lot of them were looking at Harry, who did his best to set himself behind Gabriel.

Unfortunately abandoned him for the lectern, leaving Harry to surround himself with Alan and Susan. "I think there might be more people here than the first meeting," he whispered.

"And they're all looking at you," Alan teased.

Susan flicked him on the ear."

"... Sorry."

"Let's just get to our seats," Harry said.

But their customary seats were filled already, so they retreated to the back of the hall, where new desks had been found to meet the new demand. Though 'new' was not the operative word; web-strewn dust still coated patches, and the wood itself was dull and marked.

"Don't let a house elf see this," Harry said, smiling at Susan, who was looking at her dust-covered finger in feminine disgust. "They might keel over."

Then his smile slipped, as he remembered that he'd only ever properly met one house elf, and Mander had been blind.

Fortunately, Gabriel was there to distract him. "Find your seats," she said. Her voice was louder than natural, a byproduct of the enchantment cast on the lectern.

The students shuffled around, jocking for seats next to their friends, bumping into each other. A few of them had to sit on the edge of the duelling platform.

"Are we all ready?"

Gabriel took the lack of answer as a positive. "Thank you," she said. "Now bums are on seats... Afternoon witchlings and wizardlings, and an especial welcome to those just joining us today! As we've got so many new people, I'll reiterate what this club is about.

"We're not a duelling club. This is called the Self Defence Club for a reason. We stand against Honourist culture, and support all attempts for the most vulnerable to emancipate themselves through the medium of defence. People should be able to defend themselves! Did you know, a quarter of British wizards can't cast a high-quality shield charm? And that a disproportionate percentage of that number are Muggleborns?"

Beside him, Harry heard Susan's chair creak. She was shifting around uncomfortably.

"This is what we seek to change - through education, and through friendship. We're starting small because we are small; we're Hogwarts' students, but everything we do to learn skills here will impact our futures, and the future of the country."

Susan, Harry noticed, wasn't the only one who looked uncomfortable. Alan seemed mesmerised by his cousin.

"Speaking of skills," she continued, "we have to figure out where we all are relative to each other, as we've got so many new members. To that end, we'll split up in groups - by myself and led by our tutors," she gestured to the usual group, standing off to the side - Blishwick, MacDougal, Hayes, Smiles. Kevin Sterndale, the troubadour, seemed to be readying himself too.

It made sense, Harry judged; there were a lot of new people.

"This will also serve as a recap after the Christmas holidays," she clapped smartly, startling some of her listeners out of their inertia. "Happy New Year everyone, and enjoy yourselves!"

Then she stood down from the lectern, signalling that it was time for the club to start. People started shuffling around again. The new members rose slowly, unsure, while the veterans raced toward their preferred tutor.

Except Harry; he turned to Susan. "What's wrong?" he said. "Is your chair too cold?"

Susan scowled. "N-no," she said softly. "Haven't you n-noticed? Gabriel's speeches have become m-more and more f-fiery lately. T-the break made me notice. T-this one i-in particular."

"I thought it was bloody brilliant," Alan gushed.

Harry paused, his lips turning down to a frown. Susan only really stuttered that much when she was uneasy. "I can't really judge," he said, making sure not to be overheard. "I don't know anything about Muggle politics, never mind wizarding politics."

"N-neither do I," Susan said. Worry bloomed in her blue eyes. "B-but I've h-heard some of t-the l-language before."

Alan shrugged. "What does it matter?" he said casually. "D'you disagree with anything she said?"

Susan shook her head, and that was that. Harry made his way toward Sterndale. His presence as a tutor was curious; as a troubadour he rarely spoke - only officiating - and never showed his skills.

"Sterndale," he greeted when he arrived. Hartin, fortunately, was with Blishwick.

"Potter," Sterndale said. It was strange to hear him speaking conversationally.

Unfortunately, the session turned out to be excruciatingly boring. The tutors recounted everything they'd learned so far at the club - everything Harry already knew - and checked it against the knowledge of the newcomers. "We'll split you into groups in the next session," Sterndale explained. "From most advanced to least. We'll make sure everyone is making the same potion before we continue."

"And what will the more advanced groups be doing while everyone is catching up?" one of the other long-time members asked.

"Duelling practice, mostly," Sterndale replied.

That made no few ears perk up. Harry smothered his smirk; 'not a duelling club' indeed.

But it certainly wasn't a duelling club that day. By the end of the session, Harry hadn't cast a spell. Many of the new members were filing out slowly, chattering to each other on the way; they seemed a little bemused. Harry watched them impatiently. The Lightspeed felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket, eager to be used. Wayne had kept him busy through Christmas.

Eventually, only Harry, Alan and Susan remained. Gabriel was last to leave, warning them (with an irritating ruffle of Harry's hair) not to overwork themselves.

"Finally," Harry said, once Susan had finished her locking spells on the door.

"How many of them d'you think will be back?" Alan said.

"Half of them, perhaps," Susan guessed.

As it turned out, about three-quarters of the new members turned up for the next session. This time there were even more tutors; some of them were only Third Years roped in to teach the less advanced students, who were usually younger anyway. While the new members were playing catch-up, the veterans were duelling, duelling and... duelling. Little else could be done without widening the gap between the new students and the old even further.

And for Harry, duelling was bliss. The tension before the troubadour's shout; the explosion of movement; the snap as adrenaline coursed through his veins, when time seemed to slow to a crawl. After eleven years shoved in the Dursley's cupboard, tormented by Harry Hunting, the ability to fight back was... it was indescribable. And he re-lived it every time he stepped on a duelling platform.

He still couldn't beat McConnell though, the prodigious second year.

Nor did he, Susan and Alan grow any closer to figuring out the mystery of the third floor corridor. None of the other students were likely to know anything, and the teachers remained tight-lipped. The particular mystery of the giant dog was easier to unravel. It was a cerberus, a species native to Greece said to guard the gates of the Underworld. They were as scary as they appeared; their skin was resistant to most spells; their jaws - all three of them - bit thrice as strongly as a saltwater crocodile*.

Aside from those terrifying facts, Creatures of Land, Deep and Sky also revealed that cerberi loved music. Fast music would enchant them; calming music would send them to sleep. Which, Harry had mused one day during a particularly boring History of Magic class, would be pretty helpful for anyone wanting to get past one. Some sort of sound suppressing enchantment could counter that… which wasn't present on Hogwarts' third floor. It was almost like the cerberus was a… Harry searched for the word… a deterrent. A deterrent, rather than a real danger.

Distantly, he wondered if the cerberus was actually violent - if it could actually hurt anything. He wasn't willing to find out.

February arrived with a blizzard, which kept the denizens of the castle locked in for nearly three days. Harry had no trouble, entertaining himself with games of push-pull with Wayne, but Alan was irate. Apparently, he spent half his free hours glaring out the window of Ravenclaw tower, wishing the snow would stop. The whiteout had postponed the third Quiddtich game of the year, Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor.

But eventually the snow did slow, then stop, and the game was played on a blustery Valentine's day under a pregnant grey sky.

And then Ravenclaw lost, and Alan drooped like a wilting flower.

Harry could only laugh, and even Susan hid a giggle behind her hand.

"Come on," Harry said, putting an arm around his Ravenclaw friend. "Let's go back to the Great Hall. Madam Hooch has arranged some pies to warm us all up."

"A-and who knows," Susan added, with a befuddling mixture of shyness and slyness, "maybe you'll have a Valentine note waiting?"

She went very red, and Harry almost burst out laughing.

But Alan only sighed. "Fine," he said. "Pie it is."

They made their way down the viewing platform at speed, trying to beat the rush. Susan almost slipped on a narrow step; she would've, if not for Harry's quick reaction. "This thing's a deathtrap," he said. "It needs more warming charms."

During a Hogwarts winter, almost everything outside the common rooms seemed to need more warming charms.

Back across the ground they trudged, doing their best to follow the path that Professor Quirrell had made with some sort of snow-melting charm. Their teeth were chattering by the time they entered the Great Hall, where it was pleasantly warm. Harry felt his muscles relax as the heat washed over him, and he thanked the Founders for the four vast fireplaces they'd ensconced down the flanks of the hall.

And then all his attention was diverted from the heat to his nose. The smell of hundreds of steak, steak and ale, and steak and kidney pies was wafting from the tables, where they were set in beautiful golden crusts, and steaming beside boats of rich gravy.

Almost like a character from a cartoon, Alan seemed to regain his strength, his back straightening, his house's loss forgotten. "Thank God for house elves," he salivated.

Literally; Harry swore he saw the glint of spit as he spoke.

They sat at the Hufflepuff table and attacked the nearest pies. Well - Alan massacred his, while Susan ate quickly but daintily. Hundreds of students and at least half the teachers soon filtered in, until it was like a second dinner. Owls would fly in eventually from the rafters, delivering what could only be Valentine's notes. Half a dozen must've landed by a haughty-looking Slytherin seventh year whose name Harry thought was Selwyn; Cedric Diggory was practically bombarded at the Hufflepuff table, and Gabriel was blushing scarlet as yet another dropped right into her lap. Harry swallowed; this was a little uncomfortable. He hoped he didn't get any…

And just then, a single brown owl swooped right down beside him with a bright pink envelope sealed with a heart. Harry's heart sank; he watched it draw closer and closer, almost in slow motion. It landed right between Harry and Susan, skittering off on its sharp corners straight at Susan's pie.

She grabbed it before the envelope could meet a gravy-based end.

Her blue eyes looked up at Harry, then down at the pink envelope; it read only 'To my Dearest Love'. Her cheeks were dusted red.

"Must be yours," Harry said - hopefully - to her silent communication. "It was delivered to you."

That was possibly not true, but he dearly wanted it to be.

Susan shrugged, flipped it over, and tore the seal-

- and thick brown sludge gushed out of the envelope, hitting Susan right in the face, covering her in filth and ooze and grime. She shrieked, dropping the assaulting object - which proceeded to stop its attack. But it was too late; her robes were soaked, her vibrant red hair was soiled brown, her pale skin a mess. And half of Hogwarts was watching.

Only her eyes, bluest of blue, were untouched; and Harry saw a rictus of humiliation flash through them before she sprinted off toward the door, the rest of the student body observing in charged silence.

Harry himself felt like the world was a blur. That prank had been so sudden, so mean spirited… As Susan left, the Great Hall erupted into whispers and occasional cackling laughter. Harry felt his face burning, not in shared embarrassment, but anger. His head spun; his eyes flew from face to face, searching for focus. And then they stopped. He saw what he'd been looking for.

Who he'd been looking for.

Matthew Hartin was staring at him from the Ravenclaw table, his expression torn between triumph and dismay. He was triumphant, Harry knew, because his plan had embarrassed his friend; but it'd been meant for him. It was pure chance that the owl had seemed to deliver it to Susan, and a minutiae of tradition that Valentine's cards weren't usually named in the wizarding world.

Harry's eyes sharpened.

"I'll get you," he swore under his breath.

I'll get you.

Glossary:

*Wand holsters, in fanon, usually work in a way that it, well, entirely impossible. They are based around the forearm, under the sleeve so that the wand can flick into the palm with a small motion. Firstly, most wands would sit awkwardly on the forearm - they are, after all, quite rigid. Secondly, let's say that the average forearm is ten inches (about 25 cm); the average wand is about that size too. The only way it would work is if the forearm holster was also charmed with an expansion enchantment. Expansion charms are… interesting and troublesome. They must be limited, or the wizarding economy and way of life doesn't make any sense. I'll go into this at more length when the issue pops up again.

Also, I like to think Harry's holster is a Dirty Harry reference.

*In the book, the wearer of the Invisibility Cloak doesn't seem to be able to see themselves; in the film, they can. I'm following the film canon (which is unusual for me), just because it seems more sensible.

*I'm following J.K Rowling's capitalisation rules as best I can, which is why wizarding isn't capitalised but Muggle is. For some reason, she also capitalises Invisibility Cloak, and Cloak when it refers to said... cloak.

*A saltwater crocodile has the strongest bite force recorded of any creature alive today. But a cerberus resembles, in size, something from deep prehistory. Certain dinosaurs could muster a bite force many times more than that of a saltwater crocodile. I could've said Fluffy has the bite force of a T-Rex, but… I thought I'd walk on the side of caution.

A/N:

So, Harry wasn't able to get back at Hartin at Christmas, but now the Ravenclaw has basically declared war. The question is: how will Harry, inexperienced and non-political, neutralise him?

I've also changed the dividing line from -HP- to … - which I've shamelessly stolen from USSExplorer's great series of stories.

Keep safe, and enjoy Spring!

JoustingAlchemy