Monday, 28th October

It was Monday morning, just after breakfast, and Harry was, as usual, buried beneath a mound of books in the library. It was also the first day of midterm - which meant thankfully, he had all day to study and only really had to leave his hermitage at mealtimes, or else Principal Hayward would come looking for him.

Even more thankfully, at least half the school had gone home for the week-long break, including Greg and Lawrence and their lackeys who had, unfortunately, lost their shock over the previous few weeks and had taken to tormenting him in the hallways. Only one or two of that lot remained, and those particular boys were far too meek to do anything to him themselves, so Harry was looking forward to a solid seven days of magic.

Or, well, six days anyway, since he still had to do his muggle homework before term started up again. There were only seven weeks left before Christmas exams, but then he'd have another two weeks off by himself, and then it'd be term two and he'd be halfway through Year Seven and then it would be summer holidays and-

Harry could honestly say, for the first time in his life, that he was quite looking forward to summer break.

When he'd been at the Dursleys, it had meant no escape from the onslaught of work and abuse, since when he'd been at school, he'd at least had seven hours away from Privet Drive, even if Dudley and his gang had made lunchtime a living hell.

Not here though. Here, he'd have a good six or seven weeks of absolute freedom and he was already salivating at the thought. Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that Hayward would let him run free completely - there would likely be some chores or activities that he'd have to do instead of class work, but it would still be a great improvement from the Dursleys.

He was only one day into mid-term break and he already loved it, after all.

Rowle had even brought him a whole bunch of new books last Monday since he wouldn't be able to bring him any today, so Harry's week was well and truly packed to the brim - not that he was complaining, of course. The Durlseys had never allowed him books growing up, aside from those needed for school, but even then, whereas Dudley got shiny covered brand new textbooks each year, Harry got graffiti-drowned coverless pages that struggled to stay together.

Now that he had actual proper books, full of new, strange, and exciting things - most definitely not Dursley-appropriate - he was in awe every time he carefully flipped open the front cover. He knew that he was only borrowing the books, and whenever he finished one Rowle brought it back home with him before his mother noticed it was missing, but to be able to read them without distractions for even just a day was… fantastic.

The new set included yet another, more modern history book, two new charms books, an incredibly interesting looking dark red hardback called Magick Moste Evile, and the book that Harry was currently reading; One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore.

Rowle had said it was the first-year book they used at Hogwarts for something called herbology, which was the study of magical plants, as well as for potions, which sounded absolutely insane to him - apparently, it was possible to just… mix a whole bunch of leaves and animal parts together and end up with something that could cure illnesses? And fully heal bruises? And regrow broken bones?!

Needless to say, Harry could have seriously done with a few of those potions growing up, and he lamented the fact that he had no way to practise brewing them right now.

So instead, he studied.

He learned about dittany, a green and purple herb that could close shallow wounds, wolfsbane or aconite that could be added to a potion that would make you sleep forever, mandrakes that were supposedly capable of crying like babies, devil's snare which could squeeze the life out of you with actual real-life tentacles, gillyweed that allowed humans to temporarily breathe underwater, venomous tentacula, a spiky lethal plant whose bite could kill… on and on they went until Harry truly started to appreciate just how many magical herbs and fungi one thousand was.

"An essential reference guide to potion ingredients" indeed.

Wednesday, 30th October

Harry barely paused for breath as he gently pushed Modern Magical History aside and picked up Magical Theory instead. He had just finished the first book and was hoping to finish the second - as well as The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts - before the weekend when he'd really have to set magic aside and focus on his muggle textbooks instead.

As it was, he'd completely finished three books over the past three days, a progress rate that he was more than satisfied with. The only downside, of course, was that Rowle would be taking the books he'd read back home again next week, but Harry had made copious notes on what he thought were the most important points.

Right now, he was copying down almost everything from Waffling's textbook. It was his third time reading through the Fundamental Laws of Magic, and his second time taking notes, but it was just so fascinating - and somewhat confusing - that he couldn't help it. The fact that magic, magic, still followed rules like chemistry and physics was mind-boggling to him, even though on a somewhat intuitive level, it made perfectly good sense.

Take the first Fundamental Law, for example. Magical Theory stated, "The further a witch or wizard goes towards meddling in the deepest underlying laws of magic, the more extreme the subsequent consequences will be". As far as Harry could tell, that was just the wizarding equivalent of Newton's Third Law of Motion - for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction - which he'd only just learned about the week before in science class.

The second law, too, resembled the concept of equilibrium in chemistry reactions. For magic, it was the same, in that "the inherent nature of magic is to seek balance". It turned out that Rowle had been right - everything in the wizarding world did come at a cost, and magic was no different. Tampering too much with life or death, or delving far deeper into the Dark Arts than what was advisable, would only end in chaos, loss, and destruction.

The more he learned about it, Harry found himself more and more in awe at the pure complexity of magic - and this was only a first-year book! Contrary to what he'd seen on TV or in Dudley's computer games, magic wasn't just about waving a wand and saying a few words; there were intricate laws and theories behind every spell and every incantation.

And on top of that, there was the concept of "spell energy". From what he understood of it, even though all witches and wizards were capable of casting spells, the effectiveness and duration of those spells depended entirely on the amount of spell energy that the caster was capable of. A certain amount of that energy was influenced by the wizard's emotions - that was why spells such as Crucio or the Patronus charm, which he was dying to cast, were usually only successful as long as the wizard could harness extreme anger or extreme happiness.

The rest of a caster's spell energy was an inherent part of them, however, something which was determined by genetics and chance and could never be changed aside from marginal improvements if given enough time and training. It was just something you were born with, like the colour of your skin or your eyes. It also explained why so many pure-bloods were insistent on marrying their children off to one another - apparently, they were convinced that the "purer" the blood, the stronger the natural spell energy, which Adalbert Waffling himself had called absolute rubbish.

Harry was glad. He'd hate for muggle-borns to automatically have weaker magic than pure-bloods, given everything else they already dealt with, and although the belief of such a thing was quite common within certain circles, there was no actual scientific evidence backing it up.

It shed some light on his own magic too. Rowle had said he was powerful, after all, and that he was a half-blood - and according to Waffling, it was half-bloods who typically had greater energy supplies than others, although there were, of course, exceptions to this. But if Harry was a half-blood, then his powerful accidental magic was more than likely a result of him having more spell energy than the average wizard, and that meant, hopefully, that he had a greater chance of being able to cast spells without a wand.

Wands, after all, were a European invention. According to A History of Magic, the Ollivander family started manufacturing wands in 382 B.C., but other continents didn't start using them until centuries later, if at all. So why should Harry?

From what he'd read so far, wands only channelled magic, they didn't produce any themselves and weren't capable of casting a spell without a witch or wizard saying the incantation first. They just acted as a focus point which made magic easier to perform, but it was like riding a bicycle with training wheels - it became very, very easy to become totally reliant on them, but once they broke…

Harry thought it was utter madness to start using a wand and then become incapable of casting without one. At the end of the day, they were just sticks of wood, after all, and incredibly fragile.

Lost in thought, Harry didn't notice the shadows start to creep across the library walls as the hour hand on the clock started to spin. He was completely enraptured by the piles of books surrounding him, steadfastly determined to read and learn and understand everything, to master magic in a way that went far beyond mere memorization of principles and spells.

He was hell-bent on succeeding; on learning enough that he could return to the wizarding world when the time was right, on learning enough that, not only could his place there be indisputable, but learning enough so that he could protect himself from whatever came at him - whether that was Dumbledore, the general public, or some of the Dark Lord's ex-followers.

He hadn't planned out everything yet, of course not, but he knew what his end goal was. He figured that if he kept learning at the rate he was, kept going through his textbooks and learning magic at this speed, then he'd be more than prepared by the time he was fifteen or sixteen. As much as he wanted to rush headfirst into the wizarding world, he knew that he had to be smart about it.

Yawning, he stretched his arms above his head, feeling the satisfying ache of a day well spent hunched over a library desk. Based on the pang of his stomach, he'd missed lunch and it was almost time for dinner.

He still hadn't quite gotten used to being fed three solid meals a day yet, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining about it.

Packing away his notes and picking up his books, he made a detour to his room on the way to the canteen to safely drop them off, away from any prying muggle eyes. He couldn't wait until he was able to start casting so that he'd be able to safely lock his door. It wasn't allowed, according to Hayward and Rowle both, but Harry would prefer to get in trouble over that than risk an older boy sneaking in and finding his magic books.

As he made his way through the mustard-coloured halls, he couldn't shake the feeling of excitement that tingled in his veins. If he did manage to keep going at the rate he was, then he might just about be ready to try his hand at magic over Christmas. There'd be fewer students around at least, and he'd have more time, and safety, to practise. His fingers were already itching with that tell-tale burning to reach out and just do something.

He was on the brink of something extraordinary. There was an entire world out there, full of people like him, people who would accept him, people he belonged with, a home. The world of magic stretched out before him, full of possibilities and mysteries waiting to be unravelled.

And Harry Potter was determined to uncover them all.

Thursday, 31st October

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The Halloween feast was always a sight to behold, but the house-elves had truly outdone themselves this year, and Dumbledore made a mental note to thank them in person later.

His gaze swept over the room, and he smiled at the giddy children; the younger years with wide eyes and open mouths while the older years immediately tucked into baked potatoes and carrot cake. His eyes lingered on the end of the Gryffindor table - he couldn't help it, searching for a lightning-shaped scar and messy black hair that he knew wouldn't be there.

Despite having searched for Harry Potter almost non-stop for the past three months, they were still no closer to finding him. He knew that his colleagues were starting to… well, perhaps pity him wasn't quite the right word since Minerva still scowled whenever he entered the room and Severus's usual everyday scowl seemed darker than ever when he tried to talk to the man alone, but there was still a sense of… unease, if you like, that soured the atmosphere every time the five of them met to discuss their progress - or lack thereof.

He knew they wondered if the boy was dead, just as he knew that he couldn't tell them why he was positive he wasn't.

Instead, Dumbledore continued to insist on their weekly Saturday morning meetings, kept his ears open for any mention of missing runaways or letters from Madam Hopkirk at the Ministry, and then, late at night, while the castle was asleep, he found himself making his way up the narrow spiral staircase to the small locked tower.

He sat there for many hours in the dimly lit silence, occasionally watching the Quill of Acceptance do its job, but more often than not staring off into the dark corners of the room, regretting many of his life choices.

He never left the tower without politely asking the Book of Admittance for his wayward student's name, but even then he sometimes started to wonder if it was, in fact, possible for the Book to make a mistake, as the velvet black ink reading Henry James Potter stared back up at him, the flickering candlelight casting foreboding shadows across the old yellow parchment.

The boy's name still wasn't scratched out.

Which meant Harry was still alive.

Somewhere.

"Troll!"

Dumbledore wasn't too proud to say that he jumped at the voice.

Well.

No.

That was most certainly a lie - he was far too proud to admit it - but that didn't mean that he paid any less attention to Professor Quirrell's following words.

"Troll - in the dungeons" he panted, his turban askew and terror on his face as he slumped against the head table, "Thought you ought to know".

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Immediately, there was uproar. Students leapt up from their seats, shouting and yelling and screaming over each other. Younger years scattered to find older siblings while professors tried to keep them all in place. Dumbledore couldn't help but sigh and stare mournfully for a moment at his treacle tart, only partly eaten, before finally standing up.

"Violamillious!"

Several brilliant purple firecrackers exploded from the end of his wand which at last silenced the room.

"Prefects" he called, "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Thankfully, they started to do as told, organising their respective students and herding them out of the Great Hall in somewhat orderly lines. The lower-ranking professors moved among them, offering words of reassurance and calmly yet quickly ushering them along. The Heads of Houses, along with a select few others stayed behind, and Dumbledore turned to them while Poppy waved a vial of smelling salts beneath Quirrill's nose.

"Minerva, I want you, Filius, Septima, and Silvanus to spread out and cover every possible entrance and exit to the dungeons. Stun the creature, if you can" he began, "Pomona, Aurora, Sybill, Rolanda - go with the students and make sure they return to their dormitories safely. We don't want any younger years wandering off in the confusion".

They each nodded and hurried away, and Dumbledore turned to the only remaining professor in front of him.

"Severus-"

"I know" he interrupted, robes billowing out behind him as he spun on the spot and strode off.

On the floor, Quirinus groaned as he came to, but as much as the Headmaster would rather stay in the Great Hall and keep an eye on the man, he needed to make sure that his students were safe.

"I'll return to the infirmary" Poppy said, straightening back up, "If anyone gets injured, send them my way".

"Thank you, my dear, I will".

Dumbledore remained at the front of the room, his mind racing through all possibilities. A troll? In the dungeons? How very… convenient. Yet that still left the question of how even if the why was answered - but then again, he wasn't even one-hundred-per-cent certain about the why either…

Once the last of the students had left, he gave the still-pale man leaning heavily against the head table a rather thoughtful look.

"Quirinus".

The man, rather predictably, flinched.

"Y-Y-Yes, H-H-Headmaster?"

"How did a troll find its way into the dungeons?"

For a split second, he caught a flash of something in the man's eyes - Annoyance? Anger? Or simply fear? - but then the moment passed and he started to struggle to sit up, his hands trembling as he adjusted his askew turban.

"I-I-I don't k-k-know, Albus" he stammered, voice quivering, "I was- was p-p-passing through the d-d-dungeons on my way to… to f-f-fetch something f-f-from my office when I h-h-heard a commotion. I f-f-followed the noise and… and then I s-s-saw it".

A plausible tale, to be sure, and yet…

The Great Hall was on the ground floor, as was Quirrell's temporary classroom since the usual DADA room, 3C, was closed off due to the third-floor corridor being out of bounds. But his office was on the second floor - so just what on earth would have taken him to the dungeons?

"... I see" he replied, somewhat belatedly, "And then you came straight here?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, I… I t-t-thought the s-s-students needed to be w-w-warned. I didn't w-w-want anyone to get h-h-hurt".

Dumbledore studied Quirinus for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally deciding to let it be.

For now.

"Very well" he said, "Now that you have recovered, however, perhaps you could assist the other professors in stunning the troll? Being our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, I'd hesitate to say there's anyone more qualified".

There it was again - that look - only this time, Dumbledore was certain that it was irritation.

"... Y-Y-Yes, of course, H-H-Headmaster" the man stuttered, stumbling to his feet, "I'll go r-r-right away".

"Good" he said simply, with a congenial smile, "I'll send a patronus to Minerva to let her know you're on your way, lest there be any… mishaps".

And so you have no excuse to wander off elsewhere, he mentally added, once again seeing that ever-so-brief flash of not-Quirrell before him, before the man nodded, half-bowed, and then hastened from the room. The Headmaster made a big show of sending the silvery phoenix to Professor McGonagall to hurry him along, before calling for a house-elf.

"I be Blim, Headmaster sir, what can Blim be doing for you?"

A small, pale little elf with a rather pointy, beakish nose appeared in front of him, the Hogwarts crest emblazoned across her uniform.

"Hello Blim" he greeted, "I wondered if you might help me by moving our dinner?"

It was only then that she seemed to realise that the rest of the room was empty, and she immediately began tugging at her long, pig-like ears.

"No childrens? The meal was bad?" Blim asked, eyes wide and starting to dampen, "The childrens did not like?"

"No, no, my dear, the children loved it!" he quickly reassured, "I rather say you've outdone yourself this year; why, I can't remember ever having such a fine dinner - with the exception, perhaps, being the welcoming feast earlier this year".

Now, her eyes were watering for a different reason, and he quickly continued before she could burst into tears.

"We've had to send the children back to their dormitories early, I'm afraid, but we're all very keen on continuing our lovely dinner. I wanted to ask if it would be possible for you and your colleagues to move everyone's plates to their rooms? It should hopefully only be just this once".

Blim's expression shifted from concern to determination as she wiped her eyes with the back of her tiny hand.

"Blim be doing it, Headmaster, sir! Blim and others be getting dinner to the childrens!"

With a swift nod, she disappeared with a pop, and only a few seconds later, the majority of the food covering each of the four tables, vanished as well. A moment later, a familiar ghostly silver tabby cat came bounding into the room.

"Troll stunned. On route to your office. Come at once".

He distantly wondered if Minnie would ever treat him as her friend again. And then he wondered if he even deserved it.

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore made his way out of the Great Hall and began to ascend the staircase that led to the West Tower. There were many questions that needed answers - both outside and within his school - and far far too few answers for his liking.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Dumbledore paused, his eyes lingering on the portrait of Basil Fronsac. The former headmaster's stern gaze seemed to follow him, and Dumbledore couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of all of the great witches and wizards who had once walked these halls, since lost to time and war.

But there was no time for sentimentality now. With a resolute nod, he continued on his way, his mind already racing with plans and strategies to ensure the safety of Hogwarts and its students - as well as one particular missing student.

Dumbledore had only just settled into his office chair when there came a sharp knock on the door and Minerva stepped in without waiting for a response, Severus soon behind her.

"I've sent the other professors back to the Great Hall to finish their supper" she said in a way of greeting, and he nodded, agreeably. "I take it the troll has been, ah… dealt with?"

Snape snorted as he took a seat, although he seemed somewhat more subdued than normal.

"That's one way of putting it".

"Hagrid is removing it with the help of Filius" Minerva explained, conjuring a pot of tea and three cups, "We were beaten to it, it would seem".

"Beaten to it?" Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Surely, Hagrid did not-"

"Gryffindors!" Severus spat, although his scowl lessened slightly as he accepted a teacup, "And first years, at that!"

"Ms Granger, Mr Longbottom, and the youngest Mr Weasley. Apparently, Granger thought she could deal with the troll on her own, and once the other two realised where she was, they went after her and managed to knock the poor beast unconscious".

"A fluke" the Potions Master muttered, even as the Headmaster slowly leaned back in his seat, surprised and shocked and more than a little bit curious.

"You said 'apparently'?"

"I don't believe their story for one second!" Minerva took a dainty sip of tea, her lips drawn into a tight line. "Oh, I believe that they managed to stun the troll themselves, however accidentally it may or may not have been, but that Granger is far too smart a girl to go looking for trouble like that, and with the way those other two reacted when she told me! Good Godric, you'd think they'd never told a lie before in their lives!"

"Ah, the sweet innocence of youth".

She gave him a terribly unimpressed look.

"A troll, Albus. In the dungeons".

"And where are the trio now?"

"I sent them back to their dorm. Nobody had gotten injured, thank Merlin, although just how they managed to escape harm is beyond me. A troll! In the dungeons!"

Dumbledore finally reached for his own cup, since Minerva had failed to offer it to him.

"It truly is remarkable" he said, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses, "Indeed, it takes a great deal of courage for first-year students to face such a dangerous creature. It would seem that the Sorting Hat was right, yet again".

"It usually is" Severus drawled, "Now are we going to address the proverbial hippogriff in the room, or shall I finally get a night of peace?"

"I'm afraid your misfortunes must continue for now, my boy" he replied, smiling, "I trust that you were successful?"

"Would I be sitting here if I weren't?"

The Headmaster's expression turned thoughtful as he sipped his tea. It was milky and sweet with far too much sugar - exactly how he liked it. Perhaps Minerva was finally starting to thaw…

"A mountain troll within the castle walls" he pondered, "It is, of course, vital that we ascertain just how such a breach in security occurred".

"Oh, I have a few theories".

"Quirinus?"

"Undoubtedly".

Dumbledore nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. He'd had his suspicions since the start of the year, after all, but he hadn't believed the man to have fallen so far as to endanger children just to satiate his greed.

"The package?"

"As secure as before". Here, Snape shifted slightly in his seat and winced, which immediately put the Headmaster on high alert. "I think we can safely say that Hagrid's mangy mutt is a worthwhile security system".

"And what makes you say that?"

The man's dark gaze briefly darted between them before lowering to his cup.

"Severus".

He remained tellingly silent.

"Severus".

Now, his lip curled in disdain as he glared at him mutinously.

"You can use that tone all you like, old man, but it isn't going to do you any good!"

"Severus".

This time, it was Minerva who spoke, and Dumbledore was amused to see that the Potions Master's blank facade had immediately cracked at the edges.

"It is a XXXX creature that should never have been brought inside!" he snapped, "It's endangering the safety of the entire school just by existing!"

"It does have a name" the Headmaster replied mildly, "Fluffy, by all accounts. Hagrid does have a way with words".

"Hagrid also has a way with reckless incompetence that puts us all at risk!"

"Have you been put at risk, Severus?"

He slammed his teacup down on the desk with just a bit more force than necessary.

"Are we done? Good. See you tomorrow".

Minerva had a hand on his arm before he could so much as flinch. Dumbledore watched as he tensed under her touch, his expression still twisted with frustration and anger. He knew that the younger man was not one to easily admit any weakness - especially not in front of him.

"You are not leaving this room without explaining to us what happened" McGonagall said firmly, her tone brooking no argument, "So talk".

"I'm not one of your lions, Minnie" he sneered, "You cannot order me about like- like- like some sort of-"

"-of what?" she countered sharply, "Dunderheaded fool? Well then. Perhaps it's time you looked in the mirror!"

There was a solitary beat of tense silence.

"... It has three heads" he finally, reluctantly forced out, "I couldn't keep my eyes on all of them!"

"He bit you?!"

"Yes, the blasted thing bit me! It caught my leg as I was checking the trapdoor!" he snapped, "Now I said what you wanted so I'm leaving!"

"Like hell you are!" she shot back, "You are going straight to Poppy this instant, young man! Why, in Merlin's name, did you not go there immediately?!"

"Because I heard the screaming of three terrified foolish brats being attacked by a bloody troll and decided if I was going to get eaten then I might as well make it worthwhile!"

"You-"

Minerva cut herself off, took a deep calming breath, downed the rest of her boiling hot tea in one gulp and then got to her feet.

"That's it. We're going to the infirmary right now and I swear on Salazar Slytherin's grave Severus, if you try to fight me on this then I will stun you!"

"I'd like to see you try, woman!"

Dumbledore watched the interaction between the pair with fond amusement. Getting the two of them alone in a room with him was always the highlight of his day - and despite their constant bickering and Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, he knew that they did secretly care about each other.

Minerva whipped out her wand and managed to get out a quick "Incarcerous" just before Severus successfully disarmed her.

The Headmaster sighed.

Unfortunately, however, that same bickering and rivalry often led to situations such as this.

"If you'll excuse us, Albus" Professor McGonagall said as she gracefully stooped to pick back up her wand, "I need to escort this fool to the infirmary".

"Of course, my dear" he replied agreeably, even as Snape's eyes burned into him in fuming betrayal, "Take care of him".

"Oh, I will".

She somehow managed to make it sound more like a threat than a reassurance.

As they made their way out of his office, he poured the final dredges of the teapot into his cup and leaned back more comfortably in his chair.

So Quirrell had gone for the stone…

It would seem that his suspicions about the man's true intentions were becoming more and more substantiated. But to threaten the students, to risk the lives of children, to indirectly cause the injury of one of his own colleagues just to create a flimsy distraction was…

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore rose from his chair and began pacing the room, his mind working through the possibilities. It was clear that they needed to take further precautions to safeguard the Philosopher's Stone, especially now that Quirrell had attempted to bypass Fluffy. But what other defences could they put in place?

He paused in front of the fireplace, staring at his own reflection in the mirror directly above it.

The mirror…

The night was far from over, and Dumbledore knew that there were many challenges still ahead, but for now, at least, he had some of the answers that he'd been so desperately searching for only an hour before. There were still many questions, of course, and his search for the Boy Who Lived was taking up far too much of his time to seek any further answers out - but the protections for the stone were almost fully in place, and once they were…

Returning to his desk, he sat back down with a heavy sigh, feeling far older than his already advanced years. He needed to stop Quirrell. He needed to protect the stone. And above all else, he needed to find Harry Potter.

If his suspicions about his wayward professor were correct, after all… then they were going to need him.