~An Emerald Amongst a Sea of Stone~
Chapter Ten
'Time to clean up,' Professor McGonagall's stiff voice echoed across the classroom.
Shooting Blaise's attempt at a match-to-matchbox transfiguration a brief, pitiful glance, Harry returned the snuffbox on his desk to the mouse it had originally been.
Animate-to-inanimate transfiguration was usually a topic for second or third years, but after demonstrating his capabilities with both the switching and bird-conjuring spells, McGonagall had decided that the first year curriculum held no more challenges for Harry.
As such, the woman had taken it upon herself to provide him with a list of assignments he was to complete instead. Something which the boy in question appreciated quite a lot.
So, while he was still forced to write the same essays as his classmates, it didn't feel as if he was sandbagging his own progress each time he stepped into the classroom.
Thus, it was a moderately happy Harry that returned the mouse to its designated cage, shooting the transfiguration professor a polite smile along the way.
He returned to the side of a grimacing Blaise.
'I really don't understand how you're so good at transfiguration…' the Italian grumbled. 'No matter what I do, that stupid match just refuses to change into anything I want it to.'
Harry shrugged, preaching the words of their professor.
'It's practice, Blaise, nothing more.'
And it was true. While he certainly had to practise less than his classmates, his raw magical talent didn't translate as easily to transfiguration as it did to charms or defence.
Here, technique was what mattered most, and as such, the subject didn't have its reputation of being difficult without reason.
Blaise sighed. 'I know, but I don't really have it in me to practise magic twenty-four-seven like you do.'
Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'm not that bad…' he said.
'No, Blaise is right. You most definitely are that bad,' a voice commented from his right.
Davis - or Tracey, as he'd taken to calling her - appeared next to their desk, a deadpan expression on her face.
'Sometimes I think you have a time-turner or something. There's no way anyone can spend as much time practising or reading about magic as you do and not go clinically insane.'
Harry shrugged. 'I merely enjoy it. You would too if you grew up with muggles,' he pointed out.
At times it felt as if each and every single one of his classmates had entirely lost their sense of wonder in the face of magic.
He couldn't understand how people managed not to bury themselves in its intricacies at every available time.
'Fair enough…' Blaise muttered. 'Just promise you'll help me out on the essay that's due on Friday. I honestly have no idea where to even start with that monster,' he said.
Harry gave him a faint smile. 'Sure.'
Ever since their first get-together over a month ago, he had begun to hang out with Blaise's group of friends more and more often. Over time he had even warmed up to Nott and Tracey, even if his relationship with Greengrass hadn't really advanced beyond anything cordial.
'Tonight?' his roommate asked, shoving his copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration into his school bag.
Harry shook his head. 'I'll need to see. I still have some business I need to attend to.'
Tracey sighed. 'A date with a book, have you?'
'Yes. Right now, as a matter of fact,' Harry responded dryly.
Though, surprisingly enough, books were - for once - not the subject of his today's errands.
Why? Because he had finally managed to set up an in-person meeting with his mysterious friend - mainly to discuss the specifics of their break-in.
By now he was confident enough in both his curse-breaking skills and ability with the disillusionment charm, that he found no other reason to wait with the heist, except for the lack of sleep it would bring.
And that wasn't really a reason at all.
Thus, they had scheduled a meeting for this afternoon, right after classes ended. Which, coincidentally, was just about now.
'Nothing new there,' Blaise grinned. 'I suppose I'll see you later then?' he asked.
Harry nodded. 'If you're still in the common room by the time I'm done, I'll help you out on that essay.'
He swung the leather strap of his bag over the shoulder.
'Try not to run into any trolls on your way,' Tracey added.
Ever since the gruesome corpse of the troll had been discovered by a group of students a few weeks ago, rumours about the creature's killer had started to circulate the castle.
He hadn't told anyone that he was responsible for slaying the beast, yet found it odd that no one even suspected him, considering he'd probably been about the only one not at the Halloween feast.
But who was he to complain? Harry gave the bubbly girl a smile as they left the classroom.
'I'll try my best.'
Saying goodbye, he headed off into a different direction. Rounding the corner of the corridor, Harry briefly stopped to cast a disillusionment charm over himself. The familiar feeling of an egg cracking atop his head brought a faint smile to his face.
By now, he was almost entirely invisible under the influence of the spell, even when walking. Some faint outlines remained, but they were hardly even noticeable in the dim light that lit the castle's hallways - especially once nighttime rolled around.
It caused some strain to uphold the charm, especially over longer periods of time, but Harry found that it didn't bother him too much, likely because of his naturally rather large pool of magical power to draw from.
It's not arrogance if it's true…
Silencing his footsteps, he made his way down to the second floor of the castle, towards Myrtle's lavatory.
He would have preferred that his sanctuary remain private for now, but as a matter of fact, it had been his accomplice's suggestion they meet up there. The second floor girl's bathroom wasn't as inconspicuous as he'd thought, it seemed.
No point in delaying though…
Stepping through the weathered, fir-green door leading into the lavatory, Harry dispelled his disillusionment charm. His gaze wandered around the vandalised room.
'Myrtle?' he called.
No response.
'You know the ghost?' a familiar voice asked from behind.
Harry turned around. Gemma Fawley, the fifth-year prefect, stood in front of the closed bathroom door, her dirty-blonde, shoulder-length hair bound into a messy ponytail. The girl's piercing-grey eyes eyed him calculatingly.
Harry's eyes flickered past her form. 'You silenced the door?' he questioned.
The girl seemed amused. 'Wordlessly, Potter. You can be assured no one will overhear us without me finding out.'
'Good,' Harry nodded.
Silence reigned for a moment.
'You don't seem particularly surprised,' Fawley noted, quirking an eyebrow.
Harry shrugged. 'There are only so many prefects in Slytherin, especially ones who I've personally interacted with. You seemed like the most likely option. Though it could've also been Pucey, all things considered,' he explained, sarcasm evident.
Fawley snorted. 'Fair enough. Well then, you said you're sufficiently prepared for our little heist?' she asked.
He nodded. 'The wards won't be a problem, neither will getting through the castle undetected. I can't see any way our plan goes wrong as long as your information on the scheme is still up-to-date.'
'It is,' she assured confidently. 'You wouldn't mind demonstrating your disillusionment charm to me? Just for reassurance,' she inquired.
He shook his head.
'Abscondere.' He faded from sight.
Fawley's eyebrows climbed her forehead. 'Good. Very good, even. No idea how you managed it, Potter, but you have my respect,' she nodded, impressed.
'Thanks.'
Everything combined, he had spent roughly a hundred hours working on the spell. So, admittedly, it would've been strange had he still been shit at it.
'And your curse-breaking skills?'
Harry shrugged. 'Sufficient. Once you understand the basics of warding, it's ridiculously easy to manipulate runic arrays, at least if you have a plan of the scheme you're trying to dismantle.'
Fawley nodded thoughtfully. 'Good. I knew I could count on you. A good thing I decided to send you that letter.'
'Why didn't you just ask any of your classmates?' Harry pointed out.
The girl flicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 'You overestimate the competence of my classmates, Potter. That aside, you are someone whom it may be beneficial to have ties with in the future.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I'm a first year,' he replied.
And a half-blood at that. He tilted his head at her.
Fawley laughed. 'Please. Do you really think that matters? You're a generational talent, Potter. The next Filius Flitwick. Simply because no one says it to your face, doesn't mean it's not obvious.'
It was weird, hearing someone point it out so directly for the very first time. He frowned, lacking a fitting response.
Fortunately, Fawley continued, undeterred. 'No matter though. Let's do what we met up for in the first place' She paused. 'Snape gave me my patrolling schedule earlier today. I've got first floor duty between one and three on Wednesday night. That work for you?' she asked.
He didn't need to think for long. 'Yes.'
He'd go into classes sleep-deprived, but that was a small sacrifice to pay, considering what knowledge he'd obtain from the nightly escapade.
'You want me to look for anything related to Celtic ward schemes, or do you have a few titles at hand?' he asked.
'The latter,' Fawley answered. 'My grandfather recommended some to me. Unfortunately our family's library was raided under Crouch's administration, and as such, they are missing from our collection.'
'You've got a note?'
She handed him a small piece of parchment. 'Feel free to pick up anything on that list, but the only ones I really need are the bottom three,' she explained.
That checks out.
He paused. 'You're not going to ask what I'm looking for?' he asked incredulously.
She shrugged. 'It's none of my business. Besides, I doubt you'd tell me even if I asked.' Her lip tugged upward. 'You seem like you're a rather secretive person, Potter.'
That argument can certainly be made…
'Alright,' Harry acknowledged. 'Anything else?' he asked.
Fawley shook her head, ponytail swinging. 'I don't think so. Let's meet here again on Friday, Potter. After dinner. I trust you'll keep the books safe for me till then?' she asked.
He nodded. 'Sure. Sounds good. Here on Friday then.'
Fawley smiled, satisfied. 'Perfect. I'll return to studying then.' She moved towards the door. 'OWLs and all that. See you around, Potter,' she called.
By the time Harry responded, she was already out the room. 'See you around… Fawley.'
Casting a silencing charm over the broad area of Blaise's bed, Harry rose from beneath his covers.
Carefully, he stowed away the copy of Cursebreaking for Novices on the shelf above his head. He'd attempted to read the chapter on muggle-repelling wards for the past few hours, but never quite managed to focus.
Likely because of the apprehension that had filled him throughout the evening. It was only natural, he supposed. Quietly, he got up from his bed and slipped into his pair of shoes. Wasting no time, he headed over towards his wardrobe and put on the darkest set of robes he owned, complete with a pair of black dragonhide gloves.
Who knows whether magic offers a way to detect fingerprints…
Shooting a brief glance towards his sleeping roommate, Harry brandished his wand.
'Tempus,' he whispered.
Half past one. Perfect. Silencing his footsteps, he opened the door leading out of their dormitory. Thankfully the paintings which littered the dark, obsidian walls to either side of him were all sleeping. Just before he arrived at the top of the stairway which led down into the common room, he took a deep breath.
'Abscondere,' he murmured.
The sensation running down his spine left no doubt as to if the spell had worked. Slowly, Harry began to make his way downstairs, paying special attention not to trip. His steps were silent, but his fall wouldn't be.
The first thing he noticed as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, was that the common room was empty in its entirety. The green, gloomy light which shone in through the large glass front bathed the open space in an aquamarine hue. Harry licked his lips.
No time to waste…
Leaving the common room behind, he stepped through the runespoor's portrait hole, greeted by the cool, musty air of the dungeons.
Sneaking through the dimly-lit halls of the castle, he couldn't help the hint of nervousness which seeped into his bones. Realistically, there wasn't a single loophole in their carefully constructed scheme.
Nevertheless, Harry couldn't quite escape the feeling that something would go wrong.
Perhaps it was just this surreal feeling that, so very soon, after months of absolutely nothing, he would finally make some progress with his Cruciatus research.
Yeah. Let's just go with that…
On his entire way to the grand, moving staircase, he didn't encounter a single soul. No Professors, no prefects, no ghosts.
It wasn't too surprising, considering there were only so many people to split patrol duty in between, but Harry wouldn't look a gifted horse in its mouth.
Taking care not to trip because of a vanishing step - like Goyle tended to do ever so often - he slowly made his way down to the first floor. Trying to blend out the adrenaline in his veins, he headed down the corridor to his left, at the end of which, the library was located.
Double-checking to make sure there wasn't anyone in sight, he levelled his wand on the double door ahead.
'Alohomora,' he whispered.
The tip of his wand lit up with a dim, white light and the lock clicked open. Quietly, Harry slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft push. A silencing charm followed.
He cancelled his disillusionment and exhaled.
'Hardest part is over,' he murmured.
It wasn't all that easy to see, with only the dim moonlight which shone through the library's tall windows to illuminate his surroundings, but he wouldn't let that stop him. Casting a wand-lighting charm, he made his way over towards the gate which marked the entrance to the restricted section.
Over the past couple of months his gaze had wandered here regularly, and now, after so much time, he would finally gain access to this place.
Snuffing out the light emitting from the tip of his wand, he kneeled down to take a closer look at the gate. Without actually seeing the runes there was no way he'd be able to manipulate his way inside. Fortunately, he'd come prepared.
'Tutela Revelio,' he incanted.
The revealing spell had just the intended effect. Even though nothing happened at first, slowly, bright blue lines began to spread all over the metal surface, forming intricate, familiar patterns.
Elder Futhark, just as expected.
At a second look though, Harry bit the inside of his cheek. The runes were far, far smaller than he had hoped. He shook his head.
Stupid. I should've borrowed a rune carving kit from someone…
Now though, it was too late.
All he could hope was that his wand would somehow suffice for the job. He eyed the ebony in his hand with a considerate glance. I suppose just because there's an Occamy feather in you, that doesn't make you able to shrink, right?
Unsurprisingly, there was no response. Harry snorted inwardly. I'm going crazy, talking to my wand…
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Focus.
He could just dismantle the wards and be done with it. But this way, it would become apparent that someone had broken in - and presumably stolen something. And considering he liked the idea of returning here whenever he wanted, that didn't seem too appealing.
Fortunately, he had found a different way to get past the protections. Namely, keying himself into the ward scheme.
The problem was, however, that this method was far more difficult and time-consuming than the other. And keeping in mind that he didn't have a carving kit at hand, perhaps it was best to just…
Harry shook his head. No. I can make this work. I need to.
Not wasting anymore time, he got to work. And as expected, it was not only difficult but also incredibly frustrating, trying to fit in his own runes in between the cramped array on the surface of the metal.
Each time he messed up; his hand twitched just a tiny bit to the left or right - he had to restart drawing the entire sequence he'd been working on. And seeing as there were over thirteen sequences for him to complete, a few minutes soon turned into thirty.
'Fuck,' he cursed, making a mistake on another one of the Mannaz runes. Why did this have to be so bloody difficult?
He calmed himself, closing his eyes and bathing in the silvery moonlight shining in through the window. I can't get angry. I need to make this work.
After a minute of rest, he continued. And slowly but surely, things seemed to be coming together. Rune for rune. Sequence for sequence. He didn't care that his hands were sweaty, or his fingers so tired they could barely hold his wand straight anymore.
He would make it work. And in the end, he did.
Painting the last symbol upon the glowing metal, he stepped back, admiring his handiwork.
Looks good.
That meant nothing though. If this didn't work, it was the end. There'd be no more time. He allowed his wand to slide back into his robe, taking a deep breath.
'Alohomora.'
The uncanny silence was interrupted by a quiet click of a lock. With a faint push, the gate slid open, creaking ever so slightly in protest. Carefully, Harry put one foot over the threshold, and…
…nothing. A relieved sigh escaped him.
He had done it. The smug feeling of satisfaction which spread throughout his chest felt entirely earned.
Closing the gate behind him, he reached into his pocket, producing the note Fawley had handed him on Monday. His eyes flickered towards the bottom of the list.
Let's get these first. I can pick up anything that catches my fancy along the way…
'Point me - Celtic Wardcraft by Alabaster Goyle,' he whispered.
A faint, cream-coloured arrow extended from the tip of his wand. It pointed straight forward, where a long corridor with thousands of books awaited him. Trying not to think about any specifics, he began walking.
At first, it didn't feel all that strange, walking through the restricted section of Hogwarts' library. The shelves were the same he knew, arranged in a comparable layout and just a little fewer in number. The books didn't seem too extraordinary either.
Of Dementors and Lethifolds
Moste Potente Potions
The History of the Dark Arts, which Harry decided to pocket.
That was at least, until he reached the end of the hallway, where a railing expected him.
He came to halt, his mind blank for a second.
Before him opened a wide shaft. At the first look it appeared bottomless. As Harry narrowed his eyes however, he could barely grasp the floor, hundreds of feet below.
With no windows in sight, the only thing illuminating the open space before him were the couple small, blue torches which littered the coarse shale walls. Their azure fire bathed his surroundings in an eldritch light.
Whispers of an unknown language reached his ears from down below. Harry hoped they came from a book. He took a step back.
A little different than I expected… he thought, lips pressed into a thin line. Too late to back out now though…
Finding a not particularly confidence-inspiring metal staircase to his left, Harry began his descent , gaze flickering back and forth between the steps at his feet and the arrow which continued to glow from the tip of his wand.
I'm not falling down there because-
The step below his left foot vanished. He gripped the railing, but his hand slipped, not holding up against the momentum of his body. The metal bruising his ribs, he tumbled down the stairway, only coming to a halt as he reached the first landing. Everything hurt.
'Fuck,' he groaned.
Grimacing, he forced himself up. To his right, dangled a weathered, coppery sign. Potions, it read. He gripped the wand in his hand a little bit tighter, looking into the abyss below.
Thank Merlin I didn't lose my wand…
The point-me spell told him to head further downward. So he did.
Just after passing the section on human transfiguration, undoubtedly the highly illegal kind, he came to a stop. Runes and Wardcraft, he read, exhaling. The arrow pointed to his left.
In the distance, a harrowing screech echoed.
Harry wasted no time stepping off the stairs and onto solid floor. A shiver ran down his spine. The excitement in his chest vanished. Somehow, he had expected things to be less… strange. He shuddered.
Let's just get this over with…
Following his spell's direction, he ventured into the array of shelves before him. Every so often, he would pass by a book bound in chains, another smeared with blood, and some with facial features from a nightmare.
He didn't let it get to him though. Eventually, he reached a dead end, and the arrow suddenly swung right. His eyes scanned the shelf, and sure enough, there it was. He reached for the book.
Fortunately, it didn't seem to be all that different from the scripts available in the normal section of the library - just a bit more weathered and dusty, if anything. Harry pocketed it.
Onto the next…
He didn't quite recall how long he spent on that particular floor, gathering Fawley's books, but that mattered surprisingly little to him as he stepped back onto the metal staircase.
All he wanted to do was get out of here as quickly as possible.
At least, after he'd gotten some books for himself. His gaze swept into the abyss once more, his stomach twisting. At least another dozen other landings awaited him below.
Inhaling a wisp of the cold hair, he descended further.
As luck had it, the section on Curses and Miscellaneous other Dark Magic was located at the very bottom of the complex.
It seemed to be the source of the otherworldly whispers he'd heard from up top. He didn't know how to really describe it, but this place… It just felt evil.
Taking what felt like his thousandth deep breath, Harry forced his feet to carry him forward. This time, he didn't have a spell to point him into the right direction. As he wandered the shelves, books caught his eye left and right.
Magick Moste Evile
Torture: A Case Study
The Pandemonium's Playbook
Unforgivable Magics and their Origins
The Darkest Art
Harry pocketed them all, feeling no small amount of apprehension as he did so. No matter whether he managed to get out of here unscathed or not, getting caught with any of these books was a sure-fire way to guarantee his expulsion, of that he had no doubt.
'Okay…' he whispered, glancing down at the bag hanging from his shoulder. 'That'll do, I think.'
He tried finding back to the staircase, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to locate it. For minutes he strode through the corridors, but somehow it felt like he was just moving in circles. Was there some kind of spell at work here?
A shiver ran down his spine. Then, suddenly the books around him began whispering seductive things into his ear.
«Take us,» they cooed, sweet and suffocating. «All you need to do is take us and we will make all your dreams come true. Trust in our power. Trust in our power and you will-»
Harry blended them out, quickening his pace. He began to run, telling himself the many faces which seemed to pop up around him were simply a figment of his imagination.
Then, it happened.
'ENOUGH!' a chorus behind him screeched.
He felt something catch his ankle. He tripped, his kneecaps scraping over the floor. His wand-lighting charm fizzled out into nothingness, as he was dragged down the hallway.
'No!' he hissed, taking aim at the chain attached to his foot.
He fired a cutting curse. It missed. He fired another one. It flashed against the surface of the metal, doing absolutely nothing. Harry tried to think of another spell.
'Reducto!'
'Bombarda!'
The chain snapped as the orange hex blew up the shelves around him. His vision blurred and his ears hurt. He didn't even consider that someone might've heard.
Forcing himself up from the floor he ran quicker than ever. He felt reminded of his time at Number Four, being hunted by Dudley and his gang of bullies, only that here, his life was actually on the line.
Ignoring the burn in his muscles, he pressed onward, running faster and faster.
He didn't know whether the sentient books were still behind, or even following him, but he didn't care. His sole concern was reaching the stairway as quickly as possible.
He rounded a corner. A metallic glint entered his vision. His head snapped left. The staircase.
His heart beating in his ears, he rushed towards it. Quickly he ascended. One landing. A second
Only once he was halfway up the thing, he started to slow down. Wiping droplets of cold sweat off his forehead, he briefly glanced back. Nothing was following him.
A relieved sigh spilled from his lips.
He had made it. Some warmth returned to his icy hands. So this was why no one had been granted access to this place in years.
I won't return here anytime soon, that much is certain…
Briskly, he followed the path he had come from, eventually reaching the gates which had granted him entry to the restricted section. This time, he pushed open the gate without any inhibitions. With a creak, the metal fencing closed behind him.
How long was I even in there…?
Lips dry, he drew his wand, casting a time charm. His eyes widened as golden digits materialised before his eyes.
4:29? Harry blinked.
He hadn't really been able to tell how long he'd spent down there, but two hours? He glanced back and shook his head in disbelief. He bit his lip.
Let's just hope I get to the common room without being caught… Fawley's shift's been over for over an hour.
Trying to calm his troubled mind, he closed his eyes, tapping himself on the top of his head with his wand. The disillusionment charm enveloped him like a liquid, silky blanket. In a way, it made him feel safe.
Time to go.
He had in fact made it back to the dormitories unscathed.
That, however, was a small comfort, considering how he felt right now. Harry was draped over a copy of the daily prophet, an untouched goblet of water to his right, and his spectacles sitting on the empty plate before him.
The headache attacking his skull from seemingly all directions, amplified by the noise of the student body, felt alike to torture.
He hadn't closed an eye.
After returning from his disturbing trip to the restricted section, he had tried falling asleep. When it became apparent, however, that his efforts were destined to fail, he'd thought that perhaps giving the newly acquired books a look would be a good idea.
But that hadn't really worked out, seeing as his brain had refused to function properly.
Which had left him with only one thing to do - lie in his bed wide-awake until classes began.
Sleep-deprivation, Harry learned, was a bitch.
After Charms, he'd made a trip to the Hospital Wing on Professor Flitwick's insistence. Subsequently, he'd arrived late to lunch and was now to sat on the outer edge of the Slytherin table, away from his… friends?
He was too tired to define what exactly they were to him.
'You look pretty terrible,' Tracey said, suddenly plopping down on the bench opposite him, her usual honest self.
Harry looked up at her, his head slowly rising from the table. 'Thanks for the diagnosis, Healer Davis…' he replied blankly.
She rolled her eyes. 'Did you sleep, like, at all?' she asked. 'Because you don't look like it.'
He pinched his eyebrows. 'No comment.'
'Hm. Fine.' Tracey frowned. 'Don't forget you promised to help us out on that Charms essay later though. I'm not risking a T because you decided to take a nap,' she reminded him.
Harry closed his eyes, groaning.
Not that he would've minded under normal circumstances. Their get-togethers had brought some desperately needed variety to his life. But that didn't make the current predicament any more appealing.
'Have you seen Blaise?' he asked, deciding to worry about the matter later.
Tracey shook her head. 'He said he needed to get his Herbology stuff from the dorms. You tagging along for that by the way?'
Harry frowned. 'Herbology?'
She nodded. 'Yes, Herbology. It's Thursday.'
He held back a curse. Afternoon classes… How did I forget? At least he still had the dragonhide gloves stowed away in his robe. A small comfort though, all things considered.
'Well, not much else I can do, is there?'
Tracey shrugged. 'You could always skip like you do with History. Though that probably won't go over too well with Sprout, if I think about it.'
Harry shook his head. The woman hates me enough already. He couldn't even say why exactly, but it seemed she had taken some kind of personal offence to the fact he cared nothing for her subject beyond what grade landed on his exams and essays.
No need to add onto that.
'How long?' he asked.
Tracey didn't try to hide the fact that her pity was minimal. 'Ten minutes or so. You should eat something'
He pursed his lip. 'Great.'
An afternoon lesson with Sprout, Longbottom, Malfoy, and sleep deprivation. Nothing more beautiful I could imagine…
He gave the bowl of mashed potatoes in the middle of the banquet an inconsiderate glance. 'I'm not particularly hungry. Come on.'
She raised an eyebrow. 'You've got your stuff?'
He nodded, not elaborating further. Picking up Nott and Greengrass on their way out, they left the Great Hall behind just a few seconds later. The former of the two shot him a funny look.
'You sure you're alright, Potter?' the boy asked.
'Never been better,' Harry replied with an insincere cheer. 'Thanks for asking, Nott.'
Nott snorted. 'I suppose you didn't get back to the dorms before curfew last night?'
He shook his head. 'I did.' Which, technically, was true. 'Just couldn't sleep.'
Tracey rolled her eyes. 'And I'm the second coming of Merlin, come on. Just admit you did some nerd stuff way too late into the night and are now reaping the consequences.'
Harry didn't answer.
Better they think that than telling them the truth.
His classmates had grown on him, but that didn't mean he considered telling them about his personal goals - or, in this case, the illegal things he'd committed in pursuit of them.
'Anyone has an idea what we did last lesson?' Nott asked, changing the topic.
'Theory lesson about dittany,' Greengrass replied. 'Sprout said we'd pot our own plants today.'
Sounds manageable…
'Wonderful…' Nott sighed. 'Don't think there's ever been an interesting Herbology lesson.'
Tracey smirked. 'Don't let Longbottom or Sprout hear you say that. They'll hex you to bits.'
Harry's mood briefly darkened at the boy's mention. Before he could feed into his anger though, he recentered his thoughts - at least as best as was possible in his exhausted state.
Greengrass's lip tugged upward. 'Or use a devil's snare to suffocate him. Not a big loss, if you ask me.'
Nott rolled his eyes. 'Why, thank you, Greengrass. I love you too.' He paused. 'So, anything else going on later?'
'Harry said he'd help us on the Charms essay that's due tomorrow,' Tracey was quick to reply.
Thanks a lot…
Nott shot him a brief, almost pitiful glance. 'You're sure Potter is up for the job?`' he asked sceptically. 'Seems like a dead man walking to me,' he added.
'Thanks, Nott,' Harry responded dryly. They arrived in front of greenhouse number seven. 'Let's just get this over with.'
There weren't too many of their classmates present yet. The wide and short form of Professor Sprout stood at the far end of the glasshouse, talking to her favourite student. She chuckled loud enough for them to hear.
Why don't those two just marry already?
Biting down on his tongue, he made his way towards the work station furthest away. Nott followed him.
'You wanna partner?' the boy asked.
'Sure,' Harry shrugged.
Blaise could still join them later, after all. For a brief moment, his gaze flickered back towards Longbottom, who still stood at the front of the greenhouse. His lips thinned involuntarily.
'What's your deal with him?' Nott asked.
Harry turned around, silent for a moment. 'Nothing,' he said eventually. 'I think you remember what happened at the first flying lesson.'
The boy nodded. 'I do. You were glaring at him long before that though.'
Seems I wasn't as careful as I thought… Harry pursed his lip.
'I'll repeat what I said back then. Longbottom bathes in the glory of his mother's sacrifice. He acts like the world owes him something.' A pause. 'It doesn't.'
Nott inclined his head. 'I suppose that's the reason you weren't at the Halloween feast,' the boy commented.
Harry nodded, his face perfectly straight. 'Part of it.'
Silence reigned between them for a moment.
'You heard about the troll, right?' the boy asked eventually, cutting through the brief tension. 'The Professors are still trying to figure out who killed the thing and how it got into the castle in the first place.'
He nodded. 'Tracey mentioned it… I saw nothing though,' he lied easily. 'If anything, I'm a bit disappointed to have missed Quirrel's entrance. I heard it was rather amusing,' he said, offering a small smile.
Nott snorted. 'Definitely was,' he agreed. 'He stormed in there, shouted that there was a troll in the Dungeons, and promptly fainted in front of the entire student body. Me and–'
'Attention please!' Sprout called from up front, ending their conversation. 'As I already mentioned last time, today we'll begin cultivating our own dittany plants. For that, please form groups of three. We'll be working on this project for the next couple of weeks. I–'
The door to the greenhouse creaked. Blaise slipped through the opening.
Sprout pinned him with an unimpressed stare. 'A very welcome to you as well, Mr. Zabini,' the woman said. In the background, the Gryffindors snickered quietly.
Blaise pursed his lip, inclining his head. 'Sorry, ma'am, needed to get some things from the common room.'
The Professor harrumphed. 'Well then… Find yourself a group.' She cleared her throat. 'Anyway, as I was saying…'
Harry blended out the woman's voice in an attempt to soothe his persisting headache. He wished he had another one of those potions Pomfrey had given him. From the corner of his vision, he noticed Blaise taking up residence to his right.
'You alright?' his roommate whispered.
He nodded, shooting him a brief glance. 'It's nothing.'
Blaise didn't seem entirely convinced. Nevertheless, he didn't prod any further, putting on his dragonhide gloves. 'Dittany, right?' he asked.
Nott nodded. 'Greengrass said so.'
The platinum-haired girl briefly glanced over at them at the mention of her name. Blaise shot her a faint smile.
'Well - what are you waiting for? Get your seeds!' Sprout called from the other end of the greenhouse. A large sack filled with green kernels stood right next to her.
'I'll get them,' Blaise was quick to volunteer.
Harry and Nott nodded their thanks. The emerald-eyed teen summoned a pot from below the table. Fortunately, Sprout didn't see. She would've probably given him detention for risking damage to her holy pottery…
It's not like there are mending charms, after all…
Nott began to shovel soil into the pot right as Blaise returned with a handful of dittany seeds. 'Anything special we need to keep in mind?' the former of the two asked.
Harry rubbed his temples, trying to recall the most important parts of their last lesson.
'Dittany needs a lot of water in its first stages of growth. We should make sure the drip lasts till next week,' he answered. Nothing else came to mind.
'Quite right, Mr. Potter,' Sprout's voice suddenly sounded behind his head. It was barely loud enough for everyone to hear. 'I'm surprised you managed to remember that, seeing as your wakefulness leaves much to be desired today.'
The Gryffindors snorted, Longbottom and Weasly covering their laughter with their hands. The former couldn't have looked any more smug. Instinctively, Harry's hand twitched towards the wand in his pocket. He thought better of it.
Don't let it get to you…
He turned around, headache ignored and a plastic smile plastered all over his face. 'Sorry, Professor. I'll pay better attention next time,' he said earnestly.
Silence reigned as Harry stared directly into the Professor's beady eyes for a moment. He could tell it was making her uncomfortable.
Eventually, Sprout huffed, turning her head away. 'That, I hope, Mr. Potter. Very well. Carry on then.' She trotted off.
'Stupid bint…' Nott muttered darkly.
Harry couldn't disagree. Out of all the teachers, Sprout was without a doubt the most anti-Slytherin of them all. McGonagall and Flitwick were the definition of fair, and while Sinistra did perhaps favour the Ravenclaws a bit, that was most likely due to the fact that no one else really cared for her subject. As for Quirrell, Binns and Snape? Those weren't really worth a comment.
That aside though, Harry suspected Sprout's increased hostility over these past weeks had something to do with the flying lesson incident a few months back.
She was probably the first to take her golden boy's side…
The woman's face lit up each time she picked Longbottom to answer a question. Harry told himself he couldn't care less. And despite that fact, a certain irritation always managed to nestle itself at the back of his mind whenever he admitted it. He hated that Longbottom was better than him at something.
He also knew it was just his subconscious being petty. He just didn't care. The people he hated more than Neville Longbottom could be counted off on one hand.
An entirely too long neck, a purple face, the bright red Head Auror badge, and black, curly hair flashed past his mind. He closed his eyes, banishing the pictures away.
His hands clenched into fists as he glared at the boy-who-lived from across the greenhouse.
They'll all get theirs…
Author's Note:
Whoops, already at the end.
I finished this chapter just a few days after publishing the last one. To give myself some room to work with, I decided to post it only now though.
Generally, I think this chapter brought a lot of changes compared to the others. Harry is less cold and… edgy in this one.
I know the relationship in regards to Tracey, Nott, and the like may appear rushed, but since it was a little bit hard for me to figure out an organic way to change Harry's attitude towards companionship, I decided to make his whole *I'm the absolute loner thing* a phase. I hope that doesn't make me too lazy.
I'd also appreciate it if you leave me a review on whether I managed to create a somewhat captivating atmosphere during the restricted section scene.
Environmental descriptions are something I've been struggling with from the start and I tried really hard to make this turn out well. I hope it did.
Anyway, since there's not too much else that comes to mind right now, I'll leave it at that. Stay tuned for more and see you in the next one.
Cheers.