The third chapter is mildly late, thanks to corrections I felt were necessary. It still feels a bit rough to me, but it works well enough.
Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies.
The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Serpentine Stone
III. Magic is Might
Harry brought his last spoonful of porridge to his lips, finishing it with a silent gulp. He hastily stood, grabbing his belongings and making his way down to the dungeon whilst trying his hardest to ignore the whispers that followed him.
"- the Daily Prophet's been having a field day with him, did you see?"
"Yeah, I did, actually. The boy-who-lived in Slytherin?"
"Mum's told me to stay away, she has."
It was Harry's third day at Hogwarts, and, coincidentally, the day of his first Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. He was looking forward to the latter pair the most; because of them, the day was set to be a good one.
And a bit of whispering isn't enough to change that.
Harry fixed his gaze forward, tightening his grasp on his bookbag.
The other classes had all been interesting to say the least. Transfiguration was easily Harry's favourite as of yet. Professor McGonagall, as expected, had entered the classroom with a no-nonsense attitude, warning them against misusing magic before transfiguring her desk into a pig and back.
It was unfortunate that they wouldn't be progressing to such advanced magic for quite some time; Professor McGonagall had simply handed out matches for them to turn into a needle. Harry had been the only one to do so by the end of the class, largely thanks to Emily's notebook.
The notebook explains it all much better than the textbooks do.
Herbology was interesting as well, though this time Harry was certain that his skill for it had something to do with his gardening chores at Privet Drive. He was not overly fond of the subject; it felt a bit too mundane for his liking.
If the plants didn't bite me every time I stood still, I'd wonder if it was really even magic at all.
Astronomy was a pain, mostly because the class was held at midnight. History of Magic was even worse; Professor Binns' voice was unfathomably monotone - Harry was almost certain he had fallen asleep. He wouldn't have been the only one.
Harry silently entered the potions classroom, taking the seat beside Theodore Nott. The two sat together during most of their classes, though Harry supposed it wasn't exactly by choice. The other Slytherins boys all refused to sit next to him, and most of the girls were one in the same.
Still, at least it was better than Privet Drive. His peers didn't actually do anything to him. They just glared a bit, and a few would mutter darkly beneath their breath - but as far as he knew, that was is.
To be fair, it's only the third day here.
Harry was sure he would be fine. He had already managed to find a book on basic protective charms in the library, and Emily's notebook held hundreds of useful tips and miscellaneous notes.
The door just beside the front desk swung open, revealing Professor Snape. Chatter stopped instantly as he made his way towards the front of the classroom, his cloak billowing behind him. He turned around, watching them all with narrowed eyes.
The first few minutes of class passed by in near complete silence as Snape took roll call. He only ever paused upon calling Harry's name, his eyes narrowing slightly before continuing on.
He really must not like me.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began, setting aside the thin sheet of parchment, "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Many of the students straightened up, Hermione nearly falling out of her seat with the haste that she did so. Harry silently jotted down a few notes.
Bottle fame . . . brew glory . . . stop death -
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, causing Harry to quickly raise his head in alarm, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry tilted his head slightly, his mind racing. He was certain he had read about it somewhere, the words seemed rather familiar, though he knew they hadn't been within the first few chapters of his first year potions textbook. He hadn't managed to read any further than that; he had been far too distracted by his other textbooks for that to be the case.
Harry tried his hardest to ignore Hermione, who was practically leaping out of her chair.
Where did I see it? I know I've heard of it, but where?
Harry's eyes widened.
Emily's notebook.
"The Draught of the Living Death, sir?" Harry replied quietly.
But that was near the middle of the notebook. I only saw it by accident, when I was flicking through it.
Snape's eyes narrowed. Harry felt his palms begin to sweat beneath the table.
"Very well. Where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione's hand soared to the ceiling, though Snape paid her no mind.
"In a goat's stomach." said Harry with more certainty, remembering having read it in one of the first chapters of his potions textbook.
Snape's eyes narrowed further, though he said nothing.
"And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry scrapped his brains for an answer. Random thoughts bubbled up before the eye of his mind, but none of them had anything to do with monkshood or wolfsbane.
"I don't know, sir."
Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, all snickered quietly from their seats in the front. Snape paid them no mind.
"Sit down, you silly girl." he snapped at Hermione, who was now on her feet. She sat down with a squeak, her face turning red. Snape glanced at Harry once more before walking back towards his desk, speaking all the while.
"As Potter said, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is indeed a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane," Snape paused, turning to Harry, "they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."
After that, Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like.
He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Harry turned around, his eyes landing upon Seamus's cauldron - or, at least, what remained of it.
Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, melted metal contorting as it fell to the floor. Their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose, "Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus.
Snape turned around, his eyes landing on Harry. For a moment, his lip twitched, words threatening to break free from his mouth. But Snape simply moved away, returning to his desk at the front.
An hour later, Harry made his way up to Snape's desk with a phial of his potion grasped tightly in his hands. It was by no means perfect - he had been outperformed by Malfoy, Granger and Greengrass - but considering that he had barely looked through his potions textbook, Harry felt he had done rather well.
Harry carefully set his phial down. Snape did not spare him so much as a glance as he did so, but Harry was sure the man's eyes were on him as he packed up his belongings and left the classroom.
-(xXx)-
" - just swish and flick, altogether now!"
Harry sat to one side of Professor Flitwick's classroom, joining his peers as they all hastily removed their wands from within the pockets of their robes. He ignored the way Malfoy's elbow came dangerously close to his chest, focusing on the task at hand.
Professor Flitwick, as Harry expected, was a very good teacher, perhaps on par with Professor McGonagall. His lecture had been especially interesting, though Harry hadn't entirely understood it. That was fine, according to the minute man; they were not expected to understand the finer points for quite some time.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Harry watched as his feather lazily soared upwards. Very few people seemed to notice; their seating had been assigned, and Harry in particular sat in the furthest corner of the room. Only Malfoy seemed to have seen anything, his cheeks going slightly scarlet as he turned back to his own feather.
Harry's feather gently fell back upon his desk. He fingered it casually before turning to gaze at the rest of the room. No one else seemed to have grasped the spell yet, though Hermione Granger did appear to be coming close. She had, however, been trying for far longer than anyone else, so Harry wasn't particularly surprised.
Not that I'm much different, mind you.
Harry gently plucked his feather, moving it under his desk where no one could see it.
"Wingardium Leviosa." he whispered.
The feather hovered a few inches above the palm of his hand, shaking slightly. Harry smiled. He allowed it to stay in place for a few moments before letting it fall gracefully back into his grasp.
Harry was growing more and more fond of his magic. Perhaps it had something to do with Emily's Notebook, how the words were written with respect and reverence. Maybe her way of thinking was growing on him. If that were true, Harry wasn't sure he minded.
Magic is . . . it's perfect. It's magical.
He could feel it, coursing through his veins. The small shudder that passed through him every time he cast a spell. It felt incredible, like every time he had felt it before, when he had caused something strange or peculiar to happen back in Privet Drive.
And I suppose it's nice to be good at something for a change.
"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping, "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"
Harry looked up. Hermione's feather hovered a few inches above her desk, shaking occasionally. The girl herself smiled happily at Flitwick, seemingly ignoring the way her partner, Ron, was glaring moodily at her.
Beats my partner, mind you.
Harry turned to face Malfoy, who had been assigned his partner for the class. The blonde boy glared at Hermione before looking away, seemingly unimpressed.
"She's done better than you, you know." said Harry, causing Malfoy's head to turn sharply, "I think that earns at least a bit of respect."
Malfoy sneered, though he said nothing.
Professor Flitwick collected their feathers a few moments later. He vanished them with a flick of his wand before moving to the front of his class where he stood upon a pile of old textbooks.
"Now then, a quick word before you're off to lunch!" squeaked the diminutive professor, pulling his wand out from the pockets of his robes, "A little discussion, if you will, that I like to have each year with our first years."
Flitwick pointed his wand at the desk before him.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The table gracefully soared into the air. Professor Flitwick watched it for a moment before returning his gaze to the students. Hermione squeaked in alarm, causing Professor Flitwick to chuckle.
"Anything you would like to say, Miss Granger?"
"Y-you're not focusing on the desk." Hermione forced out, "I read that if you aren't sufficiently focused, the spell can break. The desk is going to fall!"
Professor Flitwick clapped cheerfully. Several students near the front of the classroom backed away in alarm. Harry turned towards the desk, watching it with far more attention than he had moments prior.
"Correct, take ten points to Gryffindor! Now, can anyone tell me why it isn't falling?"
The entirety of the class stayed silent. A Ravenclaw boy nervously raised his hand into the air.
"Because we aren't as powerful as you, sir?" he answered quietly.
"A good guess, but not the answer I'm looking for." squeaked Flitwick, "Any other guesses?"
No one said anything.
"Very well, that's quite alright." Professor Flitwick reassured them, "The answer lies in the nature of magic. Magic is sentient, if you will. It does not have a mind of its own, nor a true consciousness, but it is indeed sentient.
"As you grow to use magic more and more often, and as you grow with age, your control with magic will grow as well. It can compensate for a lack of focus, determination, and so on.
"Using magic in such a way is not advised for obvious reasons - we only have so much magic to spend before we feel weak in our knees - but it also has its uses.
"It is often subconsciously employed, sometimes in day-to-day life, and sometimes during far more uncommon times. Regardless, it is a brilliant aspect of magic - one that you will learn more about during your N.E.W.T.s!
"For now, just worry about your Levitation Charms. You are to practice them for homework. Class dismissed!"
Harry watched the desk fall gently back upon the floor. Slowly he packed his things, his eyes narrowing as Malfoy purposely knocked over his bag. He picked it up, hastily shoving his textbook, parchment and quill within it.
Grumble.
Harry decided to listen to his stomach, throwing his bag over his shoulder and setting off for lunch.
-(xXx)-
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom appeared to be a mix between Professor Snape's classroom and Professor Flitwick's, at least in Harry's opinion. An iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, as well as a dragon's skeleton. On one end of the classroom stood a projector that was activated by magic. There was also a blackboard at the front of the classroom. Several desks and tables could be found in the classroom as well as some sets of large windows.
A single desk stood near the front of the room, the chair behind it occupied by none other than Professor Baker. Her sapphire eyes roamed over the students, all of whom watched her in a sort of nervous silence. As far as they knew, she could be as strict as Professors McGonagall and Snape combined.
She probably is.
Professor Baker's gaze landed upon Harry. Her eyes narrowed. Slowly she rose from her seat, her wand waved lazily within the palm of her hand. The curtains closed, the torches lit and the door shut itself. Many of the students held their breath.
"The Dark Arts," she began, "is a name given to a very vaguely described form of magic. Would anyone care to give their own description of the term?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air.
"Yes?"
"The Dark Arts, also known as Dark Magic, refers to any type of magic that was mainly used to cause harm or hurt." recited Hermione.
"I asked for your own description, not Quentin Trimble's." said Professor Baker, eyeing Hermione's copy of 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection', "Regardless, that is incorrect. I could end your life with a Levitation Charm if I desired."
She turned to face the rest of the class. Almost all of the students had suddenly gone pale.
"Anyone else?"
"Er - magic that was created by Dark witches and wizards?" guessed Seamus.
"And what, Mr. Finnegan, would your definition of a Dark witch or wizard be?"
"Er - I dunno."
Professor Baker raised an eyebrow. She turned towards the left side of the classroom, where all the Slytherins sat. Harry zoned out slightly, lost in thought.
I haven't heard of anything that 'Dark Magics' have in common that other magics don't. Not that I know much about it, mind you.
Harry shook his head, focusing once more. Professor Baker was watching him again, her head tilted slightly and her expression curious. Her gaze slowly shifted to the rest of the Slytherins before she turned around, waving her wand lazily at the blackboard.
"Your homework," she said, her words appearing upon the blackboard as she spoke them, "is to write a twelve inch essay on your own definition of the Dark Arts, and to compare and contrast it with the definition within your textbooks."
After that, Professor Baker split them into partners of two before having them attempt the most basic of jinxes within their textbooks. Harry had truthfully hoped for anyone outside of Slytherin - though, if that was not possible, anyone aside from Malfoy and his two goons.
Professor Baker, however, had somehow managed to give Harry a worse partner.
Harry glumly tuned out as Pansy Parkinson, his assigned partner, muttered another nasty name beneath her breath. If it was anything like the last few, Harry was certain it was meant for him.
Might as well practice the jinx like we're supposed to.
"Locomotor Wibbly!" said Harry clearly, his wand pointed at Pansy.
At once, the girl's legs collapsed on each other, causing her to fall to the ground. Harry's eyes widened ever so slightly.
Either I'm pretty good at this, or I really wanted her to shut up.
Harry settled for both.
-(xXx)-
" - watch out for the teeth, they'll bite you if you stop moving for too long!" yelled Professor Sprout.
Harry dodged a particularly violent vine, wincing slightly as it slammed into Blaise Zabini, one of his two partners for the class. Daphne Greengrass, his other partner, merely watched on, seemingly unimpressed.
"Bloody hell!" muttered Zabini as he pushed himself off the floor, "A bit of a warning next time, if you please?"
"I didn't even know you were behind me." said Harry, "I'm the only one even doing anything."
It was the truth, one that irritated Harry more than he let off. His partners, it appeared, both found the idea of gardening to be beneath them, and, as such, had decided to do nothing more than watch.
And if they keep it up, I'll let the vines hit them on purpose.
Harry ducked his head slightly, shoving his gloved hands forward as he managed to rip one of the flowers from the plant's stem. It shuddered for a moment before continuing in its attempts to strike him.
"Finally." Harry panted out, dropping the flower into the bowl before him, "One down, two more to go."
Harry hastily took his gloves off, handing them to Daphne. When she did not motion to take them from him, Harry placed them within her crossed arms. She watched him with narrowed eyes as he took a seat upon the earthen floor, exhausted.
"It's your turn." Harry explained, still breathing heavily, "Three petals, one for each of us. I already did mine."
"And what, exactly, makes you think I'd willingly subject myself to this?" she inquired, her voice cold.
Harry shrugged.
"I dunno. But I know you care about your grades. If you don't want to fail, you've got to do it. I've already done my part, I'm good to go."
Daphne's lips thinned as she turned to face the unruly plant. She gracefully covered her hands with the given gloves, her nose held high all the while. She slowly approached the plant.
"Be careful." Harry warned suddenly, causing her to jump, "They'll bite you if you stay still for too long."
"I'm well aware." she hissed back angrily.
Harry sighed, falling onto his back as he gazed up at the cloud-filled sky.
It had been a few weeks since the start of term. Harry was growing to like the school more and more every passing day. While he didn't have any real friends, he didn't feel nearly as lonely as he had in Privet Drive. The ghosts and portraits were all kind and helpful (except for Sir Cadogan and Peeves the Poltergeist, both of whom were more of a hindrance).
The teachers, for the most part, were all quite amicable as well. The classes themselves were certainly enjoyable. Harry was very good at using magic - the best in his year, as far as he could tell. His written work, though not nearly as good, was steadily improving with every coming day.
Judging by the grade on his most recent potions essay, however, Professor Snape disagreed. Harry frowned, the sneer of the greasy-haired potions master swimming to the forefront of his mind.
Professor Snape was not particularly fond of Harry - that much was obvious - but he did not treat him as poorly as he did the Gryffindors, at the very least.
Not that it's saying much.
The only teacher who seemed less fond of Harry than Snape was Professor Baker. Like Snape, Harry had yet to discover why she didn't like him, but it was very clear that she didn't. She always spoke to him with the same cool tone, her eyes narrowed in distaste.
She was, however, far more fair than Snape. She never insulted him, nor did she purposely grade him poorly (as Harry was absolutely certain Snape did). In fact, some of the best grades he had achieved from his written work had been in Professor Baker's class.
Defense is my favourite subject, to be fair.
His classmates weren't great either, but they never did anything more than mutter. Harry wasn't sure he liked them much.
Still, there were a few students who weren't too bad. Theodore Nott was one of them. Though he wasn't exactly nice, he wasn't rude either - he treated Harry the same way he did anyone else. Tracey Davis was of a similar nature, though Harry scarcely interacted with either of the two.
Or anyone at all.
Harry wasn't sure he wanted to change that. Even now, he felt the ghosts of countless eyes on him, watching him as though he were a ticking time bomb. Mouths parted as he past, whispering things about him that were even more outlandish than the last. Some steered clear of him, others watched him with a feigned disinterest. Many stared at him with poorly hidden fascination and awe. Most - specifically those not in Slytherin - watched him with fear in their eyes.
It was far more irritating than Harry would have guessed.
"Done." breathed Daphne heavily.
Harry looked up, watching as she dropped the flower petal into the bowl. Her blonde hair, which usually framed her face neatly, was now thoroughly messed up. She was breathing heavily, and a small cut could be seen just below her left eye. Flecks of dirt littered her robes.
Daphne removed the gloves, handing them to Zabini before taking a seat upon the floor. She brushed off the dirt specks, her eyes narrowed in distaste. Slowly she turned her gaze towards him. Her eyes narrowed further.
"You can lie down, you know." Harry said, watching as Zabini nervously approached the plant, "You don't have to sit up if you're tired, Professor Sprout said it was alright."
"Some of us," replied Daphne, her voice soft and curt, "come from families with names worth living up to."
"Suit yourself." replied Harry, turning his gaze up to the sky. Daphne continued to watch him.
Ten minutes later, Zabini had managed to procure a final flower from the stem of the plant. He placed it into their bowl just as Professor Sprout prepared to dismiss them.
"Well done, well done." said Professor Sprout, her eyes landing upon the dozens of flowers that had been plucked, "Should be enough to keep Snape happy. Class dismissed!"
Harry packed up his belongings, walking back towards the castle behind all the others. Theodore Nott, whose heavy bag seemed to slow him down slightly, walked to his right.
"I heard what Daphne told you." Nott eventually said. Harry turned to face the boy, confused.
"What, that lying down would make her look bad?"
Nott nodded.
"She's a pureblood." Nott replied simply, "So am I. We've all been told by our parents that we're better than half-bloods and muggleborns because of our blood. It means power and prestige, apparently."
"So that's why none of them like me?" questioned Harry, "I thought it was because of Vol - sorry, You-Know-Who."
"That too." added Nott, "But also the former. Purebloods don't like it when one of them has offspring with Muggles. My dad says it makes their magic weaker, but he's not too powerful himself. Grandfather was, though."
"And what about her friend, Tracey Davis?" Harry asked, "She's a half-blood, isn't she?"
"She is." agreed Nott, "Their mothers were friends when they went to Hogwarts though, and they've known each other for as long as they've lived - they're best friends, you know? I suppose that counts for something."
This is all so confusing.
"What about you then?" asked Harry curiously, "You don't seem to think I'm beneath you - or do you?"
Nott chuckled, shaking his head.
"I don't care for people in general." he said, "I prefer books. But even if I didn't, I still wouldn't say you're beneath me - not immediately, anyway. It just doesn't make sense."
"How so?"
"You know Longbottom?" asked Nott, carefully lifting his heavy bag over his shoulders as they clambered up the stone steps.
"The one who keeps blowing stuff up?"
"No, that's Finnegan. The pudgy boy with the toad."
"Doesn't he ruin things too?"
"He does, I suppose, but that's not the point." said Nott before pausing, "Actually, that's exactly the point."
Harry turned around.
"Longbottom's a pureblood, but he isn't very good at magic, is he?" noted Nott, "There are loads of muggleborns that are better than him at magic - not that it's saying much."
"Like Hermione?" asked Harry, "She gets good grades, doesn't she?"
"Sure, but that isn't the example I would've used." replied Nott, "She does well because she practices all the time, and because of her written work. Same with Daphne, actually, but don't tell her I said that."
"How do you know all that?"
"Pansy." said Nott simply, "Loves gossip, she does. But the point is, blood doesn't actually mean anything, aside from whatever you inherit from your parents. It's magic that's important - that's what really makes you powerful, I think."
"Makes sense, I suppose." agreed Harry with a nod of his head, "Magic can do almost anything, as far as I know. But that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with people who can't use it."
Nott shrugged.
"It's your opinion, I guess." he said, "But you're one of few."
"I'll stay one of few." said Harry stubbornly, "I mean, sure, there are a few Muggles that aren't wonderful - but besides them, they're more or less the same as wizards, at least as far as I can tell."
Nott nodded slowly.
"You can't be surprised that people disagree though." the boy said, "Magic is - well, it's powerful, I guess."
"Definitely seems so." agreed Harry, "It's strong. Mighty. Magic is might."
"Magic is might." repeated Nott, shaking his head in amusement, "It has a nice ring to it, actually. Shame it sounds like some sort of pureblood mantra."
Harry laughed, rushing after Nott as they made their way back into the castle.
