Another chapter that feels a tad bit rough. Perhaps it's because I wrote it so long ago. I suppose it does work well enough.

Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies. If you have any questions pertaining to the plot or to certain characters, you're more than welcome to ask.

The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.

A Quick Note:

As you may have noticed (and should notice upon reading this chapter), several characters believe and say things that are very obviously flawed/false. Remember that they are children, and that their opinions are often biproducts of their surroundings (which is to say, their parents). As time passes, they will change and develop into their own.


Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate

The Serpentine Stone

IV. The Third-Floor Corridor

"Flipendo!"

Harry watched as Crabbe, his partner for the class, flew several feet across the classroom before landing with a groan.

I'm getting better.

It was the morning of October eighth, a day Harry was not particularly looking forward to. Today, after all, was the day of their first flying lesson. As far as Harry knew, he had never been flying in his life; he was not particularly interested in changing that today.

Many of his peers, however, were on the opposite side of the spectrum. Malfoy had complained loudly during breakfast about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. It had been painful, trying to both eat and ignore Pansy's dreamy expression at the same time.

Malfoy wasn't alone, either. Zabini had told countless stories of riding his broomstick as a child, and even Nott admitted to having flown every now and then. It made Harry feel even more out of place than he already did. The last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.

Not everything was that bad, however. Though he still had yet to make any true friends, Harry was doing very well in his classes. His written work was not particularly impressive, it was true - but he was very good at his practical work - at least, enough so to make up for the former. Emily's notebook, along with his own power and prowess had seen to that.

Though I suppose the notebook might be the reason I haven't any friends.

It was not uncommon to find Harry hidden within his dormitory, immersed within the notebook. But, Harry reasoned, he couldn't spend time in the Slytherin common room even if he wanted to - not unless he wanted to deal with the ire of the other Slytherins (which he most certainly did not). Even if he could, Harry simply doubted he would. Emily's notebook was quite interesting, after all.

Although he had not made it very far into the notebook (perhaps twenty or so pages at most), Harry had learnt more from it than any of his other textbooks. There was something about it - perhaps how it was written, perhaps the familiarity he felt with the writing - but it simply made sense to Harry, far more so than his other texts.

Unfortunately, that wasn't quite the case for any of the pages beyond the first twenty. Those were still a bit too complex for him, especially anything past the first hundred or so pages. Harry didn't even know half of the words used past that point.

Not that it really mattered. He would get there eventually, and so long as that remained true it was fine with him. He had more than enough time to wait, after all.

It's clearly helping me enough as it is.

Harry watched as Crabbe stumbled to his feet, muttering curses under his breath. Professor Baker watched from her desk, though she did not award Harry any points. Not that Harry had expected her to - even to the other students, Professor Baker was rather distant.

That's further than last time.

It was indeed. During his previous attempt at the Knockback Jinx, Harry had managed to send Crabbe a few feet less than he had this time. As for the attempt before that one, Crabbe had flown back even further than he just had. Harry hadn't intended to push Crabbe any further, as far as he was aware.

I can ask Professor Baker. She might be in a good mood.

Harry looked around the classroom. Very few others had managed the jinx at all, those few being Hermione and Daphne. Nott appeared close behind, as did Padma Patil. As for the other students -

"Bloody hell!"

Harry winced as Ronald Weasley's already worn out robes caught fire. Seamus, his partner, ran over at once. He seemed about ready to put out the flames with his own hands before pausing.

He must've remembered he's not fireproof.

A series of shouts rang through the classroom, and Harry raised his hands to his ears -

"Silence."

Harry turned. Professor Baker had gotten up from her seat, watching the occurrence with disinterest. She lazily flicked her wand towards the pair. The flames vanished at once, and Ron's robes were suddenly in far better condition than they had been all year. After a quick inspection of the redhead's clothes, Professor Baker turned to face Seamus.

"This," she began, her voice cold enough to make even the resident fire-raiser shiver, "is the third class in a row that you have managed to set something - or, in this case, someone - alight. Is that correct?"

Finnegan gulped, nodding his head timidly.

Professor Baker watched him with narrowed eyes before turning around, her dainty hands held behind her back.

"Your homework," said Professor Baker as she slowly made her way back to her desk, "is to ensure that Mr. Finnegan is capable of using the Knockback Jinx without causing a fire. If, when he is tested during our next class, he fails, you will all receive a failing grade alongside him."

Hermione Granger paled, her eyes wide with horror. Many of the Ravenclaws had a similar reaction, and even Daphne Greengrass paused for a moment. The entire class turned to face Seamus, whose eyes, like Hermione's, were wide with alarm.

"Class dismissed." said Professor Baker, the ends of her lips twitching slightly upwards.

One by one, the class slowly cleared out. Some of the students took even longer than usual, still clearly lost in Professor Baker's closing remarks. Hermione Granger, however, packed at top speed, quickly chasing after Seamus (who had bolted out the door).

Harry gently pushed his bag onto his shoulders, watching as the last of his peers left the classroom. When Professor Baker's cold gaze landed upon him, she merely raised an eyebrow.

"I had a question about the Knockback Jinx." muttered Harry nervously, "I was wondering why sometimes Crabbe would be knocked back further than other times."

"Did you intend to move him further?"

Harry shook his head. Professor Baker tilted hers slightly, giving her wand a silent flick. The desk beside Harry suddenly transformed into a target.

"Show me." said Professor Baker, motioning towards the target.

Harry took out his wand, imagining the target flying across the room.

"Flipendo!"

The target soared across the room, slamming across the furthest wall. Professor Baker nodded knowingly, the usual coldness absent from her eyes. She returned the target to its original form and position before turning to Harry.

"Your magic is both powerful and youthful." said Professor Baker simply, "It is not as strongly controlled as an adult's, which, of course, is to be expected. The more often you use it, the better you will be at controlling your power."

Harry nodded, pocketing his wand.

"I'll practice more often then." Harry whispered to himself, "I'll get better."

Professor Baker nodded approvingly.

"It would be best that you do the same for your written work." she noted, returning to her desk, "Your ideas, while relatively interesting, lack both conviction and a proper explanation. It may not be real magic, but your essays are still important, if only for appearance's sake."

Harry nodded quickly. Professor Baker settled into her seat, brushing a strand of chocolate brown hair over her ear. She looked up, her eyes landing on Harry once again.

"Get going." she told him, nodding towards the door, "It would not make a good impression to be late to your first flying lesson."

"Yes, Professor." mumbled Harry. He made his way out of the classroom, his bag held loosely over his shoulder.

Grumble.

Harry broke out into a run, making his way towards the Great Hall.

I knew I should've saved some food for later.

-(xXx)-

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch, "and say 'Up!'"

Harry looked down at his broomstick. It was an ancient thing - the twigs in its tail were crooked, the handle was rough, and it looked far from comfortable. If all broomsticks were like this, Harry wasn't sure he'd like flying much.

Judging by Malfoy's expression, however, these broomsticks were far from standard.

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's eyes widened as the broomstick shot into his hand. He wasn't the only one, either - Malfoy twirled his own broomstick within the palm of his hand, his expression somehow a mixture of smugness and disgust.

"Have some respect, Mr. Malfoy." snapped Madam Hooch, watching as Draco cringed upon inspecting the broom's tail, "It takes talent to fly one of these, they're excellent for honing one's skills."

"This has got to be a safety hazard." muttered Hermione Granger as she inspected her own broom a few moments later, "Even with magic these things can't possibly fly well."

Neville Longbottom, who had been listening from her right, gulped loudly. He turned his timid gaze to his own broomstick, which remained motionless upon the earthen soil. Harry watched as he fearfully picked it up.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch a minute later, "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two -"

Harry watched with horror as Neville, who was quite clearly afraid of flying, shot into the air. The plump boy's eyes widened with fear as he rose further up, trying and failing to bring his broomstick back down. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and then -

Wham.

Neville lay face down on the ground, moaning quietly in agony. Madam Hooch rushed towards him at once.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter, "Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say 'Quidditch'. The same goes for any of you foolish enough to pull out your wands."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutched his wrist and hobbled off with Madam Hooch. The moment the pair had left, Malfoy and his friends started laughing. Harry turned back to the castle as Ronald Weasley sent an angry retort Malfoy's way.

"Longbottom will be all fine, if that's what you're wondering." said a distant voice from Harry's side, "Magic will have him healed up in no time at all."

Harry turned. To his left stood Daphne Greengrass, her eyes also on the castle. They silently watched the thin outlines of Madam Hooch and Neville Longbottom approach a set of stairs before vanishing from sight.

"Don't, you'll get in trouble!" yelled a voice from behind them, "You heard what Madam Hooch said!"

Harry and Daphne turned around. Hermione was standing in front of Ron, who had pulled his wand from out of his robe, pointing it at Malfoy. The blonde had done the same, his two bodyguards cracking their knuckles menacingly.

Harry watched as Daphne's eyes narrowed in Hermione's direction. Her shoulders tensed slightly - something, Harry noticed, she often did whenever she talked to him.

"She's right, you know." Harry whispered quietly, watching as Ron said something seemingly harsh to Hermione, "Being muggleborn doesn't change that."

Daphne's head turned slowly. She watched him for a moment before raising her head high, turning her gaze back to the castle.

"It doesn't." she agreed, "But being right or wrong doesn't change what she is."

"And that matters?" questioned Harry, genuine confusion etched upon his face.

"Yes, it does." said Daphne simply.

"Why?"

Daphne turned to face him, a serious expression upon her face.

"Purebloods have wealth." she said, "They have knowledge, they have sway, they have connections, things that they will never have. Purebloods are, simply put, better."

"You said 'they'." Harry noted, ignoring the rest of what she said.

I don't know a thing about wizarding politics.

"The only reason I didn't include you is because of who you are." said Daphne simply, "How many other Boys-Who-Lived have you heard of?"

Harry watched as Daphne Greengrass turned away, moving to stand beside her half-blooded friend, Tracey Davis.

The wizarding world is even more confusing than the Dursleys.

-(xXx)-

"Tempus."

Ronald Weasley glanced at the fading numbers that flickered in the air. He'd have to practice that spell a bit more, it seemed - not that he cared. Quietly getting up from his four-poster, the Gryffindor boy pushed the curtain aside.

It was the night after his fight with Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch, if one could even call it that. Ron was fairly certain neither of them could have harmed the other even if they wanted to, for that was how little the both of them seemed to know about magic.

It was a thought that heavily contracted what he was doing now, it was true - but once again, Ron found he simply didn't care.

How it all had happened, Ron still wasn't quite sure. But somehow, in some way, he and Malfoy would be dueling tonight.

A real wizard's duel. My first.

There was a lot that could go wrong. Perhaps Malfoy might chicken out, or perhaps Peeves or Filch might catch him on the way there. And even if he did get there, he didn't have a second.

"Not that I'll need one." muttered Ron quietly.

It wasn't a big deal, he decided. Although having a second to take over in case he or Malfoy died was tradition, such a person would be completely pointless.

Besides, Ron didn't like the idea of Malfoy having a second. Crabbe and Goyle, useless though they were at magic, could likely beat him to a pulp if they wanted too. Theodore Nott, another boy in Slytherin house, didn't seem like a candidate Malfoy would choose. Ron was more than fine with that. If the stories of the boy's grandfather held any merit, that was a fight he would be unlikely to win.

All that remained was Potter, another person Ron wasn't stupid enough to think he'd win against. He'd seen the boy in their classes - hell, everyone had. He was the boy-who-lived, after all; people were bound to keep an eye out for him. Ron certainly had.

He'd be the opposite of Crabbe and Goyle. Nothing much without a wand, but too much with one.

Considering that all participants in wizarding duels were required to have and use a wand, Ron dearly hoped that Malfoy and the boy-who-lived weren't any more friendly than they let on.

The first year dormitory belonging to the Gryffindor boys was unusually quiet tonight. There were no walls to separate their beds - something that, according to his twin brothers, was not the case for those in Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Either way, Ron could clearly see the four other four-posters that lined the circular room.

The first was empty, a result of there being only four Gryffindor boys in their year. The next was Dean's, and to its side was Seamus' bunk. Then came Ron's, and to his opposite side was Neville's. The curtains of the final bed were still open, the boy that so often snored within it no longer there.

Still in the hospital wing.

Pulling on his dressing-gown and pocketing his wand, Ron crept across the room and down the spiral staircase. He quietly opened the final door, wincing as it made a soft creaking sound. Ron slowly closed it behind him before looking around. A few orange embers were still glowing in the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room - which, thankfully, was empty.

Click.

Ron swore as a lamp flickered on, the disapproving form of one Hermione Granger suddenly in view. She sat in the armchair opposite him, adorned in a pink dressing-gown and a reproachful frown.

"I heard you earlier, you know." Hermione told him, "Talking to Malfoy about dueling. I almost told your brother, Percy. He's a Prefect, he'd have put a stop to -"

But Ron did not stop to listen. He strode across the room and through the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione, unfortunately, did not seem like she would give up so easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at him like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor?" she whispered angrily, "You're going to lose the points I got from Professor McGonagall, and we're just barely managing to keep up with Slytherin as it is."

"I don't care." said Ron, "Malfoy's a git. I won't let him keep picking on whoever he wants."

"And you think this is the right way to go about it?" Hermione half-shrieked, "Go to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Snape, or -"

"Because that'd do loads, wouldn't it?" snarled Ron, "Go to Professor Snape . . . barking mad."

"Fine." said Hermione, her nose held high, "But when you're on the train home this time tomorrow - ouch!"

Hermione stumbled on her dressing-gown, falling over something Ron couldn't make out in the darkness. He pointed his wand in the girl's direction, but before so much as the spell could leave his wand, a soft voice met his ears.

"W-what are you two doing out here?" asked Neville Longbottom, shivering slightly. The boy was curled up in a ball, lying on the ground with his back pressed against the wall.

"Trying to convince someone not to break school rules!" hissed Hermione, pushing herself off the ground, "But if he won't listen, it's not my problem. I'm going back in!"

"Er - about that." said Neville, pointing towards the portrait of the Fat Lady - one that, Ron realised with a jump, was empty, "It sort of is your problem."

Hermione paled as her eyes landed upon the blank canvas.

"I got back from the h-hospital wing hours ago." stuttered Neville, "But by the time I'd remembered the password, she'd wandered off."

"Well, the password's Pig snout, so you know." said Ron quietly, not meeting Hermione's eye. The pudgy boy looked up at him, confusion etched within his features.

"I thought it was - what w-was it - Pistor Renatus?"

"Nevermind that!" snapped Hermione, shaking nervously, "How do we get back in?"

"Sounds like your problem to me." said Ron, turning around, "I've got somewhere to be."

He had just barely made it down the first flight of stairs before Hermione had caught up to him.

"I'm coming with you." she said quickly, "That way if Filch catches us I can tell him the truth - Neville can back me up, and you can too."

Ron grit his teeth in annoyance. A second later Neville had joined the pair, nearly tripping on the final stair.

"I don't want to be left behind either!" he said, "The Bloody Baron's came by a few minutes ago, I don't want to run into Peeves -"

"Fine!" said Ron angrily to the two in front of him, "But if either of you get us caught -"

He left the threat hanging, turning around and continuing on his way to the trophy room, the other two following closely behind.

-(xXx)-

The days prior to Halloween passed in a frenzied blur, one that Harry felt went by far too quickly for his liking.

Ron and Malfoy had both been given detentions by Madam Hooch, who had returned to find them with their wands pointed at one another. Neither had taken it well; Malfoy had taken to loitering within the Slytherin common room, constantly muttering "My father -" for everyone to hear, and Ron, according to what Harry had heard, had opted to take much of his anger out on Hermione.

And if that story about Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom is true, he's probably even more angry with Granger.

Harry doubted it was, however; it wasn't uncommon for Malfoy to dress up the stories he told. But if it were true, he'd grudgingly admit Malfoy had come out on top in his little fight with Weasley.

Warning Filch to check the trophy room. Not bad.

Harry could certainly see himself falling for it, as much as he wished that weren't the case. He doubted he would miss the chance to one up Malfoy, especially if he had gotten into a fight with the prat just hours before.

Either way, the three Gryffindors had supposedly been caught by Filch in the third floor Corridor (having been tattled on by Peeves the Poltergeist). Harry didn't know much else that had happened; he had heard something about a trapdoor, but, then again, he had also heard rumours of an oversized three-headed dog.

They're keeping busy, I suppose.

Harry himself, however, had not done much. He had spent most of his time working on his essays or practicing magic with the aid of Emily's notebook. It was a good thing the Slytherin boys had rooms of their own; Harry would not have liked to explain to his roommates why their dormitory was aflame several times a week.

All at once, Halloween arrived. 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 feast appeared suddenly upon the golden plates, just as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Cheers could be heard as students ate happily, chatting with their neighbors all the while.

Harry, however, was not amongst their number. He prowled aimlessly through the halls of Hogwarts, thinking silently to himself.

Wizards don't celebrate Halloween.

It was true; Harry had, out of mere curiosity, looked through the library for books on the subject earlier today. Witches and wizards, it seemed, did not celebrate Halloween, nor did they even remotely care about the holiday - not until ten years ago, anyway.

They're celebrating that night.

Harry stumbled up a set of stairs, not bothering to check which way he turned. As long as he made it back to the dormitories by the end of the feast, it likely wouldn't matter anyway.

Seconds turned to minutes. Harry continued onwards, letting his mind focus on taking the next step rather than anything else. At least that was simple. It didn't make him feel sick to his stomach, nor did it make him all too upset.

They were gone. They would always be gone, and Harry knew it. He hated that he knew it. At least when he was younger, when he hadn't known - at least then he could pretend they might find themselves outside Number four, Privet Drive. At least when he was younger, when he hadn't known - at least there might have been a chance.

But that chance was gone - it had died long ago, along with Harry's hope to so much as see them, if only for a moment. It wasn't something he thought about often - it was uncomfortable, after all - but it was a part of him. It was a part of him, and because of Voldemort, they were not.

Harry's palm curled into a fist. His skin paled from the pressure, his youthful magic churning violently within him. So lost in his thoughts, Harry did not hear the sound of the staircases moving, nor the sound of dainty footsteps approaching.

"Mr. Potter?" said a surprised voice.

Harry jumped slightly, looking up at once. He was in a hall he didn't recognize. It was plainer than most: the walls were devoid of portraits, the floors were not covered by rugs and the windows were not draped in curtains. Merely torches decorated the walls, their flames casting large shadows across the hall. A few sparse pieces of furniture could be found here and there, but nothing more.

Standing before him was Professor Baker. For a moment, her eyes went wide with shock - but a split second later they were normal again, leaving Harry to wonder if he had seen anything at all. Sapphire orbs narrowed in his direction, and pale pink lips parted as she began to speak.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just walking, Professor." muttered Harry nervously.

I knew I would get in trouble for skiving the feast.

"In the third-floor corridor?" inquired Professor Baker, her eyebrows raised.

Harry paled. He looked around, his eyes widening as he truly drank in his surroundings for the first time. He could feel the way the palms of his hands grew sweaty within his robes, and the way his arms twitched nervously as they hovered loosely on either side. He gently brushed his hands against the inside of his robes.

"I'm sorry, Professor." he said earnestly, "I didn't - I wasn't purposely trying to sneak into the third-floor corridor."

Professor Baker's head tilted softly to the left. Her lips thinned as her eyes latched onto him. Slowly her head turned, and she glanced between a grandfather clock opposite them and a wooden door a few dozen feet to her right. Her head tilted again, and Harry found her narrowed eyes boring into his own once more.

"You will have to do better than that." she said, a hint of irritation seeping from her voice, "Why, Mr. Potter, were you not at the feast?"

"I - I wasn't in a mood to celebrate." Harry muttered quietly, "Tonight's - well, tonight's the night. I - they - I don't really want to celebrate."

Professor Baker paused. Her left hand, which was wrapped around her wand, tightened further. Her eyes widened slightly, going unnaturally blank. When she spoke, her voice was kinder than it had been before - which, truthfully, wasn't saying much.

"I apologize." she said, her voice as smooth as ever, "I suppose I should have expected it."

"It's alright, really." said Harry softly, "I never knew them. It's - well, it's hard to miss people you never knew."

Professor Baker nodded slowly, taking a seat on the floor. She leaned against the stone wall behind her, gently tapping the floor beside her. Harry took a seat beside her, his back pressed against the stone wall. It was very cold.

"I never missed my parents." said Professor Baker quietly, "I never knew them either."

Harry turned to look at her, a question on the tip of his tongue.

"Half-blood." Professor Baker answered before Harry could ask, "Muggle father, magical mother. She gave birth to me on the evening of December thirty-first and died within the hour. My father never bothered to stick around."

"I'm sorry." muttered Harry.

"Don't be." replied Baker indifferently, "I'm not. It's those events that shaped me into who I am today."

"I know," muttered Harry, "I know. But sometimes I wonder what it would have been like."

Harry looked up. Professor Baker was watching him very carefully. Her eyes were narrowed again, but she didn't seem upset with him. A sliver of emotion sat far beneath her eyes. Harry watched as it slowly faded away, leaving her eyes as empty as ever.

That's new.

"Have you?" asked Harry, a sudden rush of Gryffindor bravery enveloping him, "Have you ever wondered what it would be like?"

"No." she said quietly, her voice detached once more, "No, I can't say I have."

Slam.

Harry looked up, his head turning to the right at breakneck speed. A door had swung wildly open, revealing a cloaked figure with greasy black hair - Professor Snape.

The man's eyes landed upon Professor Baker at once, widening as he noticed the boy that sat by her side. His lips thinned at once, his palms balled into fists.

"Good evening, Severus." said Professor Baker, the ends of her lips curving upwards, "Is something wrong?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." answered Snape, gritting his teeth, "There is a troll wandering the dungeons. Your assistance would be appreciated."

Professor Baker slowly rose to her full height. Harry followed her example. She made her way towards the nearest staircase, replying nonchalantly as she approached it.

"I shall head there at once." she said simply, "I suggest you escort Mr. Potter to his common room."

With that, Professor Baker vanished from sight. Professor Snape's eyes narrowed as he gazed in Harry's direction. He glanced at the wooden door to his right for a split second before storming towards one of the doors, not bothering to check if Harry followed. Harry quickly ran after him.

The pair returned to the Slytherin common room in silence.