Already halfway through the first book, largely thanks to the fact that I didn't waste time writing about Privet Drive. The upcoming years are longer.
A few of you may find this chapter slightly disappointing, largely thanks to a certain bit of backstory that is being divulged. It is one of the many things that makes this story what it is. It does not, however (slight spoiler) change the plot of the third year as much as you might think. I can't wait to begin posting that year; it'll be nice to see what people think of the slight change.
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
VI. Christmas in the Castle
"Clever, but you can do better." said Baker as she swatted Harry's spell away with a flick of her wrist. Harry just barely managed to jump out of the way as Professor Baker sent several spells of her own, all of which were far more powerful than his.
It was early December now; the fallen leaves were buried in snow and the Whomping Willow was more easily angered than usual. It was cold, most likely, judging from the way Harry had seen it shiver. Professor Baker had agreed with him, although she hadn't been quite sure; perhaps the tree had not been at Hogwarts when she had been a student.
Maybe it's just lonely. I can't imagine what it would be like to be alone forever.
It was a lie, but Harry pushed both the thought and himself to the side, just barely managing to evade Baker's jinx. He shakily rose from the floor, and a blast of silvery light flooded his vision. Harry spun through the air, falling to the ground with a soft thud.
"You were doing well." noted Baker a moment later, "You shouldn't have allowed yourself to be trapped so easily."
Harry nodded, pushing himself off the floor again. He gently brushed his chest, wincing slightly as he felt his body ache from the weight of Professor Baker's jinx.
First thing I'm doing when I get back to my dormitory is looking up a shielding charm.
Professor Baker's lessons were not at all what Harry had expected. Not that there had been many - this was only his fourth, after all - but it had been enough for Harry to at least get the gist of what he would be learning.
Dueling, Harry had quickly realised, was far more complex than simply waving your wand and muttering an incantation. He had tried it during the first lesson, and had learnt the hard way that it was quite ineffective.
The things Professor Baker had taught him were things he had previously overlooked. Things like being able to draw his wand faster, being able to dodge spells, and taking advantage of his surroundings - Harry had been practicing them all. As Professor Baker had said, it didn't matter how powerful someone was if they were dead before they could cast a spell.
Even if it does sound a bit grim.
But despite all his effort, Harry was a long way away from matching Professor Baker. He wasn't surprised, exactly; if Hagrid was right, Professor Baker was among perhaps the most talented witches in all of England, especially when it came to dueling.
But it'd be nice to land a spell every now and then.
But Professor Baker had always nodded approvingly at the end of each lesson, telling him he had come leaps and bounds each and every time. Harry doubted it, but he supposed Professor Baker knew better than him.
She's been nicer, too.
No, that wasn't quite true. She hadn't exactly been mean before - not really.
Just a bit cold.
But the ice in her eyes had thawed slightly, and Harry was eternally grateful for it. Even now, the ghost of a smile matted her features. That was something he'd never really seen when she taught her classes - only here, when they dueled in her office, did she seem even the slightest bit approachable. They had spoken of insignificant things a few times now, too, but Harry had not yet asked her about the Mirror of Erised, and he didn't plan to.
Best not to push my luck.
"It's almost dinner time." said Professor Baker, glancing at the clock that hung upon the wall opposite her, "You can finish with practicing quick spell casting - and you had better return to your common room before curfew."
"I will." promised Harry as he wiped the dust from his robes, "I've finished all my homework, I won't need to go to the library."
Professor Baker nodded approvingly.
"We'll spend the rest of our time practicing how to chain spells." she told him, "Certain wand motions flow smoothly with others, making it easier to cast those spells together quickly and accurately."
"Wouldn't learning nonverbal and motionless magic solve that?" inquired Harry curiously, "I mean, I'm nowhere near ready for that - at least not the first, anyway - but I will be in a few years."
Professor Baker shook her head.
"Think, Harry." she said slowly, "Why might that be the case?"
Harry did as she instructed. For a moment or two, his mind was filled with random phrases from textbooks he had read, but a second later he understood.
"It'd mean I'd have to use more magic." he said slowly, his eyes on the professor, "It would be a waste of magic."
Professor Baker smiled softly, nodding her head.
"Correct." she said, turning her back to him as she made her way back to her desk, "Granted, in a true fight it could save your life; your opponent not knowing your spell of choice is always a boon. But, for now, it is not something to concern yourself with."
She took a seat, opening a book at her leisure. After a few moments, she looked up at Harry, an eyebrow raised.
"Well," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, "carry on."
Harry nodded quickly, returning to work.
Grumble.
"And, next time, make sure you're not practicing on an empty stomach."
Harry's cheeks went red.
-(xXx)-
Winter break had arrived, and for the first time in as long as Harry could remember, he was enjoying the holidays. The Slytherin common room was all but devoid of life, for all of Harry's peers had returned to their homes. That was fine with him; he was more than pleased to have the place to himself.
Many hours had been spent relaxing by the fireplace, or perhaps staring through the oversized window and into the Great Lake. No one watched him from afar, muttering curses and insults under their breath. It was nice.
At least, I don't think the mermaids are insulting me.
Many other things, of course, had stayed the same. If anything, Professor Baker's lessons had become more challenging than ever. Harry was absolutely certain she was making up for the lack of homework he now had.
She even told me so.
It was for that reason that an exhausted Harry woke up on Christmas morning, his legs still sore from training. Dark green sheets fell from him as he sat up, the back of his hands pressed against his eyelids. Slowly he placed his glasses upon the bridge of his nose before pausing. Emerald orbs widened in disbelief as they roamed over the small pile of boxes at the foot of his bed.
"Presents." whispered Harry happily, shock prevalent in his voice, "I've got presents!"
Harry eagerly picked up the topmost parcel. It was wrapped haphazardly in thick brown paper. Harry curiously read the note attached to the top.
'To Harry, from Hagrid.'
Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it - it sounded a bit like an owl.
A second, very small parcel contained a note as well.
'We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.'
Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. Harry snorted, placing the note upon his bedside table.
The next parcel was larger in size - a box of chocolate frogs from Nott. Harry happily popped one into his mouth, ignoring the way it seemingly jumped in his stomach. He glanced at the chocolate card frog (one Nicholas Flamel) before carelessly placing it within the drawer of his bedside table as well.
There were only two presents left now. Harry picked up the first package, studying it carefully. It was very light. He unwrapped it, watching curiously as something fluid and silvery fell out.
Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. The material faded away as he rose it to his eyes, and within seconds, Harry wasn't sure it was even there. His mouth fell open as his eyes widened in disbelief. He had read about these, both in the library and within Emily's notebook. If it was what he thought it was, it was very valuable.
Harry cautiously threw the cloak over his shoulders before turning to the mirror. The insides of his dormitory stared back at him, though he himself did not.
Harry smiled.
Carefully he pulled off the cloak and seized the letter, which had fallen to the floor a moment prior. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:
'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Happy Christmas to you.'
There was no signature. Harry stared at the note blankly before pocketing it.
It's a shame I didn't get this earlier.
It would have undoubtedly made his trips to the Mirror or Erised much easier. But the mirror was gone now, and Harry knew he was unlikely to see it ever again.
Harry turned his attention to the final present. It was the smallest of the bunch - nothing but a small envelope. Harry gently opened it, pulling out a thin sheet of parchment.
'The Hogwarts Kitchens can be accessed by tickling the pear on a painting of a bowl of fruit. The aforementioned painting can be found in the corridor below the entrance hall. Enjoy your holiday.'
Once again, the note held no signature - only this time, Harry didn't need it. The neat handwriting was identical to the one that graded each and every one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts assignments.
Harry happily pocketed the note, turning to look through his window just in time to see the Giant Squid swim by.
I think I'll stop by the kitchens for lunch.
-(xXx)-
Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner.
A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the sole table in the hall; the rest of the tables had been pushed to the side, for there were very few people within the walls of Hogwarts during the holiday season.
Harry, being the only Slytherin at Hogwarts, took a seat in between Professor Baker and Fred Weasley. The boy, a mischievous third year Gryffindor with flaming red hair, seemed to have a fondness for pranks that lived up to Hagrid's tales; he and his brother had somehow managed to charm Flitwick's wizarding hat pink without the diminutive professor having realised a thing.
"It'll be fine," the boy had assured Harry, "He won't be mad. It's Christmas!"
Professor Baker, who had been close enough to overhear the exchange, merely rolled her eyes and looked away. Dumbledore chuckled merrily as he pulled a wizard cracker with Professor Flitwick, his eyes landing upon the professor's hat.
It was Harry's favourite Christmas yet, and although that was by no means an impressive feat, it warmed Harry all the same.
Harry fell asleep on the floor of his dormitory, a blanket wrapped around him as he peered through his window and into the endless depths of the Great Lake.
Happy Christmas to me.
-(xXx)-
Harry lethargically rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. His head stayed pressed against his pillow as he turned to the side, his eyes staring through the window and out into the Great Lake. He watched as a pair of mermaids lazily swam by. It would be a peaceful day, Harry decided, for it was the last of the year, December thirty-first -
Harry's eyes widened. He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the sheets he had accidentally pulled with him.
It's Professor Baker's birthday!
At least, Harry thought it was. It was possible he was wrong - perhaps it was the twenty-sixth (in which case it had already passed), but Harry was quite positive today was the day. Professor Baker had said so herself on the night of Halloween.
A few minutes later, Harry was rushing down the stairs two at a time, skipping the last few steps as he approached the Slytherin common room. He hastily grabbed a muffin off a nearby table (which he had saved for himself) before rushing out the portrait hole and down the dungeon halls.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was empty. Harry wasn't sure why he found it surprising - it was still winter break, and there were no lessons to be held for a few more days to come. Wrapping his robes more tightly around his shivering body, Harry made his way towards the office. The door was ajar, and Harry quickly peeked inside.
The office, like the classroom, was empty.
"Harry?"
Harry jumped slightly, turning around at once. Professor Baker stood near the classroom door, watching him curiously. Though her arms were crossed, she didn't seem particularly irritated.
"Was there something you needed?"
"No, Professor." said Harry with a shake of his head, "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."
Professor Baker's eyes twinkled in a way Harry had only ever seen Dumbledore's do before.
-(xXx)-
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." Hermione whispered back.
She, Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom sat in the Gryffindor common room, crowded around a rather large book. It was one the girl had found in the library - something that came as little surprise to the two boys.
"Listen," she said, placing a finger underneath a passage in the book as she began to read:
"'The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.
"There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).'"
"Bloody hell." muttered Ron softly, "No wonder Snape's after it."
"I d-dunno." said Neville nervously, "My Gran reckons Snape's the best Potions Master alive. He could probably make loads selling them if he wanted to."
"Yeah, but he couldn't make a potion that would stop him from dying." argued Ron, "And besides, he can't be the best potions maker out there."
He looked at Hermione and Neville, waiting for them to nod slowly in agreement. Hermione, however, shook her head.
"Neville's Gran is probably right." she told him, "I was looking through old O.W.L. records in the trophy room a while back - I'm serious, Ronald - and I found the record sheets for Potions O.W.L.s at Hogwarts in the last two centuries."
"And?" asked Neville timidly.
"And," Hermione continued, "He was one of only four people to get a perfect score on it."
"Four?" balked Ron, "Only four? There's got to be more, surely -"
"No, there aren't." said Hermione sternly, her nose held high, "Which is why you really ought to take your studying more -"
"What about the others?" asked Neville before the bushy-haired girl could pick up steam.
"Well, one of them was called H. E. F. Slughorn -" began Hermione.
"Horace Slughorn." said Ron quickly, "Dad told me about him, he was the potions Professor here until - well -"
"1981." muttered Neville blankly, "End of the last wizarding war."
Hermione and Ron both watched the pudgy boy with sorrowful eyes.
"You alright, Nev?" asked Ron gently as Hermione took the boy's hand in her own.
"F-fine." stuttered Neville, his eyes watering slightly, "The others?"
"Right." said Hermione, her voice wavering, "There was also A. P. W. B. Dumbledore - that's Professor Dumbledore, obviously - and an E. M. Riddle."
"E. M. Riddle?" asked Ron quietly, "Who's that?"
Hermione shrugged.
"I don't know." she admitted, "But she's talented, very talented. She's the only person in history to have gotten a perfect score on every O.W.L. - even Dumbledore messed up in History of Magic and Divination."
Ron's eyebrows jumped to his forehead. Even Neville looked up, his eyes wide with wonder.
"How've I never heard of her?" muttered Ron, "Surely people know about her if she managed that?"
"I think she died before she could really make a name for herself." explained Hermione, "There was nothing else in the trophy room about her, but she took her O.W.L.s in 1943. That was right around the height of World War II - you know it as the Global Wizarding War, I think."
"Oh." Ron sighed, sinking back into his seat, "That explains it."
"She probably died as just another casualty of some dark w-witch or wizard." muttered Neville angrily, his eyes still wet, "Just another nameless face."
Hermione watched him sadly, her hand wrapping tighter around his.
Whenever he's ready. Not now.
"I t-think we're missing the point." she stuttered, "The Sorcerer's Stone is the only thing that really fits. You both heard the name Hagrid told us by accident: Flamel. It makes sense."
"Yeah, it does." agreed Ron, "But why keep it at Hogwarts? Why hide it beneath Fluffy and the trapdoor on the third floor?"
"I don't know." muttered Hermione, "I don't know."
-(xXx)-
Harry watched from afar as the Whomping Willow shivered from the cold, a thick layer of snow falling to the ground. Despite January nearing its end, it was still the middle of the winter months, and the snow continued to fall. The clouds that lined the Hogwarts sky were a pure white, not a drop of blue to be seen.
For many, the harsh weather was an accurate representation of how they felt. The resuming of schooling, (and the homework that came with it) had already ruined many moods - nearly half the students were in the library these days, and almost none were there by choice.
I bet Nott's absolutely thrilled about that.
Harry, however, was almost up to date with his work. He was by no means proficient when it came to written assignments - he would never be on par with the likes of Hermione Granger, for example - but his ability in practical work had given him enough free time in class to make decent headway on his homework.
That, along with the tremendous aid provided by Emily's notebook was more than enough to get Harry through all the essays his Professors assigned to him.
Harry was finally beginning to make some serious progress with the notebook. It was dead useful, and although the instructions and notes might have confused others, they were simple enough to Harry. He didn't know how else to explain it - there was an air of familiarity to it, as if Harry himself had written it. It all just made sense.
Regardless of how familiar it seemed, however, even Harry was willing to admit that there were a few lines that he would be a tad bit foolish to cross. Testing foreign spells, for example, likely wasn't the best idea; he was lucky that only Nott had seen the jolt of electricity he had birthed in the back of Flitwick's charms classroom, and the boy had seemed more impressed than anything else.
Grinning slightly, Harry wrapped his robes tighter around himself, grabbing the edge of his invisibility cloak with one hand. While the seemingly ancient cloak was capable of rendering him invisible, it was by no means capable of keeping him warm.
Still, turning him invisible was more than useful - especially considering that he likely wasn't allowed to be out at the moment.
"Who is it?" called Hagrid several moments later as Harry wrapped his knuckles against the door of the wooden hut.
"Me - Harry!" said Harry quickly, "Hagrid, it's freezing outside!"
"Just one secon', I'm coming." Hagrid grunted. He hastily opened the door.
A blast of hot air came over Harry, who gratefully rushed inside. He pulled the invisibility cloak off from his shoulders before shrugging off his heavy winter robes, placing the latter on the stuffy armchair to his right. Fang, Hagrid's large yet lazy dog, wagged his tail slightly as Harry patted him gently upon the head.
The warmth of the room, which had previously been pleasant, continued to grow.
"Hagrid, why's it so hot in here?" panted Harry a moment later.
"I've got to boil - well," began Hagrid nervously, fiddling with his beard as he glanced at the fire. Harry followed his gaze.
In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.
"Hagrid," said Harry slowly, his mouth wide with shock, "What kind of egg is that?"
"Well," said Hagrid, sweating slightly, "You see, that there is - er - well, it's a dragon egg -"
"Dragon?" Harry nearly yelled, "Dragon? Hagrid, you live in a wooden house!"
"Hermione might've mentioned that." muttered Hagrid, humming as he turned to stoke the fire.
"Hermione's got a point!" sputtered Harry. He sank into the stuffy armchair by the door, watching with exasperation as the giant man sang songs of dragons Harry had never heard of.
There was no chance Hagrid would get rid of the thing, Harry knew that much. Hagrid had always wanted a dragon - he had told Harry himself the first time they had met. Harry shook his head with disbelief, folding his invisibility cloak with one hand whilst petting Fang with the other.
"Got yer dad's cloak then, eh?" asked Hagrid, watching as Harry stuffed the silvery cloak out of sight, "Yer dad and his mates used ter sneak into the kitchens with that all the time."
"My dad?" said Harry sharply, sitting up straighter in his seat, "You knew my dad and his friends?"
"'Course I did." said Hagrid, offering Harry a cup of tea and homemade biscuits (the second of which Harry ignored), "There ain't ever been a group o' troublemakers more infamous than Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew - 'cept maybe the Weasley twins, but I doubt it."
Harry was not at all oblivious to the way Hagrid had spoken. He had gone softer near the end - his finishing remark had been half-hearted at best.
"What happened to them?" asked Harry curiously.
"Blimey, Harry, I dunno if I'm the right person ter tell yeh -"
"It's fine." assured Harry, "It's alright, really."
"Oh, alright." sighed Hagrid, taking a giant sip from his bucket-sized cup of tea, "But it ain't pretty, what happened, I'm tellin' yeh that right now.
"Back aroun' the time when - when it happened - yer parents were on alert. They knew they were gonna be attacked soon -"
"How'd they know?"
"It was a war, Harry." said Hagrid sadly, "They were some o' Dumbledore's strongest supporters too, it was only a matter o' time before it was them."
Harry nodded, his palm balled into a fist underneath his tea saucer.
"Sirius Black was one o' James' best mates." continued Hagrid, "Like the Weasley twins, I reckon - you never had one without the other, 'cept for when they had detentions. They had a lot of detentions, mind yeh, so I dunno how much that means.
"It must've not meant as much as everyone thought." said Hagrid slowly, "Black, he - he sold them out, yer mum and dad. He told you-know-who where they were."
"What happened to him?" questioned Harry, his voice unnaturally firm.
"Worse than dead." revealed Hagrid, "He was caught a few days later, sentenced ter the dementor's kiss -"
"The what?" asked Harry, just barely managing to suppress his anger.
"Dementors - they guard Azkaban." explained Hagrid, "Horrible creatures, and a horrible place. The only Wizarding Prison in Britain. Worst place in the world, if yeh ask me."
Right.
"Anyway, the dementor's kiss is when one o' 'em sucks yer soul out." explained Hagrid, "Yeh become a shell of yerself, I reckon. That's what happened ter Black. Passed away a few years back, I think."
Good.
"And the others?" Harry asked, "Lupin and Pettigrew?"
"Pettigrew's dead too." said Hagrid sadly, "Killed by Black, they say. It's never been proved though, so I dunno fer sure. Died aroun' the same time as yer parents, he did."
"And Lupin?"
"Out o' the country." answered Hagrid, "He's bin gone for a long, long time. Has a disease, yeh see - had it for as long as I knew him, almos' couldn' come ter Hogwarts 'cause of it. Didn't wanna infect anyone else."
"So, they're all gone." Harry summed up, sinking back into his chair, "Three dead, one out of the country because he's about to die."
That's just brilliant.
"Lupin ain't about ter die." argued Hagrid half-heartedly, "Dumbledore's even tryin' ter bring him back to Hogwarts, get him to work here!"
Right.
Harry glanced back at the fire, his neck crooked uncomfortably and his palms still balled. The darkened egg glowed faintly upon the golden embers, a spark or two occasionally jumping off it. Harry watched it with unseeing eyes - the dangerous and highly illegal dragon was now far from the front of his mind.
Black, Lupin, Pettigrew . . .
He'd remember those names. He'd learn more, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Not now, nor tomorrow - probably not anytime soon, either.
But he would. Eventually.
Black, Lupin, Pettigrew . . .
-(xXx)-
Harry left Hagrid's hut an hour later, still thinking heavily upon what his giant friend had told him. His palm clenched painfully as he thought back to what he had heard.
Traitor.
Harry winced as his nails cut into his hand, drawing blood. Quietly muttering the incantation to the only healing charm he knew, Harry tightened his grip around the invisibility cloak before heading back towards the castle. The snow slowly vanished underfoot as he stumbled onto the main path.
"Bloody hell!" whispered a voice from somewhere in front of him. Harry paled momentarily, relaxing only when he remembered the cloak that covered him.
"What is it?"
"Look, footprints!"
Harry turned to face the voices. Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom had paused near the end of the path, staring at the footprints that lead from Hagrid's hut to the path itself.
"They're fresh." noted Hermione, her eyebrows hunched together in confusion, "But there's no one here!"
"M-maybe someone has an invisibility cloak?" muttered Neville, shivering from the cold.
"I dunno." said Ron, "They're really rare, Nev."
"We probably passed them on the way here." deduced Hermione, "But no one else visits Hagrid!"
"Nah, Potter does, remember?" said Ron.
"He seems alright." Neville muttered.
"He does." agreed Hermione, turning to Ron, "I don't think he'd tell anyone about the egg."
"Do you think Hagrid told him anything about Flamel?" asked Ron, "Or about the sorcerer's stone?"
Hermione frowned.
"He does slip up a lot, doesn't he?" she whispered, "But I don't see how that might be brought up in conversation - no, I don't think he did."
"That's good," said Ron, sighing in relief, "That'd be another problem to deal with, wouldn't it?"
Hermione nodded slowly, as did Neville.
"Come on, we'd better hurry up." said Hermione finally, "Best not to be late."
Harry watched the trio vanish into the snow-covered grounds, slowly making their way down to Hagrid's hut. His eyebrows were raised with confusion, a puzzled expression latched upon his face.
Flamel . . . he had heard that name before, he was sure of it - but where?
Shaking his head, Harry turned around, retreating back towards the Slytherin dungeons.
