AN: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World Universe.

Chapter 7

Harry crossed his arms and stared across the table at Granger. For the fourth time that week, she tried to tell him that his essay was inaccurate and where to correct it. He knew it was wrong; he'd deliberately written it that way. After being scolded by the Transfiguration Professor, he debated doing what she'd said, but it wouldn't be in her class. He only liked Professor Flitwick, Madam Pince, and, grudgingly, his Head of House.

The annoying Gryffindor didn't seem to understand he wasn't interested or, more likely, she ignored his wants like she did with so many others.

"This isn't even right. The Avifors Spell can't be used with living components, only non-living. And this! The incantation isn't A-vif-ors, its Av-IF-ors," she huffed.

Harry looked from Granger to Simple Switches: A Beginner's Guide to Object Transfiguration by Dorcas Driftwood on the table, not a foot from her hand. Madam Pince had recommended the book, and it was invaluable. It was also why he decided not to work with Professor McGonagall.

"The Mudblood isn't even wanted by the Duffer-Who-Lived," a drawling voice mocked.

Harry looked over at Malfoy, who stood at the far end of the Library. He only had two of his gang. The big stupid ones that were more and more like Dudley every day. Draco wasn't the brightest either, judging by the looks of several older students. Harry frowned. He didn't see anyone for Malfoy to try to impress with his comment.

"Malfoy, you do realize that some of us are also Muggle-borns, right?" a tall Gryffindor said as he stood. "A little firstie like you might be in trouble, should you say, find yourself stuck on the roof."

Malfoy sneered, but Harry saw the Slytherin's body tense and his jaw set. Fear. Determination. "Do it, and Father will have you out of here faster than you can find a…"

"Yes, a Death Eater will get me expelled," someone else laughed. "Lost my mum to the Death Eaters. I wonder how your Father will feel when I get a chance at him," a beefy Ravenclaw said softly. His voice carried across the nearly silent Library.

"Probably afraid he'll get eaten," Malfoy said as he looked the older boy over. He turned and left.

"Prat," someone muttered.

"We don't claim him," one of the older Slytherins snorted. "He was an accident of the Sorting Hat."

Harry almost thanked Malfoy. His rude comment made Granger go pink, and she suddenly decided to sit at her table again. He opened the book and double-checked his essay and notes to ensure they were correct, not the rubbish he would turn in. Granger was brilliant. Her problem was that she wouldn't leave others alone and always wanted to show off her mental superiority. She would have been a great Ravenclaw. From what he'd seen, they thrived on that stuff.

That evening, Harry groaned as he looked at the calendar. Halloween would fall on a Thursday. Not only would he get little sleep, but he also had double Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. At least he had a quiet weekend to look forward to.

"I'm telling you, we'll win that Wizard's duel," the Weasley boy said from directly behind Harry.

One thing about being near the Gryffindor Table was that they were all loud. Well, not all of them, but the vast majority. Added to the fact that they had the Weasley twins, the table always had something going on. Usually, he sat on the other side of the table to watch the free entertainment, but today, Bones and Abbott took his spot. They were talking about Halloween, and he had no desire to join in.

"Can you believe it's almost November? Gryffindor and Slytherin," Green said to Finch-Fletchley.

"Ours will be in December; that'll be the better game. Gryffindor is going to lose," Lowe snorted.

Harry glanced up the table. He didn't see the point of Quidditch, but everyone told him it was brilliant. There were those, like Bones, Hopkins, and Harper, who didn't care one way or another about it, but most of the Hufflepuff first-years loved the wizarding sport.

"Oi! Who said Gryffindor was going to lose?" someone yelled from the next table.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I did!" someone farther up the Hufflepuff table declared. "Your Seeker can't find the end of his broom on the best of days."

"McLaggen is going to beat your team in February!" another Gryffindor shouted.

A shouting match started until Professor McGonagall appeared out of nowhere and stopped it. Harry rolled his eyes again and saw similar expressions on a few Hufflepuff faces. He had to admit. It was amusing to rile the Gryffindors up.

"Harry, we want you to join us in our study group on Saturday, then go out and enjoy the sun in the afternoon," Hannah said after the commotion died down.

Harry blinked at her. He knew they got together, and even a few older students helped them. Bones, Macmillan, Harper, and Lowe all nodded.

"He's not going to join us," Hopkins snorted. "Saturdays are the days he spends in the Library and the dormitory."

Harry hadn't realized they knew his schedule for checking out new books and his tendency to sit on the soft bed and eat while reading. His bed was softer than the chairs in the Library. He shrugged and looked at Abbott. "Why?"

Hannah gave him a flat look and looked at Susan. "Why? Really? Are you sure you're not a Ravenclaw? Wanting to do everything alone? We're Hufflepuffs. Teamwork is kinda our thing, Harry," she laughed. It sounded forced.

Harry nodded and wondered the same thing. He really didn't fit into any of the Houses. The others grimaced at him.

Thankfully, no one pushed for him to come. Harry wasn't the only one who thought he wasn't a great fit for Hufflepuff.

"Too stupid to be in Ravenclaw, not dumb enough to be a Gryffindor, doesn't have what it takes to be a Slytherin, and … wow, Potter, you even fail at being a Duffer," Malfoy taunted in History of Magic on Monday.

"Heard you turned down the other duffers offer to join their pathetic little club," he continued with a sneer at Finch-Fletchley. The Hufflepuff blushed but set his jaw.

Harry shrugged. He'd lost track of time and then didn't want to wander around the school grounds to find wherever the others were. Susan and Hannah hadn't said anything at dinner, but he could tell that she wasn't exactly pleased with him.

A Prefect handed Harry a note as he was leaving the Great Hall. It was from Professor Sprout, and she wanted to speak with him the next day before lunch.

Tuesdays weren't as bad as Thursdays, but his schedule still sucked. Transfiguration hadn't gotten any better when he kept handing in what the professor called "sub-standard" homework. Potions wasn't great, but at least Professor Snape seemed to treat all students with his hatred the same and didn't single Harry out anymore.

He knocked on the big oak door near Greenhouse 3. Professor Sprout's office was only just considered inside the Castle. The door to the left opened into the pathway to the other greenhouses, and the corridor to the right led to the underground Greenhouse 3.

It opened a moment later to reveal Professor Flitwick. He beamed at Harry, and Harry smiled back. The Charms Professor was amazing. Harry even gave him his real Charms homework, and the professor's corrections were brilliant. He didn't want to do it for the other teachers. Professor Flitwick even gave him hand-written notes on the Grease Charm that Granger had brought up in one lesson when Harry asked about it.

"Morning," Harry greeted.

"I quite liked your last essay," Professor Flitwick grinned. "Well done. You'll get it back tomorrow. I will see you then."

Harry waved and turned to see his Head of House giving him a strange look. He figured it was because he liked another Head of House and wasn't that good of a Hufflepuff. After considering the letter all night, he thought this might be why she wanted to see him.

"Come in, come in," the professor said with a smile. Professor Sprout's shoulders were set, and she stood straighter than he'd seen in class.

Anxiety?

Harry wasn't sure what was going on. He thought he might see anger or disappointment but not… whatever was going on. His Head of House went around her desk and bustled with something on a small hearth. He took his time to look around. Hundreds of books, plans, little nick-nacks that Petunia would have hated, and a big display case with darkened glass sat in the far corner.

"Would you like tea or perhaps juice?" she asked as she blew on a cup with steam coming from the top.

Harry shook his head and took the seat on the right. He noticed a large banner of a Badger, but it was different than the ones in the Common Room.

"My student made that for me some time ago," the professor said with a smile as she looked behind her. "I know you're wondering why you're here; I know I would be in your shoes," she continued with a smile.

Harry nodded slowly. She didn't look nervous anymore. The professor took a sip of her tea and smiled at him.

"I know you only speak to a few people, and even then, not often. I am not going to ask you to change that," she quickly said. Something must have shown on his face for her to say that. "I set aside time for all of my students and have checkups at least twice, sometimes more, a year. You can ask Miss Bones, Abbott, or even Mr. Macmillan and Cauldwell. I've talked with them all in the last week or so. All of my first years will have a similar talk, so don't feel like I've singled you out."

Harry hadn't remembered hearing about something like this and felt he was good at listening. It was possible the others didn't think it important, or they'd talked about it when he wasn't around… which, admittedly, was a good bit of the time.

"On the advice of a good friend, I will be honest with you, Mr. Potter," she continued after taking another sip. "You… and the entire school were not expecting the Sorting Hat to place you in Hufflepuff, is that correct?"

Harry nodded.

The professor's lips turned down for a fraction of a second before she smiled again. "I know our House is looked upon with… well, as leftovers, but I do not believe that. We have all the attributes of the other Houses, yet we work together and complement each other. It is what makes us stand out."

Harry nodded. He'd seen that. "Balance."

The professor's eyes widened a little before her smile widened. "No witch or wizard is an island. They cannot win a Quidditch match alone, nor can anyone grow without challenge. When we work together, amazing things can happen. The Hogwarts Express and the magical barrier between the Platforms in the Muggle world and ours were all done with other witches and wizards. Even those who cast the actual spells had help preparing them. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Star Charts to ensure the best time to perform the ritual and magic. Experts in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there was even a little Potion and Herbology work," she said with a wink. "It was a major collaboration of many witches and wizards with different skill sets. I dare say even our Headmaster, widely regarded as the greatest wizard since Merlin, may not have been able to achieve such a feat unaided."

Harry nodded. He could see how experts in each field of study would contribute to something larger.

"I will not pretend to know or understand what or how you lived before coming to Hogwarts. That is your story to tell or not. Filius will not speak of it, and I have a feeling that is out of respect for you," she said in a rush. Before Harry could process what she'd said, she continued.

"My goal for you and every one of my badgers is to provide an environment for you to thrive in. Do not let any other student tell you that you don't belong in Hufflepuff. You work hard, Mr. Potter. You help everyone, even the Ravenclaws in Potions. I have ears," she said with a smile at his surprise. "Yes… what you turn in isn't your best work, and we both know it. I'm not sure why, but it is your right and decision to turn in homework as you see fit. You will need to live with those decisions at the end of the term and, eventually, when you graduate. However, Madam Pince speaks very highly of you, which is a feat that few achieve. She really is the best at what she does, just like all of us professors are the best at what we do."

Harry gave her a look. "Professor Binns? Professor Quirrell?" he challenged quietly.

His Head of House's nose wrinkled. "Okay, not all," she said with a soft smile. "I will deny I ever said that," she quickly said with a broader grin. "Do you need anything from me, as your Head of House or even as your Herbology Professor?"

Harry considered the question. He shook his head. "No, Professor."

She nodded and looked down into her cup. She looked back up again at him. Her eyes flicked over his face, only briefly resting on the area where his scar would have been visible. He was almost out of Petunia's makeup paste.

"There are less noticeable mixtures to help hide your scar if you'd like me to find some for you. I… well, don't want to bring it up if you're uncomfortable. Does it hurt or otherwise bother you? Is that why?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. Yes, it hurt sometimes. Yes, it bothered him that it was a mark that made him famous, but the honest answer was that he was so used to hiding it that he didn't know if he wanted to stop.

He looked at his Head of House. She sat forward in her chair, eyes focused on his. He wasn't sure why, but he decided to tell her.

"Petunia wanted me to hide it," he answered slowly. His voice sounded croaky and not at all pleasant to him. It was another reason why he didn't like to talk. He sounded weird. "It does hurt, in Defense. It… doesn't bother me much… like having it."

The look on the Head of House's face was almost worth talking. Her eyes bugged out for a moment before she smiled; it was a huge smile, and it did not feel phony. Petunia had many fake smiles.

"I see," she said after a moment. "Would you like to continue concealing your scar?"

Harry considered the question. Several other students asked where his scar was, as it was a prominent part of his story in all those dumb books. Even Madam Pince had a few books, and he'd firmly told her they were all lies. The books were gone the next day when he checked.

"Yes, please," he said softly.

When he went to bed that evening, a box sat on his bed. He opened it and found a parchment on top with several steps on how to create a Tenebris Amica. The note said it would be a cream when mixed with boiled vervain. Within the box were containers with each ingredient he would need, along with a note to give to Head Girl Merriweather. She would oversee him making the solution to ensure he didn't accidentally create something dangerous to put on his skin.

Harry looked at the box and took a deep breath. His chest was tight. He had to sit down. The privacy curtain jumped off the wall and closed itself. It took a moment, but he blinked away tears that threatened to fall. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. It was the first gift he remembered getting, and it was to hide his scar, something Petunia hated.

Harry didn't ask the Head Girl to watch him make the potion. The ingredients stayed in the rather plain box on his shelf. He felt weird as Halloween approached. Hagrid found impossibly large pumpkins to scatter around the school and Great Hall in celebration. Harry found it amusing. What did witches and wizards dress up as? Muggles?

The answer was whatever they wanted. The Slytherins didn't dress up as anything, but a few of the Hufflepuff girls found cat ears, and one even transfigured real cat ears. There were some dressed as hags and even a banshee. Some of the boys dressed up as zombies, vampires, or something that interested them from any number of dark and mysterious creatures. A few students painted their faces or wore orange and black clothes.

The trouble-making Weasley twins dressed as mummies, complete with moving bandages, as they stiff-walked around the school. Classes weren't canceled, but even Professor Snape seemed to celebrate the holiday by giving his class a form of self-study where they were to read about the uses of Dragons blood. The homework wasn't all that hard either.

Harry was glad. He didn't think he could have focused on lessons much. The knowledge that his parents died on Halloween was odd. Hagrid's offer to talk about them seemed more tempting. What were they like? Were they good people? Did they die badly? He knew You-Know-Who searched for them and murdered them, but what actually happened? None of the books he'd read talked about it, and admittedly, he hadn't looked too hard.

He barely registered it was time to leave Potions until Daisy pulled on his sleeve a couple of times. It was clear he was pushing his luck because the Potions Master was staring at him. He quickly packed up and almost forgot his ink pot.

Instead of lunch, he went to his dormitory and lay down. There was no reason to go to Defense class; his head would just hurt more than it already did.

Harry woke with a start. His back and shoulders hurt as he slid off the bed. A wet, noxious smell assaulted his nose as he wiped at his face. At first, he thought Peeves, the resident poltergeist, had attacked him while he slept, but it was just his drool. He went to the bathroom and vigorously brushed his teeth.

Once finished cleaning up, he went to the Common Room to find it empty. He looked to the great clock over the exit. The Halloween feast would likely be in full swing. His stomach gurgled loudly. He'd skipped lunch. While he had food in his trunk, he decided real food would be amazing.

Thankfully, he didn't have to go up to the Great Hall. The Kitchens were much closer, and Macmillian had shown him how to get in. He approached the wide, broad, and well-lit portrait of a gigantic silver fruit bowl. After tickling the pear in the portrait, a large green door handle appeared.

House-elves were creatures between two and three feet tall, with spindly arms, oversized heads, and tennis-ball-sized eyes. With pointed, bat-like ears and high, squeaky voices, they reminded Harry a little of the goblins, except much friendlier. For one, they didn't happily wish murder on someone else or for their vaults to fill with plunder.

If he were honest, the house-elves bothered Harry more than he cared to admit. They were kept out of the way, only did service jobs, and didn't seem to have any freedom. It was a little too close to how Harry lived his life with the Dursleys. Pitts was the house-elf that Macmillan introduced him to.

"Ah, a hungry student," a deep voice greeted, quite unlike most of the other house-elves.

"Yes, ah… do you have anything left over? I… well overslept."

The portly house-elf with smaller-than average protruding eyes and a clean tea-towel robe nodded. "We always have food."

Harry got to choose what he wanted from a wide selection of dishes. Several times, a house-elf would put a plate or dish on one of the four tables identical to the one upstairs in the Great Hall. It would vanish a moment later.

The Kitchens itself was a marvel. What looked like fifty or more house-elves worked together, using magic without a wand, to make food, clean used dishes, stoke fires, and prepare for the next wave of food to be sent up to waiting hungry mouths.

Harry thanked the house-elf who didn't give him their name several times and left as quietly as possible. Something boomed overhead. For a moment, he paused, food still in hand, looking at the ceiling as if it would tell him what made the noise. He peered around the wide corridor. Something banged hard on the stone to his right.

He didn't move and looked toward the enormous barrels that led into the Hufflepuff Common Room. A large... something was near the back corner. Then the smell hit him like a physical weight. It was a mixture of old socks and raw, stale sewage. The dark shape turned and Harry realized the thing, whatever it was, was as tall as the ceiling of the dungeons. They locked eyes, bright green to pale yellow.

The thing roared at Harry, spittle flying.

Harry bolted for the passage that led to the Entrance Hall. The creature's heavy footfalls echoed on the floor behind him.

Harry turned left and ran up the stairs as fast as his legs would go. He suddenly realized that he was leading the creature toward other students. As Harry reached the top of the stairs, he heard the thing hit the wall at the bottom. He turned and wished he hadn't. It was even bigger than he thought. Gray-skinned, ugly, and lumpy in several places, the creature had a massive club in its right hand.

Harry managed to fish out his wand and point it at the stairs. "Lub-ricus O-ob-ex," he managed to squeak out. The Grease Charm didn't work. He locked eyes with the thing. Instead, he pointed his wand at the thing's face. "Flipendo!" he cried.

A jet of orange light shot from his wand and struck the creature in the face. It bellowed and clapped a massive hand over its eye.

Harry pointed his wand at the stairs again. "Lubricus!" he cried, realizing he had forgotten the spell's second part after nothing happened. "Lubricus Obex!" he said again. This time, a dark sludge appeared on the first few steps and then cascaded downward for a few more steps. He did the Charm again, a little farther down.

Harry didn't wait to inspect his work. He bolted for the Great Hall just as the doors burst open, and people started spilling out into the Entrance Hall.

"WAIT!" he cried, throwing up his hands. A Slytherin Prefect sneered and shoved him aside.

"Potter?" someone said and lifted him off the ground by his arm.

"Creature! At the bottom of," he said just as the first screams started. Those in front bolted back towards the way they came. The students headed for the stairs got jammed up as they tried to understand what was happening.

A thunderous bellow from the stairwell stopped everyone. For a heartbeat, there was complete silence. Then someone screamed, and the entire student body ran away from the stairs.

"To the Great Hall!" someone yelled.

"Into the Great Hall!" another older voice boomed. Harry knew they'd amplified their voice with magic for it to be so loud.

Harry tried to move but at least half the student body was already out of the Great Hall when the call to go back inside happened. He saw the creature's head top the stairs. One of its eyes was red and bulged out a little.

"Flipendo," he cried again, but this time the creature was ready. His orange jet of light hit the club which thankfully bounced back and struck the creatures' head.

"Why did you bring a troll with you, Potter?" someone said. He looked over and saw it was Diggory, and beside him was the seventh-year Head Girl, Merriweather.

"On three?" another voice asked from near Merriweather. A black wand appeared between Harry and Diggory, pointed toward the troll.

Harry aimed his wand and took a deep breath.

"One, two, three!" Merriweather said, then whipped her wand downward.

He didn't have time to register what the other three were doing. He focused on the club, now raised high over its head. "Expelliarmus!" he cried as a red jet flew from his wand. It struck the club but did nothing.

"Again!" the voice called.

The other three spells hadn't done much, each impacting the troll's body with little to show for the effort.

"Aim for the face!" Diggory called as he sent another spell at the troll that Harry didn't recognize.

Harry tried for the club again. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said softly as he focused on pulling the weapon away from the troll. It worked, but not in the way Harry intended. The club rose just enough to slip out of the troll's fingers and then fell to the floor, rolling toward them. Thankfully, the troll seemed to be just as confused as Harry was. They both watched it roll.

He pointed his wand at the club. It was better to get it out of the way. "Flipendo," he said and watched his orange jet of light hit the club dead center.

Three spells hit the troll as the club rocketed toward its owner. The black wand between him and Diggory twitched in the corner of his vision. Harry watched in fascination as the club got tangled up in the troll's legs, the handle smacking the troll's knee. It bellowed in rage as it started to lean backward, overbalancing. Just when Harry thought it was going to fall back down the stairs, the troll wrapped one large hand around a gargoyle on the banister.

He pointed his wand at the banister and cried, "Diffindo," at the same time as Merriweather cried, "Bombarda!"

Six more jets of light flew from behind them and hit the troll at the same time that Harry's and the Head Girl's spells hit the banister. An explosion broke the stone railing, and the gargoyle split in half below the troll's hand.

The troll bellowed as it fell. Harry watched in amazement. Someone roughly pulled on the back of his robes. "It won't have died. Into the Hall, all of you!" Professor Snape said as he stepped past Harry and moved to the stairs.

"Sir, grease on," Harry said but was cut off when the Potions Master looked back at him. He sneered once and strode forward, this time a little more carefully.

Harry ran into the Great Hall with the other students as the professors fanned out in the Entrance Hall. Professor Sprout looked at Harry, shocked, but waved for him to go in.

"So… you found the troll," Diggory snorted.

"It found me," Harry muttered, his heart hammering in his chest. "Was standing outside the… uh… door," he said before trailing off. People were looking at him, but he wasn't sure he was supposed to talk about the secret entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room.

"Merlin's beard, are you serious?" Diggory said with a gulp.

Harry nodded. "Came out of the Kitchens," he whispered and moved away from the double doors, just in case.