A/N: Back to my favorite kind of chapters (those without any canon text at all!).
"ꜱᴀᴅʟʏ, ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀꜱ ᴀʟᴀʀᴍɪɴɢʟʏ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ. ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ, ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴀɴ."
Chapter Ten: The Pawn's Gambit
Friday morning meant Transfiguration, and for Ruby, a sickening feeling of trepidation. She'd stayed up all night trying to understand the match-to-needle spell, puzzling out alchemical formulas and taking note of what seemed like revealing information. Not that the staying up was that big of a deal — she wasn't sleeping well even when she did try to shut her eyes.
If only staying up late and feeling anxious didn't result in her chewing her nails down to stubs.
"It's easy!" Anthony had said. "All you need to do is take into consideration how much certainty is needed to dissipate the frequency of the waveform to about zero to collapse it, and focus on the exact alchemical—"
Well, that was where she'd stopped listening. Gemma hadn't provided much more useful advice, as she suggested to: "Just practice it more, most of our parents taught us very basic Transfiguration, and we didn't understand any of that alchemy rubbish the Ravenclaws and the Muggle-borns go on about. All you need to do is focus on what you want. It's quite simple once you stop overthinking it."
It didn't matter how desperately she wanted the match to turn to metal. It just wouldn't. But better to focus on that than... other things.
Let Pansy laugh at her at breakfast — "Ooh, look at the Squib trying to concentrate!" — Ruby didn't really care what anyone thought anymore. She just wanted to get the stupid spell right at least once.
"You want it too badly," someone said.
"What?"
Ruby's eyes flew open. Alastair was frowning at her from across the table.
"You look like you're wishing on a star with your eyes screwed shut like that — shut up, Malfoy, no one's interested in your puerile insults."
Malfoy slumped slightly, only looking a little contrite. The black eye that Harry gave him was just starting to fade.
Theodore Nott, who was currently doing his best to not get involved in Crabbe and Goyle's argument about the best broomsticks, surreptitiously glanced over, looking very interested in what Alastair had to say.
"You've done accidental magic, yes?" asked Alastair, lifting his own wand.
"A little," she said. It had been nowhere near as haywire as Harry's — or as reactive — but yes, strange things did happen on occasion. Soapy dishes somehow never broke in the sink when they slipped out of her hands, and even before the... incident, Uncle Vernon often found himself slipping and falling whenever she was angry. Aunt Petunia's secret vodka bottle sprung mysterious leaks when she ranted about their parents for too long.
"Recall that focus," Alastair ordered. "No, don't close your eyes — be quiet, you lot, you might learn something from this, too!"
Recall that focus. But what was that focus? Anger? Frustration?
"There is magic all around us," said Alastair. "Watch."
There was a faint, sucking sensation — it was like some sort of sixth sense, because Ruby couldn't touch it or see it or feel it — and the tip of Alastair's wand flared with a strange, flame-like light that slowly dissipated.
"Copy."
On about the fifth try, she got it — a strange, but somehow familiar feeling of focus building up behind her eyes, like the difference between being sleeping and awake, except this was something more than awake.
Before Ruby could puzzle this out, the tip of her wand flared strontium-red, like a crimson firework, then faded to nothing.
"See?" said Alastair, looking very pleased with himself. "Not a Squib."
In Transfiguration, Anthony managed to get to class on time, arriving with his essay on punctuality with barely a minute to spare.
"I nearly forgot it," he said breathlessly as he sat down next to Ruby. "Had to go back to my room for it, but the knocker asked me a really hard riddle — Etticoat, in a white petticoat, and a red nose; the longer she stands, the shorter she grows. What is she?" Anthony shook his head. "It was a candle, of course, but for some reason, I couldn't figure it out for the longest—"
"Mr. Goldstein," Professor McGonagall interrupted. "Must we all wait for you to recount your morning adventures before the lecture may begin?"
Anthony's eyes went wide.
"Sorry, Professor!" he yelped. "I was just excited—"
"Yes, yes," said Professor McGonagall dryly. "Now, if you could put that same enthusiasm into perfecting your technique on the match-to-needle spell, we would all feel much obliged."
"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson," she said, turning her attention to the source of the poorly-suppressed laughter, "this is your last warning before I take House points."
Evidently, the threat was enough to make both of them shut up.
Though Ruby wouldn't have expected it a few days ago, most of the lecture was beginning to make sense.
"Excellent work, Miss Potter," said Professor McGonagall, nodding approvingly at the pointy metal stick, although she hadn't managed the hole for the thread yet. "I see someone has been studying. However, I would still like you to come see me after class today. Six o'clock, at my office."
"Yes, Professor," said Ruby, managing a tiny smile. "Thank you."
"Five points to Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall as she turned to assess another student's work. "For perseverance."
After a surprisingly grueling double period of Potions and a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that was no more enlightening than the ones on Monday and Wednesday had been, Ruby asked Gemma to show her the way to Professor McGonagall's office.
"McGonagall?" asked Gemma, clearly surprised. "What does she want to see you for? Professor Snape's supposed to deal with Slytherin students."
"I'm not in trouble!" Ruby said, rushing to clarify. "At least, I don't think. She wanted to go over some of the stuff I didn't understand in class."
"Oh," said Gemma, softening slightly. "All right, then. Come on, it's just down the hall."
Ruby wondered vaguely why everyone here was insistent on walking so quickly as she hurried after Gemma, who was already knocking on the door and saying, "Ruby Potter's here to see you, Professor McGonagall," before Ruby herself was even a few meters down the corridor.
"Thank you for making sure that she found my office, Miss Farley," came Professor McGonagall's voice from inside of the room, and Ruby thought she heard the faintest hint of sarcasm, but she wasn't quite sure.
"Come in, Miss Potter."
Gemma nodded and left, holding the door open for Ruby. She stepped into the office — a cosy-looking fire was sputtering in the fireplace, and the sky, through the windows overlooking the Quidditch pitch, had just started to turn the deep violet of twilight.
"Take a seat," said Professor McGonagall, shifting a pile of parchment from the middle of the desk.
The office looked exactly as Ruby had expected anything belonging to Professor McGonagall to look — neat and orderly, without any of the odd knick-knacks teachers usually liked to keep on their desks.
Behind the desk was a plain bookcase filled with impressive-looking titles like Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration and An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, inscribed in gold lettering on burgundy or dark green covers.
"Here are my notes, Professor," said Ruby, digging around in her bag to retrieve them. "My handwriting's not that good."
"Hmmph. Thank you, Miss Potter," said Professor McGonagall, with what Ruby hoped wasn't disapproval as she took the notes.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the rustle of parchment. Ruby sat on her hands until they started to go numb to keep calm, and when that failed, she started tugging at the ends of her hair.
"Well, everything looks in order," said Professor McGonagall finally, handing Ruby's notes back to her with an implacable expression. "That is not all that I have called you in my office for."
"Am I in trouble?" asked Ruby, staring at her shoes sullenly. This was starting to become too reminiscent of primary school in Surrey for her liking.
"No," answered Professor McGonagall, but all the same, her voice was unnervingly serious. "Hagrid said that he found you and Harry alone in a park in London. Is that true?"
Ruby's stomach lurched.
She can't possibly know. Can she?
Oh, God, I can't let her find out.
I shouldn't have answered that question about the wolfsbane — they've all got to have figured it out by now!
"Yes, ma'am."
Her heartbeat had gotten so sickeningly, deafeningly loud — Professor McGonagall must hear it. She must know I've got something to hide.
"You were distressed when Hagrid suggested that you return to the Dursleys — so much so that he decided it would be better for you to stay at the Leaky Cauldron."
"Yes, ma'am."
Please, please don't ask the next question.
"Why did you run away?" asked Professor McGonagall. "Either you ran away, or, I shudder to think, they kicked you out."
"I don't want to talk about it, really, ma'am."
Ruby stared at her shoes again.
That came out rude. I shouldn't have said it that way.
In her mind's eye, she saw Aunt Petunia scolding her.
"I just want to help," said Professor McGonagall, placing her hand over Ruby's. The sudden warmth startled her, and Ruby nearly leapt out of her chair.
Professor McGonagall went very still, as if gauging her reaction.
"Did the Dursleys do anything to you and Harry?"
"I don't know what you mean, Professor," she said. Ruby couldn't help it — it was automatic.
"Girl, if that teacher starts asking where your brother got that bruise from, you tell her nothing. Do you understand me?"
"You don't want Dudders to get in trouble, do you?"
Ruby could see it more vividly than Professor McGonagall's office. Harry staring fixedly at the wall, his left cheek blooming an unmistakable mix of brown and purple from Dudley's fists.
"If our Dudley gets in trouble, that will make Aunt Petunia upset. And if Aunt Petunia is upset — well, you'll be seeing nothing but the inside of that cupboard for the entire summer. Mark my words, girl — you'd better understand."
She could even remember that particular show of what she now knew was accidental magic from Harry — all of Petunia's best plates shattered in unison.
"It's not fair!" he'd screamed. "Why don't you love us?"
"Don't you understand, freak? This is the kind of love that you deserve."
"Ruby?"
She shook her head.
She was in an unfamiliar place — no, this was Professor McGonagall's office. Ruby did remember coming here, with Gemma.
Professor McGonagall herself was staring at Ruby worriedly.
"Miss Potter," she said. "I've been calling your name for a full minute, and you didn't respond."
"I'm sorry," said Ruby. "Just remembering stuff."
She hadn't meant to say the second bit, but it had the unintended and welcomed consequence of worrying Professor McGonagall sufficiently for her to pat her hand, give her a pitying look, and tell her that her office door was open anytime that she wanted to talk.
"I won't push you if you are not ready," said Professor McGonagall.
Gemma's comment re-occurred to Ruby suddenly as she was gathering up her notes. She had to admit that something was strange about this meeting. Teachers never asked her about the Dursleys, so why was Professor McGonagall so interested?
"Why not Professor Snape?" asked Ruby.
Some strange emotion twisted itself through Professor McGonagall's features.
"I am not sure," said Professor McGonagall, composing herself, "that he has the necessary... resources."
Resources... what does she mean by that?
"All right," said Ruby, turning away from the door. "I'll come to see you, Professor."
"Goodnight, Miss Potter," said Professor McGonagall, smiling slightly as she turned towards her desk.
Ruby mumbled the same as she went into the corridor, carefully shutting the door behind her.
If only it was so easy to shut her eyes at night and get proper sleep.
There's got to be some magic potion or something people use to help them get to sleep, she thought.
Ruby remembered a Hospital Wing being mentioned, but it wasn't worth it. She'd have to explain herself, and there would be endless questioning.
No, better to stay up and work on her essay on the Curse of the Bogies for — ugh — Professor Quirrell's class. And maybe Sleeping Draught was something she could try herself; they did have their own potions ingredients, anyway. She'd looked at the recipe in the book before — it didn't look difficult.
However, she didn't think that the other girls would approve of her lighting a fire in their dormitory — not that she'd even learned how to do that yet. Maybe she could ask Gemma or Alastair to show her how, but even so, the potion would make the room stink suspiciously of lavender and Valerian sprigs.
Sighing, Ruby continued down the corridor, resigning herself to yet another sleepless night.
Hermione and Ron were bickering as usual. Harry couldn't imagine anyone could argue as much as the both of them and still get along most of the time, but the fantastic argument that they were having about whether or not Ron putting a frog in Hannah Abbott's hair in Transfiguration was a step over the line was ample evidence to the contrary.
Occasionally, one of them would stop and ask Harry what he thought of either of their claims. Not wanting to take a side, he would look up from his note-taking (or, his intended note-taking — he was supposed to be reading his textbook for the practical in Potions next Monday, but it had devolved into doodling) and nod slightly at the appropriate times.
"Girls!" said Ron finally. "They're so emotional about everything!"
The relative silence that ensued gave Harry time to ponder Ron's closing statement.
He didn't think Ruby was very emotional, but then again, he didn't know much about that kind of thing. She usually got in trouble at school for being rude to people, which made the Dursleys angry, and they usually got locked in the cupboard under the stairs when that happened.
Harry didn't mind the cupboard under the stairs, actually. Sometimes it was cold, very dark and dusty, and there were a lot of spiders, but he shared it with Ruby, and it was familiar. If there had been just the cupboard under the stairs and no Dursleys, he would have quite liked it, actually, even though it smelled a bit moldy. If the Dursleys weren't there, then there would be no one jumping on the stairs, which made all the sawdust come down and made the both of them cough and sneeze. Harry didn't even know if Dudley knew that it made the sawdust come down. He just knew that it annoyed them.
It used to make Ruby cry sometimes, actually. She would get really upset until he hugged her and made the broken toy soldiers that Dudley didn't want anymore say funny things to make her laugh.
He couldn't sleep in the Gryffindor dormitory, in that enormous bed with all its heavy sheets and pillows. He didn't deserve it, and it didn't feel right.
He didn't know why Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger followed him around and wanted to do stuff with him all the time, to be honest. Everyone at school thought he and Ruby were weird because Dudley said so, and as Aunt Petunia said, who would want to put up with freaks like them?
He couldn't fathom it.
"Why do you like me?" he asked suddenly. Harry hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Ron gave him a strange look. "I dunno," he said. "I never thought about it. I just like you."
"Oh. Okay."
Harry didn't want to tempt fate, so he didn't question it. It might make Ron stop liking him.
"Is that a dragon?" asked Ron, leaning over to have a look at Harry's drawing. "Why hasn't it got wings?"
"It's not a dragon," said Harry as he drew pointy teeth with the pencil stub he was holding. "It's a T-Rex."
"What's that?" asked Ron, looking very confused. "If it's not a dragon, what is it?"
Hermione snorted so loudly that both of them jumped.
"You don't know what a T-Rex is?" asked Hermione, aghast. "It's a dinosaur, silly. You know, like the skeletons that they dig up the deserts all the time."
"A dinosaur? Are you two making that up?"
Hermione slapped her hand against her forehead.
"Honestly, Ron, were you brought up in a cave?"
"Was not!"
And the bickering started up again. Harry tried his best to block them out as he began to shade in the T-Rex's scales. Eventually, when his eyelids started to droop, he muttered goodnight to Ron and Hermione, then went upstairs with the intention to go straight to bed.
But he couldn't sleep. It was pointless to even try to close his eyes and relax.
Quietly, Harry peeled the blankets away and slid off of the bed, pushing the heavy curtains aside and feeling around for his glasses. Maybe he could go sleep with Ruby; that would make it a bit more like the cupboard under the stairs.
She'd said that the Slytherin Common Room was in the dungeons. Harry could probably find it — he was really good at finding things. When Dudley lost one of his toys, Harry and Ruby had to find it before Dudley told Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, because they would get in trouble. When Dudley was upset, they usually got in trouble.
They still did even when Harry found Dudley's Mr. Potato Head behind the shelf in Dudley's second bedroom in only seven minutes (he'd never been able to figure out if Dudley hid it on purpose so that they would get in trouble), but they only got locked in the cupboard for two days, and at least, Uncle Vernon didn't hit him. He only got hit when he did magic.
Most of the time, Harry was expecting someone to yell at him at Hogwarts, but it hadn't happened yet, which was scary. When Uncle Vernon was quiet for a long time, his outbursts were usually worse.
He tiptoed towards the door and eased it open, slipping out into the hallway, then went quietly down the stairs into the silent common room. The fire was still crackling in the hearth, but Harry didn't stop to warm his hands, even though he was freezing.
He crept out of the portrait hole, his bare feet nearly silent on the stone floor. Though he made his best effort to be sneaky, someone caught him.
"It is rather late for you to be wandering around, Harry."
Fearfully, he turned around. The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was standing a few paces behind him.
"I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, staring at the floor and waiting for Professor Dumbledore to yell at him. "I couldn't sleep."
"There is nothing to apologize for," said Professor Dumbledore calmly. "Would you like to come to my office? I have something that will help you sleep."
Why isn't he yelling? I did something wrong.
"Okay," said Harry. "Thank you, sir. I'd like that."
He trailed behind the headmaster, still expecting the yelling to happen, but it didn't, even when they came to a strange, grotesque statue — a gargoyle, he thought vaguely — which stepped aside to reveal a flight of stairs when Dumbledore said 'Lemon Drops.'
Professor Dumbledore's office was by far the strangest room Harry had been in yet — even stranger than the Potions classroom. It was filled with what looked like thousands of funny objects, none of which Harry could guess a use for. There were things that whistled and clattered and trembled, but there was no pattern — just a cacophony of sound, like an orchestra of bizarre instruments playing blindfolded.
Upon the large, claw-footed desk, there was a large bird sleeping with its ash-colored wing over its head, much in the same way that Hedwig slept.
"Take a seat, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore quietly as he sat behind the desk. Harry obeyed, folding his hands in his lap.
"You look unsettled," he continued. "Did something frighten you?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "I just couldn't sleep, sir."
"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, peering at him from over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It shows. Professor McGonagall is quite worried about you, you know. She tells me that you have been dozing off in class."
I am going to get punished.
"I'm sorry for worrying you, sir!" Harry yelped. "I won't do it again, I promise—"
Professor Dumbledore interrupted him. "There is nothing to apologize for, Harry."
"Here," he said, pushing a mug of something that smelled temptingly sweet towards Harry. "My little sister always liked a mug of cocoa before bed when she was small."
Harry stared at him blankly. Professor Dumbledore nodded encouragingly, and Harry took a tiny sip of the hot drink. It was just as sweet as it smelled, and he felt warmer and somehow a bit safer already. He'd tasted a tiny bit of chocolate, once, but this tasted different. Flowery — herbal, almost.
"Now," said Professor Dumbledore, "why is it, do you think, that you have had trouble sleeping?"
"The bed's too big," said Harry. "Not that I'm complaining, sir."
"Too big?" Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "What sort of bed do you normally sleep in?"
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, then wrapped his hands tightly around the warm mug.
"I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, sir. It's a smaller bed than Dudley's, and me and Ruby share it."
He wasn't sure if he should tell Professor Dumbledore about running away, when they slept in the chairs in libraries instead.
"Why don't you sleep with your cousin, if there are only two bedrooms in the house?"
"There are three bedrooms. Dudley needs two. He puts the old stuff that he doesn't like anymore but wants to keep in the second one. And we don't sleep there because we don't deserve a bedroom."
"Why not?"
For some reason, Professor Dumbledore's voice was getting quieter and quieter, like how a storm got quiet before lightning struck the ground.
Was he going to lash out, too?
"Aunt Petunia says we're lucky to have a roof over our heads, sir. Since no one wants freaks like us."
"Is that what she calls you and your sister?" asked Professor Dumbledore.
He seems angry. Is he angry with me?
Maybe I shouldn't have said that.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Harry, there is no need to apologize!"
He flinched. I knew he was going to yell.
Harry tensed, waiting for the onslaught to continue. But strangely, Professor Dumbledore relaxed.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. None of this is your fault. Even I, for all my years and wisdom, did not fully contemplate the results of what I was resigning you to... I did not realize the true cost of keeping you alive, or else I would have searched for some other method."
Harry squinted hard. He was beginning to feel very, very sleepy. The last thing he remembered was Professor Dumbledore looking at him quizzically, as the office grew darker and darker, until it faded into nothing.
The next morning, he woke up to Ron shaking him — "We're going to miss breakfast, come on!" — and feeling unusually well-rested, if a bit sluggish. He obeyed and got out of bed to get dressed as quickly as possible.
In hindsight, he was lucky that it had been Professor Dumbledore and not Snape who had caught him out of bed last night.
He remembered what Ruby had mentioned when he ran into her in the corridor last night — or perhaps, she'd been looking for him all along.
"Alastair — he's one of the Slytherin prefects, and pretty alright, I think — really wants to meet you. Tomorrow, in Classroom 0B at one o'clock. He won't get off my case about it, so we might as well go."
He mumbled a quick excuse to Ron and Hermione — then followed Ruby out of the Great Hall.
"It's one of the unused classrooms in the dungeons," she explained as they headed down the stairs. "I had a look last night to make sure it wasn't anything weird; it's just a conference-room kind of thing with a long table."
"Conference room?" asked Harry. He didn't like the idea of being interviewed by a conference room full of older students.
But before he could voice this, Ruby was pushing a door open, and he was following her inside a room already filled with about seven or so students, who looked up expectantly as they went in.
One of the several students sitting around the table stood up and walked towards Harry, offering his hand in an overly-practiced gesture.
"Alastair Montague," he said, smiling down at Harry. "Pleased to meet you."
"Er, nice to meet you too. I'm Harry Potter."
The room erupted into polite laughter.
"Oh, I know," said Alastair, still smiling. "We were hoping to see you in Slytherin."
I very nearly was, thought Harry. But I don't think I would have liked it that much.
"Here, sit," said Alastair hurriedly, ushering him towards a chair. "You look uncomfortable."
"What gave it away?" asked Harry, before he could think about what was coming out of his mouth.
Everyone laughed again, but as far as Harry could tell, they weren't laughing at him — at least, he hoped they weren't.
Ruby, he noticed, looked just as tired as Dumbledore said he did. She was slumped forward slightly, and the girl sitting next to her — the other Slytherin prefect — whispered something, her forehead creasing in concern.
"Why am I here?" asked Harry, frowning at Alastair.
"You seem like a direct kind of person," said Alastair grandly, "and I like that, Harry, I really do. So, I'll get straight to the point and ask you what we all want to know. How did you defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby? We're all dying to see what a powerful sorcerer you are — but the professors won't say anything, of course, which I completely understand—"
"Look," said Harry as harshly as possible. "I don't know what you expect from me. I'm not a trained seal — I don't care about how I defeated Lord Voldemort, because I couldn't save my parents — could I?"
The other prefect glared at Alastair.
"He's right, Montague — how could you say something like that to the poor boy? Have you got any idea how he must feel?"
She made a sympathetic face at Harry, though he suspected that it was more for Alastair's benefit than his.
"No one cares, Farley," drawled the boy sitting on the other side of Alastair. "I'm not going to pass up a chance like this for sentiment."
"Sentiment?" snapped Ruby. "I don't know who you think you are—"
"—Quite frankly, I don't know why you invited the little girl, Alastair," said the same boy, sneering. He tugged on one of the dark curls hanging over his forehead, eyes downcast in faux humility.
Alastair's mouth moved soundlessly in confusion, his eyebrows drawing tight as he fumbled with one of his heavy rings. Harry could see the tension in his shoulders.
Clearly, this was not how he had envisioned the meeting going.
"Be civil, Hassan," he said in a strained voice.
"Chance like what, anyway?" asked Ruby. "What do you want from him?"
"Well, what else am I supposed to believe?" asked Hassan, leaning forward towards Harry. "You defeated the Dark Lord as an infant, then were mysteriously removed from wizarding society with no explanation. Clearly, Dumbledore thought you were going to grow up into a great Dark wizard."
He snorted. "Old fool that he is—"
The air in the room went cold, as everyone instantly stopped fidgeting.
"Do not talk ill of our headmaster," said Alastair, suddenly sitting up straight.
Hassan sneered at him. "There's no need to act so coy, Alastair — Dumbledore doesn't hear as much as he likes to pretend he does. It won't affect your chances at Head Boy — you're not a grass, Potter, are you?"
"He defeated Grindelwald in open combat," said Alastair quietly. Harry did remember Anthony and Hermione mentioning that. "I think there's ample proof that he's one of the most powerful wizards to ever walk among us."
"Power he squandered," Hassan countered. "I don't trust anyone who goes around pretending to be a — a—"
"Good Samaritan?" finished the other prefect — Farley. "So what if he is? Just because you never have good intentions doesn't mean everyone is as ill-minded as you."
Hassan gave her a mocking smile. "How half-Muggle of you, Farley. And Grindelwald was so in the wrong, wasn't he? Half of our problems are the fault of the ridiculous catering to Muggles that's become en vogue all of a sudden."
Ruby appeared to have gone to sleep, and the other students were absorbed in listening to the three-way argument.
Harry wondered if any of them would notice if he and Ruby slipped out.
"We're only curious, Harry," said Alastair quietly. "I didn't mean any harm, and if I made you feel uncomfortable, I apologize. It's just — you disappeared for near enough ten years, to live with Muggles, no less — people have speculated. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the most powerful Dark wizard in written memory, and you defeated him as an infant, that can only suggest one thing, in my opinion."
Alastair shrugged.
He seemed genuine enough. But Harry didn't think he was the right person to tell about the shadows.
What had he done, that night? Had the shadows risen from his fingertips to wrap around Voldemort's throat, choking the life out of him?
And if he had the power to defeat Voldemort, why hadn't he done so before that monster killed his parents?
"I'm probably a bit of a disappointment, then," said Harry, glaring at all of them. "I'm nothing like Voldemort. I don't want to be anything like him. And maybe if you lot took your heads out of the sand for even a second, you'd see that the last thing I'd want is to be like the bastard who killed my parents."
He stood up, taking in their shocked faces.
"I'm going to leave, now," said Harry, tugging on Ruby's arm, and she looked up sleepily. "See you."
Harry is now developing his canon-typical sass. A good night's sleep really does wonders ;)
Behind-the-scenes notes: Dumbledore did put Sleeping Draught in the cocoa, in case you were wondering what Harry tasted in the chocolate.
Strontium-red is a very exact (and pretty unique) red color that you get by burning strontium salts in a flame. It's a very pure red, kind of on the pinkish end of the spectrum. You get lots of pretty incredible colors in a flame test (potassium is a really nice lilac and copper is a striking green-blue).
It's likely that many of you have heard the candle riddle several times, as it's a pretty famous one, but let's assume it's not so common in the wizarding world. Unfortunately, every time I reference a Ravenclaw riddle, it's probably going to be a famous one.
I wanted to make a Jurassic Park reference so badly, but it didn't come out until 1993 :(