Harry had moved to write his letter as soon as he got into the dorm. Flopping onto his bed, Amber hissed gently, waking up from a nap, then immediately moved to Harry's lap.
With the large snake enjoying his warmth, Harry got his ink and quill and started to write. The letter to Mr. Ollivander was first; a simple and easy letter asking him what information he had, before he moved to another parchment for Uncle Vernon.
Dear Uncle Vernon,
Things got a little… heavy here over Halloween. I'm sorry for not sending you a letter for October, but this letter is going to be quite a big reveal. There was a monster at Hogwarts!
I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but it was a Stone Troll, a huge magical creature that almost killed one of my friends! I managed to kill it before it could cause that issue, but because of that, everyone now thinks I'm some sort of prodigy.
All I did was try to save my friend! I'm pretty sure that it was only luck.
However, on our very first flying lessons, a different friend of mine almost fell and broke something! His broom, yes, we fly on brooms, seemed to fizzle out. The Professor in charge of flying said the brooms were on the way out; I'm hoping that something can be done so nothing like this happens next year.
I haven't been able to find anything new about what we discussed, but I did find out that there are methods to calm a person. The mediwitch in the Infirmary here has something called Calming Draughts, which make you calm even if you're angry or sad. However, when I looked it up, all the books I read said it had to be drunk, so I don't think the letter to Aunt Petunia was dosed with it or anything.
Other than that, there's nothing too new. Amber is doing well, and says hello!
Sincerely, Harry Potter, your Nephew
Harry blew on the ink then sighed. "I don't think I should mention anything about the Feral Shifting Syndrome yet. I don't want him to worry," Harry said softly, petting Amber.
§§Sssspeaker should not keep things from his brood.§§ Amber hissed, her tongue flicking gently. Harry nodded his head in response as he pet the ridges behind her eyes, making the serpent quiver in delight. "Maybe when it's dealt with, I'll tell him. I don't want to make him worried. He did say he was having a hard time at work."
§§Sssspeaker sssssshould let brood know he might not live passsssst the new year.§§
Harry shuddered at the reminder, dread creeping through his body and mind. "I-I… it won't come to that! I'll become an animagus. Just you wait! I'm not going to leave you, Amber."
§§Of courssssse not. Even if you become a tasssssty fox, I will still love you, little Sssspeaker.§§
Harry let out a laugh, but it quickly turned bitter, catching in his throat. Gently, he cradled Amber close, his tears falling softly onto her shimmering scales. Before long, the laughter dissolved into deep, gut-wrenching sobs, muffled by the thick curtains around his bed. His voice trembled as he whispered, barely audible even to Amber.
"I don't want to die."
It was the middle of the week and just after classes when Snape approached Harry. "Tryouts for the House team are this evening, Potter. You and Draco are to be there. First game is next week, and I will not be embarrassed by those worthless Lions."
Harry nodded as the Potions Professor turned on his heel, storming off with his robes billowing dramatically behind him. Watching Snape disappear down the corridor, Harry furrowed his brow and let out a small huff.
"How does he get his robes to do that, Draco? There's no wind," he muttered, genuinely perplexed.
Draco snickered. "I'm his godson and even I don't know, Potter. You'd have to ask, and I doubt he'd tell you his secret."
The comment made Harry chuckle softly as he moved to stand up. "Shall we be punctual again, Heir Malfoy?" Harry said in his faux-pompous voice.
Seeing the game Harry was playing at, Draco stuck his nose into the air and grinned. "Quite, Heir Potter. It wouldn't do to have our lessers wait for us too long."
The two locked eyes, their expressions carefully neutral. For a moment, it seemed like they might hold it together, but the facade crumbled almost instantly.
Both burst into uncontrollable laughter, their mirth echoing off the stone walls. "Where on earth did that come from, Potter?" Draco managed between chuckles, his usually composed demeanor utterly abandoned.
"I have no idea! I just saw you and decided to do it!" Harry laughed.
Waiting by the door were Neville and Hermione. Ron was still at the Gryffindor table for lunch, seemingly not caring about the group leaving the room.
"I can't believe you two are going to try for the Quidditch Team! If you get the Seeker position, Harry, you'll become the youngest player in a century!"
Draco huffed. "Well, Chaser is important too. And if I get in I'll be the youngest Chaser in two centuries!" Draco puffed his chest out in pride.
Neville leaned forward quietly, hands behind his back. "That's if you get in… I hear that Marcus Flint is a really tough team captain, and will do anything to win. Last year, Cedric told me that he broke one of the Hufflepuff Beaters' arms by throwing the Quaffle as they swung their bat."
"My Father says he's being scouted by a few talent scouts when he graduates. There's even rumors that he's paying off the Board of Governors to deliberately get held back a year so he has more time to attract attention." Draco said. "Besides, Longbottom, Beaters and Keepers are meant to be rough. Quidditch is the roughest sport in the wizarding world."
Hermione blanched at that. "I still don't understand why you two are even trying to join the House Teams. It sounds too dangerous! Besides, First-Years aren't allowed to own their own brooms!"
"We have special permission from Professor Snape, Granger," Draco snapped, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he glanced at Hermione. Since Halloween, his usual disdain for her had noticeably diminished, but every so often, something about her still seemed to get under his skin. It was rare, but Harry had started to pick up on the moments when she unintentionally struck a nerve.
"But still, it's the rules! You're not supposed to go against the rules."
That comment made Harry sigh and move to step in. He was about to say something, but they soon arrived at the side doors of the castle. With a push, the massive doors opened to reveal the long path to the Quidditch pitch visible in the distance.
The group started to walk, chattering about a few different things before Neville spoke up. "Will you be u-using the school brooms for the try-out?" Neville audibly gulped, obviously worried about the brooms that had nearly killed him.
At that, Draco grinned. "My father heard about the issues with the brooms—and the one that nearly killed you, Longbottom, was mine. The moment he found out, he pushed the budget change through himself. The school's getting brand-new Cleansweep 7s courtesy of the Board of Governors!"
Harry was happy to hear that. "Maybe we could take Hermione and Neville up sometime, now that the brooms are safe!"
Harry didn't notice Hermione and Neville both turn a ripe shade of purple at the thought.
Thankfully they arrived at the pitch before too much else was said where several members of the House were already gathering. Marcus Flint was standing in the middle of them, looking over. "Oi! What's a Ravenerd and Dufferpuff doing here?"
The demeaning names made Harry quickly look at Flint. "They're my friends and came for support. Is that not allowed?"
Hermione's brow furrowed with worry, while Neville looked as if he was considering bolting for the door. Sensing their unease, Harry raised a reassuring hand toward his friends. "Relax, guys. I'm not going to let him toss you off the Pitch or anything."
Even as Harry was speaking, Flint pushed through the small group and headed over to Harry. "Of course it's not allowed. They could blab all our strategies to the other Houses!"
Harry crossed his arms, looking up at the sneering fourth-year. "Like I said, they're my friends. They won't tell anyone. I'd stake my honor as a Slytherin on it."
Flint and Harry glared at each other for a moment, murmurs spreading through the crowded Pitch. With a great, heaving sigh, Flint pinched the bridge of his nose and replied, "Fine, Potter. But if any of our strategies are leaked, I'm coming for you, even if you are 'the greatest flyer Hogwarts has ever seen'" Flint said the last portion in a mocking tone and turned back to the assembled Slytherins.
Harry was incensed, but Draco grabbed his shoulder. "He does have a reason for it, Potter. Slytherin's not liked by the other houses, and they tend to target us. I heard some higher years talking. Turns out when the Captain from ten years ago let in some members of other Houses, they snitched all of the tactics they saw and cost Slytherin the House Cup for years."
Harry sighed, knowing he couldn't push the issue. "Let's just just get signed up."
The two boys hurried over, moving into the crowd as Flint walked over to a small table. A paper and quill were laid out on the table, with an inkwell set nearby. "Alright, we have the signup form here. Any who are trying to join the team, write your name and the position you want next to it."
The crowd formed a surprisingly orderly line to sign the papers, with Harry and Draco quietly making their way to the back. One by one, the line thinned until it was finally their turn. Harry scrawled his name, followed by Draco's swift, elegant signature. Once the sheet was complete and no one else remained in line, Flint stepped forward, snatching up the parchment with an air of authority.
"Alright, first up are Chasers! Draco Malfoy, Thomas Parkinson, Henry Crane, Jacob Slate, the four of you will be working alongside myself and our other Chaser. I will be watching you for how well you work with us, and how many goals you score against our current Keeper, Miles Bletchley. Let's begin with Henry Crane. Come get your broom and we'll begin on my signal." Flint made a gesture to a set of brooms atop a familiar-looking trunk.
Harry watched as a second-year boy hesitantly stepped forward to grab a broom. The kid looked tiny compared to the towering figure of Flint and the other Chaser standing beside him. The stark size difference made Harry wince in sympathy, but the boy seemed determined.
Flint raised a whistle to his lips and blew sharply, the sound cutting through the chatter of the onlookers. With that, the players kicked off the ground. Brooms rose into the air in unison, the second-year trailing slightly behind the older players but holding his own as they soared higher. Harry leaned forward, curious to see how the kid would fare.
The second-year didn't do as well as Harry had hoped. He seemed to be at odds with Flint, and the other Chaser seemed to have a hard time anticipating Crane's passes. After ten minutes, the four flew down at the command of Flint's whistle. "Alright, that was three goals. Next up is Draco Malfoy!"
Draco grinned and rushed to the field. He quickly got on his broom, not hesitating as he leapt up and took to the skies.
Draco started off a bit overconfident, but it didn't take long for him to settle into his role as a Chaser. At first, there was a bit of a learning curve as he adjusted to working with the other two Chasers, but once they found their rhythm, their teamwork became seamless. Draco's natural skill on a broom shone through as he executed clever plays, baiting the Keeper into lowering their guard and scoring with ease. The synergy between the trio grew stronger with each pass, and before Harry realized it, Flint's whistle blew, signaling the end of the ten-minute session.
"Not bad, Malfoy. Twelve goals. You're in the lead now." Flint smirked, obviously impressed with the blonde-haired boy.
Draco pushed back his windswept hair as he walked over to Harry, a wide grin on his face. "How was that, Potter?"
Harry sniffed, doing his best to mimic Draco's arrogant look. "It was alright. I'll definitely do better than you, Malfoy."
They managed to keep their faces neutral for a few seconds before two of them burst into a bout of childish giggles. The rest of those trying out for the team went up, but Draco's 12 goal score was unmatched even as the last tryout for Chaser completed.
"Alright then, Draco Malfoy wins the position!" Flint shouted.
There were some groans as Draco continued his wide, proud grin. "Was there ever any doubt that a Malfoy would be on the team?" The comment, instead of making the other Slytherins annoyed, seemed to make them pause, and then agree with the blonde.
Harry nudged his friend with a grin that almost matched his own. Draco smirked, "You'd better not embarrass me Potter. Don't you dare fail to make the team."
Harry elbowed his friend in the side, his grin turning into a laugh. "Not a chance, Malfoy!"
Next up were the Beater tryouts, where Harry watched as candidates tried to knock the Bludgers through the goals. It was a test of both their accuracy and their ability to corral the unruly Bludgers. Despite their best efforts, none of the hopefuls managed to land a hit that even came close to the precision Flint had demonstrated earlier. After a few failed attempts, the tryouts were called to an end, with the two current Beaters retaining their spots on the team.
Finally, it was time for the Seeker tryouts, with the Keeper position being skipped entirely—no one had even bothered to try out for it. Flint walked over to the group, clapping his hands together. "Alright, the Seeker position's simple. The one who catches the Snitch becomes the new Seeker!" Harry watched as a couple of other students mounted their brooms, preparing for the challenge. He followed suit, feeling a familiar thrill as his broom thrummed beneath him, its magic seemingly just as eager to begin as he was.
"Now… begin!" Flint opened a small box, and the glint of gold shot out of the box. Harry recognized the glint, same as he saw before, shooting after it. Harry's slight apprehension washed away as he took to the sky, noticing how the others couldn't really keep up with his flight. Harry felt that same freedom on the broom that he had felt before surge through his body and even through his magic. It was exhilarating, feeling like true freedom as he whipped around and started to search for the Snitch's telltale golden glint.
Harry watched the other three students—two second-years and one third-year—float around the pitch, their eyes darting in every direction, scanning for the elusive Snitch.
Harry closed his eyes and focused, feeling the magic around him. He felt the magic from the stands of the others watching. He could feel the signatures of the others seeking to become the Seeker. He felt Flint's magic, like a cold, stone wall, and suddenly… there!
Harry was off like a bullet. Shooting forward as the other students saw him move and immediately began the pursuit. Harry noticed the third-year kick the broom of one of the second-years as he went by, causing the remaining student to veer out of the way.
Harry could feel Mitchell Smith's presence behind him, the third-year's intent clear in the way his broom surged forward with purpose. Mitchell's magic felt rough, untamed, a stark contrast to Harry's own, almost like a forceful current pushing against him. His bulky frame was a direct challenge, and it didn't take long for Harry to realize the older boy wasn't just racing for the Snitch—he was deliberately trying to box Harry out. The weight of Mitchell's determined focus was unmistakable, and Harry braced himself, knowing he'd have to outmaneuver him if he had any chance at the Snitch.
A grin slid over Harry's lips as an idea came to him. Shooting forward, he suddenly turned and clipped the edge of the stands. The sudden close action caused the onlookers to cheer from the show of skill. Just as Harry thought, Mitchell chased after him with a fervor; not even realizing Harry was luring him away from the Snitch.
Harry dipped out of sight behind one of the stands. Braking his broom, Mitchell shot forward and looked around the area to try to spot where Harry would reappear. After a few moments of waiting, Harry shot from behind the stands and zipped towards the other side of the Pitch. Mitchell was too slow to react to Harry's sudden burst of speed. By the time he noticed, the gap between them was already too wide; no broom, no matter how fast, could close it in time. Harry's hand shot out, and with a steady grip, his fingers closed around the golden Snitch, the rush of victory flooding through him.
"And that's a wrap! The new Seeker is Harry Potter!" Marcus Flint's voice rang out from the base of the pitch, as Mitchell glared daggers at Harry from a few meters away. Harry couldn't help himself—he flashed Mitchell a smug grin, then took his time flying down toward Flint, savoring every second of the wind against his face. He deliberately took a wider, slower route, just to stretch out the moment a little longer. But all good things must end, and soon enough he had to land.
As his feet touched the ground, Harry spotted Draco charging toward him, a grin spreading across his face.
"Good show, Potter! I can't believe that Smith was so stupid as to let himself be tricked like that." Harry grinned at his friend's comment, a feeling of pride filling him as Draco slapped his back. He never noticed the angry third-year storm out of the Pitch.
Flint had explained that practice would be twice a week, on Thursday and Sunday evenings. Harry was a bit miffed at losing so much of his free time, but he quickly cheered up when Draco mentioned they'd be getting to fly during the practice.
"So don't worry, Potter. Practice isn't that bad, I hear." Draco said, as Hermione and Neville caught up to the two from where they had been sitting.
"Blimey, Harry. That was some incredible flying. But then again, you saved me with those same skills." Neville said sheepishly.
"I still think flying is dangerous and you shouldn't be doing it as a first year." Hermione said with a frown.
The four started to make their way back to the castle, while Flint remained to pack up the brooms and supplies they had used with the help of the rest of the team. As they walked down the dirt path, they saw the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest blowing in the wind.
"Harry, I've been thinking about the Heir stuff you and Draco keep alluding to." Hermione asked as they walked. "Where should I go to learn more about it?"
The question seemed to surprise Draco, and Harry answered quickly, "Oh, well, there's a ton of books. I have a few you could borrow, as long as you give them back before you leave Hogwarts. They were a gift from a friend."
With that train of thought, Harry found himself thinking about Mister Dark. What was he up to? The man had mentioned he'd be busy while Harry was at Hogwarts, after all.
Hermione beamed at the prospect of getting to read more books. "I'd love to read new books! When can you lend them to me?"
"I'll bring them to dinner tonight, if you're okay with waiting until then," Harry mused, peering towards the castle. As he did, he thought about a book that he hadn't gotten to himself yet; the book about Goblins. He needed to start reading that one tonight!
With his plans in place, Harry couldn't help but grin as he imagined the fascinating stories of the Goblins from the book. Neville, noticing the smile, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Got something good on your mind, Harry?"
"Hmmm? Oh, sorry, was just thinking about a new book I would finally have time to read tonight. I got all my classwork done, so I'm going to give a book on Goblins a shot."
Draco sneered. "Goblins? Those filthy creatures? Why would you care about them? My father says that they are dirty creatures that don't deserve any respect."
The comment about Goblins made Harry's eyes widen. "But Draco, the Goblins control all of the money of Wizarding Britain. Surely they have their own society and everything? So they can't be as bad as you're saying."
"Not all societies are meaningful." Draco snapped back. A hushed silence settled over them as they neared the entrance to the castle, their footsteps echoing softly on the stone stairs.
Once back at the castle, the small group went towards the Library. As they passed by the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Harry considered. "Let's go see if Ron wants to come to the library with us."
Hermione seemed like she wanted to protest, while Neville looked down. Draco sighed. "If you must, Potter. I'll be heading to the library and will wait for you there."
"I'll go ahead with Draco, Harry. I'm still angry at Ronald." Hermione said.
Neville moved to join Harry. "I'll go with you, Harry. Do you know how to enter the Gryffindor common room? Susan said that it's a portrait."
Harry moved to walk with Neville as the other two split from them, heading towards the library. "I am not sure. Was thinking that it was just up the stairs, right?" Neville gave a shrug, "I guess. We can always ask the portraits, I bet they'd tell us." Neville pointed at several of the portraits lining the walls, who were watching them.
Nodding, Harry moved to head up the stairs. The glittering magic of the castle's stone seemed to shift in Harry's sight here and there as they walked. After a few floors of climbing, Harry groaned. "How can the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws stand to be up so many stairs? At least with the Dungeons it's mostly flat, with only a single flight of stairs to get to the ground floor."
Neville panted as well, sweat on his brow. "Wish we could have taken some of those brooms from your practice." The comment made Harry chuckle. "Yeah, that'd be nice about now. Look, there's a large portrait up ahead. We should ask it if they know where the Gryffindor Dorm is."
Harry gestured toward a large, gold-rimmed portrait, its frame finely detailed. He stepped forward with a slight bow, a gesture of respect, as he approached the painting. Within the frame sat an overweight woman lounging on a couch, her eyes blinking in surprise at the unexpected formality. She regarded Harry with a puzzled look, clearly not accustomed to such politeness.
"Hmmmmm. It doesn't have a label. Let me try, Neville," Harry whispered as he stepped forward. "Uh, Milady, I pray implore you to grant us a favor. We are friends of Ronald Weasley and were wondering where the Gryffindor Common Room is. We wish to see if he would come with us to the Library." Harry said, carefully using the oldest etiquette from the book he had read. The painting did seem quite old, so she probably spoke in Old English or something.
The Fat Lady looked at Harry for a moment and then burst out with a rich laugh. "Oh my, I haven't heard anyone talk like that since I was a young girl! Heavens, child, you don't have to be that polite to this old woman. You've reached the Gryffindor Common Room. It's behind my frame. I am its guard and minder." The Fat Lady explained.
"Oh, that's great! Could you see if Ron's free?" Harry said, smiling.
The Fat Lady smiled and nodded in response, "Of course young man. Give me just a moment."
She disappeared through the side of her painting, leaving behind the empty frame. It was a few minutes before she returned and spoke, "I'm sorry, dears. It seems Ronald has already left with two of his friends to play some Wizard's Chess in the Great Hall."
"Oh, alright. Thanks anyways!" Harry said politely, disappointed, but at least Ron didn't tell them off. Harry was still worried that Ron was angry at him, after all.
"Anytime, dears. I wish everyone was as polite as you are." She smiled.
Harry turned back to Neville. "Well, seems Ron's busy, Harry. Let's hurry back down to catch up with Draco and Hermione." Neville said, moving to start heading down the stairs.
That evening at dinner, Harry moved over to the Ravenclaw table to give Hermione his copy of "Nobility and Customs of the Wizarding World". She squealed when she saw it.
Her roommate, Padma Patil, rolled her eyes. "Not another one. She's always like this with a new book. Now she's going to be gushing for the next week over it. Thanks, Potter," the tanned witch sarcastically muttered under her breath.
"Sorry, she specifically asked for it! I promise I wasn't doing it on purpose!" Harry sheepishly said, then headed back to his table. As he did, however, he noticed something odd as he sat down. All of the benches next to the Slytherin table seemed to be glowing with a technicolored twist of magic that Harry didn't recognize.
"Odd..." Harry muttered under his breath as he sat down, eyeing the bench curiously. He waited for a moment, watching the color of the wood shift beneath him, but nothing happened. Shrugging, he turned to his food, but just as he was about to take a bite, a surge of magic rippled through the air. The sparkles of enchantment flickered around the robes of the Slytherins, and Harry's eyes widened as a shout rang out across the hall.
"I can't get up!" Draco yelled, his voice filled with both annoyance and disbelief.
It was immediately after Draco's shout that the chaos erupted. Small orange pastries, neatly arranged in the center of the Slytherin table, began to tremble. Before anyone could react, they detonated with a loud pop, sending splatters of thick, soapy cream flying in every direction. The creamy substance coated the table with alarming speed, dripping onto the Slytherins' plates, their robes, and even their shocked faces.
The table, once pristine, now looked like it had been hit by a blast of magical custard, with soap suds clinging to the food, turning the once delicious spread into a soapy disaster. The Slytherins scrambled, flailing their hands and looking horrified, as if they were caught in some bizarre magical storm.
From the Gryffindor table, the two red-haired twins laughed. "Seems like someone's telling you to get your act cleaned up, you dirty snakes!" This prompted the hall to erupt in laughter, as Harry wiped some of the sudsy cream off himself. He noticed much too late that the cream seemed to leave a bright purple stain where he rubbed it off.
"My robes!" shrieked a fourth-year Slytherin girl, her voice high-pitched with panic, as Pansy Parkinson frantically attempted to brush the soap suds from her hair. But the more she wiped, the worse it got. The suds stained her hair a bright, garish shade of purple, and within seconds, the girl's face twisted into an expression of utter distress. She started to cry, her hands clutching at her hair as if she could somehow undo the damage.
Harry winced. He'd heard the rumors—how the girl spent nearly an hour each morning perfecting her hair in the Slytherin girls' dormitory, a fact corroborated by the increasingly irritable complaints of her dormmates.
The vicious laughter continued. Harry tried to grab more of the cream-suds off him, only to have it cling to his fingers. All the other Slytherins tried to clean themselves, some even using Scourgify cleaning charms to no avail; the cream seemed thick and resistant to magic.
Several more Slytherin girls had started crying, their hair now a bright shade of purple from the thick cream. Harry spotted Nott picking through the remains of the feast, clearly searching for anything edible, but it was all ruined. The group seemed especially miserable, their stomachs growling after hours without food since the middle of the day.
It wasn't long before Snape hurried over, flicking his wand at Pansy to attempt to help. Even when the Professor tried several different spells, the cream remained. He tried a few others with no luck, and soon, his face started to turn into an ugly, angry sneer.
"Weasley Twins, this is a blatant attack on my House! Fifty points from Gryffindor… each!"
Several of the Slytherin girls were attempting to stand up, but the charm on the benches prevented anyone from moving. One unlucky girl who had been sitting oddly on the bench had fallen over, her robes tearing down the middle and revealing her knickers. This only served to make the mocking laughter even louder.
Pansy was distraught now, trying to cover herself as she sobbed. "Ugly… I'm ugly!" She was saying between sobs.
Harry felt the long bench he was sitting on lift into the air.
"I'll help you bring the students to the Infirmary, Severus, and then maybe we can figure out the reversal charm for the benches, at least." Flitwick's small, squeaky voice was heard at the end of the table. Snape snarled and looked over at the Gryffindor table, before nodding to the Charms Professor.
Harry saw that all of the rest of the school seemed to be at the verge of passing out from laughter. Some of the second-years even seemed to be mocking Pansy, making fake crying motions with their hands. Harry felt himself get heated, his magic roiling within him. It felt like his magic wanted to come out, to take revenge, or to protect him.
Suddenly, the flicker inside him erupted into a full blaze. It burned through his chest, growing hotter with every passing second, a magical fire igniting within his core. His body tingled with its intensity, and the sensation only made the confinement of the bench feel more suffocating. He hated being trapped like this. All he wanted was freedom from the magic, from the burning that seemed to hold him in place.
POP
Suddenly, with a sharp, disorienting jolt, Harry vanished from the bench and reappeared near Professor Snape. The professor, already scowling, jumped in surprise, his dark eyes snapping from the empty spot where Harry had been sitting to the purple-streaked Slytherin beside him. Snape's glare deepened as he took in the scene, his lips curling into a tight, displeased frown.
"Potter? Explain." Snape said as he flicked his wand, Flitwick already floating off half of the Slytherin benches from the Great Hall. Snape soon followed with the other half.
Harry moved to catch up with him and quickly sputtering out, "I-I don't know, sir."
"I see. Perhaps it was accidental magic… your magic does seem to be rather… unstable of late." The Potions Professor said, as Harry walked with him. Not wanting to get in trouble, Harry simply nodded. In the back of his mind he was still fuming over the cruel prank.
That night, after four hours of constant work by the Charms and Potions Professors, along with Madame Pomfrey, to unstick the Slytherins, the students were finally freed. Exhausted, they were sent to bed while a meeting was called among the Professors.
Sweeping angrily into the meeting room, Snape's fury was apparent. It didn't take long for the other teachers to arrive. Once the final teacher sat down, Dumbledore called the meeting to order, Snape immediately stood up.
"I want those Weasley Twins expelled, Headmaster! They have gone too far this time. Parkinson took three hours to be calmed, and is still half-purple from the dyes they used! She needed TWO Calming Draughts and had to be specifically consoled that the dye was not permanent."
"Calm down, Severus." Dumbledore's voice slid around the room, accentuating and contrasting the Potions Professor's anger. "You know as well as I that there is no evidence. Whoever did it is skilled indeed, leaving no magical signature for us to base investigations from." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, peering towards the irate Professor.
Filtwick slammed a diminutive fist down on the table. "We all know they did it, Albus! Surely we can give them detention, or at least let us deduct House points!"
Dumbledore closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. He looked every minute as old as he was as he stood. "I cannot punish those it might have been, only those who we know are culprits. Surely you were able to investigate your own Houses? After all, they wouldn't have been able to do such a large scale prank without assistance."
Snape scowled, sitting back down slowly. "Young Mister Mitchell Smith was the one who placed the cakes on the Slytherin table. However, as a Pureblood, I am not allowed to question him under Veritaserum without permission from his parents or his own permission."
Dumbledore listened, his head nodding gently as he questioned, "And did the House Elves mention anything about the incident, Argus?"
The grizzled old squib spoke up from his own seat, petting Mrs. Norris on his lap. "They have no clue who it was, but they were quite happy about having such a huge mess to clean up. It almost made up for the fact the entire Slytherin table of food was ruined. I had them bring the Slytherins some snacks, but they will be hungry by morning. The Elves have stated that they will give a big breakfast in the morn'."
Dumbledore's eyes closed as he nodded, his hand moving up to stroke his beard. "Indeed, once more it seems the culprit has escaped punishment. There is not much I can do, without going against the Hogwarts Charter." The old man gave another deep and remorseful sigh.
Pomona Sprout spoke up. "Then all we can do is try to catch them in the act. I will have my prefects keep a careful eye out."
"And mine." Flitwick spoke up.
"And my own." Snape added on with a frigid drawl.
The teachers peered over to an exhausted-looking Professor McGonagall, who sighed, "I have been somewhat preoccupied with a situation with a certain student. It has been difficult to keep careful watch over my Lions. I will inform the prefects of Gryffindor House to keep their eyes open as well."
There were surprised mutters around the table as Professor Sprout spoke up. "Are you alright, Minerva? You've seemed exhausted for the past two months. Are you ill? Is there anything we can do to help?"
"No, as I just mentioned, something with a student has been occupying my time. I should have it resolved by Christmas, I believe." McGonagall gave a soft sigh as she leaned back in her chair.
Satisfied, Professor Sprout sat back, as Dumbledore called everyone's attention. "Since we are all together here, we might as well discuss current lesson plans, and save ourselves a meeting." The Professors agreed, and before long they began to discuss the current students.
"How have the first years been settling in? Let's begin with your thoughts, Quirinus." Dumbledore said, his gaze falling on the timid Defense Professor.
"I-I-I believe that the f-f-first years are d-d-doing as n-n-normal for their… l-lack of skill. Young M-mister Finnegan s-s-seems to be qu-quite talented with explosive s-s-s-spells."
"You mean how he manages to explode anything that he tries to cast on, Quirinus? Only Vincent Crabbe from Slytherin has worse control of his magic. The boy exploded four feathers in my class! Four! That's a record I hoped would never be broken," Flitwick said with a frown.
"Each year, more and more wizards are coming in with less control of their magic. I believe that we should look into communicating with their parents at an earlier age." Professor McGonagall spoke up, leaning forward.
As she spoke, Dumbledore's form towered over the table, the light behind him making his silhouette dark and terrible. "You speak of the Old Ways. I forbid it! Children should have time to be children. To enjoy their childhoods. Dark Rituals should NEVER be allowed to become commonplace amongst our students!" Dumbledore all but shouted, his thunderous voice booming in anger at the very suggestion.
"Professor, your views are-"
BANG!
Dumbledore's hands slammed down on the staff table. "My views are final as long as I am Headmaster of this school! The Old Ways created He Who Must Not Be Named, and I will not allow another to appear like him!" The old wizard exclaimed, the characteristic twinkle in his eye gone in an instant. All of the teachers flinched at the name, with Quirrell almost falling out of his seat.
"Now, let us return to better topics." Dumbledore said soothingly, the rage in his voice quickly subsiding into a muted calm. The other teachers agreed, as the topic turned to students that were excelling.
"Harry Potter is showing exceptional skills in his Charms class. He seems to understand the spells well, and some he even learned to do without the incantation! The boy is a natural, like his mother." Flitwick seemed quite proud.
"He does well in my class as well. The boy seems to have a nose for plants, and can identify them without even looking at them. He managed to save a classmate of his, Gregory Goyle, from picking up a loose Venomous Tentacula leaf left by a Third Year." Professor Sprout beamed.
Professor Snape rolled his eyes. "The boy is far too cocksure of himself and seems to cause chaos in every Potions class he is in. However, I do admit he does quite well with the bookwork and I must mention he is quick to turn to books when he does something wrong. His habit appears to be that he should make an effort to be sure that a mistake is not repeated." Snape's upper lip twitched, a half-sneer on his face.
"P-p-pity… P-P-potter s-shows n-no such s-skill in m-my cl-class. P-perhaps h-he has no ap-aptitude for Defense." Quirrell spoke up, touching a finger to his chin contemplatively.
"In my class, he does adequately." McGonagall spoke up. "He is not anywhere near as good as his father, leading me to believe he takes more after his Mother than he." McGonagall frowned at that, giving a sigh.
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, seemingly lost in thought for a second before speaking, "Do you believe that the boy needs further instruction, Minerva, Quirinus? It is strange that he excels in most classes, but not in Defense or Transfiguration."
"I-I s-s-see no n-need to g-g-give the boy s-s-special t-t-treatment." Quirrell stammered out.
McGonagall nodded in agreement before adding, "I do not believe that Harry needs it. He seems distracted for now; I believe after the New Year's we may see a marked improvement in my class."
"Very well." Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling once more as he gazed over the teacher's table. "To finish this monthly meeting, I will state that the funding Professor Hooch extorted from the Board has finally arrived, allowing the Quidditch Teams to finally begin their tryouts. A fleet of forty Cleansweep Sevens has been provided to the school, and were used today by the Slytherin Team. And the others will be doing the same over the next week or two. I believe many of them are quite happy to hear that the suspension is over."
The Professors clapped, as Madame Hooch stood up. "As I said in last month's meeting, it's all thanks to Potter and Longbottom. Because of their stunt and the fact Longbottom was on a broom used by Malfoy the previous day, it showed several of the richer purebloods that their heirs were at risk due to penny pinching."
"Indeed. And as mentioned last month, Potter and Longbottom have established a Life Debt. Due to Mister Potter's selflessness with the Troll, I believe he may have also formed one with the Granger child." Dumbledore's eyes closed, as he clasped his hands together morosely; his comment caused surprised murmurs around the table.
"At the end of the year, we will inform the guardians of the affected parties, as per the Pureblood laws. Until then, this gives me a good opportunity to mention about the attack on the school."
The room suddenly went quiet and serious, as the teachers looked downcast. "The Troll was a dangerous foe that was only dealt with thanks to the quick thinking of a group of first years. I managed to swear the members of the Department of Magical Creatures into secrecy as they left, after making sure they were paid for their wasted time. However, the news cannot be kept under wraps for more than a few weeks. I believe that once it is out, whether by the student's letters or a public statement, we will see a Daily Prophet headline about it." Dumbledore began, sitting up and placing his hands on the table in serious thought.
"Now, to mitigate the effects on our students, we will need a strict policy on interviews on the situation. Volunteers will be accepted, but no member of the Press is allowed into the school without express permission and an escort. We do not need any propaganda spread about our students, especially a certain green-eyed boy." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mirth.
The teachers nodded, looking amongst each other, with Snape sneering at the thought as Dumbledore continued. "As for the article itself, I will personally be writing a letter to the editor and instruct him to meet me at the end of the week. We will release the story ourselves to protect the children from baseless accusations." Dumbledore continued.
"Now, I believe that is all for this month. Barring any surprise happenings or any other large-scale pranks, I believe we can now adjourn until the first week of December."
The teachers all moved to get up, leaving in turn but Professor Babbling stayed behind.
"Headmaster, I wished to talk to you about Potter's innate skill with Runes…"