Chapter Seven - Whispers in the Dark

The next day saw Harry at breakfast with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Spirits at the Gryffindor table were high with the addition of a new Seeker to the team, and the seventh years were beginning to discuss the possibility of beating Slytherin for the house cup this year.

Ron had even more reason to be pleased, since he had remembered to bring his bag down to breakfast. Between bites of food, Harry and his friends were discussing their next lesson of the day— Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"I'm so excited," said Ron, not for the first time that morning. "Quirrell is really powerful. Percy said he took the fifth years to the astronomy tower and flew off the side."

"We all saw that spell he used on the lake. I've never seen something so powerful in my life." Neville added.

Hermione looked frustrated. "I didn't see it. I was— my view was blocked. He must be powerful though, if he was able to subdue the squid so easily."

"It took him barely a second." Ron nodded. "I can't wait for him to teach us powerful spells."

"I don't think we'll be learning anything quite like that," said Harry, remembering the boring, stuttering classes from his first year. "From what I've seen in our textbook it looks like we're mainly learning theory and a few basic hexes."

Ron sighed and grabbed another pastry from a tray. "Still, I reckon we'll at least get to see something cool."

The fluttering of wings announced the arrival of the morning post. Harry had broken his longstanding habit of refusing to pay the Daily Prophet even a single knut, with a new subscription. For the last few years, there had been little point reading the senseless rubbish that they would print, often about him. Now, though, Harry had to start keeping an eye on things.

A paper dropped in his lap, quickly followed by a large folded piece of parchment. Having finished his breakfast, Harry picked up the parchment and began to read.

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry looked at the large scrawl with a fond smile. He showed the note to Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

"Want to come with me to visit Hagrid on Friday? He's really great. He picked me up from the Dursleys and took me— well he brought me to Hogwarts."

"I wouldn't mind that" said Neville.

Ron nodded vigorously, "Do you remember Hagrid fighting the squid? That was the coolest thing I've ever seen!"

"Hagrid brought you to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I mean I was brought here before Professor Snape took me to Diagon Alley."

"Professor Snape took you to Diagon Alley?" Ron looked at him with wide eyes. "And he didn't try to stab you down a dark alley or something?"

"Ron!" Hermione said, a cross look on her face. "Professor Snape is a teacher. There's no way he would harm a student." She turned to Harry. "I bet that was fascinating, having a teacher show you around. I had so many questions when Professor McGonagall came over with my letter of course, but she left rather quickly."

"No wonder," Ron muttered.

Harry frowned at him and Ron ducked his head. "It was fine," Harry reassured them. "He was helpful in finding the right things."

"Snape doesn't seem too bad," Neville said. Harry looked up at him, a bit surprised. Neville had always been a mess in Snape's class. His boggart had been Professor Snape.

"I meant to ask you about that, Neville." Hermione turned to him. "I understand with Harry, since he apparently met Harry before term started, but why did Professor Snape say he was confident you would know the answer to his question in class yesterday?"

Neville brightened. "Oh, that's because he knows we keep a greenhouse at home. He came over just before term started because he ran out of Valerian root and needed some for an important potion. Gran made me collect some for him."

Hermione looked part impressed and part envious. "I guess that makes sense."

Harry quickly penned a response to Hagrid and tucked it in his pocket to give to Hedwig later. He turned back to the newspaper in his lap, deciding to get started before classes.

Harry had just made it onto the second page, when a loud clatter of upturned dishes made him look up. A huge, distinctively shaped parcel had landed right in front of him.

"Is that a broom?" Neville asked.

Hermione reached for a paper tag attached to the brown packaging.

"It's got your name on it, Harry. Did they let you get one now that you're on the Quidditch team?"

Harry shrugged, but looked up to McGonagall, who was clearly pretending to be surprised at the parcel on Harry's table.

"I think someone got one for me," Harry smirked. He'd forgotten to expect this. It was going to be nice to see his Nimbus again after so long.

"Well unwrap it then." Ron said, looking at him with a grin.

Harry ripped into the parcel. Ron reached out and helped him stuff the packaging under the table.

"Wow!" said Ron, standing over the broom. The distinctive gold lettering shone on the side of the pristine polished wood. "That's a Nimbus 2000. They're the best brooms you can get!"

Harry admired the length of wood and bristle before him. It was a great broom. He was very much looking forward to playing Quidditch again.

"Hello firsties. Enjoying yourselves?"

Ron looked up warily as Fred and George sat down on either side of him and Harry.

Fred whistled, looking at the broom. "We hear you've made the team, Harry. Good to have you." He gestured to him and George. "We're the team's beaters, so you don't need to worry about any bludgers. We'll keep 'em off you."

Harry grinned. "Thanks. Think you could keep Wood away, too?"

Fred laughed, "He been on your case about training already? Honestly, that boy is obsessed."

George nodded. "But, he's the reason we've got a chance at beating Slytherin this year. No other captain spends as much time thinking up strategies, or planning training sessions. And now, with you, Harry, we might have found the missing puzzle piece. Wood said you caught Neville from falling in a straight dive. Impressive stuff."

Neville looked embarrassed and Harry shrugged. "I guess we'll see in November."

Hermione stood up, brushing down her robes. "We'd better get going, Defence class starts in fifteen minutes."

George reached out and picked up Harry's Nimbus. "We'll take your broom back up, Harry. We've got a free morning."

"Ah, thanks." Harry said.

Fred turned to Hermione. "You got Quirrell now? Have fun with that, he's an absolute legend. Best Defence professor we've had in years."

"So everyone keeps on saying," Harry muttered.

Quirrell was standing in the classroom when they arrived. He gave them a nod and a smile as they sat down at their desks near the front, since both Ron and Hermione were so keen. As Harry's classmates began to trickle in, Harry looked at Quirrell properly for the first time. He looked confident, with a straight back and an easy smile. He still had a turban on, and Harry was sure he wasn't imagining the slight scent of garlic in the room. This was clearly the same Quirrell, but why was he acting so differently? Was he still trying to kill him? Harry didn't know. Surely, if he did want Harry dead, why had he saved them from the squid?

"Welcome, first year Gryffindor and Ravenclaws. I am Professor Quirrell, your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." He sat down on the edge of his desk and considered them. "You may have heard rumours of my classes from yesterday."

Harry looked over to Ron who was almost vibrating in his seat.

"I can assure you, we will be covering some exciting content this year. However—" Quirrell looked at a few of them, his eyes meeting Harry's for a brief moment before he looked away, "you have something none of these students have had. Something that cannot be replaced by any number of exciting demonstrations. You have all experienced the Dark Arts in person, and some of you nearly lost your lives because of it."

Almost immediately, Harry could feel the atmosphere in the class turn. They were all remembering the cold of the Black Lake and the thrashing water and flailing tentacles.

"Some of you," Quirrell continued, "even managed to defend yourselves, and show extraordinary ingenuity in the process."

Harry could feel the eyes that were on him.

"Mr Potter," Quirrell called out.

Harry looked up. "Yes, sir?"

"Can you tell me what you did to survive the squid?"

Harry went cold. He looked around and saw the curious faces of his classmates.

He thought back to the Black Lake. After he'd surfaced from the first shock-wave, he'd had to use the cutting curse to get a tentacle off him, and later, after swimming and running away, he had to use the ascending charm to climb the cliff face.

"I swam away first, I suppose." Harry ventured, trying to stall.

"Yes!" Quirrell hissed, pointing at Harry and surveying the class. "He ran away, and that's why he's still alive. That is why I do not need to impress you with some superfluous display of magic like your older peers. You know what it feels like to be out of your depth, and to have nothing to defend yourself with."

Quirrell flicked his wand, which was suddenly in his hand. A wooden dummy, painted black, with a silver mask on its face appeared next to him.

"If a dark wizard or creature attacks you, no matter what you learn in this class, the best defence is to run."

"What if you can't run, sir?" Dean asked, raising his hand.

Professor Quirrell smiled. "Turn to chapter one of your textbooks."

Harry flicked his textbook open, landing on the first page of chapter one. He snorted.

Chapter One: Jelly-leg jinx and other related hexes

This Quirrell was certainly different from before. Harry glanced up at the turban on the Professor's head. There was only one thing that really mattered about Quirrell though, and the throbbing pain that was building in his scar suggested that that one thing was not different from before.

"Now, one last thing before we start. I do not want you to be distracted should this happen, which it undoubtedly will in our time together." He paused and looked at them seriously. "In my travels this summer I encountered some very powerful magic that left me quite injured." He held up his hands. "I am fine now, save the need of some therapy, and a stutter that afflicts me unpredictably. It has subsided over time and I hope that within the next few weeks I will be right as rain."

He smiled at them and Harry tried to understand what he was hearing. Did that mean that Voldemort had failed to take over Quirrell? He thought that highly unlikely, considering someone had likely already tried to kill him, and as far as he knew Quirrell himself bore him no personal grudge. But why, then, was Quirrell so different to before?"

"Mr Potter, a word please." Quirrell said over the sound of scraping chairs. It was the end of the lesson, in which Quirrell had made them practice the jelly-leg jinx on stationary dummies. Harry had held back, wary of drawing the Professor's attention, but it seemed he had failed.

Harry lingered, but stayed near the door. "Yes, Professor?"

"Take a seat, Mr Potter." Quirrell indicated to a seat opposite his desk with a wave.

Harry reluctantly moved over and sat down, watching Quirrell carefully.

Quirrell seemed completely relaxed. His stutter had come on about an hour into their class, and transformed him from the confident, impressive lecturer into a nervous, barely comprehensible mess. It had lasted all but five minutes before it vanished, replaced once again with the man that Harry struggled to reconcile with his memories of his first year Defence Professor.

Quirrell sighed and looked at Harry with a wry smile, "That was a fairly pathetic attempt at pretending, Mr Potter."

Harry's eyes widened.

"If you want to coast along, I'm afraid you'll have to do so in someone else's classroom."

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected that. Clearly his confusion showed on his face because Professor Quirrell laughed.

"Don't look so worried, Mr Potter. Professor McGonagall told me that you have a tendency towards hiding your skills. And I agree with her completely, that someone as talented as you cannot be allowed to waste away your talents for a reason so ridiculous."

He leaned forwards and looked Harry over with a serious expression. "A Patronus charm at your age…" He leant back again. "Not to mention what I have been told about how you avoided the squid, and distracted it in time for Professor McGonagall and myself to arrive."

Quirrell let out a long breath. "No. I simply can't let such talent waste away. Forgive me, Mr Potter, but I will be expecting nothing but your full focus and effort in my classes."

Harry simply nodded.

Quirrell reached underneath his desk and pulled out a smallish book with a black cover and scarlet lettering. He placed it on the desk between them. "I expect you to read this textbook, in addition to the work I give out in class. It contains simple, but surprisingly useful spells that will challenge you beyond the basic hexes the curriculum covers in your first year."

His tone turned stern, "I am trusting your maturity here. If I hear of you using any of these spells against another student, you will be in detention for a month."

Harry nodded. "Of course, sir."

Quirrell nodded. "Good. Now run along, and remember that I expect your full effort in my classes from now on."

Harry stood quickly, trying not to betray his eagerness to leave. "Thank you, Professor. I'll try."

Quirrell waved him away and turned to some papers on his desk.

Harry rushed to his next lesson, mind racing. He couldn't decide what to make of Quirrell. Perhaps Voldemort was trying to turn him dark? That seemed a bit ridiculous. Voldemort had never made any real attempt to turn Harry, except when he wanted something from him. Harry had no idea what he'd done to provoke this new approach.

He barely listened in Herbology, distracted, and a bit annoyed by Ron and Hermione's constant praise of their Defence Professor.

"I wonder what happened to him over the summer that could cause a stutter like that?" Ron mused, poking at a wispy plant that was poking him back with its leaves every now and then.

"He said he was going to therapy, too." Hermione whispered. "It must have been quite intense."

"I think its so cool how calm he is about it. I'd be so embarrassed if I broke out in stutters all the time," Neville added. Harry refrained from mentioning that Neville did break out in stutters fairly often.

Harry tried to let the frustration he was feeling drain out of him, but he was tense and couldn't shake the feeling.

"Why did he call you back after class, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Gave me a book to read, that's all."

Hermione sighed, wistfully. "You're so lucky."

Ron snorted. "I don't see how that's lucky, Hermione. He gave us enough homework as it is."

Hermione, of course, didn't agree.

Unfortunately for Hermione, and for Harry too, things didn't improve in that regard as they were packing up for their last lesson of the day.

"Mr Potter, stay behind for a moment please." Professor McGonagall shouted to him as he made his way to the door. Harry subdued a groan and turned back around. Harry had turned up to the final lesson of the day determined to avoid being called back yet again. He didn't have any explanation this time, he'd done the transfiguration straight away.

McGonagall waited until the last students left the room, and the door swung closed.

Harry took a seat.

"I am pleased to see you trying your best in my class today, Mr Potter, though I gather from Professor Quirrell that a small reminder was needed in his class this morning."

Harry looked at her, sheepishly. "Sorry, Professor."

Her stern expression softened. "I know it's a challenge, but I promise it will be worth the hassle in the end." She cleared her throat. "Now, I have some extra work I want you to do for me—"

Harry groaned, but stopped quickly at McGonagall's raised eyebrow. "I have a bag of matchsticks here," she said, placing a quaffle-sized sack down on her desk. "I would like you to practice turning matchsticks into needles for me every day this week. You may do so in the Gryffindor common room, or a spare classroom if you wish. However, I will be very disappointed if I hear you transfiguring matchsticks in your other classes. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded, brow furrowed. "Yes Professor, but why—"

"Why practice a transfiguration you can already do sufficiently?" McGonagall cut in.

Harry nodded.

McGonagall smiled, looking pleased. "How quickly can you transfigure a matchstick into a needle."

"Uh," Harry thought, "Maybe in about five seconds?"

McGonagall nodded. "That is your first piece of homework. I want you to practice your speed of this transfiguration, without letting the quality suffer. I expect a demonstration this time next week."

Harry nodded sullenly, trying to figure out how he messed up so badly to get all this extra homework.

"Okay, Professor."

"Don't forget the matchsticks." Professor McGonagall added, as she stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Harry standing there staring at the large sack of matchsticks with a resigned sigh.

It felt like hours since Harry had closed the curtains around his bed, but finally the whispering, yawning, and coughing had been replaced with silence and the occasional snore from the direction of Ron's bed.

Harry held a mirror in one hand and he tapped it with his wand. "Sirius Black," he whispered.

Harry's own reflection, lit by a ball of light hovering over his bed, was replaced, after a moment, with Sirius' own face, grinning back at Harry.

"Harry."

"Hello, Sirius."

"How are you doing?" Sirius asked, keeping his voice low.

Harry sighed. "I'm fine. How about you? Did everything go fine after the trial?"

Sirius smiled wistfully, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "Absolutely fine. I'm a free man, now."

Harry sat back against his pillows, putting his wand on the bed and holding the mirror up with two hands. "And Pettigrew was sent to Azkaban?"

Sirius nodded, smile fading. "I pressed Fudge to give him the kiss, but Amelia Bones said no."

Harry sighed. "At least he's gone for now."

"For now," Sirius said, face dark.

Harry, too, was thinking of the future they hoped would not repeat itself.

"If he ever escapes," Sirius intoned, "I'll make him wish he'd stayed put."

Harry couldn't bring himself to find room for mercy this time. If he ever met Pettigrew again, he'd not hold back either.

"Let's not waste time on that wretched creature any longer," Sirius said. "I'm finally free, thanks to you. That's something I'll forever be grateful for."

Harry smiled again. "You deserve it, Sirius."

Sirius smiled at him fondly. "You're just like your dad, you know. He was never one to hold a grudge, no matter how stupid I could be sometimes."

Harry frowned, "Why would I hold a grudge against you?"

Sirius looked away, pain dancing across the shadows that highlighted his face. "I shouldn't have left you, Harry. I shouldn't have gone after Pettigrew. Twelve years was the price I paid, but you paid that price too." He chuckled weakly. "I know the Dursleys might not be quite as bad as Dementors, but you were just a child. You deserved a home with people who loved you. I—"

"No, Sirius." Harry shook the mirror, as if to shake Sirius himself. "I don't care about that. Pettigrew is the one who got my parents murdered, and Pettigrew is the one who framed you. All that matters is that you're free now, forget the Dursleys. Now that you're free I will have a home. We'll have a home, together, I mean."

Sirius looked at Harry intently as he spoke. Harry had to look away in the end, at the intensity of the unfamiliar expression.

"You're right, Harry. I'm always impressed by your wisdom. You certainly inherited the best of both your parents." Sirius' smile turned grim. "However, I am not looking forward to all the work this blasted house is going to need to make it into a home."

Harry felt bad for Sirius. He was free, but like during Harry's fifth year, it seemed that Grimmauld Place was its own kind of prison for his godfather.

"Well why don't we just find somewhere else then?" Harry asked.

Sirius looked at him, puzzled. "What, move out of Grimmauld Place?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Sirius frowned. "Well, it's very well protected. Dumbledore spoke to me about the importance of providing you with a well warded place."

"Well can't we just buy somewhere else that's already warded? Or, I don't know, can't we just pay someone like Bill to put up some new ones? Ask Dumbledore if you really want, I don't care. I just don't want to live in Grimmauld Place, if we can help it."

Sirius was still frowning, but Harry could see he was considering it. "I suppose it could be possible. Worst comes to worst, I suppose we can just ask Dumbledore to put up the Fidelius again."

Sirius seemed to straighten, and he grinned at Harry. "I'll have a look into it, Harry. I think that's a very good idea."

Harry gave a relieved smile. He hated the idea of Sirius living at that horrid house without him all term. If Sirius could focus on the fact he was leaving soon, maybe the next few months there wouldn't be so bad for him.

Sirius interrupted Harry's thoughts as he cleared his throat. "Right, Harry. We need to get down to business before it gets too late. You need your sleep to keep sharp."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Where do we start?"

Sirius stroked his short beard with one hand. "Run me through what happened last time, again, I want to make sure I'm not missing anything."

Harry closed his eyes to think. It had been a good few years since his first year, and so much had happened. Some things, however, were impossible to forget.

"The first thing," he started, "was the Halloween feast. Quirrell set a troll loose in order to get the stone, but Professor Snape managed to head him off."

Sirius nodded, scratching something down on parchment. "Did he set it loose on you?"

"No," said Harry, "but we did have to fight it because Hermione was crying in the girls' loo. Ron had said something mean to her earlier and she'd been there the whole day. We ran from the Great Hall to find her and it was trying to kill her."

Sirius nodded. "So as long as you stay in the Great Hall this time, you'll be fine."

"I can't just leave Hermione, though."

"Well maybe spell Ron's mouth shut, then," Sirius snorted. "Okay, so that one should be fairly straight forward then. What was next?"

Harry pondered for a moment. "Next was the Quidditch match in first term. Quirrell put a jinx on my broom from the stands, and Hermione accidentally stopped him when she set Snape's robes on fire."

Sirius smiled at that. "I knew there was a reason I liked Hermione."

Harry snorted. "We were convinced it was Snape back then. It was a right surprise when I found Quirrell down by the stone and not him. Anyway, that was the first thing that happened as far as I can remember, so we need to find some way of stopping him if we can."

Sirius nodded. "I have just the idea for that. I'll need to confirm a few things first, but, I'm certain it'll work out."

Harry nodded. "Okay, great."

It felt great knowing that he could trust Sirius to help him. It was so much better than having to deal with it all on his own. However, as much as he did love Sirius, he missed having his friends alongside him. He'd always faced these things with them, and it was hard sitting next to them everyday and saying nothing. Still, he'd rather deal with some pain than put them in danger.

Seamus snored loudly, startling Harry out of his revere.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"I'm alright," Harry sighed. "I was just thinking about Ron and Hermione."

Sirius smiled at him sadly. "I can't imagine how hard it is for you, Harry. I wish I could say just tell them, but—"

"No, I get it." Harry said. "It's too dangerous."

Harry tried to banish his thoughts and focus. "Now, Flamel's stone. How do we protect it?"

Sirius rubbed his face with one hand. "Yes, I suppose that's the next question. Where is it being kept again?"

"The third floor corridor on the right," said Harry.

Sirius shook his head and chuckled. "Only at Hogwarts. Well, I suppose we'd better think about that some more." He paused. "Is there anything else that happened before the end of the year we need to be careful of?"

Harry shook his head. "No, that's it."

Sirius looked thoughtful. "Is there anyone you can go to at Hogwarts if you need help regarding Quirrell, anyone that might believe you?"

"Only Snape, really."

Sirius nodded, looking displeased but resigned. He glanced away to the side. "Look, it's getting late now, Harry. You'd better get to sleep. We'll talk again soon. If you need me, just say my name into the mirror, I'll be listening."

Harry nodded and covered a yawn.

Sirius winked at him with a smile. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Sirius." Harry said, and was soon looking once again at his own reflection.

Harry soon drifted off in the silence of the room, unaware that someone else lay awake, mind racing at what they'd overheard.

The rest of the week passed quickly for Harry, who had decided to use what free time he had to start reading from the pile of books that Gringotts had delivered to his dormitory. He walked, three books under his arm, through the twisting turns of the castle until he found himself on the seventh floor.

He paused, thinking someone was there, but it turned out just to be a ghost.

"Hello," he nodded at the passing ethereal figure.

The ghostly lady paused, and considered him. "Hello."'

"Who are you?" Harry asked, struggling to recognise her. She was young and beautiful, but looked incredibly sad.

She sniffed. "People often call me the Grey Lady."

Harry remembered her now, she was a ghost often found hanging around the Ravenclaw tower.

"What do you call yourself?" He asked.

She blinked. "Myself? Well, I haven't been asked that in a while. Why should I tell you."

Harry shrugged. "People often call me lots of different things, so I know what it's like. I was just curious."

She watched him, as if judging, for a moment. "My name is Helena Ravenclaw."

Harry's eyes widened. He almost said 'the Ravenclaw?' but held himself back. Hadn't he just promised that he understood what it was like?

"That's a lovely name." He said instead. "What are you doing up here?"

Helena looked at him, surprised. "Are you not going to ask me about my mother's diadem like everyone else?"

"Diadem? Isn't that some kind of jewellery? No, I don't particularly care about stuff like that."

Helena laughed. "What my mother would say if she heard someone refer to her most prized work as 'some kind of jewellery'." She smiled at him. "I like you— what's your name?"

"Harry Potter." He said.

She nodded, "A good name." She tilted her head. "You know, you remind me of someone. A friend I made not too long ago. He had a good name, and he was polite too, unlike all the others." She smiled at him again. "If you ever see Tom Riddle, do make him promise to come and speak to me, it's been a little while. He always seemed a bit lonely, a bit like you, I suppose. Speak with me again, Harry Potter."

Harry was frozen as the ghost floated off, down the hall. Her words had hit him like a bludger. The reminder that Voldemort had once walked these halls as a student was shocking enough, even though Harry knew it was true, but what was much worst than that, was the fact that she had compared him to Tom Riddle. Harry scowled. The nerve of that woman.

Harry stalked down the corridor until he found the painting of the dancing troll. The other day, after his conversation with Sirius, he had received a letter from his godfather recommending that Harry find somewhere to practice some new spells. Harry had mentioned his desire to Sirius before coming to Hogwarts, and now that the end of the first week was approaching Harry knew that he'd better start now or he'd likely never get round to it.

Harry finished pacing and a wooden door appeared. He pushed it open and stepped in.

"Huh?" Harry said, confused. Harry had expected the spacious room that had become his go-to for the DA sessions last year. His scowl remained. He probably hadn't been thinking clearly enough as he paced before the room. He looked around. Piles and piles of random objects— books, furniture, shelves— packed a room that seemed to go on forever.

Harry put down his books at the entrance and wondered down the nearest path free of debris, holding his wand out cautiously. Harry eventually stopped, realising there was no end, at least not visible to him yet. He looked around, feeling the anger from the recent conversation bubble up inside him. He slashed his wand and a shelf erupted into splinters, filling the room with the sound of glass shattering and wood clattering.

Harry raised his wand again but stopped suddenly, distracted. His yew wand, which he rarely even thought about any more, felt like it was burning a hole in the pocket of his robes. He could feel it reaching out to him, like a second beating heart in his chest. He pulled it out and stowed his mother's wand away.

Harry fired another blasting curse, and the spell decimated a wooden cabinet with a loud boom. He held his arm up to block some splinters of wood and grinned. He raised his wand again, the feeling of power flowing through him. He cast again, and again.

Harry looked around. There was nothing but destruction within a thirty foot radius. Rather than feel better, if anything, Harry felt more angry. He shouted and fired off a flurry of curses as fast as he could. The sound of crashing and shattering overwhelmed his thoughts and finally Harry stopped when the billowing dust made him cough. His head was pounding now, and Harry just wanted to keep on destroying things. His foot caught on something. He looked down to see what appeared to be some sort of crown, or tiara. Harry glared at it, launching it away with a strong kick. Seeing it smack into a wall, Harry felt a bit better, the angry whispers in his mind receding.

He made his way gingerly over the piles of broken things until he was back at the door. He scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed at his outburst. So much for practising new spells today, he thought to himself. Maybe he should go for a fly, and try to clear his head.

Harry left the room, brushing as much dust off himself as he could, though he was sure he still looked a bit of a mess. The door faded back into the wall behind him and Harry began making his way back to the Gryffindor tower.

He had just reached the end of the corridor when he almost collided with someone coming around the corner.

"Mr Potter." It was Quirrell.

Harry froze, muscles bunching as every instinct told him to jump at Quirrell and throttle him. Nobody was here. Nobody would know.

"Good afternoon, Professor." Harry nodded, forcing himself to relax.

Quirrell kept walking, sparing Harry a curious glance before disappearing off down the corridor.

Harry unclenched his fists, which had left white marks in his hands from his fingernails. He let out a slow breath. He really needed to get a grip. It wasn't until he felt relief at leaving the seventh floor that he realised, his scar hadn't stopped burning the whole time.

Friday afternoon rolled around and Harry was feeling a bit better than the other day. As soon as Harry had arrived back in the common room, he'd switched wands once again, having not even realised he'd been holding the yew wand the whole walk back. The similarity of the feeling to his phoenix feather wand had surprised him, but not enough that it could overcome how much it reminded him of Voldemort's wand.

Harry had gone back to the Room the night before, tempted to try again, but the splintered chaos he'd left behind had somehow been completely reversed. Harry wandered around a bit after that, curious as to what might be in the room. It seemed to be a series of connected rooms, each one filled with different items. However, no matter how many rooms Harry walked into, the door back to the seventh floor corridor was always there, on the nearest wall.

After discovering a room that was completely bare, walls, floor, and ceiling scorched as if it had been set on fire, Harry ventured back until he found a comfy chair, and spent some time reading his mother's sixth year potions textbook. He had barely made it to the end of chapter one before he got too tired to continue.

Now that it was Friday, Harry was feeling a lot better. He'd gone for a fly that morning, and the fresh air and stunning views had cheered him up.

As Harry made his way down the winding stone path that led to Hagrid's hut, he considered his friends, who were walking in front of him. Harry felt very lucky that things seemed to have turned out similarly to the first time he'd met them. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and even Neville were fast becoming friends. However, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the three of them still considered him 'Harry Potter' and not just Harry, if the occasional whispering and surreptitious glances his way were any indicator. Still, it had hardly been a week, and they were only eleven, so Harry could easily forgive it.

Hagrid greeted them all warmly at his front door, ushering them in. The familiar smell of Hagrid's rock cakes greeted them as they entered, and Harry suppressed his mirth as Ron immediately grabbed one. Harry considered warning him, but thought, in the end, what was the point of having foreknowledge if not to amuse himself?

"Thanks for coming over t' see me, you lot," said Hagrid pouring tea into five large mugs.

"No problem, Hagrid. Thanks for the invite," said Harry.

Hagrid waved it off. "Now, tell me about yeh first week. Been quite busy I'd imagine, not t' mention the rough start."

"That was wicked what you did with the giant squid, Hagrid," said Ron, grinning.

Hagrid looked away bashfully. "Oh no, was just doin' m' job."

"It was very brave, Hagrid," said Hermione with a smile.

Hagrid chuckled. "You're very kind."

Harry looked down at his tea, and noticed the Daily Prophet underneath, which Hagrid was using as a coaster. He recognised it as the edition on the Gringotts break in.

"Did you get your errand done, Hagrid?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure the article wasn't lying about the stone being removed, but it was better to check.

"What's that, Harry?"

"Your errand?" Harry repeated. "You mentioned to me last month that you had an errand from Dumbledore."

"Oh, right." Hagrid stroked his beard. "Right, yeh have a sharp memory there. Don't be worryin' about that, now. Professor Dumbledore himself went and picked it up for safekeepin'."

"What's this you're talking about?" Hermione asked, sharing a look with Neville and Ron.

"Don't you mind that, Hermione. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel."

Harry closed his eyes, schooling his reaction. He should have known better than to bring this up around his friends. Hagrid just couldn't help himself.

Hermione's eyes brightened. "Nicholas Flamel. Who's that?"

"I mean it," Hagrid said, looking uncomfortable, "That's not for you lot to worry about."

Harry decided to change the subject. "How has your week been, Hagrid?"

Hagrid settled down, smiling gratefully at Harry. "It's been a great week, thanks, Harry. Apart from the squid, and those ruddy Dementors that are still hangin' around."

Harry shivered. He'd forgotten they were still here. He was glad none had interrupted his flying this morning.

As Harry sipped his tea, he enjoyed the cosy familiarity. Hagrid was having an animated discussion with Neville about the lettuce he was growing for Snape, and steam-rolled over Ron's reluctance to believe that trolls are misunderstood. When Harry's friends began ranting about their dislike of Snape, Harry settled into his seat, enjoying the fact that, despite all the strange and dangerous things that were happening differently, some things had remained the same.