Chapter 14 – The Philosopher and the Fraud
"I've been thinking," Oliver said as he stood in line for the sweets trolley. "Practicing drills and whatnot can only do so much."
Standing in front of him in the line, Hartley Summers nodded, her shoulder-length brown hair bobbing with the motion. "Agreed, I was running out of ways to keep things fresh by last June."
He nodded enthusiastically. "Right? So, I was thinking we should run scrimmages between the teams."
"You want to create some kind of scrimmage alliance between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor?" Summers raised an eyebrow, her pale blue eyes shimmering with curiosity.
"Yes, but I was thinking we could get the 'Claws involved."
"And the Slytherins?"
Oliver grimaced. "Them too I suppose, but I'm not talking to Flint."
Summers laughed. "I imagine that wouldn't go over too well."
He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his lips.
"I'll talk to Flint, you get Samuels?" She offered before turning to the trolley lady. "Three pumpkin pasties and two sugar quills, please."
"Does that mean you're in?" Oliver grinned. She smiled at him, before rummaging in her coin pouch.
"Yeah. It sounds fun," she exchanged a couple of knuts for the sweets. Oliver quickly followed suit, exchanging a sickle for a bag of cockroach clusters.
The two captains walked down the carriage together in comfortable silence. Oliver opened the package and popped the tart sweet into his mouth. Summers sucked on the end of a sugar quill, humming a tune that Oliver was sure would get stuck in his head.
"Sugar quill?"
He looked down to see her holding the sweet out to him.
"Uh, sure," he took the quill from her hand. "Thanks. Cockroach cluster?"
"Never had it before. I'll try it, I guess," She took a candy out of the bag and popped it in her mouth. Her face scrunched up with dawning horror. "Ew. Is that actual cockroach?"
Oliver laughed and nodded, leaning against the glass window of a compartment. She stopped and crossed her arms, glaring at him. He laughed harder.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you didn't know what cockroach clusters were. They're a classic!"
"Beats me," she shrugged, her lips quirking into a smile. "They're nasty."
He raised his hands in surrender, "To each their own."
Silence settled over the two before Hartley cleared her throat. "That's my compartment there – behind you."
Oliver pushed himself off the glass. "Oh, sorry! Apologise to your friends for me. I imagine they were a little traumatised seeing my arse pressed against the glass that whole time."
"I'll let them know to thank you for the show," Hartley snorted, slapping his shoulder as she passed. "See you around, Oliver."
He waved before turning away, whistling along to the familiar tune that, as he'd predicted, rooted itself firmly in his head.
He traversed the carriage, chewing on fudge flies and glancing through windows for interesting happenings. He stumbled across the compartment with his chasers and slid the door open.
"Ladies," Oliver grinned, leaning against the door. "Good summer?"
"You saw us two weeks ago," Alicia pointed out. Katie snickered.
"Aha, but I didn't get to see my lead chaser and the brightest witch at Hogwarts," Oliver rebutted. "Angelina, Hermione."
He tipped an imaginary hat in their direction. Then his eyebrows creased.
"Speaking of– where's Harry? Usually, he's attached to you two at the hip," Oliver jerked his chin at Hermione and Alicia. "Are he and the twins' little brother off having some alone time?"
Katie looked nauseous and Hermione looked mortified. Oliver facepalmed.
"I didn't mean it like that – get your mind out of the gutter, Johnson!"
Angelina flipped him a thumbs up but continued snickering. The laughter faded, and anxious silence settled over the compartment.
"We don't know where they are," Hermione worried her lip between her teeth. "I didn't see them on the train. I thought I'd wait for them, but Katie saw me sitting by myself and brought me here."
Oliver frowned. "I'm sure you just missed them. They'll turn up, I'm sure. You know how Harry is. He probably got himself adopted by a coven of vampires and is flying behind us as a bat."
Alicia shook her head and smiled wryly. "That's bloody stupid."
Oliver shrugged and grinned. "Try not to worry too much. Also, guess who I was just talking to?"
"I dunno, Cornelius Fudge?" Katie snarked. Oliver ignored her.
"The Hufflepuff captain," Oliver started, receiving groans from Katie and Alicia.
"We're not even at Hogwarts yet; can we leave the Quidditch talk for later?" Alicia begged.
"You're going to want to hear this, I promise." Oliver insisted. Katie sighed and Alicia resignedly gestured for him to continue. "Alongside our usual drills, we'll be having scrimmages against the Hufflepuff team – and if I can convince Samuels, we can scrim against Ravenclaw too."
"Scrimmages, huh?" Angelina looked impressed. "More game time will be beneficial, I'm sure. Great idea, captain."
Oliver preened, "I've been known to have those."
"Yeah, once every leap year," Katie said dryly, eliciting a round of laughter. Oliver made a rude gesture. "Oi! What would Aunt Mary say, you Blibbering Humdinger."
"A what?" Angelina guffawed and Oliver tried to look offended, though he was more confused than anything.
"A Blibbering Humdinger," Katie repeated slowly. "What, you haven't heard of those before?"
Hermione frowned. "I haven't read about Blibbering Humdingers before – are you sure they're real?"
Katie nodded and Hermione's frown deepened. Oliver knew his little cousin well enough to notice the subtle twitch of her brow – she was holding back laughter.
"Oh, yes," she nodded in earnest. "I read about it in a magazine on magical creatures. You know they're allergic to radishes? Apparently, in places where they're common, people wear radish earrings to ward them off."
Hermione nodded, and Oliver imagined he could see the gears turn in her brain. Then Katie grinned.
"Got you!" She cackled at Hermione's bewilderment. "Blibbering Humdingers aren't real. They're from the Quibbler – but everyone knows the Quibbler is just make-believe!"
Hermione's jaw went slack, then she whacked Katie with her book furiously. The older girl warded her off, giggling the whole time.
"I hate you," Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms angrily. Katie grinned wider.
"No, you don't," she countered automatically before frowning. Oliver looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Inside joke between Harry and I," she clarified, and Hermione's frown joined hers. Oliver sighed. Despite their best efforts, he got the feeling his seeker's disappearance would weigh heavily on the rest of the train ride.
"Cockroach cluster?" He offered to the two girls, and Katie shook her head vehemently. Hermione accepted reluctantly. He and Katie laughed at Hermione's nauseated expression when the peanut-flavoured coating wore off, leaving the taste of cockroach in the younger girl's mouth.
The rest of the train ride oscillated between tense silences and contrived attempts at levity. Oliver and the chasers greatly enjoyed Hermione's reaction to seeing the self-pulling carriages for the first time. They found a carriage, with Katie draping herself over Oliver and Angelina to fit everyone.
"How soon do you think we can hold practice?" Oliver asked as the carriage began its usual route to the school.
Alicia groaned, "Again, we're not even in the castle yet,"
"Right, but the sooner we can get back into shape, the sooner I can ask Hartley for a scrimmage."
"She's Hartley now?" Alicia waggled her eyebrows. "Not Summers anymore?"
"She calls me Oliver, only feels right that I do the same," his eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at, Spinnet?"
"Nothing," Alicia said, her eyes wide in what she probably thought was an innocent look. He thought she looked like an owl. Katie snickered.
He nudged his cousin with his knee. "Don't you get started. I'll shove you out of this carriage before you can blink."
"Bloody tyrant," Katie groused. "Won't even let me laugh now."
The tension in the air was forgotten as Oliver and the girls turned a particularly sharp bend and got their first sight of the castle. Even to a wizard raised teen like him, that first glimpse of Hogwarts was always a treat. They shuffled out, greeting Professor McGonagall as they found their places at the Gryffindor table. The twins joined them, laughing and joking as they always did. The previously missing anxiety returned tenfold because of the two empty spaces between them and Hermione.
The sorting went by in a blur. Oliver clapped dutifully whenever a firstie joined his table. The twins cheered and hooted when their little sister was sorted with them. The tiny redheaded girl ducked her head in embarrassment as she found her place among her fellow first years at the end of the red and gold table.
After the sorting, platters and dishes of every conceivable food appeared along the table and Oliver allowed himself to get sucked into the mid-meal chatter. As the dishes were replaced by a wide assortment of sweets and puddings, a hush fell over the hall. With his mouth full of bread pudding, Oliver looked up.
Harry and Ron stood awkwardly at the doors, flanked by McGonagall and Snape. The professors returned to the staff table and the two boys approached the Gryffindors. Seeing Harry blanch as he laid eyes on Alicia and Hermione's matching glares, Oliver put down his fork and prepared himself for one hell of a show.
"Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, where have you two been?" To Oliver's surprise, Hermione beat Alicia to the punch. The boys paled further, and Ron grimaced.
"Merlin, 'Mione, you sounded like my mum for a second there."
Hermione glared with crossed arms as the two boys joined her at the table.
"Ooh, treacle tart," Harry said, reaching for the dish. His hand stilled en route as he looked at Alicia sitting across him with a raised eyebrow.
"Hi, 'Licia," Harry said a little too brightly as his empty hand withdrew like he'd caught a flame. "Good to see you again."
Her expression didn't shift.
"Would you like a slice?" Harry asked, and Oliver smothered a laugh. Still no change.
Harry sighed, "Right. I'm sorry we weren't on the train. The barrier didn't work."
Alicia's expression shifted into confusion, mirroring the rest of the team (and Hermione). Harry explained how he and Ron had gotten locked out of the platform, and that they'd taken a flying car of all things to school.
Oliver desperately wished he had popcorn as he watched Harry and Ron receive the dressing down of a lifetime from Alicia and Hermione.
"This is golden," Katie whispered to him. He snorted and nodded, entranced by Ron's rapidly reddening ears.
"Taking a flying car to school – these two must really like it here," Fred whispered to Oliver and Katie with exaggerated disgust. He must've spoken louder than he'd thought, as the still-angry Alicia and Hermione turned their heated gazes on him.
He held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, ladies. Ignore me. Continue your yelling."
"Well done, brother of mine," George patted his twin on the shoulder.
"Sod off," Fred shoved George. "You're just cross I'm better looking than you."
"Better looking – we're identical!" George shoved Fred back.
"How about now?" Fred flicked his wand with a muttered incantation, and Oliver watched as George's skin turned bright orange.
"Why you –" George cast a spell, turning Fred's hair a bright, neon green. "Who's uglier now?"
"Still you," Fred flipped imaginary hair over his shoulder with a flourish, before turning George's hair the same colour. "I believe I look rather fetching."
"Keep telling yourself that, you delusional bastard," said George as he turned Fred's skin to match his.
"If I'm a bastard, then so are you," Fred said triumphantly. Katie facepalmed, and Oliver held back laughter. Angelina caught his eye from further down the table. Her face was screwed up as she smothered her laughter.
"Bloody oompa-loompas," Hermione grumbled. Katie snorted.
Angelina's lip quivered and Oliver's nose twitched. They made eye contact, and promptly broke into raucous laughter, soon joined by the rest of the table in varying volumes.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Oliver took a glance around the table. Harry and Ron looked far less distressed, though Oliver had to stifle a snort at the latter's nauseated expression. Alicia and Hermione still looked somewhere in the intersection of worried and incensed, though the twins' antics had taken the wind out of their sails. Oliver watched Alicia angrily cut off a thick slice of treacle tart and plop it on Harry's empty plate. She glared at him when he thanked her. Oliver shook his head fondly at the confusion on the younger boy's face.
The next morning, Harry sat in the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione. Ron had only finished his first slice of toast when McGonagall came down with their schedules.
"Weasley, show some decorum!" She admonished, her lips pressed thin as she watched Ron eat. "Your food will not grow legs and run away from you."
Harry suppressed a snicker at Ron's glowing ears. The redhead pointedly looked away from Hermione, who he knew would be looking rather smug.
"Sorry," Ron mumbled. McGonagall looked at him with disapproval before turning to Harry and Hermione.
"Potter, are you alright?" She raised an eyebrow. "You look… strained."
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, struggling to maintain a straight face. "Just… showing my disapproval of Ron's habits."
McGonagall shook her head exasperatedly before walking away. Harry could've sworn he heard her grumble, "Just like his father."
"Traitor," Ron said. His ears were dangerously red now.
Harry laughed and Hermione sniffed.
"Honestly, Ronald. You had it coming. How long have I been telling you to be mindful when you eat?"
Ron rolled his eyes and looked at his schedule while spooning eggs into his mouth.
"Bloody hell," he groaned between a mouthful of eggs. Only a year's worth of living with the other boy had helped Harry understand him. Looking down at his identical timetable, Harry found Ron's sentiment was justified.
"Potions, first thing in the morning?" Harry said, aghast. "At least we've got Charms and Defence to finish the day. That'll be fun."
Ron scrunched his nose at the thought that any class could be fun. "Don't get too excited, mate. Defence is with Lockhart."
Harry groaned and banged his head against the table.
"I'm going to die," he whined.
Hermione shook her head, exasperated. "Professor Lockhart can't be that bad. Look at all the things he's accomplished –"
"If he's even actually done any of them," Ron said darkly.
Hermione huffed, "You haven't even been in class with him yet and you're already calling him a fraud?"
"Does he really look the type to fight off an entire coven of Vampires, Hermione?" Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Does Professor Dumbledore look the type to defeat Grindelwald, Ron?" Hermione retorted. Harry conceded that she had a point, though Ron didn't seem to care. He sighed and tuned out his best friends' bickering as they made their way down to the dungeons.
In the Entrance Hall, Harry watched with amusement as Katie nearly sprinted down the stairs clutching a half-closed bag in one hand. She waved – as well as one can while fully running down a staircase while trying to close their bookbag.
"Late start?" He called as he waved back with amusement. She shouted a hurried affirmative as the doors to the Great Hall closed behind her.
The humour of the encounter lasted all the way to the dungeons, where the cool draft and a sense of foreboding permeated the air. Harry's good mood evaporated as he, Ron, and Hermione lined up outside the potions classroom.
The second years filed into the classroom, and Harry and Ron took their usual seats near the back while Hermione sat next to Neville. That was the unspoken arrangement the four friends had arrived upon. While neither Ron nor Harry were exactly prodigious at potionmaking, Neville was a downright liability. Pairing the resident genius with him seemed like the best way to keep everyone safe from Snape's wrath or a disastrous potions accident.
The feared professor strode into the classroom. His cloak billowed behind him and Harry wondered whether there was a charm that made it sway in such a dramatic manner. Surreptitiously making sure no one was paying attention, he activated his mage sight and was sorely disappointed to find that the only magic on Snape's cloak was a simple dust-repellent charm.
Boring.
Snape turned at the front of the class, and his lip curled in distaste. Harry held his breath, cycling through all the information in his potions textbook that he'd memorised. He didn't want to be caught off guard by the cruel professor, so he endeavoured to learn the year's potions work in advance. He'd gotten a little carried away and had also devoured the rest of his books.
It wasn't his fault his occlumency meant he didn't need as much sleep. He had been awake late at night in the Burrow even after everyone else was asleep - what was he supposed to do?
Merlin, he was starting to sound like Hermione.
His schoolwork was much more interesting when he tied it to the magical theory his mum had taught him as part of his Sensomagy lessons.
Anyway, Harry's attention returned to the classroom and Snape. Thankfully, the professor hadn't noticed him spacing out.
"Welcome back," Snape drawled, his eyes raking over the classroom as he paced. "To your second year of potions. To my abject surprise, most of you managed to pass your exams."
Snape lingered on the Gryffindor side of the classroom, but to Harry's surprise, avoided him entirely.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," the professor smiled humourlessly. "It is not often that students exceed my expectations, as pitifully low as they may be."
Harry blinked. Had Snape just said something complimentary? As backhanded as it may be.
Perhaps he'd been staring for too long, for Snape turned and glared at him. He ducked his head, and thankfully, Snape didn't single him out.
The class went by in a blur. Snape didn't call on Harry, mock his potion, or interact with him at all, really. In fact, Snape seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.
As the saying went, he wouldn't look the gift Hippogriff in the mouth.
A small part of Harry wished Snape would have called on him. He would've liked to see the look on the greasy old bat's face when Harry answered every question flawlessly. After all, he'd known the answer to all the questions he'd directed to Zabini, Greengrass, and Hermione.
The much more sensible part of him recognised that there was no winning with Snape, who probably would've accused Hermione of helping him or found some other way to discredit him. Still, it would've been nice to show off a little, now that he had something worth showing off.
After potions, Herbology was dreadfully boring. Despite the intriguing lessons on the magic of living beings, Harry really didn't care for plants. He was good at taking care of them – years of garden work for Aunt Petunia had seen to that – but he couldn't bring himself to find much joy in repotting mandrakes as they had done that day.
Lunch rolled around and Harry found himself sitting between Oliver and Angelina, who were loudly discussing Quidditch strategy. From across the table, Alicia and Hermione gave him sympathetic looks as he nodded along to the fourth chaser formation Oliver suggested, only for Angelina to shoot it down as inefficient.
"When's our first practice, again?" Angelina asked, and Alicia and Katie glared from across the table.
"Why would you remind him, you right berk," Alicia hissed.
"Because I like Quidditch and enjoy practice?" Angelina retorted. "Isn't that why we're all on the team?"
"Well, I wasn't given much of a choice," Harry piped up.
"Shush, you," Alicia rolled her eyes. "We all know you love Quidditch more than anyone except maybe Oliver and Angelina."
Oliver nodded stoutly. "And no way am I letting anyone who flies that well off my team."
Harry preened. "So, when's practice, captain?"
Alicia groaned. "Morgana, someone says one nice thing to you, and you fold, Harry. You're supposed to be on my side!"
Harry shrugged and pointedly turned away to look at Oliver.
"Oliver?"
The older boy shook his head with a wry grin. "I never thought the day would come when you lot would ask me about practice, and I would have to say that I don't have one scheduled."
The team, and even Ron and Hermione, stared in pure shock.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Oliver?" Katie asked, wide-eyed.
"It's the first day!" Oliver exclaimed, outrage pitching his voice up half an octave. "McGonagall hasn't even given me your timetables yet. What am I supposed to schedule around?"
"You're the captain extraordinaire," Alicia said.
"Figure it out!" Angelina finished. The two girls grinned at each other and bumped fists from across the table.
Oliver rolled his eyes. "Does tomorrow evening work?"
"It's the second day!" Alicia sputtered.
The captain shrugged. "You told me to figure it out, so I did. You got anything going on then?"
Katie, Harry, and Angelina shook their heads, and Alicia muttered some uncouth phrases before shaking hers as well.
Oliver grinned.
"Oi, Fred, George!" He yelled down the table. The twins, who were sitting further down with their best mate Lee Jordan, looked up.
"Yeah?" Fred yelled back.
"Practice tomorrow evening. Don't be late!"
The twins gave Oliver a thumbs up before turning back to their plotting.
With that sorted out, Harry and the team returned to their lunch. Hermione shook her head, mumbling about Quidditch fanatics under her breath while Ron listened to their strategy talk with a keen ear.
After lunch was their third class of the day. As always, Harry looked forward to charms. Professor Flitwick had them review the previous year's coursework. Harry and Ron looked at each other with wide grins when the professor commended Ron for his flawless levitation charm. Hermione rolled her eyes though she too was smiling.
He was on autopilot for most of the class. Between his occlumency and his summer reading, he had no trouble casting each spell the professor asked for. After class, Flitwick asked Harry to stay behind and told him they would be having their first duelling lesson on Friday evening.
An excited Harry joined his peers outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Nervous energy buzzed among the second years as they traded increasingly dramatic theories about their first lesson with the celebrity professor.
The door swung open, and the class shuffled in. Whispers broke out at the sight of a tarp-covered cage sitting ominously on the teacher's desk. Harry too got caught up in the excitement as he found a seat near the back with Ron. Hermione insisted on sitting in the front row, and neither he nor Ron wanted to attempt the perilous task that was changing her mind.
"What do you reckon is in there?" Harry asked Ron lowly as he dropped into his chair.
"Dunno," Ron shrugged, though there was a glint of curiosity in his eye. "Maybe Lockhart will show us something from one of his books."
Harry shrugged. He'd read Lockhart's books cover to cover, and he felt they were better suited for a fiction novel than a school textbook. Jogging his memory, Harry couldn't really remember anything from the books that would be conducive to a classroom setting.
He was brought out of his musing when a side door in the front of the classroom swung open with a dramatic creak. Out stepped the man Harry had seen at Flourish and Blotts. He flipped his wavy blond hair out of his face as he strutted to the centre.
He gestured to the numerous portraits that adorned the classroom that Harry, curious about the tarp, hadn't noticed. He noticed with distaste that the portraits were actually self-portraits. Tens of identical blond faces with dumb grins that showed too much teeth looked back at him from the canvas.
That small spark of excitement was doused like a candle wick against a tsunami.
"Me," Lockhart said dramatically, winking at the front row, which was almost entirely female. Poor Neville was late and had no choice but to join the professor's adoring fans. Harry snickered at round-faced boy's sour expression as Lockhart crossed him.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award," he gave the class what Harry was sure he thought was a charming grin. Privately, Harry thought he looked like he'd just gotten kneed in the knob. "But I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her."
"You could've if you tried, you tart," Ron mumbled, and Harry snorted. He covered his mouth hastily as the professor looked back at him.
"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," the wizard stopped pacing and turned, his face now comically serious. "In this class, you will learn to combat the darkest of creatures. But fear not, for nothing in this class can hurt you while I am around. For more details about my accomplishments, refer to my full, published works."
He smiled 'reassuringly', and Harry felt like throwing up.
"But before we truly get started, I would like to see how well all of you have read your new textbooks," Lockhart smiled before handing Megan Jones a stack of tests to hand out to the rest of the class.
When he got his hands on a piece of parchment, Harry scowled deeply. The test was three pages long, with fifty-four questions, and not a single one was remotely related to DADA.
He snidely thought the test was a joke. He contemplated not bothering to complete it. Regrettably, due to his occlumency, he found he could remember answers to a number of the questions.
He wondered what his mother would do. Would she quietly complete the test like he was sure Hermione would, or would she storm out of the classroom in a fit of rage? He couldn't imagine the Lily Potter he knew doing either of those things.
What would James Potter do?
Harry grinned and put his quill to the parchment, scribbling away as Ron complained next to him.
1. What is Professor Lockhart's favourite colour?
A. Black. To be worn to the funerals of all who've died of boredom reading his books.
2. What is Professor Lockhart's ideal birthday present?
A. Bleach for his teeth.
3. What is Professor Lockhart's secret ambition
A. To make it on the front page of Witch Weekly as an underwear model.
Some creative thinking later, Harry made a satisfied nose as he reread his responses.
Lockhart collected the papers and marked them, making a show of tutting for each incorrect answer. A particular test had the professor's eyebrows raising higher and higher up his forehead. A vein bulged in his temple and Harry had an inkling of whose paper was being graded.
He smothered a snicker, looking out the nearby window innocently when Lockhart looked up at him with clenched teeth.
"Young Harry, stay after class, please," Lockhart said with the face of someone sucking on a lemon, and Harry nodded reluctantly.
The rest of the class was nothing short of chaos. Lockhart unveiled the cage to reveal Cornish pixies. Seamus just had to run his mouth and challenge Lockhart, and the professor foolishly let the pixies loose on the class. Thankfully, between Hermione's quick thinking and Harry following her lead, they managed to wrangle the pixies back in their cage, though he was sure Neville's neck would be sore from when the pixies hung him from the chandelier by his shirt collar.
Of course, in the commotion, the professor who'd boldly claimed to protect them from any harm had fled into his office and barred the door.
"I suppose that means you don't have to stay after class," Ron mused, eliciting a grin from the dark-haired boy. "What did you do to piss him off anyway?"
"Let's just say I left some interesting answers on that quiz," Harry said, much to Hermione's consternation.
"You really shouldn't have done that, Harry," she said disapprovingly.
"Maybe. No use crying over spilt milk," he shrugged as he made for the door, followed by an ecstatic Ron and a grumbling Hermione. "Want to go back to the Tower? I think I'll leave the homework for after dinner."
"It's the first day, Harry," Ron made a disgusted face.
"I just want to get it out of the way," Harry shrugged. "Once Oliver gets going, Merlin knows I'll have no free time. Plus, this way I get more time on the weekends."
"Hermione's a terrible influence on you," Ron shook his head at the bushy-haired witch on Harry's other side, who glared at the redhead.
"Ignore him, Harry. I, for one, think your proactivity is a great thing," she said, though her tone belied she was still incensed at his disrespect toward their professor.
"Thanks, 'Mione," he smiled at his best friends. It was great to be back at Hogwarts. The trio discussed Harry's quiz answers on their journey back to the castle. Ron found the whole thing hilarious, and Hermione looked increasingly displeased.
"Wattlebird," Ron said absently as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The picture shot him a dirty look, grumbling about manners being a dying art, before swinging to the side, revealing Gryffindor Tower.
Harry gravitated toward the corner that had quickly become his, Ron's, and Hermione's. He flopped into an armchair, his rucksack falling heavily to the floor next to him. Ron let out a long sigh as he collapsed onto a loveseat, draped across the entire thing. His bag fell to the ground with a considerable thud and Harry hoped an inkwell hadn't shattered inside. Hermione rolled her eyes and carefully placed her bag at her side before sitting down, book already in hand.
Ron had hardly badgered Harry into a game of chess when Katie entered the common room and perched on the arm of his chair.
"Hullo," she greeted, watching with morbid curiosity as Ron's knight sent Harry's bishop flying off the board.
Harry nodded absently, focused on the game. When he last went to Diagon Alley, he'd picked up a few books on chess from Flourish and Blotts in the hopes of learning to hold his own against Ron.
He'd memorised most of the openings and moves but still couldn't beat Ron's mind for improvisation. He supposed even near-perfect recall couldn't beat God-given talent.
"McGonagall wanted to see you," Katie continued, smirking at the way all three first years gave her their undivided attention.
"I told you, you shouldn't have antagonised Lockhart," Hermione said smugly.
Katie looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow, "You did what now?"
"Long story," he sighed and stood up. "I'm sure Hermione will gladly tell you all about it. How angry did she seem?"
She shrugged. "Not too bad but you know how McGonagall is – you can never really tell."
Harry nodded before standing and stretching. Katie promptly stole his seat.
"Hermione, guess what," she said excitedly, already forgetting his and Ron's existence. "You know how I was late to breakfast today? I was a little late to Care of Magical Creatures and Cedric saved me a seat!"
"I thought Cedric was a year older than you?" Hermione asked curiously.
"He is, but he switched from Arithmancy to Care of Magical Creatures so he's in my third-year class."
"Ooh, did you speak to him at all?"
Harry and Ron exchanged disgusted looks that clearly said, "Girls."
"Yeah," Katie said dreamily. "I asked to borrow a quill." She pulled a dull, greyish-blue quill out of her robes and held it reverently. "He said he had some extra so I could keep it!"
Hermione squealed and Ron mimed throwing up. Harry laughed and excused himself. He left the common room for the Transfiguration corridor. He knocked on the door, opening it after receiving a muffled sound he took as permission.
Professor McGonagall sat at her desk. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, tucked under a large, green wizard's hat, and she peered at him through half-moon glasses, perched on the tip of her nose.
"Potter, come in," she spoke, her voice clipped and stern as was the norm. "Have a seat."
She gestured to a rickety old chair in front of her desk. Harry obliged, shifting uncomfortably as the unyielding wood hurt his rear.
Professor and student sat in tense silence. The former let the latter stew as he flipped through every possible misdemeanour for which she might punish him.
McGonagall pushed a small tin toward him.
"Have a biscuit," she said, and Harry blinked.
"Pardon?"
"I said to have a biscuit," she repeated, and he could've sworn her lip twitched.
He accepted the tin, and the lid opened with a pop. Crumbly, golden-brown shortbread lay inside. Harry tentatively took one and popped it in his mouth, enjoying the smooth, buttery texture as it dissolved on his tongue.
As he ate the biscuit, he watched the professor warily. Her gaze was critical, scanning his form for something – guilt perhaps? If so, Lockhart sure worked fast.
He was already due detention later that week because of the flying Ford Anglia, so he hoped she'd go easy on him. Who was he kidding – this was McGonagall, the professor who'd taken one-hundred-and-fifty points for breaking curfew. She wasn't the type to go easy on anyone, though he thought she'd been rather lenient about the flying car situation.
He wouldn't be the one to mention it, however – something about looking gift horses in the mouth.
"There are a number of things we need to discuss," she said, pushing the essays she'd been grading to the side. "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to escort you to his office before dinner, so we must get all this out of the way before then."
Harry nodded, curiosity overcoming his feeling of foreboding. What did Dumbledore want with him? Did the headmaster too want to ream him out for the Ford Anglia fiasco? He'd gotten quite the earful from McGonagall and Snape. He supposed Dumbledore just wanted to complete the set.
"First, Professor Lockhart came to me just after classes ended. Supposedly, one of my Gryffindors insulted him – on a review test, no less. This doesn't sound like your modus operandi, Potter. Would you like to explain yourself?"
Being given the chance to explain himself. That was new.
"To be fair," Harry began. "I didn't insult him."
McGonagall's lips thinned and Harry braced for his second dressing down in as many days. To his surprise, she sighed and shook her head exasperatedly.
"Every time I begin to believe that you take more after Lily, you remind me James is still in there."
Harry cocked his head. Within him swelled the familiar, prickling warmth that always came when he heard stories about his parents. "Did you know my parents, professor?"
"Indeed, I did," she nodded, her clasped hands resting on the desk. "In fact, your father sat in your very seat more times than I could count. Not under good circumstances, I promise you."
Harry leaned forward in his seat.
"I believe your father and his friends–" her expression darkened momentarily. "–hold the record for the most detentions in the school. I believe you could corroborate that with Mister Filch."
Harry suppressed a snort, "I'll take your word for it, professor."
Her lip twitched, "I thought you might."
She reached into her drawer and pulled out a photograph.
"Back in April, Hagrid asked me for any pictures I had of James and Lily. Regrettably, I couldn't find any to give him at the time. I found this one recently, and I believe you should have it."
She slid the picture across the desk. He turned it over and saw a grinning James Potter looking back at him. The man, with the same dark hair and thin nose that Harry too possessed, held a parchment – a magical facsimile of a diploma – as a younger McGonagall stood next to him, the thin set of her mouth replaced by a tight-lipped smile.
"Your father apprenticed with me for his Transfiguration mastery," she said. "I did not share the same relationship with your mother, but I hear Professor Flitwick has you covered on that count."
"Thank you, professor," Harry held the photograph with shaking hands, looking at it with reverence.
"It is my pleasure, Mister Potter," she nodded, her expression soft – at least by her standards. "If you ever want to hear stories about your father and his exploits, feel free to visit. My office will always be open to my students."
Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.
"Before I take you to the headmaster, we have one last matter to address," she said, and Harry heard a hint of humour in her voice as she picked up a familiar piece of parchment. "You cannot disrespect a professor's assignment, no matter how foolhardy it may be. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a professor. And ten points to Gryffindor for creative test responses. Now follow me, we must meet with Professor Dumbledore before dinner."
She strode out of the room, and a grinning Harry followed suit.
He followed the professor down the corridor and up the stairs. They arrived in front of a grey statue of a gargoyle. Harry looked around for a door. His confusion only grew when McGonagall suddenly said, "Ice mice."
Harry jumped when the gargoyle came to life, nodding respectfully at the professor before stepping out of the way. Behind the animated statue was a spiral staircase. He followed his head of house up the stairs and into the office.
Professor Dumbledore's office was exactly what he expected from the eccentric headmaster. Lining the walls were low tables littered with the oddest of knickknacks. Small, silver artefacts and machines of varying shapes and sizes puffed green, red, or blue smoke. In one corner was a tall perch upon which stood a regal bird with red, orange, and yellow feathers that shimmered like rippling flames.
In the centre of the room was a polished, claw-footed, oak desk. Behind which sat the headmaster himself. Dumbledore wore robes of the brightest magenta, dotted with golden stars. In the chair in front of him sat a man that Harry initially thought was a skeleton.
He wasn't far from it though. Stringy grey hair curtained off the man's gaunt face and his skin clung to his skull. The man was incredibly thin, and Harry was reminded of himself at the Dursleys after a particularly extended period without meals. Despite the man looking one foot through death's door, his eyes like cold steel gleamed with immense intelligence.
The man stood up, and Harry was half surprised that his bones didn't creak. He extended a hand.
"Nicholas Flamel, Mister Potter," he spoke with minor French inflexion. His voice like gravel crushed under a lorry. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Chosen."
Harry's eyes were wide as he grasped the proffered hand. His eyes flitted between Flamel, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. The deputy headmistress looked varying levels of confused as the conversation progressed.
"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said politely. "I was wondering how we would meet in September."
Flamel smiled, his weathered skin stretching thin around his lips.
"The determined wizard will find that he can attain entrance to whatever place he wishes, and very rarely does he need enchantment to do so," Flamel said roughly. Peeking at Dumbledore's sour expression, Harry wondered whether the headmaster was cranky that the ancient sorcerer was outdoing him in the stereotypical wise-old-wizard department.
"Please have a seat, Harry, Nicholas," Dumbledore gestured before nodding at McGonagall. "Thank you for bringing Harry here, Minerva."
The deputy headmistress returned a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs.
"As I've mentioned to you before, Harry," Dumbledore began, his fingers steepled upon his desk. "My good friend and once mentor, Nicholas here, has offered to take you on as something of an apprentice."
Harry nodded shyly, "I would like that, sir."
Dumbledore started to speak but fell silent as an oblivious Nicholas Flamel clapped his hands and stood.
"Excellent! In that case, I will see you here every Friday evening," Flamel said easily and stood. "If you will excuse me, Perenelle is waiting in our new home, and I must see to her."
Harry was halfway to a nod when he remembered his lessons with Professor Flitwick at the same time. He was torn between standing up to the domineering Flamel and asking to reschedule and the chance of losing out on such a unique opportunity.
The decision was taken out of his hands when Dumbledore interjected. "Actually, Nicholas. I do not believe Saturday morning would be the optimal time for these lessons. You see, young Harry is a part of his house Quidditch team and will have his matches on Saturday mornings. I would hate to see his performance in his athletics suffer as a result of what I am sure will be rigorous training on the eve of his games."
As Flamel fixed Harry with an unimpressed look, Dumbledore gave him a knowing look over the ancient wizard's shoulder. Harry tried his hardest to convey his gratitude nonverbally.
"Surely this is more important than a child's game?" Flamel asked disbelievingly. Harry bristled at the insult to his beloved sport.
"Perhaps, but is that not what he is? A child? He is only a boy, Nicholas, and I would like him to have a childhood. We are in peacetime. We no longer require soldiers. But I digress. I am sure we can come to a sufficient compromise," Dumbledore placated. "How about Wednesday evening? I believe that Harry has History of Magic the following morning. Which, as a class that doesn't require much physical, magical, or dare I say, mental effort," Dumbledore winked at Harry. "He will not be significantly impacted by whatever strain he may receive."
Harry nodded eagerly, and seeing the headmaster and the student band together, Flamel relented.
"Very well, Wednesday it is," the ancient wizard nodded grimly.
"Splendid," Dumbledore smiled. "You should head downstairs, Harry. I do believe that dinner will be any moment now."
"Yes, Professor," Harry stood and made for the door. He turned back. "It was nice to meet you, Mister Flamel."
Flamel nodded curtly and Harry left for the Great Hall, occlumency working in overdrive to process all the information. Excitement and nerves pooled in his stomach as he counted down the days to his first lesson.
He groaned as he thought of Oliver's reaction when he found out that Harry had another day he couldn't come to Quidditch practice.
A/N: Guess who's back. Back again. Shady's back. Tell a friend.
Anyway, I'm back. Uh. University's started up again and I have four classes that are all designed to bully people out of my major, so I'm really dialed in on that. So, I regret to say that this 1 chapter every 2-3 weeks schedule might become the new norm. I'll try to get some work done over spring break though that's right before midterm season so who knows if i'll have the time. But no matter what, I will update eventually, I promise. I've been burned too many times by abandoned works to do that to someone else.
Enough yapping about my horrific Uni schedule. So, we're back at Hogwarts! Harry and the gang are back, Quidditch is back (and more than three games this year, as I'm sure you can tell), and we begin the Chamber of Secrets arc. The plots for second and third year will significantly deviate from canon even more than first year did. That's something I'm pretty excited for. I'm waiting for third year personally, because some of my favorite plot threads are going to be in there.
At this rate, I'm going to end up dropping a spoiler in one of these notes. Maybe that's because it is well after midnight and I'm half asleep. ANYWAY, thanks for reading and keep the reviews coming (the notifications for those are what kept me motivated to finish up for this upload). See you in the next one, I'm going to bed I have a 9 am tomorrow