A Harry Potter Quest: He who was not

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Present Date: 10th​ March 1994
Current Wand: Fagus wood, Phoenix feather core

Soon enough it was the second Thursday of March, the weather was getting warmer and the castle was buzzing with activity in anticipation of the next quidditch match that would follow this Sunday. The third subject of the day was DADA, which was quite possibly the one class you had studied the most for this term. While now being a terrible bore – partly also related to the fact that you didn't like Professor Lupin – there was some upside to it all. One of them, that you stopped to even take the school-book with you to classes. At the moment the Professor was explaining one or the other concept to your classmates. You were not quite sure what the class today was about though, because there were more pressing matters at hand.

Two notebooks were the centre of your attention. You discarded the one you were holding in your hand, letting it rest at the upper-right corner of the table, feeling as if you had finished your work for the moment. This specific one held the information you had gotten from the archives and Myrtle. Many things had been added since your talk with the ghost – but only one word had been circled for the next step; Hagrid. For your plan to come to fruition you would have to wait for the weekend though.

Something moved in your periphery. When you looked up, you saw Megan watching you from her place at the other end of the classroom. She smiled when your eyes met. You on the other hand took the moment to notice Justin sitting behind her.

A moment later, the notebook was open again, a sentence added;

'Head to Professor Hagrid. Take Megan & Justin.'

Deep in your though process, you closed the first notebook again and opened the second. You never realized that you hadn't reciprocated Megan's smile.

The second set of notes was the most extensively filled notebook that you owned. It was full of spells, each one taking up a single page of comments and sketches. Those you hadn't mastered yet, where basic research. There it varied in range. Sometimes you had left behind only the name and some characteristics of the spell, other times the contents were of more extensive nature. You flipped through the pages and stopped somewhere in the first quarter of the notebook.

This specific spell covered two pages, which was already uncommon. It was the only spell to do so. It had started with rudimentary research shortly after the Dementor incident. You had copied a part of a library book, cutting the text down to its most essential:

'The Patronus Charm, is an ancient charm. It conjures a magical guardian, a projection of all your most positive feelings. The Patronus Charm is difficult, and many witches and wizards are unable to produce a full, corporeal Patronus, a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom they share the deepest affinity. You may suspect, but you will never truly know what form your Patronus will take until you succeed in conjuring.'

From the very beginning it was clear to you that this would be the most advanced piece of magic you had ever tried yourself at. Sketches had soon followed the text; first the movement of the wand, then pictures of a corporeal Patronus. The first one had been a small owl, but you had taken some time for introspection. After returning from the winter break, you had thought about it a second time and a frog had joined the page. The frog and the owl still looked up at you from the left page, sometimes wandering around to play together.

You had never tried to cast the Patronus spell before though. Even if most people would try to brute-force their way through such a project, it was clear to you that you had developed a very distinct way of learning magic by now. Once you took a wand into your hand, the spell rarely failed to deliver results. You had incorporated what the castle was trying to teach you into your learning process. Before you could hope to solve the riddle, you first needed to understand the basics.

Giving up any attempt to follow the class, you began sketching again. Soon a familiar shape started to appear between the many comments distributed over the two pages. Some of which addressed the spell itself, trying to understand how it worked, others addressing the very contextual meaning of the existence of such a spell.

In general, the basics of the Patronus were clear and straightforward. The spell lived of strong positive emotions and memories. That one could easily read in a book, but there was more to such a complex spell than just that high level understanding. You suspected something more sophisticated than just 'good memories' that were integral to its inner workings. To combat a Dementor so effectively, the spell needed to create the exact opposite of what such a foul creature was.

If a Dementor was a concave, an opening that sucked souls and negative memories up, a Patronus had to be the opposite convex shape. What you already knew of the spell implied that it was an imprint of your soul. This would mostly explain the deep affinity the corporeal Patronus needed to have with the caster and why its form was so important to the spell.

Coming to that conclusion had been not enough for you, so you had to dig deeper. Your experience and knowledge on another subject allowed you to approach the problem at hand from a different direction.

You had already experienced how a person could take the most intensive negative emotions in the moments of its death, split the own soul and anchor that part to the living world. Thinking about this gave you a new insight into the Patronus. The spell inverted the process of ghost creation. Where extreme negative emotions could expand and fracture the soul of a person, a Patronus did the opposite with positive emotions. The soul was tightened and focussed to be able to create one corporeal being, emulating the own soul. It was quite possible that the inverse of a Patronus was not the Dementor, as you had thought before but instead the process of splitting and weakening a soul. Something these dark creatures did, but which was also achieved by other means.

You looked at the finished sketch. A third animal had joined the other two. While the others hadn't felt wrong as possible solution, this time you were absolutely sure that you were looking at the corporal form of your Patronus.

Time flew by and soon you were finally released from class. You were the first one to leave the room, seconds after it had ended. The Professor said something – a comment of some kind or form that you didn't even register. You hasted down the floor, then around a corner, stairs up, through a hidden entrance into the wall and into a hidden corridor. The inside was dark, only a small torch burning in the back of the corridor.

Your wand was already in your hand, your bag discarded at the entrance.

The first part of a spell was the understanding. You felt like you had a strong hold on that. The second part was the movement; for that your wand moved in a circle. Then followed the Incantation: "Expecto Patronum," you whispered and the room brightened.


"What is the first thing one needs to do in the process of creation?" Nicolas asked when you first sat together to discuss your shared project.

You found yourself thinking over it for a few moments. "One needs to first find an idea," you said in the end.

Your teacher shook his head without breaking eye contact. "Before the idea comes the Need," he said. "This is even more important to you than it is for me. Missing skills and understanding of the intricate relationship between different branches of magic are nothing to a pure need to make a specific thing happen. A need overrules everything else under the right circumstances."


The last part of a spell was the most difficult to grasp. The need, the intent, the sheer intensity that you wanted something to happen. In a moment of desperation, you had been able to transform a human into a rabbit, not because you understood, but because you had needed it to work.

For a moment you saw your mother before you. She was young; an eighteen-year-old girl, who had struggled against her fate, fighting herself to a bit of wealth in a different continent and who had fallen head over heels for a boy two years older than her.

You imagined your father, saying something to you that he had once written: 'You are everything that I wished for in a son.' He stood there and smiled at you, his wand in his hand; tall, strong and proud.

And out of the end of your wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. It was so bright that you needed to screw up your eyes, trying to confirm what it was. At first, it looked like a horse. Galloping silently away from you, across the long and dark floor of the hidden corridor. You saw it lower its head and turn around to you, before cantering back towards where it had first manifested.

It was not a horse, even if it was almost as big as a pony. The silvery animal before you had the shape of a wolf, large and beautiful as if it had travelled through time to join the youngest member of its family, thousands of years after its original master had died. It stared at you with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its head. "Lobo," you said, before it moved the head again.

A sense of vindication spread through your body. With this, you had proven your Professor wrong. Even this magic was not beyond your capabilities. He had denied you his help and you had succeeded nonetheless. The wolf before did not move away from you anymore, instead keeping his eyes fixed on you.

Now, only one question was left. If a strong positive emotion could create something so intense by tightening whatever a soul was and focussing it into the wolf before you … what happened if a negative emotion was strong enough? What would happen if you did not die, but were able to purposefully split your soul?

Would you lose the ability to cast a Patronus?

Lobo disappeared into silvery mist, as you stopped the spell moments later.

The corridor fell into darkness again. Your thoughts circling around new and insidious questions that had appeared in your mind. For a second you felt the familiar presence of Perenelle Flamel close to you.

If one was able to purposefully emulate the process of death, artificially create the anguish that the soul felt in such a moment and split the own soul … would one then also be able to anchor that small part of the soul without dying?

What would happen then, if one created such a ghost- no, a soul-fragment, while still living? What happened when one did something that would usually not allow one to cross into the afterlife, while still living and breathing?

You could almost hear the old madame tell you the most fascinating answer to that question.

'You will not be able to die, my child. You would have demonstrated your genius.'



Perk gained: I decide what is possible – You do not take kindly to other people telling you what you can or can't achieve. You have proven that the only limit you have is deciding how much you truly want something. While you will not go out and brag that you have achieved it, it does feel satisfying to prove someone wrong.


New spell acquired: Expecto Patronum.

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Present Date: 12th​ March 1994
Current Wand: Fagus wood, Phoenix feather core

The second school week of March came to an end and while the few first, very diligent students used the Saturday to prepare their studies for the end of the year exams, you had decided to do something more useful.

At five to ten you left the castle, dragging Justin away from his breakfast. On the way across the grounds it was Megan, who took the time to explain to Justin what it was you were trying to accomplish. Listening in on their conversation, it seemed both Hufflepuff's were surprised that the other one was also acquainted with you.

"I'm not a hermit, you know," you protested weakly, but let it slide because you were already arriving at your destination.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside his front door. The place looked wild, but not neglected. It was a fitting residence for the giant of a man that was Rubeus Hagrid.

Justin knocked, which was followed by a frantic scrabbling from inside. You heard several booming barks. Hagrid's voice rang out loud and booming, as he shouted, "Back, Fang —back."

A bang, then another bang and a third bang before you saw Hagrid's big, hairy face appear in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on, Harry" he said. "Back, Fang."

The door opened fully and you were let in by the Professor who was struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boar-hound.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me — come in, comein — thought you mighta bin some of the Ministry back again —"

When Fang didn't seem to calm, Hagrid finally looked up at the three of you. You saw confusion in his face, before it turned into surprise.

"Oh, no! Yer not Harry and his friends!" he finally said.

"Eh, no Professor. Were you expecting them?" Justin asked, when Fang finally started to calm down. He sounded scared, but he hadn't moved away from his spot to your left. You noticed the wand in his hand though.

"No, is all good. Come in, better in than out!" he said cheerfully, letting go of Fang who started stumbling over to you to sniff on your outstretched hand. You couldn't help yourself but feel reminded of Lobo and while Justin and Megan followed the Professor to the centre of the room, you stayed in place and started scratching Fang's head. He seemed to be just as mild as he was big and scary.

"Come an' sit. I made some tea," you heard Hagrid's booming voice who was already pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto plates

His hut consisted of only one room. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, walking over to the couch where the two Hufflepuff's were already sitting.

"This is Megan," Justin told Hagrid. "Another Hufflepuff, eh?" Hagrid asked, glancing at her scarf.

"Yes, Sir," Megan answered, accepting one of the rock cakes. She looked at it, uncertain as what to do with it. The cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that already looked like they would break your teeth.

By now Fang had seemingly fallen in love with you, so you patted his head one more time and made yourself over to a free spot on the couch. The dog followed you, curious as to where you were heading all of a sudden and then rested his head on your knee. Soon it started drooling all over your robes, but you didn't care that much and started scratching his head again.

You didn't follow the conversation, instead taking one huge cup of strong tea into your hand and sipping on it. It was a surprise how good it tasted. You had rarely liked anything but mint tea in the past.

"It's about the most insulting thing one could think of," Megan said, when you finally started to listen in again. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born. Some wizards — like Montague's family — who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood."

So, they were talking about the attack on Justin? You weren't quite sure who had brought that topic up.

"It's a horrible thing to call someone," Megan said with disgust. "Dirty blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood any-way. I am! If we hadn't married Muggles we'd have died out already!"

"Well, I don' blame yer fer tryin' ter curse him, Jacob," said Hagrid loudly.

Your participation in the conversation was to nod. You had nothing to add really.

The conversation went on and on, the three of them talked about school, about the upcoming quidditch game, about Professor Snape and by then your mind had travelled to other places. While the conversation with Myrtle had been a focused and productive one, you spent an hour in Hagrid's house without anyone breaching the subject. There had to be a smart way of doing it. Something charismatic, empathic and socially acceptable to ask the Professor why he had been expelled as a child.

"Professor, why were you expelled in your third-year?" you asked instead.

It might have been the fact that you hadn't participated in the conversation for about half of the hour, or it might have been the question itself, no one could really tell. But a moment later, three sets of eyes turned to you, joining those of Fang, who was still in his very comfortable position on your knees.

"But –" Hagrid stuttered. "Where did yer he'r that from?"

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, you were reminded of how badly you had done talking to the Grey Lady before. You thought you could address that by taking the Hufflepuffs with you, but it was clearly not working.

"We've talked to Myrtle, because we wanted to know about her death. She doesn't know what happened, but you were in her year and we thought you might know something."

You were coming dangerously close to accusing him of something, but you saw how Hagrid's face relaxed, before he nodded slowly.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that ... let's see."

Both of your friends who had looked at you in shock before, fell silent now, just as curious as you were to hear from the giant of a man.

"Dunno if anyone told yer, but they accused me of doing it," Hagrid finally said, a huge cup in his hands that looked tiny with him. "Said it was Aragog, but he would never-"

"Aragog?" you interrupted.

"Ah, yes. My pet spider … an Acromantula, wonderful creature."

A memory came to mind of a hidden tunnel, going out of Hogwarts. You had fought in the darkness against a giant spider that had wanted to murder you. Well, you had interrupted it in the first place, so might as well have been your fault.

"Are there many of those Acromantula around Hogwarts?" you asked. "I might have seen one."

"Yer have?" Hagrid asked, beaming at you. The thought didn't cross his mind that it might have been a dangerous encounter. What a wonderfully interesting person the Professor was.

"Yeh, I s'ppose there are. Aragog was te first one an' he had mor' than a few children."

You nodded along, then that meant that you could expect many more to be around.

Soon enough, Hagrid told you about his time at Hogwarts. The thought crossed your mind that it was strange how open he was with you about his past, but it seemed that he had taken a liking to you and Justin on the day of your detention. Bit for bit you started to understand his character better. You saw a streak of kindness and wholehearted honesty that was uncommon in an adult.

"I wasn't an easy child I s'ppose. Tried raising wolf cubs under me bed in first yer," a loud booming laugh shook the hut following that. The Hufflepuff's and you smiled along. Why hadn't you ever thought of that?

"An' I tried ter wrestl' a troll I found in te Forbidden Forest in second yer."

"You did?" you asked incredulously, before you understood the implication: "There are Trolls in the Forbidden Forrest?"

Another laugh by the big man. "Ah, s'ppose yer could still find 'em. Haven't seen 'em in a long time. Mad at me for beatin' 'em."

"That's crazy," Justin said and had Megan nod along.

"Yes, it really is. Where would I find them? How many are there?" you asked. Now the Hufflepuff girl turned her head to you. Only then did you realize that they hadn't meant 'crazy' as a positive and encouraging word.

"You're not seriously thinking about going into the Forbidden Forest by yourself?" Megan asked.

Another booming laugh as Hagrid stood up from his place to fill the tea kettle again. His hand slapped your shoulder, throwing you off the couch by the sheer force of it. A protesting bark of Fang followed, who was not amused by the fact that his comfortable position had been disturbed.

"Yer just like myself, Jacob. Shoulda taken me class. Yer would've loved it."

"Jacob, mate. You're skilled and brave, but you're squishy and tiny … not like …" Justin said nodding into the general direction of Hagrid, who had turned to his tea kettle at the other end of the room.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Megan said, a tone of unrest in her voice as she looked at you and tried to assess if you really wanted to go Troll searching on your own. By now, she knew enough of you to know that you were seriously considering it already, but not good enough to know that you had done similarly dangerous stuff on a regular basis for the last year.

"Drink som' mor'," the Professor said, stepping back to you and refilling all of your glasses. The others took gladly to it, even if the rock cakes on their plates had barely been touched.

"Well, yeah. Was of te diff'cult sort. And when te Chamber was opened for te first tim', I was blamed for it. Terr'ble event that. Came for me last year 's well, but Dumbledor' saved me 'gain. Great man, Dumbledor'."

You went through the events in your head and tried to stack them together, but it seemed as if things were not set straight yet.

"Dumbledore saved you the first time? But he wasn't Headmaster back then right? It was Armando Dippet," you said.

"Ah, yes. Headmaster Dippet. Think te director was quite glad ter get rid of me, ter be honest," Hagrid answered.

By now, you had assured the fact that Hagrid wasn't a suspect anymore. You had some small doubt when you had come in, but the man before you was not the type to be good at hiding any malice. Who was the mystery guy then that had opened the chamber?

Justin took the moment to follow up on what Hagrid had said: "So, Dumbledore saved you? He kept you around on the premise, when you were expelled?"

"The Professor 'new I was inn'cent. Had me train for Gamekeeper and allow'd me ter remain on the grounds. Was always good ter me. Kind man, te Headmaster."

You remembered Dumbledore's absence after the Sally-Anne incident and how shaken he had looked after finally returning to the public eye. He had also been at the funeral of Perenelle. The man had many stories to tell it seemed.

Megan and Justin asked some more questions, trying to understand what had happened. You listened carefully for details that might be important, but while he didn't seem to do it on purpose, the Professor stayed vague with his explanations. He had been a victim as a child. You realized that when he told you about his mother (a giant!) leaving his father and him, because Hagrid was turning out to be too small. His father died during his first year at school, making him an orphan; something that resonated with you deeply.

A half-human, with no one to defend him, who could not articulate himself well enough and didn't have the personality to stand up for himself in that kind of way. He had been someone who was known to get in trouble, someone no one would doubt to hear bad things from. The perfect set of conditions for a scapegoat.

Puzzle pieces were falling together in your mind, so you took a step back and looked at the entire construct at once.

One piece was missing. The most centre piece of them, the one, connecting to all important events. A guy, student or otherwise, who had had opened the chamber, accidently or purposefully killed Myrtle and then had then used the perfect scapegoat to blame the situation on. A murder wouldn't go unnoticed or unresolved, it needed someone to take a fall.

For a moment you considered an obvious choice – Dumbledore. He could have been playing both sides, framing Hagrid and then saving him afterwards to keep his grace. He had been present in the first and second opening of the Chamber, but you discarded that line of thought. There was an easy solution to get the information:

"Professor," you said after a few minutes of silently following the conversation, while you were thinking. "Do you know who proposed the idea of you being the culprit?"

"Ah, yes. It was Tom Riddle. Mad' a mistak', I tell you. He was sur' it was me …"

You had heard that name before, but you couldn't quite place it.

"Was he a student?" you asked.

"A fifth-year. Great student, 'vryone liked him. But even he was wrong, I s'ppose."

He may had been misguided and wrong.

Or he may have gotten exactly the result he had wanted.

Tom Riddle. What a curious name for a last piece of the puzzle.

This was turning out to be the riddle of Riddle.

"Tell me of this Tom Riddle, Professor."

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Your life is developing at a fast pace. Circumstances change and things that you once thought are being revised. You have thought of writing a letter to Nicolas, because while you had first needed distance to think about the matter, your mind has come to settle.


[ ] I do not hate you, but I pity you – You don't want to break contact with the man, because you do not want your parents to find out what the reason for this is. He has not many years left to his life. You will humour him, but he is not the man you had thought him to be.


[ ] In the end, I am the only one who I can judge – You do not think that his actions were justified. Even if you would not be alive without him and his wife, the cost was too large. The logical conclusion is easy, but you do feel conflicted. You remember how well they have always treated and cared for you. Who are you to judge their actions, when you have not walked their shoes?


[ ] If nothing else, then I am grateful – Their action might have been heinous, but you would not be alive without it. You would not have learned of the wonders of the world, would not have had the possibility to discover them. You are glad that they did what they did.


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