Harry Evans faces a magical world that is both familiar and different from what he remembers. Is it worth the risk of losing everything to try and save it? Does he even have a choice? What binds us to a place are the people that inhabit it and Harry is forced to walk the knife's edge between fear and responsibility as he starts his first year at Hogwarts.
Harry Evans: Memoirs of a well-lived Death (SI)
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Prologue
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
Magic is might and Harry Evans walks the knife's edge in his bid for power and independence. Hogwarts beckons like a siren and he must choose what he will do with the challenges it represents.
Memoirs of a well-lived death
Harry Evans faces a magical world that is both familiar and different from what he remembers. Is it worth the risk of losing everything to try and save it? Does he even have a choice? What binds us to a place are the people that inhabit it and Harry is forced to walk the knife's edge between fear and responsibility as he starts his first year at Hogwarts (and beyond)
AN: The prologue is a bit introspective and dark. Not your cup of tea? Skip to the first chapter instead. You'll miss out on some context, but context is for losers anyway.
Prologue
All stories have a beginning. The issue is in determining where it lies. Does the life of a tree begin with the conception of the acorn, or when it becomes a sapling? Do the characters of a book already exist before the first chapter is written, in the mind of the author? Where does one draw the line between the blurry boundaries of continuity when looking at something as complex as human life?
For Harry Evans, the story had already been written, in a different time, in a different place.
It had also ended there in a manner that left many dreams unaccomplished and many a person grieving.
He'd died.
A traumatic affair for those involved. Parents having to come to terms with having outlived their child. Classmates being confronted with their own mortality by the empty seat in the lecture hall. Friends with a number on their phone that they will never call again.
But what about the deceased? Do the dead mourn their own death?
Seldom does a person gladly go into the embrace beyond, having done all their work on earth and given all the love they could. They are rarely happy with their last chapter. We are hesitant, however, to consider their opinion on the matter. The dead do not have opinions after all. So is the common consensus.
Rather than entering a theoretical discourse on the autonomy of the deceased, an undoubtedly interesting topic, we here shall look at a certain mysterious case study instead. Why not, after all, when one is readily available.
If someone were to survive their death, through reasons unknown. How would such a person mourn? While the loved ones of the deceased have lost one connection, no matter how dear, the deceased individual has lost everything. Their family, their friends, their life partner, all the way down to their bicycle, notebooks, laptop, career, apartment and their literal body.
How long does it take a dead person to get over having been deprived of everything they'd ever experienced?
1st of November 1987
A boy is kneeling on the ground in a forest clearing. An hour by bike away from his home, so that nobody can stumble upon him. He has been here for an hour a day, spread out over the past month. He has been digging holes.
The child's name is Harry. He is nine years old and wants to move on with his life. He wants to walk towards an uncertain, but existing future, rather than dwell on an unchanging past.
There are three holes and three crosses, carefully bound together from planks and twine.
If it has somehow remained unclear; the holes are graves.
Harry stood up from his kneeling position next to the largest of the graves and discarded the garden trowel he'd been using onto the pile of dirt he'd dug out. He was sure he looked comical in his bright yellow anorak, plastic red pants and green boots with little frogs on them. He wished the context was comical, but unfortunately, it was rather dreary.
"Today we are gathered here to mourn. Fitting, for it is the first of November. The day of the dead on which the connection between the living and the departed is said to be the thinnest," He said in a boyish voice, but with a solemnity and verbosity that would make any adult look twice to see if they had perhaps misjudged the age of the speaker.
"Three loved ones have been taken from me on nearly this very day, nine years ago."
A small notebook was retrieved from the right-side pocket of the anorak. Harry flipped through it, some words sticking out to him from the quick perusal. Apartment, diary, passport and copper cooking pots were some of the notable ones. He threw the notebook into the smallest hole, put his hands together in faux prayer and bowed his head. "We grieve the loss of the material for it has been imbued by interaction with the spirit," he said and held the pose for a minute.
The next item was a drawing of what appeared to be a young man holding a diploma standing in front of a large group of people who were all turned towards him with smiles on their faces. The picture was crumpled up and thrown in the middle grave. "We grieve the loss of the plans we had and the people we leave behind. We grieve the loss of the sweat that has been spilt on defunct goals and the love shared in now severed bonds." The words echoed through the clearing. Harry brought his head down and his hands up to say goodbye to the second grave.
The last one was the one he feared the most. Because there were some things in life, beyond items, dreams, friends and family, that one never got over losing.
He half-hoped that it would be possible to let go, to forget. But the other half of him wanted to remember, to use the suffering as fuel. Integrate it.
After some searching, made harder by the trembling of the small hand doing it, a very realistic doll was brought forth from his pocket. The doll was female and had blonde hair, pale blue jeans and a green sweater. Tiny little slippers adorned her feet. Harry stared at the abstraction as a few tears slid down his face and threatened to obscure his view. A superimposition of the woman that the doll was meant to represent appeared over the lifeless features. The ghost smiled sadly and mouthed something. Harry wasn't a lip-reader. But he thought he could identify the lip movement of the phrases he'd heard often enough.
'I love you and goodbye,' it said and Harry accepted that he had finally gone fully insane.
"I love you too." He whispered to the ghost. The words disappeared like the stillness of a lake under the influence of a skipping stone and so did the apparition. The doll was a doll.
Harry squared up, took back control of his whole body as only adults knew how and threw the representation into the last, largest hole. He was too distraught to bring himself into the proper position and simply began talking without a preamble. "We grieve the most cherished person left behind in another world, hoping that they may find happiness in a well-lived life." He managed to croak out shakily. The feeling that was starting to overwhelm him was hard to describe. If pressed he would have described it as half missing one's heart and half floating away, struck by an unbearably painful lightness of being.
He stumbled from where he was standing and fell to the ground. Rather than just metaphorically feeling as if his heart was missing from his tiny chest, he now felt something very real, if ephemeral, was flowing from somewhere inside of him. It was his magic, the force that had accompanied him since his birth in this new life. He gasped and tried to stop what was happening, but it was impossible. The ground was demanding too much and his magic was too willing to give all that it had. Just about when black spots started appearing in his vision did the event finally stop, leaving him gasping and trembling with his wet cheek turning the earth it was laying on into mud. He managed to force his head upwards to look at the graves he'd dug. It was because of this that he saw a soft green light appearing above them. It floated carelessly in the air for a few moments before apparently deciding that it would rather be in the ground. It tumbled down like a leaf and disappeared into the most important of the graves.
Harry stared, half afraid and half dumb-struck. There was a non-metaphorical gaping void somewhere inside of him but he nonetheless scurried up with an energy only to be found in young children to stare wondrously at the graves. He was about to step forward and try to glimpse inside, see the green light again, discern its properties, but the ground trembled again and he stumbled back instead. It was good that he did because the big pile of dirt that he'd pulled out of the ground heaved to the left, it heaved to the right, it heaved to the sky before suddenly slumping over the graves as if having been kicked by a giant. All the graves were perfectly filled, flattened, as if by someone who had taken great care to do so.
The entire phenomena, short and wondrous as it had been, left behind one stupefied and dirty kid and absolutely no real proof that anything interesting had happened on the 1st of November in a forest clearing one hour by bike away from Privet Drive 4, Surrey. The only curiosity to be found were three crudely made crosses, which a passerby would likely dismiss as a bad prank.
Harry for his part turned around and ran back to his bicycle. If he had stayed a bit longer, he would have perhaps seen a small sapling pushing itself out of the largest grave, defiantly pushing its bud out against the heavens.
31st of October 1981
Harry stared at the fireworks exploding over London from his bedroom window as owls fluttered across Surrey. The three-year-old sighed and clambered down from the small chair he'd used to reach the windowsill. He went back to bed and slipped under the sheets just as his bedroom door creaked open.
"He's somehow sleeping through the racket." His aunt's voice said quietly, eliciting a deeper, male grumble.
"He's the most lethargic boy in England, pet. He'd sleep through a world war if you'd let him." His uncle said, perhaps a bit too loudly.
"Vernon, quiet, you'll wake him up. You don't need to add your shouting to this ridiculous display as well. Really, what are peop-" The door quietly shut, blocking out any further talk.
Harry continued laying there, back to the door, the light coming from the streetlights illuminating just enough of the wall for him to be able to fixate on it. He could make out the grains, the bumps of paint, everything that the wall had to offer.
"The tyrant is dead. Long live the saviour," he whispered and brought up a hand to snap his fingers; a spark briefly lit up his fingertip before disappearing.
"But if this is the Wizarding World celebrating Voldemort's defeat, and I've been living with my aunts my whole life… then who is the boy who lived? And who am I?"
-/-
What to expect from this story: My favorite genre is that of the self-insert. A shameless power-fantasy where someone uses their fore-knowledge and relative maturity to dunk on all others and become the only favored under the heavens. Unfortunately, I am also a writer and reader who loves realism. I dislike plots in which main characters gain a bullshit amount of power to fast. My other pet-peeve, as someone who has touched grass and lost their virginity, is how most of the self-inserts occurring through death simply forget their previous life. Me, personally, I actually have family I talk to, a long-term relationship, and career prospects. If someone suddenly came to me and offered me the ability to reincarnate into a fantasy world of my choice, I probably wouldn't accept, or ask for it to happen in a few years if not decades. Thus, this story is a reflection of something that I myself would like to read. We got over the grief process now in the prologue, and the rest will be a normal Fanfic, although one where power gains will appear natural and plot armor will be minimal. If you're into slow-progression still leading to being overpowered, emotional maturity at the level of at least, a twenty year old, and an imperfect character who makes mistakes as we all do, but still strives to do his best, then this might be a story for you.
Memoirs of a well-lived death
Harry Evans faces a magical world that is both familiar and different from what he remembers. Is it worth the risk of losing everything to try and save it? Does he even have a choice? What binds us to a place are the people that inhabit it and Harry is forced to walk the knife's edge between fear and responsibility as he starts his first year at Hogwarts (and beyond)
AN: The prologue is a bit introspective and dark. Not your cup of tea? Skip to the first chapter instead. You'll miss out on some context, but context is for losers anyway.
Prologue
All stories have a beginning. The issue is in determining where it lies. Does the life of a tree begin with the conception of the acorn, or when it becomes a sapling? Do the characters of a book already exist before the first chapter is written, in the mind of the author? Where does one draw the line between the blurry boundaries of continuity when looking at something as complex as human life?
For Harry Evans, the story had already been written, in a different time, in a different place.
It had also ended there in a manner that left many dreams unaccomplished and many a person grieving.
He'd died.
A traumatic affair for those involved. Parents having to come to terms with having outlived their child. Classmates being confronted with their own mortality by the empty seat in the lecture hall. Friends with a number on their phone that they will never call again.
But what about the deceased? Do the dead mourn their own death?
Seldom does a person gladly go into the embrace beyond, having done all their work on earth and given all the love they could. They are rarely happy with their last chapter. We are hesitant, however, to consider their opinion on the matter. The dead do not have opinions after all. So is the common consensus.
Rather than entering a theoretical discourse on the autonomy of the deceased, an undoubtedly interesting topic, we here shall look at a certain mysterious case study instead. Why not, after all, when one is readily available.
If someone were to survive their death, through reasons unknown. How would such a person mourn? While the loved ones of the deceased have lost one connection, no matter how dear, the deceased individual has lost everything. Their family, their friends, their life partner, all the way down to their bicycle, notebooks, laptop, career, apartment and their literal body.
How long does it take a dead person to get over having been deprived of everything they'd ever experienced?
1st of November 1987
A boy is kneeling on the ground in a forest clearing. An hour by bike away from his home, so that nobody can stumble upon him. He has been here for an hour a day, spread out over the past month. He has been digging holes.
The child's name is Harry. He is nine years old and wants to move on with his life. He wants to walk towards an uncertain, but existing future, rather than dwell on an unchanging past.
There are three holes and three crosses, carefully bound together from planks and twine.
If it has somehow remained unclear; the holes are graves.
Harry stood up from his kneeling position next to the largest of the graves and discarded the garden trowel he'd been using onto the pile of dirt he'd dug out. He was sure he looked comical in his bright yellow anorak, plastic red pants and green boots with little frogs on them. He wished the context was comical, but unfortunately, it was rather dreary.
"Today we are gathered here to mourn. Fitting, for it is the first of November. The day of the dead on which the connection between the living and the departed is said to be the thinnest," He said in a boyish voice, but with a solemnity and verbosity that would make any adult look twice to see if they had perhaps misjudged the age of the speaker.
"Three loved ones have been taken from me on nearly this very day, nine years ago."
A small notebook was retrieved from the right-side pocket of the anorak. Harry flipped through it, some words sticking out to him from the quick perusal. Apartment, diary, passport and copper cooking pots were some of the notable ones. He threw the notebook into the smallest hole, put his hands together in faux prayer and bowed his head. "We grieve the loss of the material for it has been imbued by interaction with the spirit," he said and held the pose for a minute.
The next item was a drawing of what appeared to be a young man holding a diploma standing in front of a large group of people who were all turned towards him with smiles on their faces. The picture was crumpled up and thrown in the middle grave. "We grieve the loss of the plans we had and the people we leave behind. We grieve the loss of the sweat that has been spilt on defunct goals and the love shared in now severed bonds." The words echoed through the clearing. Harry brought his head down and his hands up to say goodbye to the second grave.
The last one was the one he feared the most. Because there were some things in life, beyond items, dreams, friends and family, that one never got over losing.
He half-hoped that it would be possible to let go, to forget. But the other half of him wanted to remember, to use the suffering as fuel. Integrate it.
After some searching, made harder by the trembling of the small hand doing it, a very realistic doll was brought forth from his pocket. The doll was female and had blonde hair, pale blue jeans and a green sweater. Tiny little slippers adorned her feet. Harry stared at the abstraction as a few tears slid down his face and threatened to obscure his view. A superimposition of the woman that the doll was meant to represent appeared over the lifeless features. The ghost smiled sadly and mouthed something. Harry wasn't a lip-reader. But he thought he could identify the lip movement of the phrases he'd heard often enough.
'I love you and goodbye,' it said and Harry accepted that he had finally gone fully insane.
"I love you too." He whispered to the ghost. The words disappeared like the stillness of a lake under the influence of a skipping stone and so did the apparition. The doll was a doll.
Harry squared up, took back control of his whole body as only adults knew how and threw the representation into the last, largest hole. He was too distraught to bring himself into the proper position and simply began talking without a preamble. "We grieve the most cherished person left behind in another world, hoping that they may find happiness in a well-lived life." He managed to croak out shakily. The feeling that was starting to overwhelm him was hard to describe. If pressed he would have described it as half missing one's heart and half floating away, struck by an unbearably painful lightness of being.
He stumbled from where he was standing and fell to the ground. Rather than just metaphorically feeling as if his heart was missing from his tiny chest, he now felt something very real, if ephemeral, was flowing from somewhere inside of him. It was his magic, the force that had accompanied him since his birth in this new life. He gasped and tried to stop what was happening, but it was impossible. The ground was demanding too much and his magic was too willing to give all that it had. Just about when black spots started appearing in his vision did the event finally stop, leaving him gasping and trembling with his wet cheek turning the earth it was laying on into mud. He managed to force his head upwards to look at the graves he'd dug. It was because of this that he saw a soft green light appearing above them. It floated carelessly in the air for a few moments before apparently deciding that it would rather be in the ground. It tumbled down like a leaf and disappeared into the most important of the graves.
Harry stared, half afraid and half dumb-struck. There was a non-metaphorical gaping void somewhere inside of him but he nonetheless scurried up with an energy only to be found in young children to stare wondrously at the graves. He was about to step forward and try to glimpse inside, see the green light again, discern its properties, but the ground trembled again and he stumbled back instead. It was good that he did because the big pile of dirt that he'd pulled out of the ground heaved to the left, it heaved to the right, it heaved to the sky before suddenly slumping over the graves as if having been kicked by a giant. All the graves were perfectly filled, flattened, as if by someone who had taken great care to do so.
The entire phenomena, short and wondrous as it had been, left behind one stupefied and dirty kid and absolutely no real proof that anything interesting had happened on the 1st of November in a forest clearing one hour by bike away from Privet Drive 4, Surrey. The only curiosity to be found were three crudely made crosses, which a passerby would likely dismiss as a bad prank.
Harry for his part turned around and ran back to his bicycle. If he had stayed a bit longer, he would have perhaps seen a small sapling pushing itself out of the largest grave, defiantly pushing its bud out against the heavens.
31st of October 1981
Harry stared at the fireworks exploding over London from his bedroom window as owls fluttered across Surrey. The three-year-old sighed and clambered down from the small chair he'd used to reach the windowsill. He went back to bed and slipped under the sheets just as his bedroom door creaked open.
"He's somehow sleeping through the racket." His aunt's voice said quietly, eliciting a deeper, male grumble.
"He's the most lethargic boy in England, pet. He'd sleep through a world war if you'd let him." His uncle said, perhaps a bit too loudly.
"Vernon, quiet, you'll wake him up. You don't need to add your shouting to this ridiculous display as well. Really, what are peop-" The door quietly shut, blocking out any further talk.
Harry continued laying there, back to the door, the light coming from the streetlights illuminating just enough of the wall for him to be able to fixate on it. He could make out the grains, the bumps of paint, everything that the wall had to offer.
"The tyrant is dead. Long live the saviour," he whispered and brought up a hand to snap his fingers; a spark briefly lit up his fingertip before disappearing.
"But if this is the Wizarding World celebrating Voldemort's defeat, and I've been living with my aunts my whole life… then who is the boy who lived? And who am I?"
-/-
What to expect from this story: My favorite genre is that of the self-insert. A shameless power-fantasy where someone uses their fore-knowledge and relative maturity to dunk on all others and become the only favored under the heavens. Unfortunately, I am also a writer and reader who loves realism. I dislike plots in which main characters gain a bullshit amount of power to fast. My other pet-peeve, as someone who has touched grass and lost their virginity, is how most of the self-inserts occurring through death simply forget their previous life. Me, personally, I actually have family I talk to, a long-term relationship, and career prospects. If someone suddenly came to me and offered me the ability to reincarnate into a fantasy world of my choice, I probably wouldn't accept, or ask for it to happen in a few years if not decades. Thus, this story is a reflection of something that I myself would like to read. We got over the grief process now in the prologue, and the rest will be a normal Fanfic, although one where power gains will appear natural and plot armor will be minimal. If you're into slow-progression still leading to being overpowered, emotional maturity at the level of at least, a twenty year old, and an imperfect character who makes mistakes as we all do, but still strives to do his best, then this might be a story for you.
Last edited:
Liked the story so far.
Plants are willing to do quite a lot to see the heavens, either for light or for water, and are impassive at minimum for other things and even defiant against wind, speeding cars, etc.
against the ground.
Plants are willing to do quite a lot to see the heavens, either for light or for water, and are impassive at minimum for other things and even defiant against wind, speeding cars, etc.
Chapter 1: The Hogwarts professor
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
Chapter 1
31st of July 1989
"It's helpful to always set one end of the equation to zero unless you're dealing with multiplication or division," Harry explained and scribbled a short example on Dudley's homework sheet, before solving it with the method he'd just described. "The moment one part of the equation is zero, all additions and subtractions become much easier. Less to get confused by."
"Thanks, Harry," Dudley said as he scratched his blonde head with a pencil. "You'll come look over it later?" He asked.
"Of course," Harry replied. "The moment I'm done helping Dad in the garage. We'll get this summer's workload out of the way before you know it and then you can go to summer camp with a clear conscience."
Staying long enough to see Dudley start working on the math equations, Harry gave his cousin an encouraging pat on the back and left the boy's room.
Dudley had grown up much differently in this world than he would have in the books Harry had read. He was a polite, naive young boy, who was aware that one needed to work to achieve one's goals. He was top of his class and had even skipped a grade. This was either due to Harry's positive influence or perhaps the lack of a negative influence from not having a Horcrux in the house.
Popping down the stairs Harry joined Vernon in the garage, where the portly man was inspecting the tools they were going to need today.
The man glanced up when he heard approaching steps and when he noticed who they belonged to, he bellowed, "Finally done helping Dudley with maths I see?! Good, let's get to work," he said enthusiastically and gestured to the very beaten up boxy Vauxhall Viva 1963 they'd recently purchased for a few hundred quid. Half of what they'd earned from flipping the last car. It sat in the garage with space to spare due to its small size while their actual family car was exiled outside, into the merciless summer sun.
"Yeah, let's get to work," Harry said as he picked up a power drill and went over to the rusted front chassis of the old vehicle. "This part will definitely need to be sanded down before we relacquer and repaint it, but we'll need the exterior off first anyway so let's just start with something easy," he quipped with a smile before bending down and loosening the first screw.
"Always hated the rusted ones the most to be honest," Vernon said as he came over and held up the chassis with thick arms covered by gloves so it wouldn't fall on Harry as he unscrewed it.
"Well, we needed to invest in a few stocks to save and grow money. It would be a damn shame if Dudley didn't have his pick of schools due to financial reasons, considering his grades," Harry replied as the chassis dropped into his uncle's waiting hands and Harry made his way to the car doors. "And that means…"
"That more of the money made flipping has to go for stocks instead of rebuying the nicer to work with cars, I know," Vernon said and while Harry didn't have the man in his sight of vision he could feel the eye-roll.
"It's a steadier growth prognosis over the year," He muttered defensively.
Non-blood related uncle and nephew continued chatting amicably as they worked in the garage, dismantling the used car they'd bought from a work colleague. Eventually, the aunt in the equation called them in for dinner and that was that. A quintessential Monday when his aunt and uncle were on holiday, however, it was also the 31st of July, the day that Harry turned eleven. A birthday party would take place in the evening. Unless something happened to disturb it.
-/-
The doorbell rang, very rudely, while the Dursleys were eating lunch. The sound caused the clinking of eating utensils on plates to stop and everyone to freeze. Harry stood up from the heavily laden table. "I'll go get it," he said, at which point his aunt's nose flared and she sprang up with the energy more reminiscent of a professional athlete, rather than a sedentary woman in her late thirties.
"No, I will," she said before rushing off to get the door, the yellow of her dress blurring in with the pastel house decorations from how fast she'd walked. The door slammed shut, leaving the visitor, whoever they may be, and his aunt, outside.
"Dudley, do you want to go finish up and practise the guitar for a bit, I think someone just came for Harry's school admission. You were working on that song… about bluebirds, or rainbows or something," Vernon said seriously while looking down at the table with crossed arms, seemingly frustrated.
It was a testament to how tense the atmosphere in the room had gotten ever since the doorbell had been rung that Dudley simply nodded and went up to his room without protest. Usually, the boy would be much too curious to leave when something unusual was happening.
It was right as Dudley left that the screaming started.
"Impressive volume," Harry muttered, Petunia must have been raving mad to shout loudly enough for her voice to carry into the house and thus definitely to the neighbours as well.
Vernon snorted. "The things they did to her sister, your mother. They deserve more than just getting screamed at," he said darkly. Shortly after the door finally opened and a red-faced Petunia came back into the kitchen, followed by an overweight man with a walrus moustache wearing a green suit that clashed horribly with his anxious countenance.
Harry recognized the character turned real person and sighed. He had wondered if he was going to get a visit from a professor, or if he was going to receive a letter only. He had been expecting a professor since he was just a normal orphan in this world, but he hadn't known which one. Technically it would have made sense for it to be either Snape or Professor McGonagall. One was a childhood friend of his mother, even if presumably estranged and the other was her former head of house.
The man standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking at him with a sad gaze was neither of these people, but rather, Horace Slughorn. The potions professor of Hogwarts from back when Voldemort had been a student there. Harry was a bit disquieted at the apparent change in professorship, but considering he was alive, things were never going to be exactly the same anyway.
"Mr. Evans." Slughorn stepped into the dining room, his belly having entered it first. A furious-looking Petunia stood behind him, looking at him with eyes that could probably induce spontaneous heart attacks in small animals. "You look remarkably like your mother. The same red hair and green eyes," he trailed off and then shook his head as if to reawaken from some sort of dream that he'd fallen into. "Sorry, I got lost in some memories. An old man's mind isn't as robust as it used to be. Nevertheless, I am here to deliver the admission letter to Hogwarts Academy for wizards and witches. I assume your family has told you about your magical heritage?"
Harry considered the man, who seemed more bereaved than excited to meet a prospective student and nodded. "Come, sit. I imagine we have some things to discuss," He said and pointed to an arm-chair in the corner of the room. It was with a certain morbid curiosity that Harry then looked Slughorn in his blue eyes, wondering if the man was a Legilimens. It sounded like the sort of magic a Slytherin would appreciate. He broke eye contact before he could find out. "I will be coming to Hogwarts. Considering my tuition is paid for as a British citizen, I just don't see the need to look for other alternatives," Harry prodded, hiding his true purpose. The real reason he was going to Hogwarts was because he had at least a certain amount of foreknowledge about the castle and its inhabitants, theoretically making it safer than any alternatives. Not that he knew how to contact any alternatives, which was the other reason. "However, is the Wizarding World really safe?"
Slughorn sighed and handed Harry the acceptance letter before stiffly walking over to the arm-chair and sinking into it as if burdened by the mere thought of the topic. "The conflict that raged while your mother was going through her schooling is over, for good. You-know-who was defeated eight years ago and the wizarding world has since been as peaceful as any magical population can be," He eventually said.
"How was he defeated?" Harry asked as he stuffed the letter into his pocket, not bothering to read it yet. He already knew its contents.
"A magical anomaly led to his demise in the end. An attempted attack misfired, thus ridding us of the stain that the Dark Lord represented upon our world," Slughorn explained, wearily. Probably not that amused by the idea of sharing such grim topics with what was essentially a child.
"So you weren't even able to solve your own problems, is what you mean," Vernon interjected from the other side of the table. "You had to rely on a freak accident!"
Slughorn perked up at the insinuation a bit angrily, before falling back into his seat. "Well, we don't know what really happened, it might have been something that Alice did before she…" Slughorn trailed off.
"It wasn't one of these terrorists that ruined my sister's life," Petunia said calmly. "It happened in school, under your supervision, if I recall correctly. I don't see a reason why we should send our nephew there considering what happened, tuition or not. What other options are available?" she asked brusquely.
Slughorn shook his head. "No, no, he should go to Hogwarts, it's his birthright! Lily was one of the most brilliant students to ever grace our halls. There is no war going on that can spill over into the school and distract the professorship. We can protect Harry! Not that there is anything to protect him from," he hastily added.
"What are the other school options?" Petunia asked with gritted teeth, clenching a teacup that she brought up to her mouth, but didn't drink from.
"France or America for the most part," Slughorn conceded, making Vernon cringe and drawing a chuckle from Harry.
"From my understanding of wars, they generally don't start overnight. There is an underlying tension, a build-up. If I notice that the Wizarding World is becoming unsafe again, what's to prevent me from simply leaving the country?" Harry asked.
"That's a good idea. Wouldn't want to leave Britain behind but there's war and there's inconvenience," mumbled Vernon.
"Only the first five years of schooling are obligatory. After your O.W.L's you can discontinue your schooling without consequences, no matter how tragic it would be to see you go. You seem awfully bright, just like your mother," Slughorn prompted, once again striking a connection to Lily.
Harry tilted his head at the man, who seemed fairly insistent on him coming to Hogwarts. It might be explained away by the fact that canonically his mother was one of the man's favourite students, but this seemed like something more.
"These things on the list, cauldrons and wands and books. I assume we'll have to go shopping for them somewhere not easily accessible. Which is why I'll need someone to guide me?"
"Diagon Alley. You will be going with me to the bank first to pick up the funds and then we will buy your school supplies together if you have time right now that is," Slughorn said a bit more jovially now that it seemed Harry was opening up to the idea of actually going to Hogwarts.
"The sooner the better. Let's be on our way then," Harry said and stood up. He noted the fidgeting his aunt and uncle were doing and shot them a reassuring smile. "I'll stay safe," he said and left the house with the professor, knowing that it was better to simply pull off the band-aid than to let them think about it too much. They'd told him about his heritage, from his mother's side and had been dreading this day since he'd been old enough to ask why strange things sometimes happened around him.
Not that he'd had much experience with accidental magic.
Except for one particular instance, all the magic that he'd ever done had been completely intentional.
31st of July 1989
"It's helpful to always set one end of the equation to zero unless you're dealing with multiplication or division," Harry explained and scribbled a short example on Dudley's homework sheet, before solving it with the method he'd just described. "The moment one part of the equation is zero, all additions and subtractions become much easier. Less to get confused by."
"Thanks, Harry," Dudley said as he scratched his blonde head with a pencil. "You'll come look over it later?" He asked.
"Of course," Harry replied. "The moment I'm done helping Dad in the garage. We'll get this summer's workload out of the way before you know it and then you can go to summer camp with a clear conscience."
Staying long enough to see Dudley start working on the math equations, Harry gave his cousin an encouraging pat on the back and left the boy's room.
Dudley had grown up much differently in this world than he would have in the books Harry had read. He was a polite, naive young boy, who was aware that one needed to work to achieve one's goals. He was top of his class and had even skipped a grade. This was either due to Harry's positive influence or perhaps the lack of a negative influence from not having a Horcrux in the house.
Popping down the stairs Harry joined Vernon in the garage, where the portly man was inspecting the tools they were going to need today.
The man glanced up when he heard approaching steps and when he noticed who they belonged to, he bellowed, "Finally done helping Dudley with maths I see?! Good, let's get to work," he said enthusiastically and gestured to the very beaten up boxy Vauxhall Viva 1963 they'd recently purchased for a few hundred quid. Half of what they'd earned from flipping the last car. It sat in the garage with space to spare due to its small size while their actual family car was exiled outside, into the merciless summer sun.
"Yeah, let's get to work," Harry said as he picked up a power drill and went over to the rusted front chassis of the old vehicle. "This part will definitely need to be sanded down before we relacquer and repaint it, but we'll need the exterior off first anyway so let's just start with something easy," he quipped with a smile before bending down and loosening the first screw.
"Always hated the rusted ones the most to be honest," Vernon said as he came over and held up the chassis with thick arms covered by gloves so it wouldn't fall on Harry as he unscrewed it.
"Well, we needed to invest in a few stocks to save and grow money. It would be a damn shame if Dudley didn't have his pick of schools due to financial reasons, considering his grades," Harry replied as the chassis dropped into his uncle's waiting hands and Harry made his way to the car doors. "And that means…"
"That more of the money made flipping has to go for stocks instead of rebuying the nicer to work with cars, I know," Vernon said and while Harry didn't have the man in his sight of vision he could feel the eye-roll.
"It's a steadier growth prognosis over the year," He muttered defensively.
Non-blood related uncle and nephew continued chatting amicably as they worked in the garage, dismantling the used car they'd bought from a work colleague. Eventually, the aunt in the equation called them in for dinner and that was that. A quintessential Monday when his aunt and uncle were on holiday, however, it was also the 31st of July, the day that Harry turned eleven. A birthday party would take place in the evening. Unless something happened to disturb it.
-/-
The doorbell rang, very rudely, while the Dursleys were eating lunch. The sound caused the clinking of eating utensils on plates to stop and everyone to freeze. Harry stood up from the heavily laden table. "I'll go get it," he said, at which point his aunt's nose flared and she sprang up with the energy more reminiscent of a professional athlete, rather than a sedentary woman in her late thirties.
"No, I will," she said before rushing off to get the door, the yellow of her dress blurring in with the pastel house decorations from how fast she'd walked. The door slammed shut, leaving the visitor, whoever they may be, and his aunt, outside.
"Dudley, do you want to go finish up and practise the guitar for a bit, I think someone just came for Harry's school admission. You were working on that song… about bluebirds, or rainbows or something," Vernon said seriously while looking down at the table with crossed arms, seemingly frustrated.
It was a testament to how tense the atmosphere in the room had gotten ever since the doorbell had been rung that Dudley simply nodded and went up to his room without protest. Usually, the boy would be much too curious to leave when something unusual was happening.
It was right as Dudley left that the screaming started.
"Impressive volume," Harry muttered, Petunia must have been raving mad to shout loudly enough for her voice to carry into the house and thus definitely to the neighbours as well.
Vernon snorted. "The things they did to her sister, your mother. They deserve more than just getting screamed at," he said darkly. Shortly after the door finally opened and a red-faced Petunia came back into the kitchen, followed by an overweight man with a walrus moustache wearing a green suit that clashed horribly with his anxious countenance.
Harry recognized the character turned real person and sighed. He had wondered if he was going to get a visit from a professor, or if he was going to receive a letter only. He had been expecting a professor since he was just a normal orphan in this world, but he hadn't known which one. Technically it would have made sense for it to be either Snape or Professor McGonagall. One was a childhood friend of his mother, even if presumably estranged and the other was her former head of house.
The man standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking at him with a sad gaze was neither of these people, but rather, Horace Slughorn. The potions professor of Hogwarts from back when Voldemort had been a student there. Harry was a bit disquieted at the apparent change in professorship, but considering he was alive, things were never going to be exactly the same anyway.
"Mr. Evans." Slughorn stepped into the dining room, his belly having entered it first. A furious-looking Petunia stood behind him, looking at him with eyes that could probably induce spontaneous heart attacks in small animals. "You look remarkably like your mother. The same red hair and green eyes," he trailed off and then shook his head as if to reawaken from some sort of dream that he'd fallen into. "Sorry, I got lost in some memories. An old man's mind isn't as robust as it used to be. Nevertheless, I am here to deliver the admission letter to Hogwarts Academy for wizards and witches. I assume your family has told you about your magical heritage?"
Harry considered the man, who seemed more bereaved than excited to meet a prospective student and nodded. "Come, sit. I imagine we have some things to discuss," He said and pointed to an arm-chair in the corner of the room. It was with a certain morbid curiosity that Harry then looked Slughorn in his blue eyes, wondering if the man was a Legilimens. It sounded like the sort of magic a Slytherin would appreciate. He broke eye contact before he could find out. "I will be coming to Hogwarts. Considering my tuition is paid for as a British citizen, I just don't see the need to look for other alternatives," Harry prodded, hiding his true purpose. The real reason he was going to Hogwarts was because he had at least a certain amount of foreknowledge about the castle and its inhabitants, theoretically making it safer than any alternatives. Not that he knew how to contact any alternatives, which was the other reason. "However, is the Wizarding World really safe?"
Slughorn sighed and handed Harry the acceptance letter before stiffly walking over to the arm-chair and sinking into it as if burdened by the mere thought of the topic. "The conflict that raged while your mother was going through her schooling is over, for good. You-know-who was defeated eight years ago and the wizarding world has since been as peaceful as any magical population can be," He eventually said.
"How was he defeated?" Harry asked as he stuffed the letter into his pocket, not bothering to read it yet. He already knew its contents.
"A magical anomaly led to his demise in the end. An attempted attack misfired, thus ridding us of the stain that the Dark Lord represented upon our world," Slughorn explained, wearily. Probably not that amused by the idea of sharing such grim topics with what was essentially a child.
"So you weren't even able to solve your own problems, is what you mean," Vernon interjected from the other side of the table. "You had to rely on a freak accident!"
Slughorn perked up at the insinuation a bit angrily, before falling back into his seat. "Well, we don't know what really happened, it might have been something that Alice did before she…" Slughorn trailed off.
"It wasn't one of these terrorists that ruined my sister's life," Petunia said calmly. "It happened in school, under your supervision, if I recall correctly. I don't see a reason why we should send our nephew there considering what happened, tuition or not. What other options are available?" she asked brusquely.
Slughorn shook his head. "No, no, he should go to Hogwarts, it's his birthright! Lily was one of the most brilliant students to ever grace our halls. There is no war going on that can spill over into the school and distract the professorship. We can protect Harry! Not that there is anything to protect him from," he hastily added.
"What are the other school options?" Petunia asked with gritted teeth, clenching a teacup that she brought up to her mouth, but didn't drink from.
"France or America for the most part," Slughorn conceded, making Vernon cringe and drawing a chuckle from Harry.
"From my understanding of wars, they generally don't start overnight. There is an underlying tension, a build-up. If I notice that the Wizarding World is becoming unsafe again, what's to prevent me from simply leaving the country?" Harry asked.
"That's a good idea. Wouldn't want to leave Britain behind but there's war and there's inconvenience," mumbled Vernon.
"Only the first five years of schooling are obligatory. After your O.W.L's you can discontinue your schooling without consequences, no matter how tragic it would be to see you go. You seem awfully bright, just like your mother," Slughorn prompted, once again striking a connection to Lily.
Harry tilted his head at the man, who seemed fairly insistent on him coming to Hogwarts. It might be explained away by the fact that canonically his mother was one of the man's favourite students, but this seemed like something more.
"These things on the list, cauldrons and wands and books. I assume we'll have to go shopping for them somewhere not easily accessible. Which is why I'll need someone to guide me?"
"Diagon Alley. You will be going with me to the bank first to pick up the funds and then we will buy your school supplies together if you have time right now that is," Slughorn said a bit more jovially now that it seemed Harry was opening up to the idea of actually going to Hogwarts.
"The sooner the better. Let's be on our way then," Harry said and stood up. He noted the fidgeting his aunt and uncle were doing and shot them a reassuring smile. "I'll stay safe," he said and left the house with the professor, knowing that it was better to simply pull off the band-aid than to let them think about it too much. They'd told him about his heritage, from his mother's side and had been dreading this day since he'd been old enough to ask why strange things sometimes happened around him.
Not that he'd had much experience with accidental magic.
Except for one particular instance, all the magic that he'd ever done had been completely intentional.
Last edited:
Chapter 2: Diagonally drifting
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
"Diagonally, very clever," Harry said as he took in the magical street for the first time.
It was more subdued than he'd imagined it to be, but he guessed he was here two years earlier than Harry Potter had been in the books. Maybe the next years were where most of the after-war upswing occurred. He scrunched his brows at the intrusive thought that this world was too different for his supposed foreknowledge to be of any help.
Soon, he would find out how much knowledge was accurate. He was just a few news articles or history books away from confirming what was real and what was not.
They started making their way to Gringotts. Harry stepped over a small pack of sugar mice running away from a small child and asked a question that would hopefully lead to being able to ask about the possibility of purchasing Occlumency material. He hoped there was a way to check how far his self-training had gotten him before he went to Hogwarts. He started a line of questioning that should hopefully lead there.
"How do wizards deal with it if a non-magical sees them perform magic?"
"Obliviators, a special department created to upkeep the statute of secrecy. They adjust the memories of the witness. It's a respectable job, perhaps a bit unambitious, since you really only focus on one spell in the end," Slughorn said in a tone that he probably used on his students at Hogwarts. "But this will all be explained in the muggle-born guidebook we will get later. Quite a useful thing, that. Only recently did someone come up with the idea."
"That sounds like a very dangerous magic if misused though. Is there a way to defend one's self from it?" Harry asked.
Slughorn looked at Harry searchingly and slowed down a bit to consider his answer. "The Mind Arts, something one shouldn't be delving into at your age. The possibility of inflicting irreparable damage upon one's psyche is too high."
And that was that. No more answers were forthcoming despite Harry's continued prodding of the topic. All that he was able to find out was that Hogwarts did not have a newspaper collection in their library, which meant he wouldn't be able to check the usefulness of his knowledge at school. He needed to think of another solution. Retracing the history of what exactly was different in this world was one of his most important tasks at the moment.
They'd entered the bank, with its ominous poem and wide white arches, while Harry was stuck in his own thoughts. He only came to himself as the money he was privileged to was handed over by a surly goblin, directly to Slughorn, who stuck it inside his vest. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had a holding account which needed a Head of House to access. This explained why Slughorn was here. He was the Head of Slytherin, still, or again, Harry hadn't been able to determine.
"Where does the money come from?" Harry asked, curiously, wondering who exactly was funding his schooling.
"Some foundations for muggle-borns, by other muggle-borns and the rest comes directly from the ministry," Slughorn explained as he rushed them out of the bank, apparently unwilling to spend too much time in the presence of the small but ferocious creatures that handled the wizarding's world gold.
"You mean taxes?" Harry asked, receiving a nod. "Guess you can't escape those even if you're a wizard," he mused as they made their way to Madam Malkins, where Harry was fitted for robes made from the lowest quality materials. He wondered if one of the reasons that purebloods hated muggleborns was simply because their taxes paid for their education and they'd rather just keep the money. After his measurements were taken, they moved on to other stores. His garments would be finished in an hour or two, while they completed the rest of Harry's shopping.
They stopped at the apothecary after and Harry paid particular attention to whatever advice the Potions Professor had to give, acting the part of the inquisitive student. It seemed to gain him back a few points that he had lost with his blunt manners and straightforward interest in Occlumency earlier. Harry bought one extra Bezoar and added it to his Potions Kit. He would fashion a necklace out of it back in Privet Drive. He'd been doing a lot of handy work in the garage so he had all the requisite tools.
Poisons scared him, to be honest, and the culturally almost mediaeval wizarding world seemed like it would still use them as a viable tactic against one's enemies. He shuddered to think what horrendous effects magical poisons could have on someone.
After buying the Bezoar Harry managed to convince Slughorn to take him to a second-hand bookstore in which he managed to find most of his textbooks for cheap, allowing him to pick up an additional three books. One on household Charms, one on personal hygiene magic and one on recent history. Nothing on the Mind Arts was apparent and when Harry tried to probe Slughorn on the topic again the man shut down faster than a guillotine during France's reign of terror.
Harry had to distract the professor with other topics, such as saying how excited he was to get the books that he had gotten. He knew that Slughorn likely had a very justified fear of students too invested in material beyond their age which could be used for malicious purposes. He decided to stop prodding.
"Your interest in household Charms, does it have a particular reason?" Slughorn asked once they'd left the store, at which Harry shrugged.
"Time is a precious resource, cleaning up after oneself, folding clothes, cooking, doing dishes, painting walls, brushing teeth. These are all chores, that if substituted with magic would save one perhaps an hour every day. This is 365 hours a year, which is a full 15 days. If one doesn't need to waste time or energy on these menial tasks then one can reinvest in something more important. Also, I imagine magically cleaning something is more effective than doing it by hand."
"Industrious thinking, although you will find that at Hogwarts most needs will be met by the house-elves." Slughorn complimented. "Never thought about it that way actually," he mused.
Harry nodded, thinking of the new learning material he'd gotten. It was probably enough to keep him occupied for a month, especially if he was able to cast spells. He remembered that Hermione had been able to practise at home before her first year. It would require some testing of the Trace.
The last place they stopped at was Ollivanders, a seemingly rickety old shop that nonetheless held a function central to the life of most witches and wizards inhabiting Britain. Harry entered alone, with the requisite money, Slughorn saying that he'd wait outside.
-/-
"What is a wand?" Harry asked as the old proprietor of the wand store set the measuring tape at him.
"Your mother was a curious one as well, willow wand, good for Charms. A wand is a tool to afflict magic onto the world," Ollivander answered as he considered different boxes, taking some out and adding new ones as the measurement tape provided new information.
"How does it do so though? The magic is in me, but I'm being told I need a wand to channel it properly. Is a wand something that resonates with my magic in certain ways, the wavelength created being the magical effect? Is a wand an amplifier, or does it simply enhance a spell? Is it a focal point, does it narrow magic down to create a more concentrated effect? Or is a wand a symbolic tool which helps codify and unify our magic system into something uniform?" Harry asked rapidly, having this one-time excuse to ask the wand-maker some questions that had been brewing in his mind for almost a decade now.
"Curious, perhaps not unicorn then. Too secure in their purity," Ollivander muttered and discarded almost a fourth of the boxes he'd accrued. He peered at the boy over the glasses he wore. Harry made sure to avoid eye contact with the watery blue orbs seeking his green ones.
"Wands are many things. Seldom is a tool prevalent only because it has only one advantage. Wands resonate, amplifying the effect, the focus, the ease of a given spell," he began explaining, Harry nodding along. "They unify the magical system into something comprehensible, predictable, researchable. Something with rules. Staves are powerful but lack finesse. Sorcery, that is to say, wandless magic, is completely and utterly individual, meaning every sorcerer starts from the beginning. What can a sorcerer discover, learn and create in one lifetime that the entire wizarding world working on a unified system for thousands of years cannot match a million times over? Wands are our friends, our allies, our third arm. They are what separates us from magical creatures. Our tool, birthright and gift…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over. "Does that answer your question?" He asked after he snapped out of whatever daydream his monologue had sent him spiralling into and went back to his assortment of boxes.
"For the moment. I'll research the topic more when I have the chance to peruse the Hogwarts library," Harry said.
"I recommend Wandlore throughout the winding winds of time by Bork Stavenot. Hogwarts should have a copy." Ollivander said before suddenly shoving a box in Harry's face. "Here, try this. Hawthorne and dragon heartstring."
Harry took the dark wooden wand out of the box and for want of anything better to do, swished it in the general direction of the floor. Nothing seemed to happen and the wand was taken away.
It was at the next wand that Harry decided that he needed to take an active role in the process. Perhaps his magic was too controlled in comparison to the average child. It would make sense considering how much he practised what was apparently sorcery.
It only needed a split-second for Harry to concentrate enough to bring about a small part of the power he had available. He focused the energy into the arm holding the wand and flicked the wand at a splinter lying innocuously on the floor.
It burst into hot white flames for but a second, before disappearing, leaving nothing, not even a scorch mark. Harry grimaced. "I was trying to levitate it," he admitted. The wand was snatched out of his hand.
"Hawthorn and phoenix feather."
A stab at the air. The intended effect, a pleasant breeze, the result, one spark.
"We're getting somewhere, definitely not hawthorn, but phoenix…" Ollivander muttered and the next wand he produced from his pile of boxes was oak and phoenix feather.
The game continued, either the wand would not even attempt to reproduce the desired effect, or it would be so weak that it was clearly incompatible.
It was only when Harry received a light brown wand with reddish streaks that he felt something happen before he even attempted to cast anything. He furrowed his brows at the length of wood, about as long as his forearm sans hand, and decided on something more difficult. He began swirling the wand in a downward pointed circle, pulling on only a small amount of magic, something that the wand greedily sucked up, amplified, refined and focused. Water droplets started emerging from the air where the wand was swung and followed the magic stick around like a little colony of ducklings that gradually grew larger and larger, eventually becoming a stream, which became a miniature river. This was the point where Harry elegantly circled the wand upwards in tighter and tighter circles. This caused the gathered-up water to bunch off into a perfect sphere, about as large as a tennis ball. The water sphere hovered where Harry had left it, not requiring much concentration to be kept in position.
Harry felt elated as he looked at the wand in his hand. 'Now this was a tool,' he thought. The water ball exercise was something he'd been working on recently. It was something that had been very frustrating to form and hold in position. The wand had allowed him to gather a larger amount of water in maybe a fifth of the time that he usually needed and the levitation of the ball felt like he could hold it forever. Thinking for a moment if it was the correct decision to try something new Harry decided to let his enthusiasm have its due. With a light smile on his face, he smoothed out the surface of the water sphere and focused on stopping all motion within the localised phenomenon. A white ball began spreading in the middle of the sphere. It extended spindly arms around itself, growing slowly until it filled out the entirety of the sphere, its shell eventually turning to white jagged ice. Harry felt elated and slightly dizzy.
The ball dropped to the wooden floor, shattering into a million little ice crystals and Harry quickly handed the wand to Ollivander before sitting down on the floor and cradling his head. He had suddenly developed a thumping headache, which thankfully lessened with every second.
"Well, that was very impressive. I can't wait to see what you will manage to do when you start learning real spells, Mr. Evans. But for the moment, I believe it was a fitting display for the wand that has chosen you. Elder wood is not something given or taken lightly. One has to wait for a branch to fall off this tree, for if one snaps it, the wood becomes cursed. There aren't many elder wands and there are even fewer elder wand wielders. The core is phoenix ash, something used much more rarely than phoenix feather. Mostly, because phoenix ash is not as powerful as a willingly given feather. However, its symbolic ties to rebirth are much stronger. An interesting wand," Ollivander said as he packed the wand away in a box, apparently unconcerned about Harry's condition. "I'd truly hate to see you again Mr. Evans," he said, paused for a moment, before adding a leather contraption to the box and handing the whole ensemble to Harry, who had by then managed to stand up.
"Here, a wand holster, free of charge. That will be nine galleons."
Harry handed over the money and made to leave, many things on his mind.
"Mr. Evans," Ollivander called out just as Harry had put his hand on the door handle of the store. "Elder wood is suited for healing, protection and funnily enough, music. Phoenix ash on the other hand… I've not made or sold any wands that use the material. However, I imagine that the core will be suited for works of finesse. How that would be expressed I do not know. A warning, however. Phoenix ash holds a residue of death and while it might signal potential to rebirth it might also mean that it would wish to inflict a similar faith on others. Be careful what you cast on people you do not like," Ollivander warned gravely.
"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said and exited the shop. The magical world suddenly seemed much brighter now that he'd gotten a wand. He took a moment to glance at the alley, appreciating its contours and old architectural styles, interspersed with clearly magical colours and effects.
It was in front of the shop that Slughorn was waiting. "Hard find?" The man asked.
Harry nodded. "I feel like I tried half the wands in the store, but we got there eventually."
"There are a few Knuts left from your yearly stipend. Not enough to buy anything worthwhile," Slughorn commented.
Harry shook his head. "I was actually thinking it would be nice to get you something as thanks for the help today, sir. I saw some ice cream on the way here, would you say it's worth trying?" Harry asked, feeling genuinely grateful that the probably busy man had taken time out of his schedule to introduce him to the Wizarding World. The suggestion seemed to be well-received as Slughorn laughed fully, moustache twitching.
"Magical ice cream, Harry, you're in for a treat. Let's go and give it a whirl," he said with a smile.
The ice cream was indeed good.
It was more subdued than he'd imagined it to be, but he guessed he was here two years earlier than Harry Potter had been in the books. Maybe the next years were where most of the after-war upswing occurred. He scrunched his brows at the intrusive thought that this world was too different for his supposed foreknowledge to be of any help.
Soon, he would find out how much knowledge was accurate. He was just a few news articles or history books away from confirming what was real and what was not.
They started making their way to Gringotts. Harry stepped over a small pack of sugar mice running away from a small child and asked a question that would hopefully lead to being able to ask about the possibility of purchasing Occlumency material. He hoped there was a way to check how far his self-training had gotten him before he went to Hogwarts. He started a line of questioning that should hopefully lead there.
"How do wizards deal with it if a non-magical sees them perform magic?"
"Obliviators, a special department created to upkeep the statute of secrecy. They adjust the memories of the witness. It's a respectable job, perhaps a bit unambitious, since you really only focus on one spell in the end," Slughorn said in a tone that he probably used on his students at Hogwarts. "But this will all be explained in the muggle-born guidebook we will get later. Quite a useful thing, that. Only recently did someone come up with the idea."
"That sounds like a very dangerous magic if misused though. Is there a way to defend one's self from it?" Harry asked.
Slughorn looked at Harry searchingly and slowed down a bit to consider his answer. "The Mind Arts, something one shouldn't be delving into at your age. The possibility of inflicting irreparable damage upon one's psyche is too high."
And that was that. No more answers were forthcoming despite Harry's continued prodding of the topic. All that he was able to find out was that Hogwarts did not have a newspaper collection in their library, which meant he wouldn't be able to check the usefulness of his knowledge at school. He needed to think of another solution. Retracing the history of what exactly was different in this world was one of his most important tasks at the moment.
They'd entered the bank, with its ominous poem and wide white arches, while Harry was stuck in his own thoughts. He only came to himself as the money he was privileged to was handed over by a surly goblin, directly to Slughorn, who stuck it inside his vest. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had a holding account which needed a Head of House to access. This explained why Slughorn was here. He was the Head of Slytherin, still, or again, Harry hadn't been able to determine.
"Where does the money come from?" Harry asked, curiously, wondering who exactly was funding his schooling.
"Some foundations for muggle-borns, by other muggle-borns and the rest comes directly from the ministry," Slughorn explained as he rushed them out of the bank, apparently unwilling to spend too much time in the presence of the small but ferocious creatures that handled the wizarding's world gold.
"You mean taxes?" Harry asked, receiving a nod. "Guess you can't escape those even if you're a wizard," he mused as they made their way to Madam Malkins, where Harry was fitted for robes made from the lowest quality materials. He wondered if one of the reasons that purebloods hated muggleborns was simply because their taxes paid for their education and they'd rather just keep the money. After his measurements were taken, they moved on to other stores. His garments would be finished in an hour or two, while they completed the rest of Harry's shopping.
They stopped at the apothecary after and Harry paid particular attention to whatever advice the Potions Professor had to give, acting the part of the inquisitive student. It seemed to gain him back a few points that he had lost with his blunt manners and straightforward interest in Occlumency earlier. Harry bought one extra Bezoar and added it to his Potions Kit. He would fashion a necklace out of it back in Privet Drive. He'd been doing a lot of handy work in the garage so he had all the requisite tools.
Poisons scared him, to be honest, and the culturally almost mediaeval wizarding world seemed like it would still use them as a viable tactic against one's enemies. He shuddered to think what horrendous effects magical poisons could have on someone.
After buying the Bezoar Harry managed to convince Slughorn to take him to a second-hand bookstore in which he managed to find most of his textbooks for cheap, allowing him to pick up an additional three books. One on household Charms, one on personal hygiene magic and one on recent history. Nothing on the Mind Arts was apparent and when Harry tried to probe Slughorn on the topic again the man shut down faster than a guillotine during France's reign of terror.
Harry had to distract the professor with other topics, such as saying how excited he was to get the books that he had gotten. He knew that Slughorn likely had a very justified fear of students too invested in material beyond their age which could be used for malicious purposes. He decided to stop prodding.
"Your interest in household Charms, does it have a particular reason?" Slughorn asked once they'd left the store, at which Harry shrugged.
"Time is a precious resource, cleaning up after oneself, folding clothes, cooking, doing dishes, painting walls, brushing teeth. These are all chores, that if substituted with magic would save one perhaps an hour every day. This is 365 hours a year, which is a full 15 days. If one doesn't need to waste time or energy on these menial tasks then one can reinvest in something more important. Also, I imagine magically cleaning something is more effective than doing it by hand."
"Industrious thinking, although you will find that at Hogwarts most needs will be met by the house-elves." Slughorn complimented. "Never thought about it that way actually," he mused.
Harry nodded, thinking of the new learning material he'd gotten. It was probably enough to keep him occupied for a month, especially if he was able to cast spells. He remembered that Hermione had been able to practise at home before her first year. It would require some testing of the Trace.
The last place they stopped at was Ollivanders, a seemingly rickety old shop that nonetheless held a function central to the life of most witches and wizards inhabiting Britain. Harry entered alone, with the requisite money, Slughorn saying that he'd wait outside.
-/-
"What is a wand?" Harry asked as the old proprietor of the wand store set the measuring tape at him.
"Your mother was a curious one as well, willow wand, good for Charms. A wand is a tool to afflict magic onto the world," Ollivander answered as he considered different boxes, taking some out and adding new ones as the measurement tape provided new information.
"How does it do so though? The magic is in me, but I'm being told I need a wand to channel it properly. Is a wand something that resonates with my magic in certain ways, the wavelength created being the magical effect? Is a wand an amplifier, or does it simply enhance a spell? Is it a focal point, does it narrow magic down to create a more concentrated effect? Or is a wand a symbolic tool which helps codify and unify our magic system into something uniform?" Harry asked rapidly, having this one-time excuse to ask the wand-maker some questions that had been brewing in his mind for almost a decade now.
"Curious, perhaps not unicorn then. Too secure in their purity," Ollivander muttered and discarded almost a fourth of the boxes he'd accrued. He peered at the boy over the glasses he wore. Harry made sure to avoid eye contact with the watery blue orbs seeking his green ones.
"Wands are many things. Seldom is a tool prevalent only because it has only one advantage. Wands resonate, amplifying the effect, the focus, the ease of a given spell," he began explaining, Harry nodding along. "They unify the magical system into something comprehensible, predictable, researchable. Something with rules. Staves are powerful but lack finesse. Sorcery, that is to say, wandless magic, is completely and utterly individual, meaning every sorcerer starts from the beginning. What can a sorcerer discover, learn and create in one lifetime that the entire wizarding world working on a unified system for thousands of years cannot match a million times over? Wands are our friends, our allies, our third arm. They are what separates us from magical creatures. Our tool, birthright and gift…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over. "Does that answer your question?" He asked after he snapped out of whatever daydream his monologue had sent him spiralling into and went back to his assortment of boxes.
"For the moment. I'll research the topic more when I have the chance to peruse the Hogwarts library," Harry said.
"I recommend Wandlore throughout the winding winds of time by Bork Stavenot. Hogwarts should have a copy." Ollivander said before suddenly shoving a box in Harry's face. "Here, try this. Hawthorne and dragon heartstring."
Harry took the dark wooden wand out of the box and for want of anything better to do, swished it in the general direction of the floor. Nothing seemed to happen and the wand was taken away.
It was at the next wand that Harry decided that he needed to take an active role in the process. Perhaps his magic was too controlled in comparison to the average child. It would make sense considering how much he practised what was apparently sorcery.
It only needed a split-second for Harry to concentrate enough to bring about a small part of the power he had available. He focused the energy into the arm holding the wand and flicked the wand at a splinter lying innocuously on the floor.
It burst into hot white flames for but a second, before disappearing, leaving nothing, not even a scorch mark. Harry grimaced. "I was trying to levitate it," he admitted. The wand was snatched out of his hand.
"Hawthorn and phoenix feather."
A stab at the air. The intended effect, a pleasant breeze, the result, one spark.
"We're getting somewhere, definitely not hawthorn, but phoenix…" Ollivander muttered and the next wand he produced from his pile of boxes was oak and phoenix feather.
The game continued, either the wand would not even attempt to reproduce the desired effect, or it would be so weak that it was clearly incompatible.
It was only when Harry received a light brown wand with reddish streaks that he felt something happen before he even attempted to cast anything. He furrowed his brows at the length of wood, about as long as his forearm sans hand, and decided on something more difficult. He began swirling the wand in a downward pointed circle, pulling on only a small amount of magic, something that the wand greedily sucked up, amplified, refined and focused. Water droplets started emerging from the air where the wand was swung and followed the magic stick around like a little colony of ducklings that gradually grew larger and larger, eventually becoming a stream, which became a miniature river. This was the point where Harry elegantly circled the wand upwards in tighter and tighter circles. This caused the gathered-up water to bunch off into a perfect sphere, about as large as a tennis ball. The water sphere hovered where Harry had left it, not requiring much concentration to be kept in position.
Harry felt elated as he looked at the wand in his hand. 'Now this was a tool,' he thought. The water ball exercise was something he'd been working on recently. It was something that had been very frustrating to form and hold in position. The wand had allowed him to gather a larger amount of water in maybe a fifth of the time that he usually needed and the levitation of the ball felt like he could hold it forever. Thinking for a moment if it was the correct decision to try something new Harry decided to let his enthusiasm have its due. With a light smile on his face, he smoothed out the surface of the water sphere and focused on stopping all motion within the localised phenomenon. A white ball began spreading in the middle of the sphere. It extended spindly arms around itself, growing slowly until it filled out the entirety of the sphere, its shell eventually turning to white jagged ice. Harry felt elated and slightly dizzy.
The ball dropped to the wooden floor, shattering into a million little ice crystals and Harry quickly handed the wand to Ollivander before sitting down on the floor and cradling his head. He had suddenly developed a thumping headache, which thankfully lessened with every second.
"Well, that was very impressive. I can't wait to see what you will manage to do when you start learning real spells, Mr. Evans. But for the moment, I believe it was a fitting display for the wand that has chosen you. Elder wood is not something given or taken lightly. One has to wait for a branch to fall off this tree, for if one snaps it, the wood becomes cursed. There aren't many elder wands and there are even fewer elder wand wielders. The core is phoenix ash, something used much more rarely than phoenix feather. Mostly, because phoenix ash is not as powerful as a willingly given feather. However, its symbolic ties to rebirth are much stronger. An interesting wand," Ollivander said as he packed the wand away in a box, apparently unconcerned about Harry's condition. "I'd truly hate to see you again Mr. Evans," he said, paused for a moment, before adding a leather contraption to the box and handing the whole ensemble to Harry, who had by then managed to stand up.
"Here, a wand holster, free of charge. That will be nine galleons."
Harry handed over the money and made to leave, many things on his mind.
"Mr. Evans," Ollivander called out just as Harry had put his hand on the door handle of the store. "Elder wood is suited for healing, protection and funnily enough, music. Phoenix ash on the other hand… I've not made or sold any wands that use the material. However, I imagine that the core will be suited for works of finesse. How that would be expressed I do not know. A warning, however. Phoenix ash holds a residue of death and while it might signal potential to rebirth it might also mean that it would wish to inflict a similar faith on others. Be careful what you cast on people you do not like," Ollivander warned gravely.
"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said and exited the shop. The magical world suddenly seemed much brighter now that he'd gotten a wand. He took a moment to glance at the alley, appreciating its contours and old architectural styles, interspersed with clearly magical colours and effects.
It was in front of the shop that Slughorn was waiting. "Hard find?" The man asked.
Harry nodded. "I feel like I tried half the wands in the store, but we got there eventually."
"There are a few Knuts left from your yearly stipend. Not enough to buy anything worthwhile," Slughorn commented.
Harry shook his head. "I was actually thinking it would be nice to get you something as thanks for the help today, sir. I saw some ice cream on the way here, would you say it's worth trying?" Harry asked, feeling genuinely grateful that the probably busy man had taken time out of his schedule to introduce him to the Wizarding World. The suggestion seemed to be well-received as Slughorn laughed fully, moustache twitching.
"Magical ice cream, Harry, you're in for a treat. Let's go and give it a whirl," he said with a smile.
The ice cream was indeed good.
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Chapter 3: Family & Magic
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
It was a worried Aunt Petunia that greeted Harry when he arrived back home in the evening. Slughorn had declined to enter the house again, simply dropping Harry off via apparition. Harry didn't even get the chance to ring the doorbell before he was ushered inside, hot cocoa pressed into his hands, along with a ham sandwich. Harry bit into it gladly. It had been a long shopping trip and he'd only had ice cream.
"Everything went alright Auntie," Harry assured Petunia as he sat down and sipped his drink, causing his aunt to breathe out in relief.
"You'll be going to Hogwarts then," she stated.
"What kid doesn't want to attend a magical academy?" Harry joked, before sighing. "Hogwarts makes the most sense, especially since I finished my non-magical education. Magic is just another skill I can learn to live a better life in the end."
"If you stay alive long enough to use it," Petunia said bitterly. "However, considering how incredibly, ridiculously bright you are, I imagine you'll do fine," she said with a gentle smile and not a small amount of trust. Trust that Harry had carefully built up over the years. Although to be honest, with an adult mind, it wasn't challenging being an exemplary child genius. Rather, it was too easy. If he didn't have his magic to practise he might have gone insane from boredom and grief. Losing everything and every one, one's whole life. It was incomparable to the gift of magic, but at least he'd gotten a gift. He could just as well have been reborn ordinary, or even sick in some way.
Harry still missed his old life, but 11 years was a long time to heal wounds. Magic helped, but what he expected to help more would be getting older and having more options in what to do. Being a child under the authority of others wasn't particularly fun when one had previously enjoyed adult autonomy. Maybe he'd even come to a point where he wouldn't trade this life for his previous one in a heartbeat as he aged.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Harry said after the long break in the conversation during which they'd just both sipped at their drinks, his aunts being considerably more alcoholic. A gin tonic. What Harry wouldn't do to get one as well. "My mother's fate hangs like a dark veil over the whole ordeal and society I will be participating in. Especially since her fate was just a symptom, not the root cause of the disease."
"Just promise me you'll get out if it starts being bad again. God knows when these freaks will start another war."
Harry shook his head. "No worries here. I'm quite attached to my life. Even if I want to participate in the Wizarding World after Hogwarts I probably wouldn't even stay in Britain. Too many problems. There must be other, untroubled countries somewhere out there where I can gain a better impression of the magical community."
"Read up on it and by god, if there's a magical way to learn languages take advantage of it. We'll even go to France if the worst comes to worst. I'm not losing another family member to… that," Petunia said bitterly while looking at Harry as if he would disappear if she let him out of her sight.
"Thanks for worrying about me. You know I'll always appreciate having a family like we have, even if our paths end up diverging," Harry said, making Petunia snort.
"Oh, there's no way you're getting out of visiting at least twice a year, even if you end up in magical China."
"Never wanted to imply anything else," Harry said and finished his hot chocolate. He stood up, "I should be getting to bed now, it's been an exhausting day." He went over to his aunt to give her a hug, before leaving for bed.
"Vernon also told me to give you a message from him," Petunia said as he was just about to exit the room.
Harry paused. "Yeah, what is it?"
"That he'll miss flipping cars with you and to always be the one finishing a fight, but not starting it," she said.
"I'm still here for another month, he could have just told me himself."
"He got emotional, left for the pub and wanted me to speak to you," Petunia replied while rolling her eyes.
"Good night, then."
"Sleep well," Petunia said.
Harry exited the room to the sight of his aunt refilling her gin.
-/-
Harry stared at the tall apple tree that had grown on top of the graves of his past life. The magical phenomenon that had occurred on that wretched day had in the end made something sad into something beautiful. He hadn't been here for a while and the tree had grown even bigger than the last time he'd seen it. Its crown almost seemed to envelop the whole clearing. It's ridiculously red apples gleamed in the sun, out of season, always.
The ground around the apple tree was beautiful, overgrown with wildflowers and berries. Harry had hesitated eating anything growing here for a long time now. He looked at an apple tantalisingly being offered to him by an overburdened branch and didn't grasp for it.
He thought about his partner, and his family and grieved for a second.
The dreams? Not something to mourn too much he'd recently decided, considering he could still fulfil them. He could still go to university after all, and the economy was in better shape than it would be 30 years in the future. Being a homeowner didn't seem impossible.
Magic was the thing that changed everything. Technically he could just put muggle-repelling wards on some abandoned strip of the Mediterranean and magic himself a house. "Moving a bit fast aren't you Evans. Wards, houses, you came here to practise household charms," he chuckled.
He shook his head and with one last indecipherable gaze towards the tree, he picked up his bicycle to go towards his actual destination. A cave a few hundred metres away from the clearing in which he'd buried everything he'd ever had or wanted. Once there he threw a branch into the small rocky crack in the hill, ready to bolt, just in case something had found residency there. Once nothing happened he simply left his bike in front of the cave and entered the shadowed space. He pulled out a lantern from his backpack, turned it on and put it on the ground where he sat down on a flat rock.
Glancing to the right, where one could already see the end of the cave, barely five metres away from its entrance, he began unpacking his green backpack covered in little frogs. Out came the books he'd bought on household charms, two water bottles, one thermos, a box with his lunch in it and last but not least, some miscellaneous items he'd taken from around the house.
"But first the wandless magic," Harry said to himself and lifted a hand, snapping his fingers. A flame alighted on top of his middle finger, adding +5 fire damage to any wordless insults. Harry made the flame glow larger, as big as the finger itself, smaller, as small as a pea. These were easy exercises. Beginning to really concentrate Harry made to change the fire's colour to blue, however, after a minute he only managed to tinge it a bit into yellow instead of its previous orange. Green worked a bit better and normally Harry would have pursued the avenue more, but he had other things to do today. Flicking his hands towards the end of the cave a small fist-sized fireball evolved from the minuscule flame and fizzled out before it reached anything.
Seeing as he was dealing with the elements, the next thing Harry did was swirl his finger in a circle, collecting the moisture from his surroundings. He was barely able to gather a thimble after several minutes of trying, but freezing it was more successful than ever before. Achieving the feat with a wand must have helped get the feeling right.
Harry muttered appreciatively at the success and added the created ice ball into his thermos full of lemonade.
"Last but not least," Harry said as he picked up a metal ball usually used to play petanque and threw it towards the far end of the cave. Before it could smash against the wall he extended his hand into a gripping motion and held the ball in place in the air. With a beckoning motion, he returned it to himself, at which point he made it orbit around his sitting torso. After a few turns around him it fell on the ground, behind his back.
Picking it up again he held the ball in the palm of his right hand and pointed it at the end of the cave. He enveloped the ball slowly with his magic and mind, before pushing as hard he was able. It flew off, as fast as an arrow and crashed against the end of the cave, chipping off parts of the rock and creating an unbearable noise. "Still not able to stop it after a shot like that," Harry muttered before summoning the ball back with a lazy gesture of his arm.
Done with wandless magic he sat down in a lotus position and began to meditate, clearing his mind. Something that had been more difficult recently, since his Hogwarts letter and the accompanying professor had arrived. Who was his father? What was the difference between this world and the one he'd read about? Why had he been reborn? These were all questions that he shunted out of his mind with great proficiency, clearing it as well as he could.
There was a void, for an indecipherable amount of time and then there was something again.
Harry opened his eyes, picked up a chipped plate he'd brought with him and smashed it on the ground. The shards flew in all directions, leaving behind only a memory. With the dull-eyed gaze of someone who had just meditated he extended his arm, his wand and thinking of nothing, flicked it at the plate, "Reparo."
The shards vibrated in place, moving closer together, if one squinted.
The next step was closing his eyes, imagining the shards coming together and fusing back into what they once were. Harry willed it to happen like he did his sorcery, and then he opened his eyes, setting a focused gaze on the former plate. A flick, "Reparo."
The parts of the plate flew together slowly, spiralling in a circle on the floor as more and more pieces mended with each other. Harry didn't have to do anything, just watch the aftermath of something he'd already cast. That was until the charm stopped working halfway through, leaving the object only partially fixed.
Harry furrowed his brows and ran his thumb along his slightly rough-to-the-touch wand, wondering what the problem could have been. The book said that one needed to focus on the effect one wanted to achieve using one's imagination, and then one needed to back up the imagination with willpower and focus.
Perhaps the theory was incomplete? Possible. Harry would find higher-level material at Hogwarts. "Quite likely though. It is simply a matter of practice. Considering this is my first spell it's going very well actually," he muttered, glanced at the half-broken plate and flicked his wand at it, "Reparo," he willed the broken parts together and they did, leaving behind a pristine plate. The success caused Harry to smile. There was a reason he wanted to learn the mending charm first and that reason was simple. It was because Harry was a collector, not even out of necessity, but out of enjoyment.
However, being transported to the past and being able to buy the first edition of any collectable, and then also have a spell to repair it to perfect condition. Suffice it to say, if the whole magic or career thing didn't work out, Harry could probably live out the rest of his life buying antiques from flea markets, casting reparo at them and reselling the result for ten times the price.
Case in point, a broken first edition vinyl of ABBA's Waterloo.
"Reparo."
Correction, a pristine version of ABBA's Waterloo.
"If anything it's the mending charm that I should learn to cast wandlessly," Harry muttered, before turning his attention away from the mending charm to the spell that would save him the most time during his life unless he acquired a house-elf somehow. The scouring charm, a charm that cleaned up dirty shit and funnily enough, if it was cast at a person, would make soap rinse their mouth. Something that didn't really make sense considering a charm that vanished dirt, shouldn't be also capable of conjuring soap, but such was magic, apparently.
"Everything went alright Auntie," Harry assured Petunia as he sat down and sipped his drink, causing his aunt to breathe out in relief.
"You'll be going to Hogwarts then," she stated.
"What kid doesn't want to attend a magical academy?" Harry joked, before sighing. "Hogwarts makes the most sense, especially since I finished my non-magical education. Magic is just another skill I can learn to live a better life in the end."
"If you stay alive long enough to use it," Petunia said bitterly. "However, considering how incredibly, ridiculously bright you are, I imagine you'll do fine," she said with a gentle smile and not a small amount of trust. Trust that Harry had carefully built up over the years. Although to be honest, with an adult mind, it wasn't challenging being an exemplary child genius. Rather, it was too easy. If he didn't have his magic to practise he might have gone insane from boredom and grief. Losing everything and every one, one's whole life. It was incomparable to the gift of magic, but at least he'd gotten a gift. He could just as well have been reborn ordinary, or even sick in some way.
Harry still missed his old life, but 11 years was a long time to heal wounds. Magic helped, but what he expected to help more would be getting older and having more options in what to do. Being a child under the authority of others wasn't particularly fun when one had previously enjoyed adult autonomy. Maybe he'd even come to a point where he wouldn't trade this life for his previous one in a heartbeat as he aged.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Harry said after the long break in the conversation during which they'd just both sipped at their drinks, his aunts being considerably more alcoholic. A gin tonic. What Harry wouldn't do to get one as well. "My mother's fate hangs like a dark veil over the whole ordeal and society I will be participating in. Especially since her fate was just a symptom, not the root cause of the disease."
"Just promise me you'll get out if it starts being bad again. God knows when these freaks will start another war."
Harry shook his head. "No worries here. I'm quite attached to my life. Even if I want to participate in the Wizarding World after Hogwarts I probably wouldn't even stay in Britain. Too many problems. There must be other, untroubled countries somewhere out there where I can gain a better impression of the magical community."
"Read up on it and by god, if there's a magical way to learn languages take advantage of it. We'll even go to France if the worst comes to worst. I'm not losing another family member to… that," Petunia said bitterly while looking at Harry as if he would disappear if she let him out of her sight.
"Thanks for worrying about me. You know I'll always appreciate having a family like we have, even if our paths end up diverging," Harry said, making Petunia snort.
"Oh, there's no way you're getting out of visiting at least twice a year, even if you end up in magical China."
"Never wanted to imply anything else," Harry said and finished his hot chocolate. He stood up, "I should be getting to bed now, it's been an exhausting day." He went over to his aunt to give her a hug, before leaving for bed.
"Vernon also told me to give you a message from him," Petunia said as he was just about to exit the room.
Harry paused. "Yeah, what is it?"
"That he'll miss flipping cars with you and to always be the one finishing a fight, but not starting it," she said.
"I'm still here for another month, he could have just told me himself."
"He got emotional, left for the pub and wanted me to speak to you," Petunia replied while rolling her eyes.
"Good night, then."
"Sleep well," Petunia said.
Harry exited the room to the sight of his aunt refilling her gin.
-/-
Harry stared at the tall apple tree that had grown on top of the graves of his past life. The magical phenomenon that had occurred on that wretched day had in the end made something sad into something beautiful. He hadn't been here for a while and the tree had grown even bigger than the last time he'd seen it. Its crown almost seemed to envelop the whole clearing. It's ridiculously red apples gleamed in the sun, out of season, always.
The ground around the apple tree was beautiful, overgrown with wildflowers and berries. Harry had hesitated eating anything growing here for a long time now. He looked at an apple tantalisingly being offered to him by an overburdened branch and didn't grasp for it.
He thought about his partner, and his family and grieved for a second.
The dreams? Not something to mourn too much he'd recently decided, considering he could still fulfil them. He could still go to university after all, and the economy was in better shape than it would be 30 years in the future. Being a homeowner didn't seem impossible.
Magic was the thing that changed everything. Technically he could just put muggle-repelling wards on some abandoned strip of the Mediterranean and magic himself a house. "Moving a bit fast aren't you Evans. Wards, houses, you came here to practise household charms," he chuckled.
He shook his head and with one last indecipherable gaze towards the tree, he picked up his bicycle to go towards his actual destination. A cave a few hundred metres away from the clearing in which he'd buried everything he'd ever had or wanted. Once there he threw a branch into the small rocky crack in the hill, ready to bolt, just in case something had found residency there. Once nothing happened he simply left his bike in front of the cave and entered the shadowed space. He pulled out a lantern from his backpack, turned it on and put it on the ground where he sat down on a flat rock.
Glancing to the right, where one could already see the end of the cave, barely five metres away from its entrance, he began unpacking his green backpack covered in little frogs. Out came the books he'd bought on household charms, two water bottles, one thermos, a box with his lunch in it and last but not least, some miscellaneous items he'd taken from around the house.
"But first the wandless magic," Harry said to himself and lifted a hand, snapping his fingers. A flame alighted on top of his middle finger, adding +5 fire damage to any wordless insults. Harry made the flame glow larger, as big as the finger itself, smaller, as small as a pea. These were easy exercises. Beginning to really concentrate Harry made to change the fire's colour to blue, however, after a minute he only managed to tinge it a bit into yellow instead of its previous orange. Green worked a bit better and normally Harry would have pursued the avenue more, but he had other things to do today. Flicking his hands towards the end of the cave a small fist-sized fireball evolved from the minuscule flame and fizzled out before it reached anything.
Seeing as he was dealing with the elements, the next thing Harry did was swirl his finger in a circle, collecting the moisture from his surroundings. He was barely able to gather a thimble after several minutes of trying, but freezing it was more successful than ever before. Achieving the feat with a wand must have helped get the feeling right.
Harry muttered appreciatively at the success and added the created ice ball into his thermos full of lemonade.
"Last but not least," Harry said as he picked up a metal ball usually used to play petanque and threw it towards the far end of the cave. Before it could smash against the wall he extended his hand into a gripping motion and held the ball in place in the air. With a beckoning motion, he returned it to himself, at which point he made it orbit around his sitting torso. After a few turns around him it fell on the ground, behind his back.
Picking it up again he held the ball in the palm of his right hand and pointed it at the end of the cave. He enveloped the ball slowly with his magic and mind, before pushing as hard he was able. It flew off, as fast as an arrow and crashed against the end of the cave, chipping off parts of the rock and creating an unbearable noise. "Still not able to stop it after a shot like that," Harry muttered before summoning the ball back with a lazy gesture of his arm.
Done with wandless magic he sat down in a lotus position and began to meditate, clearing his mind. Something that had been more difficult recently, since his Hogwarts letter and the accompanying professor had arrived. Who was his father? What was the difference between this world and the one he'd read about? Why had he been reborn? These were all questions that he shunted out of his mind with great proficiency, clearing it as well as he could.
There was a void, for an indecipherable amount of time and then there was something again.
Harry opened his eyes, picked up a chipped plate he'd brought with him and smashed it on the ground. The shards flew in all directions, leaving behind only a memory. With the dull-eyed gaze of someone who had just meditated he extended his arm, his wand and thinking of nothing, flicked it at the plate, "Reparo."
The shards vibrated in place, moving closer together, if one squinted.
The next step was closing his eyes, imagining the shards coming together and fusing back into what they once were. Harry willed it to happen like he did his sorcery, and then he opened his eyes, setting a focused gaze on the former plate. A flick, "Reparo."
The parts of the plate flew together slowly, spiralling in a circle on the floor as more and more pieces mended with each other. Harry didn't have to do anything, just watch the aftermath of something he'd already cast. That was until the charm stopped working halfway through, leaving the object only partially fixed.
Harry furrowed his brows and ran his thumb along his slightly rough-to-the-touch wand, wondering what the problem could have been. The book said that one needed to focus on the effect one wanted to achieve using one's imagination, and then one needed to back up the imagination with willpower and focus.
Perhaps the theory was incomplete? Possible. Harry would find higher-level material at Hogwarts. "Quite likely though. It is simply a matter of practice. Considering this is my first spell it's going very well actually," he muttered, glanced at the half-broken plate and flicked his wand at it, "Reparo," he willed the broken parts together and they did, leaving behind a pristine plate. The success caused Harry to smile. There was a reason he wanted to learn the mending charm first and that reason was simple. It was because Harry was a collector, not even out of necessity, but out of enjoyment.
However, being transported to the past and being able to buy the first edition of any collectable, and then also have a spell to repair it to perfect condition. Suffice it to say, if the whole magic or career thing didn't work out, Harry could probably live out the rest of his life buying antiques from flea markets, casting reparo at them and reselling the result for ten times the price.
Case in point, a broken first edition vinyl of ABBA's Waterloo.
"Reparo."
Correction, a pristine version of ABBA's Waterloo.
"If anything it's the mending charm that I should learn to cast wandlessly," Harry muttered, before turning his attention away from the mending charm to the spell that would save him the most time during his life unless he acquired a house-elf somehow. The scouring charm, a charm that cleaned up dirty shit and funnily enough, if it was cast at a person, would make soap rinse their mouth. Something that didn't really make sense considering a charm that vanished dirt, shouldn't be also capable of conjuring soap, but such was magic, apparently.
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Chapter 4: Train-ride to Magic-land
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
It was a dissatisfied Harry Evans who was found biking home after a few hours spent in a cave practising magic. He'd managed to further refine his mending charm, but the scouring charm had been a complete failure, requiring several casts to remove even a small patch of dust. He thought he knew what the issue was, but that didn't make him feel any better, seeing as he didn't have the tools necessary to alleviate it. See, Harry's thesis was that the scouring charm benefitted from the user having some familiarity with the subset of transfiguration skills called vanishing. If one knew how to vanish an item, one's magic would be more used to the same act when applied to the highly formulaic scouring charm.
The only problem was that vanishing was obviously not first-year material. At least he hadn't found it in his first-year transfiguration book. One silver lining was the fact that if his theory was correct, and that knowing how to vanish would help one's scouring charm, then knowing the scouring charm would be helpful when learning how to vanish. This way attempting to make the scouring charm work would aid him in transfiguration in the future. Although the payoff would probably be higher the other way around?
Without being aware of it Harry started whistling as he drove home, magical theories, his own postulations and plans for future magic learning whirring around in his head.
"That's a nice enough goal. Learning the scouring charm," Harry mused just about when he arrived home and saw how absolutely dirty his mountain bike was. Driving through a forest, be it rain or sunshine, would do that.
Harry quickly deposited the items that he'd repaired in his cave away from home in his room, full of vinyl records, old cameras, coins, trading cards and books.
"Did we get any mail, screaming mail by any chance?" Harry asked his aunt whom he found in the kitchen preparing a meat pie.
"Not that I noticed. How was your bike ride?" Petunia asked without turning away from the forming of the pie.
"Enjoyable and enlightening, very draining," Harry said, mostly referring to the fact that his connection to magic felt sore, as much as a metaphysical state of connection could feel sore. He hadn't gotten physically tired for a while now. Another advantage of magic perhaps? Did it boost one's innate human capabilities? Something to look into after he got his hands on some medical knowledge. Messing with the body was dangerous business.
"Just don't overexert yourself with whatever you're doing," Petunia said before trailing off.
Harry stepped forward and gave his aunt a hug from the side. "What's wrong?" He asked.
A tear fell into the meat pie, Petunia wasn't working anymore but just propping herself up on the kitchen counter. "Just promise me you'll do everything to stay safe," she managed to force out.
Harry continued hugging, an awkward angle due to his size. "I'll prioritise my health over everything," he promised.
Petunia turned towards him to hug him back and to stroke his hair. "You're a brilliant boy Harry. Whatever magic might promise, I assure you, you can be just as successful in this world."
"I love non-magical music way too much," Harry promised, "and by the time I finish Hogwarts I'll be just in time to go to university."
"Good luck explaining where you were for seven years, you dolt," Petunia said as she released him from his hug. She looked him up and down before scrunching her nose. "And go take a shower, you stink," she said with a slight tone of disgust, before looking down on herself and seeing that some of his sweat now stained her apron.
"Universities aren't workplaces. They won't care where I was as long as I have the right grades, worst case, I can just say I first wanted to become independently wealthy flipping cars," Harry said, before noticing that he was overstaying his welcome by tapping his aunt's feet on the wooden flooring.
He went to take a shower.
-/-
"Who in the fuck thought such delicate leaf shutters were a good idea," Harry mumbled as he idly transfigured the tip of his screw-driver into a smaller variation thereof so that he could unscrew the fastening of the lens from the camera to get at the shutters underneath. The chrome steel easily popped off and he got to see what had been blocking the shutters from locking. Solidified oil.
"How German," Harry muttered, "designing an intricate mechanical system and then having it fail you because you used the wrong sort of oil." He tapped his wand on the fastening and the screws that he'd taken off, one after the other, "Scourgify," then he began disassembling the rest of it. It was slow tedious work but there was a reward there, a financial one of a few hundred pounds for this rare camera in perfect condition, but also a symbolic one. Harry liked the idea of photographs and the photo album of his new life was safely tucked inside his trunk hanging overhead in its small compartment. Not being able to afford a magical camera with the leftovers of his muggle-born stipend and not knowing how electricity would work within a place as magical as Hogwarts had left him the option of a purely mechanical camera. Contaflex 1948. Very beautiful chrome, once scourgified a few times. It would help commemorate his time in Hogwarts. He paused at the thought. Wasn't there something to commemorate right now? His first train ride to a magical school. Reality truly was stranger than fiction.
Harry cast a distracted repair charm at the camera that he'd picked apart and cleaned and wound it up a few times without a film roll in it to check if it really worked. Once satisfied with the quality of his repair he stepped out of his compartment. Flagging down the first student he saw, taking care to avoid green ties. Harry ended up engaging a young boy with brown hair and blue eyes who, by the lack of colour on his robes, also seemed to be a first-year.
"Hello, I'm Harry Evans." He said to the boy, who started before turning to him and smiling.
"Hullo. I'm Cedric," the boy introduced himself, extending a hand which Harry shook politely and firmly. "Cedric Diggory," the boy blurted out with a slight flush to his face after the handshake.
"Nice to meet you Cedric Cedric Diggory. Would you mind terribly taking a picture of me in my compartment? I want to commemorate my first train ride," Harry said, at which the boy brightened up again.
"That's a great idea! Why didn't I think of that," Cedric exclaimed as he followed Harry into his compartment. "Wow, that's a really shiny camera," he remarked as the chrome was pressed into his hand.
"Just make sure I'm in the picture and press the button on the upper right corner," Harry said as he let himself fall down on his seat and lean on the little table he'd pulled up with one arm, the other lazily holding his wand to his temple as if he was thinking, or extracting a memory.
"You're not gonna move?" Cedric asked confusedly once he'd gotten into a position to shoot the photo in.
"It's a muggle camera, no point in doing that. It's gonna be a still," Harry remarked and without much preamble, a click was heard.
"That's so cool, how does it work without magic and wait, where's the photo?" Cedric said as he lifted the camera up and checked underneath, looking for a photo. Something Harry would have to develop in his trunk once they'd gotten to Hogwarts. Not that he would bother until he'd actually finished the camera roll.
"Muggle cameras need the photo developed first, it's not instantaneous. Magical cameras make them immediately?" Harry asked.
"Yeah! It's super-fast. Less than a minute, no, less than thirty seconds, no, less than fifteen," Cedric said, jittering in his seat. "Wait, do you think you could take a picture of me? Nobody I know has a camera," he suddenly said before posing, before perking up and jumping to his feet. "Wait, no, you think you could do it in my compartment? I want my friends to be in the picture."
Harry watched, amused to a certain extent, how energetic the 11-year-old boy was. It made sense, he guessed. It was the train ride to Hogwarts, a magical school in the Scottish highlands where they were going to learn how to shoot lightning bolts.
And if lightning bolts weren't in the curriculum? Well, that's what self-study existed for.
"Sure, lead the way," Harry acquiesced and explained all about how muggle cameras branded light reflections onto a dark sleek material.
That was how he found himself taking a picture that made him feel a tiny bit apprehensive. Looking through the small lens at the two identical red-haired twins hugging each other and making stupid faces, Cedric sitting on the ground and a girl he didn't know trying to look haughtily into the camera. Four eleven-year-old children. Two Weasleys, one Diggory, one unknown, but happy-looking girl with a life, a dream, a future, a family.
Two of the four children were supposed to die in the original timeline.
Harry snapped the picture. "I'll get this to you guys when I end up developing the film," he said, quickly excusing himself, but not before being hugged by one of the twins.
A seemingly heart-warming gesture, until Harry noticed something struggling inside of his pocket when he reached his compartment. He pulled out a chocolate frog and stared at it as he stood in the middle of an empty compartment, with only his books, his wand, his trunk and his camera to keep him company.
He popped the chocolate into his mouth. Despite having lived a very long life and having tried many abominable chocolates, this one somehow managed to be the worst one that he'd ever tasted.
It was bitter.
The only problem was that vanishing was obviously not first-year material. At least he hadn't found it in his first-year transfiguration book. One silver lining was the fact that if his theory was correct, and that knowing how to vanish would help one's scouring charm, then knowing the scouring charm would be helpful when learning how to vanish. This way attempting to make the scouring charm work would aid him in transfiguration in the future. Although the payoff would probably be higher the other way around?
Without being aware of it Harry started whistling as he drove home, magical theories, his own postulations and plans for future magic learning whirring around in his head.
"That's a nice enough goal. Learning the scouring charm," Harry mused just about when he arrived home and saw how absolutely dirty his mountain bike was. Driving through a forest, be it rain or sunshine, would do that.
Harry quickly deposited the items that he'd repaired in his cave away from home in his room, full of vinyl records, old cameras, coins, trading cards and books.
"Did we get any mail, screaming mail by any chance?" Harry asked his aunt whom he found in the kitchen preparing a meat pie.
"Not that I noticed. How was your bike ride?" Petunia asked without turning away from the forming of the pie.
"Enjoyable and enlightening, very draining," Harry said, mostly referring to the fact that his connection to magic felt sore, as much as a metaphysical state of connection could feel sore. He hadn't gotten physically tired for a while now. Another advantage of magic perhaps? Did it boost one's innate human capabilities? Something to look into after he got his hands on some medical knowledge. Messing with the body was dangerous business.
"Just don't overexert yourself with whatever you're doing," Petunia said before trailing off.
Harry stepped forward and gave his aunt a hug from the side. "What's wrong?" He asked.
A tear fell into the meat pie, Petunia wasn't working anymore but just propping herself up on the kitchen counter. "Just promise me you'll do everything to stay safe," she managed to force out.
Harry continued hugging, an awkward angle due to his size. "I'll prioritise my health over everything," he promised.
Petunia turned towards him to hug him back and to stroke his hair. "You're a brilliant boy Harry. Whatever magic might promise, I assure you, you can be just as successful in this world."
"I love non-magical music way too much," Harry promised, "and by the time I finish Hogwarts I'll be just in time to go to university."
"Good luck explaining where you were for seven years, you dolt," Petunia said as she released him from his hug. She looked him up and down before scrunching her nose. "And go take a shower, you stink," she said with a slight tone of disgust, before looking down on herself and seeing that some of his sweat now stained her apron.
"Universities aren't workplaces. They won't care where I was as long as I have the right grades, worst case, I can just say I first wanted to become independently wealthy flipping cars," Harry said, before noticing that he was overstaying his welcome by tapping his aunt's feet on the wooden flooring.
He went to take a shower.
-/-
"Who in the fuck thought such delicate leaf shutters were a good idea," Harry mumbled as he idly transfigured the tip of his screw-driver into a smaller variation thereof so that he could unscrew the fastening of the lens from the camera to get at the shutters underneath. The chrome steel easily popped off and he got to see what had been blocking the shutters from locking. Solidified oil.
"How German," Harry muttered, "designing an intricate mechanical system and then having it fail you because you used the wrong sort of oil." He tapped his wand on the fastening and the screws that he'd taken off, one after the other, "Scourgify," then he began disassembling the rest of it. It was slow tedious work but there was a reward there, a financial one of a few hundred pounds for this rare camera in perfect condition, but also a symbolic one. Harry liked the idea of photographs and the photo album of his new life was safely tucked inside his trunk hanging overhead in its small compartment. Not being able to afford a magical camera with the leftovers of his muggle-born stipend and not knowing how electricity would work within a place as magical as Hogwarts had left him the option of a purely mechanical camera. Contaflex 1948. Very beautiful chrome, once scourgified a few times. It would help commemorate his time in Hogwarts. He paused at the thought. Wasn't there something to commemorate right now? His first train ride to a magical school. Reality truly was stranger than fiction.
Harry cast a distracted repair charm at the camera that he'd picked apart and cleaned and wound it up a few times without a film roll in it to check if it really worked. Once satisfied with the quality of his repair he stepped out of his compartment. Flagging down the first student he saw, taking care to avoid green ties. Harry ended up engaging a young boy with brown hair and blue eyes who, by the lack of colour on his robes, also seemed to be a first-year.
"Hello, I'm Harry Evans." He said to the boy, who started before turning to him and smiling.
"Hullo. I'm Cedric," the boy introduced himself, extending a hand which Harry shook politely and firmly. "Cedric Diggory," the boy blurted out with a slight flush to his face after the handshake.
"Nice to meet you Cedric Cedric Diggory. Would you mind terribly taking a picture of me in my compartment? I want to commemorate my first train ride," Harry said, at which the boy brightened up again.
"That's a great idea! Why didn't I think of that," Cedric exclaimed as he followed Harry into his compartment. "Wow, that's a really shiny camera," he remarked as the chrome was pressed into his hand.
"Just make sure I'm in the picture and press the button on the upper right corner," Harry said as he let himself fall down on his seat and lean on the little table he'd pulled up with one arm, the other lazily holding his wand to his temple as if he was thinking, or extracting a memory.
"You're not gonna move?" Cedric asked confusedly once he'd gotten into a position to shoot the photo in.
"It's a muggle camera, no point in doing that. It's gonna be a still," Harry remarked and without much preamble, a click was heard.
"That's so cool, how does it work without magic and wait, where's the photo?" Cedric said as he lifted the camera up and checked underneath, looking for a photo. Something Harry would have to develop in his trunk once they'd gotten to Hogwarts. Not that he would bother until he'd actually finished the camera roll.
"Muggle cameras need the photo developed first, it's not instantaneous. Magical cameras make them immediately?" Harry asked.
"Yeah! It's super-fast. Less than a minute, no, less than thirty seconds, no, less than fifteen," Cedric said, jittering in his seat. "Wait, do you think you could take a picture of me? Nobody I know has a camera," he suddenly said before posing, before perking up and jumping to his feet. "Wait, no, you think you could do it in my compartment? I want my friends to be in the picture."
Harry watched, amused to a certain extent, how energetic the 11-year-old boy was. It made sense, he guessed. It was the train ride to Hogwarts, a magical school in the Scottish highlands where they were going to learn how to shoot lightning bolts.
And if lightning bolts weren't in the curriculum? Well, that's what self-study existed for.
"Sure, lead the way," Harry acquiesced and explained all about how muggle cameras branded light reflections onto a dark sleek material.
That was how he found himself taking a picture that made him feel a tiny bit apprehensive. Looking through the small lens at the two identical red-haired twins hugging each other and making stupid faces, Cedric sitting on the ground and a girl he didn't know trying to look haughtily into the camera. Four eleven-year-old children. Two Weasleys, one Diggory, one unknown, but happy-looking girl with a life, a dream, a future, a family.
Two of the four children were supposed to die in the original timeline.
Harry snapped the picture. "I'll get this to you guys when I end up developing the film," he said, quickly excusing himself, but not before being hugged by one of the twins.
A seemingly heart-warming gesture, until Harry noticed something struggling inside of his pocket when he reached his compartment. He pulled out a chocolate frog and stared at it as he stood in the middle of an empty compartment, with only his books, his wand, his trunk and his camera to keep him company.
He popped the chocolate into his mouth. Despite having lived a very long life and having tried many abominable chocolates, this one somehow managed to be the worst one that he'd ever tasted.
It was bitter.
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I'm really enjoying this so far and am looking forward to seeing where you take it!
Chapter 5: The sorting
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
It was Hagrid who received them at the train station and it was a Harry who was slightly busy admiring his new clothes that went onto a random boat. The robes were so breezy, so elegant. Wizarding fashion wasn't one of the things he'd expected to get excited about, but it was definitely a vibe. He thought he looked quite fetching in his new ensemble plus wizard's hat. He had always managed to pull off a hat, no matter the body, apparently that was a spiritual quality. It was because he was too busy admiring his own reflection, per se, despite there being no mirror, that Harry found himself in a boat with the Weasley twins and Cedric.
He sighed as he forlornly looked around for the other boats, seeing that none of them had a free spot.
"Thanks for the chocolate frog, I guess. My pocket is full of chocolate now," Harry said to the twins sitting in front of him, instead of a greeting, accepting his fate.
"Got you good, didn't we?" the one on the right cackled, "I knew it was a good idea to practise slipping things in people's pockets," the other one said, before they introduced themselves as Gred and Forge.
"Interesting names your parents picked," Harry noted while leaning on the edge of the boat and admiring the perfectly clear sky and the reflection of the bright moon on the placid lake. "Is it intentional that if one switches the first letters of your names one gets Fred and George?"
"Their names really are Fred and George. They just think they're funny," Cedric interjected.
"Haha," Harry deadpanned, "How do you guys know each other, if I may ask?"
"Oh, we're neighbours," Cedric explained, but the conversation was interrupted by Hogwarts coming into view as the boats passed a bend. The rest of the ride remained silent, everyone being too busy admiring the beautifully lit castle. Harry felt touched as if he'd travelled to another world and seen something not meant for his eyes.
They eventually stopped at an underground pier and all the students exited and formed a crowd around a stern-looking older woman with emerald green robes, who had been waiting for them. "All there?" She asked, turning to Hagrid.
She received a nod and off they were.
"Must be nice being neighbours, you can hang out in the summer," Harry remarked. "Hard to keep older friendships alive if you end up in different houses, I imagine. So many new people to get to know. Don't get me started on the different schedules," he mused, not remembering that it had ever been mentioned in the books that the Weasley twins and Cedric had any significant connection.
"Yeah, Cedric's gonna be sorted into Puff and then he'll be too lame to hang out with," One twin said, "a real tragedy," the other said.
"Hufflepuff is not lame!" Cedric protested and made to lightly shove one of the red-heads, who quickly dodged back.
"You guys already know where you want to be sorted then?" Harry asked.
"Gryffindor rules!" the twins shouted.
"My whole family has been in Hufflepuff for a while now. I heard stories about the common house and it sounds really nice. I wouldn't mind. Do you have a preference?"
"Anything but Slytherin is fine, muggle-born and all," Harry replied blasely, only for someone to shove him from behind.
He stumbled forward but righted himself before he could fall. Turning around angrily he saw a pale, dark-haired boy scowling at him. "We wouldn't want you there anyway, mu-" The boy spat, paused, before growing even paler than his already pale complexion. The dude really needed a week in the sun.
Harry rolled his eyes at the situation and turned around in the sudden silence and stillness that had formed to see Professor McGonagall standing behind him, glaring at them both. He huffed. Good that he wasn't impulsive enough to retaliate, physically or verbally, or else they'd both gotten detention. Harry was perfectly fine with not being locked in a room like he had that much time to waste, thank you very much. "Now, now," he said instead, "There's no reason why we can't get along, we're just here to finish our magical education. Wasting our precious time here fighting each other seems contradictory to the fact that school is supposed to be fun," he said, before taking a step towards the boy and extending a hand. The boy looked between him and his hand, confused, but couldn't back away due to the throng of students surrounding them. He looked at the glaring professor standing behind Harry and shook his hand with a scowl. "See," Harry said, "and suddenly we're all friends and don't have to waste several hours of our lives in detention because we broke each other's noses. I'm Harry Evans, by the way."
"Montague." The boy ground out.
"It was nice meeting you Montague," Harry replied and turned around.
"I'm glad you managed to sort that out," McGonagall said approvingly, "onwards then, we've wasted enough time."
"That was wicked," one of the twins whispered to Harry once they were on their way to the great hall again. Cedric seemed like he wanted to add something as well, but a well-timed backwards glance from McGonagall convinced him not to. Overall it was a sombre group of first years that eventually arrived at a great set of wooden doors leading to the great hall.
It wasn't long before the wooden doors opened with an ominous creaking sound. Truly completing the contradictory reality of a castle that was somehow magical, but had rusty hinges. It was definitely a sombre aesthetic, an impression that was immediately ruined by youthful chatter and a bright hall illuminated by countless candles.
-/-
"Hufflepuff," the sorting hat shouted and was promptly removed from Cedric's head by Professor McGonagall.
"Harry Evans," she read from the scroll in her hand and the redhead slowly began making his way to the stool sitting right in front of the staff table. He used this opportunity to observe the professors, the only unknown being a stiff woman who looked to be somewhere in her fifties and in desperate need of a proper meal. Otherwise, it was as he remembered. Hagrid, Kettleburn, Slughorn, Dumbledore, Quirrell…. No Snape.
He smiled forlornly as he climbed the steps to the hat, closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
Nothing existed as he sat and had the hat put upon his head.
Nothing was thought as the hat whispered into his ear. "Look, It's a nice trick, but it'll just hurt if I have to actually break in. So give me something."
Harry sighed and released his hold on the void, it probably would have been too much to hope for to have mastered Occlumency without formal instruction or learning material. 'Not Slytherin,' he thought at the hat, before thinking about how going to Hogwarts to a potentially dangerous unknown exhibited bravery and how his perpetual learning and practice exhibited a thirst for knowledge and an astounding amount of hard work. 'Take your pick,' he projected, not really having a preference.
"Well," the hat said, out loud this time, so the entire hall could hear, "it better be, Hufflepuff!"
Once Harry stood up from the chair, the yellow and black table burst into applause, joined by the corpulent monk floating atop it.
"The applause feels undeserved," Harry whispered to Cedric, who he'd sat down next to. "I just sat on a chair."
"It's more that the house wants the new students to feel welcome I think," Cedric whispered back before they both turned to watch the next sorting.
It wasn't long before all the students were sorted and the headmaster, a man with an impressive silver beard and garishly purple robes stood up and gathered the attention of the room onto himself. Dumbledore, of course, gave a lengthy speech, not anything particularly mention-worthy being situated within it. The only thing Harry paid attention to was when the man introduced the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor, a certain, "Professor Twix." Her background was curiously not elucidated upon and nobody in the great hall seemed particularly excited. The applause was rather middling.
Harry perked up, however, when the headmaster ended his speech with, "Nitment, Bobbsi, Smithens," which caused the food to appear. "Those must be house-elf names," he muttered before quickly securing some roast beef, caramelised carrots and roasted potatoes. In addition to this, he poured a clear tomato soup into his goblet and sipped from it in between bites.
"Does it taste good? Drinking tomato soup like that?" a blonde girl, with her hair in two braids sitting on his.
"Penny, right?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, sorry. Your name is Harry?" she asked, at which he nodded.
"Well, I like tomato soup. Considering the only other options are pumpkin juice and water, I decided to go with the more fun option." He glanced at her plate. Mashed potatoes with gravy. He smiled. "I see you know what you like enough to stick to a single thing though."
Penny turned her nose up, "Hogwarts is awesome, no parents to badger me into eating vegetables," she proclaimed as if being a picky and difficult eater was something to be proud of.
Harry hummed and looked at her sceptically, before returning back to his meal. It wasn't his job to fix anyone's eating habits. "I like your braids, by the way," he said, to not end the conversation on the topic of food. The braids were indeed very cute. Penny had very bright blonde hair, half of which she tied into three braids, two of which rested on her front making sure her tie wasn't lonely. The last one ran from the top of her head to the back, where it joined the follicles that were allowed to swing freely down her back.
"Thanks," Penny muttered with a blush before diving face-first into her mashed potatoes.
Harry returned to his own meal. He was finally here, huh?
He sighed as he forlornly looked around for the other boats, seeing that none of them had a free spot.
"Thanks for the chocolate frog, I guess. My pocket is full of chocolate now," Harry said to the twins sitting in front of him, instead of a greeting, accepting his fate.
"Got you good, didn't we?" the one on the right cackled, "I knew it was a good idea to practise slipping things in people's pockets," the other one said, before they introduced themselves as Gred and Forge.
"Interesting names your parents picked," Harry noted while leaning on the edge of the boat and admiring the perfectly clear sky and the reflection of the bright moon on the placid lake. "Is it intentional that if one switches the first letters of your names one gets Fred and George?"
"Their names really are Fred and George. They just think they're funny," Cedric interjected.
"Haha," Harry deadpanned, "How do you guys know each other, if I may ask?"
"Oh, we're neighbours," Cedric explained, but the conversation was interrupted by Hogwarts coming into view as the boats passed a bend. The rest of the ride remained silent, everyone being too busy admiring the beautifully lit castle. Harry felt touched as if he'd travelled to another world and seen something not meant for his eyes.
They eventually stopped at an underground pier and all the students exited and formed a crowd around a stern-looking older woman with emerald green robes, who had been waiting for them. "All there?" She asked, turning to Hagrid.
She received a nod and off they were.
"Must be nice being neighbours, you can hang out in the summer," Harry remarked. "Hard to keep older friendships alive if you end up in different houses, I imagine. So many new people to get to know. Don't get me started on the different schedules," he mused, not remembering that it had ever been mentioned in the books that the Weasley twins and Cedric had any significant connection.
"Yeah, Cedric's gonna be sorted into Puff and then he'll be too lame to hang out with," One twin said, "a real tragedy," the other said.
"Hufflepuff is not lame!" Cedric protested and made to lightly shove one of the red-heads, who quickly dodged back.
"You guys already know where you want to be sorted then?" Harry asked.
"Gryffindor rules!" the twins shouted.
"My whole family has been in Hufflepuff for a while now. I heard stories about the common house and it sounds really nice. I wouldn't mind. Do you have a preference?"
"Anything but Slytherin is fine, muggle-born and all," Harry replied blasely, only for someone to shove him from behind.
He stumbled forward but righted himself before he could fall. Turning around angrily he saw a pale, dark-haired boy scowling at him. "We wouldn't want you there anyway, mu-" The boy spat, paused, before growing even paler than his already pale complexion. The dude really needed a week in the sun.
Harry rolled his eyes at the situation and turned around in the sudden silence and stillness that had formed to see Professor McGonagall standing behind him, glaring at them both. He huffed. Good that he wasn't impulsive enough to retaliate, physically or verbally, or else they'd both gotten detention. Harry was perfectly fine with not being locked in a room like he had that much time to waste, thank you very much. "Now, now," he said instead, "There's no reason why we can't get along, we're just here to finish our magical education. Wasting our precious time here fighting each other seems contradictory to the fact that school is supposed to be fun," he said, before taking a step towards the boy and extending a hand. The boy looked between him and his hand, confused, but couldn't back away due to the throng of students surrounding them. He looked at the glaring professor standing behind Harry and shook his hand with a scowl. "See," Harry said, "and suddenly we're all friends and don't have to waste several hours of our lives in detention because we broke each other's noses. I'm Harry Evans, by the way."
"Montague." The boy ground out.
"It was nice meeting you Montague," Harry replied and turned around.
"I'm glad you managed to sort that out," McGonagall said approvingly, "onwards then, we've wasted enough time."
"That was wicked," one of the twins whispered to Harry once they were on their way to the great hall again. Cedric seemed like he wanted to add something as well, but a well-timed backwards glance from McGonagall convinced him not to. Overall it was a sombre group of first years that eventually arrived at a great set of wooden doors leading to the great hall.
It wasn't long before the wooden doors opened with an ominous creaking sound. Truly completing the contradictory reality of a castle that was somehow magical, but had rusty hinges. It was definitely a sombre aesthetic, an impression that was immediately ruined by youthful chatter and a bright hall illuminated by countless candles.
-/-
"Hufflepuff," the sorting hat shouted and was promptly removed from Cedric's head by Professor McGonagall.
"Harry Evans," she read from the scroll in her hand and the redhead slowly began making his way to the stool sitting right in front of the staff table. He used this opportunity to observe the professors, the only unknown being a stiff woman who looked to be somewhere in her fifties and in desperate need of a proper meal. Otherwise, it was as he remembered. Hagrid, Kettleburn, Slughorn, Dumbledore, Quirrell…. No Snape.
He smiled forlornly as he climbed the steps to the hat, closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
Nothing existed as he sat and had the hat put upon his head.
Nothing was thought as the hat whispered into his ear. "Look, It's a nice trick, but it'll just hurt if I have to actually break in. So give me something."
Harry sighed and released his hold on the void, it probably would have been too much to hope for to have mastered Occlumency without formal instruction or learning material. 'Not Slytherin,' he thought at the hat, before thinking about how going to Hogwarts to a potentially dangerous unknown exhibited bravery and how his perpetual learning and practice exhibited a thirst for knowledge and an astounding amount of hard work. 'Take your pick,' he projected, not really having a preference.
"Well," the hat said, out loud this time, so the entire hall could hear, "it better be, Hufflepuff!"
Once Harry stood up from the chair, the yellow and black table burst into applause, joined by the corpulent monk floating atop it.
"The applause feels undeserved," Harry whispered to Cedric, who he'd sat down next to. "I just sat on a chair."
"It's more that the house wants the new students to feel welcome I think," Cedric whispered back before they both turned to watch the next sorting.
It wasn't long before all the students were sorted and the headmaster, a man with an impressive silver beard and garishly purple robes stood up and gathered the attention of the room onto himself. Dumbledore, of course, gave a lengthy speech, not anything particularly mention-worthy being situated within it. The only thing Harry paid attention to was when the man introduced the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor, a certain, "Professor Twix." Her background was curiously not elucidated upon and nobody in the great hall seemed particularly excited. The applause was rather middling.
Harry perked up, however, when the headmaster ended his speech with, "Nitment, Bobbsi, Smithens," which caused the food to appear. "Those must be house-elf names," he muttered before quickly securing some roast beef, caramelised carrots and roasted potatoes. In addition to this, he poured a clear tomato soup into his goblet and sipped from it in between bites.
"Does it taste good? Drinking tomato soup like that?" a blonde girl, with her hair in two braids sitting on his.
"Penny, right?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, sorry. Your name is Harry?" she asked, at which he nodded.
"Well, I like tomato soup. Considering the only other options are pumpkin juice and water, I decided to go with the more fun option." He glanced at her plate. Mashed potatoes with gravy. He smiled. "I see you know what you like enough to stick to a single thing though."
Penny turned her nose up, "Hogwarts is awesome, no parents to badger me into eating vegetables," she proclaimed as if being a picky and difficult eater was something to be proud of.
Harry hummed and looked at her sceptically, before returning back to his meal. It wasn't his job to fix anyone's eating habits. "I like your braids, by the way," he said, to not end the conversation on the topic of food. The braids were indeed very cute. Penny had very bright blonde hair, half of which she tied into three braids, two of which rested on her front making sure her tie wasn't lonely. The last one ran from the top of her head to the back, where it joined the follicles that were allowed to swing freely down her back.
"Thanks," Penny muttered with a blush before diving face-first into her mashed potatoes.
Harry returned to his own meal. He was finally here, huh?
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Interlude 1: Horace Slughorn
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
Interlude: Horace Slughorn
31st July 1989: late afternoon, after Harry's trip to Diagon Alley
Loud sounds of banging, exploding, or panging did not generally exhibit any emotions. However, there would be few who wouldn't be able to ascertain the tiredness of the loud crack that resounded throughout the Scottish Highlands that day.
Slughorn waved his wand at the wrought-iron Hogwarts gates that had suddenly replaced the puerile Surrey and stepped through the small opening he'd created. A wonderful view of the beautiful castle in which he was a teacher opened up before him, but the scene left him cold. When was the last time such a thing had occurred?
"Surely not since the end of the war," the old man said as he began walking up to the institute, feeling all his years and weight, metaphorical and otherwise. He could have simply apparated to the three broomsticks and taken a short trip through the floo to his pleasantly cool office in the dungeons. But Albus had wished to speak with him, and he preferred taking a bit longer to get there. He needed to sort his thoughts.
Harry Evans, the problem on his mind. Terribly bright, precocious, and interested in magic beyond his grasp and the grasp of most wizards. Even he at his age had only mastered median levels of Occlumency and he was considered accomplished for the feat.
He brought up a tissue to wipe at his runny nose. The boy. He reminded him of Lily, just that he took all the qualities she'd had and amplified them. Intellect to genius, coquettishness to precociousness and control to mastery. It hadn't escaped him that for their entire interaction, except perhaps immediately after the boy had gotten his wand, Harry had only shown him what he'd wanted him to see. In that way, he reminded Slughorn of another student, one much older now, whom he'd harboured in his house.
He entered the castle and started laboriously making his way upstairs to the headmaster's office. The castle was empty of students and professors alike, the draw of spending the summer elsewhere being too much for the staff. Dumbledore would be in his office, however. Being the headmaster of Hogwarts might not have been the older man's only position, but it was likely the only one that he felt he had left. Slughorn thought similarly; he'd had a chance to run away and leave the life of education and intellectual toil behind. Retire and enjoy the connections he'd made while teaching. Throw elaborate dinner parties with money assured by the semi-regular sale of rare potions like Felix Felicis.
The chance had long passed and the only thing left from the days in which he would have taken that chance was a profound sense of moral disgust. Losing Lily like that, likely to one of his own students, had broken him. Something Albus had used to his own advantage to reform Slughorn into something more befitting his own philosophy. For all that Horace had avoided taking a stance his entire life, preferring to hedge his bets and enjoy the seduction attempts from both sides, the blood war hadn't left him any other choice. The crimes committed had been so hideous he'd become unable to run.
It remained to be seen if Harry Evans would be a student he'd need to go out of his way to protect or one of the students he'd need to protect others from. Horace sincerely hoped his worries were unfounded, but unlike Albus, he didn't have the energy to believe in the innate goodness of humanity, or children anymore. Not after...
"Candy pop," he said to the gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office, paying attention not to lock eyes with any of the paintings present in the corridor. They were entertainment-deprived from how empty the castle was and would take any opportunity to try to involve him in a conversation. The doors opened and he walked up the stairs, greeting the bearded old man sitting at his desk late into the afternoon and writing what seemed like a policy proposal for the Wizengamot if the format of the parchment was any indication.
"Good evening, Albus," Horace said as he sat down in the plush armchair that had appeared under his behind after he'd walked up to the desk. He sighed in contentment as Albus quickly finished up his work before putting away the quill and folding his hands under his chin to lock blue eyes on blue.
"Thank you again, Horace, for undertaking the trip. Considering the circumstances, I thought it better to send a professor."
"Of course, a half-blood whose magical parentage is dead barely has any more knowledge than a muggle-born."
"How has young Harry Evans been doing, he lives with his aunt, correct?"
Horace nodded, "He seemed well informed, as much as he could be. His aunt likely knew at least some things about the magical world from her sister. She was very displeased to see me and wanted to send the boy to another school, but I managed to convince her otherwise." He laughed bitterly, while Albus sighed.
"Despite anecdotal evidence to the contrary in this particular case, Hogwarts is one of the safest, if not the safest school in the world. It's good you managed to convince his family."
Horace hesitated, "It was partially the boy himself that did the convincing, his aunt and uncle seem to trust him a lot. He said that he would leave Hogwarts if another conflict started brewing on the horizon, saying one could see the signs of an incoming war before it happened."
"Even the best diviners cannot predict the specifics of the future," Albus said non-committedly to that factoid. "Otherwise?" he asked.
Horace hesitated again, but this time he gave into his desire to not disclose the full story. For all that, there had been some similarities between Tom Riddle and Harry Evans. Both orphans, intelligent, talented with magic, if the display he'd glimpsed through Ollivander's window was any indication... There was just as much Lily in the boy and most importantly, Harry had grown up in a seemingly loving family. He knew, however, that if he were to say things as they were, Albus would be wary of the boy. The man had a Voldemort-shaped hole in the rational part of his brain and it had been partially his handling of Tom that had contributed to making the man what he was today. Although, who knew, some wizards were simply destined for the wrong kind of greatness. "He reminds me of Lily, he takes after her," Horace thus said instead. "I imagine he'll be a student to look out for."
"We always need more of those," Albus mused and started getting up from his chair. Likely to wish Horace a good night and dismiss him.
"Albus, about the new professor," Horace said before he could be told to leave. He might as well address an issue that he saw if he was already here. The headmaster paused but remained standing, looking at him. "Is it smart to let a ministry asset teach Defence against the Dark Arts? Furthermore, the woman is a curse-breaker not a handler of dangerous beasts, or an auror. "
The headmaster ran a hand through his silvery beard, revealing stripes of lime green on the robe below as it parted. It made the purple ensemble even more questionable. Albus frowned, which was a rare enough thing to happen. Horace knew he'd struck a nerve. "I sincerely doubt that a ministry official was given leave to teach without a reason myself, but you know how desperately we need professors for this subject. Who knows, perhaps she'd break the curse on the position."
"I wouldn't get my hopes up, " Horace grunted, "if we wanted a real chance of getting rid of the curse we'd take a curse-breaker from Gringotts, rather than one from the ministry. Everyone knows that the best ones don't work for the government. The pay is just not good enough. "
"I wouldn't let her hear that opinion," Albus warned, "she seemed quite proud of her accomplishments, which I completely understand. They are why I hired her instead of that charming escaped convict from China who was trying to use the position to gain diplomatic immunity. "
"Good night, Albus, " Horace said with a grimace. His patience with the man always disappeared when he brought up one of the ridiculous applications they got for the Defence against the Dark Arts position every year.
"Good night, Horace, I wouldn't worry about it too much. We've managed before and we will manage again," the man said, standing amidst his instruments as they whistled, blared and jumped. Horace's eyes got stuck for a moment on a silver compass, meant to seek out splintered pieces of souls. But ever since the day it had been created, it had just been spinning around in circles. Useless. A painting sneezed from where it had been listening in on their conversation. It startled him from his thoughts and made him realise how tired he was. He ran a head down his face as he left the office, Dumbledore staying behind, likely to continue working in his tower.
"Don't stay up too late," he muttered in lieu of another platitude, knowing that with Albus' age, the man was likely feeling the bite of the approaching night much more strongly than he.
"For that matter, I can unfortunately make no promises." Was the answer he got.
31st July 1989: late afternoon, after Harry's trip to Diagon Alley
Loud sounds of banging, exploding, or panging did not generally exhibit any emotions. However, there would be few who wouldn't be able to ascertain the tiredness of the loud crack that resounded throughout the Scottish Highlands that day.
Slughorn waved his wand at the wrought-iron Hogwarts gates that had suddenly replaced the puerile Surrey and stepped through the small opening he'd created. A wonderful view of the beautiful castle in which he was a teacher opened up before him, but the scene left him cold. When was the last time such a thing had occurred?
"Surely not since the end of the war," the old man said as he began walking up to the institute, feeling all his years and weight, metaphorical and otherwise. He could have simply apparated to the three broomsticks and taken a short trip through the floo to his pleasantly cool office in the dungeons. But Albus had wished to speak with him, and he preferred taking a bit longer to get there. He needed to sort his thoughts.
Harry Evans, the problem on his mind. Terribly bright, precocious, and interested in magic beyond his grasp and the grasp of most wizards. Even he at his age had only mastered median levels of Occlumency and he was considered accomplished for the feat.
He brought up a tissue to wipe at his runny nose. The boy. He reminded him of Lily, just that he took all the qualities she'd had and amplified them. Intellect to genius, coquettishness to precociousness and control to mastery. It hadn't escaped him that for their entire interaction, except perhaps immediately after the boy had gotten his wand, Harry had only shown him what he'd wanted him to see. In that way, he reminded Slughorn of another student, one much older now, whom he'd harboured in his house.
He entered the castle and started laboriously making his way upstairs to the headmaster's office. The castle was empty of students and professors alike, the draw of spending the summer elsewhere being too much for the staff. Dumbledore would be in his office, however. Being the headmaster of Hogwarts might not have been the older man's only position, but it was likely the only one that he felt he had left. Slughorn thought similarly; he'd had a chance to run away and leave the life of education and intellectual toil behind. Retire and enjoy the connections he'd made while teaching. Throw elaborate dinner parties with money assured by the semi-regular sale of rare potions like Felix Felicis.
The chance had long passed and the only thing left from the days in which he would have taken that chance was a profound sense of moral disgust. Losing Lily like that, likely to one of his own students, had broken him. Something Albus had used to his own advantage to reform Slughorn into something more befitting his own philosophy. For all that Horace had avoided taking a stance his entire life, preferring to hedge his bets and enjoy the seduction attempts from both sides, the blood war hadn't left him any other choice. The crimes committed had been so hideous he'd become unable to run.
It remained to be seen if Harry Evans would be a student he'd need to go out of his way to protect or one of the students he'd need to protect others from. Horace sincerely hoped his worries were unfounded, but unlike Albus, he didn't have the energy to believe in the innate goodness of humanity, or children anymore. Not after...
"Candy pop," he said to the gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office, paying attention not to lock eyes with any of the paintings present in the corridor. They were entertainment-deprived from how empty the castle was and would take any opportunity to try to involve him in a conversation. The doors opened and he walked up the stairs, greeting the bearded old man sitting at his desk late into the afternoon and writing what seemed like a policy proposal for the Wizengamot if the format of the parchment was any indication.
"Good evening, Albus," Horace said as he sat down in the plush armchair that had appeared under his behind after he'd walked up to the desk. He sighed in contentment as Albus quickly finished up his work before putting away the quill and folding his hands under his chin to lock blue eyes on blue.
"Thank you again, Horace, for undertaking the trip. Considering the circumstances, I thought it better to send a professor."
"Of course, a half-blood whose magical parentage is dead barely has any more knowledge than a muggle-born."
"How has young Harry Evans been doing, he lives with his aunt, correct?"
Horace nodded, "He seemed well informed, as much as he could be. His aunt likely knew at least some things about the magical world from her sister. She was very displeased to see me and wanted to send the boy to another school, but I managed to convince her otherwise." He laughed bitterly, while Albus sighed.
"Despite anecdotal evidence to the contrary in this particular case, Hogwarts is one of the safest, if not the safest school in the world. It's good you managed to convince his family."
Horace hesitated, "It was partially the boy himself that did the convincing, his aunt and uncle seem to trust him a lot. He said that he would leave Hogwarts if another conflict started brewing on the horizon, saying one could see the signs of an incoming war before it happened."
"Even the best diviners cannot predict the specifics of the future," Albus said non-committedly to that factoid. "Otherwise?" he asked.
Horace hesitated again, but this time he gave into his desire to not disclose the full story. For all that, there had been some similarities between Tom Riddle and Harry Evans. Both orphans, intelligent, talented with magic, if the display he'd glimpsed through Ollivander's window was any indication... There was just as much Lily in the boy and most importantly, Harry had grown up in a seemingly loving family. He knew, however, that if he were to say things as they were, Albus would be wary of the boy. The man had a Voldemort-shaped hole in the rational part of his brain and it had been partially his handling of Tom that had contributed to making the man what he was today. Although, who knew, some wizards were simply destined for the wrong kind of greatness. "He reminds me of Lily, he takes after her," Horace thus said instead. "I imagine he'll be a student to look out for."
"We always need more of those," Albus mused and started getting up from his chair. Likely to wish Horace a good night and dismiss him.
"Albus, about the new professor," Horace said before he could be told to leave. He might as well address an issue that he saw if he was already here. The headmaster paused but remained standing, looking at him. "Is it smart to let a ministry asset teach Defence against the Dark Arts? Furthermore, the woman is a curse-breaker not a handler of dangerous beasts, or an auror. "
The headmaster ran a hand through his silvery beard, revealing stripes of lime green on the robe below as it parted. It made the purple ensemble even more questionable. Albus frowned, which was a rare enough thing to happen. Horace knew he'd struck a nerve. "I sincerely doubt that a ministry official was given leave to teach without a reason myself, but you know how desperately we need professors for this subject. Who knows, perhaps she'd break the curse on the position."
"I wouldn't get my hopes up, " Horace grunted, "if we wanted a real chance of getting rid of the curse we'd take a curse-breaker from Gringotts, rather than one from the ministry. Everyone knows that the best ones don't work for the government. The pay is just not good enough. "
"I wouldn't let her hear that opinion," Albus warned, "she seemed quite proud of her accomplishments, which I completely understand. They are why I hired her instead of that charming escaped convict from China who was trying to use the position to gain diplomatic immunity. "
"Good night, Albus, " Horace said with a grimace. His patience with the man always disappeared when he brought up one of the ridiculous applications they got for the Defence against the Dark Arts position every year.
"Good night, Horace, I wouldn't worry about it too much. We've managed before and we will manage again," the man said, standing amidst his instruments as they whistled, blared and jumped. Horace's eyes got stuck for a moment on a silver compass, meant to seek out splintered pieces of souls. But ever since the day it had been created, it had just been spinning around in circles. Useless. A painting sneezed from where it had been listening in on their conversation. It startled him from his thoughts and made him realise how tired he was. He ran a head down his face as he left the office, Dumbledore staying behind, likely to continue working in his tower.
"Don't stay up too late," he muttered in lieu of another platitude, knowing that with Albus' age, the man was likely feeling the bite of the approaching night much more strongly than he.
"For that matter, I can unfortunately make no promises." Was the answer he got.
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Interlude 2: Gellert Grindelwald
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
AN: It's been brought to my attention that this Grindelwald interlude has some similarities to the Grindelwald interlude in "Harry Potter and the boy who lived," by the Santi. It's a really awesome story, unfortunately its been abandoned for eight years now. I'd definitely recommend a read though, despite that. It was probably at the back of my mind when I wrote this, even though the similarities are kinda only due to the interaction of newspaper + guard. There's only so many ways you can depict a man in prison, so I guess I just struck similarity on accident. Sorry about that? Idk, pretty random.
2nd of November, 1979
Gellert lay in his cot and analysed the ceiling of his cell for the thirty-ninth time that day and as sure as water was water, there was a new crack developing in brick A63. He stared at the furrow and tilted his head, noting that it looked like a lightning bolt and thus, the rune Sowilo. Sun, warmth, positive renewal. He looked outside through the iron bars to the outside. A world of perpetual darkness as the enchantments keeping the sky cloudy around Nurmengard did their work.
He hadn't wanted to give his prisoners the luxury of sunlight. Perhaps if he'd been a less cruel man his own imprisonment would be less dreary. How ironic, that all dark lords ended up being hoisted by their own petard. He sometimes thought that the universe itself might have a sense of irony.
If it did, he would have liked to use the opportunity to tell the universe that he didn't appreciate its sense of humour. He turned his gaze back to the crack, lying stiff and unmoving in the part of the cell that he slept in; he refused to call it a bed.
A rune. He methodically started analysing all the bricks making up his cell, trying to see if any other cracks had formed and if any of the old ones could have meanings attributed to them.
Nurmengard lay still as the dark lord swept his gaze slowly through his room. Hours passed. Guards patrolled past the cell. A piece of mouldy bread was thrown through the iron bars that constituted the entrance. No additional crack of any interest was found on the walls. He idly brought up a bony hand to scratch at the scab that he'd developed recently after cutting himself on one of his overly long fingernails, before deciding against it.
The fact that there were no other rune-like constructs on the wall, made the rune that had appeared, all the more significant in Gellert's mind. If it was not a natural formation, then it meant something. He wasn't the greatest believer in prophecies and divination. He rather thought of himself as a rationalist. But for some reason his mood lifted and he expected something to happen throughout the day, even if it was only a ray of sunshine peeking through the cloud cover.
Nothing of such a nature occurred and the rune was slowly forgotten, dismissed. Another disappointment in a long string of unfortunate and meaningless events. The dark lord returned to doing what he'd been doing since his imprisonment. Bitterly regretting, hopelessly planning and drawing in whatever minuscule amounts of magic he still had access to in his condition and folding it, not letting it dissipate in a pointless attempt at supplementing his health. He kept it all, every drop he had access to. The lake within him grew.
2nd November 1981
A harsh rattle woke Gellert from a dismal sleep and he immediately snapped to attention to stare at the young man making a ruckus by knocking on the iron bars of his cell. A guard, clutching a newspaper and wearing a hateful smile.
"Another one bites the dust," he said while fluffing the newspaper and beginning to read. "The dark lord that terrorised the British Isles for nearly a decade was recently vanquished in a raid gone wrong, by what the British claim was a baby..." he read. Gellert righted himself up slowly with aching bones, gripping the stones that his cot was made of for support.
He looked at the young man, who was looking at him expectantly and tilted his head curiously as if asking, 'What's it to me?' Dismissal was a weak man's greatest weapon. The guard blustered, apparently not expecting the reaction. He looked around, to the left, to the right. He wasn't supposed to be talking to the Prisoner, the only one still held in the square alpine tower of Nurmengard.
The guard looked back at the newspaper trying perhaps to ignore the dark lord's gaze, "Albus Dumbledore expressed his belief that-", he read aloud, before Gellert raised a hand at the boy, expanded a minuscule amount of his magic and ripped the newspaper out of his hands to hold it in his own. The guard's expression turned from blustering to terrified to angry. He pulled his wand and raised it at the prisoner and cast a spell, "accio!" he called, unnecessarily loudly. The newspaper didn't budge and Gellert couldn't withhold a smirk.
"How did you do that?" the guard demanded, "you're not supposed to be able to do magic, let alone summon away a man's possessions," he said, revealing that while he remembered something of his education, he was too dumb to connect the concepts.
"Ownership, magical presence, overlapping over the property. Lessened effects from bad actors on held items," Gellert rasped with an unused voice, causing the boy to freeze up. Perhaps he hadn't expected Grindelwald to rise up to his taunts? "While ownership is a powerful concept, nobody expects a toddler to wrestle an adult, no matter the leverage. In other words, you are obviously lacking in the department that represents mass, or rather, control, in the context of magic," he explained.
The guard banged aggressively on the bars but didn't reach inside. He wasn't that dumb. The cell was Grindelwald's territory and anybody that entered, he could do with what he pleased. Which is why no one did, no matter how stupid they were. "Give me the paper," he hissed.
"No."
"I can make your life unpleasant." Was the threat. An empty one, Gellert's life was already completely shit and beyond repair. The dark lord taunted by waving the newspaper.
"You can't, while I have this, still," he said. The only thing the other man could do was stomp petulantly on the ground, like a child. While Gellert held the newspaper that the idiot had so graciously delivered to him, he couldn't do anything in fear of it being revealed that he'd breached protocol. Assuming of course that the man was invested in keeping his job. The quality of the guards had quickly lessened over the years, as the veterans of the conflict that had been fought retired and the position became something for people too dumb to make anything else out of themselves. Perhaps auror trainees got assigned the task for a bit? He didn't know, he hadn't talked to another human in seven years, since the ICW had last come begging for him to reveal the location of his stashes. A request he'd refused, just like they refused his request for access to books.
Gellert looked up from his musings and saw that the guard was gone. He looked down at the newspaper in his hands and started reading about this so-called boy who lived and the idiot dark lord who'd died at a babe's hands.
2nd of November, 1979
Gellert lay in his cot and analysed the ceiling of his cell for the thirty-ninth time that day and as sure as water was water, there was a new crack developing in brick A63. He stared at the furrow and tilted his head, noting that it looked like a lightning bolt and thus, the rune Sowilo. Sun, warmth, positive renewal. He looked outside through the iron bars to the outside. A world of perpetual darkness as the enchantments keeping the sky cloudy around Nurmengard did their work.
He hadn't wanted to give his prisoners the luxury of sunlight. Perhaps if he'd been a less cruel man his own imprisonment would be less dreary. How ironic, that all dark lords ended up being hoisted by their own petard. He sometimes thought that the universe itself might have a sense of irony.
If it did, he would have liked to use the opportunity to tell the universe that he didn't appreciate its sense of humour. He turned his gaze back to the crack, lying stiff and unmoving in the part of the cell that he slept in; he refused to call it a bed.
A rune. He methodically started analysing all the bricks making up his cell, trying to see if any other cracks had formed and if any of the old ones could have meanings attributed to them.
Nurmengard lay still as the dark lord swept his gaze slowly through his room. Hours passed. Guards patrolled past the cell. A piece of mouldy bread was thrown through the iron bars that constituted the entrance. No additional crack of any interest was found on the walls. He idly brought up a bony hand to scratch at the scab that he'd developed recently after cutting himself on one of his overly long fingernails, before deciding against it.
The fact that there were no other rune-like constructs on the wall, made the rune that had appeared, all the more significant in Gellert's mind. If it was not a natural formation, then it meant something. He wasn't the greatest believer in prophecies and divination. He rather thought of himself as a rationalist. But for some reason his mood lifted and he expected something to happen throughout the day, even if it was only a ray of sunshine peeking through the cloud cover.
Nothing of such a nature occurred and the rune was slowly forgotten, dismissed. Another disappointment in a long string of unfortunate and meaningless events. The dark lord returned to doing what he'd been doing since his imprisonment. Bitterly regretting, hopelessly planning and drawing in whatever minuscule amounts of magic he still had access to in his condition and folding it, not letting it dissipate in a pointless attempt at supplementing his health. He kept it all, every drop he had access to. The lake within him grew.
2nd November 1981
A harsh rattle woke Gellert from a dismal sleep and he immediately snapped to attention to stare at the young man making a ruckus by knocking on the iron bars of his cell. A guard, clutching a newspaper and wearing a hateful smile.
"Another one bites the dust," he said while fluffing the newspaper and beginning to read. "The dark lord that terrorised the British Isles for nearly a decade was recently vanquished in a raid gone wrong, by what the British claim was a baby..." he read. Gellert righted himself up slowly with aching bones, gripping the stones that his cot was made of for support.
He looked at the young man, who was looking at him expectantly and tilted his head curiously as if asking, 'What's it to me?' Dismissal was a weak man's greatest weapon. The guard blustered, apparently not expecting the reaction. He looked around, to the left, to the right. He wasn't supposed to be talking to the Prisoner, the only one still held in the square alpine tower of Nurmengard.
The guard looked back at the newspaper trying perhaps to ignore the dark lord's gaze, "Albus Dumbledore expressed his belief that-", he read aloud, before Gellert raised a hand at the boy, expanded a minuscule amount of his magic and ripped the newspaper out of his hands to hold it in his own. The guard's expression turned from blustering to terrified to angry. He pulled his wand and raised it at the prisoner and cast a spell, "accio!" he called, unnecessarily loudly. The newspaper didn't budge and Gellert couldn't withhold a smirk.
"How did you do that?" the guard demanded, "you're not supposed to be able to do magic, let alone summon away a man's possessions," he said, revealing that while he remembered something of his education, he was too dumb to connect the concepts.
"Ownership, magical presence, overlapping over the property. Lessened effects from bad actors on held items," Gellert rasped with an unused voice, causing the boy to freeze up. Perhaps he hadn't expected Grindelwald to rise up to his taunts? "While ownership is a powerful concept, nobody expects a toddler to wrestle an adult, no matter the leverage. In other words, you are obviously lacking in the department that represents mass, or rather, control, in the context of magic," he explained.
The guard banged aggressively on the bars but didn't reach inside. He wasn't that dumb. The cell was Grindelwald's territory and anybody that entered, he could do with what he pleased. Which is why no one did, no matter how stupid they were. "Give me the paper," he hissed.
"No."
"I can make your life unpleasant." Was the threat. An empty one, Gellert's life was already completely shit and beyond repair. The dark lord taunted by waving the newspaper.
"You can't, while I have this, still," he said. The only thing the other man could do was stomp petulantly on the ground, like a child. While Gellert held the newspaper that the idiot had so graciously delivered to him, he couldn't do anything in fear of it being revealed that he'd breached protocol. Assuming of course that the man was invested in keeping his job. The quality of the guards had quickly lessened over the years, as the veterans of the conflict that had been fought retired and the position became something for people too dumb to make anything else out of themselves. Perhaps auror trainees got assigned the task for a bit? He didn't know, he hadn't talked to another human in seven years, since the ICW had last come begging for him to reveal the location of his stashes. A request he'd refused, just like they refused his request for access to books.
Gellert looked up from his musings and saw that the guard was gone. He looked down at the newspaper in his hands and started reading about this so-called boy who lived and the idiot dark lord who'd died at a babe's hands.
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Chapter 6: First day of Skool
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
Harry swiped his hand over his face to get rid of whatever was tickling him and tried falling back asleep. It didn't work and the feeling persisted, making him groan and wake up, only to notice, annoyed, that he'd been woken up by his own hair. He got up and flicked his wand, which he tended to sleep with, in the air, "Tempus." A bright blue holographic 5:44 appeared in the privacy of his curtained bed. The time informed him that unless he started going out at night after learning the disillusionment charm, he was going to end up going to sleep early enough to never miss a sunrise ever again. This annoyed him for some reason. He hated having a curfew.
There were advantages to being the first one up, however, he mused as he stumbled his way to the bathroom, past his sleeping first-year compatriots. No one disturbed him as he took a relaxing shower and ended up in front of the mirror on top of the sink. "It'll work this time," he told himself reassuringly before pointing his wand at his mouth and casting a spell, "Dentare." Toothpaste and water materialised in his mouth, which he kept closed for this purpose, before unleashing a localised tornado between his teeth. Harry scrunched his face and spit out the contents into the sink. Bright green foam disappeared into the pipes. He really wished that the taste of the toothpaste wasn't set automatically to anise. A flavour that he despised from his student days after making the acquaintance with a particularly vigorous mixture of ouzo and absinthe which someone had apparently thought would be an incredibly funny cocktail.
He sighed. "I miss alcohol."
"My words!" the mirror replied, aghast. "They start so young," it sighed.
Harry gave the talking mirror an annoyed glance and quickly left the bathroom. "Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to have a talking mirror in the baths. Who wants to be talked to by a random object while naked," he said as he went back to the shared bedroom. His year-mates were still sleeping soundly, so he packed his leather satchel with sheets of white paper, his fountain pen and after a moment's hesitation, his camera. Getting dressed in the uniform that he'd taken a liking to, he headed for the common room. A warm and welcoming space suffused by peeks of sunlight in which dust motes danced lazily. Wooden barrels were installed at large intervals in the walls, although Harry sincerely doubted that they contained anything.
"Swag room," he muttered as he brought up his camera to take a picture. Harry didn't think he would be spending much time here, considering that it was for the most part filled with loud and therefore obnoxious children discussing inanities. He went over to one of the tables and sat down to write a letter to the Dursleys.
Dear family,
I have arrived at the haunted castle safely and have been sorted into the house of the hard-working and the loyal…
It didn't take him long to pen the letter, seeing as not much had occurred yet and he had in fact been dropped off at the train station less than 24 hours ago. He did take special care to include in the letter the fact that he had interacted with Cedric and the twins on the train and that Cedric had been sorted into his own house. Petunia would appreciate thinking that he was making friends, as would Vernon, although the man would never admit it. He tactfully left out the blood-purist child who had accosted him before the sorting. Montongue or whatever his name was.
"Morning," a female voice grumbled from the opposite side of where he had accessed the common room. Harry turned around to appraise the new arrival who was awake shortly after six. Prodigious time for a teenager. His green eyes meet stormy grey ones framed by lilac hair. A cute button nose adorned the aristocratic face which was headed by a body on display by a pair of tight jeans and a form-fitting black sweater. The girl looked to be around 15 years old. A stage of development almost as annoying as all the other ones. "Aren't you up a bit early?" the teenager complained before grimacing, a hand subconsciously going to her stomach.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I could be asking you the same thing. I never thought I'd see a teenager wake up before 7 AM," he replied
"It's also a bit early for brats, innit?" the girl said instinctively, before cringing. "You're not home-sick or something are you?" she asked as she sat down next to him, with another grimace of pain, and glanced at the letter he'd just finished writing.
"Aren't you the detective," Harry replied. "Very interesting how you act all snarky but still sit down next to the presumably about-to-cry first-year. Is everyone in this house a goodie-two-shoes, is this what it's all about?"
"Aren't you a little rain of sunshine," the lilac girl muttered as she laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes with a sigh. "You sure you got sorted into the right house."
Harry sniffed disdainfully. "Of course I did, do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to end up here?"
The girl cracked open an eye to look at him. "Why'd you have to pull strings? Also what strings. It's a sodding hat, where were you supposed to end up?"
Harry theatrically puffed up his chest and straightened his spine. He tilted his head upwards, so the girl could look up his nostrils for added effect. "Why Slytherin of course, the greatest of the Hogwarts four. The unfortunate thing is just that it's not very cunning or helpful to one's political ambitions to be sorted into the house of dark wizards. Which is where Hufflepuff comes in. You see, nobody suspects the Puff and thus it should be clear that all the real blood-purists and dark wizards are in Hufflepuff. All those in Slytherin are just pretenders, the idiots who'd rather put their blood-purism on display and then have measures taken against it, instead of acting in the shadows and succeeding unimpeded. My great-great-great-grandfather always said that one shouldn't let pride affect your ability to be an effective asshole."
The girl snorted, groaned in pain and clutched her stomach in quick succession. "You're a fucking riot kid. I can't imagine a dark wizard coming out of this cheery place, even if they'd already had a body count before the actual sorting."
Harry winked at the girl. "I agree with you, there couldn't possibly be a dark wizard that ever came out of Hufflepuff."
The girl winked back, a small smile now adorning her horizontally laid face.
Harry stood up and packed away his pen and letter into his satchel. "Well, it was nice meeting you stranger, but I must be off to the owlery to send my evil order-," he coughed, "what I mean is I must inform my family that I have arrived safely at Hogwarts," he corrected, before turning around to leave.
A hand snaked out to grab him by the wrist and Harry turned around to the girl with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not a stranger, call me Tonks. Also, do you even know the way to the owlery? You might just end up getting lost and starving somewhere in the dungeons."
"Are you offering to lead me?" Harry asked. "I'm Harry, by the way."
"Nice to meetcha. Yeah, hells, I'll take you, it's not like I have anything better to do," Tonks said before propping herself up on the table with a grimace to join him.
"Are you sure you should be going with me to the owlery instead of to the hospital wing?" Harry asked, receiving a shake of the head from the taller girl.
"No, nothing to be done there, I must have eaten something bad yesterday."
Harry sincerely doubted that the Hogwarts elves would have let anything bad slip through their fingers to infect the Hogwarts student population. He chuckled as a thought entered his mind. 'Intelligence is knowing when a girl is going through period cramps, wisdom is knowing not to mention it if she doesn't want to tell you.'
"What are you laughing at?" Tonks complained as they started making their way out of the common room, which only made Harry crack up more.
"Nothing much, just life I guess."
-/-
It was an enchanting way to the owlery, full of moving paintings, presumably enchanted knight armour ensembles and ghosts and moving staircases. When one reached the top of the owlery one got to drink in the view of Hogwarts and the lake and the forest and the far-off planes.
"They certainly picked a scenic place to put this old castle," Harry said as he ran his fingers over the cracked stone that the owlery was composed of.
The bird he was tying the letter to hooted and hopped away to prevent him from finishing tying the letter. "Oh I didn't mean you, dearie, I meant the castle. You're a young stud, aren't you," Harry crooned at the tawny owl, which hopped back with a preened chest and let him finish the knot. "Now off you go you beautiful, strong bird, my aunt will give you bacon, or bread crumbs or whatever your heart desires. Just stay long enough for her to reply, huh? She has no pretty owl to call her own," he said to the owl, which seemingly not willing to nod, threw its head to the left and then to the right to signify agreement. Not that he could really tell. "Off you go then," he whispered as the owl jumped off the rail and flew off into the sunset. A pleasant wind brought the smell of water and plains into the owlery, not that anything could cover the smell of bird shit pervading the whole structure.
He stepped back from the ledge and turned towards Tonks. The girl was leaning on the other side of the space, looking towards the towering castle with a pensive look, elbows crossed on the railing of one of the countless glassless windows, one hand propping up her chin. She looked quite fetching, he guessed, in a sort of gawkish and awkward way. The way teenagers inhabited their skin always gave off a certain feeling of unease. The only exceptions were dancers or athletes. The sun was rising just beside her, casting her in a lighting that most movie directors or photographers would kill for. Without thinking too much of it Harry opened his camera and snapped a quick picture.
What was it with his camera mostly taking pictures of people fated for death? Harry thought and frowned, putting the camera away. Tonks didn't even stir, seemingly not having noticed anything of what had happened. He stepped up next to her after casting a tempus, straw and mice bones crunched underneath his feet. It was 6:54, it had been a long way here, and his older housemate had explained vigorously how to find one's way in a castle that seemed to take laws of Euclidean geometry more as a challenge than anything set in stone.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked.
Tonks snorted, her eyes unglazing. "I'll take a sickle, minimum," which caused Harry to laugh out loud.
"Tonks, you're a teenage girl, if I wanted to hear whining about boys and observe the process of someone over-thinking a basic social interaction ad absurdum I'd read a romance novel. I'd certainly never pay more than a penny for that particular privilege either."
Tonks made a hurt face but also blushed at the same time.
"Boy, trouble, really?" Harry asked, aghast.
"Oh shut up, you twerp, what do you know anyway!"
Harry puffed out his chest, like the owl earlier. "I am a boy!"
"Little boys don't count," she retorted.
"Try me," he said, and she seemed to think it over.
"There is a guy I like," she began, her eyes going back to looking at the castle, before looking at Harry and shaking her head, "why would I even tell you this…" she muttered.
Harry tilted his head, trying to think of an answer. "You'd tell me, because… You're very cool, pretty and nice. Someone like you doesn't deserve to have unvoiced worries, unshared by anyone," he said, giving the girl a thumbs up.
Tonks stared at him and her previously lilac hair styled elaborately into some sort of spiky goth punk style softly trembled before turning into curly black. Her nose became a tad smaller, her cheekbones higher and her figure a bit less curvaceous.
"I'm a metamorphmagus. It means I can change my appearance at will," she explained.
"You're worried that whoever you end up dating won't love you for yourself, but who you make yourself appear to be and who you could be for them?" Harry asked, receiving a surprised blink.
"Well, yeah. Boys are gross, they'd probably ask me if I could… You know," she trailed off, apparently not wanting to say tell an eleven-year-old boy that most male Hogwarts students within her age range she could date would ask her if she could make her tits bigger, or give herself elf ears or an impossible hourglass figure.
Harry understood her worries. For most people, it could already be an issue to find someone with whom they could unfold the whole of themselves. If one's body was just as malleable as the words one could speak or ask someone to say. Well, he could see why an occasional identity and love crisis wouldn't be amiss for that person.
"Well, I'll tell you straight. Someone you can't communicate your worries to isn't someone you should date anyway. If someone doesn't like you for who you are, fears and all, a relationship with them is just a waste of time So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, that whoever you end up with, with whom it could really work, being a metamorphmagus isn't going to get in-between that," Harry said with a nod of his head. "Although by the time you find someone you're actually compatible with, you'll probably have to deny a few stupid requests from idiots. When you find someone you can be yourself with, hold onto it, it's a rarer opportunity than you think..." he trailed off. "This whole thing, at least, I think this is what my uncle would have said, he's very ehhh, smart."
Tonks was staring at him by the time he finished like he'd grown a second head. "I'm still dreaming," she muttered and turned back to leaning on the edge. "I always get the weirdest dreams when I'm on my period, but this is the most realistic one yet," she closed her eyes. "The weird kid will be gone when I open my eyes again," she mumbled and seemed to be concentrating.
"Well, if I'm the man of your dreams, then I'm calling the Aurors because I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Harry said, making Tonks startle and curse.
"Fuck, you're still here!" she shouted and pulled at her own hair, which had now reverted back to its previous state, just like the rest of her body.
"You're not dreaming, dumbass," Harry said before reaching over and pinching the girl's thigh.
"Ouch, you little shit. That hurt!" Tonks exclaimed and slapped the top of his head.
"Woke you up, didn't it," Harry said while rolling his eyes as he rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "Come on dummy," he said and made for the stairs down, "show me the library and then go have your existential crisis on your own time. Don't appreciate my advice? Fine, just don't waste my morning," he grumbled.
"It was surprisingly decent advice for a figment of my imagination." Tonks mused, "I guess I'm smarter than I thought I was," she concluded proudly, before walking in front of him to lead him to the library.
Harry rolled his eyes.
-/-
"It's beautiful," Harry said and tears glistened in his eyes, as he beheld the wonders of the world in written form. Aged leather backs, stacked next to each other, above each other, on shelves that reached the ceiling. The scent of parchment assaulted his nose and he was all in.
"Who gets excited about the library?" Tonks complained, before casting a quick tempus and scratching her head, "I have to leave, Harry. I have my satchel in my room and I need to get ready for Potions," she said the last word with the sort of disappointment reserved for licking an ice cream flavour that sounded better than it tasted.
"It's alright, go, shooo. I think I'm supposed to get my schedule today during breakfast, which isn't for another hour. I'll explore the library myself."
Tonks seemed to hesitate for a second. "I could get you from the library, go to breakfast together?" she half proposed, half asked.
Harry literally waved her off. "You go have fun with your friends, I think I can find the great hall from here. Worst case I ask someone or follow them. I think I saw some students already up."
"Alright," Tonks said, "I'll go then," she finished as she continued standing there.
"Thanks for leading me around, Tonks, really. I'll thank you properly one day, ok," he said, going on his tip-toes to pat the girl's shoulder, before turning around and entering the library. Steps receding away from him resounded from behind.
"So basically," Harry muttered to himself, "How am I supposed to find what I need?"
So began his descent into madness.
-/-
"Where were you?" Cedric asked when he sat down next to a catatonic Harry who was alternating between shoving pieces of bread, fruit and eggs into his mouth in a mechanical and continuous motion, "Your bed was made and you were gone. Nobody saw you."
"I was at the library," Harry said with a faraway look, a piece of half-chewed bread falling out of his mouth as he did so. He mindlessly picked it up and ate it again while Cedric looked at him with a disquieted look.
"What happened at the library that made you like… this?" he asked probingly while waving an arm in his general direction.
Harry covered his eyes, inadvertently reliving the horrific moments, "It was horrible. I still can't believe something like this could exist."
"What happened?" Cedric queried further.
"The index Cedric! The bloody sorting system! It's a fucking mess!" Harry wept angrily, "I've never seen such a disorganised library in my entire life!"
"Isn't it sorted by topic?" Cedric asked as he glanced around the Hufflepuff table, looking for someone who could help. However, unfortunately, all older year students looked quite busy and the only other available person was Penny, who grumpily waved at them from where she was clutching her morning oatmeal as if it were a lifeline.
"It is sorted by topic. But Cedric, what use are four full shelves chock full of history of magic if you can't find the one book detailing the particularly important decade for magical politics that occurred in India during the 17th century," Harry said and when Cedric made to say something, he simply spoke over the boy, "and all the weird names! It's not like the titles are something like Indian political history 1650-1660, no it would probably be like politicking with politicians from Pindia, they would add a letter in front of the country's name just to make an alliteration, believe me, please," Harry begged.
"Eeeeer," Cedric started, before reassuringly rubbing Harry's shoulder. "Didn't the prefects yesterday mention that there was a librarian?" he asked, at which Harry buried his head in his hands and started crying harder.
"She's uselesssssss and mean and protects the books as if they aren't even supposed to be read. If you ask her for something that's not in the curriculum she doesn't even try to help you!"
Cedric enveloped Harry in a hug as the latter wept.
There were advantages to being the first one up, however, he mused as he stumbled his way to the bathroom, past his sleeping first-year compatriots. No one disturbed him as he took a relaxing shower and ended up in front of the mirror on top of the sink. "It'll work this time," he told himself reassuringly before pointing his wand at his mouth and casting a spell, "Dentare." Toothpaste and water materialised in his mouth, which he kept closed for this purpose, before unleashing a localised tornado between his teeth. Harry scrunched his face and spit out the contents into the sink. Bright green foam disappeared into the pipes. He really wished that the taste of the toothpaste wasn't set automatically to anise. A flavour that he despised from his student days after making the acquaintance with a particularly vigorous mixture of ouzo and absinthe which someone had apparently thought would be an incredibly funny cocktail.
He sighed. "I miss alcohol."
"My words!" the mirror replied, aghast. "They start so young," it sighed.
Harry gave the talking mirror an annoyed glance and quickly left the bathroom. "Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to have a talking mirror in the baths. Who wants to be talked to by a random object while naked," he said as he went back to the shared bedroom. His year-mates were still sleeping soundly, so he packed his leather satchel with sheets of white paper, his fountain pen and after a moment's hesitation, his camera. Getting dressed in the uniform that he'd taken a liking to, he headed for the common room. A warm and welcoming space suffused by peeks of sunlight in which dust motes danced lazily. Wooden barrels were installed at large intervals in the walls, although Harry sincerely doubted that they contained anything.
"Swag room," he muttered as he brought up his camera to take a picture. Harry didn't think he would be spending much time here, considering that it was for the most part filled with loud and therefore obnoxious children discussing inanities. He went over to one of the tables and sat down to write a letter to the Dursleys.
Dear family,
I have arrived at the haunted castle safely and have been sorted into the house of the hard-working and the loyal…
It didn't take him long to pen the letter, seeing as not much had occurred yet and he had in fact been dropped off at the train station less than 24 hours ago. He did take special care to include in the letter the fact that he had interacted with Cedric and the twins on the train and that Cedric had been sorted into his own house. Petunia would appreciate thinking that he was making friends, as would Vernon, although the man would never admit it. He tactfully left out the blood-purist child who had accosted him before the sorting. Montongue or whatever his name was.
"Morning," a female voice grumbled from the opposite side of where he had accessed the common room. Harry turned around to appraise the new arrival who was awake shortly after six. Prodigious time for a teenager. His green eyes meet stormy grey ones framed by lilac hair. A cute button nose adorned the aristocratic face which was headed by a body on display by a pair of tight jeans and a form-fitting black sweater. The girl looked to be around 15 years old. A stage of development almost as annoying as all the other ones. "Aren't you up a bit early?" the teenager complained before grimacing, a hand subconsciously going to her stomach.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I could be asking you the same thing. I never thought I'd see a teenager wake up before 7 AM," he replied
"It's also a bit early for brats, innit?" the girl said instinctively, before cringing. "You're not home-sick or something are you?" she asked as she sat down next to him, with another grimace of pain, and glanced at the letter he'd just finished writing.
"Aren't you the detective," Harry replied. "Very interesting how you act all snarky but still sit down next to the presumably about-to-cry first-year. Is everyone in this house a goodie-two-shoes, is this what it's all about?"
"Aren't you a little rain of sunshine," the lilac girl muttered as she laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes with a sigh. "You sure you got sorted into the right house."
Harry sniffed disdainfully. "Of course I did, do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to end up here?"
The girl cracked open an eye to look at him. "Why'd you have to pull strings? Also what strings. It's a sodding hat, where were you supposed to end up?"
Harry theatrically puffed up his chest and straightened his spine. He tilted his head upwards, so the girl could look up his nostrils for added effect. "Why Slytherin of course, the greatest of the Hogwarts four. The unfortunate thing is just that it's not very cunning or helpful to one's political ambitions to be sorted into the house of dark wizards. Which is where Hufflepuff comes in. You see, nobody suspects the Puff and thus it should be clear that all the real blood-purists and dark wizards are in Hufflepuff. All those in Slytherin are just pretenders, the idiots who'd rather put their blood-purism on display and then have measures taken against it, instead of acting in the shadows and succeeding unimpeded. My great-great-great-grandfather always said that one shouldn't let pride affect your ability to be an effective asshole."
The girl snorted, groaned in pain and clutched her stomach in quick succession. "You're a fucking riot kid. I can't imagine a dark wizard coming out of this cheery place, even if they'd already had a body count before the actual sorting."
Harry winked at the girl. "I agree with you, there couldn't possibly be a dark wizard that ever came out of Hufflepuff."
The girl winked back, a small smile now adorning her horizontally laid face.
Harry stood up and packed away his pen and letter into his satchel. "Well, it was nice meeting you stranger, but I must be off to the owlery to send my evil order-," he coughed, "what I mean is I must inform my family that I have arrived safely at Hogwarts," he corrected, before turning around to leave.
A hand snaked out to grab him by the wrist and Harry turned around to the girl with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not a stranger, call me Tonks. Also, do you even know the way to the owlery? You might just end up getting lost and starving somewhere in the dungeons."
"Are you offering to lead me?" Harry asked. "I'm Harry, by the way."
"Nice to meetcha. Yeah, hells, I'll take you, it's not like I have anything better to do," Tonks said before propping herself up on the table with a grimace to join him.
"Are you sure you should be going with me to the owlery instead of to the hospital wing?" Harry asked, receiving a shake of the head from the taller girl.
"No, nothing to be done there, I must have eaten something bad yesterday."
Harry sincerely doubted that the Hogwarts elves would have let anything bad slip through their fingers to infect the Hogwarts student population. He chuckled as a thought entered his mind. 'Intelligence is knowing when a girl is going through period cramps, wisdom is knowing not to mention it if she doesn't want to tell you.'
"What are you laughing at?" Tonks complained as they started making their way out of the common room, which only made Harry crack up more.
"Nothing much, just life I guess."
-/-
It was an enchanting way to the owlery, full of moving paintings, presumably enchanted knight armour ensembles and ghosts and moving staircases. When one reached the top of the owlery one got to drink in the view of Hogwarts and the lake and the forest and the far-off planes.
"They certainly picked a scenic place to put this old castle," Harry said as he ran his fingers over the cracked stone that the owlery was composed of.
The bird he was tying the letter to hooted and hopped away to prevent him from finishing tying the letter. "Oh I didn't mean you, dearie, I meant the castle. You're a young stud, aren't you," Harry crooned at the tawny owl, which hopped back with a preened chest and let him finish the knot. "Now off you go you beautiful, strong bird, my aunt will give you bacon, or bread crumbs or whatever your heart desires. Just stay long enough for her to reply, huh? She has no pretty owl to call her own," he said to the owl, which seemingly not willing to nod, threw its head to the left and then to the right to signify agreement. Not that he could really tell. "Off you go then," he whispered as the owl jumped off the rail and flew off into the sunset. A pleasant wind brought the smell of water and plains into the owlery, not that anything could cover the smell of bird shit pervading the whole structure.
He stepped back from the ledge and turned towards Tonks. The girl was leaning on the other side of the space, looking towards the towering castle with a pensive look, elbows crossed on the railing of one of the countless glassless windows, one hand propping up her chin. She looked quite fetching, he guessed, in a sort of gawkish and awkward way. The way teenagers inhabited their skin always gave off a certain feeling of unease. The only exceptions were dancers or athletes. The sun was rising just beside her, casting her in a lighting that most movie directors or photographers would kill for. Without thinking too much of it Harry opened his camera and snapped a quick picture.
What was it with his camera mostly taking pictures of people fated for death? Harry thought and frowned, putting the camera away. Tonks didn't even stir, seemingly not having noticed anything of what had happened. He stepped up next to her after casting a tempus, straw and mice bones crunched underneath his feet. It was 6:54, it had been a long way here, and his older housemate had explained vigorously how to find one's way in a castle that seemed to take laws of Euclidean geometry more as a challenge than anything set in stone.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked.
Tonks snorted, her eyes unglazing. "I'll take a sickle, minimum," which caused Harry to laugh out loud.
"Tonks, you're a teenage girl, if I wanted to hear whining about boys and observe the process of someone over-thinking a basic social interaction ad absurdum I'd read a romance novel. I'd certainly never pay more than a penny for that particular privilege either."
Tonks made a hurt face but also blushed at the same time.
"Boy, trouble, really?" Harry asked, aghast.
"Oh shut up, you twerp, what do you know anyway!"
Harry puffed out his chest, like the owl earlier. "I am a boy!"
"Little boys don't count," she retorted.
"Try me," he said, and she seemed to think it over.
"There is a guy I like," she began, her eyes going back to looking at the castle, before looking at Harry and shaking her head, "why would I even tell you this…" she muttered.
Harry tilted his head, trying to think of an answer. "You'd tell me, because… You're very cool, pretty and nice. Someone like you doesn't deserve to have unvoiced worries, unshared by anyone," he said, giving the girl a thumbs up.
Tonks stared at him and her previously lilac hair styled elaborately into some sort of spiky goth punk style softly trembled before turning into curly black. Her nose became a tad smaller, her cheekbones higher and her figure a bit less curvaceous.
"I'm a metamorphmagus. It means I can change my appearance at will," she explained.
"You're worried that whoever you end up dating won't love you for yourself, but who you make yourself appear to be and who you could be for them?" Harry asked, receiving a surprised blink.
"Well, yeah. Boys are gross, they'd probably ask me if I could… You know," she trailed off, apparently not wanting to say tell an eleven-year-old boy that most male Hogwarts students within her age range she could date would ask her if she could make her tits bigger, or give herself elf ears or an impossible hourglass figure.
Harry understood her worries. For most people, it could already be an issue to find someone with whom they could unfold the whole of themselves. If one's body was just as malleable as the words one could speak or ask someone to say. Well, he could see why an occasional identity and love crisis wouldn't be amiss for that person.
"Well, I'll tell you straight. Someone you can't communicate your worries to isn't someone you should date anyway. If someone doesn't like you for who you are, fears and all, a relationship with them is just a waste of time So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, that whoever you end up with, with whom it could really work, being a metamorphmagus isn't going to get in-between that," Harry said with a nod of his head. "Although by the time you find someone you're actually compatible with, you'll probably have to deny a few stupid requests from idiots. When you find someone you can be yourself with, hold onto it, it's a rarer opportunity than you think..." he trailed off. "This whole thing, at least, I think this is what my uncle would have said, he's very ehhh, smart."
Tonks was staring at him by the time he finished like he'd grown a second head. "I'm still dreaming," she muttered and turned back to leaning on the edge. "I always get the weirdest dreams when I'm on my period, but this is the most realistic one yet," she closed her eyes. "The weird kid will be gone when I open my eyes again," she mumbled and seemed to be concentrating.
"Well, if I'm the man of your dreams, then I'm calling the Aurors because I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Harry said, making Tonks startle and curse.
"Fuck, you're still here!" she shouted and pulled at her own hair, which had now reverted back to its previous state, just like the rest of her body.
"You're not dreaming, dumbass," Harry said before reaching over and pinching the girl's thigh.
"Ouch, you little shit. That hurt!" Tonks exclaimed and slapped the top of his head.
"Woke you up, didn't it," Harry said while rolling his eyes as he rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "Come on dummy," he said and made for the stairs down, "show me the library and then go have your existential crisis on your own time. Don't appreciate my advice? Fine, just don't waste my morning," he grumbled.
"It was surprisingly decent advice for a figment of my imagination." Tonks mused, "I guess I'm smarter than I thought I was," she concluded proudly, before walking in front of him to lead him to the library.
Harry rolled his eyes.
-/-
"It's beautiful," Harry said and tears glistened in his eyes, as he beheld the wonders of the world in written form. Aged leather backs, stacked next to each other, above each other, on shelves that reached the ceiling. The scent of parchment assaulted his nose and he was all in.
"Who gets excited about the library?" Tonks complained, before casting a quick tempus and scratching her head, "I have to leave, Harry. I have my satchel in my room and I need to get ready for Potions," she said the last word with the sort of disappointment reserved for licking an ice cream flavour that sounded better than it tasted.
"It's alright, go, shooo. I think I'm supposed to get my schedule today during breakfast, which isn't for another hour. I'll explore the library myself."
Tonks seemed to hesitate for a second. "I could get you from the library, go to breakfast together?" she half proposed, half asked.
Harry literally waved her off. "You go have fun with your friends, I think I can find the great hall from here. Worst case I ask someone or follow them. I think I saw some students already up."
"Alright," Tonks said, "I'll go then," she finished as she continued standing there.
"Thanks for leading me around, Tonks, really. I'll thank you properly one day, ok," he said, going on his tip-toes to pat the girl's shoulder, before turning around and entering the library. Steps receding away from him resounded from behind.
"So basically," Harry muttered to himself, "How am I supposed to find what I need?"
So began his descent into madness.
-/-
"Where were you?" Cedric asked when he sat down next to a catatonic Harry who was alternating between shoving pieces of bread, fruit and eggs into his mouth in a mechanical and continuous motion, "Your bed was made and you were gone. Nobody saw you."
"I was at the library," Harry said with a faraway look, a piece of half-chewed bread falling out of his mouth as he did so. He mindlessly picked it up and ate it again while Cedric looked at him with a disquieted look.
"What happened at the library that made you like… this?" he asked probingly while waving an arm in his general direction.
Harry covered his eyes, inadvertently reliving the horrific moments, "It was horrible. I still can't believe something like this could exist."
"What happened?" Cedric queried further.
"The index Cedric! The bloody sorting system! It's a fucking mess!" Harry wept angrily, "I've never seen such a disorganised library in my entire life!"
"Isn't it sorted by topic?" Cedric asked as he glanced around the Hufflepuff table, looking for someone who could help. However, unfortunately, all older year students looked quite busy and the only other available person was Penny, who grumpily waved at them from where she was clutching her morning oatmeal as if it were a lifeline.
"It is sorted by topic. But Cedric, what use are four full shelves chock full of history of magic if you can't find the one book detailing the particularly important decade for magical politics that occurred in India during the 17th century," Harry said and when Cedric made to say something, he simply spoke over the boy, "and all the weird names! It's not like the titles are something like Indian political history 1650-1660, no it would probably be like politicking with politicians from Pindia, they would add a letter in front of the country's name just to make an alliteration, believe me, please," Harry begged.
"Eeeeer," Cedric started, before reassuringly rubbing Harry's shoulder. "Didn't the prefects yesterday mention that there was a librarian?" he asked, at which Harry buried his head in his hands and started crying harder.
"She's uselesssssss and mean and protects the books as if they aren't even supposed to be read. If you ask her for something that's not in the curriculum she doesn't even try to help you!"
Cedric enveloped Harry in a hug as the latter wept.
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Chapter 7: Half-goblin rave conductor
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
It was a sullen Harry who sat his first Charms lesson. He hadn't managed to find anything about Occlumency in the library and neither had he been able to find literally anything else that he had been looking for. He slumped down on his desk as Professor Flitwick demonstrated the wand-lighting charm, lumos. Something Harry could at this point do in his sleep, considering that it was supposedly the easiest charm in existence and he'd already trained himself to achieve feats much more complex. Like manipulating water moisture, creating fire and utility charms such as reparo and scourgify.
Nonetheless, when the diminutive professor demanded it, Harry opened the book at the required chapter. The fact that it took him a few seconds was already enough to raise his level of annoyance again, although it had never really descended much after the library incident. If he had a computer he could have just pressed ctrl + f and found the chapter pertaining to the spell within a second. Would have definitely been a god-sent at the library. He sighed as Flitwick droned on.
"You see students, lumos is one of the simplest charms because it doesn't require a wand motion, a curious property that only appears again in the most difficult charms later on."
Harry turned mechanically to stare at Flitwick so as to pretend that he was listening, while his thoughts remained elsewhere. If there was a spell that could replicate the function of a computer's search query, then the spell would be a charm and if the spell was a charm then the resident charms master should have an idea about it, right?
"Why don't you give it a try now, remember the pronunciation is LU-MOS," Flitwick said happily, before scrabbling down from the stack of books he'd been using to overview the classroom and starting to make rounds around the circular desk arrangement facing the lecture podium, giving tips to students failing to light up their wand.
"Lumos!" Harry cast frustratedly, producing a blinding glare that gained the attention of the whole classroom and caused Cedric, who was sitting next to him, to fall from his seat. "Nox," Harry hurriedly added, calmed down from his anger and excitement and with a blushing face once again cast the spell. This time a warm light suffused from the tip of his wand.
"Good job," Flitwick exclaimed, from somewhere. Harry was still blinking stars out of his eyes, "two points for Hufflepuff."
Harry regained his sight as everyone around him went back to work and helped a rapidly blinking Cedric back on his feet and back on his seat. "Sorry about that," Harry said.
Cedric just shook his head confusedly, "No worries." Cedric said with a slight lilt to his speech, "How'd you do that?" he then asked more lucidly.
"I practised earlier," Harry replied to which Cedric shrugged and raised his own wand in an attempt to cast the spell. A dim light popped into place and the young Hufflepuff furrowed his brows, extinguished the light and tried again. Another dim light retook the place that the other had left behind a few seconds before.
"You have to WILL it, just saying the words won't do much if there is no intent behind them," Harry suggested.
"Indeed! Willpower and imagination are just as important as a spell's incantation. Why don't you imagine the wand lighting up at the brightness you desire before casting the spell a bit more intently, hmm." The voice of Professor Flitwick suddenly resounded from behind them, making Harry flinch and Cedric almost fall out of his chair again.
"I'll do my best, professor," Cedric nevertheless dutifully replied before closing his eyes, obviously imagining the desired result, before casting the spell. "Lumos!" he incanted with a fair bit of force to it, the wand lighting up a bit too brightly, but nowhere near the military-grade searchlight Harry had produced.
"Now I'd suggest you try to achieve this level of power without shouting," Flitwick suggested, causing Cedric to blush, before turning to Harry. "And you Mr. Evans, might benefit from simply casting the spell a few more times. If you're successful and get bored, you can try changing the spell's colour! If you manage, I'll exempt you from today's homework," the man said, his moustache twitching with a smile. Then he spun, stepped away and shouted to the whole room. "Anyone who manages to change the spell's colour from its standard white is exempt from homework!" he shouted. These words caused the shouts of Lumos going through the room to multiply by a factor of approximately eleven and the softcore techno-party going on before developing into a full-blown strobe-light rave hard-bass event.
Harry grimaced and closed his eyes while trying to remember where he'd seen anything to do with changing the colour of a spell. It was a bit hard to think with both Penny and Cedric trying to give him a fit of epilepsy by his sides.
"The book," he nonetheless muttered while opening his eyes, wincing and opening the Charms books to the last page. There had been a glossary with wand movements that had mentioned something about the colour red. He flipped through the two pages eyes searching for the word and quickly found it at the diagonal slash to the right wand movement, which along with being associated with magic used in combat, was also for some reason said to be associated with the colour red.
Furrowing his brows Harry looked at his wand, not sceptically, but perhaps a bit curiously. Would this really work? From what he understood incantations and wand movements were just the symbolic encryption of a spell. That's why one could drop layers of complexity by removing incantation and wand movements later on in one's education.
But if a wand movement only served a symbolic function then would it really change the result of the spell? "If I believe in it? Probably," Harry answered his own question and focused on producing a red light. He slashed his wand diagonally upwards to the right while willing a red light to appear, "Lumos."
Pink light glowed incredibly softly, so softly that no one seemed to notice that he had in fact completed the extracurricular exercise, even if it hadn't been in the way he'd planned to do so.
"Why is it pink?" Harry muttered, looking at his wand. He cast the spell again, this time exaggerating the wand motion. Supposedly this helped the caster focus, seeing as they had slightly more time to do so with the slow movement. It probably helped that the human psyche considered grander gestures more meaningful.
How paradoxical that one removed incantations and wand motions later on in one's education. With enough experience, one didn't have to trick one's own mind anymore. Nevertheless, musings aside, the light that Harry had produced was red, if still a mite pale. Harry looked around. Only Penny had noticed his feat. The professor was facing away from Harry, helping one Slytherin boy with their attempt at the spell.
"How did you do that?" Penny whispered to him amongst the shouts of Lumos and the flashing lights. Harry looked at the girl who was leaning towards him with curious eyes.
"I added a diagonal upwards wand-motion," He said, leaving out that he'd also shifted his intent to produce a red-light. He thought that part was obvious.
Harry flipped through the book while Penny attempted to replicate his feat. He wanted to find another way to alter the colour. The first class was actually turning out to be an interesting puzzle. How did spell-modification function? Considering that the class would most likely perpetually be moving through the material slower than he, Harry didn't see a reason not to diversify his research. There was a professor at hand to answer whatever question he might stumble upon, after all.
-/-
"Can I help you, Mr Evans?" Professor Flitwick asked once he'd cast a quick and silent reparo at the lecture hall that the first year had understandably left in less than perfect condition. The man was leaning on a desk, looking at Harry attentively. Instead of replying Harry simply raised his wand high in the air.
"Lumos," He enunciated clearly, producing a bright green light. Before the professor could say anything he slashed his wand in a diagonal motion to the upper right and produced a red light. A swirl produced purple, a jab brown.
"Remarkable," Flitwick breathed. "I tend not to give impossible challenges in my class, at least I hope I don't. Nevertheless, ten points for Hufflepuff and an exemption from the homework, Mr. Evans. You found the glossary at the end of the book?"
Harry nodded. "I assume it was put there with this intention in mind? To challenge students to figure things out on their own. Why else would a wand motion be associated with a colour?"
"Indeed, although I must say, I find the whole trick to be a bit too well hidden," Flitwick admitted. "Congratulations on your resourcefulness Mr. Evans." When Harry continued standing there, the professor tentatively added. "Is there something else?"
"Yes, professor," Harry began wondering how to phrase this, "I was in the library this morning. I had some issues finding the books I was looking for. I don't quite understand the sorting system, and Madam Pince wasn't able to help me. I was just wondering, is there perhaps a charm that can find a book's title or contents based on a key phrase? I thought I might ask you since I heard you were a Charms-master? Although I don't quite know what that title means." He finished by admitting.
The professor idly twirled his moustache as he thought about the question for a second, before quickly walking over to the book pile that he'd been standing on to lecture earlier and pulling out a green-leather bound book. "I'm afraid I can't help you, something that irks me considering you've put forth a very interesting question. There isn't a charm that fulfils that particular function, that I know of at least. Practically I would recommend simply doing assignments as they come along with some extracurricular reading, you will become familiar with the system quite fast, I imagine," he said as he began leafing through the book he'd pulled out.
"But Sir, spells can clearly be modified, be it with the change of a wand motion, incantation or even the intent behind them," Harry said. "Couldn't such a spell be created?"
Professor Flitwick smiled somewhat sadly. "You speak of advanced topics for someone who just completed their first lesson. I would say to turn around now and revisit the topic at a later date, perhaps in your fourth year. Spell-creation and even modification require a rigorous knowledge of arithmancy and magical theory along with a healthy dose of imagination."
Harry sighed. "I didn't imagine that it would be easy," he said with a shrug. "If I find myself with some free time I'll try to read up on the topics you mentioned, professor."
"Do try to find Arithmancy for the less-advanced by Arithma Advanca and Magical Theory for initiates by Hector Crumble if you do," Flitwick said, reading from his green book. Perhaps a place where the professor took notes of what advanced reading to suggest to students depending on what topic they were curious about.
Harry thanked the professor for his time and exited the charms classroom. When outside he quickly noted down the titles of the two books while they were still in the library. "The Mind Arts, spell-creation, the recent history of the wizarding world… So many topics but no way to find anything out," he grumbled as he made his way to the Hufflepuff common room, he had a short break before classes continued.
-/-
It was a dazed Harry that exited the Potions classroom in which they'd just had the last class of the day. He was accompanied by a baffled Cedric and an aghast Penny.
"Mate, what you did to that cauldron," Cedric said, before trailing off, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. Penny shuddered at the memory.
"We can pair up in the future, Harry. I'm good at Potions and have been practising since forever, I can hel-, prevent future disasters," Penny said.
Harry shook his head, feeling as if he was waking up from a coma.
"Thanks, Penny. That would be appreciated," he said, trying to erase from his memory what had just happened in that classroom. The frothing, the purple…
"Well, you aced Charms and Transfiguration. I guess you really can't be good at everything." Cedric said, trying to reassure Harry that even though he was apparently singularly incapable of brewing anything more complicated than a soup, life wasn't about being great at everything.
"I never thought I'd be good at it, or anything," Harry whispered, "I just didn't think…"
"It's all right, we'll manage this together," Penny said semi-cheerfully, only for her words to be jeered over by a pair of Slytherin boys passing by.
"Good job on that cauldron Evans, you sure showed it who's boss!" one of them shouted, making the students with green ties that were still close enough to hear it, laugh. The Hufflepuffs drew together around Harry, like some sort of honour guard.
"It's alright guys. I'm just gonna have to do my best and practice," Harry said, trying to calm down his worried house-mates. They instead seemed to actually get more agitated about what he'd said and Harry noticed his mistake. "As far away from the common room as I can feasibly manage," he amended, drawing sighs of relief. "In fact, I'll start looking for an abandoned room to practise in right now," he said and peeled away from the group, intending to find a place where he could be alone for a bit before he went to the great hall for dinner.
It was five minutes later, after going up a few flights of stairs and wandering past god knows how many suits of armour and portraits of mediaeval wizards and witches dancing the cha-cha that Harry finally found a seemingly abandoned classroom in a seemingly abandoned corridor in a seemingly abandoned wing of the castle. Where was he even, fourth floor? Harry wondered, before shaking his head and choosing to simply not care. What mattered was that he was in a room in which nobody was going to disturb him and that he could practise magic. Maybe even meditate for a minute or two. Plopping down on one of the rickety chairs he noted the still visible introduction to the etiquette of young damsels on the black-board. This seemed to be the lecture hall of a course that wasn't being taught anymore. He hummed as he shifted to the left and to the right on the chair, before deciding that he'd sat enough for the day and cast a scourgify on the floor, before promptly laying down on it.
Laying there, looking at the dust motes being illuminated by the rays of sunlight peeking through the stained windows, he wondered not of the meaning of life, or what dangers lurked in wizarding society. No, Harry wondered when he was going to have the library figured out, so that his quality of life could return to good instead of abysmal. "I miss computers," he said forlornly, idly condensing water in the shape of an on/off switch above himself. He stopped his water manipulation and just as the water was about to fall on him he banished it with a flick of his hand, onto the ceiling in a beautiful sparkling spray.
Now that he'd basically assured that water was going to start dripping on him from above if he stayed in his current position, Harry stood up, dusted himself off and walked over to the teacher's podium. He sat down, back against the podium, door to the room out of sight and closed his eyes. Starting to count his breaths he expunged thoughts from his mind and slipped into a numb meditation.
He didn't know how long he was in the void when a creaking door awakened him from himself. Harry grimaced and made to stand up and alert what was probably a couple of teenagers looking for a private place to suck face, that if they wanted to do so, they could, they should just give him time to leave them to it.
"Wait!" a much older than expected female voice hissed. Much older than any student. Harry narrowed his eyes and stayed in the awkward position of getting up on his toes and holding himself up with one single arm. "Someone was here," the voice continued.
"Seems like a student was practising aquamenti," another muttered, also old, but male "or having a tryst, they scourged the floor."
"Let's go elsewhere, if this classroom has been used then we shouldn't be here," The woman said.
The doors to the classroom closed again and the last thing Harry heard was the male of the pair saying, "Let's go brief somewhere else then." The footsteps slowly quieted, before disappearing completely.
A bead of sweat rolled down Harry's brow as his arms trembled, he waited stubbornly for another minute nonetheless, before letting himself drop onto the floor with a sigh.
"What the hell was that?"
-/-
"Looking forward to Defence Harry?" Cedric asked as he munched on a chicken leg. "It has spell-work, I checked You'll probably be good at it."
"Depends if the professor is any good!" an older year snorted from across the table. At those words Harry looked towards the table, to scope out the defence professor. He tilted his head as he saw that the thin woman wasn't there. Could it be? He wondered, before doing a quick head-count of the male professors, who appeared to all be present.
Harry furrowed his brows. "Defence should be fun, yeah," he eventually said.
Nonetheless, when the diminutive professor demanded it, Harry opened the book at the required chapter. The fact that it took him a few seconds was already enough to raise his level of annoyance again, although it had never really descended much after the library incident. If he had a computer he could have just pressed ctrl + f and found the chapter pertaining to the spell within a second. Would have definitely been a god-sent at the library. He sighed as Flitwick droned on.
"You see students, lumos is one of the simplest charms because it doesn't require a wand motion, a curious property that only appears again in the most difficult charms later on."
Harry turned mechanically to stare at Flitwick so as to pretend that he was listening, while his thoughts remained elsewhere. If there was a spell that could replicate the function of a computer's search query, then the spell would be a charm and if the spell was a charm then the resident charms master should have an idea about it, right?
"Why don't you give it a try now, remember the pronunciation is LU-MOS," Flitwick said happily, before scrabbling down from the stack of books he'd been using to overview the classroom and starting to make rounds around the circular desk arrangement facing the lecture podium, giving tips to students failing to light up their wand.
"Lumos!" Harry cast frustratedly, producing a blinding glare that gained the attention of the whole classroom and caused Cedric, who was sitting next to him, to fall from his seat. "Nox," Harry hurriedly added, calmed down from his anger and excitement and with a blushing face once again cast the spell. This time a warm light suffused from the tip of his wand.
"Good job," Flitwick exclaimed, from somewhere. Harry was still blinking stars out of his eyes, "two points for Hufflepuff."
Harry regained his sight as everyone around him went back to work and helped a rapidly blinking Cedric back on his feet and back on his seat. "Sorry about that," Harry said.
Cedric just shook his head confusedly, "No worries." Cedric said with a slight lilt to his speech, "How'd you do that?" he then asked more lucidly.
"I practised earlier," Harry replied to which Cedric shrugged and raised his own wand in an attempt to cast the spell. A dim light popped into place and the young Hufflepuff furrowed his brows, extinguished the light and tried again. Another dim light retook the place that the other had left behind a few seconds before.
"You have to WILL it, just saying the words won't do much if there is no intent behind them," Harry suggested.
"Indeed! Willpower and imagination are just as important as a spell's incantation. Why don't you imagine the wand lighting up at the brightness you desire before casting the spell a bit more intently, hmm." The voice of Professor Flitwick suddenly resounded from behind them, making Harry flinch and Cedric almost fall out of his chair again.
"I'll do my best, professor," Cedric nevertheless dutifully replied before closing his eyes, obviously imagining the desired result, before casting the spell. "Lumos!" he incanted with a fair bit of force to it, the wand lighting up a bit too brightly, but nowhere near the military-grade searchlight Harry had produced.
"Now I'd suggest you try to achieve this level of power without shouting," Flitwick suggested, causing Cedric to blush, before turning to Harry. "And you Mr. Evans, might benefit from simply casting the spell a few more times. If you're successful and get bored, you can try changing the spell's colour! If you manage, I'll exempt you from today's homework," the man said, his moustache twitching with a smile. Then he spun, stepped away and shouted to the whole room. "Anyone who manages to change the spell's colour from its standard white is exempt from homework!" he shouted. These words caused the shouts of Lumos going through the room to multiply by a factor of approximately eleven and the softcore techno-party going on before developing into a full-blown strobe-light rave hard-bass event.
Harry grimaced and closed his eyes while trying to remember where he'd seen anything to do with changing the colour of a spell. It was a bit hard to think with both Penny and Cedric trying to give him a fit of epilepsy by his sides.
"The book," he nonetheless muttered while opening his eyes, wincing and opening the Charms books to the last page. There had been a glossary with wand movements that had mentioned something about the colour red. He flipped through the two pages eyes searching for the word and quickly found it at the diagonal slash to the right wand movement, which along with being associated with magic used in combat, was also for some reason said to be associated with the colour red.
Furrowing his brows Harry looked at his wand, not sceptically, but perhaps a bit curiously. Would this really work? From what he understood incantations and wand movements were just the symbolic encryption of a spell. That's why one could drop layers of complexity by removing incantation and wand movements later on in one's education.
But if a wand movement only served a symbolic function then would it really change the result of the spell? "If I believe in it? Probably," Harry answered his own question and focused on producing a red light. He slashed his wand diagonally upwards to the right while willing a red light to appear, "Lumos."
Pink light glowed incredibly softly, so softly that no one seemed to notice that he had in fact completed the extracurricular exercise, even if it hadn't been in the way he'd planned to do so.
"Why is it pink?" Harry muttered, looking at his wand. He cast the spell again, this time exaggerating the wand motion. Supposedly this helped the caster focus, seeing as they had slightly more time to do so with the slow movement. It probably helped that the human psyche considered grander gestures more meaningful.
How paradoxical that one removed incantations and wand motions later on in one's education. With enough experience, one didn't have to trick one's own mind anymore. Nevertheless, musings aside, the light that Harry had produced was red, if still a mite pale. Harry looked around. Only Penny had noticed his feat. The professor was facing away from Harry, helping one Slytherin boy with their attempt at the spell.
"How did you do that?" Penny whispered to him amongst the shouts of Lumos and the flashing lights. Harry looked at the girl who was leaning towards him with curious eyes.
"I added a diagonal upwards wand-motion," He said, leaving out that he'd also shifted his intent to produce a red-light. He thought that part was obvious.
Harry flipped through the book while Penny attempted to replicate his feat. He wanted to find another way to alter the colour. The first class was actually turning out to be an interesting puzzle. How did spell-modification function? Considering that the class would most likely perpetually be moving through the material slower than he, Harry didn't see a reason not to diversify his research. There was a professor at hand to answer whatever question he might stumble upon, after all.
-/-
"Can I help you, Mr Evans?" Professor Flitwick asked once he'd cast a quick and silent reparo at the lecture hall that the first year had understandably left in less than perfect condition. The man was leaning on a desk, looking at Harry attentively. Instead of replying Harry simply raised his wand high in the air.
"Lumos," He enunciated clearly, producing a bright green light. Before the professor could say anything he slashed his wand in a diagonal motion to the upper right and produced a red light. A swirl produced purple, a jab brown.
"Remarkable," Flitwick breathed. "I tend not to give impossible challenges in my class, at least I hope I don't. Nevertheless, ten points for Hufflepuff and an exemption from the homework, Mr. Evans. You found the glossary at the end of the book?"
Harry nodded. "I assume it was put there with this intention in mind? To challenge students to figure things out on their own. Why else would a wand motion be associated with a colour?"
"Indeed, although I must say, I find the whole trick to be a bit too well hidden," Flitwick admitted. "Congratulations on your resourcefulness Mr. Evans." When Harry continued standing there, the professor tentatively added. "Is there something else?"
"Yes, professor," Harry began wondering how to phrase this, "I was in the library this morning. I had some issues finding the books I was looking for. I don't quite understand the sorting system, and Madam Pince wasn't able to help me. I was just wondering, is there perhaps a charm that can find a book's title or contents based on a key phrase? I thought I might ask you since I heard you were a Charms-master? Although I don't quite know what that title means." He finished by admitting.
The professor idly twirled his moustache as he thought about the question for a second, before quickly walking over to the book pile that he'd been standing on to lecture earlier and pulling out a green-leather bound book. "I'm afraid I can't help you, something that irks me considering you've put forth a very interesting question. There isn't a charm that fulfils that particular function, that I know of at least. Practically I would recommend simply doing assignments as they come along with some extracurricular reading, you will become familiar with the system quite fast, I imagine," he said as he began leafing through the book he'd pulled out.
"But Sir, spells can clearly be modified, be it with the change of a wand motion, incantation or even the intent behind them," Harry said. "Couldn't such a spell be created?"
Professor Flitwick smiled somewhat sadly. "You speak of advanced topics for someone who just completed their first lesson. I would say to turn around now and revisit the topic at a later date, perhaps in your fourth year. Spell-creation and even modification require a rigorous knowledge of arithmancy and magical theory along with a healthy dose of imagination."
Harry sighed. "I didn't imagine that it would be easy," he said with a shrug. "If I find myself with some free time I'll try to read up on the topics you mentioned, professor."
"Do try to find Arithmancy for the less-advanced by Arithma Advanca and Magical Theory for initiates by Hector Crumble if you do," Flitwick said, reading from his green book. Perhaps a place where the professor took notes of what advanced reading to suggest to students depending on what topic they were curious about.
Harry thanked the professor for his time and exited the charms classroom. When outside he quickly noted down the titles of the two books while they were still in the library. "The Mind Arts, spell-creation, the recent history of the wizarding world… So many topics but no way to find anything out," he grumbled as he made his way to the Hufflepuff common room, he had a short break before classes continued.
-/-
It was a dazed Harry that exited the Potions classroom in which they'd just had the last class of the day. He was accompanied by a baffled Cedric and an aghast Penny.
"Mate, what you did to that cauldron," Cedric said, before trailing off, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. Penny shuddered at the memory.
"We can pair up in the future, Harry. I'm good at Potions and have been practising since forever, I can hel-, prevent future disasters," Penny said.
Harry shook his head, feeling as if he was waking up from a coma.
"Thanks, Penny. That would be appreciated," he said, trying to erase from his memory what had just happened in that classroom. The frothing, the purple…
"Well, you aced Charms and Transfiguration. I guess you really can't be good at everything." Cedric said, trying to reassure Harry that even though he was apparently singularly incapable of brewing anything more complicated than a soup, life wasn't about being great at everything.
"I never thought I'd be good at it, or anything," Harry whispered, "I just didn't think…"
"It's all right, we'll manage this together," Penny said semi-cheerfully, only for her words to be jeered over by a pair of Slytherin boys passing by.
"Good job on that cauldron Evans, you sure showed it who's boss!" one of them shouted, making the students with green ties that were still close enough to hear it, laugh. The Hufflepuffs drew together around Harry, like some sort of honour guard.
"It's alright guys. I'm just gonna have to do my best and practice," Harry said, trying to calm down his worried house-mates. They instead seemed to actually get more agitated about what he'd said and Harry noticed his mistake. "As far away from the common room as I can feasibly manage," he amended, drawing sighs of relief. "In fact, I'll start looking for an abandoned room to practise in right now," he said and peeled away from the group, intending to find a place where he could be alone for a bit before he went to the great hall for dinner.
It was five minutes later, after going up a few flights of stairs and wandering past god knows how many suits of armour and portraits of mediaeval wizards and witches dancing the cha-cha that Harry finally found a seemingly abandoned classroom in a seemingly abandoned corridor in a seemingly abandoned wing of the castle. Where was he even, fourth floor? Harry wondered, before shaking his head and choosing to simply not care. What mattered was that he was in a room in which nobody was going to disturb him and that he could practise magic. Maybe even meditate for a minute or two. Plopping down on one of the rickety chairs he noted the still visible introduction to the etiquette of young damsels on the black-board. This seemed to be the lecture hall of a course that wasn't being taught anymore. He hummed as he shifted to the left and to the right on the chair, before deciding that he'd sat enough for the day and cast a scourgify on the floor, before promptly laying down on it.
Laying there, looking at the dust motes being illuminated by the rays of sunlight peeking through the stained windows, he wondered not of the meaning of life, or what dangers lurked in wizarding society. No, Harry wondered when he was going to have the library figured out, so that his quality of life could return to good instead of abysmal. "I miss computers," he said forlornly, idly condensing water in the shape of an on/off switch above himself. He stopped his water manipulation and just as the water was about to fall on him he banished it with a flick of his hand, onto the ceiling in a beautiful sparkling spray.
Now that he'd basically assured that water was going to start dripping on him from above if he stayed in his current position, Harry stood up, dusted himself off and walked over to the teacher's podium. He sat down, back against the podium, door to the room out of sight and closed his eyes. Starting to count his breaths he expunged thoughts from his mind and slipped into a numb meditation.
He didn't know how long he was in the void when a creaking door awakened him from himself. Harry grimaced and made to stand up and alert what was probably a couple of teenagers looking for a private place to suck face, that if they wanted to do so, they could, they should just give him time to leave them to it.
"Wait!" a much older than expected female voice hissed. Much older than any student. Harry narrowed his eyes and stayed in the awkward position of getting up on his toes and holding himself up with one single arm. "Someone was here," the voice continued.
"Seems like a student was practising aquamenti," another muttered, also old, but male "or having a tryst, they scourged the floor."
"Let's go elsewhere, if this classroom has been used then we shouldn't be here," The woman said.
The doors to the classroom closed again and the last thing Harry heard was the male of the pair saying, "Let's go brief somewhere else then." The footsteps slowly quieted, before disappearing completely.
A bead of sweat rolled down Harry's brow as his arms trembled, he waited stubbornly for another minute nonetheless, before letting himself drop onto the floor with a sigh.
"What the hell was that?"
-/-
"Looking forward to Defence Harry?" Cedric asked as he munched on a chicken leg. "It has spell-work, I checked You'll probably be good at it."
"Depends if the professor is any good!" an older year snorted from across the table. At those words Harry looked towards the table, to scope out the defence professor. He tilted his head as he saw that the thin woman wasn't there. Could it be? He wondered, before doing a quick head-count of the male professors, who appeared to all be present.
Harry furrowed his brows. "Defence should be fun, yeah," he eventually said.
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Chapter 8: DADA
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
"You are here, to learn how to defend yourself," Professor Twix said loudly to the room of first years of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff variety. "Not necessarily from the Dark Arts yet. It is a bit early to be covering that sort of material. We will instead be looking at other dangers, which are perhaps less obvious. Can anyone give me an example of a non-magical danger that you might encounter in your daily life?" she asked, at which Harry raised a hand. It was always better to raise a hand in class, he found. If one interacted directly with the material one was more likely to remember it, also, the faster someone answered a professor's question, the faster the class could progress.
"Yes, you. Tell us your name and your suggestion," Professor Twix said, pointing at Harry while continuing to pace in front of the first-row desks.
"My name is Harry Evans. What the most dangerous non-magical threats we are likely to encounter depends mostly on our living situation. I would say that those of us living in magical districts and villages are more likely to be beset by a wild animal, like a boar, or a deer. Whereas those of us living in muggle settlements might encounter muggle criminals or religious fundamentalists, who, if they were to discover our nature, might plot to kill us," he answered, to the general discomfort of the class. "These are the animate threats we might encounter, I guess, ignoring falling objects or natural disasters."
The professor nodded. "Yes, correct, muggles and wild animals are the most direct threats we might face. Something that, especially an untrained witch or wizard, might be the most vulnerable too," she said, enunciating untrained with an oddly grudging inflexion. "Earthquakes and the like… are not really the subject of our class," she finished, before frowning and looking out over the curious mass of first-years looking at her. She twitched her wand and the chalk sitting innocuously at the blackboard behind her started writing the words, 'Muggles and Beasts.'
Harry dutifully wrote it down, making sure that the two categories were separate enough to still be able to write down differing strategies under the two. "Now, dealing with muggles and beasts requires two different tactics, can anyone guess why?" the woman continued with a sigh.
Harry raised his hand again, but her gaze swept over him. He mentally noted down that she was one of the professors who was unlikely to call upon him twice in one class. "Weasley," the professor ended up saying, looking at one of the twins, god only knew which one. "I know that you know the answer, considering where your father works," she prompted, causing the two, who had previously been doodling something, to freeze up.
One of them eventually said something, the tapping of the professor's foot not helping with their thinking process. "Uhh, the muggles, well, they need to be reported to the, uh, ministry, if they see something magical."
"Good, as all of you well know by now, I hope, the statute of secrecy forbids muggles learning of our existence. This means that in addition to any spell you might use to defend yourself, you'd also need to add the spell which summons ministry officials to your location. The obliviators, whose main purpose is to keep the statute of secrecy by removing the memories of any magical instances out of the mind of muggles, will arrive." Professor Twix said.
Harry raised his hand to ask a question, wondering amusedly how interesting it was that eleven-year-olds were being taught to put non-magical humans and animal aggressors in the same category. Wizarding society seemed to be much more martial than the current muggle one. Perhaps because with the ownership of a wand, technically everyone was equipped with a multi-faceted and potentially deadly weapon.
"How have obliviators adapted to the existence of video cameras?" he asked, "Technically if an act of magic was recorded on film, one would have to destroy it before distribution." At this Professor Twix stared at him for a moment before waving him off with a spindly arm.
"You better ask Professor Quirrell if you want a reliable answer. I've never cared enough about muggle affairs to stay up to date," she said and Harry nodded. "Going back to the previous topic, since muggle threats require one additional spell for the sake of the statute of secrecy, we will first be learning an offensive spell with which one can quite handily ward off muggle aggressors and beasts. Next session we will then learn the alarm spell, which summons the obliviators and the Aurors to one's position," she finished and twitched her wand again.
The wand motion and incantation of the knock-back jinx transcribed themselves onto the blackboard. "Flipendo, the knock-back jinx, not an overly complicated spell. You should get it down after a few tries, I would expect at least. Sort yourself into groups and go to the back of the classroom in groups of two. Take turns casting at each other," Twix said with a clap of her hands.
Harry stood up and turned to Cedric, only to see that the boy had run away from him to partner up with Penny, who was shooting him an apologetic smile. Harry rolled his eyes, saw that all the Hufflepuffs were paired up and turned around, before frowning. It seemed that there was an uneven number of students, which meant that he was the odd one out. The Weasley twins, who had obviously paired with each other, seemed to notice this as well and invited him to their group.
It wasn't long before the two boys were laughing uproariously at each other's misfortune as Harry took turns seeing which one of them he could knock back further than the other, only for the situation to switch as they then both ganged up on him, causing him to dodge around the room in an uncoordinated scramble. At some point, Twix angrily came to separate them and deducted some points for their toom-foolery, before reluctantly granting Harry a single point for his mastery of the knock-back jinx. Harry didn't get the feeling that the woman liked him, or teaching. It was still a fun lecture, though. The only issue was that Harry had identified Professor Twixs' voice as the voice that he had heard in the abandoned classroom. This suggested that something not quite right was happening here in Hogwarts. It worried Harry that he didn't know who her male accomplice had been.
-/-
It was a frustrated Harry who scribbled madly into a notebook, completing the basic arithmetic exercises depicted within 'Arithmancy for the less Advanced'. A book that he'd managed to find, in contrast to 'Magical Theory for Initiates', which remained elusive. The fact that the magical mathematics system relied mostly on symbolic instead of logical causality markers almost made him wish that the book had remained lost to him. Oh sure, the basics were still the same, but whereas maths was a pure science, arithmancy was influenced by astrology, symbolism, magical history and in some parts, the gender of the person attempting to solve an equation. It was frustrating as fuck.
It was also what Harry needed to create his spell and by god was he going to create his spell. It had taken him three hours to find all the materials he needed to complete his very small amount of homework, while also managing to find the arithmetic primer. The sooner Harry had to stop dealing with this hellhole of a library, the happier he would be.
He sighed, noting that his frustration wasn't entirely laid bare before magical maths. It was magical, therefore still fun and he'd already found an example of the equation that he would need to determine how many syllables his spell should have once he knew the spell variables to input into the thing. Harry was frustrated because he didn't know what to do with the fact that his Defence professor was briefing someone of an unknown identity, about, whatever. The original Harry Potter's luck with his defence professors, as Potter, as it might have been, left him feeling paranoid and on edge. Technically he wasn't the boy who lived, so the shenanigans connected to that title should well and truly leave him alone, but there was just an itch at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite scratch.
Should he tell Dumbledore? Sprout? He thought as he glared a hole at an offensively bland book stuck in one of the many archaic bookshelves. The truth was that by telling someone Harry would get involved and getting involved was dumb. Especially considering how he was trying to stay out of trouble. As long as he had a magical education he could do whatever he wanted afterwards, but if he died, all the knowledge and skills he could amass would help no one.
Better to leave it, Harry decided. Nothing seemingly bad had happened at Hogwarts two years before the original Harry Potter had graced the dangerous school, or else it would have been mentioned in the book. Although, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. How much of this world do you truly know, doesn't it all seem too different, you in the middle of it all?
But to this, Harry shook his head, and with the motion noticed something lying on the floor underneath the book-shelf that mostly seemed to deal with magical theory. It was a book, he walked over and bent down to pick it up. "Magical Theory of Initiates", Harry said with a frown as he dusted off the cover, revealing the author's name as well. "Who the fuck hides a book under a shelf," he muttered, looking at the text in his mind. Well, he thought, it was a magical book, maybe it hid itself. He froze as he caught sight of a thin figure walking imperiously into the restricted section, wand alight, an unhappy Pince trailing not far behind. It was Professor Twix.
"She's the DADA professor, so of course she's going to visit the restricted section, but why the whole show?" Harry muttered, considering for a second if he should sneak up to maybe overhear a part of the conversation the two might have inside the forbidden part of the library, before shaking his head and going back to studying.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he said, but nevertheless kept an eye out. He saw Madam Pince leave the restricted section with an extremely pinched face, seemingly abandoning Professor Twix inside. He studied for another two hours, before giving up and borrowing the books to continue tomorrow on Sunday. During this entire time, Professor Twix hadn't left the restricted section.
"Yes, you. Tell us your name and your suggestion," Professor Twix said, pointing at Harry while continuing to pace in front of the first-row desks.
"My name is Harry Evans. What the most dangerous non-magical threats we are likely to encounter depends mostly on our living situation. I would say that those of us living in magical districts and villages are more likely to be beset by a wild animal, like a boar, or a deer. Whereas those of us living in muggle settlements might encounter muggle criminals or religious fundamentalists, who, if they were to discover our nature, might plot to kill us," he answered, to the general discomfort of the class. "These are the animate threats we might encounter, I guess, ignoring falling objects or natural disasters."
The professor nodded. "Yes, correct, muggles and wild animals are the most direct threats we might face. Something that, especially an untrained witch or wizard, might be the most vulnerable too," she said, enunciating untrained with an oddly grudging inflexion. "Earthquakes and the like… are not really the subject of our class," she finished, before frowning and looking out over the curious mass of first-years looking at her. She twitched her wand and the chalk sitting innocuously at the blackboard behind her started writing the words, 'Muggles and Beasts.'
Harry dutifully wrote it down, making sure that the two categories were separate enough to still be able to write down differing strategies under the two. "Now, dealing with muggles and beasts requires two different tactics, can anyone guess why?" the woman continued with a sigh.
Harry raised his hand again, but her gaze swept over him. He mentally noted down that she was one of the professors who was unlikely to call upon him twice in one class. "Weasley," the professor ended up saying, looking at one of the twins, god only knew which one. "I know that you know the answer, considering where your father works," she prompted, causing the two, who had previously been doodling something, to freeze up.
One of them eventually said something, the tapping of the professor's foot not helping with their thinking process. "Uhh, the muggles, well, they need to be reported to the, uh, ministry, if they see something magical."
"Good, as all of you well know by now, I hope, the statute of secrecy forbids muggles learning of our existence. This means that in addition to any spell you might use to defend yourself, you'd also need to add the spell which summons ministry officials to your location. The obliviators, whose main purpose is to keep the statute of secrecy by removing the memories of any magical instances out of the mind of muggles, will arrive." Professor Twix said.
Harry raised his hand to ask a question, wondering amusedly how interesting it was that eleven-year-olds were being taught to put non-magical humans and animal aggressors in the same category. Wizarding society seemed to be much more martial than the current muggle one. Perhaps because with the ownership of a wand, technically everyone was equipped with a multi-faceted and potentially deadly weapon.
"How have obliviators adapted to the existence of video cameras?" he asked, "Technically if an act of magic was recorded on film, one would have to destroy it before distribution." At this Professor Twix stared at him for a moment before waving him off with a spindly arm.
"You better ask Professor Quirrell if you want a reliable answer. I've never cared enough about muggle affairs to stay up to date," she said and Harry nodded. "Going back to the previous topic, since muggle threats require one additional spell for the sake of the statute of secrecy, we will first be learning an offensive spell with which one can quite handily ward off muggle aggressors and beasts. Next session we will then learn the alarm spell, which summons the obliviators and the Aurors to one's position," she finished and twitched her wand again.
The wand motion and incantation of the knock-back jinx transcribed themselves onto the blackboard. "Flipendo, the knock-back jinx, not an overly complicated spell. You should get it down after a few tries, I would expect at least. Sort yourself into groups and go to the back of the classroom in groups of two. Take turns casting at each other," Twix said with a clap of her hands.
Harry stood up and turned to Cedric, only to see that the boy had run away from him to partner up with Penny, who was shooting him an apologetic smile. Harry rolled his eyes, saw that all the Hufflepuffs were paired up and turned around, before frowning. It seemed that there was an uneven number of students, which meant that he was the odd one out. The Weasley twins, who had obviously paired with each other, seemed to notice this as well and invited him to their group.
It wasn't long before the two boys were laughing uproariously at each other's misfortune as Harry took turns seeing which one of them he could knock back further than the other, only for the situation to switch as they then both ganged up on him, causing him to dodge around the room in an uncoordinated scramble. At some point, Twix angrily came to separate them and deducted some points for their toom-foolery, before reluctantly granting Harry a single point for his mastery of the knock-back jinx. Harry didn't get the feeling that the woman liked him, or teaching. It was still a fun lecture, though. The only issue was that Harry had identified Professor Twixs' voice as the voice that he had heard in the abandoned classroom. This suggested that something not quite right was happening here in Hogwarts. It worried Harry that he didn't know who her male accomplice had been.
-/-
It was a frustrated Harry who scribbled madly into a notebook, completing the basic arithmetic exercises depicted within 'Arithmancy for the less Advanced'. A book that he'd managed to find, in contrast to 'Magical Theory for Initiates', which remained elusive. The fact that the magical mathematics system relied mostly on symbolic instead of logical causality markers almost made him wish that the book had remained lost to him. Oh sure, the basics were still the same, but whereas maths was a pure science, arithmancy was influenced by astrology, symbolism, magical history and in some parts, the gender of the person attempting to solve an equation. It was frustrating as fuck.
It was also what Harry needed to create his spell and by god was he going to create his spell. It had taken him three hours to find all the materials he needed to complete his very small amount of homework, while also managing to find the arithmetic primer. The sooner Harry had to stop dealing with this hellhole of a library, the happier he would be.
He sighed, noting that his frustration wasn't entirely laid bare before magical maths. It was magical, therefore still fun and he'd already found an example of the equation that he would need to determine how many syllables his spell should have once he knew the spell variables to input into the thing. Harry was frustrated because he didn't know what to do with the fact that his Defence professor was briefing someone of an unknown identity, about, whatever. The original Harry Potter's luck with his defence professors, as Potter, as it might have been, left him feeling paranoid and on edge. Technically he wasn't the boy who lived, so the shenanigans connected to that title should well and truly leave him alone, but there was just an itch at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite scratch.
Should he tell Dumbledore? Sprout? He thought as he glared a hole at an offensively bland book stuck in one of the many archaic bookshelves. The truth was that by telling someone Harry would get involved and getting involved was dumb. Especially considering how he was trying to stay out of trouble. As long as he had a magical education he could do whatever he wanted afterwards, but if he died, all the knowledge and skills he could amass would help no one.
Better to leave it, Harry decided. Nothing seemingly bad had happened at Hogwarts two years before the original Harry Potter had graced the dangerous school, or else it would have been mentioned in the book. Although, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. How much of this world do you truly know, doesn't it all seem too different, you in the middle of it all?
But to this, Harry shook his head, and with the motion noticed something lying on the floor underneath the book-shelf that mostly seemed to deal with magical theory. It was a book, he walked over and bent down to pick it up. "Magical Theory of Initiates", Harry said with a frown as he dusted off the cover, revealing the author's name as well. "Who the fuck hides a book under a shelf," he muttered, looking at the text in his mind. Well, he thought, it was a magical book, maybe it hid itself. He froze as he caught sight of a thin figure walking imperiously into the restricted section, wand alight, an unhappy Pince trailing not far behind. It was Professor Twix.
"She's the DADA professor, so of course she's going to visit the restricted section, but why the whole show?" Harry muttered, considering for a second if he should sneak up to maybe overhear a part of the conversation the two might have inside the forbidden part of the library, before shaking his head and going back to studying.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he said, but nevertheless kept an eye out. He saw Madam Pince leave the restricted section with an extremely pinched face, seemingly abandoning Professor Twix inside. He studied for another two hours, before giving up and borrowing the books to continue tomorrow on Sunday. During this entire time, Professor Twix hadn't left the restricted section.
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I thought that the Tonks bit was wonderfully done. It was a nice little snippet. I'm also quite amused by his hatred of the library sorting system. Which makes me sad because I've almost entirely forgotten how the dewy decimal system works at this point having not needed it for so long.
Chapter 9: Friends
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
"Where have you been Harry?" Penny asked when Harry entered the Hufflepuff common room through its barrel-like entrance.
"Practising some spells?" Harry asked, more than stated. He had been trying to figure out the disillusionment charm in an abandoned classroom. He wanted to visit the Room of Requirement at some point but didn't want to be followed and reveal its existence. The room was a precious resource only as long as it was unknown, considering that once the room was set on a purpose by the user, nobody else could enter.
Unfortunately, the disillusionment charm hadn't been going well. He'd found the spell in the library section dedicated to spell work beyond the Hogwarts curriculum. However, Harry felt that while the spell was difficult, he was going to manage eventually. The reason the spell wasn't taught was probably because no professor would want their students to have the ability to turn invisible. While he'd had luck finding the disillusionment spell though, the mind arts remained elusive.
"Spells?" Penny frowned, "shouldn't you be working on Potions," she said, which made Harry blush uncharacteristically and look away from the blonde girl.
"Spells are just more fun…" he mumbled, fixating his eyes on a spot somewhere above Penny's head, a portrait of a drunk monk trying to catch a dog that had stolen his chicken leg.
Penny sighed. "You also have to work on stuff you're not good at…" she chided, "I'm giving my best in Transfiguration," she said, then huffed and went silent.
"What's up?" Harry asked, noticing the slightly awkward atmosphere, "Penny for your thoughts?" he offered, making the girl laugh, before once again stilling.
"It's just," she began, this time avoiding his eyes, "you're always running off alone to practise whatnot or find this and that. Me and Cedric are the only Puffs you even talk to. Is everything alright?"
Harry sighed and walked over to the girl, sitting down next to her on the bright yellow couch in the corner of the common room. This required him to clear away some potion texts and a green sweater. He slung an arm over Penny's shoulder, causing her to instinctively lean her head into him. He rubbed up and down on her arm, her blonde hair tickling his nose. "You know, you and Cedric are like a fire," he began stiltedly, "suffusing everything around you with warm light. You shine on so many things you probably can't even keep track of them all. Me? I'm more of a match, sometimes not even a lit one. The light I cast can only interact with the brightest fires because all others just don't reach me," he said.
"You mean you're an introvert? Why'd you have to phrase it like that?" Penny queried, curious blue eyes looking up painfully at his green ones.
"I guess." Harry chuckled, "I'm just an idiot," he said, before squeezing the girl's shoulder and standing up. This caused Penny to notice the position they'd previously been in and blush. "You and Cedric are just the two friends I've made until now. Not all Hufflepuffs are extremely social, that's not even a core tenant, we're supposed to be loyal, and I am loyal. So why don't we find Cedric and go throw bread at the giant squid instead of doing homework for once," he suggested.
A suggestion that Penny followed like any student for whom studying was the last priority on a weekend and who only did it for want of any interesting activities to waste their time on.
After a few minutes of walking, he watched the girl hop cheerfully in front of him towards the quidditch pitch, where Cedric was probably watching the Hufflepuff house team practice. He'd lied to her about being introverted, of course. He was more of an extrovert, to be honest. But ever since being reborn into the body of a child, he'd adapted. Spending a lot of time with others just wasn't possible when there was such a large and invisible maturity gap between them. Magic might have been friendship, but so was magic, and if Harry couldn't have the former he would have the latter. He would probably hang out with his house-mates more after they were on the tail-end of puberty because by then they'd actually start having things in common. The biggest reason why he mostly hung out with Penny and Cedric was because they were quite frankly the most mature out of all his year-mates. A maturity that showed itself in their talent for magic.
Even then though, they were still children, which left Harry with almost a dozen hours every day in which he could only practise magic or busy himself with other hobbies such as… He laughed, causing Penny to look back at him curiously.
"What're you laughing at?" she asked suspiciously with the thought shared by all children, that if someone was laughing, they were laughing at them.
"Just at the fact that magic is so much more fun than the other hobbies I had before coming here, that I've basically stopped doing everything non-magic related," he said. At this point, if he was conversing with an adult, they probably would have said something about keeping one's life balanced, but Penny just nodded sagely.
"Magic is great," she said.
"The only thing that doesn't have anything to do with it, that I still do, is…" he mused, before trailing off, at which the girl shrugged from where she was ambling in front of him with her body turned in his direction. She was walking backwards, something that caused her to promptly trip down a small set of stairs that led into the castle courtyard, covered in the iconic Scottish fields of grass. As trampled as it was by the horde of students hanging around outside on one of the few non-rainy weekends they had here in the Highlands.
A group of nearby Ravenclaw students laughed at his friend's fall, one of them miming the event like some sort of human-shaped parrot. Harry helped an embarrassed Penny up and made sure she didn't look in the direction of the Ravenclaws by starting to walk on the opposite side of her and involving her in a conversation.
Thankfully Penny was a young girl and thus easily distractible. It wasn't long before they'd laughingly traversed the courtyard to find the wayward Cedric wistfully watching the Hufflepuff quidditch team.
"You can try out next year, I'm sure you'll make it," Harry told the boy, startling him from his daydream, one that probably involved flying for the team.
"You think so?" Cedric asked. "You haven't seen me fly before. The first lesson is next week."
Harry shrugged, "I'm sure you'll do fine. If you want to make it into the house team, you can. The competition isn't that tough yet. It's not hard to be the best out of five applicants when there are two open spots and three of your competitors didn't even prepare for the event."
Cedric cringed at his words. "No expectations," The boy muttered, looking at the Hufflepuff seeker doing a daring dive in an attempt to catch a glimmer of gold.
"You want to be a seeker?" Penny asked, causing Cedric to flush. Harry had to admit that even at the age of eleven, it was clear that the boy was going to end up with a build more suited for a beater, or a keeper. Being a seeker would just stunt his potential. Well, unless he was just that good. But from what Harry remembered from the books, that wasn't really the case. Talented, probably, but on a larger stage one needed something more than talent. Something like Harry Potter had had. Harry Evans wondered if he'd be good on a broom. He doubted it. His aunt didn't seem particularly graceful and neither did Dudley.
"Well, seeker is the only position that will be opening up next year," Cedric said in an attempt to justify his apparent decision.
"Aren't both beaters leaving as well?" Penny asked, "I think Michael told me."
"Well, yes," Cedric admitted, "but being a beater isn't…"
"Looks fun to me. Aim for the joints and smack the bludger with a bat," Harry said, causing Cedric to whine that he hadn't even played Quidditch yet and therefore couldn't possibly know what was fun or not.
"You'll see in a month when we play Gryffindor," Cedric huffed. "Seeker is the best."
Penny rolled her eyes from where she was standing behind him on the wooden stands.
"I guess I'll have to see if I can open up a time slot in my schedule," Harry mused, wondering that if he got the disillusionment charm to work, he could finally go seek out the room of requirement during the match.
"Harry, you can't ditch the match! Hufflepuff is playing. Everyone is going to be there, even the Slytherins and Ravenclaws," Penny whined this time, angrily pulling at his overly long black sleeve. Harry didn't mind, as long as she left his fabulous hat alone.
"Everyone, you say," he muttered, before grinning. Shaking his head he then did what he'd come here to do. He pulled out a loaf of old bread wrapped in paper from his leather satchel and turned to his friends, "I got this from the kitchen. You guys want to practise the levitation charm by throwing pieces of it at the lake? See if we can get the giant squid to come out," he suggested. Cedric's face lit up and Penny's eyes twinkled.
"Yeah! Flitwick is going to lose it when we come in already having mastered the spell completely," Cedric said and stood up abruptly, turning towards the lake. He looked back, "Coming, you two?" he asked, at which point Penny ran past him and swept down the stands like a Puffskein on crack.
"The last one at the lake is a Slytherin!" she shouted, causing both Harry and Cedric to break out into a run to avoid the horrible fate.
-/-
It was an hour or so later that Harry was lying down on the soft grass with his two friends, their magic spent and their bread supplies depleted. In the end, it was Penny who had won the competition of who could throw a piece of bread the furthest via the application of the levitation charm. Sure, Harry hadn't really been trying, rather matching his classmates, but it was still impressive. The girl had somehow managed to fail at casting her spell intentionally, to the purpose of cannoning the piece of bread almost twenty metres out.
It had been the only piece that a large tentacle had pulled at from beneath the depths.
"The boy who lived," Harry began, "what's that all about?" he asked.
"Don't tell me you're even reading history books instead of practising Potions," Penny said, aghast, from where she sat up to his right. Harry shrugged unapologetically.
"It sounded interesting," he justified, although to be fair he hadn't needed to crack open a history book to know about the story. He'd overheard it in Diagon Alley easily enough. None of the history books in the Hogwarts library were actually modern enough to cover the most recent war, unfortunately. He'd checked. Which meant that this was something he would have to try to figure out elsewhere. Unless his classmates were able to give a valid rendition of what he was interested in. Which was doubtful, seeing as they'd been two years old when the war had happened.
"Well, it's Neville Longbottom. The thing is that You-Know-Who tried to kill him as a baby. Went to his house on Samhain and all. But somehow it was he who got killed. It must have been Neville doing whatever killed You-Know-Who since his parents and granny were dead by then." Cedric explained, not really considering that Harry might not have known who You-Know-Who actually was, "no one really knows what happened that night though."
"Why target the Longbottoms?"
"No clue. I mean the parents were fighting against You-Know-Who, I guess," Cedric said.
"So they must have been expecting some retaliation, maybe they even went into hiding," Harry suggested. "How did You-know-Who find them then?"
"Were they in hiding?" Penny asked doubtfully and Cedric shook his head.
"No, the Longbottoms are an old family. They stayed in their residence. The family wards of places like that are supposed to be really strong. I haven't a clue how you can break something so old," he explained.
"Well, there are curse-breakers in Egypt breaking wards that are older than 4000 years," Penny interjected, at which both the children nodded.
"So where is he now? If his family died that day?" Harry asked.
"With his godfather, James Potter. He's a senior auror at the ministry," Penny said, before blushing apparently being a bit over-informed, "They're in the papers all the time," she tried to explain.
"He's also a Lord," Cedric said. "Him and Sirius Black are doing some stuff at the ministry, my dad talks about it sometimes."
So those two were alive and not imprisoned, Harry thought and wondered if they knew he existed.
"It's good that a strong Wizard like Lord Potter was the godfather. Only a day after the defeat of You-Know-Who, death eaters, his followers tried to attack Neville at the Potter residence. But Lord Black was there and they managed to defeat them," Cedric said. "I'm really glad the war ended right after."
"Apparently one of their close friends was actually a death eater in secret and led them into the Potter grounds. Peter, or something," Penny mentioned
"Well they're all in Azkaban now," Cedric muttered.
"Sounds like a "Good riddance to bad rubbish situation,"" Harry said absentmindedly as his mind reeled with all this new information. Potter and Black were alive and well, probably raising Neville Longbottom together and Pettigrew, the filthy traitor, was rotting in Azkaban under Animagus wards because his friends had been able to notify the ministry that he was one. He was a bit worried, once again, that his foreknowledge was essentially non-existent, but considering that he recognized a bunch of people at Hogwarts, stores in Diagon Alley and names of spells and magical disciplines… The divergence point. It must have been recent, perhaps even the death of his mother. Harry Potter not existing and thus not being the boy who lived was the thing that he could attribute most of the differences he'd heard to.
God only knew though. Perhaps this was an alternative time-line that had diverged millions of years ago. Maybe Voldemort hadn't even made Horcruxes. Maybe Severus Snape wasn't at Hogwarts because he was pursuing a lucrative career as a male stripper somewhere in rural Australia.
'You'll have to throw bills worth more than that to gain my attention, Potter,' Harry drawled in his mind while imagining the sallow face of the actor who'd played the dungeon bat in the movies working a pole. He grimaced.
"Why did we start talking about this?" Penny complained and pointed at Harry and the look of abject discomfort on his face, "You're all sad now."
"Yes, but it is important to know. This is recent history, hasn't even been a decade. I don't really imagine I'll learn much from Binns at least," Harry said.
"Hear hear. Not learning much from Binns," Cedric said, as if he'd been listening to the droning ghost for a lifetime, instead of three lectures at this point. Harry instinctively gripped the bezoar necklace at his neck, wondering if it would have the same effect as a crucifix if he hurled it at the deceased man sabotaging his education.
"Practising some spells?" Harry asked, more than stated. He had been trying to figure out the disillusionment charm in an abandoned classroom. He wanted to visit the Room of Requirement at some point but didn't want to be followed and reveal its existence. The room was a precious resource only as long as it was unknown, considering that once the room was set on a purpose by the user, nobody else could enter.
Unfortunately, the disillusionment charm hadn't been going well. He'd found the spell in the library section dedicated to spell work beyond the Hogwarts curriculum. However, Harry felt that while the spell was difficult, he was going to manage eventually. The reason the spell wasn't taught was probably because no professor would want their students to have the ability to turn invisible. While he'd had luck finding the disillusionment spell though, the mind arts remained elusive.
"Spells?" Penny frowned, "shouldn't you be working on Potions," she said, which made Harry blush uncharacteristically and look away from the blonde girl.
"Spells are just more fun…" he mumbled, fixating his eyes on a spot somewhere above Penny's head, a portrait of a drunk monk trying to catch a dog that had stolen his chicken leg.
Penny sighed. "You also have to work on stuff you're not good at…" she chided, "I'm giving my best in Transfiguration," she said, then huffed and went silent.
"What's up?" Harry asked, noticing the slightly awkward atmosphere, "Penny for your thoughts?" he offered, making the girl laugh, before once again stilling.
"It's just," she began, this time avoiding his eyes, "you're always running off alone to practise whatnot or find this and that. Me and Cedric are the only Puffs you even talk to. Is everything alright?"
Harry sighed and walked over to the girl, sitting down next to her on the bright yellow couch in the corner of the common room. This required him to clear away some potion texts and a green sweater. He slung an arm over Penny's shoulder, causing her to instinctively lean her head into him. He rubbed up and down on her arm, her blonde hair tickling his nose. "You know, you and Cedric are like a fire," he began stiltedly, "suffusing everything around you with warm light. You shine on so many things you probably can't even keep track of them all. Me? I'm more of a match, sometimes not even a lit one. The light I cast can only interact with the brightest fires because all others just don't reach me," he said.
"You mean you're an introvert? Why'd you have to phrase it like that?" Penny queried, curious blue eyes looking up painfully at his green ones.
"I guess." Harry chuckled, "I'm just an idiot," he said, before squeezing the girl's shoulder and standing up. This caused Penny to notice the position they'd previously been in and blush. "You and Cedric are just the two friends I've made until now. Not all Hufflepuffs are extremely social, that's not even a core tenant, we're supposed to be loyal, and I am loyal. So why don't we find Cedric and go throw bread at the giant squid instead of doing homework for once," he suggested.
A suggestion that Penny followed like any student for whom studying was the last priority on a weekend and who only did it for want of any interesting activities to waste their time on.
After a few minutes of walking, he watched the girl hop cheerfully in front of him towards the quidditch pitch, where Cedric was probably watching the Hufflepuff house team practice. He'd lied to her about being introverted, of course. He was more of an extrovert, to be honest. But ever since being reborn into the body of a child, he'd adapted. Spending a lot of time with others just wasn't possible when there was such a large and invisible maturity gap between them. Magic might have been friendship, but so was magic, and if Harry couldn't have the former he would have the latter. He would probably hang out with his house-mates more after they were on the tail-end of puberty because by then they'd actually start having things in common. The biggest reason why he mostly hung out with Penny and Cedric was because they were quite frankly the most mature out of all his year-mates. A maturity that showed itself in their talent for magic.
Even then though, they were still children, which left Harry with almost a dozen hours every day in which he could only practise magic or busy himself with other hobbies such as… He laughed, causing Penny to look back at him curiously.
"What're you laughing at?" she asked suspiciously with the thought shared by all children, that if someone was laughing, they were laughing at them.
"Just at the fact that magic is so much more fun than the other hobbies I had before coming here, that I've basically stopped doing everything non-magic related," he said. At this point, if he was conversing with an adult, they probably would have said something about keeping one's life balanced, but Penny just nodded sagely.
"Magic is great," she said.
"The only thing that doesn't have anything to do with it, that I still do, is…" he mused, before trailing off, at which the girl shrugged from where she was ambling in front of him with her body turned in his direction. She was walking backwards, something that caused her to promptly trip down a small set of stairs that led into the castle courtyard, covered in the iconic Scottish fields of grass. As trampled as it was by the horde of students hanging around outside on one of the few non-rainy weekends they had here in the Highlands.
A group of nearby Ravenclaw students laughed at his friend's fall, one of them miming the event like some sort of human-shaped parrot. Harry helped an embarrassed Penny up and made sure she didn't look in the direction of the Ravenclaws by starting to walk on the opposite side of her and involving her in a conversation.
Thankfully Penny was a young girl and thus easily distractible. It wasn't long before they'd laughingly traversed the courtyard to find the wayward Cedric wistfully watching the Hufflepuff quidditch team.
"You can try out next year, I'm sure you'll make it," Harry told the boy, startling him from his daydream, one that probably involved flying for the team.
"You think so?" Cedric asked. "You haven't seen me fly before. The first lesson is next week."
Harry shrugged, "I'm sure you'll do fine. If you want to make it into the house team, you can. The competition isn't that tough yet. It's not hard to be the best out of five applicants when there are two open spots and three of your competitors didn't even prepare for the event."
Cedric cringed at his words. "No expectations," The boy muttered, looking at the Hufflepuff seeker doing a daring dive in an attempt to catch a glimmer of gold.
"You want to be a seeker?" Penny asked, causing Cedric to flush. Harry had to admit that even at the age of eleven, it was clear that the boy was going to end up with a build more suited for a beater, or a keeper. Being a seeker would just stunt his potential. Well, unless he was just that good. But from what Harry remembered from the books, that wasn't really the case. Talented, probably, but on a larger stage one needed something more than talent. Something like Harry Potter had had. Harry Evans wondered if he'd be good on a broom. He doubted it. His aunt didn't seem particularly graceful and neither did Dudley.
"Well, seeker is the only position that will be opening up next year," Cedric said in an attempt to justify his apparent decision.
"Aren't both beaters leaving as well?" Penny asked, "I think Michael told me."
"Well, yes," Cedric admitted, "but being a beater isn't…"
"Looks fun to me. Aim for the joints and smack the bludger with a bat," Harry said, causing Cedric to whine that he hadn't even played Quidditch yet and therefore couldn't possibly know what was fun or not.
"You'll see in a month when we play Gryffindor," Cedric huffed. "Seeker is the best."
Penny rolled her eyes from where she was standing behind him on the wooden stands.
"I guess I'll have to see if I can open up a time slot in my schedule," Harry mused, wondering that if he got the disillusionment charm to work, he could finally go seek out the room of requirement during the match.
"Harry, you can't ditch the match! Hufflepuff is playing. Everyone is going to be there, even the Slytherins and Ravenclaws," Penny whined this time, angrily pulling at his overly long black sleeve. Harry didn't mind, as long as she left his fabulous hat alone.
"Everyone, you say," he muttered, before grinning. Shaking his head he then did what he'd come here to do. He pulled out a loaf of old bread wrapped in paper from his leather satchel and turned to his friends, "I got this from the kitchen. You guys want to practise the levitation charm by throwing pieces of it at the lake? See if we can get the giant squid to come out," he suggested. Cedric's face lit up and Penny's eyes twinkled.
"Yeah! Flitwick is going to lose it when we come in already having mastered the spell completely," Cedric said and stood up abruptly, turning towards the lake. He looked back, "Coming, you two?" he asked, at which point Penny ran past him and swept down the stands like a Puffskein on crack.
"The last one at the lake is a Slytherin!" she shouted, causing both Harry and Cedric to break out into a run to avoid the horrible fate.
-/-
It was an hour or so later that Harry was lying down on the soft grass with his two friends, their magic spent and their bread supplies depleted. In the end, it was Penny who had won the competition of who could throw a piece of bread the furthest via the application of the levitation charm. Sure, Harry hadn't really been trying, rather matching his classmates, but it was still impressive. The girl had somehow managed to fail at casting her spell intentionally, to the purpose of cannoning the piece of bread almost twenty metres out.
It had been the only piece that a large tentacle had pulled at from beneath the depths.
"The boy who lived," Harry began, "what's that all about?" he asked.
"Don't tell me you're even reading history books instead of practising Potions," Penny said, aghast, from where she sat up to his right. Harry shrugged unapologetically.
"It sounded interesting," he justified, although to be fair he hadn't needed to crack open a history book to know about the story. He'd overheard it in Diagon Alley easily enough. None of the history books in the Hogwarts library were actually modern enough to cover the most recent war, unfortunately. He'd checked. Which meant that this was something he would have to try to figure out elsewhere. Unless his classmates were able to give a valid rendition of what he was interested in. Which was doubtful, seeing as they'd been two years old when the war had happened.
"Well, it's Neville Longbottom. The thing is that You-Know-Who tried to kill him as a baby. Went to his house on Samhain and all. But somehow it was he who got killed. It must have been Neville doing whatever killed You-Know-Who since his parents and granny were dead by then." Cedric explained, not really considering that Harry might not have known who You-Know-Who actually was, "no one really knows what happened that night though."
"Why target the Longbottoms?"
"No clue. I mean the parents were fighting against You-Know-Who, I guess," Cedric said.
"So they must have been expecting some retaliation, maybe they even went into hiding," Harry suggested. "How did You-know-Who find them then?"
"Were they in hiding?" Penny asked doubtfully and Cedric shook his head.
"No, the Longbottoms are an old family. They stayed in their residence. The family wards of places like that are supposed to be really strong. I haven't a clue how you can break something so old," he explained.
"Well, there are curse-breakers in Egypt breaking wards that are older than 4000 years," Penny interjected, at which both the children nodded.
"So where is he now? If his family died that day?" Harry asked.
"With his godfather, James Potter. He's a senior auror at the ministry," Penny said, before blushing apparently being a bit over-informed, "They're in the papers all the time," she tried to explain.
"He's also a Lord," Cedric said. "Him and Sirius Black are doing some stuff at the ministry, my dad talks about it sometimes."
So those two were alive and not imprisoned, Harry thought and wondered if they knew he existed.
"It's good that a strong Wizard like Lord Potter was the godfather. Only a day after the defeat of You-Know-Who, death eaters, his followers tried to attack Neville at the Potter residence. But Lord Black was there and they managed to defeat them," Cedric said. "I'm really glad the war ended right after."
"Apparently one of their close friends was actually a death eater in secret and led them into the Potter grounds. Peter, or something," Penny mentioned
"Well they're all in Azkaban now," Cedric muttered.
"Sounds like a "Good riddance to bad rubbish situation,"" Harry said absentmindedly as his mind reeled with all this new information. Potter and Black were alive and well, probably raising Neville Longbottom together and Pettigrew, the filthy traitor, was rotting in Azkaban under Animagus wards because his friends had been able to notify the ministry that he was one. He was a bit worried, once again, that his foreknowledge was essentially non-existent, but considering that he recognized a bunch of people at Hogwarts, stores in Diagon Alley and names of spells and magical disciplines… The divergence point. It must have been recent, perhaps even the death of his mother. Harry Potter not existing and thus not being the boy who lived was the thing that he could attribute most of the differences he'd heard to.
God only knew though. Perhaps this was an alternative time-line that had diverged millions of years ago. Maybe Voldemort hadn't even made Horcruxes. Maybe Severus Snape wasn't at Hogwarts because he was pursuing a lucrative career as a male stripper somewhere in rural Australia.
'You'll have to throw bills worth more than that to gain my attention, Potter,' Harry drawled in his mind while imagining the sallow face of the actor who'd played the dungeon bat in the movies working a pole. He grimaced.
"Why did we start talking about this?" Penny complained and pointed at Harry and the look of abject discomfort on his face, "You're all sad now."
"Yes, but it is important to know. This is recent history, hasn't even been a decade. I don't really imagine I'll learn much from Binns at least," Harry said.
"Hear hear. Not learning much from Binns," Cedric said, as if he'd been listening to the droning ghost for a lifetime, instead of three lectures at this point. Harry instinctively gripped the bezoar necklace at his neck, wondering if it would have the same effect as a crucifix if he hurled it at the deceased man sabotaging his education.
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Chapter 10: Spell-Creation
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
"Up," Harry said imperiously, but not putting any intent behind the phrase. The broom lying on the grass to his right did not budge. Just as he'd expected. "Up!" he said again, commanding and demanding the broom to fly up into his extended hand. The wood slapped almost painfully into his palm. The Ravenclaws who had been giggling at his apparent inability to get his wood up, abruptly shut up.
Cedric, who had already mounted his own broom on his right, gave him an encouraging look.
"Now, put the broom between your legs, jump and stay afloat!" Madame Hooch shouted. A fit woman seemingly in her fifties with short grey hair and eagle eyes.
"Just don't think about it not happening," Cedric whispered unhelpfully to Harry before promptly jumping up and beginning to float with his legs extended backwards, feet hooked against the little metal bars at the back of the broom.
Harry considered his friend's words and then jumped. He'd read up on brooms and their enchantments. The basic first step was that they were made to hover a metre or so above the ground unless the owner willed otherwise. One would think that trying to stay afloat on a wooden broom high in the air and going at fast speeds would be murder on one's ass and balls, but it was actually quite comfortable when one considered the cushioning enchantments. The whole thing was even more comfortable than a women's bicycle. He wobbled from the left to the right and back again without intending to do so and grimaced at the lack of control he had over the thing. Bicycles were mechanical and propelled purely by one's own muscle. This was something else.
"Go forward, to me, to me!" Hooch shouted again, having mounted her own broom and was now flying backwards away from the tightly packed line of Hogwarts students who started awkwardly and haltingly in some cases flying towards the woman. Of the students slowly traversing the grass field in the shade of the castle, Cedric was at the forefront. Following him were two Ravenclaw boys. Harry was in the back, his flying interspersed with short abrupt breaks. The whole experience honestly felt like his first driving lesson, before he'd learned how to use the stick properly.
"You're doing great Harry," Penny beamed from next to him, moving at her own glacial, but much more fluid pace. She was obviously holding back a bit to stay level with him. Harry smiled at the girl and let go of some of his nervousness. His flying became less jagged as a result. Eventually, he and Penny reached Hooch as some of the last students to do so. They ended up spending the rest of the flying lesson sticking closely together and chatting about classes, Harry being the one to limit himself when it came to the later stages of the exercises since Penny had a slight fear of heights.
"Ever thought about becoming an animagus?" Harry asked the girl as they were making their way to the library after flying so that they could study together. Cedric had stayed behind to fly more with the other boys, "You'd probably be a bird, then you wouldn't have to be afraid of heights, since you could fly," he elaborated.
"Who ever heard of a bird scared of heights," Penny shot back as she hugged herself and cringed. "I'll take a land animal any day of the week. Even if it's a skunk. What do you think you'd be?" she then asked.
Harry thought for a second, "I've never actually thought about it. Probably a dog of some sort," he said, causing Penny to blush and start laughing. Playfully pushing her Harry looked out of a window and caught a glimpse of a pack of first-years flying circles around each other. "What's up with you all of a sudden?
Penny brushed a tear from her cheek and grinned at him with a slightly embarrassed look on her face. "Sorry, it's just that our neighbours recently got a young dog right before I went to Hogwarts. His defining characteristic is that he humps everything he can get his paws on!" she said, before bursting out into laughter again. Harry joined eventually, despite not thinking the joke that funny.
"I was more thinking about the other characteristics that dogs have, but I can see what you mean."
"Don't worry Harry, if you ever start humping everything in sight I'm sure Madame Pomfrey could do something to help," Penny reassured him.
Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going, Harry asked the girl about her favourite Quidditch team, which got him a five-minute rant about the Wigtown Wanderers. It was a perfect length to cover the time it took to get to the library where they both occupied a table in the far back and cracked open their respective books. Harry was working on some arithmancy which was supposed to determine a spells wand motion and Penny was reading a book about the history of Potions in Scandinavia, like a fucking nerd.
"What's Professor Twix doing going into the restricted section like that?" Penny asked curiously, causing Harry to pause in his calculations. He didn't mind, seeing as they weren't really that fun anyway. He looked up to see that once again their thin defence professor was entering the forbidden section of the library.
"How am I supposed to know?" he asked, causing Penny to roll her eyes.
"You're a total dweeb Harry, I'm pretty sure you spend three hours a day in the library."
Harry considered her words and mentally admitted that he did spend a large amount of free time in the library. Especially since he'd found both the arithmancy and magical theory book he needed for his spell creation project. When he wasn't in the library he was practising magic somewhere in the gigantic castle they called a school. He'd recently mastered a cosmetics charm that removed the need for him to ever wash his hair. It also made them incredibly luscious. He tousled them and watched the way Penny's eyes followed the gesture.
"Well, she's here almost every third day. No clue what she does, always the restricted section though," he answered.
"Maybe she's preparing lesson plans there, away from students," Penny said with a shrug, before taking a glance at his paper. "What are you even doing?" she asked dubiously.
"It's arithmancy," Harry replied.
"Isn't that an elective in the third year?" Penny complained. "Please, just practice Potions, you're almost killing me every lesson!"
Harry scratched the back of his head, "I don't know Penny, it's not like I haven't been trying. It just doesn't work for me," he said, causing the girl to sigh.
"I guess I get it," she said, looking at the three pieces of parchments he'd filled up with calculations, "I'm probably going to be the same with arithmancy, but I want to take it so badly. All the books say it's important for developing recipes."
"I'll help you, just as you're helping me, alright," Harry promised and reached over to squeeze Penny's hand.
"Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it. I don't know if helping me with some numbers equates to me almost dying once a week from your explosions, though."
"I'll also help you in Transfiguration. You need all the help you can get."
"Hey!"
It ended up being a fun afternoon spent in the library until Pince threw them out for being a bit too loud at one point. Afterwards, Harry took Penny to the kitchens where the house elves press-ganged them into eating an entire three-course meal instead of the sandwiches they actually went there for.
-/-
"How was the flying?" Harry asked as Cedric entered the dorm they shared with the other Hufflepuff boys.
"It was great!" Cedric answered, "You really missed out. I'm definitely looking forward to being able to bring my own broom next year. I have a Comet, not even close to a good broom, but It still trumps the school ones though," he finished and then threw himself onto his bed, pulling out a quidditch magazine from somewhere and starting to read while lying in bed fully clothed. Harry looked doubtfully at his own bed and imagined how gross it would be if he fell onto it in his outside clothes. He grimaced.
Although, magic could solve most issues.
"Well, at least you get to fly," he told the boy.
"Definitely. Bad flying is better than no flying. You should join us!"
"Perhaps," Harry said, feeling slightly tired from all the work that he had been putting into arithmancy and magical theory recently. In addition to the curriculum and spells that lay outside the curriculum, such as the disillusionment charm, he felt that he was at maximum capacity recently. Maybe some zooming around the sky could refresh his batteries. He was even studying on Sundays these days, something he'd never done before unless it was for a very important exam.
Maybe he wasn't as talented as the original Harry Potter, but it should still be fun.
-/-
Harry knocked on the door to Professor Flitwick's office and entered after a squeaky voice bid him to. It was the professor's office hours and it had been three months since he had initially come to the man after class to ask about spell creation. It was the beginning of December and Harry would soon go home for Christmas. Not much had happened in the last months, except for Harry studying, deepening his connection to Cedric and Penny and occasionally saying hello to Tonks and the Weasley twins. He hadn't made that much progress with the disillusionment charm and thus he was reserving the day of the final quidditch match sometime in May to go visit the room of requirement. Otherwise, however, he had been quite successful in his goal of mastering all sorts of household and personal hygiene charms. Most importantly though, he felt like he had made tangible progress in understanding what factors went into spell creation and had written up a valid research plan to attempt and create the desired effect. He had, however, recently hit a roadblock, which he wanted to introduce to Flitwick so the man could ponder it over the Christmas holidays. Harry meanwhile would enjoy his Christmas by focusing on lighter topics. With all the classes, homework and extracurricular study he was doing he was beginning to feel slightly burnt out with structured magic and was looking forward to setting fire to objects with just his mind for a change.
"Mr. Evans, what can I do for you?" Professor Flitwick asked while vibrating in his seat, before hastily adding, "Please sit."
Harry smirked at the half-eaten platter of cookies on the man's table and wondered if it was there for the students or the professor.
"After our discussion on spell creation in September," Harry started, Flitwick nodding along eagerly, "I've found, read and incorporated the two books you suggested to me, professor." It hadn't really been an easy task. They were both thick tomes and no matter how well written they may have been, they'd been difficult to comprehend at times. This didn't seem to escape Flitwick.
"The whole thing, front to back?" the man asked dubiously.
Harry nodded. "I needed one month per book, really. For the past month I have been working on a research proposal in regards to creating the spell we were talking about," he said, before holding up a hand and pulling out from his leather satchel almost a dozen papers bound together with a paper clip. He slid it over to the professor, who adjusted his glasses and picked up the sheaves.
"Potential search command spells by Harry Evans, academic supervisor yet to be determined," the half-goblin read aloud.
"I've narrowed down the calculations and magical theory aspects going into the incantation to determine potential matches on pages three, four and five," Harry said, causing the professor to flick to the corresponding pages, which he quickly read before going further.
"It was quite easy to determine that due to the spells' intended similarities to the homenum revelio spell, revelio would be an easy choice as a second word in the incantation. However, it required some calculations to determine that the first word should perhaps be only three syllables to match the second one. This should add stability. Seeing as this is a spell that doesn't need to be pushed to its boundaries in terms of magical output the possibility of four syllables for the first word and thus seven for the entire incantation was deemed unnecessarily risky," Harry explained as Flitwick followed his calculations, quickly reaching the last section of the proposal.
"Your conclusion seems solid, I'd need to look it over a bit myself later, but, three syllables seems like the obvious choice," Flitwick said, peering from his high chair over the documents and looking Harry in the eyes. "I see here that you are considering the incantation littera revelio, amongst others," the man said before flipping over to the next page, which detailed the wand movement. "A downwards lockpick with a wide horizontal circle. Cumbersome," he commented, "but seeing as this is a utility spell it shouldn't matter overly much. The circle represents knowledge which can roughly symbolise the littera of the incantation, but literra will be pronounced with the lock-pick and not the circular motion. However, it just doesn't work the other way around because one can't do a downwards after a horizontal, only before," Flitwick mumbled as his eyes flew over the page and he seemed to consider some things.
"The work on incantation and wand movement are both good, however, the combination of the two makes the whole thing a bit heavy. It will take a lot of focus and a lot of power. Formally speaking though, the argumentation is airtight. Nonetheless…" The man paused, "might be better to start from the beginning and to try to find a one-word incantation." He said, almost asking himself as he pulled out his wand and twirled it in the air. Bright numbers appeared in the barely illuminated and cluttered study.
"The formulaic aspects being airtight at the sacrifice of efficiency is almost intentional," Harry mentioned. "It wasn't necessarily planned, but in hindsight, I personally wouldn't want to have it any other way. This is a non-combat spell, it will never be needed in the middle of something time-intensive when one can't focus and wants to conserve energy. I'd rather have it annoying but formulaic rather than non-formulaic but efficient."
"A matter of personal opinion," the professor replied, before flipping to the last page, quickly glancing through it and astutely picking up on the main issue of Harry's proposal. "I see this is the section that requires the most work. Meaning against form, definition of search parameters and blurriness of results. The ideas are nearly ingenious but they mesh together like a house on fire," he concluded and crossed his arms in thought.
Harry sighed. "Yes, I've had some issues narrowing down how to define the search terms. More specifically, how can I encompass a unit of meaning such as 'animal transfiguration' into a thought that can be reflected by text, when I have no idea what that text may look like, as I haven't seen it yet. On the other hand, defining the search by the form wouldn't account for things such as different handwriting, spelling, different languages or even damage to the book. Honestly, I've been running in circles all week."
"I noticed that you've been distracted in class recently," the professor said as he put down the collection of papers with a sigh. The man took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "There is a solution, perhaps, to your conundrum of form vs. meaning. However, it won't be one you will like and I want to preface it with something else."
Harry nodded and continued waiting patiently in his chair.
"The quality of the work you brought, is quite frankly astonishing and through our conversation, I have no doubt that it was you alone who did it. This is also partially because there were some easily avoidable missteps present, which could have been avoided with some light collaboration," the man said, causing Harry to blush at the fact that he hadn't wanted to seek assistance before getting completely stuck because of pride. "The theoretical knowledge to create this research proposal can perhaps be found in the mind of a fourth-year student at our fine institution, however, it seems that it is the rare pupil who can accompany that knowledge with such vision, determination and willingness to create something new," Flitwick said passionately as he waved his arms, looking honestly quite funny. "Congratulations Mr. Evans, for accomplishing something which I've never seen students, four years your senior, even attempt," he finished sincerely, causing Harry to look down and mull over his response.
It had been a recurring theme, during his muggle schooling, to be lauded as a prodigy, and praised for his knowledge, his skills and his work ethic. Something that he felt no pride in show-casing, because of his current mental age. To exhibit any less of the aforementioned qualities would have been nearly impossible.
"Thank you, professor, for your kind words. I hope that one day, once this spell is finished, it will help me and others. Such as Professor Twix, who I have been seeing in the library a lot recently, in using their time more efficiently," Harry said, doing the good old thank you for the praise, but I find it unjustified, so let's switch topics.
"It would be a spell of incredible utility, although what Professor Twix is doing in the restricted section isn't really related to finding a particular book," Flitwick said, before sighing. "Now onto the bad news." He paused. "Your spell, in terms of meaning search, will most likely remain a dream for the moment. Many wizards have tried to decode meaning and its properties. None have succeeded to the point which your spell would require."
"What then?" Harry asked, "Am I supposed to concentrate on form and elicit only one in a hundred of what I'm actually searching for?"
Flitwick looked Harry in the eyes, before sighing again. "If only it were as easy as we'd like it to be, eh," he muttered, before continuing, "Spells are variable, form is a step that comes before free form. By creating the spell now and beginning to practise it, you could introduce variability into the form you are looking for. Then, casting it again, with another, slightly different form in mind. Or you could even one day learn to hold several forms in mind when casting the spell. Who knows," he paused. "How do I explain this?"
This is where Harry interrupted the man, "I understand, I think. Better to make an imperfect spell, get some use out of it, stretch it to its limits and then use it as inspiration for something bigger in the future, than get stuck on the stage of trying to perfect something but suffering for ten years before making progress."
"Essentially!" Flitwick said with a smile, before glancing at the clock. "Time is running short. Why don't you think about my suggestion over the holidays before reconvening next year? Your spell is almost done, but you should finish it and practise it under supervision."
Harry nodded, grabbed his research proposal and stood up from the chair. "I'll revise the last chapter with simply the form in mind. It shouldn't take long. I was never planning on casting the spell on my lonesome."
"Good, good. Terribly unsafe, that," Flitwick agreed, hopping off of his chair and escorting Harry to the door. "I expect great things from you Mr. Evans and perhaps while as an educator I shouldn't be saying this… You can let your coursework slip a bit if this is the extent of your extra-curricular projects. Learning out of one's initiative is the best learning. Now off you go, it's late!" the professor finished before slamming the door in Harry's face.
Harry huffed and looked down at the leather satchel which held a sheaf of papers that represented essentially three months of his free time. He'd been working on the thing for about three hours a day for so long…
"Hopefully I can finish this soon and finally find a book on the Mind Arts," he muttered, before shaking his head and beginning to make his way back to the Hufflepuff dorms. It was late, the discussion with Professor Flitwick having apparently taken much longer than he'd thought.
Pausing for a second Harry looked out of a window onto the Hogwarts grounds below. Not much was visible due to it being night now, but the starry sky illuminated Hagrid's hut and the forbidden forest beyond. Snapping his fingers to produce a small flame Harry looked at his reflection in the glass. Messy short red-hair, pale, green-eyes growing body. "You're a wizard, Harry," he said, before turning off the fire with a simple thought. It wasn't often that he was able to look at his reflection without lamenting what he'd lost. But today seemed to be one of those times. "Maybe because I have all the pieces of an identity in this body now as well. Friends, dreams, hobbies, ambitions, realistic expectations of the future and competencies. Almost makes me not wish that this had never happened," he tilted his head and swung his arms as he walked, "but what's missing?"
Cedric, who had already mounted his own broom on his right, gave him an encouraging look.
"Now, put the broom between your legs, jump and stay afloat!" Madame Hooch shouted. A fit woman seemingly in her fifties with short grey hair and eagle eyes.
"Just don't think about it not happening," Cedric whispered unhelpfully to Harry before promptly jumping up and beginning to float with his legs extended backwards, feet hooked against the little metal bars at the back of the broom.
Harry considered his friend's words and then jumped. He'd read up on brooms and their enchantments. The basic first step was that they were made to hover a metre or so above the ground unless the owner willed otherwise. One would think that trying to stay afloat on a wooden broom high in the air and going at fast speeds would be murder on one's ass and balls, but it was actually quite comfortable when one considered the cushioning enchantments. The whole thing was even more comfortable than a women's bicycle. He wobbled from the left to the right and back again without intending to do so and grimaced at the lack of control he had over the thing. Bicycles were mechanical and propelled purely by one's own muscle. This was something else.
"Go forward, to me, to me!" Hooch shouted again, having mounted her own broom and was now flying backwards away from the tightly packed line of Hogwarts students who started awkwardly and haltingly in some cases flying towards the woman. Of the students slowly traversing the grass field in the shade of the castle, Cedric was at the forefront. Following him were two Ravenclaw boys. Harry was in the back, his flying interspersed with short abrupt breaks. The whole experience honestly felt like his first driving lesson, before he'd learned how to use the stick properly.
"You're doing great Harry," Penny beamed from next to him, moving at her own glacial, but much more fluid pace. She was obviously holding back a bit to stay level with him. Harry smiled at the girl and let go of some of his nervousness. His flying became less jagged as a result. Eventually, he and Penny reached Hooch as some of the last students to do so. They ended up spending the rest of the flying lesson sticking closely together and chatting about classes, Harry being the one to limit himself when it came to the later stages of the exercises since Penny had a slight fear of heights.
"Ever thought about becoming an animagus?" Harry asked the girl as they were making their way to the library after flying so that they could study together. Cedric had stayed behind to fly more with the other boys, "You'd probably be a bird, then you wouldn't have to be afraid of heights, since you could fly," he elaborated.
"Who ever heard of a bird scared of heights," Penny shot back as she hugged herself and cringed. "I'll take a land animal any day of the week. Even if it's a skunk. What do you think you'd be?" she then asked.
Harry thought for a second, "I've never actually thought about it. Probably a dog of some sort," he said, causing Penny to blush and start laughing. Playfully pushing her Harry looked out of a window and caught a glimpse of a pack of first-years flying circles around each other. "What's up with you all of a sudden?
Penny brushed a tear from her cheek and grinned at him with a slightly embarrassed look on her face. "Sorry, it's just that our neighbours recently got a young dog right before I went to Hogwarts. His defining characteristic is that he humps everything he can get his paws on!" she said, before bursting out into laughter again. Harry joined eventually, despite not thinking the joke that funny.
"I was more thinking about the other characteristics that dogs have, but I can see what you mean."
"Don't worry Harry, if you ever start humping everything in sight I'm sure Madame Pomfrey could do something to help," Penny reassured him.
Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going, Harry asked the girl about her favourite Quidditch team, which got him a five-minute rant about the Wigtown Wanderers. It was a perfect length to cover the time it took to get to the library where they both occupied a table in the far back and cracked open their respective books. Harry was working on some arithmancy which was supposed to determine a spells wand motion and Penny was reading a book about the history of Potions in Scandinavia, like a fucking nerd.
"What's Professor Twix doing going into the restricted section like that?" Penny asked curiously, causing Harry to pause in his calculations. He didn't mind, seeing as they weren't really that fun anyway. He looked up to see that once again their thin defence professor was entering the forbidden section of the library.
"How am I supposed to know?" he asked, causing Penny to roll her eyes.
"You're a total dweeb Harry, I'm pretty sure you spend three hours a day in the library."
Harry considered her words and mentally admitted that he did spend a large amount of free time in the library. Especially since he'd found both the arithmancy and magical theory book he needed for his spell creation project. When he wasn't in the library he was practising magic somewhere in the gigantic castle they called a school. He'd recently mastered a cosmetics charm that removed the need for him to ever wash his hair. It also made them incredibly luscious. He tousled them and watched the way Penny's eyes followed the gesture.
"Well, she's here almost every third day. No clue what she does, always the restricted section though," he answered.
"Maybe she's preparing lesson plans there, away from students," Penny said with a shrug, before taking a glance at his paper. "What are you even doing?" she asked dubiously.
"It's arithmancy," Harry replied.
"Isn't that an elective in the third year?" Penny complained. "Please, just practice Potions, you're almost killing me every lesson!"
Harry scratched the back of his head, "I don't know Penny, it's not like I haven't been trying. It just doesn't work for me," he said, causing the girl to sigh.
"I guess I get it," she said, looking at the three pieces of parchments he'd filled up with calculations, "I'm probably going to be the same with arithmancy, but I want to take it so badly. All the books say it's important for developing recipes."
"I'll help you, just as you're helping me, alright," Harry promised and reached over to squeeze Penny's hand.
"Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it. I don't know if helping me with some numbers equates to me almost dying once a week from your explosions, though."
"I'll also help you in Transfiguration. You need all the help you can get."
"Hey!"
It ended up being a fun afternoon spent in the library until Pince threw them out for being a bit too loud at one point. Afterwards, Harry took Penny to the kitchens where the house elves press-ganged them into eating an entire three-course meal instead of the sandwiches they actually went there for.
-/-
"How was the flying?" Harry asked as Cedric entered the dorm they shared with the other Hufflepuff boys.
"It was great!" Cedric answered, "You really missed out. I'm definitely looking forward to being able to bring my own broom next year. I have a Comet, not even close to a good broom, but It still trumps the school ones though," he finished and then threw himself onto his bed, pulling out a quidditch magazine from somewhere and starting to read while lying in bed fully clothed. Harry looked doubtfully at his own bed and imagined how gross it would be if he fell onto it in his outside clothes. He grimaced.
Although, magic could solve most issues.
"Well, at least you get to fly," he told the boy.
"Definitely. Bad flying is better than no flying. You should join us!"
"Perhaps," Harry said, feeling slightly tired from all the work that he had been putting into arithmancy and magical theory recently. In addition to the curriculum and spells that lay outside the curriculum, such as the disillusionment charm, he felt that he was at maximum capacity recently. Maybe some zooming around the sky could refresh his batteries. He was even studying on Sundays these days, something he'd never done before unless it was for a very important exam.
Maybe he wasn't as talented as the original Harry Potter, but it should still be fun.
-/-
Harry knocked on the door to Professor Flitwick's office and entered after a squeaky voice bid him to. It was the professor's office hours and it had been three months since he had initially come to the man after class to ask about spell creation. It was the beginning of December and Harry would soon go home for Christmas. Not much had happened in the last months, except for Harry studying, deepening his connection to Cedric and Penny and occasionally saying hello to Tonks and the Weasley twins. He hadn't made that much progress with the disillusionment charm and thus he was reserving the day of the final quidditch match sometime in May to go visit the room of requirement. Otherwise, however, he had been quite successful in his goal of mastering all sorts of household and personal hygiene charms. Most importantly though, he felt like he had made tangible progress in understanding what factors went into spell creation and had written up a valid research plan to attempt and create the desired effect. He had, however, recently hit a roadblock, which he wanted to introduce to Flitwick so the man could ponder it over the Christmas holidays. Harry meanwhile would enjoy his Christmas by focusing on lighter topics. With all the classes, homework and extracurricular study he was doing he was beginning to feel slightly burnt out with structured magic and was looking forward to setting fire to objects with just his mind for a change.
"Mr. Evans, what can I do for you?" Professor Flitwick asked while vibrating in his seat, before hastily adding, "Please sit."
Harry smirked at the half-eaten platter of cookies on the man's table and wondered if it was there for the students or the professor.
"After our discussion on spell creation in September," Harry started, Flitwick nodding along eagerly, "I've found, read and incorporated the two books you suggested to me, professor." It hadn't really been an easy task. They were both thick tomes and no matter how well written they may have been, they'd been difficult to comprehend at times. This didn't seem to escape Flitwick.
"The whole thing, front to back?" the man asked dubiously.
Harry nodded. "I needed one month per book, really. For the past month I have been working on a research proposal in regards to creating the spell we were talking about," he said, before holding up a hand and pulling out from his leather satchel almost a dozen papers bound together with a paper clip. He slid it over to the professor, who adjusted his glasses and picked up the sheaves.
"Potential search command spells by Harry Evans, academic supervisor yet to be determined," the half-goblin read aloud.
"I've narrowed down the calculations and magical theory aspects going into the incantation to determine potential matches on pages three, four and five," Harry said, causing the professor to flick to the corresponding pages, which he quickly read before going further.
"It was quite easy to determine that due to the spells' intended similarities to the homenum revelio spell, revelio would be an easy choice as a second word in the incantation. However, it required some calculations to determine that the first word should perhaps be only three syllables to match the second one. This should add stability. Seeing as this is a spell that doesn't need to be pushed to its boundaries in terms of magical output the possibility of four syllables for the first word and thus seven for the entire incantation was deemed unnecessarily risky," Harry explained as Flitwick followed his calculations, quickly reaching the last section of the proposal.
"Your conclusion seems solid, I'd need to look it over a bit myself later, but, three syllables seems like the obvious choice," Flitwick said, peering from his high chair over the documents and looking Harry in the eyes. "I see here that you are considering the incantation littera revelio, amongst others," the man said before flipping over to the next page, which detailed the wand movement. "A downwards lockpick with a wide horizontal circle. Cumbersome," he commented, "but seeing as this is a utility spell it shouldn't matter overly much. The circle represents knowledge which can roughly symbolise the littera of the incantation, but literra will be pronounced with the lock-pick and not the circular motion. However, it just doesn't work the other way around because one can't do a downwards after a horizontal, only before," Flitwick mumbled as his eyes flew over the page and he seemed to consider some things.
"The work on incantation and wand movement are both good, however, the combination of the two makes the whole thing a bit heavy. It will take a lot of focus and a lot of power. Formally speaking though, the argumentation is airtight. Nonetheless…" The man paused, "might be better to start from the beginning and to try to find a one-word incantation." He said, almost asking himself as he pulled out his wand and twirled it in the air. Bright numbers appeared in the barely illuminated and cluttered study.
"The formulaic aspects being airtight at the sacrifice of efficiency is almost intentional," Harry mentioned. "It wasn't necessarily planned, but in hindsight, I personally wouldn't want to have it any other way. This is a non-combat spell, it will never be needed in the middle of something time-intensive when one can't focus and wants to conserve energy. I'd rather have it annoying but formulaic rather than non-formulaic but efficient."
"A matter of personal opinion," the professor replied, before flipping to the last page, quickly glancing through it and astutely picking up on the main issue of Harry's proposal. "I see this is the section that requires the most work. Meaning against form, definition of search parameters and blurriness of results. The ideas are nearly ingenious but they mesh together like a house on fire," he concluded and crossed his arms in thought.
Harry sighed. "Yes, I've had some issues narrowing down how to define the search terms. More specifically, how can I encompass a unit of meaning such as 'animal transfiguration' into a thought that can be reflected by text, when I have no idea what that text may look like, as I haven't seen it yet. On the other hand, defining the search by the form wouldn't account for things such as different handwriting, spelling, different languages or even damage to the book. Honestly, I've been running in circles all week."
"I noticed that you've been distracted in class recently," the professor said as he put down the collection of papers with a sigh. The man took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "There is a solution, perhaps, to your conundrum of form vs. meaning. However, it won't be one you will like and I want to preface it with something else."
Harry nodded and continued waiting patiently in his chair.
"The quality of the work you brought, is quite frankly astonishing and through our conversation, I have no doubt that it was you alone who did it. This is also partially because there were some easily avoidable missteps present, which could have been avoided with some light collaboration," the man said, causing Harry to blush at the fact that he hadn't wanted to seek assistance before getting completely stuck because of pride. "The theoretical knowledge to create this research proposal can perhaps be found in the mind of a fourth-year student at our fine institution, however, it seems that it is the rare pupil who can accompany that knowledge with such vision, determination and willingness to create something new," Flitwick said passionately as he waved his arms, looking honestly quite funny. "Congratulations Mr. Evans, for accomplishing something which I've never seen students, four years your senior, even attempt," he finished sincerely, causing Harry to look down and mull over his response.
It had been a recurring theme, during his muggle schooling, to be lauded as a prodigy, and praised for his knowledge, his skills and his work ethic. Something that he felt no pride in show-casing, because of his current mental age. To exhibit any less of the aforementioned qualities would have been nearly impossible.
"Thank you, professor, for your kind words. I hope that one day, once this spell is finished, it will help me and others. Such as Professor Twix, who I have been seeing in the library a lot recently, in using their time more efficiently," Harry said, doing the good old thank you for the praise, but I find it unjustified, so let's switch topics.
"It would be a spell of incredible utility, although what Professor Twix is doing in the restricted section isn't really related to finding a particular book," Flitwick said, before sighing. "Now onto the bad news." He paused. "Your spell, in terms of meaning search, will most likely remain a dream for the moment. Many wizards have tried to decode meaning and its properties. None have succeeded to the point which your spell would require."
"What then?" Harry asked, "Am I supposed to concentrate on form and elicit only one in a hundred of what I'm actually searching for?"
Flitwick looked Harry in the eyes, before sighing again. "If only it were as easy as we'd like it to be, eh," he muttered, before continuing, "Spells are variable, form is a step that comes before free form. By creating the spell now and beginning to practise it, you could introduce variability into the form you are looking for. Then, casting it again, with another, slightly different form in mind. Or you could even one day learn to hold several forms in mind when casting the spell. Who knows," he paused. "How do I explain this?"
This is where Harry interrupted the man, "I understand, I think. Better to make an imperfect spell, get some use out of it, stretch it to its limits and then use it as inspiration for something bigger in the future, than get stuck on the stage of trying to perfect something but suffering for ten years before making progress."
"Essentially!" Flitwick said with a smile, before glancing at the clock. "Time is running short. Why don't you think about my suggestion over the holidays before reconvening next year? Your spell is almost done, but you should finish it and practise it under supervision."
Harry nodded, grabbed his research proposal and stood up from the chair. "I'll revise the last chapter with simply the form in mind. It shouldn't take long. I was never planning on casting the spell on my lonesome."
"Good, good. Terribly unsafe, that," Flitwick agreed, hopping off of his chair and escorting Harry to the door. "I expect great things from you Mr. Evans and perhaps while as an educator I shouldn't be saying this… You can let your coursework slip a bit if this is the extent of your extra-curricular projects. Learning out of one's initiative is the best learning. Now off you go, it's late!" the professor finished before slamming the door in Harry's face.
Harry huffed and looked down at the leather satchel which held a sheaf of papers that represented essentially three months of his free time. He'd been working on the thing for about three hours a day for so long…
"Hopefully I can finish this soon and finally find a book on the Mind Arts," he muttered, before shaking his head and beginning to make his way back to the Hufflepuff dorms. It was late, the discussion with Professor Flitwick having apparently taken much longer than he'd thought.
Pausing for a second Harry looked out of a window onto the Hogwarts grounds below. Not much was visible due to it being night now, but the starry sky illuminated Hagrid's hut and the forbidden forest beyond. Snapping his fingers to produce a small flame Harry looked at his reflection in the glass. Messy short red-hair, pale, green-eyes growing body. "You're a wizard, Harry," he said, before turning off the fire with a simple thought. It wasn't often that he was able to look at his reflection without lamenting what he'd lost. But today seemed to be one of those times. "Maybe because I have all the pieces of an identity in this body now as well. Friends, dreams, hobbies, ambitions, realistic expectations of the future and competencies. Almost makes me not wish that this had never happened," he tilted his head and swung his arms as he walked, "but what's missing?"
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outwrangle
Postmaster General
- Location
- Iowa
- Pronouns
- She/Her
If only there was some way to define "form" algorithmically, to account for handwriting and deterioration and wording. Unfortunately I'm under the impression the caster would need to be able to consistently imagine the algorithm and sample libraries to compare the search results against, which would be impossible without already having some kind of mind palace (more like a mind server farm) in the first place.
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
I always found it a bit dumb how Snape apparently managed to create spells on the margins of his potions-book, so I'm making the process a tad more complicated here.
littera revelio... or you know, Revelio Littera!
There is no law saying you can't reverse the word order. Words Reveal, vs Reveal Words. Hell, it even works a bit better image wise for you to say Reveal and then think of the words, rather than the reverse.
Of course the spell he's cribbing from already answers the question of blurry definitions. As homenum revelio already is working on a broad basis. It reveals all humans. Not just a single specific human that you are thinking of. So just like searching the library for the word Human, wouldn't care about case, cursive, if it was misspelled... homenum revelio doesn't care if someone is missing a limb etc. It's not searching for a template, it's searching for a concept.
Conceptual searches Harry. Conceptual. Start by searching the library literally for books about humans, using Revelio Littera but thinking about homenum as your key term. You aren't looking for books with the word homenum in them. You are looking for books that relate to humans, ie the concept being embodied by homenum, and which that spell has already conveniently managed to define. From there you can work on figuring out proper search term definitions. As you have to be careful because you aren't using a google word search, but a google concept search.
PS once you figure that out replace littera with concepta...
There is no law saying you can't reverse the word order. Words Reveal, vs Reveal Words. Hell, it even works a bit better image wise for you to say Reveal and then think of the words, rather than the reverse.
Of course the spell he's cribbing from already answers the question of blurry definitions. As homenum revelio already is working on a broad basis. It reveals all humans. Not just a single specific human that you are thinking of. So just like searching the library for the word Human, wouldn't care about case, cursive, if it was misspelled... homenum revelio doesn't care if someone is missing a limb etc. It's not searching for a template, it's searching for a concept.
Conceptual searches Harry. Conceptual. Start by searching the library literally for books about humans, using Revelio Littera but thinking about homenum as your key term. You aren't looking for books with the word homenum in them. You are looking for books that relate to humans, ie the concept being embodied by homenum, and which that spell has already conveniently managed to define. From there you can work on figuring out proper search term definitions. As you have to be careful because you aren't using a google word search, but a google concept search.
PS once you figure that out replace littera with concepta...
Chapter 11: Train from Hogwarts
bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
Harry was sitting in a compartment with Cedric, Penny and the Weasley twins when he remembered one thing that he'd almost forgotten to do. He opened his trunk and pulled out a small wooden box which he used to store his photographs. Flipping through the variety of photos he'd taken while at Hogwarts, he finally came upon the group photo of Cedric, the twins and another girl whose name he didn't remember. He'd taken this photo what seemed like a lifetime ago, on his first train ride to Hogwarts.
"Here," he said, holding out the photo to the twins. They quickly snatched it out of his hand before starting to brashly comment on their own attractiveness and denigrate their counterparts' looks.
"Thanks, Harry. Just sad to see such a beautiful composition marred by such an ugly mug," one of them said, looking pointedly at the other.
Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back as he watched the two bicker, Cedric stole a glance at the photo. "Wait," the boy said suddenly, "there's only one photo." The three of them shared an awkward look, before turning to Harry, who could only shrug.
"I only developed one," he explained.
"You guys can have it," Cedric said, pushing the photo towards the twins. "There's two of you, so if you hang it up somewhere it will be looked at more than if I keep it."
"Thanks, Ced," Fred said, George nodding along, "it's settled then," the other finished, before offering Cedric a chocolate frog. "As a thank you," they finished together.
Cedric took the package dubiously and held it far away from himself with a look of suspicion. The Weasley twins were meanwhile presenting their angelic expressions, too busy to notice Penny sneaking a little ball into one of their pockets.
"Peng!" Pandemonium suddenly ensued in the compartment. The chocolate frog exploded, showering everyone with drizzles of chocolate, and the little ball that Penny had snuck into the Weasley's pockets imploded with a fart sound, releasing a horrible-smelling gas.
"Ewww, did you two just fart!?" Penny screamed, pointed at the twins and then ran out, but not before quickly winking at Harry. A Harry who was unamused, covered in chocolate and smelling a mixture of what must have been rotten pineapples and pig dung.
"That's disgusting George, what did you eat?" he asked the twin on the right in an apathetic voice, with a slightly disgusted sneer on his face. The twins were red in their faces, Cedric meanwhile, was brown. He'd gotten the worst of the chocolate.
"I did not!" George insisted, gasping as his own twin stood up and ran out of the compartment, also covered in some chocolate.
"That's disgusting brother mine!" Fred yelled, "In front of a lady as well!"
"I did not!" George repeated, louder this time, before standing up and chasing after his brother. A horrible stink followed the boy as he left the compartment.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Cedric muttered, shakily putting down the hand that had been holding the dangerously unstable chocolate frog, he somehow hadn't lowered it during the explosion Harry agreed with his friend's assessment. His own face was already turning green from the disgusting smell. Harry raised his wand in the air and broadly gestured at the entirety of the train compartment.
"Scourgify," he intoned as he willed the undesirable to disappear from the compartment and as if it were magic, it did. The only thing left behind was a very clean, perhaps even slightly confused Cedric and a very baffled Harry.
"Wow," Cedric exclaimed, looking around the now clean train compartment. "That's a powerful scourgify," he praised.
Harry meanwhile was simply confused, because right before casting the spell he had actually been planning on standing up and going to the toilet. Now, however, he didn't feel like he had to go anymore. He furrowed his brows.
It wasn't good to apply magic to one's own body unintentionally.
"You alright, mate?" Cedric asked. "You look a bit constipated."
Harry slowly shook his head, "No… not really."
-/-
The atmosphere in the Hogwarts staff room was jovial and celebratory. After all, most of the students had left the castle for two weeks, giving the professors the first breathing room they'd gotten in three months and a half.
"Now, would anybody like to start? Anything in particular to do with the first years?" Dumbledore asked from where he was seated at the large round table made to seat the entire school faculty, before looking around.
"Some cases of home-sickness," Sprout said. "Easily manageable. Some bright students in Herbology this year, but that's about it," the round woman said jovially, before looking to her right at McGonagall, who sighed.
"The Weasley twins, horrid pranksters, rather like their uncles really, may their souls rest in peace. I foresee a lot of evenings spent in detention. I really would have better things to do," she complained. "Jordan Lee also tends to join in their shenanigans. They're good with a wand, but don't know where to channel the talent."
"Quite creative in Potions," Slughorn added, "amongst the top four students in the year, but still lagging behind Haywood and Rogers."
"They're separate people despite being twins, don't count them off as one entity quite yet. Who knows, they might split off from each other one day," Twix jokingly added, seemingly relaxing on her chair, leaning back on it. The older staff traded looks at the comment.
"If they're anything like their uncles they won't unglue their arses apart until they're married and even then they'd still be joined at the hip." McGonagall snorted. "Prewetts and Weasleys." She sighed. "Truly a match made in hell."
"Why, I found Potter and Black to be a particularly interesting combination as well, no sibling relation necessary," Dumbledore commented, causing Slughorn to curse out loud enough for his chin to wobble and his moustache to tremble as if hit by a small and localised earthquake.
"Those two! I almost celebrated their graduation more than I did You-Know-Who's death!" the man said. Twix, next to him, tensed up and dropped back into a normal position on her chair.
"Bright as their minds may have been, it was never easy being their teachers. At least they seem to be good members of society these days, which can't be said for some of the other problematic students we've had," Flitwick said pointedly, making Slughhorn bluster.
"Let's get back on topic," Dumbledore interjected, "You're the last head of house who hasn't spoken yet Filius, care to enlighten us on how the flock is doing this year?"
Flitwick shrugged, and shook his head, before stopping to seemingly consider the pile of books that he was sitting on. "Harry Evans. He recently came to me with a spell crafting proposal, it was very well reasoned and based on two theoretical books that I recommended to him at the start of the year after he asked me about the topic. He seems to have integrated both books quite well, which is impressive since they were on the topics of arithmancy and magical theory, nothing he could have covered yet."
"Spell-crafting is partially an art, really," Slughorn commented, causing Flitwick to shrug.
"It's why I hesitated to mention it. Mr Evans' classwork is exemplary and his grasp of magical theory and arithmancy says good things about his future. However, it is yet to be seen if he can efficiently translate that," he explained.
"He's in school, I'm sure he'll learn," Harry's head of house said, supporting her student.
"He's certainly not learning Potions!" Slughorn exclaimed, "The boy's bright, very much so, but his practical work is atrocious, he's exploded more cauldrons than the cauldron quality control department. I had higher hopes considering…" Here the man lost all momentum and sighed, looking around the table which now laid witness to sad downcast faces. "Sorry, that was uncouth of me," Slughhorn said. "It's just. I led the boy through Diagon Alley. I had high expectations for him."
"His work in Transfiguration is exemplary," McGonagall retorted stiffly, before turning to Twix. "How has he been in your class, also, how have you been settling in? I imagine it's very different from curse-breaking for the ministry."
Twix frowned slightly as if offended that she was being asked how she was doing, "Mr. Evans is doing satisfactorily. Nothing special, just a slightly better than average grasp on spells."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Good in Charms and Transfiguration, but struggling in potions and not noteworthy in Herbology. Perhaps the boy is simply inclined towards wand-magic rather than other, slower forms," he suggested as he adjusted his glasses, before glancing at Sinistra, who had been seemingly napping, but who opened her eyes instantly when the Headmaster glanced at her.
"Keeps his wits about him in Astrology. Doesn't seem to care for it much, though," she said.
"Untalented flyer," Hooch piped up, causing Sprout to raise an eyebrow at her.
"Untalented?" she asked, apparently taking offence. The flight instructor nodded.
"Just as someone might have a predisposition, they might have the opposite, but do tell me about the spell later," Dumbledore ruled, "Now let's move on," he said and the topic immediately shifted.
"One of my older Slytherins was jinxed quite badly by one of yours," Slughorn said to Sprout.
Sprout rolled her eyes. "If it was the boy who made an advance on Ms Tonks with the suggestion that her magical ability might make up for her blood status, then I don't want to hear it," she said firmly, ending the discussion before it could start. Another point was quickly brought up by the other professors. They all wanted to finish the meeting so they could start enjoying their vacation after all.
It was about an hour later that it was only Dumbledore, Flitwick and the bald Quirrell left at the table.
"I'm not quite sure if I should divulge what sort of spell Mr Evans is working on. He didn't specify if he came to me in confidence but it's always better to assume that than anything else, right?" Flitwick said, causing Dumbledore to nod.
"Students do need to feel that they are being given free room to develop, but self-made spells are very tricky business."
"It's hard to strike a balance between intervention and free development," a calm Quirrell interjected. "However, spell creation is incredibly dangerous and difficult. Are you sure the boy is ready?" he asked. "I haven't had him in my class, obviously, but I can't imagine entrusting such a task to any first-year."
"He is mature, talented and hard-working," Flitwick began carefully, before huffing. "I will reveal this, I guess I must, if only to put the staff at ease. The spell Mr Evans is trying to create has almost zero chance of backlash. It's something created purely for utility and has no components that would if allowed to run free, exert any unwanted force on anything."
"That does put an old man's heart at ease. Merlin knows we've all likely harboured dreams of creating a lightning dragon summoning spell when we were young boys," Dumbledore said and stood up, apparently viewing the conversation as over now that the Charms Master had assured them. His periwinkle robes swished as he turned to leave before he paused and turned to Quirrell, "I'm surprised you said anything in the direction of stopping the attempt though, Quirinus. I thought you were always more on the side of creative freedom," he said lightly.
"I've always believed that more trained wizards could determine for themselves the risks that certain magics brought alongside themselves. I'm sure I've never advocated for first-year students to be taught anything potentially dangerous to themselves," the wizard said, also standing up.
"And the risks of visiting certain places…" Dumbledore muttered, "Are you still set on your sabbatical?" he asked, receiving a curt nod from the younger man.
"A different path is calling, ignoring that call only makes for bitter men," the muggle studies professor replied.
"Wise words. It's better to try and fail than to not try at all," Flitwick piped up, "better this way. Not being allowed to spread their wings students might begin to feel like they are being held back and get up to all kinds of foolery. They are very much like adults, in that regard."
"Indeed," Dumbledore concluded. "I will see both at the end of vacation. On that note, have a pleasant evening." He said and departed through the wooden door leading out of the room, the other two professors, quickly following along and going their own way.
-/-
Harry sneezed, his head rocking from where he was resting it on the compartment window, through which he was enjoying the scenery. "Fucker!" he cursed, startling Cedric who had just come back from a chat with some other first-years.
"Harry!" the boy exclaimed, exasperatedly shaking his head before sitting down across him.
"Someone must be talking about me," Harry muttered, getting a curious raised eyebrow from his friend.
"Why do you say that?" Cedric asked.
"Maybe it's a muggle thing, but when you sneeze it's supposed to be because someone is talking behind your back."
"That's interesting, in the wizarding world we say that about getting a splinter," the Hufflepuff said, adjusting his slightly too-long brown hair out of his eyes.
"Different cultures, I guess," Harry said, before resting his head back on the window. Silence filled the compartment for a few minutes before he spoke again. "It was an interesting semester."
"Yeah, I can't believe that it was only three and a half months. I'm looking forward to seeing my family," Cedric said.
Harry sighed, "I'm mostly just glad for a small break from academic work," he said. Planning on forgetting about Occlumency, magical theory, arithmancy, spell-crafting, Potions and the disillusionment charm for a bit. Well, maybe not Occlumency. The trace had likely gotten applied now, so it wasn't like he was going to be able to cast anything anyway, although he could try out sorcery.
"I guess even someone like you gets tired of homework sometimes," Cedric said as if he were impressed by the negative feelings homework could elicit even from the nerdiest nerds, which is what Harry probably looked like from the outside.
"Magic never, homework definitely."
It was an hour later Harry exited the Hogwarts Express, pulling his luggage behind himself as he watched his friends reunite with their families. It was a heart-warming scene and it was five minutes later at the main entrance to the train station that he greeted his uncle.
"Learned anything interesting, eh?" the man asked awkwardly in lieu of a greeting as he easily picked up his trunk and hauled it into the back of their shining blue Beetle. A car that they'd fixed up together a few years ago and kept as a secondary vehicle for urban driving.
Harry sat in the front seat on the left, something he'd needed to get used to at first, tightened his seat belt and replied, "Loads of stuff, I even made some friends. You buy me anything nice for Christmas?"
His uncle snorted and started driving. "For that, you'll just have to wait and see like all the other kids in the country."
"Looking forward to it," Harry said and closed his eyes as they slowly made their way out of London and into Surrey.
"Here," he said, holding out the photo to the twins. They quickly snatched it out of his hand before starting to brashly comment on their own attractiveness and denigrate their counterparts' looks.
"Thanks, Harry. Just sad to see such a beautiful composition marred by such an ugly mug," one of them said, looking pointedly at the other.
Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back as he watched the two bicker, Cedric stole a glance at the photo. "Wait," the boy said suddenly, "there's only one photo." The three of them shared an awkward look, before turning to Harry, who could only shrug.
"I only developed one," he explained.
"You guys can have it," Cedric said, pushing the photo towards the twins. "There's two of you, so if you hang it up somewhere it will be looked at more than if I keep it."
"Thanks, Ced," Fred said, George nodding along, "it's settled then," the other finished, before offering Cedric a chocolate frog. "As a thank you," they finished together.
Cedric took the package dubiously and held it far away from himself with a look of suspicion. The Weasley twins were meanwhile presenting their angelic expressions, too busy to notice Penny sneaking a little ball into one of their pockets.
"Peng!" Pandemonium suddenly ensued in the compartment. The chocolate frog exploded, showering everyone with drizzles of chocolate, and the little ball that Penny had snuck into the Weasley's pockets imploded with a fart sound, releasing a horrible-smelling gas.
"Ewww, did you two just fart!?" Penny screamed, pointed at the twins and then ran out, but not before quickly winking at Harry. A Harry who was unamused, covered in chocolate and smelling a mixture of what must have been rotten pineapples and pig dung.
"That's disgusting George, what did you eat?" he asked the twin on the right in an apathetic voice, with a slightly disgusted sneer on his face. The twins were red in their faces, Cedric meanwhile, was brown. He'd gotten the worst of the chocolate.
"I did not!" George insisted, gasping as his own twin stood up and ran out of the compartment, also covered in some chocolate.
"That's disgusting brother mine!" Fred yelled, "In front of a lady as well!"
"I did not!" George repeated, louder this time, before standing up and chasing after his brother. A horrible stink followed the boy as he left the compartment.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Cedric muttered, shakily putting down the hand that had been holding the dangerously unstable chocolate frog, he somehow hadn't lowered it during the explosion Harry agreed with his friend's assessment. His own face was already turning green from the disgusting smell. Harry raised his wand in the air and broadly gestured at the entirety of the train compartment.
"Scourgify," he intoned as he willed the undesirable to disappear from the compartment and as if it were magic, it did. The only thing left behind was a very clean, perhaps even slightly confused Cedric and a very baffled Harry.
"Wow," Cedric exclaimed, looking around the now clean train compartment. "That's a powerful scourgify," he praised.
Harry meanwhile was simply confused, because right before casting the spell he had actually been planning on standing up and going to the toilet. Now, however, he didn't feel like he had to go anymore. He furrowed his brows.
It wasn't good to apply magic to one's own body unintentionally.
"You alright, mate?" Cedric asked. "You look a bit constipated."
Harry slowly shook his head, "No… not really."
-/-
The atmosphere in the Hogwarts staff room was jovial and celebratory. After all, most of the students had left the castle for two weeks, giving the professors the first breathing room they'd gotten in three months and a half.
"Now, would anybody like to start? Anything in particular to do with the first years?" Dumbledore asked from where he was seated at the large round table made to seat the entire school faculty, before looking around.
"Some cases of home-sickness," Sprout said. "Easily manageable. Some bright students in Herbology this year, but that's about it," the round woman said jovially, before looking to her right at McGonagall, who sighed.
"The Weasley twins, horrid pranksters, rather like their uncles really, may their souls rest in peace. I foresee a lot of evenings spent in detention. I really would have better things to do," she complained. "Jordan Lee also tends to join in their shenanigans. They're good with a wand, but don't know where to channel the talent."
"Quite creative in Potions," Slughorn added, "amongst the top four students in the year, but still lagging behind Haywood and Rogers."
"They're separate people despite being twins, don't count them off as one entity quite yet. Who knows, they might split off from each other one day," Twix jokingly added, seemingly relaxing on her chair, leaning back on it. The older staff traded looks at the comment.
"If they're anything like their uncles they won't unglue their arses apart until they're married and even then they'd still be joined at the hip." McGonagall snorted. "Prewetts and Weasleys." She sighed. "Truly a match made in hell."
"Why, I found Potter and Black to be a particularly interesting combination as well, no sibling relation necessary," Dumbledore commented, causing Slughorn to curse out loud enough for his chin to wobble and his moustache to tremble as if hit by a small and localised earthquake.
"Those two! I almost celebrated their graduation more than I did You-Know-Who's death!" the man said. Twix, next to him, tensed up and dropped back into a normal position on her chair.
"Bright as their minds may have been, it was never easy being their teachers. At least they seem to be good members of society these days, which can't be said for some of the other problematic students we've had," Flitwick said pointedly, making Slughhorn bluster.
"Let's get back on topic," Dumbledore interjected, "You're the last head of house who hasn't spoken yet Filius, care to enlighten us on how the flock is doing this year?"
Flitwick shrugged, and shook his head, before stopping to seemingly consider the pile of books that he was sitting on. "Harry Evans. He recently came to me with a spell crafting proposal, it was very well reasoned and based on two theoretical books that I recommended to him at the start of the year after he asked me about the topic. He seems to have integrated both books quite well, which is impressive since they were on the topics of arithmancy and magical theory, nothing he could have covered yet."
"Spell-crafting is partially an art, really," Slughorn commented, causing Flitwick to shrug.
"It's why I hesitated to mention it. Mr Evans' classwork is exemplary and his grasp of magical theory and arithmancy says good things about his future. However, it is yet to be seen if he can efficiently translate that," he explained.
"He's in school, I'm sure he'll learn," Harry's head of house said, supporting her student.
"He's certainly not learning Potions!" Slughorn exclaimed, "The boy's bright, very much so, but his practical work is atrocious, he's exploded more cauldrons than the cauldron quality control department. I had higher hopes considering…" Here the man lost all momentum and sighed, looking around the table which now laid witness to sad downcast faces. "Sorry, that was uncouth of me," Slughhorn said. "It's just. I led the boy through Diagon Alley. I had high expectations for him."
"His work in Transfiguration is exemplary," McGonagall retorted stiffly, before turning to Twix. "How has he been in your class, also, how have you been settling in? I imagine it's very different from curse-breaking for the ministry."
Twix frowned slightly as if offended that she was being asked how she was doing, "Mr. Evans is doing satisfactorily. Nothing special, just a slightly better than average grasp on spells."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Good in Charms and Transfiguration, but struggling in potions and not noteworthy in Herbology. Perhaps the boy is simply inclined towards wand-magic rather than other, slower forms," he suggested as he adjusted his glasses, before glancing at Sinistra, who had been seemingly napping, but who opened her eyes instantly when the Headmaster glanced at her.
"Keeps his wits about him in Astrology. Doesn't seem to care for it much, though," she said.
"Untalented flyer," Hooch piped up, causing Sprout to raise an eyebrow at her.
"Untalented?" she asked, apparently taking offence. The flight instructor nodded.
"Just as someone might have a predisposition, they might have the opposite, but do tell me about the spell later," Dumbledore ruled, "Now let's move on," he said and the topic immediately shifted.
"One of my older Slytherins was jinxed quite badly by one of yours," Slughorn said to Sprout.
Sprout rolled her eyes. "If it was the boy who made an advance on Ms Tonks with the suggestion that her magical ability might make up for her blood status, then I don't want to hear it," she said firmly, ending the discussion before it could start. Another point was quickly brought up by the other professors. They all wanted to finish the meeting so they could start enjoying their vacation after all.
It was about an hour later that it was only Dumbledore, Flitwick and the bald Quirrell left at the table.
"I'm not quite sure if I should divulge what sort of spell Mr Evans is working on. He didn't specify if he came to me in confidence but it's always better to assume that than anything else, right?" Flitwick said, causing Dumbledore to nod.
"Students do need to feel that they are being given free room to develop, but self-made spells are very tricky business."
"It's hard to strike a balance between intervention and free development," a calm Quirrell interjected. "However, spell creation is incredibly dangerous and difficult. Are you sure the boy is ready?" he asked. "I haven't had him in my class, obviously, but I can't imagine entrusting such a task to any first-year."
"He is mature, talented and hard-working," Flitwick began carefully, before huffing. "I will reveal this, I guess I must, if only to put the staff at ease. The spell Mr Evans is trying to create has almost zero chance of backlash. It's something created purely for utility and has no components that would if allowed to run free, exert any unwanted force on anything."
"That does put an old man's heart at ease. Merlin knows we've all likely harboured dreams of creating a lightning dragon summoning spell when we were young boys," Dumbledore said and stood up, apparently viewing the conversation as over now that the Charms Master had assured them. His periwinkle robes swished as he turned to leave before he paused and turned to Quirrell, "I'm surprised you said anything in the direction of stopping the attempt though, Quirinus. I thought you were always more on the side of creative freedom," he said lightly.
"I've always believed that more trained wizards could determine for themselves the risks that certain magics brought alongside themselves. I'm sure I've never advocated for first-year students to be taught anything potentially dangerous to themselves," the wizard said, also standing up.
"And the risks of visiting certain places…" Dumbledore muttered, "Are you still set on your sabbatical?" he asked, receiving a curt nod from the younger man.
"A different path is calling, ignoring that call only makes for bitter men," the muggle studies professor replied.
"Wise words. It's better to try and fail than to not try at all," Flitwick piped up, "better this way. Not being allowed to spread their wings students might begin to feel like they are being held back and get up to all kinds of foolery. They are very much like adults, in that regard."
"Indeed," Dumbledore concluded. "I will see both at the end of vacation. On that note, have a pleasant evening." He said and departed through the wooden door leading out of the room, the other two professors, quickly following along and going their own way.
-/-
Harry sneezed, his head rocking from where he was resting it on the compartment window, through which he was enjoying the scenery. "Fucker!" he cursed, startling Cedric who had just come back from a chat with some other first-years.
"Harry!" the boy exclaimed, exasperatedly shaking his head before sitting down across him.
"Someone must be talking about me," Harry muttered, getting a curious raised eyebrow from his friend.
"Why do you say that?" Cedric asked.
"Maybe it's a muggle thing, but when you sneeze it's supposed to be because someone is talking behind your back."
"That's interesting, in the wizarding world we say that about getting a splinter," the Hufflepuff said, adjusting his slightly too-long brown hair out of his eyes.
"Different cultures, I guess," Harry said, before resting his head back on the window. Silence filled the compartment for a few minutes before he spoke again. "It was an interesting semester."
"Yeah, I can't believe that it was only three and a half months. I'm looking forward to seeing my family," Cedric said.
Harry sighed, "I'm mostly just glad for a small break from academic work," he said. Planning on forgetting about Occlumency, magical theory, arithmancy, spell-crafting, Potions and the disillusionment charm for a bit. Well, maybe not Occlumency. The trace had likely gotten applied now, so it wasn't like he was going to be able to cast anything anyway, although he could try out sorcery.
"I guess even someone like you gets tired of homework sometimes," Cedric said as if he were impressed by the negative feelings homework could elicit even from the nerdiest nerds, which is what Harry probably looked like from the outside.
"Magic never, homework definitely."
It was an hour later Harry exited the Hogwarts Express, pulling his luggage behind himself as he watched his friends reunite with their families. It was a heart-warming scene and it was five minutes later at the main entrance to the train station that he greeted his uncle.
"Learned anything interesting, eh?" the man asked awkwardly in lieu of a greeting as he easily picked up his trunk and hauled it into the back of their shining blue Beetle. A car that they'd fixed up together a few years ago and kept as a secondary vehicle for urban driving.
Harry sat in the front seat on the left, something he'd needed to get used to at first, tightened his seat belt and replied, "Loads of stuff, I even made some friends. You buy me anything nice for Christmas?"
His uncle snorted and started driving. "For that, you'll just have to wait and see like all the other kids in the country."
"Looking forward to it," Harry said and closed his eyes as they slowly made their way out of London and into Surrey.
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bor902
professional illiterate
- Location
- wherever i am at the moment
Nice theorising, obviously it would be easiest of one could have a single spell that helps one mentally define a concept and then leads one to it, or shows it in your vision. It would definitely be OP and also make unecessary homunem revelio. Seems kind of big for a first-year project, but maybe all of this is just the first step?
Tiny bit more of that planned
, so I hope you keep enjoying itThat's sort of where I was going.
Harry working through it so it starts as
Revilio Hominum - finds all the books about people, starts the concept search idea
Revilio X - after he takes that theory and starts to search by specifically pre-defined conceptual magic words.
Littera Concepta - casting a spell to figure out the WORD for a concept he wants to search by and then uses that in his Revilio spell..
And finally to
Revilio Concepta - cutting out the middleman spell and going off straight conceptual searches.