Hmm, I seem to have stalled somewhat. I'll post what I got for now. It's finished!
Here is roughly the first half of Chapter 6
So without further ado:
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Chapter 6: Points For Not Being Mary Sue
Harry saw a golden glint – a sparkle or glimmer, if you will. It was hovering above him. All else was a foggy mist. What was it?
The Snitch!
He couldn't move; he was dead weight.
He mustered his strength.
And was mildly surprised when his hand raised, quick as a flash, to clench around the glimmer.
"Oof!"
Harry blinked.
It was not the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. A now-broken pair of glasses. His surroundings returned to him suddenly. He was lying in a bed in the hospital wing; in front of him was a doubled over Professor Dumbledore, clutching his face. To his left stood Sirius, roaring with laughter, accompanied by a stunned Remus and Mabel. Mabel regarded Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow before setting her face rigid and turning to Harry.
"Potter, I told you at the start of the year that if you came back in anything less than pristine condition that I would hold you personally accountable for it. This is anything but pristine condition!"
Harry chuckled nervously.
Mabel's nostrils flared.
"Oh, you think this is funny do you? Do you have any idea how worried-" she coughed, "-er, Sirius and Remus have been?"
"Alright, Mabel, that's quite enough," chipped in Dumbledore as he stood up and took his hand away from his face, which now sported a small blotch of purple about the nose. "Harry here has been through a trying ordeal. It would not do to be thrown out by Madame Pomfrey for... overexciting him."
Everything rapidly came flooding back to Harry.
"QUIRRELL! THE STONE! PROFESS-"
"Calm yourself please, Harry. Quirrell does not have the stone," said Dumbledore firmly. He placed the cracked-open gem onto Harry's bedside table, which was almost overflowing with confectionery. The stone was now a dark grey; the vivid red colour drained from it.
"Nobody will have it now."
Harry stared at the ruined jewel.
"But- but your friend; Nicholas Flamel?"
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in pleasant surprise.
"Oh! You found out about Nicholas! You did do this properly didn't you? We have had a discussion and come to the agreement that it is fully for the best. They have stored sufficient elixir to settle their affairs; but after that, they shall die."
Harry looked at Dumbledore in shock.
"It might seem hard to fathom for the young," Dumbledore continued with a kindly smile. "But when one has lived as long as Nicholas and Perenelle, it is very much akin to going to bed after the longest day of work one has ever performed."
"But... what happened? Quirrell was screaming and then... nothing."
"The events that took place down in the dungeons are an absolute secret-"
"Meaning everyone in the castle knows about it," put in Sirius.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who quickly fell silent.
"As, I was saying... You and your friends did very well, I must say, but I thankfully arrived in time to pull Quirrell off of you. Your friends are unharmed – yes, even Mr. Weasley. I was rather afraid I would be too late; but fortunately, 'twas not the case-"
"It was closer than you think, Professor," cut in Harry, "I don't think I could have kept him off the stone any longer!"
Remus frowned at that.
"Not the Philosopher's Stone, Harry," he said in a pained manner. "He's talking about you. You matter far more to us than any magic stone and you nearly got yourself killed! None of us knew until we got you to Madame Pomfrey if you were going to wake up!"
Harry looked down at his bedsheets as Remus's words sank in.
"The stone was not really so wonderful," resumed Dumbledore, "All the wealth and life as one could ask for – but we as humans seem to have the alarming tendency to choose exactly that which is worst for oneself. Make no mistake however; even with the stone's destruction, Voldemort is not fully defeated. He is still out there, somewhere. But all it will take is for but one good person to stand against him; and he shall be thwarted again, and again, and again. But I expect you have questions for me; ask away and I shall answer unless I have a very good reason not to. If I do, then you shall have to trust me."
Harry considered his words carefully before speaking.
"Voldemort said he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me... but... why did he even want to kill me?"
Sirius, Remus and Mabel all shot each other looks. The kind of look adults exchange when they know something that they don't want to tell a child. Like that their pet has died, or that a massive innuendo just happened.
Or that they have been prophesied to kill or be killed by an evil, murderous, racist, megalomaniacal cult-leader with Nazi undertones.
But that would be somewhat far-fetched.
Dumbledore sighed.
"My apologies Harry, but alas, I cannot answer. Not today. One day you will be told, but for now please put it out of your mind."
Harry frowned but, seeing he was going to get nowhere, moved on.
"When I touched Quirrell... it hurt him. Why?"
"Lily." It was Sirius who answered this time. "She died to save you; old magic can be very powerful. When you mum sacrificed everything for the son she loved, it created a... a barrier that hurts anyone who tries to harm you. As long as you live in the home of your relatives for at least one day a year, you will have this protection until you become an adult. It's the reason that you have to go see the Dursleys once a year."
"Whoa..." breathed Harry.
"Yep. 'Whoa' indeed."
Harry composed himself for his next question. Not wanting to clue the others in if he could help it, Harry gestured Dumbledore come close to him. Raising an eyebrow, Dumbledore leaned his ear in close.
"Do you know who sent me the invisibility cloak?" Harry whispered.
Comprehension dawning, Dumbledore leaned out again.
"Ah, that was me. But I am afraid to tell you that Sirius, Remus and Mabel already know you have the cloak. I thought the cloak would serve you well; it certainly served your father rather well over the years."
Harry looked a little put out over the news, but recovered quickly.
"And the mirror? How did I get the stone out of it?"
To his surprise, Dumbledore gave what could best be described as a smarmy chortle.
"Ah, yes. That. If I may say so myself, it was possibly one of my best ideas – only one who wants to find but not use the stone would be given it." He tapped his nose smugly, "I challenge you, or any of your friends, to come back to me at the end of your schooling here and tell me how I managed that. I am so good at magic! But enough questions for now. Your friends and admirers have seen fit to send you trinkets – by which I of course mean excessive, decadent edibles. I would encourage you to begin your campaign against them. Do you mind if I?"
He hovered his hand over a packet of Bertie Bott's every-flavour beans. Harry nodded. Dumbledore opened the pack and plucked out a bean.
"I was unfortunate enough in my early years to happen across a bean that tasted of vomit and have rather lost my liking as a result. However, perhaps luck will out and give me toffee..."
The others, Harry included, all took a bean each and ate it.
Remus seemed to enjoy his.
"A cup-full of diamond juice; freshly squeezed!"
Sirius appeared to be rather dazed.
"John Jones Monrovian Moonshine."
Mabel grimaced.
"The English." Then she whispered, "Period blood," behind her hand to the adults.
Dumbledore scrunched up his mouth in distaste, "Guilt... and Regret."
"Nachos," said Harry, appreciatively.
There was a melodious call and a magnificent red and golden bird fluttered into the ward to perch on Dumbledore's forearm. He chuckled merrily and stroked it's plumage.
"Fawkes," Dumbledore elaborated, "A Phoenix. Splendid creatures; many magical properties. He must have gotten impatient."
Harry spoke up again as he saw Dumbledore was turning to leave. "Wait, Professor; can I ask you one last thing?"
"Very well, Harry. Fire away."
"Why do you look so young?"
The other three adults were now looking awkwardly at Harry.
"Um, Harry," said Remus warily, "Nobody asks Dumbledore that."
"It's quite alright." Dumbledore smiled wryly, his red hair almost seeming to flutter in a non-existent breeze as he continued stroking Fawkes. He gazed over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry mysteriously; his smooth, youthful, boyish face almost seeming to glow for an instant.
"I am afraid, Harry, that is something I have a very good reason not to answer. Content yourself with the mystery for now; if you wish."
And then he left Harry to be both scolded and fawned over by Sirius, Remus and Mabel.
'A curious tale, Harry. So, you are functionally untouchable until you turn 17... That is indeed a powerful gift.'
'I know right! Apparently it won't help me against accidents and stuff, but it should be pretty good against Voldemort or any of his old supporters.'
'Well, I must say that Ginny is certainly in for a story when we get back.'
'She sure is! And next year she'll be coming to Hogwarts too! All I have to suffer through is one day with the Dursleys and everything is going to be glorious!'
"Harry, would you give me a hand?" called Neville as he tried for the fifth time to shut his trunk without it's contents spilling out everywhere. Harry sighed and shut the diary, securing it in his own trunk before getting up to aid in the lost cause.
"Well, well," began Dumbledore, "Another year has been and passed. If you would endure a little prattle on my part just one last time before attending to your no doubt whetted appetites; I would be rather appreciative. I trust you all know considerably more than you did when you arrived and I very much trust that you will make good use of your holidays to forget as much of that as possible... Now, I believe there is the small matter of the House cup. In fourth place: Hufflepuff, with three hundred and two points." Susan hung her head in shame at this, even as her fellows shot her annoyed looks. "In third place: Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve. Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty six; but in first place, with four hundred and forty two points, is Slytherin house."
A roaring cheer erupted from the the Slytherin table.
"Yes, yes, very well done indeed Slytherin. However. Certain recent events must be properly accredited."
The entire room fell silent.
"Firstly – to Mr. Ronald Weasley – for possibly the best played game of chess that Hogwarts has seen in many, many years – I award fifty points."
Ron had turned almost as red as his hair, as the Gryffindors erupted in cheers. He looked somewhat as if he had recently vacated Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Percy was now boasting to all within earshot rather smugly.
"Second – to Miss Susan Bones. It is not an easy thing to accept one's own limitations; but it shows a great deal of growth. For this and demonstrating true loyalty to her friends, I award Hufflepuff house fifty points."
It was Susan's turn to look like an escaped pumpkin as the Hufflepuffs erupted in jubilation.
"Third – to Miss Hermione Granger. For the use of cool logic in the face of fire; fifty points."
Hermione squeaked and hid her face in her arms as Gryffindors began to lose all sense of reason again.
"Fourth – to Mr. Draco Malfoy. Friends can be foolish and often reckless – especially Gryffindor friends. Often they need someone cunning and clever to keep them from bringing ruin to themselves. For this, I award Slytherin house fifty points."
The Slytherin cheers were back; but Dumbledore was far from finished.
"Fifth – to Mr. Harry Potter. Nerves of steel and frankly monumental bravery have earned him sixty points."
Those who were keeping score knew that Gryffindor had now thoroughly buried Ravenclaw, but was still shy of Slytherin by twenty points. They currently sat at four hundred and seventy two to Slytherin's four hundred and ninety two. As the news circulated, the Gryffindors began to groan; so close, yet so far.
Dumbledore called silence.
"Courage is found in many forms," he continued, "It takes a great deal to stand up to your enemies and a great deal more to stand up to your friends. But by far one of its greatest forms is when you put yourself on the line for the sake of another, or others. For this reason, I shall sixthly award fifty points to Neville Longbottom-"
His remaining words were crushed under the deafening cheers from the Gryffindor table, soon joined by those of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.
Dumbledore tried several times to bring order, but eventually gave up and sighed. He settled for simply clapping his hands, changing the Slytherin banners to those of Gryffindor.
"Harry!"
Harry looked around as he set his trunk down on platform 9¾. Standing next to her mother and Remus was Ginny, waving fervently.
On the way out of the station, he personally regaled her with the tale of the trapdoor. Harry had never seen Ginny's eyebrows raise so high.
"I'm sorry," she cut across him. "I lost you at 'the back of his head'! Umm... one more time?"
And so Harry had backtracked and finally completed his story just as they neared the Weasley's Ford Anglia.
"This... this is a lot to take in. Can you send me a letter?"
"Sure," he replied, "I might even be able to get Sirius to have you and Ron over next weekend."
As the various families said their goodbyes, none of them noticed a short gangly figure standing on a nearby rooftop. It appeared to have its gaze intently fixed on them.
It also seemed to be wearing a pillow case.
It happened two weeks later.
Harry was alone, lazily reading in the drawing room, when there was a cracking sound. He looked up.
"Kreacher?"
There was no answer.
He shrugged, then turned back to his book.
"Harry Potter?"
Harry nearly jumped out of his seat. There was a house-elf right behind his ear – an especially ragged elf at that. It gazed at the startled boy with cavernous, glistening, bulbous, green eyes that swiftly fixed on Harry's scar. He had the vague impression of two tennis balls right in front of his face.
"Wh… what the-"
"So long have I wished to meet you, sir!" the elf gabbled in a hushed voice, casting occasional glances towards the open door to the entrance hall. "Such an honour! A great honour… legendary, you are – even among house-elves!"
"Thank you…" Harry uttered, beginning to slowly edge away from his personal space invader. The elf did not appear to be versed in body language however and only peered closer to him.
"So noble, so humble-"
"Er…" Harry cut in, "Not that I'm not pleased to meet you or anything… but… um… why exactly are you here? And what's your name?"
The elf hesitated before speaking this time.
"D- … I would… wish not to tell you my name, Harry Potter. If Harry Potter would not mind."
Harry raised an eyebrow at that.
"So what should I call you, then?"
The elf frowned, thinking.
"Er… um… D- I hadn't thought of that…"
"Sméagol?" suggested Harry.
"'Sméagol'?" pondered the elf, "Yes... that will do… 'Sméagol'. 'Sméagol' has come… come to help Harry Potter! There is… danger… a plot!"
"Plot?" started Harry, blinking rapidly. "Who's plotting? Does it have something to do with Volde-"
A loud hiss sounded from 'Sméagol' as he covered his ears and fell off the back of the chair with a thud. Harry took the opportunity to get out of the chair and hesitantly edge away.
"Speak not the name!" 'Sméagol' hissed painfully, "Speak not the name! Spea-"
"Okay, I get it," said Harry, "But is it about him?"
"'Sméagol' cannot say," came the response as the elf picked himself up and turned his glistening eyes on Harry again. "But D- 'Sméagol' can say that Harry Potter is in grave danger."
Then, without warning he threw himself off the chair, leapt up, seized Harry's abandoned book and began hitting himself viciously over the head with it.
"What the-"
Harry's mouth hung open for a few seconds as he morbidly stared at the elf's flagellation, before snapping back to his senses and wresting the book from 'Sméagol'.
"Stop! What are you doing that for?"
"Not supposed to talk about… can't reveal! Mustn't reveal!"
"Calm down 'Sméagol'," said Harry, earnestly. "You don't have to if you don't want to-"
"But 'Sméagol' must. Must. Harry Potter is in danger and 'Sméagol' is here to help him!"
"O-oookay…" stammered Harry, "how are you going to help me?"
"'Sméagol' must get it away from Harry Potter!"
"Get what away from me?"
'Sméagol' was now shaking heavily, he grasped Harry's hand and leant close to Harry.
When he spoke, his voice was very low – almost a whisper. It might have been a ghost, barely a phantom.
…
"Does Harry Potter have a diary?"
Harry started at that, backing away abruptly.
"My diary? You're saying my diary is dangerous?" he said, incredulously.
"Yes! Where is it?" gabbled 'Sméagol'.
"You're not getting my diary," Harry said firmly.
Unfortunately, this appeared to be the wrong thing to say. A pained scowl broke out on 'Sméagol's' face. He seemed to shift in posture, almost hunkering down. He fixed his eyes firmly on Harry's own. Something told Harry that 'Sméagol' was not going to take no for an answer. There was however, something 'Sméagol' did not know – the location of Tom. All Harry had to do was keep it that way.
"'Sméagol' must. For Harry Potter's own sake. Where is the diary?"
"I'm not telling you."
They stared into each other's eyes. A standoff.
And then they were interrupted.
"Harry, have you s-" Mabel's voice died as she took in the complete stranger. Her eyes widened.
But 'Sméagol' was already gone in a crack. His foot slammed out of nowhere into Mabel's wand arm with another crack. Remus was running into the entry hall when a tiny fist collided with his head at break-neck speed, sending him careening into the fireplace. Sirius never even got further than the second floor of the ballroom before he was slammed in the gut. He collapsed against the marble bannisters. Harry pulled out his wand as Mabel vanished in another crack. She reappeared flying into an armchair.
Breathing heavily, Harry ran – only to see green as 'Sméagol' cracked into view in front of him. He seized Harry's wrists and in another crack Harry found himself dangling from the chandelier. A flurry of cracks fired off across the mansion – like a discording fireworks display. Papers scattered, drawers ripped open, furniture turned over – chaos reigned across Cwpan Tân Hall. Punctuated with screeches as Kreacher joined the calamity.
Then it was over and Kreacher materialised unconscious in the ballroom. Silence fell across the manor.
A final crack sounded and the chandelier swayed slightly. The tennis-ball eyes were back, once again inches away from Harry's face as 'Sméagol' hung from the chandelier with Harry.
"Where. Is. It?"
"I'm not telling you!"
'Sméagol' clicked his fingers and the chandelier jerked.
"'Sméagol'. Must. Save. Harry. Potter. Tell me!"
"Locomotor Mortis!"
With a stunned screech, 'Sméagol's' legs seized up. He tugged at them momentarily, then vanished in another crack.
After a short silence, Harry looked down to see Remus with his wand out looking furtively around the hall.
"Is… is it over?" groaned Sirius from the balcony as he hauled himself up, nursing his abdomen. "Is everyone alright?"
"Hang on Harry, I'll get you down," called Remus.
They were crowded into the drawing room with an Auror trainee. Mabel looked thoroughly sour, Sirius was still complaining about his aching stomach despite being told he was healed, Kreacher was muttering darkly to himself, Harry was trying not to look at anyone and Remus was actually making an attempt to act presentably.
"So you're saying that an elf did all this?" asked the trainee in amazement, casting her eyes across the ransacked room. "What did it take?"
"Nothing, as far as we can tell," said Remus, "did he elaborate to you, Harry?"
"No," grunted Harry. The adults all glanced at each other.
"I don't know who that was," put in Kreacher, "but I have found someone I like less than the boy…"
"Well, I can try me best, but there really isn't a lot to go on," said the trainee, folding her notebook up. "If you think of anything else to tell me, send me an owl."
"To do that, Madame, we shall need to know your name," said Remus, "I doubt 'Charming, helpful lady' will reach you."
Sirius's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, silly me! I forgot!" she replied, turning red. She quickly scribbled her name and work address. Then she sighed, "What am I like, eh? Prime dunce at work here…"
After she had left, Mabel and Kreacher set about fixing and restoring the hall while Harry stalked off to write a long letter to Ginny detailing the events of the day and asking her to hide Tom – just in case. Sirius raised an eyebrow at Remus.
"And what, exactly, was that?"
"Whatever do you mean?" hummed Remus innocently.
"Last time I saw something like that happen, the end result was James and Lily drinking each other's saliva."
Remus snorted.
"Oh don't be so melodramatic, it's not as if I'll see her again."
"Harry are you ready?"
"Yeah," he called and shut his bag. He hurried out of his room, into the ballroom, down the stairs and skidded into the hall. Then he noticed Mabel also had a bag with her.
"You're going somewhere?"
"Yes," she replied, "after that berserk elf yesterday, I think it's best if you had company this year. Kreacher can't fit in – The Dursleys would lose their minds over him. Remus is on the full moon and we both know that Sirius will end up punching someone. So you get me."
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SURPRISE TWIST! Bet none of you saw THAT coming!
As always, feedback and corrections much appreciated.
Next: A stay with the Dursleys!
Other prospective titles for this chapter were 'Dobby Is Nightcrawler' and 'Punching Your Headmaster In The Face'
"Why do you look so young?"
The other three adults were now looking awkwardly at Harry.
"Um, Harry," said Remus warily, "Nobody asks Dumbledore that."
"It's quite alright." Dumbledore smiled wryly, his red hair almost seeming to flutter in a non-existent breeze as he continued stroking Fawkes. He gazed over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry mysteriously; his smooth, youthful, boyish face almost seeming to glow for an instant.
"I am afraid, Harry, that is something I have a very good reason not to answer. Content yourself with the mystery for now; if you wish.
You don't actually have to capitalize "stone" in every usage (though I would), but in this case - being part of an actual Proper Noun - you most certainly should.
I'd abbreviate this to something like: "Or that they're prophesized to kill or be killed by an evil..."
Even if you don't want to, you should at least change the spelling to "prophesized".
As long as you live in the home of your relatives for at least one day a year, you will have this protection until you become an adult. It's the reason that you have to go see the Dursleys once a year
It may surprise you to know that prophesied is in fact the correct past participle. This is one of those times where the English language beats you over the head and tells you off for using it's standard rules.
It may surprise you to know that prophesied is in fact the correct past participle. This is one of those times where the English language beats you over the head and tells you off for using it's standard rules.
I'll see what everyone else has to say before deciding on this one.
Dumbledore expressly says that Harry need only return once a year in one of the books (I think fifth).
Aaargghh! I even looked the stupid thing up!
If this goes on, I might need to turn in my Grammar card.
But as for the last bit, that wasn't the part I disagreed with. Rather, I; A) believe there's a bit more to a "home" than that; and B) kinda assumed that "defend the home" and "burn people's faces off" were different aspects of it.
Not sure why I believed the second though, come to think of it.
I trust you all know considerably more than you did when you arrived and I very much trust that you will make good use of you holidays to forget as much of that as possible...
Rather, I; A) believe there's a bit more to a "home" than that; and B) kinda assumed that "defend the home" and "burn people's faces off" were different aspects of it.
Two throw in my own two Knuts: To A) Dumbledore says that Harry will be protected as long as he can call it a home; in my opinion meaning he at the very least gets to live there. And to B) there seems to be a little more to it, but it seems to boil down to exactly what you said.
Quick PSA to warn that there may not be another update until late May (and I mean really late May) due to RL. Rest assured that this fic will continue however!
Harry's mouth hung open for a few seconds as he morbidly stared at the elf's flagellation, before snapping back to his senses and wrested the book from 'Sméagol'.
But 'Sméagol' was already gone in a crack. His foot slammed out of nowhere into Mabel's wand arm with another crack. Remus was running into the entry hall when a tiny fist collided with his head at break-neck speed, sending him careening into the fireplace. Sirius never even got further than the second floor of the ballroom before he was slammed in the gut. He collapsed against the marble bannisters. Harry pulled out his wand as Mabel vanished in another crack. She reappeared flying into an armchair.
Breathing heavily, Harry ran – only to see green as 'Sméagol' cracked into view in front of him. He seized Harry's wrists and in another crack Harry found himself dangling from the chandelier. A flurry of cracks fired off across the mansion – like a discording fireworks display. Papers scattered, drawers ripped open, furniture turned over – chaos reigned across Cwpan Tân Hall. Punctuated with screeches as Kreacher joined the calamity.
Then it was over and Kreacher materialised unconscious in the ballroom. Silence fell across the manor.
Shouldn't that be '-ing'ed, too?
Upper case.
Wow, you weren't joking about Dobby - I wouldn't want to be Voldy's crony when the time comes.
Charming as ever, I see.
Heh.
It's amazing what fun stuff you can find to read through peoples sigs.
This is a bit late, but waaaay back in chapter 2 you reffered to Neville as Augusta Longbottoms son. Unless I missed some discussion after that, he should be her grandson.
It's amazing what fun stuff you can find to read through peoples sigs.
This is a bit late, but waaaay back in chapter 2 you reffered to Neville as Augusta Longbottoms son. Unless I missed some discussion after that, he should be her grandson.
