Harry Potter, Geek of Magic

By: jlluh

Fandom: harry potter

Summary: Harry Potter is a geek, a nerd, a total dork whose favorite hobby is "transfiguring stuff." He doesn't understand what rules are, has no social skills, is barely sentient, and is very smart.

Fic type: Books/Harry Potter

Pairings/Main char.: Harry P., Ron W., Hermione G., Luna L.

Published: 2017-10-27

Last updated: 2019-03-28

Words count: 73,007

Chapters count: 23

Converted using www.FF2EBOOK.com
Date: 2020-08-30

1. Geek of Magic

Harry Potter, Geek of Magic

Harry Potter sat in the Gryffindor common room, changing a needle back and forth.

Silver, to wood. Wood, to silver. Needle to matchstick to needle to matchstick to needle. He sipped water to refresh a throat dry from whispering the incantation again and again.

Though nothing next to what he'd seen professors do, it was unspeakably cool, and he was the one doing it.

Not very useful though, unless he had a match and needed a needle, and had a needle—a silver needle, at that—and needed to start a fire.

Needle to toothpick. That should be easy, except he didn't know the incantation, and he could probably find it in his book somewhere, it had pages and pages of lists, but he didn't have the patience.

The general incantation for turning an inanimate object into a different one was inanimata reformandam, and while it was supposedly much harder to use a general incantation, it sounded easier than going through the book looking for the specific incantation and then having to memorize it.

To use a general incantation, you had to really know what you wanted.

Harry wanted a toothpick.

On the fourth try, he got one. It was splintery, discolored and not sharp enough, but that was mended with a few more attempts.

Harry picked a corn kernel out of his teeth. From lunch.

Toothpick to silver needle to matchstick, using only inanimata reformandam all the while. The shapes of the match and toothpick were so close he didn't need to alter his wand movement at all.

He tried changing it into an iron needle, but only got a failed partial transformation to silver.

Harry opened his transfiguration textbook. Visualization was only half of it. Wand movements mattered, and more reading than he wanted to do indicated that iron was one of the harder metals to transfigure, and adding carbon to it to make steel just made it harder.

Copper was much easier. Barely harder than silver. Make the turn of the wand a little broader, use a softer flick, visualize the copper, imagining what it was. A few tries and he had a copper needle. Copper to wood. Wood to copper. Copper to wood to copper to wood to silver to wood to silver to copper to wood.

He could feel the magic coming down his arm and sloshing through his wand, and you were supposed to be able to feel how the sloshing in the wand for one spell was different than for the other, and he thought he could, but it was so slight, and his magic so roughly felt, that he might have been imagining it.

No matter. Copper needle to tin needle, to wooden matchstick.

Speaking of which. He scraped the head of the match against the rough stone of the fireplace, and the match lit. He turned it upside down, the fire climbing up, and let it fall upon the hearth when his fingers got too hot.

He didn't even know what the red stuff at the tip of the matchstick was, and it had still worked.

He'd taken the matchstick from class, so maybe it had been a matchstick from the start, and remembered how to be one. He took a twig from his bag—he'd scooped up a few on his way to the dorm-broke off a third so it would be likesized, and tried turning that into a matchstick.

That didn't work, and after the briefest possible consultation with his textbook, he decided the problem was that twigs were unworked wood, and after a few more minutes of skimming, came to a conclusion about how the wand movement ought to change.

The twig lit on fire. Harry put it out by dropping his textbook on it. There was some point to leather covers after all.

Harry spent a little longer skimming what the book had to say about what wand movements to use for what properties, and he ended up with an ugly, knobby matchstick.

Changing it back to a twig was easy-it wanted to be a twig anyway. Twig to matchstick to twig to matchstick, doing it a little better each time, adjusting the wand movements by feel, a process that reminded him of the time he'd tried riding Dudley's skateboard.

Ron tugged his shoulder, "Harry, it's time for dinner."

"Okay. Have fun."

"Let's go."

"I'll be down later. Start without me."

Ron grumbled, but his stomach rumbled, and he left, the common room emptying.

Harry managed a matchstick he was happy with, scraped it against the rough stone of the fireplace, and the match lit.

He dropped it on the hearth next to the other, watching it burn.

Harry hadn't exactly read his textbooks, but he'd paid attention during the lecture, and Professor McGonagall had explained that in magic, objects weren't defined by what they were made of so much as by their relationships to other objects. Matchsticks were used to start fires. Playing with them was fun, but you weren't supposed to. The stuff at the end had a smell that to him was part of the smell of fire, and though he'd heard or read that they smelled like rotten eggs, he didn't know what rotten eggs smelled like.

That was enough. That was what magic wanted to know, not the list of chemicals a chemist would produce. Even for wizard-raised children, it was hard to accept the fundamental non-materialism of magic, but Harry was nothing if not flexible.

"Cool," said Harry, and drew another twig from his bag. He ran through different metals, managing iron eventually, though it took a lot out of him

He gave gold a try, and it was as impossible as his textbook said.

He didn't even notice the other Gryffindors came back in from dinner.

Ron tugged his shoulder again. "Harry. Harry. Harry."

Harry looked up.

"You missed dinner."

Harry shrugged. "Time flies when you're having fun." Uncle Vernon often said that while locking Harry in the cupboard. "I really have to pee."

Harry jogged for the loo. He'd been aware of the need for a while, but it had felt very distant till Ron had gotten his attention. That had felt like very much like waking up.

Comfortable once more, he returned to the table he'd been at. He'd sat down to experiment around three in the afternoon, and it was, what, seven-thirty now, and he hadn't done any of his homework. When was it due anyway? He should find that out.

The twig was busy being a piece of copper wire. He bent it, transfigured it into a twig, had a bent twig, turned it back into a wire, worked it around with his hands into curlicues and knots, and turned it back into a twig.

The twig was thicker and shorter than the wire, and all those little twists and curlicues couldn't work. Luckily, rather than breaking into little pieces, the twig had fused into itself. He turned it silver, thought it looked pretty cool, set it aside, and took out another twig.

He tried to turn it into a bent wire from the get go, but it broke. He checked the book, and it had too much to say about shape for him to consider wading through. Better to just ask someone.

"Hey, Hermione."

He hardly knew anything about the bushy-haired girl, except she answered all the questions in class, she'd transformed her matchstick even sooner than he had, she was always reading, and Ron thought she was really annoying.

Harry was used to Dudley Dursley. Next to that, Hermione was great.

She looked up from her book and smiled with just her lips, in a way that suggested she wasn't sure how to smile and worried that she wasn't doing it right.

Harry didn't notice. He hadn't yet reached the point of worrying about how to smile. He motioned her over and said, "I want to transform this twig so it has a different shape. I can make it a little thinner or longer or whatnot easily enough, but anything more is causing me problems."

Hermione said, "Obviously. We haven't learned that yet."

"Yeah, you know how to do it? It's in the book, right?"

"You can't experiment on your own. It's dangerous."

Harry gave her a rundown of what he'd been doing for the past few hours, Hermione growing increasingly upset as he went along. "That's not allowed. You'll get in trouble. What if someone saw?"

Harry thought lots of people had probably seen, but none had cared.

"And there's no way the match really worked."

Harry made another one and showed her that it really worked. Hermione began to mutter. "You don't understand it. I don't understand it. Horrible things could happen. Didn't you hear McGonagall talking about safety?"

"A little. At the time, I was thinking about elves, mostly. Ron says there's something called house-elves, but Ron says they don't do archery-they don't sound at all like elves from books except they have weird magic and pointy ears. Apparently, there's a lot at Hogwarts, but I haven't seen any yet."

He rifled through the book again, saw a sentence about how shaping ought to be a separate movement from changing the material, so he tried that based totally on intuition, but all that happened was his fingers got a little warm where he held his wand.

"I'll call a prefect if you don't stop."

Harry paused. "Would the prefect help?"

Hermione drew herself up. "They'd make you stop. They'd take points. You're not supposed to be doing this. It's against the rules."

Living with the Dursleys, Harry had learned that whatever he did might or might not be against the rules, depending on his relatives' mood. He did avoid doing anything that would put them in a bad mood, but he accepted the state of having broken the rules as an unfortunate but uncontrollable phenomenon, like bad weather.

Harry said, "Thanks, I'll keep it secret." He needed a private space, just his own. A cupboard maybe.

"No," said Hermione, horrified. "That's even worse. You'll hurt yourself. If you were going to break the rules, you'd be better off doing it in the common room, so people could help you. But you shouldn't break the rules."

"Okay, I won't break the rules," said Harry. He wasn't exactly lying. It was just that he was used to expressing agreement whenever anyone said forcefully. Aunt Petunia called it being respectful.

He waited for Hermione to leave, but she didn't seem minded to, so after a bit he returned to his spell casting.

"Hey, you said you wouldn't."

"And for a minute, I didn't."

Hermione crossed her arms and hmmpped. "I really will get a prefect if you don't stop."

Harry blinked. He didn't understand this girl. She was telling him what to do, but she wasn't yelling at him or cuffing him on the back of his head or anything. Harry said, "I don't care what the others say, I think you're very nice."

Hermione's facial muscles warred between pleasure and upset, settling finally on exasperation. She said, "You are a very strange boy, Harry Potter." And though she didn't help him, she didn't fetch a prefect either.

#

#

After a few days of Hermione steadfastly refusing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, Harry concluded that he was going to actually have to read his Transfiguration textbook. Or most if it, at least. The better chapters, anyway.

He was doing just that when Snape walked into the potions classroom and took five points from Gryffindor as punishment for reading a book from a different class without his table set up properly.

He read to the end of his sentence and put the book away.

The day's potion was another one for curing acne. According to Hermione, personal hygiene was a major part of first-year potions curriculum. He took her word for it. Harry's understanding of potions class was that you looked at the directions on the board and tried not to make too much of a hash of it.

Chopping nettles. Righto. He'd gotten plenty of practice chopping with the Dursleys, but it was boring. Harry had a better idea.

He took out his wand, took a guess as to what the wand movements ought to be, and visualized the desired result.

For a wonder, it worked right on the first try, and all the leaves were perfectly cut, though he wasn't sure why they'd been cut diagonally.

He put his wand away and picked up the cutting board so he could shovel them into the cauldron.

From across the classroom Professor Snape said, "Potter, if you're attempting to kill yourself, choose less flamboyant means."

"Huh?"

"Do NOT put transfigured ingredients into a potion."

"I only cut them," Harry said.

"No, you transfigured a single piece into cut pieces. If you're desperate to find out how that differs, use an abandoned classroom and observe your potion from a safe distance. 15 points from Gryffindor."

Harry felt only brief annoyance at the loss of points. He wasn't sure how the point system worked or what it was for. It had been explained in his vicinity a number of times, but he hadn't paid attention to it yet.

He was more concerned with how transfiguring the nettle into cut pieces could change the characteristics of the nettle. Did they become new and imperfect pieces, just as if he'd transformed paper into cut nettles? Did it interrupt some magical property of the nettles that depended on not being interfered with magically? Did it-"

"Pay attention, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor." With a flick of his wand, Snape removed the transfigured nettle pieces from Harry's table and give him a pile of leaves in their place.

Harry cut them with a knife. Perhaps transfiguring them into a form made them reluctant to lose that form as they stewed in the potion? Or the opposite. Given that transfigured objects tended to revert, might they recombine into a single piece while stewing?

"Potter, I said to pay attention. Five more points from Gryffindor."

Harry paid more attention to cutting the leaves. But not complete attention. If the spell continued to be on the leaves, then you were basically adding a spell to a potion, and that... could be pretty interesting, actually.

#

#

Harry used the levitation charm to drop the leaves in the bubbling potion, then shut the door and watched through the window next to it: the window was why he'd chosen the classroom.

A boom and a flash of purple light, the potion exploded across the room, the cauldron turning into a plant.

Harry shouted, laughed, and ran straight into Filch.

#

#

Professor Snape steepled his fingers, observing the two annoyances occupying his office.

Filch said, "He claims he was following your instructions."

Professor Snape said, "Technically, he was, though it seems the boy can't distinguish between sarcasm and instructions."

Harry said, "I think the cauldron turned into a nettle plant."

"It's likely turned back into a cauldron by now. 10 points from Gryffindor."

Harry said, "Sir, if I transfigured a brick into an ingredient, would the stolidness of the brick moderate the ingredient's interaction with other ingredients?"

Professor Snape said, "It would explode in your face. The ingredient would be lacking properties." A bad idea, but surprisingly not completely without some suggestion of insight. "Potter, what's the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?"

"I dunno."

"I asked you this on the first day."

"I wasn't paying attention," said Harry Potter.

Professor Snape rubbed his temples. The brat was loud, disruptive, and had no respect for the rules. James Potter reborn, if James Potter were daft. "Detention, Potter."

"But-"

"5 points from Gryffindor."

#

#

Harry had mostly paid attention to the transfiguration lecture, but then McGonagall had started doing maths up on the board, pre-algebra, about what they'd started working on at the end of his muggle school year, and Harry had tuned out, suddenly unsure if transfiguration was really for him.

The agenda stated that the day's practical exercise was turning a string into a wire, so he pulled a thread off the frayed muggle clothing he wore beneath his robes, sized it up, and turned it into a thin copper wire.

Professor McGonagall said, "Potter. Pay attention, and do not perform magic without my leave. 5 points from Gryffindor."

Harry sighed, put his wand away, stared at the board with unfocused eyes, and fiddled with the copper wire.

It was bright orange currently. Later in class, he'd try producing one with a green patina. Speaking of which, would transfigured copper develop a patina? Would transfigured iron rust? It ought to, shouldn't it, except when you transfigured something, you thought of the properties it ought to have, and those could be almost charms, so might transfigured iron that he'd imagined as rustless be very much like iron that had been charmed to not rust?

To answer any of those questions, he'd have to manage a permanent transformation. Everything he'd made so far had reverted after a few hours, and he didn't understand any of what his book said about it except the 'more power' part.

Stumped by that, Harry drifted into daydreams about saving the school from a giant monster—despite Harry being pre-pubescent, a third-year girl whose clothing kept getting ripped off was deeply involved—and Harry didn't bring his attention back to the class until the lecture had ended and it was time to turn stuff into other stuff.

All the strings appeared on the desks with a wave of McGonagall's wand. McGonagall demonstrated, using the specific incantation, and the students set to it, struggling.

Harry had already done all the struggling, in the common room while Hermione told him to stop being foolish, so he used the general incantation, quickly turning his string into another copper wire, then back into a string. Visualization alone wasn't enough to develop the patina. Hmm. Age plus air. He checked one of the charts in the book, tried a few adjustments to his wand movements, and after a few tries, had a copper wire with a patina.

He thought the changed movement was less important than adding to his visualization an idea of what a patina was.

McGonagall was on the other side of the classroom, helping Hufflepuffs. He put his book on the edge of his desk to provide cover, and turned the wire into iron wire. It snapped into three pieces when he bent it.

He performed the untransfiguration, but that only left him with three pieces of string.

He tried the untransfiguration again, focusing on the three pieces of string becoming a single string, as they'd been at the start.

Small purple flames rose from each of the pieces. Harry jerked back. He'd lost part of his left eyebrow the other day and was growing cautious. He automatically dropped his transfiguration book on the burning string. The scorch marks were accumulating; he needed to learn a charm for putting out fires.

Professor McGonagall appeared behind him. "Potter, two points from Gryffindor. What have I said about attempting what I haven't demonstrated?"

"Don't do it?" Harry guessed.

"Indeed. I appreciate that you're reading ahead, but if you continue to insist on trying what I haven't demonstrated, you will be removed from this classroom and not invited back."

Her voice was stern, but Harry didn't think she sounded too upset.

"But I'm watching, so show me." She dropped a string on his desk.

"Inanimata reformandam," Harry cast, turning the string into a copper wire. Again, into a copper wire with patina.

"The general incantation?" said McGonagall.

Harry shrugged. "Remembering specific incantations seems like a pain."

With McGonagall's permission, he cast reverto, returning wire to a string. That the spell worked didn't please him. It meant that the wire had remembered being a string, and would've returned to being one on its own eventually.

Though also, the fact that it had worked... Harry said, "That which is broken cannot be unbroken?"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Very good. But it can be remade as a whole." She nodded, so he transfigured it into iron wire, broke it into pieces, then, rather than untransfiguring, transfigured the pieces into a whole iron wire.

"Well done," said Professor McGonagall. "What you just did is very similar to the Mending Charm, which you'll start on in charms soon enough. Now, rather than experimenting further, do you feel the flow of the magic moving through your wand?"

He nodded.

"Try to create the same flow while minimizing your wand movement. If you've truly mastered a spell, you can perform it with a tap or a flick." Not that a first-year could actually manage that without gargantuan effort. But it should keep the boy productively occupied until class ended.

Harry tried, but couldn't even really begin to figure out how to get the magic sloshing without moving the wand. Worse than frustrating, it was boring, so after McGonagall had gone to the other side of the classroom, he took a small stick out of his bag.

Suppose he transfigured the stick into a hunk of ice, then the hunk of ice began to melt. Would untransfiguration turn the water back into a stick, or into a layer of melted wood, or set the water on fire, or what?

He looked through the book and found the movement for water and the movement for solids. The cross-reference even had the movement for ice, and also a lot of stuff about heat and where it went that didn't seem worth reading.

"Inanimata reformandam." Didn't work. "Inanimata reformandam. Inanimata reformandam." One the third try, he got a fist sized hunk of ice with pieces of wood scattered through it, and a rush of heat. A bang, a burst of fire, and McGonagall yelled, "Harry Potter!"

#

#

Harry sat on the edge of the hospital bed, looking into a mirror. Madam Pomfrey had fixed the burns easily enough, but she'd declined to restore his eyebrows. They matched though, so that was fine.

Professor McGonagall's shouting had been very informative. He'd hadn't thought to account for the heat, and that'd been made worse by his making the ice as cold as he could instead of just cold enough.

He was a little nervous though, about her threat to ban him from the class. The Dursleys had threatened to kick him out all the time, but something about McGonagall made him think she might actually be serious.

She had given him two weeks of detention and hadn't seemed pleased when he'd told her she'd have to coordinate with Professor Snape, but the Hospital Wing was cool, so it wasn't all bad.

Madam Pomfrey said, "Those potions I gave you after the physical seem to have dealt with the nutrition issues nicely."

Harry nodded absently while Madam Pomfrey muttered about muggle diets and junk food. Most of healing magic seemed to be done with wands and potions, but there was an object on the desk like a bunch of tiny frisbees with horns.

"No touching, Potter."

He drew his hand back.

Harry said, "Do you have something I can clean my glasses with?"

Madam Pomfrey frowned, then slapped herself on the forehead. "I can't seem to keep it in my head that you're basically muggle-born. Potter, do you wear those glasses just because you can't see properly without them?"

Harry nodded. That's what glasses were for. Weren't they? Harry said, "A lot of the Professors wear glasses."

"It is often useful to have a charms receptacle directly in front of one's eyes. Besides which, poor vision due to aging is a different matter from poor vision due simply to a slight deformation of the eyes."

Harry said, "Because aging is breaking, and what is broken cannot be unbroken?"

Madam Pomfrey looked surprised. "That is the core of the problem."

"So you could correct my eyes, and, say, for an older person, you could correct problems that weren't age, maybe even age-related problems, but eyesight failing just because you're getting older and things don't work well, not because of any mechanical failure, you can't fix?"

"We can ameliorate it very extensively—wizarding lifespans are over twice that of muggles—but age catches us all."

She looked at his eyes, cast three spells on them, and gave him a potion. For a wonder, it tasted good. Somewhat like strawberries and sweet potatoes.

"You'll find your vision improved in the morning. Anything else, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked in the mirror again, thinking about what she'd said about charms receptacles on one's body. "Could I get my ears pierced?"

#

#

Harry's clothing sucked. He was aware of this, and did not care. So it'd taken a while before it'd occurred to him that transfiguring his clothing to fit might be fun.

He'd also changed the color. Harry liked color. Bright neon blue! Bright neon green! Bright neon yellow! Went with the earrings.

Not bright neon red. He didn't like many reds besides blood red and maroon. Purple was polarized-some was great, some was bad. Almost all hues were good, but only in darker shades. A lot of purple that was brighter and slightly pink, wasn't horrible, though the texture mattered. Powdery was bad, but-

"Harry, stop. You've covered your hands in ink and now you're casting color charms on the ink? No. That's not what you're doing. You're transfiguring it, aren't you? That's dangerous, Harry, it's right on your skin, you could transfigure yourself by accident."

Harry shrugged at Hermione. He wouldn't mind being purple. So long as it was a darker shade.

"Potter!" said Professor McGonagall, and Harry stopped. He curled his hands into fists so she couldn't see his palms.

"Let me see your hands, Potter."

He showed her the backs of them.

McGonagall sighed. "Your palms, Potter."

"Why do you want to see my palms? This isn't divination. We don't start that until third-year, and you said-"

"Potter!"

Harry showed her his palms.

She glared at them, whisked her wand through the air, and the purple ink vanished.

"You're trying to transfigure the coloring agents into something that produces the desired wavelengths of light by working backward from the desired wavelength?"

"Exactly. It's hard because I don't have enough reference materials."

"Detention," said McGonagall.

"You'll have to schedule it with Professors Snape and Flitwick."

"Not Professor Sprout?"

"We finished."

McGonagall nodded gravely and looked at his work. Most of the students were still trying to turn a soup spoon into a stirring stick-Potter had done that rather casually within seconds of the activity being explained, then he'd played around for a few minutes with different types of soup spoons and stirring sticks, and had little more to learn from the exercise.

Really, she should make him do some math, but she'd been teaching long enough to know that what Potter needed was to get to the point where the necessity of the math would become apparent to him.

She summoned a color chart from her desk. Dye, not paint. "Rather than ink on your hands, you might experiment with clothing."

Harry nodded and took off his robe to experiment on, revealing the painfully bright muggle clothing he had on beneath.

A Hufflepuff made a joke about never having seen a rainbow sun before.

Professor McGonagall looked at the clothing as Harry altered his robes into something Albus Dumbledore might call garish.

She held him behind after class (which was routine, really) and once all the other students had left, said, "Mr. Potter, you're wearing transfigured clothing?"

He nodded.

"What is it transfigured from?"

"Clothing," said Harry.

"I imagine you outgrew your old clothing, so you made it larger. That's dangerous."

Harry explained that the clothing was actually much too big for him, hand-me-downs from his cousin, and McGonagall asked to see one.

For whatever reason, she didn't seem pleased when Harry took off his shirt and gave it to her.

"Put your robe back on," said Professor McGonagall, returning it to its original color.

McGonagall laid out his shirt and muttered over it. In short order she'd discovered what she wanted, and the original shirt, in its stained and tattered glory, lay before them.

"I see why you wanted to transfigure it. But wearing objects in danger of reverting is dangerous. In order to transfigure them properly..."

#

#

It was concerning, the way Harry Potter cackled.

He'd laid out beat up old clothes on the Quidditch pitch, covered them with grass from the Quidditch pitch, and other plant materials from other places, and was transfiguring them. And cackling.

It was the second time he'd done so, and the Hufflepuff Quidditch team was slightly unnerved. There was also the fact that Professor McGonagall was in the stands, possibly spying for Gryffindor.

Harry flounced around beneath them, casting spells on the clothing. After nearly an hour of that, he grabbed a pair of underwear, and put them on beneath his robe. Then a pair of pants. Then he took off his robe on put on a shirt.

Cedric Diggory, third-year reserve, shook his head at the barmy Boy-Who-Lived.

#

#

The staff meeting revolved around a discussion of the first-years, and they'd finally reached P. The letter they'd all been waiting for.

Dumbledore said, "And how is Mr. Potter?"

Sinistra said. "He's given to spurts of overly rambunctious behavior but is overall a quiet boy; he seems largely unaware of the attention paid him. He did poorly on the assessment test and has been inconsistent with his homework, but he has paid moderate attention and his quiz marks are acceptable. Always hanging around with Ronald Weasley."

Professor Sprout's report was nearly identical. Professors Flitwick and Quirrell said much the same, adding only that he displayed a flair for spellcasting, though not a truly remarkable one.

They all mentioned detentions. Nothing malicious. He just didn't seem to understand the concept of rules.

Professor Dumbledore said, "Mr. Potter is the youngest of the first-years. Handicap your evaluations of him accordingly."

Professor Snape snorted. "Reasonably talented with a wand Potter may or may not be, but he lacks both the intelligence and the will to live up to his fame. His potions work is abysmal. I've yet to see him pay complete attention for a single instant. His homework makes clear that he only skims the assigned text, rather than reading it, and he'd best gain some idea of what a comma is if he ever wants to get better than a Poor on a composition."

Professor McGonagall said, "That may be, but in my class he's a bloody little genius."

The room was silent. Snape gaped. McGonagall describing a student as a genius was even more startling than her describing said genius as 'bloody.'

Professor McGonagall said, "And an absolute terror of course. He completes the exercise in an instant, then spends the rest of the class asking himself, 'What happens if I do this?' Which wouldn't be so bad except he immediately goes and does it. He has an advanced if unsophisticated understanding of theory, and a legitimate feel for it what's more, but getting him to think about a planned course of action for more than five seconds is a problem. So far he's avoided any lengthy stays in the hospital wing, but it's been a near thing. Miss Granger seems put out at not being the best, but all the points she earns keeping him alive make up for it."

The silence was even more profound, broken at last by Dumbledore's cough. "Genius, you say?"

"He transfigured his whole muggle wardrobe, and he even did it properly the third time around. Elegant, carefully controlled permanent transfiguration. From a first-year. After a month and a half of schooling. Overlarge cotton rags into perfectly fit silk. He used cut grass for the refreshing, and pebbles for the buttons. Beautiful buttons. And a muggle contraption called a zipper, which I profess to have been impressed by. And the clothing has even accepted anti-tearing and anti-ripping charms."

The silence had grown even deeper. Her colleagues' expressions were nearly skeptical. That would be an Outstanding class project from a third-year. Impressive from a fourth-year, even.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, answering their unspoken questions. "I watched him cast the spells. It wasn't someone else. Professor Flitwick, I believe he came to you about the charms?"

The little man nodded. "He said it was for his muggle-clothing. If I'd known he wanted to cast charms on transfigured clothing, I would've given him another detention, not a demonstration."

Professor McGonagall said, "The transfiguration was more than good enough. Filius, has he asked you about animation yet? He's promised to hold off on conjuration and unliving to living transfiguration transformation until I say he's ready, and I'm using animation to keep him occupied in the interim."

Professor Flitwick said, "Not as yet."

"I'm not surprised. Charms frustrates him. He doesn't like how you have to use a different incantation to cast different spells, and he can't guess it. But eventually..."

Professor Flitwick nodded. Animation was the broadest bridge linking transfiguration and charms. You couldn't properly master it without looking at it from both ends.

Then something odd about what she'd said struck Flitwick. "It's not as if there aren't specific incantations in transfiguration."

Professor McGonagall's answering smile was dry. "His greatest flaw, other than a death wish, a distaste for math, and the poor spelling and grammar Severus noted, is his unwillingness to attempt to remember specific incantations. He uses it once at most, to get a feel for the spell, then never uses it again. After that, general incantations with whatever systematic mods he thinks ought to work."

The other Professors were processing that, but Professor Dumbledore wore a very broad smile, looking twenty years younger. "Excellent. Any other unexpected talents?"

"Well," said Madam Hooch, who was normally more of a resource than a participant during staff meetings, "He's damn good on a broom."

Dumbledore absent nod communicated that while this was indeed nice, and even worth mentioning, it wasn't exactly critical. He was more concerned with the reported initial state of Harry's muggle clothes, particularly combined with Pomfrey's report of mild poor nutrition—he'd talk to McGonagall about that later-and with the reports from other Professors indicating Potter was only really friendly with one other student, Ronald Weasley.

"Minerva, didn't you say that he was Miss Granger's only friend?"

"I said that he's the closest she has to one, not that they're close.

"Nurture the seed then."

The staff nodded, except Snape, who sneered. At Hogwarts, as at many schools, socially isolated students had a mysterious tendency to wind up paired with those the teachers thought they might make friends with.

Dumbledore moved on to the next student. "Pram, Mary."

:::

Yay! I've figured out how to make em-dashes again. For some time, my previous method of using two hyphens has not been working. But alt 0151 does the trick.

I feel zero responsibility to update this thing. No larger pretensions to plot, just pure lolz.

I really, really need to update Polymagus. I've let my own indecision about how to handle the Chamber of Secrets stop me.

Monstrosity, by JLL, available on Amazon for just 99 cents. There's a story I wrote that's actually complete.

2. New Friends

Geek of Magic Chapter 2: New Friends

#

#

Harry had already learned the Levitation spell for the sake of his potion experiment with the nettles, but the learning hadn't stuck. They'd gotten to it in Charms class, and when he cast the spell, his feather twitched.

Harry glared at Hermione's feather. She had it floating just fine, and he didn't, because apparently pronunciation really did matter, which was weird and stupid but apparently true despite that, and was one of the things that made Charms a bum class, not that pronunciation didn't matter in Transfiguration, but there at least he could use the same three or four general incantations for everything and largely ignore the issue of all those finicky incantations.

"Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Make the gar nice and long and put the accent on the o," Hermione said. Ron, who she was talking to, rolled his eyes.

Harry took pains to pronounce the darn thing properly, and his feather rose.

He kept it up and made it bob, tried to move it left, but it just jiggled, kept at it, recast the spell when the feather fell, and after a few minutes, was moving it around with a modicum of control.

He didn't get the same clicky feeling he got when a transformation completed, but it did feel nice, sort of.

He floated the feather over Ron's head, and Harry brushed Hermione's cheek with it.

Hermione glared at him, and Harry said, "Wahahahaha," and tickled her ear with it.

"How are you doing that?"

"You just make it do, and it does," said Harry.

Hermione cast the spell again, but couldn't get her feather to do more than float in place. She called over Professor Flitwick, who gave her a few instructions Harry didn't catch, and before long Hermione was attacking Harry with her own feather.

Ron sat between them, stewing.

When class let out, Harry headed for the door with Ron, and Ron said, "I don't know how you can stand her."

"Who?"
"Hermione. She's a nightmare, honestly. No wonder she doesn't have any friends."

"I'm her friend," said Harry.

"She's a bossy know-it-all," said Ron.

Harry said, "Yes, and sometimes it's annoying. Especially the way she goes on about rules. But better a bossy know-it-all than a proud know-nothing. Plus, you're being mean on purpose right now, and Hermione's only ever mean on accident."

"I'm not being mean," said Ron.

Harry said, "Don't tell me you don't know she's right behind us, Bilius. I'm Harry, and even I know that."

Ron turned slowly, and froze when he saw Hermione, standing right behind them.

Ron went red in the face, but said, "Well, good. She should know."

Harry said, "Come on Hermione. Let's go to our next class, and you can tell me what it is." He grabbed her arm and led her away.

"Harry!" called Ron.

"We're not friends anymore, Bilius." He turned to Neville. "Neville. I've got an open spot, and you seem like the guy to fill it. Well?"

"I..."
"Well?"
Neville hurried after them, leaving Ron behind.

#

#

Hermione sat with Lavender and Parvati at dinner. She'd been hoping to sit with Harry, now that that horrible Ronald had been ditched, but she hadn't seen Harry in a couple hours.

She supposed he didn't want to be at the Halloween feast, what, with it being the anniversary of when his parents were killed, and all.

Ronald leaned across the table and said, "Hermione, where's Harry?"
She ignored him.

"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Where's Harry?"

"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Where is he?"

"I haven't seen him since Herbology."
Ron said, "Then he's lost. There's no telling where he might be by now."

Hermione said, "But we've been here for two months now." She'd stopped getting lost after the first two weeks."
"Doesn't matter for Harry."

"You're right," said Hermione. "It doesn't matter. He'll talk to the portraits and get back to the dorm eventually. He's not a little toddler you have to take care of."
Just then, Professor Quirrell ran into the Great Hall. "Troll! In the Dungeons!" he shouted. "Thought you ought to know." He fainted dead away.

Ron said, "We have to-"

Hermione didn't hear the conclusion of his sentence. She was already bolting toward the staff table.

#

#

The troll was large and smelly and had Harry backed into a corner.

"Hello," said Harry, and dug a honey-soaked square of cornbread wrapped in wax paper out of his pocket. He held it out, and the troll sniffed.

He tossed it up near the trolls head, and its mouth snapped forward, downing the morsel.

"Are we friends now?" said Harry.

The troll raised its club.

"I suppose to you that was just an appetizers before the main meal." The troll wouldn't let him go, he wasn't fast enough to escape it, and he didn't know any spells that would let him fight it. Which meant there was only thing to do.

Though he wasn't much interested in music, Harry had a surprisingly nice singing voice.

#

#

Professor McGonagall followed the young voice echoing down the corridors.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. When you're not happy, my skies are grey."

It wouldn't have riveted her attention so if not for deep rumble accompanying it.

"You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

Professor McGonagall rounded the corner and found Harry Potter sitting on the troll's lap, singing to it. The troll had its eyes closed, chin jutting out, and was rumbling the tune along with him.

Harry waved to McGonagall and sang, "But if you leave me, and love another, you'll regret it all some day."

#

#

Harry sat in the Gryffindor dorms, explaining what had happened to a skeptical audience.

"You sang to it?"

"I started out with What's Love Got to Do With It, because I like that song, but it seemed like it wanted something slower and more melodic, so I repeated You Are My Sunshine until help came.

Katie Bell said, "Why, why would you, what?"

"It's in our Defence book. Trolls like music. Like cows, but more."
"Cows?" said Hermione.

"Cows like music too," said Harry. "But that's not in our Defence book."

Angelina Johnson sympathetically said, "I suppose you weren't at the feast because it's the anniversary."
"Anniversary of what?"

"Your parents' deaths."

"Oh. That was today, wasn't it?" He shrugged. "It's sad, but I didn't actually know them, you know? Though I'm sure they were nice people. No, I wasn't at the feast because Bilius and I had stopped being friends, so I was lost."

Fred or George said, "How'd you find out Ron's name is Bilius? He never tells anyone that."

Harry said, "His name is really Bilius?"

"His middle name," said Fred or George.

"That's amazing," said Harry. "I just called him that because it fit."

As Harry sang the first few bars of What's Love Got to Do With Itin order to demonstrate what had happened, Ron pulled Hermione and Neville aside and instructed them on the rigors of being Harry Potter's friend.

Ron said, "The first thing you have to remember is he has no common sense. He's brilliant, but he doesn't know anything. He doesn't know his class schedule, so you'll have to see he gets to his classes. And make sure he eats, he forgets. Who wants the first-aid kit? I've got bruise balm, bandages, burn salve, antiseptic, you can get refills from Madam Pomfrey." He set the first-aid kit on the table in front of them. "There's not much you can do about his eyebrows, but that's okay, he doesn't need them. You can't stop him from experimenting, but try to make him wear the safety goggles when he does."

Ron looked from one worried face to the other.

Ron said, "It's not that hard, really. Just make sure he doesn't walk into walls too often or too hard. And hold on to him when he's taking the stairs. And keep his detention planner updated."

Hermione and Neville exchanged glances.

Hermione said, "Ron, are you sorry for what you said?"
"Yeah."

"Do you promise to never say mean things like that to me again?"

"I promise," said Ron.

Hermione pressed the first-aid kit into Ron's hands. "You're friends with Harry again. Don't worry, I'll tell him for you."

Neville said, "Then I-"

Hermione said, "Don't worry Neville, you're still in the group. It's four people now."

#

#

Hermione said, "You're friends with Ron again."

Harry said, "Okay. But am I still friends with Neville? Three friends is too many. It's time consuming."

"It'll be fine. Ronald and Neville will occupy each other most of the time."

"I guess... They are pretty similar. Interchangeable, really."

"They're not the same person."

"That's okay. They're close enough I can treat them like one person. Nevald maybe."

"Don't ever tell them that."

:::
Whether cows actually like music is unclear to me. They'll gather around a musician, but they'll gather around any odd thing that enters their environment. But it's commonly believed, and I thought it made a good line.

This is an interesting story to write because I'm not fleshing it out at all. It's like a series of comedic vignettes that only work (if they do work) because you already know the story.

The Last Jedi traumatized me, and I may be returning to Harry Potter land from Star Wars land. Though I may also just end up fleshing out my (completely different) version of the Force Awakened (probably called Star Wars: The Fractured Galaxy) and posting it instead.

3. A Day in the Life

A Day In the Life

Harry sat at breakfast, dissatisfied with the seating arrangement. Ron was on his left, and he would've liked Hermione on his right, but then Neville either would've been alone on the other side of the table, or, if he was on the same side, made it a lineup of four, meaning those at opposite ends would hardly be able to talk to each other.

Exactly why Harry thought three friends was one too many, but Hermione had told him to deal with it, and so it was that Hermione and Neville sat opposite Harry and Ron, and strangers sat around them. Harry thought Nevald should sit together, but Hermione said she "didn't want to be bothered with playing mum," whatever that meant, so it was as it was, and Harry had mostly made his peace with it

Only now, as he tried to eat his cereal, there was another problem.

"A wizard's duel, Potter. At midnight in the trophy room."

Harry looked to Ron and jerked his thumb at the disruption. "Who is that?"

"Draco Malfoy," said Ron.

"Do I know him?"

"A little," said Ron. "He-"

The blond one said, "Don't pretend you don't recognize me, Potter."

Harry said, "What's he like?"

"Blood-purist ponce. Very annoying. Remember, he got in trouble over Neville's remembrall?"

"Oh yeah! That." He turned to That. "Sorry. I didn't recognize you without your student helpers."

"Don't pretend... my students helpers?"

Harry said, "It was a thing at my muggle school. There were a couple students who had problems, sort of, up here," he pointed to his head. "Very sad. So the teachers asked a couple of nicer students to look after them. I've noticed you have two. The big one and the other big one. But now you don't have them."

"They're not. Where are they?" He looked around the hall, spotted them, opened his mouth to call for them, then stopped. "They're not my helpers."

"They're your friends, then?"

"No, they're..." What were they? "Look, the duel. Accept, or you're a coward."

Ron said, "We accept. I'm his second."

Harry said, "Don't speak for me. I don't accept. What's a duel? Does anyone die?"

Ron said, "Not usually. For first-years, you'd just be shooting sparks at each other, probably."

"That doesn't sound bad," said Harry. "But I'm asleep at midnight, so no."

Draco said, "Then you're a coward."

Harry looked him straight in his eyes, face impassive. "You're an idiot," he proclaimed with an air of finality, less insult than diagnosis and returned to his breakfast.

Malfoy gawked at the back of his head and shouted a few imprecations, but Harry cheerily added walnuts to his cereal and didn't notice him.

Malfoy stormed off in a huff, and Hermione said, "How much of that was on purpose?"

"What?" said Harry.

His friends gave him looks, and Harry eventually processed that he'd dealt with whats-his-name handily and he might as well claim credit for it.

"It was all on purpose," said Harry, and he tried to wink.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "We have Defense in 15 minutes."

Defense was as typical. Smelly and wonderful. Professor Quirrell droned on about hinkypuffs, and capped it off by saying, "A-any further q-questions on H-hinkypuffs?"

The class stared back, eyes glazed. Ron was staying awake by having his hands fight each other (the left hand was the evil twin), Neville was simultaneously nervous and sleepy, and Harry was staring at Quirrell with the look of wonder he always wore in Quirrell's class, though he did not actually pay attention to the content.

Only Hermione did that.

Harry raised his hand.

Quirrell ignored it, but the other students didn't. They looked at Harry with his hand raised, and perked up, waiting to see how this would go, because Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were the only ones who ever asked questions in Defense, and Harry's questions were a lot more intresting.

Hermione poked Harry, but he kept his hand up.

Finally, after giving the class a long look, as if asking someone else to raise a hand, Quirrell nodded in Harry's direction.

"It's not about hinkypuffs sir. It's the smell. It's giving me a headache. Could we open a window?"

Quirrell said, "Th-that incense is f-for d-driving off v-vampires."

Harry said, "It works on me too. Besides, isn't incense the stuff you burn? You don't burn this. What is it, pompadour? Your pompadour gives me a headache." He turned to Hermione. "Is pompadour the right word?"

"A Pompadour is a hair style," said Hermione. "I think you mean potpourri."

"Right," said Harry. "I h-hate the smell of your garlic p-p-potpourri."

Hermione smacked his chest.

Quirrell said, "P-p-potter. Are you m-mocking me?"

"Of course not Professor, you're so impressive I don't even know how I would mock you if I wanted to."

Quirrell's eye twitched. Harry's head hurt more than before, but it was the weird tickly headache which Harry supposed was a stress headache, so, to de-stress, he went through his version of deep breathing.

Harry imagined that he looked in his belly button and saw a miniature version of himself, and looked in its belly button and saw a miniature version of himself, and looked in its belly button and saw a miniature version of himself. And so forth. Quite calming.

Professor Quirrell blinked, opened a window, then cast a warming charm around as it was quite nippy outside. Then he returned to his droning.

When the clock had ticked enough times, Quirrell let them out and Hermione rounded on Harry the moment they'd stepped outside the door.

Hermione said, "Harry, how could you do that? Professor Quirrell's confidence problems won't get any better from you making fun of him. Would you make fun of Neville for stuttering?"

Neville said, "I-I won't still be st-stuttering when I'm that old."

"Of course not," said Harry. "Not to his face. Maybe a little in private." He clapped Neville on the shoulder. "But Neville actually stutters. Quirrell is just faking."

Hermione gave him a doubtful expression, so Harry said, "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. It's like he forgets for a moment, then stutters extra to make up for it. And it doesn't seem spontaneous like with Neville. Not convincing at all."

"Maybe he's bad at stuttering," said Hermione.

"Bad at stuttering?" said Ron.

Hermione said, "Think Harry. What's more likely? He's just pretending to have a stutter, embarrassing himself in front of all his students, or he's bad a stuttering? Imagine it, Harry. Not only does he stutter, which is horrible enough already, he can't even stutter right. He must be so embarrassed, and you made fun of him for it, to his face, in front of the whole class."

Neville said, "St-stuttering isn't that bad."

Hermione said, "Imagine if that were Neville, grown up."

Harry looked contrite. He bit his lip, glanced at his feet, and squeezed Neville's shoulder. "Sorry, mate."

"You didn't make fun of m-me. You need to apologize to Professor Q-Quirrell."
Harry said, "Do I have to?"

"You have to," Hermione confirmed.

So Harry sighed, squared his shoulders, and marched back into the emptied classroom.

Professor Quirrel was at his desk, making notes in his lesson book, and Harry pulled up a seat before the desk, sat in it, and said, "Sir, I'm here to apologize. I was mocking you, a little. But I want you to understand that I wasn't making fun of you for stuttering. I was making fun of how you stutter. I'm sure you'll get better at it if you try."

Professor Quirrell set down his quill. "N-n-no worries, Potter. So long as you're s-sorry."

Harry nodded and patted Quirrell's hand.

Quirrell hissed and said, "Potter, I'll thank you kindly not to touch me."

"Sorry."

Quirrell pulled that hand into his lap, beneath the desk. It had a large, raised red welt where Harry had touched it, as if he'd played with fire and done it wrong.

Harry said, "I'm sure once you've improved your stuttering, you'll be a better teacher, and maybe you'll even be able to get a better job if you want."

Quirrell said, "Being a Hogwarts Professor is a prestigious position."

"Really? My Uncle said that school teachers don't-"

Quirrell said, "Voldemort himself applied for this position."

"Really? That's weird. He didn't get it, so what, he became a Dark Lord instead? Was that his fallback plan? Like, 'Oh, I'll try to make it as a teacher, but if that doesn't work, I'll conquer Britain?' Probably would've been a horrible teacher, too. Worse than Snape."

Quirrell said, "He was extremely qualified. One of the greatest wizard ever, even his enemies don't contest that."

"Was he really?" said Harry. "I know he did a lot of scary stuff, but he literally lost a fight to a baby. Can you imagine? Ask historians fifty years from now about Voldemort, and they'll say, 'Yes, British chap, very mean, lost to a baby.' Or future Dark Lords, they're studying the history of Dark Lords, looking for examples of what not to do. 'Hagis the Horrible, don't use fiendfyre in an enclosed space, well obviously. Gellert Grindlewald, don't fight Albus Dumbledore one on one, sound advice. Lord Voldemort, don't lose a fight to a baby, wait, what?' I mean seriously. I wouldn't lose to a baby. One kick and it's over."

Quirrell's free hand clenched around his wand. An expression of utter rage crossed his face, and Harry didn't notice.

Quirrell glanced at the door. Potter's friends were waiting at it, looking in, observing the 'apology,' and other students were passing by in the hall.

Quirrell said, "Apology a-accepted, P-potter. You can l-leave now. R-run along.

Harry stood, and when he'd left, Quirrell waved his wand. The door and window shut, privacy spells came down like a curtain, and his whole manner changed.

He said, "His touch burned me."

From beneath his turban, a sibilant voice spoke."The protection of his mother," Voldemort answered. "It's been maintained."

"We should kill him."

"If the opportunity presents itself. But Dumbledore is watching. We must be careful. There'll be time enough for him later, once we succeed."

"But I hate him so much," said Quirrell.

"I know," said Voldemort. "I hate him too."

#

#

After classes were over for the day, Harry sat in detention in McGonagall's classroom. Hermione was there too, doing homework, and Harry didn't know why she wasn't doing her homework in the Common Room or the library, but there were lots of things he didn't know and most of them he didn't spend any time thinking about, and why Hermione followed him to some of his detentions was no exception.

Anyway, he had maths to worry about, evil, hard, pointless maths that McGonagall made him do during detention, and Harry missed the spell demonstrations from his early detentions. McGonagall claimed math was important, and maybe she was right, but it shouldn't be, and that was what mattered.

"Can't I just do it on feel?" Harry complained.

Hermione said, "You need maths. Intuition only goes so far. You can't just pick and choose what parts of the subject to learn. You have to-"

McGonagall voice was quiet, but Hermione stopped the moment the Professor spoke. "If you truly master the maths, Mr. Potter, your ability to do it by feel will expand dramatically. Intuition is calculation settled into the bones."

Harry looked at her suspiciously. "You're just trying to make it sound all cool because you think I'll learn it better that way."

Professor McGonagall said, "Why don't you want to learn it?"

"It's not that I don't want to learn it. It just too much of a bother."

Professor McGonagall peered over her glasses at him and said, "Why does it frighten you?"

"Frighten me? It doesn't fri-"

"Harry."

Harry stopped. When he spoke again, he spoke even more quickly than normal, but his words were harsh and clipped. "The Greek symbols. I don't know what they mean. I'm pretty smart. People say I am. That's my only thing. What if I try to understand maths, and I still can't?"

"Then you will keep trying. Some have to try harder than others, but trust me when I say that nothing that is taught at this school is fundamentally beyond any of its students. Miss Granger is trying. Do you think she isn't frightened by the idea of discovering she isn't as smart as people say? Is she that much braver than you? Aren't you a Gryffindor? Besides, I think if you get to know the symbols, you'll find they're not so daunting as they look at first."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was doing a strong imitation of a statue, and had a strange look in her eyes. He pointed to his exercise book. "What does this squiggly one mean again?"

"That's lambda, and it represent the propogation speed constant. Can you tell me what a constant is?"

It wasn't so bad.

#

#

That night, Harry sat in the common room, doing the additional maths exercises Professor McGonagall had recommended. It was a little interesting, so long as he made himself forget about all the other things that were much more interesting.

Ron said, "Wanna play chess?"

"I'm busy mathing. Play with Neville."

"Neville sucks at chess."

"Sounds like a personal problem," said Harry, moving numbers around. Once he tried, he could see how transforming the numbers was the same as transforming an object, only there wasn't any object, which was lame, but still.

Ron said, "Sometimes I wonder why you're not in Ravenclaw."

Harry said, "The hat almost put me in Ravenclaw."

Ron looked betrayed.

Harry said, "What's this whole thing about houses anyway? Where are they? Why haven't I seen one?
"We're Gryffindors!" said Ron.

"So, Gryffindor's a house? I thought so. But where is it? I've only seen a castle." He paused, a lightbulb going off in his head. "Is Hagrid's cottage a house?"

Ron slapped his own forehead. "There's four Houses, Harry. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and..."

Harry stopped listening.

It was hard to transfigure a solid into a liquid. But, for example, what if he transfigured a block of wood into a block of ice that was just barely cold enough to be ice? In a few moments, he'd have liquid water. If he attached a warming charm, he'd have it instantly.

For that matter, what if he turned rock into liquid rock, but without heating it? Could he even do that? Wouldn't it break the maths? Probably he could do it, but a moment later, the rock would solidify. Unless he made it a permanent transfiguration. It might not still be rock though. It might be more direct to use a charm to lower rock's melting point.

Charms though... messy subject.

Ron said, "...and that's why it's important we don't fraternize with the Slytherins."

Harry said, "Is that what the thing with the talking Hat was about?"

Harry remembered his own sorting. The Hat had said, "Now what in Merlin's name is this? Not a bad mind, and talent, oh yes, but gosh you are an eccentric little thing. I've never been set on a less Slytherin head, and I just sorted Neville Longbottom. Hufflepuff fits in some ways, but tell me, what do you think of hard work?"

Harry had said, "Seems daft, really, but live and let live, I always say."

"Yes, setting a goal and working for it is a concept you're unfamiliar with. And I'm not sure you've ever properly noticed another human being, so that puts loyalty into question. Certainly no Hufflepuff here. You're worryingly fearless, but you're also bursting with curiosity. Perhaps Ravenclaw is the way to go?"

Harry had said, "Mr. Hat sir, I've been wondering, wizards have wands, but are there any magic swords? Glowy ones maybe?"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat had shouted.

Ron concluded, "...and if we do good stuff, we get points for Gryffindor. Understand?"

"Sure," said Harry.

:::
Is this a crack fic? What's a crack fic? I'm not sure what that means. Fun to write though.

Yes, Malfoy's duel request is out of order, but of course it is. Everyone but Harry should be as in canon, but Harry being different changes a lot.

Major tonal whiplash moving from the light comedy of unwittingly tormenting a Dark Lord to the serious business of a conversation about math.

To be clear, lambda only represents the propogation speed constant (whatever the hell that is) for wizards.

Norbert is coming.

4. Norbert

Norbert

Harry liked the Easter holiday better than Christmas. There was more homework, sure, but transfiguring stuff he wasn't supposed to transfigure wasn't as much fun without Hermione there to look horrified and bounce ideas off of.

Even after a lot of trying, he hadn't been able to transfigure his invisibility cloak at all, which was frustrating, but he hoped that once he learned size modification charms he'd be able to do interesting things with the cloak, like making the Herbology green houses disappear. A goal for next year.

But now the Easter Holiday was over as well, and the end of the year was in sight, and Hermione was getting really weird about studying. She kept insisting that he do it, when really all Harry wanted to do was transfigure stuff, explore the castle, and fly around on one of the school brooms.

They were in the library, having just finished their homework, which was okay, Harry could understand doing homework, but now that they'd finished it, she was holding a stack of small squares of paper and asking him to name the ingredients to the Draught of Living Death.

"Are those flashcards?" Harry said.

"Yes. Harry, name the ingredients to the Draught of Living Death."

"Oh hell no," said Harry. "Come on, let's visit Hagrid."

Ron nodded, and Hermione said, "Neville, name the ingredients to the Draught of Living Death."

Neville said, "Powdered root of asphodel and..."

Harry said, "Neville, stop. Don't indulge her. If you ever make the Draught of Living Death, you'll use a recipe. Knowing it by heart is trivia. If we're going to fill our minds with trivia, it'll at least be trivia we choose. Come on. Hermione, you love visiting Hagrid, you always get all thoughtful."

Apparently, she found out about mysteries there. Like Gringotts being robbed. Learning Gringotts had been robbed on his birthday, the day he'd been there, was pretty cool. Gringotts had been cool in general. First there'd been goblins, then the roller coaster to his vault, then his vault. He vaguely recalled that Hagrid had picked up something there too, but he'd been too busy asking the goblin questions to pay any attention.

The goblin had been annoyingly close-lipped about Gringotts' security measures.

"...and an infusion of wormwood," said Neville.

Hermione said, "Now define the difference between an infusion and an extract."

"Um," said Neville.

"Is anyone listening to me?" said Harry. "Hermione. Hermione. Hermione."

Hermione said, "We'll study for an hour, you'll learn some of this trivia, as you call it, because it actually is important to know by heart, since you can't think about what you don't know, and then we'll go to Hagrid's. Okay?" She jabbed her index finger into Harry's nose.

"Okay," said Harry, looking cross-eyed at the tip of her finger.

"And don't look at me like that, Ronald, you're studying too. No grumbling."

Ron said, "The twins say our grades don't even matter until fifth-year."

Harry said, "Ron, no grumbling, we have to study."

Ron said, "Why do you always take Hermione's side?"

"What? No I don't. Now open your book."

Ron sighed and opened his book. He should know better than to disagree with Hermione, because the moment he did that, Harry would start agreeing with Hermione, and then there was no telling how long they'd be studying.

A little over an hour later, Harry knocked on Hagrid's door.

Fang barked, and Hagrid opened the door just enough to stick his head out. he looked tense, relaxed when he saw the four of them, and said, "Sorry you lot, I'm a bit busy."

"With what?" said Harry, squeezing through the crack and past Hagrid, into the hut. "Oh, look, dragon!"

Hagrid turned away from the door to grab Harry, and the other three followed them into the hut.

A black dragon the size of a kestrel lay in a wire cage on the hearth.

Hagrid said, "This ain't what it looks like."

Hermione said, "Hagrid, is having a dragon legal?"

Hagrid said, "Er, well, Harry, get away from 'im. He'll breathe fire on you if you let 'im."

Harry stared at the baby dragon. The baby dragon stared at Harry. Harry stared at the baby dragon staring at him.

Harry said, "What's its name."

"E's Norbert. E's a Norwegian Ridgeback."

"He's adorable. Even better than the dog."

"The dog?" said Hermione.

"In one of the rooms. I forget which. He likes when I scratch under his chins, but the other head gets jealous and I don't have enough hands."

Hermione would've asked about that, but thoughts of 'the dog' were driven out of her head when Harry said, "Can I have Norbert?"

Hagrid, "E's mine."

"My birthday is in just a few short months."

Hermione said, "Harry, no!"

"Definitely not," agreed Ron. "They get big. He'll eat you."

Harry said, "I'll ask Professor Flitwick about permanent shrinking charms."

Ron said, "He'd make a bloody mess of the dorms."

"Really?"

"They're untidy, dragons," confirmed Hagrid.

"Never mind then. So long as I can visit him here."

"About that," said Hagrid, twisting his leather apron. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm afraid he's gonna get a mite big. I can't keep him, but I can't jus' dump him. I can't."

Harry said, "Couldn't you call dragon control, or whatever?"

"Properly speaking, I'm not supposed ter 'ave 'im."

"You could say you found him in the forest," said Harry.

"There aren't any dragons near the school, and asides, e's a Norwegian Ridgeback. E's not native. They'd want ter know where he came from."

Harry frowned, feeling he was missing something, and while they discussed it, Hagrid brought out tea and rock cakes.

Hermione, Ron and Neville, with the air of practice, each took a rock cake, then hid them in their pockets when Hagrid wasn't looking.

Harry cast a Softening Charm on one of Hagrid's rock cakes, crammed it in his mouth, and chewed. "Pretty good," he said upon swallowing, and he took another.

Hermione said, "Is that safe? What about when the charm wears off?"

"By then, the rock cake should be in tiny little re-hydrated pieces dissolving in acid."

Hermione said, "You're basically eating a spell."

"It's probably fine," said Harry, and he ate the other rock cake.

Neville said, "R-Ron, didn't you say your brother, he works at a dragon sanctuary in Romania?"

"Brilliant," said Ron. "Hagrid, how about it? We could owl Charlie, and Charlie could take Norbert."

"Always liked Charlie," said Hagrid. "Used to come around to see me when he was a student."

That plan was roundly agreed to, but Hermione said, "It could take weeks for Charlie to come. In the meantime, Norbert will get bigger. Dragons grow fast, I read, and Hagrid could be fired."

Harry pointed his wand at Norbert. "I have a solution. But it would be easier if it were unconscious. Does anyone know any spells to make a dragon unconscious?"

"There's S-Stupefy," said Neville.

Harry said, "Does anyone know that?"

They shook their heads. Hermione said, "Ronald could tell Madam Pomfrey he's having trouble sleeping and ask for a potion."

"Why me?" said Ron.

"Neville can't lie, if it's Harry, they'll suspect something, and I'm certainly not lying to a staff member. That leaves you."

"And it's alright for me to lie to Madam Pomfrey?" Ron said.

"No need for that," said Hagrid. "I got somethin." Hagrid went to his cabinet and came back with a small bottle of red-tinted glass, filled with green fluid, stoppered with wax. He poured a six drops on a haunch of raw rabbit, and gave it to Norbert, who devoured it in a few crushing bites, small jaws grinding bone as if bone were crumbly cake.

The little dragon burped up a puff of black smoke that smelled like burned meat, shut its eyes, and fell to sleep.

Harry squared his shoulders, faced the dragon, and rather than muttering the incantation as he usually did, nearly shouted, "Animata Reformandam!"

The little black dragon turned into a cherry red brick, and Harry turned very pale. He sunk to his knees, rolled onto his side, and said, "Damn."

"Language," said Hermione. "Are you alright?"

"Dragons are hard." He pulled himself back to a sitting position and examined the brick, tapping it twice with his wand to get a feel for it. "That should hold for a while, and in the meantime, he won't grow. Bricks don't. Think we could mail it to Charlie?"

Hagrid said, "'Arry, that was very advanced spell work. Your da' was ace at transfiguration, he couldna done that his first year. Not his second neither. Nor his third. No, I take that back. Maybe he coulda done that by the end of his third."

"My dad was good at transfiguration?"

"Best in 'is year, least at the practical side."

From time to time, Harry's parents had been mentioned, and Hermione had never seen Harry show the least bit of interest. They were "people he didn't know." But, exhausted from his spell, he bit his lip, glanced away, and in a scratchy voice, said, "And my mum?"

Hagrid said, "She was a prefect and Head Girl, so you can bet she did everything well, but she was counted best in her year at Charms, and one of the best at potions."

"Rubbish subjects," said Harry, but he looked pleased.

Ron picked up the brick. "Too heavy for an owl. There's the Feather light Charm, though. But I think it's a second year charm."

Harry said, "Hermione could learn it."
Hermione said, "But could I make it last long enough? Imagine if the brick returned to full weight in the middle of the flight."

"We could attach runes," said Harry.

Hermione said, "We don't know anything about runes."

"It would be a fun project. There's a whole section in the library about it. You-"

Neville said, "It's easy. We owl Ch-Charlie. He comes back from Romania to visit his p-parents. While he's in Britain, he stops at Hogwarts to tell, to tell Hagrid about the d-dragons in Romania. When he leaves, there's a brick, there's a brick in his bag."

"That's boring," said Harry.

"It's perfect," said Hermione. "Harry, you'll have stop by regularly to make sure the brick stays a brick."

"Right job thinking," said Ron, patting Neville on the back. "Harry, let me borrow Hedwig."

Harry took another rock cake.

#

#

A week and a half later, Charlie Weasley visited Hogwarts. He stopped at Professor Kettleburn's office for an hour, then had tea with Hagrid. If his bag was a little heavier on the way out, no one noticed.

:::

Hermione is kind of the leader, isn't she? Her and Harry, but Harry defers to her a lot, and I'm even telling the story from her perspective from time to time.

The next chapter is going to a bit more serious. The end of the first year is near.

5. End of Year

End of Year

Quirrell stood before the mirror at the end of the forbidden Third-Corridor.

The early obstacles had been insultingly simple, but hidden in those childish obstacles had been subtle and powerful traps for any impatient Dark Lord who tried to brute force his way through them, and it had been quicker, safer, to pass through them as they were designed, even as the indignity had infuriated him.

At some point, he would reach the real trap, the one intended to work after all the others had incited him to anger and lulled him into complacency.

The mirror, perhaps, was the real trap, or just another time consuming obstacle. It had stumped him for some time, but he was starting to understand it. He was nearly sure it contained the stone. And there, just there. All he had to do was...

"Away, away, pull away."

His master's voice was urgent, and Quirrell took a step back.

His master's thoughts pushed into his own, and Quirrell saw the trap. Saw how close they'd come to a complete defeat.

"I can still do it," insisted Quirrell.

"You fool, I'll be bound with you. There are other ways."

Other ways for Voldemort, maybe. Not for Quirrell. Possession was not healthy. If they didn't get the stone, Quirrell would die within the month. He reached toward the mirror. There had to be some way. Some way.

"Stop."

Quirrell stopped, his arm frozen before him despite his demands that it move.

Quirrell heard his master's sneer."Only one who desires to protect the stone but does not desire to have it may gain it. The sort of old magic Dumbledore is so fond of. It's powerful, true, yet all such gimmicks have holes large enough for a clever man to walk through. In this case, a child. An innocent. Modify its memory, and it will take the stone to protect it from us, and so, give it to us."

"The boy."

"Potter is under watch, but almost any first-year Hufflepuff would do. The Bones girl, perhaps."

Quirrell tore his gaze from the mirror. He'd disabled the alarms, and Dumbledore was in London, but still, they'd have to be fast to get it done before Dumbledore returned.

He turned to go, and standing at the exit, before the wall of flame, was Albus Dumbledore, wand in hand. "Fancy meeting you here, Quirinus."

Quirrell recovered quickly."Professor, a cloaked figure was after the stone. I chased it away just before you arrived, but I'm worried it may still be in the castle, a danger to the students."

Dumbledore smiled placidly. "Remarkable that I did not meet it on my way here."

"It may have been some time ago. Forgive me, I was entranced by the mirror." A good gambit, that. The mirror couldn't entrance while it held the stone, so he was as much as saying the stone was gone, and Dumbledore wouldn't be able to resist checking.

As Dumbledore peered over his glasses at the mirror, Quirrell's wand gave the barest quiver.

His silent blasting curse struck an invisible shield before Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled as he said, "You'll have to do a lot better than that, my dear boy." His face hardened. "How did you come to this, Quirinus? How did Voldemort get to you?"

"I suppose you'll give me a lecture on turning back from evil. Or do you hate me now, Professor?"

"I am disappointed in you. Both of you. You had so much potential, and you've wasted it on what? Yourselves? What has it brought you?"

"Both of us?" said Quirrell.

"What's beneath the turban, Quirinus?"

From beneath Quirrell's turban came a harsh laugh. "Not bad, old man."

Dumbledore said, "You never could resist springing an obvious trap, if the bait was real."

The sibilant voice replied, "And you never could resist offering as bait what you should've kept far beyond my reach."

"Oh?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Have you reached it?"

Quirrell snarled. "Avada Kedevra!"

Sand burst up from small holes at Dumbledore's feet, blocking the spell. Sigils glowed on the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and spread up Quirrell's boots.

Quirrell screamed. A pain in his head, as if his skull were splitting apart. "Master, no, don't leave me. We can do this! We can kill him together!"

But Voldemort paid no mind, and Quirrell collapsed as a grey mist fled his head.

The grey mist shot to the brightly glowing ceiling and was repelled by it.

The mirror disappeared into the floor, and the room began to shrink, glowing brighter and brighter as it did.

Dumbledore stood at the entrance like a statue, his wand still, but it was the stillness not of inactivity, but of bearing a great weight.

This was it. Thrice before, Voldemort had aimed for resurrection, and twice he'd nearly succeeded. If he escaped, he'd try again. But if this worked, it was over. With Voldemort's spirit in captivity, it would be no great strain to discover how he'd anchored himself to life, no great strain to destroy those anchors and send Voldemort into the great beyond to eat his just desserts. No return. No war. No dreadful destiny for a precocious boy.

Quirrell's body exploded in a burst of dark flame that shook the room and cracked the seals, and with a shriek of pain that reverberated through magic itself, Voldemort's spirit escaped.

"Damn it," said Dumbledore.

#

#

Exams had been alright. Harry had always liked tests. Better than homework at least. At the end of the departing week, they'd gotten their scores, and Harry had done quite well. He'd even done alright in potions, which was mostly Ron's fault for disagreeing with Hermione all the time about whether they should study, but Harry had resolved not to hold it against him.

The Great Hall had been decked out very nicely for the closing feast, and Harry was looking forward to the food, but the others at his table were glum.

Harry said, "I wish they'd do the Great Hall in green and silver more often. Green brings out my eyes."

Harry felt several people looking at him. Ron said, "It's green and silver because Slytherin won the House Cup."

"The House Cup? When did that happen? Why didn't we go see it? Or was that the Quidditch?"

Ron said, "Harry, I've explained this to you a hundred times. Whichever House gets the most points wins the House Cup."

Harry said, "That points thing everyone keeps talking about is about what color the hangings will be at the closing feast?"

"It's not just the hangings," said Ron. "There's the Cup. If we win, we get to keep it in our dormitory all next year."

Harry said, "Does it do anything, this cup?"

"It's a Cup," said Ron. "You put it on the mantle above the fireplace"

"And?"

"And it's looks nice. It's gold. It's enchanted so you never have to dust it."

Harry said "Hermione, am I missing something?"

"House Pride," she answered.

"If that's House Pride, I'm proud to say I'm still not sure what a house is. Daft. I know what I'm getting Ron for Christmas next year. A cup."

An older red-headed boy who Harry had never learned the name of said, "You shouldn't make light of it. It's partly your fault we lost, you know. You lost a lot of points."

Harry snorted. All across the table, other Gryffindors glared at him, and he burst out laughing. "This is the surrealist thing I've ever heard."

Everyone was glaring daggers at him, which was also very funny, but Hermione interrupted it by leaning across the table and saying, "Professor Quirrell isn't at the high table."

"The curse strikes again," said one of the two red-heads who looked alike.

The tall red-head said, "He had a family emergency."

"Right," said the other of the two red-heads who looked alike. "Just like when they said Professor Halstead had a family emergency when really..."

The other of the two red-heads who looked alike trailed off when Headmaster Dumbledore's voice filled the hall.

The Headmaster said, "Another year gone, and I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were... you have the summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the point stand thus. In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two. In third, Gryffindor, with three hundred and ninety-nine. Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, five hundred and twenty-two.

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry wondered what it was about.

"Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account.

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"15 points to Ravenclaw fifth-year Sally Pomfrey for setting up an inter-house study group to prepare for the OWLs, advancing both test scores and school unity. 10 points to sixth-year Hufflepuff Prefect Brandon Diggs for chasing off Peeves the night before last when he attempted to harass two first-years who were out after curfew. And five points to Harry Potter for setting a new school record for the most non-punitive detentions by a first-year student. Considering the previous record had stood for some four hundred and fifty years, it seems doubtful that Mr. Potter's record will be broken in any of our lifetimes. We are all witnesses to history."

Harry clapped for that one.

"Non-punitive?" said Ron.

Hermione said, "Honestly Ronald, it's in the school rules. You ought to read them. There's punitive detentions, corrective detentions and academic detentions, and they're all marked as such in our records."

Dumbledore concluded, "Seeing as those points do not adjust in what order each house placed, I extend my congratulations to Slytherin on winning the house cup."

Slytherin cheered, and Harry cheered because it seemed the thing to do, but he stopped when Ron caught his hands so he couldn't clap anymore. Headmaster Dumbledore presented the House Cup to Professor Snape, who put it next to his drinking goblet, and Dumbledore said, "Now dig in!"

With a wave of the Headmaster's wand, the food appeared.

#

#

When the cart came into their train car, Harry bought everything. Not one of everything. Just everything. Piles of food. Ron reached for a Chocolate Frog, and Harry pushed his hand away.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyone would think you're afraid of starving."

Harry said, "I don't get many sweets at home."

"I should hope not. They'll rot your teeth."

"Pumpkin Pasties aren't that sweet." He'd cast the Feather-Light charm on his trunk, having found it wasn't that hard, and so easily pulled it back down from the rack.

His trunk was full of books. After exams, he'd gone around buying used books off people. He had all the texts the second-years had used, and more importantly, he had novels. Even three comics, and magical comics were very cool, what with how the pictures moved.

The food wouldn't all fit, so he took out his backpack.

The backpack was patches of green and brown. The brown was like bark, and the green was like birch leaves, not a drawn pattern, but cloth overlaying the bark, the leaves overlaying each other in places, every vein of the leaves clear to see. What little stitching he'd included was aphids and lines of ants, and the fob to each zipper was an insect, brass, and in perfect detail.

He'd transfigured the backpack from sticks and leaves, and when he walked with it, it made a soft rustling sound like wind in the trees.

He filled it with as many books it would hold, which gave him room in his trunk for the food.

Hermione said, "My parents want to meet you. They'll be on the other side of the barrier. But you have to act normal, okay."

"Don't worry, I'll tell them I'm normal."
"Harry."

"I'll tell your dad all about my favorite football team. I don't have one, but he won't know that. What's that really popular one called? Manchester Unified? Are they good at the kicking?

"Harry," she said, more loudly.

"Don't worry. I'll be myself, just not the hyper version, and I'll be careful with my jokes."

The ride continued. They talked, and lost by turns to Ron at chess. Harry took a smooth stone from his pocket, which had once been a length of wood, and began transfiguring it.

A crystal. A glass butterfly. A live butterfly. A copy of the House Cup, which he jokingly proffered to Ron. A toy car, red with gold detailing. A woman in heels and a trench coat looking with an expression of quiet wonder at something hidden in her trench coat. A boat with three sails, crewed by owls in ruffed clothing like in old paintings. Hogwarts, every detail right, the towers and crenelations, the greenhouses, even Hagrid's Hut, which was a house with very high ceilings, but everyone called it a hut.

Hermione said, "You've gotten absurdly good at that," said Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "It's better than drawing. At home, I would always draw in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Why in the cupboard?" said Hermione.

"No reason."

Ron said, "You and Neville don't have brothers or sisters so you don't know. You wouldn't believe the places I've hidden to get a little privacy. Your own room is the first place anyone thinks to look."

Hermione said, "Harry's an only child."

Harry said, "I live with my cousin. He's about my age. We don't always get along. Ron and I talked about our families coming here on the train, but I suppose I never mentioned him to you."

As Ron went on about all the places he'd hidden, Harry looked at the castle in his hand, which had once been a stick. He'd known when he'd picked up the stick that there was something it wanted to be for him. He would set it on his shelf and look at it over the summer. It made sense that it would be Hogwarts. Of course it was Hogwarts. He'd been happier there than he'd ever been.

It wasn't Hogwarts.

He stood, and he set the castle on his seat. He sat next to Hermione, with her on his left, and said, "Neville, Ron, get in here. It'll be like a picture."

Ron sat on his right, Neville at the end next to Ron, but someone had to be at the end.

Hermione put an arm around Harry's shoulder and said, "Harry, you might as well hug me," so he put his left arm around her shoulder.

Ron and Neville both slung their arms over him as well, Neville's fingertips reaching his neck.

Harry said, "Ron, lean back a little. I need my wand arm free."

Ron leaned back, and Harry said, "You know," said Harry, "I'd never properly noticed another human being before. Inanimata Reformandam."

The castle changed into four little statuettes seated on a bench, the black-haired one grinning as the other three looked at him incredulously.

Neville, "How did, how did you get our expressions? You weren't even looking at us."

Hermione said, "I look like I need to use the loo."

Ron said, "You look like you're trying to figure out who to scold, so I'd say he captured your spirit. But Harry, fix my mouth, would you. I looked pummeled."

"It's perfect," said Harry.

And it was. He turned it over in his hands, and, before Hermione could badger him into changing it, he took a shirt from his trunk, wrapped it around the sculpture, and set it carefully in his trunk.

Harry said, "Hermione, can I have your phone number?"

She gave it to him, and Harry wrote it down in two places, knowing how he lost things. Hermione asked for his number, and Harry said, "It's better that you don't call me. My cousin might pick up, and he'd taunt me if I got calls from a girl." That wasn't the reason, but it would do. "I'll send owl the rest of you."

"Where's Hedwig?" said Neville.

"I sent her ahead. It's easier that way. She'll come in through my window tonight. I'm sure she understood."

When they reached the platform, Harry slung on his backpack and, with muttered incantation and a wave of his wand, gave his trunk wheels, the last spell he'd get to do until September first.

They made their goodbyes. Ron went in one direction, Neville in another, meeting their families on the magical side of the barrier, but Harry and Hermione went directly through it, into Kings Cross station.

There was a sort of bubble around the platform, the passing crowd giving it wide berth, not coming near or even looking, so the few people waiting at the edge of the bubble were very obvious.

Hermione made a beeline for a man and a woman standing together, both brown-haired, the man with grey at the temples.

Harry wanted to hang back, but he made himself walk half a step behind her.

Hermione ran forward into the arms of her parents. Harry stood a few feet off as they hugged and babbled.

The hug broke, and Hermione gestured to him and said, "Mum, Dad, This is Harry."

Harry stuck out his hand. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Hermione's Parents."

Hermione slapped her forehead and said, "Harry. That's not their names."

"Oh, right." Parents did have their own names. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I'm Harry Potter."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger shook his hand, then exchanged a glance.

Mr. Granger said, "Hermione's told us a lot about you."

She had? He smiled, but worried he wasn't doing it right. "It's a lot of work keeping her from doing her homework, but anything for friendship."

"Harry," said Hermione.

"I mean, it's a lot of work keeping her from revising her homework for the third time. Don't worry, she got top marks anyway. And she rocked the transfiguration exam."

They exchanged another glance. Mrs. Granger said, "You've been friends the whole year."
"Pretty much. It didn't solidify until Halloween, but we've been talking since the first week."

They asked him questions about school, which Harry tried to answer seriously, and Mr. Granger said, "Where are you parents? I'd like to meet them, if possible."

The moment the words were out of Mr. Granger's mouth, his eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth. His wife elbowed him.

"They're unavailable," said Harry. "I live with my Aunt and Uncle. My Uncle is probably here somewhere, but I'm sure he'll be in a hurry.

He looked around the station and did not see Uncle Vernon. Mr. Granger said, "I like your backpack."

"Thank you. I made it into spider silk, so it's very strong. It wasn't very hard to do once I had an example."

Harry and the Grangers talked about the trouble that scientists were having figuring out how to practically make things out of spider silk. Harry had lowered his voice and was in the process of telling them about acromantula silk, which was even stronger but couldn't be made in the 'normal' way due to its having special properties, when he saw Uncle Vernon at the edge of the bubble, purple-faced and mustached.

He'd wondered if Aunt Petunia or Dudley would come as well, but of course they hadn't.

Harry said, "Sorry, my Uncle's here. I have to go."

He pushed his trunk, and when Harry came near, his Uncle turned, leading him out of the station.

When they reached the car, Uncle Vernon popped the boot of his car, and Harry leveled his trunk into it.

Harry sat in the back seat, even though there was no one in the front passenger seat, and the only words spoken on the whole car ride were those of the radio.

When they were in the house, the door closed, Harry said, "I love doing magic-"

"Don't say that word," said Vernon.

"But I won't do any." Not that he was allowed to, but Uncle Vernon didn't know that. "And I made lots of friends. I even went to visit Hagrid for tea most weeks. You remember Hagrid. Some of those friends want to visit during the summer. But don't worry, I'll tell them not to come."

"They'd better not come," said Uncle Vernon.

"In return, I'll do the gardening and I'll make breakfast, but those will be my only chores. I'll keep my trunk in my room, and I'll keep everything in my room, even my wand. I'll read my books and do my written homework, but you'll never have to see it."

Uncle Vernon turned purple. "You're mad if you think you're not doing the dishes."

"Alright," said Harry. "I'll do the dishes. How about the rest of it?"

"All of your freakishness stays in the spare room?"

"Every bit," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon grunted. Harry nodded and carried his trunk up the stairs. It was heavier than when he'd first cast the Feather-Light Charm, but it was still quite light.

He set it in the middle of the bedroom, shut the door, and looked around the room.

Dudley's second bedroom, with Dudley's junk in the closet and on the floor. An old mattress in a simple frame. A small white-painted desk with scratches from a pocket knife.

The room had been such an incredible upgrade when he'd first moved into it. He'd hugged himself, overcome, feeling the luckiest boy in the world.

But after most of a year at Hogwarts, it was easy to see what it really was.

He set the sculpture of he and his friends on his desk and he opened his Transfiguration textbook to the first page, if only to remind himself that the last 10 months had not been a dream.

:::

This is not quite the end of year one. There are still letters. But I am looking forward to Dobby and the start of year two. I've begun writing it, and Harry is taking the story down a path I have not seen before. I don't know how far from canon it will lead.

Please review. If you're enjoying this, please check out my self-published book, Monstrosity, by JLL, available on Amazon for only 99 cents. I'll be eternally thankful if you review that as well.

The points are different because no one was caught at the astronomy tower after curfew. However, Gryffindor also had a very bad Quidditch season, and Harry lost a lot of points in his classes.

As a kid, I used to read in the storage space under the stairs. This was before I read my first Harry Potter book. It was very quiet and no one bothered me to do my homework or take out the recycling.

6. Letters of Hermione Granger

The letters of Hermione Granger

Dear Mum and Dad,

I've been sorted into Gryffindor, like I wanted. The Sorting is done by a magic talking hat that looks into your mind. It told me I could be in any house but I probably wouldn't like Slytherin. With training, the Sorting Hat would make an excellent psychologist, I expect.

The castle is even more beautiful than I thought it would be, and all the ghosts seem very friendly except for one named Peeves and another named the Bloody Baron. The Gryffindor ghost is called nearly Headless Nick, (the axe was dull, he says) and he's a very nice gentleman.

I met Harry Potter on the train. You remember, the boy who stopped a dark wizard when he was a baby? He seemed nice but odd. He's in Gryffindor too.

I'm in a dorm room with three other girls, and we sleep in beautiful four-poster beds out of a fairy tale. So far we all get along.

This owl is one of the school post owls. If you give her a treat, she'll stay a while and you can send a letter back with her. If not, you can mail me back in the normal way.

Love, Hermione.

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

Classes have started. The Professor for History of Magic has a sleepy voice, but if I force myself to pay attention to the content, it's very interesting. The Professor for Potions can be a bit mean, but the older students tell me he knows his subject fabulously well. The Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts has a horrible stutter. The older students tell me there's a curse on the position, and it makes it hard to get good Professors for it.

Everything else is great. I especially like Charms and Transfiguration. We tried to change matchsticks into needles, and I was the first to make any changes to my matchstick.

We're not supposed to practice spells without supervision until we're older, but Harry Potter does it for hours after class every day. He only ever practices Transfiguration, which is supposed to be the most dangerous subject to practice on your own. And worse, he's not just practicing spells we've learned in class. He's experimenting. He gets a lot of detentions for it, but I don't think he cares.

He asks me for help, (with his experiments, not his homework) and I say no. I'm not sure if I like him or not. I definitely don't like his friend Ronald.

I should've mentioned this earlier, but the Professor for History of Magic is a ghost.

Love, Hermione

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

Yesterday was Halloween, and it was a big day. Ronald insulted me after Charms, and Harry told him off for it. He said that he and I were friends and that he and Ronald weren't friends anymore. Then we made friends with Neville too.

Harry wasn't at dinner because he'd gotten lost in the corridors, and then Professor Quirrell ran into the Great Hall and said a troll had gotten into the castle. I was worried for Harry, so I told the staff table that he was likely wandering the castle.

The troll found him before they did, but it was alright because Harry made friends with the troll and they had a sing-along. He said he wanted to keep it, and he was upset when the Professors moved it out of the castle. I guess trolls aren't as dangerous as I thought.

Afterward, Ronald apologized to me. Or actually, he didn't, but he acted sorry and he promised he wouldn't insult me again, so I told Harry that he and Ronald were friends again. I think we're all friends now. Harry, Neville, Ronald and I. We'll see how it goes.

I'm getting along with my roommates, but I'm not good friends with any of them.

Ronald says that now that I'm one of Harry friends, I have to take my turn going with him to his detentions. I've claimed his Transfiguration detentions because Ronald says they turn into tutoring sessions a lot of the time. Harry has gotten much better at Transfiguration than I am, but it's still one of my favorite classes.

Love, Hermione

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

Harry is not a bad influence. He never hurts anyone or says anything mean. He's very nice. It's just that he likes to sit at his desk all hunched up, like the letter V and put his feet on his desk. And he doesn't understand about rules intended to to keep us safe, like not experimenting with spells.

I'm a good influence on him, but he does have some sense.

There's a very annoying bully named Draco Malfoy who challenged him to a duel, and Harry turned him down very well. Draco was about ready to hide under his bed out of embarrassment by the time Harry was done saying no! It was great, and no one could tell whether Harry had done it on purpose or if he was just being earnest.

Harry very often doesn't know things you'd think he would, but other times he actually does know but pretends not to. It's very hard to know when is which. I think that's why he does it, and also because he thinks it's funny.

Neville is a nice boy who stutters a lot and Ronald isn't bad once you get to know him. He's very good at chess so I think he must be smarter than he seems. I do talk about them.

I will try to make friends with the other girls.

I like Hogwarts very much, but I'm looking forward to going home for Christmas. Early in the break I would like to buy presents for my friends and mail them to them. Just small things, especially since I don't know if they can reciprocate. Ronald has very little allowance and I don't know about Harry.

Now that I'm friends with Harry, I'm learning about a lot of secret passages and rooms hidden around the castle. Harry's found a lot of them, but he never remembers afterward where they are. I'm trying to make a map, but the castle keeps moving.

I saw a Quidditch match. It's a little like water polo, except the players fly on broomstick in the air and each team has three goals. There are two more balls that can be used to hit players, like dodge-ball, and final ball is called the Snitch. The Snitch flies around and is hard to catch, but once it is caught the game is over and the team that caught it gets 150 points. It looks very dangerous, but I suppose that there are probably lots of safety precautions that are hard to see.

I said that the game might be better without the Snitch and Ronald said that was mental, and Harry told Ronald that he wasn't allowed to call me mental. Ronald said he hadn't called me mental, he'd said that what I'd said was mental, and Harry said that he wasn't allowed to be mad at people for being wrong, especially if he couldn't explain logically why they were wrong.

Usually Harry seems like the most immature boy in the school, but every once in a while he'll say something like that.

We had a good discussion, and Ronald admitted that the Seeker (that's the only player who's allowed to catch the Snitch) did make the other players a little too irrelevant and there should be some slight rule changes.

Gryffindor lost the game. The House that wins the Quidditch Cup usually wins the House Cup, so I wish we'd won.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Merry nearly Christmas, Hermione

P.S. This is Harry's owl, Hedwig. I find her very nice. She likes to be stroked, and even to be scratched slightly behind the ears.

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

I miss you already, but I'm very happy to be back at Hogwarts. It's good to do magic again.

Harry got an invisibility cloak for Christmas. It's a family heirloom being returned to him, and it's very interesting. I wondered if it was just very good camouflage, but light passes through perfectly, and as far as we can tell, it doesn't change the color of the light at all. However, if you shine different colored lights at it from different sides, they don't combine in the middle like you'd think they would.

I told you that our Potions Professor is a little scary and Neville is a nervous wreck around him. I'm trying to help him prepare for the class, but it's not going very well. Harry has decided that we should get him used to Professor Snape, so, to help Neville, he's made a Professor Snape mask. It's very lifelike, and Ronald is a good mimic. I'm a little afraid of how Professor Snape will respond when he finds out about it.

Love, Hermione

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

Professor Snape has found out about the Professor Snape mask. He told Harry to hand it in, so Harry wore it to class. Professor Snape usually arrives just when class is about to start, and when he got there, Harry was standing at the front, lecturing about how potions is the best subject. Harry got five detentions.

A lot of people asked him about it, so Harry's made more masks and he's started selling them. I told him not to. The Headmaster bought one.

Professor Snape ignores Neville now. He's too busy with Harry.

I'm enjoying Astronomy much more now that I've learned to cast a Warming Charm. I've decided to learn a lot of charms ahead of time. Harry's detentions are very useful that way, because if I go with him, my practice is supervised.

I've been reading about goblin wars, and I have to say I'm a little surprised that, after all that fighting, wizards let goblins control their money.

Love, Hermione

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

Skiing and swimming both sound like a lot of fun. There's been a lot of snow here in Scotland, so if I had to choose, I would say swimming. I don't see why there couldn't be skiing at Hogwarts. It would be very easy for them to set up a slope.

I've decided I'll choose Ancient Runes as one of my electives. I know I don't have to choose until the end of my second year, but it's never too early to start planning. It's fascinating how there's such a link between language and magic, and I'd like to understand it better.

Easter is coming, so it's time to get serious about studying. Harry looked very funny when I told him that. I'm afraid my herbology is not as good as I would like. I remember all about the plants, but I have difficulty recognizing them from pictures.

Professor McGonagall told me that so far I've earned more house points than any other Gryffindor, even Percy Weasley, who is a prefect.

Love, Hermione

#

#

Dear Mum and Dad,

Of course you can meet Harry. Just please understand beforehand that he doesn't mean it.

This is a secret, so if you meet anyone's parents, don't tell them, but Harry, Neville, Ron and I got to help with a dragon relocation program. He was just a baby dragon, and Harry turned him into a brick for safekeeping. That's a ridiculous thing for a first-year to be able to do, but Harry did it. He's getting very good at transfiguration.

Remember how I told you at Christmas about Hagrid and his inedible rock cakes? Harry's figured out a way to eat them. He casts a softening charm on them. I don't think it's smart, but he says he hasn't had any indigestion. I haven't gotten the courage to try it myself.

Spring here is so very beautiful. I wish we were allowed into the forest. Sometimes in Herbology we go on walks a little ways in, but we're not allowed to go in otherwise. They should fence part of it in and make it safe.

See you soon.

Love, Hermione

:::
That's the end of the first year. I said at the start that this story is pure lolz with no pretension to plot. Maybe it should've stayed that way, but it hasn't. There should, however, always be lots of lolz.

7. Dobby

Dobby

Harry sat on the floor in his room at Number 4 Privet Drive, gesturing barehanded at a bit of carpet fluff, trying to turn it into pocket lint. The carpet fluff sizzled and turned yellow, which was something at least.

He wanted very much to do magic, but Professor McGonagall had been very clear about the consequences. A warning the first time, expulsion the second. It made him angry, and he had hidden his wand at the bottom of his trunk to remove temptation. Out of sight, out of mind.

After Professor McGongall's year-end lecture on the Restriction Against Underage Magic, Harry and Hermione had gone to the library to look up the trace, since Hermione had been curious and Harry had wanted to break it. They hadn't found much, only that it was very advanced dominion magic, the sort only a government could do, and it detected when underage wizards did wand magic.

Wand magic.

Which meant he could still do accidental magic. After all, you couldn't punish kids for having accidents.

Harry was having as many accidents as he could.

He gestured again, and the carpet fluff blackened with flame, releasing a little bit of smoke. Also not what he was going for. He might be having the accidents on purpose, but they were still accidents.

Harry pinched a carpet thread, intending to pull it out, but stopped himself. There were bald patches in the carpet. The carpet was getting denuded. That was a fun word. He'd been reading novels, and they had new words in the them. Looking at the word, de-nude, you'd think it would mean 'make no longer nude,' but it actually it meant 'make nude,' sort of. He hoped denude was pronounced like he thought it was.

He'd brought in a few twigs and leaves from when he'd been working in the garden earlier, so probably better to use them. He tore a bit off a dandelion leaf and dropped it on the floor.

After a good half hour and three leaves, he'd done just about everything other than his goal of turning one into green paper and he was feeling tired. Intentional Accidental Magic took a lot out of him.

He lay back. He should probably open one of his school books, but he reached for Year of the Yeti instead and glanced at the clock. The Masons should be arriving soon, and he'd been given strict instructions to not make a sound. He'd put Aunt Petunia's Bach collection on low and set the tape player in the living room so it would keep flipping it forever, which should help, but still.

With a pop, a nearly hairless bat-eared creature with eyes the size of tennis balls appeared in his room. Standing, it was only about as tall as his waist.

Harry said, "Stay quiet, would you? That pop was too loud. What are you anyway? Are you a cat?"

"Dobby is a house-elf," said the creature.

"Who's Dobby?"

"Dobby is Dobby."

"I understand that. X is X, otherwise we wouldn't call it that. It's implicit. McGonagall taught me. What else is Dobby, other than Dobby?"

"I is Dobby."

"Oh," said Harry, wondering why it hadn't said that straight off. Back to the original question. "Are you a cat? Are house-elves cats?" He'd never seen a house-elf before, and it was very interesting.

"No."

"Really? Are you sure? You look to me like if a hairless cats had been hit with a knee reversal hex so it had to stand on its hind legs."

"Dobby is not knowing the history of house-elves," Dobby grudgingly allowed. "But Dobby is sure that Dobby is not being a cat."

The house-elf said that forcefully, so Harry said, "Use your inside voice. We have to be quiet. Why are you here? Would you like to play a game? I have cards. Do you know chess?" He was quite content to spend weeks with nothing but books and a sketchpad for company, but he missed playing games nearly as much as he missed Transfiguring, and drawing just wasn't as good.

The house-elf burst into tears. Very noisy tears. "Never. Never ever. Dobby has never been asked to play cards by a wizard. Like an equal."

"Be quiet, I said." He heard a knock on the front door. Probably the Masons arriving. "I have glitter. If you're not quiet, I'll put the glitter on you."

The house-elf stared at him. "Dobby will be quiet," it whispered.

"Good. So, chess?" He stepped quietly to his trunk and took out his board. He'd gotten one from the Christmas crackers at Hogwarts, but he'd transfigured himself one later, and he liked his better. The pieces were the ones from the cracker though, since he wasn't good enough at animation to make them talk.

"Dobby is not here for chess. Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter. To warn him... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

Harry blinked.

The house-elf seemed to take that as invitation to continue, because he said, "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great to lose." The house-elf looked uncertainly at him as it said that. "If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger. There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts this year."

"But I'm not Harry Potter," said Harry Potter. "Harry Potter is a very important person. He's famous. And Voldemort's old followers would love to kill him. They're always looking for him." He just made that part up, but the house-elf seemed paranoid enough to believe it. "Do you really think he'd be staying here, with muggles, where any magic hairless cat could find him?"

"Well..." said Dobby.

"And Harry Potter is smart, right? A great wizard." Dobby nodded. "Do I seem like a great wizard?"

"You is an idiot," said Dobby.

"I know, right?" It was a source of great hilarity to Harry that he seemed like an idiot to people who didn't know him well, when in reality he was actually very smart.

Right?

Right.

Harry said, "I'm just a decoy. A trap. The real Harry Potter spends the summer somewhere safe. They don't tell me where. By appearing here, you're disrupting my job. You're endangering Harry Potter."

The house-elf gasped.

"But I'll pass on your warning." From his trunk, he took parchment, and, rather than quills, some fine-tipped felt pens that Dudley had gotten for his birthday but hadn't had any interest in. "So, a plot. By who to do what?"

"Dobby cannot say. Dobby is here without his master's permission."

"Right." A bad wizard or witch who made evil plots. Harry could only think of one. One who, according to Hagrid, was still alive out there, but Harry wasn't sure that Hagrid was the most reliable source. "This isn't Voldemort, is it?"

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and whispered, "Say not the name. Speak not the name."

Harry shook his head, "Look, Doobi,"

"Dobby," said Dobby.

"Whatever. Harry beat the chap when he was a baby. You understand that. He was literally a baby, and they had a fight, and Harry won. And now, over a decade later, Harry's supposed to be so scared of him he can't say his name? That's ridiculous."

Dobby said, "Dobby is not wanting to hear the name."

"Alright. But I'm playing the part of Harry Potter here. I'm not saying Dark Lord or You-Know-Who or whatever. How about Mervin? No. I'm sure there are some perfectly nice Mervins out there. Possibly, at least. How about Baby-loser? It does make him sound like he lost a baby rather than that he lost to a baby, but we understand."

"Dobby is not calling him Baby-loser, but fake Harry Potter may call him Baby-Loser if fake Harry Potter wishes."

"So, is Baby-Loser the one plotting?"

Dobby shook his head. "No, not You-Know-Who."

Harry made a note on the parchment. "You're here without your master's permission. Is your master the one responsible for this plot?"

The house-elf's eyes went wide, and it banged its head on the bedpost. Not too noisy, fortunately. Still. "Stop that," Harry said.

"Dobby cannot say. Dobby should not have mentioned his master. Dobby must punish himself."

"Whatever. Save it up and do it later then. Just be quiet."

The house-elf stopped. Now that Harry looked, he could see marks where it had hurt itself before. Its knuckles especially were scabbed.

Harry said, "If you don't like your master, couldn't you just quit?"

Its tennis balls got even wider. "Dobby cannot quit. When Dobby asked to be freed, Dobby was beaten."

"Oh," said Harry. "You don't have to tell me anything more about the plot."

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll pass on your warning. But Harry Potter is going back to Hogwarts. He likes the castle, he likes magic, he likes the food, and he likes his friends."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?"

"Why would they write? I mean, I thought they might, but it's summer," said Harry. "Harry hasn't sent them any letters either." He'd planned to, but he hadn't. "Besides, Hermione's sent him letters, even if they didn't arrive. I rang her, so I know. We're not sure what's wrong. She says the owl post worked great with her parents." Not that it mattered. He did miss his friends a little when he looked at the sculpture he'd made of them. He felt funny, anyway. But summer was only nine weeks and there wasn't any point in wishing. Out of sight, out of mind.

"They don't even send Harry Potter letters on his birthday."

Harry said, "Is it July 31st already? Fantastic. Only a month until term." He should be getting his school letter soon, unless it had the same problem Hermione's letters had had.

Oh.

Harry said, "So you're why I haven't gotten her letters, then?"

The house-elf shuffled. He pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, Neville's blocky print, and even a scribble that looked as thought it was from Hagrid.

Dobby said, "Dobby will give them to you to give to Harry Potter if you promise that Harry Potter promises to not go back to Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head. "Part of my job, maintaining the fiction that Harry lives here, is to answer his mail for him. If I don't answer his mail, people might start to suspect that this isn't his real address. Once again, you're endangering Harry Potter."

Dobby gasped and dropped Harry's mail.

"If you don't stop stopping my mail, I can't even pass on your warning. So you have to stop stopping my mail, and you have to leave now before you break my cover."

The house-elf nodded and vanished with a pop. When a few seconds had passed without it reappearing, Harry raised in his arms in a V for victory. He could hear the hear the strains of conversation from below, and even the soft groanings of Best of Bach, and he guessed they hadn't made too much noise.

He collapsed on his bed.

He thought of how the house-elf had worn a ragged pillowcase. How the house-elf had hit his head on the bed frame, and the marks on him showing where he'd done such before. He thought of how it had once been beaten for asking to be 'free.'

"Damn it," said Harry Potter.

He went to his desk and penned a letter.

Hi Hermione.

I know why I wasn't getting your mail. A house-elf was intercepting it. He said I shouldn't go back to Hogwarts next year, because it would be dangerous.

I'm going back to Hogwarts next year. Let's ignore the warning for now.I had read about house-elves. The 'elf' part in their name made me curious. The book made it sound domestic and warm and pretty. I've met one now and he is a slave. His name is Dobby. He wears rags, he's afraid of his masters (who he wouldn't name) and he hurt himself.He said he was warning me without his masters' knowledge, so he had to punish himself on their behalf.

I would like to find this house-elf and free him.

First I need to read everything there is about house-elves. I need to know what they are, what magic they can do, how they're kept as slaves, how they think. How many are there in Britain? How can they be freed? Can his owners get in trouble for hurting him? Are their names tracked somewhere? I need to discover who Dobby's owners are without letting anyone know that someone is searching for Dobby.

I need books and I don't have a way of getting them right now. If you go to Diagon Alley and purchase the right books for me I'll pay you back and owe you a favor.

Sincerely, Harry Potter

Harry read over his letter, sealed it in an envelope, addressed it to Hermione, and gave it to Hedwig.

:::

That letter from Harry to Hermione about Dobby took me by surprise. That is the first time, writing a fanfic, that I've had the thought, "This is how canon should've gone." Partly because, if they'd traced Dobby to the Malfoy's, their belief that Draco was heir of Slytherin would've made a lot more sense. But mostly because of what that letter would mean about Harry.

At the same time, I'm not sure about this chapter. Second-year Harry should be slightly more mature and self-aware than first-year Harry, but I'm afraid that as I'm making that change, I'm losing both the tune of the character and the tone of the story.

8. Sleep Over

Sleep Over

Rather than picking books up for Harry, Hermione had picked up Harry.

Harry's Aunt and Uncle hadn't been pleased by the prospect of his friend's parent stopping by the house, but repeatedly stating that Hermione's parents were dentists had done the trick, and Uncle Vernon had grunted when he'd seen the Mercedes, and Harry had joined Hermione in the back seat while her dad drove.

After a long trip to Diagon Alley, finding bookstores Harry hadn't known about and dragging Hermione out of them, a three-day sleep over had ensued, with a great deal of time at the kitchen table pouring over books on house-elves.

"I still say they're related to cats somehow."

"Harry, they're not. I know you want this, but it's not true. If anything, they're bred from mice, but personally I suspect that's just a myth." The explanations as to the origin of house-elves and how they'd come to serve wizards were vague and varied.

"It says here that they nap a lot and like to play with their food."

"Let me see that." She took the book from him and her eyes flew across the page. "It says they regard cooking as a form of play. That isn't the same as playing with their food like a cat plays with a mouse."

"You can't prove they're not cats."

"Harry, have you ever had a cat?"

"No, but Ms. Figg has loads of them, and I've always played with them."

"And are they very obedient?"

Harry said, "Just trample on my dreams, why don't you."

Hermione shook her head.

Mr. Granger watched them argue at his kitchen table. His daughter wasn't joking, and he didn't think Harry was either, but they still gave the combined impression of joking, and he'd never seen that from his daughter before. Certainly not with a peer.

It made sense. His daughter had always been a little different, so it was no surprise that her first real friend was different too.

Mr. Granger wondered about Harry's home life. His Aunt and Uncle had not come out to meet them, which was odd for a sleepover. Mr. Granger couldn't imagine he and his wife letting Hermione stay at someone's house without first meeting the parents. Moreover, when they had given Harry freedom of the fridge and pantry, he'd seemed confused by the concept.

Now, though, on the third day, the boy was happily spreading low-sugar peanut butter on a banana and dribbling hot sauce on the peanut butter.

"That's disgusting," said Hermione.

Harry took a bite, looking blissful.

Hermione said, "There isn't any list of house-elves, so we'll have to find Dobby by asking, but we can't let the owner know we're asking about Dobby. Harry, what do you think?"

Harry kept chewing. The boy might have odd taste in food, but Mr. Granger had noticed that he had excellent table manners. He was eating the banana with knife and fork, and he ate quietly and wouldn't speak until he'd swallowed. And Mr. Granger knew that once he was finished eating, he'd immediately wash his plate and silverware, dry them, and put them away. His Aunt and Uncle had at least brought him up properly in that regard.

Harry swallowed. "Is there a spell we could use?"

Hermione said, "There's a subject called Divination. Professor McGonagall mentioned it during orientation. If we thought we could trust her, we could ask the Professor of Divination."

Harry knew that orientation had occurred, but all he remembered of it was looking at everything.

Hermione said, "But what I've read says that the results of divination are quite vague, except in a few areas, like mineral dowsing, so I don't know if that would work. And we couldn't work on it until we were back at Hogwarts."

Mr. Granger said, "There aren't that many witches and wizards in Britain, from what I understand. And from what you've said, it sounds as if there are fewer house-elves than wizards and witches. So it might be possible to make a list of all the house-elves."

"How?" said Hermione. "Just ask people? What reason would we give?"

"What indeed?" said Mr. Granger, raising an eyebrow.

His daughter frowned, and Mr. Granger might've said more if there hadn't been a knock on the door.

Mrs. Granger, who had been on the couch reading a book, got up to answer it. Less than a minute later she came into the kitchen with an old man in a red suit, the man's white beard reaching down to his belt.

"Harry," said the man.

Harry looked at Hermione.

"Albus Dumbledore," Hermione said. "Our Headmaster."

"Oh." Harry turned back to the old man. "Sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore sir. I didn't recognize you out of context. Would you like a banana?"

"No. Thank you. I came to say that, given that you are a student of Hogwarts living with muggles, I'm your magical guardian. So in the future, if you plan to stay over with someone, you should inform me of it. A simple owl would suffice."

Harry said, "Do muggle-borns have to tell you when they're going on vacation?"
Hermione looked ready to scold Harry for questioning the headmaster, but stopped, thinking the point over.

Dumbledore looked pained. "You're something of a special case, my dear boy. Given your fame, we like to keep track of you. Does that make sense?"

"I guess," said Harry, unsure.

Dumbledore smiled. "So in the future, if you want to stay over with friends, you'll owl me about it before committing."
Harry said, "I'll owl you about it, but I don't need your permission."

Dumbledore's smile grew strained. "I suppose that will do. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

Dumbledore nodded toward Harry and Hermione, and Mr. Granger said, "We'll talk to you in our study." He led the wizard into it, glad he'd recently sorted through and recycled most of the backlog of mail that built up.

As Mr. Granger closed the door, Dumbledore sat in a desk chair that spun. He spun around in it, stretched out his legs, and seemed quite pleased as his spin slowed, then sped up again when he drew his legs in. The Grangers were taken aback to see the Headmaster of their daughter's school acting like a child.

"A good idea, this," said Dumbledore. "I'll recommend to our Astronomy Professor that she use spinning chairs to teach angular momentum."

Mrs. Granger, who vaguely recalled from her school days what angular momentum was, said, "Is your astronomy very much like our astronomy?"

Professor Dumbledore said, "We view the same skies. We do study how the skies affect magic, particularly rituals and potions, but astronomy is also a math class in disguise. They get to calculus by their NEWTs, if they take NEWT level astronomy. Your daughter seems likely to. She had a remarkable first year. She was tops in her year in all but two classes, three if we count flying, which we shouldn't, and every Professor gave a glowing report of her. She socialized actively, after a bit of a lonely start, and spent her free time productively, reading books and learning spells. We're all eagerly anticipating an encore performance in her second year."

Mrs. Granger said, "That's not why you're here."

"No, it isn't. Has your daughter explained to you the Boy-Who-Lived phenomenon?"
Mr. Granger said, "Well before she met him. She thought it very interesting."

Dumbledore said, "I know it may seem odd to you, but Harry is a political figure in the wizarding world. Loved by most, but hated by some. It's best to be cautious with his safety."

"They'd try to assassinate him?" said Mrs. Granger, appalled.

Dumbledore sighed. "Sadly, that's not unthinkable. I wouldn't worry for your daughter. Hogwarts is very safe, and the danger to Harry is, I think, slight, and should fade with the years."

Mrs. Granger said, "If he's in danger, why does he live with his Aunt and Uncle?" Not, well, wizards.

"Due to peculiarities of Harry's circumstances, I've been able to put family wards of exceptional power around the circumstance of his being in the state of living at their home. The wards assist him somewhat even when he is not in the state of living there but still calls it home. It's the safest place for him. Safer even than Hogwarts, perhaps. However, even a three-day sleep over is enough to jeopardize his being in the state of living at their home."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger digested that, reflecting that magic pushed the boundaries of grammar.

Mrs. Granger said, "So having him over here..."

"The danger, as I said, is slight. Still, I'd recommend against hosting him again. That isn't to say he can't visit friends over the summer, but it had better be the Weasleys or the Longbottoms, whose homes are well-protected."

Mrs. Granger said, "And my daughter? Being his best friend."

Dumbledore held up his hands. "I cannot say that there is no danger whatsoever of her being caught up in an attack on him. Just as you cannot say that there is no danger in walking to school or playing a sport. It is unlikely that she'll be harmed. And Hogwarts is very safe, whether she's Harry's friend or not. But if you're concerned, I'd be happy to put what protections I can around your home. Almost assuredly needless, but it would cost me nothing but time, and I have a bit of that."

The Grangers exchanged glances, and Mrs. Granger said, "We'd like that."

"I'll be outside then," said Dumbledore, "setting up the wards."
When he had left the room, Mrs. Granger said, "Do you think he understated the danger?"

"Probably," said Mr. Granger. "I would've. But Harry is Hermione's first real friend. If we told her to avoid him, she wouldn't listen. And I wouldn't want her to. He's a good kid. We could think of it as if she made friends with the Prime Minister's son."

Mrs. Granger snorted. It was a stretch to think of the nice boy in her kitchen like that. He didn't deserve to be a danger to Hermione. He could keep being Hermione's best friend. And if three days was too long of a sleep over, next summer they'd keep it to two.

:::

I usually dislike involving the Grangers. It pushes home what a horrible place the wizarding world is from the end of book 4 to the end of book 7. For their daughter, it's a horrible place for the whole series. But this Hermione should have a much more lighthearted school life, so that concern is dead.

I sometimes wonder if Ms. Rowling always knew that Voldemort would come back in the middle of the series and the war would resume, or whether it was a hard, agonizing decision. Whether she was ever choosing between two drafts of The Goblet of Fire, or even two outlines, one where he came back, and one where Harry stopped him.

Many reviewers have mentioned that Harry seems autistic. I did not at any point decide "I'm going to write an autistic Harry." Harry's character is based substantially on two people I know. One was diagnosed with autism. The other has never been to see that sort of specialist, but has been asked occasionally by acquaintances whether he's autistic.

I do not think of them as 'autistic people.' I think of them as Jeff and Jon. So whatever. Harry isn't autistic; he's a character. He cannot be diagnosed with anything, as he is only words. But you may think of him that way if you like, or, if you like, you may not.

9. The Right to Clothes

The Petition for the Right to Clothes

Mr. Granger had not been concerned Harry saying that a house-elf had told him that there was a 'plot.' He had supposed another student had sent the house-elf as a prank, and that still seemed most likely to him. It was hard to imagine a couple of kids getting into serious trouble. But given what Dumbledore had said...

He found his daughter and Harry still in the kitchen, discussing excuses to ask people about house-elves, and sent them out to tell Dumbledore about it. The old man was in the backyard, holding his wand and chanting, and Mr. Granger watched the kids approach, and watched the conversation.

#

#

Having raised the wards and spoken to Harry, Dumbledore apparated outside Severus's gloomy house in Spinner's End. Part of Severus's job was keeping in touch with the usual suspects.

Severus opened the door, looking even glummer and paler than normal. "You rang?"

"Quick question. Do you happen to know of a house-elf named Dobby?"

Severus stared a moment and said, "Lucius Malfoy has a house-elf by that name. Wretched creature."

Dumbledore nodded. Lucius was always plotting. Dumbledore kept wishing Lucius would have another child so he'd have something else to occupy his time. "Keep an even closer eye on him than usual. He may be up to something special. It may have to do with the boy."

There was no need to say what boy.

#

#

A couple weeks later, Harry went through Diagon Alley with the Grangers and a bunch of red-heads, one of whom was Ron.

Hermione and her parents had picked him up, and they'd driven to the Leaky Cauldron. They'd met Ron and the red-heads there, and had proceeded to Gringotts, where Harry had loaded up on galleons.

After that, they went to Scrivenshaft's, and Harry got a pack of self-inking, non-blotting quills. From there, to Madam Malkin's. Hermione and the red-head girl (who had meeped at him) were fitted for robes. Harry figured that, unlike Hermione, he hadn't grown much, so his robes from the previous year were fine, but he got a scarf, gloves, long underwear, a wool cap, and a bowler hat, which he liked very much and put on immediately.

He'd gotten Madam Pomfrey to pierce his ears last year, and he'd put in little earrings he'd transfigured himself, but he'd never gotten around to charming them. Madam Malkin's had a jewelry display, so he got a pair of green emerald studs (artificial) that had been charmed to improve hearing and keep your ears warm.

Between the bowler hat, the earrings, and the fact that he very much liked the muggle clothing he'd transfigured for himself last year, he felt spiffy.

Seeing as he was done and the others weren't, he took two clipboards from his bag. Hermione had done the work of putting them together, and they both had a pair. He approached the squat witch dressed in mauve who seemed to be Madam Malkin.

"Hello. I'm Harry Potter. This is a petition requesting to the Wizengamot that it make a law saying that any house-elf who asks to be freed must be freed and they can't be forbidden from asking."

Madam Malkin said, "Honey, giving them clothes isn't freeing them. It's abandoning them. None of them would want to be abandoned."

Harry said, "It's not a problem then. It's just in case. Even if only one house-elf in the whole world wanted to leave its master, it should be able to, don't you think?"

Harry smiled, and Madam Malkin sighed and signed the petition.

Harry took the clipboard back and gave her a different clipboard. "Did you know there isn't any information collected on house-elves? No one even knows how many there are in Wizarding Britain. We're trying to fix that. If you could write down the names of all the house-elves you know and who their masters are, we'd be very grateful."

Madam Malkin gave him a look. "You want me to give you information on my customers?"

Hermione, who was still being fitted, said, "Just whatever you feel comfortable with. It's not as if there's anything wrong with owning house-elves. We just want to get an idea of how many there are and where they all are. How is their population distributed? Are they mostly lone house-elves working for middle-class families, or teams of house-elves working for rich families. That sort of thing."

Madam Malkin sighed again and filled out the form, scratching away with the quill for long minutes. A lot of house-elves came to Madam Malkin's to pick up or order clothing.

Once she gave the clipboard back to him, Harry, seeing Hermione and the red-headed girl needed longer, went off to Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron and Mr. Ron's Dad accompanying him.

The Nimbus 2001s were on display, and the 2000s had big orange tags saying they were 60 percent off. Ron said that the 2001s were basically the same as the 2000s, only that the 2001 was a smidge faster, and most fliers had found the 2000s a tad too sensitive, but some people liked them that way, and when Harry asked the clerk, the clerk said the same.

So Harry got a Nimbus 2000, and a small maple box that held three practice Snitches and a whistle that called the Snitches back.

Ron said, "So are you going out for the team then?"

"The what?" said Harry.

"The Quidditch team."

"No. I don't think so. I just like flying, and you remember Madam Hooch telling us that if we wanted to fly so much, we should get our own brooms?" Ron had flown with him some times. Harry didn't whether he liked that or not, but Neville and Hermione never had. He gestured to the box of Snitches. "And I thought I'd try out what it's like having something to chase."

He got the clerk at Quality Quidditch Supplies to sign the petition, refining his pitch as he did, and then they all went to the apothecary to get potions ingredients. From there they headed to Flourish And Blotts to get their books. Harry had already gotten most of his at the end of his first year, buying them used off second-years for the sake of reading material (though he'd hardly cracked open most of them) but there were some new ones on the list.

Harry said, "I don't know why we have to get all these Lockhart books. I read Year with the Yeti and Travels with Trolls, and they were pretty good light fantasy, but I don't know why we need it for defense."

"Fantasy?" said Ron.

"You know. Fiction with magic. Though I guess for us, it's really just fiction. Like a crime story or a spy book."

Ron said, "Mate, it's real. It's not fiction. Lockhart did all that."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. Maybe he embe, embell, exaggerated here or there, changed it a little for the story, but it's proved it all pretty much happened. All his books are like that. He goes looking for trouble and he finds it. Mum's a big fan."

"Wow," said Harry.

Outside the doors to Flourish and Blotts, a large crowd jostled, trying to get in. The reason for that was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today, 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole book list!"

There was a big crowd that Harry didn't pay any attention to except as an object to move past. He squeezed through it into the shop.

He bought the Lockhart books he didn't have, a book on wandless magic, which was probably the same as the Intentional Accidental Magic he'd struggled so much with over the summer, and a book on transfiguring prettily, then two books for Hermione, as she'd gotten him presents for Christmas and his birthday, though he couldn't right then what they'd been.

He choose Hermione's books randomly, on the basis that she read everything.

He joined the red-heads in the line that wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view.

Lockhart was at a table, surrounded by pictures of his own winking, smiling face. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes. A short man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every flash.

"Out of the way there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet."

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron—and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly, and Harry stepped eagerly forward. "Hi Mr. Lockhart. I read your books about the Yetis and the Trolls. They were very nice. I'm Harry Potter. Would you like to sign my petition?" Harry extended a clipboard with a parchment clipped to it. "It's a petition asking the Wizengamot to decree that if house-elves ask to be free, their owners have to free them, and they can't be forbidden from asking."

He stuck out a hand, and Mr. Lockhart shook it.

"I've got a self-inking quill right here, very handy that, I'm bringing a pack to school this year, and after you sign the petition, could you fill out this form?" The other clipboard. "There isn't any information collected on house-elves. No Ministry oversight at all, so no one even knows how many there are. So you just write down the names of all the house-elves you know and who owns them."

Harry smiled and made big eyes at Mr. Lockhart. The Daily Prophet cameraman took a picture.

"How charming, how wonderful, already trying to make a difference at your age. Inspired by my comments in Voyages with Vampires, perhaps?"

Harry hadn't read that one, but he nodded.

"Of course I'll sign your petition." Lockhart took it, and signed with a flourish. "Take a picture with me, Harry. Nice big smile. Together, we'll make the front page."

Lockhart put his arm around Harry. Harry held the petition just below his chin so it would be visible. The photographer took another picture, and Harry worried he hadn't smiled right, but the photographer seemed pleased.

Hermione looked at Lockhart with sparkling eyes, but she pushed that aside and took out her own clipboards, and approached a witch in a tall purple hat.

She signed it, and passed it to the witch next to her, who signed it and passed it to the witch next to her.

As the clipboards went around the crowd, Harry and Hermione exchanged big smiles. They only needed two-hundred and thirty-seven signatures to get the petition before the Wizengamot, and this would get them a long part of the way there.

The passing of the petition came to a halt as Lockhart grabbed Harry again and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is. The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time.

"When young Harry here stopped into Flourish and Blotts, he wanted only to advance the cause of freedom and buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present to him now, free of charge—" The crowd applauded. "He had no idea that he would shortly be getting much much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harry was presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Already having his own, he staggered to the edge of the room, and he dumped the set into the red-headed girl's cauldron.

"Meep," she said again, and Harry supposed she had a speech impediment.

Harry got a few more signatures, hardly noticing that the cameraman was following him around, and he spotted the annoying Blond Ponce from last year standing before Mr. Weasley, and the Blond Ponce he had gotten much, much taller.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said the Blond Ponce. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?" He reached into the red-headed girl's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

"Obviously not," said the Blond Ponce. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or the red-headed girl. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."

"Clearly," said the Blond Ponce, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley..."

Harry stepped up. "Blond Ponce, you've gotten much taller. Congratulations. Did you use a potion? And I like your hair."

The Blond Ponce stared at him. Mr. Weasley stared at him. The Grangers stared at him.

Ron said, "Harry, that isn't Draco. It's his father. Lucius Malfoy. Draco's right there."

Ron pointed, and there indeed was the Blond Ponce, standing at his father's side, hardly taller at all than at the end of last year.

"Sorry, Blond Ponce," said Harry. "I didn't notice you." Then he turned to the father. "Nice to meet you, Lucius." He stuck out his hand, and hardly noticed when Lucius did not shake it. "I'm Harry Potter. Would you like to sign my petition?" Harry extended a clipboard with a parchment clipped to it. "It's a petition asking the Wizengamot to decree that if house-elves ask to be free, their owners have to free them, and they can't be forbidden from asking."

Lucius Malfoy's eyes bugged out.

Harry said, "I've got a self-inking quill right here, very handy that, I'm bringing a pack to school this year, and after you sign the petition, could you fill out this form?" The other clipboard. "There isn't any information collected on house-elves. No Ministry oversight at all, so no one even knows how many there are. So you just write down the names of all the house-elves you know and who owns them, so we can build a list."

Harry smiled and made big eyes at Lucius Malfoy. The Daily Prophet cameraman took a picture.

Lucius Malfoy smiled. He took the clipboard for the petition, turned around, setting it on a stack of books, and when he turned back around, he gave Harry the signed petition. He slipped A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration in Ginny's cauldron, patted her on the head, and said, "Good day, Mr. Weasley. I have an appointment with Mr. Fudge tomorrow. I'll be sure to mention you."

With a twirl of his cloak, he left, his son hurrying along at his side.

Harry said, "Look, Hermione, he didn't fill it out properly. We need address and mother's maiden name or it doesn't count."

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm before he could chase after Lucius Malfoy.

"Who was that?" said Mrs. Granger.

"A rich bigot," said Mr. Weasley.

Harry had moved on. "Hi Mrs. Shop Clerk. My name is Harry Potter. Would you like to sign my petition?"

:::

The beginning of this chapter was supposed to be on the end of the last chapter. But I just flat out forgot to write it. Felt like something was missing.

I took much of the chapter verbatim from canon. I didn't bold those parts because I find bolding disruptive unless you're using it to say "if only this small change had been made."

I'm trying to decide how canonical Lockhart should be. I suppose it doesn't matter much. Presently, he hardly figures at all into my plans for the year.

SPEW isn't SPEW when Hermione is young and this Harry is involved.

10. Luna

Luna

Harry approached the barrier at platform nine and three-quarters at a brisk walk, his trunk (which had lost its wheels over the summer) on a trolley. The trolley. smacked into the brick wall with a thud, and Harry hit the ground.

He popped back up and wondered what was happening. He seemed to be in the same place as last year.

Harry had liked getting on the platform the first time. A fun puzzle, though puzzle was a little strong. Platform nine and three-quarters, his letter had said. So he'd gone to the space of wall between platforms nine and 10, three-quarters of the way toward 10. He'd half expected even before he'd seen it that it would be like the entrance to the magic alley, so he'd tapped his wand against it.

That hadn't worked, but it had clearly been the right place because most people were looking away from it and even giving it wide berth, forming a choke point in the foot traffic. Eventually, he'd rammed into the wall pretty hard with his shoulder, and had gone a step in, so then he'd backed up, grabbed his trunk, gotten up to a brisk walk, and charged through.

Easy. Except this year it wasn't working.

Shoulder first, he threw himself against the barrier a few feet down, and bounced off, as if it were a normal wall.

Perhaps the entrance had been switched this year and he hadn't gotten the message. He'd sent Hedwig ahead to Hogwarts before he'd left the Dursleys, so he couldn't even send anyone a message asking.

He was about to go give the wall between platforms 10 and 11 a try when a small blonde girl with a bright purple trunk smacked into the barrier. Her trunk fell off the cart and she fell over. It was loud enough that the muggles glanced in their direction, and the girl started laughing.

Harry said, "It's not working."

Still on the ground, she turned her head and looked at him. "You're Harry Potter. I like your bowler hat."

"I like it too," said Harry. He didn't recognize the girl, but that meant nothing. He didn't recognize most people. He knew Ron and Neville, but two others boys shared their room and Harry didn't remember their names. John and Keenin, maybe? Something like that. "This is where we got on last year, isn't it?"

"I didn't. This is my first year." Still flat on her back, she extended her hand and said, "Luna Lovegood."

Harry bent to shake it. "Can I help you up?"

"I like the ceiling," she said.

Harry lay next to her, and it was a nice ceiling. Curving white crosshatching, reminding him both of a coiled vine and of an old cathedral

A man came into view above them. The man said, "Luna, pumpkin, are you alright?"

The girl said, "I'm dandy, Daddy."

Luna's dad wore a green coat with an orange dress shirt. Green and orange often didn't go well together, but these were the right shades, and the man's brown leather pants recalled the hint of brown that mellowed the orange.

Harry liked the man immediately. Harry had seen wizards and witches trying to dress like ordinary muggles and doing a hilariously bad job at it, but this man had tried to dress like an interesting muggle, and he'd pulled it off.

The man said, "I'd lay next to you, sweetums, but we have to get you aboard." The man helped his daughter up and, looking down at Harry, said, "Harry Potter."

Harry rolled to his feet. "How do people recognize me when I'm wearing the bowler hat? My scar is covered."

The man said, "You look so much like your father it's like a seeing a ghost, but with your mother's eyes. You couldn't be anyone else. Besides, you were in The Daily Prophet with Lockhart. Front page."

Luna said, "Daddy and I think it's great what you're doing for the house-elves."

Harry opened his trunk, pulled out a clipboard and self-inking quill, and said, "Hello, Mr. Luna's Dad. Would you like to sign my petition?"

"Mr. Lovegood," he said, and signed the petition. After giving the petition back to Harry, who stowed it, Mr. Lovegood took out his wand, and, surreptitiously, hiding it from sight with his body, tapped at the barrier with his wand.

"There's an odd spell on here," he said. "Harry, back away from the barrier with me. Luna dear, when we're about 70 cubits away, try the barrier again.

Harry backed up with Mr. Lovegood, into the crowd, and Luna came back out of the barrier, laughing. Then went back in. Then came back out.

At Mr. Lovegood's direction, Harry moved closer, and Luna hit the barrier with her shoulder, laughing.

Mr. Lovegood said, "It seems the barrier only becomes impermeable when you're near it. I'll write this up in The Quibbler."

Harry didn't know what that was, so he ignored it. "Can you break the spell?"

"It's not my area. I suspect goblins, or the Red-Crested British Jackalope. But I can get you on the platform. Luna pumpkin, can you get your trunk through and his too? No dear, probably two separate trips. There we are. Wait for us there."

She went through with her trunk, then Harry's.

"Let's get nice close to the wall where the muggles won't be able to notice us. Here we are. Hold on tight."

A twist, and everything went dark and he felt as if he were being squeezed through a tube.

Then he was on his knees on platform nine and three-quarters, the train whistling, students milling. "That's apparition? That's horrible. Wow."

They'd appeared very near to Luna, and she'd run up to them quickly enough to hear. She said, "I like apparition, rather. It's like being wrapped in a blanket. But Daddy says it's a good experience to go through King's Cross."

Harry took a look around. He was there earlier than the previous year, and a steady stream of students were coming in through a lit fireplace filled with green flames.

One of them tumbled out, hit a lamp post, and got up and brushed herself off as if nothing had happened.

Harry pointed. "What is that?"

Luna said, "That's a student. Early teens, female, no obvious non-human ancestry, Hufflepuff by the scarf."

"I mean what the students are coming out of? How are they doing that?"

"The fireplace? That's a floo. They're coming through the floo."

Harry vaguely recalled that he'd read about the floo, or perhaps Hermione had read about it and told him, (those two events were tagged identically in his memory) but he'd been much more interested in apparition.

Harry said, "Why do the ones who look like they got shot out of a cannon don't injure themselves on the lamp post?"

"Charms on the floo so you have a safe exit."

Huh. "Want to sit with me on the train?"

She nodded, and they entered at the first train car, going down, compartment by compartment, until they he found what he was looking for at the very end.

Neville and Hermione, already there, even though Harry was early.

Harry put his hands on Luna's shoulders and presented her to Neville and Hermione. "I found this. It's early, but I think I like her. Her name is Luna Lovegood. She's a first-year."

Luna looked at Hermione and said, "If I had curly hair like that, I'd keep things in it. Better than pockets."

Hermione looked affronted, and Harry laughed. Luna sat, and Neville stretched out a hand. "N-Neville Longbottom," he said.

"Is it really? Relatively long, I mean. Oh, I'm sorry, you must get that question a lot and you don't like it any. Still, would you turn around so I can see?"

Hermione groaned. "Harry. One of you was enough."

#

#

...and on a scale of dementors to crumple-horned snorkacks, how cute would you say house-elves are?" Luna's quill hovered expectantly over the parchment.

Hermione said, "I'm sorry, what magazine did you say this is for?"

"The Quibbler. My father runs it."

Harry said, "Which one's cute and which one's not?"

Ron said, "Dementors are the opposite of cute. I've never heard of a snorkack before."

Harry said, "I'd say house-elves are about halfway between baby dragons and those weird things that pull the carriages."

"Thestrals," said Luna, and wrote that down.

Hermione frowned. She didn't remember anything pulling the carriages at Hogwarts, and she'd taken them three times. Leaving for Christmas, coming back from Christmas, and leaving at the end of the year. They'd moved on their own.

"And do you think house-elves are too small, or are witches and wizards too tall?"

Hermione said, "I don't think size matters."

Luna nodded, "I've always wanted to be mountainous. It would be hard to pick small things up, and there'd be the stepping on towns to worry about, but I'd have such a nice view wherever I went."

Hermione said, "Ask a more serious question."

"Okay. Are house-elves slaves?"

The simplicity and suddenness of that startled Hermione, but she knew her answer. "Yes. Anyone who works without pay is a slave."

"That's not true," said Harry. "Volunteers aren't slaves. Stay-at-home mums aren't slaves. Grandparents who live with you and are retired but do a lot of chores aren't slaves."

Harry looked progressively more disturbed as he continued. "What makes you a slave is if you don't have any choice about it. Right now, the house-elves are don't have a choice, so they're all slaves. Maybe most of them are happy to do what they're doing, like the books say, and would be happy to do it even if they didn't have to. But they do. If we just gave them the choice, even if hardly any of them took it, Wizarding Britain would no longer be a slave-owning country. Right now it is."

Hermione stared at Harry, and Ron, who had been quite ready to get in an argument with Hermione, said, "Sometimes I forget you're not an idiot."

Luna's quill scratched away. "If choice is what makes a slave a slave, aren't children slaves?"

Ron and Hermione were too busy arguing against that for Harry to get a word in edgewise.

#

#

Professor McGonagall said, "Lovegood, Luna," and Luna practically skipped to the stool. She set the hat on her head, and Hermione didn't know whether to root for girl to be put in Gryffindor or not.

She'd seemed nice enough on the train ride, but really, Harry was plenty odd on his own. And she hadn't liked the way Harry had kept looking at Luna. Like she was a fantastic toy.

They couldn't hear, of course, but the girl was talking to the Sorting Hat. That wasn't unusual, but rather than nervously responding, she looked to be happily chatting. As if asking the Sorting Hat about weather and whether 11 was too old for dolls.

Her sorting went on, and the hat wrinkled in a way that suggested annoyance. Hermione was annoyed too. The girl was holding up the sorting.

"RAVENCLAW," the hat at last declared.

Above the subdued cheers of Ravenclaw (of all the houses, Ravenclaw was the quietest) a single voice rang out, saying, "Damn it!"

Professor McGonagall said, "20 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for your foul language. And see me after for your detention."

Every Gryffindor at the table shot Harry a look of anger, and Harry said, "It'll be nice to talk to Professor McGonagall again."

Dean Thomas said, "Getting an early start on losing us the House Cup, are you, Harry?"

"Are we doing that again this year? The House Cup."

"We do it every year, and you're the biggest reason we lost last year," Percy said, jabbing a finger at him.

"Well excuse me, tall red-head boy, if I don't care about the draperies at the closing feast. Green and silver is a perfectly nice color scheme."

Hermione said, "Harry, it's not about the draperies. Everyone in the school is on one of four teams. Our team is called Gryffindor. And last year we lost. We're all losers. We came in third. And you're the biggest reason why we lost."

Harry's face was pale, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. Horrified, he whispered, "Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

Ron slammed his own head on the table.

:::
Many have noticed that, through the first two or three books, the blind desire to be 'normal' is bad and oppressive, embodied by the Dursleys. Then Harry spends the rest of the series desperately wanting to be normal. This Harry ain't ever gonna be like that. He will be fabulously, unashamedly himself.

That doesn't mean he's going to believe everything in the Quibbler.

I haven't actually seen any of the movies after number 3 (I don't watch a lot of movies). I was surprised to google Xenopillius Lovegood and see such a cool looking dude. I didn't imagine him that way before, but maybe I will now.

I re-read the first three books much more often than I re-read the last three, so I'm afraid that, though I like Luna, I don't know her that well. But having her and this Harry together... I'm starting to worry about how well it will work. They're odd in some very different ways, but also in some nearly identical ways.

I don't want Harry to be interested in fashion specifically. Rather, he's interested in how things look. That's not a trait I have, so writing it feels anthropological.

I REALLY should not be starting any other projects, but somehow I have 16 thousands words a fic where Tonks is a seventh-year during Harry's first year, and, seeing as she's his closest living magical relative who isn't her mother or a Malfoy, takes him under her wing. I'm tempted to call it "Mentordora Tonks," which would be a crime against the English language, but crime is a part of life and we all have to accept that.

11. A Private Place Is Required

Harry Requires a Private Place

At breakfast the next morning, Harry waved Luna Lovegood over. She sat next to him, and Harry dropped his wisdom on her.

Harry said, "If you want to do well, first, you should get plenty of detentions. Not for Potions, his detentions are just scrubbing cauldrons and writing lines, which is a waste of time, but Charms and Transfiguration detentions are great. You can get tutored a lot."

Luna nodded.

"Herbology detentions are okay. There's a lot of potting. Astronomy is usually just copying star charts, which you can do fine on your own, so there isn't any reason to get detentions in Astronomy.

"And when you experiment. I advise goggles. You want a pair large enough they cover your eyebrows. If you lose your eyebrows, sweat gets in your eyes and it's very annoying. I can transfigure you goggles if you like, there's even a charm so they don't fog."

Luna said, "That would be nice."

"Close your eyes then."

Once she had, Harry ran hand several times gently over her face.

"Alright, I know the shape now." Harry grabbed a small plate for buns and rolls, and, with a muttered spell and a flash, turned it into a pair of goggles, like what muggles wore in chemistry class. "Handy to wear in potions too. The Professor there is pretty funny about it. Makes all sorts of jokes."

Ron said, "Harry, he's not making jokes. He's trying to torment you."

Luna put the goggles on. The frame had been done in blue and bronze. Ravenclaw colors.

"As for the Professors. The Potions Professor seems strict, but he's really a big softy who'd never hurt a fly."

"He's a sadistic git and my gran says he was a Death Eater," said Neville.

Harry said, "He doesn't like when you don't pay attention, so you should always look like you're paying attention. Glamours don't work though, so you have to do it with acting."

"Or," said Hermione, "you could actually pay attention."

Harry said, "The Herbology Professor-"

Hermione said, "Harry, do you know the Professors' names?"

"I know Professor McGonagall's name. Transfiguration is the best class. And sometimes, even when another Professor gives me a detention, I have the detention with her."

Ron said, "That's because she's our Head of House."

Harry looked confused, so Hermione said, "She's the coach of our team."

"That explains it. Who's Luna's coach?"

Luna said, "Professor Flitwick is Ravenclaw's Head of House."

Harry looked blank, so Hermione said, "The Charms Professor."

Harry said, "Oh, he's really nice, you'll like him. Too bad you're in Ravenclaw though. I wanted you on our team."

Hermione said, "Luna, you spent a long time under the hat. Was it having a hard time trying to decide what house to put you in?"

"I don't know. That's its job. I let it do it. But it was very interesting. I'm hoping to ask Professor Dumbledore if I can borrow the Sorting Hat. I want to interview it more, and get a solid answer on what House it would sort itself into if it were put on itself."

Harry's eyes shone.

Hermione said, "Is that why you were under the hat so long? You kept asking it to sort itself?"

"That and wrackspurts. It knows about them but it doesn't call them that."

"Wrackspurts?"

"Little invisible creatures that get in your brain and make it all fuzzy."

"I've never heard of those before..." said Hermione. She hadn't heard of lots of things and she usually accepted them, but alarm bells were going off in her head. Figuratively speaking.

Harry said, "We're muggle-raised."

Neville said, "I've never heard of them either."

"They're not very well-known."

Ron said, "Mum says the Lovegoods are weird."

Harry said, "Ronald, what have I told you about being Bilius on purpose?"

Ron looked down and muttered, "Sorry."

Harry said, "Besides, there's nothing wrong with being weird. I'm quite weird, so I ought to know."

Luna said, "The true sickness that infects society is the pursuit of normalcy for its own sake. It prevents self-actualization and engenders insecurity."

Harry nodded as if there were nothing odd about that comment. "It's made my relatives quite mean. The wanting to be like everyone else and the wanting everyone else to be like them. Luna, is there anything you'd like to see before classes start tomorrow?"

Luna said, "The thestral herd here is very famous. I would like to see it."

Harry said, "The carriage-pulling skeleton horses? I know where they are."

By the time they train ride had ended, Hermione had forgotten all about Harry mentioning something pulling the carriages. But she distinctly recalled that, once again, the carriages had moved on their own. She was beginning to wonder if Luna might be, well, Loony.

Harry said, "We'll finish eating, then we'll go."

When breakfast was concluded, Harry set off, the others trailing behind him. Harry led them out of the castle and to an empty paddock not far from Hagrid's cottage. He pointed. "There they are."

Hermione said, "I don't see anything."

Ron said, "All I see is mud, grass and a fence."

Neville said, "Harry, did you hit your head?"

Luna said, "It's okay Harry, they're lucky that they can't see them."

Harry frowned at his friends and jumped the paddock. He extended a fist, as if letting a very large dog sniff it, then, with a hop to get started, he clambered up the air and sat astride something that couldn't be seen.

Hermione, Ron and Neville stared, and Luna said, "In order to see thestrals, you have to have seen death and understood it. Otherwise they're invisible."

Ron said, "Who did you see die?"

Neville stepped on his foot.

"What? I'm just asking."

Luna said, "It was my mum. I was nine. It wasn't as quick as you might like, but not as slow as you might fear."

Neville and Hermione paled, and Ron said, "Hey Harry. How about you?"

Neville elbowed Ron in the side.

Harry had a sober, vulnerable look Hermione had seen a few times before. She was sure that the Harry she knew was the real Harry, but the look gave her the idea that there was more going on in his head than he showed.

Ron said, "Harry, did you hear me? I said-"

"Shut up," said Neville. "Don't ask about that."

Harry spoke quietly. Hermione barely made it out. "So that was real," he muttered.

#

#

The first week was only half a week, what with September First being a Tuesday, but by the end of it it was clear to every Gryffindor that something was wrong with Harry Potter. He'd hardly lost any points at all, and had even earned a few by answering questions instead of only ever asking them. He'd been given detentions by Flitwick and McGonagall, but only because he'd politely requested them.

He was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, plotting ways to win the House Cup.

Harry said, "We could build a gazebo."

Hermione said, "If the Professors wanted a gazebo, they'd build it themselves."

"We could propose a gazebo and offer to build it. And perhaps a swing set. Every school should have a swingset."

Ron (who had been taken several times to 'muggle play parks' by his father) said "We have brooms. They're better."

Hermione said, "Perhaps a ski slope."

"That's good," said Harry, and jotted down the idea. "Slytherin won by a lot lost year, so we have to do something big."

Neville said, "The biggest thing would be them not winning the Quidditch cup. That way they wouldn't get so many points."

Harry said, "That's a great idea. We'll make Slytherin lose points. I know. Remember the Blond Ponce? He's in Slytherin, right? I'll be all, 'Hey, Blond Ponce, let's have a duel, midnight in the trophy room. Come or you're a coward.' But instead of showing up, I'll anonymously tip off the Catman that there'll be students sneaking around the trophy room after hours, and when he catches them, they'll lose points."

Hermione said, "That's dishonest."

"If the Blond Ponce can't see through a little deception like that, his team deserves to lose."

Neville said, "I'm not p-participating in that."

"It's got potential," said Ron.

Harry said, "And Ravenclaw came in second last year, right? Well this year, we've got an agent on the inside."

Hermione said, "She's your friend. You're not using her to lose her House points. This is supposed to be a friendly competition."

"There's no such thing as a friendly competition. Only war and its absence."

"Yeah," said Ron.

Hermione groaned and pulled at her hair. And thought of something. "You know what would earn Gryffindor a lot of points? If we solved the mystery of that plot Dobby talked about. We have a very long list of house-elves and their masters, and we've hardly sorted through it at all."

"But it's so boring!" protested Harry. All those people had written down all the house-elves they knew and who owned them, and they didn't all agree. There seemed to be roughly 30 different Winkys and who knew how many Soapspuds.

"I'll help," said Neville. "Many wands make light work. Ron, you too."

Ron said, "Err. Actually, I was thinking, if I could borrow Harry's broom and snitches again. The Quidditch team doesn't have a Seeker, and I mean, I'm not much of a Seeker, but Maurice was complete rubbish last year, so maybe if I joined the team that could be my contribution to winning the House Cup?"

Harry said, "The Quidditch matters very much for winning the House Cup?"

"So much it's ridiculous," said Hermione.

"Right then. The broom's in the corner next to my bed, and the Snitches are in my top dresser drawer. Next to the biting underwear, so be careful."

Ron sprinted up to the dorm room.

Hermione said, "Biting underwear? Wouldn't that hurt?"

"They don't bite the wearer, obviously. What would be the point of that? They're for self-defence," said Harry. "I thought if I showed them to the Lockart next week I might earn a few points."

"So that's what you were making last night," said Neville.

Hermione said, "You remember Professor Lockhart's name?"

"Of course. I read his books. He's awesome."

Ron came down with Harry's Nimbus 2000, one of his practice Snitches, the Snitch Whistle, and several scratches from the biting underwear.

Ron said, "Mate, you're insane, but thanks for letting me borrow these. I can use the broom for practices and matches?"

"Just take good care of it." He glanced at the clock above the fireplace. "I'll step out with you. I need to talk to someone. Hermione, I'll be right back."

They exited through the portrait hole together, and a minute later Harry came back, Luna Lovegood at his side, Ron right behind them, still carrying the broom.

Ron said, "Mate, this is the Gryffindor common room. You can't bring her in here."

"Yes I can."

Luna looked around. "What a sad room. There isn't a library."

Hermione had been about to remonstrate Harry for bringing Luna in, but... "There's a library in the Ravenclaw common room?"

"It's a whole wall of compressed shelving. It has some volumes that aren't in the main library at all. Daddy told me Hufflepuff has a library too. It's very silly that Gryffindor doesn't."

"We have a games cupboard," Neville said loyally.

"That must be why all the British gobstones teams are mostly Gryffindors." She sat across from Hermione, and Harry re-took his own seat.

Harry said, "We were just about to start sorting through the house-elf questionnaires and look for one named Dobby. Would you like to help?"

"Can I use the data for the Quibbler?"

"Please."

Hermione started pulling parchments from her bag.

The tall red-head boy walked up to them, Ron looking nervous. "Excuse me, you, yes, the blonde girl there, you're in Ravenclaw, aren't you? How did you get in here?"

"Harry brought me."

"Well, he's not allowed to. Harry, the Gryffindor dorms are for Gryffindors only. I have to take two points from you.

Harry said, "You're a student. You can't take points."

"Yes I can. I don't like doing it, but I will if I have to. I'm a prefect."

"Hermione, that's not true, is it?"

"Percy is a prefect, and he's allowed to take points from his own house."

The prefect said, "You can't bring people from other houses in here. I'll dock you another point for every minute she's here."

Harry shot to his feet. "Hermione, gather your things. We're leaving. Yes Neville, you too. Come on, up we go."

He gathered a few of the parchments, helped Hermione put them back in her bag, and headed for the portrait hole.

When he reached, he turned, hands on his hips, and said, "A common room where you can't even invite your friends over doesn't seem very common at all!" With that, he exited, walking quickly down the corridor, speaking rapidly to the others as they trailed behind him.

Harry said, "We need somewhere private. A clubhouse, where we can do whatever we like and no one will interfere."

"We could use an abandoned classroom," said Hermione.

"And risk our enemies looking in on us? Not likely. Besides, the Catman would catch us at it and he wouldn't like it. We need a secret place." He raised his voice and spoke to the ceiling, as if addressing the castle itself. "We require a room where we may do what we like without other people bothering us."

There was a slight rumble, which was probably just a staircase moving, and Harry continued walking. He took a left, then another left, when through a secret passage behind a tapestry that Hermione hadn't ever noticed before, went down a moving staircase, and came to a dead end.

Mortared blocks of granite with a single torch, held by a statue of a coiled snake.

Harry hissed.

It was not the sort of hiss a human could make. It reminded Hermione of the subtle little tremor she sometimes detected in the speaking of a spell, but that tremor had been magnified a thousand time over.

The block wall, which had no seam, no suggestion of a door, pulled back, revealing a perfect circle of blackness beyond.

"Lumos," said Harry, leaning into the blackness, peering into it by the light of his wand. He stepped forward, and disappeared.

"Harry!" shrieked Hermione, expecting to hear a scream, but she heard laughter instead.

Without any thought, she was after him, into the blackness, plummeting, not through the air, but through a massive pipe, smooth as a slide.

Down and down, laughing ahead of her, laughing and screaming behind her, and this was quite the stupidest thing she'd ever done, she should've gone for a teacher, not followed, but it was too late for that, and when she came to the end, how fast would she be going?

The slope of the pipe flattened, even turned into a slight incline, and when she came out the end of it, she wasn't going any faster than she would've on the big slide at her local park.

She stepped out of the way, and good thing too, because a moment later, a laughing Luna Lovegood popped out, followed by a screaming Neville Longbottom, all lit by the three bright white lights revolving through the air above Harry.

There were more important matters, like where they were and how they would get back up, but they could be dealt with after she'd taken of the more urgent issue. Hermione said, "What spell is that?"

"Lumos."

"Lumos only lights the tip of your wand."

Harry shrugged. "It can do more, if you want it to."

She sighed, knowing she'd have to find a different spell to achieve the same effect, and she waited. Waited longer, and still no Ron. She said, "Well, at least there's someone up there to tell a teacher."

"Um, mates?"

Hermione looked up. There was Ron, astride Harry's broomstick, 30 feet or so above them.

"Where are we?" he said.

A vast chamber, the floor littered with the bones of small animals. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved supports to support a ceiling lost in darkness, castling long black shadows through the greenish, apparently sourceless gloom that lit the place past Harry's Lumos.

Hermione said, "I think this is The Chamber of Secrets. I read about it. No one's seen it in a thousand years. Most people think it's a myth."

Harry said, "We'll have some bloody privacy then."

:::

Year 1 was fairly short and easy. Year three should be quite short. Year four should be just a few chapters. Year two, though... that's longer, more complicated, and more original.

I'm currently annoyingly sick, and putting Baba Yetu, Symphonia IX and In the Hall of the Mountain King on repeat only provides so much energy.

I just read Time is the Fire by Oddment Tweak. Has the best crafted time shenanigans I've read in a fanfic except for maybe Methods of Rationality. BajaB's "The Greatest Minister of Magic" is quite excellent, and less than 2k.

Some reviewers have compared this to Harry the Hufflepuff. That's one of my favorites, so I'm quite flattered. This, however, for good or for ill, should have moments of intense seriousness that that doesn't.

12. Clubhouse of Secrets

The Clubhouse of Secrets

In the dark green gloom deep within the earth, Ron said, "The Chamber of Secrets? What's that? It sort of rings a bell."

"I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," said Hermione. "It's supposed to be a secret place Salazar Slytherin built, in the foundations of the school, but no one's ever found it and most people think it's a myth."

Luna's voice was a dirge. "The Chamber dark and deadly, a noisome monster residing within, awaiting, awaiting when the time would come to purge the school of those Slytherin thought unworthy; muggle-borns, half-bloods, squibs, those with non-human ancestry, and all the rest that he looked down upon."

Surrounded by carvings and pillars vast and gothic, Hermione, Ron, Luna and Neville huddled closer together against the threat of traps and monsters eldritch and deadly.

"Scourgify," said Harry Potter, cleaning an oval of stone about six feet wide. "Righty then, I think we'll set up over there, maybe?" He pointed to a pillar with an especially angry looking snake carving. "Clean it up, transfigure an area rug, armchairs, beanbags, a sofa. Hermione, how long do you think you can get bluebell flames of yours to to last? We'll fill a firepit with them."

Ron said slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "You want to use Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets as a clubhouse?"

Harry said, "Sure. Why not? It's obviously very private. You enter by using a slide, which is loads of fun. It's very roomy, and the carvings and reliefs, well, honestly, I'm not sure they're in the best taste, but better garish art than no art at all. The lighting's not great, but we can improve it. I'm not saying that sprucing the place up will be easy, but there's five of us and we've all got wands." Granted, Luna was only a first-year, but he expected she'd catch on quick.

Luna said, "We'll have to clean the Chamber first. And we're all dirty from sliding down the pipe."

Hermione said, "No, first we have to find a way out of here. We don't have food or water, and we can't go back up that pipe. There's no telling how long it'll take us to get out of here." She paused, and Harry saw that a bit of the filth that the pipe had gotten on her robes was oozing down her sleeve onto her hand. She said, "Okay, maybe we clean ourselves up first, then we find a way out."

Harry cast cleaning charms on himself and Luna while the others took care of themselves (Hermione helping Nevald a bit) and, still dirty but no longer filthy, they walked through the Chamber, shoes squelching on a thin layer of mud. Harry's foot crunched on something that wasn't mud at all. The rib cage of a small mammal, the start of a veritable carpet of bones.

Ron said, "Eeek," Neville swallowed, Luna bent in for a closer look, and Hermione cast a spell Harry didn't know.

"About fifty years old," Hermione said. She cast the spell on another little animals skeleton. "About fifty years old. Another, another, another. "All the bones are about fifty years old."

"That's good," said Harry. "I was worried there might be something dangerous down here. Probably, there's an exit to outside somewhere, and fifty years ago an animal used this place as its burrow."

"The skeletons aren't broken," said Luna.

"What?"

"The skeletons are still whole, mostly, and the bones haven't been cracked open so that the marrow could be licked out. It's as if they were swallowed whole. Look, that's a deer skeleton, and it was swallowed whole too."

"So it was a big animal," Harry said, but he couldn't help feeling at least a little nervous. He couldn't transfigure something that big. "Hermione, keep checking to be sure all the bones are old."

Ron said, "We need to get out of here."

"Stop being such a wet underwear. Let's explore first."

"I'm not a wet underwear. What does that even mean?"

"If you don't know what it is, you can't say that you're not one."

Luna said, "Harry, this is a dark and mysterious chamber, lost to time and history. To explore it without preparation would be hubris of the first order. To brave this dark, we must research it, study spells and equip ourselves."

Hermione, Neville and Ron stared at her. Harry beamed. "See Hermione, I told you she was perfect. Alright Lady Luna, I accede to your wisdom. We'll look for a way out, which is a type of exploring, and we'll come back later when we're ready." He continued confidently across the Chamber floor, head on a swivel, as the others followed.

Ron said, "How did we even get here? Why did the wall open?"

Harry said, "I told it to."

"You hissed at it."

"The candle holder was a snake, so I told it to open in hissy-snake-language."

"Hissy-snake... Harry, you can talk to snakes?"

"Can't you? In the Bible, the snake talks, so I thought maybe all wizards and witches could talk to snakes."

Ron said, "No Harry, not all wizards can. Very few wizards can. Wizards who can talk to snakes are parselmouths, and it's bad."

Neville said, "It's dark, Harry. You-Know-Who was a parselmouth."

Harry said, "So Adam and Eve were Parselmouths?"

"Who?" said Ron.

"Maybe..." said Hermione, considering the idea.

Luna said, "Speaking parseltongue is wonderful gift. You can ask the snakes all sort of questions about underground, and if you speak parseltongue aloud, any umgubular slashkilters around will run away because they'll think you're a big snake who might eat them."

Hermione gave Luna a suspicious look and said, "Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth."

"Who?" said Harry.

"Salazar Slytherin is one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Slytherin House is named after him."

"That's nice," Harry said absently, continuing on.

Hermione said, "This is his Chamber of Secrets. That must be why parseltongue opens it." As they'd moved on a ways, she checked a few more bones. "All these bones are fifty years old too."

"Oh, look, big statue!" said Harry, pointing.

It was a statue high as the Chamber itself, standing against the back wall. The giant face high above was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost of the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.

Hermione said, "That must be a statue of Salazar Slytherin himself."

Ron said, "Not much of a looker, was he? No wonder there aren't any painting of him.

"Oh, hush Ron, he was a great wizard."

"He looks part Skinny-Troll," Luna said.

Neville said, "Let's just get out of here."

Harry sighed, feeling put-upon and underappreciated (he had just discovered this awesome clubhouse, after all) and let them on. The came to a set of vast doors covered in carvings of snakes. Whoever had designed the Chamber had been obsessed with snakes, apparently. What was it Hermione had said? Salad Bar Slytherin?

He focused on the carvings of snakes, pretending they were real, and told them to open. Open the doors did. They walked through, and found a wall and another giant pipe, open-ended, its extent spiraling up into the distance.

"We could take the broom up the pipe," Ron said. "Two people a trip, we'd be done in three trips."

Hermione said, "Four trips, Ron."

"No, three. Two people, two people and one person. That's three trips."

"No. If you and I rode up together, you'd drop me off and come back down, so you'd only move one person per trip until the final trip. One, one, one and two. Four trips."

Ron wobbled back and forth between disputing basic math and claiming that the broom could carry three at a time, and Harry tuned their arguing out. The secret entrance had been opened by hissy-snake-language. It only made sense that the secret exit would be the same.

"Serpentsortia," said Harry casting the spell, and a small green snake with red eyes appeared on the ground before him. "Snake conjuring," he said to the others. He hissed briefly at the snake, telling it he'd eat it if it didn't play dead, and picked it up. He told the others, "It's hard to speak hissy-snake-language without a snake to look at."

Hermione said, "Parseltongue, Harry. It's called Parseltongue."

"I don't see how you can tell me what it's called when you don't even speak it. In hissy-snake-language, hissy-snake-language is called hissy-snake-language. I'm just translating."

Luna. "What are hats called in hissy-snake-language?"

He frowned at the snake he held, hissed at it, showed it his bowler hat, and it hissed back.

"Thingies," Harry reported to Luna. "Not surprising. In hissy-snake-language, most things are called thingies." He raised the snake up before himself, and began screaming in hissy-snake-language.

The sound was dreadful, foreboding, a thousands nails on chalkboard with a background of a madman's laughter, promising a lonely doom to all who heard it. A shiver ran down Hermione's spine, Neville trembled, Ron covered his ears, and Luna cupped her hands to her ears so she could hear better.

The stones next to the pipe glowed greenly, brighter and brighter, and when the stones dimmed, none of them could say whether an illusion had been broken or whether stones of the wall had pushed forward, but where before there had been only a sheer wall, there was a staircase, switchbacking endlessly up, lost in the gloom.

Ron said, "How did you know that was here?"

Harry said, "I figured there had to be some way out, and it was probably near the entrance. To be honest, I was hoping for a lift."

Hermione said, "They didn't have lifts back when the Chamber of Secrets was made."

Harry looked confused. "Why not? It might not be the safest lift in the world, but we could make one. A board, some rope, a pulley, and third and fourth-year charms, and I could make the board and the rope easily enough. Come on. Let's-"

"We're taking the stairs," Hermione said.

Harry said, "Ron, hand me my broom."

"Why?"

"Because it's my broom and I'm the one who's actually going to check and make sure there's an exit at the top."

Harry pocketed the snake, secured his wand, took the broom, slung his leg over it, and shot into the air, the lights he'd made accompanying him as the others disappeared into the gloom below. He followed the endlessly switchbacking staircase, which followed the messily spiraling, occasionally intersecting pipe.

Harry flew low over the stairs, practically skimming them. The Chamber of Secrets probably didn't have the same safety charms the grounds of Hogwarts did, which meant if he fell off his broom from height, he wouldn't just break a limb, he'd actually die.

At the start, the stairs and pipe had been crawling up the Chamber wall. Now, the Chamber had been left behind, and pipe and stairs continued up a comparatively small slot in the earth, the width and breadth of many a house, yet flying up it was claustrophobic.

The pipe and stairs ended at the same place. He alighted on the top of the stairs and didn't see a snake figurine. He took the snack from his pocket, and, in hissy-snake-language, said "Open."

The snake, still quite compliant after his threat of eating it, opened its fangless mouth as a large portion of the wall lowered, revealing a dim room beyond.

Harry stepped into a battered loo. The floor was wet, the sinks were chipped, and the mirrors were scratched.

There weren't any urinals, which made it a girls' loo.

He was in a girl's loo.

He ran back onto the stairs leading into the Chamber of Secrets, still staring into the loo.

Water splashed from the toilet of an open stall, and a ghost shot out of it. The ghost was a girl of indeterminate age, with thick glasses and bad acne.

She said, "How did you open that?"

Harry said, "You made the water splash. What's water like to a ghost? Is it different from walls?"

"You pop out of the wall and you all you want to do is ask me horrible questions about what being a ghost is like? The wall opened just like that when I died, I think."

Harry didn't hear the last part. The moment he'd realized she wasn't answering his question, he'd stopped paying attention. His guess was that to a ghost, water, being amorphous and so, more ghost-like, was actually more solid than stone.

"This loo is in Hogwarts, right?"

"Of course it's in Hogwarts," said the ghost.

"Right then," said Harry, slinging one leg over the broom. "I'm just going to kip down and grab the others."

:::

It's very tempting to zoom out of Harry's perspective and into Hermione's. She has a measured view of things. But doing that too much takes the zany zip and verve from the story. I had to re-write this chapter because of that, and I'm still not sure about it.

Also, this chapter is... sort of missing a dramatic arc? I had something planned for the end of it, but I forget to do first the stuff that has to happen first, so that will have to wait until later, but as a result the whole thing feels like a u-turn.

I may be publishing a couple one shots over the next week or so?

13. Rapid Disclosure

Ch 13: Rapid Disclosure

As Harry, Luna, and Nevald collated the list of house-elves, Hermione researched the Chamber of Secrets. It was late in the morning on Sunday, and they'd been at it for hours. Ron was beginning to yawn and make casual comments about the weather outside being nice and how it wasn't healthy to spend all day cooped up in the library.

Hermione finished a chapter and shut the book, setting it on the read pile.

She spoke for the first time in an hour. "Harry, you speak Parseltongue and you found the Chamber, found it while hardly looking, as if Hogwarts itself wanted to show it it to you. Harry, I think you're the Heir of Slytherin."

Neville gulped, and Ron looked desperately at the others and said, "No. He couldn't be. Right?"

Harry said, "What do I get?"

Hermione said, "What do you mean what do you get?"

"The last time I found out I was heir to something, I got a lot of money. There was a vault at Gringotts and everything."

"There probably isn't any money," she said, "but I guess you get the Chamber of Secrets, sort of. But not really, since it is part of Hogwarts. And you get the title, obviously."

"What title?"

"The title of Heir of Slytherin."

"And what do I do with the title?"

"You say you have it."

"So what I inherit by being the Heir of Slytherin is getting to say that I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Essentially," said Hermione.

"Hermione, do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Just because you make it sound silly doesn't mean it's silly," sniffed Hermione. "It has political implications. As the Heir of Slytherin, you'd be expected to chase all the muggle-borns out of Hogwarts."

Harry blinked, "You mean, like a game of tag and I'm it?"

"More like you kill them. There's a monster in the Chamber, supposedly. Slytherin's monster. You're expected to use it for that."

"Oh," said Harry. "That's stupid. Are any of us muggle-born? I'm pretty sure I'm not."

Hermione said, "You're not. I am. Ron and Neville aren't. Luna?"

Luna said, "Daddy says being muggle-born is a social construct."

Hermione said, "Luna isn't. Harry, your mum was muggle-born. I remember reading that. Ron and Neville are purebloods. A lot of purebloods think purebloods are better."

Harry put on a comforting smile and said, "Ron, Neville, this might be hard for you to hear, but you're not better than Hermione. The opposite actually. There's no shame in that. If we ranked every 12-year-old in the world, Hermione would-"

"Shush," said Hermione.

Ron said, "My family doesn't believe in blood purism. And Hermione isn't better than me."

Hermione said, "Didn't you say your mum has a second cousin who's squib accountant and your family never talks to him?"

Ron said, "How often do your parents talk to their second cousins? Do you even know their names?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him.

It might have gotten ugly if Luna hadn't pushed a parchment forward and said, "Three different sources have the same report on a house-elf named Dobby."

#

#

Harry had started by asking directions from Madam Pince. She had given him a long series of directions (out through the library, right, two corridors, left, up the stairs at the statue of Blinker the Cat Traitor) and he had tuned her out after the second step.

When the second step had been completed, he'd asked Nearly-Headless Nick, and gone in the indicated direction, and then he'd asked an older Hufflepuff, and eventually he came to what he thought was the right pace, staring at a stone gargoyle. Now to get it to let him inside.

#

#

Albus Dumbledore had been intending to establish a closer relationship with Harry Potter, so he was pleased when his monitors informed him Harry Potter was outside his office. He was a little confused when the presence simulacrum showed the boy scratching the gargoyle behind the ears and telling it that it was a good boy, but at least young Harry had personality.

With a thought, he bid the gargoyle to move aside, and the boy entered.

When the boy walked in, he gestured to his candy tray and said, "Lemon drop?"

The boy gave his candy tray side-eye and said, "About the plot and house-elf."

Dumbledore said, "Put it from your mind. Let me handle that."

"Lucius Malfoy has a house-elf named Dobby, so I guess it's his plot."

Dumbledore blinked, surprised and pleased that Harry had figured that out.

Harry presented a clip board and said, "Anyway, would you sign this petition? It says that if a house-elf wants to be freed, the house-elf ought to be freed."

Dumbledore signed it, bemused. The boy's petition had drawn a fair amount of interest in the papers, and Dumbledore had sounded out key members of the Wizengamot to see how much support the measure would garner.

Not much, he'd concluded.

Harry said, "But that's not what I'm here about. I found the Chamber of Secrets and I'd like to use it as a clubhouse, but Hermione says it might have dark magic so I thought you might check it for that and also maybe install a lift because right now getting in and out is a pain."

For several long moments, Albus Dumbledore didn't move. Didn't think. There were certain ideas that, when presented as reality, short-circuited the brain.

"The Chamber of Secrets?" he said weakly.

"Seems like. Way beneath the ground. Snake statues and carvings everywhere. All the passwords are just telling it what you want it to do in hissy-snake-language."

"Hissy-snake..."

"Hermione says it's called parseltongue, normally, but that's not what snakes call it, and it's very anthropocentric to just ignore them and make up our own name, and also Ron or someone said parseltongue is a dark wizard thing, and I'm not a dark wizard, so I'm not a parseltongue. I'm a snake-hisser."

Dumbledore centered himself on the chance to correct a student. "Parseltongue is the language. Someone who can speak it is a parselmouth."

"Whatever. So, what do you say?"

Dumbledore put a handful of lemon drops in his mouth at once. He needed a moment to think. His face twisted under the influence of all that sourness, and he nearly swallowed one down the wrong pipe.

"Hmm," he said, when some semblance of equilibrium had returned, and swept the remaining lemon drops into a cheek, making him look like a very old, asymmetrical chipmunk. "Where's the entrance?"

"There's two I know. One's at the end of a corridor, and the other is in the drama ghost's loo."

"Moaning Myrtle's loo?"

Harry shrugged.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore summoned a phoenix of silver mist and light. Dumbledore said, "Tell Severus to meet me immediately at Moaning Myrtle's loo. That's a girls' lavatory on the first floor."

The silver phoenix flapped a wing and disappeared through the wall.

Dumbledore stood, and Dumbledore's real phoenix, in its red and gold glory, hopped on his shoulder.

Dumbledore swept out of his office, and Harry followed, almost having to run to keep up with the old man's swift, long strides. Students looked at them curiously as they passed, but no one followed. Harry explained how he'd found the Chamber, and when the reached the drama ghost's bathroom, Professor Snape was waiting outside it, wearing an expression of tension which faded to distaste when he saw Harry.

Harry said, "Hi, Professor Snape. How's your weekend been?

Snape glared, but Harry didn't notice. He liked Professor Snape. The man was very funny, and he was always asking Harry questions to try to get him to understand potions better.

Harry conjured a brownish grass snake, so he'd have a snake to look at. Professor Snape raised any eyebrow, and at Dumbledore's nod, the three of them walked into the loo.

The drama ghost rose out of the toilet and said, "What are you doing in my lavatory? This is a girl's loo you know."

Dumbledore said, "Good afternoon, Miss Warren."

"Hi," said Harry, waving without looking, waving the hand with the snake in it, actually, so the snake waved too. He looked at the snake and spoke to what he thought was the right sink in hissy-snake-language. "Open, water-not-always-water-hand-put thingie."

The tap on the sink next to it began to glow and spin, and the sink itself sank into the ground, revealing a pipe big enough for a man to enter.

Harry frowned and said, "Open more, big-high-man-stone."

A portion of the wall melted away, revealing the landing of the stairs beyond.

Professor Dumbledore said, "When Miss Warren died, I suspected this lavatory might contain the entrance, and I blew out all the walls. Alas, the geometry of Hogwarts is not simple, and a door improperly opened may have nothing beyond it. To think the key was parseltongue. I should've guessed."

Harry said, "Miss Warren is the ghost? Why when she died?"

Dumbledore said, "I believed she was killed by Slytherin's monster. Fifty years ago."

Harry said, "Was she muggle-born?"

Myrtle said, "Yes I am. What's it to you?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Snape said, "Albus, what is this?"

"Harry claims to have discovered the Chamber of Secrets. I'm inclined to think he did."

Snape absorbed that revelation with a slight narrowing of the eyes followed by a curt nod and a glance at Harry, and followed Dumbledore through the opened wall and onto the landing. Snape stared over the side of the stairs into the endless shaft beneath. "That's a very long drop," he said.

"Harry has asked that I put in a lift." With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, a lift came into existence. A solid oak platform with railing, floating at the edge of the landing, no cable, pulley or counterweight required.

Dumbledore said, "Harry, if you'd close the entrance."

Harry hissed at it, and when the wall had closed, the three of them loaded onto the lift, which began to descend, a light of Dumbledore's making accompanying them.

After a minute, Dumbledore stopped it so he could make structural repairs to the shaft.

Snape looked into the inky blackness far below. "That large pipe appears to lead from the lavatory all the way down."

Harry said, "I don't know about this one, but at the other entrance, the pipe is a slide that takes you all the way down."

Snape blinked. "A distinctly undignified method of entry."

Dumbledore said, "It was a thousand years ago. Doubtless Salazar thought it a new and innovative method by which one could rapidly descend with minimal effort."

The lift started down again, only to be stopped by Dumbledore a few hundred feet down so he could make further repairs to the shaft, and by fits and starts, they came to the bottom, to the entrance hall that led into the Chamber.

Dumbledore looked around, cast a spell, and said, "This area is failing. Large chunks of rock are ready to sheer off with little provocation. Fixing this will take time."

Dumbledore began casting, the rock grinding, melding, cracks disappearing, and at first Harry watched, fiddling with the snake in his hands as he did, but eventually Harry got bored with that, pocketed the snake, and approached Professor Snape.

Harry said, "Would you like to play the finger game?"

Professor Snape said, "No."

"We each start out with our index fingers up. Like this. Then I tap your hand, and then you have two. When you tap one of my hands, I'll be at three. If I tap your two with my three, you go to five, and then that hand is dead. If it goes over five, say I hit a three with a four, it's seven, which is two, and-"

"I know how to play," said Professor Snape. He glared at Harry again, black eyes glittering. "Stop sticking out your lower lip like that. There's nothing you can do to convince me to play."

15 minutes later, after a raft of consecutive losses, Harry said, "Why do you keep winning?"

Snape said, "Because I only ever make the optimal play. There is no reason, foolish boy, why you should ever lose if you have the first move. I have not lost at chopsticks while possessing the first move since I was eight years old."

"Wow," said Harry.

Dumbledore said, "Severus, if you're done playing with the boy, we're ready to go on."

Professor Snape drew himself up with all dignity. "I was not 'playing' with the boy. I was instructing him on gamesmanship and basic combinatorials."

"I'm sure," said Dumbledore.

Snape sniffed.

Dumbledore said, "Harry, the doors."

Harry faced the vast doors covered in carvings of snakes, told the doors to open in hissy-snake-language, and they walked into the Chamber proper, gazing at the snake-carved pillars, Snape wincing at the muddy floor and the bones.

Snape said, "There must an inflow and outflow of water, and it must flood."

Harry said, "The bones are all fifty years old."

With that the reminder that there was likely some monster of Slytherin somewhere, they moved more cautiously through the Chamber, and stopped before the vast statue that dominated it.

Voice reverent, Professor Snape said, "A statue of Salazar Slytherin, likely made by Salazar Slytherin himself."

Harry said, "Bit boring, don't you think? I mean, it's clearly the focal point of the room. It could use a splash of color."

Snape twitched. "Color?"

"Something bright. Liven this place up. Not sure what color. I like lots of purples, but the lighting's green, and purple doesn't go so well with that, usually.""

Snape turned to Dumbledore. "This is a priceless historical landmark. You can't let the boy desecrate it."

Dumbledore said, "It's a living building, Severus. Salazar intended it to be used by his inheritors as they saw fit. I feel bound to respect that."

Snape said, "Albus, you can't let him. And what do you mean 'inheritors?'

Harry said, "Hermione said I'm probably the Heir of Slytherin."

Snape said, "I believe the role of Slytherin's Heir is already filled."

Dumbledore said, "Yet Harry speaks parseltongue and found the Chamber by asking Hogwarts for a clubhouse. Perhaps we have two rival Heirs, of very different demeanor. It would hardly be the first such case in the history of noble houses."

Harry said, "Is Voldemort the other Heir?"

Both men drew in breaths. Dumbledore said, "Why would you think that?"

"Because he spoke hissy-snake-language, and the heir of Slytherin definitely does that. He killed that ghost, didn't he? Miss Warren."

"Myrtle Warren, yes. I believe he did so, if indirectly."

"Because she was muggle-born?"

"That would've been part of it."

Harry said, "And that's why he killed my mother? Because she was muggle-born?"

Dumbledore said, "It was more complicated, but that certainly would've been one of his motives."

"He sounds a right tosser," said Harry. "And that Salad Bar Slytherin bloke would've approved?"

Snape hissed, "Salazar."

Dumbledore said, "No. He did not approve of bringing muggle-borns into wizarding society, but he did not go around murdering them. He was a bigot, not a maniac."

"Then what's that stuff about Slytherin's monster cleansing the school?"

Dumbledore said, "I've spoken with the Sorting Hat on this. I believe that Salazar believed that at some point, the muggle-borns would show their true colors. He envisioned the Chamber of Secrets as a place of refuge the noble Heir of Slytherin could lead the good, innocent, too-trusting purebloods to in a time of crisis. And then they'd send the monster up to retake the castle. Some of his writings survive, and he was very prone to brooding over worst-case scenarios and plotting out how he or his descendants would gloriously save the day. Muggles refer to it as a doomsday mentality, and I have a theory as to what his doomsday weapon was."

Dumbledore continued. "Both of you, close your eyes. And Harry. If you would start yelling out, 'Open, reveal your secrets, monster come out,' and other such phrases in parseltongue."

Snape said, "Headmaster. I must object. We should be careful and methodical in this endeavor, giving all due deference to caution and-"

"Oh, don't be such an old woman. Where's your sense of adventure? But you do have a point. Harry, put on this on so you don't accidentally see it."

A black blindfold that, when placed over his eyes, cut out vision entirely.

Dumbledore said, "Now Harry, if you would.

Though it was hard to speak hissy-snake-language without being able to look at a snake, Harry had had a lot of practice at it lately, and he managed. "Open! Show your nothing-else-knows thingies. Eater, appear!"

The sound of stone grinding filled the chamber.

:::

Would you like to play the finger game with me?

I heart this Harry. I was going to have him keep the Chamber a secret, and people were nearly going to die as a result, but then I thought, 'Why would Harry do that? That's stupid. He might be an idiot, but he's not stupid.' And then he went to see Dumbledore and for a few paragraphs I felt more like a fly on the wall than a writer.

I wasn't planning to end on a cliffhanger, but there's such a big tonal change that I thought I'd better.

Monstrosity is a book by jlluh. AKA, JLL, which, becomes, on amazon, L, J L. It is good, but has reviews from only five people, all friends and family. I wish my friends and family were more tech savvy. I wish it had more reviews. It sells some (read: few) copies, but I wish it had more reviews. So much.

14. Build Your Own Adventure

Ch 14: Build Your Own Adventure

As the grinding of stone filled the Chamber of Secrets, Harry, from behind his black blindfold, said, "What's happening?"

Dumbledore said, "My eyes are also closed, but I have other ways of detecting my surroundings. The mouth of the stone statue is opening, and a large snake is exiting it. A basilisk, if I'm not mistaken."

Snape said, "A basilisk. Albus, kill it now or retreat."

"So long."said a harsh-voiced snake.

"Hi, I'm Harry. What's your name?"

"An Heir! Food. The Heir brings food. Twist them. Tear them. Rip them. So sweet." He heard it winding quickly close, loud, as if a bus slithered. The snake, the basilisk, was very large.

Food? Could it mean...? "Stop," said Harry. "These two are not for eating."

Its motion stopped. "Let me! Let me crunch them. Crush them. Rip them. Drink their blood. So hungry. So long asleep."

Within his pocket, the brown grass snake he'd conjured curled into a ball and whispered, "Death."

Harry said, "Professor Dumbledore, could you give it anything to eat?"

Harry heard a pop, and the snake said, "Mouse. Giant mouse. Magic but real."

There was a meaningless hiss, followed by a snap and crunch.

The snake said, "Animals. Not as good as humans. Muggles. No-magic-wizard children. Mud in bloods."

Harry said to Dumbledore, "It's vicious, and it likes eating humans. It wants to eat you two."

Dumbledore said, "Ask it about other Heirs."

Harry said, "How many Heirs have there been?"

"Heirs, Heirs, you are an Heir. So long. Set me to hunt."

"When was the last Heir?"

"So long, I slept. So long. I must hunt."

Harry said,"You can hunt later."

It... resisted. Snakes had always done whatever he'd told them to do, and he'd never thought anything of it, never known he was exerting his will on the snakes because none of them had ever pushed back before. This one was pushing back.

So Harry clamped down and said firmly, "You will hunt later."

"Will hunt later," it agreed.

Harry said to Dumbledore, "It's not very coherent. I think it sleeps between Heirs." He asked a question of his own volition. "With the last Heir, did you kill any humans?"

"Only a mud in blood. For the others, the Heir made me look at them as though off water."

Harry was seldom confused as to what snakes meant, but that was cryptic. Harry said, "It killed a human with 'mud in blood' and looked at the others 'as though off water.'"

Dumbledore said, "That confirms it. Mud in blood is surely a mangling of mudblood, an extremely rude slur for muggle-borns. It was by the basilisk's gaze that Myrtle Warren, the ghost in the lavatory, died. As for 'as though off water...' Meeting the gaze of a basilisk means instant death. However, I believe that an indirect view, a reflection, would only petrify, which indeed happened to several students when the Chamber was last opened. An event which I have many questions about. Ask for how many years the previous Heir visited the Chamber."

So Harry asked the snake Dumbledore's questions, relaying the answers, sorting what meaning he could from its ramble, which was full of sleeping and crunching and ripping and sweet blood, and it never responded when he asked its name.

Harry wondered if it had eaten the ghost's body. If it had devoured it as the ghost looked on, rip and crunching, words that sounded wrong to Harry, because snakes, as best he knew, didn't normally rip or crunch, just strangled and swallowed.

But he continued his role, and by the time Dumbledore's questions were finished, he was getting hoarse and the snake was getting antsy.

Professor Dumbledore said, "Perhaps we can find a place for the snake in the forest."

"Capital idea," said Snape. "Perhaps next to the acromantula nest you've so generously allowed to flourish within an hour's walk of the school. It's not as if students ever sneak into the forest. And the centaurs will be tickled pink to meet their new neighbor."

Dumbledore said, "There's no reason to be sarcastic, Severus. I'm sure we can arrange a suitable array of precautions, just as we have with the acromantulas."

Harry said, "I've spoken to smarter conjured snakes. It's stupid, mean, dangerous, and insane. Just kill it."

Harry felt both men's surprise as if it were tangible, and Professor Dumbledore's voice dripped with concern. "Harry, there's no need for such drastic action. This is a creature that's survived a thousand years. To kill it simply because it's inconvenient to us..."

Harry said, "It's had a nice long life then."

Snape said, "It's a murderous abomination of dark magic. And if the boy is, as you say, the Heir of Slytherin, it's his snake. He gets to decide what to do with it."

Dumbledore said, "Severus, you were earlier advocating for preserving the Chamber as is."

"Preserving history. Not monsters. It was made to kill students and it's killed at least one. It could easily, no, even accidentally, kill another."

Professor Dumbledore said, "Harry. Are you quite sure?"

Harry had killed a bird once. A baby bird with hardly any feathers that had fallen out of its nest, a mud nest in the eaves of the house, much too high to reach. He'd looked at the baby bird as it chirped pathetically on the ground, and known that if he left it alone, it would die slowly of thirst and nibbling ants. So, as a kindness, he had hit it with a shovel, buried its body in the dirt of the garden, and felt weird all the rest of the day.

This wasn't any different, except the snake was large, old and murderous.

"I'm completely sure," said Harry.

"Very well. I won't say that I don't see your point." There was another pop, and the snake said, "Giant mouse." Another strike and crunch as the snake ate the giant mouse. Followed by silence. And silence. Then a high, hissing shriek that vibrated his gums. And silence.

Dumbledore said, "You may remove your blindfolds."

Harry pushed it up over his head, ruffling his hair as he did so, and though he'd known from the sound that the snake was very large, he gasped at what he saw lying on the Chamber floor.

Its diameter was past four feet, and its length was equal not to one bus, but four or five, stretched carelessly across the chamber floor in vast dull yellow eyes were the size of his spread hands. It looked the part of a doomsday weapon, yet its defeat had been simple and quick.

"It's dead?" said Harry.

Dumbledore's voice was bitter. "Quite. Nothing simplifies murder so well as the victim's trust. And now we have a valuable carcass to dispose of. A profitable murder. Harry, how does a fifty-fifty split between you and the school sound?"

Harry said, "But I'm the one who told you to kill it. I shouldn't get anything."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Then it all belongs to the school. Most of it will be sold, discreetly, and the proceeds added to funding, but I may have a use for the venom. Severus, I assume you'd like the eyes and a few gallons of blood?"

"A quart or two of bile would not be amiss," said Snape.

"It will be done," said Dumbledore. "Now, Harry, if you won't accept money, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I would like a thousand house points," said Harry.

"That's... quite a few," said Dumbledore. "May I ask why? You did not seem very interested in points last year, from what I was told."

"I didn't know about how we're broken into teams and we're competing to see who can have the most points of the end of the year. No one told me. Ron really fell down on the job there. But now I know, so I want to win. So I've been trying to get points for a few days, and it's a lot of trouble. I don't like it. So I thought if I could win a thousand points, we'd win no matter what and I could go back to doing what I like."

Behind Harry, Snape shook his head rapidly back and forth.

Harry continued, "And I found this Chamber, and I helped you find this big snake that killed a student once, so that should be worth a thousand points easy."

"You may be right," said Dumbledore. "You should also get an award for special services to the school. But I can't very well give you a thousand points and a Special Award and not tell anyone why, and I would like to keep the Chamber of Secrets a secret for the nonce."

"So in a few weeks?" said Harry.

"Possibly. Or possibly in a few years."

Harry mulled that over. "I would like a hall pass and a ghost."

"The hall pass I can arrange, but ghosts aren't prizes I can give out. You'll have to befriend one yourself. But for now, let us continue our tour of the Chamber. I shall be disappointed if it proves to only hold one secret."

#

#

There were nooks and crannies, and hidden rooms, one clearly a library, the walls covered in shelves, but all were empty. Every last treasure had been carted out by one Heir or another, until only stone and a giant snake remained.

It was disappointing. Like being back with the Dursleys, almost. He had to make something happy and ridiculous happen to make up for it.

Dumbledore had made a recording of him speaking parseltongue, and it opened the entrances, so Dumbledore could get in and out as he liked. He was going to put a lift at each entrance. And then Harry would have a Clubhouse of Secrets, and he would make it beautiful and happy, and fill it with secrets of his own. He had an invisibility cloak, a hall pass, classes, friends, and a magic wand. There was no end to the number of happy and ridiculous things he could make happen.

Best get cracking.

He lengthened his stride, making for the Great Hall, and found his friends in the midst of dinner.

He stopped at Luna's table, told the little Ravenclaw to meet him after dinner, and proceeded to his own table, where he ate with a frown on his face and didn't answer his friends' questions; a task made easy by the fact that they didn't want to ask directly with so many people around who might overhear.

When they'd finished, Luna came over, and Harry led them to the library, to a table at the back with no one near.

Ron said, "Make it quick. I've got homework."

Harry stared at him, fear burbling through his gut. "Homework? What homework? Last week was a half week and we mostly just went over syllabi. There was homework?"

"Summer homework," said Ron.

"Whew. Thank god. You still have that? I finished weeks ago. I was planning to put some more doodles in the margins before turning it in, but otherwise it's done. Right."

They took their seats, and Harry cracked his knuckles. Harry said, "I've called this meeting of the Order That Hasn't Been Named Yet to discuss our agenda for the year."

"Oh Merlin," said Ron.

"First, we need a name, so I want everyone to be thinking about that. The Order of the Very Nice Clock Assassins or something cool like that, but shorter. Second, Hermione, could you be the scribe? We should treat this like a group project."

Hermione took out a parchment and a quill and wrote Name? on it in her fine hand.

"Third, obviously, I'd like to revolutionize wizarding law as it relates to house-elves. As a sub-goal, we should meet some house-elves and talk to them. Neville, could you get on researching that? I'm particularly interested in if they have weddings and whether we can go to any.

"Fourth, the Clubhouse of Secrets. The monster of Slytherin was a big snake, a basilisk. It's dead now, and Dumbledore's putting in two lifts, one at each entrance, but the old place needs a face lift something awful, and I'd also like to put some secrets in it, because it doesn't have any left, so for that, we need to create secrets. So think about that, and we'll have a brainstorming session later. Dumbledore says about two weeks until the permanent lifts are done, so we have until then."

"Fifth. We found the Clubhouse of Secrets. What else is there in Hogwarts? I'm sure there's lots of things. Hidden things. Let's find them, and, where possible and appropriate, make them ours.

"And finally, and really, this should've been first, the first full week of classes starts tomorrow and goal number one should always be to get better at magic. So, for Hermione and I, that's going to mean a lot of self-study, but Nevald, you're probably good with just mastering the material in class. I don't know about Luna yet."

"Nevald?" said Ron.

"Just a fun name for you and Neville together. Hermione and I could be Harmony. Add Luna, and it's, oh, Larmony, I guess."

Luna said, "So Ron and I would be Runa."

Harry said, "Maybe, but I'm afraid that creates unrealistic expectations that you'll both be rune masters. Lon, maybe. Oh, and you and I would be Larry or maybe Huna, probably Huna, and you and Neville would be Leville, sounds like level, as in flat. Now, does anyone have any other suggestions for the year's agenda?"

Luna said, "We should prove nargles are real."

Harry said, "The little invisible mischievous gremlin things you told me about? They're not proved?"

"No. It's very sad, but their existence is still controversial."

"Sounds great. Hermione, add it to the list. Anything else?"

Hermione said, "We should get the school a ski slope, and maybe a half pipe too."

"I don't know what the second one is, but it sounds fantastic. Anything else?"

Ron said, "We should get the food in the Great Hall changed to include more chocolate and bacon."

"No, Ron, I mean, that's nice, but I'm asking for serious ideas here. Things that are actually achievable. Do you really think the head cook or whoever would actually listen to a few students? Feeding this many people is massive logistical operation that can't be changed on the basis of a few students' whims."

Hermione said, "I would like more leafy greens."

Harry said, "On the other hand, no harm in trying, add it to the list."

#

#

Once Snape and Dumbledore were alone in the Headmaster's office, Snape looked sharply at the headmaster.

Snape said, "Why did you lie to him about his being the Heir of Slytherin? If the Potters had any history of being parselmouths, it would be known."

"I did not lie. If he is the Heir of Slytherin, it is not through the Potters. But many muggle-borns have squib ancestry, and any squib of Slytherin's direct line would be banished from the House. You see my train of thought."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Lily was not a parselmouth. I would've known."

"Such gifts are seldom present in all members of a family. The lie fallow in one generation, and sprout in the next. Of course, I cannot confirm this supposition, but how else do you propose Harry became a parselmouth? You cannot deny that there is a poetry to Voldemort's equal being an Heir of Slytherin from a squib line. Destiny loves such convolutions."

Dumbledore saw the moment that, with pursed mouth, Snape accepted the theory, affected by the implication that the woman he'd loved had been the Heiress of Slytherin.

Dumbledore knew of a far more likely explanation as to why Harry Potter was a parselmouth, but it was, as the muggles said, need-to-know, and Snape did not need to.

:::

There was a temptation to meet reader expectations by having Harry insist that Dumbledore shrink the basilisk so Harry could keep it as a pet. But the basilisk is a creature that kills people by looking at them, and while Harry may be fun and zany, I have never thought of this as a story where everything is sunshine and roses and ridiculous gags.

I hope there were a couple slight hints in first year that this Harry can be scary, and we'll see a lot more of that this year.

Any ideas for a name for Harry's group. The Order of the Time Killers? Magic Scouts? The Golden Pentuplet?

Once again, I plug my book. Monstrosity, by JLL, (L, J L) available on amazon. Check the books department. This Harry has a bit in common with Sam Greg, high school basketball star of that book.

It may be a bit until GoM has an update. I have life stuff, and I'd like to update We Ditched the Graveyard Early, and I need to put together a short story collection.

15. Samurai Army

Chapter 15: Samurai Army

With the start of the first full week, classes began in earnest, and Harry pranced into the transfiguration classroom. He set his full-size dummy by the door, then eagerly approached his accustomed desk. Wand moving quickly, incantations a ceaseless mutter, he turned the chair into a spinny chair with wheels and armrests. He'd grown acquainted with such chairs at the Grangers, and he liked them a lot.

Harry sat, spun, and pushed hard against the floor. "Wahahahaha!" Harry shouted, rolling across the classroom in the chair, spinning as he did.

Professor McGonagall said, "Mr. Potter, you're going to break your neck!"

"No, I'm fine, it's totally safe." Even as Harry spoke, one of the legs broke and the chair toppled, spilling Harry out onto the cold stone ground.

"Tarnation!" said Harry, scrambling to his feet.

"10 points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said. With a twitch of her wand, the chair was repaired, but also changed. It was still spinny, still cushioned, and still had armrests, but the wheels were gone.

McGonagall said, "There will be no rolling in my classroom. Take your seat to your desk, and sit in it. If you spin too much, your spinning privileges will be revoked.

"Why did it break?" said Harry. "It should've been strong enough."

"I advise looking into tensile strength, leverage, and the principles of engineering. Now take your seat."

Harry took his seat to his desk and sat in it. The lecture started, and Harry tried to pay attention, but it was hard, because he already knew most of it, and because he thought he was ready to try something unspeakably cool that he'd seen Professor Snape do a lot last year.

Neville's potion would be getting ready to explode, and Snape would point his wand at it, say "Evanesco," and the potion would vanish. Just totally disappear. He'd asked Snape, and it was called a Vanishing Spell and was normally taught during fifth year.

Harry had no plans to wait past the end of the lecture.

Professor McGonagall handed out the beetles, and Harry turned his into a simple black button. Then into a silver button, back into a beetle, into a red button with an hourglass shape, into a green beetle which unfurled opalescent wings and buzzed around his head, then he turned it into a glass button with a smaller black button inside, caught it from the air, and placed it on the edge of his desk. He had done this exercise last year, in detentions and by himself.

He took a piece of wood from his pocket and turned it into wood shavings.

Then Harry frowned, because there was a Charm to turn wood into wood shavings, and he also could transfigure the wood into wood shavings, and he didn't remember which one he'd done. The spells had different incantations and slightly different wand movements, but the better he got at them the more they seemed like the same spell.

He knew everything was connected, and an infinitely smart person could hypothetically figure out of the whole of magic based on a single spell, so on a deep level, they were the same spell. The fact that it was starting to seem that way to him...

He shrugged, picked out a wood shaving, pointed his wand at it, and cast the spell. "Evanesco."

The wood shaving hopped, and he tried again.

Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry, looked up from her button, and said, "Harry, are you being safe?"

"For sure. Professor Snape said this is hard spell to accidentally kill with. No explosions or anything."

Hermione frowned at that slight reassurance, and untransfigured her button back into a beetle.

Harry tried again and again, thinking as he did of what he'd read about the spell. He was ending the wood shaving's existence, but only in the same sense that a knot was ended by untying it. He was not trying to destroy the wood shaving, but to return it to the underlying potentiality from whence it had come.

He tried the spell again and again, the world around him falling away, even consciousness receding, as it always did when he focused on magic.

Light shone through the wood shaving. The wood shaving had thinned, and been smoothed to opalescent shine. He cast the spell again, and the wood shaving shortened and thinned, leaving only a tiny grain of wood, which Vanished with his next casting.

Another wood shaving, Vanished more quickly, a third wood shaving Vanished with a single casting. And then he lost the feel of the spell, and needed five minutes for the fourth wood shaving, but he got the feel back and Vanished the fifth wood shaving even more easily than the third.

He vanished all the wood shavings. He vanished the button he'd transfigured. He cast the spell, not thinking of any target, but thinking only of the spell as he stared intensely at the tip of his wand.

His wand Vanished.

"Aaaaah!" Harry screamed.

As the class stared at him, expecting that he was dying, perhaps, he glanced wildly around, and his eyes fixed on an empty point in space just in front of his desk and to the left. His hand snatched, and as if removing it from beneath a shroud, pulled from the empty space his wand.

"Oh my god," said Harry, breathing hard, running his hands up and down the smooth holly shaft, checking for cracks. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god. Wow. Whew. Inanimata Refromandam." His quill turned into a seashell, shiny and rainbow-like, and he knew his wand still worked.

"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall.

"That was terrifying," said Harry.

McGonagall said, "Did you vanish your own wand?"

Harry said, "I thought my heart was going to thump out of my chest."

McGonagall said, "Mr. Potter."

Harry said, "Can you imagine if you lost your wand?"

Hermione said, "Harry, Professor McGonagall is trying to talk to you."

"What? Oh." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Hi."

"You vanished your own wand?"

"Yes. But I got it back. I don't know how, but I did. That would be a good place to keep my wand, maybe. Just Vanished. I could-"

"No," Professor McGonagall said. "You may have managed to unVanish it once, but that's because it's your wand and you'd only Vanished it a moment ago. Unbeing is not a storage space."

Harry said, "But what about when you turn into Professor Kitty? Where does your wand go? Being transfigured isn't good for wands.

"Professor Kitty?" said someone, and titters spread through the class, quickly silenced by McGongall's firm gaze.

Professor McGonagall said, "There is a world of difference between being transfigured and being attached to something which is transfigured, just as there is a great deal of difference between turning wood into a box and putting wood in a box."

"But when you transform, where is the wand actually? It's not in your organs."

"In that sense, it's not anywhere."

"So it's Vanished."

"No."

Harry said, "Is this one of those really trippy Conservation of Conceptualization things?"

"Yes."

Harry said, "So I could go back and forth between a conceptualization of myself that has my wand and one that doesn't?"

Professor McGonagall said, "Perhaps. If you could cast the spell to return to the wanded state without the use of your wand." She conjured a chair in front of his desk, and prepared to giver Harry Potter, and the ever attentive Hermione Granger, a little more private tuition.

#

Harry levitated the dummy into the defence classroom, excited for his first class with the great Gilderoy Lockhart.

The dummy had a face drawn in grease marker. For eyes, two circles, with pinpoints at the center. A nose that looked more like a misplaced mustache. And a smile with sharp teeth. It wore underwear, and only underwear.

Harry levitated it into the seat next to his, displacing Neville and Ron. Neville sat next to it, but Ron, taking a long, embarrassed look at it, disavowed any involvement by sitting on the opposite side of the classroom, with the Hufflepuffs.

Hermione sat to Harry's left, as she usually did (that way she could pinch his non-wand-hand) but avoided meeting anyone's gaze.

When all the students had arrived, Lockhart looked up from a stack of stationary on his desk and cleared his throat loudly. Silence fell. He reached forward, picked up a girl's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and-" He stopped, staring, mouth slightly agape.

Lockhart said, "I say, what the devil is that?" He was pointing at the dummy sitting next to Harry.

Harry said, "This is Dudley. He's my dummy. Dudley, stand up."

Dudley did nothing.

Harry said, "Are you serious? I just animated you this morning." Harry murmured the spell, and Dudley stood, showing off his white underwear — briefs.

"Observe," said Harry, and he punched the dummy in the underwear. The metallic tonging sound didn't fit the action. Harry said, "First, the underwear, when struck, stiffens, protecting your special equipment from blows. Second." He stroked flaps on the underwear, and they curled up, revealing little sharp white bits that looked oddly like teeth. "I've now activated the underwear fully. Watch this." From a pocket, he drew a short stick, or perhaps a thick twig, and poked the underwear with it.

The underwear flaps snapped, and every person in attendance drew in a breath, staring at the shortened stick.

Harry said, "It attacks any foreign objects other than the wearer and pants."

Professor Lockhart said, "Are you quite sure it won't attack the wearer? In any circumstances? Because that could be very bad."

Several of the boys nodded, looking green.

"Completely sure," said Harry. "Protection of the wearer is built into it at the most basic level. That's how it works. Very defencive. Against the Dark Arts." He looked meaningfully at Professor Lockhart. "A student project, which Defends Against the Dark Arts."

Professor Lockhart laughed shakily. "Well done, Mr. Potter. 20 points for Gryffindor."

Harry smiled. Hermione leaned over and whispered, "Now you can't show it to Professor Flitwick. That would be double-dipping."

Harry said, "It should count for both classes. It's an interdisciplinary project."

"Where did you even learn that phrase?"

"Your mum," said Harry.

Lockhart laughed slightly. "Where was I?" He glanced at the underwear, crossed his legs, and winced again. "I have a little quiz for all of you. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you've read my books, how much you've taken in —"

When he'd handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start — now!"

The test was really weird and pretty boring, so around question twenty Harry started writing 'figg' for all his answers, since 'f' and 'g' were both fun letters to write. After he'd finished the quiz, Harry amused himself by transfiguring rubbish from his pockets into a bipedal mouse with samurai armor and a samurai sword. He having it fight a small army of two-inch tall skeleton people on his desk.

When everyone was finished, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. He gave Harry an odd look, and praised Hermione for knowing everything so well, gave her 10 points, and said, "And so, to business."

Lockhart bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

Lockhart said, "Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. "I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart ripped off the cover.

"Yes," he said, "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

The boy who Harry roomed with who often made things explode started laughing.

"Yes," said Lockhart, smiling at the boy.

"Well, they're not — they're not very — dangerous, are they?" the boy choked out, still holding off laughter."

"Don't be so sure," said Lockhart, waggling a finger. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces, four wings apiece, and voice so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budges arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," said Lockhart loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

As the pixies shot out of the cage, Harry, quick as thought, transfigured Dudley's arms into large and sturdy butterfly nets. "Attack!" yelled Harry, motioning with his wand, and the dummy stood from the chair, and walked unsteadily through the aisle as it wildly flailed its arms, gathering pixies in the butterfly nets.

One of the pixies hit the dummy's underwear and disappeared with a horrible scream.

Elsewhere, the class was pandemonium. Two of them seized Neville by the ears, and would have lifted him into the air if Hermione hadn't hit them with a charm. Several shot out the window, showering the back row with broken glass, and the rest might've wrecked the classroom if not for Dudley. Even as it was, most of the class, including the boy who had laughed, hid under their desks.

Harry was distracted from overseeing Dudley by the sight of Samurai Mouse locked in combat with a pixie. He decided the remaining skeleton people should make common cause with Samurai Mouse against the flighted barbarians, but while he was arranging that, Dudley fell down.

"No, Dudley!" shouted Harry, as several of the pixies escaped the butterfly nets. At his wand's direction, Dudley stood back up, and Harry said, "I can't be micromanaging you all the time. You need to stand up on your own." He recast his animation spell, more forcefully that second time, and Dudley staggered back into the fray.

Harry looked at his desk just in time to see Samurai Mouse disembowel the pixie as the skeleton people held the pixie down by the legs.

Harry gulped and emptied his pockets onto Hermione's desk, and from the mixture of pebbles, twigs, feathers and jewelry, he began the process of creating an army of Flying Samurai Mice, except he was a little queasy about killing the pixies, so he gave them wooden swords instead of sharp metal ones, and he made them bigger than the first Samurai Mouse, closer in size to the pixies.

Next to him, Hermione was casting Freezing Charms at any pixies that came too close, missing them more often than not, but she collected a few and transfigured her hat into a small steel cage to put them in, then returned to guarding Harry as he worked.

"Fly my pretties, fly!" cried Harry. A squad of Flying Samurai Mice took off unsteadily through the air, and shortly came to blows with the pixies.

Seeing the pixies were more maneuverable, and kept getting around onto the Samurai Mice's backs, he started imagining them less as Samurai Mice with wings and more as Samurai Bats with arms, and the second wave did better.

Hermione and Neville emptied out their pockets onto Hermione's desk so Harry would have more blanks with which to make Samurai Bats, and slowly, the classroom filled with the sounds of aerial combat, and students crawled out from under their desks to watch, and to take down the occasional pixie.

Dudley forced the pixies it had caught back into the cage from which they'd been released, and Harry worked feverishly to create more Samurai Bats. Slowly, the tide began to turn. The remaining pixies made for the broken window, but the Samurai Bats (and one remaining Flying Samurai Mouse) massed to stop them, and Hermione, thinking quickly, repaired the window and made it much, much thicker.

In ones, two and threes, the pixies were captured, by Dudley, by Samurai, and by the students, and were forced into one of the two cages.

As perhaps unnecessarily rough Samurai Bats (and the original Samurai Mouse and the surviving skeleton people) forced the last of the pixies into the cage made from Hermione's hat, Professor Lockhart began to clap.

"Well done!" said Professor Lockhart. "Well done indeed. I would like to extend my congratulations to the whole class, but unfortunately, most of the credit goes to Mr. Harry Potter, and, to a lesser extent, to Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione pinked.

Professor Lockhart continued, "Now, perhaps you don't all have Harry's remarkable talent for transfiguration, but there are other ways. Miss Granger, what spell were you using? I couldn't quite hear your incantation over all the yelling."

Hermione said, "The Freezing Charm, Professor."

"Ah, yes, the good old Freezing Charm. Class, students, if that spell is too much for you, there are others you could've tried. Even sparks would be better than nothing. Even the mere slapping of a hand. Even if you are not a great wizard such as myself, or such as Mr. Potter seems destined to be, good sense and bravery may compensate for mediocre talent, as Miss Granger demonstrated."

Harry glared at Lockhart. They'd learned the Freezing Charm at the end of the first year and most students couldn't do it half so well as Hermione. Calling her talent 'mediocre' was ridiculous.

He glanced at Hermione, expecting to her to be indignant, but she wore a broad, flattered smile at the 'compliment.'

Harry began to suspect that Lockhart was using a spell that affected people's minds, and detecting and defeating it was one of the class's practical exercises.

Lockhart pointed to the boy who had laughed when he'd seen the pixies. "You, what is your name."

"Seamus Finnegan," he said quietly.

Lockhart said, "You were sure they posed no danger. Laughed at them even. And yet, when the moment came, all you could do was cower under your desk. Let that be a lesson. Let that be a metaphor for how Britain cowered from You-Know-Who. From..." he paused dramatically, "Voldemort."

The class gasped.

Lockhart wrote 'Freezing Charm' on the board at the front of class and said, "Tell me class, what are other spells that might be used against Pixies? It's alright, no need to raise your hands. Just call them out."

Neville said, "P-Petrificus Totalus."

"Ah, yes, the good ol' petrifying Charm." He wrote it on the board. "A trustworthy spell with an awkwardly long incantation."

"Vermillious," said a Hufflepuff, and Lockhart wrote that under the others.

In a few minutes, a long list of spells had been written the board.

Lockhart pointed at the board. "This list is your homework. You're second-years. You each ought to be comfortable with at least four of the spells on it. At least! You can find all you need to know about these spells in the library, or in your textbook from last year, which I trust you still have. Next week, I'll try you at the pixies again, and we'll see if you're still so dependent on Potter and Granger. Class dismissed."

Ron rejoined them as they got the pixies from Hermione's cage into Lockhart's cage, and Hermione turned her cage back into her hat.

As they walked through the halls, (Dudley a few paces behind them) headed to the rock garden to spend their free period there, Harry said, "Hermione, he called you mediocre."

Hermione glowed. "No, he called my talent mediocre. He said I'm brave and have good sense."

They entered the rock garden, and sat on benches as Harry said, "Mediocre is like a bad way of saying average, right? Your talent is not average."

Hermione said, "Yes it is. I just work hard."

Harry said, "If you're average, Ron and Neville are talentless idiots. I mean, Ron does more homework than I do, and Neville works almost as hard as you do, and you're way better than either of them. I mean, I don't know if Neville will be able to do a proper Freezing Charm by the end of this year. No offense, Neville. And Ron couldn't transfigure his hat into a steel cage if you gave him a week."

Ron turned quite red and said, "Hey! If I can't say mean things, you can't either! And maybe we'd do better if we had proper wands."

Harry blinked. "Something's wrong with your wand?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "I told you about this on the train."

Harry said, "You did? Well, I wasn't really paying attention to you then since you mostly kept going on about your chocolate frog collection and some sport I didn't know about, and even if I had been paying attention, how do you remember unimportant conversations from a year ago? That's amazing. What's wrong with your wand?"

Ron said, "It's my brother Bill's old wand."

Harry thought of his own visit to Ollivander's, and how many wands they'd tried until he'd found the one that fit. And how he and Hermione had tried each other's wands once and simple spells they'd already mastered had become strange and difficult. Harry said, "That's pretty lucky, that a relative had the right wand for you."

Ron said, "Er, it's not really that it's the right wand. Just that it's good enough." His ears turned pink. "Saves money, you know?"

"It's a hand-me-down wand?" said Harry.

"Yeah," Ron answered, miserable.

Harry said, "All of my muggle things are hand-me-downs. Neville, how about you? Ron made it sound like you have a wand problem too."

Neville said, "I h-have my father, my father's wand."

Harry frowned, "Doesn't he need it?"

"Er, well, he, with the war, after, he doesn't need it."

"He's dead?" said Harry.

"Not d-dead."

"Then wha-"

Hermione kicked Harry in the shin, and Ron said, "Harry, shut up."

Harry looked from Ron to the sick-looking Neville and said, "Okay. But why don't you have your own wand?"

"Well, my gran, sh-she says it ought to carry my f-father's wand to honor him. And, well-" He stopped, looking miserable.

"Is it a perfect fit, your father's wand?"

"M-maybe."

Harry handed Neville his wand. "Try a few spells with mine," he said.

Neville didn't take it at first, but Harry pressed his wand into Neville's hand, and looked at him expectantly.

Hesitantly, Neville tried Harry's wand. His first attempt at The Levitation Charm failed, but his second made a grayish-blue rock rise slightly, almost to the level of the bench. He turned a quill of his into a very quill-like leaf. He softened a small portion of the bench, hardened it again, and gave Harry his wand back.

"How is it?" said Harry.

Neville said, "A-about the same as my dad's."

"Not surprising," said Harry. "After all, half of you is your mother. That's how the whole parents thing works. We shouldn't expect your father's wand to fit you more than half well. I'm buying you both new wands."

Neville was poleaxed, Hermione was pleased, and Ron was angry. Ron said, "I'm not accepting charity."

"It's not charity. It's early Christmas presents."

"It's too expensive to be a Christmas present," said Ron.

"Yeah, well I'm rich, in the wizarding world. The Christmas presents I buy might be expensive sometimes. You're my friends, and you ought to have wands that fit. And if you don't like it, I'm buying you both ten wands and making you choose your favorites from those. And Ron, do you think I don't remember how you helped me not get lost the first year? How you took me to Madam Pomfrey and you still carry a first-aid kit with you? You've taken care of me a lot. It's time I took care of you. And Neville—well, it's really just an early Christmas present for you, but that's okay. Okay? Okay."

Neville said, "My gran wouldn't like it."

"Your gran wouldn't like you having a wand that fits? Then don't tell her. And if she does find out, tell her she can complain to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Transfiguration Prodigy, Finder of the Legendary Clubhouse of Secrets. And Ron, same for you. This is not fair, not fair at all. Hermione and I tried using each other's wands once, and everything was twice as hard. You're getting new wands. Is that clear?"

"Clear," said Neville, as Ron nodded minimally.

#

Severus Snape was grading essays when there was a knock on his door.

Remaining at his desk, he opened with the barest dip of his wand, revealing Potter beyond.

Potter looked so very much like his father, and he had his father's disregard for the rules. But he was also Lily's son, and finding out that he was Slytherin's Heir because Lily had been, in some, sense, Slytherin's Heiress, somehow made him more Lily's son. After all, being Slytherin's Heir was vastly more important than being the last Potter.

It put Snape on uncertain ground, made only more uncertain by the boy placing a large green and silver mug on his desk.

Snape regarded the mug cautiously. He hadn't forgotten the Professor Snape masks Potter had made last year. It might be passed off as a mere jape, but considering Potter's ancestry, it was only a matter of time before Potter graduated to truly cruel pranks and bullying.

The handle was some sort of... dwarf creature which looked familiar, and the writing on the mug said, 'World's Best Potions Professor,' in loopy font.

Snape said, "Potter. What is this?"

"It's for you. The handle is Grumpy. He's a dwarf. He's mean and prickly on the outside, but really, he's a good guy underneath."

Snape glared, black eyes glimmering, but the boy, as usual, didn't notice.

Cautiously, Snape took the mug. He wouldn't drink out of it, obviously, but perhaps he would pot a carnivorous plant in it and set it in a windowsill.

Potter said, "Professor Snape, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Ah. That was what the mug was for. Buttering him up for a favor. He hadn't known Potter had that in him.

"My friends, Ron and Neville, you know them, it turns out their wands don't fit. They didn't get a proper wand fitting. Just wands family members had. So I'd like to go with them to Ollivanders and get them wands, but I thought we would need an adult to get there and the like."

Snape said, "And why come to me?"

"Well, I thought of Professor McGonagall, since she's my team's coach, but Hermione told me she's very busy owing to be being the school's Deputy, which is amazing because I didn't know she was in law enforcement at all, so then I thought of you next, and you do owe me for the basilisk eyes, blood and bile. And it'd be pretty funny watching Neville flinch whenever you looked at him, and also maybe you two could start getting along better."

Snape stared at Harry Potter. He didn't want to try to sort out that tangled line of reasoning as to why Potter had come to him, but there was still the question of why Potter was trying to get his friends new wands at all. James would've done it because he wouldn't have tolerated his friends having less than the best. He'd always been buying Lupin and Pettigrew whatever they lacked, over their half-hearted objections. Couldn't have an entourage looking poor, now could he?

Lily would've done it too, but simply to help.

Snape said, "Why?"

"Ron and Neville take a long time to learn spells and they usually don't do them well, and I thought maybe that was because they don't practice spells in general enough and don't do enough theory work, and that would be fair, but it didn't seem like nearly enough to explain all of the gap.

"So I thought maybe the rest was because they weren't very talented, and that wouldn't be fair, but there wouldn't be much to do about it, probably. But now it turns out at least part of it was their wands, and that's not fair, and I can fix it, so I want to fix it. I only know four students well, and two of them have hand-me-down wands, do you think half is about right for the school as a whole?"

Snape said, "Much, much less than that."

Harry said, "Could you check? If there are other people without fitting wands, I could get them fitting wands too, as long as there aren't too many."

Snape said, "Potter, I haven't agreed."

"If it's going to be no, could you say no now so I can go ask Professor Plant-Teacher?"

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed, and he said, "You will await my answer."

:::

Harry will someday create the greatest underwear in the history of the world.

I usually like strong Harrys, but not ridiculously OP ones, and this Harry is trending in the OP direction. But he's just so joyful about it that I don't mind. He's not becoming OP so he can bathe in the blood of his enemies and recline on a bed of harem-witches. He's becoming OP because he really likes magic and is having a lot fun.

Reminder that the Professor Snape masks are vastly less than Harry and the gang canonically did to Snape in first year (setting him on fire, accusing him of capital crimes to his boss) so we should expect Snape to dislike him less just on the basis of that.

My book, Monstrosity, by JLL, (L, J L) is available for Amazon Kindle.

16. Myrtle's Watery Domain

Myrtle's Watery Domain

Wednesday afternoon, with Neville talking to a plant, Ron talking to the red-headed girl who meeped, (they seemed to be friends) and Hermione hard at work on the fourth draft of a charms essay, Harry grabbed Luna and took her to Myrtle's loo.

He'd wondered if Dumbledore would improve the loo any, but it was just as bad as before. Mirrors cracked, tiles broken, sinks chipped, candles low, paint flaking off the wooden stalls. Harry guessed Dumbledore used the second, much more private entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry said, "Myrtle?"

She arose from a toilet, lank hair, very thick glasses, and a face designed for whinging. She said, "You're here again? You don't have to bother me if you want go through the sink."

"We're not going through the sink. Not for another week or two." It was tempting to go in even though he wasn't supposed to, but he liked Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was putting in lifts, so he'd decided to go along with what Dumbledore had said. And anyway, it made perfect sense that Dumbledore wouldn't want him messing around in a construction zone. "I wanted to ask you how you died."

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

"Oooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think, it must've been. The same one you speak to make the wall open. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet. and then —" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."

"How?" said Harry, though he was quite sure he knew.

"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away." She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

Harry nodded. It was what he'd thought. "You were killed by a basilisk. Slytherin's Monster from the Chamber of Secrets."

"Really?" said Myrtle. "I know that legend. Oh, but I ought to be famous."

Harry said, "And the basilisk was being controlled by Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" said Myrtle, nose wrinkling. "That's a funny name."

"I guess he must've been French," said Harry, "so maybe the T at the end is supposed to be silent. I'm not sure."

Luna said, "It wasn't his real name. It's made up. There are a lot of theories about his real name, but my father has nearly proved he was Betty Brillbreaker. He was a girl at first, you see, but he had a sex change after he finished Hogwarts."

Myrtle said, "Betty? But I remember her. She was very nice. And she didn't sound like a boy at all. I don't think it could've been her who killed me."

Luna seemed doubtful, and Harry said, "Whoever Voldemort was, he killed lots and lots of people and was a very famous Dark Lord, at least in Britain. You might be his first victim."

"Oh, goodie," said Myrtle. "I thought Tom Riddle might've killed me, but this is much better."

"Who?"

"Tom Riddle was a Slytherin prefect. Quite nice, and very handsome. A complete dish. I wouldn't have picked him to kill anyone, but Professor Dumbledore asked me all sorts of questions about him. Whether I might've seen him doing anything odd, whether he might've had a grudge against me, very suspicious. That was, oh, I don't know decades ago, maybe."

Decades. She'd been dead for decades, and it bothered him. He'd been thinking, and all the ghosts bothered him.

Harry said, "Why haven't we made you alive again? Its seems like it should be easy. Just transfigure a body and put you inside it."

Myrtle explained in an excited babble. "I asked all about this, especially after Olive Hornby graduated. Well, first off, you know, it's not like bodies and spirits are mass produced all the same. You need the right body, or they won't fit together. And even if they do fit, they have to be connected by life, which I don't have any of. It'd be one thing if I were a wraith, because wraiths, horrible nasty things, are spirits without bodies, but I'm a ghost, and ghosts are dead people who are here rather than there. So you see, it's not very possible."

Harry said, "Could we give you life?"

"Maybe, but you'd have to take it from someone else. By killing them, I mean. I asked all about this too. I'm muggle-born, so I didn't know. Messing around with making dead people alive again is called necromancy; it's very dark. Decent wizards don't study it, and if you do, it's Azkaban for you. But I don't mind. Being a ghost isn't bad. I just have to be dead forever," she said with a hic. "Alone here in my loo. Forever."

She began to cry, ghostly tears running down her face, dripping off her chin, and dissipating like fog as they fell.

Harry said, "That's annoying. If you keep crying, I'll leave."

Myrtle sobbed, crying harder. "Forever, in this horrible, decaying loo."

Harry didn't like that idea. Myrtle's loo reminded him a little of his room with the Dursleys, but really, this loo was a lot worse. Dirty and breaking. Harry said, "Why does it look like this anyway?"

Myrtle said, "I don't let Filch in."

Harry said, "Luna and I could make it nicer, I expect."

Myrtle stopped crying immediately, looking at him in surprise through her fingers. She said, "If the loo were nice, people would use it. I don't want people pooping in my toilets. Most of them haven't been used in years, and I intend to keep it that way."

Harry said, "We could get rid of the toilets."

"I like my toilets."

Luna said, "We could remove the seats so people would have to squat, or sit on the rim, and then we could make the toilets tall so they couldn't squat."

Myrtle said, "That could work."

Harry took that statement as agreement, and began on Scourgifying the place. Luna did what she could (which was mostly learning the spell) but after about 15 minutes, almost half of the minutes spent on the rust stains in the porcelain sinks, the loo was mostly clean, and it was time to repair damages.

The Repairing Charm was very broad. It was easier if you identified what you were repairing in the incantation, but you didn't have to. It could fix a small thing, like a crack in a quill, but it could also set a whole building to rights in moments if you were good enough with it, and strong enough.

Harry would need more than moments, but he figured he could get the loo into decent shape. He started with the mirrors, fixing the cracks and scratches, then moved onto the chipped sinks, performing the spell loudly and with large wand movements so Luna could see how it was done.

Luna worked on the pitted stone walls, with Myrtle zooming around the loo pointing out gouges, cracks and scratches. Luna made slow going of it, but progressed.

Harry turned from the no-longer-chipped sinks to the floors. Beneath his wand, broken tiles and flecks of grouting came back together, but, unfortunately, over the years, many of the tiles had been swept up and been put in the rubbish, so there was only so much the spell could do. Reparo couldn't fix what wasn't there.

He had a red velvet bag of pebbles in his pocket, and they should turn into tiles quite happily, but he didn't think there were enough of them, and he decided to do the stalls first.

First he fixed the cracks and scratches, but then there was the paint, which may have once been white, but wasn't anymore.

Harry said, "Myrtle, what color would you like the stalls to be?"

Myrtle said, "But Color Charms are hard." She looked at him askance, and he knew she was thinking he was too young for them.

"Which is why I won't use them. I'll transfigure the paint into paint of a different color."

"Then, I would like no paint at all. Just beautiful wood, nicely lacquered."

Harry considered the problem. If he just transfigured the paint directly into lacquer, the stalls probably wouldn't look good.

So first he transfigured the paint into dust, which settled onto the ground beneath the stalls, and considered the wood directly.

The wood was oak, roughly sanded, and with the paint gone, he could see it was rotting in places. So he turned the rotting wood into unrotted wood, then he transfigured the wood so it would be smooth as glass, and he brushed up the grain. He altered the grain a little, so there would be faint suggestions of drawings, mostly of trees, and added fancy looking crenelations at the corners of the stalls, like what he had at the top of the posts of his four-poster bed.

He put the paint dust back on, but as a clear lacquer that was a little like plastic, a little like sap, and a little like glass.

"Well?" said Harry.

"It's beautiful," said Myrtle, wringing her hands.

Harry thought so too. Wood had a warmth that paint didn't. He moved into the stalls, removed the toilet seats, and cast them onto the floor so they could be turned into floor tiles. He figured some desperate people might still try to sit on the flat rim, so he made the rim pyramidal.

There was still the matter of raising the toilet. He really should use a Lengthening Charm, but he wasn't sure he could pull it off even if he hadn't been fuzzy on the incantation. Option one was of course to just transfigure it into a taller toilet, but a toilet was a large thing to transfigure all at once, and if he didn't do it perfectly, he'd end up with water inside the wall of the toilet.

And the new toilet would have to be bigger, and the transfiguration would have to be permanent. Meaning he needed to add a few pounds of porcelain to the universe. Which wasn't that hard, because matter, as muggles called it, wasn't anything. Just a little twisting in space, a few numbers jotted into the ledger of the universe.

But still. Doing it to a few small stones was one thing. Doing it to a whole toilet was something else.

He considered a more substantial redesign, instead of just making it taller.

He envisioned what he wanted very clearly in his head, imagining it from all angles, and cast the spell.

The toilet thinned, the lip of it rise up past his waist, and the bowl rounded, becoming a perfect circle. After a moment, the porcelain sculpture more resembled a fountain or a sink than a toilet. More than anything, it resembled a porcelain bird bath that flushed.

Harry leaned against the stall. Being tired from magic was a weird sort of tired. A little like being tired from exercising, a little like being tired from not having slept, a little like being tired from not having eaten, but more than anything, like being tired from having read a difficult book that made you focus and think.

After a few moments, the tiredness passed. Harry said, "Myrtle, come look at this."

She came up behind him, stuck her head through his chest (which made him feel very cold) and said, "Oh, but it looks fantastic. All the other ghosts will be so jealous."

She dove into the bird bath, and Harry watched with interest as the water splashed slightly.

Luna peered past him and said, "You should leave one of the toilets as a toilet, so the room still counts as a loo."

Harry nodded. That was good. It mean he only had to transfigure three more toilets, not four. He did the others quickly, then waited a minute for himself to recover and worked on the handles to the bird baths.

The handles were brass, which had been charmed to not oxidize. Oxidized brass could be different colors. Green, like bronze, but also various browns, some of them almost black. Harry transfigured all the handles into cute little brass snakes, with scale patterns of gold, very dark brown, and green. And each little snake was attempting to eat a small brass fruit. A strawberry, a grape, a pineapple and an apple.

"It's wonderful," said Myrtle, coming out of a different bird bath than she'd entered. "Thank you so much. No one's ever done anything like for me before." And she began to cry again, but they were tears of a different type.

Harry smiled, and a little color rose to his cheeks. Of course, it was nice just to transfigure stuff and make it look nicer, and transfiguring the toilets was some of the biggest magic he'd done, but it was more than that. He had a little warm glow in his chest. He hadn't helped people very much before, and it was nice.

Harry said, "Myrtle, sorry, but I'm tired. I'll have to do the floor some other time. Tomorrow, maybe, so think about how you'd like it to look. Is there anything else we could do?"

Myrtle scratched at one of her ghostly boils. She said, "Ghosts, we don't get bored exactly, not like living people do, but it would be nice to have a wireless. Put somewhere up high where people can't reach it, and with anti-summoning spells on it."

"A wireless radio?" he clarified.

Myrtle said, "Sort of. Wizarding wirelesses don't have anything to do with radio waves. That's part of why there's so little static." She paused. "Or at least they didn't have anything to do with radio waves when I was alive, and I don't see why they would've changed it."

Harry didn't recall seeing any radio-like-things in the common room, so he wondered if they weren't allowed in the school. He would check. About getting one, not about whether they were allowed at Hogwarts. "I'll see about getting you one. No promises."

As a final touch, as he left, he transfigured the sign on the door so it identified the room as Myrtle's Watery Domain, rather than a girls' loo.

:::

As readers of fan fiction, we read endless versions of the same chapter. Harry goes to Diagon Alley. Harry decides to get serious about school, or training, or personal fitness. Harry has sex. Harry does something clever about Dobby. Snape becomes Harry's mentor. Snape gets his comeuppance.

But 'Harry makes Myrtle's undeath a little less dreary because he's a nice boy who does that sort of thing' is a chapter I've never read before. Yet it is not something which requires any great creativity, only for us to imagine Harry as a nice boy who does that sort of thing.

My book, Monstrosity, by JLL (L, J L) is available for Amazon Kindle.

17. Having the Knowing of Signs

After fixing up Myrtle's Watery Domain, Harry and Luna went to the Great Hall for dinner and sat with the others at the Gryffindor table. Hermione, Ron and Neville met them there, all of them early, the tables still bare.

As they waited, Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, glided through the air above the table, going back and forth, as if pacing through the air, holding what seemed to be parchment, but ghostly and transparent.

He'd gone up and down the table several times before Ron called out, "Oi, Nick, haunting the table won't make the food came any quicker."

Nick looked down at them, and lowered slightly. "Harry, perhaps, if you wrote a letter of recommendation. The word of the boy-who-lived couldn't hurt. I'm trying to join the Headless Hunt."

Luna said, "You don't look headless."

Nick sniffed and pushed his head. It came mostly off his shoulders, held on by an inch of skin and sinew. "I'm mostly headless," said Nick's head, unimpeded by that fact that it wasn't properly connected to his neck.

He put it back on.

Harry said, "Isn't the Headless Hunt those fellows who play the games where they throw their heads around? The Head Polo, and the juggling. Can you do those?"

"No," Nick admitted. "But I could still come along. I could still participate in some activities."

Harry said, "It sounds to me as if they'd be right to refuse you."

Ron said, "They could make you an honorary member."

Nick swelled up. "Getting struck in the neck forty-five times with a blunt axe ought to qualify you to be a full member."

Luna said, "What if we cut your head the rest of the way off?"

Harry shot to his feet. "Luna, brilliant! I should've thought of that. Come on Nick, down we go, downsy-daisy, lie flat on the table."

"What?" said Nick.

"Come on. Assume the position. You know. Like when your head got chopped at the first time."

Slowly, hesitantly, Nick floated lower and laid his head on the table, then pulled his head out, revealing again its tenuous connection to his shoulders.

Hermione said, "Harry, this is a very bad idea."

"Diffindo," said Harry. The Severing Charm cut straight through Nick's neck as if it weren't there and carved a thick slice into the table beneath.

Nick's head, however, remained attached, the spell having no effect on his ghostly substance.

Nick proved that ghosts could pale and stood, or floated level, rather, and floated out of Harry's reach. He ran his spectral hands over his neck and chest and said, "Young man, you gave me a flashback." And he hurried away.

Harry said, "I guess the Severing Charm won't do it. Hermione, add it to the list."

Hermione rolled her eyes and added 'Cuts Nick's head off,' to the list.

More students arrived, the food appeared, and they set too. Harry served himself a large helping of roast beef with broccoli and thick black gravy, and Luna, after eating two buns and a head of cauliflower, took parchment and quill from her bag.

Luna said, "I'd like to ask you questions about hissy-snake language."

He nodded, gulped down a mouthful of roast beef and conjured a medium-sized grass snake. "Go ahead."

Luna said, "First, in hissy-snake language, what do you call a water bottle?

Harry hissed to the snake for a moment, then said to Luna, "Hollow not-rock water thing."

Luna noted the answer and said, "Canteen."

"Also hollow not-rock water thing. They don't do synonyms, much."

"Paper," said Luna.

Harry hissed at the snake again, and the snake hissed back. The rest of the Gryffindor table had noticed, and was watching with aghast fascination as Harry had a conversation with it.

Harry said to Luna, "Dead tree dried slurry look at thing."

The red-haired boy who was a prefect said, "Harry, you're a parselmouth?"

"Hmm. No. I'm a snake-hisser. It's different. Parseltongue is dark magic. Snake hissing is just talking to snakes."

Luna said, "Crabapple tree."

Harry didn't bother to consult the snake. "They don't care about different types of trees like that. There's fat trees, tall trees and little trees. And prey trees too, but those are just trees that might have prey in them. An apple tree would be a fat tree, or a little tree if it was a sapling."

"Sequins?" said Luna.

Harry hissed urgently at the snake, which hissed back. Harry said to Luna, "Sequins are sequins. They have their own word."

"Fascinating," said Luna.

Hermione said, "I was reading about parseltongue, and snakes don't speak it among themselves. Snakes don't actually have language. When the minds of the snake and the parselmouth connect, the snake uses the parselmouth's own language faculties." Sounding concerned, she said, "So how words translate back and forth is just how Harry's mind works."

They all stared at Harry.

Harry said, "This pudding is really great, huh?" and shoveled several spoonfuls of it onto his plate.

Luna said, "Are sequins very important to you then?"

Harry said, "They're shiny. I'm actually working on a new shirt covered in sequins, and then I think I'll make a whole shirt made of sequins, except they'll be soft, and more like zippers. A shirt made of zippers."

The staring continued, Hermione, Luna and Ron trying to imagine what a shirt made of zippers would be exactly, and Neville, who had less experience with muggle clothing, wondering what zippers were.

Harry said, "Neville, change the subject."

Neville said, "Um, I found out from Ron's brothers about where we can meet the house-elves."

Harry said, "Ron, you have brothers? Oh, yeah, the one whose old wand you have. Bob. But more than just Bob?"

"Bill," said Ron. He closed his eyes, and his lips moved as he counted silently to three. "My brother Bill's old wand. But he's graduated from Hogwarts. He works for Gringotts now. Neville is talking about the twins. You know. With red hair. The funny ones."

"Oh, them. They're your brothers? That's nice. Neville, what were you saying about the house-elves?"

"You tickle the pear, then you go through the hole."

Ron said, "Tickle the..." He snorted, and pumpkin juice shot out his nose. "Look at Hermione, she's turning red. Wash your mouth out with soap. We're too young for dirty jokes."

"What?" said Neville.

"House-elves," said Harry.

"There's a kitchen. It's below the Great Hall. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit. You tickle the pear, it giggles, and then the painting opens and you enter the kitchen."

"How freudian," said Harry, who understand in a general sense what Ron had been getting at.

Hermione said, "Harry, Where did you learn about Freud? Ron, if you see Harry with a book by Sigmund Freud, you're to throw it out immediately. We don't need that combination."

Harry did not know what freudian meant. He'd been reading a book from the adult fantasy section, and the characters had (probably) been talking about sex, and the woman had said, 'how freudian,' and it had apparently been funny, so when the opportunity had come along, Harry had said it too.

Now that Hermione was implying freudian was a type of book, he figured he'd better check it out.

Dinner continued, and Harry found out that Luna ate in order. First she had starches, then vegetables, then protein, then desert or fruit, and finally, salad. Always in that order. Harry thought it very sensible, but too much work.

When dinner was finished, Neville led them through a hall, down a flight of stairs that led them back below the Great Hall, and to a colorful painting of a fruit bowl. He tickled the speckled pear, and it giggled in a babyish way and turned into a green door handle.

Neville opened the door, and Harry stepped into the Hogwarts kitchens.

It was an enormous high-ceilinged room, as large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. It was filled with at least a hundred house-elves, all of them wearing the same uniform. A tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest and tied like a toga.

They were all looking at Harry and those behind him, and they were all beaming. And they were gathered around large wood tables that seemed to mirror the tables in the Great Hall above except for being low to the ground.

Harry moved into the room a few steps so the others could come in behind him. Neville closed the door as he came in last, and Harry said, "Hi, I'm Harry Potter."

The closest house-elf stepped forward, and Harry shook its hand.

The house-elf gasped. "Harry Potter shakes Marmalade's hand! Harry Potter is great!"

"Thank you. You're great too. I bet you smell really well with a nose that long."

Harry shook the hand of the next house-elf, who said, "Harry Potter shakes Fannyweather's hand! Harry Potter is great!"

Harry said, "Being here is good for my ego."

The tables in the center of the kitchen shimmered, and in a moment were covered with dishes. Roast beef, biscuits, cauliflower, pudding. What was left of dinner.

As if it were a signal, all the house-elves but Marmalade and Fannyweather rushed to the tables, no longer paying any attention to the students, and began to eat. Standing, not sitting, and they ate not with knife and fork, but with magic, levitating the food to their mouths with points of their fingers.

Hermione gasped and said, "They eat our leftovers!"

Harry said, "That's good. If you know you'll eat the leftovers and you're the one who cooks, you make it so you'll have the right amount left over, and you can even make it how you like it, within reason."

Marmalade said, "Is Harry Potter wanting anything from Marmalade or Fannyweather?"

Harry said, "Just some questions. I read about house-elves, but I still don't understand. How do I get a house-elf?"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something in my teeth?"

"No. But you shouldn't want a house-elf!"

"Why not? They cook, they clean, and they seem very friendly. I bet they can be taught to play games too."

Fannyweather said, "Most elves with no master would be much honored to have Harry Potter as master. All elves have heard of Harry Potter's petition."

Hermione cleared her throat.

Harry said, "Harry Potter and Hermione Granger's petition."

"Just so. Harry Potter is being even more a hero to house-elves than before! And Hermione Granger. Except some house-elves is thinking it be shame to all house-elves if a house-elf leaves its master."

Hermione looked affronted, but before she could say anything Harry said, "How would I find an elf without a master?"

"Marmalade will spread the gossip that Harry Potter wants an elf. But very little house-elves is given clothes. Harry Potter would do better to find a master and get a house-elf as a gift."

"I read about that, but I don't know what to do to get one as a gift. Christmas present? Birthday? I-"

Ron interrupted. "Hey, er, Marmalade. I reckon there should be more bacon and chocolate at meals."

Marmalade looked him up and down. "Red-head boy will be fat if red-head boy eats too much bacon and chocolate."

Ron turned bright red.

"But where does red-head boy usually sit?"

Ron went to the Gryffindor table (identified by a plaque with the Gryffindor seal) and pointed to the area where they usually sat, though it was a little hard to tell for sure without the chairs, and with all the house-elves standing around it eating.

Marmalade said, "A little more bacon and chocolate will be there." The house-elf hesitated. "What does Harry Potter like?"

"I like bananas, and treacle tart, and sour things and hot sauce. And pot roast and brisket and beef stew with thick broth. Coconut, mustard, broccoli and roasted brussels sprouts." He glanced at Hermione. "And leafy greens."

Hermione said, "Harry, we don't want to make extra work for them." She frowned at Marmalade. "Do house-elves care very much about the boy-who-lived? It certainly seems like you do."

Fannyweather nodded enthusiastically. "Harry Potter ended the death times!"

That sounded very dramatic, and Fannyweather explained more about it while Marmalade got food for the both of the house-elves. Apparently, while many house-elves had died during the war against Voldemort, even more witches and wizards had died, and the result had been 'a problem of having too little masters,' which, according to Hermione, was properly called 'an unemployment crisis.'

They made it sound very traumatic.

And then there were other questions. Luna wanted to know if, with such big ears, ear wax was a problem, Hermione wanted to know why they hadn't staged a revolution, and Neville wondered if they liked their jobs.

Marmalade and Fannyweather assured them that they loved their work.

Harry asked, "What do you do for fun? When you don't have work?"

"When Marmalade does not have work, Marmalade sleeps, looks for work, talks to others, or darns. Some house-elves poesy, but Marmalade does not poesy."

Harry said, "What about reading?"

"Marmalade is not having the knowings of reading."

"You don't know how to read?" Hermione said, incredulous and horrified.

"Marmalade is knowing the meaning of some signs. The signs to the loos, the signs to the classrooms, the signs to the offices. but Marmalade is not knowing the reading of books."

Hermione's lips thinned. The red of anger went to her cheeks andsShe stepped on a stool. The house-elves, who, who were starting to clean the dishes, were turning to look at her even before she raised her voice and said, "All of you! Raise your hand, like this," she demonstrated, "if you know how to read."

Not a hand went up.

Hermione swallowed. She said, "Would any of you like to learn to read? Raise your hand if you do."

Slowly, hesitantly, a quarter of the elves raised their hands.

Hermione surveyed the hands and stepped down from the stool. She spoke to Harry in a low voice. "I'm adding it to the list."

:::

As a twelve-year-old, I had strong though ill-informed opinions on Freud, and I think by that point I may've already read a book comparing and contrasting the philosophies of Freud and C.S. Lewis. (I was nuts for anything C.S. Lewis.) But I'm afraid that Harry, for better or for worse (and it may be for better) hasn't grown up with that kind of stimulation.

I have difficulty thinking of mean jokes for Ron to make. Too bad, as it seems to come to JK Rowling quite naturally. A literally brainstormed for 'haunting the table,' which is pathetic.

Trying to cut off Nick's head... House-elves being mostly illiterate and that being a problem the Golden Pentuplet attempts to address... There, along the much worn path of fan fiction, are two more things I don't recall seeing before. Yet I don't feel the least bit creative. It's just these kids.

Monstrosity, by JLL, available for Amazon Kindle.

I thought The Golden Age by Arsinoe de Blasenville (Complete) was both very depressing and very good. Mileage will vary. The Mind Arts by Wu Gang (incomplete, but updating) has some elements very similar to GoM, but is much darker.

Whenever I write 'glided,' I wish that the past tense of 'glide' were 'glode,' but alas, it is not.

18. Tah after Potions

Tah after Potions

On Friday, Harry walked into potions with his friends, casting around for Snape, but the Professor hadn't shown up yet, and Harry still hadn't gotten a reply from Snape about the wands. If he didn't get one soon, he was asking Professor Plant-Teacher to take them whether Snape wanted him to or not.

He took out a parchment, quill and ink pot, since it was a lecture day, then started on transfiguring a pebble into different cucumbers. Long ones, short ones, skinny ones, fat ones. Shiny, waxy cucumbers, and dull cucumbers with rough textures. Green, purple and cross-hatched cucumbers. Nothing major, just a fidget to pass the time until Snape came. Only marginally edible, unfortunately, and far from nutritious.

The blond ponce said something to Harry, and Harry didn't notice. He was making a dark purple cucumber with white stars.

Draco Malfoy said, "Potter. Potty. Scarhead."

Harry made a dark green triangle cucumber with a hole in the middle.

"Hey, cucumber freak."

Harry looked up. "Yes?"

Draco Malfoy said, "Been kicked out of Gryffindor yet?"

Harry looked to Ron. "Just to confirm, Gryffindor is our team?"

"Yes, and it's called a house, for the last time."

"And have I been kicked out of it?"

"No," said Ron.

Harry turned to Draco and said, "No."

"You will be soon." His smile was nasty. "Those goody-two-shoe Gryffindors will never tolerate the least bit of Dark Magic."

"I'll stick to paisley magic," said Harry, who thought paisley must be a color, as characters in books sometimes wore paisley skirts and paisley ties.

Draco Malfoy said, "Too late. Parseltongue is Dark Magic. You were born a Dark Wizard. They won't have anything to do with you."

Harry said, "I'm not a parsel-lips."

"Parselmouth," said Hermione.

"I'm not a parselmouth," Harry agreed equably.

Draco Malfoy said, "I saw you at the breakfast table hissing to a snake."

Harry said, "Oh, are you a parselmouth?"

"No," admitted Draco Malfoy, wishing he was, "but you are."

Harry said, "But since you can't talk to snakes, how do you know I wasn't just hissing at it without saying anything? Don't you ever hiss?"

"No!"

"How weird."

"I know for a fact you were speaking parseltongue," said Draco Malfoy. He had seen some of his father's memory of the Dark Lord, in a pensieve, so he would 'know what power was.' He knew what parseltongue sounded like.

Harry said, "I didn't know you read the Quibbler. My being a snake-hisser is a The Quibbler exclusive."

Neville said, "Harry, that edition of the Quibbler isn't out yet. Luna said Monday at the earliest."

"What? Really? You know what this means? Blond Ponce is a seer and he read The Quibbler in the future. I need to respect him more."

"I'm not-"

"Goat," said Harry, and nothing else, the interruption qualifying as its own success.

"What goat?" said Draco Malfoy.

"What?" said Harry.

"You just said 'goat.'"

"No I didn't," Harry said. "I haven't said anything. I've been silent this whole time. All the words you have heard are just a dream you've been having. When I snap my fingers, you'll wake up." Harry snapped his fingers.

"You-"

"Ron, look, he woke up. What were you dreaming about? You kept talking in your sleep."

Draco Malfoy said, "I was not sleeping!"

"So you just had your eyes closed and your head on the table? Were you focusing hard to get ready for-"

"I did not have my eyes closed! I was talking to you."

Harry blinked. "Were you really? I don't remember that. Ron, do you remember that?"

"No," said Ron.

"But I suppose we might remember wrong. Was there something you wanted to ask?"

Draco Malfoy shook slightly. He was not supposed to ignored. Feared, yes, hated, maybe, but not ignored. Harassing Harry Potter was, in a strange, unpleasant way, like talking to his father.

Draco exploded in a geyser of disconnected anger. "Filthy half-blood bloodtraitor! You think you're so smart, but you're going to die when the Dark Lord returns, just like your parents, you stupid orphan."

Neville turned very white, and for the first time, a flash of anger crossed Harry's face. Harry said, "Didn't your dad claim he was under Baby-Loser's Imperius Curse? That's what Ron said. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me. I might rather be an orphan."

The classroom came to a halt. The students worked out from context who 'Baby-Loser' was, and there were several shocked giggles.

"Ba, Baby-lo-" Draco Malfoy came to a halt, his brain overloading. "Are you mad? He's the greatest dark wizard in history!"

Harry said, "Greatest dark wizard in history? That's not true, just based on what we've learned in history of magic. Grindelwald controlled most of Europe for nearly a decade. Hagar dominated greater Germany for nearly a hundred years and, through his rule and his wars, killed, directly or indirectly, half a million people, a large proportion of the world population at the time. Necromas did whatever he pleased in Greece and the near-east for five centuries. Zana destroyed whole civilizations because she liked trees more than people. Mywin cursed the Americas to not develop metal use by accident. Morgan Le Fey sundered reality. And I'm sure a lot happened in Asia and the bottom half of Africa that we haven't learned about.

"Baby-Loser, on the other hand, led a ten-year failed rebellion against the British government, consistently avoided open combat with the Headmaster of the local school, and eventually, as the name suggests, lost to a baby. And he gets to be the greatest Dark Lord ever? No. You might as well threaten me with your house-elf. At least it's got a body."

"Silence, you ignorant brat," said a cold silky voice from the back of the classroom. Snape stalked down the aisle, black cloak billowing behind him. When he reached the front of the classroom he turned and pinned Harry with his gaze. "Potter, cease your senseless brattle about a victory which does not truly belong to you. One which you do not even remember."

"I remember," said Harry.

Professor Snape arched an eyebrow.

"It's my earliest memory. It's not like other memories. It doesn't change or get dimmer. It's just the way it's always been."

The classroom was silent. Every student was looking at Harry. He had gotten genuinely angry, his blood was up, and he was saying when he normally wouldn't.

Harry said, "There's shouting. It wakes me. I stand in my crib and hold the bars. My mother runs into the room and stands in front of me. After her, a man walks in. There's shouting, and he hits her with green light. She falls. I look into the man's eyes, and they are red and slitted, like a villain from a story book.

"He casts the green light at me, and it hits me. It hurts, but it reflects off of me and hits the man. He comes apart, and there is more green light, and a horrible screaming. It feels like my head is in a vice. My head is bleeding.

"The bleeding ends. The light is gone. I am staring at my mother and I do not understand, but I'm cold, and I cry. Time passes, and another man comes in. He has black hair and he does not look at me. He holds my mother and he cries too. That's the end of the memory."

Snape was pale, bloodless, cadaverous, as if he'd aged tens years in a moment. His eyes were wide and dark, and he looked as if he wanted to vomit.

Harry said, "It's the only memory I have of her. For the longest time, I thought it was a dream."

Harry swallowed and put his technicolor cucumber in his bag, knowing Professor Snape didn't like him having things like that out. He was regretting saying what he'd said. Regretting saying it where everyone could hear.

Snape took a long, shaky breath and said, "Today, you will be making the Skin Clarifying Potion. Directions are on the board." He waved his wand, and the directions appeared on the board in white chalk.

Hermione said, "But we haven't had the lecture unit."

Snape said, "Ten points from Gryffindor. The directions are on the board." And he sank into his chair.

Slowly, registering that it was not a lecture day after all, students put their notes away and took their potions kits from their cubbies. Harry put on his goggles, and Neville too. The murmur of the class returned, and Hermione knew why Harry could see the thestrals.

#

#

At the end of class, as the other students left, Harry approached Professor Snape, who was sitting in his chair still looking a little shaky.

"Er, Professor. About the wands."

Snape nodded sharply. "Tomorrow, at nine o'clock, at the entrance hall. Do you need to visit Gringotts first, or do you have enough galleons with you?"

"How many wands will I be buying?"

"Just for Longbottom and Weasley, for now."

Harry said, "Then I have enough." He'd filled a large purse full of galleons over the summer. One of the cool goblin purses that was light, and small on the outside and that only he could open. "But while we're in Diagon Alley, I'd like to buy a wireless."

Snape said, "Potter. This is an expedition to provide students with well-fitted wands, not to provide you with an opportunity to go pleasure shopping."

Harry said, "It's not for me. It's for Myrtle. You know, the drama ghost. She has bad boils. Pimples. And I have seen the older students passing the Boil Removing Potion around the common room. It works very well. It's magic, after all. But Myrtle has bad boils, so I think her housemates wouldn't ever pass it to her. And then probably, they teased her for having boils. And she's muggle-born, with glasses. So probably, no one ever told her to go to the hospital wing and get her eyes fixed. She probably didn't know she could do that, and they teased her for having glasses. I know that for sure. So she went into the bathroom to cry one day, and a student who thought she shouldn't be at Hogwarts because her parents were muggles had her killed by a big snake. And then, I'm sure, the school told her parents about it, and her parents wished they'd never let her go to Hogwarts at all."

Harry said, "So I fixed up her loo for her. And she asked for a wireless, so I'd like to get her one."

Snape was breathing hard again, and his eyes were distant. He said, thickly, "Very well. Tomorrow, at nine in the morning, in the entrance halls. Bring your two stooges."

Harry nodded thanks and shuffled toward the door.

Snape said, "Your mother."

Harry stopped, turning expectantly toward Snape.

"Nothing," said Snape. "Out of my sight, until tomorrow. Close the door on your way out."

Harry nodded curiously and continued on his way.

When Potter had left, and Severus Snape was alone again, he said to the air what he hadn't been able to say to the boy. "His mother would've been proud."

#

#

They met, as before, in a sheltered corner at the back of the library.

Harry said, "I call to order the second meeting of the Order that Hasn't Been Named Yet. The first item on our agenda is deciding on our name."

Hermione said, "We don't have an agenda."

"We have a list of goals. Name ideas?"

Luna said, "Snorkack Society."

Harry said, "The cute invisible ones you told me about?"

Luna nodded.

Ron said, "Weasley and Co."

Hermione said, "I don't see the point to having a name. We're just a group of friends. But if we are going to name ourselves, I recommend the Virtuous Order of Magical Industriously Tendentious Students."

"The Vomits?" said Ron.

Neville started writing the ideas down.

Luna said, "Wrackspurt Avoidance Society."

Harry said, "Luna, how about an idea that doesn't involve animals?"

"Wrackspurts aren't animals."

"You know what I mean."

Luna said, "Then... how about, 'The Society of the Almost Hexed.' Since there are only five of us, not six, a hex."

Harry said, "Am I sensing that 'Society' is more popular than 'Order?'"

There was head nodding all around, except for Ron.

Ron said, "I like Order more. It's more marital."

"You mean martial?" said Hermione.

"No, marital. Fighting and stuff."

Hermione said, "Marital is about marriage. Martial is about fighting. They don't even sound the same."

"You've got it backward," said Ron.

"She doesn't," said Harry, Neville and Luna all together.

Neville said, "We could p-permanently be the The Society That Hasn't Named Itself Yet. Or just the Nameless Society. Or, for short, just, 'The Nameless.'"

Harry said, "Does anyone know what Society is in Latin? I've got a feeling it's just 'Societis' or something, but it would be nice to know."

Luna said, "We could be the Order of the Electromagnetic Spectrum. Then when people asked what the Order was, we could say gamma rays, x-rays, etcetera."

Ron said, "That doesn't make any sense."

Hermione said, "No, I think I get it. It's a muggle science pun. Luna, why do you know muggle science?"

Luna said, "The real question is why should you be startled that I seek to know the secrets of the universe."

Harry said, "How about, 'The Seekers,' because we seek truth."

"Sounds like Quidditch," said Ron. "Seeker's a position."

"Not the Quidditch again," said Harry. "You're always on about that."

"'Not the Quidditch' would be a decent name," said Hermione. "Or, have you heard of The Beatles? The famous muggle band. We could be like that, only we'd call ourselves, I don't know, how about 'The Crabs?'"

Ron snorted. "We should be The Lightning. And then all the members of The Lightning are Bolts."

Hermione said, "That sounds like something an eight-year-old would think up."

Luna said, "The Society is a Society, so we could be 'The Tautological Society.' There was a Quibbler issue last March all about tautologies in magic and the build-up of separatist selkie armies in Ireland."

"What's a taut a loggy?" said Ron.

Harry grimaced at the others and said, "We all have hats. If you turn a hat upside down, its openness represents the fundamental emptiness of that which the hats cover, our own minds, which are filled past brimming by the mythology of the state and the psychology of language, and it is only by the refusal of this filling that we may be receptive to the moanings of truth, and so I propose that we reverse this. We can be hat spelled backward. Tah."

Neville said, "Y-you're just saying that because you're getting bored."

"So? This is taking too long. We can be Tah. Raise your hand if you'd like to vote for Tah."

Luna said, "We should be 'look.' It's cool that if you look at look, you see it's cool backward but spelled with a K. Same sound though."

Hermione shook her head vigorously.

Ron said, "We could be the Protectors of Hogwarts. Protectors for short."

"Is anyone listening to me?" said Harry.

No one answered.

"We could be the Order of the Obviously Oblivious, then," griped Harry.

Luna said, "Protectors sounds very pretentious. If the Order of the Almost Hexed doesn't work, we could be the Golden Pentuplet, and if we get a sixth member, we'd change it to Golden Hextuplet, and so forth. It would be a little bit pretentious, at least, so Ron might like it. Ron?"

"Golden Pentuplet sounds alright to me," said Ron. "Not as good as The Protectors though."

Neville said, "I don't want to be part of the golden pentuplet. Something more modest. How about... the Order of Achievable Goals. That's Oag. Or the Order of Relatively Achievable Goals. Orag."

Hermione said, We need to say they're good goals, and we should change Order to Society, since we agreed we like that more. Ethical Society of Relatively Achievable Goals. Esrag. All in favor of Esrag?"

Hermione raised her hand, and after a moment Neville did too.

Harry said, "All in favor of Tah?" and raised his own hand.

Ron said, "Are those our only two choices?"

"No," said Hermione.

"Yes," said Harry, more loudly.

Ron said, "Dammit. I'll go with Tah then." He raised his hand. Luna raised her hand too, though she may just have been stretching, but Harry counted up quickly. "One, two, three, that's a majority, suck it Hermione, we're officially Tah!"

"No! We can't. We need to study all our options."

"Too late, you called the vote, we voted, don't you believe in the democratic process? We're Tah!" He dropped his voice and whispered, "And I'm going to be quiet now because Madam Pince is coming toward us and she looks angry."

Total silence fell over the group. They clasped their hands politely in front of themselves, except for Hermione, who waved apologetically at Madam Pince.

Madam Pince came closer, glaring, and with hands on her hips, said, "One more exclamation point out of any of you and I'm kicking you all out."

"We promise we'll be good," Hermione whispered.

"You'd better," said Madam Pince. She turned around sharply on her heel and continued her stalking of the library shelves.

Harry let out a breath he'd been holding in and said, "Onto other business. Hermione, the list."

She cleared her throat, smoothed the parchment of the list, and said, "While we have not changed wizarding law regarding house-elves or asked them about their courtship rituals, we did visit them. That's progress, and Luna, when does the first Quibbler article on house-elves come out?"

"Monday."

Harry said, "Excellent. Yes, congratulations all around." Harry golf clapped, and Luna and Ron imitated him. "Do we all have time to visit the house-elves Tuesday after classes? Yes. Good. We'll do that, and Luna can pen another article. Next."

Hermione said, "Finding more hidden places. We did find the kitchen. That's a good start. Ron, you should ask your older brothers."
Harry said, "Ron, you have older brothers? Oh, yeah, Billy, right?"

"Bill," said Ron. "He doesn't go here anymore. The twins and Percy do. We've talked about this."

"Who's Percy?" said Harry.

Hermione said, "I propose general exploratory ventures, time permitting, and everyone should read Hogwarts, A History, so we'll have a common base of knowledge. I can lend the book to you, if you like. Moving on. The request for meal adjustments has been put into the house-elves, and I for one have observed more leafy greens around where I sit."

Ron said, "I thought the bacon was piled a little higher the past two mornings, and there's been chocolate milk to go with the regular milk, and chocolate for my pumpkin juice."

Hermione drew a line thought that item on the list and said, "Next, creating new secrets to put in the Chamber of Secrets. Does anyone have any secrets?"

Ron said, "I got a copy of Slick Witch from my brothers. It's a magazine."

Hermione frowned. "Why would that be a secr- oh, don't tell me it's... it's... it's... it's not dirty, is it?" She had turned scarlet.

"It has short stories too," said Ron.

"You can't have that, and you can't put it in the Chamber. I'll, I'll tell Professor McGonagall if you don't get rid of it."

Ron's face contorted in anger. "You can't do that, it's mine."

"You shouldn't have it. It's restricted. You'd know that if you'd read the list posted in Filch's office."

"You actually read that?"

Harry said, "What are we talking about?"
Ron said, "I'll show you when we get back to the dorm."

"You are not showing him," said Hermione.

"Right then," said Harry. "Sounds like Ron's made a start at it. Everyone, keep thinking about secrets to make. I was thinking about a secret terrarium, maybe, to put in one of the secret rooms, so Neville, I'm counting on you to think of all the best plants to put in it."

Harry continued, acting fast to stop Hermione and Ron from returning to whatever subject it was they'd been about to start arguing about, "I believe proving the existence of nargles is next. Luna, any progress on that one?"

"My father is working on a new kind of nargle bait which should override their native secrecy. After we have that, we can begin field testing."

"Fantastic. What about cutting off Nick's head? Has anyone made any progress on finding a way to cut off Nick's head?"

Heads were shaken all around.

Harry said, "Luna, Neville, Ron, write your parental guardians. See if they know a way. Moving on. Luna and I are reporting that Myrtle's loo is tip-top. The floor is congealed balsamic vinegar, much better than you'd think, not sticky at all. It's like black marble. Hermione, write fixing Myrtle's loo on the list and then cross it off, would you."

She did so and said, "Ski slope and half-pipe."

Harry said, "Hermione, you're in charge of designing those. I don't think the rest of us know what they are. How are we on teaching house-elves to read?"

Luna said, "I owled my father, and he said he can send my old 'Reading Made Simple Teacher in a Portrait.' We could hang her in the kitchen."

"Excellent work, Luna, we'll do that. Is there anything more? No. Good. I have a final item. We need to find out a way to free Dobby. That's the Malfoys' house-elf. He's abused."

Hermione said, "I haven't read about any legal procedures to force the freeing of an abused house-elf."

Harry said, "I was thinking more about blackmail. For example, we could threaten to have The Quibbler run an expose on him abusing his house-elves, if he doesn't free Dobby."

Neville said, "It, it could just make him angry. Then he'd abuse the house-elf more."

Ron giggled and said, "What if we got a picture of Draco Malfoy with his pants down in the girl's loo?"

Harry blinked. "Why would that even happen?"

"I'm just saying."

Hermione said, "Ronald, don't say anything. You have forfeited your right to speak for the rest of the day."

"But-"

Harry said, "Ron, don't argue. It's Hermione. I'm sure she has a good reason. Any more blackmail ideas not from Ron?"

Hermione said, "Obviously, we could try to figure out what the plot is. We should start by researching Lucius Malfoy and the Malfoy family. I'm sure there's a lot about his family in the History section, and there must be mentions of him in the stacks of old newspapers."

"Maybe tomorrow after I'm back from- don't sneak up on me like that."
Harry was looking at small, mousy-haired boy who was staring at Harry as through transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and he went bright red as Harry looked at him.

"Hello, All right, Harry? I'm, — I'm Colin Creevey," he said, breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. D'you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" said Harry.

"So I can prove I met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and-"

"Stop," Harry.

Colin stopped.

"First, call him Baby-Loser."

"Baby-Loser. Right."

"Second, who are you?"

"Er, I'm Colin Creevey. I'm a Gryffindor, like you, I'm a first-year, my dad's a milkman and my mum's a hairdresser. I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic until I got the letter. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home, and it'd be-"

Harry said, "To clarify, you're Muggleborn and you want to take a picture of me?"

Colin nodded.

Harry turned to the others. "How do I look? Am I good? Is my face clean? What about my hair?"

Ron pulled out a handkerchief, wet it with his waterbottle, and rubbed at a smudge on Harry's cheek. "Your face is clean enough now, but sorry mate, not much anyone can do about your hair."

"Nonsense," said Hermione, patting ineffectually at it. She took the water bottle from Ron, wet her left hand, and batted down the hairs sticking stubbornly up at the back of his head, like the first few lonely bristles of the saddest mohawk in history.

"There," she said. "His hair looks better."

"It looks wetter," said Ron.

The hairs at the back of the top of his head sprung back up, just the same as before only a little damper.

Harry brushed his bangs off his forehead to show off his scar better and said, "Where should I stand? Do you want me to pose?"

"Maybe against the window there," said Colin, pointing.

Harry leaned against it, trying out several different smiles and ways of holding his hips.

"After this," he said, "We'll do a group picture."

:::

Tah is not a good name, and that will serve.

I sincerely thought 'brattle' was a word. A portmanteau of 'prattle' and 'brag.' Editing, I realized it wasn't, but I like it so well I decided to use it anyway.

Malfoy will eventually succeed in attracting Harry's genuine notice will wish he hadn't. He's a hard character for me to write. I have difficulty expressing loud nastiness.

Many of the name ideas are cribbed from reviews. Thank you, reviewers who made suggestions. Take a bow.

I used to be able to spew out profound sounding mumbo jumbo as easily as I could scratch my nose. The years since college have eroded that ability. It was startling to reach for it with Harry and the hat and not have it. I had to read Barthes for a bit to get it back even a little, and it's still meh.

I'm reading the Cat Valente book Space Opera. As with all of her books, I'm spending some time saying, "Stop wowing me with your sumptuous prose and just get on with the story. Can you be spare for even a moment?" But as with all of her books, her prose is, indeed, wowing.

Just saw Infinity War. Woah. Looking forward to eventually reading a good, "Loki goes back in time to stop all this madness," fanfic. And so, of course, I seem to have started one.

Monstrosity, by JLL, (L, J L) available for amazon kindle, for just 99 cents. Please buy, read, and REVIEW.

19. Wands and Suppositions

Diagon Alley was a lot emptier than it had been over the summer. After all, most every kid between 12 and 18 in Wizarding Britain was at Hogwarts. Minus three. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom, trailing behind a massive ground-bound bat, that, at second glance, was recognizable as Severus Snape, potions master.

Ron said, "If we could just stop at Quality Quidditch-"

"This is not a pleasure outing," Snape snarled.

Neville trembled.

"It would only take one min-"

"Shut up," said Snape.

Ron muttered.

"What was that?" said Snape.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Really? It sounded suspiciously like 'slimy git.'"

"It was nothing," said Ron.

"I should hope so. If you say nothing like that again, you'll find yourself back at Hogwarts with another week's worth of detention in addition to the week of detention I'm already giving you."

Harry clapped his hand over Ron's mouth before Ron could say anything else.

Ollivander's opened with the tinkling of a bell. The shop looked just as it had when Harry had popped in over the summer. A long, narrow shop, with a tiny sort of lobby with only a single spindly chair, thousands of long, narrow boxes piled neatly up the ceiling.

Drawn by the sound, Mr. Ollivander came out from the back, taking them in with his large silver eyes, slightly reminiscent of Luna's, which focused on Harry. He said, "Mr. Potter. 11 inches, made of holly, with a phoenix feather core. May I see it?"

Though a little hesitant to let anyone else handle his wand, Harry carefully handed his wand to Mr. Ollivander, who examined it closely, running his hands down it.

Mr. Ollivander said, "You've been keeping it well maintained."

"I like my wand," said Harry.

Ollivander swished it through the air. "Using it a great deal for Transfiguration, are you?"

"I like Transfiguration."

"Do you? So did your father. I would say this wand is more suited to Defence and Healing, but, just as the union of core and wood may have unpredicted results, so may the union of wand and wizard." He flicked the wand again. "It's connection to you is quite tight. Have you ever cast a spell with it while you weren't holding it?"

"No. That's possible? I'm totally trying that now. Er, maybe I did it once. I accidentally vanished my wand, and then I unvanished it. I plucked it out of the air, anyway."

Intrigued, Ollivander said, "Could you see where it was?"

"No. But when I thought about where it was, I knew. It was drifting left and into blue. Oh, hey, I was thinking about trying to make a wand, for jollies, but I didn't find any books about how wands work in the library, just a bit about their history and maintenance, but it seems like there's a lot more to it than drilling a hole in a length of wood and slipping a feather inside."

Ollivander regarded Harry closely with unblinking silver eyes. "The ICW restricts knowledge of wandlore so that goblins do not learn of it. It is a high art. If you're interested in wandlore, attain NEWTs in Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions, and do a journeyman project in foci. Then, you may come to me.""

Snape broke in. "Fascinating as this may be, satisfying Mister Potter's curiosity is not why we are here. Misters Longbottom and Weasley require new wands."

"Of course," said Ollivander. "May I see the wands they have been using?"

Ron, being the bolder, proffered his wand while Neville was still fumbling in his pocket.

Ollivander took Ron's wand and said, "12 inches. Ash and Unicorn hair. Once Charlie Weasley's wand. A borderline fit in the first place. I said to come back on another day, but they did not. A wand will usually accompany its owner through changes, but when the connection is tenuous to start and the change is sudden..." He flicked it several times, then placed it on the edge of the counter, and gestured to Neville.

Neville gave Ollivander his wand.

Ollivander said, "Franklin Longbottom's wand. 12 and five-eighths inches, oak and dragon heartstring. It has suited you roughly."

He measured both boys, then disappeared into the back, returning shortly with several boxes of wands.

The fittings were quick. Apparently, holding the wands they'd been using made it easier for Ollivander.

Ron got a 14-inch wand of willow and one unicorn hair, while Neville got a 13-inch wand of cherry and three unicorn hairs, braided together. Each cost seven galleons.

Harry said, "If Neville's wand has more unicorn hair, does that mean its more powerful than Ron's?"

Ollivander said, "Mr. Weasley's wand is more straightforward. Mr. Longbottom's is springier. A wand may be of low or high quality, but it is the wielder that is strong or weak."

Harry said, "You said Baby-Loser's wand was powerful."

Wearing a puzzled expression, Ollivander muttered, 'Baby-loser' to himself, then his face cleared as he realized what Harry meant by it. "Indeed I did. A simplification. As you have some interest in wands, such simplifications do you ill. It is more accurate to say that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's wand was suited to the use of great power. It was weighty. Your wand is also weighty. But weight is not the same as power. No tool is weaker than the one too heavy for you to lift."

Harry said, "Why don't you choose the right wood for a person, and then the right core, and then make the wand?"

Ollivander said, "Once, that was the process. It produced ill-fitting wands of poor quality. I look for the particular piece of wood that matches a particular core, and then that whole must match to a witch or wizard. The whole has characteristics beyond the parts."

Harry said, "Could a particular wand of holly and phoenix feather be more similar to, say, a wand of oak and dragon heartstring than to a different wand of holly and phoenix feather?"

"Certainly. Wood and core do have predictable characteristics, but the combination of wood and core is complicated, and the particulars of the piece of wood and the core involved are of great import. The interaction is as complex as any to be found in potions, and far more individuated."

Ollivander turned to Ron and Neville. "Seven galleons each."

Harry picked 14 galleons out of his coin purse while Neville shifted awkwardly and Ron turned bright red.

Handing the coins over, Harry said, "I'd also like to get a spare wand."

Ollivander said, "Forty-nine galleons."

Harry stared.

"The Ministry subsidizes the purchase of a primary wand, Mr. Potter. It does not do for wizards to lack wands because they cannot afford them. But a spare wand is a luxury, and not one worth spending forty-nine galleons on. You cannot truly be matched to two wands at once any more than you can wear two pairs of shoes at once. For a spare wand, I suggest finding a wand used, either in a shop, or, more ideally, in your family vault. Your primary wand is more likely to tolerate the wand of an ancestor."

Harry had poked through his vault quite thoroughly over the summer, and there'd been money, more money, and nothing else. "Family vault?"

"Inquire at Gringotts," said Ollivander.

Harry made large eyes at Professor Snape.

"I agreed to take you shopping for wands and a wireless," Snape said.

"One last wand," said Harry. "What if there's an emergency and I need a spare wand?"

"Are you planning to break your wand?"

"You owe me for the parts."

"A minor debt the previously agreed upon tasks were to repay in full."

"I never said that."

Snape regarded Harry more with exasperation than annoyance. "We will stop at Gringotts. You will be quick."

It was a short walk from Ollivander's to the imposing marble edifice of the wizarding bank. Snape led them directly to the counter with the sharp-toothed goblins standing behind it.

Considering how short goblins were, Harry thought they had to be on stools.

Snape said, "Mr. Potter would like to see his family vault. Misters Longbottom and Weasley will wait."

Ron said, "But I want to-"

"No."

The goblin said, "Does Mr. Potter have his family vault key?"

"No," said Snape. "This side trip was not expected."

At the goblin's direction, Harry let a few drops of blood onto blotting paper and signed a few forms. Professor Snape was instructed to remain in the lobby with Nevald, and Harry went with another goblin to a cart.

Harry quietly got in and secured himself as best he could, drinking everything in but saying nothing as they shot through down the tracks. He was in a fey mood.

The doors to his family vault were large and ornate. The goblin cast several wandless spells, stroked its fingers along the door, and turned a key in a lock.

The great doors opened, and Harry went inside.

There wasn't any money. It was a vault for heirlooms, not currency. It was filled with jewelry, books, furniture. A wall was covered in sleeping portraits of people he didn't know. He went quietly, giving that wall wide berth, not wanting to wake them and talk with them and suddenly have portraits he was supposed to care about.

Near the back, between a hat stand and a large jewelry case, was a rack of wands.

Harry took a fedora, a top hat, and a black onyx ring, two watches, three necklaces, and several earrings. He put it all in the top hat, except for the onyx ring, which he slipped on, and a silver necklace with a Celtic knot. He gulped as he put it on, and hid it beneath his robes.

Only then did he turn to the wands.

All the wands were labeled, listing owner, age, year of purchase, length, wood and core. The wands of James Potter and Lily Evans Potter were near the front. He turned sharply away when he found them, and stomped two circuits around the vault, still avoiding the portraits, before he was ready to try the wands.

He felt a warmth from both when he tried them, and he transfigured a wood chip from his little bag of blanks with each, successfully. So without trying any of the other wands, he slipped his parents' wands into the largest pocket of his robes, then headed for the exit.

At the door, with the goblin looking at him from the cart, Harry stopped at the exit, looking back at the portraits, hesitating.

"Are you done or not?" said the goblin.

Harry got in the cart.

#

#

Getting the wireless was boring for something so quick. Professor Snape had led them to the right shop, and the clerk had gone on about which wireless had which features even though Harry hadn't cared.

Harry didn't know which one they finally got, but when they returned to Hogwarts, he took it to Myrtle's Watery Domain, turned it on, and tuned it to music. Two violins, a cello, and a flute, playing light, airy music. He levitated the wireless onto the high shelf he'd made.

Myrtle came out of a bird bath with a slight splash, ignoring Harry as she flew toward the source of the music. She danced in a circle around it, flitting in and out of walls and the ceiling, and Harry realized for the first time that a ghost could be a beautiful thing.

When the song concluded, Myrtle turned to him and said, "Thank you. Thank you so much, Harry Potter."

He felt, as before, very warm inside, and his eyes prickled. "No problem," he said.

#

#

Harry received his complimentary copy of The Quibbler at breakfast on Monday. The front page was about former (and dead) Minister Bagnold being spotted in Azerbaijan and what the Ministry was hiding, but the undercard was an interview with Harry Potter about house-elves.

Or so the headline said. Harry read it, and in it Hermione answered more questions than he did.

Satisfied that the interview looked good and what they'd said looked sensible even written down, he gave The Quibbler to Hermione, who stared for a long time at the cover.

She flipped hurriedly to their interview, let out of a sigh of relief as she read it, then flipped through more of the magazine, an excited frown growing on her face as she did so. She kept darting glances of disapproving glee at the Ravenclaw table.

Harry didn't notice. He was thinking about his new wands.

After a day and a half of experimentation, he'd decided he preferred his mother's wand.

His father's was more suited to transfiguration, his but it had been slippery and tempestuous and when he'd put it next to his holly wand, there'd been a rough frisson between the two, as if they were arguing. He'd got the idea it was trying to become his main wand.

His mother's wand had lain peacefully beside his holly wand. It seemed happy to be polished and carried around.

So he'd put his father's wand in his trunk and his mother's in his pocket.

After breakfast, classes, which were okay. He kept looking for ways to make History of Magic interesting ways, and the best he could keep come up with his transfiguring his desk into pictures of whatever Binns was talking about and trying to get the pictures to move, though mostly he lost track of what Binns was saying and just ran the battle. Herbology was Herbology. Neither bad nor good, though he did like the smell of dirt.

Transfiguration was the highlight, students taking their seats with a certain buzz of nervousness and excitement.

Professor McGonagall said they were continuing with the subject of Transfiguring living things into non-living things, and non-living things into pseudo-living things.

If you started with a real beetle, you could turn it into a button, then turn it back into a real beetle. Whereas if you started with a button that had never been a beetle or anything living, you could only turn it into a pseudo-beetle, a sort of little biological robot that behaved like a beetle but wasn't really alive.

Even though their textbooks said no, Harry was sure that if he just did it well enough, he could create true life, not pseudo-life. After all, animals created new life all the time. It was called pregnancy. If a badger could create life with its innards, it stood to reason he could do it with his wand.

Lecture concluded, Professor McGonagall handed out buttons to turn into beetles. Slightly harder than turning beetles into buttons, since beetles were more complicated, but still. He could casually transform any random object into a Samurai Bat. This was nothing to him.

When McGonagall reached Harry's desk, she put a handful of buttons on in front of him and said, "Try Transfiguring two buttons at once. Then try Transfiguring two buttons into two different colored beetles. And so forth." Along with the beetles, McGonagall give him half a page of notes on how to do that, in her own handwriting.

Professor McGonagall gave Hermione two buttons and moved on. She, Harry and Seamus Finnigan were the only students to get more than one button, but Seamus had only got the second button for when he blew the first one up, since he always blew things up.

Harry started on the special notes Professor McGonagall had given him.

According to them, it wasn't possible to simultaneously transfigure two separate things. So what you had to do was realize they were the same thing, conceptualizing them according to the Universal Oneness of All Things.

The Universal Oneness of All Things was one of the most important concepts in magic, along with the Absolute Separateness of All Things. That contradiction bothered a lot of people, but Harry was an accepting boy. It was only natural that knowing the truth should be like walking a tightrope, and tightropes were strung between two opposing poles in tension with one another.

After the philosophizing about that, McGonagall's notes included a bit about set theory, and defining two numbers as one object in a set. The was pretty philosophical too, so Harry passed the parchment to Hermione and started on trying to do it.

He separated out two buttons and tried turning them both into beetles. The nearer one turned into beetle, while the farther one did nothing.

He turned the beetle back into a button and positioned the buttons so that when he finished his wand motion, the tip of his wand should be equidistant between them.

Both buttons jumped slightly, then rattled back into stillness.

He tried several more times, either having no success or only transfiguring one.

He tried to focusing on both of them at once, but that only rimmed them briefly in fire, so he thought more about what McGonagall had written and concluded that the task was making 'them,' into 'it.'

He put one button atop of the other, and without any special difficulty, transformed them both into a large stag beetle.

No. Not them. It. He hadn't transfigured two buttons into a single beetle. He'd transfigured a stack into a beetle.

Revert. Two buttons, one on top of the other. Turn the top button only into a beetle. Revert. Turn the bottom button only into a beetle. Revert. Re-stack. Turn both into a single beetle. Revert. Turn the stack into two beetles.

Failure. Each button was half a beetle. But maybe that was progress. It was a new failure at least, and that was nearly the same thing.

He put the buttons an inch from each other and tried turning them into a single beetle. Failure. One button and one beetle. Revert. Was it just because they had to touch? No. That wasn't true. He'd seen McGonagall transfigure items together that weren't touching. Maybe it helped if they touched?

Harry squinted so the two buttons appeared to blend together, and told himself that they were a single button. He cast the spell, and smiled when he saw a blurry beetle where the buttons, blurred together, had been.

He unsquinted his eyes, and the blurry beetle resolved into two separate buttons an inch apart.

"Now that's just weird and not fair," said Harry.

Mulling it over, Harry turned his gaze to Ron and Neville. They looked to be doing better than normal. Perhaps the wands were helping.

Wands. He had two wands. Two buttons and two wands. Right. He took his mother's wand from his bag, gripping it in his left hand.

He felt weird holding both wands at once, as if he were an overfull bowl of soup sloshing back and forth as it was carried unsteadily to table.

Hermione turned to him, eyes narrowing as she saw what he was doing. "Harry, what-"

Harry pointed one wand at each button and cast the spell with each wand, making do with a single incantation for both.

Harry screamed. He felt as if he were ripping himself in half. As if he had found a seam in his body running from the center of his forehead to his groin and was pulling at it with all his might. Convulsing, he dropped both wands.

Hermione patted him helpfully on the back and said, "That was very stupid."

Professor McGonagall's voice was harsh, and she came as near to yelling as she ever did. "Mr. Potter. Did I glimpse you, out of the corner of my eye attempting to wield two wands?"

Harry nodded weakly, looking at the buttons. They didn't look affected at all. He took several deep breaths, still feeling faint.

Professor McGonagall said, "DON'T. DO. THAT. AGAIN."

Voice weak, Harry said, "I'm not surprised it didn't work, but why did it hurt so much?"

McGonagall said, "Perhaps we can talk about that during your detentions. How many do you think would be appropriate?"

"Erm, I'm actually a little busy this year. How about three?"

"Five," said Professor McGonagall. "Ms. Granger. See that Mr. Potter makes it to the infirmary, and scold him more on the way"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall." Hermione gathered her things, helped the still reeling Harry gather his own, and gripping him by the elbow, led Harry to the door, saying, "That was very foolish, Harry. Haven't I told you a thousand times to talk these ideas over with me first? You could've been killed. Well, only if you'd persisted, but you didn't know that, you silly, irresponsible-"

When the door to the classroom closed, Hermione's scolding faded to an incomprehensible murmur. That too faded as they walked the halls of Hogwarts.

#

#

With Madam Pomfrey seeing to Harry and classes over for the day, Hermione Granger sat in the Hogwarts library with piles of books on magizoology and the morning's copy of The Quibbler before her. The first copy of The Quibbler she'd ever seen.

Hah!

Luna Lovegood, the strange little girl who'd inveigled her way into their company, was either a liar or a nut, and Harry had been innocently swallowing her falsehoods.

And there they were now. Harry, already released from the hospital wing, walking toward her, flanked by Luna and Neville. No Ron, which Hermione didn't mind. Ron wasn't bad, but she didn't exactly miss him when he wasn't around.

Reaching her, Harry said, "Hey Hermione. Madam Pomfrey says I'm fine because my head's made of rock. I only have a little time before my detention, but do you know any more spells for getting information about objects? Like that one you used to know how old the bones were."

As Harry spoke, he seated himself, and Luna and Neville sat too.

Hermione said, "I know a spell to tell if someone owns an object."

"How about telling who the old owner was?"

She shook her head. "No. Why?"

Fingering the black ring on his index finger, Harry said, "I got some jewelry from my family vault, and I wouldn't mind knowing more about it."

"I thought you didn't care about that."

"I don't really care. I just want to know."

Hermione said, "But if you don't care-"

"I do lots of things I don't care about. Like homework." As Harry said he didn't care, his fingernails dug into his palms. "You don't have to help me if you don't want to."

"Of course I'll help you. But first..." She smirked. "You know those animals Luna is always telling you about?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "I especially want to catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack." He mimed hugging it. "I'm definitely taking the magical animals class next year."

Hermione said, "You won't ever catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, Harry. You can't, because they don't exist. They're not real."

"They do too exist," said Luna.

"Just because you want them to doesn't mean it's true. Harry, look at this." She pushed a book in front of him and pointed to a line. "This a registry of magical creatures. And see. Polynesian Smopappers and Austrian Snowgeists, and no Snorkacks in between. They're not listed under Crumple either."

"So it doesn't have everything," said Harry. "Books usually don't."

"It doesn't have nargles, wrackspurts or umgubular slashkilters either. Neither does this book, or this book, or this one either. None of the books in the magizoology section do. Except this one." She pushed it forward. A new-looking book with a light brown leather cover and the title Supposititious Creatures of Wizarding Conscience.

Hermione flipped the book open to the part she'd marked.

Hermione read aloud. "Spurious reports of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks date to the 1970s, following the first mentions of them in the British tabloid The Quibbler. Snorkacks are said to be native to Scandinavia, and recently encroaching into Britain. Scandinavian literature makes no mention of them. No less than seven wizards and witches who reported sightings to The Quibbler later admitted to doing so for laughs, and the evidence of their existence is poor even for a supposititious creature. Belief in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks is not widespread even in Britain, and it is-"

"Stop," said Luna, distressed. "It's like the nargles. They exist, but their existence is still controversial."

Hermione said, "How do you know they exist?"

"People who've seen them write daddy letters. It goes in The Quibbler."

Hermione said, "Just because something's in the Quibbler doesn't mean it's real. There isn't any proper scholarly evidence."

"Narrow minded. You only believe in things you can see."

Neville said, "She believes in thestrals, and she can't see them."

Luna said, "That's because we proved it to her."

Hermione said, "That could go on my tombstone. 'Here lies Hermione Granger. Generally, her certainty that something was true was proportional to the evidence for it.'"

Harry raised a hand. "Wait a moment. Back up. So Snorkacks aren't real?"

"They're real," said Luna.

"They're not," said Hermione. "They're figments of imagination."

"You can't prove they're not real."

Hermione said, "I can't prove that Headmaster Dumbledore isn't secretly a thousand year-old shapeshifting toad named Elmer, but that doesn't mean it's likely."

"Dumbledore isn't a toad." Luna said. "He's half celestial vampyre."

Hermione giggled.

Harry voice was serious as he said, "Luna, are Snorkacks are real?"

"Of course they're real. Daddy said so. People send daddy owls about them all the time."

"Which people?"

"Just people. People who read The Quibbler."

Harry said, "Has anyone ever caught one or even got a good photo?"

"They've very stealthy," said Luna. "They're usually invisible."

"Then how do people see them?"

"They're not always invisible."

Hermione giggled again, "Luna, don't you hear how horribly unlikely that sounds?"

"Just because something's unlikely doesn't mean it's not true. Unlikely things end up being true all the time. Like us going to Hogwarts on an old train instead of flooing, or noses looking so strange, or Baby-Loser losing when he tried to kill a baby, or Snorkacks being real."

Hermione said, "But all that can be proved, or at least proved likely, except for noses looking so strange, and alright maybe they do when you look at them from the wrong angle, but that's subjective, and what evidence do you have that Snorkacks are real? No one's ever caught one. No one's ever taken a photo. They're unknown in their supposed home range. They-"

"Daddy said!," said Luna, "And daddy isn't a liar."

That silenced Hermione, but only for a moment. "Parents aren't perfect. Great people have children, and so do bad ones. Truthful people have children, and so do liars and cranks. I'm sure your father loves you very much, but-"

Neville kicked Hermione's shin and she stopped to glare at him.

Before she could resume, Harry said, "Luna, I thought the animals you told me about were real as dragons and unicorns. I believed you, and I told people about them, and I had no idea what I was saying was so not legitimate. I..." He struggled, fingers tapping on the edge of the table.

Harry said, "But you believe in them. You weren't lying to me, you were just... Luna, it's okay for you to believe things that probably aren't true, so long as you acknowledge that fact. For example, you could say, 'There is very little evidence for nargles. Viewing it objectively, the default assumption ought to be that they don't exist. However, they actually do exist, and they stole my slippers.' Could you do that for me?"

Luna said, "It's alright if I believe in them so long as I tell you when they're probably not real?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay."

Hermione said, "You can't just keep believing in something even while knowing it's probably not true."

Luna said, "Yes I can."

"No you can't."

"Clearly I can, because I'm doing it right now."

"Well you shouldn't."

Luna said, "Prove that I shouldn't."

Hermione gaped at her.

Harry stood. He hadn't found out anything about learning the history of objects, and he'd quite like to hear the rest of the argument, but he had a detention to get to.

As Harry left the library, Luna and Hermione went bickering off to sort through the Epistemology section of the library.

:::

Not many jokes this chapter. I wondered if I wasn't in the right mood, but I think it's just a melancholy chapter.

I somehow have ~14k words of a 'Loki goes back in time to do things over,' Marvel universe fic. I also have 12k words of a Harrymort fic. The problem with 'just publishing what I have,' is then I feel the need to update it.

As I recall, someone uses two wands simultaneously sometime in Deathly Hallows. If that works, everyone should do it. So I'm rejecting it as something that doesn't work.

Probably no updates to GoM for a bit. I want to update some other things. I have too many things.

Speaking of things. Monstrosity, by JLL, available on Amazon Kindle.

20. Duel

The first proper week had gone by, and Gilderoy Lockhart was surprised to find he had not yet exposed himself as a fraud.

His own surprise shocked him. He had not realized until the shakes had come on following the last class on Friday that he had expected to fail. Had expected the whole year to be a nightmare.

And it might've been. But his luck had held, and the first class he'd released the pixies on had been the one with Harry Potter, and Harry Potter had subdued them practically single-handedly. And he had seen that without Harry Potter, it would've been a fiasco.

So in subsequent classes, he had led them in making a list of useful spells and talked them through what they would do before he had released the pixies. It had gone smashingly. All the students had left class fresh off the thrill of success, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

Even for the older students, the pixies had worked. He'd talked it up as a basic exercise to see where they were, and had been pleasantly surprised when a number of the older students had accidentally stunned each other while trying to hit pixies. He'd pontificated long on the danger of friendly-fire and the painfully obvious ways one could avoid it.

So whereas before he had been blindly chasing the next con, now he was frightened by his previously suppressed concerns that it would be a reputation ruining disaster and he'd been mad to apply for it... but he also had hope that it would turn out well after all and all the students would say Gilderoy Lockhart was the greatest Defence Professor in Hogwarts history.

He had a plan. The bare outlines of one. He would lecture at times on his books, he would assign them essays on this danger or that, and he would give them practical instruction. Meaning, he would prepare them a bit and set animals loose on them. None too dangerous. He would get some from Hagrid, some from Professor Kettleburn, and some by mail-order. He could even get some animated foamy statues and semi-dangerous enchantments off Flitwick, McGonagall, and mail-order. Keep it quiet, and no one would ever realize how little he'd done.

If they were running out of material, he could even have the students fight each other.

He would not teach them any new spells, insisting that what they really needed was to master using the spells they already knew in a practical context. It sounded great in his head.

Except the first years didn't know any spells... They couldn't get the same sort of practical exercises, but that was alright. He would lecture, and he would have them learn his book on Common Household pests backward and forward. It really was a well-researched book, he'd been told. Sherrly or whatever her name had been had done a marvelous job on it.

And he would even teach them a few spells. He could manage that, so long as he didn't become so nervous his wand flew out of his hand. And they would be so excited at the end of the year when they finally got to take on the pixies.

He should practice first.

Lockhart stood and faced his mirror, admiring how dashing he looked. He brushed his hair into place, made bedroom eyes at himself, and struck poses for several minutes, enjoying how much the back of his robes resembled a cape.

Finally, he drew his wand, flourished it, and with a roguish look of deadly determination, said, "Lumos."

His wand lit. He nodded at the dangerous underlit man in the mirror and said, "Still got it."

#

#

Hermione was sitting next to Harry at breakfast, which was better, and Harry was nodding automatically as she talked at him.

Hermione said, "I've been speaking to the house-elves about their culture. They have their own creation myths, you know, and I've noticed an intriguing difference. In every human creation myth I've read, the first humans were created as adults. In house-elf creation myths, the first humans were created as babies, and house-elves looked after them. In some versions, house-elves were created for that purpose, but in others, they had their own independent existence before that. Though even in those stories, they were servants of magic or a god some such thing."

"Uh-huh," said Harry, poking at the crystal hummingbird on the breakfast table, vainly flapping its wings, one repeatedly hitting his spoon with a ting. Getting it to flap its wings was one thing. Getting it to fly was another.

"I've been listening to their 'posy' too. It's odd. They seem to think that g rhymes with k and t rhymes with d and all sorts of other silly things. But it's not bad for all that."

He'd tried the Feather Light Charm, but it hadn't worked properly to get the crystal hummingbird flying. It just floated like a balloon. He could of course use a Flight Charm on it, but if he did so, there would be nothing birdlike about its movements. If he wanted his bird to fly like a bird, he either needed to animate it so well it could move its wings in the same way and at the same speed as a real hummingbird, or he needed to put magic into the very flapping of its wings. The second way sounded easier, but less satisfying.

Hermione said, "Are you listening to me?"

"You should get some of their stories into the Quibbler. I'd read them."

Hermione said, "I'd like something a little more reputable than The Quibbler. They'd be better received in the Daily Prophet, or even Witch Weekly."

"You can borrow Hedwig if you need to send a letter."

Hermione said, "You really think they'd print them?"

"Sure."

Hermione was lost in thought, imagining her name on the cover on the Daily Prophet. Imagining transitioning from house-elves to politics and culture (whatever covering wizarding culture would mean) and becoming Wizarding Britain's most famous journalist at the age of 13.

Harry said, "If they don't, put my name under yours and re-submit."

Hermione's bubble popped. "You're becoming far too enamored with the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' fame."

Harry shrugged, only half listening, smiling contemplatively at the hummingbird again. "I shall have to watch birds to animate it properly. I shall have to watch them very well. Hermione, will you watch birds with me?"

Hermione agreed with a rueful smile. You got up to the most tediously interesting things, being Harry Potter's friend. "Shouldn't it be more about understanding the feeling of a bird's flight than understanding the mechanics?"

"I still have to watch them."

Hermione said, "Have you asked McGonagall?"

"She told me to approach it from a Charms perspective."

Hermione said, "You say Charms like it's a dirty word, but I know you like Professor Flitwick."

"I just don't like befouling Transfiguration with something as impure as Charms."

"Charms are not impure," said Hermione.

"Explain to me how softening charms work."

"Just because something is a little convoluted doesn't mean it's bad."

Harry said, "First you establish the concept of softness, then you establish the concept of hardness, then you analyze the state of the object, then you abstract the state of the object, copy that abstraction, modify the copied abstraction to carry the marker soft, compress the original abstraction, hide it in the copy, then forcefully impel the copied abstraction onto the reality, and you have to do the whole thing so fast that the universe doesn't catch the error in time. It's a baroque boil on the buttock of magic. You should just transfigure the object into something softer."

Hermione said, "Your underwear is charms."

"It's a transfiguration and an animation."

"And identification and verification charms."

"Those are different," said Harry, uncomfortable. "There isn't another way to do them."

"You could use an animation and a mental construct."

Harry recoiled. "I am not trusting Willy to a shallow artificial consciousness of dubious quality."

"Don't call it Willy," she hissed.

"Who's Willy?" said Harry, confused.

Several times, Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. "Never mind," she finally said.

When Defence Against the Dark Arts started, Lockhart regaled them with a fascinating story about an encounter of his with the Great American Ogre, had them read for a while from his book on common household pests, and then get into groups to answer discussions about it.

Ron insisted that, whatever the book said, the proper way to deal with Garden Gnomes was to throw them, but even by his own descriptions, it did not sound like a very effective tactic. They just came back.

After they had gone over the discussion questions as a class, Lockhart pulled the drape off the large object on his desk, revealing another cage full of Cornish Pixies.

Lockhart said, "Seeing as you struggled so with it last time, I thought we'd try this again. Harry, my boy. Miss Granger. The two of you performed acceptably last time, and I'm afraid if I include you, you'll do all the work again. Instead, you two will be to the side, here," He motioned to an empty stretch to the left of his desk, "And duel, while the rest of the class handles the pixies."

Hermione turned bright red and squeaked. Harry walked promptly to the indicated arena, and Hermione joined him, shoulders lowered. As much as she often liked to be the center of attention, she liked it in the safe, comfortable, scholastic manner she was used to. Dueling with Harry at the front of the class was a different matter.

Harry turned two pebbles from his pebble bag into bicycle helmets. "Here," he said, tossing the red helmet to Hermione.

She caught it awkwardly and put it on, buckling the chin strap as Harry did the same with the green helmet. Lockhart was at the front, attempting to lead the distracted class through a quick reminder of what they'd learned when they'd fought the pixies before, which was a futile effort with all the students watching Harry and Hermione.

Lockhart gave it up as a bad job and released the pixies. The whirring blue terrors filled the air, and even though Harry and Hermione were well off to the side, Harry edged away, wand directed at them rather than Hermione.

Hermione said, "Expelliarmus."

His wand flew through the air and struck Hermione's open palm. She failed to catch it, and the wand clattered to the floor, but Hermione acted as if that wasn't in the least embarrassing and primly said, "First victory to me."

Two pixies flew at them, and Hermione froze both while Harry scrambled for his wand. On his knees, he turned a few pebbles into Samurai Bats, instructing them to patrol the area immediately around them and stop pixies from attacking them, but to otherwise leave the pixies alone.

He faced Hermione again, standing about 10 feet off. When it came to spell casting, she was probably second-best in their year after him, but he hadn't expected to lose any round, much less the first, and he didn't plan to lose another.

"On the count of three," said Harry. Holding up three fingers on his left hand, he lowered them on by one.

When he formed a fist, they cast at once. "Expelliarmus."

Red light flashed from both wands, and both had their wands torn away. Harry's went straight to Hermione, but she again failed to catch it. Hermione's wand flew high, and even jumping, arms extended, Harry was only barely able to brush his fingertips against it as it went over his head.

They each bent to pick up the other's wand, and turned at the same time, again casting, "Expelliarmus!"

Casting with the other's wand, the spells didn't work quite so well, but the main effect of that was their wands flew through the air more slowly, and they each caught their own wand.

Harry said, "This is ridiculous."

Hermione said, "It's because we don't know any spells for blocking or countering. I've read about the basic Shield Charm, but I haven't managed it."

Harry said, "How do you do it?"

"I'm not going to tell you. You might get it right on the first try. On the count of three?"

That time, she did the countdown.

"Petrificus Totalus!" they both said in concert.

As the silvery blue light left Harry's wand, his wand twitched, and a picture of Lockhart flew off Lockhart's desk and intercepted Hermione's spell.

Hermione hit the ground, stiff and paralyzed, unable to move.

Through a paralyzed jaw, Hermione mumbled, "Finite. Finite. Finite." Her jaw partially unstuck, and her wrist loosened, allowing her to move her wand and make her next go at the spell much more effective.

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry said, and she froze again. "I win," said Harry. "Finite."

Hermione unfroze, rubbed her chin, and said, "How did you summon that picture to you?"

"I dunno. I just really wanted it. It was like wandless magic, except I did it with my wand, you know."

"W-wandless magic?"

"Sure. I did a lot of wandless magic over the summer. I told you about that, didn't I?"

Hermione said, "You said you did a lot of accidental magic on purpose."

"Same difference," said Harry, dismissing it. His eyes fixed behind Hermione and widened. Several pixies were attacking, or perhaps trying to nest in, his bag. His bag was defending itself: strap lashing about and the silk leaf coverings rustling violently, but he didn't trust it to hold out for long.

Harry said, "Wingardium Leviosa." The bag floated up off the desk, moving less quickly than he would like toward him. He had seen that the Summoning Charm would make quick work of it, but without knowing how to do that spell, he had to manually direct the Levitation Charm, a task made harder by the fact that two pixies were pulling on the leaves and one on the strap.

Hermione spun about and froze two pixies that had gotten too close, then froze the pixies on Harry's bag as it came within reach.

Harry grabbed it and pulled out the hummingbird statuette. He cast the Flight Charm on it and it floated between him and Hermione, ready to act as a shield and dive in the way of any spells she sent at him.

Hermione said, "Finite."

The Flight Charm was canceled, and the bird fell, fluttering uselessly.

"No!" said Harry.

The bird statuette hit the ground and its head broke off. "Reparo," said Harry, wand pointed at his bird.

"Expelliarmus," said Hermione. His wand again flew from his hand, and, whether by luck or skill, Hermione caught it while casting again. "Totalus Wibbly."

The Jelly Body curse caught him straight in the chest. Unable to move any part of his body except through weak flops, he fell bonelessly to the ground.

Hermione walked smiling closer and sat cross-legged on his back. She took a book out of his bag.

"Herrr-iii-ee," he managed through his slack jaw.

"I'm the winner," she said, opening the book. "Best two out of three, and I've got two wins, a tie, and a loss."

"Herr-iii-ee," he tried again.

"If you're not quiet, I'll tickle the back of your neck. You know, you're actually quite comfortable to sit on when you're under this curse. Like a beanbag."

"Unnngg."

Keeping a wary eye on the pixies, Hermione tickled the back of his neck, and he trembled, which was the closest he could come to jerking spasmodically.

Two pixies grabbed Neville by his ears, and Ron froze Neville's face in trying to get them off. Hannah Abbott hit one of the pixies with her Charms book, and Fay Dunbar pulled off a charm against the other. Standing behind his desk, Lockhart exhorted the students on.

The pixies were becoming fewer in number, and somehow or another two extra cages had been produced. Seamus Finnigan blew up most of a chair, and the blast took out a pixie. He quickly picked it up by a wing and tossed it in a cage. Ernie McMillian ran down to where Hermione and Harry were and grabbed the pixies she had frozen.

With a bit more work, led by Hannah Abbott flailing about enthusiastically with her book, all the pixies were gathered into cages.

Lockhart clapped. "Give yourselves a hand," he said.

The students clapped, looking quite pleased, even Dean Thomas, who had a shiner over one eye.

Lockhart said, "Well done, well done, all of you. To those who fought not just with magic but with muscle, well, I commend you for being resourceful and doing what you must. Never think that what you must do to defend yourself is beneath you. But we are preparing to deal with greater dangers, dangers that can only be defeated by the well-wielded wand, not the well-wielded textbook. So in the future, please do attempt to use spells."

Hannah Abbott looked down.

Lockhart said, "Break into groups of three or four and discuss what you did well, what you did poorly, and what you will attempt to do differently in the future. Next week, we will attempt the pixies a final time before moving on to other challenges."

#

#

His first year, Harry had not been much interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Learning to fight was cool in a cinematic, daydream sense, but that it was a core subject had struck him as bizarre. At his muggle school, he hadn't had Judo, Boxing and marksmanship to go with Maths and Literature. Quirrell's uninspired teaching had done nothing to nurture what level of interest he'd come in with.

But he'd lost to Hermione. Lost. At magic.

For all that Harry often ignored what others cared about, when it came to what he did care about, he was a very competitive boy.

So he sat in the Gryffindor common room with two Defense spell books.

"Protego," he said, moving his wand just as the diagram showed.

Light flashed, but the shield did not form. He tried again, again, again, and again. He let his eyes flash over the spell info in the book, and leaned back in his chair.

Transfiguration was easy, sort of. It was intuitive. There was a flow, moving from one form to another. Charms were different. Even though he'd gotten good at a few, there was something fundamental to them that he didn't quite get.

The spell description for Protego advised visualization of the shield, but made clear that visualization was mainly a crutch. It wasn't nearly so intrinsic to the process as it was in Transfiguration.

The red-haired Prefect who'd told him Luna couldn't be in their common room tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Harry, Headmaster Dumbledore wants to see you in his office."

Harry closed the book. Hermione and Neville were doing homework and Ron was beating someone at chess, so he ought to go on his own.

It was after dinner, so he grabbed his hall pass in case he was out late and proceeded through the dimming corridors.

Reaching the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office, he did as he'd done before and stroked its head until it moved aside.

He traipsed into Dumbledore's office, looking around again at all the interesting little doodads.

Before he could ask what any of them were, Dumbledore gestured to a tray and said, "Lemon Drop?"

Sitting, Harry took one.

Dumbledore said, "The Chamber of Secrets is available for us. The lift is completed and I've cleaned the area. You're free to use the Chamber of Secrets as you wish. I have thoroughly searched it, but, if you should find any objects there, or anything notable, come to me immediately. It's possible that Voldemort left something there which I missed. It could be quite dangerous."

"Like what?"

Dumbledore said, "I'm unsure. It's only a theory of mine. But he may have placed a special sort of curse on an object. The object might well be an artifact of Merlin, or one bearing a sign of one of the Four Founders of Hogwarts, but it might something quite pedestrian, but no less dangerous for that."

Harry said, "Um, the Four Founders? Who? Salad Bar Slytherin, and, uh, I don't think we've got that far in History of Magic yet."

Dumbledore blinked and gestured to the shelf behind Harry.

Turning, Harry sighted what Dumbledore had pointed at and said, "Hello, Mr. Hat. I'm Harry. How have you been?"

The Hat regarded him balefully.

"So Founders, then? Who were they?"

The Hat said, "The Founders named the Houses after themselves."
"Cocky," Harry said. "The teams are Slytherin, Gryffindor... Ravenclaw, and, um, what was the other one? It was four right?"

"Hufflepuff," said the Hat, very sternly. "Helga Hufflepuff. Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. The Four Founders of Hogwarts, and four the 20 or so greatest witches and wizards in British history, all living in the same time and place, in age only a few years apart, spurring each other to greater heights."

Harry said, "And you put us in the teams named after them because why?"

Miffed, as if it couldn't believe he didn't know, the Hat said, "Each of the founders chose qualities that they believed were important. Students are sorted according to the measure in which they have those qualities."

"So that's how that worked," said Harry. He reached for the hat, chair tilting as he did, snagged it, and put the Hat on his head. "So you're looking in my mind now?"

"Correct," said the Hat.

"I don't feel anything."

"I've had a long time to gain proficiency," the Hat said. "You certainly have grown in little more than a year. In regards to Slytherin, you vigorously pursue what you want, with hardly any hesitation, and you've learned to take advantage of your opportunities, but you lack the cunning of a Slytherin, the instinct to manipulate a situation to your advantage."

"Something to work on," said Harry. Cunning. He'd think about it.

"Your Hufflepuff qualities have increased. You've learned to put in a lot of effort, but the Hardwork of a Hufflepuff implies a delayal of instant gratification, a disciplined choice. You simply chase your interests. You've made friends, and you may be quite loyal to them in some ways, but I have no doubt that if you stopped liking them, or they were more trouble than they were worth, you would cut them out."

"Well, sure," said Harry. What else would you do? He'd done it with Ron once, but Hermione had brought Ron back and Harry was okay with that.

The Hat continued, "Your Ravenclaw tendencies remain strong. You're deeply interested in truth and abstractions. But only in those truths and abstractions which interest you personally. You lack the more general, scholastic, academic bent to learn whatever's put in front of you.

"Therefore, Gryffindor was the right choice. Standing up for what you believe to be right thus far hasn't required any bravery of you, but I can still sense that natural courage ready and waiting."

Harry took the Hat off his head so he could question it face to facelike-wrinkles.

Harry said, "What? Gryffindors are 'brave?' Brave? That is the lamest. Why am I in the lamest team?"

With an expression of deep consternation, Dumbledore said, "Traditionally, Gryffindor is very well regarded by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."

"Well of course we're well regarded. Everyone's nice to the canon fodder. Don't try to make me feel better about this. So, Hufflepuffs are hardworking. You can look over at them and see them working hard. Ravenclaws are academically minded, and Slytherins are cunning. But Gryffindor? Imagine the conversation. 'Oh, what about those people, in the red and gold?'

"'Oh, them, that's Gryffindor they're brave. So if monsters ever break in, well, er, the rest of us stand behind them. Not much use normally, but we keep them around so they can do the dying in the occasional emergency.' This is the leftover house, isn't it? Gryffindor is for the people who wouldn't fit in anywhere else."

The Hat said, "There's more to bravery than battle. The bravery to stand up for what's right. To oppose a government, or a friend, or yourself. To leave behind what comforts you and do what you know you should."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "But anyone can do that."

The Hat said, "And anyone can work hard. You will not find bravery so easy when you can't stiffen it with blitheness and belligerence." The Hat paused. "I take that back. You may find it easy even then. That's why you're in Gryffindor."

"Is it possible to change teams? Hermione and I would do nicely in Ravenclaw, I think."

"No," said Dumbledore.

Harry said, "I have a friend in Ravenclaw, and it causes problems that we're not on the same team."

The Sorting Hat said, "Helga thought Sorting was a bad idea. She said that if the school were to be broken into Houses, it should be random, or according to some methodology to make optimal, diverse groups, not homogeneous ones. But she was outvoted. When she finally agreed, her first thought was that her house would value Kindness and Honesty, but she realized that if all the very Kind and Honest students were in one house, there would quickly be war between the rest, and so she settled for Hardwork and Loyalty instead."

Harry said, "She sounds cool. How was Gryffindor? As a person."

The Hat said, "He was alright."

"And Salad Bar?"

The Hat said, "Not an evil man, but he had... issues."

"Stark raving bonkers?" said Harry.

"In his later years, he did tend to foam at the mouth when discoursing on certain subjects."

"Huh. Luna wants to interview you, so I'll be back with her later."

The Hat said, "I don't-"

Dumbledore said, "Capital idea, my boy. A nice historical piece for the Quibbler, I'm sure."

The Hat said, "Albus, I am not a performing-"

"It will be very educational, I'm sure."

:::

g and k are pairs, as are s and z, and t and d. dug and tuck, do, in a sense, rhyme. The difference is in voicing. Touch your throat while making the pairs and you'll feel what I mean. Hermione is possibly my favorite character in canon, but these are two chapters in a row where Hermione's foibles are surfacing.

I briefly thought I'd accidentally deleted my root document (where I write down future events as a traveler might throw stepping stones into a stream.) Only 15k words, but 15k important words. Scary to suspect, a relief to disprove. Whew. Still have it.

Yes, I know, it's been way too long since an update. Sorry. I've been writing and reading other stuff.

Listening to Chorale Music lately. In addition to classical canon, Eric Whitacre, Karl Jenkins, Shawn Kirchner. (All dudes? Anyone have any modern female chorale composers to suggest?) Hey, listen to Adiemus by Karl Jenkins and then Baba Yetu by Christopher Tin. Same song, I swear. Did you know Mozart has a piece where the lyrics are variations on "lick my ass, lick it good," for two beautiful minutes?

21. Wages of Fearlessness

Harry stayed after Charms class to ask Flitwick for advice. Encouraging his friends to go on without him, he took the hummingbird statuette from his pocket, breathed on it, and watched it come awake, wings unfurling, and it flew about the room.

Mr. Flitwick said, "Very good, Mr. Potter," said Professor Flitwick, watching it examine a glass desk ornament that looked a little like a flower. "It's an excellent animation. A little too smooth perhaps – real birds have bones – but very fine all the same. But tell me, did you not think of putting magic into the flapping of the wings?"

Harry said, "No. Charms. I don't like them so much." Whatever social advancement he had made, he still felt no compunction in saying that to the Charms Professor. "I thought it would be more elegant to just animate it properly, rather than depending on Charms."

"You misunderstand my meaning," said Professor Flitwick. "A Charm changes the properties of its object. It may be as simple as a Softening Charm making a stone as soft as a pillow, or as dramatic and abstract as the Patronus Charm making a happy memory into a guardian against fear and despair. You see how that approaches Transfiguration. The arts connect at their roots, and at their highest levels. If you make the bird's wings well enough, and making its flapping more than perfect, and the wings and the flapping match more than absolutely, there will be a magic in the flapping itself without you ever casting what the average witch or wizard would recognize as a Charm.

"That's enchantment, Mr. Potter. Much of what we call colloquially enchantment is really just Charms plus a few runes and a personization. But when you reach a complete harmony between form and function, true Enchantment occurs, leaving mere Charms and Transfiguration both behind."

Harry looked with new eyes at his bird.

#
#

"And we will put the dueling ring here," said Harry, the sweep of his arms taking a large swathe of gray stone between snake-encarved pillars. The Clubhouse of Secrets was vast, and there was a great deal to do.

"What do we want a dueling ring for?" said Ron.

Harry continued, "The floor of the dueling ring will be a trampoline. We will surround it with mattresses.

"I love trampolines," said Hermione. "My parents put one in the yard."

"That trampoline will not be for bouncing on. It will be for dueling on. The bouncing on trampoline will be over there." He pointed, not far away. Space within the Clubhouse of Secrets was fairly homogeneous, most of it being the same gray flagstone again and again, so to Harry, where things were put didn't much matter.

Ron said, "Are you two speaking muggle again? Tramp a leans?"

"You'll like trampolines," Hermione assured him, enunciating the word carefully.

Gesturing to the large, canal-like slot full of water, Harry said, "We'll take that sluice, change things around a little, and turn part of into a fish pond, and part of it into a hot tub, but bigger. A hot pool."

Neville said, "W-won't we need a sun for the fish pond? Or nothing will live in it?"

"There are other energy sources," Harry said, thinking of undersea volcanic vents. "But a sun is a good idea." He stared up. The dim, gloomy green light that illuminated the chamber obscured the ceiling almost like a mist.

He thought of how the ceiling of the Great Hall showed the sky outside, but the Great Hall, like the sky, was domed, but the Clubhouse of Secrets was more rectangular, and he wasn't sure it would do so well, visually. Also, he didn't know how it was done. Hermione had said that the ceiling in the Great Hall was an enchantment. Or was it enchanted? Or enchanting? He had done more questioning, and even a little reading, though 'enchanted' was often was used as a catch-all term, they were all subtly different things.

Hermione said, "We should diagram it all out before he install anything. We want a sensible layout. We should start with a list of everything we want. Let's see. Trampoline. Dueling trampoline. Fish pond. Hot pool. A labyrinth, I should think. Pipe organ. Common area, with a fire and squashy sofas. A library. Two changing rooms. What else?"

Harry said, "We should hollow out one of these pillars and put a secret base inside."

Hermione said, "It certainly sounds nice, but it might compromise the structural integrity of the chamber."

"Hmm. A secret compartment in one of the pillars, at least. To put secrets in. Did anyone bring any secrets like I asked?"

"I have m-mandrake seeds," said Neville.

"Oh, goody," said Harry, who was not overly fond of the shrieking baby plants. "We'd best hide those well. Anyone else?"

Ron said, "Where should I put the Slick Witch magazines?"

"From the way Hermione looks about to pop, I'd say wherever she won't find them, if I were you."

"Ronald Weasley!" said Hermione, and a great deal else that Harry didn't hear because he'd tuned it out. He had no secrets himself, other than a piece of paper on which he'd written that Baby-Loser, AKA Voldemort, was likely named Tom Riddle as well, but that hardly seemed worth hiding.

"Sofas," muttered Harry. "And books." He supposed he could fabricate the sofas himself.

Neville said, "We need to learn the Shrinking Charm to bring things here properly."

"Hmm. Luna, you haven't said anything."

Her eyes unusually far away and dreamy, Luna said, "I'm thinking about whether we should put mirrors in the homes we build for the bowtruckles. They're quite vain."

"Bowtruckles?" said Ron, seeing the subject as a way of ending Hermione's verbal assault. He looked around for the twiggy magical creatures that lived in certain types of trees. "Where?"

"In the garden," said Harry. "Keep up. Luna, mark out where the garden will be. The pond had better be a centerpiece, I suppose."

Harry eventually made a simple table and two benches, which was quite a lot of effort and he had to do it in stages over a quarter of an hour. They sat at the tables, which were cold and stone, and mainly watched Hermione write a list and make a diagram, repeatedly mentioning the need to measure the place and get its dimensions, but no one took the hint.

The planning was interrupted by an urgent need, which pointed to another modification. Harry stood, looked around a little, and said, "I have to pee, but there isn't a loo. It's a very bad clubhouse that doesn't have a loo."

"We could make one," said Luna. "Or, if we could get a vanishing chamber pot."

Harry said, "Vanishing. Great idea, Luna." He pointed his wand at his stomach.

Hermione said, "Harry, what are-"

"Evenesco," said Harry, flourishing his wand, casting the spell on his own innards.

Hermione screamed, and Luna said, "That's stupidest action I've ever seen."

But Harry felt fine. "Don't worry. All you have to do is aim. I'm much better now. I should do it that way all-" He stopped. He gripped his stomach. He paled. His stomach made a very audible gurgle.

Luna said, "If he's vanished his innards, shouldn't his abdomen house a vacuum now?"

Harry collapsed to his knees saying, "Madam Pomfrey. Get me to Madam Pomfrey!"

#

#

An hour later, Harry was in the hospital wing getting his bladder regrown, and Professor McGonagall was glowering at him.

"Of all the stupid stunts any Potter has ever pulled, that was the stupidest," she said. "Fifty points from Gryffindor."

Harry gasped. "But the result is its own punishment!"

"Not enough," said Professor McGonagall. "Trying to vanish your own urine while it's still inside your body. Did you vanish your brain first?"
"I'm sorry, Professor. I need to aim better and learn anatomy. Then I can-"

"No," said Professor McGonagall. "No. It's not something you get better at. It's something you don't do. Do I make myself clear, young man?"

Harry looked meekly at the bed sheets.

"Now what do you say?"

"Sorry."

"You're sorry to whom?"
Harry didn't like this bit, but there wasn't any choice. "I'm sorry to you, to my team, to my friends, to my ancestors, to my future and past selves, my hypothetical descendants, and to the imagined anthropomorphic personification of good sense."

Professor McGonagall nodded briskly. "I expect to see you in class tomorrow, Mr. Potter. Good day." She strode out of the hospital wing, and Harry let out a deep breath.

Hermione, who was sitting at his bedside with the rest of the group, leaned forward. "Harry, imagine if you had died. We don't know Parseltongue, so we couldn't have opened the doors. We would've been stuck down there and starved to death."

Luna said, "We would've eaten Harry first."

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, but thought about it and said, "That's true, actually."

Ron said, "I wouldn't eat Harry, no matter what."

Hermione said, "Yes you would Ron, if you were hungry enough."

"No I wouldn't."

Neville said, "W-we all would."

Harry said, "I've always wondered what my feet would taste like. Perhaps with mustard sauce. Baked, I think. In a glass pan."

Hermione shook her head at him, and Ron groaned. Luna said, "I never liked feet."

Ron gasped, horrified.

"Pig feet," Luna clarified. "I'm sure human feet are much different."

Harry said, "Any anyway, you wouldn't have starved. Dumbledore has a voice recording of me speaking hissy-snake-language that lets him get in and out. He would've gone looking when we were missing at dinner and then breakfast."

Luna said, "Really? That works? Fantastic. We should all get a voice recording of you speaking hissy-snake-language."

#
#

Ron and Luna left the hospital wing first, Ron saying, "See you later mate," and Luna saying something about the teacher in a portrait having arrived. Shortly after, Hermione said, "I'll be right back," and went off, walking as quickly as she could, since running wasn't allowed in the hallways.

She returned 15 minutes later with her heavy school bag, took out a fat book, and began to study. At that point, Neville took his leave, leaving Harry and Hermione alone, Hermione occasionally glancing up and biting her lip, thereby biting back a lecture.

"I know," said Harry. He might've died. Likely would've if he'd vanished something more critical. How long could you live without a kidney, he wondered? He'd hurt himself playing before, but they'd been minor things. Light burns, missing eyebrows and copper scales in place of skin. That kind of thing.

Possibly almost killing himself wasn't making as much of an impression as he knew it maybe should, but it was making some impression. He didn't want to feel that bad ever again.

Harry said, "I still say if my aim had been better-"

"Don't even start," Hermione interrupted.

:::

Ahhhhh!

To me, for all the joy and humor I try to put in, this story has also developed a melancholy feel I never expected when I rattled off a humorous oneshot about a geeky Harry adjusting to Hogwarts, and many of Harry's comedy scenes have a sense of desperation. Like a woman singing cheery songs to make herself feel better. Does any of that come through to you?

I've been producing a lot of Bleach fics lately. If you're into Bleach. If you're not, I recommend trying Bleach, but I recommend pretending that the conclusion of the Winter War is the bittersweet conclusion of the series. It's all steeply downhill from there, and sports an epilogue that, regardless of ship, leaves the Harry Potter epilogue, far, far back in the dust as far as disappointment and depression goes.

22. The Quidditch

Ron had made the Quidditch team. From the way he talked about it, Ron didn't think he was much good as a Seeker, but at try-outs, he had, on his borrowed Nimbus 2000, outdone all the other Seeker candidates, and a lot of hope was being placed on the fact that he was Charlie Weasley's younger brother.

For reasons unclear to Harry, he, Hermione, Neville and Luna had come to the Quidditch pitch to watch Ron's first practice with the team. Though Ron had gone off over an hour ago, the team still wasn't out on the field, and Harry would've been in a poor mood if not for the warm toast and marmalade Hermione and Neville were packing.

They took the bottom-most bleacher, nearest to where the the Gryffindor The Quidditch team had assembled. Running his hand over the bleacher, Harry found it cold and a little scratchy and wet from morning dew, because it was unreasonably early, so Harry took his wand and made the bench dry and warm.

He thought of using a softening charm, but was afraid that would just mean being poked by splinters from surprising angles as the wood conformed around his butt. An adult wizard would likely conjuring a long cushion for all of them to sit on, but Harry hadn't learned much conjuring yet. Transfiguring a cushion would be his usual tact, but due to both their smallness and hardness, his store of pebbles and wood chips wouldn't work very well. He was unwinding his scarf to use instead when Hermione laid a dense wool blanket over the wooden bleacher.

Harry frowned at the distressingly muggle and practical solution, but sat anyway and took a piece of toast.

"Why are we even here?" said Harry, when he had finished it.

"To support Ron," said Hermione.

"But don't you dislike Ron?"

Hermione gaped. "No. What? Why would you even say that?"

"He insulted you, and you didn't like him."

"That was a long time ago, Harry. We've been friends for almost a year."

"Oh."

"Why did you think I've been spending time with him?"

"To spend time with me," Harry replied.

"Well, that too," Hermione answered.

Harry frowned.

The Quidditch players finally stalked impatiently out of the locker room and onto the field, holding their brooms, listening to the oldest boy talk and point at a clipboard.

Ron wasn't pacing around or looking impatient. He was petrified, staring at the older boy, a bundle of nerves.

An older girl who looked vaguely familiar to Harry conjured a cushion and sat on the bleacher they were on.

She smiled at the four younger students, said, "Good morning," and turned her attention to the field.

Hermione said, "Good morning, Melissa."

"Morning Hermione," the older girl said, not looking away from the field.

"You know her?" said Harry to Hermione.

"She's one of our prefects, Harry. 6th year."

Harry blinked, face blank. "That's nice."

Hermione said, "You have no idea what that is, do you? She's like the red-headed boy who tells you not to do things."

"Oh," said Harry, and though Hermione was between them, he scooted away from the prefect, until he butted up against Luna hip.

"Stop that," said Hermione. "Percy is fine. There's nothing wrong with Percy. And not with Melissa either. She's not as eager to give straight answers as Percy, but she is quite helpful in the girls' dormitory."

Thesis stated, Hermione proceeded with examples and supporting details, and Harry tuned her out on realizing none of it was about magic.

The older boy who led the The Quidditch team stopped talking, and all the players got on their brooms and circled up into the sky.

"What happens when they fall?" said Harry. It was a question he'd had before, but so far he hadn't gotten the answer. Hermione refused to take the hint that she should research it.

Hermione said, "I'm sure there must be lots of safety precautions.

Looking out absently at the fliers, Melissa said, "They break limbs, mostly. Simple fractures, easily mended."

Hermione said, "But shouldn't it be easy enough to charm the pitch so people aren't ever hurt at all when they fall?"

"It would be. But broken limbs are part of the sport." Melissa said.

"But… if you allow some injuries, doesn't that make more serious injuries more likely?"

"The spells to make sure injuries aren't ever life-threatening aren't perfect, but they are very good. It's quite rare for Quidditch players to die."

Harry stared, completely at a loss. "Well no wonder there are so few witches and wizards." He stood and hollered. "Ron! You might die if you fall! Don't fall!"

Up above, Ron jerked, then straightened.

Harry said, "And how about the broom, Melissa prefect-lady?"

"Brooms break," Melissa said.

Harry stood and hollered again. "And don't you dare break my broom either!"

Hermione grabbed Harry by the back of his robes and pulled him back down onto the bleacher, where he continued to mutter about safety and how if even he thought something was reckless and stupid, it was reckless stupid indeed.

Hermione said, Melissa, "What are you doing out here?"

"Oliver begged. I'm a fair seeker, even if I never had any interest in joining the team, and he wanted me to take a look at his new seeker." She shrugged. "Ronald Weasley. He seems like a decent enough flier, and he ought to be light and fast, but we'll see how good he is at spotting the snitch."

Ron had been seeking the snitch for only a few minutes when seven blokes in green robes walked onto the field, holding broomsticks.

The Gryffindor players wheeled around and pointed, descending quickly toward the earth.

Melissa shot out of her seat, headed toward the field, and Harry and the others were right after her, approaching the knot of players just in time to hear Wood yelling that he'd booked the field.

"Ah," said the biggest Slytherin. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to their need to train their new seeker.'"

"You've got a new seeker?" said Wood. "Where?"

From behind the six large figures came a seventh, smaller boy: the blond ponce.

"What are you doing here?" said Ron.

"I'm the new Slytherin seeker," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought the team."
As one, the seven Slytherins extended their brooms. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed in the early morning sun.

The largest Slytherin said, "Very latest model. Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old 2000 series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he grinned nastily at the red-headed twins, – "sweeps the board with them."

Melissa watched with her lips pursed as the Gryffindor team gaped.

Draco said, "Don't worry. Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

Hermione said, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on the blond ponce's face flickered. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood," he spat.

Everything inside Harry froze. He knew that word. It was what Myrtle had been killed over, and his mother too.

The instant uproar told Harry he hadn't misheard. The biggest Slytherin had to dive in front of the blond ponce to stop the red-headed twins from jumping on him, a Gryffindor team girl said, "How dare you!," and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulling out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously at blond ponce's face.

Though Harry's insides had frozen over, his outside had not. Still staring at Malfoy with perfectly cold look, he caught Ron's wand arm and pointed Ron's wand to the sky.

Ron struggled against him, and Melissa's voice cut through the uproar.

Melissa said, "That word is not permissible. Saying it in front of a prefect is not advisable. You can be sure I will be speaking to both of our Heads of House about this."

The blond ponce paled, but only slightly.

"In fact," said Melissa, "Why don't you come with me right now?"

The blond ponce said, "You're not a Slytherin prefect. I don't have to listen to you."

She smiled. "Of course, if you'd rather they heard what I have to say without you there to defend yourself..."

"I'll come," said the blond ponce hurriedly.

Melissa smiled at Flint. "Tell me again, why was it you got the field today? Something about your new Seeker? I'm afraid you'll have to give up the field to a team with a complete roster."

And Melissa about faced, said "Come, Malfoy," he tagged after her as she did the best imperious stride away that a 16-year-old could be expected to manage.

The Gryffindors grinned, and the Slytherins scowled, but without a complete team on the field, they didn't have any choice but to walk away.

Moving a little ways from his teammates, Ron waved his wand and said, "Why'd you stop me?"

Harry said, "Whatever you did, you just would've gotten in trouble, and he would've played it up." Like Dudley.

"And there was really no need to," said Hermione, eyes aglow. "Melissa took care of it. She was incredible."

Harry said, "What's his name? The blond ponce."

"Draco Malfoy," said Ron, puzzled. It wasn't like Harry to ask about people's names.

"He mentioned his father."

"You met him at the bookstore," Ron said. "Lucius Malfoy. A rich wizard, old pureblood family, very influential." Ron's voice dropped. "My da' said that he used to be in league with You-Know-Who."

"Baby-loser, please," said Harry.

#
#

At dinner, the young students at the Gryffindor table were abuzz with gleeful gossip. Draco Malfoy had been assigned a detention by Severus Snape. Two detentions, if rumor were to be believed.

Hermione said, "He's learned his lesson, I should think."

Ron snorted. "No he hasn't. And a prefect witnessed him calling another student… that. Even two detentions aren't enough."

Neville said, "I-I didn't think Snape would give him any detentions at all."

"Professor Snape, Neville," said Hermione. "And of course he gave Draco Malfoy a detention. Malfoy broke the rules, and Professor Snape is a Professor."

Ron snorted again, said that was likely the least Snape had been able to justify assigning, and an argument ensued.

The argument had ended, the rest moved onto different topics, when Harry swallowed the last of his pot roast and said, "I'm going to get rid of him. Or, no, that's too much. We'll find out what he wants, and take it from him. Find out what he fears, and give it to him. Ron, what does he want?"
His friends stared at him. Ron said, "Harry, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What does Draco Malfoy want?"

"Well," said Ron. "I guess he wants to win at Quidditch."

"Right. That's one thing."

Hesitant, Hermione said, "He wants to impress the other Slytherins, and I think especially impress his father, since he talks about his father a lot."

Harry said, "And what do you think he fears?"

"Embarrassment, maybe? Becoming poor? Harry, why are you asking about this?"

Harry said, "His father. We're already after his father. If we catch him at a crime, that's victory. Once his father is in prison, Draco-"

"Harry!" said Hermione. "You're being ridiculous. Malfoy's already in enough trouble. It's fine now."

Looking into her wide, frightened eyes, Harry subsided. "Alright. Yes. I guess that was a little much. Quidditch though. I could make him lose at Quidditch."

And without explanation, Harry rushed off.

#
#

Even though Harry had left the Great Hall before Professor McGonagall, he reached her office well after she did. He'd had to return to his dorm to fetch his money bag, and then he'd had to find her office, since their detentions were always in the classroom.

Professor McGonagall's office had a large walnut desk, two full bookcases, an old broom mounted on the wall.

"Mr. Potter," she said in surprise when Harry knocked and came in. "You should wait for a reply before entering."

"Oh. Next time. So, about the brooms for the Quidditch teams… I gather ours are bad. Why are ours bad?"

"So you're finally showing an interest in Quidditch, Mr. Potter? Perhaps you'd be interested in trying out for the team next year? Madam Hooch said you're good on a broom."

"Maybe," said Harry, internally thinking no. "About the brooms."

"Students usually supply their own," said Professor McGonagall. "And it so happens that few of our players have especially nice brooms. Though Angelina Johnson has a Nimbus 2000, and Oliver's broom is quite a good Keeper broom."

Harry said, "Can't we get the others better brooms?"

Professor McGonagall said, "There is an alumni Quidditch fund, and we didn't touch any of it last year, so I thought I might buy two new brooms for the team. Nimbus 2000s, maybe, since they're all on sale. But those would be better for the Chasers, and it's the Weasley twins who are in most need of new brooms."

Harry said, "We should get them Nimbus 2000s as well?"

Professor McGonagall seemed happy to discuss The Quidditch. "Lucius Malfoy bought the team seven Nimbus 2001s because they're impressive, but while the Nimbus series is excellent for Seekers and Chasers, emphasizing straight line speed and diving, they're not the best brooms for the dodging and weaving of Beaters and Keepers. The Cleansweep 8S fits the position better."

"Right," said Harry, reaching into his money bag. "How much do we need?"

Professor McGonagall stared. "You're a student. You can't donate to the alumni fund."

"I want to."

"You can't."

"What if I donate it anonymously?"

"I'll be checking, now that you've said that."

However he talked, Professor McGonagall wouldn't let him donate to the alumni fund, and he left her office dispirited.

Then he went looking for an owl-order form.

#
#

As it happened, Hogwarts Quidditch games were bet on. Not only at Hogwarts, but in magical Britain at large.

Harry figured that he was at an advantage, given he knew that Gryffindor was about to upgrade their brooms and others didn't, so, once he understood what the spread was, he put two handsome bets on Gryffindor to beat the spread.

And then he ordered the brooms.

:::

Not the funniest chapter, I know. But Harry will be like this sometimes.

Melissa Sayphwell will not be a major character, but I didn't introduce her for no reason. I will be needing her later.

I've put an original story on Wattpad. It's called Skeleton of a Dead God, by Jonathan Lake. Please, please check it out. It would be cool if I could actually semi-succeed as a writer one day.

In my opinion, Lucius Malfoy wouldn't mind Draco being punished for being so foolish as to use such a term in front of prefect.

23. A Wild Hair

With only Ron at his side, Harry waited outside the Great Hall. Getting away from his other friends hadn't been any trouble at all; he'd just told them he wanted to get away from them for a bit.

With dinner dying down, students began leaving the Great Hall, passing through the corridor. Most of them were in robes with trim of silver and green. Harry and Ron were in the corridor that the Slytherins usually left through.

It wasn't long until they sighted a short figure with platinum blond hair, with two larger boys on either side.

Draco Malfoy clearly saw them as well, and they already had his attention when Harry said, "I'd like to talk to you," said Harry. "In private."

Malfoy said, "If you want to talk in private, why bring the Weasel?"

"I figured he could talk with your helpers about The Quidditch. More polite that way."

"Fine," snapped Draco. "Crabbe, Goyle. Give us a minute."

Harry and Draco moved aside into a little alcove, Draco torn between curiosity and impatience, Ron, Crabbe and Goyle standing uncomfortably a little ways off.

Draco said, "What is this about, Potter?"

Harry smiled. A certain degree of directness, or at least, pretended directness, had always worked best with Dudley. "We're not getting along very well. I'd like to fix that."

Draco Malfoy smirked. "Oh, Potter? You wanna be friends? Maybe if you beg."

Harry said, "I don't want to be friends with you. I don't like you. I just want you to be stop bothering me or my friends. That way, I won't have to bother you either."

Draco's smirk widened. "Do I bother you, Potter?"

"I just said that. You ought to work on your listening comprehension. I'd be worried if I were your mum."
"Don't talk about my mother."

Harry said, "I didn't. I was talking about you. And, no disrespect, but if you keep bothering me and mine, I'll have to bother you back. No choice, you know. Tit for tat, and we don't want that headache, right. So I'm asking for a truce, that's all." He extended a hand.

Malfoy ignored it and snorted. "You think you can bother me? If you do anything, my father will hear about it, and you'll be out of Hogwarts in a minute."

Harry's grin was a grimace. "Yes. Your father." The guy with the enslaved, beaten house-elf. Who had worked for Baby-Loser, according to Ron. "You'd really go crying to daddy? Think he'd be impressed?"

"At least I have a father."

"At least? Is that the best you can say about him? That he isn't dead."

"You-"

Harry said, "This could get nasty. So let's call it quits."

Draco said, "There's no reason for me to 'call it quits,' against the half-blood son of a blood-traitor." Draco turned about and walked away, taking Crabbe and Goyle with him.

Harry stared after the receding form of the platinum-haired boy.

Moving next to Harry, Ron said, "You alright, mate?"

"Hmm? Why wouldn't I be?"

"The look in your eyes right now. It's a bit..."

"I'm just thinking."

#
#

A parliament of owls brought two broomsticks to the Gryffindor breakfast table, dropping them off with Harry Potter. Other students gathered around, and Harry didn't like people pushing into his personal space or looming over his food, so he stood and swung his elbows about to make them back off.

"What've you got there, mate?" said Ron.

For answer, Harry tore off the brown packaging paper, revealing two shiny Cleansweep 8s.

From other students, there was a good deal of jocularity that Harry hardly noticed, asking if he planned to fly both at once.

Harry pointed to the red-headed twins who were on the The Quidditch team. They were looking hungrily at the brooms and leaped up when they realized Harry was calling for them.

Carrying the brooms, Harry walked with the twins to the edge of the Great Hall, for privacy's sake, and said, "You two," said Harry. "Your the batters on the The Quidditch team, right?"

"Batters?" said one.

"It's Snape who swoops around a like a great bat. I wouldn't wonder if he could fly."

"But we're beaters. On the Quidditch team. I'm Fred and the ugly one on my left is George. We're Ron's older brothers."

Harry blinked. "Oh. So, about the brooms. I thought I might let you use them. But they're still mine, I'd be lending them to you, though perhaps for the school rules we have to say they're yours. But I'd like a little rent, say."

"I'm not paying anything," said George, crossing his arms. "And neither is George."

Harry said, "The other one is Fred. You're George."

"No, I'm Fred," said the one who'd been introduced as George.

"And I'm George," said the one who'd introduced himself as Fred. "He's Fred. Everyone always confuses us."
"Does it matter?" asked Harry.

"Of course it matters. We're different people, with different hopes, dreams and internal lives."

"I don't believe you," said Harry. "So, about the brooms. I believe you two are known for playing pranks without getting caught. Is that correct? It seems oxymoronic."

"It's right," said one. "We usually don't get caught. Even if everyone else knows it's us, they can hardly ever prove it."

"Good. But this time, maybe it would be better if people really didn't know it was you. Draco Malfoy. I don't just want him to have a bad day. I have been paying attention a little, and I think having Gryffindor enemies might actually be good for him. Might help his standing in his own house. Instead, I want you to completely and utterly disgrace him in the eyes of his own team."

The twins looked to each other, exchanging a conversation with just their eyes. One of the twins said, "We already got him once for what he said. Stink bombs. But to really hurt his rep in Slytherin…" He looked intrigued. "That's an interesting challenge. You're very serious about this."

"I'm always serious. So, do we have a deal?

Both twins frowned. The one who'd been Fred first said, "There are lines we don't like to cross. Malfoy is a little git, but he's a second-year. We won't do anything too bad to him.

"That's fine. Just do the worst that you will."

The twins assented with shrugs, and Harry handed over the brooms.

What Harry really wanted was for Malfoy to be gone, because Hogwarts was supposed to be perfect and Malfoy was messing it up. But he'd done enough, and Malfoy didn't deserve any more of his attention.

#
#

Ron and his friends were at their usual seats in the library, doing their homework. Or Hermione and Neville were. Harry was skimming a book on Enchantment, and Luna was sticking her head in Myrtle's chest and blinking a lot.

"That is so creepy," Ron said again.

Hermione tapped his essay with her quill. "I told you ten minutes ago that your supporting details in this paragraph don't support the topic sentence and you still haven't fixed it."

"It's fine," said Ron.

Myrtle floated over the table, reading the paragraph upside down. "Hermione's right," she said. "You need to fix it."

Ron kept his trap shut. He had several clever comments to make about a ghost hanging around with them, but Myrtle would start crying and Harry would not be very displeased.

Frowning, he admitted to himself that the body of the paragraph really did disagree with its main idea, and figured it was easier to change the main idea. He just hoped that wouldn't make the whole paragraph disagree the with conclusion.

It did, didn't it? Squinting, Ron scrawled in a tiny, 'While some might argue,' at the top of the paragraph, and a 'however,' at the bottom.

There. Concession and rebuttal, wasn't it? Hermione would be impressed. He just needed to write the rebuttal, was all.

Ron was grumbling his way through that when Ginny approached the table and cleared her throat. She was pale and nervous, but her jaw was set.

"Hey Ginny," said Luna, from inside Myrtle.

"Hello Luna," said Ginny. She cleared her throat again, until Harry looked up and the whole group was gazing at her expectantly.

Ginny said, "I would like to join the group."

Ron opened his mouth to say that his little sister was not joining the group and she needed to get her own friends, but Harry was quicker off the mark.
Harry said, "It's not that easy. You need a thing. Look, we all have things. Neville's a nice bloke who's very good with plants and is much braver on the inside than he seems on the outside. Ron's an irritable Mum, and he's smarmy and good at chess. That's not quite enough, but he got in early so it's okay. Hermione's really smart and really studious and she might be the leader, I'm not sure. Luna's crazy, but an interesting crazy that lets her notice truths others don't. Myrtle's a ghost and knows all about the blitz, and she's probably the first person Baby-Loser ever killed."

Myrtle stuck her chest out proudly.

"And I'm a Transfiguration prodigy, plus I'm Harry Potter, which is very convenient. You're a red-head, and that might be a good start if you're fiery too – are you fiery? – but it's not enough. Is there anything you're very good at?"

Ginny said, "I'm pretty good with hexes, for a first year."

"That's nice," said Harry. "Work at it. Maybe you can become the Dueling Queen of the First Year, then reapply."

"So..."

"So shoo," said Harry, waving her away. "Come back later. Dueling is fun, so if you can be a decent dueling partner for me, you're in. Probably. Good luck. I'm rooting for you." He gave her a thumbs up, returning to his book.

Ginny rushed off to the Defense Against the Dark Arts section of the library.

#
#

The Astronomy class didn't only do observations at night. The most important star in the sky wasn't ever visible then.

The second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were at the top of the Astronomy Tower, practicing measuring the sun's altitude and azimuth, and generally enjoying the view of Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest, and the cool fall breeze.

Class was interrupted when, with a running start and an impressive launch, Harry Potter leaped off the Astronomy Tower.

Harry plummeted. Above him were the shrieks and yells of his classmates, Hermione's, "HARRY JAMES POTTER!" the loudest of them all.

Harry laughed, suffered a bad moment when it seemed as if the ground really was approaching too quickly, but then came a tug around his waist and his fall slowed, slowed further still, and stopped entirely with him about three feet off the ground.

He kicked his legs, swung his butt around, shimmied, and finally got his feet on the ground.

"Hah!" said Harry.

"HARRY!" Hermione yelled again, from the top of the Tower.

Harry waved.

The students rushed down the long spiral staircase, heedless of Professor Sinistra telling them to slow down.

Ronald Weasley had been pretty damn pleased about Harry needing less supervision as time passed, but those instincts were still there. He was the first to reach the staircase, and the first to reach the bottom.

"Bloody hell, mate!" he shouted as he sprinted toward Harry. "What was that about?"

Calm and dignified, Harry allowed Ron to grasp his arms and said, "My underwear has become most superior," he answered. "I've incorporated anti-fall features. I thought of it when you were doing The Quidditch. They work. I'll make one for everyone on the The Quidditch team. Ron, you'll get the first one."

"I'm not bloody wearing your underpants," said Ron.

"They're not mine. I just make them. I've been going to see Hagrid on my own. He knows some acramantulas, so he's able to get me their silk nice and cheap. Don't tell anyone, because we're not exactly licensed, but it's good stuff, really top end, and-"

Pale, choking on the words, Ron said, "Your underpants is made from giant spiders?"

"Spider silk, Ron. It's fine. It's good. It feels great. It's so soft."

Most of the rest of the student body reached the ground, Hermione loudest among them, and Neville palest

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" said Hermione, stomping toward him.

Harry repeated his explanation about the anti-fall features for the underwear.

Hermione said, "YOU WOULD'VE DIED IF IT HADN'T WORKED!"

"I had Dudley do it first," said Harry. "Last night. The underwear worked great."

"YOU WOULD'VE DIED IF IT HADN'T WORKED. IF IT HAD MALFUNCTIONED!"

"Are you using the Sonorous Charm?"
"NO! I'M JUST THIS ANGRY! WHAT IF THERE'D BEEN A PROBLEM?!"

Harry said, "The only real problem so far is weight distribution. I don't think I have to say what happens with my crack if I don't get things right. Not comfortable."

"I HOPE YOU'RE IN DETENTION UNTIL YOU DIE!"

Professor Sinistra arrived, and very nearly arranged it.

#
#

Harry was in the common room with forty sets of underwear laid out in front of him, all of the softest, smoothest silk. Some were for males, but most were lacy, frilly things in bright colors. Several girls had agreed to show him theirs, after he'd explained what exactly he meant by, "Hi, I'm Harry Potter, can I see your underwear?", and he had found female underwear more aesthetically interesting than male underwear, and had so made more of it.

Hermione was sitting on the other side of the common room, red hands gripping the book she was hiding her face behind, pretending, for reasons that Harry didn't grasp, that she didn't know him, but most of the other Gryffindor girls had gathered around.

Harry held up a particularly cute pair of red, lacy underwear and began to speak.

"Behold, Superior Underwear. Self-sizing, within thirty percent. Temperature regulating, breathable, ever dry, and equipped with a triple redundant fall arrester. " He stroked it, showing off the flaps and teeth. "These teeth are, as, requested, more elegant than in the prototypes. Polished stainless steel with refined, curved, feminine lines."

He waved it from side to side and showed the front and back, just like the tall skinny women did in Aunt Petunia's shows.

Harry continued, "And the whole ensemble can be cleaned by house-elves, as in our normal laundry service, and with standard cleaning spells, and, for those of you muggle-born, yes, they are machine washable, but I advise putting them on the delicates cycle. And of course, every pair has the HP brand signature, personally signed by me."

The girls came forward to examine his wares. Harry listened closely, since product research was important, and took cooing as the highest praise.

The teeth were a more popular feature with the older girls than the younger ones, for reasons Harry didn't know and didn't care about.

He had made four sales when the black girl who he thought was on the The Quidditch team said, "What about, when, you know?"

"What?"

"Once a month," said the Quidditch girl.

"I advise washing it much more than once a month."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I mean, what does, does it do anything to accommodate our womanly cycles?"

Harry blinked. Cogs were turning in his brain, aerating inscrutable allusions found in books he'd read. Harry said, "I'm sorry, but it doesn't have any anti-pregnancy features. It's on the outside, not the inside."

The other girls had stopped talking, listening to the conversation, and there was a lot of giggling. Another one, having turned almost as red as Hermione, said, "No, not, not that. You have, in your pants, you know, underneath, you have."

"Mr. Shooty?"

"Y, you've named it?"

"I name all my body parts. What about it?"

Haltingly, too many of them speaking at once, and then all falling silent together, the girls explained about their womanly cycles.

When they were done, Harry said, "So as I understand it, you have a slit which contains a pee hole and a tube about like an expandable garden hose, with a small, pinched end. Is that accurate?"

"Well," said Melissa, the prefect. "It's not like a garden hose. But essentially."

"And you're telling me that, monthly, blood and other stuff drips out the garden hose."

"Yes," said Melissa.

Harry raised his voice. "Hermione, are you hearing this?"

"Yes," squeaked Hermione, sounding as if she were about to die.

"Is she having me on?"

"No," squeaked Hermione. "It's true."

"That's horrifying," said Harry. "Isn't there anything you can do stop it?"
"There's a Charm," the The Quidditch girl said. "But it's not perfect. The potion is better, but most people don't bother with it when the charm works almost as well and doesn't cost anything."

"Huh," said Harry. It did explain the stains on Aunt Petunia's knickers. "What is it even for?"

"Getting pregnant," said Melissa. "So we can have kids later. But I don't see any reason why a girl should ever have a period. We should only ovulate when we want to get pregnant, and we should get pregnant on the first try. With modern advancements in potions, it ought to be possible."

"That's not my area," said Harry. "Maybe if you talked to Professor Snape?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking you for help."

"Right. Okay. So. The underwear. I'll just worry about the underwear. What do you normally do for the blood and gunk and stuff?"

That was a touchy subject, but it got a lot easier when one of the girls ran up to her room and returned with an example.

The hilarity had largely died down, Harry busily playing with designs, when he glanced up, squinted in thought, and said, "Wait. The baby also comes out the garden hose?"

:::
The feminine underwear bit was interesting for me to write. (I'm a dude.) I wrote the first version based on my imagination, as I usually do, but got a female friend to consult on revisions. Little was changed.

I've published the first four chapters of an original story of Wattpad. It's called Skeleton of a Dead God. By Jonathan Lake. Please check it out. I have these weird ambitions of succeeding as a writer some day.

I was thinking, 'Gosh, Hagrid hasn't been in this year, I feel bad about it, Hagrid's great, I should mention him in this chapter somehow,' and suddenly Harry Potter was a black marketeer.

You may notice that Harry's tactics, thus far, for dealing with Malfoy are very Malfoyesque. Using money, cleverness and other people.

Skeleton of a Dead God, if you'd please.