Harry and Draco skipped classes till lunch, deciding instead to chuck rocks into the Black Lake (this wasn't technically destroying things like they had initially planned, but it was the only thing to do that wouldn't get them expelled and they both got a good arm workout from it). Entering the great hall for lunch, they were met with a worried Tracy and Theo, who proceeded to gang up and pester them about why they had skipped, if they were ok, and why they thought it was a good idea to potentially piss off the new Defense professor.
"First of all," Harry started, pilling mashed potatoes onto his plate as he spoke, "that entire lesson was a load of shite, and I think the entire thing should have been optional. Secondly, I'm extremely annoyed with Lupin and that stupid boggart, thank you for asking, and finally-" he slapped Parkinson's hand away from the steaks to grab one, "Lupin can eat my ass for all I care, he kept looking at me as if he wanted to anyhow."
That all was true, Harry remembered Remus from his last life and the man had been kind but distant, and really obsessed with the whole being a werewolf business. He had tried to fight Tonks every step of their relationship because of it, and honestly, Harry didn't have room in his cold shriveled heart for that man's angst and self obsession. Because that was what it was really, self obsession, Lupin made no effort to understand that Tonks loved him till nearly the day they died, it was depressing for the both of them.
Theo seemed scandalized by the thought of blatantly disrespecting a teacher, though he obviously agreed with Harry's reasoning, Tracy was itching for drama.
"Well if you do try to sass him, be sure that I'm in the vicinity to hear it."
Harry rolled his eyes at her and took a bite of his steak, "only if you stop asking to wear my jacket."
The ensuing argument was so chalk full of muggle slang that no one else in Slytherin could possibly follow what was being discussed.
Remus sighed, closing the door to his quarters quietly. It had been a very taxing day of teaching for him, and after Harry had stormed out it had only gotten worse. He had been unable to focus on his classes after seeing the boy's boggart, trying to make sense of it. Sitting down tiredly at his desk, he thought back to the conversation he had had with Snape during dinner.
"Pardon me, but do you happen to know anything of Harry-sorry, Mister Potter's homelife?" Snape peered over at him with thinly veiled annoyance.
"That's personal information Lupin, mind your business."
Wincing slightly, he tried again, "it's just that Mister Potter had a rather peculiar boggart that made me worry that he might not be taken the best care of-"
"He lives with Lily's sister if you're truly that concerned, though all evidence points to him living quite happily with her and her family, considering that he goes home every Yule. So if you would stop butting into a student's personal life, I'm sure everyone would appreciate it."
That wasn't all that promising, Remus had met Petunia-only once, at the wedding-and she had seemed like a horrible woman. He couldn't see Harry flourishing in the sort of atmosphere that Petunia would create."
"Are you quite certain? I've met Petunia and she never seemed to be quite the-"
"I grew up with her Lupin, in case you have forgotten. If you truly must know I had indeed had doubts about her parenting abilities at first, but the boy has proven time and time again to be quite happy in her home, so she has obviously changed for the better. Now if you are quite finished, I would like to eat my quiche in peace."
Remus still wasn't quite convinced that Snape knew what he was talking about, the man had gone head to head with James for years after all, there was no way that he didn't have some leftover resentment for the Potter line. That, of course, meant that Harry needed help and wasn't getting it from his head of house. Now that he was thinking about it, Remus could also attribute the teens aggressive attitude to living in a bad environment-his family had sure made Sirius angry at the other marauders on several occasions.
Shuffling through some papers tiredly, Remus pulled out a blank piece of parchment and started writing a quick letter out to the boy, perhaps they could have a conversation over tea?
Days passed, and Harry was on his way to his first Ancient Runes class, which he shared with Blaise. The other boy had gotten notably less tense as the days went by, but was still wound up quite a bit. They walked quietly to the classroom, having nothing to talk about that wouldn't potentially cause an explosive argument.
"I'm trying to make a rune scheme to protect my muggle devices from magic, any ideas?"
That did the trick, and the boys launched into a heated debate over the inter-complexities of protection runes and how they might interfere with dodgy things like electronics. Harry soon realized that they both would likely find the runes class rather boring, as Blaise could already probably get an O on the Runes OWL. He told the other boy that, and observed passively as he became extremely insulted.
"What, don't think I could manage the NEWT?"
"Oh! I'm sorry, have you created your own rune scheme?"
"Have you?"
"Naturally."
"Bloody-gifted bastard."
Tom had insisted that he learn how to draw runes the second his hands were physically able to hold a pencil, and it had been an upward battle for a few years as his motor functions continued to develop, but Harry had eventually gotten quite adept in the practice. Though, since you could only do self study under very specific circumstances, Harry had been forced to take the class anyway, at least for the year till he could test out. Blaise had been studying runes for the majority of the last year for his pledge, and since he had to understand the obnoxiously ornate runes scheme to be able to use it; he had done a lot of studying of runes and their alphabets, as well as a considerable amount of theory-and that was only the studying that Harry knew about, there was no telling what he had been doing over the summer.
Ancient Runes had potential to be an interesting history lesson for them, and Professor Babbling was well known for being quite ingenious, perhaps Harry could approach her for an apprenticeship and learn a few things.
Walking into the classroom, Harry observed the area with interest. He had never been in the room in his last life, and it had an interesting layout he didn't see in the rest of the school. The entire wall behind the teacher's desk was one big chalkboard, and the desks were set up in crescent moons branching out from the front. All the other walls were covered floor to ceiling in bookshelves, which were in turn stacked to the brim with various books. It was quite large, but felt a tad cramped from all the space taken up.
He settled down at a desk, still looking around with interest, the chalkboard was empty at the moment, though that could change in a heartbeat. Blaise was next to him, already jolting down runes from various alphabets-as if he didn't already have them memorized.
"Trying to take my crown as universal teacher's pet, eh Zabini?" Blaise glared at him, it lacked heat.
"I'm not gonna compete with you and Granger for that spot."
"Oh come on mate, you can hardly consider her whining to be 'competing' with me."
Snickering, the two boys turned back to gathering up their stationary. Harry knew that Granger had to have the time turner this time around as well, though he had no intention of letting her keep it. Sure, stealing the thing from the girl was risky, but stealing from the ministry or-god forbid-trying to find a stable one on the black market, was much worse. He could handle one sleep deprived third year with a superiority complex, especially since said third year still had the irrationality curse on her.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Granger rocked into the classroom just before the bell rang, looking like a dumpster fire. The responsibility of using a time turner obviously wasn't one that she could cope with, as from the looks of things she wasn't using it to catch up on sleep.
To be blunt, the girl looked an utter mess.
Harry watched her carefully, it would be much easier to steal the time turner from her if she continued being such a wreck, but he didn't doubt that she would eventually get the hang of all the time traveling, and by extension get better with her sleep schedule. Best to act fast before that happened.
The slam of a door allerted Harry to the professor arriving, and he turned quickly to face the front. He paid a relative amount of attention to the woman as to gauge what they would be learning for the year, but didn't think that it would be anything he couldn't handle.
"Good morning class!" Professor Babbling was a cheery woman who appeared to be roughly into her forties, though that could mean anything for her actual age, as magical people tended to age depending on a wide array of factors. It was mostly based on genes though, as someone who was born to a particularly... well, to an inbred family like the Gaunts or Blacks would age much the same as a muggle, and someone who had a good amount of variety in their ancestry could live up to two hundred years if they stayed reasonably healthy. Harry could only assume that he was on that track, if not for his parentage than his immunity to disease and injury due to being Master of Death.
"This year will be an introductory course to runes and the main three alphabets, which are the Germanic, Anglo-Saxon, and Greek alphabets." Harry was already adept in those three, and from the smirk on Blaise's face, so was he.
"If any of you reach NEWT level Ancient Runes, you can also look forward to learning the Phoenician alphabet, which is far more complex."
This made the young Potter pause, Tom hadn't taught him the Phoenician alphabet, as it was native to the Mediterranean and not often used outside of the region.
"Do you know that one?" Harry leaned over and whispered to Blaise. The boy was Italian after all.
"What, you don't?"
Prat.
Harry didn't find the rest of the class all that compelling, and he told Blaise so once they finally left.
"Honestly? I think I'll spend most days working on my own projects, I can hardly consider going over the alphabets repeatedly a good waste of my time."
Blaise looked ready to agree with him before they were interrupted. "Honestly Potter, why would you take Ancient Runes if you don't even want to learn runes!" Granger didn't know how to mind her own business, typical.
Turning around to glare halfheartedly at the girl, he didn't bother with an explanation. "Eavesdropping are we, Granger?"
She turned pink, and adjusted her overflowing satchel with a huff, "I'm simply pointing out how you shouldn't take a class if you aren't interested in the material."
Harry was in a bit of a tricky position, because on one end he really wanted to just tell of the girl and explain how he had a private tutor, but she would no doubt tell Dumbledore, who would then become suspicious of him; but Harry also had pride, and there was no way he would walk away from this without verbally decking the girl.
"If you must know Granger, I've already learned those three alphabets. If you weren't so busy babysitting Weasley, you might have the time to do so as well."
There, not only was he digging on her ability to study, but the jab might even drive a rift between the two Gryffindors.
"Come on then Blaise, I have better things to do than squabble in an empty hallway."
They left the girl fuming in the corridor, hurrying off to their next class.
Hadrian,
I hope this letter reaches you well. It is my understanding that you wished to learn more about my stone? Well, I can hardly consider occasional letters to be a viable way to inform someone of such a delicate object, so I have a proposition for you. You see, the stone is a finicky thing, and can only be used under very specific circumstances-circumstances that have yet to be revealed to anyone but my wife, funnily enough. While I am aware that you are currently a student and not yet gifted with long stretches of time to squander away in a lab, I find it prudent to request that if you are interested in learning how to use the stone, you allow me to teach you face to face, perhaps over one of your summer vacations?
I mean not to say that I am in any way wishing to depart from the living world and gift the stone to you, because I fully intend to see the universe out to its completion, but if you find the idea of immortality interesting in any respect, I would consider a descendant of the Peverel line a man best suited for the knowledge of how to create and use the stone.
In any case, I do not wish to push you to make a decision, but I urge you to at least let me apprentice you in an informal manner.
Your friend, Nicolas.
Harry reread the letter for what felt like the twelfth time, still not fully believing it. Nicolas Flamel-the world renowned alchemist Nicolas Flamel, was offering to teach him how to make a bloody philosopher stone.
Tom was having a temper tantrum in his head.
Fifty years! I spent fifty bloody years trying to find a way to become immortal and this French bastard just plops the solution right into your lap!
In his defense, it was a reasonable thing to have a temper tantrum over, considering the circumstances.
Should I take him up on the offer?
Should you-are you bloody kidding me? If you don't I'll kill you twice over, you little brat.
It was a once in two lifetimes opportunity really, and Harry would be phenomenally stupid not to take it-the elixir of life was a good enough reason to do so. He sat back in his chair and thought carefully, while he could certainly make a case to his aunt about receiving lessons from the man each summer, she would no doubt insist that he stay at home for at least a month before going gallivanting off to France, if she even agreed in the first place. Harry wouldn't be able to convince her this summer, he was sure of that, and who knew what nonsense the wizarding world would cook up the next summer to make his life infinitely harder.
Puffing up his cheeks in frustration, Harry quickly started writing out the potential upsets the next four years would lead him to, needing a visual to get a better picture of things.
Summer after third year: Quidditch world cup-Draco might force me to go, and the death eaters will likely attack during that time.
Fourth Year: triwizard tournament-won't compete since Tom isn't being a bother, Pettigrew won't survive this year anyways.
Summer after fourth year: ...Umbridge? (note: dementors are a minor nuisance at best, don't bother with Umbitch unless she bothers you).
Fifth year: Potentially umbridge as defense teacher (might need to murder), Dumbledore trying something(?)
Summer after fifth year: ????
Harry looked down at his chicken scratch distastefully. So much of his knowledge of events after fourth year depended completely on Voldemort being an issue, so he couldn't effectively foresee what was going to happen after that date now that Tom was on his side. It was likely that he could start on with Nicolas the summer after fourth year, but it was doubtful he could weasel anything sooner than that out of his aunt.
Harry glared down at the unhelpful parchment, liking to think that his indecision was all its fault. When it continued to sit there like an inanimate object and not apologize or anything, Harry tossed it aside and grabbed for the two other letters he had needed to read that night. Turning the first one over in his hands, Harry groaned slightly at the name of the sender. He still (albeit begrudgingly) ripped the letter open and read its contents.
Mr. Potter,
I would like to first apologize for not introducing myself to you personally, as your father and I were good friends. I would like very much to get to know you over a cup of tea to discuss how you have been in my absence. If you find this a pleasant idea, I would be happy to see you next Sunday over brunch.
Professor Remus Lupin.
Harry was extremely unenthusiastic about meeting with Remus for anything but school related happenings, but doubted he would be able to get out of it without seeming suspicious to Dumbledore.
Cursing slightly, Harry penned out a quick reply and handed it off to Hades with a grimace, turning to the other letter. The name of the sender on this one made him smile a bit.
Heir of Slytherin,
Good evening your grace! Or morning, I'm not awfully picky. I wish you good tidings and hope that my letter greets you in good health (is that what you say to fancy heirs? I've yet to speak to a particularly fancy heir yet so I apologize most sincerely if I've insulted your fancy graceness). I had the most wonderful dream last night, and as we have yet to speak outside of my dreams, and I feel it is unlikely that you remember those dream conversations, so I feel that you simply must hear about it.
If I have not done something horribly rude and insulted your heirness, I do ever so hope that you will break school rules and meet me in the astronomy tower tonight.
Luna Lovegood
...What.
Welcome to existing in Luna Lovegood's sphere of influence, Tom.
Harry was happy that Luna had reached out, though it concerned him slightly that she seemed to be dreaming about him. Penning out a quick letter of confirmation that he will indeed bring a fork, he set it aside for Hades to nab once he returned.
Reaching for Nicolas' letter again, Harry started reading over it once more, still feeling undecided about what his response could be.
Decisions decisions.
Harry found it quite funny that all of Theo's elective courses were divination related, though Arithmancy was a type of divination that Harry could get behind far easier than Trelawney's nonsense.
When Tom had first started explaining arithmancy to him, it had seemed like a load of rubbish as well-and honestly, the magical properties of numbers? Was he really that unreasonable by thinking it was hogwash? Regardless of his initial weariness of the practice, he was pleasantly surprised when it ended up being very logical and methodical. As well as obnoxiously ornate-he couldn't make heads or tails of the OWL level equations when Tom had first had him write them down, though he eventually figured them out. Arithmancy was still his weakest subject at the moment, and Tom grumbled occasionally that he would likely only get an A or EE on the NEWT if he took it (and considering that he had been studying all of Tom's knowledge of the subject for the first eleven years of his second life, he wasn't likely to get much better at it, unless Professor Vector was a better teacher than whomever had taught Tom).
Turning to Theo, who was fidgeting with the corner of a piece of parchment, Harry contemplated the boy's predicament. He was awfully certain now that Theo had some sort of seer abilities, which was simultaneously useful and unfortunate. The Nott heir—if he was indeed a seer—would likely be forced into the profession of seer the second his inner eye opens. Harry, honestly, figured that it already had sometime that summer, considering that he was now sporting a fake eye and a rather somber attitude. It seemed that seers followed a trend of having bad eyesight after being awakened—it was some twisted trade the gods saw fit to force upon anyone so unlucky to have the sight. But either way, if Theo's grandfather had taken him to St. Mungos to have his eye treated and a new one installed, they probably would have been forced to make his abilities public in the process. Theo would be able to be the Nott Lord yes, but society would expect him to study divination and practice it for the upper crust. That was the fate of every realized seer of noble blood in Britain, as the stuffy rich people of the world would much rather go to another stuffy rich person to get their future realized than some crackpot living in a hut. It was rather sad for Theo, really.
"-supposedly Professor Vector is very good with numbers, and hates Trelawney with a passion, which makes her at least of average intelligence-" Theo had been nervously listing off everything he knew of the teacher, and as Harry zoned back in on the conversation he was able to add anecdotes of his own.
"She seems rather bonkers in her own way though, I heard she's stricter than McGonagall." This was apparently not the right thing to say to the already stressed boy, as Theo immediately removed himself from the conversation to start mumbling out all the mathematical equations he knew.
"Good evening class."
Jumping slightly, Harry whipped around to the front, where Professor Vector had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Theo had nearly jumped out of his skin, and Harry made a mental note to talk with the boy and see why he was so jittery today.
Harry had never been particularly in love with mathematics as a subject, though he had been rather good at maths in his first life, and Tom's aggressive teaching had only elevated that. He quickly came to realize that Professor Vector was, in fact, madly in love with the science, as she passionately ranted on about probability and numerology and advanced theorems that they would most certainly NOT be learning until they were in NEWT-level advanced arithmancy because right now they were 'far too foolish to use the knowledge effectively', as if they would even be able to understand said knowledge.
I like her.
You would, wouldn't you.
Putting Tom's newfound crush aside, Harry was comfortable in considering his relative ease with the subject till sixth year, but listened properly anyway as to gleam any extra tidbits of knowledge that the mathematician might drop in her lengthening rant.
Theo was scribbling furiously onto a parchment, seemingly fascinated with the woman's lecture.
There's hope for us yet.
Draco slouched further into the tree he was leaning on, glaring at all the Gryffindors as they pet and bowed to the hippogriffs as 'Professor' Hagrid looked on with pride. The Slytherins in the class had all opted to watch, not wanting to get shredded to bits-that's what Daphne had said at least. Truthfully, Draco wanted to interact with the winged beasts, and his inner veela was whispering about how wonderful it would be to fly with them.
He shifted, making sure not to lean his back onto the tree. He had gotten used to his wings being trapped under the constrictive fabric, but wanted to be able to retract them as soon as physically possible.
Draco glowered as Weasley was thrown onto the back of one of the hippogriffs and quickly carted off into the sky, yelling with glee all the while.
Fly now, please?
I can't, go back to sleep.
A plus about his inheritance was that the veela actually listened to him, though it was rather miffed about the constant sleeping, and Draco was sure that eventually it would force him out after curfew to fly.
Weasley touched down on the back of the hippogriff with a whoop, and Draco's scowl deepened. He was NOT jealous of Weasley, his animal instincts were just fighting against his common sense, that's all.
Not even the simple mind of his veela bought that lie.
Sighing deeply, Draco betrayed his pride and drew off of the tree and stalked closer to one of the nearest hippogriffs. Catching its eye, he fell into a deep bow-one that his father would be proud of. The class went quiet as the winged beast bowed just as deeply, not one to be outdone.
Deeming it safe, Draco practically floated to the animal, feeling some sort of indescribable relief by fighting against the norm. Stroking along the hippogriffs soft feathers, he whispered platitudes to the magnificent creature, comparing their wings and assuring her that he would bring some preening equipment to the next class to properly pamper her.
Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Draco smirked at the shocked (and indignant, in Weasley's case) faces that watched him.
I can't wait to tell Harry, he'd laugh his ass off.
While the blond boy continued to get on swimmingly with his winged friend, Hagrid didn't come over to offer him a ride, so Draco spent the rest of the class stroking her feathers with a small smile, pretending that the other Slytherins weren't also spreading out to partake in a relatively dangerous activity.
That night, after everyone who didn't have secret conversations in towers scheduled was fast asleep, a tall boy slipped out of the Slytherin common room under his invisibility cloak, an annoyed snake in hand. Harry had no idea what to expect of this meeting, and wasn't sure he would be able to properly guess, as Luna always carried an air of absurdity that was hard to comprehend, much less plan for.
Setting Thasin down to go do whatever snake thing she had been insistent on doing that night, Harry started on his way out of the dungeons, intent on getting to the tower before Luna did. Turning a corner, Harry caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair, and quickly followed after the petite girl. He followed Luna all the way up the astronomy tower, and watched with slight trepidation as she sat down on the edge of the towers lookout, legs dangling off the edge and humming softly. Harry continued to watch her, calculating gaze trying to sort her out. Luna was a wild card on the best of the times, and he couldn't depend on her to make this a normal meeting. The dreams that she had written about worried him as well, what exactly did she know?
The humming continued, and he remembered a terrified father handing him and his friends over to snatchers for just a hint of proof that his daughter was alive. How long had Luna been trapped in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor? Was it weeks, or maybe even months?
The invisibility cloak fell from his shoulders, pooling at his feet as if made of liquid stars.
"Hello Harry."
"Hello Luna."
None of this situation made sense, she wasn't supposed to remember, why does she remember. The intense anger of seeing his boggart bubbled up again, this time with a hit of something utterly nauseating.
Shame.
"I've been having strange dreams, Harry."
He was fracturing, pulling apart at the seams to reveal that scared little boy locked inside a cupboard. He hasn't changed, never would. The realization came bearing down on him like a sack of bricks, and Harry was forced to confront himself-his true self-for the first time.
"At first I thought they were just that, dreams." He was being peeled apart like layers of an onion, he was Heir Hadrian James Potter, proud Slytherin with a heart of ice. No, he was just Harry, an orphan who saved the world. Except... that wasn't true either, was it. He was a scared little boy, just a creepy little freak with an ugly scar.
The layers flaked off till the emotional armor had been swept away with the wind, and all that was left was the angry, desperate shell of someone who could have been incredible. An ugly little thing fighting furiously to become something-to become something that could one day be considered a cheap imitation of what he should have been. Trying to right the wrongs that had torn him asunder in the first place. What was the point if no one else even remembered what had been done to him?
"But I realized a few months ago what they really were."
Harry's mind fractured, his first and second lives separating and tearing, the rift between them stronger than ever.
Who am I. Who was I. Who should I have been?
"They were memories of a future that is no longer going to happen." Luna knew. She knew of the weakness he showed in his first life, she knew that she had rotted away in Malfoy Manor for months on end while he fought in a war that should have never happened, she knew he was weak, that he had failed.
"I'm different now."
His voice came out rough, almost pleading. Please, please I promise to be better this time. I'm not weak anymore. I'm not.
"We all are Harry, but that doesn't change the memories."
He collapsed next to her, walls that kept the emotions at bay collapsing with him as everything bore down full force. The anger from seeing his boggart fell away and revealed the anguish it had been hiding.
Weakness.
Fear.
Cowardice.
"I asked you to come up here because I had a good dream yesterday night."
He looked at her, really looked at her. Luna was bright eyed and excited, her eyes betraying none of the pity she must be feeling for him. Her words had been so quiet and calm but she had been smiling all the while as his mind imploded.
"Do you want to hear about it?"
All he could do was nod, and she started describing a world where people weren't forced into boxes of light or dark, where a person would be judged based on their character instead of their ancestry, or wealth, or magic. She spoke of a world that was free of horribly corrupt governments that didn't care about their people, spoke of countries that thrived on innovation and discovery. Spoke of happiness and wonder and a world where people could simply exist, could simply live.
It was an unrealistic dream, full of ideologic concepts and utopian societies, but it was very, very nice.
It made him wonder how close humanity could get to that dream.
How long would it take to fix the world?
"Far longer than two hundred years" was the answer.