“GRYFFINDOR!”
The words echoed all the way to the back of the hall, unencumbered by any other noises. It probably had something to do with the acoustics of the room, as well as the fact that the hall had gone completely silent.
I lifted the Sorting Hat off my head and saw that everyone was staring at me in shock. I saw mouths hanging wide open, eyes bulging from their sockets and looking about ready to simply roll out of their skulls in surprise. No one even blinked as they stared at me, and I suppose I can't blame them, my sorting did take a good deal of time.
Deciding not to let the stares bother me, I stood up and placed the sorting hat back on the stool. I spared a glance at Professor McGonagall. Her emotions were masked much better than everyone else's, but I could see her surprise as well. The other teachers were the same, except for two. The man I recognize from my card as Albus Dumbledore, who stared at me with an expression of intrigue, and the Professor with greasy hair and a hooked nose, who leered at me like I was the dirt beneath his boots.
I almost got angry at that leer. It reminded me of how Vernon Dursley used to look at me before I put the fear of god into him. But I simply took a deep breath, held it, allowed my mind to clear of any emotions that could cloud my judgment as I breathed out, and turned away.
It wouldn't do to lift one of my professor's and hurl them through a wall or, heaven forbid, one of those stained glass panels on my very first day of school. I hear it's bad form.
I walked toward my designated table, the one where children are decked out in red and gold. Gryffindor. The House of the Brave. Everyone was still gawking at me, their eyes wide and mouths open.
For a second, I wonder if I made a mistake in choosing this House to be the one I'll live in for seven years. I squashed the impulse to analyze my decision to join Gryffindor. The choice has now been made. Second guessing would only serve to distract me from my goals.
It was not until I am nearly halfway to the Gryffindor table that said table erupted into a frenzy. All of the students stood up and begin clapping and cheering. I saw the two Weasley twins chanting, “we've got Potter!” as loudly as they could. They looked like they'd just won the lottery.
I guess I can't blame them. Much as I detest the thought, my fame alone makes me a desirable asset for any of the four houses. Just another reason to dislike the house system, I guess.
I finally reach the table and am swept in a round of laughs and back slaps as everyone tried to greet me at once. I smiled and greeted those around me, presenting them the image I wanted them to see. First impressions are everything, and I need to make a good first impression on these people. I'll be living with them for the next seven years, after all.
Eventually, I managed to nudge my way to an empty seat, one right next to the boy who was the very reason I decided to be sorted into Gryffindor.
“Hullo, Neville!” I greeted the boy with the same friendly smile I've used on everyone else. Neville stared at me in shock, like he couldn't believe I was talking to him. With what I've seen of him so far, I'm not surprised. The boy doesn't seem to think much of himself. At least he managed to snap out of his stupor quickly.
“Oh! Um, erm, hullo, Harry.”
I wanted to say more, engage the boy in conversation so I can determine the best method of earning his allegiance, but Professor McGonagall decided to restart the sorting ceremony and called up another first year. I payed close attention to everyone who was sorted, putting each name to a face and memorizing which house they went to.
“Weasley, Ronald!”
I watched the red haired boy sit down on the stool and the hat cover his head, drooping down to his ears. My mind went back to our first encounter on the Hogwarts Express. Truth be told, I still wasn't quite sure what to think of that meeting. It really left a bad taste in my mouth. But I also couldn't deny that I overreacted. Perhaps I should apologize to him later on? While I have no intention of being friends with him, I also don't want to alienate anyone who may prove potentially useful.
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
I blinked in surprise as the youngest Weasley was sorted into the House of Badgers. I watched the boy's face turn redder than his hair as he yanked the hat off his head and nearly threw it away, before angrily stomping to the Hufflepuff table. None of the Hufflepuff's clapped, probably because of the angry look in his eyes, and Ron, ignoring them, shoved himself into a seat with an almost audible growl.
I shake my head and focused my attention away from the boy. My eyes scanned the Gryffindor table. All of the other Weasley's are there, and from my understanding, the Weasley's have been consistently Gryffindor for many many years. Much as certain children from darker pureblood families like the Blacks are almost always consistently Slytherin, it was tradition for certain families to always be Gryffindor.
Then again, Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, so it's not like traditions couldn't be broken.
The three other Weasley children looked most disappointed to see one of their own being Sorted into another House. Percy looked mournful, as if someone had just told him he was no longer a prefect. The twins were shaking their heads pityingly.
“A real shame about our dear brother's Sorting, right Fred?”
“Too right, George. I am most disappointed to see Ronikkens being Sorted into the House of Cowards. Then again, he always has been easily intimidated by us.”
“Well, we did turn his teddy bear into a spider when he was younger. Maybe it's our fault he got Sorted into Hufflepuff?”
“Nah!” They both finished together.
I frowned as I heard the slight dig on Hufflepuff. It was one thing to hear from Andromeda how everyone thought Hufflepuff was the house of duffers, cowards and left overs, but it was quite another to hear two students talking about the same thing. Was this truly how everyone saw that house? It almost made him wish he could take back his decision and get sorted there just so they could have some claim to fame.
The only other person I took a personal interest in was Blaise Zabini, who got sorted into Slytherin. My eyes trailed the dark-skinned boy as he sat down next to Tracey and Daphne, the former gave the boy a dazzling smile and a pat on the back while the latter settled for a nod. Blaise seemed to take both gestures with poise. He was very in control of himself, I noted. He would make a good ally.
All attention was diverted when Albus Dumbledore stood to his feet. The man was giving a wide, beaming smile, as if just seeing them all sitting there, chattering excitedly, was enough to make him the happiest man alive.
He spread his arms out wide in a grand, welcoming gesture. I thought it made him like Gandalf trying his hand at conducting an orchestra, what with the hair and beard.
“Welcome!” His voice boomed out, every bit as grand as his gestures. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak. Thank you!”
While everyone else clapped, I found myself staring at the man with furrowed brows. The headmaster seemed a bit off to me. He reminded me of those animals who look completely harmless, but can be incredibly deadly when you get to close. It made me wonder how much of that 'mad hatter' act was just an act. Or if it was even an act at all.
“He seems to be a bit off his rocker, doesn't he?” I commented to Neville, who looked at me with wide eyes. Maybe he was just surprised I had so blatantly insulted the headmaster by calling him crazy.
“Well, I guess,” Neville muttered unsurely. I frowned at the boy. He seemed so unsure of himself. Was this really the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom? “My Gran always told me Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards in the world, but that he's always been a tad... erm, eccentric?”
“I suppose that's a good word to describe him,” I concurred. Eccentric definitely described Dumbledore well, from what I had seen so far. Most geniuses are like that. Being so mad is what also makes them so brilliant, or at least that's how it is in some of the fiction novels I've read.
My mind was brought out of my reverie when a delectable scent invaded my nose. I turned my head to see a veritable feast sitting on the once empty dishes on the table. There was a lot more variety than I had ever seen; roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. Most of the food I noticed consisted of meat. And as I piled food onto my plate, I wondered if I could somehow convince the chefs here to make some foreign foods. I've always had a thing for Italian and French foods.
As I began to eat my meal with the poise and grace Andromeda instilled into me, a ghost floated toward where Neville and I were sitting.
“Oh but that does look good,” he said sadly, and I could have sworn drool was coming out of his mouth.
“I take it ghosts aren't able to eat?” It was something of a stupid question, but I couldn't keep myself from asking. I was curious, and this was the first time I had ever had the chance to speak with a spirit.
“I haven't eaten for nearly four-hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
“Four-hundred years is an awfully long time,” I murmured, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be a ghost for that long. I couldn't, or maybe I simply didn't want to. The idea of being a disembodied spirit, incapable of interacting physically with the rest of the world but always there in the background bothered me more than I cared to admit. I changed the subject. “How did you become a ghost?”
“Ah, well, you see, I was wandering through a park one night, when I ran into Lady Grieve, a lady-in-waiting in King Henry's court. She was so confident that I could straighten her crooked teeth that I simply couldn't say no. As it turns out, I couldn't straighten her teeth. My efforts backfired. She grew tusks, and I was executed the following morning by an improper decapitation.”
I raised an eyebrow at the story. I knew about King Henry VII who had seized the crown in 1485, but I did not know this tidbit of information. Then again, it was probably something the wizards at the time had tried to cover up.
“What do you mean 'improper decapitation?'” I asked.
In response to my question, Nicholas grabbed his head and yanked on it. Many people 'ewwed' as flesh muscle and bone parted from each other until the man's head was hanging to his neck by a small sinew of flesh. I found myself blinking as I got a perfect view of the third cervical bone in the spine and the meaty muscles around it. It was a very grim and disgusting sight.
“That's why we call him 'Nearly Headless Nick,'” one of the twins said. Fred, I believe.
“I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington,” Nicholas said haughtily. I got the feeling this was a very sore subject for him. That nickname was probably something he had been dealing with for hundreds of years. I actually felt kind of sorry for him.
He perked up a moment later, thankfully, and coughed into his hand.
"So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."
I turned my eyes towards the Slytherin table and saw the ghost in question. He had blank eyes, a gaunt face, and his robes were stained silver with blood. I wondered at this. Was that his own blood or someone else's? The ghost was sitting right next to Malfoy, who looked incredibly uncomfortable by the ghost's proximity.
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
Once everyone had finished eating, the plates cleaned themselves to a sparkling shine, as if they had never been dirtied in the first place. I was impressed. The magic didn't look like much compared to some of the things I had heard of, but it would be incredibly useful to learn. It would also save me time when I cleaned the dishes at the Dursley's.
A moment later desserts appeared on the table. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding and many other flavours I had never heard of. I took some of the treacle tart and began pondering the intricacies of the magic they used to summon the food here, trying to come up with a viable theory for how such a summoning would work.
While I began making theories on magically creating a wormhole within the fabrics of reality to summon food through, the other students began talking about their families.
"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."
The others laughed.
What about you, Neville?" I asked politely.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced—all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here—they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."
“Are you telling me that you call uncle attempted to force the magic out of you via attempted murder?” I asked in a soft, dangerous voice. I tried keeping my emotions under control, and I think I succeeded, for the most part, but I know I couldn't control everything, not when I felt such anger at someone attempting to kill their family in some misguided attempt to force magic out of them. Maybe it was just because of how my relatives had tried to stamp the magic out of me, or maybe it was because of my preconceived notions of how family should behave with each other, but the thought that someone could harm a child for such a mundane reason pissed me off to know end.
The others must have sensed my change in mood, because Neville, Seamus, and Dean all leaned backwards slightly.
“W-Well, it's not like I was hurt or anything,” Neville stuttered out, and I realized that I may not have been as successful as keeping the rage out of my voice as I thought. I frowned. It seemed I was slipping.
“Sorry, Neville,” I told him, and everyone else, “I didn't mean to frighten you or anything. I just don't like that someone would willingly put you in harms way to try and force magic out of you. That's no way to treat family.” I was being honest too. I had always believed that family should be held in the highest regard and treated with love and respect. And while I did not consider the Dursleys to be my family, I did consider Lisa to be my family, and I always tried to treat her well, even if I acted a little distant at times.
“No, it's fine,” Neville said. He seemed pleased by my words, almost uncomfortably so. I got the feeling no one had ever stuck up for him before. Hmm... maybe that could be my ticket to gaining his allegiance. “Thank you.”
I gave him a friendly smile.
“You're welcome.”
Conversation flowed by and I let myself be swept into it. I kept my ears open and listened to everyone else as they spoke, even adding a few comments myself, but my body was pretty much running on auto-pilot. I didn't need to pay full attention to remember everything that went on around me. It was one of the many benefits of having eidetic memory.
I let my eyes scan the other tables, searching for those I felt would make the best allies. Susan and Hannah were sitting next to Sally-Ann Perks and Megan Jones, talking animatedly. Well, Hannah was talking, Susan was listening with a small smile. At the Slytherin table Tracey, Blaise and Daphne were all sitting together. I noticed that while they were sitting with the other first years, they seemed to be a separate entity from most of them. Only Lilith Moon, a dark-haired girl with green eyes, pale skin and a few freckles on her nose seemed to be separate from Draco Malfoy and his ilk like the other three. I got the feeling she was a bit of a loner.
My eyes wandered over the Ravenclaw table. I didn't know anyone in that house, so I couldn't make a well-judged decision on who to ally with from their yet. I studied a few of the first years for a moment, before moving on.
Over at the staff table I could see Albus Dumbledore speaking to Professor McGonagall about something, and Hagrid was drinking from a large cup. I tried to put a name to the faces I could see based on my mother's descriptions in her journal. I recognized Professor's Flitwick and Sprout, the Head of House Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively. My mind could also place the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, but many of the others I did not recognize. They must have come after my parents graduated.
One person I did recognize was Severus Snape. My mother's former best friend. He looked a lot like her journals described him as, only more angry and bitter. His face seemed to be set in a constant sneer, like he had just gotten so used to sneering all the time that it became permanently stuck on his face. He sat next to a man I did not recognize wearing a purple turban.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Snape turned and his sneer seemed to deepen. At the same time I sensed a burst of intense pain in my scar. I ignored it, having felt much worse, and simply let my eyes move away from the greasy-haired man's loathsome gaze and continue studying the other teachers.
The desserts soon disappeared in the same manner as dinner, and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again. The hall fell silent, and Harry found himself impressed. Despite looking like a frail old man, he obviously commanded a lot of respect.
"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A few people laughed at the declaration. I did not. My eyes narrowed. I wondered if he was being serious, and if so, why was something apparently dangerous enough to cause death even in this school in the first place?
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. I noticed almost immediately that the eyes of the other teacher's had become fixed. Clearly, this was not something they enjoyed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
What followed next was quite possibly the most god awful singing I had ever heard in my life, and when I considered how bad Lisa was at singing, that was truly saying something. I loved the girl like a sister, but by the gods her voice could shatter glass. This was worse, much worse. Everyone singing was doing so to a completely different rhythm, they were all off beat, off key, off tune. It was utterly horrendous, and I was extremely aggravated to know that this memory was going to be branded into my mind for life.
I decided than and there that next year I would bring ear plugs, or learn a silencing charm.
When everyone had finished, with the Weasley twins being the last having sang a slow, funeral song, Professor Dumbledore smiled and wiped his eyes.
"Ah, music, a magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
I stood up with the rest of the school and began following Percy with the other first years as we made our way to where we would be spending the next seven years. As I did though, my mind went back to what Dumbledore said about the third floor corridor. Something was there, hidden. Something dangerous. And I couldn't help but wonder what that something was, as well as why Dumbledore thought it was a good idea to hide whatever it was in a school full of children.
XoX
“So it's true then? You really did kill that troll?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably as Tracey looked at him in awe. He wasn't sure he liked the look she was giving him. He had come to terms with the fact that he had killed, had come to realize that what happened had been completely unavoidable, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with it. Still, he couldn't quite blame her for being amazed by what she perceived to be an incredible feat of magical prowess. She was not there, and she had not seen just how gruesome it had been.
“Yes,” he said simply, hoping she would drop the subject. It was a false hope, he knew. Tracey was not the kind of girl to just let something like this go.
As if she trying to prove his point, Tracey let loose a loud groan of disappointment.
“Man, I can't believe I missed it!”
“Honestly,” Harry looked over at the brunette, “I'm very glad you and Blaise were not there.” For multiple reasons, if he were honest. He didn't want anymore people being exposed to the grisly scene that had been the troll's head exploding like an overripe grapefruit.
The brown haired girl gave him a curious look.
“Why not?”
“Because if you two had been there, then I would have had two more people to worry about.”
The five who had been present during the troll incident flinched at the reminder. Harry closed his eyes, trying to stem the tide of guilt. Yes, his friends had been reckless, but he had been just as reckless, just as stupid. He could admit this. While he may have had a better chance at surviving an encounter with a troll than any other first year, it did not change the fact that he was still a first year.
“That troll was incredibly strong. It's hide was thick and had a lot of magical resistance. All but the most powerful of spells would not have worked on it, and even if you two had been there to combine spells with the others, we only know up to the first year defense spells, none of which pack enough power to do more than annoy it.”
That had been the main reason Harry had been at such a loss at what to do. Even when he had pumped as much power as possible into his spells they hadn't even grazed its flesh. He probably could have shot it in the eye, that might have worked, but that could have also exacerbated the problem. The last thing he wanted to deal with was an extremely powerful magical creature in an enraged berserker state.
“We managed to escape that night with our lives due to luck and nothing else,” Harry stated confidently. “If another variable had been added, say, two more people to enrage the troll further, it's quite possible all of us would have died that night.” He looked over at the now pale Tracey, his eyes unconsciously softening ever so slightly. “And if that had happened I would have never forgiven myself. You guys are my friends, and I don't want to see anything bad happen to you.”
It was almost amazing how quickly his feelings for these seven came into being. Lisa had taken several months before his heart opened up to her, several months of following him around despite telling her to get lost, several months of talking to him like he was her best friend. Several months of him being a complete jerk and ignoring her. These seven had done in two months what had taken Lisa more than twice that length of time to accomplish.
Perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised. Unlike with Lisa, who he had patently ignored until he gave into her demands, he had actually tried to befriend his friends at Hogwarts from the very start. This time it had not been them who initiated the relationship, but him. And maybe, just maybe, that made all the difference. Spending so much time with these people, getting to know them, letting them into his life in ways not even Lisa could no matter how much he wished it could be otherwise. Was it any wonder he had come to like them so much?
“Ah.” Blood rushed to Tracey's face, turning it the same color as a Weasley's hair. She looked away and mumbled a soft, “thank you,” before trying to get back to work. Harry frowned, but guessed he couldn't rightly blame her for her sudden shyness. She was probably just embarrassed.
He decided to save her from embarrassment and changed the subject.
“Has Daphne given any thought on joining us during these study sessions?”
Tracey shook her head, her shoulders slumping.
“No,” she sighed, “I've asked her if she wanted to come several times, and each time she says no each time.” She shook her head. “I even tried pointing out how much her grades could improve if she came with us. She might be consistently near the top, especially in Charms and Potions, but some of her other grades are nowhere near as good as they could be. Yet she still refused.”
Harry frowned. He had hoped that Tracey would be able to convince her friend to come with her to at least one of these study sessions. It seemed the girl was adamant on being obstinate. And, most unfortunately, Harry did not know what to do to gain her friendship.
“I suppose the only thing we can do is wait and hope.” Harry paused, then cast Tracey a look. “And you won't tell me why she refuses to spend any time with us?”
Tracey shook her head.
“Can't.”
“Won't,” Harry corrected with a smile. “You could tell me if you truly wished to, but won't because you'd be betraying your friend, and I respect that. I don't know anything about Daphne, but it's clear she doesn't trust easily. That she trusts you obviously means you're very important to her. It would incredibly cold-hearted to betray her trust, and I won't force you to do that.”
“Thank you,” Tracey murmured softly, her smile much smaller than the normal ones she gave. More heartfelt. Harry offered her one last smile, before turning his attention to Lisa, who asked him to look over her Transfiguration Essay.
Harry leaned over Lisa's shoulder and began to carefully read over her work. Her writing was very meticulous and neat. Very small too. Much like he had expected from anyone in Ravenclaw, she tried to cram as much information as possible with the amount of length given for each essay.
“There are a few errors in this. Firstly, you need to remember that the transformation in any Transfiguration is directly influenced by several factors. The weight of the item you are transfiguring. How many abnormalities its body has. The amount of power you place into your spell. How hard you concentrate on the spell. And a fifth unknown variable.”
He paused, allowing himself a breath and Lisa a moment to scribble down the corrections in her essay.
“Think of it like this, you need to know how much an item weighs compared to what you want to turn it into, and whether or not this item has any disfigurations or imperfections that may effect your transformation. These two factors will directly effect the other two. If the item you are using weighs more than the item you're trying to transform it into, then you need to use less power and more concentration. By that same token, if the item you are using weighs less than the item you are trying to transform it into, you will need to use more power and less concentration.”
“What do you mean concentrate less?” asked Lisa, frowning as she wrote a bit more. “I would think if you were using more power you'd want to concentrate on the transformation more.”
“Most people would assume that. The thing about using magic is that when you use a lot of it, it's very hard to control. Many people believe that means you need to concentrate on your spell more, but the truth of the matter is that focusing on your magic too much is like lighting a bottle of nitrogen on fire. Magic is a very chaotic form of energy, very volatile. And the more you use, the harder it is for you to control. Think of it as trying to contain water in a cup. Your magic would be the water, the cup is the spell, and your wand is the faucet that opens the gates for the water to flow and directs it into the cup.”
“Only instead of water we're dealing with a highly unstable power that could blow up in our face if we're not careful,” Lisa caught on quickly.
“Exactly,” Harry said with a smile. “I think you believe that concentration is the same as imagery, that is to say, you believe that imagining what you're trying to transform your object into and the amount of detail you put into it is the concentration variable when it comes to Transfiguration, yes?”
He waited for Lisa to nod before continuing.
“Which is not actually true. The variable known as concentration only constitutes the amount of concentration you place on the spell itself, the transformation, not the image you are picturing in your mind when you focus on the transformation. The image you conjure in your mind is actually the fifth variable. The concentration is merely the amount of effort you are placing into the spell.”
With a flick of his wrist, Harry summoned his wand. Another flick conjured a small red ball on the table in front of them.
“The best way I can think of it is will. How much of your will are you trying to enforce on the object you are transforming. In some cases, you may need to place more or less of your will, your focus, on the object. This is directly dependent on the weight.”
A flick of his wrist and the ball became a baseball bat of about the same size. Another flick and it was back to a ball, then broom, then a chair, all about the same size as the original ball.
“A bat, a broom, a chair, they all weigh more than a ball, even if they are the same size due to the materials they're made out of, so you need to focus less of your will on it. Magic generally has a will of its own, and it will change the weight of the object for you, therefore, you don't need to use as much of your own will to effect that change. You just need to add more power and gently coax the magic into doing what you want.”
“But if the object weighs less I need to use less power and enforce more of my will on it,” Lisa showed that she belonged in Ravenclaw by catching on very quickly. “Because I am not using as much magic, I need to enforce more of my will on it to direct it. In other words, concentration.”
“Exactly!” Harry beamed at the girl, causing her to flush.
“That... that makes a lot of sense.” Lisa hurriedly turned back to her essay to get her blush under control. She scribbled in her neat, tidy scrawl for several seconds, before turning to Harry with a thankful smile. “Thank you, that explanation is much better than the one my sister gave me when I tried asking for her help.”
“Having family problems?” asked Harry, bemused.
“You don't know the half of it,” Lisa groaned in response. “Ever since she found out I'm friends with you, she's been bugging me to introduce her to you.”
“She's a seventh year, right?” asked Harry.
“Yes,” Lisa huffed, “and she's really annoying. Always bothering me about something or other. Always complaining to our parents. I swear, sometimes it's like I'm the older sibling while she's the younger one.”
“I think I understand how you feel, at least a little bit,” Harry said sympathetically. “My muggle friend, Lisa Crawft, is older than me, but most of the time I feel like I'm the older one. Of course, our age isn't that far apart. A few months at most.”
“Trust me. You may think the situation is similar, but it's really not,” Lisa declared adamantly. “Try imagining a seventeen year-old girl whining to you about how your friends with the Boy-Who-Lived while she's not. Or having her complain to your parents about how they bought you a skirt she's been wanting for ages, and then throwing a fit when she doesn't get it.” She shook her head. “If she weren't so smart, I doubt she'd be in Ravenclaw.”
Harry nodded absently.
“So your sister is interested in seeing me?”
“Obsessed is more like it,” Lisa grumbled in complaint, “Every time I see her these days it's always 'I can't believe you're friends with the Boy-Who-Lived' or 'when are you going to introduce me to Harry Potter' or something equally annoying.”
A small grin crossed Harry's face.
“Is that why you spend so much time with us?” he teased, “To avoid your sister?”
Lisa smiled and held up her left hand, spacing her thumb and forefinger barely a centimeter apart from each other.
“Maybe a little.”
“I personally think you're lucky that the only problem you have with your sister is that she is annoying,” Blaise commented almost absently as he scratched a few notes on his parchment. “My sister's a mental case. I swear, sometimes I really wonder about her.”
“I didn't know you had a sister,” Harry said with a frown.
“She's already graduated from Hogwarts,” Blaise explained.
“Yeah, and now she's learning from his mum about how best to seduce a man,” Tracey quipped glibly, earning her a small glare from her dark-skinned friend. The young brunette just responded with a dazzling smile.
“I do remember hearing something about that.” Harry idly twirled his wand in his hand. “Not about your sister of course, but about your mum. Didn't she earn the nickname, the Black Widow in certain pureblood circles due to her marrying several men and all of them dying under mysterious circumstances.”
Blaise shifted. Emotion finally played on his face. He shifted, clearly uncomfortable about where this conversation was going.
“Weren't we talking about Lisa's older sister?” he asked, trying to redirect the subject.
“We were.” Tracey nodded her head, the smile on her face still in place. “But then you mentioned your sister, so really, you only have yourself to blame. Besides, it's not like you really care what we say about her. You don't even like your sister anyway. You just admitted she's a mental case.”
“It's not you talking about my sister that bother's me,” Blaise mumbled just loud enough for Harry to hear. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.
Turning to Lisa, Harry asked, “so do you have anymore questions about Transfiguration?”
“I have one,” Susan said. Harry turned to her and raised an eyebrow. The young redhead had been a bit more talkative since the troll incident. A bit more assertive. He wondered if it had something to do with her outburst the day after, but didn't think it mattered in the end. In his mind, this change could only be a good thing.
Nodding, he gave her the go ahead to continue.
“You mentioned a fifth unknown variable. Do you know what it is?”
Harry rubbed his chin for a second, pondering.
“The fifth variable is considered an unknown because the variable itself is always changing,” he started with a small frown. “Professor McGonagall showed us the basic arithmetic equation that all Trasnfiguration uses. What she didn't mention was that the variable known as Z is actually another arithmetic formula that is subject to change based on many different factors.”
Susan blinked.
“Oh.”
“I wouldn't worry about the unknown variable right now,” Harry said offhandedly. “We won't need to start worrying about it until fourth of fifth year when we get into cross-species transfiguration.”
“So how do you know about it?” Terry asked, frowning as Susan went back to work on writing her potions essay.
“Easy, I studied ahead.”
Terry raised an eyebrow.
“Up to fourth year?”
“Nothing wrong with looking ahead to see what will be coming up later on.”
Everyone looked at Harry for several more seconds before shaking their heads.
“How is that you're not in Ravenclaw again?” Hannah asked curiously.
“What I want to know is where you find the time to read so far ahead,” Tracey added. “In all the time Blaise and I have started studying with you guys, we've never seen you so much as pick up a book. Come to think of it,” she tapped a forefinger to her chin and looked up at the ceiling, “I don't think I've ever seen you do your homework here either.” She frowned. “You're always helping us.”
“That's because Harry get's his homework done the same day we get it,” Neville said. “He usually does it after class is finished and we've all gone to our respective common rooms. After that he reads.”
Tracey gave Harry a deadpan look.
“So let me get this straight. You're on the Quidditch team as its new Seeker, the youngest in centuries I might add, you always finish your homework the day it's due, then you read for the rest of that time, and this is on top of the time you spend helping us with our work and classes.” She shook her head. “Where do you find the time to do all this?”
Harry gave her a helpless shrug.
“I have a lot of energy.”
Tracey gave him a pout, completely unsatisfied by the answer. He almost chuckled at the sight, and couldn't help but wonder if she actually wanted him to extrapolate. He doubted it. The female Slytherin was not really into theory. She was intelligent, but preferred practical application over theoretical knowledge.
“E-Excuse me.”
Heads turned, Harry's included, toward the source of the new voice. He was not surprised to find Hermione Granger standing before him, looking incredibly nervous. In truth, he had been expecting her to speak with him for some time now. Several times during class, he would see the bushy-haired witch looking at him, worrying her thumb and looking like she wanted to say something. He wondered if she had been gathering her courage to speak with him.
“Can we help you, Miss Granger?” asked Harry. Hermione winced at the very formal means to address her, but didn't protest.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you, Harry?” Her eyes focused on his, then flickered to her left, away from him.
“I don't see why not.” Harry stood up and gestured for the girl to follow. She did, trailing slightly behind him as his friends watched them leave.
They walked through several isles of books cases in silence. Hermione fidgeted beside him, sending occasional glances his way, then turning her head. When they reached a more secluded spot, Harry turned to her.
“So, what did you want to talk about.”
“I-I wanted to apologize,” Hermione stuttered out nervously. Harry raised an eyebrow. “I've been extremely rude to you when you've never done anything to earn my contempt. You always tried to be nice and help me, but I kept turning you away and trying to upstage you in class. I'm sorry,” she finished in a small voice.
“It's fine.” Harry waved off her apology, causing the girl to look at him wide eyed. “Honestly, I'm not that surprised you acted like that. I get the feeling you're used to being at the top of your class.”
Hermione blinked.
“Yes, that's right. How did you know?”
“You mean aside from that fact that you're always carrying a book around?” Harry asked dryly. Hermione had the good grace to blush. “It's just how you act. You're very studious. Every time we're in class you are the first one to raise your hand and you always have the correct answer. You're also one of the first to get the spell we're working on right.”
“Not recently I'm not,” Hermione muttered.
“Yes, but that's just because other people have accepted my help and you didn't,” Harry said, earning a surprised look from Hermione. She probably thought he hadn't heard her last comment. “I also get the feeling that the reason you try so hard to be the best is because you don't have a lot of friends.” Hermione flinched. “I imagine you were picked on for your intelligence as a child. You were probably very lonely, and so you found solace in books and getting good grades. They were your sanctuary, a place where you could immerse yourself in knowledge and forget about the world, for a little while at least. Am I right?”
“I... yes,” Hermione's eyes, which already showed surprise had gone almost impossibly wide during Harry's tirade. “How did you... how could you know that?”
Harry gave her a mysterious smile and tapped his temple with his middle and index finger.
“Elementary my dear.”
Herimone blinked. Then blinked again. Then she gave another for good measure. Her expression soon shifted from stunned to amused. Her lips twitching in a small smile.
“Sherlock Holmes fan, I take it?”
“I am a fan of many stories,” Harry informed her, “but yes, Sherlock Holmes is one of my favorites.”
Harry paused, then smiled.
“In either event, thank you for the apology. I accept, and hope that you won't deny my help when I give it.”
“I won't.” Hermione determined, before her expression shifted into one of shyness. “I also wanted to thank you for saving me from that troll the other day. Had you not found me, I...” she trailed off, shuddering as the realization of just how close she had come to death hit her.
“You're most welcome,” Harry said solemnly.
An awkward silence ensued, for Hermione at least. The girl fidgeted, as if not sure whether to continue speaking or leave. Harry studied the girl intently as she looked down at her shoes, then back up at him, worrying her lower lip.
“Well,” she started nervously, “well, I guess I should be leaving then...”
“Hermione,” Harry said before she could turn around. The bushy-haired student looked at him, blinking. “Would you like to join my friends and I during our study sessions?”
Hermione blinked several times in rapid succession, as if her mind was trying to process what he meant. Then she gave him what had to be the most grateful smile he had ever seen.
“I would like that,” she said softly.
XoX
Midnight arrived. The stars had come out, a sprinkling of tiny lights painted on a velvety black canvas overhead. Surrounded by the myriad of twinkling lights was the moon, whose beams of light shone through the many windows of the third floor corridor that Harry found himself walking through well after curfew.
Not that anyone could actually see him. He was currently invisible to the naked eye.
Though perhaps invisible was an overstatement. It wasn't as if he had actually become invisible, merely used the disillusionment charm to blend in with his surroundings. His body had taken on the exact color as the stone walls and floor, his form was nothing more than a slight distortion only the keenest of eyes could spot. To further enhance the illusion of being invisible, as well as to make sure Ms. Norris couldn't sniff him out if she wandered near, he had added a scent deadening charm.
Truly, magic was a wonderful thing.
It had taken him a while to find the spells needed to sneak around Hogwarts undetected, and a little longer still to actually learn said spells. He'd been forced to put his Transfiguration studies on hold in order to learn them.
Harry moved through the corridor silently, his feet making little noise as he walked. He stopped in front of the very first door on the right. Something lay beyond this door. Harry could hear what sounded like heavy panting coming from the other side along with, growling and snuffling. It sounded like a dog, a very large dog. Or perhaps a really loud dog. What's more, the panting sounded like it was coming from more than one dog. Harry could make out three distinctly different pants, which he noticed due to how they were all slightly off rhythm with each other.
Creaking the door open just a smidgen, Harry carefully peaked inside. The creature standing in the center of the room was definitely a dog, though perhaps in its barest classification. It was large, easily ten times his size. Dark black fur covered its entire frame, blacker than the darkest of nights and blending in with the near pitch black darkness of the room. Paws almost as tall as Harry and with claws that looked like they could cut through steel were attached to powerful front and hind legs. A large tail hovered behind its back.
It also had three heads.
Cerberus. That was the name of the creature. Harry had never seen a Cerberus before, though he knew about them. It was said that they were the guardians of the Underworld, that all those trying to pass through Hade's realm would find themselves being viciously mauled and eaten by this creature.
So this was what Dumbledore had hidden up here. A Cerberus of all things.
Harry slowly closed the door before the creature could notice him and made his way back towards his dorm, silently contemplative. What could Dumbledore possibly be thinking in bringing such a powerful and dangerous creature to Hogwarts? Honestly, as if the troll hadn't been bad enough now there was a large three-headed dog hidden inside of the school!
Rubbing his chin in thought, Harry contemplated this. There had to be a reason for Dumbledore allowing a Cerberus into Hogwarts. And he would bet all the money in his vaults that the reason had something to do with the trap door the beast was standing over.
Now all he had to do was find out what was so important that Dumbledore felt the need to bring a three-headed dog into a school full of children.
Should be a simple enough task.