Harry struggled to keep up with Madam Hooch's quick pace, her long strides being three of his own. He wasn't sure where he was going- was he in trouble? He knew it was a dangerous move but honestly, he wasn't thinking, he just wanted to protect his friend. His heart lurched into his throat at the prospect of being kicked out in his first week. How could he face Lady Magic after that? She'd surely be disappointed in him.
It took a few moments but suddenly Harry recognised where he was going, it was the way to the Ravenclaw tower. Was she taking him to grab his bags? Making a show of kicking him out? Her face was an unreadable mask, amber eyes looking forward, never back at him. Instead of going straight to the top however, the Quidditch instructor stopped halfway to the common room, and knocked on a slightly off-coloured stone brick in the side of the tower. It seemed to shimmer slightly, small swirls of blue magic sparking outwards before fading away. And then, where the stone was, there was a door.
The door opened with a small squeak, and inside was professor Flitwick, the head of house. 'Rolanda! Come in, come in, and you have- Mr Potter with you?' He ushered them inside, offering them a cup of tea. The charms professor's office was small and round, though clearly had a few undetectable extensions on it due to the size of the tower compared to the office. The windows that should be looking out onto the Hogwarts grounds seemed to be looking out on a tropical beach somewhere nice and sunny. Immediately Harry wanted to be able to use that on the windows in his bedroom. Flitwick gestured for them to sit down, conjuring two small round stools with bright blue cushions on them, before almost skipping round to the other side of his desk. It was littered with paperwork, two sheets of which seemed to be a cat and a dog teasing each other.
'Fillius,' The white-haired woman started, 'Mr Potter here is an exceptional flyer, we might just have a shot at winning the cup this year if you give him permission to play.' That was definitely not where Harry thought the conversation was going at all. He expected to be yelled at, perhaps hit, and strung up from the ankles in the dungeons like Filch always muttered about. He wasn't going to be punished for such a dangerous move?
'Really?' The charms professor seemed to jump up in his seat, eyes bright with excitement. 'You really think so? We haven't won since you played chaser back in '78!'
'I do.' She turned to the boy, somewhat forgotten in the surprise of the proposal. 'Mr Potter, have you ever played Quidditch before?' He shook his head.
'Ridden a broom before?!' He shook his head again. She bit back a gasp in surprise. 'All natural talent then, just like his father.' The boy bit back a question about his father. Sometimes he still felt a pang of longing for them. He had never talked about them before.
'Mr Potter!' Flitwick clapped his hands, laughing all over himself like he had just received a tickling charm to the behind. 'Would you like to play Seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?'
Seeker- something that was his. But he was also a first year, they weren't allowed to play- surely?
'But sir,' he started, 'I'm just a first year- I'm not allowed to play.' The professor waved off his concern,
'Poppycock- That rule is in play for the safety of first years, there are sometimes exceptions made for brilliant players like you. Youngest Seeker in a century, you'll be.' The raven-haired boy, now youngest seeker in a century smiled wide.
'I'd really love to sir.' Flitwick, if it was even possible, smiled wider than before. Harry sipped his tea politely, noting the overall too-sweet taste.
'I'll send a message to Mr. Davies immediately. I'm sure you'll do Ravenclaw proud Mr. Potter.' And with that they were waved out of the office, leaving behind the smaller gentleman merrily writing out a missive, and scolding the paper cat for biting the dog (who happened to be the minutes to the last prefect meeting).
--
As soon as Harry stepped out onto the grounds again he was ambushed by three flashes of blue and green, knocking his glasses askew.
'Harry!' Padma cried 'You're not in trouble, are you? I'm so sorry, it's all my fault that you got into trouble!' Harry patted her on the back, a signal for her to stop choking him so tightly.
'Don't worry Potter my father will hear about this. He'll make sure that Steele gets expelled, not you. Don't even bother packing.'
'If we make a petition, I'm sure they'll let you stay!' a third voice, Harry assumed was Thorverton's, added to the mix.
'Guys, guys! I'm perfectly fine. I'm not in trouble at all.' He reassured them. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his robes from being assaulted with affection. 'Flitwick's putting me on the team. I'm Ravenclaw's new seeker!' Draco looked at him blankly, Lewis and Padma responding in kind.
'Are you serious? That makes you the youngest seeker in a century!'
'Quidditch is so dangerous Harry! What if you get hurt?!'
'We're totally going to crush Slytherin this year if you're good enough to bend the rules for!'
'Hey!'
'Sorry Draco...'
Harry just grinned at his friends, feeling warm at the thought of friends that both cared and supported him in equal amount. Neither Ouroboros nor Lady Magic could fill the gap that true friends his age could, and he felt just slightly less alone.
Stormy grey eyes bore into him from across the field, fists clenched in anger.
--
With the excitement of that morning over Harry fell into hyperfocus. Transfiguration was by no means easy, and as he walked into class his confidence in being able to actually turn a matchstick into a needle (He was told by Clearwater that that's what the first class always was), waned considerably. He was already drained from flying, adding the stress of not being good enough on top of that was a recipe for disaster.
'You have performed admirably my ward, I am so very proud of you.' Magic whispered, caressing his face softly with the tingle of familiar magic. Harry blushed, barely concealing the prideful smile on his face. Doing Lady Magic proud was all he could ever ask for, and he thrived on her words of encouragement.
'Thankyou mother,' he whispered into his blue striped scarf.
The Transfiguration classroom was quiet as Harry slipped into a seat next to Padma. The Ravenclaws were paired with the Gryffindors, which Harry knew would probably end in disaster, he had heard rumours of what the Finnegan boy had done in charms, and wasn't sure exactly how one could blow up a feather from 'wingardium leviosa' but was hesitant to find out what he could do with a simple 'ignium acus,' [1]; perhaps set fire to the table.
On the desk was a lithe tabby cat with dark rings around its eyes. It stared at the door with a haughty intelligence, seemingly waiting for something. The cat seemed to shimmer slightly in place, it looked, to Harry, like it moved on the spot, like someone speeding up a small action, and then reversing it, all at once. This was no normal cat. Perhaps this was the professor?
The class sat like that for only a few moments more before the Weasley boy, with his shirt untucked and hair a mess, came banging in, rushing to the available seat, next to Granger, with a look of relief as Professor McGonagall didn't appear to be in her seat. The cat gave the Gryffindor a pointed look before leaping off the desk and transforming into a woman. Harry didn't even need to look at the rest of the class to see their surprised faces, almost collectively the first years gasped in surprise.
'Mr. Weasley, I presume?' She asked the latecomer in a clipped brogue accent. He nodded, paling considerably, which was impressive given his milk like skin tone. 'I don't appreciate lateness, perhaps we should get you a watch?'
'I'm sorry Professor, I got lost.'
'Ah, then perhaps a map is more in order. Don't be late again.' With one last glare she turned towards the board with a sweeping motion, spelling out 'Welcome to Transfiguration.' on it with a tap of her wand.
'Transfiguration is the art of change. It is spelling one thing into something else, such as a hedgehog into a pincushion. But can do more than that, it can conjure things from seemingly thin air, following a few strict laws. And it can vanish them just as easily.' To demonstrate, the professor tapped the large wooden desk with her wand, muttering something under her breath. It turned into a pig, oinking for a short second before she turned it back.
'Now I just transfigured my desk into a pig.' She said plainly, pacing the rows of the desks. Harry felt immediately respect, seeing her as a fair, yet no-nonsense professor. He would have to endeavour to always hand in his essays on time with her. 'But my desk has never been, and will never be a true pig. Can anyone tell me why?' Immediately, Granger raised her hand, waving it about with an air of self-importance. Harry thought for a second and raised his hand too.
'Mr Potter, if you please.'
'The desk only appears like a pig. If you were to cook and eat it in the transfigured form, then eventually the pieces would turn back into a desk, and you would have gained nothing but an upset stomach.' Harry heard a few chuckles from around him and was pleased a few people found him funny. He pressed on. 'At the basest level, it is still wood, so doesn't have any of the organic material found in a true pig.'
The Professor regarded him for a second with a fierce intensity, before the barest hint of a smile graced her features.
'Correct. 10 points to Ravenclaw for an astute observation.' The chalk on the desk danced up and ran across the blackboard, taking brief notes. 'Transfigurations only appear to be another object. They are not truly ever that object.' Harry grabbed his quill and jotted it down in bullet points, and after he finished, a matchstick appeared on his desk.
'In order to gauge where you are all at practically, I want you to try and turn the matchstick into a needle. Don't worry if you cannae get it right, I don't expect you to right away. The incantation is 'Ignium Acus,' and goes as follows.' The thin woman pointed at the matchstick on her own desk, giving it a half turn as she spoke. 'Ignium Acus!'. The voice was clear and commanding, and immediately the matchstick turned silver and pointed, at the other end was a golden eye, she clearly had an impressive eye for detail.
'Starting small is important, the differences between a matchstick and a needle are minor when compared to air and water, or even a desk and a pig. You may begin now.'
Harry pulled out his acacia wand from its holster and hesitated, the incantation on the tip of his tongue. He remembered a lesson Lady Magic taught him that summer, how spells actually worked, and what magic, and in extension, she, truly was.
'Magic is all about intent. You must pull the concept from your heart and push it into the object. Imbue it with your idea my son, Tell your magic what you need and it will answer readily.'
'But Mama, what if I can't?'
'You can, I chose you as my ward, my anchor on this plane, for a reason child. I have gifted you with knowledge with the promise that you will use it well and wisely.'
'Anchor?'
'Aye, I am but a concept. That night on Samhain 1981 was an act so horrid and cruel that I could touch the Earth once more. It had been years since anyone had opened their souls to my embrace and there you were. Innocent and tainted, unaware and yet your very core was crying out for a mother's touch. I linked myself to you, and thus this world. And you will forever be in both realms and neither, all at once.'
'Ignium acus.' Harry touched the matchstick, foregoing the half turn flourish. He felt a tingle from his chest, flowing lazily down his wand arm and by extension the polished wood held tightly in his grasp. The matchstick shimmered for a second, and Harry willed the matchstick to transform into a needle. It needed to change and adapt. And then, it did. The waxed end of the match folded in on itself and morphed into silver. Within the second it had become a perfect replica of the one professor McGonagall had shown to the class, complete with the little golden eye on the end. Harry raised his hand, more than a little smug that he had done it so easily, but in awe of himself and the potential of magic. This time it was personal. How far could he go with magic? Desks to pigs, but what about rocks? Houses? Mountains? Could he transform the planet?
'Mr Potter how can I help you?' The professor walked over, clearly expecting something akin to Finnegan's disaster (he really had managed to set the desk on fire. Which was aptly fixed with a swift 'aquamenti') The boy held up a perfect needle in his hand, setting his wand down on the desk.
'I did it.' He said quietly, and the professor transfigured it into a matchstick, then back again, in disbelief that it wasn't just a needle he had stowed in his bag.
'15 points to Mr Potter, for being the first to correctly transfigure his matchstick.' He felt all eyes on him and blushed fiercely. He didn't like being the centre of attention. He liked doing well and being talented but being the centre of attention and being Harry Potter would no doubt lead to trouble sooner rather than later.