Latest Update: February 19th, 2021
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a Boy with an imaginary friend that lived in his head. A voice of quiet confidence and encouragement, his friend was ever so clever, and would teach him things and whisper stories into his ear, pushing him ahead of the other children in class, and giving the Boy the most beautiful dreams of the-world-that-could-be. The Boy lived in a tower with his father and mother and younger sister, and he was ever so happy, watching his mother experiment, his father write fascinating stories, and his sister play, and he couldn't possibly have been more content.
Then a thing happened, and the Boy shattered into a million tiny little jagged pieces and ate the imaginary friend.
Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/lovegoods-guide-to-lovecraftian-horrors-hp-oc-si-ish.388120/reader/#threadmark-category-1
Word count:120k
Chapters:13
Year: 1, 1
Sometimes, Sol Lovegood was not entirely sure if he was actually experiencing a thing or merely remembering a similar event in an especially vivid manner. It was a bit like Déjà vu, but quite a bit stronger, to the point he had actually called people by the wrong name, or looked for books that hadn't been written yet.
Standing on the platform for the Hogwarts' Express, giving his little sister a kiss goodbye, comforting her with assurances that she would get to come along next year, he felt that sensation again, stronger than ever, as he saw a small boy with black hair and rather ragged clothes come through the barrier following some of the Weasley family with a snow white owl in a cage on top of his trolley.
TheSeventhHorcrux. He blinked, eyes still absently tracking the boy. What does that mean? C? What's a Horcrux? No one answered. No one ever answered anymore.
He was distracted for a moment by his father's admonition to avoid the Blithering Humdingers that wandered in the Forbidden Forest, and when he turned back the boy was out of view, probably already on the train. He gave Luna a last hug, then hurried to hop aboard before the crimson engine had time to depart without him.
His trunk was neatly shrunken to fit inside his pocket so he had no worries there, and his pet Boomslang, Orpheus, was curled loosely around his neck, keeping warm beneath his robes, so he had no need to find a specific compartment and was free to wander the train. It took him a few minutes to find the car containing the interesting boy, partly because he was sidetracked several times, twice by upper years having rather spectacular breakups he stopped to watch, and once by a friendly black boy with a very large spider, though unfortunately it wasn't an Acromantula. The interesting boy was talking to the youngest Weasley, was it Rupert?, though the black haired boy was looking a bit unsure of himself.
"Good morning Rupert. Fine day isn't it? Not a Heliopath in sight, the Ministry must be de-militarizing. I'm not sure I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, I'm Sol Lovegood. Is your name Daniel per chance?"
The black haired boy looked nonplussed, and Ron, that was it, it was Ron, seemed a bit resigned to Sol's presence.
"It's, Harry, actually Harry Potter."
"Goodness me, I could have sworn your name was Daniel Boringcliffe for some reason. No matter. Pleasure to meet you Mister Potter, your mother was a very great woman."
Now Harry just seemed a bit confused.
"You knew my mother?"
Sol's eyebrows rose a bit.
"Of course, though not personally. She defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. Who on Earth, or in Britain anyway, hasn't heard of Lily Potter?"
"But, I thought, Hagrid said I beat Voldemort. I'm supposed to be 'the boy-who-lived' or, something like that. Right?"
Sol gave him a condescending smile.
"I don't think anyone actually believes that cousin. You were what, a bit over a year old? What were you to have done, exactly? Drooled on him? Overpowered him with the stench of your dirty nappies? No, Lily Potter used a previously undocumented piece of extremely powerful, and maybe a little bit dark, sacrificial magic to generate a protective shield tied to you and your blood. That wouldn't be too tricky; honestly, especially with a bit of access to the Potter family library, and what I wouldn't give to look through that let me tell you, the impressive bit was that it could reflect the Killing Curse. All the Uforgivable Curses are, almost by definition, un-blockable. Well, unless you count throwing someone else in front of you 'blocking'."
Sol tapped his chin in thought as he pondered the question before turning back to Harry.
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Consider throwing someone in the way 'blocking'?"
Potter looked a bit ill at the though.
"No! Of course not! I- wait, did you call me cousin?"
Sol nodded pleasantly.
"And Mister Weasley as well, very… prolific… family the Blacks. Your father's mother was Dorea Black, sister to Cedrella Black, Ron's paternal grandmum. Phineus the Second was the brother of Cygnus who was father of both Dorea and Cedrella, and also my father's mother's father, though he was disowned for being a bit too friendly with muggles. You and he are second cousins, and I am third cousin to the both of you."
He shrugged absently.
"Not that impressive, unfortunately, most of the pure blood families are pretty tightly related, more's the pity. A bit too inbred, as a general rule. Fortunately I'm only half, like you. M̴̨͚̩̙̲͎̻̤͂̉ͥͫo̢̢̠͔̰̬͙̎̈́̿t͚̙̪͓̗͎̬͉̝̃͂̒ͩͭ̃͠͝h̨̾̓̄ͥ̇͐̀҉̟̘͙͓͇̻̜e͎̟̱̞̿͂r̸̴̷̠̼͒̓̓̓ͮ͆͂̓ͩ was Muggleborn. So with any luck my children won't come out squibs, the poor things."
Sol's hand twitched slightly and he absently rubbed a spot slightly to the side of his heart at the mention of -nodon'thinkitithurts- and he had to blink a few times before remembering exactly where he was. Harry was looking simultaneously very lost and happily surprised. Ron was looking at Potter a bit speculatively, though it wasn't a good look for the red head as it made him appear constipated. Sol was just happy to be talking to someone who didn't yell at him for being a bit prone to ramble.
"What house do you think you'll be in, by the by, if you don't mind me asking? I'm rather hoping for Ravenclaw myself, but I feel a bit resigned to Slytherin. I'm a bit too… motivated, to really settle for just looking at all the wonderful things magic has to offer."
Potter was looking a bit defensive now, and Weasley was scowling in a rather pouting fashion that made him look a bit like a duck, or possibly an octopus, if an octopus was turned inside out and a lighter shade of pink. Though octopuses were rather clever things weren't they, maybe they could turn themselves inside out as well as change color? In which case Ron just looked like a talented octopus when he pouted. That thought made Sol smile a bit, he always liked to think the best of people even when they were unpleasant.
"A slimy snake! Always knew you were weird Lovegood."
Harry looked a bit nervous now, as if the revelation of Sol's probable destination meant he might try to attack them.
"I heard that, well, lots of dodgy wizards come out of Slytherin."
Sol shrugged amiably in acknowledgment.
"That's more or less true, but not quite the whole story. Do you mind if I sit? The explanation is a bit long…"
Harry shifted a bit in clear indecision, but shrugged along with a nod towards the bench opposite himself and Ron after a moment.
"Thank you. Now, while it is true that the majority of Dark Wizards, and Witches, of course, come from Slytherin, it is not the exclusive source of practitioners of Dark Magic. Xianang Tong the Black Raven and Spencer of the Hill came from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively; it's not so much that only Slytherins are Dark, more that they are the most visible."
Ron snorted at that.
"Never find a Gryffindor doing Dark Magic."
Sol looked at him sharply.
"Sirius Black."
Ron's face twisted into a very sour expression.
Harry looked a bit lost at that.
"I'm sorry, who's that?"
Sol shifted uncomfortably, eyes going a bit vague and focusing on Potter's shoulder.
"Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, first one in his family in generations, and very good friends with, well. Your parents. Towards the end of the war the Dark Lord was hunting them rather aggressively, but they were protected by a powerful enchantment known as the Fidelius Charm, which can conceal any information safely within a human soul. Their location was literally unknowable to any person the Secret Keeper didn't tell. Sirius… told. Then he went and murdered a whole bunch of muggles in a successful attempt to kill one of their other mutual friends."
Harry looked a bit sick, so Sol hurried to follow up the rather strong downer.
"He might be innocent though; there is a large body of evidence to indicate that Sirius Black is actually the alias of Stubby Boardman, lead singer of the Hobgoblins. There are a bunch of fishy things about the whole 'official story'; it's why my father writes the only competing newspaper to the Daily Prophet in the entirety of England."
Ron snorted at the mention of The Quibbler, earning another dour look from Sol.
"But we were speaking of the houses. Another way to think of what each house represents is to think of what question best typifies its members. Gryffindor, for instance would be best exemplified by 'who do we fight?', whereas Ravenclaw would be more along the lines of 'why do we fight?'. Slytherin might be more along the lines of 'who says I have to be the one to do the fighting?' and Hufflepuff would be 'why can't we all just get along?'."
Sol shared a small grin with Harry at the last two, but subsided with a melancholy sigh.
"Home of the happy is Hufflepuff."
Sol reached up to his collar and gently pulled Orpheus from around his neck to give the sleepy snake a few strokes. His pet serpent was a lovely shade of faintly fluorescent pale green, the same shade as a Luna Moth; he thought the shade was quite lovely, even if it only glowed very dimly in the dark. Ron looked personally affronted by 'the hated animal' making an appearance but Harry looked at the rather plump serpent with clear appreciation. Then he hissed a bit. Sol blinked. Ron blinked. Harry listened to Orpheus hiss back. Hedwig hooted gently.
"Goodness me, can you actually talk to him?"
Harry looked up with a bit of surprise.
"Well of course. Can't you? I thought he was a magical talking snake or something."
Ron couldn't hold it in anymore, and he burst out with appalled incredulity.
"But, y-you can't talk to snakes! That's… dark!"
Sol blinked once again and frowned at Ron as Harry starred at the young Weasley with a hurt look.
"No… not really. It's a very rare talent that, Parseltongue. Wish I had it; honestly, Orpheus was rather a pain to instruct without that sort of communication."
Sol hesitated over his next words, a very rare occurrence, as his hand gently slid across the slippery (and dry damn it, not slimy!) scales of his familiar.
"I… might keep that under your hat, actually Mister Potter. Parseltongue got a bit of a reputation recently due to the Dark Lord. It's not a Dark ability of course!" He hastened to add at Harry's shocked expression, "It's a hereditary thing same as metamorphmagus, or I don't know, eye color. It was very common amongst the Gaunts, last of Slytherin's direct descendants, but their last heir never had any children before he died in the war, and he was only a half-blood anyway. It's one of those things though, like 'all Slytherins are evil' that sort of crept into the collective consciousness as of late. Rather… unpopular to display."
Sol tapped his chin speculatively.
"Although, if you showed off to a few of the Slytherins, you might make a fair few friends actually, it was part of Lord Slytherin's shtick."
"Did someone mention Slytherin?"
A boy about their age with extremely light blonde hair poked his head into the car.
"I heard Harry Potter was on the train, was it someone in here?"
His eyes fell on Potter's black hair and bright green eyes before flicking to the small scar on his forehead.
"So it's true then. I'm Draco Malfoy. So you want to get into Slytherin then do you? I'll be in for sure; it's the best house of course. We don't let in all the riffraff."
He sneered at Ron with obvious disdain. Sol sighed.
"That was not entirely subtle, cousin. Oh well, I'll leave you three to talk, maybe that nice boy will let me pet his spider…"
As Sol wandered away from Malfoy's horribly botched introduction he wondered if Draco might be suffering from a particularly aggressive infestation of Wrackspurts. He politely declined an offer from the lady with the sweet trolley, though he was tempted momentarily by the Cockroach Clusters disgustingthingsgetsomefizzingwhizbees, but he decided against spending any money for the moment. He was so lost in his thoughts that he actually bumped in to a bushy haired girl coming down the hallway.
"Terribly sorry dear. I was thinking about Wrackspurts and I think I may have caught a bit of an infestation myself… devilish little buggers you know."
The girl seemed rather confused and alarmed.
"Wrackspurts? What are those? Are they dangerous?"
Sol waffled his hand slightly.
"A little bit, but not really, mostly more of a pest. They're a sort of invisible parasite that feeds on the energy of your thoughts, a bit like moths on clothes, they make you go a bit fuzzy, a bit distracted you know. They tend to flit in and out of your head quite readily though, so they never make too much of a nuisance of themselves, keep a low profile to avoid extermination efforts."
The girl looked a bit alarmed but also a bit skeptical.
"I've never heard of anything like that before and I know all the course books by heart. I'm Hermione Granger by the way."
Sol raised an eyebrow absently, still under the lingering effects of the infestation, and gently shook her outstretched hand brightestwitchofheragegoldentrio.
"Sol Lovegood, charmed, though not literally of course. Only for our year, or for the later ones as well?"
Granger gained a sudden look of absolute horror.
"Did we need to know the later year's books too?! Professor McGonagall didn't say anything, oh I'll be so behind everyone else, I'll have to stay up all night revising, do you know if the library is open 24 hours? Oh there's probably a curfew, oh no!"
Sol was a bit perplexed by her outburst, so gently lifted his hand and flicked her on the forehead. She clapped a hand to her head with a very offended look on her face.
"You don't have to memorize any of the course books dear, I was just curious about whether you actually enjoyed studying for the sake of studying or for what it can get you. Apparently not. Probably not Ravenclaw then?"
Hermione seemed mollified by his explanation, though she still rubbed the spot on her forehead lightly.
"Oh. Sorry about that, I tend to get a bit carried away when it comes to studying sometimes. I was rather hoping to get into Gryffindor actually; it seems by far the best."
She seemed struck by a sudden realization.
"Oh, that reminds me, have you seen a toad around? I was helping a boy named Neville look for one."
Sol admitted that he had not, but seeing as he had little better to do for the moment, he offered to help her look, provided they could talk a bit while they searched.
"I'm a tad curious as to why you feel Gryffindor is the best house Miss Granger, after all if any one of them was best then the others would serve no purpose would they? I thought the idea was to segregate the students based on what environment would help them achieve their potential."
"Oh well of course technically yes, but Gryffindor is the house of the brave and good, of course it's the best house. Dumbledore was in it you know."
Sol nodded reasonably.
"Yes and a more Slytherin sort of person we shall likely never meet. Just goes to show."
Hermione stopped poking about in one of the corners to look at Sol with pure stupefaction.
"What on earth do you mean? He defeated Grindelwald, he's the most powerful wizard in a century! I read all about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."
"Yes, and now he is the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock of the ICW and Headmaster of Hogwarts. Literally the only reason he isn't Minister for Magic is that he would have to resign his other positions, a net loss of power as it would mean his voice on the international stage would be weakened and his ability to shape the laws of the country would be at one remove. And he would lose the chance to mold the hearts and minds of the children of an entire people in his image. If that isn't Slytherin behavior, I'm sure I don't know what is. Damn good job of it too; most everyone loves the senile old codger."
Hermione seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
"But- he's a Gryffindor, he has to be a good person…"
Sol sighed. Why did no one seem to understand how the houses worked?
"Gryffindors are selected based on their willingness for self-sacrifice Miss Granger, not because of some sort of inborn super-morality. Being willing to throw yourself into danger doesn't make you a good person, merely a reckless one, just like Hufflepuff loyalty doesn't necessarily mean friendliness, Ravenclaw curiosity doesn't mean intelligence, and Slytherin ambition doesn't mean callousness. Besides which, you've rather missed the point, the house you are placed in is merely indicative of your most prominent characteristic, not your only characteristic. Provided Dumbledore was slightly more self-sacrificing than he was ambitious, or curious, or loyal, at the time of sorting, he would be sent to Gryffindor. That doesn't mean he couldn't change later in life, and it doesn't mean he can't be a coldly manipulative bastard when it suits him. You know I don't think we're really getting anywhere with this, have you considered just asking a prefect for help?"
Hermione thanked him for the suggestion, but wandered off with an absent minded goodbye, lost in thought as she headed towards the Prefect's carriage. Sol felt a bit badly for passing on the Wrackspurt infestation to the poor girl, but it wasn't something he could control now was it?
The rest of the train ride was accomplished without much more of interest. Sol wandered from car to car looking to find anyone worth talking to, but most of the upper years were otherwise occupied, some in rather complicated positions that made Sol somewhat jealous of the participants' flexibility, or generally just unwilling to talk to an 'ickle firstie', and most of the younger years were boring, simply chatting with friends about pointless things like what they did over the summer.
He eventually settled down in the corner of a car with some dull second years and pulled out a book to read from one of the expanded pockets in his robes. Persuading his father to lend him his wand long enough to master the charm sufficiently and perform it on his clothes had been a massive chore, so Sol had resorted to simply 'borrowing' it on occasion until he got his own as soon as possible once he was old enough. 12 and one half inches (may the outer gods smite the imperial measurement system with righteous fire), Walnut, slightly rigid, Sphynx whisker (Olivander had been a bit sour about using such an 'erratic' material as a wand core, apparently it was a leftover from his uncle that he had inherited along with the shop), good for use with charms and more free-form works of magic, acquired on the solstice, December the 21st 1990, the very day he turned eleven. Sol sometimes wondered if his parents naming him after the sun on the shortest day of the year was somehow symbolic, or existentially meaningful, but he generally forgot to care fairly rapidly.
Suffice to say, the rest of the trip, up till the moment they were escorted into the Great Hall for Sorting, passed in blissful and deliberate ignorance of his surroundings. He was only jostled out when he heard the name 'Lovegood, Sol' being called out rather loudly. He had trained himself to notice his name being mentioned even while reading to avoid getting hit by chalk by a rather unpleasant primary school teacher when he was younger, a highly effective conditioning method. Not much could draw him from a good book, but the sound of his name always would.
The Hat sank over his eyes, enclosing him in a faintly musty, slightly moist, darkness.
Not a bad trick that, reading right up before your sorting ey? Rather a Ravenclaw thing to do, certainly, but I don't think you'll end up there.
Sol couldn't quite suppress and internal sigh of disappointment.
'Why not though? I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to ask you again. In these fleeting moments, you'll know me better than I ever will, why can't I go to Ravenclaw, what makes me different?'
The hat sighed in frustration.
You desire knowledge, yes, even knowledge for its own sake, certainly, but you always try to find the angle don't you, you always poke that knowledge eventually for how it can be of use, even if the original source couldn't think of one. So while asking that question was certainly the sort of thing Rowena would appreciate, I think you'll fit best in SLYTHERIN!
Sol regretfully pulled the hat from his head. He had been expecting it, but it was a bit of a letdown all the same. Making his way to the table of Silver and Green, he settled next to some classy looking upper years, nodded politely to them, and went back to reading while waiting for the food to arrive.
Once the feast had concluded (he was disappointed that both Potter and Granger had ended up in Gryffindor, they had been worthwhile to talk to) he made his way to the dungeons with the rest of his house. He shared a dorm with the other boys, though it was a bit more private than his father's stories of Ravenclaw tower. They each had a corner in which to sleep, the better to keep them safe from each other, he supposed, which made the room's overall shape a bit pointy, though not unpleasantly asymmetrical. Sol was still feeling a bit disgruntled for being sorted into the-house-of-the-obviously-secretive, so he couldn't resist giving Draco a final jab before heading to bed.
"So Cousin Mine, how did your little talk with Mister Potter go hmm? Impress him with a family name he's never heard of by insulting his friends did you? Whatever would Uncle Lucius say about your lack of tact?"
Draco sputtered impotently for a moment, but Sol left before the lordling could muster a coherent reply. The train ride and sorting had been tiring, it was time for sleep.
Sol woke precisely at six the next morning, the small Dag rune tattooed behind his left ear jolting him slightly as its soporific effect was annulled. He had been quite lucky to find a clever and somewhat unorthodox healer when he went to St. Mungo's to get treated for nightmares after ḿ̨҉o̶̵͜t͏͟͏̨h̶͟e͏҉̢͘r̸͘̕͝҉. He put on a loose tunic and comfortable short pants and went to the common room to do some stretches before slipping quietly out of the portrait hole to do a quick jog around the pleasant coolness of the dungeons. He was hoping to get in a swim in the lake soon, apparently there was a giant squid living in it, and a rather large merfolk settlement as well. He made it back by seven and did a few cooldown stretches and some sit-ups. A few other early risers gave him odd looks, but Sol was used to that, and he ignored them.
Satisfied with the completion of his morning routine, he returned to his dorm for a quick shower, dodging a clumsily cast hex from Draco and returning a stinging hex that hit the other boy neatly between the eyes.
"You'll need to get up earlier than that if you want to catch me with my trousers down Cousin Mine, and literally at that."
Breakfast was breakfast. The food was good and plentiful; Sol ate his fill of a balanced spread of protein, carbs, and fruit, and grabbed a few apples for later as well.
Charms was fine, Flitwick seemed energetic and enthusiastic, perhaps slightly more than was appropriate to the subject even if it was quite useful. Sol was hopeful that he might be able to get a few tidbits out of the half-goblin once they got to know each other better, the man had been a professional dueler for a while. Was it possible that being a half-goblin leant him an edge by making him so small a target? That was another thought to put in the box, potential hybrid vigor in magical demi-humans.
History of Magic was a complete waste of time; he set a dicta-quill to record the droning lecture of the Ghost whose name was unimportant seeing as he wasn't sentient, and then put in some earplugs and read the textbook again. Bagshot was a rather fine author, he thought, even if she did tend to make her work a bit dense. Draco tried to snag the notes his dicta-quill had taken, but another stinging hex to the forehead deterred him long enough for Sol to slip out. It was fortunate that only Slytherins were in the classroom or he might have needed to wait to correct Draco's behavior till later, significantly lessening the effect of the punishment.
He skipped lunch, snacking on his apples while walking about the floor where the transfiguration classroom was located, working on memorizing the layout of the castle, and cataloging useful bits of architectural whimsy. Empty classrooms for practice, comfortable window sills with a pleasant view, and concealing nooks from which to eavesdrop or strike from ambush. He might not be fond of the reputation Slytherin had for sneakiness, but he'd be damned if he didn't exploit every avenue of advancement simply because it would reinforce a stereotype.
McGonagall was a bit cool to Sol and his housemates, but he supposed he couldn't blame her. He managed to get his matchstick shiny and pointed, though still made from wood unfortunately, by the end of class, but it seemed that didn't warrant a point coming from a Slytherin. That might be an interesting challenge, he mused; finding something impressive enough that she couldn't pretend it wasn't worth points even coming from someone in green and silver. Maybe if he turned a matchstick into a live Threpsical Hornet, they looked a bit like needles save that they could split apart to form a ragged ball of spiky tattooing equipment so they could put markings on your skin to attract mates.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was another waste of time, which was truly unfortunate since it was such a broad and useful subject. The professor seemed like a decent sort, but he could barely be understood over his stutter, and was clearly uncomfortable talking about anything to do with actual threats. What was a much greater sin, in Sol's opinion, was that their course text book was an absolute waste of paper, focusing primarily on pests so minor as to be completely inconsequential, like Nightmare Butterflies. He would be forced to memorize useless information from the thing to regurgitate come exam time, while actually learning things on his own. Fat lot of good Quirrell would be for research help too if he was too scared to even talk about dangerous animals. Although, that turban could be concealing lots of things voldieshortsvoldieshortsohvoldievoldievoldievoldieshorts, you never knew who might be harboring a nest of Nargles in their skull; it would explain Quirrell's odd behaviour, though Sol had never heard of an infestation spreading so far. It might make a good article for his father if it panned out.
He spent the time before and after Dinner in the library, talking quietly to Madam Pince about the sorting methods she used, commiserating with her about people who couldn't put something back alphabetically to save their lives, and memorizing the catalog for all the subjects that interested him. Charms, Potions, Runes, Ritual Magic (what little there was outside of the Restricted Section), Magical Creatures, Herbology… he was interested in quite a lot actually.
His dorm was quieter tonight than it had been after the welcoming feast; Draco had prepared a halfhearted 'prank' in the form of smelly sock on his pillow, but an absently cast stinging hex and a sharp 'OW!' from Draco made that alright. Maybe the young Malfoy had been colonized by the Wrackspurts like Quirrell was by the Nargles? He would have to try replacing the boy's shampoo with onion and pepper, as those were known deterrents of the whimsical parasites.
Sol gave Orpheus a few strokes to make up for not bringing him along for most of the day, then closed his curtains, stuck a weak alarm charm on them, and went to bed. The shrill beep of the alarm being triggered an hour or so later was only enough to half rouse Sol from his sleep, a definitely unfortunate side effect of Runicly assisted slumber, but he was coherent enough to lob a stinging hex in the direction of movement and was asleep before Draco's 'ow!' had fully penetrated his brain.
He decided to stir things up a bit Tuesday by sitting next to Potter at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. The other boy definitely seemed a bit confused by the cordial overture, but also slightly pleased, though Ron kept sending him dirty looks. Harry had never heard of any of the creatures Sol mentioned, though it turned out that was hardly surprising as he had been raised by Muggles of all things! Harry didn't seem too happy talking about them flithymugglescupboardunderthestairscursethem, and Sol resolved to send him a Spimster Wicket for Christmas to help ward off his relatives.
Herbology was fine, Professor Sprout was a good blend of energetic and grounded where it came to her subject, and was able to answer a few of Sol's more mundane questions with a smile and a point to Slytherin. The class work was highly practical, which he appreciated. Theory was all well and good but if it didn't do anything then what was the point?
The rest of the day went much the same, though he found a bit of time to swim before dinner. The lake was quite cold, but Sol knew a simple insulation charm designed for drinks that could be overpowered to cover a whole body. He wished he knew the Bubblehead Charm, but unfortunately that was a rather complicated spell, and he had yet to find more than passing references to it. It was doubly irritating because the insulating charm was rather similar in implementation, if not in function; covering the target with a thin layer of still air to slow heat loss. It was rather like wearing a dry-suit actually, and not particularly pleasant, but Sol still lacked the necessary power to maintain a warming charm strong enough to keep himself comfortable for long periods under heavy strain, such as swimming all the way across the lake and back in September, in Scotland.
He spent a bit of time in the library before bed, and worked on his homework sitting in a companionable silence next to Miss Granger. She looked like she would have said something, but every time she began to open her mouth Sol gave the wandering figure of Madam Pince a significant look, before very deliberately turning the page of his text book. He lent her a ballpoint for note taking though. Hogwarts might require parchment for assignments, but there was no rule against writing essays in fountain pen, and for simple note taking a biro and lined paper was a damn sight better than a quill, though a dicta-quill had its uses if you wanted to multitask.
Classes passed, the homework was easy (though was it really homework if you never left the school?) and Sol had little trouble mastering most of the spells they were working on since all of his spare time was spent either practicing magic, lovingly hexing Draco, reading about magic, reminding Draco of his station (with hexes), or thinking about magic while engaging in light exercise.
Thursday flight class came as an unfortunate reminder that Draco required firmer correction though. The Longbottom boy was a pity, his parents had been highly capable during the war but apparently the talent hadn't been hereditary. Poor sod would have been happier in Hufflepuff, like just about everyone really. He startled a bit and fell off his broom breaking his wrist as soon as Madame Hooch blew her whistle. Then Draco grabbed up the Remembral that had fallen from Longbottom's pocket. Sol actually thought it was a sign of improvement for a moment, then he remembered who he was thinking about and decided a gentle nudge was in order.
"Well done Draco, I'm sure heir Longbottom will be ever so pleased. As will his grandmother from whom he received that lovely gift only this morning. Did you know she's on the Board of Governors and the Wizengamot? My does that woman get about, and at her advanced and delicate age too. I'm sure Longbottom would appreciate you stopping by to give it back to him while he's in hospital."
Several of their Slytherin yearmates suddenly gained somewhat surprised looks of sudden comprehension, but unfortunately it wasn't quite enough of a hint for Sol's Cousin. Draco made a complete ass of himself and challenged Potter to a competition, which he then lost, giving Gryffindor a new, and in Sol's admittedly inexpert opinion, highly capable, seeker in the process. Sol carefully restrained his ire till that night in the common room when Draco started whining about how unfair it all was.
"Excuse me everyone could I have your attention for a moment? I feel I should raise an issue facing Slytherin house at this time, and ask for your advice. You see, earlier today my dear, dear cousin Draco Malfoy thought it would be a good idea to steal a sentimental possession from a valuable and easily manipulated political asset, then challenge our very own Mister Potter to a competition for it. No doubt believing he could use his superior flying skills to trick Mister Potter into doing something foolish, he rather grievously miscalculated. Potter caught the memento when Draco tried and failed to destroy it, and in the process garnered the favorable attention of Professor McGonagall, who made him the youngest seeker in a century for his impressive display of athleticism. Now, I'm not much of a people person, I must confess, so I'm not sure exactly how to go about correcting my pretty little family member's… incompetence. I've tried hitting him in the face with stinging hexes whenever he tries to make an ass of himself, but I fear he may have built up a resistance if he still feels comfortable enough to make us all look like idiots in front of the entire cohort of noble houses in our year. Oh dear, did you forget about that Cousin Mine? Yes, much as it might shock you, not all of the current scions of noble houses are in Slytherin, or were you not paying attention during the sorting even the tiniest bit? Susan Bones, grandniece to the Head of the DMLE is in Hufflepuff, along with the youngest Abbot girl. Boot and Patil may be minor houses, and young, but they are not inconsequential now are they, and both are in Ravenclaw. Not to mention the Gryff's, though they probably only have a thimbleful of ambition between the lot, have the Boy-Who-Lived and the Weasley family entire. Oh that's right, you don't think much of the Weasleys, do you Draco? Even though the patriarch is head of a ministry department, the Eldest son is friends with the goblins of Gringotts, the second eldest works on a preserve tending valuable dragons, the third is a Prefect in this very school currently on track to become Head Boy and then go on to a ministry position, and the middle children are, respectively, the two most notorious miscreants in the history of this establishment, who can and will make your life an unending nightmare, and, the close personal friend of the aforementioned Boy-Who-Lived, the greatest work of propaganda seen in this country in decades, AND YOU THOUGHT IT WuOLD BE A GOOD IDEA TO ALIENATE EVERY SINGLE BLOODY ONE OF THEM AT ONCE?!"
Sol was breathing quite hard, and the entire common room was either looking sharply at him, or glaring intently at Draco. Sol took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, hands smoothing back his hair, centering himself and reigning in his fluctuating magic. Chizpurfle in, Manticore out, Chizpurfle in, Manticore out.
"Like I said, I'm not the best with people, so I wouldn't know, but I'm sure some of the upper years will be able to give you the… education you so blatantly didn't get from Uncle Lucius. Good night."
Sol strode from the room, the feel of hostile magic building thick at his back. Draco was going to learn to curb his stupidity if it killed him.
The next morning, Slytherin table was having a quieter breakfast than usual and Draco was still in the hospital wing after having acquired a rather nasty case of horribly painful, throbbing pustules across his entire body. According to the Prefect who had guided the remaining healthy first years to breakfast it was a rare disorder which often affected Slytherins who were stupid in public, though Sol was a bit skeptical of such far-fetched claims. Still, he thought it might be worthwhile to try and salvage something from the whole fiasco, and dropped by the Gryffindor table for a moment to talk with Harry.
"So sorry about Draco yesterday, Mister Potter, I think he was a bit unwell, he's in hospital right now getting looked after, apparently he's come down all over with frightful boils. Anyway, I thought it only prudent to warn you ahead of time. Professor Snape is, he's a bit, um… Well, a charitable person would describe his attitude towards children in general and Gryffindors in particular as 'strong dislike', but I think a more accurate description would be 'loathing of such intensity it borders on religious fervor', so I just wanted to let you know to keep your head as far down as possible, while still maintaining perfect posture, answering any and all questions put to you as succinctly and politely as possible, and never, ever under any circumstances looking him in the eye, as I'm pretty sure he takes it as a sort of dominance challenge. Try looking at his shoulder or something else I suppose. Seriously, don't even think anything he could take offense to, or he will most likely be extremely unpleasant. If you can work a few indirect compliments in there, I strongly suggest it. From what I've heard, the man is an acknowledged genius when it comes to potions; he just hates teaching with the fiery passion of a thousand dying suns. Good luck, see you then (you can sit next to me if you like, it might help mitigate some of his ire if you're seen to be friendly with a Slytherin, just a suggestion)."
Unfortunately, though Potter had listened to most of his advice, Professor Snape must have been feeling a bit under the weather as well. Perhaps Draco's stupidity was a symptom of a legitimate medical condition like Flibertegibititis? Sol hadn't caught anything off him yet, perhaps hexing him served a prophylactic effect against whatever malady it might be? He would have to test that theory by varying the frequency and intensity of the curses he lobbed at Malfoy.
Sol tried to run damage control when Snape started to really get going, but even his interjection of "Do you mean literally brew glory as in a glamor effect such as Potion of Eagle's Splendor, or more figuratively like your groundbreaking work on the Wolfesbane potion?", wasn't quite enough to derail the Potions Master from tearing Harry a new one.
After Snape and Harry's little… thing, which fortunately didn't lose Gryffindor any points, Harry sat with Ron and Sol sat next to Miss Granger. He approved of her methodical nature, but he was a bit miffed with her bossy attitude. Their Potion of Boil Curing came out alright though, and Sol poured most of it into a neatly labeled preservation flask after he and Hermione drew small samples to turn in for grading.
He wasn't sure why the other students were just throwing it away, sure boils weren't exactly a common ailment, despite what happened to poor Draco, but they spent money on those ingredients and the effort to brew the potion stupidchildrencantthinkforsnot so why waste it? He would never understand what exactly 'normal' people thought about the world. Take dear Draco for instance. You'd think that Sol's comments and friendly jinxes would help him to see the error of his ways. Getting hit by chalk certainly helped Sol learn to recognize his own name, and stinging hexes were about the same intensity… Perhaps his cousin was a bit too inbred to properly process pain stimuli? Perhaps if he tried more exotic effects like public humiliation, or if he made Malfoy think he was going insane? Sol knew a few good color changing charms with simple movements that should be stealthy enough to not violate house unity… Though it was a worrying prospect to think his very pretty cousin might need drastic remediation to salvage.
Saturday finally came, and with it enough free time for Sol to get some serious thinking done. He sat near the edge of the lake, and really pushed himself physically, bending into ever more improbable shapes as he spoke quietly to the dicta-quill.
To Do (in no particular order):
-Talk to Professor Sprout about getting some space in the greenhouses to grow some potion ingredients, and ask about gillyweed. It would be wonderful to be able to swim freely without worry for temperature or breathing.
-Talk to the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, or maybe the groundskeeper, about going into the Forbidden Forest to gather more ingredients. Potions wasn't really a major area of interest, but the things possible with potions generally outstripped magic of an equal level of difficulty; Boil Curing was a fourth year spell, after all.
-Get a pass to the Restricted Section from a friendly teacher: All the most interesting books were locked away, a crying shame, but not an insurmountable obstacle.
-Sub item: Become friendly with the teachers. Professor Snape had obviously noticed Sol's attempt to butter him up in class, but seemed more or less okay with it; so long as he was careful with his handling of the other teachers it wouldn't be too hard to establish cordial relationships.
-Intelligence, memory, thinking speed, perception or other mind enhancing magical effects. He had a few books about those sorts of magic, but most required more investigation, and several he simply didn't feel comfortable attempting yet, like the ritual to improve eye sight which had included warnings that it could make you go blind if performed incorrectly. Wit Sharpening potion was another example; it was simply very difficult to brew, and unfortunately the effects didn't last particularly long. Maybe Professor Snape would be willing to help him with some research to try and come up with a more useful variant?
-Establish cordial relationships with all the older families with children in this year, then being branching out to the other years. He frowned. That would be a bit tricky; he hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't much of a people person. Caring took a lot of energy; it would be a difficult to maintain the façade of interest long enough to, say, get access to their ancient libraries.
-Obtain at least a general idea of the sort of utility magic that could be useful. He only knew about the Bubble Head charm because his m̷̸̸̨̕o̸̷͏t̶̕͢͞h̸̨̀͢͢ȩ́͡r̴͢҉͢ had once cast it on him when he went swimming in the stream near their home in Ottery St Catchpole, it was an extremely useful bit of magic, good for several situations besides swimming, but not a particularly common one. Spells to fetch and put away, Summoning and Banishing, were covered in fourth year, so he already knew the theory, he just needed more practice, and to improve his stamina enough to perform the more advanced magics. Manipulating objects at a distance was covered more generally by the Levitation Charm, which could be bent to moving the target along all three spatial axes without too much additional effort. Defensive spells, covert attack spells, spells to check food and water for contamination, spells to decrease weight, spells to decrease volume, spells to increase volume, spells to locate objects, the list was… rather extensive.
He lay on his chest with his feet on top of his head and watched Daphne Greengrass and her tagalong Tracey Davis notmentionedmuchscoutthemout approach across the vast lawn bordering the lake.
"Good morning Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Lovely weather we're having isn't it?"
Davis gave him an uncertain look, glancing back to Greengrass for direction. Daphne was looking at him with a bit of humor and appraisal.
"Good morning Lovegood. What are you doing?"
"Please call me Sol. I am currently improving my flexibility and considering the most profitable areas for study and effort investment in the near future. I am afraid I haven't managed to narrow it down too much just yet, perhaps you could help me?"
The unspoken 'I would owe you a favor' was clearly audible to Greengrass, and she looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before settling down on the grass nearby and pulling his list up.
"If I can call you Sol, I suppose you can call me Daphne. Hmm. Reasonable goals, though you do aim high don't you? I think you're on the right track with Sprout and Snape, Quirrell will be gone by years end so don't bother wasting your effort there, McGonagall will be a very tough sell, Flitwick will probably open up if you keep showing as much talent as you have with Charms. Couldn't say about the Potions, not my area of expertise unfortunately, Greengrasses just sell the components. Where were you having trouble exactly?"
Sol smiled and rolled over, folding his legs into a pretzel before walking on his hands to where the pair of girls sat on a bit of grass.
"Well, I know the general sort of spells that I need to learn, utility things like Summoning and Banishing, the Point-Me spell, that sort of thing, but I could definitely use an outside perspective to help me flesh out the list…"
Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/lovegoods-guide-to-lovecraftian-horrors-hp-oc-si-ish.388120/reader/#threadmark-category-1