Up until now—after a number of comments from Toory and Zeely, Harry's extensive research into magic, and his own observations of wizards-at-large—Harry had considered himself something of a prodigy at magic. After the first week of classes at Hogwarts watching kids his age attempting to cast spells, Harry realized that he had been far too modest. "Prodigy" was not a strong enough word. Savant, Harry realized quickly. That is what he must be. Already his mind was rewriting all of his plans for research and practice, armed with this new realization. There was something far different about him compared to the rest of the students, even after considering and negating the effects of the ritual. If those were gone, what he could do still did not fit within the norm.
In Herbology class, when Professor Sprout was explaining the basic course outline and started going on about the need to be alert amongst so many magical plants and fungi, Harry saw a movement that caused him to reach out pull Susan Bones back several paces while spinning them around so he was in front of her, reaching out to grab what he had first only known was a danger, finding out when he saw it properly that it was a vine from a Venomous Tentacula that had been biding its time in the greenhouse ever since summer started.
"Go find some Chizpurfles!" Harry said, sounding like a dad. The Venomous Tentacula extracted itself fully from the dirt in which it had been hiding. Everyone gasped. Even Harry was surprised. It was twice as big as he had thought it would be, the roots by far the largest part of its body. He had to put forth the effort to refocus, sliding back into the connection he had felt with the plant. With magical plants, Harry was unable to form the same kind of communication he could manage with other creatures, though some of the more sentient ferns did pretty well. There was very little coming through the connection from this Venomous Tentacula. It was just feeling… put out, Harry supposed. After the plant walked out of the greenhouse and towards the forest, Harry smiled and turned back around to the rest of the class, who he now saw were all gaping at him. His smile fell.
"How did you know that was there, Mr. Potter?" Professor Sprout asked, clearly astonished.
"Oh. Erm… well you know how when you look at plants, you can kind of tell which ones are dangerous—venomous, poisonous, and all that?" As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Everyone in the greenhouse shared looks with each other. This ability was clearly not normal, a fact Harry had been ignorant of until just then. He had never read that it was unusual to be able to do that with plants, and he had always been able see what plants were up to, for as long as his memories went back. By now, he had just thought that this was a normal ability for magical folk. Clearly, he had been wrong.
He waved his hands in front of his face dismissively, "Oh, okay well I've always been good at it, and the Tentacula really stood out to me as I got closer to it—but we can talk about it later if you want to Professor. I didn't mean to derail the lesson." Harry made sure that Professor Sprout took note of all the other students' faces, which seemed to snap her out of the look of awe she had been giving Harry, and get back to teaching, but not before giving a curt nod to him communicating that they would indeed be discussing this later.
The next day in Transfiguration, Harry was more careful. After another long introduction of the course (which Harry sadly realized was likely to happen for each new class this week), Professor McGonagall had begun to teach, and eventually set the students at the task of transfiguring a matchstick into a needle.
As with everything he read, Harry remembered perfectly the entire first-year Transfiguration textbook. Until this moment, as students throughout the room failed miserably to cause any effect to their matchsticks even as they consulted their books in front of them, Harry had been making what he now realized was a terrible assumption. He had found each of his textbooks for all seven years at Hogwarts curiously short. For a while, he tried to reason why that was, and what the rest of the time was going to be used for. He had eventually maintained the theory that the teaching staff either separated the content from the book, with practical lessons in between, or they sped through the book in a few weeks and then taught their own material the remainder of the term, so that the information and learning in the books was just serving as baseline information for everything else they would learn. Today, Harry saw the other students—through no faults of their own—giving up, trying to no avail, and some… even crying when faced with what he had assumed was a simple task that everyone in the class would have nailed down by the end of this lesson.
"Shhhhhhit," Harry whispered to himself.
Hermione, sitting next to him, scoffed at his language, whipping her head around to check for Professor McGonagall. "She could have heard you!" Hermione hissed through clenched teeth.
Harry had to work to not laugh at how cute this little Hermione was when she was angry. He made a playful face at her, which earned him a stern face from her in response, but she seemed to also find it funny, sighing dramatically and returning her focus to the matchstick. Harry continued watching her. Unlike everyone else, she had not jumped in with reciting the incantation repeatedly or waving her wand. Hermione had double-checked the notes she had taken during the lesson only moments before, breathed deeply, closed her eyes for a good ten seconds, then opened them again… only to stare at the matchstick. She repeated this process now, until she was looking at it again, this time with her wand poised in the air.
Professor McGonagall walked by, observing the students and eventually stopping in front of their desk as her eyes lingered on Hermione. Harry wondered if she was going to enquire as to what the delay was for, but a hint of a smile was the only clue as to what the professor was thinking. Finally, Hermione sang the incantation in the inflection Harry knew was the only perfectlycorrect one in the class so far, and her matchstick vibrated. Professor McGonagall picked it up and showed the whole class how it had gone all silver and pointy. For the rest of the lesson, as Harry covertly asked Hermione questions about her technique as a ruse designed to get her thinking about the improvements she could be making, Professor McGonagall did not come back to their desk to visit, quite busy helping the mass of struggling students.
"No one else even saw me, did they?" said an angry, tinny voice.
Harry glanced at Hermione, who had been on cloud nine ever since McGonagall had complimented her in front of the class and had gotten only prouder as her matchstick continued to grow closer and closer to looking fully like a needle, the more she worked. She was bent over now to the other side, packing her bag. Harry looked down at the desk, where what had once been his matchstick was now a fully articulated needle with limbs and a face, looking up at Harry in disbelief, its fists on its hips, shaking its head in an incredulous smile.
"Then why am I even here?" the needle shouted angrily. "I was happy as a matchstick! Happy! WHAT HAVE I BECOME?" the little needle screamed, falling to its knees and looking up to the sky, continuing to wail and scream.
Half-amused, half-mortified, Harry turned to see that Hermione was now gaping at the scene. A quick glance around told Harry that she was the only one who had noticed, but he did see that Professor McGonagall had spotted that something was going on at their table, and was making her way towards them.
"Don't talk about it," Harry said warningly out of the corner of his mouth—a little rougher than he intended, which he would have immediately corrected, except that Professor McGonagall was just a step away. Harry only had time to discretely wave his hand—again something only Hermione noticed—causing his needle to lose any hint of personification and transfigure into a standard needle, clattering quietly to the table.
"So… Well, that is something," Professor McGonagall said, lifting Harry's needle to look at it more closely. Harry had a brief awareness that the professor was not just looking, but reaching out with her magic to connect with the needle. He was engrossed in finding that interesting when the look on Professor McGonagall's face told him that she had likely traced his needle's recent transfigurations, which involved some advanced magic. She looked incredibly suspicious—even more so than her usual resting face. "Well done, the pair of you," she eventually said sincerely, then moved off. Harry knew though that this would likely be another future conversation with a professor that he would need to have.
"How did you do that?" Hermione asked at once as they exited the classroom at the end of the lesson. Harry had thought she likely would, but was glad at least that she did so in a whisper. He made sure they were walking far enough away from everyone else that only Hermione could hear him.
"I've been studying magic privately for two years," he told her quietly. "Plus, it seems like I'm just kind of naturally good at it. But so are you! You basically had it by the end of the lesson!"
They continued walking, Hermione looking thoughtful. As they turned a corner, he heard her huff. "You were helping me," she said almost angrily. "Pretending to ask me questions!"
Harry grimaced in an exaggerated way, finding no reason to not admit it. "I was. I didn't want to come off as some arrogant prat giving you advice, but I also knew you'd be able to do it with just a couple of adjustments. Professor McGonagall was never going to come back to you when there were so many other students for her to tend to, so I just thought…" He shrugged.
Hermione did not respond for a while, but Harry knew she was deep in thought. He had experienced many visions with different iterations of this particular look on her face. "I guess I ought to appreciate that," Hermione eventually said, but it was phrased almost like a theory that she was trying out to see if she could manage it.
They continued walking for a while longer, Harry unconsciously guiding her through a shortcut behind a tapestry that he had once Seen. Hermione pulled on his robes in the dark passageway at once.
"What are we doing in here?" she asked in the same fierce whisper.
Harry involuntarily grimaced this time, internally starting to question how good he was at keeping secrets. "Erm… I heard an older student talking about a shortcut between the first and third floor. It ought to lead us near the Charms classroom." He made to keep walking, but Hermione stood quite still, her arms folded over a couple of books in front of her chest.
"I think, on my first day, I'd like to see how to get to the Charms classroom the expected way," she said a little testily, and then wheeled around with her nose in the air and exited back through the tapestry. Harry sighed and stood alone in the dark passageway for a few moments, until eventually turning around and continuing forward through the shortcut.
Hermione sat with Ron during the Charms lesson, which Harry tried and failed to not find depressing. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Harry could not decide whether to be disappointed or glad that Flitwick did not have the students attempt any practical magic for this first lesson.
After he sat down in the next class on his schedule for the day, Harry decided to be disappointed. While Charms had lacked any practical exercises, the background and theory Professor Flitwick had presented had been interesting and rather insightful, and Harry had found the professor's own demonstration of different Charms impressive. History of Magic, however, was a different story.
The only professor in Hogwarts history who was an actual ghost, Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Harry found it excruciatingly frustrating to sit there just listening to a monotone string of sentences that he could have easily just read, and often had read, as Binns would sometimes just recite passages from the textbook. Harry spent more time in the class contemplating how he could get out of taking History of Magic than he did bothering to listen to the useless information. The only silver lining that first day was the amusement he found at realizing halfway through the lesson that Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, had fallen fast asleep at her desk, with a panicking Justin Finch-Fletchley trying and failing to discretely wake her back up without breaking eye contact with Professor Binns, who was oblivious to it all.
The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. The other students had to endure the smell of garlic, the turban that looked ludicrously out of place on the young, Caucasian teacher, and the overall uselessness of their time spent in his classroom. In addition to all of that, Harry also had the prickling in his scar that accompanied each moment spent too near Quirrell, and the distraction of the knowledge that Lord Voldemort, unhappy with Quirrell's failure to obtain the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts, had decided that Quirrell needed closer influence and so had possessed his body. Harry had to utilize a great deal of discipline to stay in character as the naïve first year whenever he was forced to interact with Quirrell.
Potions class was unique among the others thanks mostly to its teacher, Professor Snape. Before Harry had even entered the classroom, standing with a small group in the hallway (including Hermione who seemed to have forgiven him), Harry could feel the animosity coming from the professor inside, directly attuned to the moment that was about to occur—Harry Potter walking into his classroom. It was not entirely surprising to Harry, who had Seen bits and flashes of enough visions by now to get the idea that had Snape hated him long before he had even met him. While the memories of the visions were clear in Harry's mind, he had not yet landed on a chronological order that felt right, and suspected that some of his visions were actually other visions or memories he would somehow experience in the future, and was only remembering in the visions. Snape was a bit of an enigma, but Harry was determined to alter the destiny of this lesson.
Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."
Harry made a noise of disgust. "I'm really hoping that dies down after a day or two, professor," he said, trying to sell that he was embarrassed by it.
"I have no doubt—perhaps even sooner, and do try not to speak out of turn, Mr. Potter," Snape said silkily.
A couple of boys sniggered behind their hands, and Harry turned to look at them, seeing Draco Malfoy do the same. When Draco turned back around, his face with a bit of a scowl, Harry rolled his eyes in an already-exasperated way. Harry was pleased to see Draco working to fight a smile. Harry plastered a hurt look on his own face before turning back around to face Professor Snape again, who flicked Harry only the briefest of glances before continuing to call names. Snape's eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. In the fraction of a second during which they made eye contact, Harry had felt a push of magic. It was similar to the sensation he had experienced when the Sorting Hat had first been placed on his head, only much more forceful. Taken aback by it, Harry had swatted at it with his mind as one might instinctively do with their hand if a mosquito flew next to their ear. Snape stumbled on saying the next name on the list, and Harry would have bet anything it was because he had felt what Harry had done.
Predictably, Snape went into a long, dramatic introduction to Potions, but ironically, Harry enjoyed this one. Snape was making it obvious that he was passionate about Potion-making, which was just the kind of teacher Harry felt he needed to help him improve his skills. Harry's stomach gave a little jolt at the end of Snape's speech, though. He knew what was coming, and he knew he had nothing to worry about, but his visions sometimes encompassed his emotions, and he could not help but to feel empathetic towards how he had once felt only seconds from now.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
The question snapped Harry out of his funk, and he answered quickly and just as he had intended to do when thinking about this moment. "The Draught of Living Death, sir."
All eyes turned to Professor Snape, who took a moment to respond. "And how do you know that?"
"I bought my books a while ago, sir. But… as you said in the beginning—subtle science and exact art—there was only so much to get from books, so I'm looking forward to actually learning, Professor." Harry looked full-on into Snape's eyes, and made no attempt to shut his mind out. He felt the cold rush of Snape's Legilimency (which he found incredibly unethical for a teacher to use against an eleven-year-old student), and welcomed it into his mind. Harry had learned and meditated enough to be able to compartmentalize his thoughts, feelings, and magic. He found it astonishing how successful the practice of creating mental barriers was when he envisioned them as physical objects. He had representations of a safe, a bunker, a cage, and other such constructions laid out in his mind, each of them responsible for maintaining the integrity of a different theme or topic. When he felt himself beginning to obsess over something, he could lock it away. He knew where it was and that it still existed, but he could keep his mind from drifting to the topic as long as it remained locked up.
As Professor Snape began to further probe Harry's mind, Harry knew that Snape would not be able to detect such barriers, but would only be able to see what Harry decided he should see, which in this case was simply the notion that Harry was being honest and sincere, which thankfully happened to be the truth. He had, in fact, been looking forward to hopefully learning something in this class. Snape faltered for a moment, but then his lip curled, and he opened his mouth to say what Harry knew was going to be something toxic. Sorry to already be pulling out what he knew was the heavy ammunition, Harry pushed out with a couple of memories of his mother—some of Harry's earliest memories at all. When it came to Severus Snape, Harry had decided long ago to adhere to the motto: Different has to be better. He wanted to never experience in person any single vision he had ever Seen regarding Snape.
Indeed, his efforts now completely altered their first Potions lesson. Snape's eyes grew wide, and his already pale complexioned whitened further. He stopped looking at Harry and put the first years into pairs, setting them to mix up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, but the only thing they heard from him were quiet, monotone corrections and suggestions.
"Stir it gently, though!" Harry warned Ron after they had added pickled Shrake spines to their cauldron. "Erm—I read the Shrake spines get too excited if you stir too quickly."
"You did? Where did you read that?" Hermione hissed from behind them, but went back to administering to her own cauldron when she saw Professor Snape looking their way. Neville looked terrified next to her, ooze leaking between the fingers of his hands as he held them in front of himself. "Neville, use a bowl!" Hermione hissed almost indecipherably.
"Add a glug of stewed horned slugs," Harry real the next step aloud, trying to not think about what was going on at the table behind him and Ron.
"What's a glug?" Ron asked, bewildered.
"It's different for each witch or wizard," Hermione said at once, seemingly unable to help herself, beating Harry to the answer. "It should be the amount whoever is adding the ingredient would consider to be one big swallow. But don't swallow it!" she added, as she watched Ron lick his lips, contemplating how much to scoop up.
"Oh, right," Ron said. "One glug then… I guess." He dipped a cup into the bag of stewed horned slugs and for a few moments looked like he was envisioning taking a swig, removing a few of the slugs at a time until he looked satisfied. "Here goes nothing," he said, and unceremoniously dumped them into the cauldron. "Thanks," he added to Hermione, raising his cup at her as if giving a toast, which made her smile.
The interaction between tables seemed to be too much for Professor Snape to ignore. He strode over, pausing to look in Harry and Ron's cauldron, which Harry knew was the exact shade of pink it was supposed to be by now. Harry was ready with responses for any number of possible comments Snape might make, but after a few looks into both cauldrons, the professor just resumed his movement around the room without a word. By the end of the lesson, Harry and Ron's potion was perfect (in Harry's opinion), and Hermione and Neville's was passable. No one else in the class came even close to completing the potion correctly. Having stopped at each table to survey their results, Professor Snape took his time walking dramatically to the front of the class. By the time he spun around, he had ensnared all of the students' attention without having said a word.
"I have good news… and bad news," Snape said, drawing out the pause between words. "The good news is, Misters Potter and Weasley brewed a perfect Boil Cure Potion, and Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom's potion was…" Snape took the time to look deeply into Harry's eyes during this pause. "…passable. The bad news is—the bar has now been set high. If they could achieve such outstanding results on their first day, it stands to reason that the rest of you should have also been able to, yet did not."
Snape spent the next couple of minutes spelling out the homework they would need to complete before the next class—including the four he had called out for excellence. "Today was a good start, and I can think of no better way to impress that upon you than by having you record the details of your accomplishments," Snape had said once Ron had asked for confirmation that they needed to also do the work (even though Snape had said exactly as much already). "And also… one point for Gryffindor. Do try not to negate it by continuing to stand in my classroom."
The class had been dismissed already, with everyone but Ron and Harry making their way elsewhere in the castle. Harry grabbed onto the back of Ron's robes now and pulled, the two of them eventually scrambling through the door. Luckily, they had no more classes for today, and Harry had arranged to go visit Hagrid. Ron asked to come along, and the pair of them left the castle and made their way across the grounds.
The visit with Hagrid turned out to be something of an intellectual exercise for Harry. One side of him was existing in the moment, while the other was analyzing the flashes of visions that kept sliding in of this same tea with Hagrid. Harry was not getting the usual premonitions of the event or group of events of which this moment was a part. Instead it was almost like an intense déjà vu, where a split second before something happened, Harry would See what was about to happen, having only a quick moment to decide to act accordingly, or not. So far, he had followed what had felt like the natural flow in playing along with everything he was Seeing would happen.
It was only when Harry saw the newspaper clipping under the tea cosy that he changed events. He Saw himself picking up the clipping and asking Hagrid about it, leading to a conversation about an attempted theft at Gringotts the same day that Hagrid and Harry had been there for his birthday. Spending far longer staring at it than he intended, Harry ran through the pros and cons of having this conversation again, eventually deciding that it was not only unnecessary, but could lead to unwanted suspicion. For now at least, Harry did not want anyone knowing that he knew about the Philosopher's Stone.
All of the first years were required to take a broomstick flying lesson, regardless of how proficient half of them boasted they were, which is why a little string of first years was making their way to the flat lawn on the opposite side of the castle from the forbidden forest on this clear afternoon a couple of weeks into term.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks, lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.
Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Each of the students moved so that they were standing next to a broomstick. Harry looked down at his. He wondered how long it would take. It did not take long.
"Are these Nimbus 1700's?" Ron asked loudly, looking aghast towards Madam Hooch, who smiled.
"As a matter of fact, they are," Madam Hooch said happily, the look on her face telling them all that she had been waiting for someone to ask that question. "Hogwarts received an anonymous donation this summer of all new school brooms, including a dedicated set of Nimbus 2000's for all four Quidditch teams, as well as some newer and desperately needed Quidditch equipment. I cannot tell you how excited I am about this year's Quidditch Cup!"
"Nimbus 2000s!? Wow," Ron said, shaking his head in disbelief. There was similar chatter amongst the other students.
"Was it your father?" Vincent Crabbe asked Draco in a stage whisper, his mouth hanging open in a smile that made him look like he had sniffed a bit too much Powdered Dragon Claw.
"I think my father has better things to be spending our gold on," Draco said dismissively, but Harry knew that the boy did wish they had been from his father, and was planning to ask about it in his next letter home.
Harry was sure that Draco was right, though—that there certainly were better things for Lucius Malfoy to spend his gold on. Harry, however, had no such obstacles. He would simply never even notice the amount of gold he had spent in the Quidditch shop this summer, when at the last minute he had decided to purchase a complete replacement of the Hogwarts brooms and equipment, with the stipulation that the Nimbus 2000s remain strictly for the teams. Like Madam Hooch, Harry was looking forward to the Quidditch season to see how things would play out with this levelling of the playing field. Speaking of which…
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Harry knew it had to do with determination, and enjoyed watching Hermione come to the same conclusion, fix it for herself, and then guide Neville to do the same.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet.
On impulse, Harry pushed off from the ground, accelerating on his broom towards the spot in the air he knew Neville would be by the time Harry reached it. Nearly there, the wind whipping all around him, something small spun towards Harry. He jerked his head to avoid it without a moment to spare, grabbing it out of the sky and quickly stored it in his pocket before it whizzed past him. As he flew closer, Harry could see Neville's scared white face looking down at the ground falling away as he continued to rise, saw him gasp, then slip sideways off the broom.
Once it happened, Harry relaxed, and actually smiled, despite the fact that he was moving at a blurring speed through the air. Neville had fallen in exactly the place Harry had Seen him fall before, which meant that Harry had not miscalculated where he would need to be at exactly the right time, which was… now!
Harry locked his legs around his broom and raised his arms above his head, jerking them down quickly at the same time that Neville came plummeting past him. Matching his arm speed to that of Neville's decent, Harry was able to grab the smaller boy, letting Neville's momentum work against Harry's efforts with his broom so that it acted as a cushion, decelerating their motion until Harry was back at hovering height and just needed to tell Neville to uncurl his legs in order for his feet to reach the ground.
Predictably, most of the first years made a big deal about Harry saving Neville, whom Madam Hooch was insisting should be taken to the hospital wing to be checked over, just to be certain. Harry tried his best to be gracious while also seriously considering changing to his bald eagle form and flying away.
"Oh no! I must have dropped my Remembrall!" Neville cried, patting down his robe pockets and already looking about on the lawns.
"Wait a minute," Harry said, reaching into his own pocket. "Is it this?" He held out the object he had caught in the air. It had been a blur earlier, but now that Harry looked at it, he recognized it as the little orb Neville had shown them earlier at breakfast.
Neville's face lit up and he happily accepted the Remembrall from Harry. "Yeah, that's it! Did you catch it before you caught me?" he asked, amazed.
"He most certainly did!" called a voice from behind them.
Harry turned, and felt his stomach clench. Professor McGonagall was running toward them from the castle. Oddly, he felt like he was in trouble, even though he had done nothing to warrant it.
"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock. "— caught the Remembrall and Mr. Longbottom — likely saved his life, and at least spared him a couple of broken bones!"
"Wasn't it wicked?" Dean Thomas yelled, to which Professor McGonagall only grunted in response before addressing the rest of the class.
"Professor, perfect timing," Madam Hooch said. "I wanted Longbottom here to get checked out, just in case. Would you mind accompanying him to the hospital wing? Unless you'd rather stay with the class. We were just getting started…"
Professor McGonagall became oddly thoughtful, and eventually responded. "I do have a free period… and it has been a while…"
Madam Hooch smiled, then tried to hide it, taking Neville by the shoulder. "All right, I'll leave you to it, then, Professor," she said, and began walking into the castle with Neville.
Professor McGonagall watched them walk away for a beat, then turned back to the first years. "Madam Hooch is an excellent flying instructor, but there is no need for your lesson time to go to waste. I shall do my best to fill in for her until she returns. Based on what just occurred, I think it best if we begin with a lesson on how to stop."
The rest of the lesson actually proved to be rather enjoyable, and Harry felt something else that was likely rarely experienced by Hogwarts students. The moment Professor McGonagall mounted a broom, it was as if another person had woken up underneath the witch they had been getting to know. The professor seemed to be trying to maintain her composure and strictness, but the longer she spent in the air, the more she seemed unable to stop herself from telling them about her own Quidditch-playing days as a student at Hogwarts, which included some very interesting stories.
It was only when Madam Hooch called from the ground that it was the ending time for the lesson that Professor McGonagall seemed to pull herself back to normal. Harry landed near the two teachers and overheard their exchange.
"And how long have you been watching?" Professor McGonagall said, removing her flying gloves.
"Oh, might have been ten or thirty minutes. Who's to say, really? I didn't have the heart to interrupt you, the way you were smiling," Madam Hooch said, her own face in a grin.
Professor McGonagall playfully smacked the gloves into Madam Hooch's arms, but turned away with her own smile. It dropped when she saw Harry noticing it.
"And you," she said, pointing at him and barking orders even as she walked away.
"Store your equipment and then meet me in my office!" She did not turn back, leaving Harry to just stare after her.
Once again Harry felt as if he had been caught red-handed, and yet once again he had no reason to feel that way. The sounds of the class still going on about Harry's save, and them stowing their flying equipment faded quickly from Harry's mind, and his vision narrowed in a ring of black until the only thing he could see was the back of Professor McGonagall's head. And then, in an explosion, all of Harry's senses came back to him, except he suddenly found himself much closer to Professor McGonagall, and he knew she was not happy…
Harry snapped out of the vision when he felt a hand around his arm.
"Harry, are you all right? You— Oh, wow!" It was Susan Bones trying to get Harry's attention, but she had distracted herself on the feel of his bicep. "Erm…I mean, time to put your stuff away, yeah?" She was already several steps away by the time she finished saying it, her head down and her hair falling in front of her face like a protective blanket. Harry stared in horror at a spot on the lawn, wishing it could just suck him in. Finally, he let his eyes move around, and then his head, checking to see if anyone had witnessed that exchange. Luckily, it seemed that no one had.
Harry put his things away quickly, told a few people where he was going, and headed straightaway to Professor McGonagall's office, knocking on the door. She called him in, where she was standing in front of her desk with an older student.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I've found you a Seeker."
Harry braced himself, having felt it starting. Visions of Oliver Wood came at him, and he worked again to control their flow and begin sifting through them while also staying in the moment. Luckily, McGonagall and Wood were talking to one another about everything this could mean for the Gryffindor team, and did not notice his internal efforts. Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained needlessly. Harry knew now who Wood was—an obsessed Quidditch Captain, and a great guy.
Harry brought his hand to his chest. "Sir, you wound me. 'Ever seen a game of Quidditch?'" He acted as though it hurt him physically to hear such words.
"All right, I get it," Wood said with a smile.
The three of them talked some more about Harry joining the team, which he of course agreed to do.
"You're joking."
It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he had gone to Professor McGonagall's office. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but seemed to have lost the ability to move.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never — you must be the youngest House player in about —"
"—a century, at least according to Wood," Harry said. "Only don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret.
Harry felt bad about not sharing his news with his other friends yet. He was only telling Ron because… It was Harry who paused mid-bite this time, realizing that he was telling Ron not because it was warranted, but because he had Seen it, so it felt right. He vowed to be more careful from now on when it came to his visions, making certain that the actions taken in response to Seeing them were the wisest choices possible.
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too — Beaters."
"Thanks, and I know you're on the team. Ron told me," Harry said.
Fred and George gave identical looks of tender appreciation.
"Ickle Ronnikins?" George said, putting his hand to his mouth.
"Looking up to his older, handsomer brothers?" Fred asked.
Ron explained quickly, "I was telling Harry what a nightmare you two are, and ended it with, 'Oh, but they're both Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and they're actually pretty good, so…' then I just shrugged."
"That was an accurate account of events," Harry said, pointing smartly at Ron.
Fred and George looked a bit confused, then looked at each other, then strangely both broke into somewhat uncomfortable laughter. Ron and Harry both looked at each other as well, confused.
"We thought you'd say something cheeky," George said.
"We were only kidding about you looking up to us," Fred said.
"But what you actually said was…" George looked to Fred, who continued seamlessly.
"…touching in a very sincere way that has us kind of drowning outside our usual element."
There was some awkward silence for a little while before George continued.
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."
Fred and George walked away, and eventually the other first years showed up at the table. By now, they had all heard the tale of Harry saving Neville from what had apparently been certain death, according to the current version of events spreading through the school.
"I heard your eyes glowed red when you were flying after Neville," Seamus said a little timidly.
"You mean like this?" Harry said in an icy voice, and tilted his head down to look at Seamus across his brow, his face menacing. After a couple of seconds of staring like a maniac, Harry relaxed, grinning. "I'm just kidding. I can't — my eyes don't glow, but that would be pretty cool."
Kids around them laughed, but it took Seamus a little longer to come down from what he had clearly thought would be a fright, eventually smiling then cursing at Harry with some very colourful language, which only led to more laughter — enough, in fact, that Professor Dumbledore, who happened to be walking by, stopped at their part of the table. As soon as the first years noticed him there, the laughter died down.
"Oh, don't mind me," Dumbledore said throwing up his hands, his eyes twinkling. "I was just enjoying your enjoyment, which I now see has ironically led to its demise. Well, I do hope that another comical event comes along shortly to rekindle your amusement." With a nod, the headmaster walked away towards the High Table.
"He's a tough nut to crack," Lavender Brown said, looking after him thoughtfully. "You read all about him and expect one thing, and then you get… that."
"That's what I've been thinking!" Hermione said. "So are the books… wrong?" She whispered the last word.
Lavender gave the question some thought and opened her mouth to respond, but Ron cut her off, his face a confused smile, turning towards Hermione sitting next to him.
"Did you just… did you… were you concerned that the books might hear you?" he asked her. "And that they might become upset that you were doubting them?"
Something about the smile on his face and the good-natured way he said it all maintained the perfect balance to keep the teasing from becoming hurtful, with Hermione rolling her eyes and pretending to look put-out as she scooped some mashed potatoes onto her plate, unable to hide her own smile.
"Are the books… wrong?" Ron said in an exaggerated imitation, but Hermione ended up being the one who sent them all back into laughter.
"Shhhhh!" She hissed in mock alert at Ron. "They could still be listening!"
As the group continued laughing, Harry chanced a glance at the High Table to see if Dumbledore had noticed. The headmaster was engaged in conversation with Professor McGonagall, so it was difficult to tell. Harry had a feeling, however, that they were talking about him.
There was an official limit to the magical enhancements with which each piece of equipment could be imbued during a Quidditch match, with it all being checked over carefully by Madam Hooch before each team could take the field. So it was that Harry found himself flying above the pitch, a temporary block put upon his glasses to keep the more advanced features from being utilized during today's practice so he could get accustomed to it. He had known about this restriction, of course, and had taken the time to learn the magic needed to adjust the glasses before he came to Hogwarts so that the block could be done quickly, but only temporarily, and only with the explicit consenting magic from Harry to let it happen. He really liked these glasses. Regardless, it meant that he had to trust his own senses to locate the Snitch, which was fine by him.
The veteran players were over the moon about their new Nimbus 2000s. Fred and George kept finding new moves they could pull off with the racing brooms, yelling in appreciation every few minutes. The Chasers seemed to be working on revising plays to account for the 2000's ability to accelerate. And Wood… Wood just floated in front of the three golden hoops he guarded as Keeper, grinning at the enthusiasm being displayed by his team.
Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. A considerable amount of time and effort had been put forth to decorate Hogwarts for the holiday, and according to Ron's brother Percy, the evening feast was twice as long and twice as enjoyable as the usual.
In Charms class, Professor Flitwick had decided they were ready to start making objects fly, which was something the other students were excited to try, and Harry was working now to try to get something out of as the rest of the class struggled to make it work. He had considered trying to covertly practice wandless magic, something he had started playing around with once he had started to get rather good with silent casting. Having practiced alone in his bed at night, he had found that if he was holding a wand in his hand, it would always channel his magic, so the only way to practice wandless magic in front of others would be to use a fake wand, which he was worried the teachers might notice.
Harry still held onto the notion that he should not be advertising his advanced skill with magic… but it was becoming more and more difficult each day.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry intoned, pointing his wand at the feather on the desk in front of him and his partner Seamus, having to exert more effort to keep himself from casting the spell than it would have taken to cast it. Seamus got so impatient in his own attempts to levitate the feather that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it. Harry instinctively cast a silent Water-Making Spell to put it out. Luckily, Seamus seemed so relieved that the fire had gone out before Professor Flitwick had noticed that he did not show any sign of having noticed Harry's use of magic.
Harry turned his attention to the desk where Hermione and Ron were sharing a feather, a sense of foreboding suddenly coming to him. Something important—something essential in a coming series of events was about to…
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill. Nothing occurred.
For a few long seconds, Hermione, who had thrown her head back to not get it knocked around by Ron's gesticulations, said nothing, just staring towards the feather in clear shock at Ron's hideous attempt. She eventually turned to look at Ron dryly, who by now looked as disappointed in himself as Harry felt was likely warranted.
"Why?" she eventually asked, and Harry, like Ron, knew she was joking around. This was something Harry had noticed lately between Ron and Hermione—a kind of teasing that neither of them showed any signs of being unhappy about.
Indeed, Ron smiled as he responded. "Well that was the best one I had in me. You'd better do it then." He bowed, gesturing Hermione towards the feather with both arms.
Hermione shook her head with a little smile. "Well first of all, you're saying it wrong. It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."
"Are they all going to be like that—the spells?" Ron asked, clarifying when Hermione looked puzzled. "Needing to get the exact pronunciation? It's like learning a whole new language!"
"Yes — it is! The textbook even said it was precisely like that!" Hermione answered, pulling the book out of the bag hanging off her chair to hold up towards Ron before just popping it back in.
"Oh," Ron said. "That must have been where I got the idea from."
"Mm-hm, because you definitely read it," Hermione said sarcastically, but her attention was already fully back on the feather now.
"Mister Potter."
Professor Flitwick's voice startled Harry—something that rarely happened to him, but he had allowed his attention to remain too focused on Ron and Hermione for too long.
"Erm… yes, sir?" Harry answered once he realized Flitwick was standing in front of their desk. The professor gave his wand a twirl and their burnt feather returned to an unblemished state.
"Let's see what you can make of it," Flitwick said, gesturing to the feather.
Harry shared a look with a wide-eyed Seamus, who Harry knew was terrified that Flitwick would ask him next. Clearing his throat, Harry raised his wand, his mind still not decided as to whether or not he would allow himself to do this successfully. In the end, he decided that levitating a feather was just not worth this amount of anxiety.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry's voice was chorused by Hermione's who happened to cast her spell at the exact same time as Harry. The class gasped as both of their feathers rose from their desks and hovered about four feet above their heads.
"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger have each done it!"
The rest of the afternoon passed a little stressfully for Harry. The main problem was that Harry had Seen much of the events of today as time would have had them play out… only they had taken a severe turn after the Charms lesson. Classes had progressed as usual, and Harry had spent time with friends before heading to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, but it had not been this way in his vision. Every time Harry looked at Hermione, he got the sense that she was not supposed to be there, which he understood the logic of based on his visions, but it still jarred him every time it happened.
The other factor at play with his mood, he understood all too well. Today was Halloween, after all, which it had been the night Harry's parents had been killed. The date did not exactly feel like cause for celebration. Harry had been relieved beyond measure after learning that the proposal to decree October 31 as Harry Potter Day had lost support just days before it could have been voted into law several years ago. He had added to his mental list of future accomplishments to make certain that such a thing would never occur.
Walking into the Great Hall, the Halloween decorations put these troubles out of his mind. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.
Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know." He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.
There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.
"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
It took Harry a moment to react alongside everyone else, the Gryffindor first years rising while Percy shouted orders at them to follow him. Visions swept through Harry's mind of tonight's events so that when he came to his senses, he shot up and ran to Hermione, taking her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. She looked down at the contact and then up at Harry, perplexed.
Harry leaned towards her until his mouth was against her ear, her hair tickling his lips. "I See visions sometimes," he confessed in a whisper, the emotions from the vision affecting him. "Something bad might happen to you tonight." He backed up a bit, giving her space but still holding onto her. "I… I'd really appreciate it if you let me do this," he said, pulling up their hands to show what he meant. "If it's all right. I—I'll figure something else out if this isn't all right. Just until we're back in the dorm?"
Hermione searched his eyes, then looked down at their hands again before shrugging. "I guess it's fine," she said. She was embarrassed, but almost had a smile.
Harry squeezed her fingers with his own, having felt the sincerity behind her statement. "Thanks, and… sorry. Please don't think I think of you as some damsel in distress or anything. It was just…" He trailed off as they climbed the stairs, but Hermione seemed to understand, now giving his fingers a squeeze. Harry worked to avoid rehashing the visions of Hermione being nearly throttled by the club of a large troll. It helped that Ron was several students ahead of them where Harry could follow his red hair, almost as paranoid about him as he was Hermione.
He was distracted by all of this the whole way back to Gryffindor Tower. Once the last two students (a thoroughly-excited Fred and George) were inside, Percy closed the portrait of the Fat Lady and started going on about settling down and the unquestionable ability of the Hogwarts staff to ensure a return to order, etc. It was only then that Harry released Hermione's hand with an apologetic little smile, and looked around for Ron, who appeared at once.
"Were you two holding hands?" Ron asked plainly.
Harry laughed. "Uh, yeah—that was my idea. I had a really bad feeling, and Hermione was nice enough to humour me."
"Oh, okay," Ron said, accepting this explanation without question. "Do you reckon there's really a troll? I heard Fred and George say it might have just been Hagrid off to take a bath or something."
Harry made a doubtful face, and Hermione looked like she was trying very hard to not picture Hagrid taking a bath.
Lavender Brown walked over to them, standing between Harry and Hermione. "A fourth year told me that the little portrait of Corrin Winkley told her they were going to send dinner up to the common rooms, eventually," she said.
"Need to be careful with Corrin," Fred Wesley remarked as he walked by their group. "He only tells one truth for every two lies."
The four first years all looked over to the corner where the portrait hung.
"We could go ask him two questions," Ron said, shrugging. "If he lies twice, we'll know the dinner thing was the truth."
"I don't know that Fred meant in a row," Hermione countered.
Harry shook his head. "Nah, just forget it. Do you want to sneak up to our dorm?" he asked Hermione and Lavender quietly. "We can play exploding snap while everyone else suffocates to death in the crowded common room."
Hermione looked deeply suspicious, while Lavender giggled, looking to see if Percy was watching, which he was not. "I'd do it," she said in a whisper. Hermione seemed to be thinking it over.
"It's just a room, like any other room," Harry argued.
Hermione seemed to give that a quick but serious thought, then shrugged. "That's true," she said quietly. "It's kind of stupid the things society makes us feel are somehow… naughty."
Lavender giggled again, and Ron looked at Harry with some trepidation. Harry just smiled, however, and looked around the room, allowing his senses to fully absorb everything, including the thoughts, feelings, and magic of everyone around him.
"Stay close to me but walk casually," he said to the three of them. "Lavender in front of Ron, Hermione in front of me."
They did as instructed, the entire thing surely seeming far more stressful to them than it did to Harry, who had to put forth hardly any effort at all to pace and guide the group to the stairs, the most exciting part being on the fourth landing when they had needed to duck into an alcove to avoid being trampled by three seventh years bounding down the steps three at a time. The older students paid them no attention whatsoever, and moments later Harry and Ron guided Hermione and Lavender into their dorm after Ron checked to make sure the coast was clear.
"Oh. Well it's the same as ours," Hermione noted, disappointment in her voice.
"Er… yeah, you're right," Lavender said regretfully. "I mean I like our decorations better," she added pointing at what was mainly posters of Quidditch. "We have a couple of Quidditch posters too, but we also have some lovely strings of lights…"
"They really are lovely!" Hermione agreed. "I use them at night to read sometimes."
"I use them to see where I'm going when I have to use the loo at night," Lavender said, spinning in a full circle to take the room in. "How do you the five of you see anything?"
"Ron falls down a lot," Harry reported.
"I trip," Ron explained.
As suggested, they sat on Harry's bed and played Exploding Snap to much amusement until Seamus came in, sliding to a halt at the sight of the four of them.
"Whoa!" he said with a grin, holding his hands up in front of him. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything!"
"Shut up Finnegan," Lavender said, shaking her head and already looking back down at her cards.
"Hey, I'm not gonna judge your lifestyle," Seamus continued teasing. "I got sent to find Harry and Ron. They're starting dinner in the common room."
"All right. We're coming," Harry said. Everyone helped get the game put away, and they went back downstairs, needing no subterfuge as everyone was already in a line to get their food. They stayed with the rest of their House as everyone ate dinner and swapped theories about the troll, about a quarter of which doubted that there even was such a thing in the castle and that Quirrell was finally cracking up for good, a rumour which had been growing in strength lately.
Dinner was still enjoyable, and while the number of people in the common room made it crowded, it also led to inevitable mischievousness to enjoy either observing or partaking in. During it all, however, Harry kept up an internal debate as to whether he should excuse himself, go upstairs to change to his Snidget form, and fly downstairs to make certain that the troll was not hurting anyone… or put his faith in the staff to take care of it and simply enjoy hanging out with his friends. Finally admitting that he would never be able to forgive himself if something went sideways, he went upstairs under the guide of using the loo, diving for the window the moment the door had closed behind him and flying out onto the grounds in Snidget form.
The moment he exited the window, Harry dived down along the castle walls to find a third-floor window to enter, which did not take long. Flapping his wings madly, Harry flew in the general direction of the girls' bathroom he had Seen the troll in during his vision. Before he got there, however, he saw a shadow moving in an adjacent hallway, and landed on the shoulder of a suit of armour just in time to hide himself as Professor Quirrell came running around the corner. The man paused, looking nervously around him, then headed back the way Harry had come, which Harry immediately knew was towards the room with the trapdoor guarded by Fluffy. Was Quirrell using the distraction of the troll to go after the Stone? A flutter of visions passed in front of Harry's consciousness, too fast to process fully, but confirming that Quirrell was doing just that. Harry felt he was being forced to make the choice to either go after the troll, or follow Quirrell. He did not like being pigeonholed. Instead, he decided to improvise.
Throwing full power into his mental shields, Harry changed back to human form, landing on the floor and pulling the hood of his robes low over his face. He flicked his wand towards Quirrell's retreating form, sending a stunner which hit him square in the back, his body flailing forwards. A sharp crack told Harry that the wizard had hit the front of his face squarely into the floor, but Harry paid it no mind, already changing back to his Snidget form and flying back after the troll.
Harry had already been gone longer than he intended, so when he came around a corner and saw the troll standing rather confusedly outside the girls' bathroom, he quickly made sure no one else was around, and changed to human form, this time doing the opposite with his mental abilities, focusing them outwards to the troll, whose head turned slowly towards Harry, who locked eyes with the huge, smelly creature.
At once, Harry could feel its confusion. The level of intelligence he felt was such that he imagined the thing was used to regular befuddlement, but this was a new level. It had no idea how it had gotten into the castle, having previously been just enjoying its day in the area around the cave it called home. Harry had been considering using quick and powerful magic to subdue the troll, but decided he could do no such thing. Keeping the connection open between them, Harry stepped closer, communicating that there had been a mistake and a wizard had brought the wrong troll to the castle by accident, deciding that this was an easier lie for it to comprehend.
Thinking quickly, and again making sure no one was near, Harry called out into the air.
"Toory and Zeely!"
The elves cracked into the hallway within seconds, having just been pruning in the garden, from the looks of them.
"Master—eep!" Zeely said, noticing the troll and giving a start.
Toory scrambled in front of Harry, holding out his hand towards the troll. "Stay back!" he called warningly, and Harry could feel the anxiety building in the troll's mind.
"Take it easy!" he said to all three of them. "This is Toory and Zeely, and they're going to help you get back home," Harry said both out loud and through his connection with the troll. "His cave is in the hills at the very northeast corner of the Forbidden Forest," he explained to Toory and Zeely. "You two are going to take him there, and all three of you are going to be nice to each other."
Harry knew that he needed to place no power behind that command for his house elves, but he did exert the effort to do so with the troll, wishing he had the time to communicate more gently with it, but already sensing someone nearing their location.
"Okay?" he asked Toory and Zeely.
"Yes, Master Harry," they chorused.
Harry nodded. "Time to go, then," he said simply. The house elves walked towards the troll, whom Harry helped to stay calm as they each reached up to place one of their hands on its legs (which was the only place they could reach). After giving quick nods to Harry, they simultaneously snapped their fingers, and all three of them disappeared with a crack. Harry sighed in relief but quickly changed yet again to his Snidget form, flying around a corner opposite from where he could feel a group of Professors approaching, eventually exiting the castle from a fourth-floor window to get back to Gryffindor Tower, hoping he had not missed dessert.