Perhaps the Weasley brothers had helped exercise Toory and Zeely's hosting skills, or maybe the elves had never lost their touch. Whatever the reason, they were in full form by January 1, escorting Harry's guests to the manor with more efficiency and grace than Harry had thought possible. The usually dark forest path had been set with twinkling fairies, who lit up in moving patterns through the hedges of the path and eventually the maze, guiding guests to the manor once Toory and Zeely bowed them forward before disappearing to collect the next set of guests.
Sarah and Penny had retired to the large cavern they sometimes liked to use for shelter for the day, Harry feeling bad about it but thinking it best for everyone involved. He had stocked their cavern with some of the dragons' favourite treats, secured inside differently-built containers of wood and stone that they would have to work to unlock, having gotten the idea from a trip to the zoo he had taking once in school as a child, where an orangutan seemed to be having the time of his life working to open a carboard box inside which some watermelon had been hidden.
To the chagrin of Toory and Zeely, Harry did not want any kind of formal meal today, which was set to last through the better part of the afternoon. Instead, he arranged for there to always be a variety of hot and cold hors d'oeuvres, snacks, sweets, and drinks from which his guests could choose from at each of the areas in which they would be spending time today. To appease the elves, Harry had given them permission to offer far more traditional service to the adult guests who would be at the manor.
As Harry had predicted, there were several parents who had opted to accompany their children to Potter Manor for today's get-together, which he had eventually conceded was a full-blown party after the elves and so many of his invitees had referred to it as such. Hermione and her parents had been the first to arrive, she adhering to her habit of strict punctuality. Harry could sense Mr. and Mrs. Granger's unease before they had even walked through the door, the two dentists having committed themselves to spending so much time in the magical community, much of it destined to be unaccompanied by the daughter who could have explained any confusing occurrence.
Luckily, Seamus and Dean arrived next, accompanied by Mrs. Finnegan who, being married to a Muggle, seemed to also recognize at once how the Grangers were feeling.
"Are ye heads explodin' yet, then?" she asked them jovially as Seamus and Dean headed towards Harry and Hermione.
"Will they explode?" Mr. Granger asked, seeming to do so only half-jokingly, but Mrs. Finnegan laughed.
Harry could feel the Grangers' anxiety decrease as the boisterous Mrs. Finnegan began to explain to the Grangers some of the differences between Muggle and wizarding households that were apparent as Zeely guided them towards the sitting room in which the adults would begin their visit. Harry stood with his friends, who were already chatting excitedly about the day, watching as Mrs. Finnegan pointed at one of the portraits, apparently recognizing its occupant. While he felt grateful that there was someone here who could help ease the Grangers into the new surroundings, he also could not help but to feel a surprising sadness, realizing after a moment that it was because he knew it ought to be his own mother showing them around and getting to know his friends' parents. Harry had not considered this until this very moment, and it took effort to focus his attention back to his friends and what was supposed to be a fun day.
"Your house is batshit crazy!" Seamus said, making all the kids laugh and doing a nice job of jerking Harry out of his funk.
"We'll do the ultra-quick tour once everyone arrives," Harry said. He gestured down the hallway. "Let's go in the game room for now."
They followed Fred and George, who had already begun moving that way, into what had originally been a ball room, but that Harry had made over into something of an arcade, with a combination of Muggle and wizarding games now filling the space. Fred and George took it upon themselves to challenge Dean and Seamus to a game of 8-ball, while Ron excitedly showed Hermione what had become his favourite game in the room—an arcade cabinet emblazoned with the word "Galaga" at the top. As Ron went on about it and began showing Hermione how to play, Harry needed no magical ability to see that she already knew about the game, politely smiling with a forced look of patience as she waited for a turn at the machine, during which she easily beat Ron's high score, slamming her hand on the panel when she finally lost her last ship.
"Damn it!" she hissed, then quickly composed herself and turned around as Harry and Ron shared amused but surprised faces. "I can do better," she stated to the room at large. After what seemed to be a short internal battle, she turned back around and started a new game, pushing Ron aside without even seeming to notice. Ron and Harry once again shared a look, a little nervous about this somewhat frightening new side of Hermione's personality.
The rest of the guests arrived rather quickly after that, bringing Susan Bones and her mother, Lavender Brown and her father, Neville and his grandmother, then Angelina, Katie, Lee, Terry Boot, and Parvati and Padma Patil all on their own. After being sure to greet each of the adults and explain the different areas of the manor the kids would be in and how they could come at any time to check on them or even join in on their fun, Harry and the other left the adults and house elves, and Harry gave his friends the abbreviated tour.
It was inevitable that most of the kids here were from Gryffindor, as those were the kids Harry knew best, but he was glad that a few from other houses had come as well. None of the Slytherins he had invited had accepted his invitation once he had sent them the full guest list. It did not take a genius to realize why—he had invited not only Muggleborns, but their Muggle parents as well. According to Toory, Draco's father had taken one look at the list, laughed scornfully, and thrown it back in Toory's face, ordering his own house elf to reply with a definite no, not even willing to do so himself in the face of such an insult. When Harry had written personally to Draco, expressing his regret that he would not be coming, Draco's curt reply had Harry rethinking how he felt about the boy.
Regardless, he did not let any of that spoil the day. While the sun was still shining brightly, Harry led the group to what Zeely called the mudroom, where there was a variety of equipment to enjoy the snowy hills waiting for them to choose from, including skis, snowboards, and different sizes of sleds. They each selected what they felt like starting with, some more experienced than others in snow sports, and headed outside where Harry had activated the magical ski lift that would take them to the top of the biggest hill on the grounds.
"Oh hell yeah!" Lee exclaimed, looking at the snow-covered hill. There were several routes they could take to get down, depending on how exciting a ride someone felt like trying, and Harry had a feeling Lee was eyeing the ramps Harry and the Weasleys had set up yesterday. Unbeknownst to the others, Harry had asked Toory and Zeely to blanket the entire hill with cushioning, balancing, and protection charms, telling them to inform the parents of such once the students left, so that no one could get hurt, not that Harry was about to inform his friends of this.
It did not take long for Fred and George to figure it out, however, the both of them soon flying at full speed down the hill, standing atop their sleds and allowing their bodies to careen off of the ramps at impossible angles, only to always land in a smooth, gentle slide somewhere downhill, usually in a spinning spread-eagle.
Seamus, as it turns out, would likely have been just fine without any of the protective spells, looking more at ease on a snowboard than he usually did on two feet, at least in Harry's opinion. Apparently, his father was very big into the sport, and Seamus had been involved in it for as long as he could remember.
They stayed there for a couple of hours, some of the kids eventually heading into the little lodge at the top of the hill for hot cocoa as they watched the others through the windows. On the last trip down, Harry had convinced everyone left to cram into the biggest sled together, starting down the hill slowly at first, then hitting the first small ramp and beginning to spin wildly out of control, everyone screaming and laughing as they clutched each other to try to keep from being thrown off. When they finally reached the bottom of the hill, they hit the smallest of bumps, but somehow exploded off of the sled, each of them tumbling harmlessly into a thick blanket of snow, some of them gasping for breath through their choking laughter. Wondering how that could have happened, Harry pulled his head out of the snow and looked up to see Zeely behind a tree, giggling madly into a tiny hand. Harry wiped his face and gave her a lighthearted, smiling glare, feeling very glad that his relationship with her had evolved enough that she felt comfortable pulling a little joke like this on him and his friends.
Eventually, the groups became more heterogeneous as the adults tried their hand at the hill, with some kids opting to continue this fun, while others headed inside. Harry noticed that Hermione and Lavender's fathers had hit it off swimmingly, each of them enjoying introducing the other to the games from their cultures in the game room. Mrs. Granger, Mrs. Bones, and Mrs. Longbottom seemed to have enjoyed chatting the majority of the time, Mrs. Granger fascinated by both Amelia's position at Magical Law Enforcement, and Mrs. Longbottom's steadfast political opinions. Harry could not help but notice, though, that by the time the sun was starting to set, the amount of wine the three of them had consumed seemed to have lightened their conversation, overhearing something about a story from Mrs. Granger involving a nitrous oxide leak, which seemed to amuse the witches greatly.
Less people chose to play Quidditch than Harry expected, but as it seemed to be due to the fact that they were enjoying everything else so much, he did not think too much of it. Ron, Neville, Dean, Susan, and even Hermione messed around a bit on the pitch, never playing any kind of formal game, but seeming to have fun. Harry recognized that they hardly ever got to play at Hogwarts, and would enjoy the low-stress environment to try it out… but he still hit Bludgers at them every now and then, finding it disproportionately amusing every time he heard them scream.
All of the kids came back together later to play Hide and Stun throughout the manor, the game inevitably growing in intensity and madness until Mrs. Longbottom announced that it was perhaps time to leave, the other adults thankfully agreeing. Harry set aside his disappointment, knowing they had all already stayed later than he had thought they would, and made certain to play his part as the gracious host, seeing them all off.
Exhausted, the three remaining boys mostly grunted at one another the rest of the evening, all of them eventually turning in early. Harry thanked Toory and Zeely profusely, and gave them a direct order to take three full days to tidy the manor. He was headed back to Hogwarts day after tomorrow, and wanted to enjoy his remaining time with them. This declaration led to Zeely bursting into unabashed tears, with Toory working furiously to control his quivering bottom lip. Harry spent the rest of the night sitting with the two of them, looking through some old photo albums together, enjoying listening to their stories. Only when he awoke the next morning in his bed did he realize that he must have actually fallen asleep sitting with the elves, and they had put him to bed. That realization filled him with a feeling of warmth he had forgotten even existed, reminding him of distant memories of his parents making him feel just as loved.
"Mr. Potter—a moment."
Ron grimaced, walking past Harry and shaking his head as the rest of the students exited the Transfiguration classroom. As Hermione came past Harry, she rolled her eyes and shook her head at Ron shaking his head. Harry briefly wondered how far down the line of students this trend might travel, but opted to head for Professor McGonagall's desk instead of watching.
It was a month after the Christmas holidays. Reflecting upon the term thus far, Harry could think of several things about which Professor McGonagall might want to speak with him. There was Quidditch, where the Gryffindor Team still held the lead and Harry had continued to demonstrate talent; Harry's frequent wanderings through the castle, both in animal form and hidden underneath his father's Invisibility Cloak; his tendency to occasionally glare at Professor Quirrell a little too intensely; the rivalry which had sprung up between him and Draco Malfoy, who had returned from the break with a severe bout of jealousy and resentment towards Harry; and the reason he suspected was most likely, which Professor McGonagall confirmed as soon as the last student exited the classroom.
"The teachers at Hogwarts often discuss together the progress of our students, helping to make certain none of them falls through the cracks, as it were. These conversations oftentimes revolve around students showing struggles in one subject or another, but this year there have been enough mentions of your exemplary work that Professor Dumbledore has requested a meeting with you. This is a positive thing, Potter," she added at what Harry knew had been a failure by him to mask his feelings towards this development. "But as your Head of House, any discussions with the Headmaster concerning your academic track fall under my responsibility to serve as your advocate."
She opened a desk drawer and removed a small roll of a single piece of parchment, handing it to Harry. He made to open it, but she stopped him.
"We will meet in the headmaster's office this Thursday evening at eight o'clock sharp. This letter will grant you access to the office. Just open it before eight, and follow the instructions. And please be punctual."
Harry nodded, stowing the parchment away.
"That is all," Professor McGonagall said cordially, and Harry wasted no time in leaving.
He was not surprised at this meeting request, having seen it coming for some time now considering the separate conversations most of his other teachers had engaged Harry in this year regarding his skill. He leapt the stairs two at a time, hurrying to his next class and thinking about the best way to present himself Thursday evening.
Harry opened the door to History of Magic, expecting to be on the receiving end of a piercing glare for his tardiness. Instead, the only indication given by Professor Trocar that he had even noticed Harry come in was to thrust out his arm and point at Harry's empty seat, into which Harry scrambled, Hermione giving him an incredulous look at having been late, which he countered with an incredulous look of his own, seeing as it was Professor McGonagall's fault.
Professor Trocar likely knew as much, which is why he had not taken a point from Gryffindor. The new History of Magic teacher, and the only staff member at Hogwarts who was a vampire, Professor Trocar had taken over for Professor Binns after the ghost had not returned after the break to haunt Hogwarts with his mundane teaching. Harry was not advertising that it was he who had been responsible for this—banishing Binns their first night back in January—but neither did he feel guilty about it, as he had sensed the ghost's immense feeling of peace and freedom as Harry had helped him to cross over at last, using a powerful but very solemn spell he had found in his family library.
There had been some controversy regarding the appointment of a vampire to the teaching staff, but the students, at least, had quickly forgotten any misgivings once Trocar had begun teaching. While none of them seemed to be able to agree on what his exact age was, he was old enough that he seemed to have a personal anecdote for each important event in wizarding history, turning the previously boring class into one of the most popular throughout the castle. Once again, Harry found that experience trumped knowledge, and he was happy to find himself actually learning.
"He's also incredibly dashing," Lavender Brown offered at lunch after class, when several students were commenting on the improvements between Binns and Trocar.
"But he's like… a thousand years old!" Ron protested.
Lavender shrugged, unconcerned. "Some girls like older men," she said, causing Hermione to choke on her pumpkin juice mid-sip.
Harry shook his head, smiling. Trocar certainly did not look the way one would expect a thousand-year-old might, owing to his vampirical nature. Physically, his features still looked as he had when he had been 23 and bitten by the first vampire he had ever met (with whom many suspected Trocar had something of a tragic romantic relationship): tall, dark, with chiseled, pale features set against the deep red of his lips and eyes. It was easy to see Lavender's perspective. Regardless, Trocar's teaching made for a much richer learning experience.
"I'm not sure he's my type," Hermione said a full two minutes after that aspect of the conversation had ended. This prompted a confused moment of silence while everyone attempted to fit this comment into the new topic of hot air balloons not having any magical properties, then the shared realization that Hermione was still thinking about Trocar, finally followed by much laughter and teasing.
Thursday night, Harry unrolled the parchment McGonagall had given him which, in slanted writing, gave him the location in the castle to Dumbledore's office, and a password: Mars bars. Harry recognized the location from his explorations of the castle, where he knew a rather ugly stone gargoyle sat. He stood in front of it for some time, wondering if he did so if it would eventually ask him for the password.
"May I help you?" the gargoyle said, losing the staring contest just moments before Harry was about to relent to keep from being late.
"Mars bars," Harry said with a grin.
A murmured, "Cheeky" was the only verbal response Harry heard as the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind him. He rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until he saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Harry reached out and rapped it once.
"Enter!" Dumbledore's voice rang out from behind it.
Harry turned the handle and walked in. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, in front of which stood Dumbledore, where chairs had been set up in a friendly circle, most of his teachers already present and sitting.
Harry made to take another step into the room when the visions hit. He needed to grab onto the door to keep from stumbling, so strong and quick were the visions that flooded his mind of moments which might occur in this same room, their location in time and importance too quick for him to pinpoint. Focusing all of his energy, he worked to simultaneously channel the visions to the back of his mind where he could go through them later, and also force his body farther into the room without looking like a mad Inferius.
Still battling a slight case of tunnel vision, Harry managed to see Professor Dumbledore sit and then gesture at the only empty chair around the tea table, across from the headmaster. Harry crossed to the chair and managed to sit, recovering. To Harry's right was Professor McGonagall, who nodded curtly at him; next to her was Professor Sprout, whose aura of nature had her looking oddly out of place in an office; on Harry's other side sat Professor Flitwick, who smiled at Harry, his little feet swinging over the end of his seat; and between Flitwick and Dumbledore sat Snape, looking incredibly unhappy to be here.
"Harry, it is very nice to make your acquaintance in person," Dumbledore said. "We did meet a very long time ago, though I find it unlikely that you would remember that. I'm happy to say that the reason I felt it best that we all meet—"
"Wait! I do remember!" Harry blurted out, not meaning to interrupt Professor Dumbledore, but prompted from the memory getting abruptly getting jarred loose. It was almost a relief to have something like this happen with a memory rather than the more difficult-to-manage vision. It was being this close to Dumbledore and the reference to them having met before that had prompted it. It was a groggy memory…
"I think I was—yes, that's it," Harry said aloud just as the connections to other memories hit. "It was when you left me with the Dursleys."
There were a few moments when no one talked, the only sounds being somewhat uncomfortable shifts from the others in the room. Harry had not meant to cause such a reaction, and was just about to say so when Professor Dumbledore took care of it.
"That's likely something we may want to talk about in the future," he said with care. "But for now, let us begin discussing your academic progress thus far at Hogwarts, which I have been told has been exemplary to a considerable degree."
They spent some time doing just that. It was slightly uncomfortable for Harry to sit here and listen to his professors talk about him as though he were not in the room, especially when they were complimenting his as much as they were. He was almost grateful when Snape shared his thoughts about Harry… almost.
"Potter has a moderately high understanding of the basics of potion-making, but is either unable or unwilling to spend as much time in practice as he is in memorizing his textbook. Brewing potions requires more than rote learning. It is an artform, the notion of which leaves Potter often feeling discomforted."
Harry had just committed to offer a cheeky remark to that right here in front of everyone, when there was a staccato series of raps on the office door, which opened before any response could be given.
"Headm-m-master?" Quirrell's turban-covered head poked itself around the door, his fist still knocking at nothing in the air.
"Quirinus," Dumbledore called out as Quirrell opened the door further, coming in. "I was under the impression that Professor McGonagall explained that your presence here was not necessary."
Professor Quirrell seemed to force himself to keep moving forward as he responded. "Y-yes, headmaster, she did of course, but I didn't want to squander the chance to be a part of the discussion, nonetheless. It's no t-t-trouble at all really."
Looking at the uncomfortable looks on the faces of the other professors, Harry could only assume that Quirrell had been purposefully excluded from this meeting, a fact of which the young professor appeared to be woefully ignorant.
"I'll just p-pull up a chair. Don't mind me," he said innocently as he dragged a chair nearer to the circle. It was apparently heavier than Quirrell had anticipated, and he grunted with the effort. Harry was certain that Professor Sprout chose that moment to look out an office window to hide her amusement.
When Harry happened to look at Dumbledore's expression while watching Quirrell finishing to get himself settled in, he sensed an unease—a distrust, almost. So, was Dumbledore also suspicious of Quirrell? One of the visions from earlier came popping back to the forefront of Harry's mind. In it, Dumbledore was sitting in this office, Professor Snape his only guest. "Keep an eye on Quirrell, will you?" Dumbledore had asked Snape in the vision. Harry placed it as sometime during the beginning of this school year.
Good. Harry thought. If Dumbledore was suspicious of Quirrell and had Snape watching him, Quirrell would be less able to do harm, which continued to be something Harry was concerned about, should Quirrell discover that the Philosopher's Stone had already been stolen from Hogwarts, revealing that his and Voldemort's efforts were all for naught.
"Very well," Dumbledore continued, refocusing Harry's attention. "Harry, from everything I've seen and heard, I feel it likely that Professor Snape has hit the proverbial nail on the head in regards to what it seems like would benefit your education most."
Harry made no attempt to hide his somewhat shocked curiosity.
"There seems to be no shortage of intelligence, achievement, or natural ability, power, and instinct when it comes to your learning. What seems to benefit you most is the guided practical application of that which you have learned, which luckily is something of a strong suit with the professors of Hogwarts, albeit not usually so early in a student's career. That being said, Hogwarts does have a finite number of staff members, not to forget quite a number of students who are equally as deserving as you for our attention."
"Of course. Of course!" Harry said, repeating it while looking at all of the other professors, trying to convey that he was not looking for any special treatment.
"However, your situation is somewhat remarkable for a number of reasons, which I feels warrants the smallest bit of special treatment," Dumbledore said. Harry kept himself from grimacing. "So, what I would like to know is if there are any areas in particular in which you feel your learning could accelerate if you had the opportunity to work more closely with an instructor on the application of magic."
Harry thought about that, trying hard not to imagine what all of his professors were thinking about this — wondering if they had known that Dumbledore was going to give Harry the chance to decide which of them would become his private tutor.
"I guess I'll just have to be honest," Harry said, planning instead to blatantly lie. "In terms of the basic concepts—like anything below fourth-year material—I think I'm all set. But if I had to pick an area where the advanced magic is the most difficult to learn without being shown, I'd have to say Transfiguration."
It was not Transfiguration, it was Potions without any doubt that Harry could have used the most guidance in, but there was no chance he was about to volunteer himself into taking private lessons with Professor Snape.
"Very well," McGonagall said, wasting no time. "Let's see about—" She stopped at Dumbledor's raised palm.
"I beg your pardon, Professor McGonagall, I just want to clarify—you feel you've mastered the Hogwarts curriculum below fourth year?" he asked Harry.
Harry took a breath before answering. "Erm… yes, sir," he said, trying to hide any doubts while also trying to not appear too self-confident. Snape scoffed quietly.
"You know, it's at times like these that I am reminded of how much I miss being in the classroom," Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
"You're always welcome, Albus!" Flitwick said.
"Thank you," Dumbledore responded. "Perhaps I have my toes dipped in too many pies."
"Fingers, Albus," McGonagall corrected him.
"Yes, they as well. Regardless, Harry—if you wouldn't mind indulging a former Transfiguration teacher…" Dumbledore reached behind him and took a number seven billiards ball off of his desk, where it had been serving as a paperweight to a pile of parchment. "If I remember the curriculum correctly, I would think you ought to be able to perform the Draconifors Spell?"
It was a third-year spell, but Harry could perform it, with ease, and yet was suddenly nervous at the prospect of being asked to perform magic in front of Dumbledore, especially with the other professors watching. He cleared his throat and drew his wand.
"Okay. Erm…" Harry forced his nerves to settle and pointed his wand at the ball. "Draconifors!" he intoned.
With a sound like a crystal goblet smashing, in a flash of purple smoke the ball rearranged with countless twists, like a thousand braids of melted glass swirling quickly around each other, until the smoke billowed away to reveal a ten-inch version of Harry's dragon Sarah, who looked around at them all in alarm, sparks occasionally emitting from her mouth in a hiss.
"Oh, very nice Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, reaching out and snapping her fingers at the little dragon, who jerked her head towards the sound and then hopped up into McGonagall's open hand. The professor pushed her glasses down her nose and brought the dragon closer to her face, examining it, the little creature hissing in protest every now and then as it got poked and prodded.
Harry looked back to Professor Dumbledore, surprised to see that he was not watching the examination of the dragon, but had his eyes rivetted on Harry's wand, his mouth slightly agape. He noticed Harry noticing, shifting his eyes to Harry's with a look of… wonder. Harry blinked, and it was gone, Professor Dumbledore now smiling towards McGonagall.
"Some truly excellent spellcasting," he noted. "I wonder, though, if you intended for her to be as feisty as she appears to be."
The little dragon now had one of McGonagall's fingers between its teeth, wrestling to apparently try to dislodge it from the hand to which it was attached. Harry made to raise his wand, but in another flash of smoke and light, the dragon transformed back into the seven-ball, McGonagall catching it with impressive agility before it hit the ground. Harry turned to see Dumbledore putting his wand down.
"One of the most difficult elements of learning magic is being able to temper one's power, should one find themselves imbued with copious amounts of it. So, my recommendation for you, Harry, is as such: First, while I have absolute confidence in Professor McGonagall to work with you on advanced Transfiguration, I am also aware of her already burdened schedule and would therefore like to offer my own services as your guide. In addition to the benefits to you of such an arrangement, it would also allow me to once again enjoy the windfalls and perils of teaching."
Harry raised his eyebrows, glancing to McGonagall to see if this bothered her in any way. Instead, she looked surprised, but almost… impressed.
"Say yes, Potter," she murmured to him, leaning towards him for emphasis.
"Oh—erm, that sounds really great, Professor. Thanks!" Harry said to Dumbledore, who smiled.
"In addition to that…" Dumbledore went on, now looking to Professor Flitwick, whom Harry saw was already nodding, although Harry could not think of why.
"The strategies and forms necessary for successful dueling require dedicated control and just the kind of temperament to which the headmaster is referring. I would be happy to work with you on learning such skills," Flitwick said cheerily.
Harry's eyes widened. "That would be brilliant, Professor!" he blurted. Dumbledore chuckled. "Erm… I mean, learning from you is also brilliant… sir," Harry said to him.
Dumbledore waved his hands. "Oh, no no—I quite agree with you. It's not every day a dueling champion offers to teach you how to duel."
"Whereas you have led such a mundane and mediocre life," Snape said dryly.
"Too many toes, too many toes," Dumbledore said by way of response, and stood. When everyone else began to get up, Harry followed suit.
"We'll work out a schedule right away, taking care that it does not interfere with Quidditch or your other studies," Dumbledore said they all began exiting, Snape practically shoving Quirrell out ahead of him as the nervous teacher attempted and failed to get a word in.
Harry went with the flow, just nodding and smiling as he made his way out with the rest of them, McGonagall the only one staying behind. He had a very pleasant walk with Professor Flitwick back to the Fat Lady, going over what Harry already knew about dueling to get a feel of where to start. Once Harry was in the Gryffindor common room, he took a moment to revel in what a boon this was bound to be for his learning, before heading up to his dorm to reflect on the visions he had seen in Dumbledore's office.
Harry was noticing a pattern regarding growth, and life in general. He had worked hard to try to get through as much of the Hogwarts curriculum as he could before starting at school. He had also been to many Quidditch matches and spent countless hours at the manor practicing the moves he had seen and read about before being chosen as the Gryffindor Seeker. And yet, when it came to both magic and Quidditch, he now recognized that participating in them in their context led to improvements that eclipsed those which he was able to make on his own.
He had so far met with Professor Flitwick two times, each of them renewing the sense of wonder Harry had first felt about magic, which had begun to settle. He had thought that training for dueling might be similar to his martial arts training, which turned out to be correct. Each time they met, Flitwick would demonstrate a technique, spend some time discussing its origins and its common purposes, guide Harry through performing the technique, have Harry perform it himself when he felt ready, and then put the technique into practice under the common circumstances in which it was used.
"Oh wow!" Harry exclaimed after having fired a Stunning Spell at a dummy Flitwick had conjured. He had just been shown an alternate wand movement he could use when casting the spell. It increased the power, but added to the time it took to cast it, spiraling his wand around his head before leveling it at his target.
"Exactly," Flitwick agreed. "More power, but less speed. It is the cursed equation all duelists must work to balance out, constantly adjusting for whatever the situation demands, switching strategies from one spell to the other based on your opponent's techniques, tendencies, and tells."
Advanced Transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore turned out to be… less exciting. So far, the biggest takeaway Harry could identify from the meetings was that Albus Dumbledore was an incredibly intelligent, talented wizard. Generally, this was what Harry's opinion of him had already been, but he came to recognize that the level at which Dumbledore seemed to operate was so high that Harry at one point had to shift his perspective, realizing that he was far out of his league when interacting with the headmaster. Objectively, Harry knew himself to also be a very intelligent person, but once again the impact of experience, time, and interacting with others impressed itself upon Harry, which he found rather frustrating. He would rather work hard and fast to be his best, but it was starting to become apparent that time and experience were going to play a large role in Harry reaching his full potential.
"It has been nice getting to know one another, Harry, and I am aware that we have done a fair larger amount of chatting than you might have anticipated, but I assure you there is a method to the madness," Dumbledore told him one evening during a meeting.
Harry felt this was a bit of an understatement, as they had so far in three meetings done nothing but talk. He had determined that Dumbledore would be, and likely was, a masterful interrogator. There were times when it had felt like he was playing verbal chess with the headmaster, who seemed to be interested in learning information from Harry, but was working to arrive at its revelation in almost diabolically subtle ways. Their talk tonight had finally led Harry to the conclusion that Dumbledore seemed to downright suspect Harry of… something. Considering the number of secrets Harry knew he was quite guilty of keeping, he had not yet determined what exactly it was that had Dumbledore so interested.
"That's all right, sir. It's honestly… really fascinating, talking to you… if not a little exhausting, trying to keep up."
Dumbledore breathed a chuckle through his nose. "Nonetheless, I think it's time we begin our investigations into the relationship between intent, focus, power, form, and control."
The next half hour was the richest thirty minutes Harry had ever spent in the study of magic, and also perhaps the most frustrating. Harry would barely begin to move his wand when Professor Dumbledore would stop him with a suggestion, each time being spot-on at finding a way to improve Harry's technique. It was rather surreal, and reinforced the growing realization in Harry that there was so much for him to learn from others, which extended beyond the learning of magic.
During the first half of the Quidditch season, for example, Harry felt that he had played well, and had heard as much from friend and foe alike, but he also recognized elements of his game which could be better based on skills he had seen from other Seekers, and the responses he had seen opposing players make to his strategies. He focused on this realization during practices to strengthen his determination to strive to be better. This work ethic ended up serving Harry and his team well, as they had played spectacularly against Hufflepuff in Harry's second match of the season, wracking up Gryffindor's House Cup lead considerably after Harry had put Hufflepuff's Seeker out of commission early on with a perfectly-executed Wronski Feint.
It was only when he was spectating the next match—Hufflepuff vs Slytherin—that Harry learned just how impressive his play in the previous match had been. He had been asked to sit in the box with Professor McGonagall for this match, which he had not thought too much about. McGonagall did this often with various students in all four Houses as something of a VIP treatment at Quidditch matches, and Harry just thought that she was extending him such an offering.
When he first got to the box, which held Professor McGonagall, the usual Quidditch commentator Lee Jordan, and a wizard Harry did not recognize and assumed was someone's father, Harry greeted them all, thanking Professor McGonagall again for extending the invitation, and sitting down to enjoy the match. Slytherin was on form today, Harry thought. Their Chasers were in a synchronous groove, and their Beaters were dominating the Bludgers. And yet…
"Slytherin's going to lose."
It was the other man in the box who had said this, shaking his head as he watched the action. Harry slid closer to him.
"Yes! That's what I was just thinking. I mean, look at Higgs!" Harry said, pointing at the Slytherin Seeker, but he saw now that this is exactly where the man had already been looking.
Terence Higgs kept wiping at his face with one hand—specifically at his eyes. There was clearly something irritating them, to the point where he seemed to have little idea where he even was on the pitch, let alone where the Snitch might be. Harry flipped through thousands of pages of Quidditch information in his mind, until he felt he had a reasonable explanation for what was going on. His mouth opened in shock.
"He's using Snallygaster yolk!" Harry exclaimed, turning to look at everyone else.
Professor McGonagall rose at once, hitched up her robes, and scurried out of the box down towards the pitch. The man next to Harry just smiled, still watching the players.
"Nice observation!" he yelled to Harry over the cheers and jeers of the crowd as Slytherin scored another goal. "As a matter of fact, nearly every player on the Slytherin team appears to be cheating!"
Harry moved his focus off of Higgs, whom Harry had deduced must have smeared Snallygaster yolk on the handle of his broom, which had the potential to double the intuitiveness of the broom to the rider's intentions. It did have the uncommon but not unheard-of side-effect of causing a severe reaction to anyone who got the smallest bit in their eyes, which Higgs seemed to have done with gusto, now hovering uselessly over the Ravenclaw section of the stands, wiping furiously at his eyes with the ends of his robes.
Harry now watched the Slytherin Chasers, who had been passing the Quaffle between themselves in an almost choreographed fashion throughout the match thus far. In fact…
"Oh no," Harry said, angry at himself now as he recalled the past few offensive plays from Slytherin in his mind. "They've used a Metronus Charm."
"Very good!" the wizard said, clearly impressed. "It's not caught as frequently as it ought to be, and it was a fairly good show of it they did today. Nice eye, Mr. Potter! Oh, and look. McGonagall needn't have hurried down. Seems as if Madam Hooch has caught on as well."
Indeed, before Professor McGonagall had been able to make her way to the pitch, Madam Hooch had blown her whistle, flying at once towards Higgins. Slytherin captain Marcus Flint had flown towards him as well, and was now attempting to keep himself between Hooch and Higgs. Before long, McGonagall had stolen a broom from a Hufflepuff Beater and flown at Flint, scaring him away from his attempted subterfuge. After less than a minute of examining Higgs and his broom, Madam Hooch called the match in favor of Hufflepuff 150-0, disqualifying all of Slytherin's points for cheating. It was though an undertone of boos and whistles that Harry and the wizard continued their conversation.
"Oh, that's a shame," the wizard said. "I was hoping to see something else interesting, but this isn't what I had in mind. The last match, though—now that was really something." He looked at Harry now, meaningfully. Harry cocked his head quizzically at him.
"See, my mother is an old friend of Professor McGonagall's," the wizard said. "They used to play Quidditch together at Hogwarts. You know McGonagall played Quidditch, yeah?"
Harry nodded emphatically. "Oh yeah! She was really good, from what I've heard."
"Good! Good boy. Anyway, yeah, she was. My mother was, as well. Me… eh, I was okay, and it was always fun, but I wasn't cut out to play, professionally. My mother did for a while, and McGonagall would have."
Harry knew that Professor McGonagall had been something of a Quidditch star at Hogwarts, and had been presumed to continue in it professionally, if not internationally, until a late injury put an end to her career.
"But we'd made it something of a family business—Quidditch—and I definitely wanted to stay a part of that, so I do some work for different teams."
Harry looked at him for a moment, piecing together everything he had heard from him thus far. "Are you… a scout, then?"
The wizard laughed, shaking his head. "She said you were quick, and she wasn't kidding! Richard King," he said, extending his hand. Harry shook it. "I do serve as a scout, mainly for the UEQL, but occasionally for the big boys."
Harry knew he was referring to the Underage European Quidditch League, which was a rather new (meaning only several decades old) branch of the European Quidditch League, which brought together promising players age seventeen and under to participate in international competition during the summers.
"Oh. Wow," Harry said rather lamely.
"Yes. Well, Professor McGonagall contacted me several weeks ago, telling me I just had to come watch a certain young new Seeker play Quidditch for Gryffindor. She knows her Quidditch, McGonagall, so my interest was already piqued. When I found out it was Harry Potter…" King gestured to Harry. "…it became my number one priority. Despite McGonagall's no-nonsense reputation, I still thought maybe there was a bit of bias going towards a celebrity, but after I watched you play…"
Harry waited for King to go on, as the two of them observed the action on the pitch involving Madam Hooch angrily explaining the reasons for Slytherin's disqualifications to a fuming Professor Snape.
"You've got real talent on the pitch, Mr. Potter. I want to make it clear that you should fully expect to receive offers from a few UEQL teams in the foreseeable future. Take your time and, if you choose to play, select a team that suits you. They'll be fighting over you." King took a moment to adjust his robes as he stood up to leave. "Not that I'd ever admit to saying as much. Anyway, nice to meet you."
He shook Harry's hand again and then made his way out of the box. Harry stood for a moment, looking out at the chaos unfolding on the pitch without really seeing it. He sat down again smiling, oblivious to the uproar in which the rest of the stadium found themselves.
Chapter Nineteen
The Friday before Easter holidays, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves at Hagrid's cabin. A few days ago, a dragon egg which Hagrid had won from a stranger at the Three Broomsticks had finally hatched, bringing a little (and illegal) Norwegian Ridgeback into the world. At first christened Norbert by Hagrid, the name was shifted to Noberta after Harry had revealed her to be a female, and then eventually shortened to Berta. Harry and the others knew that it was only a matter of time before Hagrid was either caught, or Berta burned his hut down, or both. He was hopeful that Hagrid would agree to the plan he had come up with to keep everyone involved happy.
Hagrid was expecting them, opening the door and ushering them inside. The moment Hagrid quickly closed the door behind them, Berta rushed at Harry, who managed just in time to push Ron out of the way before the dragon, which had already quadrupled in size since being hatching, slammed into him. Hermione screamed, despite the fact that she had already seen this happen several times.
Berta had taken quite a liking to Harry, who was very glad for his enhanced resilience against the rather rambunctious young dragon. Berta tucked her wings in now and let Harry take her full weight, which was substantial. He carried her over to the armchair Harry had gotten Hagrid for Christmas—a copy of the chair Hagrid had admired in Gringotts last summer, which expanded magically to fit the size of its occupant. When he and Berta sat in it, the chair flowed into a wide loveseat with plenty of room for Berta to stretch her wings out while Harry scratched between her scales.
"She really loves you, Harry!" Hagrid beamed.
"She does," Harry agreed. "And I love her, which is why I want to propose a way for her to be happy."
"She is happy!" Hagrid assured him. "She's got me, an' Fang, and gets all the brandy an' chicken blood she needs."
Harry made a reluctant face before dropping this next part on Hagrid. "She's actually not happy, Hagrid. She loves you, and she's glad you're taking care of her, but the urge to spread her wings and fly—it consumes her. It's hurting her."
Harry saw the tears starting to form in Hagrid's dark eyes, and rushed to go on. "Hagrid… I own two dragons. A mother and daughter."
The shock from that statement distracted Hagrid from his sadness. "You… you do?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, and I've checked with them and…" he looked nervously to Ron and Hermione, who were as hopeful as he was that Hagrid would go along with this. "We all agree that Berta can come live at Potter Manor with my dragons, where she'll be free and safe, and where you can visit her whenever you want."
Hagrid opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking from Harry to Berta. "Tha's why she likes you so much… she knew! Bless her—she's so smart! She knew you were a dragon man right from the start, didn't she?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione breathed simultaneous sighs of relief as Hagrid went on, clearly excited about Harry's idea. They spent some time working out the details of the arrangement, eventually calling for Toory and Zeely to fill them in on the specifics for the plans to relocate Berta, which Harry had already given them the general gist of. They worked it out to take Berta to Potter Manor at dawn tomorrow morning, Harry traveling with Hagrid to introduce his dragons to their new companion and Hagrid, whom Harry would add to the Blood Wards on the manor to allow him to request access from Toory and Zeely anytime he wanted to visit.
"I can't wait to see his face when he gets to watch Berta fly," Harry said later as he, Ron, and Hermione returned to the castle, now under the Invisibility Cloak, as they had stayed at Hagrid's past curfew. Harry had kept the existence of his Invisibility Cloak a secret limited to Fred, George, Ron, and eventually Hermione, from whom he thought better than to try and hide it.
"Can I meet them someday—your dragons?" Hermione asked. "Not to invite myself over, but it would be fascinating to see them in their natural environment, and interacting with each other."
"Oh, definitely!" Harry promised.
They entered the castle without incident, and were at the third-floor landing of the staircase when Harry heard someone talking. He tugged on Ron and Hermione to keep them from moving up the next set of stairs. They looked at him questioningly, then around them as Harry peered into the semi-darkness. He doubted if Ron or Hermione could hear the voices, which he felt were too low to notice without augmented hearing. He put his finger to his lips and listened harder, which is when he recognized the voices. He pulled Ron and Hermione's heads closer to his so he could whisper in both their ears.
"Snape and Quirrell are down that hallway," he told them gesturing. "They might be arguing."
Hermione cocked her head. "I don't hear anything," she whispered.
The three of them stood for a moment longer, until all of them reacted at the same time to the definite sound of Quirrell's voice carrying from down the corridor.
"We'd better go check it out," Harry said, leading them in that direction. He had considered sending them back to the safety of the common room and continuing on in animal form once they were gone, but he was worried he might miss whatever was happening if he did.
Professor Quirrell had become something of a constant worry in Harry's mind, increasing in intensity as the school year went on and Quirrell seemed to become more desperate to secure the Philosopher's Stone. George had shared with aplomb how in a third-year class this week, Quirrell had been teaching about the characteristic of Grindylows when he had spontaneously burst into hyperventilating tears, disappearing into his office for the remainder of the lesson. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes had become something of a joke throughout the castle, but it worried Harry that Quirrell was becoming unhinged and would do something dangerous. Harry in Snidget form had observed Quirrell in this third-floor corridor at night on more than one occasion, but always alone. He definitely wanted to see what Snape's presence here had to do with everything.
The three of them moved quietly, but more quickly than usual as Harry pulled them towards the place from where he felt the voices had come. They found Quirrell and Snape inside the trophy room. Harry, checked the door handle and, finding it unlocked, pulled out his wand and cast a silencing charm on the door, easing it open ever-so-slowly, Hermione clutching his arm and Ron pulling his own wand out. Harry pressed his head forward under the cloak, peering around the door, where he saw Quirrell, backed into a dark corner by Snape. Neither of them was paying any attention to the door, and so Harry guided the others through as Quirrell was mumbling something.
Snape interrupted him. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"
"B-b-but Severus, I —"
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.
"I-I don't know what you —"
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
A loud meow sounded from behind the door at the opposite end of the room, startling everyone in the room. Hermione slapped her hand to her mouth to keep from yelling, which made enough of a noise on its own for Snape to whirl around and look, his head revolving to both doors repeatedly. The noises seemed to be enough to spook Snape.
"Very well," Snape decided. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."
As soon as Snape had begun saying these words, Hermione had pulled the boys back against the wall inside the room, which turned out to be a good idea, as Snape wasted no time storming out of the room right through the space in which they had just been standing, closing the door behind him. Harry had a fleeting image of giving Mrs. Norris a good kick the next time he saw her, but knew he could never actually do such a thing. The two of them might need to come to an understanding, though.
For a moment, Professor Quirrell continued trembling, wiping at his nose and sniffling. After a few seconds of Snape being gone, however, he grew eerily silent, dropping his hands to his sides and raising his cowering head up, standing straight. With something of a smile, he gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head.
"Oh, Severus," he said quietly. "You may just have to die before it's all said and done."
Hermione slapped her hand to her mouth again, which Harry had prepared for this time with another silencing charm. He saw Ron turn his head to look at Harry in shock, their reactions reminding him that his friends had no idea of the danger that had been lurking at Hogwarts this whole time. They waited for Quirrell to leave, Harry watching to see if he would try to get past Fluffy, but the encounter with Snape seemed to have made him more cautious, and he instead retreated to the stairs and down to the second floor, where Harry knew his quarters were.
Finally making their way back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry knew he would have to fill Ron and Hermione in on some things, primarily to keep them from saying anything about what they saw and get themselves into danger, but also because it had become painfully apparent to Harry in these past few months that collaboration was a powerful tool.
Hardly any of Harry's friends had opted to stay at Hogwarts during Easter break, and he once again received permission to depart from Hogsmeade rather than ride the Hogwarts express.
"Summer—for sure—you'll come and meet them, yeah?" Harry said to Hermione as he saw his friends off at Hogsmeade station. He had decided it might be good to not have any visitors besides Hagrid this week, while Sarah, Penny, and Berta became acquainted.
"Pinky promise?" Hermione asked, holding out her finger.
"I hereby do swear my most sincere promise of tiny digit," Harry responded, hooking his pinky with Hermione's. Ron looked at them both like they were insane. "Pinky promise?" Harry asked him, holding his hand towards Ron, who waved it off.
"Maybe some other time."
Once the train had departed, Harry called for Toory and Zeely, who transported Harry directly to Hagrid's hut. Hagrid was sitting on a stump outside, wringing his pink umbrella in his hands, looking rather stressed out. It took him a moment to even notice their arrival.
"Oh! There yeh are. You're a right bit earlier than I'd thought. Sure you don' need to, erm, pack a few more things, or whatnot?" Hagrid asked.
"Hagrid," Harry started compassionately. "It's going to be great. You'll get to see her all the time, and she'll have friends and space! She's going to be so happy there."
Hagrid stood, nodding. "I know, I know. Just got me worried, is all. Not sure she's ready to leave her mummy just yet."
"It's just… this is the best solution, Hagrid. She can't stay here," Harry reminded him.
Just then, the sole window in Hagrid's hut shattered in an explosion, Harry jumping in front of the elves just in time to take the impact of the shards of glass from the window, and the eventual dragon who had flown through it, landing in Harry's arms as if nothing exciting had occurred.
Hagrid sighed. "Oh, all right, yeh made yer point. Lemme just grab a couple o' extra buckets o' chicken blood, and we can be off."