Reviews for Harry Potter: the Serpent Lord |
---|
Lofty breeze chapter 5 . 11/1 The Sunday practice was nothing short of grueling. Oliver had lent Harry his Cleansweep six, but the Weasley twins were relentless, bombarding him with bludgers. To make matters worse, the elusive snitch kept Harry racing around the stadium in the biting cold wind for nearly an hour before it was finally caught. Despite the challenges, Harry felt a growing fondness for the sport; after all, as much as he enjoyed flying, there was something thrilling about the game. On Tuesday morning, Harry found himself seated between Alicia and Katie, with Oliver across from him, as the team stood guard against supposed 'attacks' from Ron, the jealous redhead and brother of the Weasley twins. As the morning post arrived, a small flock of seven owls swooped in, carrying a large package — a broomstick wrapped in paper. This spectacle caught the attention of numerous students, as well as a certain potions master who felt compelled to investigate the source of the distraction, presumably hoping to seize points from Gryffindor. "First years are forbidden from owning their own brooms," Snape sneered, eyeing the wrapped broom nestled between Harry and Oliver. "I expect twenty points from Gryffindor and a lifetime confiscation of that broom to impress upon you the importance of adhering to rules, Potter." "But, Professor Snape, that broom is mine," Oliver protested, revealing the order tag attached to the package. "There's no rule prohibiting upperclassmen from owning multiple brooms. I’d appreciate it if you reconsidered the points you unjustly penalized us for." Snape, visibly irritated, begrudgingly restored the twenty points he had just taken from Gryffindor, only to take ten points back for 'wasting his time' before stalking off to the teachers’ table. The Gryffindor Quidditch team broke into grins, reveling in their captain's cleverness: they’d secured a broom for their first-year seeker! / *** \ Between lessons, homework, self-study, and Quidditch practices, Harry had little time to dwell on anything else. This distraction kept him from the headaches that would undoubtedly arise from having to avoid Ron the Prat and remain composed amid his rants about Harry being a fame-hungry traitor. As September's sun gave way to the brisk winds of October, Halloween approached. The castle transformed into a scene right out of a ghost story, adorned with live bats, cobwebs, and carved pumpkins flickering with candlelight. Despite the festive atmosphere, Harry felt no inclination to celebrate; it was the anniversary of his parents' murder at the hands of Voldemort. Though it was only noon and he still had two classes before the feast, the weight of the day loomed heavily over him. Herbology was tolerable: Neville was empathetic to his plight, sticking closely to the lesson, while Dean and Parvati, extracting seeds from red-stem brier berries, seemed overly cheerful for Harry's comfort. He couldn’t blame them; they lacked the dark memories that haunted him. In Charms, which Gryffindors shared with Ravenclaws, Harry's focus on levitating big white feathers helped ease his somber thoughts. Familiar with the importance of intent from his Transfiguration practices, he mastered the levitation charm on his sixth attempt, earning Gryffindor five points. Not long after, Padma, Su, and Hermione, all quickly followed suit. Even Neville joined in shortly thereafter. While the boys from Gryffindor and a few playful Ravenclaws engaged in a friendly feather race above the tables, Hermione was trying to assist Ron, who struggled with the charm. Unfortunately, her well-meaning advice only seemed to aggravate him. By class's end, Ron snapped at her in frustration. “For Merlin’s sake, leave me alone, you annoying know-it-all! No one can stand you! Just disappear so normal people won’t suffer your presence!” Harry's fist connected with Ron's cheek before he could think, fueled by anger at his friend’s cruelty. “You’re a self-centered prat for insulting Hermione for trying to help her. I'm ashamed to share a house with you,” he spat, storming out of the classroom in search of Hermione, who had vanished without a trace. Navigating the vast castle felt daunting, and he hoped she wouldn’t end up doing something rash. Hermione didn’t appear at the Halloween feast, and Harry’s concern grew. Through fellow students Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, he learned she was locked in one of the girls' toilets, crying and demanding to be left alone. The green-eyed wizard sighed. He knew he had to give her time, but if she was not in the common room by curfew, he would seek her out. Scanning the Great Hall, he noted that Hermione wasn’t the only missing person; Professor Quirrell was absent as well, being the sole faculty member absent. Moments later, Professor Quirrell burst into the hall, his turban askew and panic etched across his face. “Troll! Troll in the dungeons!” he yelled with apparent terror. “Thought you ought to know…” He fainted, collapsing to the floor. Chaos erupted as students screamed in fear—Quirrell’s act was too convincing for anyone to see it as a joke. It took Professor Dumbledore a booming spell to quiet the hall. “Prefects!” he commanded. “Take your houses back to the dormitories immediately!” Harry’s mind raced; something felt off. The Hufflepuff and Slytherin dormitories were in the dungeons. While Hufflepuff was safe, the Slytherin quarters likely put many students at risk. Then it hit Harry: Hermione didn’t know about the troll! He had to warn her. As Percy guided Gryffindor students towards safety, Harry blended in with the Hufflepuffs, planning to break away to find Hermione. To his surprise, Neville trailed after him. “Hey, Harry, where are you going?” Neville asked, catching up to him. “Hermione doesn’t know about the troll. We must warn her and get her to safety!” he urged. Neville nodded and kept pace. The directions Susan and Hannah had provided were spot-on. The boys soon reached the bathroom, hearing Hermione’s sobs echoing inside. “Go away! Leave me alone!” she cried from a stall. Harry knocked gently on the door. “Hermione, you need to come back to the common room. There’s an emergency: there’s a troll in the dungeons!” he urged. The mention of a male voice startled her, and she slipped into a rule-enforcer mode, gasping, “What are you doing here? You aren’t allowed in here!” “Hermione, please listen! There’s a troll! You might be in danger! We need to go!” At last, she opened the stall door, only to freeze and scream. At that moment, Neville tapped on Harry's shoulder, his eyes wide. “Um… we have a big problem…” he said. The troll's roar filled the room as it spotted the trio, ready to strike. Harry acted instinctively, pushing Neville and Hermione down as the troll's club narrowly missed Hermione and splintered the stall next to her. Realizing that fighting was futile—no first-year spell could take down such a beast—Harry chose flight over confrontation. But the troll stood between them and the exit. If they were to make it out, he had to draw the beast’s attention away from his friends. Could he recall a spell to take its focus? His mind raced through their spells. Transfiguration and color-changing spells wouldn’t suffice, and the levitation charm required concentration he couldn’t afford now. The Nox spell had too limited an effect to shield them, leaving him with Lumos. But that would only create a ball of light at the wand’s tip, not where he needed it… “Here goes nothing,” he thought, willing a glowing sphere to form behind the troll’s left ear. The creature, as dense as expected, turned in confusion, and Harry seized the moment. He yelled, “Run!” as he, Neville, and Hermione bolted toward the door, slipping past the troll just in time. “Hurry! We can’t go to the common room. That troll’s probably tracking us!” Harry warned as they raced up a narrow flight of stairs leading to the fourth floor. “Trolls may be stupid, but they’re faster than we can run, and they can pick up our scent,” Harry explained as they reached the summit. “What now?” Hermione asked, struggling to tug open the heavy doors of the north wing with no luck. In a moment of desperation, Harry turned to Neville. “When I say ‘three’, levitate its right leg forward and up, and I’ll do the left!” he instructed. Neville nodded, apprehensive yet trusting. “One… Two…” Harry hesitated, watching the troll gain ground. “Three!” they shouted together, casting the levitation charm. With a resounding crash, the troll tumbled down the steep stairs after losing its footing, its head slamming against the floor with a force that should have incapacitated it. “It worked,” Neville breathed, both amazed and drained. Suddenly, the commotion attracted the attention of Professor McGonagall, who strode into the corridor, assessing the scene before her. “What are you doing here? The headmaster ordered everyone to return to the common rooms!” she scolded, her brows furrowing. “Hermione wasn’t at the feast; she didn’t know about the troll!” Neville blurted out before Harry could speak. “Harry and I went to warn her. We had to—um—fight it.” McGonagall rubbed her temples, likely fighting off a foreboding headache. “And how on Earth did you manage that?” she asked. Harry scratched the back of his head, sheepishly explaining, “We dropped it from the stairs with levitation.” She sighed in resignation. “Very well. Potter, Longbottom—ten points from Gryffindor each for risking your safety without informing anyone where you were going. However, ten points will be awarded to Gryffindor for helping your classmate, and an additional thirty points for the sheer absurdity of defeating a mountain troll and surviving.” Stunned, the three first years exchanged incredulous glances, struggling to process the winds of fortune that had just favored their house. “Now, return to the common room before I feel compelled to take those points back for being out during curfew,” she ordered. Fleeing from the scene, they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, ringing with muffled chatter and laughter. Hermione turned to the boys who had fought for her life mere hours before, still bewildered at the thought that anyone would risk danger for her. “Um… not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why did you save me?” she asked, catching Harry’s gaze. “Isn’t it just what friends do?” he replied, his sincerity evident. “Plus, aren’t you one of us?” His words lit up Hermione’s expression, and she nodded, a smile bursting forth as she enveloped both boys in a heartfelt embrace before darting off to the girls’ dormitory, leaving Harry and Neville momentarily stunned and blushing in her wake. / *** \ Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore was having a rather tumultuous evening. He had allowed Quirrell to guide the troll into the castle, hoping that one of the 'chosen ones' would act heroically and save that young Muggle-born: Granger. He had never expected both Potter and Longbottom to spring to her aid. And, based on Severus’s report, the troll had met its demise due to the impact of its head against the marble floor from their unassuming charms. “Who is this chosen one?” Dumbledore pondered, savoring a lemon drop. “If they don’t surface soon, the world may well fall prey to the darkness Tom seeks to unleash once again.” Dumbledore knew he needed to devise a careful strategy to identify this One, but he understood he must operate from the shadows for his plans to succeed. Unbeknownst to him, the young trio of Gryffindors was just beginning their journey into a deeper magic that would shape the future of the wizarding world. |
Lofty breeze chapter 6 . 11/1 Ronald Weasley was certainly displeased with the punishment he received for his confrontation with Hermione. The two weeks of detentions with Filch, along with the deduction of thirty points from Gryffindor—effectively undoing all the credit earned by Harry and Neville for their victory over the troll—were hard enough to swallow. However, the worst consequence was the howler from his irate mother, sent following a letter from Professor McGonagall. Ron seethed at the bushy-haired witch and her new friends, feeling humiliated in front of the entire school, but a fierce glare from McGonagall reminded him that acting on his anger would be unwise. Thus, the redhead opted to alternate between ignoring the "golden trio" in the presence of professors and throwing insults at them when he was alone. Yet, Harry, Hermione, and Neville seemed largely unfazed as long as he didn’t confront them directly. ~/ *** \~ As November rolled in and the first Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin approached, Oliver Wood became even more of a fanatic about training than usual. Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team found themselves on the pitch at least three times a week, and often more, whenever Oliver could secure the space. On Tuesday, November 12, training extended until just an hour before curfew. After a quick shower and a change into his regular clothes, Harry hurried back to the Gryffindor common room. However, as he passed through the corridors on the fourth floor, he overheard Professors Snape and Quirrell engaged in a heated argument. Curious, and noting how timid Quirrell sounded, Harry decided to eavesdrop. “So, no luck then?” Snape asked. “N-No,” stuttered Quirrell. “Getting past that dog is not something we can do without alerting the headmaster, as far as I know.” “Then the stone is beyond your reach until you can figure that out,” Snape concluded. Although Harry didn’t understand what stone they were discussing, he inferred that it was something quite valuable, possibly the same item that had been attempted to be stolen from Gringotts during his first visit to Diagon Alley. Realizing he should stop eavesdropping, Harry hurried to the common room, the last thing he caught from their discussion being Quirrell's reluctant agreement with Snape. Though Harry couldn’t piece together the larger context of their conversation, he speculated about who the ‘criminal’ might be. Despite his disdain for Snape, he couldn’t see the Potions Master as the main suspect; after all, Snape had been at Hogwarts for years, while Quirrell was new this year—the same year the stone had been brought to the castle. Plus, Quirrell was present during the attempted robbery, raising even more suspicion. Without solid proof, accusing a professor—even one he disliked—was reckless and potentially dangerous. Still, Harry felt compelled to investigate further. He needed more information on this mysterious stone, which was likely both powerful and valuable, given that someone had broken into Gringotts to access it. He thought about asking one of his friends. Hermione wouldn’t likely know much since she was buried in books, and Neville would only have limited knowledge given his focus on Herbology. That left only Draconica, and perhaps his Quidditch teammates if she didn’t have the answers he needed. But he would approach Draconica first, in private. ~/ *** \~ The following morning, during their double Defense Against the Dark Arts period, Harry discreetly sent Draconica a message expressing his desire to meet her in the library after lunch. She didn’t respond in writing but nodded to indicate she would be there. After DADA, he quickly made his way to the Great Hall for lunch, hoping to secure a private table in the library for their discussion. Draconica joined him soon after. “I assume you have something to discuss, Potter,” she stated coolly, though there was a hint of familiarity despite their houses being rivals. “Indeed,” Harry replied. “I need some information on a specific topic that isn’t well covered in the library, and I thought you might be the best person to ask.” Draconica folded her hands and regarded him thoughtfully. “You do realize you’ll owe me a favor in return?” she asked. Harry nodded, even though he thought this Slytherin principle of quid pro quo was excessive—surely, altruism had its place. “What do you want in exchange?” he inquired. “While it’s rare for our houses to align, we both know Professor Quirrell isn’t teaching us anything valuable. I’m aware you’re doing some self-study in DADA.” Harry nodded, slightly surprised she even knew that. “I’d like to review your notes.” She added, “This one time, of course.” Harry agreed. “What did you want to ask me about?” she prompted. “Some older students were discussing magical stones, and I found the subject intriguing,” he fabricated. Even if Draconica saw through the ruse, she didn’t let on. “I found only books on precious stones as foci for wands or those used for warding in the library. I suspect there’s more to magical stones than that.” Draconica nodded. “Indeed, those are common uses, but not exhaustive. Given that you’re looking into general magical mineralogy rather than specific applications, let me share this…” She paused briefly. “All precious and semi-precious stones can serve as both foci and stores of magical energy. Materials like marble and granite work well in runic magic. There’s also the bezoar, which isn’t a true mineral but is still referred to as a stone. I suppose you remember its properties from Potions class.” Harry nodded. “Lastly, there’s the Philosopher’s Stone, said to produce the Elixir of Life and turn any metal into gold. While its existence is unverified—Nicolas Flamel, its alleged creator, hasn’t shown it to anyone—his and his wife’s six-century-long lives make a strong case for its reality.” “Thanks! That was exactly what I was looking for,” Harry said, pondering the implications. ‘I highly doubt it’s just an energy source hidden at Hogwarts. What’s more likely is that the stone is the Philosopher’s Stone…’ “I’ll bring you my notes during Astronomy class tonight,” he added. “See you then,” she replied. “Enjoy your evening,” Harry said, lost in thought. ‘I do suspect it’s the Philosopher’s Stone, but more research is needed before I decide on a course of action… It’s peculiar that Flamel would entrust his stone to Hogwarts when it was safe in his residence for centuries… Likely, the stone here is a fake, though it must be quite powerful to deceive the headmaster…’ Harry mulled over the Philosopher’s Stone while making his way back to Gryffindor Tower. ~/ *** \~ Finally, Saturday, November 23 arrived, marking the first Quidditch match of the season after lunch. Naturally, Oliver Wood wouldn’t let his team rest that morning; he had called a team meeting at 9 AM to strategize for the match. Harry doubted anyone was truly focused during the three-hour briefing. When lunchtime rolled around, Harry felt so anxious about the match that he had to force himself to eat. He noticed Katie was struggling as well. Eventually, the time came, and Oliver led the team to the locker rooms, though many members had hardly eaten. There was another briefing, but once again, Wood’s words seemed to drift over the players’ heads. At ten minutes to two in the afternoon, Madam Hooch summoned both teams to the pitch. Harry hardly registered the announcements made by third-year Lee or Professor McGonagall’s reprimands about bias against Slytherin. Madam Hooch had the captains shake hands—each trying to crush the other’s grip—before releasing the balls from the chest. Ultimately, she tossed the quaffle into the air, blowing her whistle to signal the start of the match. Harry focused completely on his task to catch the Snitch, tuning out everything around him except for Lee’s enthusiastic comments announcing Gryffindor's points. After what felt like forever, he finally spotted a glimmer of gold hovering near one of the stands. Acting on instinct, he shot after the Snitch, and the Slytherin seeker followed suit, utilizing a strategy of trailing Harry rather than seeking the ball himself. In a strategic move, Harry began to weave through the stands, attempting to lose the other seeker while keeping his eyes fixed on the elusive Snitch. Suddenly, he lost control of his broom, which began jerking erratically beneath him. Focused on not falling, he disregarded the world around him, including the Snitch. Fortunately, his pursuer had missed it as well. The broom continued its wild motions until it suddenly veered toward a support beam, using it as leverage to throw Harry back onto the broom. For another fifteen seconds, the broom repeated its chaotic behavior before finally halting, allowing Harry to regain control. Looking around, he realized both teams and Madam Hooch were now gathered on the ground. He glided down and landed next to Wood. “Are you okay, Harry?” Oliver asked as he dismounted. “Glad you finally decided to join us,” the Weasley twins quipped in unison, their concern cloaked in mockery. “I’m fine,” Harry replied. “A bit shaken, but alright.” Madam Hooch instructed him to hand over his broom for inspection. After conducting a few diagnostics, she remarked, “Hm... Enhancements are in order. So, it seems there was outside interference.” She repeated the diagnostics, confirming that everything appeared normal. “We’ll continue the match, but should anything else happen, we’ll halt proceedings to address potential sabotage. We can’t have anyone jeopardizing players’ safety.” Both teams agreed. “Back on your brooms! The match resumes.” As the players took to the air, Harry spent the next twenty minutes scouring the pitch for the Snitch, which seemed determined to play hide-and-seek. Meanwhile, the Slytherin seeker continued to shadow him, hoping to outmaneuver Harry once the Snitch revealed itself. Growing increasingly frustrated, Harry decided to execute advanced maneuvers to shake off his pursuer. Eventually, his efforts paid off, and he spotted a flash of gold near Slytherin’s loops. Harry surged toward it with all the speed his Cleansweep Six could muster. The Slytherin seeker followed closely, but Harry had the edge due to his proximity to the Snitch. Just as he was about to capture it, a rogue Bludger appeared, forcing him to veer off course and giving his opponent a slight advantage. The Bludger targeted Harry again, but he skillfully dodged it, inadvertently sending it crashing into the Slytherin seeker instead. This gave Harry the space he needed to maneuver around Slytherin players and, with a few more close calls, grab the Snitch, securing a victory for Gryffindor with a score of 310 to 90. The celebration in Gryffindor Tower went on long into the night, continuing until Professor McGonagall had to shush her exuberant lions. Harry, as the match's star, was encouraged to stay up, and he didn’t mind at all as the Weasley twins produced a stash of butterbeer and firewhiskey to keep the spirits high. Exhausted yet utterly satisfied after the exhilarating match and the subsequent festivities, Harry finally collapsed into bed, content with himself and the excitement of the evening. ~/ *** \~ On the following Monday morning, Harry received a response to the letter he’d sent to the Ministry of Magic Archives regarding his “official” name. Opening the envelope, he read through the formal, dry language of the letter and noted the Ministry employee’s surprise at his inquiry. When he reached the part detailing his official name, he skimmed it closely: “Hadrian James Potter.” It also mentioned his status as the scion of an ancient house, among other titles. A smile crept onto Harry’s face as he folded the letter and tucked it into his bag, vowing to dispose of it discreetly; such information could be dangerous in the wrong hands. With that resolved, he returned to his breakfast, contemplating how best to prepare for his upcoming History of Magic lesson. |
Lofty breeze chapter 7 . 11/1 With December fully upon them, the weather took a turn for the worse, bringing frigid winds and heavy gray clouds that dusted the ground with snow. As the semester exams loomed closer, Harry found himself buried under a mountain of homework assigned by his professors, eroding any semblance of free time he might have had. However, when the exams began, Harry quickly realized that most of them were far less daunting than he had anticipated. Potions proved challenging, thanks to Professor Snape, who seemed intent on making Harry’s life miserable, but he still managed to achieve an Exceeding Expectations. History of Magic was another tough subject, yet he fared well there too, considering all. With no plans to return to his relatives for the Christmas holidays—after all, he wouldn't exactly be welcomed—Harry chose to remain at Hogwarts. This earned him a few playful glares from the trio of chasers, as Oliver Wood had the brilliant idea to host all-day training sessions during the holiday break for those still around, namely Harry and the Weasley twins. On Christmas morning, Harry indulged in a bit of extra sleep, waking up around nine. To his surprise, he was the first to stir. The Dursleys had never treated him to gifts, so he wasn't sure what to expect this year. But when he ventured into the common room, he found a pile of presents waiting for him under the tree. Atop the stack lay a box of chocolate frogs from Hermione—somewhat unexpected, considering her parents were dentists—and a box of assorted candies from Draconica. Ironically, Harry had sent her a similar gift through Oliver Wood’s trip to Hogsmeade the previous week. Neville had sent him a book about the magical properties of plants commonly found in Muggle life, while Oliver gifted him a booklet featuring advanced seeker moves, typical of the Quidditch enthusiast. As for the Weasley twins, their reputation for pranks made Harry cautious about opening their package. His mind wandered to thoughts of whether his friends liked the gifts he had sent them. Hermione received sugar-free sweets; Neville got a Muggle book on curative plants—originally intended for Harry himself, but he figured his friend could benefit from it more. The twins had received a selection of prank candies from Zonko's; anything less would have surely invited chaos into Hogwarts during the holidays. Just as he was lost in thought, the trio of chasers descended into the common room. Turning to them, Harry said cheerfully, "Merry Christmas!" Alicia, Angelina, and Katie exchanged glances and nodded, then approached him. Katie moved right in front of Harry and, rising onto her toes, gave him a warm hug that left him blushing. He couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her pajama top. “Merry Christmas, Harry!” she said brightly, before Angelina took her spot. Much like Katie, Angelina wrapped him in her embrace, but with an added playful squeeze to his behind. Finally, it was Alicia’s turn, and with a cheeky grin, she also hugged him close, her hand wandering almost too far down as well, driving Harry to an almost impossible shade of crimson. The trio of chasers left him stunned in the middle of the room to collect their own gifts. “Hey!” the Weasley twins called out from the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitory. “What about us, girls?” Alicia stuck out her tongue playfully at them before the girls scampered off, giggling. The twins attempted to get Harry’s attention, but he was still reeling from the unexpected attention and hardly registered their comments. Eventually, realizing they weren’t getting a response, Fred and George gathered their Christmas gifts and headed back to their own dormitory, likely plotting their next prank on either Ron or Percy. Once Harry regained his composure after the unexpected “gifts” from the girls, he noticed a small package he had somehow overlooked. It was thin and light, and upon opening it, he discovered a cloak along with an anonymous note that read: "Your father left it in my care, and I believe it is time to return it to its rightful owner. Use it wisely." ~/ *** \~ As soon as Harry read the note, a small spell beacon activated in the headmaster's office, alerting Albus Dumbledore that the invisibility cloak was now back in Harry's possession. The oath to his father, James, was the only reason this happened—otherwise, Dumbledore would have kept it for himself, despite being unable to unravel the cloak’s true secrets. After all, he could turn himself invisible with a simple flick of his wand. Why squander his magic when he had access to such a splendid artifact? “I wonder what you will do with it, Harry,” Dumbledore mused, pondering how he might explain the significance of a certain magical mirror to the young Potter once the cloak’s charm compelled him to seek it out. ~/ *** \~ Studying the cloak, Harry found it incredibly thin and feather-light, almost as if it were woven from air, yet it felt ancient and remarkably preserved. Intrigued, he decided to see if the rumors were true about its capabilities. As he donned the cloak, he glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror and barely contained his excitement—everything covered by the cloak appeared to vanish! “Whoa!” Harry exclaimed, realizing he possessed an invisibility cloak! He had learned about these during his studies, yet this specific cloak contradicted everything he knew. Traditional invisibility cloaks were made from the fur of demiguise and certainly not from such delicate, ethereal material. Moreover, even the most effective invisibility cloaks typically lasted no longer than fifty years, while his looked as if it had existed since before King Arthur. Realizing that the cloak would serve him best if kept a secret, Harry carefully folded it, picked up his other gifts, and headed to the dormitory to stow it away in his trunk. By the time he made his way to the Great Hall for dinner, a nagging voice urged him to try on the cloak. It beckoned him to explore the castle after curfew. As the whispers grew insistent, Harry surmised it was likely a compulsion, a magical charm placed upon him by the cloak. Unsure of how to detect such charms, the young Gryffindor decided to attempt to dispel any magic affecting himself or the cloak, especially anything that may have been placed in the last twenty-four hours. It seemed like a daunting task, but he suspected the compulsion originated from the cloak. Once in the dorms, Harry retrieved it from his trunk and, hoping to eliminate only the compulsion, pointed his wand at the cloak. “Finite incantem!” To his surprise, the spell worked, releasing a faint bluish wisp of magic from the cloak. Wearing it once more, Harry was relieved to discover he remained invisible. Just to ensure the compulsion was entirely negated, he cast the same spell on himself and anything else that might have carried the charm. An hour later, he was relieved to find the persistent voice urging him to explore the castle had vanished. Now free from the spell, he began to ponder who might have placed it. The only person who came to mind was the headmaster—after all, he was the one who had brought the Philosopher’s Stone into a school filled with children, his motivations shrouded in mystery. ~/ *** \~ That night, Albus Dumbledore sat hidden in a corner of an unused classroom, waiting for Harry to ‘accidentally’ discover the Mirror of Erised. Unfortunately, the boy never arrived. Dumbledore rationalized that perhaps it was just the first night, and Harry had simply wandered elsewhere in the castle. The compulsion wasn’t powerful enough to force a student to the mirror instantly, yet he hoped the boy would eventually find his way there. “Oh well, perhaps tomorrow,” Dumbledore thought as he downed a potion to replenish his energy after a sleepless night. As headmaster, he needed to project an image of liveliness and readiness, setting an example for the students. However, Harry did not come to the mirror the following night either. Dumbledore’s concern grew that his compulsion had failed. It was imperative that Harry found the mirror; after all, how could he hope to protect the stone without understanding the object it would ultimately be placed inside? Dumbledore wasn’t certain that Harry Potter was the prophesied one. Meanwhile, Neville Longbottom seemed an unlikely candidate as well. After the third night passed without Harry’s visitation to the mirror, Dumbledore resolved to check on him discreetly. To his astonishment, he found only the faintest traces suggesting that Harry had ever been under the charm. The boy had detected the cloak's compulsion and dispelled it somehow. Slightly unsettled yet undeterred, Dumbledore considered that a more subtle compulsion should do the trick, and he discreetly cast a new charm on Harry during lunch. This one would take a couple of days to take effect, granting the headmaster some much-needed rest that night. ~/ *** \~ On December 30th, while working on his Potions homework before dinner, Harry realized he needed to visit the library for some ingredients listed in the larger tomes. He grabbed his trunk and set off for the library, but after pausing for dinner, he discovered he couldn’t finish his essay before Madam Pince locked the library until January 2nd. Although he was close to completing his work, Harry deemed it unreasonable to delay finishing it for a couple more days. With no access to the books he needed—Madam Pince didn’t allow books to be checked out—he was uncertain what to do… Or rather, could he employ the invisibility cloak to sneak back into the library and finish his work? It seemed a clever idea, so he decided to give it a try. Completely absorbed in his work, Harry lost track of time and after several hours realized he was well past curfew. As he prepared to leave, cloaked in invisibility, he spotted Professor Snape patrolling the library. Moving as quietly as he could, he edged towards the exit. Luck seemed to elude him this night as he discovered Filch waiting outside with his cat. Unsure if he could slip by them undetected, Harry opted to bide his time, hoping they would move elsewhere. He began wandering through the darkened corridors of the castle, almost as if his feet were leading him. Before long, he found himself in an unused classroom piled high with desks and chairs against the walls, and drawing his gaze was a grand mirror, stretching to the ceiling, gleaming in an ornate gold frame, balanced on clawed feet. An inscription adorned its top, “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.” At first glance, the text seemed unintelligible, but as Harry focused, he realized it was English—just jumbled, with spaces rearranged. "I show not your face, but your heart's desire." He whispered the inscription in awe... Intrigued by what his own heart might desire, he stepped before the mirror. The reflection that greeted him took his breath away. The mirrored version of himself looked to be around eighteen years old and held a young woman in his arms, her features blurred but her hair depicted as blonde. Flanking them were two adults: a striking red-haired woman with bright green eyes—just like his own—and a tall, thin man who, if not for the hazel eyes and slightly graying hair, could pass for an older Harry. The couple waved cheerfully, while the girl nestled closer to mirrored Harry’s chest. “Mom… Dad…” Harry breathed, finally recognizing who the adults were. Though he had never seen any photographs, the descriptions provided by Hagrid and other professors made it easy for him to connect the dots. As Harry glanced back into the mirror, his reflection had transformed. Now, a couple of older adults stood behind his parents, presumably his paternal grandparents—his grandfather resembling his father without the glasses and appearing older. Alongside them, another couple, likely his mother's parents, graced the scene as well—his maternal grandfather with dark brown hair beginning to gray alongside a pretty woman with reddish locks. In the shadows loomed older versions of Neville, Hermione, the chasers, and professors McGonagall and Flitwick, with Hagrid too. Buried in shadows at the back were additional figures he couldn't recognize. “Family and friends...” Harry whispered. “That’s what my heart desires most.” Suddenly, he was jolted back to reality by the sound of someone settling onto a desk. Whipping around, he spotted the headmaster seated in the corner. “So, you have discovered the wonders of the Mirror of Erised,” Dumbledore said, rising to greet him. “S-Sir... I didn’t see you there,” Harry stammered, half fearing the old man would reprimand him for being out after hours. “It’s amusing how being invisible can make one nearsighted,” Dumbledore replied with a gentle smile. “You’ve grasped the significance of the mirror; it shows our heart's deepest and most desperate desires. Given your lack of knowledge about your family, you see them here in the reflection. Though they may be gone, they live on in your heart. And while a family of your own is a dream worth pursuing, this mirror offers neither wisdom nor truth. I implore you to avoid seeking it again; after all, countless individuals have squandered their lives fixated in front of it, and I wouldn’t wish for my student to become one of them.” Harry nodded. “Very well. Why don’t you don that admirable cloak again and head to bed?” Dumbledore thought privately, “I’m relieved that his desire is family and friends. The world wouldn’t survive if he followed in Tom Riddle’s footsteps.” ~/ *** \~ Lying in his bed later, Harry pondered the strange path that had led him to the mirror in the first place. It struck him as odd that he had wandered so far from the dormitory, prompting him to suspect it might be another result of a compulsion—likely the one that had been placed on him and not just the cloak. He quickly cast a magic canceller on himself once more, releasing another wisp of magic into the air. “That old…!” Harry cursed softly as he realized that the headmaster had orchestrated the entire mirror encounter. It would take time before he could trust Dumbledore fully again |
Lofty breeze chapter 8 . 11/1 To everyone's surprise, the following months of the school year were surprisingly calm and uneventful. The subjects grew a bit more challenging compared to the previous semester, but with Hermione and Neville's help, Harry found them manageable. Draconica's occasional, albeit mostly silent, assistance also contributed to their success. The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff went smoothly as well. Aside from Professor Snape being the referee—an unsettling thought—the match lacked any dramatic incidents, such as out-of-control brooms. Gryffindor emerged victorious, though Harry acknowledged that the only real competitor from Hufflepuff was their seeker, Cedric Diggory. This period of tranquility gave Harry ample opportunity to contemplate the Philosopher's Stone and its presence at Hogwarts. After much reflection, he deduced that the stone—more likely a fake, considering Nicolas Flamel wouldn’t willingly part with the real one—was a lure. It dawned on him that Dumbledore might be using it to attract someone influenced by Lord Voldemort's spirit. Moreover, he couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore had almost disclosed its whereabouts during the opening feast, as if he expected a student to step in and safeguard it. Deep in thought about why all this was happening during this school year, Harry concluded that Dumbledore might want him to be the one to protect the stone. He also realized that Neville's situation mirrored his own in some ways. Both boys had parents who were significant obstacles to Voldemort, were attacked at fifteen months old, and lost their parents—although Neville's parents remained alive but in a magical coma, never referred to as deceased by him. Furthermore, both were born within twenty-four hours at the end of July 1980. This led Harry to consider the possibility that Dumbledore might have believed it was Neville's destiny to save the stone from Voldemort’s spirit. With all this in mind, Harry confided in Neville about the peculiar happenings at Hogwarts. He felt it was essential to include Hermione as well, knowing she'd eventually discover the truth. Although Hermione couldn't directly intervene due to her Muggle-born status, Neville vowed to reach out to his grandmother, who sat on the board of governors, for assistance. Harry also contemplated contacting Nicolas Flamel, though he suspected the old alchemist would be difficult to reach. ~/ *** \~ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore felt quite relieved about the ward he had put in place last summer, which scanned outgoing letters for specific phrases—like "Sorcerer's Stone" or "Philosopher's Stone." He was grateful that both Harry and Neville had unraveled the mystery surrounding the hidden object on the third floor. The last thing the world needed was foolish heroes. However, he wasn't pleased that neither of them wanted to operate according to his plan; he expected one of them to handle the matter solo without involving adults. Altering Harry's letter to Flamel was a relatively simple task. Flamel's residence was heavily protected, and Dumbledore merely had to label Harry's letter as unwanted, ensuring it would not reach its intended recipient. Adjusting Neville's letter was more complicated since it needed to be delivered. The headmaster reconfigured Neville's request to his grandmother so that instead of discussing the Philosopher's Stone at the upcoming governors' meeting, she would ask for more supplies for the Longbottom greenhouses. He also implanted a subtle compulsion to ensure she would respond favorably to her grandson. Thankfully, Augusta was known for her succinct communication style. Once he had finished modifying the letters, Dumbledore sealed them back up, erasing any signs of tampering before sending them off with his owls. He felt guilty about interfering with their correspondence, knowing it was a breach of privacy—albeit one he justified as being for the greater good. Content with his reasoning, he popped a lemon drop into his mouth and began reviewing the year's balance sheet for the board. ~/ *** \~ After receiving a reply from his grandmother assuring him she would take action, the Gryffindor trio relaxed, believing the stone's situation would be managed. Encouraged by Hermione, they began studying for upcoming exams, even though they were still a few weeks away. As a result, they could frequently be found in the library, poring over tomes on various magical subjects. From time to time, Draconica joined their study sessions, sharing her insights on the topics at hand while patiently listening to her Gryffindor classmates. Initially, Hermione hesitated to allow a Slytherin into their group, but given Draconica's scholarly demeanor and her respectful attitude towards Muggle-borns—despite her lack of knowledge about the Muggle world—and Harry's endorsement, Hermione ultimately let her join as an unofficial member of their study team. On March 20, while the trio was diligently following Hermione's study schedule focused on Transfiguration—since Draconica was set to have her own study session in the dungeons later that evening—Hedwig finally returned after nearly two weeks from delivering Harry's letter to Nicolas Flamel. The letter was still fastened to her leg, unopened. While this outcome was expected, Harry felt a surge of disappointment at the missed opportunity to communicate with the alchemist. After giving a weary Hedwig some owl treats and letting her rest in the owlery, he turned back to his Transfiguration book, only to notice Hagrid emerging from the restricted section of the library, carrying a few books. "Did you notice that Hagrid's checking out more books?" Harry mentioned, recalling that they had seen him do the same thing the past few days. "We are in school, Harry," Hermione replied. "Just because he's the keeper of keys doesn't mean he can't study for self-improvement. I heard he wants to be the Care for Magical Creatures professor when the current one retires. Of course, he'd be reading." "That's not what I'm getting at," Harry countered. "Did you see the titles of those books? They're all about dragons." "Dragons are fascinating creatures," Neville said. "They provide ingredients for numerous magical items." Harry nodded in agreement, recalling the dragon heartstring core in his own wand. "Sure, but some of those books were about breeding dragons," he pointed out. This caught the attention of both Hermione and Neville. "Dragon breeding is illegal in Britain!" Neville blurted. "The Ministry actively tries to catch wild dragons and relocate them to reserves—if I remember correctly, the closest one is in Romania. I think one of Ron's older brothers works there—wasn't it Charlie?" "Why would Hagrid be reading books on dragon breeding?" Hermione inquired. "Do you think he acquired an egg somehow?" "It’s not like you’ll run into a mysterious stranger with a dragon egg in his pocket at the Hog's Head," Neville mentioned with a chuckle. "You’d have better luck seeing Professor Snape cracking up at a joke." Still, Harry insisted, "Don’t you think we should check on Hagrid if he’s reading about dragons?" He nodded to the other two, eager to ensure that his first magical friend wasn’t getting into trouble, and also yearning to enjoy the warm, sunny weather outside. Neville took a moment to finish writing down a sentence before agreeing. The Gryffindor trio made their way to Hagrid’s hut, but it took some time to reach the entrance. Once there, Harry knocked on the door, which was met with an enthusiastic bark from Fang, Hagrid's boarhound. "Who's there?" Hagrid called from inside. "Fang, quiet!" The half-giant cracked the door open slightly and smiled upon seeing the trio. "Oh, it’s you lot! Come in!" He swung the door wide, inviting them in. "Tea? Cakes?" The trio filed into the hut, quickly realizing that it was uncomfortably warm inside. Harry looked around and soon spotted a large bluish egg resting atop the flames of the stove. "Hey, Hagrid, what's that?" Harry asked, pointing at the egg. "Where? There's nothing there!" Hagrid exclaimed, moving to block their view of the stove. Unfortunately, they had already caught sight of it. Sighing in defeat, Hagrid confessed, "All right... I won it in a game of cards a couple of nights ago at the ‘Hog's Head’ bar. The bloke I was playing against seemed glad to be rid of it." The trio exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and disbelief. "What do you plan to do with it?" Harry probed, as he and his friends settled onto Hagrid's bed. "I've been reading about it... you know, 'Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit' and others... It's a Norwegian Ridgeback egg..." Hagrid launched into a detailed explanation of how to care for the dragon once it hatched. "Hagrid, you're living in a wooden hut! Keeping a fire-breathing dragon here doesn’t seem like a wise idea," Hermione interjected, trying to approach the topic diplomatically. Hagrid, however, didn’t seem to take her seriously. They attempted to explain the legal implications of breeding dragons, though Hagrid remained unconvinced. Eventually, Hermione proposed a compromise: Hagrid could keep the egg until it hatched, provided the young dragon recognized him as its owner, after which they would arrange for it to be sent to a dragon reserve—most likely the Romanian one—to join other dragons. Reluctantly, Hagrid agreed. Now, it fell to the trio to figure out how to contact the dragon reserve about picking up the small dragon. ~/ *** \~ Given the strained relationship between Harry and Ron, he knew he couldn't ask him for help. Percy was also out of the question; the prefect was so uptight about rules it was likely he'd immediately report Hagrid. That left Harry with one option: seeking the infamous Weasley twins. Finding the twins when they weren't in Gryffindor Tower or at Quidditch practice was quite a challenge, but Harry finally managed to track them down after dinner on Saturday night. "Hello, Harrikins! What brings you to our humble little corner?" the twins asked in perfect synchrony, as soon as Harry led them to a discreet nook near the kitchens. "I need your assistance," Harry replied, prompting mischievous grins from both twins. "Are we pranking someone?" one asked, only for the other to follow up with, "Or do you need advice on capturing the heart of a lovely lady?" Blushing slightly, Harry shook his head. "No, it’s something serious." The twins dropped their jovial demeanor and asked, "What is it?" "One of your older brothers works at a dragon reserve, right?" Harry queried, and they nodded. "Could you ask him to help us with a fire-breathing problem? The egg should hatch in about a month." The twins exchanged glances. "Charlie said he’d be home at the end of April. A few of his colleagues are visiting London. We'll write to him about your little situation, and hopefully, he can swing by to pick up the dragon." "What kind of dragon is it?" one twin asked. "Hagrid said it’s a Norwegian Ridgeback, but I guess we'll have to confirm that once it hatches," Harry explained. "That's a tricky dragon, Harrikins," one twin said. "But don’t worry; we'll make sure our brother helps you with this little dilemma." "Thanks, guys!" Harry said, watching the twins slip back into their scheming as he sought out Hermione and Neville to update them on the plan to enlist the twins’ help in contacting Charlie. ~/ *** \~ Charlie Weasley replied surprisingly quickly. Just a week later, Harry received a letter with instructions on where and when to meet him and his team to deliver the baby dragon, along with detailed steps for preparing it for transport to the Romanian reserve. Harry shared this information with Hagrid, who, while weeping at the thought of saying goodbye to a dragon he hadn’t even seen hatch yet, began constructing a transport box. Meanwhile, the trio kept watch over the egg in the hut as instructed, even though hatching still felt far off. As March transitioned into April, the weather improved, albeit foreshadowing a hefty load of homework. Harry, Neville, and Hermione spent much of their free time between the library—studying for exams—and Hagrid’s hut, awaiting the egg’s hatching. On April 19, during lunch, Hagrid sent a message to say that the dragon was about to hatch and invited them to be present. When the dragon finally emerged, it proved to be quite small—approximately twenty inches long with a wingspan of about three feet—and it was a female; the absence of distinct markings confirmed this. The little dragon appeared to bond with Hagrid, even breathing a tiny flame that singed his beard! The subsequent nine days were exhausting as the trio and Hagrid tried their best to keep the growing dragon hidden. On the evening of April 28, Hagrid used special food and a potion to lull Norberta—the name they’d given her—to sleep before placing her in the transportation box. They covered it with Harry's invisibility cloak and levitated it to the Astronomy Tower, where Charlie and his team waited to collect Norberta at midnight. As the trio was quietly returning to their dorm, they nearly collided with Professor McGonagall, but thankfully, she remained oblivious to their late-night adventure. |
Lofty breeze chapter 9 . 11/1 May arrived, bringing with it the final Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The game was long and grueling, played under less-than-ideal weather conditions. However, in a thrilling conclusion, Harry managed to catch the Golden Snitch just before the opposing seeker could, clinching a third victory for the Gryffindor team. With three wins and a substantial points tally, the Gryffindor House claimed the Quidditch Cup—a first for them in several years, much to the delight of Professor McGonagall, their head of house. Unfortunately for Gryffindor, the silver-and-green-clad Slytherins took the defeat poorly, and Professor Snape wasted no time in making life miserable for anyone not wearing Slytherin colors during potions class, quickly negating the hundred points Gryffindor had just earned. The second week of May marked the start of the end-of-year exams. Harry felt confident that he and his friends, including Draconica, were well-prepared, and he was right: the exams proved to be relatively simple. Admittedly, Potions and History of Magic were a struggle for Harry, largely due to the professors rather than the subjects themselves. On the Monday of the final week of May, exam results were released. As expected—and much to the dismay of the Ravenclaws—Hermione topped the list for first-year students. Draconica placed fifth, while Harry and Neville shared an impressive eleventh place. Not too shabby, all things considered. ~/ *** \~ With only a short time left in the school year, a certain dark spirit, parasitizing the back of Quirinus Quirrell’s head, was determined to secure a particular stone. The defenses established by the headmaster around the stone were straightforward to circumvent, but the stone was concealed within a powerful magical object that the spirit was at a loss to handle. It knew the Philosopher's Stone was hidden inside the Mirror of Erised, but it had no idea how to retrieve it, and destroying the mirror was out of the question since that could destroy the stone as well. "We need to enlist some help..." the dark spirit hissed. "Potter would be perfect; his demise at my hands would announce my return to the world." Quirrell nodded in agreement. "I concur, master, but Potter isn’t foolish enough to come here willingly. We must devise a plan to draw him down." Quirrell replied. The dark spirit fell silent for a moment. "He's always with that Mudblood. If we capture her, Potter will come to rescue her, and we can seize him then. It would be even more satisfying to eliminate both Potter and a Mudblood." It hissed to its host. "I take it you wish for the girl to remain alive until you’ve dealt with Potter?" Quirrell inquired. After receiving a positive reply from the parasite, the professor began weaving intricate patterns with his wand. Moments later, the stone floor before him shifted, and a humanoid figure, towering nearly three meters tall, rose from it. By the time the golem was fully formed, Quirrell was breathing heavily—creating a golem was exhausting, and enhancing it to move silently was no small feat. Not wanting to waste his master's time, Quirrell quickly drank a potion to replenish some of his strength and guided the golem through the various traps protecting the stone to the corridor on the third floor. From there, the animated stone creature would have to manage on its own… Hopefully, it would follow orders... ~/ *** \~ Hermione was walking back to Gryffindor Tower after another study session in the library—"You should take a break; it’s the end of the school year!" Neville had told her—when she sensed something ominous approaching from behind. Turning, she was confronted by a colossal stone 'statue' advancing toward her. Instinctively, she screamed and began casting the most powerful hexes and jinxes at the golem while desperately trying to escape. However, the animated monster was both fast and seemingly invincible to her spells. Trying to run and fight simultaneously proved disastrous as Hermione inadvertently took a wrong turn, finding herself lost in an abandoned classroom rather than the safety of the Gryffindor common room. Despite her impressive magical effort for a first-year, her spells failed to even leave a mark on the stone golem, and she was quickly cornered and knocked unconscious by its punch. Lifting the unconscious girl, the golem began to march back down the corridor on the third floor to where its creator awaited. ~/ *** \~ Harry and Neville grew increasingly worried as the hours passed without a word from Hermione. She never skipped meals without good reason, and it was highly unusual for her not to show up for dinner. Curiously, the headmaster was also absent, a rarity—they knew no Wizengamot sessions lasted this long, especially not on a day like today. Perhaps he was simply enjoying a quiet meal in his office? Professor Quirrell’s absence had become somewhat routine over the past month, and Professor McGonagall was preoccupied with her duties as Deputy Headmistress. Suddenly, one of the school owls swooped in through the Great Hall's window, landing in front of the two Gryffindor boys. Receiving a letter this late was uncommon but not unheard of, so they retrieved the note tied to the owl’s leg. As they opened the message, they found it written in large, irregular letters with dark maroon ink: "Potter, if you want your friend back alive, go to the right-hand corridor on the third floor. I’ll be waiting." Harry and Neville exchanged glances, weighing the seriousness of the note. Harry scrutinized the letter again, noticing something unsettling about the ink. "That’s blood," he whispered, catching Neville’s attention. "It’s written in blood. Someone must have cut their finger to write this… and I’m worried it’s Hermione's." Neville paled, concern for Hermione flooding his expression. "We need to tell Professor McGonagall right now." Harry nodded, and the two friends sprinted out of the Great Hall, heading directly to their head of house’s office. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall was there, sifting through paperwork as they entered. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom, I trust you have a good reason for interrupting my duties. I shan't take points from Gryffindor this late in the school year without just cause." Clearly, the professor wasn’t in the best mood. "Here." Instead of explaining, Harry simply handed her the note. The frown that deepened on her face as she read confirmed that their interruption had merit. "I see…" she said after a moment. "While this certainly appears dire, I doubt it is anything more than an attempt to trouble you, Mr. Potter. However, I will ask the castle's portraits and house-elves to search for Ms. Granger. If she isn't found within the hour, I will dispatch professors and prefects to locate her. Rest assured, the perpetrator will be punished harshly." Harry and Neville exchanged worried looks; they weren't reassured by McGonagall's response. As they exited her office, Neville insisted they had to go find Hermione themselves, emphasizing that not only was she Harry's friend, but she was also his. The two boys dashed up to Gryffindor Tower to grab Harry’s invisibility cloak—who knew when it might come in handy—before racing down to the third floor and approaching the forbidden corridor. They paused at the door to catch their breath. "Ready, mate?" Neville asked. Harry nodded, steeling himself for what lay ahead. The two pointed their wands at the door’s lock. "I hope this works," Neville said, casting the unlocking spell. The door creaked open, revealing the sounds of three loud snores and the soft melody from a charmed lyre. Peering inside, Harry spotted Fluffy, Hagrid's three-headed dog, snoozing beside the lyre and an open trapdoor. "We should go down through that trapdoor…" Harry said, peering into the darkness. "But it looks pretty deep." "Your stone could help," Neville suggested, picking one up from the floor nearby. "Toss it in and listen for the sound when it hits." Harry obeyed, hurling the stone into the void. They listened intently, but thirty seconds passed without a sound. "It’s either incredibly deep, or something soft is down there. Let's hope it’s the latter," Harry declared, steeling himself. "This must be the craziest thing I’ve ever done." He leaped into the unknown. He plummeted for several seconds, landing on something that felt soft yet slippery underneath him. Tentacles? Looking up, he noticed the trapdoor hole was minuscule from this angle. "You can jump now!" Harry called down, and moments later, he heard Neville's yelp as he descended. "I never want to do this again!" Neville gasped as he landed beside him. "Uh, Harry, did you know we’re sitting on Devil's Snare?" Glancing down, Harry saw the plant’s tendrils were already ensnaring their legs. "Oh no! I knew it couldn't be that easy. Lumos Solem!" Thanks to Hermione's rigorous study sessions, Harry remembered that the Devil's Snare hated light. The plant recoiled into a dark corner of the chamber as the two boys tumbled to the hard floor below. It took them a moment to gather their bearings before moving forward through the lone door in this new chamber. As they approached, they heard a cacophony of fluttering and the sounds of machinery. When they entered, their eyes adjusted to the bright light. The room was vast and rectangular, with two doors at opposite ends, each flanked by small balconies connected by a narrow bridge. Below, the floor was littered with deadly spikes, and an array of polished marble cubes moved rhythmically in the room, producing the booming sounds they had heard earlier. A swarm of winged keys darted just below the ceiling. "What now?" Neville asked, tossing a small stone into the abyss below, where it plummeted with a thud. "I reckon we need to catch a key without falling onto the spikes," Harry mused. “But first, we’ll have to cross the room.” Navigating the narrow bridge proved tricky, particularly for Neville, who found himself crawling in fear of the deadly drop beneath him. They finally made it to the other side and faced the exit. "It looks like we’ll need a large silver key, possibly with an ornate handle," Neville reasoned, examining the lock further. Harry searched the flock of keys and soon spotted one that matched Neville's description. It had a broken wing, which made it less nimble. "Here goes nothing," Harry said, jumping onto the nearest marble cube. The surface was slipperier than it appeared, but he managed to keep his balance. As he leaped from cube to cube, he finally positioned himself for the catch. After a tense minute, he sprang forward and grasped the key. Immediately, the remaining keys turned aggressively toward him. Reacting quickly, Harry bounded back toward the balcony where Neville waited, dodging the furious swarm. Unfortunately, during his last leap, he slipped and felt the sickening sensation of falling. He hurled the key to Neville, who caught it just before it could soar away. As Harry braced for impact, he miraculously hit an invisible barrier just above the spikes, bouncing back up and landing ungraciously on the balcony. "You okay?" Neville asked as he dragged Harry through the door. "Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s keep moving." They pressed on, encountering a giant chessboard populated by life-sized pieces. Rather than engage in a game, they skillfully navigated the edge of the board to bypass the obstacle. The next room they entered was filled with a foul stench, unmistakably the odor of a troll. Fortunately, the massive creature was dead. With that terrifying sight behind them, they moved onward. The following chamber was circular and small. In its center sat a table adorned with seven vials filled with various liquids, a scroll, and a key. Upon touching the key, the boys triggered a trap that conjured walls of liquid, sealing off their only means of escape—the doors they had just entered through. Neville studied the walls composed of clear and yellowish liquids, his brow furrowing. "These are contact poisons. I bet at least one of these vials has a potion for protection." Indeed, the riddle inscribed in the scroll confirmed that one of the vials contained an antidote to pass through the wall blocking their escape while another would protect against the yellow potion. The remaining vials included two containing wine and three with deadly poisons. Solving the riddle in Hermione's absence proved a significant challenge, but after ten minutes of deliberation, they were confident that the smallest vial held the antidote, albeit enough for only one person. "What now?" Harry asked, aware that only one could continue onward. "You should go, mate," Neville suggested. "You’re a better wizard with a wand than I am." He paused thoughtfully. "I’ll go back for help." Harry shook his head. "No, Neville, you’re a great wizard, and an even better friend. But you’re right—it has to be me who goes. The kidnapper wants me, and who knows what he’ll do to Hermione if you go instead." With a reluctant nod, Neville agreed, and Harry drank the potion, bracing himself. He stepped through the barrier of yellow poison, inserted the key into the door, and pushed it open... |
Lofty breeze chapter 10 . 11/1 As the door creaked open before Harry, he was greeted by a brightly lit corridor lined with light-brown marble tiles, leading to a grand circular room supported by eight towering pillars. Despite its location deep underground, the room was flooded with warm sunlight filtering through the windows. Taking a deep breath, the green-eyed wizard stepped forward, flinching slightly as the door behind him slammed shut with a resonant thud. As he neared the end of the corridor, Harry's gaze fell upon a pit at the center of the room, where the Mirror of Erised stood ominously. Other than the mirror, the chamber appeared void of life. However, as Harry approached the pit, a stone wall suddenly surged up behind him, sealing off his escape. "You’ve shown up, Potter," a voice dripped with contempt for his family name. "In the end, you’re nothing but a foolish, attention-seeking half-blood Gryffindor, eager to prove your worth. But fret not; your mudblood is still alive. I want you to witness my master torturing her to death, after which you’ll assist him in reclaiming his body." 'So, a supporter of Lord Voldemort,' Harry thought, scanning the room in search of the hidden speaker. He suspected the wizard was using an invisibility charm; it seemed impossible for a fully-grown man to hide so effectively behind one of the pillars. Suddenly, a red beam shot toward him with alarming speed. Thanks to his dodging practice from Quidditch, he narrowly evaded the curse. With a clearer idea of where it originated, he shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" The unseen assailant effortlessly deflected the spell with a shimmering, semi-transparent shield and retaliated with another crimson curse. "I’m surprised," the voice taunted. "How could the ‘great’ Harry Potter defeat the greatest wizard on earth a decade ago, while now you can't harm a mere servant of the Dark Lord? You even needed that traitorous Snape to save you during a Quidditch match!" As Harry dodged yet another curse, he retaliated with an array of first-year hexes. Realizing the young Gryffindor was too agile to hit with a spell, the invisible adversary shifted tactics, summoning a flock of sharp-beaked birds to swarm him. While Harry struggled to fend off the relentless avians, he was suddenly ensnared by a curse that manifested into red-hot chains. They bound him without causing significant harm, but rendered him immobile. His wand tumbled from his grasp, clattering to the stone floor. Once restrained, his assailant dropped the invisibility charm, revealing himself as Quirinus Quirrell, adorned in his signature turban. “Ah, so it’s you,” Harry hissed through the pain of his bindings. Quirrell feigned indignation. "How could you suspect poor stuttering Professor Quirrell?" he asked, overemphasizing his (fake) stutter. He quickly reverted to his nefarious facade, channeling Voldemort’s sinister aura. “Now, tell me how to retrieve the stone from this blasted mirror, Potter. I can see myself presenting it to my Lord, but I can’t grasp it! Reveal what I must do, or I will start torturing your mudblood!” With a flick of his wand, Quirrell revealed Hermione, unconscious and bound by stone rings against the wall opposite the entrance. Harry noticed her chest moving slightly, a small reassurance that she was alive. “I don’t know,” Harry replied honestly, as he had not yet discovered the mirror's final protection. Quirrell responded with despair and cast a torturous spell at Hermione, causing her to momentarily stop breathing. “Think again, Potter,” the servant of the Dark Lord warned, renewing his aim at Hermione. “I don’t know,” Harry repeated, gritting his teeth against the pain. He understood that pleading with Quirrell would only lead to further harm for Hermione, having lived with a cruel man for most of his life. The antagonist, unsatisfied with the answer, sent a purplish curse that left numerous cuts streaking across Hermione's upper body. "This is interesting," Quirrell sneered. "Who would have thought our heroic Gryffindor enjoys inflicting suffering on his friends? Let’s see how you fare when my curses are directed at you..." He unleashed a deep-red curse that thrust pain through Harry, sharper than anything he had ever experienced; it felt as if white-hot knives were stabbing him from all angles. The scream that erupted from Harry's throat surprised even Quirrell, who wondered how the boy's voice hadn’t brought the ceiling crashing down on them. Yet Quirrell had to relent, needing the boy to maintain his sanity until Harry would provide the coveted answer about how to obtain the stone. “Once again, Potter, how do I retrieve the stone?” Each word dripped with malice, designed to instill terror. "I... don’t... know..." Harry gasped, fighting for breath. Regrettably, his response sent Quirrell into a fury. "Why you? Cursed brat!" Quirrell was about to unleash another curse when an unexpected, hissing voice interrupted: “Stop.” The command was low, radiating pure evil, causing Harry's scar to throb painfully. To Harry’s shock, the voice emerged from Quirrell himself. “The boy speaks the truth.” “Yes, master,” Quirrell stammered, this time genuinely. He turned back to Harry. “How is it that the great Dumbledore didn’t confide in the Boy Who Lived regarding the stone’s concealment?” “That man is merely a manipulative old coot,” Harry replied, still wincing from the chains' pressure. Quirrell raised an eyebrow. “What do I hear? Is the golden Gryffindor at odds with the leader of the Light?” Quirrell began a tirade, but the hissing voice silenced him. “Quirrell! Use the boy to extract the stone from this blasted mirror!” it ordered, and Quirrell's body involuntarily tensed with the command. "Of course, master." With a wave of his wand, Quirrell levitated Harry in front of the mirror. "What do you see, Potter? Do you see how to claim the stone from it?” He compelled Harry to gaze directly into the mirror. Even through the haze of pain, Harry saw the reflection show him what it had before: his family. This time, however, the mysterious girl in his arms reached under his robes and withdrew a blood-red stone the size of a matchbox. The reflection smiled as she returned the stone to his pocket, and Harry felt a weight in his robe's inner pocket. “What do you see, Potter?” Quirrell pressed again. “I see my family,” Harry said, still in agony. Quirrell opened his mouth, ready to rage, but the sinister voice intervened again. “Family, you say?” it hissed, igniting Harry's scar with sharper pain. “Potter. If you tell me how to obtain the stone and pledge your service, I, Lord Voldemort, promise to bring back your parents.” “Not a chance!” Harry declared, defiance rocketing through his pain. “Then you shall die today, Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “Quirrell, search him! He is hiding something!” Quirrell nodded and approached, his wand drawn. He rifled through Harry’s pockets, first searching his pants, then the outer pockets of his robes, to no avail. “Aha!” he exclaimed, reaching for Harry's inner pocket. Determined to protect the stone, Harry unleashed a surge of accidental magic that loosened his right hand's chains. Grasping Quirrell's wrist, the two were engulfed in pain—Harry from the scar, and Quirrell screaming in agony as the young wizard's grip burned. Ultimately, Quirrell managed to wrench his wrist free, leaving Harry gasping for breath, while the chains, now losing their heat, returned to a dull gray, still holding him but no longer causing suffering. Looking up, Harry saw the aftermath of their struggle—a patch of Quirrell’s skin was scorched, revealing gray, decaying flesh underneath. “Master, it hurts!” Quirrell cried, but the Dark Lord was uninterested. "Fetch me the stone, you worthless wizard!" Voldemort hissed. Quirrell, albeit begrudgingly, took a step closer to retrieve the stone from Harry's pocket. But before he could, Harry instinctively seized Quirrell's wrist again, and the familiar agony returned, paralyzing Quirrell momentarily. In response, Harry gripped tighter around Quirrell's neck, eliciting a scream of pure terror as Voldemort's essence struggled to maintain control. The professor’s body withered under Harry’s touch until, in one final surge of agony, Quirrell’s head hung limply, severed from his neck, and the chains binding Harry vanished. For a heartbeat, nothing stirred. Then, a sickly black and gray smoke erupted from the professor’s head, swirling into the shape of a specter with menacing red eyes and a serpentine visage. “You’ve destroyed my host, Potter. Yet, I will still claim the stone,” it hissed before lunging toward Harry, attempting to possess him. Pain exploded within Harry as Voldemort tried to invade his body, but somehow he found the strength to push the entity back out. The last sight before unconsciousness took him was the specter of Voldemort retreating, swearing vengeance in its slithery voice. - Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was deep in contemplation. On one hand, it appeared that young Harry possessed the power to thwart the latest Dark Lord. On the other, Harry did not align with Dumbledore’s image of a destined hero. While the green-eyed boy had risked his life for his friend and the stone—albeit reluctantly—he was far too independent and cunning for the old wizard's liking. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, seemed easier to mold into the hero Dumbledore envisioned, and despite his shy demeanor, he appeared a better leader than Harry. Plus, as a pureblood, Neville would draw more supporters. Ultimately, it was Harry who had again thwarted Voldemort, and thus he, not Neville, must remain the chosen one. With plans now centered around this new assumption, Dumbledore knew he needed to secure his position in the wizarding world—should the incident with the stone become public knowledge, it would undermine the trust the wizarding community had in him. This would hinder his ability to guide the chosen one towards his destiny. Therefore, the headmaster resolved to modify a few memories. First, Hermione. Her memory needed to be altered to erase all recollection of the stone, as she hadn’t seen any of the so-called protections surrounding it. Removing the golem from her memory would be wise too. Next, Neville would pose a bigger challenge. The boy had been present with Harry and had seen too much; Dumbledore was fortunate to prevent Neville from revealing their location to Minerva. The old man hesitated at the thought of tampering with a staff member's memory, yet if the Greater Good necessitated it, he would have to comply. Ultimately, the young Longbottom would need to forget all knowledge of the stone and everything that lay behind the door on the third floor’s right-hand corridor. Finally, Harry himself—obliviating him was a last resort. The boy could tell his friends the truth, and if they retained memories inconsistent with Dumbledore's narrative, inquiries would inevitably arise. Although there were oaths to prevent tales from circulating, Dumbledore feared that Harry, being shrewd, would find a loophole to divulge whatever he suspected. The boy was too clever to inadvertently bind himself to a wizard’s oath without grasping its implications. As Dumbledore devised a cover story for the day’s events, he found inspiration in the note Harry and Neville had handed to Minerva before embarking on their rescue mission. The tale would weave a narrative of a Death Eater seeking vengeance on Harry by kidnapping his muggleborn friend. The professor, Quirrell, would emerge as a tragic hero, killed while defending the school. After the Death Eater dispatched Quirrell, he would have attempted to finish the boy but was thwarted by Dumbledore, who would arrive moments too late. The ensuing battle would culminate in an explosion, narrowly avoided only due to Dumbledore’s protective magic. With a plan in place, Dumbledore would descend to the hospital wing to make his modifications and, perhaps, suggest to Minerva to temper her reprimands towards Harry and Neville—after all, though their actions had been reckless, they were born of loyalty to their friend. They had shown true Gryffindor courage, even if they needed to channel it with a bit more caution in the future. - For the ensuing days, Hogwarts buzzed with gossip about the events involving the 'golden trio' and their time in the hospital wing, as relayed by Dumbledore. Neville, whose memories were altered, corroborated the official narrative. Professor McGonagall penalized Harry and Neville each a hundred points for their reckless actions, having disregarded her authority. However, she later awarded them a hundred points for their bravery in attempting to rescue their friend. As such, Gryffindor retained the lead in the House Cup, though their margin now hung perilously close to Slytherin, who trailed just seven points behind. Hermione was the first to leave the hospital wing, having been swiftly healed by Madam Pomfrey. Treating broken bones and cuts, even those inflicted with dark magic, proved much more manageable than healing the lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse that Harry had endured. Yet, by the end of year feast, Harry too had recovered sufficiently. The feast was as grand as the one on September 1, although many Slytherin students, having lost the House Cup for the first time in seven years, would hardly agree. The Great Hall adorned in the red and gold of Gryffindor sparkled with festivity, celebrated not just by Gryffindors, but applauded by Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—both houses, weary of Slytherin's dominance, cherished this moment of victory. Come morning, the Hogwarts Express would ferry the students back to London, officially ushering in the summer break. |
Lofty breeze chapter 11 . 11/1 "Harry, where are you off to?" Neville asked as he noticed his friend grab something from his trunk and head for the compartment door. Hermione, engrossed in her book, also glanced up to see the green-eyed wizard. "Sorry, I've got something to take care of. I'll be back shortly," Harry replied, rushing out of the compartment. In that brief moment, Hermione caught sight of a hint of color rising to his cheeks. If she weren't so serious, she'd have loved to tease him about it. After closing the door behind him, Harry quickly donned his invisibility cloak—along with a small box of premium chocolates he had just retrieved from his trunk—and began his search for a certain blonde girl he wanted to congratulate. Unlike the first train ride to Hogwarts, when the first-years were scattered, the student body was now divided into small groups within compartments. This made Harry's task of finding Draconica somewhat easier—he knew she often hung out with Greengrass and Tracey Davis—but it also made it more challenging as he’d need to congratulate her in front of them. Navigating through the train cars while under the invisibility cloak proved difficult; he had to weave around students in the corridors. Thankfully, as long as no one spotted him—at least, that's what he hoped—no one would query his whereabouts. He paused at a few compartments along the way to greet his Quidditch teammates, slipping out of sight when necessary. As he moved toward the front of the train, Harry passed by a compartment occupied by Crabbe and Goyle. Clearly, Draconica had sent her would-be 'bodyguards' away, and the two Slytherin boys ended up dozing off in their own compartment during the journey to London. Further along, he spotted the youngest Weasley playing exploding snap with Dean Thomas, both of them devouring snacks. Finally, in the third car from the engine, Harry spotted the familiar blonde witch sitting with Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis. Making his way to the nearest tambour, he slipped off his cloak and tucked it away. He then backtracked to the compartment and knocked on the door. "Do you mind if I take a moment, ladies?" he asked as he pushed the door open. The three girls looked up, surprised by his unexpected presence. Harry noticed Draconica had a charms book on her lap, while Daphne and Tracey were engrossed in a magazine. "Potter?" Daphne said, clearly intrigued. "Alright." Nodding in acknowledgment, Harry stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I know it's generally considered bad form to give gifts early," he began, feeling his cheeks grow warm, "but I'm not sure I can deliver this safely the day after tomorrow, Ms. Malfoy. So… Happy Birthday!" With that, he presented the box of chocolates to Draconica, who looked taken aback. She hadn’t expected a gift from him, especially since she hadn’t mentioned her birthday being on June second, just two days away. "I'll make sure to get you something more substantial when I can go shopping," he added quietly, ensuring only she could hear. Then, addressing the group with a normal tone, he said, "Well, ladies, I won’t take up any more of your time. Enjoy the rest of your ride." With a small bow, he exited their compartment. As the girls discussed his unexpected gesture, Harry returned to where Neville and Hermione were waiting. Unbeknownst to young Harry, Dumbledore had tried to manipulate his relationship with Ms. Malfoy by altering his memories. Even wielding the Elder Wand, the old headmaster’s subtle approach had failed, as he hoped to avoid causing lasting harm to Harry’s mind. After all, the world didn’t need an unstable hero. Dumbledore was not overly concerned, however; if he could keep Harry aligned with the light, Draconica could serve as a spy against dark families and Voldemort when he reemerged. Dumbledore had also sought to subtly shift Harry’s views on himself and his relatives, but when Madam Pomfrey chose that very moment to check on her patients, he could not verify the effectiveness of his efforts. - Augusta Longbottom was torn about recent events at Hogwarts. On one hand, she was frustrated that Neville had fled from the Death Eater attack—a behavior she believed was unworthy of the Longbottom name. On the other hand, had he stayed, he might have faced capture too. Regardless of how much she desired Neville to emulate the bravery of his father and grandfather, he was still just a first-year student. His quick thinking had allowed him to alert the staff in time to save the students from torture or worse. Settling for congratulating Neville on his academic achievements, Augusta mentally resolved to speak with the Board of Governors about getting information from Dumbledore regarding how a Death Eater had infiltrated the school unnoticed. Depending on the headmaster’s response, the Board might need to reconsider Hogwarts’ budget to enhance the castle’s protective wards. - With a clear purpose, Hermione hurried through the barrier separating platform 9 from the Muggle side of King’s Cross Station and immediately spotted her parents waiting for her. After wheeling her trolley to them, she enveloped her mother in a hug, followed by her father—she had missed them dearly since Christmas. “How was your year, Pumpkin?” her father, Dan, inquired once she stepped back from the embrace. They didn’t seem to be aware of the Death Eater incident, and Hermione preferred to keep it that way; revealing it might lead them to pull her from school and away from her friends. “It was good! I ranked first in my year, and…” she began excitedly, but then suddenly remembered the restrictions on performing magic during the summer, which dampened her enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I can’t show you anything aside from my school books.” “Why not, dear?” her mother, Emma, asked. “Well, as you know, the magical world is hidden from… non-magical people, and to keep it that way, there are laws that prevent me from doing any magic in front of… non-magical people,” Hermione explained. “There are exceptions for self-defense, but…” “I understand,” said Dan Granger. “We should have guessed. We knew nothing about magic until Professor McGonagall visited last summer to explain that you’re a witch.” “Now, pumpkin, tell us more about your classes,” Emma suggested, steering the conversation to a lighter topic. Eagerly, Hermione nodded and began sharing stories from her lessons as they all made their way to the parking lot where Dan had parked their car. - Unfortunately for Draconica, her father was not pleased to see her return. The scowl on Lucius Malfoy’s face when he greeted her at the station made that abundantly clear. At least he preserved his family's reputation by keeping their business away from prying eyes… Once inside Malfoy Manor, Lucius commanded one of their house elves to take Draconica's belongings to her room before leading her to his study, with Narcissa trailing quietly behind them. In the study, Lucius settled into his armchair behind a large mahogany desk piled high with neatly organized papers, while Narcissa took a seat in one of the guest chairs, leaving Draconica standing in front of them. “I’ve been informed…” Lucius began, “…that you’ve associated with Potter, Longbottom, and a Muggle-born on several occasions. I initially intended to punish you severely for this breach of decorum, but your mother persuaded me to hear your side first. So, explain yourself, young lady.” It was clear why her father was upset. “Father, you may be aware that this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has underwhelmed,” Draconica replied, and Lucius nodded, sharing her disdain for the headmaster's unfortunate choice. “To receive a proper education, I needed to either self-study extensively or collaborate with a competent student. I chose Potter, who has excelled in this subject and outperformed my housemates. This also affords me an opportunity to align myself with him. Although Potter may not be on our side, he’s no pawn of Dumbledore, and he seems to have his own reasons for resisting the headmaster.” “I see…” her father mused, contemplating how to exploit the rift between Potter and Dumbledore for his own benefit. “But that hardly explains your interactions with the squib and the Muggle-born.” “The Muggle-born witch you mentioned, Granger, currently ranks first in my year. Her origins don’t diminish her abilities; she is an excellent researcher with a remarkable memory. By befriending her, I can ensure I have the resources for my assignments. As long as I benefit academically, I see no issue with being civil.” Draconica paused before adding, “As for Longbottom, the rumors about his capabilities being close to squib status are incorrect. He may struggle with wand work, but he has demonstrated enough magical power to rank in the top ten of the class. Once he inherits the Longbottom Lordship, his political influence will complement his magical power, making it wise to cultivate his trust early. Also, with his top proficiency in Herbology, he is an invaluable resource for my studies.” Lucius sighed, inwardly acknowledging that Narcissa’s influence had successfully crafted a budding politician in their daughter. “Very well, that’s sufficient for now.” He observed Draconica’s face, which betrayed none of her worries. “You may maintain your associations with them, but understand that you must finish the year in fifth place or higher. Should you become a blood traitor, however, the repercussions will be severe.” “Thank you, Father,” Draconica said, bowing slightly. “Is this all?” “Yes, you may leave.” She exited the study with her mother following her, and once they were in the corridor with the door safely closed, Narcissa knelt before her daughter. “Draconica, dear…” Unlike Lucius, her mother had a soft spot for her. “Yes, Mother?” Draconica replied. “Tell me… is there another reason, aside from academics, for your choice to associate with those Gryffindor friends?” Narcissa asked. The momentary slip in Draconica’s composure was enough for her mother to grasp the truth. “I see…” she said with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your father. I remember what it was like to be a young girl in your position… Just be aware that there is a contracted obligation involved.” Draconica nodded. “Thank you, Mother.” But Narcissa remained kneeling. “And… don’t share this with your father, but I encourage you to keep studying with your friends,” she continued. Draconica raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Rumors suggest that Dumbledore is considering hiring Lockhart for your next DADA course. I recall him being nearly at the bottom of our class at Hogwarts… I doubt he achieved half of what he claims in his books.” Draconica nodded, realizing she would have to learn defense independently yet again. “Now, don’t let me take up any more of your summer,” Narcissa said, rising to let her daughter go. Once back in her room, Draconica flopped onto her bed, deep in thought about her feelings for a certain dark-haired Gryffindor. He was just a study partner, surely, but the reaction to her mother’s question suggested otherwise. Did she see him as something more? Apparently, the answer was yes, which troubled her. Determined to suppress any feelings that might spiral out of control, Draconica began practicing her Occlumency to keep her thoughts orderly. - After leaving platform 9, Harry flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. Once he stashed his belongings with Tom the bartender, he ventured into Diagon Alley. The green-eyed wizard had summer plans that required some Muggle currency, so he made his way to Gringotts. There he exchanged a hundred galleons for five hundred pounds—apparently, the exchange rate was consistent. He also took the opportunity to inquire who could access his vault. After learning that only the key holder and those present with him had access, and that the vault was a trust fund that had not been touched until the previous summer, Harry thanked the goblin teller and left the bank. After collecting his belongings from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry headed back to the Dursleys’ house. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt compelled to return, but at least he hoped his relatives would be in a good mood since they wouldn’t have had to pick him up at King’s Cross this time. When Harry finally arrived at number four, Privet Drive, it was already an hour past dinner time. He assumed the family was likely settled in front of the television. Knocking on the door, he heard the heavy footsteps of his uncle approaching. Vernon opened the door and regarded him for a moment before speaking. "It’s you? What are you standing there for? Come in." Harry quickly entered the house. "Now, boy, hand over your things so I can put them away." The young wizard shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a good idea," he replied cautiously. "And why not?" Vernon barked. "I have summer homework I need to complete. If I don't finish it, I could either repeat a year or, worse, be expelled. I can only push for emancipation after passing my first set of exams," Harry lied, attempting to appear convincing. "Do you really want me around longer than necessary?" His uncle’s face flushed deep red. "Very well, boy. Just take your things to your room!" the irate man yelled. "But if I see or hear anything freakish, you’ll be sorry!" Harry nodded, carrying his belongings upstairs. "And make sure your bird doesn’t wake me up! I’ll kill it!" Vernon shouted as Harry made his way up. |
Lofty breeze chapter 12 . 11/1 Harry lay on the uncomfortable bed his relatives had begrudgingly provided him in his own room. He was lost in thought, grappling with an unsettling feeling that something was amiss. He recalled researching a mysterious magical stone during the school year — a stone that, or at least its replica, was supposedly at Hogwarts and in danger. Yet, the specifics eluded him. Adding to his unease were the recurring nightmares he'd experienced at the beginning of summer, where he turned men to ashes with a mere touch. From what little he understood about the workings of the mind, he knew such dreams—particularly the repetitive kind—didn’t appear without reason. But once again, he couldn't grasp what might have triggered them... Unless his subconscious—or perhaps some spell—had wiped his memory of events that transpired when he tried to save Hermione from that Death Eater. To make matters worse, no one had been there to comfort him afterward. Then there was Albus Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t shake off the feeling that he didn’t trust the ancient man, and there had to be a valid reason for that mistrust. Yet, after being rescued from the Death Eater, something had shifted, making him view Dumbledore almost like a second Merlin. Even so, Harry was certain he couldn’t view the headmaster as someone to follow blindly, despite what his mind insisted. There had to be some kind of mind magic at play. As a result, Harry resolved to remain cautious around Dumbledore. Lastly, there were the Dursleys. He found himself feeling an odd sense of obligation to stay with them, even though, as the scion of the noble House of Potter, he could easily have found accommodations elsewhere in the British Isles. It felt as if some compulsion had drawn him back to Privet Drive. His logical side argued for remaining, at least temporarily, to ensure that whoever had manipulated him into returning to his relatives would be satisfied—after all, he didn’t want to risk becoming a mindless drone. Thus, he would have to navigate this unwelcome situation under someone else's control for a while. Turning onto his side, Harry glanced at the book he was currently reading: a tome on human anatomy. He had told the Dursleys that he needed to study hard to escape their house as soon as possible, which had made them bearable—only a few chores per day and plenty of 'free time' to focus on his studies. Completing his summer homework had taken just a couple of days, and with the rest of his two-week stay at Number Four Privet Drive, he was delving into self-study on medicine, a subject he had nearly abandoned amidst the chaos at Hogwarts. Speaking of Hogwarts... another source of concern flared in his mind: Harry hadn’t received any letters from his friends, nor had the ones he sent them garnered responses. He might have suspected the mail wards around his relatives' house were to blame—after all, why hadn’t he received fan mail in the ten years he’d lived with them? However, Hedwig had returned looking worn out a few times, indicating that his mail was intercepted manually, not through magic. Most likely, the individual responsible for that and the one tampering with his mind were two separate actors... Why couldn’t life ever be simple? At least getting to the mall to buy gifts for his friends wouldn’t be too much of a hassle, as he was spending his own money and all his aunt had to do was drive him there during one of her grocery trips. "Boy! Get down here now!" Uncle Vernon yelled from the guest room, breaking into Harry’s musings about finding someone at Diagon Alley to enchant his gifts. With a resigned sigh, he climbed out of bed and ventured downstairs. As it turned out, Uncle Vernon had clients over for dinner and wanted Harry to stay in his room throughout their visit. Harry couldn’t fathom why it took thirty minutes for Vernon to explain that, but he complied nonetheless. When Harry finally returned to his room, he nearly shouted in surprise at what—or rather who—was sitting on his bed. The creature—a house elf—was two feet tall, had greenish skin and large eyes, and wore a tattered pillowcase. As soon as Harry entered, the elf jumped off the bed and bowed so deeply that its nose touched the carpet. “Harry Potter! So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... Such an honor!” the elf squeaked. Harry wasn’t particularly thrilled to have a visitor. “Um... Who are you? What are you doing in my room? And please be quiet,” he said, his voice serious. Dobby stepped back, eyes widening. “Of course... The great Harry Potter wouldn’t know of Dobby... I is Dobby, the house elf, sir, just Dobby.” The creature hesitated for a moment. “Dobby came to... to tell you, sir... It be difficult... Dobby don’t know where to begin...” Harry sighed, knowing this would be a challenge. “Just sit,” he instructed, gesturing to the only chair in the room. Dobby’s eyes widened even further. “Oh, no... Dobby can’t. Dobby not allowed to sit with wizards!” At least the elf seemed to remember to keep his voice down. “But great Harry Potter tells Dobby to sit and... So great Harry Potter, sir!” Still, Dobby took a seat. “What did you want to tell me?” Harry asked, stifling impatience as he sensed the elf was about to ramble again. Dobby looked conflicted, opening his mouth and then trying fruitlessly to hit himself with a lamp. Harry intervened. “What are you doing?” “I almost said bad things about my family... Dobby has to punish himself for it,” the elf explained, leaving Harry bewildered. “Listen, you can punish yourself later,” Harry said sharply, noting Dobby’s frightened reaction. “What 'your' family are you talking about? And why haven’t you told me what you wanted?” Dobby seemed to ease up a bit. “Dobby be talking about the wizarding family he is serving, sir. Dobby be serving them until he dies.” The sadness in the house elf's voice was palpable. It was clear he wasn’t treated well, but also evident he couldn’t leave his family. Considering Dobby had somehow bypassed the wards surrounding the Dursleys' home, it suggested some magical bond between the elf and the family that required him to stay. Harry hoped Dobby was just misfortunate and that not all house elves endured such treatment. “Well…” Harry sighed again as the silence stretched, “what did you come to tell me?” “Dobby be coming to warn the great Harry Potter, sir.” Harry raised an eyebrow; the elf seemed unhinged, and this could be trivial. Yet, it could also be significant. “Okay... what kind of terrible things?” Harry pressed. Dobby appeared torn, wanting to reveal more but seemingly constrained. “You can just nod if I’m right,” Harry offered. After a moment, Dobby nodded reluctantly. Harry sighed again. “And what is going to attack Hogwarts?” “Dobby not knowing what be attacking Hogwarts. But Dobby know something will,” he replied, causing Harry to curse under his breath. “Now you want me to promise not to go? That’s a lot of pressure for a warning,” Harry replied. Sure, Dobby had powers that Harry could hardly comprehend, but he refused to allow himself to be coerced. “But he wants me to make a promise, not an oath…” Harry thought. “If I promise and still go, it won’t be binding. Plus, if I give my word not to go until the students arrive, I’ll just be taking the train, right?” Consciously suppressing a smirk, he feigned a resigned sigh: “Very well, I won’t be going to Hogwarts.” Dobby beamed upon hearing this. “Dobby be so happy! Dobby be able to keep the great Harry Potter safe!” However, his expression turned serious again. “Dobby feels he can give the great Harry Potter his letters back now.” Before Harry could respond, Dobby produced a thick stack of letters from his pillowcase. “So you were the one messing with my mail,” Harry said coldly. “Harry Potter, sir, shouldn’t be angry! Dobby did this for the best. Dobby hoped... hoped that if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten, he wouldn’t want to return to Hogwarts.” Harry struggled to suppress his growing frustration. “Just give me the letters... please.” Dobby erupted into praise of Harry’s kindness but handed the letters over nevertheless. However, as Dobby passed the stack, he noticed a name on one of them, gasping as if he’d seen a ghost. “Dobby be punishing himself most severely... Dobby be interfering with his young mistress’ letters… and the young mistress was always kind to Dobby...” From his frantic reaction, Harry pieced together that this ‘young mistress’—Draconica, perhaps?—was likely someone who treated Dobby far better than the average elf was treated by their families. As Dobby continued lamenting, Harry skimmed through the letters: three were indeed from Draconica, two from Neville, and five more from Hermione, in addition to the seven he had previously attempted to send. Growing weary from listening to the slightly deranged elf, Harry finally decided it was time to send him back home. “Um…” He forced politeness into his tone. “Dobby, not that I don’t enjoy your company, but shouldn’t you head back? What if your family notices you’re gone?” Dobby looked at the alarm clock beside Harry’s bed and gasped. “The great Harry Potter is right. Dobby must return home...” With a quiet pop, the house elf disappeared. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Harry examined the letters before resolving to respond to all of them first thing the next morning. Too tired to continue reading, he decided to wrap up the day early and get some much-needed sleep. ~/ *** \~ Meanwhile, in Hogwarts, a certain old man with far too many titles pondered how to bring magical Britain to the Light side. He felt confident he had control over the ‘Chosen One’ and could guide him toward the Greater Good. Yet, Dumbledore knew he had to proceed with caution, considering Harry's independent streak. With a deep sigh, Albus resumed plotting ways to change the wizarding world for the Greater Good, mentally cataloging backup plans in case he misjudged which boy was truly the 'Chosen One.' Saving the world from darkness was far more complicated than he had anticipated... ~/ *** \~ “Hello, Tom.” Harry greeted as he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron one afternoon in mid-July. “I’d like to rent a room until the end of summer.” The bartender smiled back, handing Harry the key for Room Seven—though it hardly mattered to Harry what the room number was. After thanking him, the young wizard made his way to the room. Much like the room he occupied last summer, this one resembled his space at the Dursleys but was outfitted with far more comfortable furniture and appeared much cozier, albeit a bit sterile, as any good hotel room should be. After settling Hedwig’s cage next to the window so she would have a place to rest, Harry began unpacking his belongings, including his collection of medical books. Scanning the titles, he realized he was nearly through with the simpler texts. Unless he wanted to delve into topics like the physiology of higher neural activity, it was time to acquire some new books—specifically, magical ones—to enhance his understanding. However, with plenty of reading material left to tide him over until school began, the green-eyed wizard decided to be lazy and postpone any visit to Flourish and Blotts until he received his list of school supplies for the upcoming year. Still, he had other business to attend to in Diagon Alley. Despite Tom's directions, it took Harry a while to locate the enchanter's workshop because it was small, lacking visible signs, and rather tucked away from the main entrance of the Alley. “Hello, anybody here?” he called upon entering the workshop, only to be greeted by a jingle of silver bells. The interior was cluttered with a variety of enchanted items and unfinished projects strewn across tables. “Anyone?” he raised his voice, hoping the proprietor was merely preoccupied. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” came a raspy voice from somewhere behind what appeared to be a solid wall. Moments later, a hidden door behind the counter opened, and an older man emerged. Emilio Fagonini, as the sign read, seemed to fit the stereotype of a mad scientist: long, disheveled gray hair, pale complexion, oversized glasses with multiple lenses, and various instruments tucked into the pockets of his dusty robe. “What brings you to my shop, young man?” Emilio said as he scrutinized Harry through his goggles. “I need self-refilling enchantments on these.” Harry offered four different fountain pens to the shop owner, who inspected them through his glasses. “And self-refilling and preservation enchantments on these.” He produced a modern ballpoint pen along with several spare cores in various colors. “Ah yes, that can be accomplished, young man. However, enchanting items does not come cheap. For those quills, I’ll need fifteen galleons, and another three for this curious muggle pen. Eighteen in total, with a third paid in advance... and a week’s time to complete the work.” While the cost was on the higher end, it was less than what he had paid to acquire them, so Harry agreed. “Very well, I’ll be back next Friday to collect them.” He handed Emilio six galleons. “I’ll have your requests completed by then,” Emilio assured him before returning to his work. |
Lofty breeze chapter 13 . 11/1 Feeling a bit lazy and enjoying the freedom he had, Harry had delayed his visit to Gringotts Bank—where he needed to examine the finances of the Potter estate—until he could withdraw money for his upcoming shopping trip for his second year at Hogwarts. Instead, the green-eyed wizard spent the week nestled in his room at the Leaky Cauldron or savoring ice cream at Fortescue's, engrossed in his medical books. After the week he had asked off for work passed, Harry returned to the workshop of the man who had enchanted some items for him, eager to test the results personally. Satisfied with the enchantments, he paid the craftsman and even promised to return if he ever needed more enchantments done. On the evening of July 29th, Harry penned a birthday letter to Neville, wishing his friend all the best. Enclosed was a small package containing an enchanted fountain pen adorned in the colors of the Longbottom family crest, along with instructions for its use and care. Harry fervently hoped Neville would appreciate the gift, especially since it was both visually appealing and practical. Neville’s response proved his delight in the gift. In his letter wishing Harry a happy birthday—after all, they were born within a span of twenty-eight hours—Neville's neatly written message was composed with the same ink Harry used to test the pen's enchantments, assuring Harry that his friend was genuinely pleased. Additionally, Neville sent him two antique tomes on medical herbal mixtures, further affirming their thoughtful connection. August 4th saw the arrival of his letter from Hogwarts, outlining the required reading for his second year. A wave of unease washed over him upon seeing seven books authored by Gilderoy Lockhart on the list. Harry had never been fond of overzealous fangirls, and Lockhart’s reputation suggested he might be one himself. Ah, well... As the letter arrived late in the day, Harry opted to postpone his shopping trip until the following morning, when all the shops would be open. He also intended to meet with the Potter estate manager. ~/ *** \~ Bright and early the next morning, Harry stepped into the pristine, white marble building of Gringotts Bank. The early hour meant few customers were present, making it easy to find an available teller. “Good morning, master teller,” he greeted. After his second visit to Gringotts—on the day he first entered the wizarding world—Harry had resolved to treat the goblins managing finances with proper respect, unlike many wizards who disregarded them. After measuring a few gems, the goblin teller finally acknowledged him after a long silence. “What do you want, wizard?” he sneered, flashing his teeth. “I need to meet with the manager of the Potter account at his earliest convenience,” Harry replied, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. The goblin gave Harry a scrutinizing look. “Even if you are indeed Harry Potter, you are too young to bother master Goldsaw. Unless you have other business with Gringotts, I suggest you leave.” “According to Gringotts' rules, as the last living heir of the Noble house of Potter, I am entitled to oversee my house's estate once I turn eleven.” The goblin scowled but ultimately acquiesced to Harry’s request. “Very well. Master Goldsaw will see you if he is not too busy.” The teller summoned a younger goblin and spoke to him quickly in gobbledegook. After a brief wait, the assistant goblin returned and conveyed a message in the same language. Nodding, the teller turned to Harry. “You are fortunate—Goldsaw will see you, provided you can prove you are, in fact, Harry Potter.” He handed Harry a sheet of parchment and a deep red, almost black quill. Realizing what was required, Harry winced as the blood quill imprinted his signature onto the parchment and his hand—a brief sting followed, but it healed instantly. “Mr. Potter, Rustknife will escort you to Master Goldsaw,” the teller stated. “Follow me,” Rustknife instructed, leading Harry toward a door in the bank’s lobby. As they traversed the maze-like corridors, they finally arrived at a massive dark wooden door bearing the nameplate for ‘Goldsaw’ along with an array of titles. Inside was a large room divided into two levels: a lower seating area for customers and a dimly lit upper level where Goldsaw sat behind a grand desk. “It’s been over a decade since a Potter visited me,” Goldsaw remarked once Harry was settled on the sofa. “I hear you want to review your house's finances.” Harry nodded; despite the goblin's demeanor, he found him rather intimidating. Goldsaw handed him a thick ledger emblazoned with the Potter crest. “Read it. If you have questions, ask. But try not to be too wearisome; I am quite busy.” Harry nodded again as he opened the ledger and began to read. First, he noted information about his trust vault, which would be activated on his tenth birthday and would remain active until he reached adulthood—usually upon passing his OWLs. The trust vault contained two thousand galleons, replenished annually on July 31st. He was free to withdraw any amount but would have to wait until next August for it to refill if emptied. The ledger revealed that the main Potter vault was currently inaccessible to him, filled with over three hundred fifty thousand galleons—and that was not the entirety of its holdings. The vault also contained gems worth an estimated additional hundred thousand galleons, rare books, and other invaluable treasures. Next came information about the Potter family properties. First was the family manor, heavily warded and located in Wales, which had been nearly destroyed by fire in 1983. Then there was the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, which had been obliterated and memorialized after Harry’s parents were tragically murdered there. They also owned a penthouse in London and a summer home near Brighton, but both remained under stasis, only accessible by his legal guardian—Dumbledore—or himself once he reached adulthood. This meant Harry would likely be stuck living at Number Four, Privet Drive, for several more years. Finally, the ledger detailed the family's shareholdings in various wizarding businesses. Unfortunately, Harry found little of interest here; most investments were in potion ingredient firms and charm suppliers. The only muggle investment seemed to be shares in General Electrics, worth about thirty-five thousand galleons collectively. After familiarizing himself with the current state of the estate, Harry delved into its past. His grandfather, Charles Potter, had been a savvy businessman, once amassing nearly a million galleons in the main vault along with substantial jewels. However, after Voldemort's rise and the subsequent war, James Potter had funded the Light side, depleting the family resources over time. “Master Goldsaw,” Harry addressed him respectfully. “Thank you for providing me with this information about my house’s finances.” He returned the ledger to Goldsaw. “As the last member of a Noble house and now older than eleven, I would like to propose a few adjustments to the Potter estate’s investment strategy. While I understand that you, as my estate manager, ultimately make the decisions, I would appreciate it if you’d at least consider my suggestions.” “Very well. I will listen, Mr. Potter, but as you said, it’s up to me to determine whether or not these changes will be made.” Goldsaw observed Harry with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “Since my uncle runs a business, I’ve been exposed to various market trends. I’d like you to triple our holdings in General Electrics. Additionally, I recommend investing five thousand galleons each in the stocks of Microsoft and Apple—both are muggle companies with promising growth projections.” Floyding Goldsaw's expression revealed his surprise; it took him a moment to regain his composure. “I see,” Goldsaw said slowly. “I’ll have our analysts review the companies you’ve mentioned. If their findings align with yours, I will follow your recommendations for investing.” Harry nodded in acknowledgment. “Is there anything else Gringotts can assist you with today, Mr. Potter?” Goldsaw inquired. “Yes, though I don’t wish to trespass upon your time. I’d like to withdraw some galleons from my trust vault,” Harry said, preparing to leave. “Quite unnecessary, Mr. Potter; I’ll make sure you don’t endure the lines again.” Goldsaw activated a rune on his desk, summoning another young goblin. “Sharptooth will guide you to your vault.” “Thank you.” Harry smiled as he followed the young goblin out of Goldsaw's office. ~/ *** \~ Harry had to agree with Hagrid—those carts were a rather evil invention. Yet, they also represented the goblins' way of getting back at the wizards who disrespected them. After double-checking the pouch containing nearly all of the two thousand galleons he was allowed to spend for the year, Harry set off for his shopping. His first order of business was to restock potion ingredients, as Professor Snape had made it clear that anything less than perfection in Harry’s potions would result in a failing grade. And, perfecting his skills required ample practice, which had been swiftly depleting his inventory. He also needed new vials. Once he finished at the apothecary and other smaller shops, Harry made his way to Flourish and Blotts for the necessary schoolbooks. However, as he approached the bookstore, he noticed a massive crowd—much larger than usual—mostly comprising housewives and teenage girls exhibiting fanatical behavior. As he neared the store, his suspicions were confirmed: the throng was indeed there to see Gilderoy Lockhart, who was hosting a book signing. Resigned, Harry decided to postpone his visit and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron to drop off his purchases. As he passed the entrance to the bookstore, the crowd of fangirls began to shift aside, revealing a tussle between a red-haired man, whom Harry deduced was Ron Weasley’s father, and the slick-haired Lucius Malfoy. Scanning the crowd, he noticed Draco Malfoy strolling toward the queue with a handful of books. He gave Harry a curt nod of acknowledgment. Harry, prepared to avoid the fracas and head to Leaky Cauldron, didn't pay much attention to Mr. Malfoy, who now appeared fixated on a cauldron of books held by a young girl—presumably Ginny Weasley. Feeling that he should steer clear of the brewing tension, Harry moved on. After stowing his purchases in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, and enjoying a quick lunch, Harry returned to the alley with a singular focus: he wanted to purchase a new broom. While he was certain his captain, Oliver, would allow him to use his broom for another year, Harry felt guilty about subjecting Oliver to the use of his outdated Cleansweep Four. This summer had seen the release of a new Nimbus model, leading to significant discounts on earlier models. Harry aimed to splurge on a Nimbus 2000 and upgrade his equipment. Now, he just had to figure out what to do with his Cleansweep. His practical instincts urged him to keep it as a spare, but his sentimental side wanted to donate it to the school. After considering his options, he ultimately decided to attempt selling it to Hogwarts at half its market value. ~/ *** \~ The following day, Harry revisited Diagon Alley, heading straight back to Flourish and Blotts. After selecting all of the required schoolbooks—grateful there were still copies of Lockhart’s work after the chaos of yesterday—he browsed the shop for materials on magical medicine. However, he found no titles addressing anatomy, physiology, or any related fields. Instead, the magical approach to healing seemed to revolve around spells and potions that aided specific ailments without employing any scientific principles. Still, Harry understood the value of these spells and potions, so he purchased several books covering basic healing charms and medical potions. The shopkeeper, although surprised by Harry’s unusual choices in reading, asked no questions and completed the sale without a hint of curiosity about the Boy-Who-Lived’s interest in medicine. This suited Harry just fine. Later that afternoon, he dived into Lockhart’s books hoping to discover their actual utility for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Unfortunately, he found that they were little more than glorified autobiographies penned by a self-absorbed author. These books were, in his opinion, a complete waste of money and reflected poorly on the choice of teacher. If anything, the new instructor seemed destined to be even less competent than Professor Quirrell, who had at least shown signs of fear for the very shadows that loomed around him. Hogwarts had a well-stocked library; he knew he could rely on it for more reliable resources for his second-year studies in DADA. |
Lofty breeze chapter 14 . 11/1 The remainder of the summer unfolded quietly for Harry Potter. The young wizard spent his days in the squares of Diagon Alley—there were three of them—or at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, deeply engrossed in his books. Whether he was getting a head start on his Hogwarts subjects or delving into studies of both Muggle and magical medicine, Harry found solace in reading. On the first of September, around nine-thirty in the morning, the green-eyed wizard made his way down to the public area of the Leaky Cauldron for breakfast, his belongings in tow. To his surprise, the pub was not very busy, which made placing and receiving his order a breeze. After enjoying a hearty meal, courtesy of Tom the bartender, Harry used the public Floo network in the pub to arrive at Platform 9. With nearly an hour before the Hogwarts Express departed, the platform was relatively empty, giving Harry the freedom to choose his seat. After a brief moment of contemplation, he settled into a compartment near the center of the train. He cast a few simple charms on the door to ensure minimal disturbances before returning to his anatomy book. He still needed to find Draco’s sister to deliver the remainder of her birthday present, but he decided that could wait until the train was in motion and everyone was comfortably seated. About thirty minutes later, Hermione joined him, diving into a Transfiguration book after stowing her bags in the luggage compartment. A short while later, the last member of the Gryffindor "Golden Trio," Neville Longbottom, appeared. After exchanging hellos and thanking Harry for his birthday gift, the slightly pudgy boy procured a pot containing a magical plant from his trunk to begin his own work. About an hour after the Hogwarts Express pulled away from King’s Cross, Harry excused himself from their compartment to seek out his Slytherin friend. Despite her insistence that they were merely allies, he thought of Draco as more than that. After checking several compartments in the cars behind his, he finally located her with her friends Daphne and Tracey. He could sense a charm around their compartment akin to the one he had placed on his own, but he bypassed it easily, as the charm's caster didn’t see him as an unwanted guest. "Ladies, may I have a moment of your time?" Harry said while knocking on the door before entering. Draco nodded, knowing why he had come. “Ms. Malfoy, as promised on May's last day, here’s the second half of your birthday gift.” He presented her with the enchanted quills, which would never run out of ink and had indestructible metal quills. A faint blush crept onto his cheeks as he added, "I hope you like them." “Thank you,” Draco said, placing the quills in her robe’s chest pocket. Glancing around the compartment, Harry sighed lightly. “I shouldn’t take up more of your time, ladies. See you at school.” With that, he departed, leaving the girls behind. “Someone has a crush on the Gryffindor 'golden boy'?” Tracey teased, eyeing the momentary slip of Draco's usual composure as she accepted Harry's gift. Draco shot her a glare. “Why does everyone think there’s something going on between me and Potter? We’re just associates,” she replied, annoyance creeping into her voice. Tracey laughed and chimed in about how denying one’s feelings was unhealthy. About fifteen minutes after Harry returned to his friends, the door burst open—his charm had evidently failed to keep out unwanted guests—as Crabbe and Goyle stomped in. “Potter, I’m talking to you, dammit!” shouted a voice that made Harry momentarily forget about his charm’s failure and focus on the intruders. Presiding between the two larger boys was a younger student in Slytherin robes, a blond with an air of superiority about him that resembled a young Lucius Malfoy. Had Harry not crossed paths with Lucius in Diagon Alley this summer, he’d have found it hard to believe this boy was related to Draco. “Sorry, did you say something?” Harry asked casually as he bookmarked his page and closed his book. Annoying a Malfoy heir wasn’t exactly wise, but he was too indifferent to care at that moment. “I said, ditch these losers and be my friend, Potter. Surely, you realize that associating with a squib and a Mudblood isn’t good for you. You’re already starting to lose your hearing,” the blond snob retorted, only serving to stoke Harry's anger—he had spent his childhood alone and was fiercely protective of the few friends he had. “How about you get lost instead?” Harry shot back, his voice laced with controlled fury. “And take your cronies with you.” The Malfoy heir was not pleased. “When my father hears about this, Potter, he will—” the blond began, but Harry interrupted, lifting him and his sidekicks out of the compartment before closing the door and locking it. “Who was that?” Harry asked his friends, gesturing to where the intruders had stood moments before. “I can tell the blond is a Malfoy, but I don’t recall Draco mentioning she had a brother. Not that I’ve asked much about her family life…” “You’re spot on, mate. That brat is indeed a Malfoy heir. His name is Basilius, and, as you guessed, he’s starting Hogwarts this year,” Neville explained, pausing in his own gardening notes. “He’s spoiled rotten by his father because he’s the next lord of the house, while Draco is simply seen as a means to secure alliances with other houses—just tolerated by their father.” “That’s incredibly barbaric!” Hermione interjected, and Neville nodded in agreement. “I agree, but the Malfoy family is notoriously dark—especially the patriarch—and they are fiercely patriarchal, more so than most noble houses. Daughters in the family are valued far less than sons. But don't assume this is always the case. The Blacks, for example, are darker than the Malfoys and very traditional, yet their daughters have always been cherished,” Neville elaborated. Harry remained silent but found some understanding in the plight of the blond witch. The dark mood that Neville’s lesson had cast over the compartment lingered, bolstered by the heavy clouds that seemed poised for rain. Yet Harry and his friends were ready to return to the familiar halls of Hogwarts. This time, like all older students, they traveled in horseless carriages to the castle. Strangely, they were the only ones in theirs, a different experience from the previous year. Additionally, they were allowed entry into the Great Hall right away, without waiting for Professor McGonagall’s signal. As Harry scanned the professors’ table, he noticed only one new face—a blond man dressed in forget-me-not blue robes, who seemed preoccupied with his own reflection. Could he be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? Maybe Quirrell wasn’t so bad after all. Once everyone had settled, Professor McGonagall left the Great Hall to retrieve the first years for sorting. A few moments later, she returned with a group of eleven-year-olds in plain robes. The Sorting Hat sang a new song before the sorting began. While the initial excitement of the sorting was engaging, it soon waned. However, a few notable students captured Harry's attention: Luna Lovegood—with her odd radish earrings—was sorted into Ravenclaw; Basilius Malfoy entered Slytherin; and Ginny Weasley, Ron’s younger sister, was placed into Gryffindor, casting curious glances Harry's way. Good thing all the seats around him were occupied, or he would have had to deal with a lovestruck fan throughout the feast. Once the first years were sorted, Dumbledore rose to address the gathering about the Forbidden Forest and the list of prohibited items displayed on Filch's office door. “Additionally, before you enjoy the magnificent feast prepared for you: this year, your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be none other than the honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League and Order of Merlin third class, Gilderoy Lockhart.” The man in blue stood and flashed a wide grin, drawing groans from many boys, including Harry and Neville, while the girls swooned around him. Lockhart then delivered a rather lengthy speech, during which it became glaringly obvious to those paying attention that he had little understanding of how or what to teach in DADA. Nevertheless, he received a fair amount of applause. After a considerable hush fell over the Great Hall, Dumbledore announced the feast would begin. Once dinner concluded, students returned to their respective common rooms, while Harry headed upstairs to ward his bed, drawing on lessons learned the year before. The following morning marked the real start of the school year at Hogwarts. As usual, Harry woke up early, making his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, immersing himself in his morning reading while his housemates sluggishly rose from their slumber. Around half-past eight, all Gryffindor students had assembled for Professor McGonagall to distribute timetables. A quick glance at his own revealed that Friday would again be his most dreaded day: Monday: Double DADA (S) – Lunch – Double Charms (R) Tuesday: Herbology (R) – Charms (S) – Lunch – Transfiguration (H) – History of Magic (R) Wednesday: History of Magic (H) – Herbology (S) – Lunch – Charms (R) – Transfiguration (S) Thursday: Double Transfiguration (R) – Lunch – Astronomy (All) at 11 PM Friday: Lunch – Double Potions (S) – DADA (S) At least he wouldn’t have to endure Lockhart until Friday again—the man was instinctively unsettling, perhaps due to his narcissistic demeanor or his incessant need for attention. In any case, Harry had three full days to prepare himself for the reality that this man would be his professor for the year. Students rushed back to their dormitories for their necessary textbooks, but Harry took his time finishing his breakfast. Thanks to several useful enchantments, his supplies were featherlight and stored in his trunk. Ron Weasley rushed past him, still chewing on bacon, clearly having learned the importance of being on time. Yet fate seemed determined to punish the boy, as he collided at the Great Hall’s exit with Basilius Malfoy and his entourage. “Out of my way, blood traitor!” the blond boy spat, and Crabbe pushed Ron aside, resulting in a faint crack as Ron’s wand snapped in his pocket. Professor McGonagall appeared moments later, scolding the Slytherins for their actions. However, that did little to help Ron with his predicament. Twenty minutes later, just ten minutes before classes were set to begin, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws—including Harry and Ron, nursing his injured wand with spellotape—gathered outside the greenhouses for Herbology. They halted on the lawn, waiting for their professor, who approached alongside Lockhart, chattering animatedly. Judging by Professor Sprout’s expression, she did not appreciate her colleague's company. “Greenhouse three, everyone,” she directed, causing a wave of anticipation amongst the students—the third greenhouse boasted much more interesting and, at times, dangerous plants than their previous year’s lessons. As the class filed inside, Lockhart finally spotted Harry, much to the latter's annoyance. “Bless me, that’s really Harry Potter!” Lockhart exclaimed loudly, trying to pull Harry from the crowd. “Come here, my boy; I’ve wanted to speak with you for ages!” Unfortunately for the new DADA professor, Harry had no intention of chatting and deftly slipped into the greenhouse, finding solace from the relentless adoration. The bell signaling the start of the first period rang, providing a final reprieve from Lockhart's overbearing presence—the man had to return to the castle to prepare for his own class. Professor Sprout stood center stage in the greenhouse aisle, flanked by a bench full of pots and a box of earmuffs at her feet. “Welcome back to Hogwarts and to your second year of Herbology,” she began. “This year, we’ll be studying mandrakes.” She gestured toward the rows of pots behind her. “Can anyone tell me what a mandrake is and where it can be used?” Almost instantly, Hermione and Neville’s hands shot up in the air... |
Lofty breeze chapter 15 . 11/1 Harry thought that Friday had arrived all too quickly. It started off with two potions classes with Professor Snape, and now he was stuck in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Lockhart. The green-eyed wizard couldn’t shake the feeling that Lockhart wasn’t cut out for teaching. The classroom only reinforced his doubts; the walls were plastered with various photographs of Lockhart—while Quirrell, despite being an awful teacher with his fake stuttering, at least had images related to his subject. Lockhart, on the other hand, seemed more interested in showcasing himself than teaching the class. Once everyone settled into their seats, Lockhart cleared his throat to grab their attention. As silence fell over the room, he picked up a book from Dean Thomas, who was sitting right in front of him, and held it up to show off the winking portrait of himself on the cover. "Me," he declared, pointing at his own image while winking. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and a five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award—though I don't mention that often. I didn’t defeat the Bandon Banshee by just smiling at her!" A few students offered half-hearted smiles at his joke. "I see you’ve all bought the complete set of my books—well done. But today, we’re going to start with a little quiz—nothing to worry about, just a quick check on how well you've read the texts..." With that, Lockhart began handing out test papers, using his hands instead of magic. "You have thirty minutes. Begin... now." Harry flipped over his paper and stared in dismay at the fifty-four questions—all about Lockhart—and none about actual Defense. How could one even learn anything from these books? Still, the green-eyed Gryffindor tried to respond to some of the questions, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention from the professor. Thirty minutes later, Lockhart collected the papers—once again without magic—and flipped through them while commenting on their contents. Unsurprisingly, only Hermione had answered all the questions correctly, thus earning Gryffindor ten points. With the quiz wrapped up, Lockhart stowed away the papers and revealed a large covered cage that had been hidden on his desk. "Now, be warned! It is my job to prepare you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Just know that no harm can come to you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm." Many students, particularly the Gryffindors, leaned forward in anticipation. "Please refrain from screaming," he added in a hushed tone. "It might provoke them." As the class held its breath, Lockhart dramatically whipped off the cover. “Yes... freshly caught Cornish pixies!” Seamus Finnigan couldn't contain himself and erupted into laughter, making it clear that he didn't take the creatures seriously. "Well, they're not very... dangerous, are they?" he choked out. "Don’t be too sure!" Lockhart warned, wagging a finger at Seamus. "They can be quite tricky!" Indeed, while pixies were mischievous and could bite, their venom was hardly fatal unless someone was unfortunate enough to get bitten several times. In reality, they posed little danger—unless, of course, one was Lockhart. “Alright then,” the professor announced. “Let’s see how you handle them!” And with that, he flung open the cage. Chaos erupted. Pixies darted in every direction, zooming through windows and showering the back row with shards of glass. They wreaked havoc, dousing students with ink, shredding books, and tossing papers and belongings out of the shattered windows. Within minutes, the entire class found refuge under their desks. “Come on now—round them up! They’re only pixies!” Lockhart shouted, rolling up his sleeves and brandishing his wand. "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" The spell had no effect. One pixie gleefully snatched his wand and hurled it out of the window. Lockhart gulped and dove under his own desk, before making a frantic escape to his private office, leaving the students to face the pixies alone. Seeing their professor flee, Harry realized it was up to them to take charge. What could they do against the pixies? He had no real spells for handling them—unless he could remember that pixies relied heavily on their hearing. Summoning his courage, Harry produced a loud banging noise, successfully redirecting the pixies’ attention toward him. Just as he thought he’d be a target, another bang echoed from the opposite side of the classroom, caused by Draconica, who had caught on to the plan. Utilizing the distraction he created, Harry continued using loud sounds to redirect the pixies. Meanwhile, students began emerging from their hiding spots, casting various spells they’d learned from Quirrell or—like Crabbe and Goyle—using Lockhart's books as makeshift weapons. Eventually, all of the pixies were rounded up and caged again. As the students wrapped up, Lockhart returned to the classroom, looking as self-satisfied as ever and ready to offer praise—most likely on how effectively they had used the spell he had demonstrated—when the bell rang, mercifully saving them from his attempted accolades. ~/ *** \~ Saturday wasn’t off to a much better start for Harry than Friday’s chaotic afternoon. This time, it was Oliver Wood at the helm, insisting the team start training for the upcoming Quidditch season at six in the morning on the first weekend back at Hogwarts, lasting until lunch. At least the house-elves had provided food and drinks during a brief break in the grueling seven-hour training session, where Wood had them repeating the basics over and over. As the team trudged back to the castle for a late lunch, they passed by the Slytherin team entering the pitch. Among them was a new member (precisely equipped with shiny new Nimbus 2001 brooms) who immediately caught Harry's attention: it was Draconica. He locked eyes with her, silently asking why she was there, as he had never pegged her for a Quidditch player. The blond witch looked back, her gaze silently assuring him that she would explain later. ~/ *** \~ Monday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class proved no better than Friday's. After the pixie debacle, Lockhart announced that they would be role-playing scenes from his book, "Year with the Yeti." Thankfully, Harry managed to avoid being chosen as Lockhart’s assistant, much to his relief. During the second DADA lesson, while Harry pretended to be engaged with Lockhart’s antics, a paper airplane suddenly landed on his desk. Curious, he unfolded it to reveal a message: *Meet me in the library tonight at six, and bring your friends: things need to be discussed.* Though unsigned, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind who had sent it: the scribbled style and the use of Muggle pen made it unmistakably Draconica. He folded it neatly and tucked it away in his robe, planning to address it with his friends later. ~/ *** \~ Before six that evening, Harry, Hermione, and Neville entered the library to find Draconica already seated in a far corner with an unmarked book before her. “Longbottom, Potter, Granger,” Draconica greeted them as they approached. “You may have guessed why I called you here. To be blunt, our Defense professor is utterly useless…” Harry had suspected their discussion would revolve around DADA, but he hadn’t shared this with his friends. Still, all three Gryffindors nodded in agreement. Even Hermione, who had once defended Lockhart, seemed to understand the necessity of the conversation. “With Professor Quirrell barely teaching us anything last year, we’ll need to engage in serious self-studying if we want to pass our DADA OWLs.” “Yeah, we had to study on our own last year just to get A's,” Harry affirmed, with Neville nodding in agreement and Hermione looking contemplative, still clinging a bit to her idealistic views about authority figures. “My proposal is to form a self-study club for anyone interested in Defense,” Draconica continued. “Since none of us are qualified to teach independently, our plan should be collaborative: anyone with useful information can share it with the others.” She paused for emphasis before adding, “Don’t think I’m doing this out of kindness: if something endangers wizarding Britain, we’ll need aurors, and if the state of DADA doesn’t improve, then we risk having no one qualified to protect us.” “I like the idea, but... will it really work with students from different houses?” Harry asked thoughtfully. “I believe the house rivalry has gone too far already. Those who want to learn will join us; their loss if they don’t,” Draconica replied confidently. “Count me in. We need to equip ourselves to face what lies beyond Hogwarts if the school fails to prepare us,” Harry said firmly. “I’m in too,” Neville echoed. “Me three,” Hermione added, never one to miss an opportunity to learn. “Great. We need to recruit more members, so please ask your housemates and any Hufflepuffs in your year if they’re interested. I’ll ask my house and the Ravens.” She glanced at the clock. “Dinner’s in half an hour, so it’s best we go now—we wouldn’t want to draw attention to ourselves leaving together. I have some reading to finish before the library closes, anyway.” The trio nodded and began to leave when Draconica called out to Harry. “Potter, I know you have questions. You can ask me now.” She softened her tone, offering him a rare moment of candor. Harry hesitated, then finally spoke. “I saw you on the Slytherin Quidditch team last Saturday... I didn’t think you were interested in the game.” It came out more as a statement than a question, but she understood. “I never was, until my father decided I need to bring more glory to the Malfoy name... At least I was allowed to choose my position—I’m a chaser. So no worries, I’m not trying to take your spot as the best seeker,” she said, flashing a brief smile. “That’s a relief. Just don’t expect me to share any of Wood’s strategy with you; I can barely remember them myself,” Harry chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of asking—rumors about us being more than just friends might start circulating then,” she added, maintaining the façade of their relationship status. “Now, you should probably go before dinner.” Nodding, Harry stood, offering a quick goodbye before leaving the library. ~/ *** \~ Meanwhile, in the dungeons of Slytherin, Theodore Nott was plotting. He was not pleased about Draconica Malfoy’s ascension to the role of unofficial leader of Slytherin. Besides her arrogance, her standing was propped up by her powerful father—all the other Slytherins were wary of crossing the Malfoys. However, Nott saw Basilius as a poor leader and anticipated that he would cause trouble for the house with his folly—that is, unless someone intervened. Slytherin needed cunning leadership, someone with political acumen. That someone could be him—even if his father's influence wasn’t as formidable as others. As Nott contemplated regaining his previous status, he realized he couldn’t challenge Basilius directly. Instead, he needed to remove Malfoy from the equation altogether. Once she became a non-factor, he could reclaim his position as the house leader. If he played his cards right, he would emerge as a competent leader, backed by his prior experience. ~/ *** \~ In the following days, the "Golden Trio" and Draconica discreetly asked their classmates if they'd like to join the newly proposed club. Naturally, they did so subtly to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Among the Gryffindors, only Parvati Patil was interested in joining—the others either weren’t keen on extra studying or didn’t want prolonged interactions with the “slimy Slytherins.” The Hufflepuffs, conversely, showed a great deal of interest. Most were eager to join, with only Ernie Macmillan dismissing the club due to personal issues he held against Harry, while Justin Finch-Fletchley and Zacharias Smith opted out purely out of laziness. From Draconica's intel, it seemed that the Ravenclaws were similarly keen on joining, with only one—Michael Corner—deciding against it. Among the Slytherins, meanwhile, only four expressed interest in the club: Tracey Davis, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Draconica herself. With the club’s membership established, the four met once more in the library just hours before their Astronomy class. After some discussion, they decided their meetings would be held in the library’s reading room every Thursday afternoon, starting the following week. As for the club’s name, that was to be decided in their first official meeting. All four were hopeful that their initiative would succeed, giving them the training they desperately needed for their future in the wizarding world. |
Lofty breeze chapter 16 . 11/1 Lockhart’s teaching methods failed to improve the following week, as he continued having scenes from his books role-played. Consequently, everyone in the club eagerly anticipated Thursday afternoon, when their first meeting would take place. On Thursday morning, during double Transfiguration, even the usually patient Ravenclaws found themselves fidgeting with impatience for the lesson to end—a rare occurrence indeed. Professor McGonagall noticed this unrest but chose to overlook it for reasons known only to her. Despite the meeting not scheduled until three in the afternoon, many students hastily ate their lunches, driven by excitement. Harry couldn't fathom the urgency, as they had an hour and a half—ample time to eat leisurely and still have plenty to spare. He attributed their restlessness to the hope of receiving some solid instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The 'Golden Trio' arrived at the Hogwarts library’s reading room with just five minutes to spare, but they were the last to join. The rest of the group was already there, gathered in clusters by house or family, like the Patil twins. Harry, Hermione, and Neville opted for one of the remaining tables and joined the others. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started,” Draconica announced. “Potter, it’s your turn.” Harry was slightly taken aback that his Slytherin friend had handed the reins over to him but quickly regained his composure. “Um… Welcome to the Self-Defense Club, everyone. We’re here because we believe the standard instruction in DADA is insufficient, so we’ve decided to take matters into our own hands,” Harry began, trying not to sound too critical of Hogwarts. “The format will be collaborative—if you have knowledge to share, please line up to take a turn teaching. But first, we need to come up with a name for our club. Any suggestions?” Brainstorming ensued, with Kevin Entwhistle proposing the name ‘Self-Defense Association of Students’ (SAS). This sparked laughter among those with non-magical backgrounds. A variety of ideas filled the air, and after an hour of spirited discussion, they settled on the name ‘Defense Study Group’—or DS for short. “Alright, let’s get started,” Harry said once the name received majority approval. “If no one has any objections, I’ll go first…” With no dissent, he began, “What I’m about to teach may not be strictly related to DADA, but I think it’s something everyone should know…” Just then, Madam Pince entered, having finally decided to investigate the commotion in the reading room. “What are you lot doing here?” she inquired, her eyebrows raised at the sight of students from all four houses sitting together without bickering. “We have a study group here,” several students answered in unison. The librarian regarded them with skepticism, but as long as they weren’t violating any library rules—their discussions about the club name were muffled—she had no grounds to intervene. “I see,” she said curtly. “Just follow the library rules, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” With that, Madam Pince returned to her nearby table. Harry let out a relieved sigh; it seemed they wouldn’t have to find a new location for their meetings. “Alright, where was I? Oh, yes, I want to share some first aid techniques with you, both magical and Muggle.” A murmur circulated through the group, as some students recognized the importance of this knowledge while others wished for something more directly related to combat. “I understand magical first aid, Potter, but why bother with Muggle methods? What could they possibly offer?” Theodore Nott interjected. Harry had anticipated such a question, even if he hoped it wouldn’t arise. “To address your first concern, what happens if your wand breaks? You recall what happened to Ron Weasley’s wand, right? I’d be wary of using a wand that isn’t reliable for medical treatment. Plus, there are poisons and spells that prevent blood clotting—you could bleed to death if you don’t know the counter-spell or lack an antidote. While Muggle methods might not completely stop the bleeding, they can slow it down, giving you more time to seek proper treatment,” Harry explained. Nott nodded slowly, digesting this information. “As for your second question, while Muggle and magical realms differ greatly, Muggles possess extensive knowledge of the human body, and there are diseases that the magical world can’t cure that Muggles can at least partially address. Muggle astronomy is also far more advanced than magical astronomy… but let’s stick to today’s topic.” Harry continued, “If any of this doesn’t interest you, feel free to leave. No one will hold it against you.” Surprisingly, no one took the opportunity to leave. “Then let’s begin,” he said, launching into his teaching. The session lasted nearly two hours, covering only the basics of bleeding control, splinting broken bones, and dealing with poisoning. Although this material wasn’t strictly part of DADA, everyone, including Nott, soon grasped why Harry deemed it essential. “Let’s wrap this up here; dinner will be served soon, and we need to get ready for tonight’s astronomy lesson,” Harry announced, stepping out of his instructor role. While others contributed, especially regarding magical first aid, Harry remained the main speaker. As students began leaving the library and heading back to their respective common rooms, Harry started to pack up the books he had used in his demonstration. “That was very informative, Potter,” Draconica commented as she headed toward the exit. “But next time, please share something that’s more directly applicable to DADA.” Although her words seemed critical, her tone indicated that she wasn’t displeased with his choice of topic. Harry shrugged; he hadn’t yet decided what he would teach next. “I’ll do my best,” he replied, but Draconica was already by the door. She paused momentarily, acknowledging him before continuing on her way to the Slytherin dungeons. ~/ *** \~ At the next Defense Study Group meeting, held again on Thursday afternoon, Hermione, Padma, and surprisingly, Daphne, co-led the session. The girls taught their classmates the basic magical shield, *Protego*, along with several offensive spells, including *Expelliarmus*. Since they were in the library, practicing magic wasn’t an option, but the theoretical knowledge shared by the three witches was sufficient; everyone could practice later in their common rooms or elsewhere. A week later, a shy Ravenclaw girl named Su Li, encouraged by her housemate Padma, demonstrated a few relatively harmless but rather annoying hexes. While easy to counter, if executed successfully, these hexes were effective enough to disrupt an opponent’s focus. ~/ *** \~ On the first weekend of October, the first Quidditch match took place, traditionally featuring Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The match was notably prolonged, lasting over four hours, culminating in Harry catching the Snitch and leading Gryffindor to a victory with a final score of 530 to 110. An unexpected incident occurred during the match when the Bludgers inexplicably targeted Harry. Madam Hooch intervened to pause the game, and professors examined the rogue Bludgers. Since the magic causing the anomaly hadn’t originated from Hogwarts, it was eventually dispelled—albeit not easily, even for the headmaster—allowing the match to resume. Draconica managed to score once and assisted with six goals, leaving her quite pleased with her contribution. Interestingly, the match seemed to awaken a competitive side in her, albeit she would never become an ardent fan of the sport like many of her peers. ~/ *** \~ On the following Monday, Lockhart determined that his students were ready for a quiz, naturally centering it around himself. Thankfully, the questions didn’t delve into the trivialities of his favorite color or dreams; instead, they focused on his supposed achievements as detailed in his books. With the role-play exercises featuring Lockhart’s overly embellished tales, the students answered questions about encounters with mythical creatures such as the Himalaya Yeti with ease. However, the student body was far from enthusiastic about this quiz. Lockhart had only a small support base among Hogwarts students; those capable of critical thought had long since recognized his shortcomings. Worst of all, no one enjoyed being quizzed. This quiz served as a clear indication that they had squandered a month of DADA classes without acquiring any real skills. Regrettably, those who realized this were either already members of the Defense Study Group or were reluctant to join due to their biases against members from other houses. Three days later, at the next DS meeting, "Professor Susan Bones" took the floor to explain strategies for avoiding opponent spells. It became clear that the niece of the current head of the DMLE was well-versed in defensive techniques, although her knowledge of offensive spells was somewhat limited. “Magical shields are effective—they’re quick to conjure and can protect against most magical attacks. However, some spells can pierce specific types of shields, and at least three curses exist that cannot be blocked by any known magical shields,” Susan instructed. “Another tactic is to levitate or conjure an object into the path of an incoming spell. While conjuration is beyond our current capabilities, levitation is within reach. However, this method has its downsides, as it takes time to position the object, and certain curses can cause solid objects to explode. So if you’re unsure of the curse being cast, this defensive tactic isn’t always the best option.” The aim of Susan’s lecture was to compare various defensive strategies and highlight their effectiveness based on different circumstances. As Susan’s lecture concluded just an hour before dinner, it was decided to adjourn for the day. After thanking Susan for her insightful discussion, the 'golden trio' made their way back to the Gryffindor tower. “Kill… Rip… I want to kill them…” Harry suddenly heard a muffled hissing whisper. Stopping abruptly, he glanced around, hoping that it was merely a figment of his imagination. Unfortunately, he recognized it as that same voice, now weaker and coming from a different direction. “Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, her concern evident as she noticed his unusual behavior. Neville nodded along with her, as both found it strange that Harry was standing in an empty corridor, scanning the area as if he were being hunted. “Did you hear that?” Harry asked, his voice low. “There was a voice… it wanted to kill someone.” “Harry, mate, I think you’re imagining things,” Neville replied, shaking his head. “Honestly, Harry, you might be overstressed from all your extra studying. You should take it easy,” Hermione suggested, though her suggestion came off as insincere—she herself spent far more time buried in books than he did. “I’ll have a word with Wood so you can skip Quidditch practice this Saturday.” “No, no, I’m fine!” Harry protested quickly; he didn’t want anyone else knowing that he was hearing strange things. Additionally, he was aware that arguing with Hermione often led nowhere… “I promise I’ll rest more, Hermione.” She shrugged, aware that dragging him to the hospital wing for a check-up would require a significant amount of magic, considering how much he disliked it. In the days that followed, Harry tried to locate the source of the mysterious voice without wandering too far. He attentively listened for any peculiar sounds, but luck eluded him, and the voice didn’t reappear. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that what he had heard was indeed nothing more than a hallucination. |
Lofty breeze chapter 17 . 11/1 As October drew to a close, an icy chill enveloped Hogwarts, with relentless rain hammering against the castle's windows for days. The Black Lake began to swell, threatening to flood the nearby grounds. The students weren't spared from the effects of the dreary weather, as Madam Pomfrey found herself busy with a surge of colds and a general sense of gloom among the populace. A week before Halloween, Hagrid invited the "Golden Trio" to see the massive pumpkins he had grown in preparation for the holiday. Taking advantage of a brief pause in the rain, Harry, Neville, and Hermione made their way to Hagrid's hut on the Hogwarts grounds. The pumpkins were indeed impressive—each one was the size of a garden shed—but the trio couldn't shake the feeling that some enlargement charms had been employed. As the rain began pouring once more, the trio, having forgotten their umbrella, sought refuge in Hagrid's hut. Sitting around a warm kettle of tea, they passed the time discussing the various dishes they had encountered at Hogwarts. “Has anyone else noticed we’ve been having chicken served a lot more often lately?” Neville inquired. After a moment’s reflection, his friends nodded in agreement. Hagrid, looking momentarily uneasy, responded, "Someone's been killing the roosters at Hogwarts. I'd wager it's either foxes or a blood-sucking bugbear. The Headmaster said he'd have Professor Flitwick put some charms in place to protect the rest…” The trio exchanged worried glances; the thought of a threat lurking on the grounds was unsettling. “But enough about that! Are you three excited for pumpkin pies this Halloween?” Hagrid asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the ominous subject. “They're always the best!” Neville piped up, deciding it best not to pry further into Hagrid's troubling news. “Yeah, but honestly, I’m not sure I feel up to the feast this year…” Harry admitted. Hagrid raised an eyebrow in question. “Why’s that, Harry?” he asked, piecing together Harry’s earlier troubles. “Oh, sorry, I nearly forgot…” As he glanced at the clock on the wall, Hagrid saw it was nearly four in the afternoon. “Best be heading back to the castle,” he said, fetching a large, dark-gray umbrella for their return. “I’ll walk you to the front door.” As they made their way back, Harry couldn’t shake the unsettling notion that something sinister was taking place at Hogwarts. He hoped that whatever was brewing this year would spare him; having already faced too many dangers, he was not keen on facing more. ~/ *** \~ On Sunday, despite the dismal rain and biting cold, the Gryffindor Quidditch team gathered for practice. Oliver Wood, ever the enthusiast, insisted that poor weather wasn’t a reason to cancel. The session wrapped up earlier than usual, and while the team did their best to show their spirits by flying through the storm, Harry decided to retreat back to the castle—he wanted no part in any murder investigation. As he made his way to the Gryffindor tower, he encountered Nearly Headless Nick gazing despondently out a window, muttering under his breath. “…Don’t fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that…” Harry overheard as he approached the ghost. Sensing Harry’s presence, Nick turned around, folding a transparent letter. “You don’t look too cheerful, young Potter,” the ghost observed, noting Harry’s wet clothes and broomstick. “Hi, Nick. You don’t seem too happy yourself,” Harry replied. “Ah,” Nick waved his hand dismissively, “just a trivial matter. I wanted to join, but it seems I don’t… fulfill their requirements.” Despite his dismissive tone, a deep bitterness flashed across his face. He then recounted a truncated version of his beheading, with Harry nodding at appropriate moments, before reading aloud the rejection letter's content regarding his ineligibility. “Well, there’s something they don’t have that makes you special, Sir Nicholas,” Harry remarked, eager to uplift the ghost’s spirits. “Half an inch of skin and sinew to hold my neck? ” Nick quipped. Harry shook his head, eliciting the ghost’s curiosity. “No. They might not want you at their hunts, but how many of them can claim to symbolize a thousand-year-old school?” Harry replied. Sir Nick pondered this for a moment before allowing a small smile to creep onto his face. “You’re right, young Potter, thank you.” Oblivious to his ethereal existence, Nick tried to shake Harry's hand but instead sent a chill running through him as he passed right through. After an apology for the mishap, the ghost added, “This Halloween marks my five-hundredth deathday, and I’ll be hosting a party in one of the dungeons. You and your friends are welcome to join…” “I’d love to attend,” Harry said, trying to sound polite. “But will it be okay for living humans to be around your other guests?” Nick appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Good point. If Sir Patrick and his headless hunt show up, there could be some discomfort… But you’re, of course, still welcome.” Harry nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Sir Nicholas.” Glancing down at his still-damp clothes, he added, “If you’d excuse me, I should return to my tower and change into something dry before I catch cold.” Nick nodded understandingly. “Of course, young Potter. I shan’t detain you any longer.” After offering his gratitude, Harry continued on his way to the Gryffindor dormitories... ~/ *** \~ As Halloween approached, an uneasy feeling settled in Harry's chest—one that suggested a misfortune awaited him on that day. Despite Hermione and Neville's insistence that this was an unfounded fear, Harry couldn’t shake it off. All the same, both friends agreed that Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party held little appeal for a living human, although Hermione’s curiosity about the event was palpable. Finally, October 31st arrived, and anticipation filled the air for the evening’s grand Halloween feast. The Great Hall and other public spaces, except for the library, were adorned with live bats; Hagrid’s colossal pumpkins had been fashioned into lanterns large enough to seat several people, and rumors circulated that Dumbledore had arranged for a troupe of dancing skeletons to entertain the guests. Sooner than Harry hoped, seated at the Gryffindor table amidst his housemates, he endured Dumbledore’s traditional pre-feast address. Just a few minutes later, the feast officially commenced. The truth of the dancing skeletons was confirmed as three wizards in black cloaks manipulated a troupe of ‘skeletons’ to play lively tunes. Thankfully, their musical choices avoided any nails-on-the-chalkboard vibes. The feast itself was extraordinary—arguably superior to the welcome banquet at the start of the school year—with piles of food, mostly pumpkin-themed, covering the tables. As Harry savored the delightful dishes, his lingering sense of foreboding began to dull, though it did not vanish entirely. After the feast concluded, the students began to leave the Great Hall for their dormitories. The Golden Trio found themselves among the early crowd of Gryffindors but remained just behind the majority of the student body. They had a difficult time discerning the cause of the sudden halt of those ahead of them. Nevertheless, Harry, Neville, and Hermione managed to work their way closer to the scene, revealing a most alarming sight: the floor was flooded, and next to the rarely-used girls’ restroom, glowing words written in what appeared to be blood read, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware." “Is this Chamber of Secrets even real? ‘Hogwarts: A History’ only has legends about it,” Hermione murmured, squinting at the words. Her friends could only shrug in response, as they lacked answers to her question. Before they could consider the implications further, Basilisk Malfoy pushed through the crowd, reading the ominous message aloud in a voice that commanded attention. “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, mudbloods! Hogwarts will finally be cleansed of your filth!” His normally pale face flushed with fervor, the youngest Malfoy then noticed something and grinned mischievously. Following his gaze, everyone spotted a cat, motionless and hanging by its tail from one of the torches. With a flick of his wand, Malfoy levitated the unfortunate creature down, regarding it with disdain. “Dead. Killed by the Heir,” he pronounced with a twisted satisfaction. “Everyone, witness: this is what will become of those deemed unworthy!” Several dim-witted pureblood supporters muttered in agreement. Suddenly, Filch’s heavy footsteps echoed toward the scene, forcing Malfoy to relinquish his prize quickly. Spotting Harry in the crowd, he sneered, “This filth should complement your own dirtied blood, Potter. Catch!” With that, Malfoy sent the cat flying in Harry’s direction. Thanks to his Seeker reflexes, Harry instinctively caught the cat, but was then seized by an agonizing grip around his neck. “You killed my cat! You've murdered her!” Filch screeched, hoisting Harry off the ground. “I’ll kill you! I’ll—” Hermione, horrified by the threat against her friend, sprang forward. “But he didn’t… He didn’t do anything to your cat…” she stammered, desperately trying to reason with the enraged caretaker. “Trying to shield your accomplice, are you? I’ll kill you too! I’ll have your head for what you did to my Mrs. Norris!” Filch shrieked as he tightened his grip, his red-rimmed eyes glinting with fury. “But they really didn’t do anything, Mr. Filch!” Neville stepped in, standing defensively in front of his friends. Filch slowly turned his attention to Neville, eyes blazing. “And you too? You helped murder my cat? I’ll have you hanged in the Great Hall! You’ll be an example of what happens to those who break the school’s laws!” Filch howled. At that moment, the professors, led by Dumbledore, burst onto the scene. “Argus!” Dumbledore intoned, his voice firm and commanding. Filch’s expression faltered, releasing Harry, who fell to the floor, gasping. Dumbledore approached Harry, lifting Mrs. Norris carefully and casting a charm to ease the young wizard’s strained neck. “Come with me, Argus. Mr. Potter, you as well.” Harry wanted to question why he needed to follow, but he was still catching his breath. Lockhart, brimming with enthusiasm, stepped forward. “My office is the closest—just upstairs. Feel free to use it,” he offered, and Dumbledore nodded, leading the way, followed closely by Lockhart, and then Professors McGonagall and Snape, plus Filch. Harry picked himself up to follow, while Hermione and Neville tried to tag along, only to be halted by Percy, the prefect. The crowd slowly dissipated, their interest waning. In Lockhart’s office, once the candles were lit, Dumbledore placed Mrs. Norris down on his polished desk, examining her more closely. He leaned in, while McGonagall similarly scrutinized the cat. Snape loomed in the background, an odd expression on his face, as if he were suppressing a grin. Meanwhile, Lockhart fluttered about, offering unsolicited advice. “It was definitely a curse that did this—probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I’ve seen it used many times. Too bad I wasn’t there, but I know exactly the counter-curse that would have saved her…” Lockhart rambled, interrupting Filch, who was sobbing quietly, his face buried in his hands. Despite his resentment towards Filch, Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Dumbledore finally straightened, addressing Filch. “She’s not dead, Argus,” he said gently. Lockhart halted mid-sentence, incredulous. “Not dead?” Filch gasped, lifting his tear-streaked face toward Mrs. Norris. “Petrified. But how, I cannot say…” Dumbledore continued, his tone thoughtful. Lockhart, however, jumped to conclusions. “Ask him!” Filch hissed, his eyes narrowing on Harry. “No second-year could have accomplished this,” Dumbledore insisted, his voice emanating authority. “It would require Dark Magic of the highest order…” Filch, however, remained unconvinced. “He did it! You saw what he wrote on the wall!” Filch accused, his face flushed—a testament to his anger and distress. McGonagall seemed ready to intervene, her stern gaze signaling for him to hold his tongue. “I’m willing to swear an oath that neither I nor Hermione or Neville did anything to your cat or wrote anything on that wall,” Harry declared firmly, trying to maintain composure in the face of mounting tension. Dumbledore nodded. “There’s no need for that, Harry. As I mentioned, no second-year, regardless of Ms. Granger’s knowledge, could have executed this.” Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief. “But my cat has been petrified!” Filch screeched, anxiety evident in his voice. “I want punishment!” He paused briefly to draw breath. “And this brat was the one who had my Mrs. Norris!” Dumbledore shook his head with purpose. “Mr. Potter did not commit this act; he is a victim of circumstance.” Filch huffed angrily, clearly wanting to place blame on someone—anyone—for his beloved cat’s fate. "I assure you that we will find a way to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said calmly. "Professor Sprout recently acquired some Mandrakes. Once they reach maturity, I will have a potion prepared to revive Mrs. Norris." Filch nodded, though the frustration on his face was palpable. “I’ll brew it!” Lockhart interjected. “I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep, after doing it countless times...” “Excuse me…” Snape interjected icily, “but I am the Potions Master here.” An uncomfortable silence gripped the room. Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Harry, you may go,” he instructed. Nodding to express his gratitude, Harry quickly left Lockhart’s office, mindful that they had spent several hours on the matter of Mrs. Norris, and it was already past curfew. The last thing he needed was another detention for being out of bounds... ~/ *** \~ Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dungeons, Theodore Nott paced his room frustratedly. He had concocted a seemingly foolproof scheme to dethrone the Malfoy heir, but the emergence of this enigmatic Heir of Slytherin had completely overturned his plans. Basilius had garnered considerable support with his extremist views on purging Hogwarts of anyone deemed "unworthy"—a perspective only a few were willing to challenge. Late into the night, Theodore devised a new strategy, carefully considering how to account for the new Slytherin heir’s presence. It would take time and effort to dismantle the influence Malfoy held, but Theodore was confident he would find a way... ~/ *** \~ In the days that followed, the school buzzed with chatter about the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept the incident alive by hovering at the scene of the crime, as if expecting the assailant to return. Many students, including Harry, saw the caretaker attempting to scrub away the Slytherin heir’s blood-red message on the wall, but no spell could erase it; the words remained vivid and ominous. When not guarding the site, Filch roamed the corridors, his red-rimmed eyes darting, ready to pounce on unsuspecting students over the most trivial offenses—such as “breathing too loudly” or “looking cheerful.” The revelation of a dark presence capable of casting such petrification curses unsettled the student body, particularly among the younger pupils. Ginny Weasley, Ron’s younger sister and a devoted cat lover, was particularly distressed by Mrs. Norris’s fate; her classmates attempted to soothe her with varying degrees of success, though Ron’s tactless humor did little to help. Meanwhile, Hermione felt the weight of the chamber’s ominous message gravely and devoted herself to uncovering any information on Hogwarts’ history. She diligently combed through the library, seeking anything related to the legendary Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately, her search yielded little beyond the same tales recounted in various texts; the elusive Chamber remained just that—a secret. |
Lofty breeze chapter 18 . 11/1 It was the Friday following Halloween, and the second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were busy brewing swelling solutions during their Potions class. As was customary, Harry was paired with Neville Longbottom. Though Neville excelled at preparing ingredients, he seemed to struggle with properly mixing them into the potion. As Harry turned to select their next ingredient, he noticed with alarm that the potion in their cauldron had changed color and was bubbling ominously, the cauldron vibrating slightly. This was not good... “Protego!” Harry shouted, instinctively shoving Neville out of his seat just in time. Their unfinished potion erupted from the cauldron, surprisingly targeting Harry instead of Neville. While the shield charm wasn't particularly effective against physical attacks, it fared better against the magical substances of potions, preventing Harry from being doused head to toe in who-knows-what. “Potter!” Professor Snape’s voice sliced through the chaos, ready to make life miserable for the Gryffindor students. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for your inability to brew even the simplest swelling solution—” He was cut off as six cauldrons, each containing potions in various states of readiness, levitated and directed their contents towards Harry. With the shield charm unable to protect him from all sides, Harry ducked under the nearest desk, hoping to shield himself from the incoming liquefied chaos. Though he managed to avoid the worst of it, the potions’ acidic properties began to corrode his workbench at a rapid pace. To Snape’s surprise, despite his impassive demeanor, he did nothing to eliminate the hazardous mixture. But as Harry became increasingly aware of the hissing sound coming from above—a telltale sign that the potion was eating through the desk—it was too late. The first drops landed painfully on his shoulder, rapidly dissolving the fabric of his robes. “Ah!” Harry yelped as the acid made contact. Desperately rolling backward to escape further harm, he unknowingly caught more droplets on his chest and stomach, places he could tend to himself if necessary. Given that Snape had yet to intervene, he had little choice. Fortunately, the acid had mostly spent itself, sparing Harry the trouble of trying to wash away the burns. However, the unpleasant reality of chemical burns was unavoidable, and he hoped Madam Pomfrey could remedy the situation swiftly. Regrettably, while concentrating on his own injuries, Harry overlooked the fact that the acidic mixture was still dissolving the desk. It reached a tipping point, causing one side to collapse, and a piece of the desk came crashing down on his head, knocking him out cold. As the commotion settled, Snape deemed it time to act. Though he relished the chance to deduct more points from Harry for seemingly seeking attention, it was clear the incident had not been intentional. Having neglected his duties to the students, he realized he had dug his own grave. Albus Dumbledore, a powerful figure, had limitations, and Snape could ill afford to draw his ire again. “Longbottom!” Snape barked. “Take Potter to the hospital wing.” While Neville hurried to comply, Snape continued, “Is there anyone else who needs medical attention?” Tracey raised her hand, having been splashed by her cauldron’s contents. “You can go to the infirmary as well.” She nodded and quickly gathered her things before limping out of the classroom. “Class is dismissed. Next week, you'll all be redoing the swelling solution. Be prepared; I won’t tolerate any dolts in my class!” With that ultimatum, Snape retreated to his office for a floo call to the headmaster. ~/ *** \~ “Albus, we have a problem!” Severus Snape announced as he stepped into the headmaster's office through the inter-school floo connection. Dumbledore looked up from a stack of paperwork. “Severus, my boy, you sound as though someone has attempted to assassinate a student! Surely, children can be troublesome, often injuring each other over trivial matters, but I hardly think they would seek to kill,” the ancient headmaster replied with a twinkle in his eye. “You don’t comprehend!” It was rare for Severus to raise his voice, especially to the only man who had saved him from Azkaban years prior. “A student was attacked in my classroom. An incomplete swelling solution isn’t typically dangerous, but when combined with others in a classroom setting...” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “It created a strong acid, Albus. Madam Pomfrey will inform you of the extent of the injuries later, but I can assure you there will be chemical burns—third degree. We both know those are not easily healed, even with magic!” “What’s worse,” Snape continued, his voice lowering, “I have no idea who is behind the attack. I scanned the minds of everyone present, and none seemed to have malicious intent.” Dumbledore nodded; he would need to investigate the incident further, though he recognized that with Lady Longbottom growing more active in the Board of Governors, it would be a challenge to contain the fallout. “Just one question, Severus: who was attacked?” Snape hesitated for a moment before answering. “Harry Potter.” ~/ *** \~ Madam Pomfrey took about an hour to address the burns Harry sustained. Although visible signs of damage had faded, he still felt discomfort where the acidic mixture had touched his skin. As a precaution, the medi-witch insisted he remain in the hospital wing overnight in case complications arose. Around midnight, a squeaky voice jolted Harry awake—Dobby the house elf stood before him. “Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts!” Dobby whispered sadly. “Harry Potter ignored Dobby’s warnings! Why did Harry Potter not go home when he couldn’t get through the barrier? Why didn’t Harry Potter leave when he was attacked by those bludgers?” “You were the one who tried to kill me?” Harry hissed, glaring at the house elf. “No, Dobby was not trying to harm great Harry Potter!” Dobby insisted, hands raised defensively, his bandaged hands catching Harry’s attention. “Dobby thought if he showed Harry Potter how dangerous it is at Hogwarts, Harry Potter would leave before the monster from the Chamber of Secrets could reach him…” Harry felt his anger cool slightly but couldn't quell his frustration. He was about to chastise Dobby when he overheard approaching voices. Sensing that discovery would lead to trouble, Dobby vanished. Moments later, Dumbledore appeared, maneuvering a statue onto a bed with Professor McGonagall’s assistance. “Get Madam Pomfrey,” Dumbledore instructed quietly. McGonagall hurried to comply. As Harry feigned sleep, he strained to see who had been attacked and quickly recognized Colin Creevey, petrified, with his camera clutched tightly in his hands. “Petrified?” Madam Pomfrey whispered. “Yes,” McGonagall answered. “I found him on the stairs, but I dread to think... If Albus hadn’t been going down for hot chocolate, who knows what might have happened...” The three adults surveyed Colin, and then Dumbledore leaned in and carefully pried the camera from Colin’s stiff grip. “Perhaps he captured a photo of his attacker?” McGonagall speculated eagerly. Dumbledore remained silent as he opened the camera, only for a jet of purplish steam to burst forth. “Good gracious!” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, stepping back. “It’s all melted...” “What does this mean, Albus?” McGonagall asked urgently. “It means,” Dumbledore said after a moment’s contemplation, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.” Shocked, Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall exchanged concerned glances. “But Albus… who could be behind this?” McGonagall asked. “The question is not who,” Dumbledore replied, his gaze fixed on Colin. “The question is, how…” The following morning, Madam Pomfrey deemed Harry well enough to leave her care, though she cautioned him against straining his right arm—his shoulder had suffered the worst from the chemical burns. As Harry exited the hospital wing, he noticed a screen now surrounding Colin's bed, shielding the petrified boy from view. Pausing for a moment, Harry silently hoped the mandrakes would be ready soon so Colin could be revived. With that thought, he made his way to the Great Hall for a late breakfast. He had a serious conversation to have with a certain blonde witch about house elves and their peculiar behaviors... On his way to the library, Harry heard numerous theories circulating about Colin’s attack. Each student seemed determined to concoct at least two wild explanations. As he approached the far corner of the library, he spotted Draconica immersed in a book. “Good morning,” he greeted awkwardly, sitting down across from her. “Good morning, Potter.” She barely looked up from her tome. “It’s good to see you’ve already recovered from yesterday’s incident.” “About that incident…” he started, only for her to raise an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious—was he aware of the identity of the perpetrator? After all, Professor Snape had interrogated many of the second-year Slytherins, employing every method available to uncover the truth, and he certainly took offense at anyone attempting to harm Harry, regardless of house rivalry. “You own a house-elf named Dobby, correct?” Harry asked. “Yes, that’s right.” She didn’t look up at him, still engrossed in her reading. “House elves cannot go against their master's direct instructions,” he pressed. “Please order him to stop trying to ‘save’ me—he might just succeed in killing me instead.” Draconica’s expression shifted as understanding dawned. 'So Dobby was responsible for the potions mishap—likely behind the strange bludger incidents in Quidditch matches too.’ “I will speak to him,” she said, a determined look on her face. “But not immediately—later today.” “Thank you,” Harry replied, aware that their friendship thrived within the context of their work on Dumbledore’s Army and other similar occasions. ~/ *** \~ At the beginning of dinner the next day, a visibly distressed Professor Sprout rushed into the Great Hall and headed straight for the headmaster. Harry couldn’t make out the details, but the quick departure of McGonagall, following closely behind, indicated something dire had occurred. Thanks to the rapid spread of rumors among the Hogwarts community, by curfew, every student knew of another attack: a sixth-year Muggle-born Hufflepuff named Thomas White had been found petrified near the eastern wing of the castle, close to the boys' toilets. Adding to the unease, the boy was discovered in a position suggesting he had been gazing out the window when he was petrified. The news of Colin’s petrification had already raised alarm, but the fate of Thomas sent ripples of panic through the student body. While professors tried to reassure students about the situation, their efforts yielded mixed results—fear was thick in the air, and no one felt fully secure. Naturally, the sinister happenings at Hogwarts couldn’t be contained solely within the castle’s walls. The arrival of Lady Longbottom, along with several other members of the Board of Governors, during dinner on Monday was anticipated by some, although others wished it had come sooner. The group approached the professors' table, demanding explanations from Dumbledore regarding the ongoing attacks. The old man skillfully avoided immediate answers, leading them instead to his office. While the details of their conversation remained unknown, the governors exited the castle two hours later, but with reinforced prefect patrols, there was little else done to address the strange occurrences. A week passed without further incidents, and while students began to cautiously relax, the uneasiness lingered—no one dared to venture alone. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they encountered a considerable gathering around the notice board, all reading a newly posted parchment with keen interest. “What’s going on?” Neville inquired as they joined the throng. “They’re starting a Dueling Club!” Seamus Finnigan, a classmate, announced excitedly. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind some dueling lessons—might come in handy one day...” Ron turned away from the notice, curious. “You think the Slytherin monster can duel?” he asked. To everyone’s surprise, this was one of the more astute observations he had made lately as his conversations usually revolved around food or unfair professors. “Could still be useful, right?” Seamus countered, and this sparked numerous nods of agreement from the crowd. “I hope Professor Flitwick is teaching us,” a third-year Ravenclaw girl remarked. “He was a dueling champion once—bet he has a few tricks up his sleeve.” The consensus suggested that should Flitwick helm the club, it would be worthwhile, and Harry decided he would attend. |
Lofty breeze chapter 19 . 11/1 Draconica spent several days processing the weight of what Harry had revealed to her: the house elves at Malfoy Manor were aware of something amiss at Hogwarts this year. Dobby had begun his attempts to 'save' Harry back in June, a piece of information that the blonde witch managed to extract from the elf. This led her to suspect that preparations for the attacks had commenced around that time. In June, the manor had hosted few visitors, none of whom were dark enough to contemplate unleashing a horror upon a school full of children. Furthermore, her father hardly left his study, making it likely that he was the mastermind behind whatever was unfolding. Yet, Draconica could not fathom him being foolish enough to unleash a creature intended to reside in Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets, especially with the possibility—however slight—that it could harm his own children. This suggested that whatever was orchestrating these attacks was beyond her father’s complete comprehension. The implications were troubling. However, she resolved not to disclose this discovery to anyone—at least not yet. She wouldn’t betray her family, and this piece of information didn’t clarify who was responsible for the attacks, how they were being executed, or how to stop them. ~/ *** \~ Harry, Neville, and Hermione, along with their classmates, entered the Great Hall for the inaugural Dueling Club meeting. The identity of the club’s leader was still uncertain, yet most students were hopeful that Professor Flitwick would take the helm. Those hopes were dashed when Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in flamboyant plum robes, took the stage, flanked by Severus Snape, who appeared less than thrilled to be there. "I think we should leave now. I doubt we’ll learn anything useful from him," Neville remarked, gesturing towards Lockhart. "That could be true..." Harry replied. "But I’ve heard Snape is quite adept with his wand, so we might still pick up something." "Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione corrected him, but he dismissed her. Lockhart was now drawing attention to himself. "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Excellent!" he proclaimed, waving his arms for silence. "Professor Dumbledore has graciously allowed me to start this dueling club to prepare you for self-defense, as I have done on countless occasions—details of which you can find in my published works. Allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape." With a broad smile, he continued, "He tells me he knows a bit about dueling and has sportily agreed to demonstrate with me before we begin. Don’t worry, you’ll still have your potions master when I’m done with him!" The look on Snape’s face revealed his thinly veiled desire to inflict pain on the man beside him. "Observe the way we stand and how we hold our wands: this is one of the officially accepted positions for combat," Snape stated as they raised their wands like swords. "On the count of three, we’ll cast our first spells," Lockhart announced to the attentive crowd. "Of course, neither of us will aim to kill." Snape’s expression suggested otherwise. "One... Two... Three..." "Expelliarmus!" Snape declared in a dull tone, sending a beam of red light toward Lockhart. The spell struck the DADA professor in the chest, blasting his wand from his hand and sending him careening off the stage, where he crashed against the wall before sprawling to the floor. This prompted cheers from some students, particularly those in Slytherin. "Well, there you have it!" Lockhart exclaimed, staggering back onto the stage. "That was a Disarming Charm. As you can see, I lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent illustration, Professor Snape, but if I may say so, it was rather obvious what you intended to do. Stopping you would have been trivial—however, I felt it was instructive to let them witness..." Lockhart was cut off by Snape's lethal glare. "Enough demonstrating! I will now circulate and pair you all up. Professor Snape, will you assist me?" Hermione paired with Neville, while Harry found himself partnered with Su Li from Ravenclaw. Despite her usual shyness, the petite girl proved to be quite skilled with her wand. Lockhart counted to three, and the students began practicing the disarming charm. The experienced upperclassmen executed it flawlessly, but many others struggled. Ron Weasley, still using a cracked wand, seemed to be faring the worst, as evidenced by an ashen-faced Seamus. Observing the practices, Lockhart decided that perhaps focusing solely on the disarming charm had not been the wisest choice. "I think it would be better to teach you how to block spells," he announced. "But I need a volunteer pair..." Snape’s eyes glinted ominously. "How about Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy?" Snape suggested, a smirk falling across his face. "What a brilliant idea!" Lockhart exclaimed, leading the two students to the stage. Once there, he instructed Harry while whispering something to Malfoy that made the latter smirk. "Now, Harry, when he points his wand at you, I want you to do this." Lockhart raised his wand in a convoluted gesture, only to drop it. "Whoops! My wand seems a little overexcited..." "Scared, Potter?" Malfoy whispered, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "As if," Harry shot back defiantly. "Three... Two... One... Go!" Lockhart began. Harry immediately conjured a shield. "Serpensortia!" Malfoy shouted, a dark-brown snake materializing at his feet. Screams erupted from the audience as they recoiled in fear. "Don’t move, Potter," Snape drawled, seemingly content with the snake's presence. "I’ll take care of it." Seizing the distraction, Malfoy attempted to attack. "Rictumsempra!" Malfoy’s spell skittered harmlessly against Harry’s shield. Undeterred, he tried again. "Tarantallegra!" Again, the spell failed as Harry’s shield remained solid. The ruckus from the crowd drew attention: Lockhart was now struggling to vanish the snake, which only made it angrier, and it slithered toward the nearest student, Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted, targeting the snake to protect Justin. The spell paralyzed the creature effectively. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, Harry narrowly dodged Malfoy's disarming charm. With newfound resolve, Harry counterattacked. Malfoy was caught off guard, lost his wand, and stumbled backward, nearly falling off the stage. Realizing things were spiraling, Lockhart quickly decided it was time to end the meeting. "Alright, everyone!" he called out. "I know you all enjoyed our little club, but it's getting late, and you've got lessons tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to keep you from preparing. So, I'll see you next week!" Snape's expression remained murderous as students began leaving the Great Hall, discussing the chaotic events. "I’m not returning for the next meeting," Harry declared as the trio and their housemates walked back to Gryffindor Tower. Neville and Hermione agreed; they could better spend their time studying. ~/ *** \~ November passed, and with it the first two weeks of December, leaving Hogwarts glistening beneath a blanket of snow. After the attack on Thomas White, tensions ran high, with everyone bracing for the Slytherin heir’s potential return to unleash the beast from the Chamber of Secrets. Patrols were heightened, especially after curfew, and students were advised to avoid roaming alone. Meanwhile, only one more Dueling Club meeting was held. Lockhart seemed to acknowledge his inability to manage the club and decided to abandon the initiative, knowing he had little to offer the more advanced students of Hogwarts. With finals mostly done, Harry was pleased that he and his friends—including Draconica, Susan, and Hannah—had performed admirably, even in DADA, where their professor attempted a confusing hybrid of a test that made little sense. Even though the Slytherin heir had been silent for weeks, most students were reluctant to remain at Hogwarts for the holidays. Nearly all seats on the Hogwarts Express were filled as students sought to escape for Christmas. Hermione was going on a ski trip to the Swiss Alps with her parents, while Neville had promised himself a rare plant for his greenhouse. The Gryffindor chaser trio also planned to leave, likely wanting to evade last year’s punishing Quidditch training with Oliver Wood, who, this time, also decided to go home. Ultimately, Harry and the Weasley family were the only Gryffindor students opting to stay at the castle for Christmas—Percy claimed it was his duty as a prefect during troubled times. The Malfoys stayed as well, along with Crabbe, Goyle, a few sixth and seventh-year Ravenclaws, and one fifth-year Hufflepuff. Despite the pervasive atmosphere of anxiety at Hogwarts, the Christmas dinner was delightful. The staff transformed the Great Hall into a winter wonderland with frost-covered trees decorated with living fairies, while holly and mistletoe adorned the ceiling. Dumbledore even enchanted warm, dry snow to fall, creating a magical ambiance. The house-elves in the kitchens excelled themselves, preparing a feast so delicious that students indulged without restraint, some piling their plates high. ~/ *** \~ The following morning, Harry allowed himself a leisurely wake-up, wandering down to the Gryffindor common room around half past eleven. Percy had settled in by the fire, engrossed in a tome about runes while multitasking to keep an eye on the twins, who were conspiring in a corner. As was tradition, a stack of wrapped gifts awaited Harry beneath the Christmas tree. He picked them up and sank into the nearest armchair. Among his gifts was a large tin of treacle fudge from Hagrid, which he intended to soften by the fire. Draconica had sent a box of chocolates in green and silver, while Harry had sent her a similar treat and a standard spellbook for DADA. Neville’s family had gifted him an assortment of herbal extracts—Harry reciprocating with advanced Herbology texts. The Gryffindor chaser trio offered him a magical team photo adorned with their lip prints, and Oliver Wood gifted him a Snitch, which magically transformed into a small storage space accessible only to him. Lastly, Hermione’s gifts included a postcard depicting the Alps, a geography book, and Swiss chocolate. ~/ *** \~ Hundreds of miles away, Hermione was unwrapping her presents. Her parents had gifted her 'book' money, sugarless sweets, and literature to ensure she stayed abreast of her private education. Though still thrilled by the trip, she wished the rented cottage’s walls were thicker or that her parents were quieter; the previous evening had been somewhat chaotic. Neville had sent her a book on common charms with an emphasis on the underlying theory, while Harry gifted her a collection of magical fairy tales and Honeydukes sweets. Padma Patil, a good friend from Ravenclaw, included body oils from India along with a postcard wishing her a Merry Christmas. Another postcard from Draconica, though minimal, brought a smile to Hermione’s face. ~/ *** \~ Theodore Nott was satisfied with his current circumstances. Though he loathed Dumbledore's pro-Muggle stance, he had to concede that the headmaster's efforts made Hogwarts’ holiday festivities superb. His father had sent him various borderline dark artifacts that he couldn't wait to test back at school. He believed these tools might empower him to usurp the Malfoy heir. The recent vanishing of the Slytherin heir had brought back some supporters, but Nott knew he needed greater backing to secure his dominance over the house. Soon, he thought with determination, Basilius would get what was coming to him. ~/ *** \~ Tom Marvolo Riddle—merely Tom at this point—forced himself to maintain the façade of a supportive older brother to the girl who confided in his diary, lamenting her unrequited feelings for Harry Potter, the boy who had somehow destroyed him nearly eleven years prior. He was eager to learn how a mere toddler managed to thwart the greatest Dark Lord of recent history, but for now, he bided his time. Instead, Tom plotted a new wave of attacks against mudbloods and blood traitors. He had remained too quiet for too long, and while the old fool remained vigilant, caution was paramount. His desired prey list was firmly in mind—he needed only to wait for the school break to conclude, allowing him to cleanse Hogwarts of its tainted blood once more. The girl he possessed didn’t need to know his true intentions. |