A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Nor any of the characters from the classic Screen Gems Television show mentioned herein. But you knew that.

Harry Potter and The Elder Sect

Chapter Four - Exposure

The Dark Lord kicked at this sole remaining minion. "Quirrell, get up. We have plans to make."

"Master?" Quirrell asked, his eyes blinking as he returned to consciousness. The man then focused on his reborn lord. "Master?" He asked again. "You're so..." Before he could complete the sentence, Quirrell's eyes rolled up and he once again lost consciousness.

"Young is the word your minion is searching for."

Voldemort spun to face the new voice, his eyes widening when he found the speaker. A man dressed in a suit of dark blue velvet with a blindingly white ruffled shirt, lounging on a blood red chaise. "Who are you?"

The man leaned on his elbow, a smile playing upon his lips, "You can call me Arthur, Tommy, everyone does," this 'Arthur' looked around the room. "Such a lovely place you've got here. So marvelously... unique.

It was only then Voldemort recognized the room he was in. This was the sitting room of the main house of the Riddle estate. He had murdered his father and paternal grandparents in this room, he had not returned since that night, and he had no idea why he was here now.

"And when I say 'unique' I mean dank and tacky of course," the man Arthur continued with a jovial laugh.

"The women of the family expected Maurice to make sure you understood where you stand," Arthur continued, "and I thought he did an excellent job of explaining your place in the universe, I really did, but here you are, not fifteen minutes later, plotting away. In all honesty, you're acting just as I expected you too, because I know men like you." The man laughed again, "I enjoyed a bit of pillaging and plunder when I was younger as much as anyone... Ah to be young again, standing on the deck of my ship, the Raging Queen, hoisting the Jolly Roger on some unsuspecting Merchant..." again the laughter erupted from the man, "and leaving port the next morning before he wakes up..."

"But I'm drifting off subject aren't I?" Arthur asked rhetorically with a sigh. "Our people trend toward hedonism, you know. Most of us are born, we reach maturity, very occasionally we have a child, and then we move into a very long lifetime of the pursuit of pleasure." Again the smile stretched the man's mouth. "I must admit, I am far further into that pursuit than most. But our children, as rare as they are, are precious to us. My niece Samantha, well she's a wonderful girl. She's had two of her own, and is raising my Grand Nephew as her own, and you... you threatened and orphaned the boy when he was less than two, and now you're plotting against him again. You are plotting against him even now. Plotting against one of our children. Plotting against a member of my family..." The smile darkened and the man's eyes lit with barely restrained power. "You've manage something no one has done in most of a thousand years... You've made me angry little wizard."

"Who are you?" Voldemort repeated in a desperate attempt to understand what was happening.

"I'm the Warlock who is going to make you regret those evil thoughts you've had since my Grand Nephew so graciously gave you a second chance in life," Arthur responded.

The man rose from his chaise and raised his left hand. Voldemort felt the strongest magic he had ever experienced roiling about the room feeling all the world as if there were hundreds of thousands of ants crawling all over his body. The Dark Lord's mind raced. While this unknown man held no wand, no weapon at all that Voldemort could understand, he had no doubt that this unknown man was about to kill him. What could he do to defend himself? He had no wand and he...

Arthur's eyes went wide and he stepped back in shock. "That scamp," he said with a tone of wonder, the fury of seconds before gone from his voice, the magic infesting the room vanishing as if it had never existed. He lowered his left hand and leaned forward to more closely examine the nearly panicking Voldemort, a large magnifying glass appeared in his right hand and Arthur peered through it seeming to examine Voldemort in minute detail. "That little scamp. You spend hours with them trying to explain how the world works, but you just know they aren't listening, that you're wasting your time, and then the boy turns around and does something like this." Arthur shook his head and knuckled away a tear from his right eye. "I'm so proud of him I could just burst! He's like me...not just another pretty face; he has brains to go with his devastating good looks"

"What are you talking about?" Voldemort squeaked. "What did he do to me?"

"Why, Our Harry has given you what you've always wanted," Arthur laughed. "Near immortality. He's given you an Elder's lifespan."

"I'm... I'm an Elder?" Voldemort gasped.

"No, don't be silly," Arthur said laughing and waving his hand, the magnifying glass vanishing. "He's given you an Elder's lifespan, not the power to go with it. You're still a wand wizard, as limited and weak as ever, you just aren't mortal anymore. And there's a catch."

"A catch?" Voldemort asked his voice breaking.

"You're going to be fourteen, for the rest of your life, with all that entails," Arthur smirked. "Every time you have one of your evil thoughts, your face will break out. I think Harry got that idea from one of the older boys in his neighborhood, the one they call 'Craterface'. I'd invest heavily in facial scrubs if I were you Tommy."

"What?" Voldemort gasped. "But I saw what I look like, I was..."

"Oh, Harry brought you back as your own mental image of yourself as you were when you were 16, but you've been regressing since then. You've settled in at a nice simple fourteen. Have you ever imagined being an adolescent forever? Well, now you won't have to imagine it. Every pretty thing you see will give you an erection, but you won't be able to speak to him..." Arthur leaned forward again, "Or are you one of those weirdoes who like girls? Anyway, you'll always be hungry; your limbs will constantly ache from the growth spurt that isn't actually happening... and there's more," Arthur said with a shake of his head. "But I'll let you discover that for yourself. Our Harry may not want to kill you, but he's certainly not averse to seeing you suffer."

"What?" Voldemort asked, wincing as his voice broke, and still not believing what was happening to him. "What has he done to me?"

"It's a surprise," Arthur laughed while swinging an arm around Voldemort's shoulders. "Come on Tommy, let's find you a dermatologist while I tell you about my Grand Nephew, maybe we'll get mannipeddies and a massage while we're out. Those are just marvelous for relieving stress. Don't worry about your little minion, he'll sleep until we get back." Arthur glanced down at the sleeping man, "Seriously though, you could do better."

"I..." Voldemort stuttered. "I... You..."

"No Tommy, not me," Arthur smiled. "I said you could do better, not that you could do fabulous. I'm not sure how your old minions are going to react to the 'new you', but you can never be too rich or too young," Arthur's laugh again erupted.

"But I..." Voldemort said, struggling to gain control of the situation.

Suddenly the man was serious. "I just crack you up, don't I?"

Voldemort had no idea what to say to that.

"Did I tell you what Harry's done to your minions?" Arthur asked regaining his mirth. "You'll just have to wait to find out. The boy is a genius, and I should know, I taught him everything he knows about the fine art of revenge. Did I mention that I'm so proud of him?"


2 November 1991

"Is there something wrong Severus?" Dumbledore asked while wondering why his Potions Master was in his office. He and Severus normally greeted each other over breakfast in the Great Hall.

"My mark," the sallow man said grasping his left arm. "I woke this morning to find it was back... and changed."

The headmaster stood from his desk and crossed the room to his potions master. "It's back? But... it cannot be. The stone is still untouched." The old man frowned, his mind obviously racing. "You said that the mark was changed? How is it different?"

With a grimace, Snape rolled up the sleeve that covered his left forearm before offering the arm to Dumbledore.

Albus took hold of the arm and bent to examine the new mark closely.

Where before there had been a skull and snake intertwined, now there was a yellow disk with dots for eyes and a half circle for a mouth. Albus tapped his glasses with his wand to activate their magic divining abilities. The magic imbued in the mark had at very least tripled in complexity, and the original Dark Mark had already been one of the more complex magical constructs known to wizarding kind.

Dumbledore moved to probe this new mark with his wand in hopes of starting to understand the magics involved when the yellow form blinked its dot like eyes at him, dodged away from the probing wand, and then blew a raspberry with a very three dimensional tongue and very real saliva that spattered the old man's glasses.

Albus backed away from his potions' master in shock as music filled the air and the yellow circle began to sing;

"I love you

You love me

We're a happy family

With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you

Won't you say you love me too?"

"It won't stop!" Severus moaned piteously. "It just won't stop!"

"Oh, come on Sevvy," the yellow mark called out, "You know the words, sing along!"

"I love you

You love me

We are friends like friends should be

With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you

Won't you say you love me too?"

"Remarkable," Albus said as he watched the mouth form the words with was singing.

Snape quickly rolled down his sleeve, and the voice continued but was somewhat muffled. "After a few moments in the dark it goes quiet, but is anything touches my entire forearm, it starts up again.

"Second verse," the now hidden mark called out from inside the sleeve. "Same as the first, Scottish accent all the words!"

"Merlin," Snape whimpered, "If Minerva hears it doing that horrid accent, she'll kill me."

"This is an amazing feat of magic," Dumbledore said as he retook his seat. "But what does it mean? The Dark Lord has not taken the Stone, I am sure of that, what could he have done to regain the power needed to activate your mark, much less make such an inexplicable change to it? Are you the only one so affected?"

"I don't know, and I've no idea how to find out," Severus said shaking his head. "I can't exactly floo call any of my old associates and ask if their Dark Mark is singing to them. If it is, they'd likely deny it, if it isn't they'll think me insane."

"True," Dumbledore acknowledged before looking up suddenly. "Azkaban! Investigating the Death Eaters in Azkaban would be the easiest way to find out."

"But that won't tell us what it means," Snape pointed out as the enchanted tattoo on his arm began yet another verse. "What does it mean?"


Millicent Bulstrode looked up from her class notes to see Harry Stevens making his way from the doorway that lead to the boys' dorms to the table where she and the rest of the first year Slytherin girls sat.

This boy was very odd. Easily the most magically powerful of their cohort, easy going and friendly to everyone from all four of the houses, Stevens was not what she had expected to find inside Slytherin house.

As a half blood, Millicent had been under no illusions as to what sort of treatment she was to expect when sorted into her father's house. Then, this unknown boy from America showed up claiming a witch for his mother and a Muggle for his father and started talking to the Founder's portrait and calling the painting 'Uncle' and the portrait actually responded as if this Harry was one of his own.

That had caused a lot of the House to start examining their positions. As a result, Millie had found herself, for the first time in her life, if not welcomed, then at least accepted by anyone outside of her immediate family. Millie was surprised at how much she enjoyed this simple acceptance.

"Ladies," Stevens said as he arrived at the table.

"Morning Stevens" Tracey Davis said from Millie's left. Davis was the other half blood among the Slytherin first years, and though she had not said anything, Millie was sure that Tracey was enjoying the unexpected acceptance as well.

"Look," Stevens said with obvious embarrassment, "I need to talk to all of you this morning, and I'd like to do it without the guys around. Is now a good time?"

All of the first year girls looked to Pansy Parkinson. Pansy had somehow ended up being the leader of the girls. "Of course Harry," Pansy said with a rare smile.

Since Stevens had prevented the Slytherins from wandering into the path of the troll two days before, as far as Pansy was concerned, Stevens could do no wrong, Millie knew. For that matter, she quite agreed. The American's common sense along with his unwillingness to take any of Draco's crap had endeared the boy to Millie as well. Perhaps it had been the offer to hold the Malfoy boy down so that she could pound on him a bit that had done it.

"OK, thanks. I need to apologize to all of you for my language over the last few days," the boy said, his face reddening a bit more. "When I got home last night my Uncle read me the riot act on how I was choosing to speak in front of you."

Millie noticed that she was not alone in glancing to the portrait of the great Salazar Slytherin. Harry's Uncle had not liked the language he was using in front of them? He had called the founder's portrait 'Uncle Sal'... what other uncle could possibly know how the Stevens boy spoke around his house-mates?

No. That was impossible.

"Anyway, my Uncle is bound and determined to make me into a gentleman whether I like it or not, but I guess he's right. I'm sorry for how I was speaking in front of all of you, and I promise to try and keep it under control, ok?" Harry asked hopefully.

The girls simply nodded, which seemed to satisfy the boy. "OK, great. I'm going to head up and see what they have for breakfast. See you when you get there."


"His uncle?" Pansy asked, voicing the question that they were all thinking.

Daphne was openly staring at Slytherin's portrait. "It couldn't be... could it?"

"Of course not," Tracey said with a shake of her head. "When he spoke with the Founder, it was clear that they hadn't seen each other in a long time."

"He hadn't seen the portrait," Millie pointed out. "That doesn't mean that he hasn't seen the subject."

"For Salazar Slytherin to still be around to have scolded Stevens, he would be over a thousand years old," Daphne pointed out.

Now Pansy was staring at the portrait. The painting noticed and nodded to her with a small smile. "What would be more unlikely?" She asked. "That Salazar Slytherin could live for more than a thousand years, or that Stevens is old enough to have known him? What other Uncle could possibly know what he is saying here in the common room?"

"He did ask if he had ever returned to the castle..." Tracey noted. "How could he not know if he had?"

"Salazar Slytherin cares how Stevens speaks around us? Cares that he... that Harry was being ungentlemanly?" Millie asked.

"Bloody hell," Pansy breathed. "Who is this Harry Stevens anyway?"


Dean Thomas rolled out of his bed and stretched, yawning as he did so. Then the Muggle born wizard heard something he never expected to hear inside his dorm.

"Meow," a man's voice said.

Immediately Dean started looking around in confusion.

"Meow meow meow meow!"

Neville Longbottom returning from the showers in his dressing gown heard the meows. "Who is that?"

"Meow meow meow meow!"

Seamus Finnegan stuck his head out from behind his drapes. "Bloody hell, who thinks he's funny?"

"I've heard this before," Dean said, a look of confusion on his face.

"I think we've all heard people saying 'Meow' before Dean," Neville said as he continued to search for the source of the voice.

"Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow !"

"No, this exactly, a song sung by someone saying 'meow'," Dean said. "Two years ago we visited cousins in the US. This was a cat food ad on American telly."

Neville and Seamus exchanged a glance, both wondering what 'telly' might be, and why it would add cat food... For that matter, what was it adding cat food to?

"It's coming from Ron's bed," Neville pointed out.

Seamus emerged from his bed and joined the others at the dorm's fourth bed.

"Meow meow meow meow!"

Dean reached up and yanked open the drapes around Ron Weasley's bed. This revealed the pajama-clad red-head sitting up in his bed holding his pet rat and staring at his pet in open-mouthed confusion.

"Ron?" Neville asked.

"It's Scabbers," Weasley said, "I think he's gone bilingual."

"Meow meow meow meow!"

The 'meows' were definitely coming from the rat. The four dorm-mates exchanged looks and then shrugged and returned to their morning rituals. They went to a school of magic after all; odd things were a routine occurrence.

None of them noticed that Scabbers the Rat did not seem overly pleased with his new vocalizations, nor that rather than coming from Scabber's mouth, the meows were coming from the rat's front left leg.


"Warden!" the Auror shouted as he entered the main Azkaban administration offices. "Warden!"

Warden Timothy Jensen looked up from the Wizengamot proclamation he was reading and sighed. Biggers had not been assigned to the Azkaban Guard Detail long enough to yet understand that there was absolutely nothing urgent enough to get excited about on the island.

"What is it Biggers?" the older man sighed.

"It's the Special prisoners sir," Biggers said, using the in house code for the imprisoned Death Eaters. "They're singing."

"Singing?" Jenson asked. That was a new one. The Death Eaters had never done that before.

"Well, not really," Biggers admitted. "More like they're lip-synching."

Jenson raised his eyebrows with an unspoken question.

"It's a Muggle thing," Biggers explained. "It's where you pretend to sing to a prerecorded song." Before the warden could ask his next question, the Auror continued. "We can't find the source of the music but the Death Eaters are dancing in their cells, and pretending to sing."

"What are they singing?"

"That's the weirdest part," Biggers said. "They're singing... or pretending to sing, Muggle songs. They started with Jailhouse Rock, then Bellatrix did Crazy Train with the rest of them singing backup, and when I left to report to you, all of the Death Eaters are doing Someone to Love. Bella is a bass... who knew?"

Jenson sat silently for several seconds waiting for the punch line to this obvious joke. When none came, he rose from his desk and pulled on his cloak. "Let's go Biggers. I swear to Merlin, if this is some kind of joke..."

At his door, Timothy Jensen stopped dead in his tracks. From the bowels of his prison he could clearly hear music, and a woman's voice rang out:

"In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight,

In the jungle, the quiet jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..."

Then a chorus of male voices started up:

"Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh

Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh

Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh

Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh"

"Bloody hell!" the warden exclaimed. "What is going on here?"


"Afternoon Tracey," Harry said as he took a seat at one of the many study tables in the Great Hall joining his house-mate.

Tracey Davis looked up from her charms assignment and nodded to the boy. She was trying very hard not to think about the puzzle named Harry Stevens. Trying to understand the reasons he did the things he did usually gave her a headache.

Still... what had he meant by...

No! She told herself, she was not going to do that to herself.

Later, while nursing a headache, Tracey realized that her mistake was looking at the Stevens boy and being shocked that rather than the heavy text she had, his was slimmer, the cover seemed somehow more flamboyant, and somehow the book seemed... new.

The pages were a blinding white; the text was uniform across the page, with colorful charts and photographs on the pages she could see. The photos were static and unmoving.

A Muggle book? In Hogwarts?

Tracey swallowed. Her curiosity building until she could no longer stand it. "What are you reading?" she asked.

Stevens looked up from his notes... paper, she noted, his scribbles in pencil no less. "Oh, I've finished all my homework for Hogwarts..." he said while turning the page of his textbook. "I got distracted last night and forgot to finish my Algebra homework, so I hoping to get it done during this free period."

"Algebra?" she asked, the odd word felt strange in her mouth. "What is that? And what class is it for? We're in all the same classes and I don't remember anything about anything called Algebra."

"Oh, it's not for Hogswarts," Harry said as he copied some sort of structure from the text to his notes. Whatever he was doing was upside down to Tracey's perspective, but was it a word? There were letters, but there were also numbers. What was he doing? "This is for my Mortal school... No, not mortal, that's not right. What do you call people without magic?"

"Muggles," Tracey said puzzled that he honestly seemed not to know.

"Right, Muggle school. Yeah, this is due tomorrow, and I've still got a pile of English notes to review tonight for a test tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? She asked.

"Well, for me," he grinned. "For you it was due this morning. I'm looping you see."

"Looping?" she asked weakly

"Yeah, looping the day," he said as he made some marks on his notes and rewrote the not word, not maths problem in front of him. "After the last class today, I head home for Dinner. After dinner and the cleanup, then I loop back to yesterday after dinner and then hang out with me, my brother and sister for a couple of hours, finish my homework, go over it with my Dad, and maybe catch some TV, then we hit the hay and tomorrow Muggle school. Or this morning from your perspective."

Tracey was feeling a bit dizzy from that explanation despite the fact that she was sitting down. The only thing she had understood from his 'explanation' was that he intended to go home for dinner, and hang out with his brother, sister, and... himself? A concerned look crossed Stevens' face.

"I don't think I was supposed to tell anyone about that," he said in a contrite tone. "Mom and Dad are always on me not to show off. I didn't offend you or hurt your morale or anything did I?" he asked hopefully.

"I... I don't think so..." Tracey answered wondering what the Stevens boy was talking about.

"Good," Stevens said, his easy grin returning to his lips. Then he frowned looking at his text. "I don't suppose you know anything about the Distributive Property do you?"

"No," she admitted while wondering what property the boy was concerned might need distributing.

"Well, crud," he said, rubbing out his previous work and rewriting it. The rewriting did not seem to satisfy him in the slightest.

Try as she might, Tracey just could not return to her own assignment. Stevens and his muttering over whatever he was trying to do seemed to absorb her entire attention.

"I need some help," Harry sighed. He glanced around the room looking for anyone who might be able to offer the assistance he sought. Tracey looked about as well. Other than a table of first year Hufflepuffs, they were alone in the Great Hall. "Crud," he repeated. "Well I guess I'll need to call someone."

Tracey watched as the boy raised his left hand and then hesitated. "Wand," he said, "can't perform magic without a wand you know..."

The boy reached down and pulled his book bag onto his lap. "Uh... Potions," he said as he pulled his Potions text from the bag, then dug deeper, "My Gameboy! I wondered where I left that!" Stevens said as he placed a plastic box on the table next to his books and parchment. "Ink, pencils, pens, stupid feathers... Ah, there it is!"

His wand was on the bottom of his book bag. How could his wand be at the bottom of his book bag? Hers was stored in its proper place, in the sleeve pocket designed to store and protect the precious focus. Tracey tried to remember the last time she had seen Stevens with his wand... and was a bit shocked that she was unable to picture him with it in his hand.

Stevens repacked his book bag and raised his wand, his face took on a look of concentration for a moment, and then he waved his wand and chanted "ridiculam senex,"

Suddenly standing beside the table was an old man, clad in heavy trousers, some sort of heavy cloth jacket and a knit hat. The old man seemed understandably startled by his sudden appearance in the Great Hall, looking around wildly before his eyes settled on the Stevens boy.

"Ah, Harry, of course," the old man said, a smile crossing his lips. "What can I help you with today?"

"Hi Professor," Stevens said happily. "Sorry to bother you, but I'm having some problems with my Algebra homework."

"Oh, no bother Harry," the old man said pulling the knit hat from his head, revealing a mass of white wild hair to match the ebony thatch of the boy. Unbuttoning his jacket, he settled into the chair next to Harry. "Hello Miss..."

"Oh, sorry Professor, this is Tracey Davis, she's a classmate of mine, but she isn't taking any math. Tracey, this is Professor Einstein."

Tracey really did not know what to say to a man who had just somehow done the impossible for anyone not named Harry Stevens and appeared in the middle of the Great Hall, so she nodded and tried not to stare.

The old man seemed quite used to people being stunned into silence around him because he smiled. "Miss Davis, it is a pleasure to meet one of Harry's friends. So Harry," he said turning to the boy at his side, "this is your new school? Hogwarts?"

"Yes sir," Harry nodded.

"Amazing. A school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The manipulation of quanta via force of will and stick waving," the old man shook his head. "I'm certainly glad I didn't know about that possibility when I was working on Relativity. I would never have gotten any sleep. So, Harry, show me where you are having problems."

"Yes sir," Harry said, offering the old man his papers. "I think the real problem is that I don't really understand the Distributive Property."

"Recognizing the problem is the first step to fixing it, Harry," the old man said as he looked over Steven's work. "And you are quite correct, you do not understand the Distributive Property."

"All my answers are wrong?" Harry asked. "All of them?"

"Sadly, yes," the Professor concluded. "Not to worry though, we'll soon have you knowing the basics." The old man placed a fresh sheet of paper in front of the boy. "Let us start at the beginning."

"Yes sir," Harry sighed.

"Don't take it so hard Harry, you'll get it, you always do. You know," he said as Harry copied the first equation onto his paper. "I heard the most marvelous rumor about myself the other day."

"You did?"

"Oh, yes. It seems that there are those going around saying that I failed maths class when I was a child."

Harry grinned. "I'd heard that, but it didn't seem likely."

"Not likely?" the old man laughed. "If I had brought home a failing grade in any subject, my mother would have tanned my backside. Alright, let's see how you would go about simplifying the equation..."


Two tables away Susan Bones blinked when she saw the old man suddenly appear in the Great Hall.

"I thought that wasn't supposed to be possible..." she said shaking her head.

"What?" Hannah Abbott asked from her left.

"That man just apparated to the table those Slytherins are at," the red-head pointed out the newcomer.

"That isn't possible," Ernie Macmillan sniffed in that somewhat superior way of his. "You must have been distracted when he approached the table. It's a well-known fact that you can't apparate inside the Hogwarts Wards."

Susan and Hannah exchanged a look and shook their heads. Hufflepuffs were team player and they supported each other, but there were times when the bulk of the Hufflepuff first years would gladly support Ernie into a concussion...

Justin Finch-Fletchly's eyes widened as soon as the old man across the Great Hall removed his knit had. "Bloody Hell!"

"What's wrong Justin?" Sue asked.

"That old fellow," the Muggleborn said. "He looks like Albert Einstein."

"Who?" Ernie asked with the rest of the Hufflepuffs sharing his look of confusion.

"A famous Muggle physicist," Justin explained. Then he noticed the blank looks he was getting from his house-mates and sighed. While he had been trying to learn everything he could about Britain's magical society, he was constantly amazed at how those already members of that society were so very ignorant of the larger world around them.

"A scientist," He said trying again, only to be rewarded by blank looks once again. "A researcher?" He asked, trying again.

That word they knew. "What does he research?" Ernie asked.

"Well..." Justin tried to think of the best way to explain what little he knew of the great scientist. "The universe really. How everything works. What keeps everything from flying apart."

From the far table the words of the Slytherin first year drifted over. "Oh, sorry Professor, this is Tracey Davis, she's a classmate of mine, but she isn't taking any math. Tracey, this is Professor Einstein."

"Well spotted Justin," Ernie nodded. "It is your Einstein chap. Perhaps he is being allowed to study magic, Imagine how uplifting that would be for the poor common Muggle."

"Well... I don't know... maybe. But that can't be Einstein."

"Why not?" Hannah asked.

"Albert Einstein is dead. Has been for decades." Justin explained.

Those words focused the Hufflepuffs attention to the Slytherin table. "Interesting," Ernie said, stroking his chin. "I've never seen a Muggle ghost before. This specter appears to be substantially more solid than the ghosts I've known."

Justin shook his head. There was no getting through to these people on some subjects. But that couldn't be Albert Einstein...

Could it?


The Slytherin common room was awash with noise as the various forms blew off steam after a day of classes. Draco Malfoy sat at the smallest table in the room, isolated in a dark corner. This afforded him the privacy he needed for this task.

Nothing about his time at Hogswarts had gone as planned so far, and it was all the fault of that Muggle loving half-blood Stevens. Draco was supposed to have taken his place as a leader of Slytherin house, only to be blocked at every turn. He had not figured out what the Yank had done to the Founder's Portrait to keep it from speaking to Draco and force it to speak to the Half-blood.


I apologize for how long it has been since my last letter, but I have been busy with my studies, and attempting to deal with what has come to be an insult to the name of Malfoy.

Draco paused. There was an art involved in getting his father to react properly. First, you had to make sure he knew you were behaving as you should as a Malfoy, and then make the issue at hand sound like the family name was being insulted. He dipped his quill into his ink-pot and continued.

As I reported earlier in the year, my cohort in Slytherin house has been sullied by the presence of a Half-blood product of an American witch and some Muggle. I regret to report that the house has failed to rally to show this poser his place. Seemingly, they are all dazzled by some trick the Yank employed to fool the founder's Portrait into speaking with him rather than with someone more suitable, such myself as the current representative of House Malfoy. As a result of this trickery, not even the upper forms are holding to the standards that made Slytherin house great. Half-bloods now stroll about, never even thinking about giving way to their betters.

That was a good start, but he would need to do better. Draco wanted his father to ride in like a war-mage of old and teach that insufferable mudblood Stevens a lesson.



Narcissa Malfoy glanced up from her novel. "Yes Sippy?"

The cowering elf hesitantly extended her arm with a familiar envelope clutched in her hand. "A letter from the Young Master, Mistress."

Narcissa accepted the envelope with a small nod. "Thank you Sippy, return to your duties."

She waited until the elf had left the room before carefully opening her son's letter.

Typical. Not even a hello to his mother; she read through the letter and sighed. Draco was so like his father, and not in the good ways. Narcissa marked her place in her book with a silver bookmark, a gift from Lucius from their days in Slytherin house.

She sighed again at the memories of what had been and rose from her chair to deliver Draco's letter to his father. Lucius' library was across the hall from her sitting room, but a knock at the door showed he was not there. How very odd, she reflected. He had not mentioned having an appointment out of the house today. By this time of the morning, Lucius was always in his library. He was not in the dining room either. Lucius was a man who defined himself by his schedule. For him not to be where he was supposed to be suggested something strange was afoot.

Concerned, Narcissa returned to the main hallway where she noticed something out of the ordinary. Music was playing.

Lucius hated music, her husband considered it a frivolous waste of resources, and only allowed it in the house during the social gatherings, balls, and parties expected of those of their station. And even then it was begrudged.

Concerned that the music might be a sign of a possible intruder in the manor, Narcissa drew her wand and made her way up the stairs, finally reaching Lucius' bed chambers, where she stood in shocked silence as the scene she found through the open doorway, her wand almost slipping her fingers.

Lucius was cavorting in front of his full-length mirror, naked other than the white dress shirt he was pulling on as he danced.

"I'm too sexy for my love. Too sexy for my love. Love's going to leave me. I'm too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirts So sexy it hurts!"

Narcissa's eyes widened in shock. Lucius was singing? No, there were two voices. Her eyes searched the room for the other singer as she stood in the doorway.

"Ah, Narcissa!" Lucius called out over the music and the unknown singer, but still moving sensuously within his shirt. "Isn't it wonderful? A gift from the Dark Lord, Narcissa! He knows me so well!"

Then she watched as he rejoined the singing, moving his dancing to focus toward her, while still focusing on himself in the mirror.

"And I'm too sexy for your party! Too sexy for your party! No way I'm disco dancing, I'm a model you know what I mean, And I do my little turn on the catwalk, yeah on the catwalk on the catwalk, yeah. I do my little turn on the catwalk!"

"Lucius!" she shouted over the music. "Stop this! This isn't you!"

The music stopped suddenly.

"And I'm too sexy for my hat," Lucius continued a Capella, "Too sexy for my hat, what do you think about that..." Noticing that the music had stopped and raised his left arm and peeled the sleeve of his shirt back to expose his Dark Mark. "What's wrong," he asked the magical tattoo. "Why did you stop?"

"Your wife wants to speak with you," the voice that had been singing along said. "Hi Cissy!"

"What is this Lucius?" Narcissa asked, finding the idea that the Dark Mark now spoke to be more than slightly disturbing.

"The Dark Lord has returned," Lucius said almost in a state of joyous hysterics. "And he has gifted me with this wonderful enhancement of my Mark!" he enthused, turning his arm so that she could see the Dark Mark.

Narcissa gasped, rather than the Skull and Snake that had been on her Husband's forearm for most of two decades, there was now a yellow disk, which winked at her and smiled, exposing a mouthful of seemingly very real teeth. Before the disk smiled, its appearance had reminded her of a type of decoration she associated with the Muggle born of Hogwarts from her school days.

With a trembling hand, she extended Draco's letter. "A letter from Draco, with information he feels you should know."

Lucius snatched the letter away from her, and Narcissa backed out of his chambers. By the time she reached the stairs the music had started again.

Narcissa made her way to her sitting room as quickly as she could. After seeing what she had, she really needed a drink.


5 November 1991

Lunchtime was in full swing, and the constant buzz of conversation gave Tracey the chance she had been waiting for since Harry had somehow caused a Muggle man to appear in the Great Hall, and caused him to disappear half an hour later. "Harry," Tracey said softly to the boy on her right. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," Harry snarked, looking up from his sandwich. "Sure, go ahead. I might even answer it."

"That man the other day," Tracey said hesitantly. "You said he was named Albert Einstein?"

Harry nodded and took another bite.

"I've looked him up...," she continued, trying to stay calm and get her information. In doing so, her voice climbed out of her traditional soft murmur. "He's supposed to be dead."

The pronouncement of death got the attention of the Slytherins sitting around the pair.

"Well... sure. Now," Harry said reaching for his goblet. "I picked him up from 1953. He was on a winter vacation near Lake Placid, New York back then, and I think he was kind of bored, because he never has a problem taking a few minutes to help me out once I explained what I had done. Good soup today."

Tracey had to remind herself to breath at the boy's casual dismissal of the impossibility of what she had seen him do.

"You..." she swallowed, trying to calm herself."You brought a Muggle man forward in time 38 years to help you with your homework?"

"I don't do it all the time," Harry said defensively. "I've only called him five or six times, and only when I'm seriously stuck. I wish I could go back and see him instead of bringing him to me, but you know how much trouble that is."

Tracey felt the beginnings of what she had taken to calling a 'Harry Headache' form behind her eyes. "No, I don't. Until I saw you do it, I didn't believe anyone could do what you did."

Harry looked up, startled. "You can't?"

"No." She confirmed.

"Can't do what?" Millie Bulstrode asked.

"He," Tracey said, gesturing toward Harry with her fork, "apparited a dead Muggle from 1953 into the Great Hall."

"What?" Ted Nott demanded. "Why would you do that?"

"How did you do that?" Daphne Greengrass asked. "Remote apparition is impossible. Remote apparition of a corpse is even more so."

"It's not what it sounds like," Harry responded defensively.

"The Muggle is dead now. He was living in 1953," Tracey tried to explain. "He somehow apparited a living version of a dead man through time and space into the Great Hall, and seems to think we can all do it."

"Are you sure you can't do it?" Harry asked. "I mean it's really simple. I showed you, I used a wand and everything."

"And don't get me started on the wand that you never use," Tracey said crossing her arms across her chest.

As one, the rest of the Slytherin first years blinked, then each of them tried to think of any time that they had witnessed Stevens use a wand.

"You're a squib!" Draco declared loudly, his voice overriding the murmur of the dining students, attracting attention from throughout the Great Hall. "A squib in Slytherin? Oh, when my father hears about this..."

"Shut it Puss," Ted snapped. "We've all seen some spectacular magic done by Stevens, so stop being such an idiot. My sister told me about a pair of women who appeared in the Great Hall during the Halloween feast her second year. From her description what they did when they arrived was a whole lot like what you did when you left to help the Griffie on Halloween."

Tracey watched as Harry fought against a smile. That was when she realized just how much the boy was enjoyed it when the Malfoy abuse he had started spread through the house.

"Draco's stupidity aside," Tracey said quietly. "You have some explaining to do Harry."

Harry looked up and sighed. "Look, I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Come on Harry," Greg said, while Vinnie nodded at his side. "Tell us what's going on."

"You aren't hurting our morale," Tracey said, recalling what had worried him before. "We aren't stupid, Harry. We've all seen you do things you shouldn't be able to do, and half the time you don't seem to know you aren't supposed to be able to do them. What could possibly be worse? You tell us what's going on, or what we might come up with if we keep imagining what's you're up to?"

"Ok, fine." Harry paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts and then continued. "There are different kinds of magic in the world you know? The native Aussies have their own magic; the Mayans have theirs and most of the magicals in Europe and Asia use wands..."

"And Africa," Greg interjected.

"That's mostly in northern Africa and a result of Roman colonization, the same thing that happened here in Britain to the native Magical traditions when Rome invaded."

"Wands were better," Millie nodded.

"Not better, exactly." Harry corrected. "My Uncle Maurice says that the Wands were faster and easier, that's why they pushed out the older traditions. My people come from an older tradition still, one that... well, the magic is everything. It's hard to explain."

"Try," Daphne demanded.

"Our people don't need a focus or a chant or anything like that. We want something, we concentrate on it, it happens. It's that simple," Harry paused again. "And that's the problem really. It's simple. We have to be careful, or you can get to the point where you don't appreciate things. My sister keeps me honest. Every time I've gotten to feeling like I'm the king of the world or something she busts my chops so that I realize what I was doing. And I do the same for her."

Tracey digested that for a moment. "Why are you here? Not for the schooling obviously."

"Ah, well, I'm different. A long time ago, my Gran married a wand user, and all her kids were wand users, their kids, and their kids. Somehow the Wand User side of the family got winnowed down to just my birth father, and then to me. When my Birth Parents died, I was less than two. My Gran came for me and discovered that I had more than just the wand magic, I also had her Elder magic."

"Elders?" Millie gasped.

"No way!" Ted echoed.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Anyway I happily grew up doing magic and hearing stories from my godfather about the things he and my birth father got up to at Hogwarts. Then on my birthday, Professor Dumbledore shows up and tells me I have a place reserved here. I have both kinds of magic. I can use a wand, but I don't need it. I thought it might be fun to learn about where I came from you know?"

"You said something about your Godfather?" Ted noted before asking, "Who is he? Anyone we would know?"

"Sirius Black," Harry said. "He's a big goof, a lot of fun."

"The head of House Black is your Godfather?" Draco asked incredulously. "You're a Black? We're related?"

"Oh God, Puss," Harry said pushing his unfinished soup away. "Way to put me off my lunch. No, I'm not a Black. My birth family name is Potter."

A shocked silence washed over the first year Slytherins. Millie broke it. "You're Harry Potter?"

"No, I'm Harry Stevens," Harry said simply.

"You defeated the Dark Lord," Ted whispered.

"I did not," Harry protested. "I don't know where people get this stuff. I'm not rich, I don't have a magical scar, and I didn't fight a dark wizard while still wearing diapers. I wasn't even two yet, I didn't do anything. It was my Grandmother who offed the chump."

"You did!" Daphne insisted, "Everyone knows you did."

"Then everyone is an idiot," Harry said dismissively. "I didn't even kill him when I gave him back his body on the first."

"What?" Tracey gasped. "You gave him his body back?"

"Well, yeah. When my Gran messed him up, she disembodied him. He's been drifting around possessing squirrels and stuff. He latched on to Professor Quirrell and..." Harry's expression brightened and he laughed. "Wow, I didn't know I was doing that, from squirrel to Quirrell... Funny huh?"

"Harry!" Tracey said.

"Ok. Ok. Sheesh. So anyway the Voldemort guy was sort of latched on to the back of Professor Quirrell's head, he told me he was still pissed about losing his body so I gave him a new one, and then to keep him from causing trouble I sent him and Quirrell to Voldemort's old house... Now that I think about it, that's probably why DADA has been canceled since the 2nd. No teacher."


The doors to the Great Hall slammed open, drawing everyone's attention away from Harry's confession. Along with the rest of the students, Harry found his attention drawn to the man who strode into the room as if he owned the place.

This newcomer was tall, with long blond hair and sculpted features, the man looked for all the world like an older Draco Malfoy.

"My father is here," Draco drawled with a tone of deep satisfaction. "You're in trouble now, Potter."

"My name is Stevens, Puss," Harry responded with a shake of his head. "Did you really tattle to your daddy on me? Seriously? You're more of a puss than I gave you credit for."

"Ah, Lucius," Dumbledore called as he rose from his place at the staff table. "When I reported to the board that I was going to need to find a replacement for our missing Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, I hardly expected to receive a personal visit."

"I'm not here about your staffing problems, Albus," the elder Malfoy said with a superior sneer. "I am here in response to reports I have received about certain students showing disrespect toward some of our most important traditions."

Harry shook his head again, certain that he was the subject of those reports. Draco's smug smirk confirmed this for him beyond any doubt.

The only question is what was he going to do about it.

"Certain students, Lucius?"

"One in particular," the man confirmed. "Perhaps we should meet in your office to deal with the Stevens boy's expulsion."

Dumbledore blinked. "Perhaps we should. Mr. Stevens? Meet us in my office if you would?"

"Yes sir," Harry responded as he rose from his seat at the table. He noticed that while his fellow students were now all watching him, the staff were all focused on the Headmaster. Taking advantage of this he reached over and dope slapped the back of Draco's head. "If I end up expelled Draco, I'm going to hurt you. Just so you know."

"You can't..." the blond protested.

"Watch me," the Warlock said as he disappeared.


Harry popped into the Headmaster's office, inspiring gasps of surprise from the Portraits that hung on the walls of the room.

"Greetings Young Master Harry," the sorting hat called from its place on a shelf. "What brings you to the Headmaster's office?"

"Hi Hat," Harry responded. "Evidently I've made a board member angry by calling out his son every time the little creep tried to throw his father's weight around. He says I'm going to be expelled and the Headmaster sent me to his office, to get yelled at, I guess."

"I find it unlikely that the Headmaster will allow you to be expelled, Master Harry, though I expect the Headmaster expected you to wait outside his office," the hat observed.

"He should have been clearer with his instructions then," Harry grinned. "Thanks Hat."

"Well, I have sent for the Baron," Phineas Black said from his frame. "If an heir of one of the founders is to be expelled there will be a reckoning."

Harry smiled, "Thank you Headmaster, but 'Heir of the Founders'? Seriously? After a thousand years I would think that most everyone who has a pureblood somewhere in their ancestry could make that claim."

The portrait returned Harry's smile. "You are correct of course, but I am aware of no others who count one of the founders as living family. That alone makes you special, and when you consider you are also a member of my old house..."

Fawkes squawked from his stand, so Harry crossed the office to where the firebird waited, and began scratching the ancient bird on the back of his head. Fawkes crooned his appreciation of the attention. "I guess I'm in trouble, eh Fawkes?"

The phoenix responded with a long twittering call.

"Well, I guess," Harry agreed grudgingly. "But I'm still going to end up being yelled at."

That had the immortal bird laughing at him.

"Laugh it up, Feather Head. No one yells at Phoenixes," Harry grumped. "But yelling at kids, that's ok. Everyone does it."

Fawkes fell off his perch laughing. Harry sighed and took a seat directly in front of the Headmaster's desk; it was probably going to turn out to be one of those days.

The phoenix was still rolling on the floor laughing at Harry when the door leading to the hallway opened. "Now calm yourself Lucius, I'm sure we can come to an accommodation that will satisfy everyone," the Headmaster was saying.

"I don't particularly care about satisfying everyone Albus," the elder Malfoy sniffed. "What I care about is the great traditions of Slytherin house, and the fact that this... half-blood is walking all over them."

"Harry?" Dumbledore said as he stopped in the doorway, causing Malfoy to run into him.

"Hello Headmaster," Harry responded.

"You allow the boy free run of your office?" the blond asked incredulously. For the first time Harry found he understood the saying 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree'. Draco's dad was a massive dick. He had never really liked being talked about while he was in the room. Or being referred to as 'boy'.

"Mr. Stevens was invited to my office, Lucius. I was simply surprised he arrived before we did." The old man made his way to his desk and sat down. "So, what are your concerns about Mr. Steven's continued attendance at Hogwarts?"

"You remained seated when Headmaster Dumbledore and I entered the room boy," the man said as the expression on his face seemed to say that Harry was something he was likely to scrape off his shoe.

Harry managed to restrain himself from congratulating Draco's dad on his excellent skills of observation. He understood that this was one of the times in life where being a smart mouth probably was not a good idea. "Yes sir, I did."

"Didn't your mother," the man said the word as if it tasted bad, "teach you to rise in the presence of your betters?"

"My mother," Harry responded, trying very hard not to get angry, "taught me that I had elders, but not betters."

Lucius leaned down until he towered just above Harry. "Perhaps I should visit your mother, and show her how she erred when she chose to bind herself to your mongrel father."

"Lucius!" Dumbledore said in a manner that was clearly a warning.

Harry brightened. "Oh, yes sir that would be great! I'd pay money to see that."

"What?" Malfoy asked, shocked at Harry's reaction.

"Do you have any idea when you'll be there? I wouldn't want to miss it. Do you need our address?"

"Mr. Stevens, you aren't helping." Dumbledore sighed.

Harry pasted an innocent expression on his face and waited silently while wondering why the Headmaster would think he wanted to help.

"And Lucius, if you dare to threaten one of my students again, you and I will have to see if your skills approach mine," Dumbledore continued knowing that the man was unaware that his life was being saved.

"If you must, Albus..." Lucius responded. "All right boy, explain the trick you used to make the founder's portrait speak with you?"

"Trick?" Harry asked, honestly perplexed. "There wasn't a trick, I presented myself to the portrait like the prefects told me to, and Uncle Sal said 'hi'."

The gaslights in the Headmaster's office flared as the Bloody Baron entered through the wall behind the Headmaster's desk. "What fool," the ghost rasped, "believes that Salazar Slytherin could be forced to do anything, in life or as a portrait?"

Lucius Malfoy goggled at the sight of the Slytherin house ghost. "You speak?"

"Of course I speak," the specter responded. "And I remember you, Lucius Malfoy, a whining brat with delusions of privilege; your son is no better."

"Indeed," a new voice interjected. The attention of the living people in the room was immediately drawn to Phineas Black's frame. Instead of the infamous former Headmaster, the frame now contained the image of Salazar Slytherin. "Who are you to question the right of the heir of two of the best people I ever knew in life to be in my house?"

"How are you doing this boy?" Lucius demanded spinning to face Harry.

"I'm not doing a thing," Harry said, becoming angry again. He had never liked being called 'boy', especially by some jerk adult who he didn't know.

"Don't lie to me, boy!"

"Headmaster, do I have to put up with this? Who is this guy anyway?" Harry asked, taking advantage of the fact that the visitor had not been introduced.

Lucius grasped Harry's chin with his right hand, forcing Harry to look at him, and raised his snake head cane in his left. "You will answer my questions boy," he hissed. "Or I will beat the answers out of you!"

Harry broke free of the man's grip and was on his feet when over the shouts of the Headmaster, Bloody Baron and Salazar Slytherin; a new voice entered the conversation.

"What kind of zoo are you running here Dumbledore? And why are you allowing this dead man to manhandle my Grand Nephew?"


Lucius Malfoy spun in place to face the new speaker, drawing his wand from his cane as he did so, only to drop both the wand and the cane when his hands started to change, and feathers sprouted all over his body. A silver white peacock stood in the middle of the Headmaster's office and let loose with a mournful call


"Auntie Endora!" Harry protested. "I was doing ok, I didn't need to be saved."

"I'm not here to save you Harry," the red-head seated in the ornate throne that had appeared with her said with a smile. "I'm here to prevent you from leveling this castle and killing that feathered fool. Doing either would certainly be something of a public service, but my sister is quite attached to this old pile of stones."

Harry sat back down in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. The family always seemed to want to treat him like he was still little and wasn't in control of his powers. It was so frustrating sometimes.

"Madam," Dumbledore said as he rose from his chair, warily keeping an eye on the peacock that was still coming to terms with being a peacock. "I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of this school. And you are?"

"I know who you are Dumbledore," Endora sniffed. "You're the one who allowed this pretentious nothing to lay hands upon my Grand Nephew. I am Endora of the Elder Sect. Harry's mother, my daughter would be here herself, but she is currently tied up dealing with the fall out of another presumptuous young man laying hands on Harry's sister."

"Tabitha?" Harry asked suddenly alert. "Is she all right?"

"Tabitha is fine Harry, the young idiot somewhat less so," Endora said softly before winking at her favorite nephew. "She broke his nose."

"Good," Harry nodded.

Endora looked over to the portrait of Slytherin. "Salazar, you're looking well for a dead man."

"Lady Endora," Slytherin said with a nod. "I wondered when you would be visiting us as soon as I saw Harry was sorted into my house."

"So Dumbledore, explain."

"The Malfoy family has long been accustomed to getting what they want. Lucius perhaps more than those who came before him," the Headmaster explained, before pausing as the Peacock began squawking in panic as what had happened to him finally filtered through his new bird consciousness. Fawkes added to the din by falling off his perch, once again in laughter.

"I suppose there is some boring reason why I shouldn't just kill him and be done with it?" Endora asked as she silenced and froze the panicking bird with a gesture.

"Explaining his death would be inconvenient..."

"It always is," Endora sighed. "Harry, don't you have a class to get to?"

"Yes Ma'am," Harry stood up, disappointed that as usual, he was going to miss out on the Auntie Endora going all medieval on someone.

The pair waited until the door closed behind the student before Endora continued. "Let me be clear Dumbledore. Our children are valuable to us. My daughter explained this to you when you came to her asking to enroll Harry in your school, and still you allowed this fool to lay hands on the boy. Harry's anger was spiking rather rapidly when I arrived and he was quite likely going to kill the man, and I wasn't exaggerating about his destroying your castle in his fury."

"Surely not?" Dumbledore asked.

"Just as with your people, our powers are fed by our emotions, and anger is perhaps the strongest of them all," Endora sighed. "Many of history's greatest disasters were the result of one of our young going into a rage. Atlantis, Vesuvius, Krakatau, Tunguska I could go on."

Dumbledore swallowed. What had he brought into his school?

"Well, as fascinating as this is, I must be off," Endora said as she sat back in her chair. "Remember what I've said Dumbledore, and keep your idiots away from my grandnephew."

"And Lucius?" Dumbledore asked gesturing toward the peacock.

"If I must," she sighed again and gestured, in the peacock's place stood a disheveled Lucius Malfoy. "The old man saved your life, fool; if there is a next time I promise you an eternity of pain."

Dumbledore blinked and the woman was gone, along with her throne.

"What... what are they?" Lucius gasped.

"Elders Lucius, they are Elders," Albus said. "And you've managed to anger them."

"The Ministry must be alerted," Lucius said. "If the Elders are coming for us, we need to prepare! The boy must be captured and… and… and used against them… somehow."

"An excellent plan Lucius," Dumbledore nodded. "I can only add a single improvement."

Lucius looked up hopefully. He thought the old man a fool, but he was perhaps the most powerful wizard in the world. "What is it Albus, what else can we do?"

"Obliviate!" And Albus Dumbledore set about removing the memories of the day from the mind of Lucius Malfoy. He carefully constructed memories of Lucius coming to Hogwarts to consult with the Headmaster over disciplinary issues with young Draco, and made sure to install an aversion to the idea of approaching Harry Stevens in particular, and red-headed women in general.

Albus stepped back from the presumably former Death Eater to inspect his work. He then raised his wand again for a final addition. Lucius Malfoy in a burst of philanthropy would be replacing the school's aging brooms with new basic models. There had to be some penalty for nearly destroying the school.

A/N: And in typical sitcom fashion, the stakes build. Again, this is for Bob, with his new passive aggressive nagging style where he nags by pointing that he isn't nagging, but could be…

At to Harry's mistakes. Remember he has been raised to this point in a black and white world. At home he could do magic, but only in front of family, out in the world he could not. Now he's suddenly in a third state, where magic is ok in public. I've got to figure that it would be hard to remember to do his magic 'right' and that it would be awfully difficult to keep track of the things that these wand users can and cannot do.