Just a muggle-born in Slytherin. What could go wrong?
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Mudsnake (Harry Potter Muggleborn!Slytherin!SI)
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Year 1 – Chapter 1: The Room of Requirement
New
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
- Joined
- May 1, 2019
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The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.
---
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Step, step. Reach the end of the hall and turn around. Step, step.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Walk forward. Keep going. The room had better be listening.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
When you're doing something wrong, you need a way to keep it secret.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Imagine my surprise when I was dumped straight onto the Hogwarts express.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Will this thing just open up already?
I need a place that will–
The door to the Room of Requirement appeared.
Finally.
I stepped inside and found myself in a cramped room. Before me stood a crystal ball, held in a golden, four-legged frame. Its insides swirled with shimmering white sparks. It sat on a small table like a crouching toad, the maroon covering at its feet languidly reaching all the way down to the floor. On the wall directly behind the table hung a massive portrait which held an impossibly old man, dressed in robes you'd see in the Middle Ages.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
"I am Merlin," the old man replied, stroking his beard. "And you want to learn Occlumency and Legilimency. And at such a young age, too!"
I frowned. Deeply. "That's right. And that's why."
"Oh, relax." The old man waved me off. "The room told me what you need. I'm a portrait; I couldn't do that even if I wanted to."
"Don't you need to be able to cast Legilimens on me?" I asked.
"That would be the most effective method of teaching," Merlin replied. "But we can make do. The crystal ball, you see. My picture frame is linked to it. Gaze into it, and you'll be able to practice."
I took a seat, got comfortable and…
"Not yet, boy," Merlin replied. "First you must answer my questions."
Slowly, I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose, then exhaled. "If I wanted to share information, I wouldn't be trying to learn how to protect my mind."
"It will take but a moment," Merlin replied. "It will help me to know what to expect. Now, why are you trying to learn this?"
I hissed my answer through gritted teeth. "I'm a muggle-born in Slytherin."
The painted wizard had the audacity to just hum and stroke his beard.
"And I don't want it getting out."
"Nor should you," Merlin replied. "Who is the head of your house?"
"Professor Severus Snape."
He just hummed. Again. And stroked his beard. Again.
"I assume he's aware," Merlin idly asked.
"Yes."
"Good," Merlin replied. "Now, why do you want Legilimency?"
"I told you."
"You told me why you want Occlumency," Merlin rebuffed. "Why do you want its counterpart?"
Rubbing my forehead to try to massage away the headache, I answered. "I want to get into girls heads and figure out what makes them tick."
His laughter echoed horribly in the small confines of this room. "Oh, that's the truth, isn't it? But it's not the whole truth. What else are you after?"
"And how do you know that?" I asked.
Merlin just pointed at the Orb I was sitting in front of. "As I said, it's connected to my frame. I've been using it."
I groaned.
"Marvelous invention by the Room of Requirement, is it not?" He asked, smiling a half-smile while looking down at me with those painted brown eyes. "In truth, I hadn't known it possible, but the room always finds a way."
Ugh. "Fine. I want to see into my professors' eyes and glean magical secrets they won't tell us."
"Which is the other reason you want Occlumency," Merlin replied.
I gritted my teeth. "Yes."
"And what are your goals in that area, hm?" Merlin asked. "Immortality?"
"The Philosopher's Stone exists."
"Quite right. Perhaps raising the dead might be your forte," the old wizard speculated, arching an eyebrow and tilting his head. "No? Perhaps the allegiance of unsavory magical forces like Dementors?"
This was going to go on forever. "I want to master the Unforgivable Curses."
"There it is," Merlin said, clearly pleased himself. "Why?"
"Because I can," I replied. "Can we get on with this? Time is wasting, and I still have homework."
"One final request," Merlin said. "What's your thought process with this?"
My throat made a downright horrible noise to signal my irritation. "Consider, Merlin. I get jumped by a wizard. Imagine that we trade spells for a while, block and parry, swashbuckling with our wands and it's super dramatic. Now imagine if I just use the unblockable killing curse." I rolled my shoulders. "Imagine if a dark wizard is holding someone I love hostage. I can just hit him with the Imperius curse and make him tell me where they are."
Then I shrugged. "And I guess being able to negotiate with Dementors wouldn't be terrible."
Merlin was giggling. "Well, as it so happens, I'm willing to teach you. Just recall that the easier something is, the more likely you are to do it. I believe there's a muggle saying for this?"
"When all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail?" I replied.
"Precisely. Avoid that, if you can," Merlin replied before pointing at the crystal ball. "Now. Gaze into the crystal ball. We will begin with Occlumency...and you will have homework."
Finally.
---
"I can't believe that Potter."
Draco Malfoy was pacing in front of the fireplace, arms behind his back, scowling at the flames as if that would do anything.
Wish he'd shut up, I'm trying to do my homework.
"Well, the dark lord did kill his parents," Crabbe suggested.
Draco snapped at Crabbe, "I know that!"
"He was bullied by that muggle cousin of his," Goyle added. "Wasn't he?"
"That's what I'm saying," Draco replied. "He should know the importance of having the right friends!"
I mean...he's not wrong. And from his expression, Goyle agreed.
"Anyone familiar with history knows that you make friends with good allies, you don't try to make friends into good allies," Draco continued. "That's profoundly foolish."
A good point, but what he doesn't see is that he's not a particularly good ally. Surprisingly knowledgeable in History of Magic, though. Actively participates in Professor Binns' lessons, which shocked me to my core.
He's not like Hermione or anything, but…
"Just have to keep putting pressure on him," Draco summarized, folding his arms over his chest. "He'll swallow his pride soon enough."
The gentleman hasn't considered that the pressure is what's pushing Harry away.
He caught sight of me looking at him, and his face turned sour. "What do you want, Sullivan?"
"You're just a little loud, is all," I replied, offering a genial smile. "No offense."
"Whatever, half-blood, just try not to get any of your muggle on the floor," Malfoy retorted.
I just shrugged and went back to my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.
That was the story, of course, that my mom was actually a witch who emigrated from America and died when I was young. That, actually, was false. She was not a witch. But she did emigrate from America and she did tragically die when I was young.
Not that I really remember her all that well. Dumped straight onto the Hogwarts express. I know what she looked like and that we blew bubbles in the front yard once when I was five. Once. Or...that was the story.
Honestly, the dungeon felt like home, given how I spent the majority of my days at my computer in my previous life. Apparently, in this life I had done much of the same, given how pale my skin is.
Anyway, my essay for Quirrell was almost done. I was looking forward to Harry removing him from the school premises in...a few months or so? I don't know, it hasn't even been Halloween yet. Anyway, Quirrell was really annoying.
...then again, maybe I should be dreading Professor Lockhart coming by next year…
"Hello, Marcus."
On the table plopped Daphne Greengrass, another first year. Platinum blonde hair, sharp blue eyes that were trying to stare into my soul or something. "What'cha doing?"
"Quirrell's essay," I replied. "You?"
She hummed. "I'll get to it." Her head tilted. "Eventually."
Well, with that, I turned back to my essay. "I like to get homework done the day of."
"I can see that." After I didn't respond for a moment, she continued. "So, I can't wait for our flying lesson."
I blinked. "Oh. That's tomorrow."
"I wish I could get on the team," she said, her voice as longing as a child looking at a candy bar through a glass window. "I love Quidditch."
"Are you good?"
"Obviously."
"What position do you play?"
"Chaser. You?"
"Guy in the audience."
She snickered. "Well, guy in the audience, you'll get to watch us real wizards fly the pitch in a year when we try out."
"Assuming they let you in," I looked up from my essay to catch her eyes. "You know, because a lot of people in the house want to try out."
"Well, what's that you said at the opening banquet?" Daphne asked. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again?"
"Something to that effect."
"That's a muggle saying, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." She frowned in thought. "Muggle wisdom. What a novelty."
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I asked.
She hummed. "Eventually."
I sighed.
---
The flying lesson went better than I had expected.
When we got told to give our brooms uppies, my broom easily and steadily rose to my hand. That was pretty cool. Same with Daphne, though it was nothing compared to Malfoy, who commanded that thing like he owned it, and Potter, whose broom snapped to his hand so fast it nearly took his arm off.
Right across from me, though, was a Gryffindor student that I didn't recognize. Brianna Porter. Short black hair and brown eyes. That doesn't mean she wasn't in the books but...well, my theory is that maybe the other houses each got an extra student to balance out the addition to Slytherin.
But anyway, Neville Longbottom went up into the sky as per canon, fell down and broke his wrist, as per canon, and Draco got his hands on the Remembrall, as per canon.
Then Harry went up to go get it back.
Me, I was watching it all from my floating broom, because standing was annoying. But once Harry finished his dive-bomb and rolled out on the grass with the Remembrall in hand and got whisked away by Professor McGonagall to get conscripted into the Gryffindor Quidditch team
No one argues with McGonagall.
After that, though, the class was kind of boring while we were waiting for Hooch to get back, so I settled down on my broom for a little catnap.
"Hooch said anyone on their brooms would get expelled," Blaise Zabini said, looking down critically with his dark brown peepers.
"Anyone flying on their brooms," I reminded him. "I'm just laying here."
He scoffed. "What ever you little half-blood. Just you watch."
Oh, is he going to tattle? What is he, four?
...I would comment on the irony of a racist black boy, but it'd go over his head. A dumb wizard, too, which is supposed to be an oxymoron.
Anyway, a few minutes into my nap, Madam Hooch returned.
"Madam Hooch, Sullivan was flying on his broom!" Zabini said, obviously pointing at me.
"He was just lying there!" That was Hermione. What a legend.
"Sullivan!" Madam Hooch snapped. I looked at her, and she continued. "Did you move from that spot while on your broom?"
I hummed. "Might've drifted a bit to the left…"
She waved it off. "That's alright. Now stand up, we've got some time to make up, now listen closely."
"But Professor, you said–" Zabini began hotly.
"Did your parents never teach you hyperbole, Zabini?" Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes focused on the dark-skinned first year as if he were a sizzling steak.
...I miss Texas barbecue.
Madam Hooch continued. "Or do I have to add explaining turns of phrase to my flight lessons?"
Zabini got red in the face. "N-no Madam Hooch."
"Well, that's settled, then!" Madam Hooch said. "Now that all our feet are planted firmly on the ground, we will continue this next step. Sullivan, since you seem to understand this part, you might demonstrate the hover for the rest of the class, yes?"
Rats. "Yes, Madam Hooch."
---
You have to wonder how Mr. Riddle controlled the Dementors like he did. Well, seemed to. He can't have just bribed them, could he have? Had to be more to it.
I always went to bed late. Of course, late in Hogwarts meant three or four in the morning. We were required to study the stars every Wednesday at midnight, which meant that breakfast for us always started at around ten or so. Class at eleven.
Didn't think it was a good idea to be in bed first. Wanted to avoid any unpleasant surprises. Sometimes, I wound up falling asleep in the common room, just to throw them off.
Breakfast, meanwhile, was a full English. Delicious, obviously. Even the beans.
Somehow.
I hate beans.
House-elves, man. They know their stuff.
But as I was perusing my copy of A History of Magic, which did include a chapter on Voldemort and Harry Potter. Speaking of which, Harry was sitting at the table opposite me, chatting with Ron and Neville. My observation was rudely interrupted when Draco sat across from me, staring at me while Crabbe and Goyle flanked him.
I put the book down. "So, how can I help you, Draco?"
"You're a muggle."
"Am not."
"Raised by Muggles, I mean," Draco corrected, waving it off.
"Yeah."
"So you can explain why Harry Potter let himself get sorted into Gryffindor," Draco surmised.
"Which part? The part where muggles think judging people by bloodlines is evil, or the part where muggles idealize equality between people?" I asked.
Draco let out a breath. "I see. And he really believes that?"
"He probably wonders that about you and pure-blood supremacy," I idly noted.
"But surely he has eyes," Draco said.
"Sure." I shrugged. "So, I'd focus on proving Purebloods are better," I said, looking around the table at Hermione, who was studying at the end of the Gryffindor table with an open book in her hand and three more at her side. "Like, by getting better grades than Granger."
"Oh, come off, it," Draco retorted, dismissing my point with a wave of his hand. "Grades aren't everything. Surely Potter knows that."
I shrugged. "You want him to see that Purebloods are better. That's a way to prove it."
He groaned, and tapped the side of the plate before him, causing an English breakfast to appear. "So, he's just mental."
"I suppose."
"Whatever. When we're finally allowed to join the Quidditch team, we'll all show him," Draco speared a tomato on his fork. "You'll be trying out next year, right Sullivan?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
"That wasn't a request," Malfoy replied, glaring. "You managed the hover so effortlessly, you took a nap on your first ever time on a broom. That's not normal. We're going to need better fliers if we want to prove our superiority, don't we?"
"What makes you think I care?" I asked. "It doesn't affect me or my plans going forward. Potter can think whatever he bloody well pleases."
"We are talking about the most famous wizard in modern history," Malfoy rebutted, eyes wide with outrage. "And he's snubbing us. That affects all of us, you half-blooded fool. Imagine not being able to get a job with actual prestige because Potter gave it to his Weasley lackey. Or worse, the mudblood Granger."
Oh. This is some high-society social game. No wonder Malfoy's obsessed.
"Now. You're going to try out next year," Malfoy said. "And you're going to do your best. And maybe I'm wrong, maybe there's better fliers than you and you'll be able to sit it out. But I doubt it."
"Or what?"
"Or Crabbe and Goyle get upset. And no one wants them to get upset. Especially not me, they're my friends."
I groaned. "Fine."
"Good."
He went back to his breakfast. I had finished mine, and went back to my book.
...maybe that's how Voldemort kept control of the Dementors.
Besides, I need to get outside anyway. I guess.
---
Author's Note: Something I've been working on for the past couple of weeks. Hope you enjoy it.
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
---
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Step, step. Reach the end of the hall and turn around. Step, step.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Walk forward. Keep going. The room had better be listening.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
When you're doing something wrong, you need a way to keep it secret.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Imagine my surprise when I was dumped straight onto the Hogwarts express.
I need a place that will teach me Occlumency and Legilimency.
Will this thing just open up already?
I need a place that will–
The door to the Room of Requirement appeared.
Finally.
I stepped inside and found myself in a cramped room. Before me stood a crystal ball, held in a golden, four-legged frame. Its insides swirled with shimmering white sparks. It sat on a small table like a crouching toad, the maroon covering at its feet languidly reaching all the way down to the floor. On the wall directly behind the table hung a massive portrait which held an impossibly old man, dressed in robes you'd see in the Middle Ages.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
"I am Merlin," the old man replied, stroking his beard. "And you want to learn Occlumency and Legilimency. And at such a young age, too!"
I frowned. Deeply. "That's right. And that's why."
"Oh, relax." The old man waved me off. "The room told me what you need. I'm a portrait; I couldn't do that even if I wanted to."
"Don't you need to be able to cast Legilimens on me?" I asked.
"That would be the most effective method of teaching," Merlin replied. "But we can make do. The crystal ball, you see. My picture frame is linked to it. Gaze into it, and you'll be able to practice."
I took a seat, got comfortable and…
"Not yet, boy," Merlin replied. "First you must answer my questions."
Slowly, I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose, then exhaled. "If I wanted to share information, I wouldn't be trying to learn how to protect my mind."
"It will take but a moment," Merlin replied. "It will help me to know what to expect. Now, why are you trying to learn this?"
I hissed my answer through gritted teeth. "I'm a muggle-born in Slytherin."
The painted wizard had the audacity to just hum and stroke his beard.
"And I don't want it getting out."
"Nor should you," Merlin replied. "Who is the head of your house?"
"Professor Severus Snape."
He just hummed. Again. And stroked his beard. Again.
"I assume he's aware," Merlin idly asked.
"Yes."
"Good," Merlin replied. "Now, why do you want Legilimency?"
"I told you."
"You told me why you want Occlumency," Merlin rebuffed. "Why do you want its counterpart?"
Rubbing my forehead to try to massage away the headache, I answered. "I want to get into girls heads and figure out what makes them tick."
His laughter echoed horribly in the small confines of this room. "Oh, that's the truth, isn't it? But it's not the whole truth. What else are you after?"
"And how do you know that?" I asked.
Merlin just pointed at the Orb I was sitting in front of. "As I said, it's connected to my frame. I've been using it."
I groaned.
"Marvelous invention by the Room of Requirement, is it not?" He asked, smiling a half-smile while looking down at me with those painted brown eyes. "In truth, I hadn't known it possible, but the room always finds a way."
Ugh. "Fine. I want to see into my professors' eyes and glean magical secrets they won't tell us."
"Which is the other reason you want Occlumency," Merlin replied.
I gritted my teeth. "Yes."
"And what are your goals in that area, hm?" Merlin asked. "Immortality?"
"The Philosopher's Stone exists."
"Quite right. Perhaps raising the dead might be your forte," the old wizard speculated, arching an eyebrow and tilting his head. "No? Perhaps the allegiance of unsavory magical forces like Dementors?"
This was going to go on forever. "I want to master the Unforgivable Curses."
"There it is," Merlin said, clearly pleased himself. "Why?"
"Because I can," I replied. "Can we get on with this? Time is wasting, and I still have homework."
"One final request," Merlin said. "What's your thought process with this?"
My throat made a downright horrible noise to signal my irritation. "Consider, Merlin. I get jumped by a wizard. Imagine that we trade spells for a while, block and parry, swashbuckling with our wands and it's super dramatic. Now imagine if I just use the unblockable killing curse." I rolled my shoulders. "Imagine if a dark wizard is holding someone I love hostage. I can just hit him with the Imperius curse and make him tell me where they are."
Then I shrugged. "And I guess being able to negotiate with Dementors wouldn't be terrible."
Merlin was giggling. "Well, as it so happens, I'm willing to teach you. Just recall that the easier something is, the more likely you are to do it. I believe there's a muggle saying for this?"
"When all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail?" I replied.
"Precisely. Avoid that, if you can," Merlin replied before pointing at the crystal ball. "Now. Gaze into the crystal ball. We will begin with Occlumency...and you will have homework."
Finally.
---
"I can't believe that Potter."
Draco Malfoy was pacing in front of the fireplace, arms behind his back, scowling at the flames as if that would do anything.
Wish he'd shut up, I'm trying to do my homework.
"Well, the dark lord did kill his parents," Crabbe suggested.
Draco snapped at Crabbe, "I know that!"
"He was bullied by that muggle cousin of his," Goyle added. "Wasn't he?"
"That's what I'm saying," Draco replied. "He should know the importance of having the right friends!"
I mean...he's not wrong. And from his expression, Goyle agreed.
"Anyone familiar with history knows that you make friends with good allies, you don't try to make friends into good allies," Draco continued. "That's profoundly foolish."
A good point, but what he doesn't see is that he's not a particularly good ally. Surprisingly knowledgeable in History of Magic, though. Actively participates in Professor Binns' lessons, which shocked me to my core.
He's not like Hermione or anything, but…
"Just have to keep putting pressure on him," Draco summarized, folding his arms over his chest. "He'll swallow his pride soon enough."
The gentleman hasn't considered that the pressure is what's pushing Harry away.
He caught sight of me looking at him, and his face turned sour. "What do you want, Sullivan?"
"You're just a little loud, is all," I replied, offering a genial smile. "No offense."
"Whatever, half-blood, just try not to get any of your muggle on the floor," Malfoy retorted.
I just shrugged and went back to my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.
That was the story, of course, that my mom was actually a witch who emigrated from America and died when I was young. That, actually, was false. She was not a witch. But she did emigrate from America and she did tragically die when I was young.
Not that I really remember her all that well. Dumped straight onto the Hogwarts express. I know what she looked like and that we blew bubbles in the front yard once when I was five. Once. Or...that was the story.
Honestly, the dungeon felt like home, given how I spent the majority of my days at my computer in my previous life. Apparently, in this life I had done much of the same, given how pale my skin is.
Anyway, my essay for Quirrell was almost done. I was looking forward to Harry removing him from the school premises in...a few months or so? I don't know, it hasn't even been Halloween yet. Anyway, Quirrell was really annoying.
...then again, maybe I should be dreading Professor Lockhart coming by next year…
"Hello, Marcus."
On the table plopped Daphne Greengrass, another first year. Platinum blonde hair, sharp blue eyes that were trying to stare into my soul or something. "What'cha doing?"
"Quirrell's essay," I replied. "You?"
She hummed. "I'll get to it." Her head tilted. "Eventually."
Well, with that, I turned back to my essay. "I like to get homework done the day of."
"I can see that." After I didn't respond for a moment, she continued. "So, I can't wait for our flying lesson."
I blinked. "Oh. That's tomorrow."
"I wish I could get on the team," she said, her voice as longing as a child looking at a candy bar through a glass window. "I love Quidditch."
"Are you good?"
"Obviously."
"What position do you play?"
"Chaser. You?"
"Guy in the audience."
She snickered. "Well, guy in the audience, you'll get to watch us real wizards fly the pitch in a year when we try out."
"Assuming they let you in," I looked up from my essay to catch her eyes. "You know, because a lot of people in the house want to try out."
"Well, what's that you said at the opening banquet?" Daphne asked. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again?"
"Something to that effect."
"That's a muggle saying, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." She frowned in thought. "Muggle wisdom. What a novelty."
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I asked.
She hummed. "Eventually."
I sighed.
---
The flying lesson went better than I had expected.
When we got told to give our brooms uppies, my broom easily and steadily rose to my hand. That was pretty cool. Same with Daphne, though it was nothing compared to Malfoy, who commanded that thing like he owned it, and Potter, whose broom snapped to his hand so fast it nearly took his arm off.
Right across from me, though, was a Gryffindor student that I didn't recognize. Brianna Porter. Short black hair and brown eyes. That doesn't mean she wasn't in the books but...well, my theory is that maybe the other houses each got an extra student to balance out the addition to Slytherin.
But anyway, Neville Longbottom went up into the sky as per canon, fell down and broke his wrist, as per canon, and Draco got his hands on the Remembrall, as per canon.
Then Harry went up to go get it back.
Me, I was watching it all from my floating broom, because standing was annoying. But once Harry finished his dive-bomb and rolled out on the grass with the Remembrall in hand and got whisked away by Professor McGonagall to get conscripted into the Gryffindor Quidditch team
No one argues with McGonagall.
After that, though, the class was kind of boring while we were waiting for Hooch to get back, so I settled down on my broom for a little catnap.
"Hooch said anyone on their brooms would get expelled," Blaise Zabini said, looking down critically with his dark brown peepers.
"Anyone flying on their brooms," I reminded him. "I'm just laying here."
He scoffed. "What ever you little half-blood. Just you watch."
Oh, is he going to tattle? What is he, four?
...I would comment on the irony of a racist black boy, but it'd go over his head. A dumb wizard, too, which is supposed to be an oxymoron.
Anyway, a few minutes into my nap, Madam Hooch returned.
"Madam Hooch, Sullivan was flying on his broom!" Zabini said, obviously pointing at me.
"He was just lying there!" That was Hermione. What a legend.
"Sullivan!" Madam Hooch snapped. I looked at her, and she continued. "Did you move from that spot while on your broom?"
I hummed. "Might've drifted a bit to the left…"
She waved it off. "That's alright. Now stand up, we've got some time to make up, now listen closely."
"But Professor, you said–" Zabini began hotly.
"Did your parents never teach you hyperbole, Zabini?" Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes focused on the dark-skinned first year as if he were a sizzling steak.
...I miss Texas barbecue.
Madam Hooch continued. "Or do I have to add explaining turns of phrase to my flight lessons?"
Zabini got red in the face. "N-no Madam Hooch."
"Well, that's settled, then!" Madam Hooch said. "Now that all our feet are planted firmly on the ground, we will continue this next step. Sullivan, since you seem to understand this part, you might demonstrate the hover for the rest of the class, yes?"
Rats. "Yes, Madam Hooch."
---
You have to wonder how Mr. Riddle controlled the Dementors like he did. Well, seemed to. He can't have just bribed them, could he have? Had to be more to it.
I always went to bed late. Of course, late in Hogwarts meant three or four in the morning. We were required to study the stars every Wednesday at midnight, which meant that breakfast for us always started at around ten or so. Class at eleven.
Didn't think it was a good idea to be in bed first. Wanted to avoid any unpleasant surprises. Sometimes, I wound up falling asleep in the common room, just to throw them off.
Breakfast, meanwhile, was a full English. Delicious, obviously. Even the beans.
Somehow.
I hate beans.
House-elves, man. They know their stuff.
But as I was perusing my copy of A History of Magic, which did include a chapter on Voldemort and Harry Potter. Speaking of which, Harry was sitting at the table opposite me, chatting with Ron and Neville. My observation was rudely interrupted when Draco sat across from me, staring at me while Crabbe and Goyle flanked him.
I put the book down. "So, how can I help you, Draco?"
"You're a muggle."
"Am not."
"Raised by Muggles, I mean," Draco corrected, waving it off.
"Yeah."
"So you can explain why Harry Potter let himself get sorted into Gryffindor," Draco surmised.
"Which part? The part where muggles think judging people by bloodlines is evil, or the part where muggles idealize equality between people?" I asked.
Draco let out a breath. "I see. And he really believes that?"
"He probably wonders that about you and pure-blood supremacy," I idly noted.
"But surely he has eyes," Draco said.
"Sure." I shrugged. "So, I'd focus on proving Purebloods are better," I said, looking around the table at Hermione, who was studying at the end of the Gryffindor table with an open book in her hand and three more at her side. "Like, by getting better grades than Granger."
"Oh, come off, it," Draco retorted, dismissing my point with a wave of his hand. "Grades aren't everything. Surely Potter knows that."
I shrugged. "You want him to see that Purebloods are better. That's a way to prove it."
He groaned, and tapped the side of the plate before him, causing an English breakfast to appear. "So, he's just mental."
"I suppose."
"Whatever. When we're finally allowed to join the Quidditch team, we'll all show him," Draco speared a tomato on his fork. "You'll be trying out next year, right Sullivan?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
"That wasn't a request," Malfoy replied, glaring. "You managed the hover so effortlessly, you took a nap on your first ever time on a broom. That's not normal. We're going to need better fliers if we want to prove our superiority, don't we?"
"What makes you think I care?" I asked. "It doesn't affect me or my plans going forward. Potter can think whatever he bloody well pleases."
"We are talking about the most famous wizard in modern history," Malfoy rebutted, eyes wide with outrage. "And he's snubbing us. That affects all of us, you half-blooded fool. Imagine not being able to get a job with actual prestige because Potter gave it to his Weasley lackey. Or worse, the mudblood Granger."
Oh. This is some high-society social game. No wonder Malfoy's obsessed.
"Now. You're going to try out next year," Malfoy said. "And you're going to do your best. And maybe I'm wrong, maybe there's better fliers than you and you'll be able to sit it out. But I doubt it."
"Or what?"
"Or Crabbe and Goyle get upset. And no one wants them to get upset. Especially not me, they're my friends."
I groaned. "Fine."
"Good."
He went back to his breakfast. I had finished mine, and went back to my book.
...maybe that's how Voldemort kept control of the Dementors.
Besides, I need to get outside anyway. I guess.
---
Author's Note: Something I've been working on for the past couple of weeks. Hope you enjoy it.
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
trashtaker
The (un)lucky Patreon Saint of borrowed fortune
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At this point he might as well just become a monster hunter after graduating.
Wizarding world job economy is shit for muggleborn before Hermione gets her hands on it
Wizarding world job economy is shit for muggleborn before Hermione gets her hands on it
Year 1 – Chapter 2: The Mirror of Erised
New
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.
---
"More questions?"
"Of course," Merlin replied. "You said you want to master the Unforgivables. I want you to start thinking about why."
"I told you why," I replied.
"You gave me examples, but I want to know the principles behind them," Merlin said.
"Fine. Avada Kedavra lets me conclusively win any duel, Imperius Curse gets me anything I want from who I want it from and the Cruciatus–" I stopped, trying to think and unable to find something. "–the Cruciatus curse is just gross when you think about it."
Merlin laughed. "You could not be more right! But, as a side effect it leaves the victim more vulnerable to dark magic."
I blinked. "Like the Imperius curse."
He stroked his beard with a grin. "Correct. There's a fun little synergy, don't you think?"
Define fun, you old nut. "It's useful, and disturbing."
"As are all the Dark Arts," Merlin replied, decidedly less cheerful. "At least you have a solid head on your shoulders, mud-snake."
I just rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Okay, that was a good one."
He smirked. "And enough humility to take an insult in stride. Good. Now, how's your homework coming?"
"I'm having trouble with calming my mind at night," I admitted.
He hummed. "Alright. Well, the more you try, the more you'll improve. Now, if you'll stare into the Crystal, we'll begin this session."
---
"Hey, Marcus."
It was Daphne again, almost skipping her way up the steps out of the dungeons behind me. "How are you?"
"Thinking about a dilemma," I said, my thoughts very much on that dilemma.
"Oh, and what's that?" Daphne asked.
"I've got a friend back home," I began. "He's been looking for someone and I've known where that person is for a long time. That person doesn't want to be found, but...the friend of mine who's looking for him has a really good reason to find him. On the other hand, I don't know how things will work out once he does, in fact, find him."
She hummed, finger tapping against her lips as she thought. "Well, how does it affect you?"
"That's what I mean," I said. "Things could be really unpleasant for me for a while. It's not permanent, and it'll be a good thing in the long term."
"But you're not sure you want to deal with the short term," Daphne replied.
"Exactly."
"That is a tough decision," Daphne replied. "Now when you say it's a good thing, how does it benefit you, exactly?"
"I don't have to deal with that niggling feeling in the back of my head telling me that I should say something," I answered.
"Oh, one of those things," Daphne said. "Well, is it your responsibility?"
"More…" civic duty, "family duty, really."
Besides, I like the guy.
We got the greenhouse and I opened the door.
Daphne just fixed me with those blue peepers of hers. "My uncle just says to be smart about that sort of thing." She took a step into the greenhouse and gave one last statement. "Let it explode when you're not there so it doesn't affect you, if possible."
With that, we both walked inside.
---
Sirius Black,
The rat is the pet of one of the kids at the Marauder's old home.
The map is with his brothers, twins, acolytes of the Marauders.
The family has a long history in the Marauder's red house.
Do not say anything out loud, or your demons will go live there for a while.
Do not do anything stupid and endanger your godson.
Destroy this letter.
~A friend.
---
...okay, I actually feel better now. Whatever happens, happens.
Whatever.
If he follows my instructions, the Dementors won't come to Hogwarts. Not for a while, anyway. I mean, it's not like I need to do anything about the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell can't get past the Mirror of Erised, anyway.
...speaking of the mirror…
Eh, there's no way I'll be able to get to it. I mean, it's a source of one kind of wisdom, showing me exactly what it is that I actually want, giving me something to work towards. Like Odysseus and the Sirens. Because knowing what you actually want is a great measure of your character...and reveals your weaknesses.
I wonder what year we learn the Disillusionment Charm.
Really wish magic was as simple as learning the words and waving the wand. Because it is noooooot.
And right as I walk out of the Owlry, I come face to face with Draco Malfoy. And Crabbe and Goyle, but that's a given.
He blinked, and then he remembered. "Oh, right. You don't have your own owl. I forgot that you're a peasant."
I frowned. "Did you need me for something?"
He shook his head. "No, just curious who you were sending a message to. We've been here a month and that's the first message you've sent."
"Just a family member who's looking for someone," I lied. "Hopefully they aren't mad I waited to tell them."
Draco glared at me. "Hopefully that Muggle is allowed to be in the know, or you'll be expelled for sure."
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Well, since you're not long for the castle, you can make yourself useful," Draco said, flashing a key in his hand. "Professor Snape gave me the key to the broom closet and Madam Hooch is waiting for us. We can do Quidditch practice so long as she is there supervising."
You have got to be kidding. "As long as it doesn't cut into my private time."
"It's just for a few hours," Draco replied, waving it off. "More than enough time for homework and whatever else you're doing."
Fine. I already had my session with Merlin today, anyway. Oh, but I wasn't doing this alone. "Can we get Daphne too? She loves Quidditch."
Draco actually stopped short. "Greengrass?"
I nodded.
"Huh, I didn't know," Draco said. "Sure, we'll swing by the Common room, I think she's there."
Annoying as it was, at least I wasn't suffering alone.
---
Actually, yes, I was suffering alone, because Daphne was grinning from ear to ear when he asked her, practically skipping as she walked beside me out to the pitch. Gloomy day, but it's England or Scotland or one of those places, so what can you do?
And true to Draco's word, Madam Hooch was indeed waiting for us.
She frowned a very deep, severe frown. "I see you picked up a stray."
"Hello, Madam Hooch," Daphne said, still sunshine in rainbows in this bloody weather for whatever reason.
"Ms. Greengrass," was the reply with a nod. "Now, I assume you all know what the balls do?"
Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Greengrass all pointed at me.
"Right," she said, walking over to the trunk and kicking it open. "Raised by muggles, aren't you?"
"Just my dad," I replied.
She hummed. "Listen closely. The big ball in the center is the Quaffle. Throw it through the opponents goal to score. The two ornery thugs beside it are the bludgers. I let this loose and it'll start looking for people to smash, so we're not doing that today."
Crabbe let out a disappointed groan.
"Later, when we're not dealing with a new flier," Madam Hooch reproved. "Lastly," she began, opening that tiny golden compartment, from out flew the golden ball with wings. "That is the snitch, the game ends when it's caught."
Malfoy's hand snapped out and caught the ball.
Madam Hooch favored him with a nod. "Nice work, Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy raised it up to show off the glittering game piece for us to see, a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face.
"Now, first thing you two," she said, pointing to Daphne and I, "will do is get up on brooms and practice passing the quaffle, starting on my whistle."
I wondered what Professor Snape had on Madam Hooch to get her to do this for us as I got next to my broom and brought it up to my hand. Then, I straddled it.
"Kick off, no higher than five feet from the ground!"
We did so.
Madam Hooch passed the quaffle to Daphne and blew the whistle.
It was...not that bad. She caught the ball, passed it to me, and then I passed it to her and so on. Off to my left, Malfoy was practicing and doing tricks while Crabbe and Goyle were flying circles around each other and exchanging high-fives...not celebratory high fives, they were coordinating.
...huh.
Then the ball hit me in the face while I was distracted. But I saved it.
"Oops!" Daphne said. "Sorry, Marcus!"
"It's fine," I said, passing it back. "Getting distracted. What are they doing over there?"
"Uh…" Daphne looked over. "Looks like Vincent and Greg are practicing to be beaters. Takes a lot of coordination, especially since they'll be flying around the other members of our team to protect them from bludgers."
"...I hadn't thought of it that way."
She passed the quaffle to me while observing Draco do a dive while standing upright on his broom. "And Draco's showing off."
"Well, that's not news. Catch!"
She caught it without looking.
...I wonder why she never made the team in canon? This is weird.
---
"TROLL!"
Oh no.
"TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"
I remember this.
"...thought you'd want to know."
Quirrell fainted. I inhaled and calmly stood up as the Great Hall dissolved into a panic.
Great.
...well, Happy Halloween.
And now I've got a dilemma. Again.
I've got the perfect opportunity to rip Quirrell's turban off and expose Voldemort to the whole school. But that would rob Harry of this first year with which to develop the courage he'd likely need to go into the Chamber of Secrets next year, and I've already screwed up the third year.
...you think God doesn't interfere with people's lives because it'll ruin the world's happy ending?
I mean...civic duty…
Dumbledore's voice cut through all my musings. "SILENCE!"
Then he made arrangements for everyone to follow their prefects back to their common rooms. Which we did.
So, I got in line and...wait...the Mirror.
As I got in the back of the line, I realized that this was the perfect opportunity. I could go looking for the Mirror of Erised and while Harry and Ron save Hermione on the first floor. It's...wait...what floor is it on? Dammit.
Fourth! That's right, it's on the fourth floor.
I remembered that. Barely.
Okay, the second I get a chance, I'm breaking off. Assuming, of course, that one can see...no one can see.
So, I casually go up when everyone else go down. Fourth floor, here I come. And up the stairs, up the stairs...please do not let Filch be here.
Actually, he's probably taking refuge because, you know, he's a Squib. Little hard to deal with a troll without magic. I'd pity the man if he wasn't such an asshole.
Anyway, up, up, up...no Mrs. Norris, no Filch, good.
I've got...what, twenty minutes to find this thing before Harry and Ron bonk that thing with its own club? Yeah. Let's be fast.
I ran up to the first class I knew would be empty...no, that was a very much used classroom where potions were bubbling over. Was this an alchemy class? Cool!
Next...that's the Library...oh, we have a music room. Huh.
I felt the walls shake a bit. Yeah, I'm going to be out of time here soon.
And…
This classroom had desks and chairs, and upturned wastepaper basket...trash can. It is a trash can. Anyway. And...there's the mirror.
There it is, I can't believe it.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.
Written in glorious text above the glass. The mirror itself was propped up against the desks and walls.
I went up and...oh, boy!
Well...huh.
I saw myself, grown. In my hand was Dumbledore's Wand – the Elder Wand. On my finger, the Resurrection stone, and around my shoulders was the silver, shimmering Invisibility cloak. I was wearing black robes, scruff and a soul patch on my chin.
In my other hand was a sword. Was that...it was Godric Gryffindor's sword. The rubies are what gave it away.
My robes were armored, a silver breastplate, gauntlets and the like, while my head was open to the air that breezed through my dark hair.
At my steel-clad feet was...was...the corpse of Lord Voldemort. Surrounding him were the Horcruxes, broken and useless.
And suddenly, I understood what I was looking at.
I wanted to be the hero.
In the background, I saw Harry, Ron and Hermione...Draco, Crabbe and Goyle...everyone. Applauding me, celebrating me and my accomplishment. They were beckoning me to join them in their celebrations, but I was looking forward.
Into my own eyes.
Well…that...um…
I couldn't take my eyes off of it.
I didn't want to.
This isn't what I thought it would be.
But...being the hero, using the dark arts for noble purposes.
To be the exception.
To be extraordinary.
To be better in all ways.
The floor shook again, violently, enough to bring me to my senses.
...I needed to get to the...oh, crap.
If I go back now, they'll all see that I didn't come in with them and then I'll get detention.
…
Well, I'm doomed anyway, might as well stay with the fantasy for a minute.
Not that that lasted long, because the door opened, and wouldn't you know it, in walked Filch, Mrs. Norris scooting ahead of him like the accursed little speed bump she was.
"Ah-ha!" The old man crooned, running forward and grabbing me by the arm. "What do we got here! A stupid student ignoring the lockdown! Didn't you hear there was a troll on the loose?"
I blinked. "Well, not any more."
He growled. "Come on," he said, pulling me and digging those hideous nails into my arm, Mrs. Norris hissing all the while.
---
"Mr. Sullivan." Professor Snape was, as far as I could tell beneath the stone-cold stoic exterior, utterly bat-shit furious. The way those cold, dark eyes bored into me reminded me to calm my thoughts so that they weren't so easy to read...except for the fact that I had found the Mirror of Erised, which he very much knew and I very much wanted to go back to. "Explain yourself. Now."
"I didn't want to go into the dungeon," I admitted, having figured out what I wanted to say.
"And why is that?" Professor Snape asked.
"Because that's where the troll was," I replied, straight to his face without inflection or flinching. Wasn't why I did it, but that is a true statement!
Professor Snape blinked. "And…" the pause to figure out what he was going to say next was deafening. "...you didn't think to warn the rest of your classmates?"
Ooh. That's a good point. Well, I'm doomed anyway. "I'm not a Hufflepuff."
"Ten points from Slytherin," was Snape's immediate reply, his eye twitching slightly. "We have no time for your cheek, Mr. Sullivan. In the future, if there is such an immediate failure of oversight, you will immediately attempt to warn the Prefects, and failing that, you will grab one of the teacher's attention and inform them of your concerns."
...okay, good to know.
"I am assigning you three weeks detention," Professor Snape said, grabbing a slip of parchment from his desk and writing the appropriate notations before handing it to me. "Starting right now."
"That's fair."
"Do you have any questions?" Professor Snape asked.
"No, sir."
"Good. Now, follow me."
Was it worth it?
...probably.
---
Author's Note: I am super happy you guys seemed to like the last chapter! Thanks so much for the likes!
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
---
"More questions?"
"Of course," Merlin replied. "You said you want to master the Unforgivables. I want you to start thinking about why."
"I told you why," I replied.
"You gave me examples, but I want to know the principles behind them," Merlin said.
"Fine. Avada Kedavra lets me conclusively win any duel, Imperius Curse gets me anything I want from who I want it from and the Cruciatus–" I stopped, trying to think and unable to find something. "–the Cruciatus curse is just gross when you think about it."
Merlin laughed. "You could not be more right! But, as a side effect it leaves the victim more vulnerable to dark magic."
I blinked. "Like the Imperius curse."
He stroked his beard with a grin. "Correct. There's a fun little synergy, don't you think?"
Define fun, you old nut. "It's useful, and disturbing."
"As are all the Dark Arts," Merlin replied, decidedly less cheerful. "At least you have a solid head on your shoulders, mud-snake."
I just rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Okay, that was a good one."
He smirked. "And enough humility to take an insult in stride. Good. Now, how's your homework coming?"
"I'm having trouble with calming my mind at night," I admitted.
He hummed. "Alright. Well, the more you try, the more you'll improve. Now, if you'll stare into the Crystal, we'll begin this session."
---
"Hey, Marcus."
It was Daphne again, almost skipping her way up the steps out of the dungeons behind me. "How are you?"
"Thinking about a dilemma," I said, my thoughts very much on that dilemma.
"Oh, and what's that?" Daphne asked.
"I've got a friend back home," I began. "He's been looking for someone and I've known where that person is for a long time. That person doesn't want to be found, but...the friend of mine who's looking for him has a really good reason to find him. On the other hand, I don't know how things will work out once he does, in fact, find him."
She hummed, finger tapping against her lips as she thought. "Well, how does it affect you?"
"That's what I mean," I said. "Things could be really unpleasant for me for a while. It's not permanent, and it'll be a good thing in the long term."
"But you're not sure you want to deal with the short term," Daphne replied.
"Exactly."
"That is a tough decision," Daphne replied. "Now when you say it's a good thing, how does it benefit you, exactly?"
"I don't have to deal with that niggling feeling in the back of my head telling me that I should say something," I answered.
"Oh, one of those things," Daphne said. "Well, is it your responsibility?"
"More…" civic duty, "family duty, really."
Besides, I like the guy.
We got the greenhouse and I opened the door.
Daphne just fixed me with those blue peepers of hers. "My uncle just says to be smart about that sort of thing." She took a step into the greenhouse and gave one last statement. "Let it explode when you're not there so it doesn't affect you, if possible."
With that, we both walked inside.
---
Sirius Black,
The rat is the pet of one of the kids at the Marauder's old home.
The map is with his brothers, twins, acolytes of the Marauders.
The family has a long history in the Marauder's red house.
Do not say anything out loud, or your demons will go live there for a while.
Do not do anything stupid and endanger your godson.
Destroy this letter.
~A friend.
---
...okay, I actually feel better now. Whatever happens, happens.
Whatever.
If he follows my instructions, the Dementors won't come to Hogwarts. Not for a while, anyway. I mean, it's not like I need to do anything about the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell can't get past the Mirror of Erised, anyway.
...speaking of the mirror…
Eh, there's no way I'll be able to get to it. I mean, it's a source of one kind of wisdom, showing me exactly what it is that I actually want, giving me something to work towards. Like Odysseus and the Sirens. Because knowing what you actually want is a great measure of your character...and reveals your weaknesses.
I wonder what year we learn the Disillusionment Charm.
Really wish magic was as simple as learning the words and waving the wand. Because it is noooooot.
And right as I walk out of the Owlry, I come face to face with Draco Malfoy. And Crabbe and Goyle, but that's a given.
He blinked, and then he remembered. "Oh, right. You don't have your own owl. I forgot that you're a peasant."
I frowned. "Did you need me for something?"
He shook his head. "No, just curious who you were sending a message to. We've been here a month and that's the first message you've sent."
"Just a family member who's looking for someone," I lied. "Hopefully they aren't mad I waited to tell them."
Draco glared at me. "Hopefully that Muggle is allowed to be in the know, or you'll be expelled for sure."
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Well, since you're not long for the castle, you can make yourself useful," Draco said, flashing a key in his hand. "Professor Snape gave me the key to the broom closet and Madam Hooch is waiting for us. We can do Quidditch practice so long as she is there supervising."
You have got to be kidding. "As long as it doesn't cut into my private time."
"It's just for a few hours," Draco replied, waving it off. "More than enough time for homework and whatever else you're doing."
Fine. I already had my session with Merlin today, anyway. Oh, but I wasn't doing this alone. "Can we get Daphne too? She loves Quidditch."
Draco actually stopped short. "Greengrass?"
I nodded.
"Huh, I didn't know," Draco said. "Sure, we'll swing by the Common room, I think she's there."
Annoying as it was, at least I wasn't suffering alone.
---
Actually, yes, I was suffering alone, because Daphne was grinning from ear to ear when he asked her, practically skipping as she walked beside me out to the pitch. Gloomy day, but it's England or Scotland or one of those places, so what can you do?
And true to Draco's word, Madam Hooch was indeed waiting for us.
She frowned a very deep, severe frown. "I see you picked up a stray."
"Hello, Madam Hooch," Daphne said, still sunshine in rainbows in this bloody weather for whatever reason.
"Ms. Greengrass," was the reply with a nod. "Now, I assume you all know what the balls do?"
Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Greengrass all pointed at me.
"Right," she said, walking over to the trunk and kicking it open. "Raised by muggles, aren't you?"
"Just my dad," I replied.
She hummed. "Listen closely. The big ball in the center is the Quaffle. Throw it through the opponents goal to score. The two ornery thugs beside it are the bludgers. I let this loose and it'll start looking for people to smash, so we're not doing that today."
Crabbe let out a disappointed groan.
"Later, when we're not dealing with a new flier," Madam Hooch reproved. "Lastly," she began, opening that tiny golden compartment, from out flew the golden ball with wings. "That is the snitch, the game ends when it's caught."
Malfoy's hand snapped out and caught the ball.
Madam Hooch favored him with a nod. "Nice work, Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy raised it up to show off the glittering game piece for us to see, a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face.
"Now, first thing you two," she said, pointing to Daphne and I, "will do is get up on brooms and practice passing the quaffle, starting on my whistle."
I wondered what Professor Snape had on Madam Hooch to get her to do this for us as I got next to my broom and brought it up to my hand. Then, I straddled it.
"Kick off, no higher than five feet from the ground!"
We did so.
Madam Hooch passed the quaffle to Daphne and blew the whistle.
It was...not that bad. She caught the ball, passed it to me, and then I passed it to her and so on. Off to my left, Malfoy was practicing and doing tricks while Crabbe and Goyle were flying circles around each other and exchanging high-fives...not celebratory high fives, they were coordinating.
...huh.
Then the ball hit me in the face while I was distracted. But I saved it.
"Oops!" Daphne said. "Sorry, Marcus!"
"It's fine," I said, passing it back. "Getting distracted. What are they doing over there?"
"Uh…" Daphne looked over. "Looks like Vincent and Greg are practicing to be beaters. Takes a lot of coordination, especially since they'll be flying around the other members of our team to protect them from bludgers."
"...I hadn't thought of it that way."
She passed the quaffle to me while observing Draco do a dive while standing upright on his broom. "And Draco's showing off."
"Well, that's not news. Catch!"
She caught it without looking.
...I wonder why she never made the team in canon? This is weird.
---
"TROLL!"
Oh no.
"TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"
I remember this.
"...thought you'd want to know."
Quirrell fainted. I inhaled and calmly stood up as the Great Hall dissolved into a panic.
Great.
...well, Happy Halloween.
And now I've got a dilemma. Again.
I've got the perfect opportunity to rip Quirrell's turban off and expose Voldemort to the whole school. But that would rob Harry of this first year with which to develop the courage he'd likely need to go into the Chamber of Secrets next year, and I've already screwed up the third year.
...you think God doesn't interfere with people's lives because it'll ruin the world's happy ending?
I mean...civic duty…
Dumbledore's voice cut through all my musings. "SILENCE!"
Then he made arrangements for everyone to follow their prefects back to their common rooms. Which we did.
So, I got in line and...wait...the Mirror.
As I got in the back of the line, I realized that this was the perfect opportunity. I could go looking for the Mirror of Erised and while Harry and Ron save Hermione on the first floor. It's...wait...what floor is it on? Dammit.
Fourth! That's right, it's on the fourth floor.
I remembered that. Barely.
Okay, the second I get a chance, I'm breaking off. Assuming, of course, that one can see...no one can see.
So, I casually go up when everyone else go down. Fourth floor, here I come. And up the stairs, up the stairs...please do not let Filch be here.
Actually, he's probably taking refuge because, you know, he's a Squib. Little hard to deal with a troll without magic. I'd pity the man if he wasn't such an asshole.
Anyway, up, up, up...no Mrs. Norris, no Filch, good.
I've got...what, twenty minutes to find this thing before Harry and Ron bonk that thing with its own club? Yeah. Let's be fast.
I ran up to the first class I knew would be empty...no, that was a very much used classroom where potions were bubbling over. Was this an alchemy class? Cool!
Next...that's the Library...oh, we have a music room. Huh.
I felt the walls shake a bit. Yeah, I'm going to be out of time here soon.
And…
This classroom had desks and chairs, and upturned wastepaper basket...trash can. It is a trash can. Anyway. And...there's the mirror.
There it is, I can't believe it.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.
Written in glorious text above the glass. The mirror itself was propped up against the desks and walls.
I went up and...oh, boy!
Well...huh.
I saw myself, grown. In my hand was Dumbledore's Wand – the Elder Wand. On my finger, the Resurrection stone, and around my shoulders was the silver, shimmering Invisibility cloak. I was wearing black robes, scruff and a soul patch on my chin.
In my other hand was a sword. Was that...it was Godric Gryffindor's sword. The rubies are what gave it away.
My robes were armored, a silver breastplate, gauntlets and the like, while my head was open to the air that breezed through my dark hair.
At my steel-clad feet was...was...the corpse of Lord Voldemort. Surrounding him were the Horcruxes, broken and useless.
And suddenly, I understood what I was looking at.
I wanted to be the hero.
In the background, I saw Harry, Ron and Hermione...Draco, Crabbe and Goyle...everyone. Applauding me, celebrating me and my accomplishment. They were beckoning me to join them in their celebrations, but I was looking forward.
Into my own eyes.
Well…that...um…
I couldn't take my eyes off of it.
I didn't want to.
This isn't what I thought it would be.
But...being the hero, using the dark arts for noble purposes.
To be the exception.
To be extraordinary.
To be better in all ways.
The floor shook again, violently, enough to bring me to my senses.
...I needed to get to the...oh, crap.
If I go back now, they'll all see that I didn't come in with them and then I'll get detention.
…
Well, I'm doomed anyway, might as well stay with the fantasy for a minute.
Not that that lasted long, because the door opened, and wouldn't you know it, in walked Filch, Mrs. Norris scooting ahead of him like the accursed little speed bump she was.
"Ah-ha!" The old man crooned, running forward and grabbing me by the arm. "What do we got here! A stupid student ignoring the lockdown! Didn't you hear there was a troll on the loose?"
I blinked. "Well, not any more."
He growled. "Come on," he said, pulling me and digging those hideous nails into my arm, Mrs. Norris hissing all the while.
---
"Mr. Sullivan." Professor Snape was, as far as I could tell beneath the stone-cold stoic exterior, utterly bat-shit furious. The way those cold, dark eyes bored into me reminded me to calm my thoughts so that they weren't so easy to read...except for the fact that I had found the Mirror of Erised, which he very much knew and I very much wanted to go back to. "Explain yourself. Now."
"I didn't want to go into the dungeon," I admitted, having figured out what I wanted to say.
"And why is that?" Professor Snape asked.
"Because that's where the troll was," I replied, straight to his face without inflection or flinching. Wasn't why I did it, but that is a true statement!
Professor Snape blinked. "And…" the pause to figure out what he was going to say next was deafening. "...you didn't think to warn the rest of your classmates?"
Ooh. That's a good point. Well, I'm doomed anyway. "I'm not a Hufflepuff."
"Ten points from Slytherin," was Snape's immediate reply, his eye twitching slightly. "We have no time for your cheek, Mr. Sullivan. In the future, if there is such an immediate failure of oversight, you will immediately attempt to warn the Prefects, and failing that, you will grab one of the teacher's attention and inform them of your concerns."
...okay, good to know.
"I am assigning you three weeks detention," Professor Snape said, grabbing a slip of parchment from his desk and writing the appropriate notations before handing it to me. "Starting right now."
"That's fair."
"Do you have any questions?" Professor Snape asked.
"No, sir."
"Good. Now, follow me."
Was it worth it?
...probably.
---
Author's Note: I am super happy you guys seemed to like the last chapter! Thanks so much for the likes!
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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Mrcuak
Not too sore, are you?
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Well love the series and the start so far @Fulcon .
A good info dump of his background would have been Nice though.
The mc made a tiny mistake though.
He should have try to negociate with Sirius to leave a "Legal will" and do an Inheritance by will.
Inheritance by Will: A wizard can legally name a complete stranger, a Muggle, or a friend as their sole heir (In this case the Mc as the heir of the Blacks).
It would complete Sirius vengeance against his mother leaving the place where he was raised to him plus the money.
And Mc gets money, the title and more magic.
A good info dump of his background would have been Nice though.
The mc made a tiny mistake though.
He should have try to negociate with Sirius to leave a "Legal will" and do an Inheritance by will.
Inheritance by Will: A wizard can legally name a complete stranger, a Muggle, or a friend as their sole heir (In this case the Mc as the heir of the Blacks).
It would complete Sirius vengeance against his mother leaving the place where he was raised to him plus the money.
And Mc gets money, the title and more magic.
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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Ah, thanks!
You'll get that soon enough, promise.
That...is an interesting idea. Not something I knew about, and not the direction I'm wanting to take the story, but that is an interesting idea that I hope someone uses in their future endeavors.
Have a cookie.
Year 1 – Chapter 3: The Best Laid Plans
New
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.
---
So detention meant that I had to go without breakfast for three weeks because I had to move my daily Occlumency and Legilimency lessons to the morning. Because I sure wasn't going to miss any. That, of course, was an excuse to go looking for and find the kitchen instead of heading to the great hall.
The house elves there never gave me their names, even when I asked, but they were extraordinarily generous when I asked for a second helping of lunch, so I made sure to be as polite and well-mannered a guest in their kitchen as I could be.
If any Slytherin asks about that, I'm going to tell this thing I just came up with:
A mistreated servant is a knife in the back.
Malfoy, of course, was really, really upset that I landed myself in detention, because it meant we couldn't do Quidditch practice. Honestly, it was a relief. Kind of. It was getting kind of fun now that we've progressed to dodging the bludgers and kicking the ball through the hoops. But not having to deal with Draco's bigotry was its own solace.
Because boy oh boy, did he hate muggleborns.
I mean...I knew that, going in, but I had no idea how grating it would be until I was around it every single day. I'm only getting spared because they all think I'm a half-blood that got raised by muggles, but that literally means the only thing standing between me and the combined bigotry of the entire Slytherin house was a literal technicality.
Didn't feel like being the first lynching in Hogwarts history, thank you very much.
Of course, now that my detention is over, I get to go back to dealing with Malfoy's hawkish henpecking while we trained for a sport I had no interest in.
...okay, actually I did have an interest. Flying is, in fact, fun. I'm just a little trepidatious about heights. But, you know, as long as no one's hexing my broom or anything it'll be fine.
Probably.
Anyway, we had double potions with Gryffindor.
I hate double potions with Gryffindor.
Dealing with Snape's vendetta against Harry brings the entire classroom down.
Like right now, where we're learning how to make a basic calming tonic.
"Potter, what's the Tria Prima index of an eye of newt?" Snape asked.
Potter, obviously annoyed at being singled out, again, simply said, "I don't know, sir."
"A point from Gryffindor," Snape replied lazily. "The Tria Prima index measures an ingredient's combustibility, volatility and stability. The eye of a newt scores a two on combustibility, a one on volatility, and a three on stability."
Harry was about to snark at the guy, having had it.
But you know what? Screw it. I raised my hand.
Snape sighed. "Yes, Sullivan?"
"It seems like volatility and stability are on a spectrum, Professor," I stated. "Can an ingredient be high on volatility and stability at the same time?"
He frowned in irritation. "I can see why one might make that mistake if they did not know the definition of these terms. Volatility is a measure of how temperamental an ingredient is, the higher on the list, the more delicately you must treat it. Stability refers to how consistently the ingredient performs in potions. The eye of a newt is a classic ingredient because it is difficult to ruin and provides its expected results almost every time."
I nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
The Tria Prima index is only mentioned once in the textbook at the beginning, and then again in appendix A at the end. I only remember that because I was thumbing through the book and saw the thing.
Then I raised my hand again, because he was just about to get after Potter again.
"Another question, Sullivan?"
"What's combustibility mean?" I asked.
"The potency of the magical energy released when it is brewed into a potion," Snape answered. "The higher the score, the more the ingredient does for the potion you are brewing."
"Thank you, Professor."
At this point, Professor Snape just went back to his desk, clearly grumbling into whatever inhuman thoughts resided within his mind.
It was then that a note wound up beneath my cauldron. I opened it, and it had two words.
Quidditch Practice.
Because of course it did.
I saw Malfoy looking over his shoulder to burn a hole in my robes with that stare of his. I gave him a thumbs up, he nodded and turned back to his cauldron.
---
"How much longer is this going to take?" I asked the portrait.
Merlin just shrugged. "You're a first year and Occlumency is hardly appropriate for wizards of your level."
"Well, I don't really have a choice here," I said. "One stray Legilimens from Snape and everything's doomed."
"Yes, finding out about a children's book series starring the boy you hate will assuredly lead to an existential crisis," Merlin stated. "Well, it did for me."
I just looked at him with incredulity. "You're a painting."
"Quite right."
I sighed. "Whatever, I'm ready to start."
My eyes focused on the crystal ball. It was habit at this point, to feel myself drift away.
Immediately, of course, I was beset by memories. False ones, I believed. I've never actually met my dad, which was going to prove really interesting when the school year ended and I took the Hogwarts express back to London for normal, civilian life.
Those surface memories felt like I was watching a movie. They were present, loud and almost obstructionist. Good enough to fool any passing glance.
But under actual scrutiny, they would fail completely, just like they were doing now.
Below the surface of these clustered memories were the real ones: staying up until one in the morning reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone as an eleven-year-old boy. Then Chamber of Secrets and The Prisoner of Azkaban and pleading with my Mom to let me read Goblet of Fire because she thought it was too dark.
...yeah.
Of course, those memories became so much more prominent, now, given where I was.
At that point, the voice of Merlin came in. Trying to shut him out was nearly impossible, which is the frustrating part. "You really liked science fiction, didn't you?"
My other interests came in. Star Wars, StarCraft, Star Trek. Anime like Naruto or Claymore. Video games like Knights of the Old Republic...and the Prisoner of Azkaban game for PC, which honestly wasn't that good.
…
"Video games are interesting."
Throw him out, throw him out, throw him out…
"You seem to like fanfiction too…"
THROW HIM OUT…
"Whoa!" he said. "I think we're done."
Immediately, my mind and attention were pulled back to this tiny, cramped room.
"You actually pushed a little bit there at the end," Merlin said, nodding with approval. "Very good, we're making progress. Keep this up and you might be a competent Occlumens by the end of the year."
"And then I start learning the dark arts?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Hm...no, I'm afraid you are simply too undeveloped. I would have you wait until at least your third year," Merlin said. "The same year Harry is to learn the Patronus spell in your books."
…
"Which...you know, doesn't that depend on Dementors swarming the school?"
...no…
"And Professor Remus Lupin to be present to actually teach him," Merlin continued, stroking his beard.
...no, no, no…
"Come to think of it, didn't you send a letter to Sirius Black?"
...nonononononononononononononnonono…
"Ensuring that he'll break out early and arrive by the start of your second year? At least?"
"NO!"
"I'm sure you can fix this," Merlin said, a smug grin on his face. "I believe in you with utmost assuredness. Well… I'm mostly sure. You can probably fix this. Maybe. It's fifty-fifty. Actually, you probably won't be able to fix this. This train is off the rails."
I glared at him.
"But I'm sure you'll be fine," Merlin said. "Your letter might not even reach Mr. Black, especially if they screen the mail. Though, come to think of it, won't they investigate where that letter came from if they do?"
I stood straight up and turned to the door, looking through the peephole to make sure no one was in the corridor. There was a pair of students, third year I believe, walking through...oh, there's Professors McGonogall and Flitwick. And they're talking with the students...I'm going to be here for a little while.
"So...I noticed that you found the Mirror of Erised," Merlin continued. "A wonderful little artifact, if I do say so myself. But I didn't look too deeply into it, of course."
I didn't respond.
"If I might inquire?" Merlin asked.
I didn't respond.
He sighed. "Oh, to be ignored by one's only student, it is truly dreadful."
"Fine."
I told him. The armor, the weapons, the adulation, the slain dark lord at my feet. How I got caught by Filch and wound up with three weeks detention, but he knew that part.
He hummed, tapping his chin, and I went back to the peephole, and saw the students and professors go their separate ways, only for Dumbledore to run into Professor Quirrell right in front of the door to stay and chat.
"The ring is interesting," Merlin said.
"Why the resurrection stone?" I asked. "No one I cared about was dead. I'm much more interested in the dead Tom at my feet."
He hummed. "You didn't mention that it held the Resurrection Stone."
After considering about it for a moment, I came to a conclusion. "Well, actually I think I'd like a ring on top of that."
"And why is that?" Merlin asked.
"Hold on." I checked the peephole again. Still couldn't go. "...it's because Ollivander told Harry that a wizard can focus their magic through any instrument. A ring is much, much harder to drop or lose, so I've been thinking that maybe a ring might be a good idea to learn how to cast with in an actual fight."
"Ah, I see what you're saying," Merlin said. "That is actually a fairly logical conclusion. Now, consider, you might study that during your second year while you're waiting to study the Unforgivables in your third."
Peeled myself away from the peephole to look at Merlin. "That's...a really good idea."
"Since, you know...that picture was your heart's desire," Merlin replied.
...he was right.
"Perhaps you might even go to the Library, check a book out on the subject," Merlin suggested. "And if you're worried about further damaging your precious canon, remember, the only thing you're guilty of is cheating," he continued. "And people really only care about cheating if they don't like the winner."
I blinked. "...Are you a Slytherin, Merlin?"
"Well, it's said that my father was the devil," Merlin replied idly. "Now get thee hence."
I looked through the peep hole and the coast was clear. Finally. I walked out of there and watched the door to the Room of Requirement melt into the stone it was set in.
---
"And there you are, Mr. Sullivan," Madam Pince, a literal vulture in the shape of a woman, pulled a book from the shelf. Wands, Staffs and other Magical Foci, by Taika Smith. "Please ensure that you properly check it out if you decide to take it back to your common room."
After thanking her, I immediately dove headfirst into this book.
Most of the book was actually on staffs. The good Mrs. Smith argued strongly in favor of their use over wands. What I was actually looking for – rings – only occupied a single chapter. In said chapter, though?
Rings that may be used as Foci are very difficult to create, it read. Firstly, their small size means that the magical core which all foci require must be repeatedly curled around the finger in what results in a very thick band, especially when considering larger cores, such as dragon heart-strings. And it continued, in a way that made me thoroughly annoyed. The ring also cannot be made of metal as most rings are because metal impedes magical conductivity. It must be carefully enchanted to make up for the structural weakness of the wood without also harming the magical conductivity.
Aw, no cool silver rings? That's dumb.
However, it should be noted that Rings represent the half-way point between magic with a wand, and wandless magic, it read, impressing me thoroughly. The principles behind the use of the ring and wandless magic remain the same, and British wizards attempting to practice the Uagadou hand-signs have found it significantly easier to learn, while trained Uagadou wizards and witches report it much easier to perform their spells without hand motions at all.
I've hit the mother lode!
But for most wizards, a wand is more than sufficient for their needs due to the vastly expanded library of spells it allows and I must again emphasize the superior stature and utility of the staff, the book continued. A ring is only useful to the forgetful wizard who leaves their wand at their bedside, and any wizard so lax might as well not be a wizard at all!
Don't throw shade at Neville. I will track you down and slap you with a wet noodle.
And it will be really painful.
There were only a few more paragraphs and it didn't exactly say how a ring was supposed to be created or where they could be bought. Probably Africa. Well, it's a start.
...I could just use the Room of Requirement, if the Hogwarts Library doesn't have any books on Uagadou magic...I should write it down so Madam Pince doesn't think I'm asking for a book on 'wackadoo' magic.
As I got up, grabbed a quill and parchment to write down the name and zipped on over there with a grin on my face as wide as the ocean.
---
"Sullivan!" Malfoy cried. "You're dipping too far down! Are you trying to plant your broom in the sod?"
"But crash landings are fun!" I cried back. I immediately had to do a corkscrew because Goyle sent a bludger my way for my comment.
"No they're not!" Malfoy sounded affronted. "Is the muggle in you scrambling your brains?"
"No, I'm being sarcastic!"
"Well, that's alright, I suppose!" Malfoy shouted. "Plunge into the grass, and we'll see how sarcastic you are, then!"
Daphne flew beside me, wind whipping freely through her long, platinum hair. "May I offer a suggestion?"
"Sure," I replied, bringing my broom to a stop in the air.
"Adjust your stance," Daphne replied. "You're putting too much weight on your hands and that's pitching the broom forward."
Oh.
I did so, feeling pretty uncomfortable as I let the cushioning charm on my broom take on more of my weight.
"There we go," Daphne said, beaming. "Perfect!"
She tossed me the quaffle. It was my turn to score a goal. Crabbe was floating before the three goal rings, acting as improvised keeper. I threw the quaffle, and he immediately blocked it, sending it tumbling to the ground, so I had to go snatch.
Then I grabbed it and pulled myself out of the dive and...adjusted my stance. Not too much weight on the front, or I'll start nose-diving again.
And just like that, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded. "That's it! Practice is over! Land and turn in your brooms!"
My feet touched the surface first, followed by the other four.
"I think that went well," Malfoy said, grinning from ear to ear. "I think we stand a decent chance of getting you two into the team next year."
"How do you know that you'll get in?" I asked even though I knew the answer, arching my eyebrow for effect.
"Because my father is going to buy the team new broomsticks," Malfoy replied proudly. "Nimbus is coming out with a new model next year, so that'll be our ticket in."
Daphne adopted a catlike grin. "You, Crabbe and Goyle?"
"No, me, you and Sullivan," Malfoy replied, turning to glare at her. "Crabbe and Goyle aren't better beaters than what we've got right now, but you both are the superior chasers. By the way, the first Quidditch match of the season is tomorrow afternoon. I'll be saving seats for the both of you."
...ah, crap.
"Perfect!" Daphne said.
"Well, couldn't hurt to actually see what we're doing," I replied.
"Precisely!" Draco replied. "You should be thanking me, Sullivan. This is a great way to increase your standing in the house."
… "That is true. Thank you for looking out for me, Draco."
Draco was smiling. "Nice to know my charity is appreciated!"
We opened the door to the broom shed and placed our brooms on the racks. Crabbe and Goyle returned the chest of Quidditch balls to its rightful place, and we shut the door behind us.
Now that that's over, I'm heading back to the common room and digging into that book. A Wizard's look into the Magic of Uagadou, by Azriel M. Exploratio.
"Oh, Marcus?" Daphne called. "Would you join us for dinner tonight? I think it would be good for team building."
…
The book isn't due for another couple of weeks, I guess. "Sure."
---
So detention meant that I had to go without breakfast for three weeks because I had to move my daily Occlumency and Legilimency lessons to the morning. Because I sure wasn't going to miss any. That, of course, was an excuse to go looking for and find the kitchen instead of heading to the great hall.
The house elves there never gave me their names, even when I asked, but they were extraordinarily generous when I asked for a second helping of lunch, so I made sure to be as polite and well-mannered a guest in their kitchen as I could be.
If any Slytherin asks about that, I'm going to tell this thing I just came up with:
A mistreated servant is a knife in the back.
Malfoy, of course, was really, really upset that I landed myself in detention, because it meant we couldn't do Quidditch practice. Honestly, it was a relief. Kind of. It was getting kind of fun now that we've progressed to dodging the bludgers and kicking the ball through the hoops. But not having to deal with Draco's bigotry was its own solace.
Because boy oh boy, did he hate muggleborns.
I mean...I knew that, going in, but I had no idea how grating it would be until I was around it every single day. I'm only getting spared because they all think I'm a half-blood that got raised by muggles, but that literally means the only thing standing between me and the combined bigotry of the entire Slytherin house was a literal technicality.
Didn't feel like being the first lynching in Hogwarts history, thank you very much.
Of course, now that my detention is over, I get to go back to dealing with Malfoy's hawkish henpecking while we trained for a sport I had no interest in.
...okay, actually I did have an interest. Flying is, in fact, fun. I'm just a little trepidatious about heights. But, you know, as long as no one's hexing my broom or anything it'll be fine.
Probably.
Anyway, we had double potions with Gryffindor.
I hate double potions with Gryffindor.
Dealing with Snape's vendetta against Harry brings the entire classroom down.
Like right now, where we're learning how to make a basic calming tonic.
"Potter, what's the Tria Prima index of an eye of newt?" Snape asked.
Potter, obviously annoyed at being singled out, again, simply said, "I don't know, sir."
"A point from Gryffindor," Snape replied lazily. "The Tria Prima index measures an ingredient's combustibility, volatility and stability. The eye of a newt scores a two on combustibility, a one on volatility, and a three on stability."
Harry was about to snark at the guy, having had it.
But you know what? Screw it. I raised my hand.
Snape sighed. "Yes, Sullivan?"
"It seems like volatility and stability are on a spectrum, Professor," I stated. "Can an ingredient be high on volatility and stability at the same time?"
He frowned in irritation. "I can see why one might make that mistake if they did not know the definition of these terms. Volatility is a measure of how temperamental an ingredient is, the higher on the list, the more delicately you must treat it. Stability refers to how consistently the ingredient performs in potions. The eye of a newt is a classic ingredient because it is difficult to ruin and provides its expected results almost every time."
I nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
The Tria Prima index is only mentioned once in the textbook at the beginning, and then again in appendix A at the end. I only remember that because I was thumbing through the book and saw the thing.
Then I raised my hand again, because he was just about to get after Potter again.
"Another question, Sullivan?"
"What's combustibility mean?" I asked.
"The potency of the magical energy released when it is brewed into a potion," Snape answered. "The higher the score, the more the ingredient does for the potion you are brewing."
"Thank you, Professor."
At this point, Professor Snape just went back to his desk, clearly grumbling into whatever inhuman thoughts resided within his mind.
It was then that a note wound up beneath my cauldron. I opened it, and it had two words.
Quidditch Practice.
Because of course it did.
I saw Malfoy looking over his shoulder to burn a hole in my robes with that stare of his. I gave him a thumbs up, he nodded and turned back to his cauldron.
---
"How much longer is this going to take?" I asked the portrait.
Merlin just shrugged. "You're a first year and Occlumency is hardly appropriate for wizards of your level."
"Well, I don't really have a choice here," I said. "One stray Legilimens from Snape and everything's doomed."
"Yes, finding out about a children's book series starring the boy you hate will assuredly lead to an existential crisis," Merlin stated. "Well, it did for me."
I just looked at him with incredulity. "You're a painting."
"Quite right."
I sighed. "Whatever, I'm ready to start."
My eyes focused on the crystal ball. It was habit at this point, to feel myself drift away.
Immediately, of course, I was beset by memories. False ones, I believed. I've never actually met my dad, which was going to prove really interesting when the school year ended and I took the Hogwarts express back to London for normal, civilian life.
Those surface memories felt like I was watching a movie. They were present, loud and almost obstructionist. Good enough to fool any passing glance.
But under actual scrutiny, they would fail completely, just like they were doing now.
Below the surface of these clustered memories were the real ones: staying up until one in the morning reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone as an eleven-year-old boy. Then Chamber of Secrets and The Prisoner of Azkaban and pleading with my Mom to let me read Goblet of Fire because she thought it was too dark.
...yeah.
Of course, those memories became so much more prominent, now, given where I was.
At that point, the voice of Merlin came in. Trying to shut him out was nearly impossible, which is the frustrating part. "You really liked science fiction, didn't you?"
My other interests came in. Star Wars, StarCraft, Star Trek. Anime like Naruto or Claymore. Video games like Knights of the Old Republic...and the Prisoner of Azkaban game for PC, which honestly wasn't that good.
…
"Video games are interesting."
Throw him out, throw him out, throw him out…
"You seem to like fanfiction too…"
THROW HIM OUT…
"Whoa!" he said. "I think we're done."
Immediately, my mind and attention were pulled back to this tiny, cramped room.
"You actually pushed a little bit there at the end," Merlin said, nodding with approval. "Very good, we're making progress. Keep this up and you might be a competent Occlumens by the end of the year."
"And then I start learning the dark arts?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Hm...no, I'm afraid you are simply too undeveloped. I would have you wait until at least your third year," Merlin said. "The same year Harry is to learn the Patronus spell in your books."
…
"Which...you know, doesn't that depend on Dementors swarming the school?"
...no…
"And Professor Remus Lupin to be present to actually teach him," Merlin continued, stroking his beard.
...no, no, no…
"Come to think of it, didn't you send a letter to Sirius Black?"
...nonononononononononononononnonono…
"Ensuring that he'll break out early and arrive by the start of your second year? At least?"
"NO!"
"I'm sure you can fix this," Merlin said, a smug grin on his face. "I believe in you with utmost assuredness. Well… I'm mostly sure. You can probably fix this. Maybe. It's fifty-fifty. Actually, you probably won't be able to fix this. This train is off the rails."
I glared at him.
"But I'm sure you'll be fine," Merlin said. "Your letter might not even reach Mr. Black, especially if they screen the mail. Though, come to think of it, won't they investigate where that letter came from if they do?"
I stood straight up and turned to the door, looking through the peephole to make sure no one was in the corridor. There was a pair of students, third year I believe, walking through...oh, there's Professors McGonogall and Flitwick. And they're talking with the students...I'm going to be here for a little while.
"So...I noticed that you found the Mirror of Erised," Merlin continued. "A wonderful little artifact, if I do say so myself. But I didn't look too deeply into it, of course."
I didn't respond.
"If I might inquire?" Merlin asked.
I didn't respond.
He sighed. "Oh, to be ignored by one's only student, it is truly dreadful."
"Fine."
I told him. The armor, the weapons, the adulation, the slain dark lord at my feet. How I got caught by Filch and wound up with three weeks detention, but he knew that part.
He hummed, tapping his chin, and I went back to the peephole, and saw the students and professors go their separate ways, only for Dumbledore to run into Professor Quirrell right in front of the door to stay and chat.
"The ring is interesting," Merlin said.
"Why the resurrection stone?" I asked. "No one I cared about was dead. I'm much more interested in the dead Tom at my feet."
He hummed. "You didn't mention that it held the Resurrection Stone."
After considering about it for a moment, I came to a conclusion. "Well, actually I think I'd like a ring on top of that."
"And why is that?" Merlin asked.
"Hold on." I checked the peephole again. Still couldn't go. "...it's because Ollivander told Harry that a wizard can focus their magic through any instrument. A ring is much, much harder to drop or lose, so I've been thinking that maybe a ring might be a good idea to learn how to cast with in an actual fight."
"Ah, I see what you're saying," Merlin said. "That is actually a fairly logical conclusion. Now, consider, you might study that during your second year while you're waiting to study the Unforgivables in your third."
Peeled myself away from the peephole to look at Merlin. "That's...a really good idea."
"Since, you know...that picture was your heart's desire," Merlin replied.
...he was right.
"Perhaps you might even go to the Library, check a book out on the subject," Merlin suggested. "And if you're worried about further damaging your precious canon, remember, the only thing you're guilty of is cheating," he continued. "And people really only care about cheating if they don't like the winner."
I blinked. "...Are you a Slytherin, Merlin?"
"Well, it's said that my father was the devil," Merlin replied idly. "Now get thee hence."
I looked through the peep hole and the coast was clear. Finally. I walked out of there and watched the door to the Room of Requirement melt into the stone it was set in.
---
"And there you are, Mr. Sullivan," Madam Pince, a literal vulture in the shape of a woman, pulled a book from the shelf. Wands, Staffs and other Magical Foci, by Taika Smith. "Please ensure that you properly check it out if you decide to take it back to your common room."
After thanking her, I immediately dove headfirst into this book.
Most of the book was actually on staffs. The good Mrs. Smith argued strongly in favor of their use over wands. What I was actually looking for – rings – only occupied a single chapter. In said chapter, though?
Rings that may be used as Foci are very difficult to create, it read. Firstly, their small size means that the magical core which all foci require must be repeatedly curled around the finger in what results in a very thick band, especially when considering larger cores, such as dragon heart-strings. And it continued, in a way that made me thoroughly annoyed. The ring also cannot be made of metal as most rings are because metal impedes magical conductivity. It must be carefully enchanted to make up for the structural weakness of the wood without also harming the magical conductivity.
Aw, no cool silver rings? That's dumb.
However, it should be noted that Rings represent the half-way point between magic with a wand, and wandless magic, it read, impressing me thoroughly. The principles behind the use of the ring and wandless magic remain the same, and British wizards attempting to practice the Uagadou hand-signs have found it significantly easier to learn, while trained Uagadou wizards and witches report it much easier to perform their spells without hand motions at all.
I've hit the mother lode!
But for most wizards, a wand is more than sufficient for their needs due to the vastly expanded library of spells it allows and I must again emphasize the superior stature and utility of the staff, the book continued. A ring is only useful to the forgetful wizard who leaves their wand at their bedside, and any wizard so lax might as well not be a wizard at all!
Don't throw shade at Neville. I will track you down and slap you with a wet noodle.
And it will be really painful.
There were only a few more paragraphs and it didn't exactly say how a ring was supposed to be created or where they could be bought. Probably Africa. Well, it's a start.
...I could just use the Room of Requirement, if the Hogwarts Library doesn't have any books on Uagadou magic...I should write it down so Madam Pince doesn't think I'm asking for a book on 'wackadoo' magic.
As I got up, grabbed a quill and parchment to write down the name and zipped on over there with a grin on my face as wide as the ocean.
---
"Sullivan!" Malfoy cried. "You're dipping too far down! Are you trying to plant your broom in the sod?"
"But crash landings are fun!" I cried back. I immediately had to do a corkscrew because Goyle sent a bludger my way for my comment.
"No they're not!" Malfoy sounded affronted. "Is the muggle in you scrambling your brains?"
"No, I'm being sarcastic!"
"Well, that's alright, I suppose!" Malfoy shouted. "Plunge into the grass, and we'll see how sarcastic you are, then!"
Daphne flew beside me, wind whipping freely through her long, platinum hair. "May I offer a suggestion?"
"Sure," I replied, bringing my broom to a stop in the air.
"Adjust your stance," Daphne replied. "You're putting too much weight on your hands and that's pitching the broom forward."
Oh.
I did so, feeling pretty uncomfortable as I let the cushioning charm on my broom take on more of my weight.
"There we go," Daphne said, beaming. "Perfect!"
She tossed me the quaffle. It was my turn to score a goal. Crabbe was floating before the three goal rings, acting as improvised keeper. I threw the quaffle, and he immediately blocked it, sending it tumbling to the ground, so I had to go snatch.
Then I grabbed it and pulled myself out of the dive and...adjusted my stance. Not too much weight on the front, or I'll start nose-diving again.
And just like that, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded. "That's it! Practice is over! Land and turn in your brooms!"
My feet touched the surface first, followed by the other four.
"I think that went well," Malfoy said, grinning from ear to ear. "I think we stand a decent chance of getting you two into the team next year."
"How do you know that you'll get in?" I asked even though I knew the answer, arching my eyebrow for effect.
"Because my father is going to buy the team new broomsticks," Malfoy replied proudly. "Nimbus is coming out with a new model next year, so that'll be our ticket in."
Daphne adopted a catlike grin. "You, Crabbe and Goyle?"
"No, me, you and Sullivan," Malfoy replied, turning to glare at her. "Crabbe and Goyle aren't better beaters than what we've got right now, but you both are the superior chasers. By the way, the first Quidditch match of the season is tomorrow afternoon. I'll be saving seats for the both of you."
...ah, crap.
"Perfect!" Daphne said.
"Well, couldn't hurt to actually see what we're doing," I replied.
"Precisely!" Draco replied. "You should be thanking me, Sullivan. This is a great way to increase your standing in the house."
… "That is true. Thank you for looking out for me, Draco."
Draco was smiling. "Nice to know my charity is appreciated!"
We opened the door to the broom shed and placed our brooms on the racks. Crabbe and Goyle returned the chest of Quidditch balls to its rightful place, and we shut the door behind us.
Now that that's over, I'm heading back to the common room and digging into that book. A Wizard's look into the Magic of Uagadou, by Azriel M. Exploratio.
"Oh, Marcus?" Daphne called. "Would you join us for dinner tonight? I think it would be good for team building."
…
The book isn't due for another couple of weeks, I guess. "Sure."
sporedruide
Making the rounds.
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This seems like it's going to be fun. And it's always nice to see an SI actually acknowledge the butterfly effect.
Despacitoleo
Well worn.
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Amazing chapter and story
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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I'm inclined to agree, but we can dig more into that in future chapters.
It's not an easy thing to do, especially if you're a beginner writer and canon is the only thing buoying up your story. But after you get past that, it's fun to mess with the infrastructure.
...I'm rambling. Have a cookie! Thanks for the comment!
Aw, thanks for your kind words. Have a cookie.
Jiangrong222
Getting some practice in, huh?
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Really looking forward to future chapters, I appreciate you getting right in the thick of things by skipping the whole sorting and "discovering its actually a fictional universe"
Chapter 4: The Pride and Selfishness of Youth
New
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.
---
Nothing better than the great outdoors during the fall, when snow was on the ground.
I don't know how Hagrid does it every single year, managing the grounds in this kind of weather.
...by the way, I need to find a way for us to get introduced, the guy is a legend.
Of course, Draco was sitting between Daphne and me, Crabbe and Goyle sitting behind us with arguably a better view of the action. He was, of course, seething in his little ear muffs and gray mittens.
"I can't believe Potter got on the team," Draco groused, glaring up in the sky where Harry was flying, looking for the snitch.
Me, I just squinted, looking up at him. "How does he keep his glasses on his face?"
Daphne shrugged. "You'd think he'd go for goggles, wouldn't he?"
"It's an enchantment on the broom," Draco said, glaring up at the Gryffindor seeker with hate shooting out of his eyes, before fixing that same expression on Daphne, while pointing at me with his thumb. "The half-blood, I get. You should know that, Greengrass."
Daphne glared back just as hatefully. "It's called 'making conversation' you pompous brat."
And Gryffindor scored another goal, Lee Jordan cheerfully commentating the match against our team. Honestly, I didn't care who won because I wasn't playing. I just wanted to go back inside with my book. I'm still only about a tenth of the way through, and it's fascinating.
"I can't believe you're from a pure-blood family, you rabid were-puppy," Malfoy shot back.
Daphne was gritting her teeth. "I am not a were-puppy!"
"The only thing separating you from those Weasleys is that at least you have a little money and enough sense to ignore the muggles and mudbloods!"
That's when the claws came out, as she grabbed him by the lapels. "You take that back!"
Vincent and Greg were at a loss as to how to deal with a violent girl, because guys don't hit girls.
Personally, I believe in equal opportunity. "That's enough! Shut up both of you, or I'll hex your tongues out! Draco, you wanted us at the game, here we are! Daphne, we're guests! Now let's just watch this stupid thing!"
Draco snarled. "Fine!"
Daphne crossed her arms, hmph'd and turned her attention back to the game.
Thank you!
And...then Potter's broom started wigging out.
Oh. Right.
I remember this.
...it should be fine; Professor Snape is over there and can buy Hermione enough time to ignite Quirrell's robe before he can actually knock Harry off the broom. Again, the temptation to just sneak over to Quirrell and take the turban off was enticing, but this time, I was able to defeat it with facts and logic.
The turban is probably enchanted to not come off without Quirrell's say-so.
You know, I just realized how freaky it is that I shared a room with the most dangerous and evil man in the world and didn't care because he was hidden under a turban. That's going to keep me up at night. Seriously.
"Oh, come on, knock him off!" Draco said eagerly, raising his fists in preparation for the celebration. "Come on, Potter, just lose your grip!"
Daphne sighed and looked disappointed. "He's not going to fall."
"Of course he is, look at him!" Draco said, his grin only growing wider. "Look at it! Someone's hexing his broom, alright and every time they try to help him, it just goes higher!"
I, of course, set my sights on the teachers. There was Snape, making eye-contact for the counter curse and, there was Quirrell, who was also not blinking. At all. Really puts into perspective how much of the Trio's investigation in the first book was set on Snape solely because he was mean to them.
This is why you don't let petty grudges become a problem, because if Snape wasn't such a turd, and he was a turd, then they might've been able to identify Quirrell from the jump and then the whole school would be a safer place.
But anyway, Snape totally deserves having his robes set on fire here, though I do wish Hermione noticed that Harry's broom got back to normal when she accidentally bumped Professor Quirrell. But alas!
"Ah, man!" Draco said, crestfallen as Harry got back on his broom.
"Told you," Daphne remarked.
"Shut up."
"How did you know?" I asked. I mean, I know how I knew, but her?
This got her attention, she straightened up, blinking rapidly. "I...don't know? I just knew."
Hm.
"You just knew," Draco repeated. "Really?"
"You don't have to be a jerk about it," Daphne retorted, glaring angrily.
"Guys?" I stepped in, and they both went back to angrily observing the game, which...was now over, as Harry had nearly swallowed the snitch on his way down before taking a tumble on the grass.
He held it over his head, victorious, ending the game one-seventy to sixty.
Daphne scrunched her nose. "Well, that was dumb."
Draco growled. "I agree."
"Hm, I think we should figure out how to get good enough that we can build a hundred-and-fifty-point lead in every game," I suggested. "That way, when the seeker catches the snitch, it's not necessarily a loss."
Draco snorted. "Sure, Sullivan. That'll definitely help."
"Well, I mean, if you really do supply everyone with new brooms," I pointed out. "And then we keep losing after that, then it's pretty obvious we're the worse Quidditch team. By far."
"I mean, it's not like we've got bad brooms already," Daphne pointed out. "They've got Cleansweep fives and sixes. Does the team not practice very much?"
Malfoy frowned. "No."
"Why is that?" I asked.
It's then that Greg leaned in. "It's because they're too busy studying for tests and building career prospects outside of school."
"That takes up a lot of time," Vincent added. "And Captain Flint ain't really interested in practicing any more than he has to."
"Yes," Draco confirmed. "Thank you. The team captain doesn't care to practice overmuch. Which baffles me, because we won the cup last year! And the year before that, I thought!"
"And you care?"
"It might be news to you, Sullivan," Draco said, turning to me, practically gritting his teeth. "But I happen to really like Quidditch and more importantly, I like winning. A lot."
"Fair point," I conceded. "So, how do we oust Flint as Captain, then?"
Malfoy folded his arms. "I don't know. His father is friends with my father, so that avenue is closed."
"We'll just have to keep practicing on our own, won't we?" Daphne suggested, arching an eyebrow. "Now let's get inside and out of this cold."
"Finally!" Vincent said, the cold having turned his ears red.
Had to agree. I wonder if the kitchen staff would be kind enough to lend me some hot cocoa…
---
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
I sent a letter to 'Dad' asking if I was coming home for the holidays. He'd never sent me anything before, and I'd never sent him anything.
It was kind of weird, and I wondered if perhaps I hadn't just found myself plopped into someone else's life...except the memories I had of them were so incomplete, they felt like placeholders.
Well, I got a reply.
It was a standard, white post-office envelope, folded perfectly and without magic. The only thing on the front was my name, Marcus Alexander Sullivan, written in perfect typeface.
Draco, sitting between Vincent and Greg, glanced over at me. "Oh look, you actually got something from that muggle family of yours."
Who knows what this letter would have in store.
I opened the envelope and dropped it on the table next to my plate, and Vincent picked it up curiously. He offered it to Draco for examination, while I unfolded the letter.
Son, it read. Sadly, things aren't the best right now. It would be best if you stayed over at Hogwarts to let them look after your needs while I try to resolve our finances. But if you feel the need to come home, I will support you. Love, Dad.
...interesting.
"Not going home for Christmas," I reported.
Vincent patted me on the back in sympathy, but said nothing else.
"I'd invite you over, but I think a proper wizarding house would break your mind," Malfoy replied, passing the envelope to Greg, who remarked that it was just an envelope.
"Well, I appreciate the thought."
He shrugged. "Sorry, Sullivan."
More likely, his parents were unlikely to react well to guests over the holidays and he didn't want to disparage them. Slytherin thinking, you know?
"Well, good luck, Marcus," Daphne said.
"Which Marcus?" Marcus Flint asked, leaning forward from the far end of the table to look at her oddly.
Daphne pointed at me, and he nodded before going back to his meal.
"You'll be the only Slytherin here, I think," Daphne continued. "It's too bad."
"Hey, I'll have the run of the castle," I said, smiling to make light of the situation. "Hogwarts is, in fact, the best place I've ever lived."
"We believe you, mate," Greg said.
"When we get back though, it's Quidditch practice for us," Malfoy said, pointing to us guys and Daphne.
Man, he is obsessed. Guess he took my advice to heart. Who knew something so simple could go so horribly right?
---
Best part about the Holidays, though?
No classes.
No classmates.
No fear of letting slip that I'm actually a muggle born.
Which meant I had all the time in the world to actually finish my book.
Uagadou magic...I think I had enough of an understanding to try casting the Levitation Charm.
So, I'm going to cast it on my pillow. Let me recheck the list of hand signs… yeah. I think I know which ones to do, translating from wand magic is actually a bit of a brain teaser, but I figured it out. I think.
Okay...first one, then the second, let the fingers glide into the third, make the circular motion for the fourth, and… "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Nothing happened.
Check the hand signs again. No, I think they're right. Try again!
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Instead of checking, I tried again. And again. And...hey, it budged that time!
A little bit!
...look, it's harder than it looks in the movies. Hermione getting it on the first try is amazing.
My heart jumped out of my chest when the door to the Dormitory opened, and Professor Snape walked in. "Mr. Sullivan. Good morning."
"Good morning, Professor," I said. "What do I owe the pleasure?"
"I just wanted to take a moment to check in on you now that the other students are gone," Snape replied. "Has anyone found out about your parentage?"
"Not that I know of, sir."
"Good. And you've been careful with your lies thus far?" Snape asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Very good," Snape replied. "It's best not to lie, of course, that gets complicated. Now, I've noticed you've been studying Occlumency."
My heart stopped.
"Good," Snape continued, setting me at ease. "While the seventh years have no interest in delving into the mind of a first year, it never hurts to be prepared and you're at least approaching proficiency."
"Thank you, Professor," I replied.
"Now, if there is even the hint of something wrong, or you suspect any of your belongings have been cursed, what are you to do?" he asked.
"Inform you or Professor Dumbledore," I answered. "Immediately."
"And you have the password to his office?"
I dug through my pocket and found a single, golden galleon with the word Licorice currently embossed in the rim. It changed when he had a new password. "Never leave the dorm without it."
If anyone else tried to read it, it would just read like any other galleon. Dumbledore is, easily, the best wizard.
"Very good," Snape said. "Now, is there anything you'd like to ask of me?"
"How do Prefects get the passwords to their common rooms?" I asked.
"It appears on the back of their badges, much like it does on that galleon," Snape answered. "Because you are not a prefect, you cannot read it."
That answers that question. "I ask, because I'm not sure every Prefect knows that."
"And if they are so foolish as to not ask a member of the staff, they deserve to make a fool of themselves," Snape replied, arching an eyebrow.
Well, that explains what happened with Ron and Hermione in Book 5…
"Well, that's all my questions," I said, smiling. "Thank you, Professor."
He nodded. "Now, perhaps you'll answer one of mine. What is it you were doing when I walked in?"
"Oh, uh…" I fetched the book on Uagadou magic. "These wizards in Africa figured out wandless magic."
Professor Snape blinked, accepting the book. "Wandless magic?"
"Hand signs, sir," I said. "Figured it would be a good skill to have in case of emergencies. But I only started trying to figure it out today."
He hummed, and passed the book back to me. "Well, then I will leave you to it. Happy Christmas."
"Thank you, Professor. Happy Christmas."
He disappeared out the door as quickly as he arrived, and practically soundless too.
With that, I went back to trying and I was going to be here all day if that's what it took.
At least, I thought I was.
But then another unexpected visitor appeared, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"A thousand apologies, good master!" A house-elf, who I recognized but had no idea what his name was. He was carrying a platter with a massive mug of hot chocolate. "We just heard the master from Slytherin wasn't permitted back home and we wanted to give you something to help."
Awwww… seriously, how can anyone mistreat a house elf? "Thank you so much," I said, accepting the porcelain mug and sipping the delicious mug of hot, creamy chocolate, which is easily the best hot chocolate that I've ever had. "You are all the best. Please give the kitchen my warmest regards."
"You are too kind, master," he said, bowing in his pillow case. "Now, I must return to my station. Please come by should you need anything."
As quickly as he appeared, he vanished, and I was left sipping this glorious beverage.
I wonder if there's a higher class outfit than what they've got on that they'll accept as not clothes? Hm. Not sure how to bring up the subject, if I even can.
Trying to take my time with this delicious thing, I went over the hand-signs once more. I'm not really ready to accept that I'll need a ring to see any actual results. So, assuming I can learn whatever spell I want to cast wandlessly, what do I actually want to cast?
First priority is the summoning charm. In case I lose my wand, or the galleon. I'm not going to pretend that I'll be casting the Unforgivables wandlessly in anything resembling a timely manner, so...how about Apparition? Say, shouldn't I also look into becoming an Animagus?
Just go to the Room of Requirement, make sure there's a dozen portraits or something in there to check over my work a dozen times.
That can be done wandlessly too.
Hm…
---
You know, I think it's about time I actually introduced myself to Harry Potter.
The Mirror of Erised is on the same floor as the Library. So...he should be heading out to the Library to find answers on Nicholas Flamel. He'll likely duck into the room with the Mirror to avoid detection, even with the Invisibility cloak.
Not late enough for Curfew, yet and...wait, what am I saying?
I am not doing that.
Instead, I'm going to bed, and I'm going to wait for morning and then introduce myself when he's alone. Maybe.
What would I even ask him? What does he see in the mirror? I know what he sees in the mirror, the poor guy. Tell him Nicholas Flamel is an alchemist? That would throw off...that would...wait. Hang on.
If I tell Harry, and help him out, and he goes down and grabs the Stone before Quirrell is ready for it, then...well, two things. I help Harry out by denying Lord Moldypants the knowledge that he can't touch Harry, which means he doesn't go for Harry's blood for the resurrection in the fourth year, which means he still won't be able to touch Harry when he returns.
And it means that I could, theoretically, take the Philosopher's Stone for myself, hide it in the Room of Requirement until I learned how to use it. And then I become functionally immortal.
...so why not? Why not help him?
The first is that if Voldemort retains the vulnerability of not being able to touch Harry Potter, then Harry stays in a very strong position to deal with him – which means I won't get to do it.
...and the second is that my Occlumency is nowhere near good enough to conceal the fact that I had stolen the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore. And if Dumbledore is present at the Mirror of Erised, he'll hear Harry and I's conversation, which means I'd shoot up to the top of the list of prime suspects.
So in other words, Immortality is, in fact, beyond my grasp. But more importantly, helping Harry leaves him in a much better position to defeat Voldemort.
…
Screw my ambition.
Just...screw it. No. We're talking about doing the right thing. We're denying vital information from the most evil wizard in history and setting him up for defeat a second time. This is greater than what I want.
I stood up, pulled on my robes. I was sitting in the common room reading books and going over homework, but now there was something important this Christmas that I needed to do.
Maybe I'll get caught. That's fine. Some things are more important. Harry has to know, and he's the only person who can get the stone out of the mirror in the first place, so it works. Have Quirrell stare at an empty mirror for a few hours until Dumbledore gets back to find him right there.
It'd be hilarious.
I got to the common-room door, leading into the dungeons and up into the castle.
Need to tell him.
I took a step.
Need to do the right thing.
I walked back inside and shut the door.
And sat down in the chair, feeling more than a little disgusted with myself.
---
Author's Note: It's been fun being able to keep up a consistent update schedule! I had the first year all written up before I started posting, so this has been a little relieving. Daily posting starts again up on Monday.
Thanks for all the comments and kind words. Appreciate you!
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
---
Nothing better than the great outdoors during the fall, when snow was on the ground.
I don't know how Hagrid does it every single year, managing the grounds in this kind of weather.
...by the way, I need to find a way for us to get introduced, the guy is a legend.
Of course, Draco was sitting between Daphne and me, Crabbe and Goyle sitting behind us with arguably a better view of the action. He was, of course, seething in his little ear muffs and gray mittens.
"I can't believe Potter got on the team," Draco groused, glaring up in the sky where Harry was flying, looking for the snitch.
Me, I just squinted, looking up at him. "How does he keep his glasses on his face?"
Daphne shrugged. "You'd think he'd go for goggles, wouldn't he?"
"It's an enchantment on the broom," Draco said, glaring up at the Gryffindor seeker with hate shooting out of his eyes, before fixing that same expression on Daphne, while pointing at me with his thumb. "The half-blood, I get. You should know that, Greengrass."
Daphne glared back just as hatefully. "It's called 'making conversation' you pompous brat."
And Gryffindor scored another goal, Lee Jordan cheerfully commentating the match against our team. Honestly, I didn't care who won because I wasn't playing. I just wanted to go back inside with my book. I'm still only about a tenth of the way through, and it's fascinating.
"I can't believe you're from a pure-blood family, you rabid were-puppy," Malfoy shot back.
Daphne was gritting her teeth. "I am not a were-puppy!"
"The only thing separating you from those Weasleys is that at least you have a little money and enough sense to ignore the muggles and mudbloods!"
That's when the claws came out, as she grabbed him by the lapels. "You take that back!"
Vincent and Greg were at a loss as to how to deal with a violent girl, because guys don't hit girls.
Personally, I believe in equal opportunity. "That's enough! Shut up both of you, or I'll hex your tongues out! Draco, you wanted us at the game, here we are! Daphne, we're guests! Now let's just watch this stupid thing!"
Draco snarled. "Fine!"
Daphne crossed her arms, hmph'd and turned her attention back to the game.
Thank you!
And...then Potter's broom started wigging out.
Oh. Right.
I remember this.
...it should be fine; Professor Snape is over there and can buy Hermione enough time to ignite Quirrell's robe before he can actually knock Harry off the broom. Again, the temptation to just sneak over to Quirrell and take the turban off was enticing, but this time, I was able to defeat it with facts and logic.
The turban is probably enchanted to not come off without Quirrell's say-so.
You know, I just realized how freaky it is that I shared a room with the most dangerous and evil man in the world and didn't care because he was hidden under a turban. That's going to keep me up at night. Seriously.
"Oh, come on, knock him off!" Draco said eagerly, raising his fists in preparation for the celebration. "Come on, Potter, just lose your grip!"
Daphne sighed and looked disappointed. "He's not going to fall."
"Of course he is, look at him!" Draco said, his grin only growing wider. "Look at it! Someone's hexing his broom, alright and every time they try to help him, it just goes higher!"
I, of course, set my sights on the teachers. There was Snape, making eye-contact for the counter curse and, there was Quirrell, who was also not blinking. At all. Really puts into perspective how much of the Trio's investigation in the first book was set on Snape solely because he was mean to them.
This is why you don't let petty grudges become a problem, because if Snape wasn't such a turd, and he was a turd, then they might've been able to identify Quirrell from the jump and then the whole school would be a safer place.
But anyway, Snape totally deserves having his robes set on fire here, though I do wish Hermione noticed that Harry's broom got back to normal when she accidentally bumped Professor Quirrell. But alas!
"Ah, man!" Draco said, crestfallen as Harry got back on his broom.
"Told you," Daphne remarked.
"Shut up."
"How did you know?" I asked. I mean, I know how I knew, but her?
This got her attention, she straightened up, blinking rapidly. "I...don't know? I just knew."
Hm.
"You just knew," Draco repeated. "Really?"
"You don't have to be a jerk about it," Daphne retorted, glaring angrily.
"Guys?" I stepped in, and they both went back to angrily observing the game, which...was now over, as Harry had nearly swallowed the snitch on his way down before taking a tumble on the grass.
He held it over his head, victorious, ending the game one-seventy to sixty.
Daphne scrunched her nose. "Well, that was dumb."
Draco growled. "I agree."
"Hm, I think we should figure out how to get good enough that we can build a hundred-and-fifty-point lead in every game," I suggested. "That way, when the seeker catches the snitch, it's not necessarily a loss."
Draco snorted. "Sure, Sullivan. That'll definitely help."
"Well, I mean, if you really do supply everyone with new brooms," I pointed out. "And then we keep losing after that, then it's pretty obvious we're the worse Quidditch team. By far."
"I mean, it's not like we've got bad brooms already," Daphne pointed out. "They've got Cleansweep fives and sixes. Does the team not practice very much?"
Malfoy frowned. "No."
"Why is that?" I asked.
It's then that Greg leaned in. "It's because they're too busy studying for tests and building career prospects outside of school."
"That takes up a lot of time," Vincent added. "And Captain Flint ain't really interested in practicing any more than he has to."
"Yes," Draco confirmed. "Thank you. The team captain doesn't care to practice overmuch. Which baffles me, because we won the cup last year! And the year before that, I thought!"
"And you care?"
"It might be news to you, Sullivan," Draco said, turning to me, practically gritting his teeth. "But I happen to really like Quidditch and more importantly, I like winning. A lot."
"Fair point," I conceded. "So, how do we oust Flint as Captain, then?"
Malfoy folded his arms. "I don't know. His father is friends with my father, so that avenue is closed."
"We'll just have to keep practicing on our own, won't we?" Daphne suggested, arching an eyebrow. "Now let's get inside and out of this cold."
"Finally!" Vincent said, the cold having turned his ears red.
Had to agree. I wonder if the kitchen staff would be kind enough to lend me some hot cocoa…
---
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
I sent a letter to 'Dad' asking if I was coming home for the holidays. He'd never sent me anything before, and I'd never sent him anything.
It was kind of weird, and I wondered if perhaps I hadn't just found myself plopped into someone else's life...except the memories I had of them were so incomplete, they felt like placeholders.
Well, I got a reply.
It was a standard, white post-office envelope, folded perfectly and without magic. The only thing on the front was my name, Marcus Alexander Sullivan, written in perfect typeface.
Draco, sitting between Vincent and Greg, glanced over at me. "Oh look, you actually got something from that muggle family of yours."
Who knows what this letter would have in store.
I opened the envelope and dropped it on the table next to my plate, and Vincent picked it up curiously. He offered it to Draco for examination, while I unfolded the letter.
Son, it read. Sadly, things aren't the best right now. It would be best if you stayed over at Hogwarts to let them look after your needs while I try to resolve our finances. But if you feel the need to come home, I will support you. Love, Dad.
...interesting.
"Not going home for Christmas," I reported.
Vincent patted me on the back in sympathy, but said nothing else.
"I'd invite you over, but I think a proper wizarding house would break your mind," Malfoy replied, passing the envelope to Greg, who remarked that it was just an envelope.
"Well, I appreciate the thought."
He shrugged. "Sorry, Sullivan."
More likely, his parents were unlikely to react well to guests over the holidays and he didn't want to disparage them. Slytherin thinking, you know?
"Well, good luck, Marcus," Daphne said.
"Which Marcus?" Marcus Flint asked, leaning forward from the far end of the table to look at her oddly.
Daphne pointed at me, and he nodded before going back to his meal.
"You'll be the only Slytherin here, I think," Daphne continued. "It's too bad."
"Hey, I'll have the run of the castle," I said, smiling to make light of the situation. "Hogwarts is, in fact, the best place I've ever lived."
"We believe you, mate," Greg said.
"When we get back though, it's Quidditch practice for us," Malfoy said, pointing to us guys and Daphne.
Man, he is obsessed. Guess he took my advice to heart. Who knew something so simple could go so horribly right?
---
Best part about the Holidays, though?
No classes.
No classmates.
No fear of letting slip that I'm actually a muggle born.
Which meant I had all the time in the world to actually finish my book.
Uagadou magic...I think I had enough of an understanding to try casting the Levitation Charm.
So, I'm going to cast it on my pillow. Let me recheck the list of hand signs… yeah. I think I know which ones to do, translating from wand magic is actually a bit of a brain teaser, but I figured it out. I think.
Okay...first one, then the second, let the fingers glide into the third, make the circular motion for the fourth, and… "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Nothing happened.
Check the hand signs again. No, I think they're right. Try again!
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Instead of checking, I tried again. And again. And...hey, it budged that time!
A little bit!
...look, it's harder than it looks in the movies. Hermione getting it on the first try is amazing.
My heart jumped out of my chest when the door to the Dormitory opened, and Professor Snape walked in. "Mr. Sullivan. Good morning."
"Good morning, Professor," I said. "What do I owe the pleasure?"
"I just wanted to take a moment to check in on you now that the other students are gone," Snape replied. "Has anyone found out about your parentage?"
"Not that I know of, sir."
"Good. And you've been careful with your lies thus far?" Snape asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Very good," Snape replied. "It's best not to lie, of course, that gets complicated. Now, I've noticed you've been studying Occlumency."
My heart stopped.
"Good," Snape continued, setting me at ease. "While the seventh years have no interest in delving into the mind of a first year, it never hurts to be prepared and you're at least approaching proficiency."
"Thank you, Professor," I replied.
"Now, if there is even the hint of something wrong, or you suspect any of your belongings have been cursed, what are you to do?" he asked.
"Inform you or Professor Dumbledore," I answered. "Immediately."
"And you have the password to his office?"
I dug through my pocket and found a single, golden galleon with the word Licorice currently embossed in the rim. It changed when he had a new password. "Never leave the dorm without it."
If anyone else tried to read it, it would just read like any other galleon. Dumbledore is, easily, the best wizard.
"Very good," Snape said. "Now, is there anything you'd like to ask of me?"
"How do Prefects get the passwords to their common rooms?" I asked.
"It appears on the back of their badges, much like it does on that galleon," Snape answered. "Because you are not a prefect, you cannot read it."
That answers that question. "I ask, because I'm not sure every Prefect knows that."
"And if they are so foolish as to not ask a member of the staff, they deserve to make a fool of themselves," Snape replied, arching an eyebrow.
Well, that explains what happened with Ron and Hermione in Book 5…
"Well, that's all my questions," I said, smiling. "Thank you, Professor."
He nodded. "Now, perhaps you'll answer one of mine. What is it you were doing when I walked in?"
"Oh, uh…" I fetched the book on Uagadou magic. "These wizards in Africa figured out wandless magic."
Professor Snape blinked, accepting the book. "Wandless magic?"
"Hand signs, sir," I said. "Figured it would be a good skill to have in case of emergencies. But I only started trying to figure it out today."
He hummed, and passed the book back to me. "Well, then I will leave you to it. Happy Christmas."
"Thank you, Professor. Happy Christmas."
He disappeared out the door as quickly as he arrived, and practically soundless too.
With that, I went back to trying and I was going to be here all day if that's what it took.
At least, I thought I was.
But then another unexpected visitor appeared, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"A thousand apologies, good master!" A house-elf, who I recognized but had no idea what his name was. He was carrying a platter with a massive mug of hot chocolate. "We just heard the master from Slytherin wasn't permitted back home and we wanted to give you something to help."
Awwww… seriously, how can anyone mistreat a house elf? "Thank you so much," I said, accepting the porcelain mug and sipping the delicious mug of hot, creamy chocolate, which is easily the best hot chocolate that I've ever had. "You are all the best. Please give the kitchen my warmest regards."
"You are too kind, master," he said, bowing in his pillow case. "Now, I must return to my station. Please come by should you need anything."
As quickly as he appeared, he vanished, and I was left sipping this glorious beverage.
I wonder if there's a higher class outfit than what they've got on that they'll accept as not clothes? Hm. Not sure how to bring up the subject, if I even can.
Trying to take my time with this delicious thing, I went over the hand-signs once more. I'm not really ready to accept that I'll need a ring to see any actual results. So, assuming I can learn whatever spell I want to cast wandlessly, what do I actually want to cast?
First priority is the summoning charm. In case I lose my wand, or the galleon. I'm not going to pretend that I'll be casting the Unforgivables wandlessly in anything resembling a timely manner, so...how about Apparition? Say, shouldn't I also look into becoming an Animagus?
Just go to the Room of Requirement, make sure there's a dozen portraits or something in there to check over my work a dozen times.
That can be done wandlessly too.
Hm…
---
You know, I think it's about time I actually introduced myself to Harry Potter.
The Mirror of Erised is on the same floor as the Library. So...he should be heading out to the Library to find answers on Nicholas Flamel. He'll likely duck into the room with the Mirror to avoid detection, even with the Invisibility cloak.
Not late enough for Curfew, yet and...wait, what am I saying?
I am not doing that.
Instead, I'm going to bed, and I'm going to wait for morning and then introduce myself when he's alone. Maybe.
What would I even ask him? What does he see in the mirror? I know what he sees in the mirror, the poor guy. Tell him Nicholas Flamel is an alchemist? That would throw off...that would...wait. Hang on.
If I tell Harry, and help him out, and he goes down and grabs the Stone before Quirrell is ready for it, then...well, two things. I help Harry out by denying Lord Moldypants the knowledge that he can't touch Harry, which means he doesn't go for Harry's blood for the resurrection in the fourth year, which means he still won't be able to touch Harry when he returns.
And it means that I could, theoretically, take the Philosopher's Stone for myself, hide it in the Room of Requirement until I learned how to use it. And then I become functionally immortal.
...so why not? Why not help him?
The first is that if Voldemort retains the vulnerability of not being able to touch Harry Potter, then Harry stays in a very strong position to deal with him – which means I won't get to do it.
...and the second is that my Occlumency is nowhere near good enough to conceal the fact that I had stolen the Philosopher's Stone from Dumbledore. And if Dumbledore is present at the Mirror of Erised, he'll hear Harry and I's conversation, which means I'd shoot up to the top of the list of prime suspects.
So in other words, Immortality is, in fact, beyond my grasp. But more importantly, helping Harry leaves him in a much better position to defeat Voldemort.
…
Screw my ambition.
Just...screw it. No. We're talking about doing the right thing. We're denying vital information from the most evil wizard in history and setting him up for defeat a second time. This is greater than what I want.
I stood up, pulled on my robes. I was sitting in the common room reading books and going over homework, but now there was something important this Christmas that I needed to do.
Maybe I'll get caught. That's fine. Some things are more important. Harry has to know, and he's the only person who can get the stone out of the mirror in the first place, so it works. Have Quirrell stare at an empty mirror for a few hours until Dumbledore gets back to find him right there.
It'd be hilarious.
I got to the common-room door, leading into the dungeons and up into the castle.
Need to tell him.
I took a step.
Need to do the right thing.
I walked back inside and shut the door.
And sat down in the chair, feeling more than a little disgusted with myself.
---
Author's Note: It's been fun being able to keep up a consistent update schedule! I had the first year all written up before I started posting, so this has been a little relieving. Daily posting starts again up on Monday.
Thanks for all the comments and kind words. Appreciate you!
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
trashtaker
The (un)lucky Patreon Saint of borrowed fortune
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Handsigns?
Naruto!? JJK!?
DOMAIN EXPANSION@?
Naruto!? JJK!?
DOMAIN EXPANSION@?
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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Glad you approve! That's actually kind of dull now after so many fics throughout the years doing this, so I'm glad I could just skip to the action.
Have a cookie!
Heh. Not exactly, but it's close!
African school, doesn't use wands. Isn't it cool?
Chapter 5: The Letter
New
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
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- 10,144
The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.
---
When Potter and Weasley showed up in the Great Hall, all I could do was get up and walk away.
I mean, what else was I supposed to do? I was sitting on top of information that would make the entirety of the wizarding world a much safer place if it was disclosed to those two guys, right now, before Quirrell can figure out the solutions to each of the puzzles.
Come to think of it, I know all of the puzzles and their solutions.
Music for fluffy, relaxation for Professor Sprout's murder plant, flying expertise for the keys...Wizard's Chess' only solution is to get good, scrub, pull a Ron Weasley for the troll, solve the riddle and then approach the Mirror of Erised to get the stone without using it.
Easy.
...wait, wizard's chess isn't a puzzle and I wouldn't be able to figure out the potion riddle without seeing the bottles. Aren't these barriers supposed to be easily gotten around so they can retrieve the stone?
Ten sickles says that you can just walk around the chess board.
Anyway.
… wish Daphne were here. Greg and Vincent too. And… okay fine, I miss Draco. Kind of.
We're not really friends though. They'd have to know that I'm a muggle-born and not of this world, first. We're definitely friendly, I guess, but we're not friends.
Oh. It's time for my Occlumency session.
---
I gasped as my senses returned to the land of the living. Gone were the memories I was trying to safeguard from my sight, and instead I had crash-landed back in the small, dimly lit room with scarlet tablecloth and walls.
"Most impressive," Merlin said. "You nearly threw me out there, once."
"Getting there," I agreed.
"Hm. Now, what's this I see about you withholding secrets?" Merlin asked.
Should've known this was coming up. "I want to be the one who kills Voldemort."
"And you believe withholding information will let you accomplish this mighty feat," Merlin said. "How?"
I explained the predicament, annoyed that I was getting called to the carpet by a glorified painting. The only thing he did while I was talking was stroke his beard, the arrogant prick.
"Which means I ensure that Voldemort will actually be ready for the booby-trap Harry's mom left for him, meaning it will be much harder for Harry to deal with him, ensuring that I can swoop in and deal with it," I said with a nod.
Merlin's gaze bored into me, enough that I doubted for a second he couldn't actually use Legilimency through the painting. "And you are doing this because…?"
"Well," I began, trailing off and shrugging. "I want to be the hero."
"Ah, you want the glory and accolades that would normally belong to another," Merlin said.
I was struggling to come out with the words. "No! I–"
"But that is what you said," Merlin replied. "Harry Potter is the one who would normally defeat this dark lord and you want to swoop in with your regalia, your weapons and your magic to do it for him. Presumably at less cost, fewer deaths and so on, but with an attitude like that, we can't be sure, now can we?" He was nodding, congratulating himself on his armchair psychology.
I was glaring at him.
"Very Slytherin!" Merlin continued. "I approve."
"Shut up."
He shrugged. "The door is over there, Sullivan. Do be sure to scheme more on how to obtain greatness and glory, I'm anxious for the details."
Checked the peephole. Pair of fifth years were snogging in the corner, so I couldn't just leave.
"I don't want to just steal from Harry Potter," I protested. "I want to be the hero!"
"You've said that," Merlin replied. "Hero to who?"
"To everyone!"
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do!" I snapped back. "I do! I want to save everyone, beat the bad guy and earn this whole wizarding world's adulation. I want fame, I want wealth, I want power, I want it all!"
He tilted his head. Held up both hands. The one on my left was made into a cupping shape. "But is being a hero," he said, then holding out the other in that same gesture, repeating it with each item he listed, "and being famous, wealthy and powerful mutually inclusive?"
"Well," I said, suddenly feeling that pit in the bottom of my stomach. "Well, no."
"Hm, that's what the evidence suggests, isn't it?" Merlin said. "After all, Harry Potter never chased any of those things, did he?"
"Yes he did," I argued. "He's already famous for something that happened to him as a baby, his family's Gringott's account is overflowing with wealth and he's literally here, at Hogwarts, pursuing an education which is just another name for power!"
He smirked. "And yet none of those things are what made him a hero, are they?"
"But they are what allow him to defeat Voldemort a second time," I countered.
"Actually, I'd argue that it's his friends and loved ones' support for him is what allowed him to defeat Voldemort a second time," Merlin argued, arching an eyebrow.
"Shut up."
"You know where the door is."
I looked through the peephole. They're still there!
Go away!
"If I may suggest something, perhaps you misunderstood what the mirror was showing you," Merlin continued, egging my frustration on. "Perhaps instead of being the hero, it showed that your heart's desire is the spoils of victory."
"What's the difference?"
"Ah." He nodded. "There it is. Victory, with heroism being the most charitable interpretation of it. Not that I blame you, of course, self-flattery is a necessity few can live without."
"Heroes are heroes because they win," I stated. "They save lives, they defeat evil. People that fail aren't heroes, they're failures. Or martyrs."
"And when did Potter fail in this story that you've read, hm?" he asked. "What was his greatest failure?"
I was not going to answer that question.
"Because all heroes fail."
"That's not…that's…are you just going to stroke your beard all day?"
"It's a fun thing to do," Merlin answered. "Now, since you're obviously broken up about this, I'm going to give you some counsel. You know what the right thing to do is, you know that not doing it will taint your ambitions going forward and you know that you cannot predict the future."
"I'm taking Divination in third year."
"And will you be good at it?"
Oh, come on! "I don't know."
"Precisely."
I rolled my eyes.
"If you truly do want to be the hero instead of solely the victor," Merlin stated, folding his arms in front of him and fixing me with a cold glare of his own. "Then take the first step in becoming that hero and help another."
They were gone.
I opened the door and left without another word.
---
But I want to kill Voldemort. He's a turd, and he's easy pickings. Well, once I've figured out the magic. Plus all the cool gear I'd be using.
I'd look really cool, and they'd all think I look cool and everything.
…
When I was on the express, I bought some chocolate frogs with the change I had in my pocket. You know the lady takes Pounds? One of the cards I got was Albus Dumbledore.
It'd be so easy to send this to the pair by owl. Happy Late Christmas!
But I don't want to do it.
Maybe I can convince them to hand over the Philosopher's stone? You know, as a consolation prize?
That's a ridiculous notion. Probably loaded with defensive enchantments to stop it from just being summoned. Well, if I knew the spell.
And I don't.
I looked at my wand, the black ebony reflecting the light of the fireplace. Ten inches flat, dragon heart-string core. I don't remember ever setting foot in Ollivander's, I just had it in my pocket holster.
Wasn't curfew yet.
Don't want Merlin to be right.
I want to be a hero and a conqueror. I want to use the Killing Curse to smite evil. The Imperius Curse to save lives, use the Cruciatus Curse if I really, really have to.
And...and…
He's right.
I'm a terrible person.
"Well," I told myself. "It's still early enough. I can head to the Owlery."
I pulled up some parchment and quill, enchanted the quill to change my handwriting, and got to work.
...screw it. I can help out more.
Both Snape and Quirrell were staring at Harry without blinking at the Quidditch game. The jinx on Harry's broom stopped when Hermione knocked over Quirrell, not when she set Snape's robes on fire. Snape is trash, but Quirrell is the problem. I know how it sounds.
If you want to expose Quirrell, find a way to get the turban off in the presence of Dumbledore and only when Dumbledore is there. Expect magical countermeasures. Extreme danger.
Destroy this letter.
Do not do anything stupid.
I circled the name Nicholas Flamel on the card with my quill, wrapped the message around said card, wrote 'read me' on the back and slipped it into an envelope, grabbed my warm robes and stepped out of the Slytherin common room.
And then immediately stepped back inside, because this was a terrible idea for me. And for...no. We've been over this.
I...actually walked out of the common room this time, and made a beeline for the Owlery. And I tied my letter, magically marked for Harry Potter, to the leg of an owl and sent it flying...and then I began heading to the dungeons to wait out my soul-crushing disappointment.
...heroism sucks.
You know, maybe they're still at the Great Hall and I can at least see their reactions. That'll be interesting.
So, I got my butt to the Great Hall and took a seat. On the opposite side of the room from the Gryffindor table. Mercifully, they were the only two there. I wonder where the other Weasleys were? Thankfully, not here.
And, oh, hey. There's the owl I just sent off. It dropped the letter right on top of them, landing right between their dinner plates. Harry picked up the letter, it being addressed to him. He opened it, and pulled out the bundle, unwrapping the card, and looked at it in confusion.
Of course, his eyes went straight to the circled name on the card, and he was utterly shocked, quickly and hurriedly speaking to Ron, who accepted the card from him and also started freaking out. Harry found the note I penned and went over it, his eyes growing wider and wider with every line.
...thankfully, the only staff present was Professor Flitwick, and he was chatting with a quartet of Ravenclaw at the end of the table.
Harry was talking to Ron, pointing at the letter, and Ron snatched it from his hands to read it for himself. He turned back to Harry, and they were speechless for a hot minute before scrambling to stand up and rushing out of the Great Hall at top speed.
…
Okay, that was fun.
Now to go to my room and beat up my pillow.
---
If there is one thing I want to do before the Holiday break ends, I want to levitate a pillow without my wand. I've just got to do it.
I ran through the hand signs...and it moved. Slightly. You know, just a little bit.
Okay, I confess. I do, actually, feel better after I sent that letter to Harry and Ron. Yeah, it sucks that maybe I'm going to have to share the spotlight and yes, I realize what that says about me but...you know, worth it.
Not sure why. Just is.
I know, I know. I did the right thing. But what's the mechanism? What's the engineering behind the morality?
Cast it again and it moved. Again.
I'm just being fussy. It just sucks. Since when is my ambition not interested in doing the right thing?
Apparently on Christmas. Of all days.
Hey, it moved again!
Just...when is there going to be another dark wizard of Voldemort's caliber that only I can defeat? Right now, I can defeat Voldemort because I know what's coming.
Well, I knew what was coming. Not anymore. Two letters in and the canon is changed irreversibly.
Worth it?
Depends on what you mean.
Cast the levitation charm, come on. Why is it so hard to focus in this way?
It lifted up!
Just an inch, and plopped back down.
Getting closer!
Imagine the look on Daphne's face when she sees that I can use wandless magic. Granted, the hand-signs look a little silly. She'll be so impressed. Malfoy would just specify that the hand-signs mean it doesn't count, because they actually take longer than using a wand, which defeats the purpose of it being 'wandless'.
You know, I am not looking forward to Merlin gloating for the next few days…
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Finally, after three weeks of effort and practice, the pillow lifted up off of the mattress. I raised it up, higher and higher...until my magic lost its grip, and it fell three feet back onto the bed and bounced onto the floor.
I'm calling it.
That's a success, I don't care what anyone else says. I cast the levitation charm wandlessly! I have achieved perfection of a different sort.
...tomorrow, everyone comes back.
---
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this, I've really appreciated all the comments, likes and support that the story has gotten thus far.
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
---
When Potter and Weasley showed up in the Great Hall, all I could do was get up and walk away.
I mean, what else was I supposed to do? I was sitting on top of information that would make the entirety of the wizarding world a much safer place if it was disclosed to those two guys, right now, before Quirrell can figure out the solutions to each of the puzzles.
Come to think of it, I know all of the puzzles and their solutions.
Music for fluffy, relaxation for Professor Sprout's murder plant, flying expertise for the keys...Wizard's Chess' only solution is to get good, scrub, pull a Ron Weasley for the troll, solve the riddle and then approach the Mirror of Erised to get the stone without using it.
Easy.
...wait, wizard's chess isn't a puzzle and I wouldn't be able to figure out the potion riddle without seeing the bottles. Aren't these barriers supposed to be easily gotten around so they can retrieve the stone?
Ten sickles says that you can just walk around the chess board.
Anyway.
… wish Daphne were here. Greg and Vincent too. And… okay fine, I miss Draco. Kind of.
We're not really friends though. They'd have to know that I'm a muggle-born and not of this world, first. We're definitely friendly, I guess, but we're not friends.
Oh. It's time for my Occlumency session.
---
I gasped as my senses returned to the land of the living. Gone were the memories I was trying to safeguard from my sight, and instead I had crash-landed back in the small, dimly lit room with scarlet tablecloth and walls.
"Most impressive," Merlin said. "You nearly threw me out there, once."
"Getting there," I agreed.
"Hm. Now, what's this I see about you withholding secrets?" Merlin asked.
Should've known this was coming up. "I want to be the one who kills Voldemort."
"And you believe withholding information will let you accomplish this mighty feat," Merlin said. "How?"
I explained the predicament, annoyed that I was getting called to the carpet by a glorified painting. The only thing he did while I was talking was stroke his beard, the arrogant prick.
"Which means I ensure that Voldemort will actually be ready for the booby-trap Harry's mom left for him, meaning it will be much harder for Harry to deal with him, ensuring that I can swoop in and deal with it," I said with a nod.
Merlin's gaze bored into me, enough that I doubted for a second he couldn't actually use Legilimency through the painting. "And you are doing this because…?"
"Well," I began, trailing off and shrugging. "I want to be the hero."
"Ah, you want the glory and accolades that would normally belong to another," Merlin said.
I was struggling to come out with the words. "No! I–"
"But that is what you said," Merlin replied. "Harry Potter is the one who would normally defeat this dark lord and you want to swoop in with your regalia, your weapons and your magic to do it for him. Presumably at less cost, fewer deaths and so on, but with an attitude like that, we can't be sure, now can we?" He was nodding, congratulating himself on his armchair psychology.
I was glaring at him.
"Very Slytherin!" Merlin continued. "I approve."
"Shut up."
He shrugged. "The door is over there, Sullivan. Do be sure to scheme more on how to obtain greatness and glory, I'm anxious for the details."
Checked the peephole. Pair of fifth years were snogging in the corner, so I couldn't just leave.
"I don't want to just steal from Harry Potter," I protested. "I want to be the hero!"
"You've said that," Merlin replied. "Hero to who?"
"To everyone!"
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do!" I snapped back. "I do! I want to save everyone, beat the bad guy and earn this whole wizarding world's adulation. I want fame, I want wealth, I want power, I want it all!"
He tilted his head. Held up both hands. The one on my left was made into a cupping shape. "But is being a hero," he said, then holding out the other in that same gesture, repeating it with each item he listed, "and being famous, wealthy and powerful mutually inclusive?"
"Well," I said, suddenly feeling that pit in the bottom of my stomach. "Well, no."
"Hm, that's what the evidence suggests, isn't it?" Merlin said. "After all, Harry Potter never chased any of those things, did he?"
"Yes he did," I argued. "He's already famous for something that happened to him as a baby, his family's Gringott's account is overflowing with wealth and he's literally here, at Hogwarts, pursuing an education which is just another name for power!"
He smirked. "And yet none of those things are what made him a hero, are they?"
"But they are what allow him to defeat Voldemort a second time," I countered.
"Actually, I'd argue that it's his friends and loved ones' support for him is what allowed him to defeat Voldemort a second time," Merlin argued, arching an eyebrow.
"Shut up."
"You know where the door is."
I looked through the peephole. They're still there!
Go away!
"If I may suggest something, perhaps you misunderstood what the mirror was showing you," Merlin continued, egging my frustration on. "Perhaps instead of being the hero, it showed that your heart's desire is the spoils of victory."
"What's the difference?"
"Ah." He nodded. "There it is. Victory, with heroism being the most charitable interpretation of it. Not that I blame you, of course, self-flattery is a necessity few can live without."
"Heroes are heroes because they win," I stated. "They save lives, they defeat evil. People that fail aren't heroes, they're failures. Or martyrs."
"And when did Potter fail in this story that you've read, hm?" he asked. "What was his greatest failure?"
I was not going to answer that question.
"Because all heroes fail."
"That's not…that's…are you just going to stroke your beard all day?"
"It's a fun thing to do," Merlin answered. "Now, since you're obviously broken up about this, I'm going to give you some counsel. You know what the right thing to do is, you know that not doing it will taint your ambitions going forward and you know that you cannot predict the future."
"I'm taking Divination in third year."
"And will you be good at it?"
Oh, come on! "I don't know."
"Precisely."
I rolled my eyes.
"If you truly do want to be the hero instead of solely the victor," Merlin stated, folding his arms in front of him and fixing me with a cold glare of his own. "Then take the first step in becoming that hero and help another."
They were gone.
I opened the door and left without another word.
---
But I want to kill Voldemort. He's a turd, and he's easy pickings. Well, once I've figured out the magic. Plus all the cool gear I'd be using.
I'd look really cool, and they'd all think I look cool and everything.
…
When I was on the express, I bought some chocolate frogs with the change I had in my pocket. You know the lady takes Pounds? One of the cards I got was Albus Dumbledore.
It'd be so easy to send this to the pair by owl. Happy Late Christmas!
But I don't want to do it.
Maybe I can convince them to hand over the Philosopher's stone? You know, as a consolation prize?
That's a ridiculous notion. Probably loaded with defensive enchantments to stop it from just being summoned. Well, if I knew the spell.
And I don't.
I looked at my wand, the black ebony reflecting the light of the fireplace. Ten inches flat, dragon heart-string core. I don't remember ever setting foot in Ollivander's, I just had it in my pocket holster.
Wasn't curfew yet.
Don't want Merlin to be right.
I want to be a hero and a conqueror. I want to use the Killing Curse to smite evil. The Imperius Curse to save lives, use the Cruciatus Curse if I really, really have to.
And...and…
He's right.
I'm a terrible person.
"Well," I told myself. "It's still early enough. I can head to the Owlery."
I pulled up some parchment and quill, enchanted the quill to change my handwriting, and got to work.
- Dog – Music puts it to sleep.
- Devil's Snare – It's a soft pillow for a good landing, but then you need fire.
- Winged Keys – Large, silver key with bright blue wings. Bring your broom.
- Life-Sized wizard's chess – Ron's good at Chess.
- Mountain Troll – Bonk it with its own club, Ron.
- Riddle with Potions – Hermione can solve it.
- Mirror of Erised – Want to find the stone, but not use it. <– Your bad guy cannot pass this step.
...screw it. I can help out more.
Both Snape and Quirrell were staring at Harry without blinking at the Quidditch game. The jinx on Harry's broom stopped when Hermione knocked over Quirrell, not when she set Snape's robes on fire. Snape is trash, but Quirrell is the problem. I know how it sounds.
If you want to expose Quirrell, find a way to get the turban off in the presence of Dumbledore and only when Dumbledore is there. Expect magical countermeasures. Extreme danger.
Destroy this letter.
Do not do anything stupid.
I circled the name Nicholas Flamel on the card with my quill, wrapped the message around said card, wrote 'read me' on the back and slipped it into an envelope, grabbed my warm robes and stepped out of the Slytherin common room.
And then immediately stepped back inside, because this was a terrible idea for me. And for...no. We've been over this.
I...actually walked out of the common room this time, and made a beeline for the Owlery. And I tied my letter, magically marked for Harry Potter, to the leg of an owl and sent it flying...and then I began heading to the dungeons to wait out my soul-crushing disappointment.
...heroism sucks.
You know, maybe they're still at the Great Hall and I can at least see their reactions. That'll be interesting.
So, I got my butt to the Great Hall and took a seat. On the opposite side of the room from the Gryffindor table. Mercifully, they were the only two there. I wonder where the other Weasleys were? Thankfully, not here.
And, oh, hey. There's the owl I just sent off. It dropped the letter right on top of them, landing right between their dinner plates. Harry picked up the letter, it being addressed to him. He opened it, and pulled out the bundle, unwrapping the card, and looked at it in confusion.
Of course, his eyes went straight to the circled name on the card, and he was utterly shocked, quickly and hurriedly speaking to Ron, who accepted the card from him and also started freaking out. Harry found the note I penned and went over it, his eyes growing wider and wider with every line.
...thankfully, the only staff present was Professor Flitwick, and he was chatting with a quartet of Ravenclaw at the end of the table.
Harry was talking to Ron, pointing at the letter, and Ron snatched it from his hands to read it for himself. He turned back to Harry, and they were speechless for a hot minute before scrambling to stand up and rushing out of the Great Hall at top speed.
…
Okay, that was fun.
Now to go to my room and beat up my pillow.
---
If there is one thing I want to do before the Holiday break ends, I want to levitate a pillow without my wand. I've just got to do it.
I ran through the hand signs...and it moved. Slightly. You know, just a little bit.
Okay, I confess. I do, actually, feel better after I sent that letter to Harry and Ron. Yeah, it sucks that maybe I'm going to have to share the spotlight and yes, I realize what that says about me but...you know, worth it.
Not sure why. Just is.
I know, I know. I did the right thing. But what's the mechanism? What's the engineering behind the morality?
Cast it again and it moved. Again.
I'm just being fussy. It just sucks. Since when is my ambition not interested in doing the right thing?
Apparently on Christmas. Of all days.
Hey, it moved again!
Just...when is there going to be another dark wizard of Voldemort's caliber that only I can defeat? Right now, I can defeat Voldemort because I know what's coming.
Well, I knew what was coming. Not anymore. Two letters in and the canon is changed irreversibly.
Worth it?
Depends on what you mean.
Cast the levitation charm, come on. Why is it so hard to focus in this way?
It lifted up!
Just an inch, and plopped back down.
Getting closer!
Imagine the look on Daphne's face when she sees that I can use wandless magic. Granted, the hand-signs look a little silly. She'll be so impressed. Malfoy would just specify that the hand-signs mean it doesn't count, because they actually take longer than using a wand, which defeats the purpose of it being 'wandless'.
You know, I am not looking forward to Merlin gloating for the next few days…
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Finally, after three weeks of effort and practice, the pillow lifted up off of the mattress. I raised it up, higher and higher...until my magic lost its grip, and it fell three feet back onto the bed and bounced onto the floor.
I'm calling it.
That's a success, I don't care what anyone else says. I cast the levitation charm wandlessly! I have achieved perfection of a different sort.
...tomorrow, everyone comes back.
---
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this, I've really appreciated all the comments, likes and support that the story has gotten thus far.
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
Fulcon
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The wandless levitation charm?
Agreed. Unless there's a rule against casting magic in the middle of a match.
Did you know there's 700 different fouls that exist in Quidditch?
Emptiness
That which encompasses reality
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I'm pretty sure that the magical jocks would have the rule of "No player may use their wand while on the pitch" or something else that does not address the rare edge case of wandless magic.
Though we don't see Potter get in trouble for casting a patronus while playing.
Fulcon
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They might have more specific rules like 'no casting the summoning charm on the quaffle' or 'no casting the summoning charm on an opponents broom stick'.
Your own broom, though, I imagine is fine. And if Harry's casting the Patronus and he apparently was being attacked by Dementors (cheating students in disguise), I imagine any foul was waived.
Despacitoleo
Well worn.
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Awsome story
Zone04
The Confused
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Man... Having the mind & maturity of a child sure is rough buddy, huh?
Fulcon
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Thanks! Have a cookie.
Yes.
Yes, it is.
Hallo
Not too sore, are you?
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I am sorry, is he a child why does he care so much about what his slytherin classmates think of him?????. They are racist children just f ignore them. He wants to be the hero when he barely knows how to disarm someone . He is most likely a moron .
Fulcon
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You know, I feel the urge to reply to you, even though I know its a bad idea.
Consider the following:
These are magical kids.
He lives with them.
They know where he sleeps. They are in his proximity 90% of the day.
And these kids are the children of death eaters, pureblood supremacists and war criminals.
Consider what these kids do to people they don't like.
Curse his underwear to catch fire when he sits down. Have a book spring teeth and try to eat him in the dormitory. Or they could just lock him in a room with a couple of loose bludgers.
In other words, even without Slytherin knowing that he's a muggle-born child, it can still be life threateningly dangerous to be on the out group.
Then imagine what happens if or when it gets out that he's a muggle-born. All the older students with significantly more magical expertise suddenly go from merely capable of ruining his time at Hogwarts or worse, the rest of his life, to being capable and willing to ruin his life.
Consider that Harry Potter is a series about a school where students progressively learn greater and more advanced magic; starting from nothing is the point. He wants to be the hero...presumably after seven years of thorough magical education.
I encourage you to take a very, very long look in the mirror before replying to my thread again.
Hallo
Not too sore, are you?
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No bro I meant in the f mirror. I already know he can't completely ignore them. Why does he seek the admiration of children, isn't he a grown ass man. Also everything hapens before 7th year so becoming a hero after finishing school is useless.
Also what is that :
<<But I want to kill Voldemort. He's a turd, and he's easy pickings. Well, once I've figured out the magic. Plus all the cool gear I'd be using.
I'd look really cool, and they'd all think I look cool and everything.>>
We are talking about and immortal insane mass murderer . Also Who is they ? The racist children? Oh yes I am a mudblood that killed your racist leader/savior. Let's become friends.
Chapter 6: The Golden Trio
New
Fulcon
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The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.
---
"Well, whoever sent this letter seems to know an awful lot."
Hermione Granger was tightly pinching the scrap of parchment in her fingers as if it were about to grow legs and run away to the nearest teacher. For all they knew, it just might.
"Do you think it's telling the truth?" Ron asked. "About Quirrell? That's what got me confused."
They were standing, chatting, quietly in the library in some forgotten corner. It was the only place they felt safe to discuss anything, seeing as how they had had someone that had apparently been watching them. Very, very closely.
"Well, obviously whoever sent us this letter wants us to go grab the stone for them," Harry replied, adjusting his glasses. "That much is obvious. But if they're telling the truth, why don't they go grab it themselves?"
Ron briefly pointed to the note, saying, "It's the mirror –" he looked from Harry to Hermione. "You saw what it said. Our bad guy can't get past the mirror because he wants to use the stone. So if we get it for them –"
"– Then we've solved their problem for them," Hermione finished.
"But we can't just leave the stone there," Harry said. "The note was right about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone, but what if it's wrong about Snape –"
"– or Quirrell," Ron chimed in.
"– Or Quirrell," Harry allowed, though it felt bizarre to even entertain the notion that the stuttering, scared-of-his-own-shadow Professor Quirrell was secretly some dark wizarding mastermind. "– about not being able to get past the mirror? We can't take that chance."
"And if that note is right, we could get a hold of the stone this weekend," Ron said.
"Right in the middle of the day," Hermione replied.
A voice came out through the stacks. "Draco, what are you doing?"
Immediately, their attention was called up to Malfoy, who had been eavesdropping around the corner. "What is wrong with you, Sullivan?"
And no sooner had Malfoy said that, another Slytherin boy in their year, Marcus Sullivan, walked up and his face lit up in comprehension as he saw the three Gryffindors. He gave an informal wave of his hand before turning to Malfoy. "Hooch sent me to get you for our Quidditch game."
Malfoy gave his best grim-reaper impression, glaring death at him. "Really. You are getting me for our Quidditch practice."
"Hey, wait a moment!" Ron snapped. "First-years aren't allowed their own brooms!"
Sullivan held a finger up to his lips and shushed him. "We're in a library." At Ron's own death glare, he added. "Besides, it's not our brooms. Madam Hooch is letting us use the school brooms in the broom closet."
"Oh," Ron said, blinking, then getting excited. "Can we play?"
Hermione's eye started twitching. "Ugh, honestly, Ron!"
"But can we, though?" Harry asked.
Sullivan arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile tugging at his lips. "You want to play with Slytherin?"
Ron immediately deflated. "Never mind."
Harry just rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat.
Malfoy scoffed, annoyance clear from the bottom of his black heart. "Come on, then. We don't want to keep Madam Hooch waiting!"
The two boys started walking off.
"How much did you hear?" Sullivan asked, his voice trailing off.
"Nothing, thanks to you," Malfoy groused back. "I swear, you have worse timing than even my house elf–"
And then their voices trailed off in the distance beyond recognizability.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "What's a house elf?"
"Let's just be glad he didn't hear anything," Harry said, not entirely sure either. "Think, this Saturday early in the morning when we're sure neither Quirrell or Snape are anywhere near the third floor corridor."
"What do teachers even do over the weekends?" Ron asked.
"Likely, they grade homework," Hermione answered. "So...it's a plan, then?"
The two boys nodded.
---
That Saturday, they were there. Beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry was tightly clutching his Nimbus 2000, while Hermione had a case in one hand, with her wand in the other, and Ron was helping keep the cloak in place around them. They reached the door and stopped.
"Ready when you are, Hermione," Harry said as she got down on one knee and opened the case, revealing a clarinet.
"Where did you get that?" Ron asked.
"We borrowed it from the music room," Hermione said, taking out her wand. "Now please give me a moment to focus."
Ron simply nodded and they watched.
Hermione's incantation was quiet, "Wingardium Leviosa," and then as the instrument floated up out of its container, she whispered out, "Melodia Mitis."
Quietly, it began to play itself. Hermione looked up at Harry. "Open the door, hurry!"
"Alohomora," Harry intoned, unlocking the door and letting him push it open.
Hermione floated the instrument inside, allowing the song to get louder. They heard Fluffy inside, giving a confused whine before it gave way to a snoring dog. Another snore joined the first, then another.
Harry saw their chance, whispering, "inside! Let's go, let's go!"
And there he was, Fluffy the three-headed dog, sound asleep, its paw just off the trap door.
"One point for the letter," Ron whispered. "Devil's Snare's next, right?"
Hermione nodded. "I'll light the fire when we get down."
Ron nodded, rapidly and eagerly. "Yeah. Fire. Okay."
The three jumped in, falling and being caught by soft plant mass that Harry could feel slowly moving to encircle him. He stood up right away, getting on his broomstick to hover over the vines. He picked up Ron as well, letting him sit behind him as Hermione landed on the ground.
Without skipping a beat, Hermione stood up, and with a wave of her wand, conjured that same blue fire that could be held in a jar, forcing the snare to quickly retreat from the light and warmth of the fire.
Harry, for his part, sighed. "Two points for the letter."
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. "I suppose so."
Then they moved forward, and saw the cloud of flying keys. Harry amended his previous statement. "Three points for the letter."
"How's your broom?" Ron asked, looking over the Nimbus 2000. "Doesn't look damaged."
Harry got on it. "Feels fine." He looked up, peering into the cloud of swirling silver. "Now...where…"
Slowly, he rose up, looking for a key, large, silver and with blue wings…and then there it was. A large, old-fashioned silver key with blue wings that fluttered to carry it through the air. Harry looked to his friends. "Get ready to catch it."
Ron nodded, taking a post by the door.
Harry rocketed up, snatching the key with the ease of an experienced seeker, and just as he suspected would happen, all the keys swirled around him like angry hornets, and he had to fly. Fast, with wide sweeps into sharp turns. When he got close enough, he tossed the key to Ron, who jammed the key into the door and yanked it open.
Ron and Hermione dashed in, giving Harry a clear path into the door. With a screaming dive he shot through it like a rocket, and his friends slammed the door shut behind him with not a second to spare.
Harry pulled up to narrowly avoid running right into the giant, white queen, standing on a chessboard that took up an entire room. Harry brought himself in for a landing, looking forward. "And there's our chessboard."
Hermione sighed. "Four points, then."
"Bloody hell," Ron said, walking forward. "They weren't kidding. A life-size version of Wizard Chess." He looked up at the white queen before turning to look at his friends. "And Hermione's the one who can solve the riddle up next, and Harry pulls the stone out of the mirror."
Ron walked up to the black knight and placed a hand upon the piece, causing it to come alive. The horse pawed the square it was on with its hooves, and the knight turned to look at the boy. "Do we need to win the game in order to pass?"
The knight nodded.
Ron turned to face his friends. "All right. Let's do this."
He gave Harry, Hermione and himself positions on the game board. Unlike with the snare, he was in his element. There was an element of tension; they needed to get through the game before Hermione's spell on the clarinet wore off or worse, one of their two prime suspects walked in. But in spite of that...
"Don't rush, Ron," Hermione said, shifting nervously in her square.
"I'm not," Ron retorted. "But I am thinking."
"I'm just trying to say–" Hermione spoke a little quickly, a little aggravatedly. "Take your time."
Ron inhaled, then exhaled. "I'm going to."
Hermione just nodded and went back to her spot, keenly aware that her spell on the Clarinet above might be running out soon.
But, perhaps it was due to blind luck, or more careful planning on Ron's part, all three were still standing when Harry was moved to the winning space. "Checkmate!"
The king threw his crown at Harry's feet and bowed. The board was cleared and the way forward was opened.
"Let me just grab the cloak," Hermione said. "We have the troll next."
Ron let out a breath. "That letter is really starting to freak me out."
Harry nodded. "No kidding."
Hermione returned with the cloak and they all got beneath its sheltered enclosure as Harry pushed through to the next area...and just as the letter had said, there was a troll.
Ron shuddered and spoke beneath his breath, "bloody hell."
The familiar shape of a troll, a boulder on top of two stubby legs thicker than a tree trunk and a head sticking out the top like a coconut, was leaning against one of four stone pillars that held the room up. It held a hand up to its face and yawned. Over by the far wall, they saw a stone banquet table that had numerous fish in various states of consumption.
And the smell! Both of the troll's own body odor and the smell of dead and rotting fish filled the trio's noses and strained their grip upon their composure to the limit, but they did keep hold upon it. Even though they wanted to vomit on the floor and never eat again.
"On me," Harry said, and the group began walking around the pillar, trying to keep quiet as they walked around the troll and its horrible smell. It was then that they noticed that its club was leaning against the pillar, apart from the troll itself.
"Wait, wait, Harry," Ron said, extending his wand excitedly. "I've got to bonk it."
Hermione sighed.
"Go on then," Harry said, gesturing to the thing.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The club lifted up off of the ground, slowly and sneakily out of the troll's sight, until it was positioned right over the thing's head...and he let it fall. Just as had happened on Halloween, it fell on its head, and knocked it straight out.
Ron fist pumped, and they shed the now cumbersome cloak. "Five points!"
Hermione rubbed her eyes. "But who wrote it? Dumbledore?"
"Who knows?" Harry shrugged. "Next room is the riddle."
They got inside, and immediately, they were surrounded by fire, making all three jump. Before them were black flames, behind them purple.
Ron was looking around. "Oh. That's the riddle."
Hermione seized a scroll of parchment on the table and read it. Then she passed it to Harry and Ron, who both read it and were left scratching their heads. Literally, in Ron's case.
"I can see why you needed me," Hermione replied. "It's a logic puzzle. Wizards are, well...not very good at logic. Why would they be, when magic solves so many problems?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Okay, but can you solve it?"
"It's my turn to think, Ron," Hermione said, judging each bottle by their size and against the riddle. She picked up the tiny bottle with clear liquid inside. "This will get us through the fire, but there's only one dose."
She handed it to Harry. Then, she picked up another bottle. "This will get us through the fire backwards. When Harry comes back with the stone, we'll all have a sip and get out of here."
Ron nodded. "All right. Get 'em, Harry!"
Harry downed the bottle, wincing at the sheer feeling of frost melting across his skin from his throat on. But, he ran through the black flames and opened the door.
And there, in the recesses of a large chamber, was the Mirror of Erised.
He was...excited to see it again. Trepidatious, of course, but excited. Because then he got to see his Mother and Father again. And there they were, waiting for him. Happy, smiling. And in the center was him, also happy, wearing exactly what he was right at the moment, surrounded by people who were obviously his family, potentially his family...and it made his heart ache.
I need the Philosopher's Stone, he thought deep within his mind. I don't want to use it, I just want to keep it safe from Snape. Or Quirrell. Or whoever is coming to try and steal it.
The him in the mirror gave him a wink, and out of his pocket pulled the Philosopher's Stone.
He checked his pocket, and there it was, the scarlet, multifaceted ruby that promised immortality and wealth. When he looked back at himself, the one in the mirror mouthed "good luck" and both he and his parents waved goodbye.
Harry grew teary eyed, and it became even worse as his mother blew him a kiss. In fact, he shed a tear. But it was only one.
He got back through the flames, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him, and he had the stone in hand. "That's seven for seven."
"The letter was right. About everything," Ron said, his jaw on the floor. "So… it's Quirrell then."
"Only one way to find out," Hermione intoned. "We need to get his turban off and see what lies underneath."
"Maybe we should focus on getting out of here," Harry said, feeling the chill of the potion from earlier wearing off.
"Agreed."
---
When they returned, the Gryffindor common room was empty. No professor was waiting for them, Dumbledore wasn't there to rain blood, horror and expulsion upon their heads. Not even Peeves could spoil the evening.
They had gotten away with it.
"We need to hide this thing," Harry said. "I'll wrap it up in the invisibility cloak and leave it in the bottom of my trunk. Hopefully that'll stop anyone from finding it until we can expose Quirrell."
"I wish I knew what kind of protections were on the turban," Hermione added, starting the climb up to the girls' dormitory. "That would make this loads easier."
"Meet back here in five minutes?" Harry requested, and he and Ron both headed up to the boys' dormitory.
Inside, there was only Neville, fast asleep on his bed.
Carefully, Harry wrapped the stone in the fine, silvery cloth that was almost liquid in his hands, and, piece by piece, moved everything out of his trunk until the cloak could fit upon the bottom, and then methodically replaced every article he had shuffled around before quietly closing his trunk.
He and Ron exchanged thumbs-up, and then Neville awoke with a snort.
"Shuuuba – wha –?" Neville said. "Wha-what's goin' on?"
Harry spoke softly. "I just had to put stuff in my trunk. Didn't mean to wake you, Neville."
"S'okay, Harry," he said, yawning. "I had a good nap."
"See you later," Ron said, walking through the door.
"See ya," Neville waved goodbye and they shut the door behind them.
Ron leaned in and whispered, "I can't believe we did it."
Harry felt a cold shiver run across his skin. "Me neither."
"So, you do you think wrote the letter?" Ron asked.
"I haven't even the smallest clue," Harry replied. "No idea."
It was then that the three of them returned to the common room and decided as a group to just try to enjoy the rest of their day without having any thoughts at all about their harrowing, heroic deed.
---
Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed! Not much to say beyond that, but I am beyond grateful for the positive reception this fic has received. You guys are the best!
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
---
"Well, whoever sent this letter seems to know an awful lot."
Hermione Granger was tightly pinching the scrap of parchment in her fingers as if it were about to grow legs and run away to the nearest teacher. For all they knew, it just might.
"Do you think it's telling the truth?" Ron asked. "About Quirrell? That's what got me confused."
They were standing, chatting, quietly in the library in some forgotten corner. It was the only place they felt safe to discuss anything, seeing as how they had had someone that had apparently been watching them. Very, very closely.
"Well, obviously whoever sent us this letter wants us to go grab the stone for them," Harry replied, adjusting his glasses. "That much is obvious. But if they're telling the truth, why don't they go grab it themselves?"
Ron briefly pointed to the note, saying, "It's the mirror –" he looked from Harry to Hermione. "You saw what it said. Our bad guy can't get past the mirror because he wants to use the stone. So if we get it for them –"
"– Then we've solved their problem for them," Hermione finished.
"But we can't just leave the stone there," Harry said. "The note was right about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone, but what if it's wrong about Snape –"
"– or Quirrell," Ron chimed in.
"– Or Quirrell," Harry allowed, though it felt bizarre to even entertain the notion that the stuttering, scared-of-his-own-shadow Professor Quirrell was secretly some dark wizarding mastermind. "– about not being able to get past the mirror? We can't take that chance."
"And if that note is right, we could get a hold of the stone this weekend," Ron said.
"Right in the middle of the day," Hermione replied.
A voice came out through the stacks. "Draco, what are you doing?"
Immediately, their attention was called up to Malfoy, who had been eavesdropping around the corner. "What is wrong with you, Sullivan?"
And no sooner had Malfoy said that, another Slytherin boy in their year, Marcus Sullivan, walked up and his face lit up in comprehension as he saw the three Gryffindors. He gave an informal wave of his hand before turning to Malfoy. "Hooch sent me to get you for our Quidditch game."
Malfoy gave his best grim-reaper impression, glaring death at him. "Really. You are getting me for our Quidditch practice."
"Hey, wait a moment!" Ron snapped. "First-years aren't allowed their own brooms!"
Sullivan held a finger up to his lips and shushed him. "We're in a library." At Ron's own death glare, he added. "Besides, it's not our brooms. Madam Hooch is letting us use the school brooms in the broom closet."
"Oh," Ron said, blinking, then getting excited. "Can we play?"
Hermione's eye started twitching. "Ugh, honestly, Ron!"
"But can we, though?" Harry asked.
Sullivan arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile tugging at his lips. "You want to play with Slytherin?"
Ron immediately deflated. "Never mind."
Harry just rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat.
Malfoy scoffed, annoyance clear from the bottom of his black heart. "Come on, then. We don't want to keep Madam Hooch waiting!"
The two boys started walking off.
"How much did you hear?" Sullivan asked, his voice trailing off.
"Nothing, thanks to you," Malfoy groused back. "I swear, you have worse timing than even my house elf–"
And then their voices trailed off in the distance beyond recognizability.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "What's a house elf?"
"Let's just be glad he didn't hear anything," Harry said, not entirely sure either. "Think, this Saturday early in the morning when we're sure neither Quirrell or Snape are anywhere near the third floor corridor."
"What do teachers even do over the weekends?" Ron asked.
"Likely, they grade homework," Hermione answered. "So...it's a plan, then?"
The two boys nodded.
---
That Saturday, they were there. Beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry was tightly clutching his Nimbus 2000, while Hermione had a case in one hand, with her wand in the other, and Ron was helping keep the cloak in place around them. They reached the door and stopped.
"Ready when you are, Hermione," Harry said as she got down on one knee and opened the case, revealing a clarinet.
"Where did you get that?" Ron asked.
"We borrowed it from the music room," Hermione said, taking out her wand. "Now please give me a moment to focus."
Ron simply nodded and they watched.
Hermione's incantation was quiet, "Wingardium Leviosa," and then as the instrument floated up out of its container, she whispered out, "Melodia Mitis."
Quietly, it began to play itself. Hermione looked up at Harry. "Open the door, hurry!"
"Alohomora," Harry intoned, unlocking the door and letting him push it open.
Hermione floated the instrument inside, allowing the song to get louder. They heard Fluffy inside, giving a confused whine before it gave way to a snoring dog. Another snore joined the first, then another.
Harry saw their chance, whispering, "inside! Let's go, let's go!"
And there he was, Fluffy the three-headed dog, sound asleep, its paw just off the trap door.
"One point for the letter," Ron whispered. "Devil's Snare's next, right?"
Hermione nodded. "I'll light the fire when we get down."
Ron nodded, rapidly and eagerly. "Yeah. Fire. Okay."
The three jumped in, falling and being caught by soft plant mass that Harry could feel slowly moving to encircle him. He stood up right away, getting on his broomstick to hover over the vines. He picked up Ron as well, letting him sit behind him as Hermione landed on the ground.
Without skipping a beat, Hermione stood up, and with a wave of her wand, conjured that same blue fire that could be held in a jar, forcing the snare to quickly retreat from the light and warmth of the fire.
Harry, for his part, sighed. "Two points for the letter."
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. "I suppose so."
Then they moved forward, and saw the cloud of flying keys. Harry amended his previous statement. "Three points for the letter."
"How's your broom?" Ron asked, looking over the Nimbus 2000. "Doesn't look damaged."
Harry got on it. "Feels fine." He looked up, peering into the cloud of swirling silver. "Now...where…"
Slowly, he rose up, looking for a key, large, silver and with blue wings…and then there it was. A large, old-fashioned silver key with blue wings that fluttered to carry it through the air. Harry looked to his friends. "Get ready to catch it."
Ron nodded, taking a post by the door.
Harry rocketed up, snatching the key with the ease of an experienced seeker, and just as he suspected would happen, all the keys swirled around him like angry hornets, and he had to fly. Fast, with wide sweeps into sharp turns. When he got close enough, he tossed the key to Ron, who jammed the key into the door and yanked it open.
Ron and Hermione dashed in, giving Harry a clear path into the door. With a screaming dive he shot through it like a rocket, and his friends slammed the door shut behind him with not a second to spare.
Harry pulled up to narrowly avoid running right into the giant, white queen, standing on a chessboard that took up an entire room. Harry brought himself in for a landing, looking forward. "And there's our chessboard."
Hermione sighed. "Four points, then."
"Bloody hell," Ron said, walking forward. "They weren't kidding. A life-size version of Wizard Chess." He looked up at the white queen before turning to look at his friends. "And Hermione's the one who can solve the riddle up next, and Harry pulls the stone out of the mirror."
Ron walked up to the black knight and placed a hand upon the piece, causing it to come alive. The horse pawed the square it was on with its hooves, and the knight turned to look at the boy. "Do we need to win the game in order to pass?"
The knight nodded.
Ron turned to face his friends. "All right. Let's do this."
He gave Harry, Hermione and himself positions on the game board. Unlike with the snare, he was in his element. There was an element of tension; they needed to get through the game before Hermione's spell on the clarinet wore off or worse, one of their two prime suspects walked in. But in spite of that...
"Don't rush, Ron," Hermione said, shifting nervously in her square.
"I'm not," Ron retorted. "But I am thinking."
"I'm just trying to say–" Hermione spoke a little quickly, a little aggravatedly. "Take your time."
Ron inhaled, then exhaled. "I'm going to."
Hermione just nodded and went back to her spot, keenly aware that her spell on the Clarinet above might be running out soon.
But, perhaps it was due to blind luck, or more careful planning on Ron's part, all three were still standing when Harry was moved to the winning space. "Checkmate!"
The king threw his crown at Harry's feet and bowed. The board was cleared and the way forward was opened.
"Let me just grab the cloak," Hermione said. "We have the troll next."
Ron let out a breath. "That letter is really starting to freak me out."
Harry nodded. "No kidding."
Hermione returned with the cloak and they all got beneath its sheltered enclosure as Harry pushed through to the next area...and just as the letter had said, there was a troll.
Ron shuddered and spoke beneath his breath, "bloody hell."
The familiar shape of a troll, a boulder on top of two stubby legs thicker than a tree trunk and a head sticking out the top like a coconut, was leaning against one of four stone pillars that held the room up. It held a hand up to its face and yawned. Over by the far wall, they saw a stone banquet table that had numerous fish in various states of consumption.
And the smell! Both of the troll's own body odor and the smell of dead and rotting fish filled the trio's noses and strained their grip upon their composure to the limit, but they did keep hold upon it. Even though they wanted to vomit on the floor and never eat again.
"On me," Harry said, and the group began walking around the pillar, trying to keep quiet as they walked around the troll and its horrible smell. It was then that they noticed that its club was leaning against the pillar, apart from the troll itself.
"Wait, wait, Harry," Ron said, extending his wand excitedly. "I've got to bonk it."
Hermione sighed.
"Go on then," Harry said, gesturing to the thing.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The club lifted up off of the ground, slowly and sneakily out of the troll's sight, until it was positioned right over the thing's head...and he let it fall. Just as had happened on Halloween, it fell on its head, and knocked it straight out.
Ron fist pumped, and they shed the now cumbersome cloak. "Five points!"
Hermione rubbed her eyes. "But who wrote it? Dumbledore?"
"Who knows?" Harry shrugged. "Next room is the riddle."
They got inside, and immediately, they were surrounded by fire, making all three jump. Before them were black flames, behind them purple.
Ron was looking around. "Oh. That's the riddle."
Hermione seized a scroll of parchment on the table and read it. Then she passed it to Harry and Ron, who both read it and were left scratching their heads. Literally, in Ron's case.
"I can see why you needed me," Hermione replied. "It's a logic puzzle. Wizards are, well...not very good at logic. Why would they be, when magic solves so many problems?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Okay, but can you solve it?"
"It's my turn to think, Ron," Hermione said, judging each bottle by their size and against the riddle. She picked up the tiny bottle with clear liquid inside. "This will get us through the fire, but there's only one dose."
She handed it to Harry. Then, she picked up another bottle. "This will get us through the fire backwards. When Harry comes back with the stone, we'll all have a sip and get out of here."
Ron nodded. "All right. Get 'em, Harry!"
Harry downed the bottle, wincing at the sheer feeling of frost melting across his skin from his throat on. But, he ran through the black flames and opened the door.
And there, in the recesses of a large chamber, was the Mirror of Erised.
He was...excited to see it again. Trepidatious, of course, but excited. Because then he got to see his Mother and Father again. And there they were, waiting for him. Happy, smiling. And in the center was him, also happy, wearing exactly what he was right at the moment, surrounded by people who were obviously his family, potentially his family...and it made his heart ache.
I need the Philosopher's Stone, he thought deep within his mind. I don't want to use it, I just want to keep it safe from Snape. Or Quirrell. Or whoever is coming to try and steal it.
The him in the mirror gave him a wink, and out of his pocket pulled the Philosopher's Stone.
He checked his pocket, and there it was, the scarlet, multifaceted ruby that promised immortality and wealth. When he looked back at himself, the one in the mirror mouthed "good luck" and both he and his parents waved goodbye.
Harry grew teary eyed, and it became even worse as his mother blew him a kiss. In fact, he shed a tear. But it was only one.
He got back through the flames, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him, and he had the stone in hand. "That's seven for seven."
"The letter was right. About everything," Ron said, his jaw on the floor. "So… it's Quirrell then."
"Only one way to find out," Hermione intoned. "We need to get his turban off and see what lies underneath."
"Maybe we should focus on getting out of here," Harry said, feeling the chill of the potion from earlier wearing off.
"Agreed."
---
When they returned, the Gryffindor common room was empty. No professor was waiting for them, Dumbledore wasn't there to rain blood, horror and expulsion upon their heads. Not even Peeves could spoil the evening.
They had gotten away with it.
"We need to hide this thing," Harry said. "I'll wrap it up in the invisibility cloak and leave it in the bottom of my trunk. Hopefully that'll stop anyone from finding it until we can expose Quirrell."
"I wish I knew what kind of protections were on the turban," Hermione added, starting the climb up to the girls' dormitory. "That would make this loads easier."
"Meet back here in five minutes?" Harry requested, and he and Ron both headed up to the boys' dormitory.
Inside, there was only Neville, fast asleep on his bed.
Carefully, Harry wrapped the stone in the fine, silvery cloth that was almost liquid in his hands, and, piece by piece, moved everything out of his trunk until the cloak could fit upon the bottom, and then methodically replaced every article he had shuffled around before quietly closing his trunk.
He and Ron exchanged thumbs-up, and then Neville awoke with a snort.
"Shuuuba – wha –?" Neville said. "Wha-what's goin' on?"
Harry spoke softly. "I just had to put stuff in my trunk. Didn't mean to wake you, Neville."
"S'okay, Harry," he said, yawning. "I had a good nap."
"See you later," Ron said, walking through the door.
"See ya," Neville waved goodbye and they shut the door behind them.
Ron leaned in and whispered, "I can't believe we did it."
Harry felt a cold shiver run across his skin. "Me neither."
"So, you do you think wrote the letter?" Ron asked.
"I haven't even the smallest clue," Harry replied. "No idea."
It was then that the three of them returned to the common room and decided as a group to just try to enjoy the rest of their day without having any thoughts at all about their harrowing, heroic deed.
---
Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed! Not much to say beyond that, but I am beyond grateful for the positive reception this fic has received. You guys are the best!
Until the next time!
~Fulcon
Last edited:
Pax Humana
Versed in the lewd.
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TFTC!
Good to see the Trio doing well.. and amusing that they don't suspect the odd Snake. Understandable, given the school prejudices, but still funny.
Good to see the Trio doing well.. and amusing that they don't suspect the odd Snake. Understandable, given the school prejudices, but still funny.
Fulcon
Working on a new project.
- Joined
- May 1, 2019
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Good vibes only!
Have a cookie, I'm in a good mood.
Hey, nice to see you here!
And it is funny. Thankfully, he has not been revealed. Yet. Maybe.
...have a cookie.