Mudsnake (Harry Potter Muggleborn!Slytherin!SI)

[Fulcon]

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

 

[Fulcon]

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

 

[Fulcon]

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."

 

[Fulcon]

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

 

[Fulcon]

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.

1. Dog – Music puts it to sleep.
2. Devil's Snare – It's a soft pillow for a good landing, but then you need fire.
3. Winged Keys – Large, silver key with bright blue wings. Bring your broom.
4. Life-Sized wizard's chess – Ron's good at Chess.
5. Mountain Troll – Bonk it with its own club, Ron.
6. Riddle with Potions – Hermione can solve it.
7. 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]

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

 

[Fulcon]

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 knew you had it in you."

"Shut up."

"Throwing compliments in the giver's face is poor form."

"Yeah, well, complimenting someone on a thing they're mad at themselves for is also poor form."

"Ah, but you have no right to be mad!" Merlin said with a sly smile while stroking that stupid beard of his. "Why, you're almost proficient in Occlumency. Another year or two and you'll be a master!"

"That's what you were talking about?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No, you had it right the first time. I was congratulating you on taking the first steps to accomplishing your idealized ambition," Merlin answered with a cheeky grin. "Becoming a hero by doing the right thing even when it costs you something!"

"But this way, no one will know I'm the one who helped," I pointed out, my eyes widening in the agony of thwarted dreams. "Stupid conscience!"

"That's just proof you've grown as a person," Merlin replied. "And you've still got more growth in you."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, glaring and frowning at him like he just pissed on my dinner. "How's that?"

"It still wounds your pride to dodge recognition and validation," Merlin answered. "You know, by being safe while you're doing the right thing. Only thing for it is to keep doing exactly that."

I blinked. "Wait...by being safe. I could just go out and do this openly."

"You couldn't have gotten the stone," Merlin rebutted.

"I could've worked with Harry and the trio," I said, standing up, annoyed with myself. "I could've just done that directly!"

"And what would've happened if you had done that?" Merlin asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Uh...well, Sirius Black would be let out and Pettigrew would take his place," I said, continuing on. "Because they could use Legilimency to confirm everything I know is legitimate." More ideas. "They'd go down and kill the Basilisk! They'd hunt down the Horcruxes and destroy them, defeating Voldemort. Hagrid would have his expulsion revoked, meaning he could own and use a wand again."

I was practically giddy. "I'd be a sensation. The Boy Who Knew!"

Merlin's head tilted, while he grinned the devil's grin. "With this Ministry?"

That stopped me cold in my tracks.

"Maybe you could get Hagrid's expulsion revoked," Merlin allowed, nodding as if he were lightly stamping documents with approval. "But to allow Sirius and Pettigrew to switch places would be to admit there was no trial and that they had made a horrendous mistake. To admit that Voldemort even has Horcruxes is to admit that he's still a problem. And if what I've seen of the books in your mind is correct, old wizarding families, such as the Malfoys, are Cornelius Fudge's greatest donors."

I was blinking. "Okay, secrecy really is the optimal play here."

"Secrecy and learning your blades in the dark," Merlin replied. "But at the same time, being optimal does not produce heroes, we both know that." He looked down at me, boring into my skull with an intensity that made my hairs stand up on end. "So tell me. When it comes to the heart of a hero, what do you lack?"

I blinked, frowning, cupping my chin. "I could be a harder worker. I get too distracted by Quidditch."

Merlin looked so unimpressed, it crossed over into disappointment. "Quidditch is training spatial awareness in a three-dimensional environment, physical conditioning, teamwork and coordination, sharper reflexes and high-stress flying. It could only be more pertinent to your goals if it somehow included dueling. Try again."

Oh. Well. Uh…

"I could be smarter," I offered. "I'm not as confident about the exams as I would like to be."

"Boy, you're spending most of your free time learning Occlumency and Legilimency, and are approaching proficiency in as little as a school year," Merlin replied. "This after never having practiced magic before in your life. You have thought about, in detail, ways to actually accomplish what you saw in the Mirror of Erised while others can only waste away, yearning for a future they cannot have."

I shrugged. "I'm not selfless. I didn't warn anyone not to go to the dungeons when the troll was there."

"Oh, come off it," Merlin snapped at me. "You knew they'd be fine," he continued folding his arms in front of him. "Out of all the ways to chase glory, wealth and power, you chose the path of saving and preserving life. An elegant marriage of ambition and compassion, I'd say."

"Then tell me," I said, angry. "I don't like getting wrong answers."

"You lack courage."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Instead of going for the Stone yourself, you instead mobilized the people who you knew could do it," Merlin replied.

"Well, yeah!" I said. "Because I want to use the stone, and I couldn't get it out of the mirror!"

"And why not?"

"Because I want to use it!"

"I know you want to use it! Why?"

"Because!"

"Because?"

Finally, I truly snapped. "Because I don't want to die again!"

Merlin hummed, tapping his chin and smirking. "And so we're getting somewhere. How did you die the first time?"

"I was on a cruise ship," I explained. "It was late, I was tired, and I fell overboard and drowned." Then, I glared at the old coot. "So, it would've been counterproductive for me to stand before the mirror, because the mirror wouldn't have given the stone to me, because the only thing I would be able to think about is how I could use it, because I never want to die again!"

Once that tirade was over, I was panting and gritting my teeth. "Do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

"No," said he. "You've done an adequate job."

"So I wouldn't call that cowardice," I said.

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat. "I didn't say you were a coward. I said you lacked courage." He leaned closer within his portrait. "If you had courage, you would not fear death, and thus not need the elixir of life and you would've been able to get it for yourself."

...well...no...that's not…

"And, well," Merlin continued. "The kind of hero you wish to be doesn't fear death. Respect, certainly, but never fear."

Through glaring eyes, I asked, "yeah? Well, what's the difference?"

"Respect does not stop one from acting."

---

The return to the Slytherin common room was marked by my heavy footfalls. Deliberately heavy, as if I was hoping to shake the castle walls just by walking, with the vain belief that the rumble would, at least, make me feel better.

Merlin's just dumb. He's just a painting, and I don't know why I held his word in such high regard. He's only there to teach me Occlumency and Legilimency, I won't be seeing him again once I've mastered the pair.

Anyway. I spoke the password and out came Lysander Voss, seventh year, Hogwarts Head Boy. Pale skin, shaven head and bright emerald eyes that shone like gems. When he saw me, he glared and hissed through gritted teeth. "Out of my way, Sullivan."

Of course, I stepped aside. As Head Boy, he is the one person inside the Slytherin house who is aware of my status as muggle-born. While he's been forbidden by Professor Dumbledore and Snape from saying anything, he makes absolutely sure that I know what he thinks of me. I figure as long as the rest of the house doesn't treat me like that, my secret is safe.

Inside, I saw Draco, glaring down the entrance with an odd fury glinting behind those eyes. "He's kind of a prick, isn't he?"

"He's got his reasons, I'm sure," I replied.

Then, he looked at me with a measure of disdain. "You're too bloody nice, Sullivan."

"It's a curse."

"I'll say," Draco replied. "Now, remember, if you don't pass your exams, all our Quidditch practice will be for nothing because you'll be disqualified from attending the second year."

"Yeah. I'm feeling pretty competent in regards to potions," I said, grinning slightly. "Professor Snape said I've got the best Sleeping Draught in the class."

"That doesn't matter," Draco rebutted, waving it off. "Professor Snape's always generous to us during exams."

He needs to stop that. That kind of cheating is like winning the battle but losing the war.

"What you need is to make sure your transfiguration is up to snuff," Draco continued, ignorant of my internal snark. "The old bat, McGonagall, does not mess around. You can turn a spider into a die cube, right?"

I nodded.

Daphne came up behind him and said, "and I saw him do the levitation charm earlier."

He jumped and whirled on her, angry at the surprise. "So?" Draco asked. "That's one of the first things we learned. Flitwick's not going to be impressed."

"Wandlessly."

That froze Draco on the spot, and he turned toward me like an empty suit of armor being slotted back into place. "What."

I shrugged, and did a few hand signs to lift a candle-bearing skull up off the nearby table.

Draco looked disappointed. "Oh. Uagadou magic. My father's told me about it. Professor Flitwick's not going to pass you on a party trick."

Come on, that took me weeks to learn how to do that!

"Well, I thought it was neat," Daphne said, folding her arms and glaring at him.

"And you were wrong."

It was time to cut in. "Stop, that's enough. Draco, I'm still going to show him, just for the extra credit."

Slowly, he started nodding. "Good idea," he said. "Need every point you can get."

Then, I turned to Daphne. "And thank you for the compliment. It took me weeks to pull it off."

She grinned, hopping onto the table and kicking her legs while looking at me. "And that was time well spent." She leaned forward. "What else can you do?"

"Just that," was my answer. "Eventually, though, I'm going to be able to cast all my spells that way."

"That's amazing," Daphne breathed.

Draco sharply frowned. "Seems like a lot of work. We use wands for a reason."

Up the stairs came Vincent and Greg.

"Oh, there you are," I said, raising a wave as they walked up to their customary positions as Draco's bodyguards. "How's it going?"

"Studying for exams," Vincent said.

"You think we can put some pressure on Quirrell?" Greg asked, looking between Draco and I. "He's such a mouse, we could persuade him to be generous with his grades."

Draco just shook his head. "No. We've no leverage on him."

"What if we knew what was under the turban?" Vincent suggested.

Suddenly, my blood ran cold. I've got zero interest, whatsoever, in...in...wait.

I mean…

Nope, terrible idea. Not doing it.

"There is no way there's blackmail material under a turban," Daphne stated, as a knee-jerk reaction. Come to think of it, I don't feel like there's anything under there."

Come on, say it. I need to say it.

"You mean he's bald?" Vincent asked, his nose scrunching up. "That's not leverage."

Draco shook his head to agree.

Daphne tilted her head, squinting. "No, it's...more like blank. I feel like there is literally nothing under there."

SAY IT!

"Sounds like –" I stopped dead in my tracks, manufacturing a coughing fit.

The group was looking at me.

"Well?" Vincent asked, folding his arms.

"Well, what?" I asked, pretending to recover.

"You were about to say something," Daphne said, arching an eyebrow. "And it's very pertinent to the turban."

"Come on, spit it out, mate," Draco demanded.

I don't wanna.

"Marcus." Greg placed a hand on my shoulder, either to steady me, or to intimidate me. A little of both. "We'd really like to hear what you have to say."

Ah, crap.

Well...okay. Here goes nothing.

"Daphne, are you skilled at divination?" I asked.

Her expression went flat. "Don't change the subject," she said. "I mean, my parents certainly think so, but don't change the subject."

"The reason you think there's a flat void under the turban is because of counter-charms," I said.

"Oh." Her eyes went wide. "Oh! Oh…"

Vincent got an odd twinkle in his eye. "So, there is something."

"And if there really is something underneath, it's an 'expose him to the school and get rewarded' sort of thing. Dark magic, probably," I said, in a desperate bid to make sure we did whatever we were going to do in the presence of Dumbledore. "Besides, trying to blackmail a teacher is a horrifically bad idea."

"Oh yeah?" Vincent said. "Why is that?"

"Because it's our word against his," I pointed out. "We've got no leverage or anything that incentivizes people to believe us."

"Right," Draco said. "But still, now I'm extra curious. How much you want to bet we can get the Gryffindors to try something?"

My voice was a little bit too high when I responded. "And let them get the points?"

"Ew, never mind," Draco said. "Still, I wonder what we'd have to do to get it?"

"There's a potion I saw for sale in that potion store in Knockturn Alley," Daphne suggested. At my confused expression, she elaborated. "You've never been there, but it's just a short step away from Diagon Alley. Lots of magical items for sale that are actually useful." She turned to everyone else.

Never been to Diagon, either, actually...

"And what does the potion do?" Greg asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Dispels charms and enchantments," Daphne replied. "It's a cursebreaker's potion. You just pour it on the object and then all its protections or curses disappear."

Vincent got this triumphant expression. "Nice!"

"Doesn't always work," Daphne qualified. "Especially if it's really big or powerful. But a turban?"

"I could ask for the potion to be picked up," Draco said, the smile on his face widening. "Have it here before Wednesday!"

...you're kidding.

I was thinking they wouldn't be able to come up with something they could actually do as first years, but it turns out they've got access to the most powerful magic of all; money.

"Uh…" I rose a finger into the sky. "Let the record show that this is a terrible idea and I do not approve."

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it Sullivan?" Draco said, grinning from ear to ear. "Because you're going to be taking the turban off after we soak it."

"Wha–?"

"Well, we want plausible deniability," Daphne said, turning her head in what seemed like embarrassment. "In case it's really bad and gets us in trouble."

"And you're the lowest on the totem pole," Vincent continued, in the lowest voice I've ever heard from him. "So you get to do it."

"No!" I said, standing up and glaring at all of them. "I am putting my foot down, here. Absolutely not! I will have nothing to do with this whatsoever!"

Vincent glared, and stood up, only for Draco to sigh. "Fine. Be difficult, then."

"Such a killjoy," Daphne said, folding her arms and pouting.

I just stood up to the most important kid in my year and made him back down.

…

Take that, Merlin.

---

Author's Note: Hey, you guys have really been blowing the thread up with comments! Thank you so much! I really appreciate it, truly!

We're reaching the end of everything I've got prepared so far; 11 chapters. This is chapter 7, so...once that's over with, uploads will pause while I work through Chamber of Secrets.

As a note: If you are an artist, AI Aficionado, or are otherwise good with visual media, you have open permissions to adapt my writing to your work. I am flat broke and cannot pay you, so please only do this if it strikes your fancy. Just be sure to give me credit and send it my way!

Until the next time!

~Fulcon

 

[Fulcon]

The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.

---

Never before had I ever wished for exams to hurry up and get here as I did this week.

Oh, we had homework. I made sure to get it done. They were a little restless, waiting for the cursebreaker potion.

Hadn't the foggiest idea why, until Daphne finally explained it to me.

"You know how many students have tried to knock that turban off?" she had said to me. "Those stupid Weasley twins have tried at least half a dozen times. Imagine the looks on everyone's face when a bunch of Slytherins succeed!"

"But you know Quirrell had an encounter with dark forces on that trip he took," I remember saying. "What if he brought it back with him!"

"Then we'll be rewarded for exposing him, won't we?" Daphne said, obviously not seeing any problem whatsoever.

And that was the end of it.

Sometimes I'd pass Quirrell in the halls. His acting was, in a word, great. He really did seem the nervous, stuttering wreck that acted the doormat to the rest of the students. I wondered if he wasn't channeling the terror of displeasing the eyes in the back of his head into it, making it genuine.

He really has eyes in the back of his head. A whole face, actually. That is just gross. Voldemort hiding in his turban makes Quirrell a literal two-faced traitor.

… wait, that's the joke.

Huh.

---

Professor Snape kept me after potions. "Mr. Sullivan, you seem unusually distraught," he had said. "You've been skipping meals, without supplementing it with spurious visits to the kitchen. What's wrong?"

I blinked. "You knew about that?"

"The faculty is well aware of your business on the seventh floor," Professor Snape replied, fixing me with an annoyed glance. "I applaud your resourcefulness, and Professor Dumbledore has ordered that you not be disturbed." Ah, that...actually explains a lot. "Now, if you'll return to the question."

If I squeal, my social life in the Slytherin House is over. "It's nothing that the staff can help with. It's not like anyone besides Lysander knows about my parentage and he's just a little rude." I looked up from my hands, staring at his nose, not his eyes. "It's just the exams. I'm a Muggle-born. Isn't there a reason we're looked down upon by most wizards?"

Snape groaned, closing his eyes so he could collect his thoughts. "I'm afraid such things are not so binary."

"What do you mean?" I asked, grateful that I was spared the pressure to look him in the eye.

"As much as it pains me to admit, the finest witch in your year is Granger, who is so far ahead of the rest that she's already studying second-year material," Snape replied. "She is proof that blood status isn't everything, and you shouldn't allow concerns over it to dictate your beliefs about yourself." He cleared his throat. "As for myself, I am a half-blood. Many in Slytherin have doubted my magical abilities, and I have conclusively proved many of them wrong."

My eyes widened in surprise. "Oh."

"Many in the old families are simply afraid of losing their status in the wizarding world," Professor Snape continued, arching an eyebrow as he analyzed me. I got the sense he was trying to Legilimens me, but since I was looking at his nose, he couldn't quite get the eye contact he needed. "There are many other complications, feuds, beliefs about purity and power, but ultimately they all come down to the need to stand at the gate and repel those that would change things."

"But change is good," I protested.

He glared in annoyance. "Suppose a dragon comes and razes Hogwarts Castle. Would that be good?"

I shook my head. "No, sir."

"It would be an opportunity," Professor Snape stated. "We might rebuild the castle, rearrange rooms so that they are more to our liking. But all opportunities have a cost, and not every opportunity is worth the cost. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Now, go eat lunch," Snape ordered. "And if you tell anyone what I said today, you will have detention into your thirties."

"Yes, Professor!"

You know, that was really touching. I almost forgot that this is the guy who bullies Harry on a level Draco can only aspire to.

My stomach rumbled.

Right, Lunch.

---

So, I was sitting at the fire, doing some refresher on transfiguration – still can't quite figure out why the first swoop of the wand has to be so exact, while the second does not, when changing the needles back into matches – when Draco plopped into the chair across from mine in the glow of the fire.

He was triumphantly holding a bottle of shimmering, blue potion, the biggest grin on his face. "Guess what came by owl today?"

I frowned. "The thing you want me to expel myself with?"

"You wouldn't be expelled," Draco replied, grinning like an idiot as he looked into the swirling sparks within the bottle. I wondered what caused those? "You'll get a month of detention. At most. And it'll be worth it!"

...I wished I could cast Legilimens wandlessly to see what's going on in that empty, blonde head of yours, Draco.

Actually, that raises a good point.

"I don't really understand why you're so hesitant about this–"

– I should come up with a list of spells –

"– it's just a bit of harmless fun –"

– to work on casting wandlessly as soon as I learn th–

"And to think the whole school would be in our debt for exposing that dark magic," Draco slyly said. "Think of the Daily Prophet writing articles about us! The fan mail! The reward money!" he continued, giving me just the smallest hint of a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Which we'd let you keep, of course."

… well…I mean…

He was grinning from ear to ear as he gave his concluding statement. "You'd be a hero…"

I hate you so much, Malfoy. "Fine. Fine! I'll do it. Just tell me the plan."

"Crabbe and Greengrass are thinking over the details," Draco said happily, tossing and snatching the potion out of the air. "Since you're the one who wants to do this in front of Dumbledore, we're thinking of pulling it off in the great hall during one of the main meals. Lunch, most likely. Goyle says Quirrell doesn't come to breakfast sometimes and dinner even less."

Likely Voldemort business. Like sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest to gobble up Unicorn blood.

Actually, that's something to think about; can a Unicorn give its blood willingly? And if they do, does it keep the heavy curse placed on it by the Unicorn's death?

On cue, the portrait door opened and in walked Daphne and Vincent.

Draco regarded them with an arched eyebrow. "Well?"

"I asked Peeves," Daphne said, grinning widely. "He'll pour the potion on Quirrell's turban while he's walking to his seat in the Great Hall, and then Marcus can snatch the turban."

It was my turn to arch an eyebrow. "You couldn't ask him to take the turban too?"

"It's Slytherins' prank," Vincent replied. "If Peeves does the whole thing, he'll claim it himself to spite us."

"Come on, it's your moment, Marcus," Daphne said, still smiling. "You don't want to give it away, do you?"

Suddenly, I got the sneaking suspicion that Daphne is the one who gave Draco the idea to use the hero line. I should never have introduced them.

"By the way, Crabbe, have you seen Goyle?" Draco asked, looking around.

"He's in the toilet," Vincent answered, pointing back behind him. "He'll be along, lunch just didn't agree with him."

Draco blinked, repeatedly, in surprise. "But Goyle can eat anything."

Vincent just shrugged, and didn't comment further.

"Weird," Draco remarked.

Yeah, no kidding. He's usually a human garbage disposal, so I wonder what happened?

---

Harry sat at the table by the window while Hermione sat across from him, going over his homework. Since they had pulled off what felt like the heist of a century, Harry kept falling into these bouts of anxiety, however brief.

"Harry?"

Was the stone really safe? Yes. If Snape...or Quirrell, he guessed, went down to grab the stone, how long would it be before they realized it simply wasn't there? Or was that even a possibility?

"Harry."

Then there was the uncomfortable possibility that Dumbledore would go check on the stone and finds it missing.

"Harry!"

He snapped out of it. "What?"

"You lost focus again."

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "Just…"

"Thinking about it, huh?" Ron asked from his seat by the fire.

Harry just nodded.

"Look, we all agreed that when the problem is solved, we would just turn it in," Hermione reminded them. "Then we just hope they don't expel us on the spot."

"It's not a big deal," Ron downplayed. "We just thought there wasn't enough being done, so we stepped in and took care of it. Totally harmless." He turned around and knelt on the couch, draping his arms over the back of the couch. "We didn't even use it."

"Not that we know how," Hermione added.

"Exactly," Ron said.

Harry responded by telling them about his concerns. By the time he was done, he was adding a new one. "And what if whoever's going for the stone starts searching the dorms?"

Ron's eyes were wide. "Bloody hell, I didn't even think about that."

Hermione took a deep breath. "And who'd think to search the dorm of a first year? You'd think they'd start with the seventh years, since they'd be the most likely ones to pull something like that off."

"The person who sent the letter, most likely," Harry said.

"We don't even know who sent it," Hermione said. "And no, it's not Dumbledore."

"How do you figure?" Ron asked.

"I checked out a copy of the original The Twelve Uses of Dragon Blood paper," Hermione said. "The one written by Professor Dumbledore. It had some of his notes in the margins, and the handwriting didn't match what was in the letter."

"Can I see?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't have it checked out any more," Hermione replied.

"Where do you find the time to read so much, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"In this case, I went looking for it just to check the handwriting," Hermione said, her mouth tugging into a frown. "You could stand to read more yourself, Ronald."

"All work and no play makes Ron a dull boy," Ron replied, earning an eye roll from the girl. "Besides, if it's not Dumbledore, who else could it be?"

Hermione began extending fingers, counting them all one by one as she listed names. "It's not Snape, it's not Professor McGonagall, it's not Professor Dumbledore, it's not Quirrell, or Professor Flitwick or Professor Sprout."

"So it's not anyone we know at Hogwarts," Harry surmised. "Then...who?"

The portrait door opened, and the twins rolled in, both with stupidly large grins and excited looks in their eyes.

"So, have we got a story for you!" Fred said, rubbing his hands together. "We need to be in the great hall for lunch tomorrow."

Harry tilted his head with an inquisitive glance. "Why?"

"We heard it from Peeves," George began. "Apparently, the Slytherin first-years have arranged for a prank."

"That turban of his is enchanted –"

"– can't be knocked off or unwrapped at all–"

"– so the Slytherins got themselves a cursebreaker potion –"

"– and they enlisted Peeves' help to pour it on him!"

"And then one of the Slytherins is going to yank it off him!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked at each other, stunned.

"Th-that's brilliant, Fred. George," Harry replied, nodding.

Both Fred and George frowned and looked at each other funny before looking back at Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger.

"You don't seem that excited," Fred said.

"We've just… had a lot on our mind, recently," Hermione replied.

"Been wanting to see under Quirrell's turban for ages," Ron said, eyes wider than a dinner plate.

"No kidding," Harry added. "Any idea what's under there?"

"Fred thinks he's just bald," Fred said. Er...no, George?

"George thinks he's got a dragon sleeping on his head," George – no, that's Fred. Wait…

"Well, we know where we're going to be tomorrow," Harry said, and both Ron and Hermione began nodding.

"Just don't tell everyone," George – stop, that's Fred.

"Yeah, if the Baron finds out, it's getting called off," Fred – no. Yes. That's Fred. George! It's George.

Hermione frowned deeply. "Which one of you is Fred and which one of you is George?"

"I'm Fred and he's George," Gred and Feorge said in unison.

Hermione rolled her eyes and hid her face in her hands.

"We'll see you then," Harry said.

"Bye!" they both said, waltzing off to the fifth-year dorm.

"Well, guess we'll find out if the Letter's right about everything," Ron said.

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. "Indeed we will."

"Here's hoping," Harry replied. "It'd be the first good thing Malfoy's done all year."

Ron perked up. "Hear, hear!"
---

Author's Note: Well, I hope you guys enjoy. Those poor souls over at Ao3 are down for maintenance, so they'll get this chapter late. Ah well, best we can do is pray it goes without hiccups.

Until the next time!

~Fulcon

 

[Fulcon]

The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.

---

Today is the day that I die.

Well...probably.

Haven't been up to Merlin yet today. Got roped into the scheme after my Occlumency session yesterday afternoon.

I wonder what he'll say.

Good golly gosh, Marcus! I guess I was wrong, you really do have endless courage! I guess you really just need to try harder at this whole hero-thing!

I'm always right, Merlin. Just how it goes.

So here we are. Great hall was unusually packed this time for lunch, which means that Peeves had blabbed about the prank and everyone wanted to see. Including Dumbledore, I'm happy to note. Not entirely sure what he thinks is going to happen. Either he thinks his presence will dissuade us, or he's here to expel the jerks who played a prank on Professor Quirrell.

Professor Snape was there too.

And probably because he's curious about what's under the turban.

Two things can be true at once.

I was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, facing toward the halfway point between the door to the Great Hall and the rest of the table. From the staff room, it would look like I'm looking at the wall.

Draco was ostensibly doing his homework with the of bottle curse-breaker potion at his feet for Peeves to snatch when it was time. Crabbe and Goyle were flanking him, of course. Daphne was all excited grins, ready to watch the fireworks.

My best guess is that she thinks that he's just bald. Technically, I guess he was.

Two things can be true at once.

I know Peeves was circling the Slytherin table, because I could hear him lose control for just a moment, failing to stifle his giggles. Maybe he thinks that he was about to help get some students expelled. Not a bad guess.

Two things can be true at once.

Normally, Bloody Baron, who was sitting at the opposite corner of the table from me, would be all over Peeves for being annoying, but today he was pretending the poltergeist didn't exist. All the way at the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were helping themselves to a very large lunch. Next to them sat Neville Longbottom, of course, then the twins. Percy was eyeing me like a hawk, as if he had sussed out that I was to be the one who delivered the actual prank.

Then...the door opened. And there he was. Professor Quirrell. Immediately, he felt all the eyes on him, and he stopped. "Wh-wh-wh-what's going on?"

He didn't see the potion bottle flying over his head.

The bottle seemed to pour itself and I bolted from my seat. Quirrell's turban started to smoke, and I think I heard some coughing and spitting up from beneath it. At the edge of my hearing, Harry Potter screams, clutching at his scar like he'd just been branded.

Daphne frantically screams as it finally dawns on her diviner's mind what she had helped engineer. "Wait! Don't!"

Oh, no.

You don't get to set this up and walk away from the consequences.

...neither do I.

I jump up, snatch the turban off the back of his head, and am immediately greeted by the visage of Quirrell's second face.

Slanted, reptilian eyes, slits where nostrils should be and a mouth full of fangs.

I held up the turban to Lord Voldemort. "Got your nose!"

And ran as fast as my little-eleven-year old legs could carry me!

Out the great hall. Behind me, screams and panic filled the air, with Voldemort's own voice shrieking over the din. "Kill him!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

I jumped to the side even as an emerald bolt of light passed through where I had been not a second before, sending a chill down my spine and making my hair stand up straight.

...no.

Nonononononononononononononononononono…

I scrambled to my feet and kept running, trying to find the stairs. Gotta get away.

I AM NOT DYING AGAIN!

---

The great hall had been thrown into utter chaos.

The four banquet tables had been set alight and floated in a half-circle around the two-faced traitor to act as barriers between him and the rest of the Hogwarts staff.

For Dumbledore, what was to be an entertaining spectacle that assuredly was flirting with expulsion by a student who otherwise had a great and well behaved head on his shoulders had turned into perhaps the greatest unmasking he had ever witnessed.

And he had seen a few.

The tables collapsed to the ground as Quirrell quickly escaped out of the Great Hall.

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall cried, her hand trembling as she walked up to the marching Headmaster. "That couldn't have been – that wasn't –"

"I'm very afraid that it was, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said, waving his wand to extinguish and repair the burning furniture before returning them to their proper place. "Voldemort remains alive and has infiltrated the castle." He placed his wand to his throat. "All students are to remain in the great hall. All ghosts are to find any stray students and usher them here. All Professors save for Professors Flitwick and Snape are remain here and guard the student body. Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape, you are with me! Filch, send an Owl to the Ministry! Immediately! Everyone else, remain calm."

For his part, Harry Potter had mostly recovered, sitting up straight and adjusting his glasses.

Ron, however, was stark white and speaking in halting, gawking rooster-speak. "You-know-who – here – in Hogwarts?"

Hermione was in tears, clutching the most fateful letter she had ever received in her hands so tightly that it was threatening to break apart.

On the opposite side of the Great Hall, the Slytherins were also reeling from the revelation.

"That was the Dark Lord," Draco said, eyes wide in shock, skin paler than was thought possible by some.

Daphne was also crying. "What did we do? What did we do? What did we do?"

"Huh," Vincent said. "S'pose we should've listened." He gestured toward the entrance. "When he said he didn't want to do it."

"How were we supposed to know?" Goyle asked. "I thought he was hiding a dragon or something."

"A dragon?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah, riding in his skull like a broomstick," Goyle confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "Controlling his actions 'n stuff, you know?"

Draco threw his hands up in frustration. "I do not have time for your stupidity right now, Goyle!"

"What?"

Back with Harry and his friends, Hermione was speaking through sobs. "We have to tell Dumbledore about it. We have to –"

"Tell Dumbledore about what, Ms. Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked, walking up to them like a green-robed vulture.

The words fell out of Hermione's mouth like a waterfall. "We received a letter! Told us how to get the Philosopher's Stone!"

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, aghast.

Professor McGonagall started to sputter, her skin paling in absolute shock. "What is this? What are you talking about?"

"Here!" Hermione said, shoving the letter into the old woman's hand.

Her reactions to the contents of that letter were fairly similar to Harry's own, her eyes widening with every line she read, with the added bonus of her skin going pale. She folded the letter. "You three. Follow me. Now."

They stood up, the fear of death fully upon them.

McGonagall rounded on the rest of the students, her voice carrying anger the likes of which that would give anyone pause. "The rest of you remain! Here! And if any of you moves from your spot, every house will all be reduced to zero points!"

With that, the three first years found themselves having to jog to keep up with the Professor's brisk pace.

---

Third floor corridor, door to Fluffy's room. Open it, then shut it, and run away.

Hopefully he buys that.

As I ran around the corner and further up, I could hear the exchange of spells behind me.

"Do I look foolish to you, boy?" Quirrell's stutter was completely gone. "To go into that room is to get eaten alive!"

Well, crap. Still, at least Dumbledore's keeping pace and forcing him to slow down. Now where to try to throw him off?

Headmaster's office. Same trick, but more convincingly this time.

My legs were burning, my lungs were threatening to stop working and now of all days I desperately wished that I had my own broom...and that I knew the summoning charm. Or even better, the stunning charm.

But in spite of my vision growing blurry from the exertion, I pressed forward, until I hit the fourth floor, and realized that I was not going to be able to make it up to the office to pull my trick. I ducked into the Library.

There, Madame Pince looked up at me, arching an eyebrow. "Mr. Sullivan –"

"Shut up! Dark Wizard! After me! Everyone hide!"

And then I kept running, hoping to hide in the shelves. Predictably, Madame Pince got angry and began standing up to pursue me, wand out and prepared to hex me, but that's when the door to the library was blown open.

Well, I hope she's a good duelist, because if not, she's a dead woman.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Judging from the incantations being thrown around, they had both missed.

I might get out of this alive!

Out the back door, circle around to the staircase. I have to get to the seventh floor. Once there, I can play my trick with the Headmaster's office and hide with Merlin. Maybe. Hopefully.

...wait, no. The Staff knows about it. Dumbledore ordered that I not be disturbed while there. Quirrell's guaranteed to find me if I try hiding there.

Come on, think! Think!

---

Just as had been promised, Harry produced the Philosopher's Stone from the bottom of his trunk, to an ashen-faced, yet apoplectic Professor McGonagall.

"...professor?" Hermione pleaded, desperately hoping that they wouldn't be expelled for this.

"Did you three really go through all this trouble on account of a letter that explicitly said that Quirrell could not go through the Mirror of Erised?" Professor McGonagall asked, looking as if her eyeball was about to explode right in the socket.

Harry gulped. "We were just trying to help."

Professor McGonagall took a very, very deep breath.

"We didn't think anything was being done about it," Ron added.

"Mr. Weasley, if you do not wish for your children and your children's children to be expelled from Hogwarts ahead of time, you will be silent," Professor McGonagall said. "You three are the single most aggravating group of students that I have ever encountered."

Hermione looked like she was about to cry again.

"Potter, return this to your trunk," Professor McGonagall said, forcing the stone back into his hand and taking a breath to calm down. "We will discuss this after the crisis is over. Now come along, we'll be returning to the great hall!"

Harry did return the stone to his trunk...but smuggled his invisibility cloak within his robes.

---

"Months! Months of hard work and preparation!" Quirrell ranted, waving his wand to seal the Library doors.

All of them.

With me inside.

Madame Pince and the other students, with fortune beyond fortune, were able to evacuate the Library while it was still open.

Of course, I didn't make it to the exit, but I was currently hiding in between bookshelves.

His voice was hoarse as he shouted. "All that planning! Wasted! By a prank!" He was moving tables to barricade the doors on the side he came in. "Of course it had to be the Sorting Hat's greatest mistake! A mudblood! In Slytherin!"

He turned to look around, and I backed away from the second-floor banister so he wouldn't see me.

Stop panting.

Stop.

JUST STOP.

Breathe through the nose!

"You don't know how it galls my lord to see his house profaned so!" Quirrell raved. "An insult to the legacy and forthrightness of Salazar Slytherin himself!"

Wonder why Voldy isn't talking. Maybe all that dueling tired him out?

I heard him coming up the stairs. Just need to get down stairs and exit through the doors on the opposite side of the Library and I'll actually lose him.

"Your very nature is disgusting," Quirrell's voice came from below me, then rose above me as I descended the stairs. "Were it up to my Lord, the Chamber of Secrets would never have closed, and the Monster of Salazar Slytherin would feast well on any who dared pollute the wizarding world."

He's renting a time-share on the back of your head, Professor. How am I supposed to take that seriously?

...I've already wet myself, shut up.

Down the stairs I walked.

"But soon, we will obtain the Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell said. "We will make everything right. You've only accelerated our plans. The need for secrecy forced us to not use our power, but that is now past, thanks to you. We will slay the dog and pass through each of the barriers to gain the Stone, and my lord shall be restored."

I mean...no you won't. You're gonna get stuck at the Mirror of Erised. The stone isn't even there anymore, not that you know that.

...wait, no. Voldy's a Legilimens. If he catches me and reads me, he'll know literally everything.

You know, I'm not heroic enough to commit seppuku in case of capture.

Not even close.

Slowly get to the door.

"But first, we will deal with you, for ruining everything," Quirrell continued.

Go to the doors opposite what he barricaded. Turn the knob – it's locked.

I took out my wand. "Alohomora."

Try again...

I was hit with a crimson bolt, and my whole body flashed with the light as my wand was forcefully knocked out of my hand. A magical force pulled me up by my ankle right to the second floor, and soon I was was face-to-face with Quirrell's absolutely furious gaze.

There was nothing but venom in his voice. "There you are!"

My whole body went cold as I shut my eyes and tried in whatever meager way I could to brace for the Cruciatus curse.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and I heard several wizards rush in. I got turned around to look as Quirrell regarded them. Albus Dumbledore, Filius Flitwick and Severus Snape, all with wands pointed right at him. I...actually had a chance.

I'm crying right now.

Quirrell's voice was cold and wrathful. "Albus."

"Quirinus," Dumbledore replied. "Release Mr. Sullivan so we can talk."

...his first name is Quirinus?

Really?

---

Author's Note: Chapter's a little early today because I had some errands to run that would interfere with my upload schedule, so here you are! I hope you enjoy!

Until the next time!

~Fulcon

 

[Fulcon]

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 couldn't decide if I was going to die or not.

"Let the boy go, Quirinus," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Go?" Quirrell asked. Then he laughed, clearly beyond his depth. From what I could tell, Voldemort had either rested his eyes or gone to sleep because of how weak he is. Quirrell was on his own.

Silver lining, if I do die, then I won't have to take the exams.

… wait, I was looking forward to those… never mind.

"Go?" Quirrell repeated. "And why would I do that, you old fool? This boy not only ruined months of work and preparation, but he insulted my Lord!"

Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me…

"A prank like this? Oh, that could be an innocent mistake, one that could be rectified by suffering the correct punishment, but an insult?" Quirrell ranted, before turning to me and pointing his wand inches from my eye. "That cannot be allowed to stand!"

"A playground insult is no justification for murder," Dumbledore replied.

"Oh, but it is!" Quirrell said, turning back to them. "And you all stay together! Snape! Flitwick! Back to Dumbledore! If I see either of you try to sneak your way up here again, I will kill him!"

I looked at him. "But then you won't have a bargaining chip, though!"

Voldemort woke up with an irritated expression, and Quirrell turned to him, his eyes filled with rage. "Shut up, mudblood! You think I wouldn't do it because of what you are?"

Immediately, I latched onto the one angle I could find. "But does Voldemort deserve to die because of a mudblood?"

Quirrell just laughed. A cold, manic laugh which made my hairs stand straight up on end.

I then remembered that Voldemort can't actually die because of the Horcruxes so that's not actually an angle.

"Marcus," Dumbledore called up to me. "Try not to speak, it cannot help you here."

"Okay."

What can I do? What can… what can I do? There's got to be something I can do!

He was dangling me over the upper floor, thankfully. I could've been dangling over the lower floor, which would've been a fifteen foot trip straight down. Must be trying to keep me out of sight because it'd be much easier for them to rescue me if they could see me.

I don't want to die.

Dumbledore had never been more calm in his delivery in his life. "I presume you want something."

"I want the Philosopher's Stone!" Quirrell stated, moving his wand to point down at all of them. "And I want all of your wands!"

"You know we cannot do that," Dumbledore replied.

I was looking around.

"But assuredly you want to save this pathetic mudblood," Quirrell stated, again, pointing his wand at me.

...and I caught sight of a large vase just sitting at the end of one of the shelves.

"Quirinus," Dumbledore began. "What happened to you? You were our muggle studies Professor." He was?!? "You thought muggle devices were fascinating and you loved teaching muggle-born students. That couldn't have all been a lie."

My hands were trembling as I forced them to go through the hand signs, desperately making sure they didn't touch, rub, or else cause unnecessary noise as I was casting my wandless spell.

"I was wrong," Quirrell retorted. "I was foolish! Muggles are good for nothing but slaves. Slaves and fodder for the dark arts!"

If my whisper was even the slightest bit too loud, I was done for. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"My master showed me the way!"

He didn't hear. I might have a chance.

"But why would you believe him?" Dumbledore asked. "What did he say?"

"You wouldn't understand!" Quirrell said as I lifted the vase up, nearly to the ceiling, and then wrapped it around the bookcase opposite of where Quirrell was leaning against the banister.

Had to get the right angle on this, so it neither passed through Quirrell or Voldemort's field of view. Come in from the side and maybe a little bit to the front…

"Then help me understand," Dumbledore said. "Help me see why you believe the way you do."

"Help you?" Quirrell laughed. "You are my master's greatest enemy. It does not matter what I say to you, you have rejected his vision from the beginning! Now! Your wands and the Stone! Or I kill this wretch!"

Please don't, please don't, please don't, nononononnonono…

The vase had rounded the corner of the bookcase, floating forward just enough to come in out of Voldemort's vision cone. Just get this into position, pull a Weasley by dropping it on his head and then run for my life while he gets pummeled by three incredibly potent wizards.

---

Professor McGonagall returned to the Great Hall, Hermione and Ron trailing behind her, her hand stuffed into her pocket in a death grip that made her old hand seem skeletal from a distance.

"Now," Professor McGonagall said, turning upon the two. "You three will–"

It was then that she noted a very conspicuous absence. "Where's Potter?"

Ron and Hermione whirled around like they got caught in a twister, looking around.

"Harry?" Hermione called out to the entrance hall.

Professor McGonagall shrieked, "Both of you stay here!" As she marched out, she closed the doors behind her with a wave of her wand. "Harry Potter! Potter where are you? Come out now! Come back here this instant!"

Hermione was crying. "I can't believe him."

---

"Your wands!" Quirrell demanded, pointing his own in my face. "You will give them to me! Now! Or I will kill this mudblood to avenge the slight against my master's honor!"

Just a little more time.

"Quirrell, be reasonable," Dumbledore pleaded. Undoubtedly, he's seen the vase.

Quirrell started counting. "Ten!"

No, no, no…

"Nine!"

Just a little faster, vase, come on, come on…

"Eight! Seven!"

It's not going to get there in time.

"Six! Five! Four!"

I was whimpering. Was I crying? Yeah, I was crying.

"Three!"

Almost there!

"Two!"

It's not there yet!

"One!"

...no…

"Avada Ke –"

"Wait!"

To my shock and surprise, over by the stairs stood Harry Potter himself, a silvery, shimmering cloak on the ground, surrounding him like a fairy circle.

Not one to waste an opportunity, I continued pulling the vase forward.

Dumbledore sounded horrified. "Harry…"

He took a moment, stuttering to find the words, and they fell out of his mouth like loose rocks down a cliff-side. "I'm the one you want, right?" Harry said. "Take me instead. Let Sullivan go free."

Immediately, Lord Voldemort laughed, a soft, gravelly, reptilian sound. "You'd sacrifice yourself for a Slytherin, Potter?"

I could see that Harry was pale and his hands were trembling too. He was just as terrified as I was. His words came out like they were fired out of a machine gun. "He doesn't deserve to die."

"Am I not the one who decides that, Quirrell?" Voldemort asked.

"You are indeed, my lord," Quirrell replied, the wand he had pointed in my face starting to shake.

"And I'm asking you to spare him," Harry said.

...the vase was in place.

I let it go.

"And why would you–"

The vase crashed right into Quirrell's head, knocking him into the banister, and sending me straight into the floor, on my head. Ow.

Harry wasted no time, either. "Come on!" I scrambled to my feet and ran to him as he was urging, "Come on, come on! Into the cloak, come on!"

Soon, he and I were sheltered beneath the wonderful protection of the Invisibility Cloak.

Quirrell, somehow, was still conscious. "No!"

The two of us skipped the staircase, which Quirrell dived for amidst the hail of wand fire from down below.

"This way," Harry breathed out, leading us to the opposite side of the Library, where Dumbledore, Flitwick and Snape were slinging spells with my former captor.

I was whispering. "I don't believe it."

"Me neither," Harry replied, looking over his shoulder through the cloak. "Come on, we have to get out of the library."

"No arguments from me."

On the opposite staircase, we slowly walked down, watching as Professor Flitwick disintegrated the stairs Quirrell had been standing and hiding on, forcing him to the floor.

"You fool, Quirrell!" Voldemort shouted.

"I-I'm sorry, Master!"

"You should've kept a closer eye on the students!" Voldemort continued on his tirade. "You should've known what they were planning! The whole school knew! Why didn't you!"

… that's a great question! How did we keep this from Professor Quirrell? You'd think one of the other Professors at least would've told him. Wouldn't they?

Unless… someone, somewhere did us a solid.

Harry and I got to the door, and we shut it behind us, collapsing against either side of the door frame.

I looked this amazing, heroic person right in the eyes and asked him, "Why would you do that?" Before he could respond, I added, "There was no reason for us to switch hostages!"

He returned my gaze. "Because you needed more time to get that vase over his head."

Oh. I laughed. "You're a legend."

"You're a legend!" He rejoined. "You're the one who pulled that turban off!"

"Almost died for it," I said.

"And saved the whole school," Harry pointed out, wincing in pain and rubbing his scar before he continued. "Bloody brilliant. I think you're going to be the school's favorite Slytherin!"

"Well, it was a team effort."

"Best Slytherin I know, that's for sure."

"Thank you!"

"Mr. Potter!"

Running right up to us was an ashen-faced, utterly furious looking Professor McGonagall, who stopped when she caught sight of me.

I pointed at Harry. "He saved my life."

She sighed the long and dreary sigh of a tired grandmother asked to babysit a poltergeist. "Oh, did he?"

"Yeah, you should give him a thousand points to Gryffindor," I urged, nodding.

Her lips pressed into a fine line. "I'll settle for both of you joining me in the Great Hall. Without further argument."

From the library, we heard the echoes of a gravelly, demonic scream and wisps of smoke emanating from the top of the library walls.

Professor McGonagall was scared too. "Now!"

It was then that the doors opened, and there stood Albus Dumbledore.

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall called, looking relieved. "Is it – is he –?"

"Professor Quirrell has been stunned and placed in a Full Body Bind," Professor Dumbledore said as Professor Snape joined him in the doorway.

"Are you harmed, Mr. Sullivan?" Professor Snape asked.

I shook my head. "I landed on my head, I guess, but I feel fine."

He sighed, in...was that relief? Awesome!

"Mr. Sullivan, who else was a part of your prank?" Dumbledore asked.

I am not protecting them from this. No sir. They nearly got me killed, they get to suffer the consequences of this whole accursed misadventure too. "Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass. And Peeves."

"Anyone else?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

I shook my head. "No, sir."

He let out a breath. "Professor Snape, if you'd escort Mr. Sullivan to the Hospital Wing."

"Yes, sir," Professor Snape said.

"Afterwards, if you and the other heads of house would escort your students to their common rooms," Dumbledore continued.

"Albus, there is something else," Professor McGonagall said, reaching into her pocket, retrieving… it took everything in my power not to gasp and gawk at the letter which I had told the trio to destroy. "Potter and his friends received this, and were able to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone."

She slid the letter into Dumbledore's hands.

Oh nonononononono…

Dumbledore regarded the letter, blinking. "What is–?" Then, he began reading the letter, and got the answer to his own question.

Don't suspect me, don't suspect me, don't suspect me, don't suspect me…

The elderly wizard stared at the letter for a very, very long moment. I thought I was going to wet myself. Again. "I would appreciate it if the Gryffindor and Slytherin students who have been named would come to my office," he finally said, folding the letter and putting it into his pocket. "We have a great deal to discuss."

"Yes, Albus," Professor McGonagall said.

Professor Snape was squinting at the letter as if it would confess. But when it didn't, he simply gestured for me to follow him. "This way, Sullivan."

I knew better than to argue.

---

So, we were all piled up together in Dumbledore's Office.

Draco and Daphne were paler than ghosts, and I've never seen the otherwise stoic Vincent and Greg looking this shifty and nervous. For the Gryffindors, Hermione had obviously been crying, while Ron and Harry were talking to each other in hurried, frantic terms.

"Thank you all for coming," Professor Dumbledore said. "Do you know why I have called you here?"

"Because we stole the Philosopher's Stone, professor," Harry replied, causing the Slytherin students to look at him and his friends in alarm.

"Because we pranked a teacher in front of the whole school," I answered.

"Both of those things are true," Professor Dumbledore said. "But, that is not the whole truth. Harry, Ron, and Hermione? You received a letter which explained each level of security that was protecting the stone in detail, as well as how to bypass it."

The three nodded.

"That same letter also informed you that Quirrell was the one attempting to steal the stone, instead of Professor Snape," Professor Dumbledore said, laying the letter out on his desk for us to look at. "Draco, Daphne? Greg, Vincent? Marcus? Did any of you receive a letter similar to this?"

We all shook our heads.

"No sir," said Draco.

"It all seems too much of a coincidence," Dumbledore continued. "That the Stone is relocated without the staff being informed and Quirrell's identity as the first new Death Eater in a decade is exposed due to a student prank. I confess, none of us had suspected him."

I arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"What do you mean, Marcus?" Dumbledore asked.

"He was our Muggle Studies professor, goes off on a tour to confront the dark arts, then comes back with a horrific stutter, a turban he enchanted to never come off…" I recounted, desperately trying to avoid getting a stutter of my own. "Obviously, he encountered something! Something he brought with him!"

Dumbledore, regrettably, made eye contact with me for just a moment, causing my blood to freeze in my veins. But...it was only the briefest of looks, seeing my surface concerns only. My defenses held.

I hope.

"That is true," Professor Dumbledore permitted. "Professor Snape had raised concerns that he was trying to get around the stone's defenses."

This made Harry, Ron and Hermione visibly uncomfortable.

"I had believed he was simply trying to get the stone to assuage the fears he had gathered on his tour," Dumbledore continued, stroking his beard. Is that just a thing you do when you have a beard? You stroke it? "But it is so easy to judge in retrospect, is it not?"

Had to nod at that, he's just right.

"Obviously, it had to be a member of the staff," Daphne said, looking at it. "Or...I don't know."

"Please, tell us, Ms. Greengrass," Dumbledore said.

"I feel like the writer of the letter is in the room with us," Daphne admitted.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

"But that can't be right," Daphne said. "None of us could possibly have known any of this. I didn't suspect Quirrell was hosting the Dark Lord at all!"

Whew. Okay.

Dumbledore hummed to himself. "I suspect the mystery of this letter will reveal itself in time, if at all." He looked at all of us. "Now, as for the consequences of your actions." He cleared his throat. "Harry, Ron and Hermione? You three knowingly went against school rules to enter the forbidden corridor on the third floor and bypassed all safeguards to move the Philosopher's Stone to your dormitory."

He leaned forward. "In some ways, this was a brilliant way to safeguard the stone, as Quirrell would have been looking at the Mirror forever, trying to retrieve a treasure that wasn't there. However," Dumbledore turned to me. "What could Quirrell have used to discover the stone had been moved, Marcus?"

Oh, I didn't think about that.

"Legilimency, sir," I replied. At the trio's confused glances, I added, "the art of gleaning thoughts from another person."

All three of their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Sir," Harry began. "We just wanted to protect the stone. We didn't realize–"

"I am aware of that, Mr. Potter. I believe you acted with total sincerity," Professor Dumbledore cut in. "That is why you are not being expelled."

Harry fell silent.

"For your bravery and magnificent wizarding skills in bypassing each layer, assistance notwithstanding, I am awarding you fifty points to Gryffindor. Each," Professor Dumbledore said. "And for bravery in saving Marcus Sullivan's life, Harry, I am awarding an additional fifty points."

And just like that, they've won the house cup. Deserved, honestly.

"You will also serve six weeks detention with Hagrid," Dumbledore replied. "Breaking the rules, no matter how noble your intentions, always carries consequences. It will be up to you three to decide if it was worth it."

Harry bowed his head. "Yes, Professor."

"Now then," he turned to us Slytherins. "The five of you sought to expose dark magic for personal gain. I applaud the desire to further your ambitions through noble acts, and I would encourage you to continue to do so. For your resourcefulness, dedication and cunning in devising a way through the counter-charms protecting Voldemort's identity, I am awarding you all thirty points to Slytherin. Each."

It… didn't help our mood much. We helped disrupt the plans of Lord Voldemort, who is something of an icon in Slytherin. As far as the rest of the house is concerned, we were Persona Non Grata.

"And Mr. Sullivan, for your keeping of a cool head during a harrowing situation, and for sheer cheek in the face of unimaginable danger, I award you an additional twenty points," Dumbledore continued.

"Thank you, sir." Oh...wait, are we tied with Gryffindor?

"But you five also conspired to play a practical joke on a member of the faculty to embarrass him, and did so while believing him to be weak and compromised," Dumbledore replied. "You must learn that just because someone looks weak doesn't mean they don't have strong connections, so I am also sentencing you five to six weeks of detention to be served with Hagrid the groundskeeper."

We just shrugged. He had a good point. Wait… "Are we serving detention altogether?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I thought it appropriate, given how things have converged."

Of course Draco, Greg and Vincent were disappointed. Daphne just looked numb. Me? Well, I'd been wanting to hang out with the golden trio, and I'd been wanting to introduce myself to Hagrid for a while now, so this actually works out well for me.

Kinda.

… I'm going to be skipping breakfast again for a while.

---

Author's Note: Congrats! With Ao3 being down and FFnet being a completely malfunctioning piece of tragic garbage, you guys are the only ones who get todays chapter!

I hope you enjoyed it, and I am eagerly awaiting your comments down below.

Until the next time!

~Fulcon

 

[Fulcon]

The following is a fan-based work of fiction. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. Please support the official release.

---

Merlin seemed awfully pleased, the way he looked at me.

I looked back at him. "What?"

"You did it."

"Did what?"

"Did something heroic," Merlin replied.

"Did something stupid!"

"You'd be surprised how often those two descriptors coincide…"

I glared at him.

"And why are you mad?" Merlin asked, still smiling.

Which was all I needed to start yelling.

"That wasn't what I wanted! I wanted a nice, peaceful time at Hogwarts, slowly piling up advantage after advantage while Harry took care of everything else so what while he was off hunting Horcruxes, I could just beat Voldemort like a red-headed stepchild!"

He hummed, and stroked his beard. The prick. "And here I thought you wanted to hunt the Horcruxes yourself."

"Well, no!" Suddenly, my thoughts got jumbled up. "I mean, yes, but...no! Actually no, because then I could actually put the finishing touches on all of my powers and stuff!"

"Then you'd be invincible," Merlin surmised.

"Yes! I'd squish him like a bug!"

Again, he stroked that beard of his while humming. "Defeating an enemy that cannot fight back isn't heroism. It's pest control."

"Wha–"

"The common thread for heroes is that they all live lives that allow them the blessing of self respect," Merlin said. "And in keeping with that tradition, you've been polite to house elves, befriended people who you believed did not deserve friends, sent letters off to Sirius Black and the Golden Trio, as you have taken to calling them, in order to assist them in their endeavors." He was smiling again. "Then, you knowingly participated in a scheme to unveil a grave threat to the institution we now stand in at great personal risk." Merlin leaned forward. "It might look different from how you imagined, but you are a hero right now."

"Okay, but–"

"Arthur would be proud."

That turned me red in the face. As far as compliments go, that was a pretty hefty one. "W-well, uh...thank you. Wow."

"Now, onto practical matters," Merlin said. "I think we can confidently say that you are proficient in Occlumency, though your Legilimency still requires work. Your encounter with a Dark Wizard has revealed some holes in your capabilities, what are they?"

"I need to be more powerful," I said.

"In what ways?"

"I don't know, I just do," I glared up at him.

"That isn't actionable," Merlin snapped back. "Work with me here. What ways are you lacking power?"

I threw up my hands. "I don't know!"

He sighed and held up his fingers to begin counting. "Alright. First, you need dueling expertise. Second, wandless magic must be extrapolated upon. Thirdly, you panicked which might've led to your being caught even earlier – and you would be dead."

Oh. "Okay."

"We'll go over each in turn," Merlin said. "First, dueling. You need to know how to block and parry spells, footwork and stances, and optimize the movements of dueling spells down to a single point of the wand."

"Dueling spells?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Stun, disarm, shield and I would include the Killing Curse," Merlin said, getting my attention immediately.

"You can teach me the Killing Curse?" I asked, perhaps a little bit too giddy at the thought for my own good.

"If you stick to my curriculum, I can teach you that and more," Merlin replied. "But stay focused. Wandless magic; the highest priority spell you are to learn how to cast wandlessly is the Summoning Charm. In case I need to say it, the next time you are disarmed, you will need it to bring your wand back to you."

I was nodding. Vigorously. Because I had thought about it and he was completely right.

"After that, the Shield Charm, and then you may do the rest as you see fit," Merlin continued. "Finally, panic. Panicking during a dangerous situation will cause you to harm both yourself and others. There's very little for it but exposure." He leaned forward. "You will need to begin taking excursions into the Forbidden Forest."

My eyes went wide.

"All of this begins next year, don't you worry," Merlin reassured me. "You have time. Right now, all I wish is for you to become a competent Occlumens and Legilimens, and we're already halfway there."

"Great. Thanks."

"Now, cast Legilimens onto the Crystal Ball."

---

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hagrid," I said.

"And you must be Marcus Sullivan," the big man boomed, clapping a hand on my back with enough force to make me stumble a few steps forward. "Bravest Slytherin Hogwarts ever saw."

"Uh… thanks."

"Oh, Merlin, what is that smell?" Draco asked, his nose scrunching up.

"Ah, that'd be the chickens," Hagrid said. "Since you're gonna be helping me today, first thing you get to do is check for eggs. The kitchen always needs more, you see! After that, you'll be helping me feed the thestrals."

"The what?" Ron asked.

"Oh, right, I forget most can't see 'em," Hagrid said. "Thestrals are the winged horses that pull the carriages from the station to bring the other students into school."

"But we came by boat ride," Hermione pointed out.

"Right you are," Hagrid replied, smiling. "First-years always come by boat. Next year, the carriages will bring you to the castle straight away." He turned away. "Most people can't see them."

"Can you?" Daphne asked.

"I can, yes," Hagrid said. "Don't ask me why."

"Why?" Goyle asked.

Hagrid glared at him. "Come on, now, what did I just say?"

"Sorry," Goyle said.

With a sigh, Hagrid led us forward.

We did, in fact, grab eggs straight from the nest, all stained by chicken manure. Blegh. Gross.

After that, we got to stick strips of bleeding meat out and watch them get chomped by a line of invisible heads in the stables. It was...wild. Finally we had to de-gnome the garden he had in the back yard. Which was far more fun than it had any right to be.

Of course, the whole time Draco and Harry were at each other's throats. Well, Draco was at Harry's throats with constant insults, and Harry just thought he was annoying. Hermione and Daphne were almost civil, though Daphne very clearly looked down on Hermione for her parents. At least, it was clear to me. Ron, Crabbe and Goyle were oddly friendly, though. It was weird.

Six weeks of this, and...nothing really changed.

Of course, as I thought, we might as well not have existed when we got to the Slytherin common room. And if they did acknowledge our presence, they were glaring at us. None of them would dare do anything because Malfoy's father was the big cheese, as far as political power goes. Vincent and Greg were his minions, and they happened to think Daphne and I were their friends.

Thank goodness for slimy political connections.

---

Exams went well! Highlight of my week was Professor Flitwick asking me to demonstrate the wandless levitation charm for extra points. With Professor Quirrell gone, Professor Snape officiated the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, on which I earned full marks.

I heard that Harry also earned full marks, much to the Professor's chagrin.

The school had eventually settled back into its regular rhythm, for the most part. Malfoy and Daphne were still completely rejected by the Slytherin student body and they were deeply out of sorts about it. Crabbe and Goyle not so much, because people rarely talked to them anyway.

And me, well...I'm pretty sure the Head Boy didn't say anything about my parentage. But I'm not sure it'd make a difference if he did at this point, they are all doing what I'd rather they did: ignoring me.

Felt really annoying, though.

Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup, something that the despondent Draco barely commented on. He had no more will left to annoy or get angry at Harry, even as he caught the snitch and held it high like a shining trophy in the sun.

At the end of year feast, we were sitting at the end of the table. Points all got tallied up and Gryffindor wound up winning the house cup, breaking Slytherin's seven year streak. Judging from the dirty looks we were getting from the rest of the class, we were being blamed for it.

And that stunk worse than a gobstone, because we were basically being scapegoated for the loss. A shame too, wasn't there supposed to be a dragon involved? Oh… right. Draco lost pretty much all his will to continue the rivalry with Harry after we got excommunicated from the Slytherin house, so he didn't go tattle, which meant they never got caught, and so they never lost all those points that would've allowed us the cup for the eighth year in a row.

I guess it was our fault. Oh well.

The Great Hall was all decked out in red and gold tapestries. Most people were celebrating, the food was delicious. The kitchen elves had really out-done themselves today, need to remember to stop by and say goodbye tomorrow morning.

"You seem in a good mood," Daphne said to me. "Guess it must be nice, not having had anything to lose."

I shrugged. "Hadn't thought of it that way. Are you going to be okay at home?"

Her answer was glum. "I should be. My parents were never really supporters of the Dark Lord, going along to get along." She shuddered. "I think Draco is in for a row when he gets home."

Ooh. Well… yikes. "That's too bad."

"Yeah," she said. "Still, at least we get to come back, though. That's something."

"I prefer to think of it as taking the long and painful road to rehabilitate Slytherin's image," I said with a grin. "Think of all the friends, the connections we'd be making!" At her skeptical expression, I added, "the minions!"

She snickered. "You're so funny, Sullivan. I hope no one finds out."

Oh, crap. "Who told you?"

Daphne's eyes widened. "Oh. Uh...I just figured it out. Haven't told anyone, I promise."

I sighed. "Well, thanks for that." But then, I looked at her. "You don't care?"

"Sort of?" Daphne replied, shrugging. "...it's why I told Draco what he needed to do to get you to play the prank."

Could not be more unimpressed if I tried.

She gave me a weak smile. "Sorry. You're a nice guy, but you're just weird. Of course, now we're all in the same place, aren't we?"

"Snakes in the mud?"

Daphne frowned and turned her attention back to her meal. "I suppose so."

---

You know, I woke up from my previous life aboard the Hogwarts express. In the back car, in a compartment all by myself.

Now, however, I was sharing the compartment with all my friends. Well, the ones from Slytherin, anyway.

"Okay, next year," Draco said. "Hopefully, I'll still be able to convince my father to buy our way into the Quidditch team."

… seriously?

"Then," he continued, taking a deep breath in and out of his nostrils. "We can start repairing our reputations."

Ah.

"Wonder what else we could do," Vincent said.

"Why don't we start working our connections outside of our house?" I asked. "Come on, like you said, Harry Potter's the most famous wizard in history."

He glowered at me. "I'd rather keep the good relationship I've got with my own family, thanks."

More than a fair point.

"There is probably more we can do, though," Daphne said. "We could start some kind of special club?" She gasped. "Ooh! We could host parties and stuff!"

"For girls, then," Vincent said.

"Well, boys could come too," Daphne protested. "We could have cakes, and butterbeer… say, Marcus? You're friendly with the kitchen elves, aren't you?"

"Somewhat," I replied. "They do me a favor when my schedule gets too full for breakfast."

"Maybe if you could," she began. "You know…ask them to cater?"

"Maybe I can," I said, raising two fingers. "Number one, you have to be absolutely polite to the house elves."

Draco looked taken aback. "Why?"

"Because they'd be doing us a favor," I said. "And more to the point, they aren't our house-elves, they're the schools."

I almost said that they aren't Dobby, but that wouldn't have gone over well.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Second, there actually has to be an objective purpose the club or whatever is built around," I said.

"Socializing is an objective purpose," Daphne argued, blinking owlishly.

"He means something we'd actually like," Vincent supplied. "Not just sitting around jawing for a few hours."

"Oh, you mean like an activity," Daphne said...diplomatically.

Vincent nodded. "Yeah."

"Like a dueling club," Goyle said hopefully.

I pointed at him. "A dueling club! Greg, you're a genius!"

"Really?" he asked, beaming.

"No, not even remotely," Draco cut in. "But that is a good idea."

"I can't wait to watch all the jinxes flying around," Goyle said, still grinning. "Watch people try to dance on jelly-legs!"

"Ooh," Daphne said, her own eyes lighting up. "I like that. I like that a lot! Yes, let's set up a dueling club next year."

"I wouldn't mind that at all," Vincent said, nodding.

"We'll figure out a name when we get back," I said. "Because it looks like we're pulling into Platform 9 ¾."

And so we did. We got our luggage out, pulled it onto the platform. While I watched everyone else reunite with their families, I walked out of the platform's entrance, looking around.

...well, those are obviously the Dursley's. Harry's got my sympathy, that's for sure. Now where...ah, there he is.

My 'dad' as I remember him. White button-up shirt beneath a blue sweater vest, slacks. Circular glasses, neatly kept brown hair. I walked up.

"Did you have a good term, son?" he asked, smiling warmly.

I remember bits and pieces of this man. He's...well, he apparently raised me. Done a pretty good job of it, as far as I remember, so… yeah. I'm happy to see him. "It was great!"

"Good," he said, gesturing out toward the car. "Let's be off."

We piled into the four-door sedan he brought with him and we slowly and easily pulled out of the parking lot.

"So," Dad began. "I hope waking up on Hogwarts Express wasn't too much of a shock."

I froze, looked at him in the corner of my eye.

"Terrible way to die, drowning," he continued. "And I hope you don't mind the layer of false memories, those are just there to throw off the Legilimens in the school. I'd recommend learning Occlumency as fast as possible, if you haven't already."

"I have," I said, stiffly.

"Ah, good," 'Dad' said. "Now, I imagine you have a few questions? I'll answer what I can."

"Who are you?" was the obvious and immediate first question.

"An employee of an organization involved with your rebirth," he replied. "Sorry, I can't say more. Your restoration isn't exactly legal, yet. So, in the interest of preserving plausible deniability, you don't know who we are, and we don't officially have any record of you."

I frowned. "So, what do you want with me, then?"

"You're the proof of concept," Dad replied. "We just want you to go through Hogwarts, live your life however you like, and then at the end, we're going to go over your experience and see how it works. If it's good, then we might funnel agents of ours through the Hogwarts magical education system."

"...what obligations do I have to you people when I'm done at Hogwarts?" I asked.

He shook his head. "None. Like I said, you're proof of concept. Though after you graduate, we might have work for you, depending on how well you do over there."

I looked at him through squinting eyes. "Can you take the trace off of me?"

You know, so I can cast spells as an underage wizard.

"Nope!" he said. "Sorry, but we're trying to keep this as close to a normal wizarding life as we can make it."

"How much do you know about my time at the School?" I asked.

"Me? Nothing," Dad replied. "But you do have some people watching you. As to what they think, how they're feeling? Not sure."

"So basically, you're letting me ask questions because you don't know anything," I surmised. "Can I at least get your name?"

"James Peter Sullivan is my alias right now," James replied. "And I'm entirely here to help your cover story, so I hope you'll make my job easier instead of harder."

"Okay, Dad," I replied. "Can I get an owl?"

"Next time we're in Diagon Alley, sure," James replied. "But, uh, you'll have to open the way, I can't do magic."

"What's the budget like?" I asked.

"I can't get you a Firebolt, if that's what you're curious about," James said. "Again, your cover."

"Why couldn't my cover be 'wealthy, millionaire Muggle family'?" I groused.

"You'd have to ask the big cats upstairs," James replied. "So! We've got a small apartment here in London. We should be home in a few minutes. You want a banana split?"

I sighed. "Sure. Thank you."

"My pleasure, young man!"

...well.

That answers that question.

Only a million more, now.

---

Author's Note: You know, I'm proud of myself.

A long time ago, I wanted to not post any fanfic until the whole thing was complete, from start to finish. Now, this is not that. But it is the entire story arc complete. Not only did I do that, but I maintained a consistent updated schedule, I knew where everything was going before it happened and...I honestly feel really good right now.

I did something I always wanted!

Anyway, uploads are going to stop for a little while. I need to reread the Chamber of Secrets, figure out how things balloon out of control, again, and ultimately where we end up at the end. I wrote the chapters for Year 1 alongside the chapters for Sorcerer's Stone, so I intend to do that again. Once Chamber of Secrets is complete, revised and proof-read, you'll get your weekday dose of story once again!

Since this arc is complete, I'd like everyone to go ahead and tell me what you thought about it on the whole. Were you entertained? Did something not quite make sense to you? Predictions as to how the story is going to turn out? Any other comments you'd like to add? I'm anxious to hear them.

Until the next time!

~Fulcon