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Left Behind	By : Jim_Ohki Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Het - Male/Female Views: 10712 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other series referenced within. Expanded disclaimer inside.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Disclaimer: I make no claims at ownership of any copyrighted characters, places or events used herein. The only thing I make a claim to is this fic, which originated in my head and any original characters created by me herein. The following was made for public consumption at zero profit, and is not for sale except to the owning companies. Yes, I dream big.

Special Notes: My forum is up and running. Link is in my profile, bold and italicized so that y’all can find it. There’s a poll in my Forum for this fic about future pairings.

Special Warning: There’s hints at rape of children in here. Just hints; nothing graphic. This is as a head’s up; it’s down near the end of the chapter and can be skipped if you want.

Left Behind Part Two

By: (Driver) Jim Ohki

0700; April 28, 1993; Gryffindor Common Room

“I believe you’re being entirely too hard on Ginny,” Hermione tried for the umpteenth time, it seemed, to get Harry to see reason.

The school was still in chaos a day and a half after the revelations in the Great Hall. The Weasley in question had been sequestered in an old VIP room somewhere in the Castle by the Headmaster as the mess was sorted out. This was more for her safety than that of the rest of the student body; she had been attacked three different times the day before by mobs and their mentality.

Pomfrey had let the once-petrified patients out of the Hospital Wing at dinner time yesterday, having performed every test she could think of in regards to the sudden reversal of the petrifications. Harry was of no help, simply giving that half-smile of his that melted hearts and saying ‘Magic’ was the cure.

The pair of friends were having the discussion in the squashy chairs near the window, enjoying the spring air that wafted in.

“And you want me to be nice?” he looked at his best friend like she’d grown a second head. He knew there were holes in his justification; what he was doing was an old Potter trait in that they held their ground unless proven wrong. “After what she did to you and the others; you want me to be nice to her?”

“She’s as much a victim as I was!” was her exasperated response. “You used that diary too, you know.”

“Yes I did,” he admitted without hesitation, “and the thing didn’t compel me to let loose a ruddy snake the size of a bus on the populace of Hogwarts. No, Tom simply tried to feed me false information which I fell for. I found the book strange from the start, being able to respond to somebody else’s writing. You and Ron never saw me do it but I did consult Madam Pince along with Flourish and Blotts about magical diaries; not a legitimate one made worked like Tom’s. Me, MUGGLE-RAISED, figured that out in about five seconds worth of work. She, MAGICAL-RAISED, couldn’t do that until it was shoved in her face. Now, could I have chosen a better venue . . . yes, I’ll give you that. At the time though, I was upset that you’d been attacked and . . .,” he trailed off, turning his head to stare out the window. What he left unsaid she picked up on from her own unfinished sentence the year previous.

Their conversation had been overheard as neither had been aiming to keep it between the other. Various students had to sit back and think for a moment about what they themselves would have done if they’d had the diary to begin with. More than a few shook their heads, knowing that they’d be just as taken with the object as the youngest Weasley.

“Right, let’s get to breakfast,” Harry said at last, shaking himself out of where his mind had gone.

“What about Ron?” Hermione was surprised that Harry wasn’t waiting around for the ginger. She looked around as the entire Common Room went silent, not understanding how her question could cause such an event.

He gave a sigh of frustration, turning to glare at his fellow Gryffindors who’d fallen in line with the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ believers.

“Weasley has decided that I’m a no good Dark Wizard who should have been sorted into Slytherin,” he growled, making more than a few back up as his statue-guard materialized from nowhere. “He even went so far as to spread the word that I fought the Hat on where I wanted to be; which I told him confidentially as an attempt to salvage our friendship. If it hadn’t been for my meeting Malfoy before coming here I’d probably be down in the Dungeons suffering from the children of Voldemort’s followers without truly understanding why. And while suffering this year, if I was even still alive, a good chunk of the students would probably be dead!” he roared the last word out before stomping out the portrait hole, leaving an ashamed house behind.

Ron appeared just as Hermione was making to follow, hoping to get a word in otherwise. His hopes were dashed as the brunette showed surprising speed in catching up to the unappreciated savior.

“Get out of my way!” she heard him shout at a cluster of Ravenclaws just outside of the Great Hall, before meeting the mob head-on with his animated statues. It was like watching a train-wreck in slow motion as bodies flew into the air in all directions, those going sideways impacting walls; the others sailing up or down the corridor before she heard, “What’s this?”

In the middle of the now downed crowd stood a blond First Year that looked like she’d been roughed up. Her hair was cut unevenly, signifying that either some substance needed to be removed or somebody did it for a laugh. Her robes were in tatters, barely maintaining her modesty. Looking down revealed that she was barefoot . . . and that her feet were bleeding from being dragged across the stone floor.

“Mister Potter!” McGonagall’s voice came from a side-corridor heralding the Deputy’s arrival. “Just what is going on here?”

“I’d say a bunch of bullying ‘Claws,” he snarked, glaring at the closest one which turned out to be Sara Fawcett. “I stumbled across them manhandling this young girl here,” he waved his right hand in her direction, not only demonstrating who he was talking about but also fixing her clothes, “and being in a right foul mood already from dealing with Lions that have no brains I sorted the lot out. Of course, if they have an issue with that they can take it up with my statues.”

A platoon of the fierce animated warriors appeared from behind a tapestry, halberds gleaming in the sunlight streaming in the windows.

The Professor looked stumped as to what she should do, which was a first in anybody’s book. She took note that while the young girl’s clothes had been fixed her various, minor but various, wounds had not.

“Potter, take her to Pomfrey,” she ordered, conjuring a piece of parchment to message Professor Flitwick. “I’ll take over here; go relax and find a way to calm down. House meeting after dinner tonight you two,” were her parting words to Harry and Hermione. They took either side of the blond and lifting her off of the floor so she wouldn’t have to walk on bleeding feet.

Hogwarts as a whole was getting informed of what an angered Harry Potter looked like; it was truly a scary thing to deal with no matter the time of day. When Ron found out about the rage that was waiting for him to show himself he decided on the better part of valor and hid in his dorm when not in classes. Wherever Harry went, Hermione and his pair of statues were with him . . . although he did have to insist that they wait outside the door to the loo. That got aggravating real quick, trying to use the toilet and having hangers-on.

Still, the day was not a complete waste. Harry, connection to the Higher Plane restored, was having greater success understanding the theory portion of the subjects taught. There was a scheduled double Potions after lunch that he wanted nothing to do with, earning more than a few raised eyebrows in the Great Hall during lunch.

“Bollocks,” he was getting loud at Hermione again, earning a frown in return, “and dragon dung! No, I’ve had enough of Batty McGrease and his sniveling sneer!”

Nobody was quite certain which word set off the subject of Harry’s ire, but the way the man moved set off mental alarms all over the place.

“Really, Mister Potter,” Snape drawled, out of range of the statues that followed the boy around. Even though he was motionless his robes continued to billow impressively. “And, what, pray tell, are you going to do about being in my class?”

“Since you teach about as well as Glitter Gums over there,” Harry pointed at Lockhart -who had started the ‘I knew it was Weasley and told Harry’ bandwagon-, the insult going clean over the self-absorbed man’s head, “I’m bringing in a private tutor just for me that won’t insult, breathe down the neck, mock, glare, sneer or try to read my mind. Somebody you ought to be familiar with, too. For the first time in my life I’m using my fame to get what I want; Slughorn should be here tomorrow.”

Snape sneered severely at the mention of Horace Slughorn, the Potions Master before him that had taught Tom Riddle. The man’s name was close, for he was a leach of the worst sort. If it hadn’t been for the brand on his arm his old Professor would have tried to induct him into that nonsensical Slug-Club.

“Oh, and how did you get Horace out of retirement?” Dumbledore wadded into the fray, standing to the right and just in front of Snape like a guard dog.

“Well, when I pointed out his error with Riddle to him,” Harry shrugged, “then politely pointed out that another of his students caused the death of one of his favorites . . . he feels he owes me. So, I get one-on-one instruction from a true Professor for free. Right now, the only other person I’d even dream of considering to share this boon with is Hermione. Just about everybody else . . . hmmm, dish served cold and all that.”

Both Head and Potion Master looked like they had eaten something incredibly sour at the underhanded mention of Snape’s activities before and during the previous War. Young Potter had begun to demonstrate knowledge of events that he shouldn’t have, and a rebellious streak as wide as England.

Over at the Slytherin table, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis were looking at each other with wide eyes. As the confrontation started all other noise had dropped off, allowing the entire Hall to hear every word said. They could see that Harry was pissing off Snape intentionally and then dumping the man on the student body with a smile. Revenge truly worthy of Slytherin indeed.

“Oh, and if you get any ideas of blocking this,” Harry’s voice had gone hard, “then you’ve have my withdrawal notice faster than Fawkes flames from place to place.”

For the Slytherin students, that was just awe-inspiring. That, right there, was a true demonstration of owning the field as it were. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were miffed about not getting the chance to escape Snape’s rage and crappy teaching style. The Gryffindors were strangely silent, showing nothing to the school which was a first. The staff were looking at each other, wondering if Harry had pushed too far.

“Ah . . . right,” the Headmaster waffled, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I do wish you could enjoy your childhood Harry . . .” The change of topic was about as subtle as a Nundu let loose from a pocket.

“Bah!” the target of that statement scoffed. “If you’d given me to werewolves under the full moon my childhood would have been an improvement! But no~, let’s leave the boy with his magic hating relatives. You, sir, are a complete douche.”

“That’s quite enough, Mister Potter,” McGonagall finally braved the frigid frontier that was the space around the three. Her words died in her throat as Harry waved his hand Banishing his robes and shirt to the table.

It’s been said, in crude circles, that girls dig scars. That’s true to an extent; a scar here and there add character. Harry, on the other hand, had a back that looked like a crumpled piece of parchment from the crisscrossing ropes of scar tissue. It was difficult to tell where one ended and another began, even near the ‘edges’ -neck, shoulders, ribs and beltline.

“I don’t know Professor,” he glared at her over his right shoulder, “does this make it look like enough?”

“No,” the answer left her mouth before she could stop herself, even as her right hand came up to her mouth in horror. Then her head turned slowly to her right, eyes acting like targeting reticules as they sought out the Headmaster.

Dumbledore showed his intelligence as he fled quickly, Snape and McGonagall in hot pursuit opening their mouths to begin shouting. The Hall remained silent as Harry let out a sigh of frustration before returning his attire to his person.

“Harry . . .,” Hermione whimpered, before getting up as she’d noticed he was getting ready to leave. She knew, deep down, that there were things that were difficult at best to talk about. While she wanted to help -that desire lead to her overbearing nature- she knew that getting him to talk about his home life would be an impossibility outside of vague comments; that is if he even bothered saying anything at all.

“Can I join you?” the First Year Ravenclaw they’d rescued that morning had appeared from nowhere, invading Harry’s personal space. “The Wrackspurts have gotten to Professor Snape’s mind; I’d like to learn Potions as it should be taught.”

While she’d only addressed him, he instinctively turned to share a look with Hermione. The way her face was scrunched up in confusion was just adorable in his opinion; wanting to see more of that face he turned back to the blond. This one hadn’t been visible or vocal with that Heir rubbish, so he decided to humor her.

“Sure, so long that you don’t bring any Sarlaccs into the classroom,” Harry nodded, before turning to walk out of the Great Hall. He noticed that Hermione’s face had gone from that cute confused look to a nice setting sun red as she held in her laughter; seems she got the joke.

“On no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” the blond reassured him, even though her eyes were out of focus like she was looking at something else entirely. “So long that you leave the Womprats in your dormitory.”

“So, just who are you?” he had to ask, seeing as she’d yet to introduce herself. This actually surprised her as she’d assumed that her budding and unwanted reputation had preceded her like his scar does for him. The three had begun climbing the Central Staircase, the girls following Harry to wherever he was going. Hermione wasn’t about to suffer through Potions without him and the blond apparently had a free afternoon. None of them noticed that the stairs were lining up a direct path to the Seventh Floor; even those that had just swung in the opposite direction.

“Names are relative, aren’t they?” she countered, before shrugging. “My parents named me Luna; Luna Lovegood if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well hello Luna-Luna, I’m Harry-Harry and this is Hermione-Hermione. Unfortunately, we seem to have lost our Jar-Jar also known as Ron-Ron,” he quipped, giving her his half-smile at the same time. In all honesty he had no clue where that last name came from though. “Seriously though, it’s a pleasure to meet you Luna.”

His sense of humor was something new, if the reaction of Hermione -who looked like a fish out of water- was anything to go by. Neither were prepared to deal with the bipolar-esque attitude he was presenting to the world. Then again, the now named Luna wasn’t squealing and/or scar-gawking in his presence which earned her many points. He could truthfully care less if the females of the Castle swapped stories about being around him; just so long that they did it where he wouldn’t know.

“Where are we?” Hermione spoke up, seeing a blank wall to her left and a strange tapestry featuring trolls to her right. She’d not been paying any attention to where Harry had been leading them; she didn’t even know which floor they were on. As she waited for an answer she noted that he had begun pacing in front of the blank wall; on his third pass a door materialized from the stonework that he opened before gesturing them in.

“This is probably the A-One coolest feature of the Castle,” his arms swept wide, indicating the entire room. “Three paces outside gives you any room on your mind; sauna, library, laboratory, lavatory, storage, dungeon . . . you name it, it makes it.” Apparently a meeting room of sorts was on his mind at the time as an oblong table dominated the middle of the room, surrounded by ten plush leather office chairs.

The pair of girls paused to gawk at him and his weird sense of humor. Deciding to ignore it for now -Hermione made a note to have an in-depth discussion with him about lines that shouldn’t be crossed yet, even if she secretly enjoyed this new Harry- they pulled out their seats.

“Before I start,” he sat down across from them, “I must say that there are some things that I cannot speak about. If my explanations sound purposely vague that’s because they are; I’d rather get that out front then have you feel like I’m lying to you.”

The pair across the table nodded to show their agreement, then settled in as he explained events from his point of view just after Hermione had been petrified.

While he didn’t go into technical jargon having secrets of the Castle laid out before them was awe-inspiring. The way the secret passages worked explained so much more than the vague ‘it’s magic’ answer that the Pure-Bloods would give. That was something else right there, the fact that if those same Pure-Bloods knew their origins they’d die of random brain hemorrhage. Also glossed over, this time because he didn’t have the answer, was the fact that humanity as a whole had to be evolving again which led to the “Muggle-born” phenomena. Since nobody had bothered to research it though the answers to that line of questions would have to wait.

They knew he left out bits of the story; he’d not said a peep about what he’d found in the Room the first time. Rather than press him, as much as their inquiring minds wanted to, they decided in whispered conference to learn what they needed to so he’d include them in what he was doing.

When they’d told him that, he’d looked askew at them.

“I don’t doubt either of your intelligences,” he started, not wanting to sound insulting. “The thing of it is . . . what you’d have to learn is obscure in the extreme. I’ll get you what texts I can; you’ll not find any books in the Library about the true origins of the Castle, the Founders, or even what we call magic as a whole. As it turns out, thanks in part to the event that opened my eyes, I know now that my family happened to be pack-rats. We have just about one of everything dating back nearly twenty thousand years. Some of it I have to question as to why we have it, but that’s for later. The starting point in what to teach you is to unlearn everything you have already learned about energy manipulation.”

For the rest of the afternoon, he went through showing them what he knew of wand and wandless magic all the while relearning everything he’d previously lost.

Dinner time turned into a theatre production.

As soon as Harry sauntered in the doors; Hermione on his left, Luna on his right and his ever-present guards flanking them all noise stopped before turning into shouts of aggravation. True to life, Snape had been absolutely horrible to everybody after lunch and the student body was making their displeasure known. Even the Slytherins were getting in on the act, threatening young Potter with bodily harm.

He had enough of that in a quick order as a shockwave emanated from his person, knocking those being loudest over. Then his army of statues arrived to contain the rest of the students as animated armor moved back into their guard positions at the ends of each table.

“That’s enough of that,” he rumbled, robes billowing even in his perfect stillness which he didn’t notice. “Call Directory Assistance and ask to talk to somebody that gives a shite. Yelling at me won’t endear me to the rest of you and your chance to leave Batman in his cave. Of course, if you like dark, dank, and unventilated areas that are ripe to explode and kill you please, continue flapping your jaws.”

The silence was nice, before the youngest Weasley present ruined it. The way he did left many looking at him like they would a body turned inside-out for he’d not opened his mouth.

“That should be your new motto Ronald: Constant Flatulence!” Hermione made the joke -complete with shouting and arm waving that made several students jolt in surprise- before he could, earning a bark of laughter from him that was quickly smothered. A few wondered why he’d make a noise like that; they couldn’t know that he was aware of Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody and his slogan.

“You have no idea,” Dean Thomas got out between his snickers, trying to not look at Ron. “This bloke talks more out his arse than his mouth at all times, even when sleeping.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Neville Longbottom got in on the act. “I don’t know which are worse: the dry ones or the ones that make me wonder if he should check his drawers. It’s bad enough that his allergies make it so we can’t open a window at night but add in the smell . . .”

“I had me mam teach me an odor-removal charm,” Seamus Finnegan wasn’t about to be left out of social murder on Weasley. The dorm-mates of Harry had a meeting in private and were rightly ashamed of themselves for the Heir business. The best way to show, in their opinion, that they were indeed regretful was to unload on the one in their shared room that had been the loudest. “Otherwise me clothes woulda been ruined from the smell; it’s bad enough when he leaves one in the door to the loo making us venture into the death zone.”

Ron looked like a tomato before talking out his bum again, loud enough that everybody on the bench from end-to-end felt the vibrations.

“It must run in the family,” one of the other Gryffindor First Year girls chimed into the death of any social life the youngest Weasley’s might have had, “’cause Ginny can clear a room like nobody’s business.”

“These two are no better,” Lee Jordan pointed at the Twins, who were delighted at the attention. Of course, since gas can equate into humor if done right they were smiling and waving at the masses. As if to prove their point they started into an arse-powered rendition of their Twin-Speak. It was disturbing to hear one finish what the other had started to be certain. It also proved that while the pair had no qualms mocking themselves something was seriously wrong in their family.

“Somewhere, a fat guy is out farting Michael Moore,” Harry groused to himself, before shaking off the bizarre feeling that he shouldn’t know that.

Penelope Clearwater had been wandering by when the conversation started. Her movement went into complete stillness as she listened to the group of Gryffindors before seeking out Percy . . . just in time to see him flee without walking. Bad timing on his part to be sure as he looked like he was still sitting in a chair that was ghosting out of the Great Hall which the Twins noticed.

“Check it out,” started George.

“Percy’s got the-”

“hover-chair fart going-”

“something even we’ve-”

“never been able to do,” they finished together, a look of awe in their eyes. To them, their killjoy brother just zinged them royally; earning more laughter without trying than any prank they’d pulled before.

Then Ginny, under guard from a pair of animated armor appeared, making for the only open seat at the table . . . right next to the Twins. Her social death became complete when she paused near Harry and let one go . . . apparently the wrong way.

“Did you just?” he backed away while every eye around them fell on her person. The expression on her face told him all he needed to know. “You did! You bloody well farted out your . . . ugh, gross!”

Every female around the youngest Weasley looked at her like she’d committed the greatest sin of all while the boys roared with laughter. That laughter died a sudden death when the odor hit them, making those within range look green around the gills.

“What died?” Draco Malfoy, needing his daily dose of Potter insults, walked into the invisible cloud and pulled several muscles in his face from the severity of his scowl. That was before he keeled over in a faint; not that anybody could blame him this time.

“Pomfrey!” Penny, trying to save those she could by use of a breeze charm, yelled up at the Staff Table. As her panic descended using a much simpler Bubblehead Charm completely escaped her notice.

“Kill me now!” Hermione was being overly dramatic, swaying dangerously looking like she’d indulged in a few too many ‘shrooms. “I can’t breathe! Harry, kiss me!”

“Why can’t I go somewhere without massive amounts of chaos?” the subject of her request sighed before waving both arms looking like he was conducting an orchestra. He chalked the mayhem up to what he believed to be a misspoken word on her part.

“She passes hallucinogenics out her . . . orifices?” Pomfrey looked lost -a feeling that she was really beginning to hate-, having turned her attention onto the young Miss Weasley after Harry had dealt with the cloud of death. “What does Molly feed you to accomplish that?”

Harry’s attempt at scrubbing the local atmosphere had a side effect as he’d converted most of the odor into helium. The problem was that Ginny was still standing in the middle of the zone, causing the conversion spell to latch onto her lungs. Fortunately it was targeted at methane and carbon monoxide/dioxide and not oxygen, thus allowing her to breathe normally. Exhaling though was another matter all together.

“Mum loves to add mushrooms, jalapeños, olives and when called for guacamole to just about everything . . . oh, and cheese. Can’t forget the cheese,” was Ginny’s response, which had started out in her normal tone before rising in pitch. When she finished she sounded like a squirrel hyped up on caffeine, which was not helped when she added a “Squeak!” to the end of her sentence.

“I hate squirrels!” muttered Ginny’s other dorm-mate under her breath, earning herself odd looks from her surrounding Housemates. “I used to think they were cute until one used me as a tree to get away from my dog, okay?”

“Why is she here anyway?” Hermione wasn’t trying to be mean; she was just voicing her curiosity.

“I guess the mention of the Weasley Family Motto attracts them like flies,” Pansy Parkinson snarked from the Slytherin table. She wasn’t foolish enough to go into no-man’s land to fawn over Draco, not without an all clear from another dolt dumb enough to freely go in there.

Ron had enough of people poking fun at his family and his sister in particular. How he moved from the other side of the table to stand right behind her nobody quite understood. What they did get was that somehow she was pulled into his front like a magnet before the freckles on her forehead moved of their own volition.

“Now isn’t that the truth?” Harry snickered, understanding the joke. Ginny’s face was now advertising “I’m With Stupid”, earning more laughter around the Hall as word spread of the goings-on.

“Get off!” Ron bellowed at his sister while pushing on her shoulders to no effect. “Blast it! Would you stop touching me?! Why are you still touching me?!”

“That, right there, is true animal magnetism,” Luna pointed at the youngest Weasleys as they started either a strange fight or a mating dance. It was hard to tell, especially with the known fact that the Pure-Bloods enjoy their own relations a bit too much.

“Right,” Harry drawled, making certain to grab an entire platter of treacle tart before dessert ended. “We’ll see you tomorrow; McGonagall wants us for something.”

Not twenty minutes later found every Gryffindor crowded into the Common Room; extra space had been given to the various Weasley’s as they tried to stink up the place even with the windows open.

“You two should market that,” Hermione had conjured a clothespin for her nose. “What a wonderful smell you’ve discovered; it makes dung-bombs seem like roses in comparison.”

The Twin’s eyes lit up at that off-hand remark.

“Shush you,” Harry grumbled between bites of treacle, his own nose plugged. “They cause enough mayhem on a daily basis without your super-brain giving them ideas. Besides, they’re going to be occupied dealing with Scrotum-Boy and Sphincter-Girl over there.”

Where the nicknames for Ron and Ginny came from nobody quite knew; one of the Gryffindors unhappy with the youngest boy and, perhaps, his treatment of young Potter grumbled it a little too loud and was overheard while a Ravenclaw Seventh year had shouted -either in surprise or intentionally- the youngest Weasley’s new identifier as they’d filed out of the Great Hall. Both names had stuck . . . in truth, like the pair were stuck to each other.

“Y’know, we could make a song outta that,” the Twins turned their heads to regard their younger siblings.

“What, like ‘Scrotum-Boy, Scrotum-Boy; does whatever Scrotum-Boy does’?” Dean wondered as he tried to sneak some of Harry’s food which earned him a slapped hand from one of the statue guards.

“I don’t fancy being them tomorrow,” Katie Bell wandered into the conversation, her eyes locked on the dessert tray that Harry was now guarding with his body. “Hopefully somebody figures out how to unstick them or going to the loo will be a challenge.”

“Must you voice that while I’m enjoying my food?” he grunted as he shifted the tray out of her reach.

“Attention please,” McGonagall had appeared, before fanning her right hand in front of her nose. “Great Scott! Where’s the body?” She noticed that the Weasley’s were turning red in the face. “Never mind; hopefully the cause of this will wander into the Hospital Wing tomorrow and let Pomfrey correct the issue.” Then her eyes fell on the youngest pair of the red-heads and her lips almost vanished.

“What is the problem now?”

“She won’t get off of me!” Ron shouted at his Head of House, earning a furrowed brow to go with the thin lips. The situation was made worse when he punched his sister in the back of the head. She retaliated by bringing her left ankle up behind her as hard as she could kicking him in the junk causing them to fall backwards. He howled in pain before jamming his arms between them trying to push her away with all his might. His exertion combined with the weight on his stomach was just too much for his poor body to handle.

“Seek shelter!” Harry dove behind one of the couches as the two fighters slid across the floor, bouncing off of the walls, furniture and people that didn’t heed the warning like a pinball.

“My nose!” Neville collapsed, decidedly green clutching at his face.

“Dear Merlin; somebody do something!” Alicia Spinnet had leapt over the pair hovering off of the floor, bouncing all over the place straight into the vapor cloud. From there it was a prompt vacating of her dinner all over Colin Creevey who, as usual, was clicking away madly with his replacement camera.

Percy, still doing his hover-chair impersonation parked himself in the path of his brother and sister. When they passed below him both were knocked out from his backwash. It was at that time that his own bout ended, sending him face first into Ginny’s crotch. The results were predictable as he wound up vomiting from the power of the stench after he’d crushed her stomach.

“That’s just wrong on so many levels,” McGonagall grumbled to herself before waving her wand at the various messes. Once order had been restored, she set to do what she’d originally entered the Common Room to do. She did take note that all she could see of Harry was the top of his head and his eyes from behind the couch.

“First and foremost, the restrictions imposed due to the previous attacks on students are lifted as of midnight tonight. It has been decided that the only rule change shall be in regards to reporting Dark Objects -this used to be voluntary. It is now mandatory for any suspicious object within the walls of Hogwarts to be brought to the attention of the staff. This includes but is not limited to: Enchanted Diaries, gifts from unknown senders, Invisibility Cloaks, Enchanted Parchment of any type that is not sold to the public so on and so forth.”

The Deputy Headmistress could see anger in the eyes of not only Harry but also the Weasley Twins. While she was more than aware of Potter’s Cloak, being a Family Heirloom, she had no idea as to why Fred and George would look mutinous.

“Vanishing Cabinets?” said Potter wondered, still behind the couch. He’d found a way to have his treacle in peace in a crowded room: hide it from view.

“Yes, those too-,” McGonagall answered before narrowing her eyes at the boy. “Where is there a Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Ask Nick,” he replied, “‘cause he got Peeves to drop one on the floor above Filch’s office. I don’t know if the thing has been moved yet or not, let alone if it even still functions after being dropped from the ceiling.”

“This example is perfect, thank you Mister Potter,” her lips twitched, before her expression returned to stone. “To aid the students in regards to Dark Objects Headmaster Dumbledore will be modifying the Wards during the summer holiday. Of a much more serious note, for the third years and below: how did none of you notice one of our own acting quite odd? I’d encompass the entire House but I know that the older students rarely pay attention to the younger.”

“My defense is that she had always acted weird around me,” Harry finally moved, revealing an empty dessert tray. “When I visited her house this summer she would blush, squeak, drop things, stick her elbow in a butter dish or flee without so much as a hello. I haven’t confirmed it yet but I do believe she’s part of that ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ rubbish crowd.”

“Ah, say no more,” McGonagall appeared satisfied with his explanation and moved on. The other Gryffindors were shifting about nervously, not quite knowing what they should say.

“When we crossed paths in Diagon Alley,” Hermione started slowly, trying to remember the encounter, “before the school year she seemed like any eleven year old girl. Once we got here, however, I didn’t have much contact with her at all; she was reclusive. For all I know that was because she was homesick, each of us has experienced that at some point. Well, except for Harry that is.”

“Hey, you try to be around Walrus, Horse and Pig-in-a-Wig for any length of time; see if you can survive them without turning into a Dark Lord,” he retorted without thinking, before finding the dessert tray in hand fascinating.

The Head of Gryffindor paled considerably at those words; she remembered one of her classmates that had grown up in an orphanage and had learned that survival of the fittest was the word of the day. That boy, once he learned of his parentage, went ‘round the twist in Sixth Year and became the most vile Magical in centuries.

No, Harry Potter was not returning to that house; Albus ‘Greater Good’ Dumbledore be damned!

“Since I let that out, I might as well do it properly,” Harry groused, finding his courage somewhere. “Yes, my only living relations -that I’m aware of, at least- are Muggles and they despise magic. My Aunt, being the sister to my Mum, tolerates me being in her house just enough to be a free source of labor. Her husband -it feels so good not to claim him as an Uncle!- detests anything . . . well, everything really. Me, the government, me, banks, me, motorcycles, me, magic, me, so on and whatnot. My Cousin, the Pig-in-a-Wig, can’t get his jollies any other way than to be an absolute bully to everybody else. Growing up in that environment I could have easily turned into the last thing any Magical in Britain wants: a new Dark Lord more terrible than the last. Instead, I became that spineless wimp the lot of you have seen over the past year and change.”

“Spineless?” Hermione scoffed, forgetting about the witnesses around her. “You’re far from spineless Harry; indecisive on a large number of subjects yes. Always wanting to be normal and in the background, no doubt ingrained by those oh so loving people; yes. You faced Quirellmort by yourself and came out alive, something that I know for a fact I’d be far too scared to do.”

“Moving on,” McGonagall put the kibosh on the conversation that had grabbed the attention of the Gryffindors; although she did have an internal laugh at the name Quirellmort. “The rest of you seem to have no answer to my original question. Not even Miss Weasley’s roommates are saying anything nor do they appear to have anything to say. So, onto the Prefects: why did none of you notice?”

She moved on after a tense silence as those aforementioned Prefects looked at each other.

“All right, next on the agenda is what punishments should be handed out,” earned groans from the rest of the room alongside glares sent to the still unconscious Weasley.

“Yes, that’s right,” Harry wasn’t going to take that lying down. His sarcasm was so thick a Reducto wouldn’t damage it. “We all used that Diary and hid Ginger’s activities from the Staff so we must be punished. Yep-yep-yep; uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh . . . no, damn it! The rest of the House had nothing to do with the issue at hand and you know it. If you must, then the Flatulent Family and even myself yes because we . . . I dunno, know Short-Stack.”

His declaration made those that were on the Heir bandwagon feel even worse for he was asking to take their proverbial bullet. They knew he didn’t have the motivation to but did so anyway, which was a true display of his character.

“You’ve made your case,” his Head of House actually looked proud at his actions. “The Headmaster won’t hear of expulsion due to Miss Weasley not being in control of herself; he has however asked for something to be done to teach everybody the important lessons.” She noticed that his face fell, thinking of the one thing he would have to give up. “Oh no, none of the current team shall lose their spots; I’ll not have Severus Snape strutting about the Castle again thank you very much.”

“Well,” Neville started slowly, trying to put his thoughts to words, “for Ginny I’d say no Hogsmeade, no Prefecture, no Head-Girl, no Quidditch . . . no anything really for the rest of her time here. Beyond being tossed out that’s pretty much all that’s left.”

“Same for Ronald,” Alicia jumped in, having thought about it. “Well, obviously it’d be Head-Boy but you get the idea. He’s the closest to her in age after all and should have been the first one to notice something. Included in that would be no to student-run clubs for both.”

The Twins looked at each other, wondering what they had that they could cough up. From the way Lee was looking at them they knew that if need be they could also give up Hogsmeade and have him be their runner.

“Hogsmeade,” they offered at the same time, catching the attention of the rest of the House. “We know we’ll never be Prefects or Head-Boy and since you’ve guaranteed us Quidditch we’ll give up Hogsmeade.”

“Fair enough,” McGonagall would rather die than tell the two to their face that they’d just impressed her. It takes more courage to fall on one’s own sword after all. “Percival is hereby stripped of his Prefect status and shall not be eligible for Head-Boy next year.”

“Uh . . .” Harry started, only to get the stink eye from those around him.

“You, Mister Potter, have done enough lately,” the Professor looked sternly at him. “Not only did you expose the mess you cleaned it up; something that ‘Glitter Gums’ as you call him is beside himself over. It’s also something that we adults should have handled, instead relying on a now-Second Year to save the day yet again. Your punishment is simple; we’ll just not reward you for your efforts. Call it a break even if you must.”

“Good,” he breathed a sigh of relief, the words of the Headmaster from the beginning of term bouncing around his mind. “Yes, that’s good enough for me.”

“Excellent,” McGonagall gave a clap, still looking sternly at her Lions. “For the rest of you a warning; in the future do not let another situation like this occur. Now, if you’ll excuse me I see a pair of Weasley’s that need Pomfrey’s touch.”

Friday, April 30, 1993; 0700; Gryffindor Common Room

“Hurray!” Oliver Wood bellowed as he crossed through the portrait hole. “The Heads came into agreement just this morning to have our game tomorrow! Yes!”

The buzz of Quidditch after the mayhem the entire year had suffered was a welcome relief. This was the reason that Snape caved; when the other three Heads of House gang up on anybody they have a tendency to give in real quick. The students needed a break before the May crunch leading into the June testing took effect and the sport was the only true outlet a lot of the populace had.

That, and Oliver hounding said three Heads at God’s Hour of the morning work too. He’d never know that he’d even gotten Sprout angry enough to threaten Snape with a now-unneeded Mandrake.

“Good,” Harry nodded his head, before heading for the Great Hall and the food that awaited. There was no chance of a practice the day before a game as Madam Hooch had to go over each piece of spherical equipment checking for magic that wasn’t supposed to be there. Just doing that to the Snitch took half a day as the bloody thing kept trying to vanish.

“Wait for me,” Hermione called, careening down the stairs from the Girls Dorms at a good clip. She was strangely running a bit behind this morning, for reason as yet unknown.

Before the pair could exit the Common Room the portrait opened yet again to the sounds of sibling violence.

“Blast it! Why won’t you get off of me?!” Ron was in the process of trying to fight Ginny yet again.

“You paid zero attention in the Hospital Wing, didn’t you?” his sister snarled, reaching up behind her to try to crush his nose. “We’re bloody well stuck like this for the foreseeable future! Merlin, how embarrassing . . . at least I can’t see your wee-Ron when you have to go to the loo. And that had better be your wand poking my bum!”

“Perhaps Luna was right,” Harry spoke out of the right side of his mouth at Hermione, not wanting to attract the attention of the Ginger’s before being well fed and watered.

“Hm,” she grunted, also not wanting any attention from the pair. She was still conflicted as to what to feel about Ron; although knowing that he had a habit of running his mouth didn’t help his cause.

“Gah, don’t remind me!” Ron pulled a disgusted face. “Every bloody time you have to go I have to find a way to not be under you! At least I can stand up to pee!”

“Time to flee,” Harry grabbed Hermione’s left arm and virtually flew out of the portrait and down the stairs. “Sorry ‘bout that, but I really did not want to hear any more of that conversation.”

“Well if it isn’t Scarface!” Draco Malfoy sounded like a five year old with his insult, but this time Harry was ready with a comeback.

“Ooh, you wanna fuck wit’ me, eh? You wanna go to war? Eh?! Say ‘ello to my lil frien’!”

With that one of the large statues appeared from nowhere and walloped Draco across the top of the head knocking him out. The rest of the Great Hall was in stillness before the roar of laughter drowned out the disgruntled noises from Snape.

“Good one, Harry!” the Twins boomed their approval to be heard for even the Slytherins were having difficulties holding their mirth in.

“Excellent use of a movie reference,” Hermione was holding up a card that read 9.5. “You missed the perfect score by enunciation only, the rest was perfect.”

“Well, he did set it up for me,” Harry had the grace to appear bashful to which most of the Hall heard as they’d quieted just long enough to hear.

“Bravo!” Luna cheered, her card having the perfect ten on it. “Splendid execution!”

“Ugh, stupid Half-Blood!” Marcus Flint bellowed, waving a fist dramatically.

“Odd; last time I had it checked Pomfrey said my blood was full,” Harry retorted, before turning to the Matron. “Is this true?! Does my body operate at only half-capacity?!”

“What-?!” Peregrine Derrick looked as confused as he sounded, the joke going right over his head.

“And the boy named after a bird speaks!” Harry deadpanned, “Seriously, why are you named after a species of falcon? They’re supposed to be smart too.” Ignoring the spluttering now coming from the Slytherin he turned back to Pomfrey, who was now shaking her head at Malfoy’s prone body. “Well? Is my blood capacity only at half or not?!”

“Are you kidding?” the Matron wasn’t in the mood to deal with children and their mayhem today. “Of course not boy! You’d be in a coma near death if that was the case!”

“There you go Mucus Flinger . . . I mean Marcus Flint,” he turned to point at the named boy, giving him a new nickname to boot. “Now, unless there are any other interruptions I’m going to have my breakfast. If anybody that I normally don’t talk to wants to bother me, take it up with my statues. Luna, Hermione sit here.” He pointed at the open spot at the Gryffindor table.

“Why’s Loony sitting here?!” the voice of Ron Weasley drifted in the doors as he and his sister -being stuck to his chest she had no choice in the matter as her feet were off the floor- made their appearance.

“Look everybody; Scrotum-Boy and Sphincter-Girl have arrived! All hail!” Hermione got the words out just as Harry was turning to look at one of his statues.

“What?” Ron had no clue what people were calling him now. Ginny, on the other hand, had a brain in her head thus she understood where her name came from.

“If it isn’t Harry Plopper!” she tried -rather poorly too at that- to insult Harry, which in turn earned her a nice rebuttal.

“Where’s the rest of the Flatulent Family?” he wondered out loud, even as a pair of animated armor appeared to move the stuck together gingers along.

From there, breakfast was boring. That was until Gilderoy Lockhart, now known throughout the Castle as Glitter Gums, swung by and issued a detention to Hermione for no reason at all. His behavior was strange, but as Snape was known to do something similar nothing much could be said. Not that the action didn’t earn a set of narrowed eyes from Luna and Harry; quite the contrary the pair were now sitting up and taking notice of the odd behavior.

“Keep your wits about you,” Harry had leaned over to stare Hermione in the eye from close range. “Something is strange about that idiot; I don’t know if he’s fishing for his newest book or is doing this as a means to get back at me for the nickname.”

“I’ll be fine Harry,” she resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he was giving her the male version of the Puppy Dog Eyes; with his eyes it was a very effective weapon in his arsenal. “You worry far too much; however since I know that you worry because you care let me borrow one of your animated statues.”

“Can I get a couple?” Luna looked excited at having her own personal guard lingering about. When he turned his eyes on her she felt like he was reading her mind before his platoon of silver plated marble statues arrived and herded the Ravenclaws out of the Great Hall.

“Yes, you may; even though by the time you get up to your Tower you’ll have your stuff back,” he pounded the table with a clenched fist. “Bunch of low-life thieves they are; taking your stuff just because you have a different view of the world.”

Luna paused briefly before smiling a million candlepower smile; this was what friendship was all about. Hermione looked scandalized at first before her look softened, also giving Harry one of her special smiles.

Still, for all of that, Harry’s mind was on Lockhart and just what the man was up to. Even though his connection to the Higher Plane was fixed he couldn’t go willy-nilly into people’s minds. Some research and discrete questioning of the rest of the student body -along with the Book of Detentions- was in order. Hopefully the bad feeling wouldn’t pan out but it if did . . .

The rest of the Great Hall paused when the entire room shook for a moment before going back to their conversations.

1930 same Day; Gryffindor Common Room

Harry had just finished putting the finishing touches on his homework for the week, which was a good thing as it freed him up to commune with the Castle. It was strange, he reflected, to be mentally talking to an Artificial Intelligence that nobody else knew of.

The entire day had been rather dull; Herbology, Charms and Transfiguration passing without fuss which was a first. He’d earned more than a few shrewd looks for his silent casting; it got downright bizarre when he did that wandless too. The looks had changed to glee for the points he earned, jealousy that nobody else could match his casting, to belief that he was effectively showing off.

A good laugh happened at lunch when Draco Malfoy opened his mouth to fire off his tried and true Scar reference only to pause in thought. This surprised many for it was assumed that the boy didn’t have enough brain matter in his head to remember what happened the last time he tried that. Matters weren’t hurt by the arrival of Hermione and her statue -this one transfigured into a woman while keeping the fierce look-, which promptly trod on his right foot. His jumping about on one leg, howling in pain was simply classic in the eyes of many.

Dinner had come and gone, which involved a nice get-together with Luna as the three got caught up on their day. Then Hermione had her random detention, which Harry was really uncertain about after his bit of research.

By the Book of Detentions, Gilderoy Lockhart had various girls of varying age at least once a week in his domain for no justifiable reason. None were safe, regardless of House, Year or even Parentage. Harry had taken the time to track a few of the girls down; when they stated that they had no memory of a detention with the DADA Professor he became instantly alert. Directing them, either by persuasion or animated statue (read as: no choice in the matter) to Pomfrey confirmed the worst thoughts going through his mind.

Each girl had been Obliviated. Whatever memory had been erased earned a frown; the fact that the Matron turned white then red in rage earned mobilization of the animated warriors in the Castle. Harry wasn’t dumb enough to go charging in; thus why he was communing with the AI in Hogwarts.

Not even five minutes into his mental watching of the detention did he bolt for the portrait hole; Lockhart had immobilized Hermione’s guard statue before beginning to paw at her robes.

“Youth are so succulent,” Lockhart had pinned her in a corner, “so . . . fresh, untainted by the world. You, my dear, earned special attention. No, no; not just because of being friends with Harry Potter. Your intelligence is astounding; the things you could come up with in that mind of yours is so tempting. Now we add in your friendship to the Boy-Who-Lived; oh yes,” he took delight at her panicked expression, “that blasted boy who ruined my chance to create a masterpiece! All somebody had to do was die a heroic death, where I could swoop in a claim to do exactly what he did. But no~; he not only solved the mystery, he slew the beast and cured those that had been attacked! All where I couldn’t take credit for it; all where I couldn’t get my glory! Well, he’s not going to save you this time . . . oh no, there’ll be no heroics rescue of the damsel in distress today. I’ve been watching you since Halloween; I see the way you look at Mister Potter and since I can’t take the glory I’ll just take something else that he isn’t even aware of! Then, just to make it perfect, I’ll erase our little rendezvous from your mind . . . unless you’re really good, then I might just find a way to keep you forever.”

It’s been said that never-do-wells talk too much at the wrong time; every level of villainy has the incessant need to gloat and detail their plans before they execute them. This bragging, combined with the natural order of things in which the good guys survive, lead to more information leaks than spies could ever hope to accomplish.

Hermione had heard enough and drew her wand in preparation for a fight; she had great motivation in regards to surviving this encounter completely intact in the literal sense.

Her preparations turned out to be unneeded. Just as Lockhart -she refused to call him a Professor any longer- made to Banish their clothing to who-knows-where the outer door to the DADA classroom turned into so much shrapnel. Both had time to blink owlishly at each other before the same thing happened to the door to the office; there, magic swirling around him was one angry Harry Potter.

That image by itself would, in the future, inspire fear in anybody on the receiving end. Combined with the platoon of animated statues -and the shouting Staff behind them, hoping to stop Harry before he did something entirely rash- he made for a sight to behold.

“You . . . picked the wrong girl to try this on,” his voice was flat, eyes narrowed into a glare that put the best from Snape to shame. “You got sloppy Glitter Gums; between the Book of Detentions and the victims themselves there’s enough evidence to see you tossed through the Veil . . . that’s from this year alone! I would ask if there’s a shred of compassion in that body of yours; that would be a wasted effort judging by the eight pregnant girls with no memory of how they got that way.” Hermione had taken the distraction for what it was and promptly ran between Harry and his statues. Lockhart was absolutely terrified and was trembling as Albus Dumbledore announced his presence . . . alongside Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Stop him-! Amelia, you grab Gilderoy while I try to distract Harry,” the Headmaster was saying, knowing that young Potter’s entire focus was on the . . . person in front of him. Calling the soon to be former Professor a man was just asking too much.

“Get me out of here!” Hermione had started crying, a sure-fire way to intensify Harry’s anger. She began pulling him towards the remains of the door. “Please, just get me back to the Tower.”

“Gilderoy Lockhart, you have five seconds to remove yourself from Hogwarts before the statues do it for you,” he snarled as he walked backwards. “And they’ll do it by taking your head off of your shoulders!”

The frozen female statue came back to life, grabbing Hermione and frog-marching her out the door freeing Harry. There was no way that he would let her see this.

“Second year in a row I’ve tangled with a corrupt DADA teacher,” he grumbled, watching as Dumbledore and McGonagall Transfigured a giant stone box around the platoon of animated warriors. While they worked Amelia Bones was rushing Lockhart in the direction of the Floo; it was the nearest exit and would ensure the man lived long enough to see justice.

At the mental count of five, just as Madam Bones was tossing Floo powder and calling out her destination the rest of the statues moved. The Professors started casting a wide array of magic, hoping to counter the offensive but as the statues were designed with combat in mind they proved to be nigh on impervious. Madam Bones had turned from the Floo, getting ready to shove Lockhart through when one of the animated guardians threw its halberd like a spear straight into the now-former man’s crotch.

He started screaming bloody murder at the loss of his junk as he was tackled into the magical equivalent of a wormhole. The halberd had fallen out, leaving the wound to bleed freely. Silence fell after the abrupt departure; Harry was still steaming mad and ready to go a few rounds with somebody, anybody . . . hell, even Voldemort would do.

“Touch a child that way!” he roared, his magic lashing out at the deactivated Floo destroying the fireplace. “Piece of shite cock-sucking son of a bitch!”

With his rather vulgar ranting done with he stormed out of the office for the Tower, knowing that Hermione was in need of his presence. The Prefects that were on patrol fled for their lives as he glided through the halls, robes billowing and followed by his statues. Peeves appeared for all of two seconds before being turned into a block of ice from his glare. Snape had caught a glimpse of him but refrained from making himself a target, knowing that the temper he was seeing was all Lily Evans.

The Fat Lady, upon seeing his approach, opened the portrait without the password to save herself from the wild magic still flowing from Harry’s body.

The scene inside the Common Room was of anarchy; Hermione had unceremoniously been marched in crying by her personal guard statue and the Gryffindors were up in arms. It got worse when all they could get out of her was “Lockhart” and “Harry”, leading them to believe something foul was afoot. Then Potter appeared, looking ready to physically throw people out of the window. As soon as she saw him she was wrapped around him in a fierce hug, bawling her eyes out.

It took him until midnight to calm her down, threatening a trip to Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep if she didn’t at least try to get some shut-eye. The pair wound up falling asleep on the couch in front of the fire.

“He got away too lightly,” was the last thing she’d heard him growl, making his opinion on people that would do that to children known.

“If the Ministry doesn’t do it; I’ll kill him.”

TBC

Right, and that’s that. Not quite happy with this piece, but I’ve gotta forge ahead somehow and this was one of the better ways to do it. Now to take a little time to myself then onward!

Props to all readers/reviewers!
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