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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
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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: None at this time, except the usual notice of my forum being up and running. Yes, I’m going to hound people until they show up if for no other reason than to tell me to shut up.

Left Behind, Part Three

By: (Driver) Jim Ohki

0715; Monday May 3, 1993; Hogwarts Great Hall

“Excellent nosh,” Harry appeared to be hungry as he loaded his plate to the gills with breakfast foods. He set aside half a rasher of bacon for Hedwig, who was gliding in for her perfect landing on his right side.

For those that had paid any attention over the almost two years since his return to the Magical World, seeing him go all out on food was a new experience. Those that really knew him on the other hand knew that he was distracting himself.

Only one knew, at the current time, why he was doing so. Hermione Granger hadn’t been seen all weekend by the rest of the school except Harry, igniting all kinds of rumors that the pair ignored. Now that she’d resurfaced for food -nobody knew if she’d eaten in the past two days- just about every eye in the Hall was on their persons.

Half of the food migrating from his plate to hers answered that question.

Hermione looked terrible, having had night terrors thanks to the actions of Gilderoy Lockhart. The Hogwarts rumor mill was churning out scenarios left, right and center in regards to the now-missing DADA Professor. Somehow, more than likely Albus Dumbledore trying to save face, the ‘behind closed doors’ actions of the blond fop were unknown to those that didn’t need to know.

“Eat,” Harry commanded, which coming from a twelve year old voice wasn’t as impressive as it would be later in life. He could feel the eyes of many on his person but pushed the annoyance the gawkers generated away by focusing on his best friend. If their roles had been reversed, he would still be focusing on her in an effort to ignore his own problems; which was another of the nasty ingrained habits from his . . . housemates. The thought of the Dursley’s reminded him to send them a letter informing the three that they were not his family and were on their own. Once that crossed his mind, he realized that he had no clue what holdings were awaiting his attention at Gringott’s and made a mental note to find out.

“Not really hungry,” she mumbled, face buried in his left shoulder as she was sitting on that side. Part of her mind, that wasn’t distracted by those in the Great Hall with nothing better to do but stare, was awed at his ability to ignore the masses with aplomb. Her arms had snaked their way around his torso, using the boy as a security blanket. If there was one thing that had been steady in the close to two years she’d been in the Magical World it was Harry Potter, even if their friendship started over the knocked-out body of a Troll.

“Eat,” he repeated in the same tone, while holding a fork loaded with eggs in her direction with his right hand. In this instance he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

She gave in, having issued her token resistance and took the offering. Being nearly a year older had its perks; one of them was the now giggling budding-romantic within the deepest reaches of her mind. There was no denying that what he was doing was sweet; even those with nothing better to do but watch the pair could say that. Of course there were those that sneered at the public display of affection but elected to keep their peace for the time being.

Harry Potter had gotten scary, almost overnight. Going after the girl attached to his person wasn’t conductive to one’s health, they figured.

As he held a piece of bacon up to Hermione’s mouth, the attention of the Hall had shifted to the doors as the still-stuck together Weasleys appeared. Today, the freckles on Ginny’s face were displaying ‘Dumb and Dumber’ while her expression was set in a scowl, which was strange considering the green tint to her skin tone.

“It’s official,” she declared to nobody, grumbling the entire time. “My brother is the grossest person on the planet. Got woken up at five by his arse sounding like a foghorn.”

“Would you shut up already?” Ron had spent enough time with his sister; he wanted freedom any way he could get. He had even contemplated venturing into the Acromantula nest he’d heard rumors about and letting the spiders eat her. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d have zero alibi at the moment he probably would have too, no matter how much terror he felt at the sight of the eight-legged beasts.

“Yes,” Harry’s face was set in stone, as though agreeing with Ron was the last thing he wanted to do; either that or he didn’t want to hear anymore about body functions. “We get it; your family suffers from some right nasty flatulence. Kindly take your . . . uh; Ronald, kindly take your attachment somewhere far, far away from me. Preferably the other side of the Castle.”

“Food!” the youngest male Weasley objected immediately, not wanting to lose out on the goodness that was supplied by the Hogwarts kitchens. His ex-friend had made his stance on the youngest of the brood quite clear and wasn’t about to argue the point. Not with so many witnesses around to see him go down in flames again.

“Here’s some Floo powder,” was the sarcastic comeback, although Harry didn’t move so as not to disturb Hermione. “Call somebody that cares.”

“Zing!” the Twins were clearly amused. Fred and George had sat down to have a serious conversation the night before. While family was family, so long that Harry didn’t start any altercations they’d leave him in peace. It didn’t hurt that the boy in question had talked to them after the Quidditch match -which they’d owned Hufflepuff, four hundred to nothing, giving Wood an orgasm from having the Cup- and told them to their faces that he’d leave their siblings alone if the two youngest did the same to him. They had learned from Percy that he’d hunted the ex-Prefect down and said the same to him.

Ron’s face had gone red, knowing that the event he was hoping to avoid had come to pass anyway. He could almost feel the metaphorical flames as his social standing burned. It was bad enough that the Headmaster had liked the punishment suggestions and expanded them a bit: neither he nor Ginny could even go to the Quidditch games, forget playing in them. He was rather upset that Neville of all people was the one to hang the pair out to dry.

Ginny, being more in touch with reality that didn’t involve her stomach, was far more aware of the stigma that was now attached to Percy, Ron and herself. As the first female Weasley in generations she’d entered Hogwarts a bit higher on the social ladder than Ron had. Now they were in the proverbial basement, looking up at everybody as the only way out was retracted. She and Percy were well aware of the fact that what they accomplished in school followed them into the real world. While his dream job at the Ministry was toast all she had to look forward to was being a clone of her mother: a dumpy-looking housewife with children crawling out of her ears. Of course, she’d have to find somebody to overlook her stupidity in using a cursed diary without consulting anybody about it before even that came to pass.

It was even worse for the youngest pair of gingers as they’d gotten the confirmed vote of no-confidence from the one at the top of the social hierarchy -even if he wasn’t aware of being at said top. If that didn’t kill their chances of a life in school being banned from everything but classes finished them off.

Hermione had let her hair fall over her eyes, shading them from view so she could slyly watch her one-time friend and his carry-along baggage that was his sister. The choice was a no-brainer for anybody in taking Harry’s side, even if she did try to get him to see reason. She was of the belief that everybody should get along, if even stoically. That was before her close encounter with disaster; now she just wanted the loudmouth to go away and leave her feeder in peace. It was strange; he had kept alternating between feeding himself, her and Hedwig without missing a beat.

Several sets of eyes belonging to witches around the Great Hall had been envisioning themselves in her place, being taken care of. They knew, being plugged into the gossip network in one form or another, that her behavior had radically changed after her detention with Lockhart . . . which was around the last time he’d been seen in the Castle. Without knowing what went on during that time they couldn’t put the entire puzzle together.

Ron had spent so much time waffling, trying to argue without arguing that when he finally worked Ginny and himself onto the bench breakfast was over. The food disappeared before either could grab anything; leaving them with wide, watering eyes at the unfairness of it all.

The Great Hall emptied as the students headed to their respective classes, glad to be back in a stable routine with no threats of death lingering about. Each observed five ‘person’ squads of armor and statues on patrol, increasing the feeling of security.

The Second Year Gryffindors had their double Potions lesson this morning. The trek into the Dungeons was odd for the rest of the House as Harry and Hermione followed for a bit before turning into a different door -which happened to lead to Slughorn’s old classroom. Before anybody could follow, even the Slytherins, Harry reappeared for a moment to give the students an amused smirk then slammed the door shut.

“Hermione, this is Professor Horace Slughorn,” he introduced the two, before turning to his private teacher. “We’ll need to start from scratch I’m afraid; Snape hasn’t even gone over basic safety let alone any prep work that needs to be done before brewing.”

The rotund man gave a sigh, looking disappointed at somebody -more than likely his Prodigy student failing so much as a teacher, or maybe even the Headmaster for allowing it- before waving the pair over to a workstation.

Hermione learned more about Potions in five minutes with her new instructor than she had in almost two years with the ‘Bat of the Dungeons’. Even she was unaware of some of the prep-work involved with the subtle art; her cauldron for example had stress micro-fractures on the inside which trapped tiny bits of previous brews. Because the breaks were so small she couldn’t see them thus didn’t know to clean them out, which in turn caused her potions to be off from perfect. As it was she needed a new one owning to the fact that the last usage opened up one of the cracks clean through to the base. She learned how much of a hazard that was as a mixture of two years worth of potions -not even enough to be seen with the naked eye, but there none the less- landed in the fire creating a vertical flash-firestorm colored burgundy.

Harry’s cauldron wasn’t in any better shape, for he had the same amount of previous attempts at brewing caked under the rim. This would in turn flake every time it was heated ruining his work.

As they moved over to the storage cupboard that contained brand-new pewter cauldrons they heard shouting from down the hall.

“Weasley!” thundered Snape, “It’s bad enough you dragged your sister into a class she can’t participate in but then you try to dunk her head in your half-brained attempt at Wiggenweld?! Which, I might add, looks to be the exact opposite of what it should be and would no doubt melt the skin off of her skull!”

“But-!” they could hear their former friend try to defend himself, not that he had much of a chance.

“Idiot boy!” was loud enough to be clearly heard, instead of the original slightly muffled effect. “No, don’t even look in that direction! I don’t want to hear, see, or think about Saint Potter and his ‘private teacher’! Detention for the rest of the year; you’ll be cleaning cauldrons with your toothbrush!”

Putting the goings on three doors down out of their heads, Harry and Hermione continued to learn everything that had been left out of their previous experience. The noise was turned into another practical lesson; not only in how to ignore the surroundings when in the middle of brewing but also demonstrating why magic shouldn’t be used around unfinished potions.

“In the winter,” Slughorn had a cauldron on the fire at his station as a visual aid, “you might be tempted to cast Warming Charms around your laboratory. Doing so is a very dangerous idea; observe the flames here when the charm is applied.”

The adjustable fire changed colors from the soft yellow to an angry orange, indicating that they had eaten the magic for fuel which superheated the cauldron quickly. Five seconds later it cracked like an egg, spilling boiling water onto the work surface. The water actually spread the fire instead of putting it out since it had a different fuel source.

“As you can see,” their Professor had what looked like an out of control situation corralled quickly, “not only did the cauldron shatter from being heated too fast, but in this case the plain water spread the fire around. If this had been an actual potion at a volatile stage there could have been any number of effects. Explosions; conversions to gas, scalding vapor, and poisons just to name a few. This is one of the reasons why magic and potion brewing don’t mix.”

The pair of students looked at each other, wondering how close to disaster they had come.

“What about bluebell fire?” Hermione asked, getting into the lesson thus being closer to normal.

“Ah, excellent question!” another cauldron went onto the stand on a different table once clean up of the first was finished. “If you would please?” It was different seeing the blue flames just sitting there, looking innocent instead of lighting Professors on fire.

“Now, some would argue that conjuring your own fire doesn’t hurt the brewing process,” Slughorn had turned serious. “While this is true to an extent, there are other factors to take into account. First and foremost is that you cannot adjust temperatures with the fake fire. Unlike the burners we use today you can’t point a wand at a conjured flame and turn the heat it produces up or down. So potions that require different temperatures inside the cauldron can’t be made this way. Next is the amount of power put into the spell. Eventually the flames will go out, if you weren’t paying much attention to the conjuring process -say instead, focusing on the potion you needed- the flame might vanish when you really need it ruining your work. Finally is the fact that it’s a magical fire, which does interfere with some brewing processes.”

Again looking at each other, Harry and Hermione silently answered various questions about Polyjuice that they couldn’t ask either Potion Master, being that the brew was restricted.

The class of three -two students and one teacher- continued along this vein for the double period. One thing that a lot of outsiders believed is that the times of the classes matched those of the Mundane world. This was so far from the truth to be laughable.

Every class started at eight in the morning going to nine forty-five, giving students fifteen minutes to motor their way across the Castle to get to the next class. Double periods used that time as a break, before class resumed from ten until eleven forty-five. The lunch rush, staggered depending on openings, started as early as eleven and didn’t end until twelve forty-five. This gave every student at least half an hour to eat then fifteen minutes to get to their next class. Then the last two class slots of the day -one to quarter to three then three to quarter to five- before dinner then either free time or a nap for Astronomy at midnight.

How the staff operated, getting in each class was a mystery to those that actually thought about it. Every year had free periods, off days and alternating in the school week depending on their course load. Still, time was of the essence when seven years worth of children were in one location to be taught by twelve teachers -even though one of those was dead and could teach nothing else.

When the double ended, the pair made their way to the Tower to drop off their morning supplies, grab what they’d need for the afternoon -Charms and Herbology today- before heading down to lunch.

Waiting for them just inside the portrait hole was Ron Weasley. Ginny didn’t have much choice in the matter, still being unable to move about under her own power being stuck to her brother’s chest.

“Another day with a rampaging Snape!” he roared, earning the attention of those in the Common Room. “You just had to be even more special than usual didn’t you?! Oh no, can’t bloody well share good things with others! Selfish bastard you are Potter, you take, take and take some more without giving anything back! Bah, if you’d never been born the world would be a better place!”

“Oh really?” his voice was so cold people across the room shivered. “You honestly believe that if I hadn’t been born the world would be better? Yeah, what about that guy named Tom Riddle? You know, him; the guy that was on a tear killing people for a laugh? Voldemort? Yeah, I see you get it now-”

“Would you quit saying his name?!” the ginger interrupted him, looking apoplectic in rage. “Nearly two years it’s always coming out of your mouth, like you’re invulnerable to it! Why couldn’t you have died with your parents? Or better yet, if you’d never been born they’d still be ali-GURK!”

“Do not speak of what you do not know, Weasley,” Harry had reached over Ginny’s head to grip Ron’s throat as tightly as he could. The other Gryffindors were frozen in place, having been watching like any human being would. They got a clue about the rage by the door not only when he started choking his ex-friend but when the window -magic-proofed due to being so high above the ground- shattered. The statue-guards that had been absent appeared from nowhere, even as Ron started turning blue.

Just as McGonagall -summoned by the alarm on the window to prevent students falling out- arrived she was treated to the sight of Harry Potter giving a glowing-eyes glare at Ron Weasley as he tossed the boy out the portrait hole by his neck.

“You are no Gryffindor,” his voice was as hard as any had ever heard, which given the events of the past few days was saying something. “If I could I would toss you out of the gates; right now your only saving grace is your carry-on baggage stuck to your chest. Come near me again and you will not like the consequences. This can evolve into a Feud, so you understand how serious this is.”

The last statement was a shocker for those listening. There hadn’t been a declared Feud in two centuries -strangely, it was a Potter versus a Weasley then too- in the school. Then they took sight of Ron’s robes, which had lost the Gryffindor crest. In its place was a generic Hogwarts patch, although the Lion was looking to the left. The Eagle, Badger and Snake were looking to the right as was the original design.

“You are now considered Houseless,” once Harry uttered the words Ron’s trunk and belongings appeared. “The Lion looking left is the symbol of the rejected as you are not worthy of our time. You had better figure out a way to get Ginny . . . wait, what do I care? Right, have fun being the pariahs of Hogwarts.” Then he turned to the Fat Lady, completely ignoring McGonagall as she went from student to student getting the story. “These two are barred from the Tower; do not open for them or if they are anywhere nearby.”

“And who are you to-?” the portrait started to protest, before the Castle intervened and changed her tune. “Right, sorry about that. The system is backlogged from the Diary and Basilisk running amok all these months. If you need to talk to the Castle any portrait will do. Your instructions are acknowledged in regards to the youngest Weasleys.”

“Mister Potter!” the Head of House was completely exasperated now. Ever since his sojourn the week previous he’d been running roughshod on just about everybody. The situation was far enough out of control as it was; she’d have to inform Dumbledore of just what both boys said and did.

“What’s going on here?” the Weasley Twins appeared, looking between the small crowd. Their youngest siblings were still on the floor in the corridor, Harry and Hermione were off to one side and McGonagall was looking agitated. They’d gotten word from a scared Fourth Year that Potter was going to toss Ron and Ginny out of the window in the Tower -seven floors above the ground.

“Your brother had to go that one step further,” Harry told them of exactly what had been shouted in his face for all and sundry to hear. “So, are we still square or is this going to be a problem?”

“Let us,” George was fidgety, knowing and not liking where the situation might end up at.

“write Mum,” Fred was just like his twin, unable to stand still due to anxiety.

“Fine; I get a Howler from her and it’ll be a Blood Feud,” he warned the pair, before gesturing them into the Common Room.

For all of the mayhem, Hermione hadn’t so much as twitched nor had she left Harry’s side. This assertive Harry was still a novel experience for her, and while she liked it she had to wonder just where his boundaries were now.

Unnoticed by the Head of House or the pair of students the youngest Weasleys headed for the Great Hall, wanting lunch first since they’d yet to eat this day.

“May I have your time now?” McGonagall’s sarcasm was thick, giving her stern look at maximum power.

“Ah, right,” Harry had the decency to be sheepish. “Sorry about that; it’s just that he went into a rant about me and my parents.”

“I gathered that from the other students,” her visage didn’t soften in the least. “What I want to know is what happened to the window?”

At this he looked lost, turning to silently inquire with Hermione to see if she knew what was going on. Seeing an equally confused look he turned back to the Professor and shrugged, before giving her a real answer.

“I didn’t notice anything different,” from his lack of hesitation and stuttering he was being truthful. That was one of the tells to his not being forthright with people. Another was his tone of voice; he didn’t try to be innocent when he wasn’t under scrutiny.

“Accidental magic then; powerful at that,” McGonagall muttered to herself, before zoning back in to the conversation. “All right, on to another matter. Why did you get physically violent with Mister Weasley,” she had to hold up her hand as he’d opened his mouth to argue, “and then banish him from Gryffindor House? Notwithstanding the comments about your family.”

“Huh,” at first, he was in thought; the way she had phrased the question made him stop and think before going off on a tangent. She was one of the few Staff that had figured out how to talk to Potter without earning his ire. “Y’know . . . I don’t really know why myself. Granted, he’s been going off at the mouth since Hermione was petrified about me being the child of Voldemort,” he ignored the double-person flinch, “or some such rot. Then he goes and insinuates that it’s my fault my parents are dead by being born. Well, taking shots at me I can deal with; bring my parents into the picture and the wand comes out -so to speak.”

“Before you ask ‘how?’,” he continued, taking a look around the corridor, “I was able to eject him from the House without approval from anybody . . . my best guess is that my genealogy makes me owner of the Castle and Grounds. Beyond that, all I said was that he was no Gryffindor.” He looked his Head of House in the eye, noting her surprise. “In truth, all Four of them but let me see what I can do about rebuilding Sal’s reputation. I really need to find or make a family tree . . .,” he trailed off in thought.

“Why are you so angry lately?” Hermione’s voice was soft, fearing that she might bring that emotion down on herself. She was relieved when instead of shouting, cursing or otherwise being a preteen with attitude he looked thoughtful as if just understanding there was a problem. What she didn’t know was that McGonagall had been fishing for the answer to that question without being as blunt as children can be.

“I need a break,” Harry declared from nowhere, earning raised eyebrows from the pair. He elaborated, seeing their confusion. “This whole year has been . . . it’s too much. First was Dobby stopping my mail over the summer; then there was this Heir business; add in a Basilisk; Dobby again, this time trying to injure me to the point I’d be sent elsewhere . . . you,” he looked at his best friend, “being petrified then learning that Ginevra was the one attacking people. It doesn’t matter one lick to me that she was coerced; she should have known better than to use a magical diary that had somebody else’s name on it.”

“The students being unable to make up their minds,” he continued after a pause, eyes now glazed over as he reviewed the year to date. “Who I thought was my best mate instead becomes the leader of the Anti-Potter Club; did either of you know I caught him trying to petition for my expulsion?” Their shocked faces were enough of an answer. “The rest of the school being uneasy around me worked in my favor -in that case- as they feared what would happen if I really got mad. Then, to top everything this year: Lockhart. That’s all I have to say on that subject. Finding out things I should have known before I showed up last year . . . like I said, it’s just too much and I need a break.”

His explanation was logical for a change, instead of his usual waffling, half-truths and silence. The end of April had indeed been extremely stressful for numerous parties, which was why May opened with Quidditch. For some, it was enough of an outlet while others, like Harry, were still wound up rather tightly.

“Still,” McGonagall almost appeared reluctant but forged ahead, “you cannot behave as you have been lately to either the students or the staff. The Headmaster has been rather distracted of late with the Board, trying to justify his position throughout the year but has taken a few moments to have me relay a message. While your standing has improved since the start of the year do not push your luck any further.”

He got the underlying message that while he wouldn’t be expelled, if he didn’t mellow his attitude he’d be in severe trouble. Since it was one of his favorite teachers -Flitwick was another, and so long that Slughorn stayed professional he’d make the list too- that was the one speaking to him he listened.

Hermione felt a moment of panic, before her mind also decoded the statement for what had to be said but shouldn’t in a corridor. Having heard the tale of the Flying Car at the start of first term she was aware that both Harry and Ron had been warned of expulsion if they didn’t shape up. At one point she and Harry had sat down and figured out why the Headmaster would utter such a warning: the Ministry had to fix one of his mistakes and thusly it couldn’t be swept under the rug by Dumbledore. The two decided to take the Statute of Secrecy far more seriously afterwards; especially when he mentioned the warning from the Underage Magic Office thanks to Dobby.

It was disappointing; because of the Restriction of Underage Magic she couldn’t show her parents what she’d been learning over the ten months she was at the school. She had heard that the rule was changed in nineteen eighty-seven after a First Generation was not only seen by somebody outside of the family; that person had also been extremely religious and murdered the student that night claiming Satanism and the usual nonsense that goes with Witchcraft.

That was one of the few rule changes to protect First Borns -more like the secret of magic as a whole, but still- that the Ministry passed with little fuss. Having been exposed to the Pure-Blood Propaganda Machine for nearly two years she could easily see that the Elitists/Extremists were told the change took away Muggle-Born rights. Like sheep to slaughter, they followed the shepherd.

When she told Harry of the rule change, he had remembered his Aunt’s rant about his Mum performing magic at home. Now knowing why he’d get a warning for something as simple as a Hover Charm in the presence of ‘Muggles in the know’, he decided to try his hardest to perform no magic when in their world -unless he absolutely had to.

Although, he did have to admit it was strange. Once those new to magic hit their Majority they could use magic wherever, whenever. That part of the rules made no sense to either of them.

“That will be all,” McGonagall brought them both out of their introspective moods. “Better get a move on if you want lunch.”

“Right,” Harry agreed, turning to the portrait which opened without the password again. “Thank you for the talk Professor; I feel . . . lighter? Relieved? I’m not sure what, but I do feel like weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.”

“You’re welcome Mister Potter,” she gave her tight-lipped smile; the one that people miss if they aren’t looking for it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me; I need to see to a pair of Weasleys.”

The pair switched out their morning class materials for the afternoon then made haste for the Great Hall. When they arrived they found Luna waiting for them at the ‘head’ of the table. This was the end furthest from the doors, which signified the standing of the students.

Ron and Ginny were in the first seat nearest the doors, an island unto themselves for nobody was closer than ten seats away. Percy was absent, more than likely trying to save his relationship as Penelope Clearwater was nowhere to be found either.

As Harry approached the end of the table a plush overstuffed wingback appeared, quite literally with his name on it. This earned raised eyebrows and looks of shock for the students paying attention. Shrugging, he gestured Hermione to sit on his left and Luna on his right, which put them on the end of the benches raising their status amongst the populace significantly.

Over at the Ravenclaw table the tormentors of Lovegood were suddenly very afraid for their well being. It had been bad enough when the animated statues forced them to return the blonds’ belongings; now Potter was saying she was his right hand witch. They knew that messing with her in the future would bring him into the mix, and if the rumor mill was correct he’d literally thrown Ron Weasley out of Gryffindor completely.

If he could do that to his once-friend, what would he do to those he never liked to begin with?

The Hufflepuffs took one look at what was going on and went back to their lunch. Most of the pretense behind them being duffers was that they didn’t stick their nose into other peoples’ business . . . unless they had a valid reason to. Some of the Badgers were downright terrified of Harry’s reaction to them giving him grief over the Heir of Slytherin mayhem. His lack of doing anything straight away was making them paranoid, wondering when he would get tired of putting them off and come rampaging into their territory. The sudden movement of the armor and statues at his command didn’t help at all either.

The Slytherins were stoic, taking in the new arrangement with aplomb. One in particular could double as a kiwi again; Draco Malfoy had been laughing at the Weasleys before Potter arrived. When that custom chair -and the mostly overlooked polished gold place setting- appeared, his jealousy monster went berserk. He had known before First Year that the Boy-Who-Lived -if he had chosen to- could sit anywhere he wanted without a care in the world. When he stuck to wherever Weasel number six was, never further along than halfway to the Staff Table, he and others believed that Potter was mocking them. Each and every Pure-Blood that had ambitions for the future saw the wasted opportunities not only to acquaint himself to those with power but also that he never even acknowledged his station.

That had apparently changed, as the last of the Potter’s turned to have a conversation with Susan Bones who wasn’t that far away even if she was at the Hufflepuff table.

Thirty feet away, the youngest of the Weasley brood turned to look at the sounds of laughter coming from near the Head Table. They hadn’t noticed when Harry nor Hermione had arrived; now seeing them sitting as far away as possible was just depressing. Ron had used up all of his anger and got absolutely nowhere, while Ginny had applied some brainpower into keeping quiet. She was certain -to herself, at least- that some time down the line Harry would wake up and see what he was missing out on. Then she could have her revenge denying him.

She had no idea just how long a wait that would be.

Lunch ended without much fuss, McGonagall having found her targets and delivering a message that nobody else in the Hall could hear. From the expression on Ginny’s face she was utterly devastated about something; Harry couldn’t care less but offered the loss of her dorm -and potential friends- as an explanation to the gossip network plug-in that was Lavender.

Since Herbology was either the last class of the day -bar Astronomy- or had free periods following to allow students a chance to get cleaned up before either being in a confined space or eating, the Second Year Gryffindors headed for Charms. The timing of the class on their schedule couldn’t be better as Harry and Hermione had some questions about the subject, having thought about what Slughorn had imparted onto them.

This would also be the first time they had to be in the same room with the stuck-together dynamic duo without much choice.

Flitwick, being the kind and generous person he was, poked his head out of the door to his classroom before moving to shut it. It was a good thing he did, for the Weasley pair almost met the solid wood face first as Ron had been running late.

“Today we’ll be discussing general purpose charms,” the tiny Professor stood on his desk, looking from student to student. “Their use in everyday life, what they do, how they do it and -as an example, Muggle technology- how they interfere with their surroundings.”

He noticed that almost immediately after finishing both Mister Potter and Miss Granger had their hands in the air. While the brunette wasn’t a surprise to anybody, seeing the boy participate was something new. Deciding to humor himself he called on Harry, earning a pout from Hermione which was the reaction he wanted.

“Isn’t the interference aspect far more that just Mundane devices?”

The question caught the Head of Ravenclaw -and his students, who shared this class with the Gryffindors- completely off-guard.

“Can you elaborate?” he countered, wanting to know where this came from.

“This morning,” Harry replied, “Professor Slughorn showed us what happens when a Warming Charm is used near open flame and explained why using such magic during potion-brewing was a bad idea. Are there any other charms that don’t react well to their environment, if they were trying to change their surroundings?”

Flitwick felt his eyes widen a tad, which those that noticed couldn’t classify the reaction. The question sparked intellectual debate amongst the students, who quietly traded stories of magic-gone-wrong at home. It was odd, seeing even the Gryffindor students offering their experiences.

All but two, that is. He caught sight of the Weasley pair sulking quietly, which when one takes the Twins as siblings into consideration was saying something.

“Yes,” the Professor got the attention of the class, “there actually are charms that react poorly to the area in which they are applied. Any type of heating charm turns into a fuel source if there are open flames nearby; cooling charms are canceled out in the presence of ice. Growth charms have been known to run amok if used on transfigured objects, depending on the situation.”

As he spoke, the students wrote out their notes.

“Let’s see,” he continued, pausing in thought from time to time. “Animation charms have been documented as lethal to living tissue,” this earned more than a few shocked looks. “Oh yes, you see if you try to animate something that’s already alive the two cancel each other out-”

“Professor,” Harry interrupted, eyes wide as his mind put something together, “that sounds more like the Killing Curse than a simple animation charm.”

“Ah!” for the heavy conversation, Flitwick sure appeared delighted. “Yes, it does. The reason behind that is quite simple; that’s what the Avada Kedavra actually spawned from. In thirteen twenty-four a wizard was under attack by Muggles, and in defense he attempted to animate his pitchfork. The charm missed, hitting one of the attackers and . . . well, the result was one dead, a panicked mob -that promptly fled-, and a wizard that understood he had something fearsome to fight back with.”

“The problem,” his visage turned grave, “was that a Royal Wizard -remember, this is before the Statute of Secrecy went into effect- that was on patrol was informed of both the attack and the death by the Magical Community. The two got into a duel, which the other people of the area could watch, and the peasant tried to use the animation charm again; this time deliberately aiming at another living being. When the Royal Wizard blocked it with a standard shield, the peasant panicked thinking he was going to die. He knew that he hadn’t been as educated as his counterpart and didn’t have as an extensive of a repertoire to choose from.”

“There is an old charm,” Flitwick had paused for almost five minutes, having an internal debate. “That had fallen out of use after the Muggles of the time got a hold of the incantation. The Magicals stopped using the charm, which was a predecessor to the Vanishing Charm, to protect themselves. I’m certain each Muggle-Born in the Castle can tell you just what I’m talking about.”

“Abra Cadabra?” Padma Patil surprised the room by being the first to answer. She looked stoically back at them, before opening her mouth. “What? My family is from India, where Muggles and Magicals mix far more than they do here.”

“Yes,” Flitwick cut in, defusing the situation before it got too awkward. “Now, the peasant wizard had decided if he was going to go out he was taking his opponent with him. He had also heard from passing Magicals that some of the old direct-cast spells could be modified just by slightly changing the incantation.”

The light of understanding appeared in more and more sets of eyes as imaginations drew the story to a conclusion.

“Direct-cast?” Parvati Patil hadn’t heard that term before.

“No movement; point and shoot,” came from a distracted Harry, as his mind was elsewhere.

“Correct,” Flitwick nodded in his direction. “This was the first recorded usage of the Killing Curse. When questioned by reinforcements, the peasant confessed to visualizing an animation charm coupled with the proper wording. Back on our original topic; color-changing charms destroy eyes if directly applied. Hover Charms cause odd effects when used on an object that’s already had the Featherlight applied beforehand.”

From there the class really took off, as each example -minus the animation charm- were demonstrated. The Professor realized that he might very well have made an error in telling the students how to use a Killing Curse and was distracting them. He knew the notes they took would cause a problem, so he discretely moved about the room modifying them to exclude the animation aspect.

That was, until he came to Harry Potter’s.

Written off to the side was ‘AK can possibly be blocked; cancel animation aspect only; rest of the magic harmless’. Below that was ‘Sacrifice not needed, did she know this?’

That saddened the old Professor, knowing of what Harry was thinking. Taking a glance to his left -Potter’s right- showed that Hermione Granger had read what was written and looked torn in how she should handle the situation.

“Pardon me sir,” the young boy in front of him spoke up at length. “How does one get to be as knowledgeable as you and the other Professors are?”

Flitwick felt an eyebrow rise against his wishes, “What, exactly, do you mean by that Mister Potter?”

“Well,” the answer came unbidden, “between Professor Slughorn and yourself, I’ve learned more about how magic truly affects its surroundings in one day than almost two years here at Hogwarts. I wouldn’t have even known to ask the right question if it hadn’t been for my potions lesson this morning.”

“Ah,” the tiny Charms teacher understood. “To be truthful, teaching about the negative effects of magic on just about everything has been frowned on for some time now. We, the Staff, are supposed to make magic this grand end-all be-all when there are many ways to abuse it. Me, I learned most of what I know on the Dueling Circuit. Professor McGonagall learned most of what she knows from self-experimentation -which is highly dangerous. Headmaster Dumbledore scoured all of Britain between the death of his sister and his defeat of Grindelwald, learning all he could -along with Apprenticing to Nicholas Flamel.”

The Gryffindor Duo -no longer a Trio- were shocked. There was no secondary/higher learning once they graduated from Hogwarts; no Universities or anything of the sort?

“You’ll find,” their teacher went on, keeping his voice down so as not to attract the attention of the other students, “that many things that should be taught here at Hogwarts or after are not. You have to go out in the world and find whatever it is you want to know yourself; be it lost tomes of magic, Masters of the field for Apprenticeships or what have you.”

Harry and Hermione shared a glance; the pair were slowly turning into the highly motivated students that wouldn’t stop learning no matter what. It did bother them that they had to fish for answers, when the entire school should be told up front that what they learned wasn’t nearly enough to maximize each person’s potential. They did understand that it was up to the individual to follow through with what the Staff taught; some were content to lounge around with their -as Flitwick put it- be-all end-all fixer of everything magic and do nothing with their lives. Others -it dawned on Harry that this was the original creed of Ravenclaw and Slytherin- desired the knowledge and had the ambition to go get it, then used what they learned to make their lives better.

The rest of the lesson followed the tangent Harry had started, flowing into not just environmental errors but also Mundane devices.

1500; Same Day; Greenhouse Three

“It’s strange to be doing something other than Mandrakes,” Hannah Abbott sighed as she put her dragon-hide gloves on.

The human-esque plants had been their Year’s project, since none of the other students had done anything with them. Professor Sprout was like that; she would set a specific year-long project then add in filler while waiting for whatever to grow. The Herbology course was strange like that; unlike Transfiguration, Charms and Defense there were no immediate effects or gratification. What some never figured out was that the course taught patience to the students. Those that did went on to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, as they understood that breaking a piece of magic down took time. Another thing that was subtly ingrained in the students -which helped with Care of Magical Creatures- was how to handle rowdy non-human sentience without getting oneself hurt.

There was a reason Draco Malfoy was barely scraping by in the class, after all. If he didn’t tone his desire to be at the center of attention -read as: the propaganda machine- down he would more than likely anger something that could kill him with ease. Three times Sprout had to pull the Malfoy scion out of the Venomous Tentacula in the last month alone.

“Well, they matured and have been shipped to Saint Mungo’s,” Hermione offered, also dawning her own set of gloves. “We’ve no real use for them at Hogwarts; I think Slughorn kept three as an emergency standby.”

“Speaking of,” Susan Bones rounded out the table of four, “what’s his teaching like?”

“We asked him to start over,” Harry answered, having calmed down significantly since lunch, “with safety and preparation work then last year’s syllabus. We missed so much ‘cause of Snape and his attitude it’s not even funny.”

The students at the work tables around them listened in, frowning when they heard that there were pieces of their education missing. When they heard of the shattering cauldron and how it came to be they shared looks with each other. Why the younger Potions Professor never said anything was beyond them.

“Then there was Charms,” Hermione was telling the pair of girls, “where we found out about not just how fickle magic can be but the probable origin of a nasty spell.”

The two had come to an agreement about not calling it by its’ name when in public. This was more for the protection of the other students than themselves; they didn’t want to be responsible for some idiot thinking that trying out an animation charm on a fellow student was a good idea.

“I say probable,” she continued, “as while the case was documented, it happened before the Statute of Secrecy and the Classification of Magic in sixteen ninety-two. By then the spell had been changed who knows how many times to what it is today.”

“Right,” Professor Sprout called the class to attention, even as Ron and his carry-along came huffing and puffing -Hufflepuffing?- into the Greenhouse nearly late. “Since the crop of Mandrakes are finished we’ll move onto care of a Whomping Willow.” She pulled a youngling out from under her table. “This sapling will be our model as the full grown adult on the Grounds is far too dangerous for Second Years to approach. As you can see, even one this young is taking swings at me thus the name.”

Harry wanted nothing to do with that particular species of tree again if he could help it. Something told him that he’d have to go near the blasted thing again at some point. Hearing the moaning coming from Ronald he could tell the sentiment was shared, even if they were no longer friends.

“On every Willow,” Sprout continued, “there is a knot somewhere near the root system that will temporarily calm it down. Most of these trees grow their roots in such a way as to hide the knot so that they aren’t overly defenseless.”

She showed them what to look for. Indeed, the knot was not only hidden by the roots but also camouflaged to look like the trunk of the tree.

“Another thing to keep in mind is that this species is nigh impervious to magic,” the dumpy Professor had put the baby Willow down, stepped back and waved her wand at it to no effect. “The only way to prod the knot is physically; you can levitate a branch or rock into it but no direct magic will affect the mood of the tree. Now then, under your tables are juvenile Whomping Willows; place them on your stations and study their movements. Look for ways to get at the knot without hurting them and if one gets its’ branches tangled calm it and set it right.”

“Oh; Misters Potter and Weasley?” she turned back to the class, singling them out. “The adult Willow has finally healed from your adventure before term; do not hurt its’ children or it may very well pull itself out of the ground to get at you.”

“Speaking of,” Harry wasn’t going to take that laying down, “have you or Hagrid seen a turquoise Ford Anglia lurking around that tree or in the Forest?”

“I’ll show you after class,” was her deadpan response, not amused in the least.

The lesson carried on with Neville dominating as was usual. The four at Harry’s table had a docile version of the Willow as it only swayed a bit. Ron’s had somehow jumped off of the table to latch onto his face, the planter it was in resting on Ginny’s head like a shelf. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan had one that kept giving them the equivalent of ‘the finger’ and shaking a cluster of branches like a fist in their direction.

Taking notes on the care of a Whomping Willow -no matter how old it was- had to be one of the most tedious things the class had done to date. At the end of the period the students were all too happy to get away from the violent species of tree. Since dinner wasn’t due to start until six -the hour fifteen minute break between the last class and mealtime was for students to either relax a bit, ask Professors questions if needed or get cleaned up- the class lollygagged their way back to the Castle. The other students wanted to see just what Potter had been talking about, even if just a glimpse.

Professor Sprout, Harry, Hermione and the inseparable Weasleys -without invitation; they wanted to be able to tell their father what became of the car- headed into the Forest nearest the Lake. This area, due to there being a water source above ground and very close to the surface underneath was more like a marsh than the denser, packed-earth variety that normally is found within such a place.

The first clue that they were nearing the vehicle-come-to-life was the pair of ruts heading into the marsh. From the way the vegetation was laid down the undercarriage had to have been almost scraping the ground. Given that the car had smaller wheels and tires than the modern full size sedans the pair raised in the Mundane World were used to didn’t instill much confidence. Knowing that the car was at least twenty-five years old, had a tiny engine and a gearbox that Ron had nearly shredded didn’t help in the least.

The group crested a small rise, and there in a bog was the Anglia . . . and Hagrid, trying to get the car out of the slop. The area was a low-spot, almost level with the surface of the Lake surrounded on all sides by the marsh. What the car was stuck in was more water than mud, as was evidenced by the sound out water slapping water. The one wheel that was spinning was barely visible, having dug a hole in the soft soil underneath.

Hagrid appeared to be stuck too, as he was pulling on his right leg and quietly cursing to himself. He eyes lit up when the car announced the troop’s presence by sounding the horn in a desperate plea for assistance.

“A lil ‘elp ‘ere!” he called, nearly falling over backwards as his leg came free. Then he tried a different place to step and if his facial expression was to go by sank into the ground again.

“It’s a good thing I was coming out here then,” Sprout had her wand in her right hand but looked unsure of herself. The Keeper of Keys had to weigh close to five hundred pounds while the car was closer to two thousand. No mere levitation spell would work for either, especially as neither could assist with getting out of the bog.

The car, being closer to alive than previously thought, stopped trying to get free right then. Even the engine shut down, dropping the noise level to just the background sounds of a forest.

“Don’t you quit!” Harry yelled, shaking his left fist at the car. He knew it had to be tired, having no idea how long it had been stuck in mud that for all intents and purposes wasn’t. He could see water, colored brown from the churned earth, filling in the holes the wheels had made. His hunch about being tired was proven by the engine cranking over extremely slow, as if the starter -or battery, if there was one- was bad. “Right, here we go . . .”

The eyes of the rest of the people turned to look at him as he gave a sigh and closed his eyes. Reaching out with his hands, he envisioned the car lifting out of the swamp to which it did with a wet, sucking sound. Hagrid was also floating above the tepid water, looking awed as both he and the Anglia were moved to the crest of the rise.

“What in the world was it doing out here?” Hermione wondered, looking at her surroundings. There was nothing attractive about the area in the least; as the sun was beginning to set gnats could be seen flitting about, being the pests they were. At least, she hoped those were generic gnats and not some magical equivalent of them or mosquitoes.

She hated mosquitoes.

“Reckon the Centaurs scared it,” Hagrid had sat down and taken his galoshes off, draining them of the water that had gotten in them. At the same time he was getting mud off of the exterior, looked a tad disgusted to be doing so. “Seen it near the ‘Cromantula nest; didn’t so much as twitch around them. Bane on the other hand tried several times to shoot the poor blighter with his bow.”

The Anglia was now acting like a puppy; boot in the air with the bonnet lowered, wiggling back and forth. Ron and his attachment tried to approach, only to get an engine-rev growl in response.

“You still mad?” Harry thought it was silly asking a car of all things how it felt. The answering bob of the front end he took as a nod, even though the front tires had left the ground when it did so. “Well, he’s on his own now; made a right mess of things this year he did. C’mon, let’s get out of here before the sun goes down.”

He had taken note of the damage the car had suffered running wild in the Forbidden Forest. Both mirrors had been knocked off of the fenders, deep scratches ran the length of the body, every light and window was broken or cracked. He shook his head, feeling bad that he was part of the reason that it looked as it did. One thing that Harry had failed to notice was that he was floating the car along behind him as he began the trek back to the Castle, Hermione at his side while the rest of the group gawked.

The walk was silent for the most part as Sprout and Hagrid kept an ear open for the inhabitants of the Forest. The last thing they needed was rowdy Centaurs causing a scene over them leaving their territory. Once they passed the tree-line and onto the lawn did the Professor speak up.

“Mister Potter,” she got his attention in such a way so as not to break his concentration, “I do believe you can put the automobile down now.”

It was comical to watch as he turned his head to look over his right shoulder, eyes widening in realization that yes he was indeed floating a two thousand pound car without paying attention to what he was doing. Water and mud still dripped off of the chassis, earning grumbles from the Groundskeeper about making more work for him with the immaculate lawn.

“Just a minute,” he turned fully to face the Anglia, setting it spinning slowly like a rotisserie before jabbing his wand, in his right hand, and his left hand at the car that was making odd complaining noises -a whine from the engine, a raspberry from the tailpipe and the like- not only cleaning it but fixing it good as new.

It was strange to those watching -and ducking for cover- as pieces of the car came zooming out of the Forest before reattaching themselves. Ron wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge and took a mirror housing to the head, knocking him -and his silent accessory- down cursing up a storm.

Even the faded turquoise paint looked fresh when he was done. The car shone in the setting sun light, and as it came to rest upright on its wheels did the applause from the front doors to the school start. Heads turned fast enough to leave cricks in necks to see most of the student body and the Staff showing their appreciation for the unintentional show.

Harry, unknown to him at the time, had gained another lifetime follower in the form of one Ford Anglia.

2000; Same day; Gryffindor Common Room

“What a day,” Harry gave of a sigh of satisfaction, sitting in his conjured burgundy overstuffed armchair. “And to think, there’s still a bunch to research and learn!”

“Ooh,” Hermione gave off a moan of pleasure at the thought of immersing herself in books. She imagined the fortress she could build with them while she read, keeping the outside world at bay for just that much longer.

“It’s disappointing though,” he continued on, not having heard her noise, “that Hogwarts amounts to Secondary school and not much else. One would think that there would be colleges and universities to keep old magic alive; instead we get enough to know that there is more out there then . . . ‘poof’, nothing. We’re going to have so much to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

“What do you mean?” she was brought out of her daydream by reality breaking her door down.

“Well,” he turned left then right making sure they couldn’t be heard, “beyond my connection to the Castle I know much of nothing about my family. I’ve got to go to Gringott’s and get is all sorted out; then there’s relearning everything and mastering it to the level I was at before Tom came calling that night . . . I’ve also got to venture into the Mundane World and grab every book I can on computers, programming, electronics and the like. I haven’t told anybody this yet but Hogwarts . . . she’s alive for a greater reason than just ‘magic’. The Founders built her that way using techniques long since lost to the rest of humanity and to even get the gist of what something does I need the knowledge available.” He could see that she didn’t buy a word he just said, so getting up from his chair he moved over to the right of the fireplace.

Hermione swore her eyes were going to leap out of her head when he waved a hand over the sixth brick from the top and it slid out like a drawer. Inside were square-cut transparent crystals; some where glowing with power while a couple appeared to be burned out or otherwise damaged. One thing that stood out was that inside each little square were a single line. It either went straight up, straight across, up or down at a forty-five degree angle or even had ninety degree turns for reasons she couldn’t fathom. He didn’t leave the panel open long, closing it before sitting back down.

“That’s the veins of Hogwarts,” his voice was near a whisper, wanting to keep such a thing a secret for as long as possible. “There are access points like that all over the Castle; some are heavily damaged while others haven’t seen use in five hundred years. Before I mess with anything I’d like to know what I’m doing.”

Yes, their plate was indeed full . . .

TBC

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