Prodigy: Born Again by Milarqui
Summary: Some people think that Prodigies are born. Some people think Prodigies are made. What would happen if both sides of the coin were right? Follow such a Prodigy, one called Harry James Potter, as he finds within himself the ability of Magic and he makes his own way into the Magical World. NOTE: For those that wonder, this is a re-write of the original Prodigy. I have taken this route in order to eliminate the plot-holes that were in the original. Thanks for your support.
The author has stated this story will not be continued. SIYE
Note from SIYE: The original author of the story “Prodigy,” jmcqk6, has told SIYE he has abandoned his story and has given permission to other authors “that anyone could do whatever they want with it.” There is no issue of plagiarism involving this story. ~Sir Ollivander ~SIYE Administration
Rating: PG
Categories: Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2011.06.17
Updated: 2013.09.01
Index
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - A New Home
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - Basic Learning, Advanced Living
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - New Things, New Friends
Chapter 4: Chapter 4 – Ten Days That Shook The (Magical) World
Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - Knowing Is Half The Battle
Chapter 6: Chapter 6 - School Supplies Are Required
Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - We Are Off To See The Wizard, The Wonderful Wizard Of Hogwarts!
Chapter 8: Chapter 8 - Trains, Friends, Hats
Chapter 9: The End
Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - A New Home
Author's Notes: For several reasons, I have decided that the best route the story Prodigy could take would be to be rewritten. Thus, you can find the first chapter of Prodigy: Born Again, which is the same first chapter of Prodigy but with several things changed to make it look better.
Other things that you will find in the rewritten Prodigy is that some plot holes are closed or eliminated, Harry's initial behaviour regarding making friends will be made more realistic and things that don't do much for the story (like the infamous Goblin Prophecy that talked about Harry) are eliminated to make a far more interesting story.
Sorry for those that support the Harry/Hermione couple. This story is not going to support said couple at all. While I know you guys like them so much, I prefer the canon couples far too much to write about Harry and Hermione falling in love. However, it could take several chapters till we reach the situation in which any of the main characters of the young generation (as in, the Trio & friends) may be ready for romance, so I hope you'll read it at least until that moment.
Hopefully, you will read Prodigy: Born Again, and write even more reviews that you did with the original one.
Yours faithfully,
Milarqui.
Prodigy - n. pl. prodigy. A person with exceptional talents or powers: a math prodigy.
Harry Potter was running.
It was a situation he found himself in quite often. After all, when you are chased by a group of people larger than yourself, and that group wishes to use you as a punching bag, the best thing to do is to run away. Unfortunately for the seven year old boy, the group of larger boys that were running behind him had an special interest in chasing and beating him, which made the occasions when he was caught quite painful. Though, at least every day he got training that would allow him to be faster, and thus the next time he got chased he was able to run fast enough to escape.
However, this day Harry was really unlucky. He didn't dare to look back, but he could easily hear the five children — his cousin Dudley and Dudley's friends, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon — running behind him. His eyes were dashing left and right, attempting to find either a teacher or some safe haven where he would be able to hide from the five idiots — as Harry called them in his mind — for enough time to make them go away. Neither was located by the scared boy.
Distracted, Harry turned a corner and suddenly found himself in a small alcove, near the back entrance to the school kitchens. He cursed to himself for not checking where he was. There was no other way out of there save the kitchens, and the door was only unlocked after mealtimes. It was too late to change course, though: he had lost a lot of time when he had turned and stopped after recognising where he was.
Knowing that the beating was not very far away, Harry looked around, searching for some place that would give him a reprieve or at least delay the beating. The big container caught his eye, and, since it would be empty, it would probably be somewhat safe, although smelly. It wasn't as he couldn't choose. He ran towards it and jumped, while wishing he was somewhere else, some other place, any place that was safe for him. Where the five idiots wouldn't be able to reach him.
He wished very hard.
With a POP! Harry disappeared from Little Whinging School, from Little Whinging and from the life of the Dursley family. It would take days till other people realized this had happened.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Everything suddenly changed for Harry. A few seconds ago, he had been in mid-air, about to get into an empty container, and suddenly he was falling down in the middle of a strange living room. At least, it was strange in the sense that he had never seen it.
When he fell, face-down, on the floor, dust was raised, making Harry sneeze. He was used to it, though: he had been forced to clean the Dursleys' house since he was big enough to hold a broom. Harry pulled himself up and, while he shook off the dust that had fallen on his too big clothes, he took stock of his surroundings.
There was a fireplace off to one side with a leather love seat in front of it. Off to another side, there was a sofa and two armchairs surrounding a coffee table. All of it was covered with a thick layer of dust. Soon, Harry realized that not only the furniture, but the fireplace and the whole floor — save for where he had landed — was covered in the same layer of dust: it was obvious that no one had been in the room for several years.
Harry then saw there was something over the fireplace, and walked nearer in order to see it better. The mantle over it was displaying a coat of arms coloured in deep red and gold. The centre of it had just a fierce looking animal on it. This animal was something Harry had never seen before, although he could see that it was a cross between a lion and some sort of bird, perhaps an eagle. Two stars were shining at the top left and right, and a sword and shield occupied the sides of the strange animal.
However, underneath the shield Harry found something far more important than the animal, the stars or the weapons. It was a single word, sewn in bold silver letters. It was a name: Potter.
Harry frowned at the sight. What was a banner with his name on it doing in the middle of a room in a house he had never been into?
Harry's first instinct upon arriving there, apart from being glad that he had managed to get away from being beaten by his cousin, would have been to leave, afraid of what could happen if the owners were to discover his presence. His uncle had complained many times about squatters whenever they appeared at the news, and liked to say that Harry would probably have to become one since he was a 'freak'. However, now that he had seen his name there, his curiosity was piqued. Perhaps this was the home of some relative he had never known he had. Perhaps this family would save him from the hell he knew as 'home'.
The fact that the room obviously hadn't been lived in for several years was momentarily forgotten with the arrival of this new idea. With a burst of courage, Harry moved towards the door and opened it, ready to explore more of this house.
The other side of the door revealed another room, similar to the entrance hall at Privet Drive, but bigger. This room had a major difference from the one he had just parted from: it was a real wreck. Shattered glass and small wood splinters could be found all around the floor. To his right, there was a hole that Harry surmised opened to the outside: it had to be the front door.
Said door could be seen at the other side of the room, and it was shattered. It was as if an explosion had broken the door from its hinges and blew it across the room. From that, it was obvious that no one lived in the house. Harry decided to leave the house. Even if it might have something to do with his family, he wouldn't find anyone there. Moving towards the front opening, Harry looked out.
Soon, Harry's ideas of departure from the house were squashed. Not that he didn't mind. The front lawn of the house was in total disarray, as if no one had worked on the garden for years. From his place, the edge of the lawn turned into a dark forest that seemed to have no end. From the silence he heard, only filled by the song of birds, it was obvious that he was quite far away from some other house where people lived.
Harry turned back to the house, intent on exploring it. If he was going to have to live there, until he was found, he might as well explore the rest of the house. Near the space where the door had fallen, a stairway led to a second floor. The entrance hall had four more doors apart from the one that led to the room he had landed in. Turning to the door nearest to where he was, Harry found that it was a small closet, with a couple of coats and a trenchcoat hanging and three pairs of boots, two of them of the same size, on the floor.
The next door led into a kitchen that was in a state similar to that of the entrance hall. There was a broken table in the centre of the room. Chairs had been thrown at the sides of the kitchen. A fireplace on the side, with a second, more simple banner on it, and less ornate than the one in the first room. Several dishes on the floor, shattered into pieces. A couple of metallic pots thrown around the floor. One of those pots even seemed to have partially melted. Harry couldn't figure how that could have happened.
The boy started to get worried. Something bad had happened in this house a lot of time ago. Maybe that was why it had been abandoned. However, he decided to press on. There was something in here that made him feel as if he had been there before, even if he didn't remember at all.
Coming out of the kitchen, he ran to the next door, which was right below the stairway, and opened it. It seemed to lead into the basement. Harry decided to leave that part for later, when he got something to light the way.
The last door led into a dining room. A sturdy table, made of very dark wood, stood in the centre of the room. It seemed to have survived what a few of the chairs surrounding it couldn't, but it still had some burns on its surface. The wall opposite the door had a drawing, similar to a tree, and a red mark covered the lower part of it. It was pretty obvious that whatever had happened at this house was very serious.
Suddenly, Harry felt a strong need to go upstairs. He didn't know why, but he really seemed to need to know what was upstairs. He carefully made his way up the staircase, testing each wooden step to make sure it would hold his weight. All the steps were sturdy and he found himself a few minutes later at the top of the staircase. When he broke his attention away from his feet, his eyes widened in recognition.
He had been here before. He had felt as if he recognised the rooms before, but now he was certain he had been here before. Sounds and images flashed through his mind quickly, making it impossible to focus on a single one of them. Attempting to push them all away, Harry advanced towards the first door to his right and opened it.
This room had been a nursery, from what Harry could tell. It was in a worse shape than the front room and the kitchen had been. There were several scorch marks on one wall, a broken crib near the window and more red spots on the floor. Harry felt his body chill: the red spots were blood. If he was scared before, he felt even worse now. He started to turn, determined to leave this place, wherever he was. However, the shock of finding the blood in the nursery broke his attention, and the images once more flashed through his mind. Though, this time one memory stuck into his mind. One memory that happened in this same room...
He was sitting in his cradle when a scream was heard. A red-haired woman had entered the room and had pointed a stick at him, saying something under her breath. A small white light crossed the room and hit him, and then the woman gave her back at him. He couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear the woman say something in a strange language. Suddenly, the woman was hit by a green light and fell to the floor, near the cradle. He could see the woman's emerald eyes going lifeless as they looked at him. He could feel his eyes going blurry, when a pale man, that nonetheless reeked of darkness, stepped over the woman as he crackled a hideous sound that must have been laughter for him. The man pointed a stick at him, spoke two words and other green light appeared. As it neared him, he felt as if something was being wrapped around him, something soft and warm, that tinted the air with a golden hue. He felt the green light strike him on his forehead, and then fly towards the pale man, hitting him in the chest. There was an explosion, and then everything was black.
As the memory ended, harry felt an unbearable burning sensation in his scar and collapsed to the floor in hard pain, as his body jerked uncontrollably from the pain. However, as soon as it came it went away, and Harry could relax his body.
He moved his hand up to rub his forehead, brushing the lightning bolt scar that was there, and that had been there for all his life, as far as he could remember. Suddenly, the memory was clearer to him, as soon as he realized that he had seen something hitting his forehead.
The memory he had seen was his. He had seen how his mother died, and how he had gotten the scar.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Harry Potter lied on the floor, unable to move. The revelation that had leaped at him a few minutes before, that his mother had died not in a car accident but had been killed by a horrible man that had later tried to kill him had struck him unable to temporarily think. Finally, his thoughts began to pierce the grey fog that had crept over his mind and he began to focus.
Unconsciously, Harry pressed his hand back to his forehead. The scar his aunt and uncle had stated was the product of the car accident that had killed his parents had taken a whole new meaning. It was clear that he had been lied to by his relatives. The exact reason why the scar had come into being, as well as what those lights were, were still a mystery to him, but he knew that he might be able to find it all in here.
Other question was how had his mother died. He was pretty sure that she had died, because the look in her eyes had been unmistakeable. He certainly knew that light couldn't kill someone at all — well, those lasers some bad guys used in comics might be similar to light — but it was possible that what he had seen was not a normal light. After all, that same green light had left the scar on his forehead and, when it hit the pale man, everything had exploded
Finally, there was one last thing: what was what he had felt just before the green light hit him? That golden thing had felt as if his mother were wrapping a towel around him after giving him a bath, but it had also been as if something else, something powerful and mysterious, had been the one wrapping the golden 'towel' around him to protect him from the green light.
Harry was very close to the truth with respect to that, though he didn't know it at the time.
Once he was able to recover from the shock of seeing his mother die, Harry slowly drew himself up from the floor. He felt a bit dizzy, but he was able to keep from falling. It was time for answers, and Harry knew that they would be found somewhere in this house.
Harry exited his old room and headed towards the next door. Opening it, a huge library was revealed. It seemed hundreds, thousands of books were stacked on the shelves around the room, with more being scattered around the central table.
One good aspect of not having many friends was that one found other ways to entertain themselves. Harry had taken to reading, and while he wasn't all that great still, it had given him some minor comfort over the last few years. Harry hadn't really thought of it as a 'good' thing, however, until this moment.
As he neared the table, Harry spotted some notes on it and went over to look. The answers to the mysteries that were plaguing him had to be found in those notes. Harry could almost feel the truth tugging on his mind to read. Without hesitation, he picked up the first one he saw and began looking over it.
10-30-81
I have just managed to put the last piece of enchantment I needed. That book on ancient magic Albus loaned me has helped tremendously. I certainly wouldn't have been able to do everything without it. I just hope it will be enough to help my little Harry. James tells me that it probably won't be required, but he understands the risks we are under, and he has helped me put everything up.
It will be tomorrow night when I finally cast the charm. Albus' book says that the charm can only be cast on All Hallows Eve, when the world of the living and the world of the dead are nearest. I really hope that our ancestors will help protect Harry if the time comes. I was very lucky in that I discovered this charm ahead of time, otherwise we would have been forced to wait another year to put the proper protections on Harry, and I don't want to push it back.
Albus has assured us that, with Sirius as the Keeper for the Fidelius we are hiding under, we shouldn't fear much for our safety, but we haven't told Albus that we changed Keepers. I'm not so sure about our safety since the change was done. I know Peter is a good friend of ours, and that Sirius will do his best to protect him, but any bad move could leave Peter in the hands of Voldemort... and I doubt Peter would be able to hold out under his torture.
I just don't understand why would Remus betray us? He has been against Voldemort and the werewolves he controls from the first moment Remus joined the Order. The leader of Voldemort's werewolves' pack is the same bastard that bit him, for Merlin's sake! But Sirius says that he has been doing some weird things lately, and that he doesn't know where he is going. I admit that, when Dumbledore first spoke about Voldemort having a spy in the Order, I thought it might be Sirius, but soon I realized that Sirius would never betray us, and he was the one that got James to switch to Peter, so he can't be the spy.
Perhaps I should tell James that it might be better if we switch back to Sirius soon. I've got a feeling that maybe it would work all better if we went with the original plan.
The note ended right there, which left Harry even more confused than before. However, he was able to piece together a few things. James was his father's name, and the woman that had been writing this notes had a son called Harry. These notes... these notes were his mother's. Harry closed his eyes, and felt like hugging the paper close to him, but only held it lightly in his hands. It was the first thing he had ever gotten that had been his parents'.
Though, now the notes brought more questions as well. Who was his mother talking about? Who were Albus, Sirius, Remus, Peter and Dumbledore? Those names were certainly strange. He knew Sirius was a star in the sky, that Remus was one of the founders of Rome and Peter was a somewhat common name. Albus and Dumbledore were really strange names, though. And what was this talk about enchantments, ancient magic and charms? What was the Fidelius, and why did it require a Secret Keeper? Harry carefully placed the paper back on the table and moved onto the book it was laying next too. Perhaps it was the book mentioned in his mothers writing.
Ancient Magic by Morgana la Fey was the title on the front of the book. Harry scrunched his eyebrows deep into a frown. 'Magic?' he asked himself. He still remembered when his uncle had locked him up in the cupboard under the stairs when he caught him watching a TV show about magic. Maybe that was what Vernon had referred to when he talked about his 'freakishness'.
As he opened the book, he couldn't help but feel as if his skin tingled with the feeling of a slight electric shock. This book would be the first book about magic he had ever read. Harry opened the cover and found some handwriting inside.
For Lily Potter,
I hope that the pages of this book and the charms that are contained in them allow you to find protection for your family until Harry becomes ready to fulfil his destiny. Good luck!
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
He was right. It had been his mother's writing what he had found in the note before, but what did this mean? Harry's destiny? What could he possibly be destined to do? Well, at least he had managed to solve other mystery: Albus and Dumbledore were the same person. Maybe he would be able to contact this man and get some answer from him about his parents and what had happened to them. As he thought over the name, his mind conjured a picture of a man with a long beard and dressed in some kind of robe staring at a sock drawer, as if wondering how he would be able to get more of them. Harry giggled at the silly picture.
Harry flipped a couple pages and began to read from the first chapter.
Magic has a long history, dating back thousands of years.
'Hmmm, it is magic alright,' he thought. For some reason, things like pulling a rabbit out of a hat — or rather, the false bottom of the hat — or making a tiger appear inside a jail weren't as impressive as they should have been. In fact, he felt that, deep inside himself, was the ability to make them appear out of thin air! But that was impossible, wasn't it? Harry continued reading.
When the first ancients began to discover the possibilities that magic held, the world prospered under amazing progress. The mysteries they uncovered about the universe we live in rival the knowledge of even today. But just as magic can be used for good, magic can be used for evil. Evil corrupted the hearts of men who sought power above all else, and that knowledge was lost. It is said that in those days, men did not need wands or staffs to practice the magical arts; their will and their hands were all that was needed.
Today, a very different situation is upon us. There exists only one that can manipulate the magic without a wand: my dear husband Merlin. What has caused this to come to pass? This is the question this book will attempt to unravel. I will begin with what little we know about the ancients views on willpower and projection, then move on to the importance of blood and the protections and possibilities it can empower.
Harry had to stop reading. Was it true? Obviously the woman that wrote this book was saying that magic was real. There were a few words that Harry didn't understand, and he tried to guess their meaning, but it definitely seemed that the over-all gist of it was the magic was real. And his mother had been reading the book! If she believed in it, then Harry could also believe in it. If he had been a couple years older, perhaps the story would be different, but there was nothing more that he wanted that to be close to his parents in some minor way at least.
Harry turned a few more pages to see... a moving picture! He now knew, beyond any doubt, that magic had to be real. How else could he see a hand holding a long stick making a circular motion? Harry looked underneath the picture to read the caption.
The levitation spell is a common first spell taught to all children. The needed movements are simple as well as the incantation of “Wingardium Leviosa”. Children have no problem pointing their wand at something finally and making it float a few feet in the air, making it the perfect charm for building confidence.
Harry's eyes grew wide. The book was telling him how to do it — how to do magic! Harry looked around the room, hoping to find a stick he could use to test it out right away, but he didn't see any. He ran outside of the small library and quickly searched the other rooms he had been in, but no sticks could be found either. Feeling a bit dejected, Harry looked in the garden outside, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see a tree growing up there.
'Of course!' he thought, his previous feelings abandoned behind. 'I'd bet that there will be sticks in here, and those sticks would be fresher, since they came out of the tree.'
Harry went towards the young tree, and soon saw that the tree was surrounded by several sticks laying on the ground. He looked around and soon found one stick that seemed to have fallen far more recently than the others, so he picked it up. It was eighteen inches long, more or less, which was way too long for Harry, so he decided to break it down to a more manageable size, and maybe he could use the other part as a spare stick. He studied the stick carefully, trying to find a point where it could broken down. It was light grey, a colour that came from the bark of the tree, which the stick still had attached, and it was bended at some point in the middle, perhaps a bit away from the centre of the stick. Harry readied himself and broke the stick over his knee on that point.
That left him with two straight sticks, the longest being hardly a couple inches longer than the other one. He felt more comfortable with the longest one, but nonetheless both sticks felt quite good in his hands. The stick in the picture he had seen before was more polished, but Harry thought it wouldn't matter at all, so he felt ready to do his first bit of magic.
Harry ran back upstairs to review the picture. He studied it intensely for a few seconds, and then he prepared himself. He couldn't help but being a bit nervous: after all, his mother must have started also from this charm, since the book said it was a very easy one. He quickly located other book placed on the table, right opposite to the book his mother had been reading. Harry concentrated, his mind fixing the movements and the incantation, and then he performed the first and said the second while pointing his stick at the book.
At first, nothing happened. Harry unconsciously put more effort in trying to force the book to move. An effort that his magic soon answered to. Had Harry looked at the stick instead of the book, he would have seen how the stick had been shining for a few seconds before going back to normality.
Then, slowly, the book started to rise, leaving a few inches of emptiness between it and the table. Harry's eyes widened: he was doing magic! He had certainly not expected such quick results, but since this was a very easy charm, he should have expected it. As his excitement grew, his concentration wavered, and soon the book fell back to the table with a hollow THUD! Despite this small failure, Harry couldn't help but grin. This was his first piece of magic, and he had managed it at the first time. But he guessed that, if he wanted to be as good as his mum surely was, he would have to train, so he concentrated again and did the same charm. Once more, before he could see it, the stick shone again, this time for less time than before.
However, there was a very important thing Harry didn't know about magic, and about sticks, or more correctly wands. It was the fact that a wand was supposed to be created by a wandcrafter, a man specialized in making them, and that they had to hold a magical core so that a wizard or witch could use it to channel his innate magic easier. Harry had, literally, performed wandless magic, for no other reason save for the fact that he had no knowledge at all about the magical world.
That was why his 'wand' would stay with him for many years...
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
A tall man with dark red hair was sitting down in his office, when he heard a muted explosion. For a second, he wondered what his twin sons had managed to make explode this time, so used he was to hearing it at home, when he realised that he wasn't at home, but at work, and that the small explosion had been followed by several people shouting everywhere. He stood up and ran out of his office.
The Department of Accidental Magic Reversal was in pure panic. There were papers flying through the air, a bit of smoke was coming from one of the sensors in the wall and everyone was shouting and running around: no one was in control of himself or herself. The man tried to make himself heard to his work companions, but to no avail, until he found a chair, stood up on it and whistled very loudly. This, finally, managed to make everyone settle down in their places.
“Thank you,” the man said, coming down to the floor again. “Now, will someone please explain what is going on, and why did our Level Sensor explode?”
“Mr Weasley, the sensors have been picking up large outbursts of magic for the last thirty minutes. Those outbursts were so big that the Level Sensor couldn't measure it all, and it seems it broke down. It'll take us several days to repair them again.”
“I see,” the red-haired man — Mr Weasley — said. “Did the other sensors manage to get anything about the source? Location, identity...”
“I fear not much, sir. The Identity Sensor, as soon as it tells us one thing, it reverses and says something different. The only thing that has been consistent has been that the source is a male person, the age constantly changes. At the start it said the source was six years old, then that it was forty-two, after that it said that he was sixty-one and later that it was nearly a hundred years old. As for the Locator Sensor, it has gone completely haywire, it doesn't seem to be able to fix the position of the wizard that is doing all of this,” the person nearest to Mr Weasley said. There were several mutterings among those who had been in the department for some time.
“Sir, I've been in this department for fifteen years now. Something like this, of this magnitude, has only happened once before since I started working here,” another voice spoke up.
“When was that?” Mr. Weasley asked, slightly worried. He had been steadily working his way up through the ranks, only achieving this department four years ago. If something like this had happened before, he had to make sure that he had all the information.
“The night the Potters were killed and Y-Y-You-Know-Who was defeated.” There was a collective gasp from the crowd as the words sunk in. Had the Dark Lord returned? It was a very bad prospective, if it had really happened. Mr Weasley immediately took charge, hoping that it wasn't what the man had said. However, he believed it was better to err on the side of caution.
“I see. Ok, Stevens, Shelly, Brooks, and Lidge, the four of you are to work on the Locator, attempt to get a more precise physical location, we need to know where we have to go if it is needed. Everybody else, from now on this is getting maximum priority. If the Dark Lord is back, we can't dawdle much on magical children turning someone's hair blue. Those that know how to create Portkeys, you have permission to make as many as required to achieve this task, make at least one that goes to Godric's Hollow if we find ourselves in need of going there. Matthews, go to the archives and seek the readings of the time you said this happened before, we are need to make a comparison. Someone else must stay on alert and call the DMLE just in case this is the worst scenario. I'll go alert Minister Fudge right away.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the witches replied, and everyone went to work, while Mr Weasley went out of the Department and took the lift, heading for the Minister's office.
Upon arriving there, he informed the secretary that he had very critical information that the Minister required to know immediately. The secretary eyed him curiously, but nonetheless motioned for him to enter the office, since the minister was not in a meeting right now. Mr Weasley did so, and found Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister for Magic, reading the Daily Prophet — the main newspaper of Magical Britain — from behind his desk.
“Minister?” Mr Weasley said. The Minister lay down the newspaper and acknowledged his presence. “I have grave news that require to be shared with you right now."
“What news coming from the Department of Accidental Magic could possibly be so grave that you need to share them with me right now, Arthur?” Fudge said, a little condescendingly. Fudge had never liked Arthur Weasley on a personal level. He knew he was a hard and honest worker, but from his point of view Arthur lacked the proper pride a wizard should have. However, the Weasley family was a well known and well connected family, thanks to the great effort they had put into fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and thus he was not a man to be taken lightly.
“Just half an hour ago, our sensors have been receiving repeated readings of large outbursts of magic. They have been so great that the sensor that detects the level of power put in those outbursts has broken down, and our other sensors have been unable to ascertain much information about the person. The only thing we have been able to find for sure is that the person is a male, whose age remains undetermined, unfortunately,” Arthur explained, crisply, due to the the tone Fudge was taking towards him.
“And why, exactly, is this so important? I'm sure that you will be able to find the source soon and determine the reason,” Fudge replied, eyeing Arthur warily.
“I'm sure you are aware, Minister, of the accuracy of the Sensors we use at the Department,” Arthur said. “They are usually highly accurate, so such an anomaly like this should give us enough reason for concern. This should be coupled with the fact that, according to the registries, the last time something like this happened was Halloween, 1981.”
“The night You-Know-Who was defeated?” Fudge asked, receiving a nod as an answer. “Preposterous! Are you suggesting that You-Know-Who has returned?”
“No sir, not at all. However, you have to remember that You-Know-Who's body was never found, and that all of this is a highly suspicious matter. That is why I have directed all of my department to discover the reasons behind this situation as quickly as possible, and why we are preparing to alert the Department of Magical Law Enforcement should we need their help.”
“You will do no such thing!” Fudge exclaimed. “Can you imagine the public reaction when they hear about this? Are you trying to start a panic? You shall pull your people back at once! All of this fiasco is obviously the result of equipment failure.” Arthur stared back, wide-eyed. How could this man be so stupid as to ignore this potential crisis? Any other man would have, at least, tried to investigate some more before ordering everything to stop. He would have to look for help somewhere else, someone that could do something else about it — and he knew just the place where he could find that help.
“Very well, Minister” Mr. Weasley said curtly before turning towards the door.
“Not so fast, Arthur. We will have to cover this fiasco in some way. We can't allow the public to know that we nearly put them in panic for such a minimal reason. From this point on, you are to work as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. You will be working there with Perkins, and your last measure as Head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department is to rescind your former orders. Is that understood?” Fudge asked menacingly, as if daring the man to argue with him. To his surprise, there was what looked to be glee in Mr. Weasley's eyes as the man gave a quick nod and left.
Arthur thought about going back to his office to begin the move and pull everyone back, but when he ran into Lidge, who seemed to have been looking for him, he decided against it. He'd rather find the extra help as soon as possible, and his things would be magically moved to his new office in just a few minutes. Arthur quickly explained to Lidge what had happened in the Minister's office, and that he was going out for a walk. Lidge commiserated with Arthur's situation and his opinion about the Minister, and promised to take care of everything at the office for him. Arthur was glad that the man would do it: even if Lidge had been gunning for the department head position for quite some time, both of them respected each other and liked to work together. Lidge wished him luck in his new position, and left to stop the investigation.
Taking the lift downstairs, Arthur soon found himself in the Atrium at the Ministry. After a look at the Fountain of Magical Brothers, and a shake of his head at the idiocy it represented, Arthur disappeared from the Atrium with a POP! and soon appeared several hundreds of miles away, at the only entirely magical town of Britain, Hogsmeade. However, what he was looking for wasn't in the town, and it was quickly left behind as Arthur headed towards his final destination: Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - Basic Learning, Advanced Living
Author's Notes: This story was beta-read by Teufel1987 (at ff.net), so if you like what he has done, please thank him. If you don't, refrain from contacting him.
Spell - n. s. spell, A form of words used as a magical charm or incantation.
As he reached the main gates of Hogwarts, and, as they opened before his step, Arthur Weasley couldn't help but remember his time there, when he was a student and was trying to cram into his mind as many spells and theory as possible while enjoying his time with his friends. He looked at the Astronomy tower at his left and wistfully remembered one of the happiest moments in his life, when he took his Molly there and asked her if she wanted to marry him. She had said yes nearly immediately and both of them had enjoyed some quality time up there.
They had been caught while they came back to the Gryffindor common room by Albus Dumbledore, but the Headmaster had just smiled, congratulated them on their new status and had escorted them to the common room, where he bid them good night. As soon as they entered, they had kissed goodnight, and then left for their respective rooms.
Arthur shook his head, and concentrated on the task ahead. He wished he had a broomstick with himself, so that he could just fly from the gates to the door of the castle, but on the other side having the time to clear his thoughts was much better.
When he arrived to the Entrance Hall, right next to the Great Hall, he looked around, to see if one of the Professors was around. He also wondered what his sons Bill and Charlie were doing right now, given that they were having classes. Bill, in his fifth year, was the Gryffindor prefect and was studying for the O.W.L. exams, while Charlie in his third year had demonstrated a great passion over the subject of Care of Magical Creatures and was the star Seeker of Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Percival, his next son, was going to start at Hogwarts next year. Not seeing anyone, he proceeded towards the Headmaster's office in the seventh floor.
He reached the gargoyle that guarded it quite soon, and after drawing a deep breath to calm himself, he neared the statue.
“Hello, I'm Arthur Weasley,” he told the gargoyle, “and I would like you to ask if Albus Dumbledore is free to receive me now.”
For a few seconds, the gargoyle stood unmoving, but soon it stepped aside, revealing the entrance to a moving spiral staircase that led to the headmaster's office. Arthur walked on the fifth step and waited until it reached the office's door. When he went on to knock, he heard someone speak.
“Please, Arthur, come in,” the aged Headmaster said. Arthur entered the room, and saw the genial man, with his long white beard touching the floor behind his desk, dressed with a deep blue robe decorated with stars, and his straight white hair falling and somewhat disorganized. “Sit down, sit down. Do you want some sherbet lemons?” he asked, offering from a bowl that contained the slightly acidic sweets. Arthur took one of them and put it into his mouth, relaxing as the taste invaded his mouth.
“Hello, Headmaster. Thanks for receiving me with such short notice.”
“Do not worry, Arthur. I have been trying to find an excuse to put off a part of this paperwork, and your visit is quite a good idea. And please, call me Albus. We have known each other for many years now.”
“I'll try, Albus,” Arthur answered.
“What brings you here at this moment? I thought that you should be working at the Accidental Magic Reversal Department. Are you skiving off your work?”
“Hardly,” Arthur laughed, slightly bitter. “No, the reason is that two hours ago something... potentially disturbing happened there.”
That worried Dumbledore. He knew Arthur Weasley, the patriarch of the Weasley family, was by nature an unflappable man, one that was not disturbed easily. He paid the man that had been first his student, then his companion in war and now one of his friends, his full attention.
“What happened, Arthur? Please, spare no details.”
“I do not know how it started, as I was in my office, but I suddenly heard an explosion,.When I came into the main department room, I saw that one of the sensors, the Level Sensor, had exploded. From what the other workers told me, it had been detecting large outbursts of magic for quite some time until it couldn't take any more.” Dumbledore was surprised: he knew what sensors Arthur was talking about. In fact he had been the one to cast the charms that made the sensors work correctly. The Level Sensor had required him to put as much magic as possible into it, which was quite a lot, so if it had broken it could be bad indeed.
“And the other sensors?”
“They were going... haywire, I think it's the word Muggles use. The only thing they could detect was that the source of such levels of magic was a male wizard: the age couldn't be determined at all, it constantly jumped between six and one-hundred years old, and the Locator wasn't able to get a fix on where that wizard was, not even within a range of several miles.”
“It does sound quite bad, indeed.”
“It could be worse than what it looks like, Albus. One of the older members of the department informed me that it was not the first something like this happened. It was... it was that night, Albus! The one when You-Know-Who was...” Arthur seemed to lack words to describe the situation, in his nervous state.
Albus waved his hand, telling Arthur that he knew what he was talking about: that Halloween night of six years ago. The night when James and Lily Potter died protecting their only son from the most powerful and evil Dark Lord of the last century, Lord Voldemort. Losing James and Lily had hit him very hard, especially given that he valued both of them as two great friends whose advice was always welcome. And having to leave Harry Potter at the doorstep of his only relatives' (the Dursleys) home, had been without a doubt one of the most difficult decisions he had ever taken in his long life. In fact, if it hadn't been for the protection the blood wards would give Harry, he would have taken Harry as if he were his grandson and taken care of him.
“I guess something else must have happened, or else you wouldn't have come to me.”
“Indeed, Albus. When I went to tell Minister Fudge about this incident, he immediately dismissed the whole thing as a failure of the sensors, and then decided to send me to the Misuse of Muggle Objects Office to cover everything. While it is something I'm not going to complain too much about,” Arthur said, thinking again of all the Muggle artefacts he would be able to be in contact with in his new position, “I do not like the fact that Fudge has decided to prevent investigation in such a potential danger as this is. As far as I know, there is only one possibility for which the Locator would fail to act in such a way.”
“The Fidelius Charm, isn't it?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes. Given that very few people know how to cast a Fidelius Charm, and you are one of those few, I decided to come here, with the double purpose of searching counsel about this and so that you could know what had happened. If the Dark Lord has been revived, you would need to know as soon as possible.”
Albus Dumbledore was silent for a few minutes. As he stroke his long, white beard, he thought about what to do. This situation could be quite dangerous, indeed, if it weren't checked. “Since you haven't been allowed to investigate this, I think I will look into this personally. I'll try to ask some people that will be able to research this phenomenon more in depth, and I myself will attempt to look for possible places where the source may be. Also, while the Fidelius Charm could have been used in many locations, most of which I do not know of, at least I have a possible starting point.”
“Where?”
“The Potters' house at Godric's Hollow. I never asked to be told the secret to access the house, guessing that the fewer people that knew about it the better. However, while I can't access the house, I do remember the general location of where it stood. If it falls to it, I may have to visit Sirius Black.”
Arthur's face darkened. Sirius Black's betrayal to both the Potters and to the Order of the Phoenix was still a very raw subject for him. Everyone had hoped that Sirius had really stepped away from the dark course his birth family was intent on making him follow, and James Potter had always protected him as he would his brother, and his sudden and unexpected reversal of sides had caught everyone unawares.
“Believe me, Arthur, I do not like the idea any more than you do,” Dumbledore said, correctly reading Arthur's face, “but Godric's Hollow is a starting point for us, and one we can eliminate easily if we are lucky, though I am loathe to visit Azkaban unless there is no other resource.”
Arthur agreed, thankful that Dumbledore would take care of making the visit. The only time he had visited the place, last year, it had left him very shaken due to the effects the Dementors had had on him. Then, he realised something was strange. “How come Godric's Hollow is still under the Fidelius Charm? I thought that it would have been broken that night.”
“It wasn't broken at all; it was just... temporarily turned off. We were lucky that Hagrid was able to get Harry Potter out of the house before it came back, for then Harry could have died without anyone taking care of him, or at the hands of Black if he intended to kill him. Indeed, just two days later, after I left Harry with his relatives, I went there with the intention of making several repairs in the house for when he is older and, if he wishes so, to live there with any family he makes, but the Charm reactivated quite suddenly and I had to leave before finishing my intended task. I was fortunately able to charm a large boulder near the house before the Charm went up again, so that I could locate the general position even if I couldn't find the property itself.”
“And how exactly did the Fidelius Charm deactivate and then reactivate again?”
“That is something I have given much thought to in the last six years. My theory is that whatever happened between Voldemort and young Harry somehow overcharged the rune that made the magic flow for the Fidelius to work, thus deactivating it without destroying it. When the rune was able to expel the overcharge of magic it had been forced to absorb quite suddenly, the magic was finally able to flow naturally through it and the Fidelius went up again.”
Both men went silent for a few seconds, before Arthur stood up.
“Well, I must be off, Albus. I have to check on my new job position, and I guess that I'll have to prepare to tell Molly what has happened at the Ministry.”
“Very well, Arthur. I thank you for your visit, and for this enigma you have given me. I'll try to keep you informed of anything I may find about this matter.”
“Thank you, Albus,” Arthur replied, shaking the old man's hand and leaving the office.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Harry's next few hours were spent going over many other charms he had found in the book. As soon as he felt he had mastered the Levitation Charm, he turned the pages quickly, intent on looking for more moving pictures from which he could learn more incantations, or 'spells' as the book called them.
Several pages later, he found a spell that shot a red light out of the wand. According to the book, it was a Stunning Charm, and the spell could be cast by saying “Stupefy”. Harry did that, and was rewarded with a red light sprouting out of his wand and hitting the wall, creating a small dent there. From what the book said, he knew that the spell only had an effect on people and animals, so he did not have the chance of testing whether it had worked, but he hoped it had.
In a matter of hours, as the sun started to set and darkness grew outside the house, Harry continued learning new spells. One of them was a Shield, cast with “Protego” that could easily stop most spells, but needed a continuous supply of magic in order to be able to stop more than one spell. He was also able to learn several spells that could be used if he had to defend himself, like “Impedimenta” or “Depulso”, and others that had more mundane utilities.
Only when it became too dark to even read did Harry tear his attention out of the book and look around, was he pulled back into reality. It was also then that he remembered he had not eaten at all since breakfast, since lunchtime was spent running from Dudley and his friends, so he did not have a chance to eat something. He wondered if it would be a good idea to attempt going back to the kitchen and see if there was still some food there, but the darkness held him back. It was not that darkness scared him, in fact he sometimes welcomed it: darkness meant that he couldn't be seen, or that he was at his cupboard, where no-one could reach him at all, keeping him safe. However, darkness in the middle of a house he did not know well meant that he could trip and hurt himself. He could not attempt to turn on the lights either, as he did not know where the switches were.
He also felt slightly drained and tired. Harry wondered if it was normal or not, given that he had been casting spells for most of the day after arriving there. However, given his tiredness, he decided to leave thinking about it for the next day.
Before sitting down in one of the armchairs and trying to sleep, Harry went to the door and cast a charm that could be used to lock doors, “Colloportus”. After doing that, he heard a squelching sound coming from the door. He tried to open the door, and when he saw that it wouldn't budge, he felt elated at his success. Then, Harry curled up on the best armchair out of all of them, the one right next to the shelves, and closed his eyes. That night, most of his dreams consisted of wand movements and incantations.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Many miles away from where Harry was, in an island lost in the middle of the sea, a man was lying down in a bed covered with gnawed sheets, attempting to draw a bit of heat from them. The only thing that he could be heard saying was “I did not do it, I did not do it, I did not do it...”
Suddenly, the man noticed something in the air was changing and moved out of the bed, changing into a large black dog that curled itself on the bed. Whatever had changed before, it was moving away now. The dog, if he had been able to, would have smiled.
As he attempted to put himself on a better position to sleep, he looked out of the window and noticed the moon was half full. He wondered what those that had been his friends were doing right now. He growled at the thought of one former friend, the one who had betrayed them all and had been the cause of his imprisonment. Damn the rat, he thought.
He also wondered what was happening to his pup. The one his friends had had, and that he wasn't able to take care of. Something inside him told him that he was now happier than ever. He wasn't sure of how he knew that. Only that he knew it. That was more than enough for him.
Something else blew at him. Something that he hadn't felt in more than six years. It was the winds of change. Whether it was a good change or a bad change, he had no idea. But he welcomed some change: it was dreadfully boring in here. After all, you could not sing 999 Bottles of Butterbeer to yourself more than once a day before even that became boring.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
As the sun began to rise from the east, Harry began to stir. While he did not know it, Harry's young age meant that he could spend the entire night in a somewhat uncomfortable position, and the next morning he would not feel any effects from that. Harry jumped down the armchair and stretched for a few seconds before making his way to the door. He struggled for a minute, trying to open the door that mysteriously did not want to budge. As his mind cleared from the half-asleep state it was, he remembered the spell he had cast the night before. He took his long stick and muttered the counter-spell for the locking charm (“Alohomora”) he had learned the day before, which allowed him to pull the door open.
Just then, Harry's stomach growled, and he realised that perhaps this could be a good moment to find whether the kitchen had something to eat, since he himself had not eaten in the last 24 hours. The kitchen was still a mess, but he had expected it. He mentally made a note to find some cleaning and repairing charms to repair the kitchen and clear the mess in the other rooms: he had just now decided that this place was going to be his new home. There was no way he was going back to Privet Drive again, especially now that he knew about magic. His relatives had lied to him about what had happened to his parents, as well as having treated him like a slave for years. Also, it wasn't as if he knew how to get back there, either: obviously, it had been a magic of some kind what had suddenly transported him from the school to this house, but he did not know what kind of magic exactly had done it, so he did not know how to reverse the process.
Harry neared what he suspected was a refrigerator standing on one wall next to the sink, moving some pots and pans out of the way so that he could open it. He noticed that, on the corner of the door, it said “Kamprad's Ever-Full In-Stasis Icebox”. He did not know who Kamprad was, or what “In-Stasis” meant, but he hoped that the “Ever-Full” part was still working. Part of him knew that anything in the fridge (or icebox) could have gone bad by now, but, maybe, just maybe, some sort of charm placed on it could keep the contents inside it fresh for years. After all, if magic could make things appear out of thin air (as he had read in that book, which was something called Conjuration), why couldn't magic keep things fresh?
He opened the icebox, and Harry was amazed at the great quantity of food that was present inside it. There was no wretched smell assaulting his nose, nor was mould growing out everywhere in there. Harry hoped that this was a good sign of the freshness of things, and looked for something he could test. He soon spotted what looked like to be a bottle of milk, which he knew was a perfect thing to test: milk could go bad in just a couple of days, so he would be able to tell if it was still good to drink just by smelling it.
Harry took hold of the glass bottle brimming with the white liquid and set it on the counter. After opening the top, he leaned forward and took a sniff. Nothing out of the ordinary met his senses. It even smelled like normal milk. Mustering his courage, he carefully lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. It tasted... wonderful! Harry did not think he had tasted milk as good as this before. He gulped some more milk down before setting the bottle back to the counter and closing it. He turned his attention back to the icebox, in order to find what else was stored there, and thus would be available for making breakfast.
He saw that there were several eggs on the top of the door, and one of the shelves had, amongst other meat products, many sausages and a package of sliced bacon. Although he had hated every minute of it, he was now thankful that he had learned how to cook from his aunt, who had forced him to make breakfast every day since he was old enough to reach the stoves and learn instructions. Of course, he couldn't have any of the food he had to cook: as Petunia loftily informed him the first — and only — time he asked why, Dudley still had to grow up a lot — the fact that Dudley weighed nearly the same as teenagers that doubled him in age went over Petunia's head — while Harry did not deserve more than one strip for “being a freak”. It seemed that “being a freak” was her favourite excuse to punish him for anything that happened, whether it was his fault or not.
Pushing his thoughts over the woman he would never have to see again away, Harry looked towards the stove, and was startled to find that there were no controls on the front of it for controlling heat, as he was used to do. It was pretty clear that he would need to learn a few more things if he wanted to eat from now on.
He ran back up to the library and scanned the many titles for a book that might hold the information he needed to get the stoves turned on. Finally, he found a book titled Madam Stewart's Big Book of Household Spells, and pulled it from the shelf. When he opened the book, a magazine fell out of the middle of the book. Harry took it and found it was a cooking magazine. He would have opened it, but his growling stomach pulled him back to the task he had to fulfil, so he set the magazine over the table and hurriedly made his way back downstairs.
Since he couldn't put the book on the table, he decided that first he would find a charm that could clean around, then the one to turn on the stove, and as the oil heated he would try to repair the table in order to eat on it. He set the book on one of the chairs and opened the book to see the table of contents. The first chapter covered basics of magic and some warnings, but Harry would skip that: he had been doing since the day before and he had not encountered any problems. The second chapter was about cleaning, which was what he was looking for. The next one was about restoration of objects, such as repairing or mending bent metal objects, which he would look for later. Finally, the fifth chapter also talked about cooking in a magical kitchen, so he felt he was set for the rest of the morning.
He passed the pages until he found the cleaning section. The most basic spell mentioned there was one called “Scourgify” which the book stated was an easy one to do, as well as fast: not everything could be cleaned with it, but it was perfect for making dust vanish and slightly polishing metals. The movement required for the charm was only described, but Harry felt ready to do it.
The kitchen had a layer of dust that certainly needed to be removed: Harry could see his own imprints on the floor. He pointed his stick at the centre of the room and cast the new spell. In a matter of seconds, all the dust in the room had disappeared. Harry smiled at this new success. He looked around the kitchen, and cast the charm a couple of more times, in order to finish cleaning the kitchen. Soon, it was spotless, not sparkling, but spotless.
Harry then opened the book on the cooking section. Fortunately, one of the first spells in the section was the one that could start a stove, so that meant he was now ready to start cooking. Picking three pans and some other cooking utensils, as well as what he wanted to have for breakfast, he lit three of the stoves and filled one of the pans with oil, the second pan was just given a small layer of oil and the third was left without oil. As he waited for the oil to heat up, he opened the book on the third chapter and set on repairing the bent pots and, most importantly, the table.
The charm Reparo was one he thought would be easy to do. The book called for the person to concentrate on the image of the object they wished to repair, while jabbing the wand towards that object. Harry looked at the table, broken in half, and tried to imagine how it had been before it was broken. Once he made sure that image was fixed, he pulled his stick and jabbed at the table, casting the spell. Soon, the table was back to normal.
He turned back to the stoves, and since the oil was ready now, Harry cracked open a couple of eggs to fry them, skilfully put several bacon stripes on its pan, and put three sausages on the last pan. He carefully watched over all the things as they were made, and once he was sure everything was ready, he put the food on a plate and he sat down to eat at the table. The smell of everything was enough to make Harry's mouth water.
In a matter of fifteen minutes, Harry had polished everything down. He was surprised not only by that, but also by the fact that he was still hungry, so he went to the stove again and made some more food. Soon, he had eaten that food, too, and for the first time since he had been left with the Dursleys, he felt full and content. As he remained sitting on the chair, he decided that it was better to start cleaning everything, so he looked for a jar where he could put the cooking oil, to use later again. In less than thirty minutes, the oil was stored, everything Harry had used to cook was cleaned and, with the judicious use of several charms, the kitchen was well organized and even cleaner than before, looking like the model kitchen it had been before the house was abandoned.
Pleased with the hard work and glad that he had been able to do most of the job with magic, Harry decided to continue organizing the rest of the house, cleaning and repairing everything else. He first stepped in the entrance hall, and set to first repair the front door before continuing with everything else. The main problem of doing this was that it required for the caster to have a clear picture of the object to repair. The table had been easy, after all it was completely there, but the door was not as easy, since its normal position was the doorway, and Harry had never seen it there.
No, he had seen it before — when he was a baby! He couldn't be completely sure of it, but perhaps, somewhere in his mind, was the information, the image he needed to repair the door. He relaxed and tried to clear his mind: one of the most difficult things in the world to do is trying not to think of anything. For a seven year old, which Harry was, it was even harder, as he found his mind being repeatedly assaulted by several random things, all of them lacking sense. Frustrated, he threw the caution to the wind and pointed his stick, saying “Reparo”. The door started to mend, some splinters rejoining it, but nothing else happened. Harry shook his head and concentrated more on the task. His next attempt managed to clear all the splinters and the smaller fragments, leaving the door as if it had been cut cleanly in twine. The third attempt finally mended it completely, leaving it like new, and a Levitation charm later the front door finally was placed in its original position, looking brand new.
His work with the door finished, Harry moved around the rest of the entrance hall, repairing the few furniture pieces that remained there, before he moved for the dining hall. After eliminating all the dust around, he repaired those chairs that were broken and managed to eliminate the burns in the wooden table. He then took on the red spot on the wall. He realised that, maybe, just like the spots in his old room were his mother's blood, maybe these were his father's. Attempting to keep the tears back, as he imagined his father trying to stop the evil wizard that had come to kill them, he looked for a charm that could clean blood. He found the Tergeo charm and applied it, noting that most of the blood had been eliminated from there, with a second Tergeo taking care of the rest.
Harry was feeling tired, but he didn't want to have a nap. Yawning, he opened the door to the room he had originally arrived in, and his eyes were drawn again towards the banner above the fireplace, and felt comforted. Pointing his stick at the centre of the room, he used the Scourgify charm and all the dust disappeared from the room. He was glad that this room wouldn't require for him to actually repair something: whoever had killed his parents and tried to kill him — at least, he thought that because the pale man from his memory had shot some green light at him, like the one that had killed his mother — had left this room alone.
Five minutes later, after Harry finished polishing some of the metallic things in the room, he felt as if he were about to collapse in exhaustion, so he went to the couch and lay down on it while closing his eyes. He was deeply asleep before his head hit the pillow.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
As soon as he woke up the day after his meeting with Arthur, Albus decided to get on with the mystery Arthur had presented him. He really hoped that the source of those outbursts wasn't Voldemort, or, as he knew him, Tom Riddle. The years of the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been very hard ones, and he felt that the British Magical World wouldn't be able to stand the same conflict again. Not until all the destruction it had caused was repaired.
He knew that, should the source be under the Fidelius Charm, as Arthur suspected, it would be almost impossible to actually know where the person was, nonetheless attempting to ascertain who that person was. However, doing the detective work, as he liked to call it, was a bit of a passion for him, and making deductions was easy. If he managed to find whether some other place was under it, then he would be able to guess who the source was.
All of this brought him through breakfast and the way up, and as soon as he entered his office he sat down on his chair, intent on drawing up some possible ways to detect places that had disappeared under the Fidelius. His thoughts were interrupted when the fireplace in his office chimed to signal an incoming call. He looked at the fireplace to see a frantic Arabella Figg's head there.
“Thank Merlin, Albus! This is really bad, Albus, really bad!”
“Calm down, Arabella. Come over and tell me what's happening,” Albus said, worried once more. Arabella was the woman he had managed to place near Harry so that she could watch out for anything that had happened to him. For her to call him like this...
The woman's head disappeared, and a few seconds later the flames turned green as Arabella appeared there. Albus gestured towards the seat in front of his desk and Arabella collapsed on it. Albus called one of the Hogwarts elves and asked him to bring a lime blossom tea, which was brought in a few seconds. Arabella drank it slowly, and managed to relax slightly.
“Now, tell me what has happened, please.”
“Well, I wasn't there to see it, but it seems that Harry has disappeared.”
“What?” Albus said, shocked. This was the second day in a row he had been shocked by what could potentially be bad news. If Harry had disappeared, it was indeed bad news.
“Yesterday afternoon, the Dursleys' son had come from school, but Harry wasn't with him, nor did I see him at any other moment. I thought that maybe Harry had come before, while I was distracted feeding my cats, but this morning, when Vernon Dursley took his son to school on the way to work, at no moment did I see Harry. I went to ask Petunia whether Harry could help me with some things, but she said Harry was ill and he wasn't available, but I knew from her expression that she was lying. So I have come here, because I think something grave may have happened to him.”
“Thank you for telling me this, Arabella. If you give me a few minutes, I'll travel to your house and interrogate Petunia more thoroughly,” Albus replied, while his mind conjured several possibilities. Had Harry run away? Had he been taken by someone on the way from school to his house? Was he really ill? And more importantly, was this disappearance related to the happenings of the previous day?
He checked the sensor that told him of the state of the blood wards surrounding the Dursleys' house. They seemed to be in a good state, but Albus was able to detect that already there were several fractures on it, fractures that would have never happened if Harry was still in there. However, those fractures were much bigger than they should be if Harry had just been a day missing. That could mean many things, but at least it told him both that he was alive and that he was at some place where he felt much better, much more at home than he did in Privet Drive.
Deciding that finding out what had happened to Harry took a higher precedence than the mystery Arthur had presented him, Albus took a pinch of Floo powder, threw it into the fire and stepped on it, saying “Arabella Figg's house,” and letting the Floo net pull him towards his destination.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
A few hours later, Harry woke up, feeling refreshed after his nap. He wondered what the time was, and how many hours he had been sleeping, but then he discarded the thought. He was living on his own, he had no pressures regarding to timetables, no places he had to go to, and no restraints. Time was no longer important to him. The only thing he needed to do was what he wanted to do, which was something he had not had the pleasure of... ever. Just then, his belly growled, so he headed back to the kitchen. Also, he should check whether the quantity of food in the icebox had been diminished by what he had eaten, or if it was really ever-full as its name stated. Opening it, he found that the icebox really lived up to its name, at least in that part.
Finding some turkey, cheese and sliced bread, Harry decided a sandwich would be perfect now. Setting a glass of milk on the table, it took him only a few minutes to make the sandwich, and he sat down to eat. While he munched on it, his mind was floating over what he would do while he was there, and what might be needed to do. Of course, the most important thing would be to get the house back into order, repairing everything that had been destroyed and cleaning everywhere. After doing that, he could focus on learning magic, which provided the extra incentive to get the housework done as soon as possible. He should also attempt to study the things that he might have learned at school. Even if he did not have to go there, he thought that it was still something he'd need. Finally, he had to piece together what had happened to his parents: from what he had gathered, it seemed as if they were betrayed, and Harry wanted to make sure that it would not happen again.
After a bit more cleaning, he found he was done with the first floor. So, Harry went upstairs, where there were several rooms he had not been in yet. He first went into the library and cleaned it easily, still marvelling at how easy it was to clean a room with magic, just a swish and a Scourgify and it was spotless, unlike the non-magical way of doing things by hand. The next room he came into was the nursery. The blood in there made him a bit ill, so he pointed at the spots and cast the Tergeo charm, which turned all the deep red spots into smaller splotches of red. The second charm turned the spots into a slightly pink colour, and the third finally cleaned it all. That charm had also rid the room of dust, so that was out of the way.
He then started to repair as many things as he could. The cot, where he was sure he had slept when he was a baby, was an easy thing. Some of the toys that had been around were a bit more difficult, but still he was able to do it. The rest of them, however, were impossible to repair. Harry set those on a shelf he had also repaired, and promised to try to mend them later.
A guest room, next to the library, was easily dealt with, as well as the two bathrooms. One of them had a magical engraving with a wolf, a dog, a stag and a rat playing around, while the second had other engraving, with a stag and a doe, plus some things that were clearly what his parents used when they bathed him.
The next room was clearly a study. There was a dark brown table at the end of the room, neatly organised, with a candlestick on one side and a stack of odd looking paper in one corner. There was also a window on the left, and one of the walls was occupied by a large blackboard, with a drawing on it, letters with arrows going around a square, which could be a building of some sort. Some books that seemed to have come from the shelf in front of the blackboard were strewn over a low table, which was surrounded by chairs. Harry was about to clean the dust when he saw there were tracks through the dust. They were not clear, which meant that whatever had made them did so some time ago. The tracks were from a small animal, from what he could see.
“Maybe it was a rat,” Harry thought. He looked around, trying to search for more signs of rats living or having lived in there, but he found none at all. He cast the cleaning spell, removing all traces of vermin from the room. He then made a note to check the household spell book, in order to find magic that would allow him to prevent pests and vermin from entering the house.
The last remaining room was the one just in front of the nursery. Harry hesitated before the door: this must have been his parents' room, the one where they slept. Taking a deep breath, he took the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open.
It was a large bedroom with a king-sized, four poster bed situated at one end with small bedside tables on both sides. He could see a wooden wardrobe to the left and a light wood rocking chair next to the large window in front of the door. The chair reminded him of a scene from a film he had glimpsed once: it had a mother sitting down in a similar chair, rocking her son to sleep. He hoped that his own mother had done that several times.
Gaining some more courage, Harry neared the bed, and looked at the bedside table on the right. There were a couple of picture frames sitting on it, and he went for them. Maybe he could find a photograph of his parents here. Sitting down on the bed, Harry picked the nearest one and took a long look at it.
This photo was in black and white, and had four young men, who looked to be quite mischievous, enjoying a good laugh, and it was moving. One of them was tall, with jet black hair and round glasses on his face. Next to him was a dark-haired boy whose eyes were shining, and next to him a lighter-haired boy who seemed to be growing a bit faster than normal. At the other side of the first boy, a boy, smaller than the others, stood, with a shy smile on his face. Harry then looked at the bottom of the picture and found a caption written in the same handwriting as the note he had read before, his mother's. It read The Marauders: Remus 'Moony' Lupin, Sirius 'Padfoot' Black, my love James 'Prongs' Potter and Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew.
Harry's eyes widened in shock. The man with jet black hair was his father, and the others were his father's friends. He noticed that his father looked almost like himself did, and guessed that his looks came from him. He also wondered why the group of his father's friends was called “The Marauders”, but he knew that, probably, some of them were still alive, somewhere. And perhaps his father had left some notes, or a journal telling of what he did with his friends. Harry set the frame down and took the other one.
This moving picture was in colour, and it featured a man and a woman. The man was the same as the one in the previous photograph, but somewhat older and with a more mature air, but still his hazel eyes showed the spark of a mischievous personality. The woman had dark red hair and bright green eyes, was very beautiful and her smile seemed to fill the room they were in. Harry traced her with his fingers, and smiled. “I have my mother's eyes,” he thought. Putting this frame down, too, Harry cast the cleaning charm and his task was finally complete.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
“Shame on you, Petunia,” Albus said, unable to believe what he had just seen and heard. Only once had he been this ashamed and terrified by the consequences his actions had brought, and that was the day his sister Arianna had died. “You and your whole family should be ashamed for the crimes you have committed against an innocent child.”
“That freak, an innocent child? Ha! All he was able to do was to make trouble and pick on my Dudders,” Petunia Dursley replied derisively.
“I'm surprised at the level of denial you seem to be in, Petunia. You know that your son bullied Harry constantly, and yet you tell yourself that Harry is at fault somehow. When Lily told me you were jealous of her, and of the Magical world, I hoped it was just a sisterly squabble, not something at this level.”
“I was not jealous of my sister! My sister was a freak that got herself killed because she was too stupid to leave your world of freaks in time!”
“Not jealous of your sister? Well, then I must have misread that letter you sent me a month before Lily first came to Hogwarts, asking if you could attend with her,” Albus said, blue eyes burning behind his half-moon glasses. He had always believed in living in peace with non-magical people, and in giving second chances to those that deserved them, but after what he had seen in Petunia Dursley's mind, and what she had said... he was struggling to not use his wand on her and her family.
Petunia reddened in anger at being reminded of the moment she regarded as the most shameful ever. She wished she had never heard of Hogwarts, of Albus Dumbledore, or of magic.
“You know, Petunia, the only reason I placed Harry here was because he would be protected in this house thanks to the blood wards that were activated as soon as you accepted to take care of Harry. Wards that have been protecting you and your family for nearly six years, and if you are lucky they will hold up for, at least, a couple of months. If it weren't because those wards were the best protection Harry could have, I myself would have adopted Harry and taken care of him, but I trusted that you would be able to rise over such petty squabbles and take care of Harry as if he were your son. I hate to admit I was mistaken, but at least I am glad that Harry hasn't become something similar to your son Dudley.”
“The Potter boy couldn't even be a half of what my Dudders is.”
“With the difference in how much you fed them, I would have been surprised if Harry were even half of Dudley's weight,” Dumbledore replied. His anger at this woman had prevented him from holding his tongue fast, but he did not exactly regret making such a jab. “Do you realise that what you are doing to your son is going to destroy his future? All the weight he has gained due to his being overfed means he runs a higher risk of suffering a stroke as he gets older. Every time you do not punish him for his transgressions only shows him that he may do whatever he wants. Your constant giving into his demands doesn't do any good for him, for when he joins normal society he will not know that he can't have everything he wants to have. Believe me, unless you and your husband radically change what you are doing to him, I wouldn't be surprised if he were to become a criminal when he gets older.” Dumbledore stood up, attempting to terminate this conversation before he did something he would probably regret. “Good day to you, Petunia Dursley. I hope we never have to meet again.”
Dumbledore Apparated from the Dursleys' house to Arabella Figg's, in order to take the Floo to his office.
“Arabella,” Dumbledore said, “thank you for everything that you have been doing here. If you want to move away, I'll help you in any way I can.”
“To be honest, Albus, I feel I am too old to move again. However, it is becoming harder to get my things at the shops. I sometimes miss being able to use the Floo to buy everything.” Silence fell between both of them. Then, Arabella spoke. “Albus, why did you not believe me when I told you the Dursleys were mistreating Harry?”
“I was deluding myself, Arabella. I knew that the wards were the best protection it had from Voldemort” Arabella shuddered, “and those Death Eaters that weren't sent to Azkaban, and as such I hoped that they would, at least, treat Harry like a guest, but I was deeply mistaken. The only thing I'm glad is that he did not turn out to be like his cousin Dudley, but that's all. Will you forgive an old man's mistakes?”
“The one you have to ask forgiveness from is not me, but Harry, when you find him. At least, I hope that you have learned from your mistakes.”
“Yes, I have. If I find Harry, I'll bring him to Hogwarts and adopt him if I must stop others from taking control of him. I promise that I'll make sure that the rest of his childhood will be as near to a normal one as I can provide for him.”
“I really hope that you will be able to live up to that promise,” Arabella replied. “Now, will you help me find a new house? Taking care of all these Kneazles in this house is getting more difficult as times goes by.”
“Of course, Arabella. Thank you very much for your time.”
“A pleasure, Albus.”
Albus Dumbledore went to the fireplace, threw a pinch of Floo powder into it and stepped on the now green fire, saying “Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Having finished with his tasks for the day, Harry did not know what to do now. Cleaning the whole house had taken him less time than it usually did, and now he had loads of free time. Perhaps he could continue studying magic. The book he had found the previous day was bound to have more things, given how big it was.
He went to the library again and picked the book on ancient magic he had been reading before. Skipping the first chapters, which were all about modern magic, he soon found a chapter called The History of the Ancients. For a few seconds, he did not know what to do, but then he guessed it would probably be rather useless to read this now, so he made to skip this chapter, too, but a voice in his head stopped him. It was the voice of an old woman, rich and clear, which talked of great wisdom, acquired with experience and time. He felt as if he had heard it before, but he did not know when.
“Read this chapter,” the voice said.
“Who are you?” Harry asked. “And how did you get into my head?”
The only answer he got was silence. Harry shrugged, and decided that maybe it would be worth it to read this chapter. Even if the voice was something he had imagined, there was a chance that it was right.
It was a short one, hardly five pages long, due to the fact that not much was known about the Ancient Ones. They lived in a continent named Atlantis, which had become part of legends both in the magical and the non-magical world, as it had disappeared in the course of one night. Non-magical legends said that it had been sunk by the Greek gods due to their arrogance, but the book stated the real reason was one of the Ancient Ones had destroyed it when he was trying to take over the land. There was only one known survivor of the catastrophe, a wizard called Prometheus.
Few things were known about the man. After reaching safe land, Prometheus spent several years with non-magical people that ended hating him when they discovered what he was. He also became part of a non-magical legend, which was not mentioned, but he managed to escape whatever the non-magical people had done to him. The last page mentioned that there was supposed to be a book or journal Prometheus had written, telling about his life and all things he did, and left for future wizards to be discovered. Many had tried, but none had managed to find it.
The story was interesting, but Harry wasn't sure of how important history would be for him when he tried to learn magic. After all, magic was mostly managing to say incantations and moving your wand, wasn't it?
Turning the page to start reading the next chapter, Harry immediately knew that this was going to go over his head. The chapter was titled Projection versus Magical Focuses: Means to Control Magic. Even if he was a very bright seven year old boy, there were words in that title he couldn't figure what they meant. He put the book back down on the table, and looked at the other books in the table. Those had titles such as Blood Magic for Long Term Protection, Time's Bane: Prophecies and Lost Rituals from the Celtic Druids, none of which told him anything useful.
He decided that perhaps it would be better if he put these books back to where they belonged, which he did, while he looked for some other book that might be easier to understand and useful for him, given that he was just learning about magic. Harry finally found what he was looking for: at the end of the lower book shelf, next to the door, was a book called Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, which for Harry meant that maybe this was used to teach magic to children, so he took it. He observed that the binding was worn as though the book had been used a lot, and several page corners were bent, marking a place of interest. He went back to the table and started to read the book.
The first thing that sparked his attention was that the previous owner of the book was James Potter. He had also doodled a bit on the first page, one of the things was a flower, a lily. Did his father like his mother already in their first year? At least, it looked like it. If his mother had kept a diary, maybe she would have written about his father.
The first chapter explained the basic principles of magic and how it worked. However, Harry had some difficulty in understanding it, because the book had been written for an eleven year old child, not for someone four years younger. He skipped some of the harder words, which he wasn't able to understand even in context, but when he realised he would need some help, he put the book on the table and searched for something that could be useful, like a dictionary. He finally found Oxford's Unabridged Dictionary for Magical/Muggle Terms. He did not know what a Muggle was, but he guessed it was how non-magical people were called. Harry took the book carefully, as it was very thick and it would probably weigh a lot, but to his surprise it was light as a feather. It probably had a charm on it to prevent such a problem.
Harry set the dictionary on the table, took a notebook and a pen he had found between the books on the table, and opened the dictionary to start searching those words he did not understand. Whenever he found a word, he would make a note.
This was, although he did not know it, the start of Harry's foray in the field of magic. The ramifications of both his disappearing from the 'care' of his horrible relatives and his actions once he had arrived to his childhood home would be felt by Magical Britain for many years, changing the very fabric of the backward society and bringing to light many things that some had wished to keep hidden away forever.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - New Things, New Friends
Friend — n. s. friend. A person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations.
The next days were spent with the same routine everyday: sleeping, having breakfast, taking notes, having lunch, practising magic, having dinner, repeat. From the day he had found it, he had taken to sleeping in his parents' bed, since it made him feel connected to them. Other than, from time to time, using charms to clean the house, he did not do something that was much different. He was able to finish the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 in less than a week, and soon moved onto the Grade 2 book. As he kept reading the books, he kept using the dictionary more and more, helping him in advancing his comprehension of the more difficult words, even if sometimes the actual meaning escaped him.
It had been seven days from the moment he had arrived to his new house when he first noticed the stench. It was foul, invading everything from the rooms to the bottom. Harry tried to find the source, but he was completely unable to locate it, even though it was everywhere. When, after a few hours of failing to find it the normal way, he tried several basic revealing charms that he had learn to find the source, he gained no information about what was causing the odour. Not even the best cleaning charms he knew could push back the malodour!
What he had really succeeded at was at setting up most anti-vermin wards around the house. They were quite difficult to put, because they were mostly intended to be directed against a certain kind of being, but in the end he managed to do it. In a couple of days, rats, mice, spiders, insects, frogs and many other animals were forbidden from entering his house.
The only one he had found himself unable to cast was the ward to prevent snakes from entering. This was something very confusing to him, given that the book of household spells stated that it was a relatively easy one to use, but for some reason Harry could never make it work. Whenever he started to speak the incantation for the ward, he suddenly started to feel a sharp pain in his head that broke his concentration and prevented him from finishing it. He finally gave up, deciding that he should keep practising and maybe try to cast the ward later.
It was in his tenth day there that he glimpsed an old man walking around the house, looking for something. The man wore a pointed midnight blue hat and matching midnight blue robes, and had a long grey beard. It was the archetypical image Harry had of a wizard, or at least that was how he thought one would like, after he had seen that drawing book from The Sword in the Stone.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
It had been nine days since he had been told Harry Potter had disappeared, and ten from the moment Arthur told him about the mystery he had encountered, but it had not been until now that he had been able to get enough free time to go to Godric's Hollow.
By some whim of destiny, or just some deity he did not know wanting to have a laugh at him, the day after being told about Harry he had had to attend a meeting with the Board of Governors, where he had been forced to play the politics game to prevent Lucius Malfoy from attempting to implement several of his ideas, which Dumbledore knew could become the first step in Malfoy's attempt to expel him from his position.
Two days later, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge had called for an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot. One Dumbledore also had to attend since he was the Chief Warlock. There, Fudge had presented several pieces of legislation, one of which would cut down some of the few rights werewolves still had. The rest of the legislation was pointed in similar ways at other non-wizard sentient species, such as centaurs or merpeople. Dumbledore, who suspected Malfoy had had a hand behind it — he knew that Malfoy liked to bribe the Minister in order to get things done the way he wanted, but he could not prove it — fought for hours to avoid it, but in the end, and to his everlasting pity, were passed, although at least he was content to see that it happened by less than ten votes of difference.
Finally, two days after that, the International Confederation of Wizards met in Geneva to determine several things that had to be done. The ongoing efforts by the Soviet forces to retire from Afghanistan were talked about, and the Russian representative presented a resolution so that wizards were allowed to help with the withdrawal of the Red Army. The resolution was narrowly approved, and even that was on the proviso of that help being done in a stealthy way.
That week had been a very hard one for Albus. Several times in the past, he had considered the possibility of leaving both the ICW and the Wizengamot to concentrate on Hogwarts, which was what he had always liked to do. However, the fact that he was one of the few people in the British Ministry of Magic that had both international experience and good relations with most of the ICW representatives prevented him from leaving it, and he feared that, as soon as he left the Wizengamot, Fudge would place one of his cronies as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which, given how Malfoy controlled Fudge through the mighty galleon, could spell disaster. Maybe he could take someone as an apprentice that could eventually replace him in the ICW, but for the moment he would have to keep up.
As bad as it was, the week had ended, and now that he was able to do it, Albus would start his investigation. As soon as he finished with the paperwork — and lamenting all the time that he could not sneak out since Minerva had reminded him it had to be finished that day — he left Hogwarts and Apparated to Godric's Hollow, Harry Potter's birthplace and also the town that held so many memories of his past, some of them not good.
Appearing in a dark alley near the town's main square, Albus was able to walk around without getting disturbed. The people at this town were quite used to seeing people wearing strange clothes, and thus did not pay much attention to the old man who was wearing a midnight blue dress and a pointy hat of the same colour. Careful to not be caught doing magic in front of the Muggles, Albus cast a spell that would allow him to find the boulder he had charmed years ago to avoid missing where the Potter's house stood. Once he reached it, he smiled, knowing that he had not lost his touch to the ravages of age, and sat down on the boulder. He had to relax, if he wanted to activate his Mage Sight ability.
Once he opened his eyes, it was a truly wondrous sight what awaited him. Down on the ground, he could see the ley lines, the reason why Godric's Hollow had been built where it was. Much like Stonehenge, Diagon Alley or Hogwarts, Godric's Hollow sat in the point where several of these magical lines crossed. They could be used to power wards and, if a wizard was able to connect with them, he could use those to power his own spells.
Raising his eyes, he noticed that the Fidelius Charm surrounding the Potter's house was working as intended. Not even his magical sight allowed him to see the house or the charm, but he could see a faint haze in the same place, one that he could have only noticed after many years of experience in using this ability of his.
He kept looking for a few minutes, and noticed that, at some point in the middle of the air, several tendrils of magic appeared. Albus suspected this was the magic of the Fidelius at work: it was like an invisible line that determined what could and what could not be seen from those not in the secret. He was sure that, had he been told the secret about the house by Sirius Black, he would have been able to follow those tendrils towards its source. He also wondered if this meant that he had found the outbursts' source that had been detected by the sensors at the Ministry. Given the great number of those tendrils, he suspected as much.
He could not do much more right now. Without knowing the secret to the Potter's house, he would not be able to enter it. He would keep looking for other places that may have potentially disappeared under a Fidelius Charm, which he hoped were not too many to reduce that part of his investigation. Once he knew that, he would then work on getting permission to speak with Sirius Black.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
After he saw the old man leave, Harry went back to his task. He really liked to learn about magic, as he felt even more connected to his parents when he did it. The rest of the day, however, was also spent in thought over who the man that had left was. He thought that maybe it could be the man that had given the book on ancient magic to his mother. After all, he looked like the image that Harry had imagined days before.
The next morning, Harry woke up feeling well rested. If he were to say so, he had never been this happy before coming to his parents' house. There was nothing for him to worry about except learning magic, and that suited him just fine. He did not have to get up early to cook for his abusive relatives without being allowed to eat it. There were no more chases down alleyways as he tried to escape his cousin and his cousin's friends. There was no more being imprisoned in a cupboard late at night, wishing for something to eat after more than a day inside. There was no more suddenly waking up when one of his relatives walked down the stairs and dropping dust on his face. No more fat yelling Uncles, obsessed-with-cleanliness hypocrite Aunts or pig-headed-and-bodied stupid cousins. It was quiet, and peaceful.
“Ah, this is the life,” Harry tried to say, but it came out as a raspy croak, and made him begin to cough. As he wheezed, he felt his throat begin to clear, and he realized what had happened. He had not spoken out loud at all for more than a week, save for saying his spells. And even that had been less common lately, because as he said the words out loud he always felt a bit awkward and stupid. He did not need to tell anyone which spell he was going to cast, because the only thing that mattered was that he himself knew it.
After a few minutes coughing, he managed to calm his throat and tried to speak again. It was difficult, but in the end he managed to say some words.
“I hope I get better,” Harry said, not able to think of anything else that could fit the situation the sound rattled in his throat, while his vocal cords tickled. He laughed both at the stupidity of what he said and the reaction his body had to it. However, the experience he had just gone through taught him something important that had not thought of yet. He definitely needed to develop a way to keep his voice in shape.
From that day on, Harry Potter would spend at least thirty minutes every day reading his books aloud, or talking to himself about anything that fancied his curiosity. It helped much when he wanted to better understand some parts of the books. He had even taken to singing in the shower.
An unexpected but welcomed consequence was that, once he began to bathe himself again, the smell that had been permeating the house and that he had been unable to eliminate disappeared.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
The morning of the first day of the fourth week at his house, Harry woke up with a yawn as he came downstairs to have breakfast. Not that he knew what day it was; time had, right now, no actual meaning for him. The mere idea of having a timetable had been cast away, since there was nowhere else he had to go to. He lacked deadlines, school worries or any other time related issues. He simply did what he wanted when he wanted to, and he did not have to explain why to anybody. When he felt the need, he woke up, and he went to sleep when he felt tired. He ate meals when he was hungry. He showered when he realised he needed it, and he had his fun whenever he was bored. The artificial construct known as “weekdays” had quickly lost its meaning, and the same was happening to the idea of “month”.
This did not mean that the time at the house was not well spent. The day before, he had finished his study of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 book, but it had taken him longer to understand this book than the Grade 1 book. This was because the concepts in the book were slightly more difficult to grasp for a seven year old, as it was a more advanced book, meant for children that were five years older than him, and Harry had to skip some of them. However, the fact that he could not understand part of the book did not mean that he would not take a large amount of notes. He was sure that these notes would help him understand everything.
Every once in a while, Harry was “visited” by the mysterious old woman in his head. The old woman apparently knew the exact thing he needed to know at just the right moment so that he could understand the concept he was working on. All of Harry's attempts to ascertain the old woman's identity went unanswered, and were instead met with a slight chuckling from the old woman.
“You have not figured it out yet, young one?” the woman had said the day before, when Harry had — once again — asked who she was. Harry had shaken his head, answering that he had not been able to, yet. “My name is unimportant right now, although I believe that you shall discover it in the moment you need to know it. The Fates have said that you do not need to know my name yet, and believe me when I say that the Fates are never wrong.”
That answer had only served to confuse Harry even more. He had searched the library for who or what the Fates were, but he had only found something about three women that controlled the life of every mortal. This search also allowed him to learn what “destiny” meant, as in the note Albus Dumbledore had written in the book he had lent to his mother. He decided that it would be better to try not to think about it. He tried to focus on learning more magic, but the task was beginning to wear on him. Sure, it was an interesting and exciting task, but as he advanced the spells were becoming harder to cast. The books' author had clearly not thought of kids his age trying to learn the things on the books. Fortunately, something he discovered by accident would allow him to advance in his knowledge of magic, only that he would do it in a completely different field
As Harry came down, intent on having some nice breakfast, he took a wrong turn and opened the door to the basement. The young boy realised what was happening in time to take a hold of the doorknob and not fall down the stairs that would take him below the house. Harry remembered that he had planned to go down there before, but had forgotten about it in the excitement of learning magic. He decided that, after breakfast, he would go down there, to see what he could find.
After a hurried breakfast, Harry took his stick for protection and started to step down the stairs to the basement. Soon, he had to will his stick to glow so that he could find his way there. At the bottom of the stairs, he found another door, which Harry could tell was reinforced with iron. “I wonder what's at the other side,” he said to himself as he opened it.
When the door was opened, it was to reveal several different-sized shapes he could not see well due to the lack of light. Harry could see that, next to the door, there was something that looked like a torch, so he pointed his stick at it and thought of the fire spell, Incendio. A flame was sent flying from his stick and hit the torch, lighting it. Harry directed the flame towards other torches he could see on the walls of the room. Only when the illumination was secured did Harry put out the glow in his stick and use it to clear the dust from the room. And it was then that he realised where he was.
This had to be a potions lab, he was sure of it. It had several tables of different sizes, shelves that went up to the ceiling full of vials and containers, cauldrons of different sizes and materials, one shelf full of books, a small wooden cupboard, something that seemed to be used to heat those cauldrons and many other things Harry was completely unable to recognise.
The mere idea of having his own potions lab, where he would be able to learn how to make potions, was something that really excited Harry. He had read about potions in one of the books that was in the library, but he had not imagined that he would actually be able to make some of the potions the books talked about, given that — he thought — he did not have the proper equipment. But now he knew this room was available to him, and he was going to put it to good use, he would work to his hearts content or until he ran out of supplies. He knew that, eventually, he would need to figure out how he would get supplies at some point, but since he still had plenty of food, finding potion supplies was not at the top of his priorities.
The first thing Harry did was to walk to the side of the room, in order to examine the contents of the containers in the shelves at the sides. The first shelves' containers were labelled with names like 'Aconite', 'Bubotuber Pus', 'Graphorn' or 'Moonstone', all placed in alphabetical order, which Harry suspected were ingredients. The opposite shelves, by contrast, had vials with liquid substances, labelled as 'Murtlap Essence', 'Pepper-Up Potion' or 'Skele-Gro', also in alphabetical order.
One of the tables had several notebooks, like the ones he had been using to take notes on spells. A second table had a short knife, which was used to cut the ingredients, and a wooden board. The other tables were bereft of anything else. Harry opened the cupboard and saw several more potion making instruments like a mortar. The bookshelves had, as he had expected, books on potion making, but also about the ingredients that could be used and their properties.
After having looked to everything that was in the lab, Harry's excitement grew even more. The whole thing was really great. He had been stuck without knowing what to do after starting to get stuck with spells, and here was something he could do that was interesting, that he had yet to try, and that was easy to learn. He read the titles of the books, and when he found Easy and Useful Potions, he pulled it out of the shelf and opened it to the first page. He saw that there were many potions he could do, so he chose one of them. The sleeping potion seemed to be pretty easy, and, after checking the stores, he knew he had all the required ingredients to make it. He filled one of the cauldrons with water and began boiling it, while he sliced and ground the ingredients as the book stated.
The problem appeared when he went to add one of the ingredients, the moonstone. He had taken all the moonstone dust he had ground before and put it into the half-made potion. At first, nothing happened, but then the potion acquired an intense red colour Harry was sure was not the colour stated in the book — a mix of red and green — and it exploded. Harry was thrown off his feet towards the door, flying around ten feet until he fell to the floor, getting also knocked out. The points of his unruly black hair were also singed.
When he came around fifteen minutes later, the cauldron — which now sported a nice crack in one of the sides — was still throwing thick grey smoke into the air. Harry, with the help of one of the chairs, managed to stand without having his legs wobble below him, and cleared the air in the room with a swish of his stick.
“Well,” he mused, rubbing his head at the disaster he had accidentally caused, “perhaps making potions is not as easy as I thought it would be.”
Sighing, he gathered the book and several notebooks and sat on a chair to start taking notes. His mother's notes, which were in one of the notebooks, were not very useful right now, but he nonetheless kept them. The books on the shelf, though, were a different story. As he had seen before, he had a treasure trove of interesting potions books that he would be able to go through right now.
The first thing he would do was to check some of those books, in order to try to figure out what had exactly gone wrong with the sleeping potion he had tried to brew. He would have to clean up the mess soon, but perhaps the broken cauldron would still have some clues regarding what had failed him. Then, he remembered that the explosion had happened a few seconds after he had added the moonstone, so perhaps that had been the cause.
He looked between the books and found two that looked quite informative: The Complete Guide To Potions Ingredients and The Complete Guide To Potions, both by a man called Nicholas Flamel. The first book seemed to list every ingredient used in potions, all of them with a long list of properties and alternate names for each, while the second book mentioned all the potions that had been developed by the time it had been published, with a short set of instructions on how to make them for most of them.
He opened The Complete Guide To Potions Ingredients and searched for the moonstone, as he hoped it may give him an idea about why it had gone this bad. He soon found the entry for the stone and read it.
Moonstone: A gemstone known for its power over emotions. Usually used in powder form for emotional balance.
Classification: Solidus Saxum Gemma Luna
Commonly used in: Sleeping Draughts, Peace Potions, and Counter Love Potions
History: Discovered by Zosimus in 342 A.D. while attempting to energize a Heart Diamond.
Hazards: When adding to a potion with salamander blood, add only 1 gram every 3 seconds to avoid explosions. When adding to a potion with dragon blood, add only 1 gram every 10 seconds to avoid explosions.
Harry checked the recipe for the sleeping potion in Easy and Useful Potions, and sure, it had salamander blood as one of its ingredients, but it had no mention of how the moonstone had to be added to prevent the explosion. It was probably something everyone that did potions knew from learning, without needing to be reminded of it. He wondered, though, why it had exploded, and whether there would be some way to actually understand those reasons.
Harry started turning the pages, looking at the information it held in a random fashion. It was amazing: the book was written in a simple way, that made it very easy to understand what the author was talking about, and it helped him gain some comprehension on those. He also checked a bit on what the classifications meant, and it seemed to be quite straight forward: first, an ingredient was divided by its nature — solid, liquid or gas; then where it came from — animal, plant, rocks or fungus; then, depending of what it came from, it would state what kind of animal, plant, rock or fungus it was; and, finally, the actual ingredient would be mentioned with one or two words.
So engrossed was Harry with his reading, that he did not leave it until his stomach growled. Despite his interest in this new subject that had engrossed him so much, he decided that it would be better to just go back upstairs to have some food. Perhaps, once he had calmed his stomach, he would read some more about this interesting new world of potions.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
A mile away from the house Harry Potter was living in, a snowy owl was feeling restless, imprisoned in her small cage, in a rickety carriage pulled by a horse. She had been caught three days ago, several miles to the north from where she was now, while she was sleeping in the tree trunk she lived in. The owl did not like her new surroundings at all: it was too small for her liking, and it completely impeded the possibility of flying away. She kept rattling her cage, hoping to break the door open, but the bars were too strong for her. The door was securely locked thanks to the seedy wizards that had caught her.
In the past, she had not minded wizards too much. Once, she had delivered a letter for an old man that had been very kind to her, and had fed her very tasty things. That wizard had never tried to put her in a cage, or something similar, so she had liked him. But these wizards were very different. They did not seem to care about her at all, they just talked about how much money they were going to get for her and the other owls they had captured, and at no moment they had bothered to check if any of the owls had water. Had they done so, they would have seen that the water dishes in the cages had spilled due to the rocking of the carriage.
All of a sudden, the right wheel of the carriage hit a pothole in the dirt road. All the cages flew into the air and hit the ground, hard. The hit caused the locks that were holding the doors closed to break, which allowed the white owl and most of her kind to leave. The white owl took off flying away as fast as she could, evading the red spells the wizards that had caught here were shooting at her by changing directions with her tail feathers.
A minute later, as she was still avoiding the wizards, she spotted a safe haven. There was a place on the ground, not too far away from where she was, that she could see perfectly, but that she knew the wizards would not be able to. The old wizard she had helped before lived in a place that was similar to this one, so she knew she would be safe there. She dived and, to the astonishment of the wizards, she disappeared from outside view.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Harry had just finished eating his omelette when something entered through the window he had left open to let some fresh air enter the house. He jumped out of his chair and pointed his stick there, when he saw the beautiful white owl that had flown inside. The avian was next to the sink, and was pecking at the tap. Harry was extremely amazed at this behaviour: it seemed as if the animal was trying to tell him something, to communicate with him.
“Are you thirsty?” Harry asked, wondering if that was what the bird wanted. He did not expect an answer, so he was more than surprised when the white owl hooted, as if she was answering 'yes'. “What kind of owl flies into a house just to get some water?” Harry asked himself, but he ran towards the cupboard and picked a dish that could hold water and that would allow the owl to peck inside. He then put the dish under the tap and turned it on, filling the dish with water. He set the dish on the counter, and the owl eagerly drank the water for several minutes. Harry smiled: this owl was really thirsty.
When she was done drinking, satisfied, the owl flew over Harry — apparently in joy — before settling down on his shoulder, and hooting something Harry interpreted as a thank you for helping her.
“You are welcome,” Harry told the owl. “You are a very pretty owl, you know.” The owl nipped at his ear in an affectionate manner. “Would you like me to show you around? You must be a bit tired, if you were that thirsty,” Harry said. The owl hooted affirmatively, and Harry carried the owl around, showing her all the rooms of the house, as he kept with her the first conversation with someone other than himself for the first time in nearly a month. After seeing everything, and noticing how nice Harry was, the owl decided to stay, at least for a few days. She liked this human, and knew he liked her, too, so she knew it would be good to be here.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
He started to hear footsteps coming from the corridor that lead to his cell. He changed forms, from dog to person, as a voice he did not know said “Expecto Patronum” and a silver tiger jumped forward, pushing the hated Dementors back, away from his cell. A few seconds later, the door opened and a dark-skinned, bald man entered the cell, his wand pointed at him.
“Stand up, Black,” the dark-skinned man said in a neutral tone. “You have a visitor.”
“Hey, Kingsley, still shacking things around?” he said, smiling and winking at him. It was the small private joke the dark-skinned man — Kingsley Shacklebolt — had shared with the Aurors he liked the most, and Black had been one of them.
“You do not have the right to make that joke, Black, not after everything you did,” Kingsley hissed, apparently trying not to let his feelings towards the former Auror show.
“Awww, come on, the King himself should have known of the chance that I was framed of everything.”
“Get moving, Black, before I decide to move you myself. And you had better not attempt to do any funny things on the way.”
“OK, OK, I'm coming,” Black replied, standing up and moving towards the door. He had now a chance to escape this place and find the rat, but he knew it would be practically impossible to get away. Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the best Aurors the Ministry had under its employ, and the other Auror that was escorting him seemed to be quite good in his job, too, given that he had been able to cast a Patronus Charm without much problem.
“Here, Black,” Kingsley said, opening a door. “You'd better collaborate, or else you are getting back to your cell, and those Dementors will be back.”
“Take it easy, King, I am not going to do anything weird. Well, I might prank your knickers if I manage to get out of here soon,” Black replied, before entering the meeting room, where he found someone he had never expected to see. “Nice, this is like going back to the past, first the King and now no one but Albus Dumbledore himself,” Black said, sitting down on one of the chairs, just opposite to Dumbledore.
“Ah, Mr Black, I would like to make this visit short,” Dumbledore said in a serious tone, but also one that betrayed his shock over the fact that his former student was still quite sane after nearly seven years in Azkaban, “so I would really enjoy it if you answered my questions soon.”
“Just out of curiosity, what day is it? It is been a lot of time since I lost count.”
“Today is the twenty-eighth of May, nineteen eighty-eight.”
“Not bad. This visit has only come... six years and seven months minus three days too late. I thought you would have arrived sooner, you know.”
“Mr Black, that is enough. I have only come for one thing, and that is the secret to the Potter's house. Tell me and I will try to get you sent to another cell, one with less Dementors.”
“What is this about? Is it Harry?” Black asked, his earlier mood changing into concern. “Has something happened to the pup?” he asked himself.
“That is nothing that should worry you, Mr Black. The secret, please.”
Black laughed, one of his dog-like laughs that he had had since he first turned into a dog. “That will be slightly difficult for me to do, you know, Albus?”
“What are you talking about, Black?”
“Well, there is this detail about the secret, as in I do not know it. Oh, I was told the secret, but it can not tell it, due to the tiny, minimal fact that I was not the Secret Keeper.”
“Impossible! I thought...”
“You thought that I had betrayed my best friend, his wife and the kid I loved from the moment he was born? Please, Albus, you know that I was loyal to James, Lily and Harry, I would have never sent Voldemort towards them. I would have died for them, damn it!”
“I find it hard to believe you, especially after the way you killed your friend Peter.”
“Peter? I did not kill the little bastard, if that's what you are worried about. Peter was the Secret Keeper, not me, and when I caught up with him after his betrayal, he blew up the gas line that passed under the street we were fighting in and then he cut off his finger to make everybody else believe he had died.”
“What?” Albus asked, surprised.
“You would have learned this if you had... how is it... oh, yeah, done the right thing instead of the easy thing and pushed for me to get a trial, you know?”
“Still, I find it hard to believe your entire story.”
“I'm sure you must have a vial of Veritaserum somewhere in the pockets of that robe of yours. Honestly, Albus, I thought James had told you years ago that robe was way too garish to wear it around.”
Albus did not answer to that, but pulled something out of a pocket and set it on the table. “Are you sure you want this, Mr Black? I have no problem with sending you back to your cell once I learn the truth.”
“Given that the truth is that I am innocent, I am sure whatever you ask me with this thing will show you that I am innocent.”
Albus was surprised at the confidence Black was showing. Here he was going to be asked about the crimes he had committed and he was sure that the truth would set him free. He opened the flask and Black opened his mouth, letting three drops of the powerful Truth Serum enter it. A minute later, Sirius was under its influence, and Albus was ready to ask his questions.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Arthur stepped on the rotating stairs, ready to meet Albus Dumbledore. It had been more than four weeks since he met with him, to tell him about the strange behaviour of the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal's sensors. He had spent those four weeks getting used to his new job at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department, which did not pay as well as his old job, but it allowed him to be in close contact with the things he liked the most. The only thing he hated about his job was that, while he could provide for his extensive family without much problem, they would have to buy most everything else from second-hand stores, and their younger children would have to use their older brothers' clothes as they grew up.
The day before, Dumbledore had sent him a message with his phoenix, Fawkes, telling him he had discovered something important related to the matter that had changed his life so much, so he had arranged his timetable around to get a free day, and he had Apparated to Hogwarts as soon as he had been able to.
“Hello again, Arthur. Please, sit down,” Albus said, pointing him to the chair in front of his desk, “Sherbet lemon?”
“Thank you,” Arthur replied, taking the offered sweet and sitting down. “What is it that you found, Albus? From what I read in your note, it seemed important.”
“It is very important, Arthur. I have nothing specific about the matter you told me about, but I do have my suspicions based on certain facts I have discovered in the last month.”
“So, you are making progress in the investigation?”
“Indeed, I have made progress, but what I have learned could be a bit troubling if it were to fall in the wrong hands.” The Headmaster had a grave look on his face, as he pondered the problem he had discovered once more.
“Is it what we feared, Albus?” Arthur asked. He did not want to think of the possibility of Voldemort being resurrected somehow, and being behind the disturbances.
“You can relax on that, Arthur. If it truly were Voldemort, we would have seen the signs of his return by now. So far, nothing untoward has happened that can be connected to him,” Albus replied with a small smile. He decided that he could tell Arthur what he had found: he trusted the red-haired man, and perhaps he could bounce his hypothesis off him, as he knew Arthur was a bright man that could offer him some ideas he had not considered. “Arthur, what I am going to share with you is something that must stay between you and me only.”
“I will not tell anyone about this, Albus,” Arthur replied.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Albus said, grateful. “The day after you told me of the sensors, I discovered something that could be related to it. Harry Potter has disappeared from his relatives' house.” Arthur was surprised. The little he knew about Harry Potter was that he was protected behind some very powerful wards at his relatives' house.
“Was he kidnapped?”
“No, Arthur. I am not sure of the details, but I believe, based on a few things I learned when I visited there, that he was able to Disapparate from his Muggle primary school through accidental magic. I fear that, when I sent Harry there to live as a baby, I did not make a good choice. I knew Minerva had watched them for a whole day, and she had told me they were 'the worst sort of Muggles', but my fear of Harry dying at the hand of some still free Death Eater, as well as my wish to make sure Harry grew somewhere where he would not be reminded every day of his having defeated Voldemort, overruled my concerns over what could happen to him if Minerva was right.”
“Do you know anything about him? What if he has been taken by someone else after he Disapparated?”
“I believe I know where he is. Now, it took me some time to find the moment to do it, so as soon as I was able to I Apparated to Godric's Hollow in order to investigate the location. Since the Potters' house is still under the Fidelius Charm, I was unable to investigate the house itself, but I managed to spend a few hours looking through the surrounding areas, as well as learning a few things through my Mage Sight.”
“What about... Sirius Black? I suppose you must have already visited him; since he was the Potters' Secret Keeper, I guess he must have already told you the secret to the house,” Arthur said.
“Ah, therein lies the problem, Arthur. A few days ago, after I made sure that there was no alternative and checking whether there might be some other place under a Fidelius Charm, I went to Azkaban and visited Sirius Black. He still seems sane, even after six years at one of the highest security cells in Azkaban, and he told me a few things that I checked through the use of Veritaserum. What he told me under the serum confirmed what he had said, and that was quite startling. It seems that Sirius Black was not the Potters' Secret Keeper after all.
“WHAT?” Arthur asked, jumping from his chair. The revelation was more than enough to unsettle any wizard or witch that had been alive in the last twenty years. Arthur was not sure if he could believe it: in fact, if it had been someone other than Albus Dumbledore, Arthur would have declared them a liar immediately.
“I am afraid it is true. It seems that sending Harry to live with his relatives was not the only mistake I made that week. Sirius Black was denied a trial by Minister Bagnold at the behest of Bartemius Crouch Senior and was imprisoned under a Ministerial Order I, in my anger and pain, allowed to pass. I have no doubt that, if I had pushed for a trial, Sirius Black would not only be a free man, but also in charge of Harry Potter, which would have probably been the best for both of them.”
“I do not understand this. How come Black was not the Secret Keeper? And why did Pettigrew say all that about Black betraying the Potters?”
“Sirius Black told me under Veritaserum that they had changed Secret Keepers at the last minute, giving Pettigrew the responsibility of keeping the secret within him, but it seems all of us made a mistake in trusting him, since he was a spy for Voldemort and told him the secret as soon as he was able to. As for the incident after which Sirius was imprisoned, it happened the other way: it was Sirius that went after Pettigrew, and it was Pettigrew that blew up the street, to then cut off one of his fingers and then transformed himself into a rat. Oh, yes,” Albus said, after seeing Arthur's surprise written on his face, “it seems that Pettigrew, Sirius and James Potter managed to train themselves as Animagi while they were studying at Hogwarts, in order to give company to their friend Remus Lupin during the full moon nights, and they never registered, of course. Pettigrew's form was a rat, which is the way he managed to get away through the sewers after framing Sirius.”
Arthur sat down again, struck by the knowledge that had been revealed to him. What knowledge he had regarded as the truth for years had suddenly been revealed to be a falsehood. An innocent man had been sent to what was basically hell on Earth without the chance to defend himself. The man that had betrayed his friends and killed so many people had been free for more than six years. And no one had known until now.
“What do you plan to do now, Albus?”
“If I were able to, I would pull Sirius out of Azkaban and start a trial, but, knowing them, the Wizengamot will not vote to rescind Bagnold's Ministerial Order. The only way we would be able to free Sirius would be to have Pettigrew found and tried, but, knowing that he can transform into a rat, it means that there are thousands of places where he could be hiding. The only clue we could have regarding Pettigrew's identity would be the lack of a finger.”
Arthur nodded his understanding. He knew how hard it was to push the Wizengamot to do something useful, especially when a part of it had supported Lord Voldemort in the sly during his attempts to take control of Britain's Magical World. If they suspected that something could buckle them out of the Wizengamot, they would fight it tooth and nail.
“Alas, I have been sidetracked a bit here, with everything surrounding Sirius Black. Back to Godric's Hollow, what I discovered there seemed to point out towards the Potters' house as the place from where the magic detected by the sensors came from. As the Potters' house is still under the Fidelius, we can assume that, whoever has taken up residence there, was told the secret by Pettigrew before that night. Remus Lupin, the last I heard, was in America, helping in the investigation of a possible cure to his illness, so it could not be him there. Since Sirius Black is in prison, it is not possible for him to be at Godric's Hollow. Peter Pettigrew, while a somewhat resourceful wizard, would have not been able to display such powerful magical outbursts, since he always was a weak wizard. And, as I said before, if it had been Voldemort we would have seen the signs, and Death Eaters would have once more struck. So, that leaves only one person who could be doing this.”
“Who is that one person?” Arthur was sitting on the edge of his seat. He thought he had the answer, especially given what had been discussed previously, but... it could not be, could it?
“Harry Potter, of course.”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Indeed, as Albus Dumbledore suspected, Harry Potter was the one who now lived at his late parents' house, which was now his own. Lately, a second living being had taken shelter there as well, when she had first sought refuge from her captors, but now she had decided to live there as well. This visitor was not human, but a snowy white owl, that from the moment she had appeared at the kitchen, had not left the house save for when she went hunting to the garden.
Harry was enjoying the company of his new friend. While he had not fully left the practise of magic, he had instead spent most of his time playing with the owl, something he had never been able to do: any friends he might have had while he lived at the Dursleys' were always scared away by Dudley, and the Dursleys never allowed him to have any free time.
One of the first things they played was something Harry had seen people playing with their dogs in the park once: fetch. It had taken Harry some time, a lot of coaxing and some bribes in the form of bacon — which Harry had discovered the owl loved. Harry would throw a stick — not the one he used for magic, but another one — and the owl would fly and attempt to catch it before it would hit the ground.
There were other games as well: for example, hide and seek. Playing it against an avian instead of another person had been very different and funny for Harry. The owl had the advantage in this game, as her smaller size meant she could fit into places Harry could not even see, like a hollow trunk that stood in the garden at the back of the house. However, Harry held an advantage, in that he could do things like opening and closing doors, which could prevent the owl from following him. The first time he did that, the bird had somehow sensed him hiding in the cupboard at the entrance hall and nearly pecked a hole through the door trying to get in.
The main problem they had was the lack of real communication between them, given that the owl could not actually speak. However, Harry knew the owl could understand human speech perfectly, and she always knew what Harry was talking about. As for the owl talking back, Harry was starting to understand the owl's language: whenever he asked her a question, she always replied with a hoot, which could mean 'yes' or 'no'. The young boy sometimes failed to distinguish the owl's answers, but as time passed that happened less and less.
“Do you want to do something?” Harry asked the bird, the same morning Dumbledore and Arthur were having their conversation. The owl hooted in a tone Harry understood meant that she did not care. He had not thought of giving the owl a name yet: it was just the two of them at the house, and there was no need for names when he could not get confused. Although sometimes he talked to himself, the owl always seemed to know when Harry's thoughts were directed at her.
“How about a game? I once saw a couple of people playing this once, and it seemed interesting. One of us thinks of something, and the other has to figure it out by asking questions, but you only have twenty questions. What do you think?”
The owl gave a hoot that seemed to be a mix between a 'yes' and 'how are we going to play that?' to Harry. Harry realised that it would be difficult to play it: it had been so long since he had been around other humans, he sometimes forgot what it was like, and that part of him was trying to turn his avian friend into another child — a human child. He sighed deeply, before speaking again. “OK. I know I can not think of it... but maybe you could think of something.”
There was a moment of silence and then a hoot that Harry interpreted as her being ready to be asked.
“OK, is it blue?” Negative hoot.
“Is it alive?” Negative hoot.
“Can you wear it?” Positive hoot.
“Is it a shirt?” Negative hoot.
“Is it socks?” Negative hoot.
“Do you wear it on your head?” Positive hoot.
“Is it a hat?” Negative hoot.
“Is it glasses?” Negative hoot. Harry frowned, and tried to think of more questions. He soon realised that he had created a hole in his thoughts by asking those questions.
“Can you wear it other places on your body?” Positive hoot. Harry paused to consider his thoughts once more.
“Do you wear it on your legs?” Negative hoot. Harry was stumped. He had already used half of his questions, but still did not have the slightest idea of what the owl had thought.
“Can you wear it on your shirt?” The answer was a positive hoot, but with a strange tone, as in asking why would anyone do it.
“Is it made of fabric?” Negative hoot.
“Is it made of metal?” Another negative hoot made Harry think even more deeply. He was really enjoying this.
“Is it made of wood?” Negative hoot. Harry was grasping at straws. He only had six more questions left.
“Is it made of plastic?” Negative hoot.
“Is it valuable?” This time, the negative hoot was very intense.
“Is it made?” Positive hoot.
“Is it hair?” Negative hoot. Harry was not sure hair was that valuable, but he thought he would give it a chance anyway. Only two questions left. Then he realised that he had only asked one colour, so he tried to ask another colour.
“Is it green?” Surprisingly, the hoot was positive. Harry thought hard to consider his last question. It could be worn, but it was not a good idea. It was green. It was not valuable. It was made, but not of the normal substances. It was primarily on one's head, probably. In a flash of inspiration, Harry asked his last question.
“Is it a bogey?” There was silence. Then the little owl erupted into a sound that had to be the equivalent of laughter. Harry could not help but join in. What a crazy little owl this was.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Arthur Weasley Apparated home, still thinking very hard about the meeting he had had with Albus Dumbledore. Everything he had learned there had been very unsettling: the knowledge that Sirius Black was innocent, that Peter Pettigrew was the one who had betrayed the Potters and the Order of the Phoenix, and that Harry Potter was the most likely candidate for being the one disrupting the Ministry's sensors felt very heavy on him.
The first member of his family he met was his ten-year-old son Percy, who had come out of the house to greet his father when he saw him walking up the road that led towards the town of Ottery St Catchpole. The boy, who was to start at Hogwarts next September, had been playing with his pet rat, Scabbers, which he had found six years ago in the garden. Arthur kneeled in front of his son, to hug him and give him a kiss on his forehead, but when his gaze passed by the small ball of fur in his son's hands, a light turned on in his brain. He remembered Percy had given him that name because the rat seemed to have recently lost one of its fingers.
“Surely it can not be,” Arthur thought, as he forced his face into a smile, to avoid making the rat suspicious. “Could it be this easy to find him? Have we harboured a murderer and a traitor for the last several years in this house without knowing it?”
“Hi, dad,” Percy said.
“Hello, Percy. How was your day?”
“Pretty good, dad. I have been reading some of Bill's old books, so that I know what to do when I go to Hogwarts. How was yours?”
“Oh, it has been another great day in the department. Muggles are really fascinating, you know,” Arthur replied with a smile, as he carefully tried to look at the rat's paws. When he finally found that the animal's right paw lacked one of his fingers, he knew he had found him, but he could not do anything too sudden or he might alert the Animagus. Then, an idea struck him. “Son, have you been listening to the wireless today?”
“No, dad. I stayed in my room most of the morning, and then I came out here with Scabbers. Why?”
“Well, do not get alarmed, but it seems that some rats not too far from here have been caught, and they were carrying a strange disease. It only affects rats, but it could be harmful for him. I think we should get Scabbers checked out soon, just to make sure that he has not caught it and that he can not pass it to other rats,” Arthur replied, skilfully lying. He did not like to lie to his son, but if the rat was really Peter Pettigrew, it was a necessary precaution to take. Percy stood up immediately.
“We should do that at once, dad! I hope there is not anything wrong with Scabbers!” he said, pulling at his father's sleeve.
“Do not worry, Percy. Look, I can take care of it right now, and I'll be back soon.”
“Sure, dad, I'll just go upstairs and grab my coat.”
“There is no need, son. I'll be back soon,” he said, conjuring a small cage for the rat. Percy, trusting his father, put Scabbers in the cage, and let his father go. As he walked down the road, Arthur charmed the cage to be Unbreakable and changed it into a metal box, to prevent the rat from seeing its surroundings. Only then did he Apparate back to Hogwarts for the second time that day. This time, he had a companion, though.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Inside the box, the rat in question was slightly confused. No, he was very confused and worried. He perfectly knew that he was not infected with a rodent disease, but it was not as if he could pop back into himself and explain that. He just hoped that, wherever Arthur Weasley was taking him, no one would discover his special circumstances. It never occurred to him that all of this was just a set up. He thought the Weasleys were not bright enough to figure his identity out, and as such he thought himself to be safe.
However, when the box was opened, it was to a place he knew all too well, and where he did not want to be in. His former friends and himself had been at this office too many times, mostly for the pranks they had played on the rest of the school, and also an extra couple of times when, despite the help the others were giving him, he was about to fail his subjects at Hogwarts.
He forced himself to be calm: he knew that, if he got too nervous, he might lose the hold he had on his Animagus form, and then the game would be up. However, his efforts were for nothing, for someone had picked him by the tail and had cast a spell on him.
He soon felt as if he were being stretched quite forcefully, as if his bones were growing up at a high speed, as if everything was starting to contract — or, more exactly, as if he himself was growing — and soon he had recovered his human form for the first time in six years.
“Hello, Peter. Fancy meeting you here,” Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, said as soon as the feeling had passed and he was aware of his surroundings. Peter felt as if his feet were glued to the floor. While the headmaster had spoken calmly, the fury that Peter saw on the old man’s face truly scared him. The thunderous expression was the one the Supreme Mugwump wore when duelling with his master and the other Death Eaters. No wonder the Dark Lord feared Albus Dumbledore more than anyone else. Peter himself felt as if he was going to pass out in terror.
“I fear I cannot allow you to run away, Peter. Or else you might find out how much I disliked what you did six years ago. Incarcerous!” Dumbledore rumbled, and ropes appeared in front of his wand, before wrapping themselves around Peter's body. Peter fell down to the floor, too scared to try to transform back into his Animagus form. Dumbledore stood up and cast a second charm on the ropes.
“That will prevent him from Apparating away or transforming. We have him well secured. First, we shall go to Godric's Hollow, and then we will take you to the Ministry.”
“Albus...”
“Arthur, you have nothing to worry about regarding Peter's stay at your house. In fact, I'll make sure to tell the Minister that it was your actions that allowed this... man... to be caught and judged.” Dumbledore took one of the knick-knacks from his table and transformed it into a Portkey. “Please, grab a hold of this, Arthur. It will take us to Godric's Hollow.”
Arthur touched the Portkey, and Dumbledore took a firm hold of Pettigrew's bound form. Soon, the three men were travelling towards their first destination of the day.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4 – Ten Days That Shook The (Magical) World
Freedom, n. s. freedom: The condition of being free; the power to act, speak or think without externally imposed restraints.
After spending most of the morning playing with his friend, Harry did not know what to do. The owl had decided to go outside and enjoy flying around the house for some time. He had not studied much magic in the last week, and even playing with the owl was beginning to wear on him a bit. He needed something to get himself busy with, and something told him that it would not be found in his current location. He was lying down on the sofa, listening to some music he had found in a small cupboard in the living room, and dozing, when for the first time in quite a while the old woman made her presence known again.
“Look outside the house,” she said. Harry stood up and headed over to the window. He saw the old, long bearded man he had seen weeks ago, but this time he was not alone. A tall, red-haired man was standing next to him, and a short balding man was bound in ropes there with him. Both the old man and the red-haired man were looking at the shorter man like his Uncle Vernon would sometimes look at him.
“Who are they?” Harry asked aloud, hoping to get a straight answer this time.
“You can figure it out if you think about it,” was the answer. “I can tell you they want to enter the house.”
“Why would they want that?” Harry was confused. The bald man, who was faintly familiar to him, was obviously a prisoner for the other two men, but why would anyone bring a prisoner here?
“They are looking for you,” the woman explained.
“I do not want to see them,” Harry said. What the woman had said had worried him. He did not want to become a prisoner like the bald man. He thought he was not supposed to be where he was, and that if anyone found him at his parents' house, they would take him away. Despite being bored, leaving his home was not yet something he was ready to do. The woman chuckled in response, calming Harry a bit and giving him the sense that she knew far more about the men outside that she wanted to let on.
“Do not worry; they cannot come in.”
“Why not?” Harry was confused. He could see them easily, so why could not they see him too?
“I am sure you can figure it out on your own, but I feel generous, so I will give you a hint. The balding man can transform himself into a rat, the rat that left the footprints in your father's study. He believes he should be able to get in, but he can't now. Do you know why?”
Harry was silent, and he considered the question. The man was a rat, so that must mean he was an Animagus, which was a wizard or witch that could transform into an animal that was determined by the personality traits of the wizard. Some of the animal traits would be acquired by the wizard too, such as a better eyesight or more stamina. Then, in a flash of insight, he realised what was the answer.
“That ward I put up against rats?”
“Exactly!” said the woman happily. “Quite ingenious, really, that such a simple ward that is supposed to prevent rats from entering this house actually prevents him from entering. This is going to leave them all a bit perplexed out there, but you do not need to worry about that right now. The important thing you have to take care right now is that you need to get back to your studies. There is much more magic to learn, and time is always ticking away, little one,” she said, speaking with humour before her voice took a more serious tone.
“I am not sure if you know it, but I am having a bit of problem with that,” Harry said.
“And what is that problem, exactly?” Harry wondered how this woman could sound so much like a grandmother scolding him
“Most of the texts in the library are too advanced for me. I can understand some of the words from time to time, but most of it I cannot understand yet,” Harry replied with a sigh.
“Well, then perhaps you just need to get a better book to keep learning magic.”
“Which book is that?”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Unaware of what was happening inside the Potters' house, Dumbledore was beginning to get frustrated with Pettigrew. He had already spent ten minutes trying to get him to tell them the secret to enter the house, but the man had not spoken it, only that something was preventing him from saying it.
“Tell us the secret!” Dumbledore demanded, losing his normal composition and giving into his frustrations, some of which were six years old. Peter cowered from the powerful and angry mage.
“L-Look, I’m t-telling you the charm is n-not the same. It d-does not work for me any m-more. I do not know why you want i-in, b-but whoever is in there n-now has p-put his own charms up. T-There is n-nothing I c-can do,” Peter explained.
Dumbledore gave up trying to get the information voluntarily and entered the man’s mind. He knew that the Fidelius Charm would protect the secret, and thus it would be beyond his reach, but at least he would be able to confirm the rat's explanation about the new wards. Investigating, he quickly discovered that Pettigrew had been telling the truth about them, so he broke the connection.
“I guess that we will not be able to understand this problem until we find some other answers. It's time to go to the Ministry, then,” Dumbledore said. Pettigrew stiffened and once again gave a futile attempt to escape, but Dumbledore's cold look kept him from doing it. A few seconds later, it would not matter anymore, as the three men had disappeared from Godric's Hollow to reappear in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Back at the house, Harry sighed in relief when he saw the three men outside had left. He turned his attention to what the woman had been telling him, and sought an answer.
“So, let me get this straight. The book you think I need was written by Prometheus himself, a book that only has a rumoured existence and that has never been seen before. If it does exist, it should be hidden in a castle standing in the middle of West Germany, under wards that no one has ever been able to see, let alone break through. How in the world am I supposed to find such a thing?” he asked, wide eyed.
“Correct, young man. I have no doubt that you will succeed. The only thing you have to do is to start at the beginning of your story in here. I know for a fact that the book actually exists, and it should be quite easy for you to get to it. You just have to figure out how to do it, however. Have fun!” the woman replied, and suddenly disappeared from his mind. Harry sat down on the sofa, and started to think hard.
He only had one clue to solve the mystery she had put in front of him: start at the beginning of his story. “Maybe she is referring to the beginning of my time here at my parents' house. Let's see... I was running hard, with Dudley just behind me, and then I jumped into the bin. I started thinking very hard in how much I wanted to be somewhere else... that is it!”
If that was all he had to do, to wish to be somewhere else, then it might be as easy as the woman said. Of course, that did not take into account that he had been under great stress when he left the school and appeared home. However, now that he had better control over his magic, maybe he would be able to find the book just by wishing he was next to it.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. He started to chant with his mind. It was an easy thing: “I wish I was with Prometheus' book, I wish I was with Prometheus' book, I wish I was with Prometheus' book...” He repeated it over and over again. On his seventh round, as the doubt started to creep out of some hidden corner of his mind, he felt something was pulling him, and he disappeared from his parents' house with a POP!
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Eight year old Hermione Jane Granger was having the time of her life. School had ended just two days before, and now she was with her parents on their annual summer vacation. This year, they had chosen to go to West Germany, and the day before they had arrived to Mainz, from where they expected to visit a good part of the castles that stood along the Rhine. And, right now, they were exploring one of those castles, a large one that was sitting very high near the left bank of the river, and could only be accessed to by crossing a bridge.
What she did not know was that this castle contained something that none of them knew about. Nor did she know that something would happen during her visit to the castle that would bother her for the next several years. Something that she would neither guess would be explained in a few years when something else she had never thought would ever happen happened.
The three Grangers were in a room, with a group of other tourists, and they were about to leave it. This was not strange at all, and everything was perfectly fine. Hermione was at the back of the group just behind her parents, and was taking into everything she saw with very wide eyes, when suddenly she heard a crack and a door appeared in one of the walls, a door that had not been there a moment ago.
The young girl shook her head to clear it. That could not have just happened. That door could not have just appeared out of nowhere. She obviously had not noticed it the first time she had looked around the room, but this somehow reminded her of those strange things that had happened to her when she was really angry. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she made her way over to the door and opened it. The room on the other side was pretty large, but the only thing in there was a table in the middle of the room, with a large book sitting on it. When a black-haired boy stepped towards the table and grabbed the book, she was unable to keep quiet and gasped in surprise, which drew his attention towards her. The only thing she could see was that the boy had shining emerald green eyes, and that he was as surprised as she was.
“Hermione, honey, what are you doing?” her father asked, walking up behind her. Hermione was startled by her father's sudden appearance and turned around.
“Hi daddy. I was just looking at this room. There is a boy in there, and I think he is not supposed to be there,” Hermione said, pointing at the room. Her dad peered into the room.
“What are you talking about, Hermione?” he asked, confused. “There is no one in here, only a table.”
“What?” Hermione asked, whipping around and looking into the room. Sure enough, the green-eyed boy she had seen was gone. How had he done that? “I know there was someone there, Dad.”
“Perhaps you’re just getting tired, dear. Let me get your mum, and we’ll head back to the hotel to rest, OK?” her father asked with a concerned look. Hermione sighed, knowing that it was better to agree than to attempt to argue with him. Soon the Grangers were headed back to their hotel and away from the strange room and the strange boy. Over the next few years, Hermione would sometimes think about the boy, believing both he, the book and the room would stay in her past, but wondering who the boy was and how he had done all of that. She had no way of knowing that the boy that had so surprised her would, in a few years, enter her life once again, and that both of them would become important to each other.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
When Albus Dumbledore appeared in the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic, accompanied by Arthur Weasley and an unknown man that was tied down in ropes, everybody there fell completely silent. Said appearance was felt, more than observed, as the wizened Headmaster was radiating power in a raw display of magic. This was a calculated effort in Dumbledore's part: he knew that he would need every ounce of perception his display of raw magic could create in order to accomplish what he wanted to do in this trip: obtaining Sirius Black's freedom.
Dumbledore ignored everyone else on his way. He was a man on a mission, and the sooner he achieved that mission, the better it would be. Dumbledore practically dragged his hostage into the lift, only waiting for Arthur to enter it before pushing the button for Level One. Once he reached the floor, he dragged Pettigrew out of the lift and towards the Minister's office, walking much faster than what it was normal for a man of his age.
When he finally found the Minister's office door, he waved his hand, and the outer door slammed open, startling the secretary, who had been reading the Daily Prophet, out of her seat. Dumbledore then went to open the door to the office itself, which slammed much like the first one. Inside, he found Cornelius Fudge, current Minister for Magic, and Lucius Malfoy. Given the current company the Minister had — and knowing how much influence Malfoy was starting to carry over Fudge through his money — Dumbledore knew he would have to act fast, to prevent any of them from doing anything that ran opposite to his wish.
“Cornelius, I wish to speak with you right now, and it is something that cannot be delayed any more,” Dumbledore said, his voice belaying the great power he contained, and pushing Pettigrew into the office, where he tripped with a wrinkle on the rug and fell to the floor.
“Dumbledore? What is the meaning of this?” Cornelius Fudge, current Minister for Magic, asked, both confused and angry. He had been in the middle of an important meeting with his advisor and friend Lucius Malfoy, when all of a sudden the current most powerful wizard in all of Britain, both magically and politically, had burst into his office and started to make demands. He had not suspected it before, as he had relayed on Dumbledore's increasingly less useful advice, but right now it was quite obvious that Lucius was right. Dumbledore was going senile. He would have to rein him in, and start to think of a way to replace Dumbledore from all of his positions. He was the Minister for Magic, after all, he should not have any problem in doing so.
“The meaning of this is that there is a great problem, which I wish to solve right now,” Dumbledore replied, looking directly at the Minister. Cornelius Fudge's resolve to 'rein the old man in' disappeared, as he flinched from Dumbledore. The power that was rolling off the old man was more than enough to make him start to tremble.
“What are you talking about, Dumbledore?” Lucius Malfoy asked with derision and, Dumbledore noticed, a little touch of hesitation. Lucius had instantly recognised the man that Dumbledore had just brought in: it was the man who had directed the Dark Lord towards destruction at the hands of Harry Potter. He wanted to squash Pettigrew like the rat he was, though, given that Dumbledore was there, he could not very well give away the fact that he had met him before. Dumbledore ignored Malfoy's inquiry and remained focused on Fudge.
“Cornelius, I would suggest that we get Amelia Bones up here immediately,” Dumbledore ordered.
“B-Bones? Why do we need her?” Fudge managed to stutter out. Amelia Bones had been appointed as the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, after Bartemius Crouch fell into disgrace following the arrest, imprisonment and death of his son, who had been caught torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom with Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix Lestrange, in an attempt to find Voldemort and resurrect him.
Arthur then came into the room, wheezing slightly, and finally catching up with the older man. He was amazed at how quick Dumbledore could move when he needed to.
“Arthur, please, would you mind if you could go and fetch Amelia?” Dumbledore asked the tall red-headed man, who, still breathing heavily, nevertheless turned around immediately to go do just that.
“Again, Dumbledore, what is the meaning of this? Why have you brought this man here?” Fudge asked, beginning to gain a little confidence back.
“If my suspicions are correct, the Ministry of Magic committed a grave mistake several years ago, and I hope that it will be corrected today,” Dumbledore said, without giving away the fact that he had already managed to uncover the truth in this matter: now, the problem laid with exposing the truth in such a way that his objectives would be achieved. A few seconds later, Arthur was back, accompanied by Amelia Bones. Immediately behind her came one of Dumbledore's oldest friends, Auror Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, and the current Head of the Auror Corps, Rufus Scrimgeour.
“Ah, Director Bones, Mister Scrimgeour, Alastor, it is very nice to see you again,” Dumbledore said in a very nice voice. Fudge wondered where the display of power the old wizard had been showing a few minutes before had gone.
“Albus, it's been too long,” Alastor said.
“Indeed, Headmaster, it's been too long since I last saw you,” Amelia answered with a smile. Rufus nodded, his eyes drawn to the man that was on the floor, clearly tied down.
“Yes, it is. I only wish this meeting had happened under better circumstances,” Dumbledore explained.
“What circumstances are you talking about? And who is this man?” A confused look appeared on Amelia Bones' face. Scrimgeour raised his eyes to look directly at the old Headmaster.
“I have powerful reasons to believe that this man is Peter Pettigrew,” Dumbledore said simply, noticing the fact that Lucius Malfoy had slowly made his way out of the office until he disappeared. That worked in the Headmaster’s favour: Arthur already knew the truth, Amelia was a woman of justice, and Rufus was the man Dumbledore could trust to work within the law, even if he delved a bit too much in the game of politics. The less allies the Minister had within the room, the easier it would be to get his point through.
“Preposterous, Albus! Peter Pettigrew is dead! Black killed him six years ago!” Cornelius Fudge exploded, his previous surprise forgotten. Despite his anger at Dumbledore's actions, he was still able to remember what had happened six years ago.
“You have to admit, Professor, that the claim is rather… interesting,” Amelia offered diplomatically.
“Not only interesting, but it raises several questions about how you actually found him,” Rufus said, curtly.
“The tale of how he was found is one I will share with you later. As for discovering the truth on this matter, we are lucky, indeed, to have a very simple way to do so,” the Headmaster said, with a twinkle in his eye. “I am sure you carry a vial of Veritaserum with you, Alastor, so, if you please?”
The grizzled Auror pulled a small vial with a transparent liquid out of his pocket, while he kept both eyes fixed on the balding man. “I'd suggest you not to try anything funny, Pettigrew, or else you may find yourself at the bad end of my wand,” he threatened, his only natural eye brightening at the mere idea. Pettigrew was soon tied down to a chair, and forced to drink three drops of the truth serum
“Look here, Albus, I don't know what do you think you are doing, but if this man is to be interrogated, he must be sent down to the cells and...” Cornelius Fudge tried to assert his authority again, in a last attempt to regain control of the situation. This man could not be Peter Pettigrew, it was impossible, he had seen Sirius Black laughing at Pettigrew's charred remains after he blew up the street. He wanted to make sure this man did not disturb things around, he feared that this could become the end of his career as the Minister for Magic, and the only way to prevent it was to stop this interrogation and keep the man in a cell. However, Dumbledore looked at him with the coldest eyes he had ever seen on him, and his resolve once more fizzled down.
“What is your name?” Moody said, while his magical eye swirled around intimidatingly. The bald man tried to resist, but he was not known for his ability to resist anything, so he opened his mouth and spoke.
“Peter Pettigrew,” the prisoner replied. Amelia looked, surprised, at the man and at Albus, alternatively, while Rufus fingered his wand. The consequences of this would be... life-changing.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
The British Magical World radically changed that day. After Pettigrew was questioned on the events of Halloween 1981 and of two days after that day, when he framed Sirius for his death, Rufus Scrimgeour immediately dispatched the Aurors in order to fix all the wrongs that had come to pass years ago, after Voldemort's defeat by Harry Potter. The first thing was releasing Sirius Black from prison: he had spent more than six and a half years there, without the chance of defending himself in a fair trial, and it was now that he was given that chance.
However, Sirius Black's freedom wasn't the most important thing that would happen. Pettigrew was interrogated very thoroughly on the identities of other Death Eaters and their activities during the time of Voldemort's attempt to take control of the Magical World. The heads of some of the oldest and most influential families were brought for questioning — and, unlike the last time it had happened, they were questioned under Veritaserum. And most of them were sent to prison, after their crimes were revealed. Sometimes, their wives followed them, as well as other family members, and there were instances of some of their children being sent to a detention centre as they were being trained by their parents for when Voldemort came back.
The first head to fall was, despite Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge's efforts to prevent it, Lucius Malfoy's. His wife Narcissa managed to get free, as, while she had thought the Dark Lord had the right idea, she was not a Death Eater and had never committed a crime. Pettigrew continued to supply names, and Malfoy was forced to do the same under Veritaserum, bringing down many other pureblood families, namely those of Borgin, Bulstrode, Carrow, Macnair, Nott and Parkinson among others.
As soon as all the Death Eaters had been imprisoned, the full weight of justice was brought on the corruption that had festered within the Ministry for years. Cornelius Fudge only lasted two more days as Minister for Magic: he was the victim of the quickest vote of no confidence in the history of the Ministry and was sent to Azkaban as well, as many of the Death Eaters had confessed to bribing him, and his stalwart defence of the Malfoys was the final blow. Amelia Bones was appointed as a temporary Minister for Magic until someone could be chosen, and she began to clean house.
All around the Ministry, bureaucrats that did not work at all were laid off, and people that could actually get things done replaced them. Several unsavoury characters that had managed to get jobs at the Ministry through their connections to Cornelius Fudge were summarily kicked out of their jobs, and the positions they occupied were either given to other people or erased from the Ministry roster. One of the situations that shocked most of the Ministry was that of Dolores Umbridge, Senior Under-Secretary to the Minister. A cursory interrogation about what she had been up to during her work at the Ministry turned into a very hard one, complete with a raid in her house that discovered she had a great assortment of dark objects — among them several Blood Quills — that had been forbidden for more than four hundred years. She got a three-hundred year sentence to Azkaban due to the actions she had taken and the dark objects that had been found in her possession.
A last immediate effect was revising all the laws that had been passed by the Wizengamot ever since Fudge had been appointed as Minister for Magic, and a good part of them were repealed and replaced with more sensible legislation. While it could not heal all the injuries that had been done to the wizards and witches' relationship with other magical beings, it was a first step towards reconciliation.
All because a little black-haired boy thought that he could do magic with a stick.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
The boy in question, completely unaware of the drama that his actions had caused outside of his house, was currently standing back in his library, holding an old leather-bound book in his hand. Despite its run-down appearance, it was probably the most valuable book in the entire existence of the world — it was surely the oldest book that existed. It was none other than the personal journal of the last known living Ancient — Prometheus.
Harry slowly opened the book, and became the first person, other than its owner, to be able to glance upon its contents. Unfortunately for him, he soon discovered that glancing was everything he could do. The whole journal was written in another language, one that definitively did not look like English at all. The script seemed to be done it a very strange way, as if a pen had been flowing free along the page, with dots appearing up and down the curvy lines.
“What does the book say, young one?” It was the old woman again, invading his mind. She really seemed to be curious about the book.
“I do not know,” Harry replied. “It is in another language. One I have never seen.”
“Well, surely you know what do to about that?”
Harry did not answer but merely scowled slightly. There was something, however, that seemed to stick out in his mind. “Isn't there a translation charm? I remember it said it could duplicate a book and change the language in it into other language.”
“Ah, so you know what you need to do,” the woman chuckled.
“How do I even know if this is going to work? I do not know this language, so it would be hard enough, but probably it will translate the book into more words I can't understand. How is that going to help me?” Harry fired all those questions quite fast, and did not expect an answer. To his surprise, this time he did receive one.
“You control the magic you use, do you not?”
The question was simple, but it stopped Harry in his tracks. It was true — he did control it. The magic he had inside him answered to what he asked it to do. What did that mean, however? Would the charm just translate the journal into English? Or would the translated journal have words he could understand?
Harry fetched the charms book where he had seen the translation charm. The incantation and the wand movement seemed to be easy to cast, so he thought that it would work easily. He took a deep breath before trying it for the first time.
As soon as he cast the spell, he realised that perhaps it would have probably been better to first try the charm in some other book, not in the oldest one in the world: if something bad happened, then he would not be able to recover it. As soon as the spell hit the book, it had begun to shake. Had Harry attempted to touch it, he would have probably burned himself, for the book was quickly getting hotter every second. A few seconds later, it began to smoke. Harry attempted to find some way to stop the spell, but to no avail.
As the smoke became denser, he decided to cast a cooling charm, hoping that it would prevent the book from burning down to ashes. The smoke density went down a bit, but it wasn't enough. The book continued to shake, and the smoke was still there, in spite of Harry pouring all of his power into the simple cooling charm. All of a sudden, a flame burst from the the book, and Harry started panicking. “What do I do now?”
As suddenly as the fire had started, it stopped, and all the smoke blew down before disappearing. When the smoke cleared, Harry saw that there were now two books, one on top of the other. The original was the lower one, exactly as it was before, without a trace of the small fire that had appeared on it. The one on the top looked newer, and it was also in perfect condition. He picked the book on the top and opened it: it was handwritten, like the original, but this one was in clearly readable English. The other one, to his relief, had all the text still there.
He took the copy and opened it by the first page, to read what the Ancient had written in it. The first entry read:
28 Ferdez 543
I am starting school tomorrow. I am really excited about it, finally I will be able to study magic, like my parents did years ago, and like my brothers are doing, too. My cousin Nidaer told me that a good way to help with my studies was to write a journal, in which I could put what I did during the day. That could help me keep track of the things I learn every day, so I followed his suggestion and started to use this blank book to write it.
The text was simple enough for him, fortunately, but Harry had hoped it would have something related to magic written there. Maybe there would be something interesting at later pages. Quickly passing some pages, he found a new entry.
8 Neira 544
Finally! It took me several days to do it, but I finally managed to control the colour changing spell. It was harder than the levitation spell, that one is just thinking about making something float in the air, but the colour changing spell not only you have to concentrate on making something change colour, but you also have to concentrate on the exact colour you want. I managed to colour the rock blood red, not like the other day: it seems that, if you think of more than one colour, the end result is NOT what you first thought about. That yellow the rock acquired nearly made Suria vomit. That's what she said, at least.
Anyway, we also met for the first time with our potions teacher. He's an old man, older than Dad and Mom, and he is a total git. He constantly told us that he thought we were idiots and that he did not believe we would be able to reach his abilities. We haven't started making potions yet, but I have already read a bit ahead on potions, because I really want to wipe that sneer out of his face. Nidaer told me he would show me a couple of things that could make that easier, so I guess that's something else that I'll be able to do.
That sparked Harry's curiosity. Prometheus did not say anything about using a wand. Then he remembered what the book his mother had been reading mentioned that the Ancients did not use wands at all, that they could do magic just through their will. That was something else he could try to learn, magic without wands. And the detail about the colour changing spell was interesting. Maybe he could test it soon. He kept reading the book.
25 Neira 544
Ha! That showed him. I managed to do a perfect sleeping potion and he could not say anything bad about it. Nidaer says that all the show at the start of the year was just to get us worked up enough to do our best without mistake. I find it hard to believe, he really got angry at Suria when she nearly put some holly seeds into the cauldron. Suria was nearly crying at the end of the lesson. If it weren't for the fact that he is older and stronger than all of us, I would have force fed him my sleeping potion and see him sleep away the whole day! At least, Suria laughed when I told her that later.
Harry frowned. There was not much on magic here, just a problem with a bad-mannered teacher. Who was Suria? It sounded like a girl, who was friends with Prometheus. He must have missed how he met her when he passed the pages so fast.
Going back to the first page, he found again the first entry, and decided that it would be better if he read it from front to back, without missing any entry, so that he could know everything that had happened to Prometheus. He was now hooked, and began reading page after page very quickly. Time lost its meaning to him again, as he spent the whole afternoon and night in his chair, reading the life of the Ancient, and everything he did.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Harry spent the next couple of days reading Prometheus' Journal. He was completely absorbed by its interesting story, and the lot of things the Ancient did while he was at school was impressive. Harry learned many things about potions and spells, which Prometheus wrote about in his journal, but the book held more importance for Harry than just those spells: it provided him with the role model he had not found at the Dursleys, and also someone that, although he couldn't talk to him, could still teach him many things of great usefulness.
However, there was something that nagged at the back of his mind: how was it possible that the journal of the last wizard of the greatest magical civilization ever could be not only read, but perfectly understood, by a seven year old boy that had only learned of the existence of magic hardly a month before? He supposed that maybe this was one of the effects of the charm he had cast on the book, which the old lady had said could transform all the words in ones he would understand, but he thought it would be better if he asked her at a later point, when she showed up again. She had been completely quiet while he read, probably because she also wanted to read the book, but Harry had not tried to call her, because now he was learning in a very good way.
Two nights after finding Prometheus' Journal, he decided that he probably should follow the ancient wizard's steps, because he realised that writing a journal had many advantages: after all, if you decided to write your progress and all the things you did, then it would be easy to look at that thing just by finding the entry on that day and reading it.
Harry looked at the mountain of notebooks he had put in his father's office and picked one of the blank notebooks. He then sat down in the table at the library and opened the notebook on its first page. For a minute, Harry wondered if he should put the date whenever he made an entry, just like Prometheus had done in his journal, but soon he realised it was not possible. He was not able to measure time like the other wizard, and also he did not care a lot about what day it was. He would just adjust it when he went to Hogwarts, but now he had to write the first entry. Taking a pen, he started writing.
HARRY POTTER'S JOURNAL
Entry 1
My name is Harry Potter. I am seven years old. For most of my life, I have lived with my relatives, until some time ago, when I managed to transport myself to a house, using something called magic, of which I never heard of while I was with my relatives. I soon discovered that this had been my parents' house, and that both them and me were able to use it. In the time I have been here so far, I have been learning how to use magic, and it is really fun, because I can use it for many things.
A few days ago, I found a very old book. It was the journal of an old wizard named Prometheus. He wrote about how he started to learn magic in a school, with his friends, and how to make potions — which are things that can be drunk and have magical effects. I realised how useful having a journal was, so I decided to follow in his footsteps and write my own journal.
The rest of the very long first entry in the journal was dedicated to describing everything that had happened during his stay, talking about his parents, all the cleaning and repairing he had done during his first days, his avian friend and everything else. When he wrote the last words, he felt hungry, so he went downstairs and made himself something good to eat and fulfilling, and after cleaning up, he climbed into his parents' bed and soon fell into a fitful sleep.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Entry 3
It's been a couple of days since I last wrote, but I don't think there should be much problem with that. I am still learning a lot about magic. Prometheus' Journal has a lot of interesting things in there. I have also realised that now I need to use the dictionary less and less, and I feel like the words and their meanings are falling into place.
These days, the owl has been most curious about what I am doing, spending most of her time looking over my shoulder, although every few hours she goes out and hunts. Maybe I should find a name for her, calling her “owl” the whole time doesn't sound that nice.
This morning, I made my second potion, and this time things were much better. This potion was one that could turn someone's hair lime green. It is pretty much useless, unless you want to disguise yourself, but it was easy to make, and I look really funny in the mirror. Soon, I'll try to do some more complicated potions. I feel like this is going to be important!
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Albus Dumbledore was in his office when the fire flared green. He had been expecting this for the last few weeks. He knew that Sirius Black had been placed in Saint Mungo's Hospital to repair the years of damage Azkaban had caused in him. No one knew how he had managed to stay relatively sane after six years and a half imprisoned, but Albus had thanked Merlin for that: it meant that he would be fit to take over the guardianship of Harry Potter, which he should have been given back in 1981, but several mistakes done by many people — Sirius, Barty Crouch, even Albus — had prevented that.
“Sirius,” Albus said, when he saw the dark-haired man entering his office through the Floo. “It's a pleasure to see you again, and in better conditions than the last time.”
“Yes, it is. I just wish you would have tried to pull me out of there sooner, you know,” Sirius replied.
“I know, Sirius, and that is something I will never be able to forgive myself for. However, if you had come to me and told me what had happened instead of running off in pursuit of Pettigrew, maybe this would have not happened. I'm not putting all the fault with you,” Albus said when he saw Sirius react to his comment, “I'm only saying that all of us share some of the blame, and myself the most, given that I should have pushed for a trial.”
Sirius breathed very hard. “Look, Albus, this is very hard for me. I have spent six years and a half in what is basically Hell on Earth, and then three weeks at Saint Mungo's. And all of this time, the only thing I have wondered the most, just on par with where Wormtail was, is Harry. Would you please take me to wherever he is so that we may start to live together, as James and Lily had intended?”
Albus winced. This was exactly the question he had expected, and at the same time the one he had feared the most.
“Sirius, there are a couple of things I must tell you about Harry. And all of them are important. So, please, do not get too angry until I am finished.” Sirius steeled himself on his seat, and nodded. “Very well. The night after James and Lily... died... I had Hagrid bring Harry to Surrey.”
“Surrey? Isn't that where... Albus, are you telling me that you left Harry with Lily's sister?” the former prisoner of Azkaban asked in clipped tone.
“Do you think I had many choices, Sirius?” Dumbledore cut in before Sirius could start off in a rant. “I thought you had betrayed James and Lily, Remus was away on a mission, Pettigrew had gone missing. I realised that Lily managed to place some kind of protection with Harry, one that could only hold on by placing Harry with someone that shared his mother's blood, and Petunia was his only living relative on the side of his mother, so that was the only possibility I had. Believe me, if it weren't for that protection, I would have adopted Harry and taken care of him.”
“Even with the little I know about her, I'd bet that Petunia would not have cared at all for Harry.”
“That's the worst, Sirius. She did not care at all about Harry. He was treated abysmally, and the only good thing that came out of it was that he wasn't at all like the Dursleys' son. Do you think I enjoyed hearing that Harry did not have the life he deserves?”
“Albus,” Sirius said, really angry, “the only reason you don't have a black eye and a broken nose right now is because I want you to take me there, and help me if I find out the situation is worse than I imagine.”
“I fear that is not possible. Harry is not living with his relatives.”
Sirius blinked. Once. Twice. “WHAT?”
“A month ago, someone I had managed to place there at Privet Drive to keep an eye on Harry told me he had disappeared. The first thing I did was to go to his house, in order to find possible clues of where he had left to. It took me nearly two weeks to ascertain where Harry was, and I finally found him. However, he is unreachable. He is now living at Godric's Hollow.”
“Since you captured Wormtail, I guess that there must be something else, or you would have already found him.”
“Yes. I do not know the reason, but Pettigrew told me that the Fidelius Charm over Harry's house had been modified, and that he was unable to tell the secret. As far as I know, the Fidelius may be brought down by the caster, the Secret Keeper may allow someone else to hold the secret, or, should the Secret Keeper die, then everyone that knows the secret becomes a Keeper. But I have never found a situation in which the Secret Keeper loses the ability to tell the secret without the caster being involved. And, since Lily was the one doing that... it makes no sense at all.”
“So, do you think it might have something to do with Harry?”
“Yes. This cannot be a coincidence at all.”
“Could you tell me something about what happened with Pettigrew, exactly?”
Dumbledore told the man everything that had happened, from the moment Arthur Weasley had brought the rat into his office to when he got Amelia Bones to interrogate him. Sirius, who knew part of what Albus had told him, but not everything, thought a bit about it.
“So, Wormtail said he couldn't enter the place at all?” Sirius asked. “I know it sounds a bit implausible, but maybe it has something to do with his being a rat. Not a rat as in a traitor, but his Animagus form. There are wards that prevent rats from entering a house, and the longer an Animagus spends as his form, the more characteristics they acquire from it. Do you think that, maybe, someone got Harry to enter the house and then cast that ward?”
“Yes... I can see that. However, there is a small problem with your theory. Who would have told Harry to enter the house? No one that knew the secret was near Harry. And also Harry managed to do an accidental Apparition from his primary school. This is only a guess, but I believe that what happened was that Harry managed to Apparate to his parents' house and then he learned enough about magic to cast such a ward. Given the great number of books James and Lily had in there, I am sure that he must have read about it.”
“So... should I go to Godric's Hollow? Maybe I can enter the house and talk with Harry.”
“If you manage to do that, I'll be the first to congratulate you on your finally adopting Harry.”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Entry 12
I saw a man out there right now just as I was reading something more on Potions. He looks familiar to me, but I am not sure why. He seemed to be running around the house, as if he did not know it was here. It is like when I saw those men before, the old man, the red haired man and the man the old lady said was an Animagus. I am not sure if it would be a good idea to try to go out and talk to him.
I continued reading on Potions. It is very interesting, and already I have tried a few more potions, which have gone well. One of them was a potion that turned my hair green. I looked myself at a mirror and laughed at the hair.
There is something else I am wondering about. Should I continue reading about the things they taught me at school? I don't know about English, but maybe I will need Maths. Prometheus wrote about something called Arithmancy, which has to do with magic and numbers, and some of mum's books are about that. Maybe... maybe I could go to some library and get copies of books, so that I can learn.
Also, the owl named herself. I asked her if she wanted me to call her by some name, so she flew towards a book I had left on the table, passed the pages with her beak and then hooted, with her claw over a word. I saw that she was pointing at Hedwig. She is really smart, I swear. And if she wants me to call her Hedwig, I will do that.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Sirius had resigned himself after a week to not being able to talk with Harry. He did not know if Harry had seen him. If he hadn't, then there was nothing he could do, and if he had, maybe he was scared of him. Somewhere, deep inside him, he felt bad: he had held some hope of Harry jumping into his open embrace, calling him 'Pa-foo', just like he did when he was one. However, he knew that Harry had changed, first because of his living with the Dursleys, and then with the couple of months he had already lived completely alone.
Instead, he decided that it was time to find the only remaining living Marauder — Pettigrew did not count at all, after his betrayal: Remus, according to Albus, was living in America, working on something related to a group that was making tests to find a cure for lycanthropy. Getting the paperwork for an International Portkey to the United States had been hard and long enough, but it was nothing compared with the bureaucratic nightmare that was getting all the paperwork that would allow him to move across the US without problem, as well as permission to do magic: given that it had been a spur of the moment thing, he was lucky that he did not have to do more.
Anyway, he had finally managed to reach the refuge in the state of Montana, the “Treasure State”, as they called it. It was near a forest that was protected with several wards, in order to prevent anyone but those allowed from entering it in the middle of a full moon night, and keeping the werewolves inside. They took security very seriously in there.
Sirius had sent a message through owl from the nearest magical district he had found (Columbia Street, in Seattle) to tell the people in the refuge he would be arriving there shortly, and then had taken a Portkey from there to the nearest town, where he had rented a room for a couple of days. And it was now that he was about to face the man he had not seen in seven years: he hoped that Remus would receive him well.
He had Apparated to the coordinates he had been given to him by the people at the refuge, and he found himself a couple of tens of metres from a small wooden cabin, that stood near a thick forest that crossed the border with Canada. He walked up to the cabin and knocked on the wooden door.
The door opened, and a man appeared. He looked to be in his forties, with dark brown hair peppered with grey spots, small bags under his light grey eyes and quite thin, which was noticeable even under the shirt and trousers he was wearing.
“Who are you?” the man asked, suspicious, with an accent that Sirius noticed was from the surroundings, as it was very similar to the accent of the people at the nearby town.
“I am Sirius Black. I sent a notice yesterday about my visiting here.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” the man said. “Just come through and I'll show you in.”
Sirius stepped inside, and after the door closed behind him, the man pulled a candlestick on the wall and a hole opened on the floor, showing a set of stairs.
“We do it this way to reduce the chance of someone finding this place by accident,” the man explained. “The only moment the werewolves we are working with are outside is on a full moon, and we have special Portkeys attached to them so that they are brought back when the moon sets. That way, we can start checking their vitals really fast.”
“It is... impressive,” Sirius said. “I wish there was something like this in Britain. That way, Moony could be back home without a problem.”
“Moony?” the man asked, as he guided Sirius into a lift.
“Oh, sorry, that's Remus Lupin's nickname; he got stuck with it after our friends and I learned that he was a werewolf.”
The man seemed to be surprised. “Really? Here in America we have the image of British werewolves being shunned away for what they are.”
“Yeah, I know that, and it is quite sad... pushes many werewolves into going wild to survive. However, Remus is one of the best people I have ever met, and I think everything that has happened to him is really bad. I have come here to see if he wants to come back to England, or at least to talk with him. Do you get the newspaper in here?”
“We do, but it tends to be The Observer. The latest news from England was that your Minister had been kicked out for some problem with those terrorists, the Death Eaters.”
“Yes. The man was protecting one of them, Lucius Malfoy, who had been bribing him, and once Malfoy got sent to prison, the Minister too got sent to prison.”
The man smiled. “Sounds like you had something to do with it.”
“No, at least, not directly,” Sirius replied with a laugh. “Years ago, I was framed and sent to prison, and some time before they judged Malfoy they caught the man that had framed me. He was a friend of Remus and mine, so you can imagine how bad it was.”
“Well, that is good. I had always noticed that there was something affecting Remus, but I never asked.” A small bell rang, and the door opened. “We provide all the people that work with us with room, food and some work aside from what they do with the research group. It's not much, but we do our best.”
“It is impressive, I have to admit it. I have noticed that you also use some Muggle technology. How do you do it?”
“Well, the lift there is the biggest piece of Mundane — what you call Muggle — technology we have managed to charm, so that it doesn't blow up in our noses when we use it. It is still imperfect, but in case of emergency we can get people out of the lift really fast. Some of the werewolves, those that want to, are working on finding ways to use more Mundane technology, and so far we have gotten a couple of interesting things.” The man stopped in front of a door and knocked on it. “This is Remus Lupin's room.”
The door opened, and Sirius smiled when the tired face he had not seen in the last seven years appeared behind it.
“What's going on, Frank?” Remus had not seen Sirius yet, given that he was at a side.
“You've got a visitor, Remus,” the man answered.
“Hi, Moony!” Sirius replied, with a grin. Remus looked at him, and after a few seconds, he stepped forward and punched him so hard that Sirius lost consciousness.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Entry 24
This morning, Hedwig woke me up by accident. She had been hunting outside, and she entered my parents' room with a dead mouse on her claws. She obviously found it outside, and thought that I would like it. After I woke up, I think she got the message quite clear.
I have spent the last weeks reading on Maths, and I have to say that it is far easier than what the school teacher told us. Multiplying and dividing are easy. You just have to check your numbers. I am trying to work out how to do the square roots, but it is harder than the rest.
I also continued reading Prometheus' Journal. It is quite interesting. He talks a lot about Arithmancy. It seems that he used Arithmancy to make divination, and also to work up a few things about charms. The divination part did not work very well, but the charms thing worked.
I am now wondering if Arithmancy can be used to do something about potions. I have read Flamel's book, and I have noticed that there are several potion ingredients that have very similar properties. There are also several things that stand out, like the proportions of the ingredients in the potions. I would have to wait until I know enough Arithmancy, but I think that it can work.
I am knackered, so I am going to sleep now. Tomorrow, I will keep with the roots and, as soon as I finish, I will start learning Arithmancy. It is going to be a busy day!
Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - Knowing Is Half The Battle
knowledge — n. pl. knowledge. Facts, information and skills acquired through experience and education; the theoretical or practical understanding for a subject.
“I'm glad you chose to come back, Moony,” Sirius said, giving his best friend a pat on his back.
“Yes. It was quite nice of you to guilt trip me into coming back, Padfoot,” Remus replied sarcastically.
“Oh, come on, you know you love me,” Sirius said. “Besides, aren't you glad that you are going to be able to keep working with the Werewolf Research Foundation here in England?”
“Sure. Especially after a mysterious donor gave the WRF an island near the coast with a castle attached so that they could work there with the werewolves well isolated and without taking risks of them attacking other people.”
“That's nice. I guess that I should do something to equal such a great donation. What do you think I should do, Moony?”
“Own up to the fact that the island and castle were yours, perhaps?” Remus asked.
“I don't know what you are talking about,” Sirius replied.
“Funny. Here I thought that I was the brains of the Marauders,” Remus replied with sarcasm. “Sirius, I have known you since we were eleven. You have been unable to hide something from us Marauders of this kind since day one. I still remember when you let loose that you guys had realised you knew about my being a werewolf. And after that, that you were planning to become Animagi. Honestly, Sirius, I still wonder how the hell you were able to even pull a prank on any of us.”
“Hey, I get the WRF to expand to Britain and this is the thanks I get from you? See if I ever do something that nice for you.”
“See, Sirius, this is what I was talking about. You let out the secrets when you get just a bit riled up.”
“But... Oh, you are so going to pay for that, Remus Lupin.”
“I don't know what you are talking about,” Remus said with a smirk.
“You... you... you werewolf, you tricked me!”
“Ask me if I care. Now, are you going to help me settle down or will I have to put my things in their place on my own?”
“Coming, coming,” Sirius replied, tiredly. “Honestly, you do something good for him and he doesn't even say thank you...”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Entry 39
Continuing with my discovery about those potions ingredients with similar properties, I have found that most ingredients have several properties, with each property being the same to the properties of other ingredients. I think that, maybe, there is a chance that ingredients as they appear in the book are actually combinations of smaller ingredients, just like chocolate is actually made of cocoa, sugar and more things. I believe that it may be possible to use certain ingredients in other ways than intended.
I have just finished reading Prometheus' Journal. It seems that, after the catastrophe that destroyed Atlantis, he managed to reach land and started selling people things he made with his magic, but when he was caught by the non-magical people, they thought he was evil and decided to tie him to a mountain, facing the sun, thinking that it would kill him. His magic helped him survive, but he was kept tied for a lot of time. He felt guilty for trying to bring magic to non-magical people, until he realised he was not at fault for what had happened, at least not completely. That he should have been more careful, and made sure that they could be at ease with magic.
In the end, he broke the ropes that tied him to the rock and took away from there. He made a deal with a magical race known as Goblins and gave them the money to start some kind of magical business — which, according to Mum's books, is a bank called Gringotts — and also gave them his journal, to safeguard it, and charm it so that it remained around the place where he lived before being tied to the rock, but placed in a hidden room in the most secure building in the surroundings, until someone worthy of it appeared and recovered it. Am I that person? I certainly don't feel like it.
As for my study of charms, I have been advancing quite well in that matter. I have started to practice Transfiguration, which, according to Mum's diary, was a speciality of Dad's. I have already managed to practice several Transfiguration spells, such as the one that turns metal into wood and back. I had some fun with a needle, turning it into a match and back into a needle several times. I wonder if Dad could do this as easily as I do.
It is late, and I am nearly asleep. Tomorrow, I hope I will be able to work more on the potions ingredients idea. If it works, it will be really great!
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
A week had passed from the day Hogwarts' new school year had started when Arthur Apparated to the road near his house, and walked the distance, marvelling once more at the sight of his house. While it was true that it was slightly strange and Muggles would probably say that it was an architectural nightmare, he was proud of it. The house may not be as regal as the Malfoy mansion, but the Burrow had something much more important, it had the warmth of family and love, and that was something few houses could show.
When he opened the door, he found his wife was sitting down, knitting something. He knew that this was a potentially bad sign: when Molly started to knit, it was because it was either near Christmas and she was making the Weasley Family's Christmas jumpers or because she was worried. He approached her from behind and gave her a hug.
“Hi, Molly,” he said, kissing her cheek. Molly left the knitting over the table and stood up, hugging her husband back. “What is worrying you?”
“It's Ronald. This morning he hasn't been paying attention to his lessons, and when I asked him what was going on, he just shrugged and kept silent. I thought that maybe he was ill, but he has nothing. He is in his bedroom right now, and I don't know what to do with him.”
“Don't worry, Molly. I'll ask him what is happening. He may be willing to tell me.”
“Thank you, honey. You are the best husband a woman could ask for,” she whispered and brought him a bit down to kiss him.
“I'll be down again soon.” Giving his wife another kiss, he left her to her own devices, while thinking what was going on with his youngest son. He suspected it might have to do something with the fact that the older children were at Hogwarts, but probably that was not all. Walking upstairs, he wondered what the twins and Ginny were doing now. If he wasn't mistaken, the twins would probably be outside, trying to play Quidditch on the family's old brooms, while Ginny would probably be either with her friend Luna or painting in her room, which had become her hobby in the last year.
When he reached Ron's bedroom's door — which was on the highest level, right below the attic — he knocked on the door and opened it, to see his son sitting by the window, looking at the sky outside. He seemed to be distracted by the birds flying.
“Ron? Can I come in?” he said, trying to catch his son's attention. Ron slightly turned towards him and silently nodded, which Arthur did not take as a good sign, given that he knew Ron tended to be more vocal. He sat down on the bed, near his son, and touched his shoulder, to signal that he wanted to speak with him. Ron turned around on his chair, and Arthur could see that he was sad.
“What's the matter, Ron? What has happened with you to leave you like this? Your mother has told me you have been this way the whole day, and frankly, we are worried. Please, tell me,” Arthur implored.
After a few seconds of silence, Ron spoke.
“It is not fair.”
Arthur waited for his son to continue. Now that he had finally gotten him to speak, he knew Ron would tell him everything else.
“It is not fair. Ginny has Luna. The twins have each other. Bill and Charlie have friends at school. And Percy has left. All of them have friends but me.”
Alas, therein lies the problem, just like with all other kids, Arthur thought. Ron was the youngest boy, and that was very important. Before he got his new job, with the correspondent pay raise, as well as the reward for catching Pettigrew, nearly everything Ron had was a hand-me-down from his brothers. However, there was still one thing that the money could not get, and that was children Ron's age. The brothers immediately older to Ron were Fred and George, and as twins they tended to spend most of their time together. Percy spent some time with Ron, playing with him, when they were younger, but the four year difference between them, as well as their different personalities, were big blocks between them. And Ginny, as tomboyish as she was, she still liked girl things and spent a lot of time with Luna. That left Ron alone for a lot of time, and there were few things he was interested in.
There was Quidditch, but he still needed a couple of more people for that. And chess, in which Ron had become quite the good player in the last two years, still needed one person that had the time to stay with Ron for several minutes or maybe hours. What his son needed was a friend of his age, one that he could spend time with and that he could stand with on even ground.
The only problem with that was that all the kids around here were Muggles, and it would be very hard for Ron to have his friends come over, or vice versa, without risking the possibility of breaking the Statute of Secrecy.
Wait a moment, he thought. There are magical children of Ron's age in England. If I am not mistaken, Harry Potter was born the same year as Ron... as well as Neville, the son of Frank and Alice. He shook his head when remembering what had happened to Frank and Alice, who had been two great Aurors and had gone mad from overexposure to the Cruciatus curse, done by the Lestrange family members and Barty Crouch Jr.
And Neville now lives with his grandmother Augusta, who has no other grandchildren. Maybe Neville and Ron could be friends.
He brought Ron nearer to himself and kissed his forehead. “I understand, Ron. Not having friends is hard, isn't it?” he asked, and Ron nodded. “Don't worry, I am sure you will find a friend soon. In fact, I think I know someone that could be your friend.” This time, he saw the ghost of a smile on his son's face. “That's better. Now, why don't we go downstairs and tell your mother what happened? That way, she won't be worried any more, and then I can make a Floo call.”
Ron nodded again, and Arthur smiled, thankful that his son had heard him. He just hoped that Ron was actually able to make friends with Neville, and that perhaps that would help his son gain the confidence he did not seem to have now.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Entry 70
Finally! This morning I managed to make my idea work! It has taken me several attempts (I lost count after number twenty), but in the end I have made a potion work with ingredients different from those in the actual recipe. It was a Elastic Paste, which, when applied to a hard object, makes it as elastic as rubber or more, depending on how much paste is applied and the proportion of the ingredients used to make it. I put it on the table and soon noticed it was pretty easy to stretch on the places it was applied. The effect lasted for about six hours, a bit more than the original potion's effect. Maybe this is because of the use of different ingredients? I should probably go to the library. Perhaps there is something not magical that can be applied here.
My studies in Transfiguration continue working very well. The chair I transfigured into a marble statue two days ago changed back to a chair a couple of hours ago. It was happening as I ate in the kitchen, to my obvious surprise and Hedwig's, who was resting on the table. I am not sure what has to be done to make a transfiguration permanent, but I suppose I will find it in some other book.
I may soon have to find a new blank book to continue my journal, this one is nearly full. If only I had something like the computer Vernon always boasted of when he was at the house, or like the one in the library, maybe I could just write on a blank page and the whole writing would just be put somewhere else, while letting me find it again if I wanted it to.
Wait, I just heard the woman's voice again. She said that I was having a good idea, and that I should be able to find some things in one of my parents' books, one that I had not opened yet. Her tone, however, tells me that I should be able to do much more than just a journal, that it could be much, much bigger than only that. Hmm. Maybe, if my hunch about potions ingredients is right, I could make something that helps to separate the different small ingredients.
But, well, that's something to do tomorrow. Now, it is quite late, and I am yawning too much. I'm calling it a night.
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What Harry didn't know at the moment — but the old woman that spoke to him probably did — was that this action would be the start of something far greater than what the young child could believe. The start of a revolution that would change the way people thought about magic and everything related to it.
It all started, as every revolution does, with a small thing. In this case, it was the first idea Harry had: a journal. It was not a normal journal, though. It was a special one, the first of its kind. Harry had looked for all the charms it needed, and practised them several times on other things until he felt ready to cast them all, consecutively, on the same thing.
First, he took a blank, leather-bound book that was kept on a shelf in the potions lab in the basement — it had been pure chance that he found it — and had then taken several gems that were stored also in the basement to act as repositories of the energy and to keep the information that was written in the book. He set the gems on the book's leather cover carefully, in the points where they would do their work. It was a hard work that took him a whole day, but when the gems were set, he cast the charms and soon he had a journal of practically infinite length and where looking for a certain entry was as easy as tapping one of the gems and saying the word or words he wanted to look for.
Once he had the journal made, he started on his next project: the ingredient analyser and separator. After finding in the library a chemistry book that talked about the Periodic Table of Elements, he thought that it was a good background idea for his own. This project took a couple of weeks, because it was complicated to make the whole thing work together as he wanted it to, but in the end it was finally built and the next weeks were spent making a table for the different ingredients he could find. He knew that there would be many ingredients that didn't show up, but at least he still had a lot of possibilities. He organized the ingredients within the table according to the use in potions — medicinal physical properties, medicinal psychic properties, protective properties, offensive properties... — and then organized them alphabetically according to their actual effect.
Of course, given the high number of ingredients he could find — although, fortunately, it was way lower than the number of those in Flamel's book — the table ended up being quite huge, and it also lacked information like where he could find each ingredient, so he also had to build something that allowed him to reach that information easily. His journal was not enough, but it was the point where he would base his next idea.
In one of his infrequent travels to the library to find more books, he had seen a computer. It was the first time he had seen one, although he had heard of them through Vernon. He didn't know how it worked, but he thought he knew what it did. The only thing he was sure of was that it had some kind of glass in front of the rest, so he started working from there.
He managed to take a glass window out of its place without breaking it and studied it, to later make two copies of the glass and restore the window to its place. One of the panes of glass was darkened until it was nearly black, and then he took a piece of completely white parchment that was slightly smaller than the panes and fixed it in the centre of the blackened pane of glass. The only thing left was to fix the transparent pane to the black pane of glass, so that the parchment was between them, but that would have to wait until he could find a way to keep all the ink in the screen and also to be able to move it at will without risking the ink's absorption into the parchment.
Another problem he worked on was that of making what would be the place where the information would be saved. He now knew, from his tests with the journal, that gems could be used for that, and certain gems were better than others, but he didn't have too many gems and didn't know how to get more, so he guessed that maybe he could study the normal gems and see if he could get something similar from other, more common ingredients, or perhaps he could duplicate the gems as he had duplicated the window glass.
Fortunately, the other problems were easy to solve. For example, he made a keyboard, so that when he had to write on his computer, it was easier than having to use a quill or a pen — at least it would not require any ink but that into the computer screen. He also searched for some way to have something catch the sound of his voice and send it as information into the computer, and he thought he had found an idea, but he couldn't be sure that it would work until he had everything.
His work on the computer didn't mean he had stopped his work on potions, or on learning new charms. In fact, in the former he was advancing by leaps and bounds: now that he knew that his theory was correct, he had started to actually apply it to potions, to make them “purer”, so to speak. His hard work paid off when it turned out that each potion that he made using the new method became improved in some way or other. Normally it was the time it had to be brewed, because, by using the pure ingredients instead of having to wait for each ingredient to separate from the others and react in the appropriate way, it cut a lot in the time needed to do it.
Also, it helped him try new charms and incantations which he could use in the construction and development of his computer. The search for charms that could help him achieve what he intended usually resulted in finding other charms that were interesting to know, and thus he practised them.
Of course, he knew that there were still many, many things that he didn't know yet. But he also knew that, if he worked very hard, the number of things he would not know would reduce.
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Someone knocked on the door to the office. Severus, who was busy reading Monthly Potions Journal and very interested in some potions that had been developed in South America, put the magazine down slightly angry at having his time off teaching children that didn't know the difference between carnelian and jasper cut into.
He opened the door and found a person he certainly didn't expect, nor would readily welcome into his office: Sirius Black.
“What do you want, Black?” he asked, his feelings towards Black quite clear in his voice.
“I have come here to talk business. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Sirius' neutral tone told him that he was being truthful, or at least he was trying to be truthful, but Severus still didn't believe it. After all, Black had been a consummate liar during his stay at school, and the whole thing with the Fidelius Charm, managing to keep quiet the fact that he wasn't the Secret Keeper, was something on a whole new level.
“Why should I believe you?”
With a look of 'I-should-have-expected-this', Black pulled something out of his pocket. Severus pulled his wand out of his pocket very fast, ready to defend himself, but then he saw that Black only had a roll of parchment on his hand.
“Honestly, Snape, I know that I haven't given you many reasons to trust us, but, seriously, pulling out your wand at the first sign? This is only a contract I want you to look at.”
Severus, still distrustful, waved his wand towards the parchment roll, and it didn't glow, which surprised him. That small detecting charm would have shown the existence of any enchantment in the parchment roll, and the lack of glow told him that this parchment lacked magic. So, either Black was telling the truth and he was giving him a contract bereft of any magic, or he was incredibly good at producing charms that could hide magic from detection. Given what he knew about those, he conceded the point that the former was likelier. He took the contract and opened it, in order to read it. It was short, and the details were interesting, but first he wanted to understand the reason behind this.
“Why?” he asked.
“Have you ever heard of the Werewolf Research Foundation?” Severus nodded. It had appeared on the newspapers several months before. It was an American organization that worked on finding something that allowed werewolves either to control their monthly transformations or to cure them of it altogether, and they had had some successes in treating werewolves. Last he had heard was that they were expanding into England, thanks to a mysterious benefactor that had donated an island with a castle, so that they could work there. He wondered if Black had been the 'mysterious benefactor'.
“Yes, I have.”
“These last months, they have been working to put their main base in Britain at full capacity, and it was a week ago that they have managed to start operations. There are several werewolves that have already joined it, and things are working out OK. Remus is working with them, and I have recently joined it, to become one of its representatives.”
Severus raised an eyebrow.
“Look, Snape, I know that you hate me, and I do not fault you, I know that I was a huge idiot when I was a teenager and James and I were particularly stupid when it came to dealing with you. However, you cannot say that you were completely innocent on the whole thing we had ongoing.”
Severus rolled his eyes, but internally he conceded the point that Black was making.
“Anyway, I don't like you either, but I would be daft not to recognise that you are a great Potions Master. Thing is, the WRF wants to make a deal with you. They are asking you to help them prepare Wolfsbane potion and teach others to do the same, as well as research on finding a cure or treatment for lycanthropy. You wouldn't be required to do this a full-time job, only something on the side while you keep working here at Hogwarts. They have lots of research they have already developed during the past several years and are willing to share it all with you. You would be paid for every potion you made and for every person you taught to make the potion, as well as for any research work. Should you manage to develop a better treatment or even a cure, the patent would be jointly owned by the WRF and you, and everybody would know you were the one that managed to make the cure. No fine print, I swear.”
Severus had to admit that the deal was a good one. Making Wolfsbane potion, while it was long and hard, it had several long periods of time where the potion had to settle, so if he timed it well, he would be able to teach classes and watch out for the Wolfsbane. If he taught other people how to make the potion, it would certainly make things easier, as those people could watch out for the potion during his classes. And he also had to admit that having the chance to discover something as important as the cure for lycanthropy was very attractive to him.
“What's into it for you, Black?” Severus asked.
“Besides the chance of you finding something that might help Remus? Nothing.”
The two men stood, looking at each other, until Sirius blinked, and the apparent stand-off between them was broken.
“I will have a closer look at this and consult with my solicitor, but, if what you have told me is true, then I think I will accept the deal.”
“I am glad,” Sirius replied, and after Snape closed the door, he left for Dumbledore's office. He wished to talk for a few minutes with him before he left for his house.
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Entry 121
I have to say that I thought it would be easier to make it, but finally, I have managed to finish building the computer. I found the charms for the ink in one of Dad's books, seems he made notes for something similar to what I had in mind. I don't know what it was, but it would be cool to know if he finished it.
After I fixed the glass to make the screen, I cast all the charms. I then tested all the extras, like the keyboard or the sound writer, and they worked well, so I started to feed the data on the ingredients, so that I could keep it all in there. It was nice, and finally I can work on the potion making thing without having to check several huge parchment tables.
Talking about potions, there is something else I want to do. Mum's journal talked about Dad and his friends becoming Animagi, which are wizards and witches that can become animals. According to a book I found, someone who wants to become an Animagus has to make a special potion and then drink it, which will cause the person to have a dream about the animal they can turn into.
The book also says that not everyone can become an Animagus, but I think that maybe I can actually do it, because Dad was one before. Now that I think about it, can you inherit that? After all, if your eyes and everything else can be inherited from your parents, why can't you inherit magic? And why do Muggleborns exist? Maybe there is some reason that explains why Muggleborns and Squibs exist.
Another thing I am interested in is magic. How it works, to be exact. Why can we see spells? I mean, magic is magic, but there must be a reason we can see a light when the spell comes. Maybe the magic in the spell interacts with what it comes in contact with. And what exactly defines the effect the magic has?
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“Mum, can I go to Neville's house? He told me the other day that we could fly around for a bit and play Quidditch,” Ron asked, his Cleansweep broom over his shoulder and a Quaffle under his hand. Molly looked at her son, smiling at how much he had changed in the last months, and decided to pull a small joke on him.
“Well, I think you would be able to do it, after all, unless something has happened, the Floo network isn't down, our fireplace is working and Neville's is working too, and probably Neville is not away with his grandmother...”
“Muuuuum!” Ron moaned. Ginny appeared in the kitchen, carrying with her a wooden easel, a canvas, a palette, a box and a seat.
“Hi, Mum. May I go to the orchard? I had an idea for a painting and I think that it would be nice to do it now, since the weather is so good.”
“Of course you may, Ginny,” Molly replied, smiling while she looked at Ron.
The last thing Ginny heard as she came out of their house was her brother groaning and repeating his question, but with the subtle change she had pointed out.
The sun was shining magnificently in this spring day, and Ginny liked it so much that she had decided to make a painting of it, to capture it in the canvas. Two years ago, she had asked her parents for some drawing implements as a birthday present, and they had given them to her, puzzled at their daughter's attitude. Everything changed when she gave them a charcoal drawing of the whole family she had done on a piece of blank parchment she had been given with the drawing implements. That drawing now hung proudly near the fireplace, protected by a series of spells done by recently-appointed Gringotts Curse Breaker Bill Weasley.
Not ones to squash one of their child's abilities, Arthur and Molly bought their daughter more drawing and painting supplies, with which she made beautiful paintings that were hung in every room in the Burrow. All of Ginny's brothers were proud — and a bit jealous — of their sister's ability, which was almost magical in how she was able to draw up anyone with just a few strokes.
She found a place where the colours were wonderful, and put her things down. She set the easel and the canvas on its place and the seat in front of her, and then she opened her box and pulled out a small charcoal piece, which she would use to delineate every object in the painting before actually using the paints.
Half an hour later, she had all the objects put into place within the canvas. However, there was still one part she didn't know what to do with. In reality, there was nothing in the middle of the field. But, on the painting, there were two beings: one of them was a black-haired boy that seemed to be her age or Ron's, and the other was a dark-skinned wolf that, for some reason, had a pair of great wings on the back.
She had tried to erase the kid and the wolf from there, but when she did it the painting felt strange, incomplete, so in the end she just left the figures where they were. She was reminded of the strange dreams she had had in the last year or so. Those dreams always had a boy — the same boy on the painting, now that she noticed — and the boy was doing several things, like running next to a white owl, writing on a book or making potions. She thought it was strange that she dreamt about him so much, and that she never saw an adult with the boy, but she didn't think much about it. They were just dreams.
Once she was finally happy with the initial sketch, she opened the box and pulled out the paints she would be using for the painting, and applied them carefully over her palette. Slowly, the painting evolved from the black-and-white sketch into a colourful and brilliant painting that looked almost like real life. Even the two extra forms melded very well.
Unfortunately, as good as this painting was, she wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to show it to her Mum. It wasn't as if she could actually explain who the boy was, or what that wolf was doing, because she didn't have an idea about them. Nor could she even say why they were there, or even why she had painted them. She doubted that Mum would actually accept her explanation of 'It was as if the painting wouldn't let me not put them'.
No, this painting, she would keep with herself. She would hold onto it, and when she met the boy in it, if he was real, she would give him the painting. Maybe this meant there was something very important between both of them.
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Entry 368
The spell analyser now works perfectly! After realising that the magic interacts with matter in a different way than sound, light or other matter, I was able to modify everything so that it could detect magic. It was really difficult, because magic is unlike anything else: it can work with normal things, and when interacting with normal space it can produce light (most spells produce a light as they travel through space, Lumos Charm especially), sound (the Cannon charm) or force (the Banishing Charm or the Disarming Charm).
Now, the spell analyser can translate the effects to a graph, much like sound can be translated to a graph as well, but it is a really strange one. I cannot make heads or tails of what each part of the graph means exactly, but with some work and using more spells, I may be able to ascertain how everything works.
I finally control the transformation of my skin into the Pegasus wolf skin. It was pretty funny watching myself on the mirror as it all changed completely. Using Dad's books on animals, I've started to look into how wolves are, because, since the wolf is nearly most of the body of my form, it should have much similarity. The only problem is the wings, because I guess that they would change a lot in the body, especially if the wolf has to fly. Maybe the answer can be found in the actual Pegasus, since it also has wings and the normal animal (the horse) doesn't.
I have finished reading all of Mum and Dad's schoolbooks on Charms. Some of them, I was unable to do, because they need someone to practice them on, and, well, since I only live with Hedwig, it is quite stupid. Not to mention that Hedwig wouldn't like to be a guinea pig for my spells. I wish I could make something that could behave like a human, but wouldn't be an actual human... some kind of doll that would react like a person would. It could be possible, but also really difficult to make.
Who knows, I could try to search the other books, maybe there is something there that can actually be useful.
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Narcissa sighed as she heard her son slamming the door to his room. The last few years had been very hard for her after Lucius was sent to prison. She was glad that, although she had supported the Dark Lord's pro-pureblood policy, she had never joined the Death Eaters, nor had she participated in her husband's bribing efforts. She had had to pay a fine, of course, but at least she had been able to keep a good part of her husband's fortune and her dowry from the Black family. Although she hadn't been able to live like she had before the arrests, she still could do much with her life.
Her biggest problem, unfortunately, was her son. Draco worshipped his father, and had been very upset when Lucius was arrested. She had tried to keep him grounded, to make sure he forgot about everything his father had put in his mind, to have him become less confrontational with the blood purity issue, but it was impossible. Lucius had done a good job in brainwashing Draco, and from the moment Lucius entered Azkaban, Draco had entered in a rebel phase that she was unable to pull him out of.
She just wished that her cousin Sirius had been more fortunate in his attempts to reach to Draco. The first time the two had met, Sirius had been very unimpressed by Draco's willingness to deride half-bloods and Muggleborns — and she knew things had hit a rock bottom when Draco insulted the Potters for their actions during the war right in front of Sirius, who she was sure would have cursed Draco if he weren't a child. Despite this, he had kept trying, hoping that with time and effort the child would stop holding onto his perverted beliefs, inherited from his father, but it had been practically useless. Sirius' and Narcissa's only hope for Draco was that, once he finally went to Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's and Snape's watchful eyes, he might be willing to start accepting something that wasn't Lucius' pure-blooded drivel.
“Dobby!” she called out, and the house elf appeared. His appearance and behaviour had improved much since Lucius was sent to Azkaban. She had known for years that her husband mistreated the elves, but she had never been able to do anything about it. While she didn't exactly respect house elves as fellow magical beings, she at least respected them for the hard job they did around the house.
“Yes, Mistress Narcissa?” Dobby asked, bowing.
“I want you to keep an eye on Draco. Make sure that he doesn't break anything, and that he does not harm himself. Tell the other elves that they are not to answer Draco's calls on my orders until I say so. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress, Dobby will watch for Master Draco!” the elf exclaimed, and disappeared from the room with a POP!
Narcissa, although still worried about her son, felt a bit better, knowing that Dobby's loyalty and zealousness would prevent Draco from suffering any pain. Maybe she could check with the Parkinsons if Pansy would like to come here, given that the girl had known Draco since they were really young, she could probably have a chance to get Draco to calm down.
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Entry 729
It has been a lot of time since last winter ended.
Mum wrote in her journal that she received her letter to Hogwarts when she was eleven. I was seven when I left — it was October — and three winters have come and left. I am not sure of how many days have passed since winter ended, but since it is hot outside, I guess that we are in summer again. My birthday is in summer, too, so I believe that soon I'll be receiving the Hogwarts letter.
Would it be worth my time to go to Hogwarts? On one hand, I have studied most charms they teach there, and most classes would be boring. On the other side, there are still things I would like to learn that are taught at Hogwarts and I do not know anything about, like Herbology or duelling. Not to mention that, even with books, there are things that would be better taught by the professors.
Besides, it would be good to be around people. I know it is weird, since I have lived on my own for three years and a half, but I want to meet people of my age. And maybe, if I can find them, some of my parents' friends. Maybe they can tell me more about both of them.
I also know that it would be nice to share my ingredients idea with someone else. Maybe this Severus that Mum wrote about can help me develop the idea even better. He could even help improve or even create new potions. If he is as interested in Potions as Mum said, he will probably like all of this.
What I am not very sure about is what to do when it comes to buying my things. I do know that Dad and Mum had a vault at Gringotts, but I do not know how to access it, or even if I can access it. They may be willing to help me with the money part.
Maybe they could be interested in my MagiMac, or in a copy of it. It has become an important part of my work, not to mention my life. Ever since I found the way to make the crystals grow faster than normal, I think I made it possible to actually build them really fast. If they want one, they would be willing to pay me money for one copy.
I should take some time in learning the Goblins' language, Gobbledegook. Maybe they will like it if I am able to speak with them in their language. I doubt I will be able to speak it as well as they do, but still, it is worth attempting to learn it.
Now that I think about it, where is Hedwig? She left a couple of days ago and has not returned yet. Well, maybe she found an owl to marry. Or she just went out for a long flight. Oh well, she will come back when she wants.
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A beautiful snowy owl flew on the night sky, not letting the length of her flight worry her. She knew what she had to do. The Lady had told her that her human, the one she had lived with for so much time needed her help, needed her to go get a certain letter from a castle up north. The Lady had told her that other owls would not be able to reach her human, and that she was the only one that could get the letter.
At last, she arrived to the castle, and swooped down, aiming for the room where she could detect the letter was. Entering through the big window, she landed near what she felt was her human's letter. To her surprise, a small cord tied the letter to her leg, although to her relief, it did not hurt, so she would be able to travel back without any problem.
She took flight once more and started to ascend, before choosing the direction that would take her directly towards her human, knowing that the sooner he received the letter, the better.
Chapter 6: Chapter 6 - School Supplies Are Required
supplies — n. pl. supply. A stock or amount of something supplied or available for use.
As Harry prepared his breakfast, he looked out of the window. He still wondered where Hedwig was. He had not seen her since she left three days before, and he was a bit worried. He hoped that he would be able to see her again.
Just as he sat down to enjoy his breakfast — as best as he could, given his worry — the beautiful white owl flew in the room and landed right next to Harry.
“Hedwig! Where have you been? I was really worried for you,” Harry said, caressing the owl in relief. Hedwig hooted and raised her leg, which had an envelope tied to it.
“Is this for me?” Harry asked, and Hedwig hooted again, meaning yes. Harry carefully untied the knot and picked the envelope, which was addressed to Harry Potter, Potter House, Godric's Hollow, Wales, and had on the back a seal with a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle set around a big H, and with the motto Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus written below it.
“I got accepted into Hogwarts!” Harry shouted, jumping out of his chair in joy, while Hedwig remained on her place, looking happily at her human.
A few minutes later, after Harry finally got his undiluted happiness out of him, he started to plan what he would have to do.
“I'd better open the letter, so that I know what it says,” he told himself, and opened the envelope. Inside, he saw there were two pieces of parchment. The biggest one held a list of various things that he guessed were the required school supplies, which he put away to look at later, and the other one was a short letter.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry read the whole letter again, and looked up at Hedwig. “Are you up to another travel to Hogwarts?”
Hedwig hooted affirmatively. Harry ran upstairs and picked a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkwell to write back.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I am Harry Potter. I have just received my letter of admission to Hogwarts, and I wish to tell you that I am willing to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, there are a couple of things I would like someone to explain to me. I have been living on my own for the last four years, more or less, and there are several things that I do not know about. Would it be possible to meet with a member of your staff to speak with?
Please, answer as soon as possible.
Yours sincerely,
Harry James Potter
He put the quill down and looked it over. It sounded a bit too unlike a kid would write in his opinion, but he was not sure of how he should write a letter, and this was the best he could do. Hedwig entered the office through the open door and landed on the table, next to Harry.
“Thanks for coming, girl,” he said, caressing the owl's feathers. After carefully folding the piece of parchment, he took a length of string from the table and carefully tied the letter to Hedwig's leg. “Stay safe, OK? And wait for an answer, please.”
Hedwig hooted, as if telling him he had nothing to worry about. Harry ran to open the window and Hedwig took flight, soaring into the air as she flew north, towards Hogwarts. Harry stayed there, watching Hedwig fly, until she became nothing but a small dot in the blue sky, and then not even that.
“Well, I guess I should leave for Gringotts, then,” he told himself. He went to his parents room and found a robe he thought would fit with the situation. He shrank it with a wave of his stick, and then readied himself for his journey to Gringotts. He had never been at the magical bank, but so far his mysterious travelling system had never failed him.
“I want to be in Gringotts, I want to be in Gringotts, I want to be in Gringotts...” he chanted in his head, concentrating on his task and nothing else. A few seconds later, a POP! was heard, and the house was empty of people.
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It was the early hours of morning, and Blanikat was quite bored. His job as a teller at Gringotts Bank, the only magical bank in all of Britain, forced him to deal with wizards several hours a day. Up until a few years before, roughly sixty-five percent of them were arrogant in their dealings with the bank, demanding rather than asking for access to the vaults they hired within the bank, while most of the rest acted politely but a bit patronising due to the supposed inferiority of the Goblin nation when compared to wizards, and only a few people were able to behave correctly while within Gringotts' walls.
However, ever since Cornelius Fudge was fired, the relationship between wizards and goblins had improved, which was something everyone in the bank appreciated, as it was very difficult to make business with someone that clearly hated you and did not have any qualms in showing it, but it was still far away from the relationship goblins wanted with wizardkind.
Right now, there were few people entering the bank, which made sense, given how early it was. It was then that a human child, with slightly long hair black as coal, entered the bank, carrying a backpack. Despite himself, Blanikat could not help but be interested in him. For starters, the child was completely alone, which was strange: all human children that entered the bank always were accompanied by one adult at least. Also, the child was looking everywhere around him, and even from a distance he could see that the child had a look of amazement on his face, as if he was trying to see everything at the same time, and drinking from the beauty of how the bank had been built.
There also was the way the child held himself. It was not like a normal child, always full of energy and constantly moving. He was more like a human teenager, interested in everything but far more reposed and mature. He could also feel something else, something that made him very different from other wizards: he had power: great power. Almost like Albus Dumbledore. Maybe slightly less than the old wizard, but that was nonetheless great for a child of his age. This was indeed the signal that he was a powerful wizard, and probably would become even more powerful as he grew in age. He wondered about the child's identity, and soon realised that he would not have to wait much, because the child was walking towards his counter.
He looked at the child as he came, carefully trying to show indifference towards the newcomer, as it was befitting of him. The child stopped, and looked at him.
“Master Goblin, I wish peace and riches unto you and yours. I wish to ask for your help in financial matters,” the child said, painfully slowly, in Gobbledegook.
Blanikat barely kept his surprise from showing. The wizard's sense of superiority meant that not many of them tried to learn magical languages like Mermish. Only a few did bother to do so. And here was a child that had probably not even started to go to Hogwarts and had learned it? It was quite obvious to his ears that he must have learned on his own or with someone that did not practice speaking in Gobbledegook much, because his pronunciation was quite distinctly English. Still, it was impressive that the child knew how to speak in Gobbledegook.
“I welcome you to Gringotts, young wizard. Please, state your name, so that I may know who I am dealing with.”
“Harry James Potter.”
That was even more surprising for Blanikat. Only his experience at controlling his emotions prevented him from gasping. Now that the child was near, he could see the famous lightning scar hidden behind his coal black fringe. He also was reminded of how, three years ago, Albus Dumbledore had come to Gringotts in the greatest of secrecies and given Digmar, the Potter's account's manager, the key to Harry Potter's trust account, for them to hold on until Harry Potter appeared at the bank, either alone or accompanied by his guardian.
“Master Potter, please come with me, I shall bring you to your family's manager.”
“Er, my apologies, but would you mind repeating that? I am still learning your language and I fear I do not know all those words. And also, how may I call you?”
Well, that makes him quite different from other wizards. I doubt anyone would actually be willing to admit such a problem, he thought. “Do not worry, Master Potter, many find our language a difficult one to learn. I was just asking you to come with me, so that you may meet your family's account's manager. And you may call me Blanikat.”
“I thank you, Master Blanikat.”
Blanikat put a CLOSED sign on his teller station and came from behind it. Both of them walked in silence towards the back of the main hall, crossing a door made of wood and metal, which gave way to a long corridor with doors on both sides, and portraits and busts decorating the walls. Blanikat noticed that, even at the brisk pace they were going, the young Potter was still taking on everything, and apparently was even reading the names of the people represented in the portraits.
Soon, they reached an ebony door that had a bronze plaque on it, saying simply DIGMAR. Blanikat knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Digmar said. Blanikat opened the door and saw Digmar sitting behind a desk, working with several books around him and a quill on his hand, while other quills wrote on their own.
“Master Digmar, I bring you Master Harry Potter, the heir to the Potter estate,” he said. Digmar looked up, surprised. He turned around and started to look between his books, until he found the relevant one for the current discussion.
“Bring him in,” Digmar said. Turning around again, he saw Blanikat and a young human enter his office. The human was, without a doubt, the son of James Potter. Even if he had last seen James Potter nearly eleven years ago, when he and his wife Lily Potter had come, accompanied by Sirius Black and holding the recently born Harry in their arms, to write a joint will; he still remembered it well, and the boy standing in his office was the spitting image of James Potter.
“Thank you, Master Blanikat,” Digmar said. “Master Potter, please take a seat.”
“Thank you for your help, Master Blanikat,” Harry replied. Digmar's only answer was raising his thick eyebrows. While the boy's pronunciation was terrible, he had spoken in passable Gobbledegook, and it was quite interesting. He wondered how the child had learned the language of Goblins.
“You are welcome. May peace favour your family and gold flow into your pockets,” Blanikat replied, before leaving the office and closing the door.
“Greetings, Master Potter. It is a pleasure to finally meet with you. It is interesting to hear you speak our language. Also, I had heard that you had been missing these last years.”
“I was living at my parents' house,” Harry replied. “I think it was under a Fidelius Charm. Maybe that is why everyone thought I was missing. As for Gobbledegook, I started to learn it by myself a few weeks ago, which is why I do not know enough about it.”
“Do not worry, Master Potter, not many wizards would be able to learn much of our language in just a few weeks. Well, given that you are here, do you wish to learn about your family's financial state?”
“It would not be bad to do that. I had intended to just come and check if I could get some money to buy my school things, but it would be useful to learn about what I actually have.”
Digmar nodded. Young Potter seemed to be quite more mature than his age belied. He opened the book he had taken before from the shelf.
“This book here has the last numbers on the Potter Family Estate. Currently, the Potter family has three vaults in Gringotts: your trust vault, which was set by your parents a month after you were born to help you pay for your studies and other expenses; a financial vault, where the dividends and royalties of all the investments and things related to you or your family are deposited; and a special vault where the family has stored several magical and non-magical artefacts, as well as gems of many kinds and others. Right now, you can access all vaults, but you can only take money out of your trust vault, and if you want to take things out of the third vault you need to have permission from your guardian. The special vault also has the deeds to the Potter Family Estate's properties, such as Potter Mansion, a house in the town of Godric's Hollow, a beach summer house in southern Spain and a few buildings related to a company your grandfather Charles Potter started several years ago.
“As you can see here,” Digmar continued, turning the book so that Harry could see it, “your family's financial vault has steadily increased in content, especially in the last eleven years, although the last four years have seen a slight increase in expenses beyond those of vault maintenance and taxes. Given that you say you have been living at your parents' house, I guess that the extra expenses may have come from there.”
Harry nodded. At least, now he knew how it was possible for the icebox to be always full of food even if he never went out to buy any food. Although he still wondered about how the food came into the icebox if he didn't open it.
“Your trust vault has not seen any expenses nor withdrawals in the whole time since it was set up. The only movements have been those related to the interests of the money the vault has accumulated. The key to that vault will be available to you as soon as you want it. As for the artefacts vault, there have been no changes to its contents since your parents' death.”
“Thank you for this. I am wondering, how come you use books to keep all the information? Doesn't it become a bit... inconvenient?”
“It is. Unfortunately, neither wizards nor goblins nor any other magical race has been able, so far, to develop a way that allows for information to be stored in some other place than books or parchment rolls.”
He looked at the young Potter, and he saw something that really interested him: a glint of light in his eyes. It was a glint that, in the eye of a goblin, meant an idea with the potential of being very important, very useful or very enriching. Probably all of them.
“I have something that you might be interested in,” Harry said, pulling something out of his bag, something with two panes of glass on it.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
When Professor Minerva McGonagall opened the door to her office, intent on looking over some papers that she needed to check for the next school year, she was surprised to see a snow white owl waiting on the stand near her table. As soon as she entered, the owl hooted and stuck a leg out, showing the letter tied to it.
Crossing the space between the door and her desk, Minerva reached the owl and untied the letter from the owl's leg, but, opposed to what she expected, the owl remained there.
“Are you waiting for an answer?” she asked, and the owl bobbed her head, as if saying yes. Minerva looked for the small box that had the owl treats she gave her own owl and offered a few to the white owl, who ate them carefully while she stroked the top of the owl's head.
After the owl seemed satisfied, Minerva sat down and looked at the envelope. Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft was written on it with black ink in a handwriting she did not recognise. She wondered who was writing to her, so she opened the envelope and found a short letter.
Five minutes later, she searched behind her and pulled out a bottle of fifteen-year-old scotch and a small glass. Pouring out a peg for herself, she drank it in one gulp. She was glad she had just finished her dinner, otherwise she knew it could have done a number on her. She could notice the owl was giving her a look that seemed to be trying to convey its distaste for her actions, but she needed something to calm her nerves after what she had read.
Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts. It was four years since the last time someone had heard anything about him. And now, he was answering to his Hogwarts letter as if he were expecting it. She wondered where the child had been living, but that was something that could be answered later. Right now, she should bring news of this to Albus. She looked again at the owl.
“Do you want to come with me? There is someone I need to speak with, and I think he will want to send you back to Harry with a letter.” The owl hooted and jumped to her extended arm. She took the letter and opened the door, briskly walking towards the Headmaster's office. A few minutes later, she reached the gargoyle and said the password, “Lemon Drops”, and walked upstairs.
“Enter,” she heard Albus say, and opened the door. “Minerva!” the Headmaster greeted as soon as she opened the door. “And guest,” he added, mildly curious, as soon as he noticed the white owl perched on her arm, which flew to the stand where Fawkes was resting from his most recent Burning Day. “What is the matter, Minerva?”
Minerva simply gave him the letter in reply. She knew the moment he had reached Harry's name, because his eyes widened and then moved faster over the parchment, in order to absorb every word on it. When he finished, he put the letter down and sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Thank Merlin,” he whispered.
“Yes, thank Merlin. What do you suggest we should do? If what you said was true, it would be impossible for us to try and reach him at Godric's Hollow.”
“I think... that we should first alert Sirius about this. You know how nervous he is becoming as time passes without any news from Harry. He will welcome this letter for sure.”
“Good idea. Do you mind if I use your fireplace?” she asked.
“By all means,” Albus replied, while he read the letter once more, intent on trying to find anything that may tell him something more about Harry. Minerva stepped towards the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, and threw it on the fire. She then knelled on the floor, put her head in the now green fire, and shouted “Grimmauld Place!”
A few seconds later, things stopped spinning around and she found herself looking into a slightly darkened kitchen, where she could see a pair of house elves working at cleaning several dishes.
“Hello?” she said, and the house elves turned around. One of them, a very old one with droopy ears and long nose, stepped towards the fireplace.
“Kreacher wonders what a witch is doing on Master's fireplace,” he said in a surly tone.
“Hello, Kreacher, I am Minerva McGonagall, would you please tell Sirius that I need to speak with him?”
“Kreacher will tell Master about witch in the fireplace,” he replied, and vanished with a small POP! Minerva waited, and soon the kitchen door opened and Sirius Black crossed it.
“Minerva? What's the matter?” he asked.
“I need you to come here to Hogwarts. It is something for which we need your input.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting Minerva to explain herself further, but she did not say anything else.
“All right. Give me a minute and I will be at Albus' office.”
Minerva stood up again, silently complaining about the pain on her knees for having to do this at her age — and wondering why something could not be invented to save people from going on their knees to speak through the Floo network — when Sirius appeared and came out of the fireplace, brushing off some ashes.
“What happened?”
“Here. Harry wrote back to accept his admission at Hogwarts,” Albus said, offering Sirius the letter. The younger man jumped at hearing Harry's name and took the letter, holding it as if it were the most precious thing he had ever seen, to then read it hungrily. Once he finished, he sat down on the nearest chair and relaxed, a big smile on his face. After ten years, he had finally been able to hear about his godson.
“What should we do now?” Minerva asked, once Sirius calmed down.
“I think that perhaps we should send a letter to Harry, with a Portkey. Of course, explaining to him that it is a Portkey, and perhaps something should be done so that at least you,” Albus said, pointing at Sirius, “know the secret to Harry's house. I know that, right now, Godric's Hollow is the safest place for Harry to be in, but still I think someone should have some fast way to contact with Harry.”
“Well, if he wants to, I plan to ask him whether he wants to live with me, so that would make everything easy. And, if you need to contact with me urgently, I have a pair of communicating mirrors with which we can talk to each other without having to use the Floo network or an owl.”
“That is quite a good idea, Sirius. See if you can find that pair of mirrors, and Minerva, would you write the answer? I will change the wards to allow Harry's Portkey to enter directly into Hogwarts without being bounced out or something else.”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
“What can you tell me about the young Potter Heir, Digmar?” asked Meikniv, Director of the Gringotts office in Diagon Alley, United Kingdom.
Digmar breathed in and out, in an attempt to remain calm. It was never easy to meet the Director, a goblin wizards had never met. The only goblins that actually knew the Director were his relatives, the other Directors, his aides, and only when warranted, a Manager.
“He is an intelligent human,” Digmar said, trying to measure his words. “He knows how to speak our noble language, at least in part, although his pronunciation is terrible, something he was quite apologetic about.
“In spite of his young age, he was able to understand my explanations about the Potter Family Estate, and with great interest, too, more than what could just be explained if he only wanted it for the riches.
“However, the most important thing happened when he took interest in how we kept records. He offered me a deal that could, perhaps, and with some work, both help us to keep our records better stored and allow us to save several thousand, perhaps millions, of galleons every year.”
That called Meikniv's attention. Parchment was easily one of the highest expenses Gringotts had to go through every year. Several attempts had been made to find some other way to keep all records straight in less space, but those efforts had failed, and parchment remained the only way to do that. So far, they had had to use six great vaults to keep the older records there, and a seventh was already at a third of its full capacity.
“Master Potter's offer is also, in my opinion, the chance to make a great investment, which could help Gringotts earn much more money than ever before.”
“Please, spare no details,” Meikniv said.
“Master Potter, despite his youth, even by goblin standards, already has a prodigiously intelligent mind. Using magical knowledge he has learned in only the last four years, he took an idea based on something Muggles invented several years ago, something called a computer, to make a magical artefact that works similarly. Basically, it is a machine that can make all sorts of calculations, allow someone to write without using any ink at all, keep track of conversations, and many other things.”
“I gather that you have seen this machine working. How does this help us to keep our records in a better situation?”
Digmar pulled something out of one of the numerous pockets he had on his jacket. It was a ruby, although it seemed slightly different to the rubies Meikniv was used to: although the typical intense red could be seen, there was also an unusual yellowish tinge that made it quite strange to his eyes.
“Pray tell, what has happened to that ruby?”
“It was all thanks to Master Potter. He used a device in that machine of his that allows it to read a whole book in less than a minute, and that book can then be read on the 'screen'. This ruby holds the last two hundred years of the Potter Family Estate financial records, and Master Potter says that it can store a lot more than that.”
As soon as he heard that, Meikniv realised that the idea had not only great potential, but, as Digmar had said, was bound to be pretty much worthwhile to invest in. Why, if they managed to get Harry Potter to sell them a few of those machines, Gringotts would be able to cut on the time required to do many other things! True, the initial cost for using gems would be high, but the benefits of using the machines instead of parchment and ink would more than cover the initial investment.
“You did well to bring this to me, Digmar. We definitely can benefit from these machines of Master Potter. Did the two of you speak about the possibility of him selling some to Gringotts?”
“I fear that the conversation did not reach that point, Master Meikniv. We mostly talked about the Potter Family Estate and the capacities of his machine. However, I believe that this conversation would be better held when Master Potter is accompanied by his guardian, who might be able to teach him things that we would not be able to. Also, given Master Potter's status as a minor in the eyes of wizards, despite his being the Heir to the House of Potter, his guardian would be required to help him with all deals.”
“Let it not be said that us goblins do not behave according to the law, nor that we do not care about our customers. Please, write Master Potter a letter to arrange a meeting with him in five days. We will need to speak with him and his guardian so that we can start discussions about the possibility of him selling some of those machines of his.”
“Yes, Master Meikniv, I will start writing it right now.”
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Harry woke up refreshed. The previous day had been a bit long, what with the visit to Gringotts and buying the things on the school list. He had really outdone himself when he arrived to the bookshop and the potions' shop. In the former, he had basically taken a copy of each book he did not have yet, and in the latter he had bought a bit of every ingredient the shop had, especially those he lacked or was running out of.
After putting on some clothes, he went downstairs in order to make himself some breakfast. Considering the nice weather outside, he opened the windows so that some fresh air entered the kitchen as he fried some eggs and bacon strips. Sitting down to eat his breakfast, he looked out of the window. In the blue sky and among the white clouds, he saw a small dot moving towards him. Soon enough, the dot got close enough for him to recognise that it was Hedwig flying towards him. Harry hurriedly finished his breakfast, saving a piece of bacon to give to the owl.
“Hey, girl, how is it going?” Harry said after the owl landed on the table, caressing her head. Hedwig stuck her leg out, and he saw that she had a letter tied down to it. “Is this for me?” he asked. Hedwig answered with a hoot, as if saying “Of course it is, dummy.”
The letter was written in a handwriting similar to that of the Hogwarts letter he had received, but there was a bit of a difference. It seemed to be more... rushed, maybe.
Dear Mr Potter,
I am glad that you have decided to attend Hogwarts. It is also nice to have heard from you after a long time.
Now, I am not sure how much you know about magic and the magical world, but nonetheless I, as well as Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' Headmaster, wish to meet with you in order to discuss certain matters with you. Given that your house is currently, and unfortunately, inaccessible for us due to the charm that was placed on it several years ago, an alternative is necessary.
This letter is a Portkey. If you do not know, a Portkey is an object that has been charmed so that it can take a person from one place to another, with at least the destination being known to the caster. Portkeys can be charmed so that they act when a password is spoken while holding it or at a certain time. This Portkey will activate when you speak the words “Hogwarts School”. Make sure that you bring some clothes and other necessary objects with you, you may need them for later.
I hope that you will come here, to Hogwarts, soon.
Yours faithfully,
Minerva McGonagall
“Hmm. Well, what do you think, Hedwig? Should I go?”
Hedwig's hoot was clearly an affirmative one.
“Good.” Harry smiled. He was going to Hogwarts for real! He waved his stick at the dishes, which started to wash themselves, and he ran upstairs to take his recently bought trunk, where he had put all the books he had not had a chance to put into one of his gems along with several other things he had bought there. Opening the wardrobe, he pulled out some of his clothes and put them into the trunk. Other things that went in there were some photos, a couple of cauldrons for Potions classes and several other things he thought might be necessary.
With a stick swish, Harry reduced the size of the trunk so that he could carry it within his backpack, and with his MagiMac in there as well, he was nearly ready to leave his house. He just had to change his clothes, and then he would be able to take the Portkey.
“Hedwig, do you want to go on your own to Hogwarts or do you prefer to come with me?”
Hedwig hooted again and Harry took her to the window, from where she took flight, heading north. Harry stayed there for a few minutes, until Hedwig was nothing but a point, like she had been when he saw her before. He took the letter and breathed heavily, looking around himself, at the house that had been his home for the last four years.
“Hogwarts School,” Harry said, and right then he disappeared from the Potter's home at Godric's Hollow into a whirlwind of colour.
Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - We Are Off To See The Wizard, The Wonderful Wizard Of Hogwarts!
Impossible, a., impossible: not able to occur, exist, or be done; very difficult to deal with.
There is one joke amongst Muggles that states that, according to certain mathematical equations and physical models, bumblebees should not be able to fly, and yet they do, because they do not know mathematics. This is, of course, a fallacy: Muggle scientists have mathematically demonstrated that bumblebees are perfectly able to fly, and that the only problem would come if the bumblebee could not move its wings.
Another kind of bumblebee, a man called Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, had heard of the joke, and laughed at the whole thing, given that it was quite illogical. He was sitting on a chair in his office, accompanied by two other people: Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, and Sirius Black, who had just accepted the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. The three of them were making small talk as they waited for a certain thing to happen.
With a small flash, a boy with coal black hair and brilliant, green eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses, who was carrying a backpack, appeared in the centre of the room.
Sirius jumped from his chair, as if he had just seen a ghost. And, in a way, he felt like he had just done exactly that. Because Harry was so much like James Potter at age eleven that you could have put them together and you would hardly notice the difference. The only thing that clearly set Harry apart from eleven-year-old James was his eyes, which were identical to Lily's.
“Harry?” Albus asked, apparently unfazed by the appearance of the child: only someone that knew him well would have seen that he was particularly impressed by Harry's arrival. “Harry Potter?”
“Yes?” the boy said, a bit unsure of himself. Albus could see something in his eyes, as if he was recognising him from somewhere. He wondered if Harry had seen him when he brought Pettigrew to Godric's Hollow nearly four years before.
“Hello, Harry. I am Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster.”
“Hello. Nice to meet you,” Harry replied. He turned a bit, and he was surprised to see someone else in there. It had been nearly four years since he last saw him, but he had not changed at all in the last years. “You... you were there in front of my house.”
Sirius was about to gasp in surprise, but he remained quiet. He had suspected that Harry had probably seen him when he tried to reach Godric's Hollow after being freed, but he had not known... until now. He gingerly stepped forward, keeping himself from rushing and hugging the stuffing out of his godson. He knew that, after all the time he had spent on his own, Harry would not be as used to human contact as he normally would. It would take some time for him to get used to it, but Sirius would be damned if he did not do his best to make sure that the son of James Potter did not become the kid he would have been if his parents were alive.
“Hi, Harry,” Sirius said, crouching before his godson, so that their eyes were at the same level. “I am not sure if you actually know me, but I was a friend of your father. My name is Sirius Black.”
“Padfoot,” Harry whispered, suddenly remembering the photograph in his parents' bedroom. “You are Padfoot?”
“Yeah, that is what your father called me,” Sirius replied with a soft smile. “It has been nearly ten years since I last saw you, Harry.”
“Where were you all this time?” Harry asked, with a voice that clearly showed how hurt he was. While he lived with the Dursleys he had prayed almost every night that someone — a friend of his parents, a relative he did not know, someone — found his way to Privet Drive and took him to live somewhere else. Reaching his parents' house had helped him put those thoughts away, but it was not something that could ever be forgotten.
Sirius did not need for Harry to make it clearer. He knew what his godson was speaking about. His own, damn foolish mistakes had cost him six years in Azkaban and Harry his childhood. He wondered how Harry had coped with the loneliness for so much time, as well as the mistreatment he had suffered from Vernon and Petunia.
“I made too many mistakes, Harry. I trusted a friend of mine too much, and then I was so angry that I did not realise that staying with you should have had priority over finding the traitor. I know that it is going to take you much time to actually forgive me, but I am hoping that you will, at least, be willing to accept me.”
“I do not know,” Harry said. He had imagined this situation a few times, when he was not engaged in reading or researching, but right now, with Sirius in front of him, it was far too difficult to recall what he had thought to say during those moments. The feelings of abandonment from his younger years, which he had not faced during the last three years, were coming in full force again.
Sirius sighed. It seemed that the situation was worse than what he had hoped for. However, it was not too late, or at least he hoped so. His own childhood had been really bad, but between James, Remus and, yes, Peter, he had managed to overcome his problems. It seemed that now he would be able to return the help James had given him by helping Harry.
He slowly moved his arms around Harry, and gave him a hug.
To Harry, this was a very alien experience. As far as he remembered, no one had ever hugged him. While at the Dursleys, he always saw Dudley being hugged by Petunia and Vernon, and he had wondered what it felt like to receive one. Now he knew.
And he could feel many things. Like the regret and love pouring out of Sirius. And a feeling that had been in the deepest recesses of his mind and had been forgotten until now: being held in someone's arms, being small and held in an adult's embrace, revelling in the heat and the nice smell of the person holding him. He returned the hug, putting his arms around Sirius' neck and closing his eyes, so that the only thing he sensed was Sirius' arms around his body.
They remained there for a few minutes, with Dumbledore and McGonagall allowing them their time to start mending their lost relationship. When both of them felt better, Sirius slowly loosened his grip and looked Harry directly into his eyes.
“Harry, I want you to know one thing. I may have not been able to do my duty these last ten years, but I swear to you that you will be able to count on me and my help when you need it. I will be here for you whenever you need me. OK?”
Harry nodded.
Sirius' smile grew slightly, and he directed Harry towards the only chair that was not being used right now, before sitting down on the chair he had been before. An awkward silence settled in the room, which was soon broken by Dumbledore.
“I have to say, Harry, that I am glad to finally meet you.”
“Same to you, Professor Dumbledore. And you too, Professor McGonagall,” Harry replied, his voice still a bit subdued.
“Hello, Mr Potter. I am glad that you decided to come to Hogwarts.”
“Harry, there are a few things that I feel we should speak about. For example, what you are going to be doing this month. I am not sure if you would prefer to return back to your parents' house or to stay here at Hogwarts. Should you prefer to leave, I would feel better if you let Sirius enter the house, and maybe live with you.”
“I would rather stay here,” Harry said. He was not sure if he felt ready to let other people enter the place that he had been living in by himself for four years, but he knew that staying at Hogwarts would be a better idea. He had longed to be with people for a long time, and whenever he went to the library he made a point to speak with a few of the children there, but it always felt a bit forced to him, because he knew it was impossible to form friendly attachments to them as he had to lie about his life. However, now that he was here at Hogwarts, he hoped that he would be able to be himself and find some friends.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
After a couple of hours working in his laboratory in the dungeons, and a long talk with Pomona Sprout regarding the care of the plants in the greenhouses, as well as the use of potions as fertilizers for them (a good part of the botanical supplies Hogwarts used were home-grown to reduce costs, and he wanted to make sure that they were grown correctly) Severus entered the school's main hall, intent on returning to the dungeon and keep working on a couple of things for the incoming school year. However, he did not know that his plans for the day were about to suffer a complete change.
When he was on the way downstairs towards his beloved potions laboratory, he heard a couple of people talking as they came downstairs using the main stairs. One of them, he identified easily just by the sound of his voice: Sirius Black, one of his childhood nemesis, which had in the last few years become, not a friend, nor a liked associate, but at least someone he was able to speak with in a civil manner for enough time. Even if he still hated Black, at least he could recognise that he had grown up and was now a different person when compared to how he was during their school years.
He could not recognise the other person's voice, however. Snape could discern that whoever Black was talking to was a young boy, around ten or eleven years old. The voice was vaguely familiar, though not one that he could remember right now. He turned around, and realised why the voice was so familiar to him, and yet so different that he was not able to recognise it at first.
The child that was talking with Black was, unquestionably, the living image of James Potter, his school nemesis, who had managed to get what he had wanted most for his whole childhood, the heart of Lily Evans. And here was the son of James and Lily, animatedly talking with Black about something he was too far away to discern. Black then saw him, and said something to Harry, who turned around, and smiled at Severus.
It was Lily's smile. It was Lily's eyes.
He was instantly reminded of the last time he had seen that smile directed at him. He and Lily had been given permission from Slughorn, their old Potions Professor, to use a laboratory to practise for the O.W.L. Potions test. He had been making a potion, and a short distraction he had when he looked at Lily had prevented him from realising he had dropped a little too much dragon blood in the potion. The resulting explosion, while it had not been too big, had left his face completely covered by soot. Lily had tried to keep it in, but she had not been able to do it and started to laugh out loud. He had laughed with her, without paying attention to his state of being, unknowing of the fact that it would be but a few days later that he would accidentally call Lily a 'Mudblood' and thus drive her away forever.
His memories were suddenly interrupted when he saw that Harry Potter and Black approached him.
“Snape,” Black said in a civil tone, “I hope that you are well today. I am sure that you do not know Harry.”
“Hello,” Harry said, still smiling. “You are Severus Snape, right? My mum's friend?”
That really threw him. Given that he had been talking with Black, he expected Harry to make a comment about his father, but never about his mother. He guessed that he could as well answer him.
“Yes.”
“I was wondering... if I could speak with you about something. It is related with potion-making, so I guess that you might be interested “
Severus raised an eyebrow. It was thrice already that Harry Potter surprised him, in just a few minutes, and he was not sure of how much he would be able to take. He expected that he might have some doubts or questions about the art of potion-making; however, the way Potter spoke, it looked like he actually wanted to show him something. Whatever Potter wanted to speak about, it was appealing to his curiosity and expertise as a Potions Master, and as such he knew what his choice would be. However, he still had to make sure that Black was OK with that.
“Do you mind if I take your godson to my laboratory, Black?” he asked the other man.
“Well, Harry had already said he wanted to speak with you, Snape, and there were several ideas that were quite interesting. Besides, I wanted to go and find Remus to bring him here so that he could meet Harry, so I guess he could spend the time here and enjoy speaking with you instead of just Side-Along-Apparating with me to WRF Castle and wait there.”
“That's good, then. Potter, follow me then, the Potions laboratory is in the dungeons.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Harry replied. Sirius gave him a brief hug — which Harry returned, albeit with some delay in his reaction — and then stood up.
“I will see you later, Harry,” Sirius replied.
“See you, Sirius.”
Black left towards the main doors, which were wide open right now — after all, it was summer still and the weather was quite nice — and Severus and Harry were left alone. The Potions Master, followed by the preteen, took the path downstairs towards the place where he had his sanctum sanctorum, the place where he worked the most whenever he was not teaching a class, eating or meeting someone else: his private Potions laboratory. There were a few cauldrons in there, most of them with partial recipes to potential cures for lycanthropy, which had so far yielded no positive result. Only one table in the centre of the room was clear, and Severus waved his wand so that two seats were moved next to that table. Harry sat down in one of them and pulled something out of the backpack he carried with himself.
“What is that?” Severus asked, truly curious about the artefact Harry had put over the table.
“This is something I built while I was at my parents' house. It is a bit like a Muggle computer, but it works on magic instead of electricity. It can make calculations far faster than one can do by hand, can keep the information held in hundreds of books in a very small space and do many other things that you will surely be interested in.”
Severus' eyebrow rose. He did know about Muggle computers — his father, Tobias Snape, had mentioned them once or twice in his calm moments, which were unfortunately very far in between — but did not know that it was actually possible to replicate how it worked with magic, despite his vast knowledge of magic — which was not confined to Potions or the Dark Arts.
While Harry pulled out several things out of his backpack — a backpack with an Extension Charm, obviously — Severus inspected the computer, which Harry had turned on. It seemed to be made out of wood, metal, glass and, apparently, gems. These were the most curious part, because, if he was not mistaken, he could see that most of the gems, if not all, had acquired a strange yellowish tone that was quite strange. Some of the other objects Harry was taking out were similar in the making to the computer.
“All of this looks quite interesting, Potter, but, pray tell, what does this have to do with Potions?” Severus asked.
“It is related to it. In fact, if it weren't for my MagiMac, I would have not been able to do everything.”
“MagiMac?”
“Short for Magical Machine.” Potter then took out what Severus thought was his wand — although it was clearly not from Ollivander's; in fact, it seemed to be just a tree branch — and used it to touch the yellow gems that each object had, a small beam of yellow light visible for just a few seconds. It seemed that that was the way everything was connected. “Professor, have you ever thought about the reason why many potions ingredients seem to have similar properties?”
That question was pretty much unexpected, again. It was something that every Potions Master wondered about at least once in their careers: it was an unofficial rite of passage that any aspiring Potions Master had to pass if he or she was to be accepted by the community. Many theories had been put forward, with some of them being more or less accepted, but so far none of them had been proven to a level that could satisfy enough Masters to be considered mainstream. And here came a child, who had not even started his formal education at Hogwarts, and had realised such a thing so soon in his life?
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, I think I have found how the ingredients for potions work, and the reason why ingredients have to be manipulated in certain ways so that they can act in the intended way. It turns out that all ingredients are made of smaller ingredients, each of which has just one property. And this,” Potter said, pointing at something that looked like a vase made of wood, with several rings of metal surrounding it and a few gems of different colours set in the vase and the rings, “is something I made that can separate the ingredients into each of the smaller ingredients, identify the different properties and then send that information into the MagiMac.”
Severus was astonished. This idea was not completely new. Ten years ago, a Muggleborn had presented the Potions Masters with an idea based on Muggle chemistry, using something he called the 'Table of Periodic Elements', trying to tie each element or combination of elements to certain magical properties, but the Potions Master community, mostly formed by Purebloods and Half-bloods, had rejected his theory, and unable to prove everything, the Muggleborn had just continued with his work, without touching that theory any more.
However, Potter's approach to it was novel, as was his idea of using the strange vase to separate the ingredients. He wondered how exactly it worked, but that was something for a later time. Right now, he would be glad to learn more about Potter's theory, because if it actually worked, then it could mean that potion making would be revolutionised, and it would be possible to create hundreds of new potions.
“Would you mind explaining to me how this works?”
Potter smiled, and touched something on the glass. All of a sudden, the nearest wall was shining white, and then it was covered with small squares, symbols and letters.
“I call this the Table of Magical Elements,” he said.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Hermione felt nervous. Soon, she would meet someone from the so-called Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Someone that would be able to explain all those strange things that happened around her whenever she was angry or in a state of distress. She had wondered how Jennifer Paisley had tripped over her own shoelaces — which she was sure had been tied just a few seconds before — when she took a book she was reading and threw it away, laughing at her, or how she had managed to get a jar of biscuits to float down from the tallest shelf in the kitchen. She was also reminded of the time she had been with her parents in Germany, and of the boy she found in that room that had disappeared so suddenly.
The doorbell rang, and Hermione jumped out of her chair, so nervous she was. Her father stood up from his armchair, where he was reading the newspaper, and opened the door, Hermione a couple of steps behind him. Behind the door was a woman with black hair tied down in a tight bun and a stern, slightly wrinkled face, wearing a tartan dress, black shoes and a simple black hat.
“Mr Granger?” the woman said in a slightly defined Scottish brogue.
“'Doctor', please,” her father replied. “Doctor Daniel Granger. This is my daughter Hermione. My wife Mary is, unfortunately, unable to meet with us: there was an appointment that we could not delay, and she volunteered to do it.”
“Very well, Doctor Granger. Miss Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, from Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.”
“Nice to meet you, Professor,” Hermione replied.
“Would you please come in? I think it would be better if we had this conversation in the comfort of our living room.”
“Of course,” the Professor said.
He stepped aside, and the Professor entered the hall. While he closed the door, Professor McGonagall sat on one of the armchairs, while Hermione sat on the sofa.
“Do you want something to drink, Professor?”
“No, there is no need, but still, thank you for your offer.”
Her father joined sat down, too, next to Hermione.
“There is no easy way to say this, so I will be direct,” Professor McGonagall said. “Magic exists. There is a magical world, hidden from the non-magical population, where all wizards and witches live and work. Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft is the premier magical institution of teaching in all of the British Isles. Your daughter is what we call a Muggleborn witch, as she is the first witch in her family. If Miss Granger wishes to do so, she will be able to attend the school.”
A moment of silence later, her father spoke up.
“I am sorry if I ask you this, Professor, but I fear we might need some more proof that magic actually exists. You will understand, until two days ago we did not even know about magic, and, well, my wife and I would like to have more reasons to allow our only daughter to attend a school we have never heard about...”
“Do not worry, Doctor Granger. All Muggle families want to be sure that all of this is not a lie, or some kind of con.”
“Muggle?” Hermione asked as the Professor took a wooden stick out of her pocket.
“It is a term wizards in Britain use to refer to non-magical people. It does not sound very polite to non-magical people, but it has been around for so much time that it is too deeply ingrained in our culture to change easily. Now, pay attention, Miss Granger. This will be one of the first spells you will learn when you arrive at Hogwarts. It is taught in the class of Charms. Wingardium Leviosa,” Professor McGonagall said, pointing the stick to a vase on the table in the centre of the room. Slowly, the vase rose until it was floating one meter over the table.
Hermione knew that it was true. That magic actually existed. What Professor McGonagall had just done was exactly what she had done with the biscuit jar.
Her father, on the other hand, was gobsmacked. “Interesting,” he finally managed to squeak out.
“This is not the only kind of thing one can do with magic,” Professor McGonagall said, who waved her wand and said 'Transfigurare'. The vase changed forms, and to Hermione's and her father's astonishment, a swallow took flight from the table and flew around the room, beating its wings. As soon as the bird landed again on the table, the Professor said 'Reverto', changing back to a vase. “This is Transfiguration, the subject I teach, and, as you can imagine, deals with the change of forms and materials objects are made of, as well as changing inanimate objects into living beings, and vice versa. There is also the Animagus transformation, which allows a wizard or witch to change into an animal representative of their personality.” She demonstrated by turning into a cat and back. Hermione was shocked to see it.
“How... how is that possible?” her father apluttered. “That should be impossible, it is impossible that a person can become something so small in comparison.”
“I assure you, Doctor Granger, that it is indeed possible. The magic in the person makes sure that the person remains protected from any possible consequences of the Animagus transformation, as long as the person transforming has control over his magic. A badly done Animagus transformation can have bad consequences. I have been doing this since I was thirty years old, and I will soon be seventy.”
“Is not that a bit past the retirement date?” Hermione asked.
“Hermione!” her father admonished her.
Professor McGonagall's lips twitched. “In the magical world, there is no forced retirement age, save for the Auror Corps — the equivalent to Muggle policemen. Most careers allow people to continue, even if it is in reduced capacities or as teachers to the younger generation.” She looked at the clock in the wall, stood up, and took a rope from her pocket. “I know you must have many questions still, Miss Granger, but we should leave now if you want to see everything. This is a Portkey, an object that has a charm on it to transport people from one point to other. Right now, this Portkey is charmed to go to Diagon Alley, the main commercial district of Magical Britain. If you want to go to Hogwarts, we should go there to buy supplies.”
“How much money should we take?”
“The magical world uses its own coins, instead of pounds. We use Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Twenty nine bronze Knuts makes one Sickle, and seventeen silver Sickles makes one gold Galleon. I believe that a Galleon is roughly five Pounds Sterling. Generally, the average expenditure is around fifty-five Galleons, but I believe that taking seventy Galleons will be more than enough to cover anything Miss Granger needs, plus a few more things she may be interested in.”
“Three hundred and fifty pounds? Well, I think we can easily afford that. Let me check the emergency fund and make a call to my wife, then we can get going.” Her father stood up and walked upstairs, towards his bedroom. Hermione made the most of the time to ask a few more questions to the Professor, like where Hogwarts was (“Far up north in Scotland”), what other things were taught there along with a battery of questions about the magical world. It was all her curiosity, her need to know anything and everything, that drove the barrage of questions. And the Professor did not seem angry at that. Hermione thought she caught one or two smiles on the stern witch's face.
“OK, we can leave when you want,” her father said as he came down the stairs, tucking his wallet in his back pocket. Professor McGonagall offered the end of the rope and Hermione and her father hesitatingly touched it.
“Viator,” the Professor said. Hermione felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Her feet left the ground; she could feel her father and Professor McGonagall on either side of her, their shoulders banging into hers; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour; her hand was stuck to the rope as though it was pulling her magnetically onward and then...
Her feet slammed into the ground; she staggered into her equally unprepared father and the two of them fell over.
“Are you OK, honey?” her father asked. Shakily, Hermione nodded and stood up, brushing herself a bit while he stood up. Professor McGonagall waved her wand and all the dust disappeared, and then they started walking. Hermione looked everywhere, her eyes drinking in everything she could see. There was a bookshop, a cauldron shop — for Potions, she thought — and a robes shop, and a apothecary, and a pet shop... so many things to see, so little time to do it...
“Here, this is Gringotts, the bank wizards use,” Professor McGonagall's voice brought her out of her reverie. Hermione looked at it, and she thought it was very beautiful, with its white marble faade shining under the light of the day. “Gringotts is property of goblins. They are mistrustful of wizards, so please be polite to them.”
“Goblins?” she asked. Then she looked at the little man that was standing next to the door and noticed that he was clearly not human. His wrinkly skin, his long nose and long-fingered hands... anybody would notice it. When they entered the bank, the goblin greeted them, and Hermione replied with a “Good morning, sir.” She did not know it, but the greeting goblin's opinion of wizardkind slightly improved that day.
They exchanged the money into Galleons, Sickles and Knuts — they were lucky, today galleons were worth slightly less than five pounds — and came out of the bank.
On the door, they met a dark-haired man and a boy Hermione thought was her age. There was also something else about him that called her attention, but she could not remember what it was about the boy that was trying to spark her memories.
“Sirius, Harry,” Professor McGonagall said. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk with the goblins about something, and Harry decided to come with me, said he was interested in talking with them, too,” the man — Hermione guessed he was the boy's father — replied. Then, he looked at her and her father. “Hello, you must be the... Grangers, right?”
“Yes. I am Daniel Granger, this is my daughter Hermione.” Her father said, offering a hand to the wizard, who shook hands with him.
“I am Sirius Black, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts. This is my godson, Harry Potter. He is starting at Hogwarts this year, too.”
“Nice to meet you,” Harry said, offering his hand to Hermione. She shook his hand, and she managed to get a good look at his eyes. They were emerald green, very pretty. She thought she saw a spark of recognition in his eyes: that was more in favour of the fact that she was sure that she had seen Harry somewhere else before now. But wherever and whenever that was, she could not remember, and that was what she hated the most.
“We have to start with the shopping. We will not keep you from your business any more, I know how itchy goblins can get if you do not arrive to a meeting with them on time,” Professor McGonagall said.
“Indeed. Well, I hope that you have a nice day, and Miss Granger, I hope to see you next month at Hogwarts.”
“Thank you, Mr Black,” her father said, and the two groups separated. It was only a few minutes later, when she was at Madam Malkin's to get some robes done, that she realised why Harry was so familiar to her.
He was the boy she had seen in the castle four years ago.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
“Ronald! If you really want to meet Neville at Diagon Alley, you had better be down here right now!”
“Coming, coming,” Ron said, landing on the first floor after rushing his way down from his room.
“Thank you. Now, your father is already at Diagon Alley, he managed to arrange this day to come with us, so please behave. Especially you two,” his mother said, rounding on Fred and George.
“You wound us, mother,” one of the twins said, melodramatically.
“Why would you think we would not behave?” the other continued.
“Perhaps because I gave birth to you two and have known you for twelve years and a half?”
“She is right, twin of mine.”
“Yes. It is really a bad moment when not even our mother does not trust us.”
“Enough, you two,” Molly said. “Percy, you go first.”
“Thank you, Mum.” Percy took a pinch of powder, threw it into the fire — which turned green — and then stepped into the fireplace, shouting “Diagon Alley!”
A few minutes later, the entire Weasley family — Ron's parents, Arthur and Molly, his brothers Percy, Fred and George, his sister Ginny and himself — were in the Leaky Cauldron, where they met the Longbottoms, and then entered Diagon Alley. On the way in they saw a man and a girl, who probably were father and daughter, accompanied by a stern looking woman. Ron caught the girl's eyes for only two seconds, but in those two seconds, those brown eyes he saw, and her frizzled hair, and her smile, would be forever etched in his memory.
It was just two seconds, but they were enough.
It took him a couple of more seconds to notice that his mother was calling him, but he woke up from his reverie, thinking about the girl with the brown hair and eyes.
“Where do you want to go, Ron?” his father asked.
“Can we go to the Quidditch store? I want to see the brooms. And then can we go to Ollivanders"?
“Of course, Ron,” his father replied with a smile. While his mother took the twins to Madam Malkin's and Percy stayed at the bookshop, his father and Mrs Longbottom took Neville, Ginny — who had insisted in coming, although the reason escaped him — and him to the Quidditch store, where the three of them were able to admire the last models of broomsticks, before going to Ollivander's to get fit with a wand. He got one made of willow and unicorn hair, fourteen inches, which worked very well for him.
But, at the end of the day, he still thought about the brown haired girl, who she was and whether he might meet her.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
They Apparated to the town of Hogsmeade, opposite to the road that led to Hogwarts.
They had met when the younger wizard had been visiting Albania, apparently to get some experience in preparation of becoming the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. He was also a weak man, which made him perfect for his plans. So he spoke to him of the non-existence of good and evil, of the fact that, if you did not seek power, you were too weak to have it, and he swayed him to his side. And to think that he had been the Muggle Studies Professor before, during the last few years! It had felt good to show him that he had been mistaken about those foul creatures, which deserved to die or serve the obviously superior wizards.
The first thing he did was to have him conceal his presence with the use of a series of charms of his invention. If the rumours were true, within Hogwarts hid an object that would help him tremendously in his quest to gain the ultimate power he deserved. He was already immortal, thanks to the Horcruxes he made before he tried to kill the prophecy child, but having such a powerful artefact in hand would be even better for him. After all, it had two highly publicized properties, who could not say that it might actually have more magical properties?
With that objective in mind, Voldemort ordered Quirrell, who he had been possessing for the last week, to enter Hogwarts and talk with the Headmaster. It was time to see if he could finally get the job of his dreams.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
A/N: There, chapter 7. Next chapter will deal with the train ride from Kings' Cross to Hogwarts.
As you can see, in the end I chose to have Harry first go to Hogwarts when he got his letter, and then take the train as normally. He has managed in that month to speak with most of the Professors (not Quirrell), and all of them regard him as quite the prodigy (heh), but one who still can learn several things. I did not deal with the fact that Harry's "wand" is just a stick because I thought that maybe Harry would not have used his wand a lot during that month, and maybe whenever he used it it would just have been for a few seconds, not enough for any of the Professors to have a good look at the "wand". Perhaps it would be funnier if someone (Hermione, Ron or Neville?) saw that wand and said it was really strange, or maybe Harry would see the wands his friends have and wonder whether there is an actual difference between his and theirs, beyond the look.
It is going to take Harry a lot of time to be able to implicitly trust Sirius, given that he was not there for him while at the Dursleys, but when it happens then the two of them will be like a family.
The Snape-Sirius interaction was based out on what happened in previous chapters. They will never actually be good friends, but there is a small current of trust between them, as well as respect. Of course, their schoolyard fights will be there, but both of them are showing that they are willing to put that behind them. Of course, if Sirius ever learns that Snape was the one who told Voldemort about the Prophecy... it is not going to be pretty.
Ron's friendship with Neville, as I previously said, has given them both some self-confidence, and helped them grow. Ron still has his younger-brother issues, and Neville still has his problems with his shyness and the fact that he has lived with his grandmother, but they are much better in those regards. It has not turned Neville into the hero he was in Deathly Hallows, nor Ron into the man that managed to fight the influence of Slytherin's Locket and destroy it, but they are better. And those that think Ron is an idiot that should not deserve to be here... well, think again. In here, Ron is going to be a good friend of Harry, with his small issues with the fact that Harry is famous, but as he meets Harry, he will realise that the famous thing is something that Harry could perfectly do without, and in fact might have been happier to not be famous.
I also gave Ron his crush! :D In the original Prodigy, it seemed to come out of nowhere in the Halloween chapter, when Ron told his father the name of the girl he pushed aside so that she was not trampled by the troll. Here... well, here it is going to be much, much funnier. Hermione and Ron will also be friends, there might be fights, of course, but Ron will be more willing to follow her steps in the studying front.
The scene at Hermione's house might seem confusing (at least, the one I wrote before my beta-reader corrected it), given that there are two potential "she"s in that scene, and the "her father's" might seem to refer to McGonagall's father. However, I think that the way I structured it now will not cause confusion. For those that say that I could have written Daniel Granger's name whenever it could be used. However, that scene is written from a third person centered on Hermione (much like the books were written on a third person centered on Harry, so it would always be Professor McGonagall, Snape, Mr and Mrs Weasley...), so writing "Daniel Granger" or any variation would be awfully weird.
And, the final scene... well, it is pretty clear what has happened. In the books, I remember that Quirrell was the Muggle Studies Professor, but then he took a sabbatical year to travel through Europe and get some experience (which was when he met Voldemort) and later came back. Since Harry got his letter several days (around a week, perhaps a bit more than that) before his birthday, I'd say that it would be more than enough time for Harry to travel to Hogwarts, meet all the Professors but Quirrell, and the day before his birthday travel to Gringotts, where he and Sirius meet Hermione and her father. That same day could have perfectly been the day Quirrell arrived at Hogwarts and got the job, but since Sirius has taken the job before Quirrell did, then it is quite probable he will have to see if he can recover his old job as Muggle Studies Professor.
Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and don't forget to review!
Chapter 8: Chapter 8 - Trains, Friends, Hats
Author's Notes: Thank you, all of you who are still reading this story. And greater thanks to Teufel1987, who has worked quite a lot in trying to correct the mistakes I made
Chapter 8 — Trains, Friends, Hats
Railway, n., railway: track made of steel rails along which trains run.
It finally was the first of September, the day where Harry would take the Hogwarts Express. He had been living in Hogwarts for the last month, slowly getting used to having a timetable, waking up at a certain hour instead of when he wanted, having lunch at certain times instead of when he was hungry... he had lived for more than three years doing what he wanted, but now he had had to go back to what he did before he arrived at his parents' house.
He had also spent the last month talking with the Professors at school, the Headmaster and Remus Lupin about the things he did while he lived alone, and learnt many other things in exchange. Professor Snape had been very intrigued by Harry's ideas on potion-making, and, although he did not show it, he could tell that the Professor had been very enthusiastic about the theory Harry had developed and proved.
Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had been surprised at Harry's level of control over his magic, being able to use charms that were usually not taught until one was at their fifth, perhaps sixth year at Hogwarts, although both of them could tell that Harry was somewhat lacking in the theory.
From Professor Sprout, he had learned several things about botany and plant-caring. Herbology was probably the subject he would need to work on more, because the few things he knew about plants was learnt from being forced to work in the garden by the Dursleys
Professors Vector and Babbling, who taught Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, had not arrived at Hogwarts until two weeks before the year started, but he had managed to spend some time with them. Both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were interesting subjects, and he had used the former to better organise his Table of Magical Elements.
He got on really well with Hagrid, the caretaker, and Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. He had met them one afternoon in the grounds, watching as they healed a small golden horse — an unicorn colt, as he learned soon — and he had been able to help them with the unicorn, even managing to get it to eat from his hand. Both men were very nice and affable, especially Hagrid, whose great size belied his great heart, and who seemed to have a soft spot for him, having being a great friend to his parents. He invited Harry to come to his hut whenever he wanted to, which he intended to do.
Quirrell, the Muggle Studies Professor, he had only seen from afar once. Before him, the Muggle Studies Professor was a woman called Charity Burbage, but she had had to leave her position and travel to America due to familial problems. Harry knew that Quirrell had tried to get the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, but since Sirius occupied it, he had no choice but to leave. At the end of the month, he had come back and become the Muggle Studies Professor. He had kept to himself for the few days between his arrival and the start of the school year, and it had been only by chance that Harry had seen him that one time.
The person he had spent the most time with was Sirius. Sirius had told him a lot of things about his parents and everything the Marauders and Lily got involved with. He mostly avoided speaking about Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed them all to Voldemort. The time passed since Pettigrew was captured and imprisoned, however, had allowed Sirius to slowly recall the friend he, James and Remus had made at Hogwarts without letting his knowledge of the betrayal to stain the good memories. The initial strain between them due to his absence from Harry's life was still there, but both of them — especially Sirius, who allocated himself a big part of the fault of the situation — were working hard to eliminate it.
Remus could not spend as much time with him as Sirius, due to his work with the Werewolf Research Foundation, but when he came, it was always a good day. Where Sirius was expressive and open, Remus was a bit more reserved, which Harry really appreciated. The fact that Remus was more intellectually inclined than Sirius also made for great, interesting conversations. Remus had been slightly surprised that Harry already knew about his being a werewolf, although he supposed that, given the place he had been staying in, it would have been hard for Harry to not realise Remus' illness. Tensions had been dissipated when Harry dismissed all of Remus' worries with the 'furry little problem', which made both Remus and Sirius smile at the term that had been coined by James so many years before.
The Headmaster... well, he had met a couple of times. Dumbledore was always quite busy, due to the fact that he held three high positions in the magical world, that being Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. However, the moments when they met were quite interesting, especially the first time they met.
Dumbledore had asked Harry about how he could do magic while at his parents' house, and he had proudly shown his stick. The ancient wizard had then informed him that it was not actually a wand, because wands were artisan-made and always contained a core made out of a magical animal's body part. According to the Headmaster, what Harry had done was to force his magic to be channelled through the stick — which, the Headmaster told himself, could be the explanation of how Harry's magic had been detected at first, but it was not later — thus turning the stick into what amounted to be an extension of his own body. That meant that, theoretically, he should be able to do actual wandless magic, but since he had been using his stick for so much time, he would have to work on it.
As soon as he got some free time, Harry tried to do wandless magic. After several hours of hard work, he had finally managed to lift a feather a few centimetres into the air. He had felt a bit let down at the fact that it was not going to be as easy as he thought, but he did not allow that to discourage him. By the end of the month, he had managed to do more than just lifting a feather. Now, he was able to use a few of the most simple charms he had learned, like the Lighting Charm or the Opening Charm, without his stick. He hoped to be able to master those charms and several others by the end of the school year.
"So, Harry, ready to get moving?" Sirius asked, bringing Harry out of his ruminations.
"Yeah, Padfoot, just give me a second." Harry closed the lid of his trunk and shrunk it with a wave of his stick.
"Heh. You are finally getting to have the Hogwarts experience. Your parents would have loved to be able to see you to the Hogwarts Express, I know your father had even been planning to give you a speech about everything you should do once you arrived. I wish I had tried to memorize it, it was quite good and fun."
Harry smiled at that. He was glad that Sirius was able to talk about his father with fondness and, at the same time, treat him as his own person instead of as James Potter Jr. They were still a bit far from reaching the level of trust they would probably have if Harry had lived with Sirius, but they were getting there.
"Very well. Now, we are going to go to the Leaky Cauldron using the Floo, Remus has promised to meet us there in a few minutes. Then, I will Side-Along Apparate you to a place near King's Cross Station. We are meeting with some people there. They were the ones that helped me to get out of prison. One of their sons is your age, and I think that you might make good friends with him."
"That's great," Harry replied. He really wanted to have a friend of his own age, and more, as if to compensate the lack of friends in the previous years of his life. Sirius moved his hand to his pocket and pulled out a mirror from there.
"Sirius, I am here," Remus' voice was heard from the mirror.
"OK, Remus, we will be there soon," Sirius replied. "Let's go, Harry, we should not keep Remus alone for too much time, or else he will get bored. And you do not know how Remus is like when he is bored. He will go to the nearest bookshop and start reading," Sirius said, as if it was the greatest crime ever committed. Harry just rolled his eyes. "You remember what to do, right?"
"Yes, Sirius, I do," Harry said. He went to the fireplace and took a pinch of the green powder that was kept in a pot next to the fireplace. He then threw it into the fire that was burning there, turning it green, and he stepped forward.
"Diagon Alley!" he shouted, and soon he was away, flying in a whirlwind of green flames interspersed with brief glimpses of different fireplaces.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Arthur managed to park the car quite easily, making the most of the space he had managed to find just a few metres from where they were.
"OK, Weasleys, everybody out! Fred, George and Molly, please be careful when you come out of the car, make sure that there are no other cars coming."
The seven Weasleys bustled out of the car, and Arthur took Ron with him so that they could bring the four luggage trolleys they would need to carry the trunks with them. He also used the chance to speak alone with his youngest son. He would probably not see him until the following Christmas, and it would be a hard time for not only Ron, but also for Molly, Ginny and himself, who would miss Ron during the next three months and a half he would be away.
"So, Ron, how do you feel?" he asked him.
"Nervous," Ron replied. Arthur smiled at his son. Just like the others in their first day at Hogwarts.
"Do not worry, Ron, I am sure you will do well there," Arthur said, stroking Ron's hair. "Besides, Neville is going to be there with you, and I am sure that you will make more friends at Hogwarts. I just hope that you do better than the twins did in their first year; Merlin knows how many problems they got themselves into."
Ron cracked a smile, and Arthur knew that, at least, he had been able to do something. All of his sons — even Fred and George — had been nervous at the idea of attending Hogwarts; he had had the same conversation with all of them, although the kids had given slightly different answers; and, in the end, he had found the perfect thing to say to make them feel better about it.
He knew Ron would feel like he would have a hard time at Hogwarts, since he would probably feel under the shadow of his successful older brothers: Bill and Percy on the intellectual side, Charlie in the Quidditch sphere, and Fred and George both in Quidditch and popularity. However, he knew that Ron was far more than capable of stepping out of that shadow, and become his own person within Hogwarts, making his mark there.
"OK, Ron, you take these trolleys with you, I'll take those two. Let's get back to your brothers."
Ron obeyed him, and soon they were back with the rest of the family, who as soon as they saw them started to pull the trunks out of the car so that they could put them on the trolleys, as well as Percy's owl, Hermes. Fred and George fooled around a bit with the trolleys, nearly starting a race with them, but Molly was faster and pulled them by their ears before they ran away, not letting them go until they promised not to do anything while at the Muggle side of the station.
Now a bit calmer, Molly smiled at her children, and, as they neared the barrier that led to the Hogwarts Express, she decided to make a little game out of it.
"Now, what is the platform number?" she asked.
"Nine and three-quarters!" piped Ginny, who was holding her hand. "Mum, can't I go..."
"You are not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."
Percy nodded, and marched forward towards the barrier, crossing it into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as a couple of tourists passed by.
"Fred, you are next," Molly said.
"I am not Fred, I am George," the twin said. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?"
"Fred," Arthur said, interrupting him, "I think that is enough."
"How did you know?" Fred said, surprised.
"I know now," Arthur replied, smirking at his son.
"Fred, my twin, I think we have been had," George said. "And by our own father, nonetheless!"
"Well, your father, while he was not a master, enjoyed a good prank here and now. And your mother as well," another voice, one all of them knew quite well, said from behind them.
"Sirius!" Ginny said, turning around to fling her arms around Sirius Black.
"Hey, there, little red devil," Sirius said, hugging the girl and doing the same with Ron and the twins. "I see you managed to get a free day, Arthur."
"Well, I traded it with Lidge, so I will pay for this next week, but I think it is worth it," Arthur replied, shaking Sirius' hand.
"Sirius Black, where have you been these last two months?" Molly asked, waving a finger at him. "The kids were worried when you did not come as much as you normally did."
"Oh, I was getting used to my new job, among other things."
"New job?" Arthur asked.
"You are standing in front of the new Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."
"Cool!" the twins said with identical grins.
"Yeah!" Ron replied.
"I am glad to hear that. I hope that you, at least, can keep these three out of trouble," Molly said, pointing at her sons, and ignoring their fake hurt looks. "But, why are you here? I thought you would have already left for Hogwarts."
"Oh, I will do that soon. I came here because Remus and I wanted to see Harry to the station."
"Harry?" Arthur said, suddenly alert. "You mean... your godson?"
"Yes. I will tell you later what happened. He went with Remus to find a trolley for his trunk, while I tried to catch you... Remus, over here!"
"Should we continue with the introductions when we get into the platform? I think we are starting to attract the attention of the Muggles, and Percy must be wondering where we are," Molly said, looking quite closely at the dark-haired kid that was pushing a trolley with a trunk on it.
"Yes, that might be better," Arthur replied. "Fred, you go in, and then George. Ron and Harry, you can go later."
The children did as they were asked, and very soon the four of them had entered the hidden platform.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Ginny had been very surprised when she saw Sirius on the train station. He had been a regular visitor of the Burrow ever since he was freed, and she had taken a liking to him nearly from the start, because he was very fun and supportive, and also someone she could speak with whenever he came. He had loved her drawings, and had encouraged to keep working on them. He had even gotten her some painting lessons as a present for her ninth birthday!
And then, Harry Potter had showed up. His story had been her most favourite tale ever since she was a little girl, and she had always wondered where he lived now, after his parents had died. She knew that Sirius had been a friend of the Potters, and that, for some reason, Harry was not living with him. She had never asked, because it seemed to be a bit of a painful subject for the man. And now, all of a sudden, it turned out that Sirius was going to be a Professor, and that Harry was going to be with Ron this year at Hogwarts.
The surprising thing was not just that, but that Harry Potter was the boy from her dreams. She would have never thought that the boy was actually real, much less the Boy-Who-Lived.
But, as she remembered the things she had seen, she realised that Harry Potter and the Boy-Who-Lived were two completely different people. The Boy-Who-Lived was the main character of a tale, a knight in shining armour ready to battle the evil You-Know-Who and save little girls. Harry Potter was a boy, a bit younger than Ron, who wore glasses and who she did not know at all. Maybe she would be able to know him better if Ron and Harry became friends. And, when they became friends, she would give him the drawing she had done of him with the winged wolf. Of course, when she did that, it would be really hard to explain him how she had seen it, but that was probably a bridge she would have to cross later.
As she followed her family along Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she took in her surroundings, trying to memorize as many details as possible for a possible painting. Her musings were interrupted when someone called her name.
"Hey, Ginny," She turned around and smiled.
"Hey, Neville," she replied, seeing the dark-blond boy. "When did you arrive?"
"Just right now. Where is Ron?"
"He's there, come with me," she said, falling in step next to him. "And your Grandma?"
"She's right there, with your mum," he said, pointing at the imposing woman. "I thought she might not be able to bring me, because there was some emergency, but she came with me."
"That is very good. Hey, Ron!" she shouted, calling her brother, who was apparently speaking with Harry.
"Hi, Neville!" Ron said, getting his friend into a hug. "Neville, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Neville Longbottom, my best friend."
"Hello," Harry said. Neville was a bit stunned at first, but recovered fast and shook hands with Harry.
"Nice to meet you."
"Let's get your things into the train, then, dears, it is nearly eleven o'clock," Mum said, using a Levitation charm on Ron's trunk. "Arthur, dear, would you mind getting Neville's trunk?" Dad took the trunk inside, while Sirius did the same with Harry's, and soon the three trunks were well secured in one of the compartments. Everyone came out for a last few words before Harry, Neville and Ron had to get back into the train.
"Neville, I hope you send me at least one letter a week, so that I know how you are doing at Hogwarts."
"Yes, Gran," Neville replied.
"Well, Ron, it is off with you," Dad told Ron. "We are going to miss you at home. Enjoy your time at Hogwarts, and keep up with your good studying. And, for Merlin's sake, do not let Fred and George rope you into playing pranks."
"OK, Dad."
Sirius then gathered Neville and Ron standing them next to Harry, so that he could speak to them at the same time.
"Very well. Now, the three of you, listen to me," Sirius said. Ginny was standing near, wishing that she could go to Hogwarts this year, and not the next. "For you two, this will be the first time you take your friendship out of home, and it is going to be somewhat hard. Harry, I know it will be a bit difficult for you to be surrounded by others the whole time, but I know that you are similar enough to both of your parents that you will eventually manage to get through it. I know you boys enough to know that you will be good friends, but try to find more friends. You never know what you will miss if you don't try to become friends with someone. And, for Merlin's sake, do not judge someone at first sight. I made that mistake once, and I regret it happening."
"OK, Sirius," Harry said, nodding, which the other two did as well. Sirius smiled with pride, as a bell started to sound.
"Very well. Now, get on the train, it is about to get moving."
The three boys started to move, but Ginny stopped them, so that she could give her brother a hug.
"Remember to write me, please," she said, trying not to cry at the fact that she would not see Ron for several months.
"Hey, Gin, don't worry, I will write every week, is that right?" Ron replied. Ginny nodded, and Ron pinched her cheek softly before getting on the train with Harry and Neville. In the end, Ginny could only run after the train and wave as it started moving towards the north, towards Hogwarts.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
As soon as the train station disappeared from their view, Harry, Ron and Neville went to the compartment their trunks were in.
"So, Harry, what do you like doing in your free time?" Ron asked when they sat down in the couches.
"Well..." Harry hesitated, because he was not sure of whether what he did was a normal activity. "I like reading, and making potions. And also playing with Hedwig."
"You like making potions?" Neville asked, at the same time Ron asked "Who's Hedwig?"
"Yes, I do. It is quite soothing, and interesting when you know what you are doing. And Hedwig is the owl that lives with me. She is very smart, and she has been my only friend for years."
"Must have been quite lonely. I mean, owls are not very talkative."
"She understands me, though, and I can sort of understand what she says. She is very, very smart."
"Damn. Wish I had an owl like yours," Ron said, slightly awed. "We have Errol, and my parents bought Percy an owl he named Hermes. They say that, in a couple of years, I could get my own owl."
"What about you? What do you like doing?"
"I also like reading, and I like working at my greenhouse. I always feel very much in peace when I take care of my plants."
"And you, Ron?"
"I read sometimes, but not as much as Neville here. I prefer playing Quidditch and chess. I have never lost against anyone in the family for the last five years," Ron replied, with a bit of pride in his voice.
"Nice. Would you mind teaching me how to play chess?" Harry replied. He had read a bit about the game, but had never had the chance to play it, since the only time he had tried to teach Hedwig she had expressed her dislike for the game by flying away.
"You do not know how to play chess?" Ron asked. Harry shook his head. "It is a great game! I have my own pieces in my trunk, but I do not want to have to take out everything, because they are near the bottom. Though, I can tell you a bit about how it is played..."
For the next five minutes, Ron explained to Harry several rules of the game, starting with the different pieces and their movements. Then, the door opened and the three boys saw that it was a girl with brown, bushy hair. She was already wearing the Hogwarts uniform.
"Hi," she said, shyly. "Do you mind if I stay here? Everywhere else is full." Harry was sure that there were sure to be other compartments with places, or even empty ones, but he guessed that the girl — who he recognized as the one he had met in front of Gringotts last month — just wanted some company of her age.
"Of course," Neville said, noticing how Ron's cheeks had gone a bit red at the sight of the girl. He grinned internally, knowing that he would be able to rib his friend at what that meant. "You can sit next to Harry."
"Thank you," she said. "I am Hermione Granger. And I know you are Harry Potter, but not you two."
"I am Neville Longbottom, and this is Ron Weasley," Neville said, subtly digging his elbow on Ron's side. This seemed to awaken the redhead from his stupor and he smiled at her.
"Nice to meet you," he said.
"So, what were you talking about?" Hermione asked, settling down next to Harry.
"I was teaching Harry about chess, he has never played and since we have nothing to do..."
"You have never played chess?" Hermione asked Harry, a bit astonished.
"Well, I have been living alone for some years, so..."
She clearly wanted to ask him more about what he had been doing or why he had been living alone, but she decided to keep those questions for later and turned to Ron.
"Is there any difference between normal chess and magical chess?"
"Well, in magical chess pieces move on their own — you just tell them where to move. They can also speak with you and give you advice if they like you enough, and they fight when one piece claims other — they remake themselves when the game is finished, of course..."
The conversation between the four continued, and, unseen, the bonds of friendship between the four children slowly grew and strengthened.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
The door opened, and the four children, whose conversation had turned to what they would find at Hogwarts — Harry had been telling them what he had seen while he was there the past month — stopped talking and turned to look at the open door. They saw a platinum blond boy with grey eyes, backed by two hulking, black-haired boys.
"Hello," Harry said.
"They say Harry Potter is in this compartment. That must be you, right?"
"Yes." Harry did not say anything else, but he still felt somewhat awry about this boy. The blond boy seemed to have gone out of his way just to meet with him. Still, he decided to follow Sirius' advice and not judge the boy for who he could or could not be, so he offered his hand. "Nice to meet you. And you are?"
"My name is Draco Malfoy, and these are Crabbe and Goyle." Those were names Harry had heard of several times. Sirius had explained him what had happened to Lucius Malfoy, and that Draco had taken it very bad, but that, hopefully, he would eventually mellow.
"Draco? Sirius has told me much about you. These are Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger," Harry replied, pointing at his companions. "You are welcome to stay with us."
Draco's reaction surprised Harry. His face twisted as if he felt repugnance at the mere idea of staying with them.
"Me? Stay with this... filth? Two blood traitors and a Mudblood?" Ron's ears reddened again, this time in anger. Neville grabbed his friend to stop him from jumping, although it was clear he, too, was angry at Malfoy. Hermione seemed to be a bit confused, because those were terms she had never heard about. "I am not going to sully my clothes by staying near them. Though, you, Potter, you can still be saved from their influence. Come with us, there is more than enough space in our compartment for the four of us." Malfoy reached, as if trying to grab Harry's arm, but Harry stepped back, far from Malfoy's reach.
"Draco, I do not know what you have against them, but you should try to be a bit more respectful. After all, we are all the same, magical people."
"Those three cannot be as good wizards as we are, Potter."
"Why?"
Draco looked at Harry as if he had grown a second head. "It is clear, isn't it? She is a Mudblood. She will never be as good as a Pureblood because she is clearly inferior to us, as her parents contaminate her blood, while those two come from families that do not realise that Purebloods are superior."
"My mother was a Muggle-born, and I have lived most of my life in the Muggle world."
"Well, that stain cannot be avoided, but you can yet cleanse yourself of it."
Harry was now quite angry with Draco, as the other three were. "I think it will be better if you leave right now. If you believe that, by insulting my friends and my mother, I am going to be your friend, then you are delusional."
Before Draco could reply, someone came near the compartment.
"What is going on here?" Percy asked, his Prefect badge gleaming on his Hogwarts robes.
"Hi, Percy, they were just about to leave for their own compartment," Neville said, trying to defuse the situation. Percy turned to Draco and his two followers. It was clear that Draco had not said the last word, but he was not exactly going to continue with his tirade, and left, grumbling on the way, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Thank you," Hermione said. "It could have turned ugly without your help."
"No need to thank me, it is what I do," Percy replied. "Are you enjoying yourself so far, Ron?"
"Yes, save for that git, it was quite nice," Ron said, his ears still red.
"Good. Please, try not to get into any trouble, I would hate having to write to Mother on your first day."
Ron just rolled his eyes, and Percy left.
"So, that was Percy?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah. Bit pompous, but he is quite smart. Mum wishes the twins and I were more like him, but..." Ron shrugged.
"Anyway, what was all of that with the blond boy?"
"Do not pay much attention to him," Neville said. "A few years ago, his father was sent to prison because he was part of a group that thought magic should be reserved only for those who were born in magical families, and that anyone that did not have their... how did Gran call it... pedigree should not have that privilege. They joined You-Know-Who because they thought that, with him, they would be able to do what they wanted to 'purge' the Magical world from the 'undesirables'. Ron and I are from families that do not believe that crap, so they call our families 'blood-traitors'. And the Muggle-borns, they call them what Malfoy said."
"Mudblood? Sounds as if saying that my blood is..."
"Dirty? Yeah."
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Ron spoke up.
"So, Hermione, what do your parents do?"
Grateful for the change in subject, Hermione started to explain to Ron and the others what dentists did...
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Night had fallen by the time the train finally arrived at the station. All the children got down, wearing their robes and a couple of warm things to fight off the cold. A voice thundered in between the noise of the Hogwarts' students leaving the train station.
"FIRS' YEARS! FIRS' YEARS, COME HERE!" Hagrid shouted, carrying a huge lamp with him. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville struggled to stay together as they fought their way towards the large man
"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry said when the four finally arrived near Hagrid.
"'Lo there, Harry," he replied with a big smile. "Glad you made it. And you made friends, too."
"Yes. These are Hermione, Ron and Neville."
"Tha's nice. We'd better get moving if we want to arrive on time - FIRS' YEARS! - you will meet me next Friday, right?"
"Of course I will, I am sure Fang misses his favourite toy," Harry replied.
"Oh, don' speak like tha', you know Fang loves you - FIRS' YEARS!"
Finally, all students save for the first years had left the station, and the first years were around Hagrid.
"Is this every one of you?" Hagrid asked. When nobody answered, Hagrid turned around. "Come on, follow me, if you want to arrive to Hogwarts before dinner ends."
The children followed Hagrid, making sure they stayed within the marked path, while the light of Hagrid's lamp moved with the man.
"After that turn, you will be able to see Hogwarts," Hagrid said. A few of the children rushed a bit forward, trying to see the castle before anybody else, but Hagrid used his free hand to stop the rushing kids.
"Ooooh," they all said. Even Harry, who had been living at Hogwarts for the last month, could not help but be impressed by how the castle looked now, with all of its windows lit, perched over the lake on a cliff.
"No more than four 'n a boat!" Hagrid said, pointing towards some small boats that were peacefully floating on the lake. Ron rushed to take one of the boats, and Harry, Hermione and Neville soon joined him.
Once all the first years were on board, Hagrid took the last boat for himself and shouted, "FORWARD!"
The boats started to move slowly over the lake, giving the students enough time to admire the castle from afar as they reached a cave.
"HEADS DOWN!" Hagrid shouted. Everyone ducked, and soon they arrived at a dock where they left the boats, and soon they were walking uphill towards a great wooden door.
"Are you alrigh' there?" the tall man asked, and then he knocked thrice on the door.
The door opened, and at the other side stood Professor McGonagall, looking as strict as ever in her black robes and hat.
"Is this everyone, Hagrid?" she asked.
"Yes, Professor McGonagall."
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
All the children followed the Professor inside the castle, and into a side room.
While Professor McGonagall spoke about Hogwarts, its houses and how things worked at the school, Harry looked discreetly around himself, at his fellow students. He could see a pair of identical girls on one side, one of them talking animatedly with a blonde girl, a couple of brown-haired girls at the other side, a black skinned boy standing on his own... many children his age. He wondered if he would be able to make friends with them.
"I will be back soon to bring you to the Great Hall. Please, remain here."
The professor left, and all of them started to talk in whispers.
"Do you know how they choose us for the houses?" Hermione asked Harry.
"No idea. I asked Sirius — my godfather — but he said that it was something that would have to wait till I got here. Seems that there is some tradition that new students should not learn how we are sorted until we are in the Great Hall..."
"Fred was saying something about wrestling a troll," Ron suggested. When he saw Hermione was looking at him a bit weird, he continued. "Though, Fred and George are two jokers, so I doubt it is like that."
"Maybe they will just ask a few questions, something like a test."
"You do realise that few to none of us have opened our books before classes started, right?" Neville pointed out. "Besides, everyone must be able to do it, so it will be something easy."
Whatever Hermione was going to say, was drowned out when several white, translucent forms floated through one of the walls. They were in deep discussion.
"It is quite strange, isn't it? Peeves has become less active in the last few days," one of the forms — ghosts, Harry realised — a man wearing clearly antiquated clothes, stated.
"I did say that, eventually, Peeves would reform," replied other form, this of a man that seemed to have come out of a monastery.
"I would say that the reason for Peeves' change is more due to the presence of certain people in the... Greetings, young people," the only lady in the group of four forms — ghosts, Harry realised — said, having noticed the presence of all the children.
"Hello," Harry replied.
"Waiting to be sorted, are you?"
Harry nodded.
"I hope to see many of you in Ravenclaw, then. It is my house, after all."
The four ghosts left, and soon the door to the room they were in opened.
"Follow me," Professor McGonagall said. "The Sorting is about to start."
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
You arrived to Hogwarts
As it started, the fall
So that you could learn magic
After I Sort you all.
With the others you must
Live with for years.
Let's see where you can go
Without dropping any tears.
You could be a Gryffindor
where the courage dwells.
But that courage is not all,
to remember, you would do well.
Perhaps within Hufflepuff
You will find your peers,
Though hard work is not enough,
That can be seen by all seers.
Could it be Ravenclaw
What awakens your mind?
Maybe, but beware that, if it shines,
It might not be gold what you find.
Or maybe in Slytherin
The intrigues you will survive.
Do not go just with cunning,
As friendship will be good for your life.
But, do not fear,
For Hogwarts is now your home,
And you will surely miss it
When you are finally gone.
So, come, sit here,
Stay under me,
You will be chosen for your Houses,
And Sorted you will be.
Applause filled the Great Hall, although there was some talk about what the Sorting Hat had been talking about. Professor McGonagall, who was standing beside the hat, unrolled a piece of parchment.
"When I say your names, please come here so that you may be sorted by the hat. Abbott, Hannah!"
A blonde girl, wearing pigtails, shyly stepped forward from the group of first years and sat on the stool. Professor McGonagall put the Sorting Hat on her. Everybody looked at her, and then the Sorting Hat spoke.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the right applauded, as Hannah rushed to sit down among those who were now part of her house. Professor McGonagall read the next name.
"Bones, Susan!"
A brown-haired girl stepped forward and sat on the stool, as the Professor put the hat on her head.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Sorting Hat. New applause came from the Hufflepuff's table, and Susan ran to sit down next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The second table on the left applauded this time, and several Ravenclaws shook Terry's hand as he sat down.
Brocklehurst, Mandy ("RAVENCLAW!")... Brown, Lavender ("GRYFFINDOR!")... Bulstrode, Millicent ("SLYTHERIN!")... Crabbe, Vincent ("SLYTHERIN!")... Finch-Fletchtley, Justin ("HUFFLEPUFF!")... Finnigan, Seamus ("GRYFFINDOR!")... Goyle, Gregory ("SLYTHERIN!")...
"Granger, Hermione!"
"Good luck," Ron told the girl as she nearly rushed forward, very nervous. The hat took some time to say anything.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Applause filled the table at the left end as Hermione took off the hat and went with a smile to sit down next to Percy, who welcomed her.
Some time later, it was Neville's turn, and McGonagall put the hat on him. It only took the hat a couple of seconds to make its choice: "GRYFFINDOR!"
Then went Moon, Lily... Nott, Theodore... Parkinson, Pansy... two twins, Patil, Padma and Parvati... then Perks, Sally-Anne... and finally:
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, ready to be sorted, he heard the mumbling around him, which was spreading everywhere.
"…the Harry Potter?"
"…wonder where he has been all this time…"
"…smaller than I thought…" Harry nearly laughed loud at that one. Then he sat on the stool and waited for McGonagall to put the Hat on him, aware that every student and professor had their eyes on him.
For a few moments, nothing happened, but soon Harry heard a voice, but it was not in his ear, but it seemed to appear directly into his brain.
Hmmm, you have a very interesting mind, Mr Potter.
It is the only one I have, so... Harry replied, not paying much attention at the fact that the voice seemingly came out of nowhere. Though, it was probably the Sorting Hat. After all, if it had to Sort you, it had to know things about you.
Oh, you have a very sharp mind, young Potter, Harry heard, followed by a chuckle. Now, let me look. And let me congratulate you on the strength of your mental shields.
They are not good enough yet.
They are quite good for a child of your age, and they will surely improve with time. Now, let's see what you have between your ears.
Harry stayed silent, not distracting the Hat as it looked around.
Yes, a very interesting mind, indeed. You are certainly a very curious person, Harry Potter. You are someone the Founders would fight to have in their houses. All four of them.
They would?
Oh, yes. You are a very creative and intelligent person, willing to learn for learning's sake as well as for other ends. You are a very hard-working person, and loyal to those that earn it. You have the courage to face the unknown and the willingness to brave on. And you are ambitious enough to know what you want to have, with the resourcefulness to reach the means for that. Most pupils have the qualities appreciated by more than one of the houses, but in you I find the qualities of the four houses in great force. If I could, I would just say that you would be sorted in all houses, but... the hat sighed.
But?
I am not allowed to do it. Every child must be sorted into one of the houses. No exceptions. Although I can certainly see you as someone that could help mend the rifts between the four houses. It has been going on for too long. But that is something to talk about at some other point. Now, I believe I have to say where you must go to. Though, I think I am going to let you pick.
You will?
Yes. After all, since you fit well in all houses, you might as well choose the one you feel the most comfortable with. Which one do you prefer?
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
Albus was certainly intrigued by the Sorting of Harry Potter. Lance — the Hat — was already in its third minute with Harry Potter, and it did not seem like it would be taking a choice right now. He wondered whether Harry and Lance were deep into a conversation of their own, or whether Harry was asking Lance something about Hogwarts — the latter had been living at Hogwarts for many years, after all — but then, the hat opened its mouth.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Albus was certainly a bit surprised. Considering the previous month, he would have said that Harry was bound to become a Ravenclaw, as the boy had been studying practically every day, but he guessed that Lance had found that the Gryffindor qualities were more prominent in the boy. That would teach him to bet against Minerva McGonagall; he now owed her ten Galleons.
Gryffindor's table applauded, with a little of more enthusiasm than with the previous Gryffindors, and Harry went to sit down in front of two of the also new first-years — Ms Granger and Mr Longbottom — while Fred and George Weasley shouted "WE HAVE POTTER! WE HAVE POTTER!". It took a full minute for the Gryffindors to calm down enough for Minerva to be able to make herself heard.
It was Thomas, Dean's turn, and he was sorted into Gryffindor. Then, Turpin, Lisa's turn, who was Sorted into Ravenclaw. Then, Minerva called for the youngest Weasley male, Ronald, to sit on the stool. The Hat took just a few seconds in Sorting him into Gryffindor, to the obvious enthusiasm of his brothers and Harry, Ms Granger and Mr Longbottom, who welcomed him into the table as Zabini, Blaise, was sorted into Slytherin.
Albus got to his feet with vigour, as if he was not one hundred and ten years old, and looked with a smile at all the students in the Great Hall.
"Before you start having this wonderful dinner, I have a few words for you. And here they are! Kumquat! Nitwit! Tweak! Oddball! Thank you very much!" he said, eliciting several laughs from the students as the food appeared on the tables.
"Albus, always you have to make a joke," Minerva said, as soon as she sat down from taking the Sorting Hat out of the Great Hall.
"I often find that starting the school year with a smile is the best thing that could happen," he replied to the Deputy Headmistress.
"Yes. Now, if we actually managed to make them all laugh..." Sirius said.
"Sirius Black, I certainly hope you have not planned to prank the students on their first day," Pomona interrupted him.
"No! Why do you think I would stoop so low so as to do that?"
"Saint Valentine's day of last year."
"That was not me!"
Pomona looked at him.
"OK, OK, I may have played a role in that, but it was all the Weasley twins, I swear."
"You should be ashamed, Sirius Black. Not only you play pranks on the children, but you also rope some of them to prank the others."
"Excuse me, Pomona, but Fred and George Weasley do not need anyone to rope them into pranking other people: they are more likely to be the ropers than the ropees."
Albus chuckled. Minerva looked at him.
"Albus, do not encourage Sirius. It is bad enough that the children already applaud him pranking the others, I will not have you cheer for him, too," Minerva said.
Albus just smiled, seeing the children enjoy their first night at Hogwarts, and hoping that this year would turn out to be as good as he hoped.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
As the small column of Gryffindors followed Percy and Martha (the Gryffindor fifth year prefects) Harry could see how Hermione was looking around her, clearly trying to memorize everything on the path between the Great Hall and the Gryffindor common room, and somewhat frustrated at it.
"It is a lot to take in, right?" Harry asked her.
"Yes, there is so much around here..."
"Do not worry. I know this place well enough. We can meet tomorrow morning, and I can show you the way down."
"Thanks," she replied with a small smile, as they finally stopped in front of a painting of a fat woman.
"This is the entrance to Gryffindor's tower. You must tell her the password for her to allow you entrance into the tower. Greeting, my Lady," Percy said to the portrait.
"Password?" the woman said.
"Caput Draconis," Percy replied.
"You may enter, then." The portrait swung open, as if it was a door, and Percy entered, followed by the students. It looked very comfortable and warm. Red and gold decorated most walls, and there were also a few smaller portraits around. Two big rampant lions had been painted on the wall, at both sides of a fireplace where a great fire burned happily. Some of the older students, who were lounging around, waved at them.
"This is the common room. Here, you can socialize with the other members of the House of Gryffindor. There is a curfew which all pupils must respect: you must be here before 9 PM. You will be subjected to punishment if found out of bounds. The only exceptions are a medical urgence, in which case you can ask me or another prefect to come with you, or on Wednesdays, as you will have your Astronomy lessons then. You can use the tables here to work on your homework, and, if you find yourself in trouble, you may ask the older students for help. This board here," he said, pointing to a wooden board on a side of the room, "is an important part. Here, you will find things you might be interested in. A new password will be put here every Sunday morning, so you should make sure to check it every week. Other important announcements that only affect Gryffindor will also be placed on the board. If you lose something, you can post a petition on the board to ask others about it." He then moved towards the stairs. "Boys' dormitories go to the left, girls' to the right. I would advise you not to try to go to the others' rooms, it would not go well. Good night to you all, then."
Harry, Neville and Ron gave their good nights to Hermione and walked upstairs, finding themselves in front of a door with the sign 'FIRST YEARS' on it. Dean Thomas — one of the new Gryffindors — pushed the door open, and the five boys entered what would be their room for the next nine months.
"It was quite nice, tonight, don't you think so?" Ron asked as all of them got changed into their sleeping clothes.
"Yeah, it was. Though, we start classes tomorrow, so it will not be as nice," Seamus, the fifth Gryffindor, said.
"Good night, guys," Harry said, and the others answered him the same way. The lights were turned off, and very soon the five boys fell asleep in their first night at Hogwarts.
~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~
I am very, very sorry for taking so much time in writing this! You won't believe how difficult it was for me to think about how things should evolve! I hope that this chapter will be enough to satisfy your want of Prodigy: Born Again.
Next chapter will, of course, deal with Harry & co.'s first days at Hogwarts. I might also show Harry's first days at class.
When it comes to reviews, I will gladly accept both exclamations of how great the chapter was and constructive criticism of the story. However, any review that contains anything that can be construed as "flaming" (insults towards my person or demands that Harry does not get near his true love and instead get it on with Hermione, for example) will be ignored.
Chapter 9: The End
In the first place, I have to say one thing.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for keeping you waiting for such a long time before putting this up, and probably quashing your hopes that this would be another chapter of my story, Prodigy: Born Again.
I know, I know. I made a promise. I said that I would do my best to bring this story to the end.
However, and very much unfortunately for everyone, this note has only been written with the purpose of telling you that neither Prodigy: Born Again nor Harry Potter and the Unexpected Visitor will be continued.
The reasons are multiple. The most important is that I find myself suffering an almost constant writer's block in regards to Harry Potter. As some readers will remember, I made many times this comparison: I know where A and B are, but I know not the best route between them.
Then, real life has been striking at me. I'm immersed in my job as a researcher for the local University, and then there is also my Masters, which has taken a lot of time from me, not to mention past jobs that really didn't help at all in the whole "write Harry Potter fanfiction" time.
Also, I grow weary of both stories. HPATUV was started at a time when I was still relatively new to the Fanfiction scene, and thus there were many clichs that, when I wrote them, seemed great, but now look horrible. Prodigy: Born Again was an attempt to wipe away the same problems in the original Prodigy (the one I wrote, of course, not jmcqk6's story), which I guess was a good attempt at fixing said problems, but it has become difficult to do things with the stories.
Finally, I have other writing projects in the pack. Those who are fans of the TV series Once Upon A Time could probably find the time to read my fanfic Awakening, which other readers say is quite the good read. Then, if you like alternative history (like AUs, but with real life) and are interested in Spanish history, I recommend you to check The Legacy of the Glorious (Milarqui's Cut). If you ever read 1984 and would have loved to see how Oceania gets the crap kicked out of it, you can always read America's stepbrother, America's enemy (v 2.0), in which the USA gets transported from December 22 2012 to December 22 1984 in the 1984 book (this is a phenomenon known in the alternative history sphere as ISOT, after the book Island in the Sea Of Time). And, finally, my most ambitious project, which is my own original novel. So far, it is only in development phase, and only has the bare structure and main characters developed, but I can tell you it deals with an alternate Earth in which magic entered the world in the Middle Ages and the Church used it to become an hyperpower.
So, yes. There is going to be no more Prodigy: Born Again.
However, I'm not like many of those that leave their story and never say what would have happened if they had kept writing. No, I'm going to tell you what I have written of chapter 9, and then would have done if I continued the story.
Chapter 9
- The Sorting Hat tells Dumbledore that Harry is one among millions, and will rock the foundations of Magic itself as they know it.
- Harry shows Hermione that intent is as important as incantation during their first Transfiguration class.
- The first week passes, and the professors speak with Albus about what their first year pupils have been doing.
- Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville go visit Hagrid.
That's what I have. Now, what else would have happened.
- Snape tells Dumbledore about his suspicions over Quirrell: a couple of times, he has heard some sort of hissing when Quirrell was near, and he believes it might be Voldemort. Dumbledore sets to make sure that Quirrell never learns about Harry's abilities and to monitorize Quirrell through the portraits and ghosts.
- Harry meets with Dumbledore, some of the professors and a few external agents. He shows the MagiMac, and starts to plan for some personal tutoring from a few of the people (Flamel, Dumbledore and Moody, among others). He offers to build a MagiMac for those professors that want one.
- When Fred & George realize Sirius is actually one of the Marauders, they give Harry the map. With the help of Sirius and Remus, Harry makes a few copies and gives one to the twins, and the others to other people.
- Ginny writes a letter to her brothers and to Harry. They become penpals, and Ginny eventually sends him the painting she made of him and the Pegasus wolf. Harry is very surprised and intrigued.
- During Harry's first flying lesson, he proves to be a natural. McGonagall asks him whether he'd like to be Gryffindor's seeker, and he accepts.
- In Halloween, Quirrell sends the troll into the Great Hall while he rushes for the Philosopher's Stone. The people only discover this when he is about to enter the Hall. Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ron manage to work together to defeat the troll. Harry ends up down.
- Hermione gets a crush on Ron, much like the one he has on her.
- Harry becomes possessed by Voldemort's wraith, which has come out of Quirrell after he dies, attacked by Fluffy. Harry manages to push him out thanks to the help of the Sorting Hat (there is no Lady of Magic in this encounter, as it happened in Prodigy).
- Harry and Snape work together on improving some potions.
- In Christmas, Snape brings Harry to a Potions Master Conference, where Harry shows his theory.
- At some point after Christmas, Hermione suggests to Harry that maybe he could make some kind of system to build the basics for many MagiMacs.
- Draco Malfoy finds a diary hidden by his father, belonging to a T. M. Riddle. He writes on it, and it begins to write back...
- McGonagall is teaching Harry about Animagi, and Harry mentions having made his own Revealing potion. He shows her the painting Ginny made. Hagrid and Kettleburn tell Harry about an old Yugoslavian legend that talks about whose favourite form is that of a winged wolf. Harry continues practicing his form.
- During the first summer, Harry, Sirius and Remus travel a lot. They take their time to visit Harry's friends.
- In the second visit to Hogsmeade in their third year, Ron asks Hermione for some time alone. Y'know, first date. Hermione accepts (because, you know, she isn't interested in incest).
- Harry asks Ginny out on his fifth year (because, you know, he isn't interested in incest, and he really likes Ginny).
- Voldemort begins to rise again as Draco continues writing in the diary, and revives sometime around Harry's fourth year.
Well, that's it. That was everything I had for Prodigy: Born Again. I really hope that you will forgive me for not finishing it, but, well, I already said why I didn't feel capable of it.
Though, if one of you feels capable of doing that, then he is welcome to try. The only thing I demand is that you first ask for permission from me and that you promise you will make it about the best couples (so, no, no incest). If you aren't willing to do this, then your best bet is to ask for jmcqk6's permission, he will probably give it without much problem.
Cheers!