Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Elementary Calculations
1I do not own Harry Potter.
Thank you readers and reviewers.
Fear not, I was not idle during my little vacation. I hope you enjoy this.
Chapter 10: 273.15 x 1.8 - 459.67
The shade of one Tom Marvolo Riddle languished into his host’s body as he contemplated the boy who brought his conquest of the British Wizarding World to a screeching halt.
When Pettigrew had come to him just days before Halloween with the Potters’ address he had been ecstatic. Ever since the prophecy had been uttered, both they and the Longbottoms had disappeared under the Fidelius Charm. He had wanted to rid himself of the threat that both children offered and was planning to kill them both. No one knew who the Longbottom’s Secret Keeper was, but Sirius Black was the only choice there could be for the Potters.
He spent more than a year trying to capture Black, who proved why he was one of the DMLE’s best Aurors. An ambush on the 25th of October had very nearly succeeded, then, on the 27th Pettigrew had come to him with the news that the Potters had switched to him. It seemed like a godsend.
He had decided to attack on Halloween to give them time to feel secure in their choice.
He could appreciate power, and Lily Potter was very powerful. He had offered her the choice to step aside after putting down her husband. Truthfully, he didn’t really expect her to take it, but he offered anyway. She fell to him and then he turned his wand on Harry Potter.
Then it all went wrong.
He remembered the Avada Kedavra leaving his wand and heading toward the baby. Then it hit a shield he had never seen before and came right back at him. He had paused in shock for the split second it took for the curse to hit him and the next thing he knew he was floating around bodiless.
Anchored to Earth only by an Egyptian necromantic ritual, he had spent a decade gathering the power to be able to perform his own resurrection. The Philosopher’s Stone would boost the power that he had available and could only help. He would also have to redo the Egyptian ritual when he got a new body.
The Egyptian ritual had not been the first one he had encountered that helped to grant immortality, but he rethought the horcrux idea after finding written detailing of the insanity that invariably followed the act of splitting one's soul. What good was immortality if he was too crazy to enjoy it. So he took his second choice and was very happy to have done so.
The letter on the first day of classes had been surprising. He had been wary at first when his host had opened the door to a dark room. What was revealed by Quirrell’s lumus stunned him. The thought that it was the so called Boy-Who-Lived that was meeting him had never entered his mind. The urge to curse the child occurred to him, but then he realized that his host would have to cancel the light to be able to do so. The boy was smart.
The entire conversation that followed did nothing to disperse this belief. Potter was intelligent, self-serving, and nursing a grudge against Dumbledore. He would be a good ally or a deadly enemy in a few years when he was actually trained. He was definitely an ally for now and apparently the only thing needed to keep him that way was not to attack.
He did not agree with Potter’s views on the eventual collapse of the WW. Under a strong leader (himself) they could advance to more than they were right now. Powerful mudbloods could find a place. Muggles were a threat that needed to be taken care of, but he did raise a valid point with the shear numbers that would be against Voldemort if he was to try and kill them all. There had to be something that could be done, but he could think about that later.
Potter’s behaviour following their meeting was a telling thing. Voldemort, who was watching rather closely at this point, could tell where Dumbledore dropped the quaffle with him. If he and Potter had never talked, he might actually believe that the pleasant, polite mask that the boy presented to the world was real. And while it was a subtle thing, he also noticed that Potter would always shift slightly to avoid being touched. Where ever the boy grew up, touching was not a good thing. It reminded him of his own childhood.
Then there was the thing with Severus. While he was helping his subordinate with his Occlumency in preparation of his spying assignment, he had seen Severus’ utter hatred of James Potter. A hatred that had passed on to the son, if his disparaging of the boy was any indication. Then came the day when Potter ‘saved’ Severus from bleeding to death after he ‘fell’. Voldemort did not doubt for a minute that his potions master’s ‘fall’ was aided by Potter. What he could not figure out was why Severus said nothing on the matter. There were also the rather uneasy glances that Severus sent in Potter’s direction when he thought that no one was watching. What ever had happened between the two had shaken Severus badly.
There was nothing to do but go to the source and see what he could find out.
ECHP
This is just too perfect. The pureblood heir of an ancient House thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Which means a dereliction of duty on the part of Mister Chief Warlock. I wonder how much he gets paid for holding that title?
After more than two weeks of getting the runaround from the Ministry in regards to Black’s trial transcripts, the goblins had resorted to bribing one of the drones to copy the files. Harry didn’t know the specifics of that, but suffice to say, there were no files for Sirius Orion Black. Not sealed, not removed, not available.
Harry chuckled. Good things come to those who wait indeed. Bagnold and Crouch share more responsibility for this particular scandal in the making, but they aren’t the ones that ticked me off. I’m sure they won’t mind if that delightful gossip monger at the Daily Prophet keeps the attention on Dumbledore.
Dropping the letter on what used to be the teacher’s desk, he reclined back in his transfigured chair. While he could not make the change permanent, it was not that difficult to change the straight back chair to a more modern cushioned office one. Save for one chair on the other side of the desk, he had emptied the room of everything else. As he looked to the left, he appreciated the spectacular view from the fourth floor windows of the afternoon sun reflecting off the lake. Not that he chose the room for the view. It was the only one other than the room farther up the corridor where he had met Voldemort with access to the hidden passages.
An anonymous letter to Skeeter, I think. How tragic that the scion of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black should suffer this indignity. After all, if this could happen to a member of one of the most prominent pureblood families, who is to say that there aren’t more people in Azkaban who did not receive even the illusion of a trial. As the Headmaster of a school and the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW maybe Dumbledore is too busy to hold the position of Chief Warlock. And if he’s too busy to preside over trials, then maybe someone else who does have the time should be given the job. He’s an old man after all.
Of course, this will only be an annoyance if Black did kill those people. But if he didn’t. . .and I know for a fact that he isn’t one of Voldemort’s, which probably figures more into his stay in Azkaban than his so called murderer status.
Harry reached into a desk drawer and pulled out two sheets of parchment. The first was his letter to Rita Skeeter. His second was for Stradruk, telling him to go through with his plan to contact the Head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones. It also asked him to send Skeeter her letter by owl. He wanted his name nowhere near this. Supposedly the goblins wanted Black’s records because of some audit or other and in case of an inheritance issue. Stradruk assured him that his interest in the matter was never mentioned.
While the goblins had been very helpful to him, he got the feeling that they helped less out of any liking of him and more out of a dislike of wizards as a whole. His actions so far had the potential to cause widespread disruptions in the Ministry, which they hated with a passion, and problems for Dumbledore, who they apparently didn’t like too much either. He didn’t mind too much as long as they did what they were supposed to.
Placing both letters on the mail tray, he touched it with his magic, said “Stradruk’s office” and watched the papers disappear.
That’s one thing taken care of. Now, I just have to organize what to do for tomorrow.
The first week of school, he had done the work the day before it was due, which would have been alright if he had not also had the magical assignments to get done. He had gotten everything completed at the expense of some sleep, but he had since then reconciled both schedules. Harry thanked his parents genes for his intelligence. He had taken to using Saturdays, such as this one, and Sundays to do all his Xavier assignments for the week, while using the weekdays to read ahead(he had explained to Padma and Su Li that, as a solitary person, he needed some ‘me time’ and had designated the weekends as such). By the time Fridays rolled around with the next weeks assignments he had already digested the material and needed only to complete the work.
Shifting the papers on his desk, he set the finished assignments in a neat stack on his right and placed what he had yet to do on his left. Reaching down into the bag at his feet, he searched around for the beginner rune book. Glamours were all well and good for concealing the titles of any book he wanted to keep to himself while still reading in the open, but he went with the simple expedience of asking his squib contact to buy book covers and send them to him. Since there were some muggleborn students in Ravenclaw who also used book covers it passed unnoticed. Picking up where he had left off, he settled back to enjoy.
A few chapters in, the simple ward he had gotten out of the beginner’s guide made itself useful. It was more of a trip-line than anything else, telling him that someone was heading to the west corner leading to his corridor. About ten seconds passed before a familiar warring aura entered his senses.
What are they doing here?
Quirrell headed to the room they had met in and opened the door. He dithered for a moment before walking back to the second room, then the first. While he was tempted to see if Quirrell would search every room in the hall, Harry decided not to waste the time and used his magic to push the door open. He could tell the exact moment that the possessed teacher noticed, as the man’s heartbeat sped up slightly. He tracked the teacher’s movements until he entered the room.
“Can I help you, Host?” Not exactly diplomatic, he thought, watching Quirrell’s eyebrow twitch, but he is in my territory without an invitation. And I rather doubt it’s in his capacity as a Professor.
Harry had the rather dubious pleasure of feeling Voldemort’s aura overwhelm Quirrell’s. The energy under his scar churned and settled after a few seconds. I wonder why he didn’t do this at the beginning of the month?
“Potter.”
“Lord Voldemort. Please, have a seat,” he said gesturing to the chair. He had no doubt that this was Voldemort. Quirrell’s body posture had completely changed and he moved differently. Even his face looked different with someone else in control. “How have you been?” he asked with a smile.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes briefly before casting his gaze around the room.
“Nice setup you have here,” he said sitting down, a brief spell transfiguring a much more comfortable armchair.
“I rather like it myself,” Harry replied. Silence reigned for a minute. He replaced the bookmark and set the rune book on the desk. “Is there a particular reason that you sought me out, or do you just want the pleasure of my company?” he prompted clasping his hands over his stomach and discreetly palming his wand as he did so.
“You said, when we spoke before, that Dumbledore had upset some plan of yours. What plans were those?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Perhaps I just want to know that whatever scheme you have going doesn’t interfere with my own ambitions.”
“You could have just said that you want to learn more about me, you know,”he stated, polite neutral.
Voldemort ran searching eyes over his face for several moments.
“It takes a special kind of upbringing to produce someone like you,” he said softly. “I want to know how Dumbledore went so horribly wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, head tilting in query.
“I’ve been watching you. With your friends, with your teachers, with your peers. You don’t like to be touched, and only very rarely is there a real emotion on your face. ‘Harry Potter, such a polite young man.’ Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that? It isn’t all there is to you, it can’t be. That first day of classes, Severus was cursing the Potter name in the staff room. By the middle of the week he was in the Hospital wing after falling down a set of stairs, where you so conveniently found him. The other teachers credit his avoidance of you to his pride and the fact that you saved his life. I know better.
“Severus hated your father all the more when James saved his life. He should be making your life more difficult, not less. I know what I saw those weeks ago, the vengeful anger buried inside. I don’t think that anyone can match Severus for that emotion. So what could he have seen behind that so polite mask of yours that has him silenced whenever your name comes up?”
Ah, yes. Potions Master Snape. He’s been so quiet for the last while that I haven’t thought too much about him. So whatever problem he had with me had more to do with my father then. Either way, the issue is taken care of.
Indeed, the whole incident with him had worked wonders for the man’s behaviour toward Harry. He told Madam Pomfrey that he had been exploring when he heard a sound and found Snape at the bottom of the staircase. He left out the part where he had been waiting in a hidden passage for his stalker to pass and then frosted the step he would be walking on. A minor air barrier had prevented Snape from grabbing the railing.
I learned something about myself watching Snape bleed to death, his life meant nothing to me. It would have been so easy to just sit there and feel his lifeblood drain away. It was so interesting, the magic in his blood fading the longer it was out of his body. If I had stayed any longer I would have given in to the urge to just feel. That, more than anything, is what he has to thank for the fact that he lives today. Not the thought that I didn’t want to become a murderer, but that it wouldn’t mean anything to me for him to die. A life should mean something, even to the one taking it. Perhaps especially to the one taking it.
When he had returned with the nurse, Snape never let his eyes leave Harry’s form until he passed out.
Harry had earned Ravenclaw a 100 points courtesy of Dumbledore. There were rumors running the gamut, from he had saved Snape from some sort of attack, to Snape had saved him from some sort of attack, to he had attacked Snape in a fit of rage. Ironically, the last, which was closest to the truth, was dismissed because of the points awarded.
The Headmaster had spent the next few days twinkling at him in approval, so Snape did not tell him of their little conversation. Not that he was worried about that. He could quite truthfully swear an oath that he had not cursed Snape into falling. Anything he told the potions master would be disregarded as the boasts of an eleven year old trying to appear more powerful than he was, and taking credit for an accident. Something his wand would support as the last thing on it would have been the spell to change the matchstick into a needle.
When Snape returned to class on Friday he was in fine form, scaring the Hufflepuffs and snapping at the Ravenclaws. The only difference was that now Harry was ignored with a single-minded intensity. There was also a slight shiver whenever Harry smiled at him.
“Why don’t you ask the dear potions master what he saw?” he asked seeing that the dark lord was waiting for an answer.
“What makes you think that he’ll tell Quirrell. The only thing he’s said about the whole thing is that he fell,” came Voldemort’s disgruntled reply.
“He is one of yours, is he not?”
Quirrell’s eyes blinked in surprise. “And how, pray tell, do you know that?”
“It’s amazing the sort of information that’s available for the right price.” That and the fact that your magic clings to him in that mark of yours. “He might even help you with that Cerberus problem you have.” You aren’t here for me, and I doubt the Cerberus is in that room for its health.
“I won’t let you distract me that easily,” Voldemort said, eyes narrowed, “Why is Severus so wary of you?”
“What did Snape see? It’s hard to tell, people so rarely see the truth. I think he might have though.”
“The truth?” It was easy to see that Voldemort was not a patient man.
Or maybe he doesn’t see me as enough of a threat to hide his emotions. Probably a good thing.
“I think it was the first time that he saw me as a person. One that could very well leave him on that floor to die. He was probably sweating buckets wondering if I would actually return with help. I don’t think he liked it very much.”
“I see.” The dark lord did appear to understand. “And your upbringing?”
“What do you say we make a deal? You tell me all about your childhood, and I’ll tell you about mine.”
“Maybe,” something unpleasant passed over his face, “some other time. See you around Potter.” Voldemort’s presence abruptly receded, leaving Quirrell in control of his body again. The man shook himself for a moment before getting up.
“Potter,” he said with a small nod.
“Have a good evening Professor.”
The man walked out the door, closing it with a small click, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
Huh. No happy childhood memories for you then. How interesting.
ECHP
05.00 Sunday morning found Harry engaging in his newest study.
Occlumency.
When he had asked Flitwick the name of the technique that Snape had used against him, the tiny professor had informed him of the attack, the defense, and had given him a small book on the theory of how to create an Occlumency shield. Apparently, even with Snape in the Hospital wing, he was still sore about his actions.
Harry had thought that it would be simple. He already knew how to meditate, all he had to do was focus on reaching his memories instead of his magic. Easier said than done. Unfortunately, two plus years worth of habit had sent him almost immediately to his magical core. It had taken the better part of two weeks just to reach the representation of his mind. And now, days after that he was still facing one, persistent problem.
“Where the bloody hell are the memories that I’m supposed to be organizing? And how am I supposed to find them in this?!”
If he didn’t know for a fact that he was in Scotland, he would have thought that someone had dropped him in the middle of Antarctica, in winter no less.
It was dark, windy, and snowing. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.
Wonderful. At least I’m not cold. Probably something to do with my expectations. In the real world the snow and wind would bother me, but my body will always be at a comfortable temperature as long as my magic isn’t focused on anything else. Of course, I don’t expect my mind to have a storm going on in it either. He waited for a few seconds. If anything, the snow came down harder. It was worth the try.
Harry spent several minutes trying to figure out where to go when one of the infrequent flashes of lightening reflected off something in the distance.
Finally! Even if it turns out to be nothing, that’s the first sign I’ve had that there is anything in this place.
In short order he found himself looking at his reflection on a glowing background in a full length mirror. It was the only feature in the frozen wasteland that represented his mind.
He raised an eyebrow when his reflection smirked before reaching a hand out to him. Harry mirrored the gesture and touched the glass. He had to close his eyes as a flood of emotion pressed against his consciousness.
“This. . . these are mine. Contempt, yea gods, so much contempt. Good portion of anger too.”
This is what drives the storm. The contempt feels so old. I suppose it would be though. After nine years of living at the Dursley’s it makes sense. There’s no hate here though. Guess they aren’t worth the effort. The anger feels new though. Probably Dumbledore’s contribution.
His eyes opened and saw that the mirror no longer showed his reflection. Just the storm. He lifted his hand from the surface and watched the scene disappear. It was at this point that he turned around and realized he was no longer outside.
No wonder it looked like it was glowing.
He was in a huge, brightly lit cavern. The walls from floor to ceiling were covered in different sized mirrors. There were only a few full length ones though.
I’m supposed to go through these one by one? Quite frankly I only need a way to keep others from rifling through my mind. That damn storm outside does that more than a little effectively.
Harry brought himself out of his meditative state, scowling as he remembered days of wandering around in the storm.
I wonder if Flitwick is any good at Legilimency. I’m not about to go through the trouble of building Occlumency shields if it isn’t necessary.
He made a mental note to ask the charms master later on.
ECHP
You know, if this were a comic I would be laughing maniacally right about now, Harry thought looking at the headline of the Daily Prophet. The students were exclaiming and chattering at the proclamation.
The Headmaster’s chair was empty this morning, just as it had been several times during the week since Skeeter had started her campaign against him. The reporter had a ball dragging his name through the mud.
Between the Minister of Magic, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head of the Wizengamot that were in office in 1991, only Dumbledore still held his position and was therefore taking the brunt of the fall out. All in all, Harry felt rather like patting himself on the back.
He finished his eggs and reminded Padma and Su Li that it was Friday, therefore they had Snape first thing and he didn’t tolerate lateness. He caught another glimpse of someone’s Prophet as they got up to leave. It declared in large print:
SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT!
AN: Sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have everything plotted out for the rest of the year so there should not be anymore long pauses unless something really stressful happens in my life. Thank you for reading.
Thank you readers and reviewers.
Fear not, I was not idle during my little vacation. I hope you enjoy this.
Chapter 10: 273.15 x 1.8 - 459.67
The shade of one Tom Marvolo Riddle languished into his host’s body as he contemplated the boy who brought his conquest of the British Wizarding World to a screeching halt.
When Pettigrew had come to him just days before Halloween with the Potters’ address he had been ecstatic. Ever since the prophecy had been uttered, both they and the Longbottoms had disappeared under the Fidelius Charm. He had wanted to rid himself of the threat that both children offered and was planning to kill them both. No one knew who the Longbottom’s Secret Keeper was, but Sirius Black was the only choice there could be for the Potters.
He spent more than a year trying to capture Black, who proved why he was one of the DMLE’s best Aurors. An ambush on the 25th of October had very nearly succeeded, then, on the 27th Pettigrew had come to him with the news that the Potters had switched to him. It seemed like a godsend.
He had decided to attack on Halloween to give them time to feel secure in their choice.
He could appreciate power, and Lily Potter was very powerful. He had offered her the choice to step aside after putting down her husband. Truthfully, he didn’t really expect her to take it, but he offered anyway. She fell to him and then he turned his wand on Harry Potter.
Then it all went wrong.
He remembered the Avada Kedavra leaving his wand and heading toward the baby. Then it hit a shield he had never seen before and came right back at him. He had paused in shock for the split second it took for the curse to hit him and the next thing he knew he was floating around bodiless.
Anchored to Earth only by an Egyptian necromantic ritual, he had spent a decade gathering the power to be able to perform his own resurrection. The Philosopher’s Stone would boost the power that he had available and could only help. He would also have to redo the Egyptian ritual when he got a new body.
The Egyptian ritual had not been the first one he had encountered that helped to grant immortality, but he rethought the horcrux idea after finding written detailing of the insanity that invariably followed the act of splitting one's soul. What good was immortality if he was too crazy to enjoy it. So he took his second choice and was very happy to have done so.
The letter on the first day of classes had been surprising. He had been wary at first when his host had opened the door to a dark room. What was revealed by Quirrell’s lumus stunned him. The thought that it was the so called Boy-Who-Lived that was meeting him had never entered his mind. The urge to curse the child occurred to him, but then he realized that his host would have to cancel the light to be able to do so. The boy was smart.
The entire conversation that followed did nothing to disperse this belief. Potter was intelligent, self-serving, and nursing a grudge against Dumbledore. He would be a good ally or a deadly enemy in a few years when he was actually trained. He was definitely an ally for now and apparently the only thing needed to keep him that way was not to attack.
He did not agree with Potter’s views on the eventual collapse of the WW. Under a strong leader (himself) they could advance to more than they were right now. Powerful mudbloods could find a place. Muggles were a threat that needed to be taken care of, but he did raise a valid point with the shear numbers that would be against Voldemort if he was to try and kill them all. There had to be something that could be done, but he could think about that later.
Potter’s behaviour following their meeting was a telling thing. Voldemort, who was watching rather closely at this point, could tell where Dumbledore dropped the quaffle with him. If he and Potter had never talked, he might actually believe that the pleasant, polite mask that the boy presented to the world was real. And while it was a subtle thing, he also noticed that Potter would always shift slightly to avoid being touched. Where ever the boy grew up, touching was not a good thing. It reminded him of his own childhood.
Then there was the thing with Severus. While he was helping his subordinate with his Occlumency in preparation of his spying assignment, he had seen Severus’ utter hatred of James Potter. A hatred that had passed on to the son, if his disparaging of the boy was any indication. Then came the day when Potter ‘saved’ Severus from bleeding to death after he ‘fell’. Voldemort did not doubt for a minute that his potions master’s ‘fall’ was aided by Potter. What he could not figure out was why Severus said nothing on the matter. There were also the rather uneasy glances that Severus sent in Potter’s direction when he thought that no one was watching. What ever had happened between the two had shaken Severus badly.
There was nothing to do but go to the source and see what he could find out.
ECHP
This is just too perfect. The pureblood heir of an ancient House thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Which means a dereliction of duty on the part of Mister Chief Warlock. I wonder how much he gets paid for holding that title?
After more than two weeks of getting the runaround from the Ministry in regards to Black’s trial transcripts, the goblins had resorted to bribing one of the drones to copy the files. Harry didn’t know the specifics of that, but suffice to say, there were no files for Sirius Orion Black. Not sealed, not removed, not available.
Harry chuckled. Good things come to those who wait indeed. Bagnold and Crouch share more responsibility for this particular scandal in the making, but they aren’t the ones that ticked me off. I’m sure they won’t mind if that delightful gossip monger at the Daily Prophet keeps the attention on Dumbledore.
Dropping the letter on what used to be the teacher’s desk, he reclined back in his transfigured chair. While he could not make the change permanent, it was not that difficult to change the straight back chair to a more modern cushioned office one. Save for one chair on the other side of the desk, he had emptied the room of everything else. As he looked to the left, he appreciated the spectacular view from the fourth floor windows of the afternoon sun reflecting off the lake. Not that he chose the room for the view. It was the only one other than the room farther up the corridor where he had met Voldemort with access to the hidden passages.
An anonymous letter to Skeeter, I think. How tragic that the scion of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black should suffer this indignity. After all, if this could happen to a member of one of the most prominent pureblood families, who is to say that there aren’t more people in Azkaban who did not receive even the illusion of a trial. As the Headmaster of a school and the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW maybe Dumbledore is too busy to hold the position of Chief Warlock. And if he’s too busy to preside over trials, then maybe someone else who does have the time should be given the job. He’s an old man after all.
Of course, this will only be an annoyance if Black did kill those people. But if he didn’t. . .and I know for a fact that he isn’t one of Voldemort’s, which probably figures more into his stay in Azkaban than his so called murderer status.
Harry reached into a desk drawer and pulled out two sheets of parchment. The first was his letter to Rita Skeeter. His second was for Stradruk, telling him to go through with his plan to contact the Head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones. It also asked him to send Skeeter her letter by owl. He wanted his name nowhere near this. Supposedly the goblins wanted Black’s records because of some audit or other and in case of an inheritance issue. Stradruk assured him that his interest in the matter was never mentioned.
While the goblins had been very helpful to him, he got the feeling that they helped less out of any liking of him and more out of a dislike of wizards as a whole. His actions so far had the potential to cause widespread disruptions in the Ministry, which they hated with a passion, and problems for Dumbledore, who they apparently didn’t like too much either. He didn’t mind too much as long as they did what they were supposed to.
Placing both letters on the mail tray, he touched it with his magic, said “Stradruk’s office” and watched the papers disappear.
That’s one thing taken care of. Now, I just have to organize what to do for tomorrow.
The first week of school, he had done the work the day before it was due, which would have been alright if he had not also had the magical assignments to get done. He had gotten everything completed at the expense of some sleep, but he had since then reconciled both schedules. Harry thanked his parents genes for his intelligence. He had taken to using Saturdays, such as this one, and Sundays to do all his Xavier assignments for the week, while using the weekdays to read ahead(he had explained to Padma and Su Li that, as a solitary person, he needed some ‘me time’ and had designated the weekends as such). By the time Fridays rolled around with the next weeks assignments he had already digested the material and needed only to complete the work.
Shifting the papers on his desk, he set the finished assignments in a neat stack on his right and placed what he had yet to do on his left. Reaching down into the bag at his feet, he searched around for the beginner rune book. Glamours were all well and good for concealing the titles of any book he wanted to keep to himself while still reading in the open, but he went with the simple expedience of asking his squib contact to buy book covers and send them to him. Since there were some muggleborn students in Ravenclaw who also used book covers it passed unnoticed. Picking up where he had left off, he settled back to enjoy.
A few chapters in, the simple ward he had gotten out of the beginner’s guide made itself useful. It was more of a trip-line than anything else, telling him that someone was heading to the west corner leading to his corridor. About ten seconds passed before a familiar warring aura entered his senses.
What are they doing here?
Quirrell headed to the room they had met in and opened the door. He dithered for a moment before walking back to the second room, then the first. While he was tempted to see if Quirrell would search every room in the hall, Harry decided not to waste the time and used his magic to push the door open. He could tell the exact moment that the possessed teacher noticed, as the man’s heartbeat sped up slightly. He tracked the teacher’s movements until he entered the room.
“Can I help you, Host?” Not exactly diplomatic, he thought, watching Quirrell’s eyebrow twitch, but he is in my territory without an invitation. And I rather doubt it’s in his capacity as a Professor.
Harry had the rather dubious pleasure of feeling Voldemort’s aura overwhelm Quirrell’s. The energy under his scar churned and settled after a few seconds. I wonder why he didn’t do this at the beginning of the month?
“Potter.”
“Lord Voldemort. Please, have a seat,” he said gesturing to the chair. He had no doubt that this was Voldemort. Quirrell’s body posture had completely changed and he moved differently. Even his face looked different with someone else in control. “How have you been?” he asked with a smile.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes briefly before casting his gaze around the room.
“Nice setup you have here,” he said sitting down, a brief spell transfiguring a much more comfortable armchair.
“I rather like it myself,” Harry replied. Silence reigned for a minute. He replaced the bookmark and set the rune book on the desk. “Is there a particular reason that you sought me out, or do you just want the pleasure of my company?” he prompted clasping his hands over his stomach and discreetly palming his wand as he did so.
“You said, when we spoke before, that Dumbledore had upset some plan of yours. What plans were those?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Perhaps I just want to know that whatever scheme you have going doesn’t interfere with my own ambitions.”
“You could have just said that you want to learn more about me, you know,”he stated, polite neutral.
Voldemort ran searching eyes over his face for several moments.
“It takes a special kind of upbringing to produce someone like you,” he said softly. “I want to know how Dumbledore went so horribly wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, head tilting in query.
“I’ve been watching you. With your friends, with your teachers, with your peers. You don’t like to be touched, and only very rarely is there a real emotion on your face. ‘Harry Potter, such a polite young man.’ Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that? It isn’t all there is to you, it can’t be. That first day of classes, Severus was cursing the Potter name in the staff room. By the middle of the week he was in the Hospital wing after falling down a set of stairs, where you so conveniently found him. The other teachers credit his avoidance of you to his pride and the fact that you saved his life. I know better.
“Severus hated your father all the more when James saved his life. He should be making your life more difficult, not less. I know what I saw those weeks ago, the vengeful anger buried inside. I don’t think that anyone can match Severus for that emotion. So what could he have seen behind that so polite mask of yours that has him silenced whenever your name comes up?”
Ah, yes. Potions Master Snape. He’s been so quiet for the last while that I haven’t thought too much about him. So whatever problem he had with me had more to do with my father then. Either way, the issue is taken care of.
Indeed, the whole incident with him had worked wonders for the man’s behaviour toward Harry. He told Madam Pomfrey that he had been exploring when he heard a sound and found Snape at the bottom of the staircase. He left out the part where he had been waiting in a hidden passage for his stalker to pass and then frosted the step he would be walking on. A minor air barrier had prevented Snape from grabbing the railing.
I learned something about myself watching Snape bleed to death, his life meant nothing to me. It would have been so easy to just sit there and feel his lifeblood drain away. It was so interesting, the magic in his blood fading the longer it was out of his body. If I had stayed any longer I would have given in to the urge to just feel. That, more than anything, is what he has to thank for the fact that he lives today. Not the thought that I didn’t want to become a murderer, but that it wouldn’t mean anything to me for him to die. A life should mean something, even to the one taking it. Perhaps especially to the one taking it.
When he had returned with the nurse, Snape never let his eyes leave Harry’s form until he passed out.
Harry had earned Ravenclaw a 100 points courtesy of Dumbledore. There were rumors running the gamut, from he had saved Snape from some sort of attack, to Snape had saved him from some sort of attack, to he had attacked Snape in a fit of rage. Ironically, the last, which was closest to the truth, was dismissed because of the points awarded.
The Headmaster had spent the next few days twinkling at him in approval, so Snape did not tell him of their little conversation. Not that he was worried about that. He could quite truthfully swear an oath that he had not cursed Snape into falling. Anything he told the potions master would be disregarded as the boasts of an eleven year old trying to appear more powerful than he was, and taking credit for an accident. Something his wand would support as the last thing on it would have been the spell to change the matchstick into a needle.
When Snape returned to class on Friday he was in fine form, scaring the Hufflepuffs and snapping at the Ravenclaws. The only difference was that now Harry was ignored with a single-minded intensity. There was also a slight shiver whenever Harry smiled at him.
“Why don’t you ask the dear potions master what he saw?” he asked seeing that the dark lord was waiting for an answer.
“What makes you think that he’ll tell Quirrell. The only thing he’s said about the whole thing is that he fell,” came Voldemort’s disgruntled reply.
“He is one of yours, is he not?”
Quirrell’s eyes blinked in surprise. “And how, pray tell, do you know that?”
“It’s amazing the sort of information that’s available for the right price.” That and the fact that your magic clings to him in that mark of yours. “He might even help you with that Cerberus problem you have.” You aren’t here for me, and I doubt the Cerberus is in that room for its health.
“I won’t let you distract me that easily,” Voldemort said, eyes narrowed, “Why is Severus so wary of you?”
“What did Snape see? It’s hard to tell, people so rarely see the truth. I think he might have though.”
“The truth?” It was easy to see that Voldemort was not a patient man.
Or maybe he doesn’t see me as enough of a threat to hide his emotions. Probably a good thing.
“I think it was the first time that he saw me as a person. One that could very well leave him on that floor to die. He was probably sweating buckets wondering if I would actually return with help. I don’t think he liked it very much.”
“I see.” The dark lord did appear to understand. “And your upbringing?”
“What do you say we make a deal? You tell me all about your childhood, and I’ll tell you about mine.”
“Maybe,” something unpleasant passed over his face, “some other time. See you around Potter.” Voldemort’s presence abruptly receded, leaving Quirrell in control of his body again. The man shook himself for a moment before getting up.
“Potter,” he said with a small nod.
“Have a good evening Professor.”
The man walked out the door, closing it with a small click, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
Huh. No happy childhood memories for you then. How interesting.
ECHP
05.00 Sunday morning found Harry engaging in his newest study.
Occlumency.
When he had asked Flitwick the name of the technique that Snape had used against him, the tiny professor had informed him of the attack, the defense, and had given him a small book on the theory of how to create an Occlumency shield. Apparently, even with Snape in the Hospital wing, he was still sore about his actions.
Harry had thought that it would be simple. He already knew how to meditate, all he had to do was focus on reaching his memories instead of his magic. Easier said than done. Unfortunately, two plus years worth of habit had sent him almost immediately to his magical core. It had taken the better part of two weeks just to reach the representation of his mind. And now, days after that he was still facing one, persistent problem.
“Where the bloody hell are the memories that I’m supposed to be organizing? And how am I supposed to find them in this?!”
If he didn’t know for a fact that he was in Scotland, he would have thought that someone had dropped him in the middle of Antarctica, in winter no less.
It was dark, windy, and snowing. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.
Wonderful. At least I’m not cold. Probably something to do with my expectations. In the real world the snow and wind would bother me, but my body will always be at a comfortable temperature as long as my magic isn’t focused on anything else. Of course, I don’t expect my mind to have a storm going on in it either. He waited for a few seconds. If anything, the snow came down harder. It was worth the try.
Harry spent several minutes trying to figure out where to go when one of the infrequent flashes of lightening reflected off something in the distance.
Finally! Even if it turns out to be nothing, that’s the first sign I’ve had that there is anything in this place.
In short order he found himself looking at his reflection on a glowing background in a full length mirror. It was the only feature in the frozen wasteland that represented his mind.
He raised an eyebrow when his reflection smirked before reaching a hand out to him. Harry mirrored the gesture and touched the glass. He had to close his eyes as a flood of emotion pressed against his consciousness.
“This. . . these are mine. Contempt, yea gods, so much contempt. Good portion of anger too.”
This is what drives the storm. The contempt feels so old. I suppose it would be though. After nine years of living at the Dursley’s it makes sense. There’s no hate here though. Guess they aren’t worth the effort. The anger feels new though. Probably Dumbledore’s contribution.
His eyes opened and saw that the mirror no longer showed his reflection. Just the storm. He lifted his hand from the surface and watched the scene disappear. It was at this point that he turned around and realized he was no longer outside.
No wonder it looked like it was glowing.
He was in a huge, brightly lit cavern. The walls from floor to ceiling were covered in different sized mirrors. There were only a few full length ones though.
I’m supposed to go through these one by one? Quite frankly I only need a way to keep others from rifling through my mind. That damn storm outside does that more than a little effectively.
Harry brought himself out of his meditative state, scowling as he remembered days of wandering around in the storm.
I wonder if Flitwick is any good at Legilimency. I’m not about to go through the trouble of building Occlumency shields if it isn’t necessary.
He made a mental note to ask the charms master later on.
ECHP
You know, if this were a comic I would be laughing maniacally right about now, Harry thought looking at the headline of the Daily Prophet. The students were exclaiming and chattering at the proclamation.
The Headmaster’s chair was empty this morning, just as it had been several times during the week since Skeeter had started her campaign against him. The reporter had a ball dragging his name through the mud.
Between the Minister of Magic, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head of the Wizengamot that were in office in 1991, only Dumbledore still held his position and was therefore taking the brunt of the fall out. All in all, Harry felt rather like patting himself on the back.
He finished his eggs and reminded Padma and Su Li that it was Friday, therefore they had Snape first thing and he didn’t tolerate lateness. He caught another glimpse of someone’s Prophet as they got up to leave. It declared in large print:
SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT!
AN: Sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have everything plotted out for the rest of the year so there should not be anymore long pauses unless something really stressful happens in my life. Thank you for reading.
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