Much to his displeasure, Harry is thrown back through time into his six year old body. As a result, Harry decides to contort the timeline, purely for his own amusement.
Harry stared at Flamel, with a shocked expression on his face.
“I’m sure you’re wondering how I figured out your true identity, Harry Potter,” remarked Flamel.
“Yes, that thought did cross my mind,” replied Harry swiftly. “I checked and double checked that bloody potion, nothing was wrong, how in the bloody hell did you see through my disguise!”
“The potion worked well, but for a brief moment, a distinguishing feature appeared on your forehead, Mr. Potter,” answered Flamel. “That lightning bolt scar that appeared when Lord Voldemort failed to kill you. No one has a scar like yours.”
Flamel took a deep breath as Harry stood their, just in shock. He wanted to see what the ancient wizard was to say next.
“So, how did you manage it, Mr. Potter?” asked Flamel.
“Manage what, Mr. Flamel,” remarked Harry in a casual voice, not wanting to give away the fact that his soul had traveled back twenty years unless he was sure Flamel had guessed it.
“Sending your past self back into your body, naturally,” replied Flamel. “You see, there could be no other explanation, as no other six year old could come so close in prying the Philosopher’s Stone away from me, without help. And since I can tell possession a mile off, the only logical explanation to me would be some type of time travel.”
“Truthfully, it was an accident, I was hoping to wipe Voldemort and his Death Eaters out by turning my magic into a explosive element, not unlike a Muggle nuclear weapon,” explained Harry. “I was knocked out for a couple of minutes and woke up in my six year old body.”
“The best magical discoveries have been by pure accident,” muttered Flamel, more to himself then Harry. “There must have been circumstances that caused your travel back in time.”
Flamel looked deep in though and seemed less eccentric at the moment.
“Time travel is an odd curiosity,” remarked Flamel. “Even time travel a few hours back could cause distract changes that could warp reality itself. However, the fact that your future self was sent back into your younger body suggests that you won’t be able to return to the future like normal time travel.”
Flamel paused, as if mentally confirming a theory.
“Which the only logical explanation and believe me time travel can be anything but logical, is that you are creating a new, alternate reality,” declared Flamel. “The events of this reality will be drastically different from the one you remember. Exactly how long have you been back in time?”
“About two weeks,” declared Harry.
“So, if you were desperate enough to come back, that means that you already changed things that lead to Voldemort coming back in the regular timeline,” said Flamel thoughtfully looking at Harry who nodded in confirmation. “The damage has already been done. Now granted, it might not be damage to you or me. Then again it might be. One of three things could happen. Number one, the timeline could lead to an even more horrifying future then the one you can come. Number Two, your efforts are a noble endeavor and lead to a better world for all, well except for maybe Lord Voldemort and his minions. Or number three, despite your efforts, the end result comes out to be the same, even if a slightly different course of events leads there.”
“So I take it you are discouraging me from making any further changes in the timeline,” said Harry.
“No, of course not, I’m just telling you my theories,” declared Flamel waving his hand. “I’ll leave the discouraging to the likes of Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic, but they are quite narrow minded and can’t already see that what has already happened can’t be undone. But, I doubt you will not be telling them about your condition anytime soon.”
“Of course not,” replied Harry.
“Very well, back to the subject of the Philosopher’s Stone,” replied Flamel. “I now believe you more then ever that Lord Voldemort wants his hands on it, because there is no doubt in my mind that you already lived through an attempt of his to steal it.”
“Quite right,” confirmed Harry.
“Very well, I will give you the Stone and you will dispose of it in any way you see fit,” remarked Flamel before adding in an undertone. “I have enough elixir in my stores to supply myself and my wife for the next twenty years. That should be enough time to finish my goals.”
“If you don’t mind me for asking, what did that woman want from your library?” asked Harry out of morbid curiosity,
“This gets stranger by the moment, with all my notes on the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone in the library, she stole a very old book on sex change rituals,” answered Flamel. “These rituals were outlawed by the Ministry centuries ago. It seemed that there were a diminishing number of pureblood witches and naturally, the Ministry felt it reflected badly on them. As it turns out, there were many old families who used sex changes rituals to turn their daughters into sons.”
“Why?” asked Harry.
“It’s a pureblood thing,” remarked Flamel. “Basically, many purebloods didn’t have more then one child back then and they wanted wizards, so they can keep their considerable wealth in the families. Like many other dark arts, this had complications, leading to more squibs then before. The Ministry of Magic outlawed the rituals. They were lost and I have one of the few books detailing one such ritual that was used. This ritual however is very difficult to pull off and is well beyond the capacity of most.”
Harry sat deep in thought, wondering what crackpot would want a book on sex change rituals but a loud banging noise echoed from downstairs.
“I seem to be quite popular today,” muttered Flamel in an off handed voice. “Excuse me for just one moment.”
Flamel moved down the stairs and Harry watched from the stairs, doing a double take as he saw Flamel face to face with a Death Eater.
“Hand over the stone, Flamel,” declared the Death Eater and Harry blinked, he knew that voice all too well. He had only heard it in every Potions class for six years, mostly making snide remarks towards him and other Gryffindors.
Harry crept down the stairs, with his wand in hand. Revenge was the order of the day; he wanted to rip that greasy hair out of Snape’s head one strand at a time with a powerful summoning charm.
“The Stone?” asked Flamel. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to deny that request.”
Snape slashed his wand towards Flamel, but the wizard avoided Snape’s spell and the spell blew a hole through the wall.
Harry aimed his wand over his shoulder, before nearly collapsing. It seemed his magic was still going haywire from blocking that curse against that mysterious woman.
Snape spun around, before staring at the figure creeping in the shadows.
“Whoever you are, you’ve been a critical error in visiting this place, today, I’m afraid,” declared Snape coldly, before putting his wand. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
Harry decided the best way to avoid this curse would be to thrown himself on the ground. The curse sailed over Harry and hit an ugly looking vase, causing it to shatter into dust.
“CRUCIO!” yelled Snape, sending a spell at Harry. Harry cursed himself, having been caught off guard by the curse and he screamed in pain, attempting to reach over, before removing the gun from his person.
Three shots were fired in succession at Snape, causing the Death Eater’s concentration to break. He recognized the weapon this mystery wizard was carrying at once and he managed to blast two of the bullets out of mid air with his wand.
Unfortunately for Snape, he wasn’t lucky to block the third bullet. The bullet impacted his wand hand, causing Snape to fall to the ground, in agony as blood dripped from his hand.
“The Ministry of Magic will be very interested to see you here…Snivellus,” whispered Harry. “Dumbledore won’t be able to save you this time.”
Despite the fact that blood dripped from his wand hand, Snape managed to reach into his robes and pull out the Portkey that he had on him at all times. He tapped his wand to the Portkey as it pulled himself to safety.
Harry cursed himself, he should have checked for Portkeys. His six year old self’s immaturity got the better of him and he just had to stop to taunt Snape for a few seconds. A few seconds that caused Snape to get away even through Harry could claim a bit of a moral victory by injuring Snape’s wand hand.
“Mr. Potter, I think it’s best to get you out of here with the Stone before someone else decides to come to visit,” declared Flamel. “I think I can handle anyone else, I do have over six hundred years of magical experience after all.”
Harry nodded, wishing that he had shot Snape in a place more lethal than the hand.
Some time later at the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Severus Snape was quite agitated. Someone had got the better of him without magic and force him to flee like a coward. He didn’t get the Stone like the Dark Lord had ordered him to do and Dumbledore was asking awkward questions about where he was when he got shot. One thing was for certain, Snape vowed one day to get his hands on the person who did this to him and avenge his humiliation. Severus Snape would not rest until he had this wizard on his knees, begging for mercy.
At a rural area, Crabbe and Goyle snuck towards a hen house, wands drawn.
“Come forth, I say, let us collect the Dark Lord’s bounty, so he can return to full power,” declared Goyle in a boisterous voice. “I mean, what better way to collect eggs then from a hen house.”
Crabbe responded by a blank look, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, drool flowing to his chin.
“What do you mean we can bloody go to a grocery store and purchase them?” demanded Goyle. “Listen here, we are purebloods of the highest pedigree and we will not be demeaned to purchasing eggs. As the head of the noble and ancient house of Goyle, I am quite frankly baffled that you would suggest that we undertake this matter in such a way.”
Crabbe just stared at Goyle.
“Must you rub in that your family has been pureblood for two more generations then mine has,” grumbled Goyle. “Sometimes Crabbe, old bean, you can come across as quite the braggart.”
Crabbe just rolled his eyes, but Goyle had moved inside the hen house, with his wand in his hand. Rows upon rows of hens laid no doubt with eggs ripe for the taking.
Goyle reached under one of the hens, feeling around underneath it with his hands. The hen didn’t take too kindly to the Goyle’s theft her eggs and started to cluck madly. This set off a chain reaction with all of the hens clucking at once, which caused Goyle to stagger backwards.
Goyle raised his wand, the thought slowly coming to him that he would have been better off of using a summoning charm to procure the eggs. Before Goyle could do the deed, he heard a loud noise and spun around to see a large and very proud looking rooster standing in the doorway.
“Merlin, get a look at the size of that cock, Crabbe,” declared Goyle, as the rooster stood proudly before moving towards Goyle. “Listen, we are just here for some eggs, so if you could just…”
The rooster clamped its beak down on Goyle’s crotch. Goyle screamed in agony, as the rooster wouldn’t let go.
“Oh, this bloody cock has me by the…” started Goyle before screaming in agony. “Crabbe..do…something…chap.”
Crabbe looked at his wand, starting blankly at it. He aimed a slicing charm towards the rooster’s head but his aim was sadly a bit off.
Goyle gave a scream of agony as he fell to the ground, blood dripping to the ground. The rooster lunged for Crabbe but Crabbe managed to get out of the way. Goyle followed, barely able to walk as the rooster stood, guarding the hen house. Blood dripped from Goyle, as the two bumbling Death Eaters moved off, to avoid being attacked by the rogue rooster.
Monday morning had come before Harry had known it. It was agreed that Antonio would take care of any pressing business that needed to be resolved during the day. Harry had figured out that the really interesting stuff didn’t happen until at night or on the weekends. Indeed, the weekend before, Harry’s mobsters had an altercation with Boss Zabini’s men. It was over a part of London that Harry knew for a fact that he had full and undisputed rights to. Harry had not been present, but those who were there relayed the story to him in great detail. Still, Zabini tried and pulled a coup to run his rivals out of there, which backfired for Zabini. Harry felt pleased that he had gotten his first noticeable victory and planned to regain much of the turf that his mob had lost to Zabini in the confusion of Harry’s grandfather’s death. The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice had tentative plans to branch out his operations into the Magical World to better be able to combat Voldemort. That was some time coming, as Harry wished to regain the turf that was lost to Zabini before booting his rival off the map and taking all of his turf.
Still, by night and by weekends, Harry was a mob boss. By day, he was a somewhat normal six year old child, who attended school like most others his age.
Harry looked around, as he saw a few hundred young children chatting merrily, talking about things that Harry found that he wasn’t interested in. Still he was only interested in looking for one person. After a couple of moments of intense searching, Harry spotted Hermione sitting underneath a tree, reading a book.
“Typical Hermione,” muttered Harry fondly under his breath, before walking over towards his friend and bending down next to her. “Hello, Hermione.”
Hermione’s head snapped upwards, her eyes looking forward in shock. No one had spoken directly to her at school, most content to speak about her behind her back. She relaxed when she saw it was only Harry.
“Harry,” said Hermione in surprise before deciding to voice her opinion. “What are you doing here?”
“Going to school, believe it or not,” said Harry with a smile. “I’ve heard a rumor that most kids my age do that.”
Hermione giggled in spite herself as Harry sat down next to her. A group of girls turned around and seemed be perplexed by Harry sitting next to Hermione. A girl with blond hair and blue eyes seemed to take it upon herself to walk over and stick her nose into Harry and Hermione’s business.
“What do you want?” asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing.
“Now, Hermione, there’s no need to be rude,” said the girl in a sugary sweet voice that caused Harry to get Umbridge flashbacks. The girl had turned her attention to Harry before speaking in a bubbly voice. “Hi, you must be new!”
“Yes,” said Harry in a neutral voice, trying to be polite as possible. He didn’t want to start trouble on his first day of school but sometimes trouble was quite unavoidable. “Name’s Harry.”
“Well my name’s Evelyn,” said the girl who was ignoring Hermione. “You know, you don’t have to be nice to her. She’s weird, she does nothing but read books.”
“Excuse me, Hermione happens to be my best friend,” declared Harry in a cool voice.
“No, I want you to be my friend,” declared Evelyn in a forceful force, before flashing a smile at Harry. “I’m so much more fun then her. I mean she has buck teeth and her hair…it’s all bushy.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you think you’re better then Hermione,” replied Harry calmly.
“I am better then her, really, all she does is read books and ignore everyone, like she’s stuck up” said Evelyn who seemed to be distressed that this wasn’t going her way. Things always went her way, her parents had spoiled her. “I mean, what’s she going to do, marry her books or something.”
“You know, I don’t like you,” replied Harry calmly. “You come here and make fun of the only friend I’ve ever had. Just leave go with your little friends and leave us alone.”
“Fine!” pouted Evelyn. “See if I care if you hang out with the buck toothed bookworm. She’ll be the only friend you’ll ever have, as I’ll tell everyone else how mean you are and how you’re just like her.”
“If the rest of them are like you, it sounds good to me,” said Harry with a smirk, and the girl seemed to be put off by the fact that Harry was brushing off her threats like they were nothing. She stomped off, to no doubt spread nasty lies about Harry to her friends.
“Harry, thank you for not taking her side,” said Hermione gratefully. “But, Evelyn’s popular. She could make your life miserable.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not here to win a popularity contest, Hermione and I’d rather have true friends, then people who hang over me because of popularity,” said Harry before adding to her. “What time does class start anyway?”
“In a few minutes, I think it might be a good idea if I show you where it is, Harry,” said Hermione.
“Agreed, don’t want to make a bad impression on my first day,” replied Harry and Hermione led him into the school, the two friends chatting as they entered the school.
Little did Harry know that someone else was watching him in the distance. The dark haired girl had been very surprised to see that Harry Potter of all people was attending a Muggle school. Yet there was no mistaking him.
Blaise ran her fingers through her hair, sighing. She was no silly fangirl, tripping over her own feet at the sight of Harry Potter by any means. Still, she wished to have a word for him, for no other reason to talk to another one of her kind. These Muggles could be a bit frustrating to interact with, as they lacked sophistication and poise. She nearly felt ill watching that Evelyn Simmons girl attempt to interact with Potter by acting like a bubbling twit. Then again, Blaise had heard things about how people with blond hair lacked brains. That was proven that one time she had the misfortune of meeting Draco Malfoy.
Blaise walked into the school, hoping to get Potter alone so she could talk to him.
Harry and Hermione were among the first to arrive in their classroom, taking seats towards the front of the classroom. Others arrived after the first bell rang, filling in the seats. Evelyn and her friends seemed to look at Harry with contempt, but Harry gave them a small, sarcastic wave, which caused them to walk off in a huff. Many looked at Harry as a curiosity, but didn’t interact with them.
A middle aged man entered the room, most of what used to blond hair turning gray. He had a sneer on his face, as if teaching young children was well beneath him.
“I am Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire,” declared the teacher in a pompous voice. “And I say this because we have a new student today joining us. “
Harry looked up, blinking.
“Well, come up here, Mr. Potter,” declared Gillworth in a commanding voice and Harry rose to his feet, before standing at the front of the class, several eyes on him. “Class, this is Harry Potter. Harry Potter, this is your class. Are there any questions?”
The class broke out into whispers, looking at Harry, and pointing at his messy hair, some snickering at it.
“Very well then, sit down and let’s get this day over with,” declared Gillworth in a bored voice as Harry sat down next to Hermione. “Now, last week, I, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the third, Esquire, were attempting to teach you children the subtle art of mathematics. Mathematics is a wonderful thing, yet something that many can’t to grasp. Perhaps one or two of you might be able to grasp these concepts but with the low opinion I have on your futures, I, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire, doubt it very much.”
Gillworth made his way towards the chalk board, before picking up a piece of chalk and writing a problem on the board. Harry leaned forward and saw that the problem was seventy four multiplied by forty three. A problem that Harry felt in his infinite wisdom was beyond the brain capacity of most six and seven year olds.
“Now, perhaps one of you can solve this simple equation,” declared Gillworth. “First person who does it will be exempt from homework tonight.
“Oh come on, not even I can get this one, not that math’s my strong suit mind you,” muttered Harry but Hermione had a piece of paper and a pencil out and seemed to be bound and determined to solve the problem. Harry doubted very much that she wanted to be exempt from homework. On contrary, Harry believed it was just her ambition shining through.
Hermione had put down her pencil in triumph but Gillworth had walked over and picked up Hermione’s work, before examining it.
“Well what’s this, Miss Granger, passing notes in my class,” said Gillworth.
“No, that’s my work,” said Hermione quickly.
“Now, Miss Granger, there is no reason to lie to me, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the third, Esquire,” declared Gillworth, who had picked up the paper and walked forward, before it appeared to slip out of his hand and onto Evelyn’s desk. The paper had remained on her desk for a few seconds before Gillworth quickly picked it up.
“Professor, I know the answer,” said Evelyn, raising her hand.
“Very, well, Miss Simmons, what is the answer?” asked Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire.
“Three thousand one hundred and eighty two,” responded Evelyn brightly.
“That’s correct, Miss Simmons, it appears that at least one person in this class has a degree of intelligence,” remarked Gillworth. “You are hereby excused for this evening’s homework.”
“Thanks Uncle Remy er I mean Professor Remington Q Gillworth the Third, Esquire,” replied Evelyn flashing a smile at her friends, who giggled.
“She doesn’t deserve to be let off the hook,” declared Harry.
“Harry, no, it’s not worth it,” muttered Hermione under her breath.
“That was Hermione’s work and you knew it, Uncle Remy,” replied Harry, putting added emphasis on the last two words.
“Now, Mr. Potter, your friend was caught passing notes, Miss Simmons solved the problem fair and square,” replied Gillworth.
“That wasn’t a note. That was her hard work in solving that problem. A problem that is too difficult for most kids our age to even think about solving I might add!” yelled Harry and the chalk erasers began to vibrate and Harry took a few deep breaths to calm down. The last thing he needed was a spontaneous burst of accidental magic that would destroy the classroom.
“Really, calling math a problem, I prefer to think of it as an adventure,” declared Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire. “Much like your friend Miss Granger, you can’t seem to be able to distinguish books from reality. You will continue to struggle in my class, if you come in with preconceived notions.”
Harry said nothing. Years of dealing with Severus Snape and his favoritism towards Slytherins had told him it was best not to say anything further to the teacher.
Back at the farm, Crabbe and Goyle crept around, attempting to salvage their plans.
“Thanks to your bungling Crabbe, I will no longer be able to conceive any more children,” replied Goyle and Crabbe responded with a blank stare. “Oh really funny, Crabbe. As usual, I will ignore your degrading statements made towards my person.”
Goyle sighed before looking around.
“Our attempt to get eggs was an absolute failure, but perhaps we will be better off with tracking down a cow and procuring some milk,” suggested Goyle. “Yes, that is the ticket, we milk the cow and we will worry about the other items on the Dark Lord’s acquisition list at a later date.”
Crabbe looked at Goyle with a vapid expression.
“For the last time you bungler, we are not taking a trip to the grocery store and buying these items like some commoner!” snapped Goyle angrily. “Now come forth and let us proceed with the scheme.”
Goyle waved his wand, opening the gate that led to the pasture. The wizard walked in and found himself face to face with a bull. The bull looked up at Goyle and seemed to be angered.
“Oh dear,” muttered Goyle in a fretful voice and the bull rose to its feet before charging Goyle. The Death Eater panicked and sent a stinging spell at the bull, but that seemed to only enrage the animal.
The bull rushed Goyle and rammed him, causing the large man to fly into the air. Crabbe stood away.
“Yes, just let me get bludgeoned Crabbe!” yelled Goyle, as the bull had stepped on Goyle’s wand, shattering it in two. Goyle scrambled to his feet, looking shocked and quite petrified but Crabbe had removed his wand from his person and conjured a large red cloth.
Crabbe waved the cloth in front of the bull and the bull charged forward, seeing absolute red. Goyle laid on the ground, as Crabbe caused the bull to move forward. At the last second, with surprising grace, Crabbe yanked the red cloth out of the way. The bull hit headfirst into a tree and Crabbe used this momentary distraction to wave his wand, causing the bull to drift into a deep sleep.
Goyle pulled himself to his feet, looking a bit shaken.
“That’s right, a bull is not going to make a fool out of me,” declared Goyle in a pompous voice. “No bloody animal is going to trifle with Goyle, my dear lad. Crabbe, I had that thing on the run and I softened him up. Being the charitable fellow I am, I allowed you to proceed for the kill.”
Crabbe rolled his eyes behind Goyle’s back, before adopting his usual blank and vapid expression as Goyle turned around. Goyle surveyed Crabbe, whose tongue was hanging out of his mouth, cross eyed and drooling.
“Unfortunately, that beast broke my wand in his uncouth rampage,” said Goyle. “We must make a quest to Knockturn Alley, in where I acquire a replacement.”
With that, the two Death Eaters had left to continue the mission the Dark Lord had entrusted them with.
At lunch, Hermione and Harry sat outside.
“Harry, I never thought I’d say this, but that man’s not a good teacher,” replied Hermione.
“What, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third?” asked Harry before pausing dramatically. “Esquire.”
“Yes, him,” replied Hermione calmly. “He doesn’t explain anything and it seems he really doesn’t like children at all.”
“Except for his demonic harpy of a niece,” muttered Harry under his breath before brightening up. “Of course, he’s been making my life miserable for the last few hours and it looks like he’s been making your life miserable since the beginning of this year, so you do know what that means?”
“Harry, I suppose we should tell someone about how he’s a bad teacher,” said Hermione in a resigned voice. “The problem is, how do we prove it?”
“We could tell someone,” confirmed Harry. “Run the risk that they won’t believe us. That would be doing things the easy way”
A mischievous smile appeared on Harry’s face.
“Or we can do things my way, the fun way,” added Harry. “The cure to all that ails world, pranks.”
“Harry, we can’t just prank the teacher,” said Hermione. “We could get in so much trouble.”
“Yes, we could, if we get caught,” answered Harry. “And I never get caught.”
“I don’t know, Harry,” muttered Hermione who seemed conflicted.
“Hermione, you can be smart and pull pranks,” suggested Harry. “You remember Remus, right?”
“He’s the guy who came with you and Uncle Antonio to dinner when we met, right?” asked Hermione.
“Yes, and he had good marks in school,” replied Harry. “Along with my father and godfather, who also got good marks, they were legendary pranksters in school.”
“Well, Harry, I guess life can’t be all books,” replied Hermione. “Still, if we get caught…”
“Just a few small pranks to see if you feel comfortable, Hermione,” said Harry, giving his friend puppy dog eyes. It had caused Hermione to give into him in the old timeline, so he saw no reason why it shouldn’t work here. “Pretty please with sugar on top. We’ll stop if we get caught, I swear.”
“Alright Harry, I’ll give it a try,” said Hermione, caving into Harry. “And it’s not because you flashed those eyes at me, it’s because I’m your friend and I guess I trust you.”
“Don’t worry Hermione. I’m like magic,” said Harry with a knowing smile.
“It’d be much easier if we actually could do magic,” muttered Hermione with a far off expression in her eyes.
“We need to get back inside if we are going to pull this off,” explained Harry and Hermione followed him, still with a bit of an apprehensive look on her face.
After lunch, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire appeared with a bit of a cheerful expression on his face.
“Greetings children, your teacher, I, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire, is here to impart your meaningless lives with more education, before we meet that happy moment of farewell at the end of the day,” declared Gillworth. “Such a joyous occasion that final bell, as it marks the longest time I have until I teach you inept boobs once again.”
Several giggles broke out in the class.
“Yes, I am aware that boobs is a humorous word to you brats, but I, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire, shall not be distracted from earning my paycheck,” declared Gillworth pompously. “Nevertheless, I’m in a good mood, so I will write this sentence on the board and you will circle all the words that rhyme with each other.”
Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire began writing on the chalkboard and had written an entire sentence. Harry neither knew nor cared what it said, all he knew was that his prank had worked.
“Er, Professor,” said one of the children, a boy with short brown hair.
“What is it, Mr. Dixon?” asked Gillworth, narrowing his eyes at the boy.
“Sir, there’s no sentence on the board,” said Dixon.
“What don’t be ridiculous, of course there….is,” declared Gillworth but he saw a completely blank chalk board. “I could have just sworn that I, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire, had just written a tongue twisting sentence upon the board but perhaps even I was mistaken.”
Gillworth had written the sentence on the board a second time and had turned his back on the board. Once again, his words had vanished and he spun around angrily.
“This is an outrage,” declared Gillworth, and for a third time, he had written a sentence on the board. He slowly turned around and once again the sentence had vanished.
Hermione and Harry could barely hold in their laughter but they didn’t want to distract Gillworth from his impending meltdown. So simultaneous, they both dove under their desks under the guise of picking up a pencil.
Gillworth gritted his teeth and began to shake, before once again writing the sentence. Once again, the sentence vanished from sight.
“No, my chalkboard’s haunted!” yelled Gillworth, losing his head causing most of the children to laugh. “Stop laughing, stop it, this isn’t funny, I, Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire…”
Gillworth ran from the room looking rather disturbed as Harry and Hermione’s had laughed so hard that tears began rolling down their cheeks but had managed to calm themselves down just before the laughter died down.
Evelyn had gotten to her feet and the girl looked rather flummoxed. She marched over to Harry and Hermione, with her hands plastered on her hips and she looked enraged.
“You two think you’re really amusing, don’t you?” asked Evelyn.
“No, we thought Uncle Remy running from the room muttering about a haunted chalk board was funny,” said Harry in a calm voice.
“You were the one who did that, you made the chalk disappear, I know it, you two….nerds,” declared Evelyn.
“Come off it, it’s not like we magically put a spell on the chalkboard to make anything written on it vanish,” replied Harry, with a smirk.
“Plus, it’s not like you can prove it, you know,” said Hermione, with a smug expression.
“I know you did it, I do,” hissed Evelyn, before stamping back to her seat and Harry had used the wand hidden up his sleeve before fixing the chalkboard. His fun was far from done.
Professor Remington Q. Gillworth the Third, Esquire marched back into the room, with a thick woman with grey hair, spectacles, and a large nose.
“Headmistress, four times the chalkboard erased itself when I wrote on it, there has to be some kind of ghosts or poltergeists,” declared Gillworth in a slightly unhinged voice.
“Is this like the time that the Leprechauns were stalking you, Gillworth?” asked the Headmistress, surveying Gillworth over his spectacles.
“They were trying to steal my socks,” interjected Gillworth. “It’s like magic, it’s got to be magic, there’s no other explanation.”
“Sure magic, that’s your excuse for everything Gillworth, always blame something that doesn’t exist,” declared the Headmistress before picking up a piece of chalk and drawing a rather crude circle. “Well, your haunted chalkboard must have been a hallucination.”
“No, Headmistress, we all saw it,” piped up Evelyn. “Potter and Granger did something to the chalkboard.”
“Did you them do anything to it?” asked the Headmistress, with a frown.
“No, but I just know they did,” declared Evelyn in a stubborn voice. “They’re freaks, anyway…”
“I will not tolerate you making fun of other students Miss Simmons,” remarked the Headmistress sternly. “Now if you excuse me, I have too much to do then to listen to your hallucinations, Professor Gillworth.”
The Headmistress left the room leaving Gillworth stuttering before he turned to the class.
“Free day the rest of the day,” declared Gillworth in an irritated voice. “Finish your homework, stare at the ceiling, punch each other out, I don’t care.”
Most of the students cheered as Gillworth had sank down into his chair, looking rather put off at the fact he was made to look like a fool.
Outside of school, Hermione and Harry waited, leaning against the fence. Antonio said he was going to pick both of them up, but he was running a few minutes. Harry suspected it was because of some kind of mob related business; through he couldn’t let Hermione know that.
“Harry,” said a voice from behind Harry and Harry turned around, to see a dark haired girl that was perhaps only an inch or two shorter than Harry.
“Yes,” replied Harry calmly.
“I need to speak with you,” replied the girl coolly before adding in an undertone so Hermione couldn’t hear. “I know you’re the Boy-Who-Lived.”
Harry’s eyes widened, before looking at Hermione.
“Harry, what’s going on?” asked Hermione.
“Nothing horrible, I just want to talk to Harry in private, alone,” declared the girl, looking at Hermione.
“Is that okay, Hermione?” asked Harry.
“Fine,” remarked Hermione, but there was a distrusting look on her face at the girl as Harry walked off with her.
“So, you know exactly who I am but yet I don’t know who you are,” said Harry casually.
“You will soon,” replied the girl. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you of all people showing up at a Muggle school.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” asked Harry.
“I would think that Dumbledore would have in on a castle in some warded island teaching you in every type of magic imaginable,” said the girl.
“Dumbledore, prepare me,” said Harry, before breaking out into laughter. “Sorry, but that’s funny. He just dropped me at my Muggle relatives, who hate me, and decided to forget about me.”
“Really?” declared the girl with an interested expression but Hermione had walked over to him and stepped in front of him.
“Harry, Uncle Antonio’s here,” declared Hermione stepping in front of Harry.
“Well I guess I’ve got to go…” started Harry before trailing off and looking at the girl. “I’m sorry but could you please tell me your name?”
“Blaise,” declared the girl crisply, who seemed to survey Hermione with a bit of distaste. Hermione wore an equally distasteful expression on her face “I hope that we can talk further on this some other time.”
“Okay, see you around then, I guess,” declared Harry as he turned around to see Hermione’s look.
“Harry, I don’t trust her,” muttered Hermione. “You know whose daughter she is, don’t you?”
“No, she never told me her last name,” replied Harry in a confused voice.
“Her name last name’s Zabini” declared Hermione causing Harry to stop in his tracks. “As in Boss Zabini.”
“You know, don’t you?” asked Harry and obviously he didn’t need to elaborate his statement.
“Oh Harry, of course I know,” replied Hermione shaking her head. “My mother and Uncle Antonio think I’m ignorant of the family business, but honestly, I’ve overheard enough to piece together everything. I might be almost seven years old but I’m not dumb.”
“I should have known you would have figured it out sooner than later,” declared Harry.
“I didn’t want to tell you, Harry, but I had to when she talked to you,” replied Hermione. “Her father must have put her up to it.”
“Actually she didn’t mention business one time,” muttered Harry. “I doubt Boss Zabini knows I’m his rival and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Alright Harry, but be careful, I don’t want to see anything happen to my best friend,” said Hermione fretfully as several pebbles levitated up into the air before dropping down causing Harry to stop in his tracks.
“Hermione, have you noticed that odd things have been happening around you?” asked Harry.
“You mean like what those pebbles just did,” said Hermione with a frown. “I remember when I was four, a window shattered when I got upset at my Mum and Dad. I had trouble finding one of my favorite books one time and I wished I could have it. It fell out of the shelf into my hand once I had thought hard that I wanted it.”
“Anything else?” asked Harry.
“I sent Evelyn flying into a wall one time when I was having a bad day, but I could have sworn I didn’t touch her, but it happened” recalled Hermione, with a bit of a fond smile. “I was led inside to the Headmistress’s office, but I saw a bunch of guys in funny robes with sticks tend to her.”
Harry had known what Hermione was but he didn’t want her to put the pieces together too soon.
“Hermione, I know why these things are happening,” said Harry and Hermione looked up, prompting Harry to continue. Harry looked around to make sure no one was in hearing distance. “Hermione, you’re a witch.”
“I’m a what?” asked Hermione.
“A witch, you can do magic,” replied Harry.
“So that’s how you managed to pull off that prank,” said Hermione in understanding, with Harry feeling grateful that she had taken everything well. “Do you think you can teach me that?”
“Hermione, I could, but that’s very advanced magic,” said Harry.
“There’s still something else you aren’t telling me, Harry,” accused Hermione. “You seem to know way too much for a six year old.”
“Hermione, I wish I can tell you everything,” said Harry fretfully . “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that it will be dangerous for you to know.”
“Harry there has to be some way that you can tell me and not put me in danger,” said Hermione.
“There is a way,” replied Harry, as he looked deep in thought. “I’ll have to teach you Occlumency before I can tell you.”
“What’s that?” asked Hermione curiously.
“It protects your mind from other people reading it,” explained Harry slowly. “It’s very difficult to learn.”
“Harry, I can do it, if you teach me,” prompted Hermione who took the difficult magic as a personal challenge.
“Okay, we’ll start as soon as possible and then once I feel you learn it, I’ll tell you everything Hermione,” said Harry. “Keep in mind. It might take years for you to master it.”
“I don’t care Harry,” replied Hermione who looked bound and determined to learn everything about her mysterious friend. If there was one thing that frustrated Hermione, it was mysteries.
At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk. The Headmaster was having one of the worst months of his life. Harry Potter had escaped the safety of his relatives, before being kidnapped by mobsters. Said mobsters also had abducted Remus Lupin and Harry’s misguided declaration that Number Four Privet Drive wasn’t his home had caused the security around the property to break. Aurors had made fast work of the Dursleys and Petunia was currently in a high security cell in Azkaban, no doubt ready to testify against Dumbledore. For the first time in his life, Dumbledore didn’t have all the answers in his life. It would take a miracle to talk his way out of trouble on the Wizengamot hearing, which had been scheduled for October 20th, just a bit over a month from now.
A loud knock echoed outside Dumbledore’s office door.
“Enter,” declared the Headmaster calmly and the door opened, revealing the grizzled form of Mad-Eye Moody. “Hello, Alastor, thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Dumbledore,” growled Moody, as limped over on his wooden leg before sitting down across from Dumbledore.
“Lemon drop, Alastor,” offered Dumbledore.
“Albus, cut to the chase, you wanted me here on such short notice, you said it was urgent,” growled Moody. “So why don’t we skip the pleasantries and tell me what you want today.”
“Ah, yes, Alastor, blunt as always,” responded Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. “Your talents have tracked down many Death Eaters, bringing them to justice, but I require your talents for a bit of a different mission.”
Moody just sat there, waiting for Dumbledore to continue.
“I’m sure you heard that young Harry Potter has gone missing,” continued Dumbledore. “Alastor, for the boy’s safety, it’s imperative that you find him.”
“So, you want me to find Harry Potter,” said Moody, his magical eye whizzing in every direction. “Wouldn’t my time be better spent tracking down the Death Eaters who broke out of Azkaban?”
“Alastor, the boy’s safety is important, he needs to be found immediately,” replied Dumbledore.
“Dumbledore, I hope for your sake you don’t have another crackpot scheme with the boy like when you sent him to his Muggle relations,” growled Moody. “I saw the reports about what the Aurors found there…”
“Alastor he must be found and then we can work on getting Petunia Dursley out of Azkaban to reestablish Harry’s protections at another location,” prompted Dumbledore. “You do owe me a favor Alastor.”
“Dumbledore, I refuse to be a part of this circus,” growled Moody. “I don’t feel right hunting down a six year old like he’s some common Death Eater and the fact you seem to be planning breaking the same Muggle out of jail that was partly responsible for the kid’s treatment in the first place. Lily and James Potter would be ashamed at the game you are playing with their son.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way Alastor,” said Dumbledore sadly. “There are undesirable elements out there that would do the boy harm.”
Moody nodded gruffly as he left the office. Dumbledore was hoping that Moody could see the truth but it was not to be. The Headmaster waited until Moody had left the office. He sighed, he hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to this but he needed to enlist the help of the one person that would have no problem of taking Harry and bringing him to Dumbledore by any means necessary.
Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace in his office, before throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fire.
“Severus, please report to my office,” declared Dumbledore in a resigned voice.