FicWad

Alchemical Reactions
Chapter Fifteen
Wit and Cunning

Severus nearly cursed out loud when he heard the Potter boy’s placement in his house. That boy was a troublemaker, through and through. He had a funny feeling that he would be giving the most detentions to Potter through sheer annoyance. Yet…he was minutely pleased that this gave him easier access to the boy, so the two wouldn’t have to make excuses to plot in secret. Great, now he actually sounded like the stereotype of Slytherins in his thoughts. Damn that Potter boy.

Severus did let a small grin escape—shocking anyone who had seen it—at the idea of James Potter’s son being in Slytherin. Oh, how he would roll in his grave! It gave him some form of satisfaction to know that he had gotten one up on his long-hated rival.

More mildly amused now than anything, Severus continued to eat his dinner, poking at his potatoes deftly. He was just getting around to the greens when a piece of parchment was passed to him from Dumbledore on his left.

“Can you believe this, Severus?” Dumbledore said to him in an undertone. “It’s been years since the last recorded teaching assistant!”

Severus nearly choked on the pea he’d swallowed. Coughing, he took the sheet in his hand, waving off the assistance from Flitwick on his right. As he caught his breath he skimmed through the sheet, his eyes widening as he saw the results of the Potter boy. Looks like he didn’t need to be in Slytherin to allow them to talk—he was his damn assistant!

“Albus, how in Merlin’s name did this happen?” Severus asked incredulously, purposely sounding more angered than he actually felt.

“It’s been a few centuries, but this has happened before. It’s just so rare that we get a teaching assistant for three subjects, let alone one! And he’s so advanced in other subjects…Nicholas must have taught him well.”

Severus nodded, still pretending to look unhappy. Flitwick beside him had taken the list now and appeared to be quite excited. Potter hadn’t even been an official student for an hour and he was already the cause of serious changes in Hogwarts.

A shiver of fear mixed with anticipation found its way down Severus’s spine. Whatever would happen would happen, but at least they now had a fighting chance.

**

The first thing that Harry noticed was not the whispers of the students in the Great Hall, or the cheers of Fred and George as everyone cashed in on their bets. It was, in fact, the expression on Professor Lupin’s face. Shock was only a small fragment of the emotions expressed, though Harry did his best to ignore it. What did it matter if Professor Lupin wasn’t happy with his House? He wasn’t his father…just a friend. Besides, any disgust directed towards his House was like a slur on his personality—obviously a very large part of it was quite Slytherin.

Harry refused to show emotion as he slowly took the hat off his head and handed it to Professor McGonagall. He expressed none of what he was feeling—what that was, he wasn’t quite sure himself—and instead strode proudly to a seat that was not filled in the middle of the Slytherin table, that appeared to host most of his age group. He had had little interaction with them previously, tending to avoid the Slytherin table for the most part.

Wary, he took a seat and began piling his plate with some food, still hungry despite everything. He didn’t notice or really care when Dumbledore announced the resumption of the feast, intent as he was to finish his dinner and analyze his dorm mates for the next three years.

He could tell they were staring at him and he let them, waiting for someone to introduce themselves. When no one did, he impatiently halted his consumption of his meal and said, “Well? Is anyone going to introduce themselves or am I going to assume that you are all nameless?” He added a raised eyebrow for effect and got one in return from the tall black boy sitting across from him.

He was the one who answered first. “Blaise Zabini, tenth generation.”

“Harold Flamel,” Harry replied.

“We know,” the blonde girl directly on his left with dark blue eyes smirked. “Daphne Greengrass, thirteenth generation.” Zabini rolled his eyes at her emphasis on thirteenth, obviously something that was much of a sore point between the two.

The others around him introduced themselves. The boy on his left was Theodore Nott, who proudly claimed to be twentieth generation. Draco Malfoy was further down the table, quoting fortieth generation as his qualifications, with the two hulking figures of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle on either side. Malfoy introduced the two, not bother to list their generation number. Tracey Davis was sitting diagonally from him, and claimed the generation number of nine before being quiet. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were both eighth generation, and quickly silenced by the others. When everyone close to him—coincidentally what appeared to be his age group—Harry allowed himself to speak.

“Does anyone want to actually explain this whole generation gibberish to me or will I have to come to conclusions of my own?” Harry asked, despite already knowing what it was about—he was just curious as to their reactions.

“Are you telling me you didn’t know?” Malfoy sneered. “What are you, fourth generation?”

“Oh, shut up Malfoy,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes. “Most Slytherins tend to refer to themselves in terms of how many generations their family line has been strictly magical,” he explained to Harry. “A lot of the hierarchy here is determined by that.”

“I figured as much,” Harry replied, frowning.

“So what are you then,” interjected Theodore Nott.

“Does it really matter?” Harry responded casually, poking at his mashed potatoes and subtly insuring that nothing had been slipped in them. Nothing had.

“Of course it does!” Greengrass claimed.

“Well, how could it? If all it matters here is for social hierarchy, then I outrank all of you simply by my status in the school and don’t need blood to do that,” Harry said casually.

Many of the Slytherins bristled in anger at his words. Blaise, however, seemed completely calm. “Oh?” he asked with an arched eyebrow. “And what status is that?”

“Well…” Harry began, leaning away from his food and holding out his hand. “There’s the minute fact that my great-grandfather happens to be Nicholas Flamel,” he began, ticking off a finger. The others did not look impressed. Harry grinned in amusement, carefully watching their expressions. “There also happens to be the minor issues with my timetable—it seems that the vast majority of my courses are with seventh or sixth years,” he said, ticking off another finger. “And then there’s the fact that I’m a teaching assistant in three major classes,” he ticked off his ring finger now. “Oh, and how could I forget? I have a Journeyman’s in Alchemy and will hopefully have my Masters before the beginning of next term,” he finished, ticking off his pinkie finger. “Anything I’m missing?” he asked, amused at the astonished faces around him. Even Blaise was surprised.

Harry was proud of his achievements and knew that it didn’t really matter who knew at this point in time—they would have all found out soon enough anyways. Hearing about it directly from him might potentially inspire some form of trust in him. Potentially. Not to mention that Slytherins were notorious for judging people on their achievements—whether through blood or their own actions—and a little boost would help him on his way to being taken seriously by his house.

“So what does blood count among all that?” Harry asked with a grin, breaking out of his own thoughts. “Besides, blood purity is a load of junk. Ever heard of interbreeding? Might have a problem with six fingered kids eventually or idiots,” he said, inclining his head towards Crabbe and Goyle. “Or even too little magic,” he smirked, staring pointedly at Malfoy.

That certainly riled them up. Several of the upper years who’d been listening in had their wands out and pointed at him. Harry just smirked in response. His own wand was already out and he was prepared to cast instantly, if need be. He had intimidated them—that was good. It was what he needed so as not to be ostracized for his lineage in his house, because eventually it would come out that he was a half-blood, even if they didn’t find out that he was Harry Potter.

“What,” a cold voice asked from directly behind Blaise, “is going on here?” Harry watched in amusement as most of those who’d drawn their wands hastened to put them away, still intimidated by Severus Snape.

“Nothing, Professor,” Harry replied, barely suppressing a smirk. “I was just educating a few of my fellow Slytherins on the marvels of a diverse gene pool.”

“Is that so, Flamel?” Snape snarled. Harry refrained from smirking in response, as he knew it was for the most part just an act. “Seemed like you were prepared to do a bit more than /educating/,” he hissed.

“Just prepared to retaliate. You never know how new knowledge is going to be received,” Harry replied candidly.

“I see,” Snape said with almost no inflection in his voice. “Do be more careful about what you discuss at dinner, Flamel. Some people just don’t have the appetite for it.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied.

“And come to the Headmaster’s office after dinner, Flamel. He would like to speak with you about your…/position/ in this school.”

Harry smirked, giving in to the urge. “Of course, Professor.”

Harry was left to eat the remainder of his dinner in piece, the majority of those around him cowed by Snape sudden appearance merely seconds after the drawing of wands. Only the whispers interrupted his dinner, and he was quite amused by most of them. He did listen intently when he overheard someone discussing the end of the table, and how the non-purebloods and Muggle-lovers were down there (apparently, he belonged there too, according to his source). It was heartening for Harry to know that Slytherin really wasn’t the breeding grounds for evil and other such biased nonsense. Oh, he had known that before, but experiencing the politics of the house versus hearing about it from someone else were two entirely different things.

The only parting comment he got as he made his way up from the table, leaving as the rest of the hall was dismissed, was a low snarl of “Watch your back, Flamel,” that could have come from anyone. He shrugged it off, making his way amid the amassed students—hastily dodging a whack aimed at his head from Fred and George as he did so—and headed down the winding corridors towards the Headmaster’s office. Here the students thinned, heading to their separate dormitories to do some last minute packing or a game or two of gobstones. Everyday average student worries...certainly not his.

He was pulled from his thoughts by his arrival at the gargoyle that protected the entrance of the Headmaster’s office. He stared at it for a few moments, hoping it would leap aside on its own before giving it up as a lost cause. Instead of giving it up as a lost cause, he heightened his Magical Sight and looked at the design closely. Of course, most of the intricate workings of the spell were lost on him as it was surrounded by so much magic and the little he could see involved some high level Spell Crafting…but he could make out a few runes. Nothing terribly helpful, as for the most part all he could make out was gibberish.

A pair of hurried footsteps caught his attention as they approached. Dimming his Magical Sight, he turned, so as not to show his back to whoever was approaching. In retrospect, he probably should have had his back to the wall all along.

“Har—Mr. Flamel?” asked the surprised voice of Professor Lupin. Harry once again cursed his fool-heartedness in not completely erasing his memories of the event, as he nearly let his name slip. That wouldn’t be too damaging, but the familiarity would. It would arouse the suspicions of a certain someone. However, unaware of Harry’s thoughts, Lupin still continued. “What are you doing here?” he was giving Harry the same strange look from dinner.

“Dumbledore told me to come to his office after the feast,” he replied, shrugging.

“How odd,” Lupin commented. “We’re supposed to be having a staff meeting right now.” He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to ask a question or not, and then said, “Are you alright in Slytherin?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s much like any other House, isn’t it? Their character traits are just different,” he said nonchalantly. He narrowed his gaze at Lupin, slightly surprised at the wariness found in his eyes. “What, you don’t think I’ve gone all evil because of it?” he laughed lightly, attempting to keep the mocking tone out of it.

“No, it’s just that your—”

“Not here,” Harry hissed, interrupting the man. “And I know, Gryffindor to the last. I’m not them.” Lupin nodded, still looking doubtful.

Harry chose to change the subject. “So, how on earth do we get into to this thrice-damned office?”

“Liquorice Snaps,” Lupin said simply.

Harry barely had time to question what good Liquorice Snaps were when the gargoyle sprang aside, allowing them through to the winding staircase leading up to the Headmaster’s office. Bloody Headmaster and his confusing passwords…Liquorice Snaps indeed! It was clearly something he had simply added to the persona of “kindly grandfather” that Dumbledore liked to portray more often than not.

“Ah, here they are now!” Dumbledore said as they entered the room, the door ajar for last minute stragglers. “I believe that’s everyone, is it not?” he smiled, his eyes twinkling as he ignored the protests of most of the staff at having a student in attendance. “Take a seat, and let us begin.”

“But Headmaster—” one of the teachers protested.

“All will be explained soon enough, I assure you,” Dumbledore replied with that damned twinkle. Harry barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Now, I believe that you all would like an explanation as to Harold Flamel’s presence in our staff meeting, yes?” Dumbledore asked, his question rhetorical though many of the staff decided to answer with annoyed noises. “We have a unique case here, as Mr. Flamel is required to attend Hogwarts until his seventeenth year, but he is much more advanced than the average student. The Sorting Hat has seen fit to place him not with his peers, but with the correct year level according to his knowledge. Additionally, he has been placed as a Teaching Assistant for three of the courses offered here at Hogwarts.”

Several loud exclamations were voiced at his last line, and phrases such as “You can’t be serious!” and “This isn’t even in /Hogwarts, a History/!” were repeated quite unnecessarily. Harry could barely restrain his smirk.

“Yes, yes, I know it’s rare,” Dumbledore said, and everyone quieted down almost at once. “But this is the situation as it stands, so please be aware that from now on Mr. Flamel will be required to attend staff meetings, for he is both a member of the staff as well as the student body. There are, of course, certain privileges associated with such a position, which I will outline for all staff over the summer to make sure we’re absolutely clear on the boundaries set.”

Murmurs of consent now, very few of the teachers disagreeing with Dumbledore. Ah, sheeple…/Harry thought to himself, barely restraining a disgusted sneer. /The most easily manipulated of all…I’m surprised that at least one isn’t complaining.

“Now, Mr. Flamel here will be the Teaching Assistant for the courses outlined by the Sorting Hat: Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Ancient Runes. If there are any protests they can be taken up with the Sorting Hat, though as he was created by the four founders, I’m quite sure that Mr. Flamel is more than suited for each position. Any complaints can be addressed after the meeting.

“That said and done, I have some excellent news! Our Ministry and the French and German Ministries have completed the final stages in preparing for next year’s Triwizard Tournament. It has been confirmed that it will be held here, at Hogwarts, and all students that have been judged worthy will be able to enter.”

Harry barely suppressed his shock at the announcement. The Triwizard Tournament… here? It hasn’t happened in a century! /he thought to himself, astounded at the audacity of the Ministry. There were reasons why that tournament was disbanded! And they weren’t foolish ones, either… /He recalled learning about the famous Triwizard Tournament back in the eighteenth century when a necromancer of the time had decided that it was the perfect opportunity to test out some of his more dangerous sacrificial methods and snuck them into the tournament. It hadn’t been pleasant and was later one of the reasons why it had been disbanded. Horrible things had happened to Champions and even the students around them during those Tournaments…

“All three Ministries have approved the safety regulations for the tournament and have added on an extra safety precaution, as it is the re-instalment of a tournament that was disbanded for good reason. The Goblet of Fire will be brought out twice. The first time it will chose ten candidates from each school. Then, each candidate will be tested carefully to ensure that they are adequately prepared for the tournament. Afterwards, the passing names shall be resubmitted and one Champion for each school shall be chosen.

“We will be having a staff meeting the last week of August to finalize all details. As of now, I would like all reports of marks submitted no later than the third of July, as always. Please notify me if any student has failed a course.

“That is all for tonight. Enjoy your summer vacations and I will see you all a week before the next semester begins. Goodnight,” Dumbledore said merrily, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

“Oh, and Mr. Flamel, if you and Professor Snape could stay behind, please?” Dumbledore called out as an afterthought as the staff filed out. Harry had yet to move from his seat, still overcome by the audacity of the Ministries to even consider holding the Tournament again.

“Has the International Confederation of Wizards approved this?” Harry blurted out the second it was only him, Dumbledore, and Snape left in the room. He knew it was a stupid question the second it left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. Of course /they had to get approval from the ICW…how idiotic of me, /he berated himself, though inwardly he knew he was just stalling for time as he attempted to settle his inner thoughts.

“Why, of course, my dear boy!” Dumbledore replied jovially. Harry barely restrained from rolling his eyes, though Snape did sneer from his seat beside him. “It’s all been approved completely by international bodies. I suspect we may even have a few other schools joining us for the Tournament, though it would be a little late to decide to join now, it can indeed be rearranged. It should be quite the experience for the spectators and Champions alike!”

“And what about the 1708 massacre?” Harry asked, feigning eagerness to inform Dumbledore of such horrors. “Did no one take that into consideration?”

“We have taken the correct precautions—”

“Ignoring the fact that you believe that Voldemort may not be dead,” Harry said bluntly.

Dumbledore froze in his seat, looking momentarily like a dear caught in headlights before regaining his composure. “Ah, I see Nicholas educated you well,” he commented lightly, though Harry could feel him as he attempted to break down his mental barriers. It was a tough struggle, but his iron will to not let Dumbledore in kept the man out, despite all odds. “Fortunately, we have taken proper precautions. The chances of an attack are highly unlikely, especially as he has not regained a body—assuming he is not fully dead,” Dumbledore said, obviously dodging focusing on the topic.

“Now, with that unpleasant business done, Mr. Flamel, we need to discuss your status in the school. Professor Snape is also in attendance, as he still is the head of your house. Tea?” he offered, conjuring a tray.

Harry momentarily increased his Magical Sight, noticing no obvious magical properties to the tea—aside from the fact that it was summoned, not conjured—and accepted a cup. He had tested his Sight several months before on potions, and had found that he could see traces of them for the most part. Oddly enough, his tea was untainted.

“So, let’s get down to business,” Dumbledore began when all three of them had tea suited to their tastes. “You’re in a very unique position, Mr. Flamel. I believe the last time we had a home-schooled student at Hogwarts was in the sixteenth century, before Wizards decided to live closer together. The last Teaching Assistant, however…was probably the thirteenth century. Well done indeed!

“While your position is unique, there are certain issues you will face as both a student and a teacher. First and foremost is not to abuse your privileges. Outside of the classroom you will have the same rights as the Head Boy and Head Girl, including your own set of rooms. I will give you the manual when before you leave here tonight.

“During classes in which you are a Teaching Assistant, however, you will have the same rights as any teacher. You may deduct or award points as you feel necessary, though for the first several months the points you give and take will be closely monitored, to prevent bias. Afterwards, only large amounts of points will be looked at, as they are for every staff member. Detention-wise, you will be able to assign them only at the approval of the staff member you are working with.”

“Can I not decline being a Teaching Assistant?” Harry asked, more for curiosities sake than anything else.

“It is very difficult to do so. Hogwarts requires that all students take a minimum of two electives and the core subjects of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms before N.E.W.T.s, and even then most of the core subjects are required, though some do not do so at N.E.W.T. level. While you may be able to eventually, I advise that you at least attempt to be a Teaching Assistant for a while, at least to make the Ministry happy.”

Again, that damned eye twinkle. Harry scowled, more at Dumbledore’s genial manner than anything, and the fact that he wasn’t really given a choice—not that it really affected his decision. It was more the idea of not having the freedom to choose.

“Alright then,” he said, nodding.

“One last thing,” Dumbledore began as he finished his tea. “While you are in a position where another professor is around, that professor is/ always/ the authority. Much like the Head Boy and Head Girl, you cannot override the professors. Please keep that in mind when interacting with other students.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied. “Can I go now? I’m rather tired and it’s a long journey home tomorrow.”

“Yes, though I do have one more question for you. You have inserted no place of residence in your application forms for Hogwarts—why is that? We cannot address any mail to you without it.”

“It’s under the Fidelius Charm, Headmaster,” Harry replied, stiffening in his seat. That was one location the Headmaster had no right to know. “As I am not the Secret Keeper, I cannot tell you the location. However, I will set up an account with the Owl Service for a drop box as soon as possible.”

Dumbledore looked mildly frustrated for the barest moment, before schooling his expression into one of indifference. “Alright then, you may go. Severus, please stay. I’d like to talk to you about some other matters…”

**

Harry found the corridors of Hogwarts to be rather comforting in the darkness. Prometheus may have given us fire, he thought to himself cynically, but I’m sure we could see better in the dark without it. It was startling how sheltered those who lived in this castle were…or perhaps it was just his life that cause him to see everyone else as sheltered? He didn’t quite know…

But how naïve they were! Thinking that blood mattered so much as to separate, or that tournaments displaying the pride of a school were everything…In the end, nothing like that really mattered. In the end it was your own wit and cunning and skill that kept you alive and breathing…and what more was there?

Tournaments did not heal the sick. They did not save lives or cure world hunger or help the orphans of the world. Blood did not determine all of who you were nor who you associated yourself with. It could not tell you if a person was good or evil. What good did it do, except to keep you alive? Not much at all…

In the end, all you had was yourself…

The corridors of Hogwarts were oddly cold at night.