Chapter 121
Lunch was not the fun affair it had become for him. Oh, it
was still filled with chatter and joking like always, and
Harry certainly acted like he was having a good time. But
honestly, he really just wanted to finish lunch so he could
drag his friends off and yell at them for not listening to him
the night before. Harry was just grateful none of them
were skilled at reading other people, or they might have
actually noticed that his smiles and laughs were even
faker than the ones he gave when he had been at muggle
school.
Eventually, lunch ended. It was Thursday, so they didn't
have classes afterward, which meant it was the perfect
time for Harry to let them know his displeasure.
Which was why after lunch, at Harry's insistence, Hannah,
Lisa, Neville, Susan and Terry all found themselves
standing in an unused classrooms on the second floor. It
was, in fact, the very same classroom Harry had used
when practicing Transfiguration last night, before that troll
had tried turning him into a human pancake.
He selected this place for two reasons. One, because it
was secure and no one came here very often. And two,
because he wanted to remind them of what happened last
night so his talk would be that much more effective.
During lunch he had worked up a whole speech to that he
would give them on how foolish they had been to ignore
his order to leave and find a teacher, and how
disappointed he was in them. Yet now that they were here,
the words hanging off the tip of his tongue, Harry wasn't all
that sure about what he wanted to say anymore. Or
maybe he was just afraid of losing their friendship.
No, Harry mentally shook his head. That wasn't it. They
needed to understand that what they had done was
dangerous and stupid. They needed to know why they
couldn't something like that again.
"Harry?" Lisa interrupted the boy's thoughts, a curious and
slightly worried expression on her face. "Are you alright?"
"No," Harry told her, running a hand through his hair and
blowing out a large breath at the same time. "No, I am not.
In fact, I am incredibly disappointed in all of you." Every
single one of Harry's friends blinked. Then their eyes
widened. They looked like they wanted to say something,
but he wasn't going to let them get a word in before he
finished.
"Just what in the bloody hell were you guys thinking?!
Sticking around while a murderous troll was rampaging
through the castle when I explicitly told you to leave!"
Neville and the others took a step back in shock and a
little bit of fear when Harry gave them a fierce glare. It was
a look they had never seen on him before. In fact, no one
had ever been subject to this glare except the Dursleys
when he was younger. The only difference between this
one and the one he often gave his relatives was that the
look he gave now contained worry, while the other had
been an expression of Harry's hatred.
Both had the same effect, however, and were utterly
terrifying to behold.
"H-Harry," Neville stuttered out, looking more than a little
intimidated. "W-we just wanted to help you, mate."
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't need help?"
asked Harry, practically hissing now. He was beginning to
get worked up. Not even his skills in Occlumency were
helping him keep a clear head. "Did it never occur to you
that perhaps I had a plan for dealing with the troll? That
maybe I had everything under control before you
interfered?"
"It didn't look that way," Terry muttered, only to stiffen
when Harry's eyes, blazing with emerald green fire the
same color as the killing curse, pierced his own like a
spear. The Ravenclaw boy gulped, but somehow
managed to find his voice. "We all saw how much trouble
you were in. That thing was close to squashing you like a
grape."
"The troll would have never hit me," Harry told him
adamantly. "Troll's are notorious for their strength, not their
brains or lightning fast reflexes. It would have never
touched me. And had you lot not decided to try and play
hero and simply gone off and found a teacher like I told
you to, none of what happened last night would have
happened! Gods, the only reason I even ended up half
dead was because it went after you guys!"
Everyone flinched as Harry made his point. Terry and
Neville looked stricken, torn between wanting to argue
with their friend and acknowledging that he may actually
have a point. Lisa had a hand close to her mouth and was
shaking her head, eyes watering with tears that refused to
fall. Susan and Hannah were much worse. The blond pigtailed girl looked like someone had just killed her puppy,
while her friend stared at the ground, shoulders shaking
as she shed silent tears.
A part of Harry felt guilty, but he squashed that part and
reminded himself that they needed to understand how
foolish their actions had been. They needed to realize that
they could have easily been killed.
"I had everything under control." Harry rounded on them
again. "And it would have continued to stay that way had
you five not been so bloody stupid and just ran like I told
you to!"
"We couldn't leave you!"
Once again, all were surprised by Susan Bones as she
shouted at Harry. Even the young raven-haired boy found
himself staring at the girl in wide eyed surprise.
"We couldn't just leave you," Susan said again, her red
hair flying about her face like ardent flame whipping about
in a strong breeze. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her
body shook from the emotions pouring from her. "I could
have never forgiven myself if something happened to you.
What if you were hurt, or worse, killed? If something had
happened to you I—"
Susan broke off. More tears ran from her eyes and down
her cheeks. She shook her head once, as if to dispel
whatever had caused her to stop talking, but was
unsuccessful.
As everyone else stared at the normally shy and quiet girl
in shock, Harry closed his eyes as guilt finally
overwhelmed him. Yes, what they had done was stupid
and beyond reckless, but really, were his actions that night
any better? He had run head first into danger the moment
he heard Hermione's scream. He had fought against a troll
with only a small set of first year defense spells in his
repertoire. And when his friends had been in danger he
had jumped on said troll's back, as if that would actually
do something. He may have been able to kill it in the end,
but that had been act of luck, not skill.
"Look..." Harry blew out a deep breath and ran his fingers
through his hair. "It's not that I don't appreciate your desire
to help it's just..." he paused, hesitating, then shook his
head. "It's just that you guys could have easily been killed.
What if that troll managed to reach you before I reached
it? What would have happened if I had been just a tad
slower with my wand? What if that last second spell I used
to trip it hadn't worked? That thing would have killed you,
and I..." He grit his teeth, refusing to shed any tears. "... I
don't think I could ever live with myself if something
happened to any of you."
His friends dropped their heads in shame. Harry shut his
eyes and shook his.
"That's why I need you to understand," Harry looked at the
group of mixed house company imploringly. "You can't act
so recklessly. If I ask you guys to do something, it's
because I know what I'm doing, because I have a plan. I
acknowledge that I what I did was little better, but I also
know my own limitations, and killing that troll had never
been in my plans. I was only hoping to distract it long
enough for a teacher to come by. That's why I asked you
to run."
______________________________________________
__________
Chapter 122
"We're sorry, Harry." Susan seemed to be the
spokesperson for the group right now. The other four didn't
speak, none of them were even capable of it. Hannah and
Lisa were sniffling, and Neville and Terry looked physically
ill. "We promise, if something dangerous like this happens
again and you tell us to do something, we'll put our trust in
you."
"Well, hopefully nothing like this will happen again," Harry
said, grimacing. "And I'm... I'm also sorry. I didn't mean to
be so harsh. It's just, aside from Lisa, you guys are the
only friends I have. I don't want any of you to get hurt."
"We feel the same way, Harry," Neville told him. Everyone
else agreed, and Harry felt whatever anger left from their
actions fade away. He just couldn't stay mad at them. He
didn't want to stay mad at them. "You're our friend. That's
why we couldn't leave you to face that thing alone."
"Thank you." Harry couldn't quite contain his smile.
Despite seeing him gruesomely kill a troll, in spite of him
throwing harsh—and admittedly hypocritical—words in
their face, they still wanted to be his friend.
A strange warmth spread through his body, a feeling he
normally only associated with Lisa Crawft.
He really did find a great group of people here at
Hogwarts.
XoX
Harry Potter waited until everyone else had gone to bed.
To his left he could, Neville lay curled in a ball. Seamus
and Dean had also entered dream land, and he could hear
the black boy mumbling football plays in his sleep while
the Irish child snored away.
Sitting up as slowly as possible so as not to make the bed
squeak and possibly awaken the other three boys in his
dormitory, Harry carefully brought his legs over the edge of
the bed and slid off.
His bare feet touched warm, fuzzy carpet, and the ravenhaired child crept over to the foot of his bed with light,
silent footsteps.
Kneeling down next to his trunk, he hissed the word that
would allow him to unlock it.
"Open."
There was a soft click as the lock on the trunk undid itself.
The small dial began to rotate until it reached the number
one, where some of his most important items were stored.
He pushed the trunk open, revealing a ladder attached to
the rim closest to him. Stepping onto the first set of rungs,
Harry began his journey into his trunk.
The small tunnel of space in his trunk soon expanded as
he reached the halfway mark. The barely two by three feet
of space was now large enough to fit the entire wardrobe
of most famous actresses. Or a large library of books. For
that was what Harry had turned this particular
compartment of his trunk into. Lining all four walls from top
to bottom were large bookshelves filled with books.
Ok, so there were not as many books as he would like to
have. Currently he only had 250 books that he had bought
from Flourish and Blotts, enough to keep him occupied for
a good while, but nowhere near the amount he wanted.
That was fine, though. He planned on filling this entire
compartment with books in due time.
While the library itself was not very big, it was incredibly
well organized. All of his books were divided thematically,
that is to say, they were divided by subject, by what
branch of magic they were. History. Transfiguration.
Charms. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Etc. etc. And
those categories were further divided by the level of
knowledge they contained; beginner, intermediate,
advanced, and so on.
As Harry's bare feet hit the tiled floor on the bottom, he set
off toward the left of the small library, where he kept all the
books he picked up on combat magic. Technically, it was
not called combat magic by anyone but him. He had
coined the term when organizing his library. Any book that
spoke of using offensive and defensive spells to either
defend yourself from attack, or attack your enemy, he
considered combat magic because it held similarities to
his martial arts: attacking and defending oneself and
others from someone or something that was trying to hurt
or kill.
His fingers trailed along the spines of the books, eyes
scanning their titles. Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed.
A Compendium of Common Curses and Their CounterActions. Confronting the Faceless. Curses and CounterCurses. Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners.
Defensive Magical Theory. And many, many more. All
together he had around twenty books on combat magic
alone. It wasn't very extensive, not by a long shot, but it
was more than enough to get started and that was what
mattered.
He stopped walking when his finger landed on A
Beginner's Guide to Dueling. It was one of four books he
had on Dueling, one of the subbranches of combat magic,
along with The Intermediate Duelist, Advanced Dueling
Tactics, and Spells for Dueling; a Compilation of Curses,
Jinxes, and Hexes.
Grabbing the book's spine, he pulled the beginner's
dueling book off the shelf. It would not help if another troll
decided to attack, but that was ok. He highly doubted that
another troll would come rampaging through the castle
again. Not when the first one obviously failed at doing
whatever it was supposed to do.
For the rest of the night, Harry Potter would spend his time
reading up on dueling. He would need to know, just in
case he ran into the person who decided to set the troll
lose.
He would also need to know about what was on the third
floor corridor, because he was sure that whatever
Dumbledore was hiding there was the reason the troll had
been let lose in the first place.
______________________________________________
__________
Chapter 123
Three Heads is Better than One
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The words echoed all the way to the back of the hall,
unencumbered by any other noises. It probably had
something to do with the acoustics of the room, as well as
the fact that the hall had gone completely silent.
I lifted the Sorting Hat off my head and saw that everyone
was staring at me in shock. I saw mouths hanging wide
open, eyes bulging from their sockets and looking about
ready to simply roll out of their skulls in surprise. No one
even blinked as they stared at me, and I suppose I can't
blame them, my sorting did take a good deal of time.
Deciding not to let the stares bother me, I stood up and
placed the sorting hat back on the stool. I spared a glance
at Professor McGonagall. Her emotions were masked
much better than everyone else's, but I could see her
surprise as well. The other teachers were the same,
except for two. The man I recognize from my card as
Albus Dumbledore, who stared at me with an expression
of intrigue, and the Professor with greasy hair and a
hooked nose, who leered at me like I was the dirt beneath
his boots.
I almost got angry at that leer. It reminded me of how
Vernon Dursley used to look at me before I put the fear of
god into him. But I simply took a deep breath, held it,
allowed my mind to clear of any emotions that could cloud
my judgment as I breathed out, and turned away.
It wouldn't do to lift one of my professor's and hurl them
through a wall or, heaven forbid, one of those stained
glass panels on my very first day of school. I hear it's bad
form.
I walked toward my designated table, the one where
children are decked out in red and gold. Gryffindor. The
House of the Brave. Everyone was still gawking at me,
their eyes wide and mouths open.
For a second, I wonder if I made a mistake in choosing
this House to be the one I'll live in for seven years. I
squashed the impulse to analyze my decision to join
Gryffindor. The choice has now been made. Second
guessing would only serve to distract me from my goals.
It was not until I am nearly halfway to the Gryffindor table
that said table erupted into a frenzy. All of the students
stood up and begin clapping and cheering. I saw the two
Weasley twins chanting, "we've got Potter!" as loudly as
they could. They looked like they'd just won the lottery.
I guess I can't blame them. Much as I detest the thought,
my fame alone makes me a desirable asset for any of the
four houses. Just another reason to dislike the house
system, I guess.
I finally reach the table and am swept in a round of laughs
and back slaps as everyone tried to greet me at once. I
smiled and greeted those around me, presenting them the
image I wanted them to see. First impressions are
everything, and I need to make a good first impression on
these people. I'll be living with them for the next seven
years, after all.
Eventually, I managed to nudge my way to an empty seat,
one right next to the boy who was the very reason I
decided to be sorted into Gryffindor.
"Hullo, Neville!" I greeted the boy with the same friendly
smile I've used on everyone else. Neville stared at me in
shock, like he couldn't believe I was talking to him. With
what I've seen of him so far, I'm not surprised. The boy
doesn't seem to think much of himself. At least he
managed to snap out of his stupor quickly.
"Oh! Um, erm, hullo, Harry."
I wanted to say more, engage the boy in conversation so I
can determine the best method of earning his allegiance,
but Professor McGonagall decided to restart the sorting
ceremony and called up another first year. I payed close
attention to everyone who was sorted, putting each name
to a face and memorizing which house they went to.
"Weasley, Ronald!"
I watched the red haired boy sit down on the stool and the
hat cover his head, drooping down to his ears. My mind
went back to our first encounter on the Hogwarts Express.
Truth be told, I still wasn't quite sure what to think of that
meeting. It really left a bad taste in my mouth. But I also
couldn't deny that I overreacted. Perhaps I should
apologize to him later on? While I have no intention of
being friends with him, I also don't want to alienate anyone
who may prove potentially useful.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
I blinked in surprise as the youngest Weasley was sorted
into the House of Badgers. I watched the boy's face turn
redder than his hair as he yanked the hat off his head and
nearly threw it away, before angrily stomping to the
Hufflepuff table. None of the Hufflepuff's clapped, probably
because of the angry look in his eyes, and Ron, ignoring
them, shoved himself into a seat with an almost audible
growl.
I shake my head and focused my attention away from the
boy. My eyes scanned the Gryffindor table. All of the other
Weasley's are there, and from my understanding, the
Weasley's have been consistently Gryffindor for many
many years. Much as certain children from darker
pureblood families like the Blacks are almost always
consistently Slytherin, it was tradition for certain families to
always be Gryffindor.
Then again, Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, so it's not like
traditions couldn't be broken.
The three other Weasley children looked most
disappointed to see one of their own being Sorted into
another House. Percy looked mournful, as if someone had
just told him he was no longer a prefect. The twins were
shaking their heads pityingly.
"A real shame about our dear brother's Sorting, right
Fred?"
"Too right, George. I am most disappointed to see
Ronikkens being Sorted into the House of Cowards. Then
again, he always has been easily intimidated by us."
"Well, we did turn his teddy bear into a spider when he
was younger. Maybe it's our fault he got Sorted into
Hufflepuff?"
"Nah!" They both finished together.
I frowned as I heard the slight dig on Hufflepuff. It was one
thing to hear from Andromeda how everyone thought
Hufflepuff was the house of duffers, cowards and left
overs, but it was quite another to hear two students talking
about the same thing. Was this truly how everyone saw
that house? It almost made him wish he could take back
his decision and get sorted there just so they could have
some claim to fame.
The only other person I took a personal interest in was
Blaise Zabini, who got sorted into Slytherin. My eyes
trailed the dark-skinned boy as he sat down next to Tracey
and Daphne, the former gave the boy a dazzling smile and
a pat on the back while the latter settled for a nod. Blaise
seemed to take both gestures with poise. He was very in
control of himself, I noted. He would make a good ally.
______________________________________________
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Chapter 124
All attention was diverted when Albus Dumbledore stood
to his feet. The man was giving a wide, beaming smile, as
if just seeing them all sitting there, chattering excitedly,
was enough to make him the happiest man alive.
He spread his arms out wide in a grand, welcoming
gesture. I thought it made him like Gandalf trying his hand
at conducting an orchestra, what with the hair and beard.
"Welcome!" His voice boomed out, every bit as grand as
his gestures. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!
Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few
words. And here they are: Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment.
Tweak. Thank you!"
While everyone else clapped, I found myself staring at the
man with furrowed brows. The headmaster seemed a bit
off to me. He reminded me of those animals who look
completely harmless, but can be incredibly deadly when
you get to close. It made me wonder how much of that
'mad hatter' act was just an act. Or if it was even an act at
all.
"He seems to be a bit off his rocker, doesn't he?" I
commented to Neville, who looked at me with wide eyes.
Maybe he was just surprised I had so blatantly insulted the
headmaster by calling him crazy.
"Well, I guess," Neville muttered unsurely. I frowned at the
boy. He seemed so unsure of himself. Was this really the
heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom?
"My Gran always told me Dumbledore is one of the most
powerful wizards in the world, but that he's always been a
tad... erm, eccentric?"
"I suppose that's a good word to describe him," I
concurred. Eccentric definitely described Dumbledore well,
from what I had seen so far. Most geniuses are like that.
Being so mad is what also makes them so brilliant, or at
least that's how it is in some of the fiction novels I've read.
My mind was brought out of my reverie when a delectable
scent invaded my nose. I turned my head to see a
veritable feast sitting on the once empty dishes on the
table. There was a lot more variety than I had ever seen;
roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops,
sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast
potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy,
ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint
humbugs. Most of the food I noticed consisted of meat.
And as I piled food onto my plate, I wondered if I could
somehow convince the chefs here to make some foreign
foods. I've always had a thing for Italian and French foods.
As I began to eat my meal with the poise and grace
Andromeda instilled into me, a ghost floated toward where
Neville and I were sitting.
"Oh but that does look good," he said sadly, and I could
have sworn drool was coming out of his mouth.
"I take it ghosts aren't able to eat?" It was something of a
stupid question, but I couldn't keep myself from asking. I
was curious, and this was the first time I had ever had the
chance to speak with a spirit.
"I haven't eaten for nearly four-hundred years," said the
ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I
don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de MimsyPorpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor
Tower."
"Four-hundred years is an awfully long time," I murmured,
trying to imagine what it would feel like to be a ghost for
that long. I couldn't, or maybe I simply didn't want to. The
idea of being a disembodied spirit, incapable of interacting
physically with the rest of the world but always there in the
background bothered me more than I cared to admit. I
changed the subject. "How did you become a ghost?"
"Ah, well, you see, I was wandering through a park one
night, when I ran into Lady Grieve, a lady-in-waiting in
King Henry's court. She was so confident that I could
straighten her crooked teeth that I simply couldn't say no.
As it turns out, I couldn't straighten her teeth. My efforts
backfired. She grew tusks, and I was executed the
following morning by an improper decapitation."
I raised an eyebrow at the story. I knew about King Henry
VII who had seized the crown in 1485, but I did not know
this tidbit of information. Then again, it was probably
something the wizards at the time had tried to cover up.
"What do you mean 'improper decapitation?'" I asked.
In response to my question, Nicholas grabbed his head
and yanked on it. Many people 'ewwed' as flesh muscle
and bone parted from each other until the man's head was
hanging to his neck by a small sinew of flesh. I found
myself blinking as I got a perfect view of the third cervical
bone in the spine and the meaty muscles around it. It was
a very grim and disgusting sight.
"That's why we call him 'Nearly Headless Nick,'" one of the
twins said. Fred, I believe.
"I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington,"
Nicholas said haughtily. I got the feeling this was a very
sore subject for him. That nickname was probably
something he had been dealing with for hundreds of
years. I actually felt kind of sorry for him.
He perked up a moment later, thankfully, and coughed into
his hand.
"So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win
the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never
gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup
six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost
unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."
I turned my eyes towards the Slytherin table and saw the
ghost in question. He had blank eyes, a gaunt face, and
his robes were stained silver with blood. I wondered at
this. Was that his own blood or someone else's? The
ghost was sitting right next to Malfoy, who looked
incredibly uncomfortable by the ghost's proximity.
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with
great interest.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
Once everyone had finished eating, the plates cleaned
themselves to a sparkling shine, as if they had never been
dirtied in the first place. I was impressed. The magic didn't
look like much compared to some of the things I had
heard of, but it would be incredibly useful to learn. It would
also save me time when I cleaned the dishes at the
Dursley's.
A moment later desserts appeared on the table. Blocks of
ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies,
treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle,
strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding and many other flavours
I had never heard of. I took some of the treacle tart and
began pondering the intricacies of the magic they used to
summon the food here, trying to come up with a viable
theory for how such a summoning would work.
While I began making theories on magically creating a
wormhole within the fabrics of reality to summon food
through, the other students began talking about their
families
______________________________________________
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Chapter 125
"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle.
Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were
married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."
The others laughed.
What about you, Neville?" I asked politely.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said
Neville, "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages.
My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard
and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the
end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing
happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round
for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs
window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered
him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced
—all the way down the garden and into the road. They
were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so
happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in
here—they thought I might not be magic enough to come,
you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me
my toad."
"Are you telling me that you call uncle attempted to force
the magic out of you via attempted murder?" I asked in a
soft, dangerous voice. I tried keeping my emotions under
control, and I think I succeeded, for the most part, but I
know I couldn't control everything, not when I felt such
anger at someone attempting to kill their family in some
misguided attempt to force magic out of them. Maybe it
was just because of how my relatives had tried to stamp
the magic out of me, or maybe it was because of my
preconceived notions of how family should behave with
each other, but the thought that someone could harm a
child for such a mundane reason pissed me off to know
end.
The others must have sensed my change in mood,
because Neville, Seamus, and Dean all leaned backwards
slightly.
"W-Well, it's not like I was hurt or anything," Neville
stuttered out, and I realized that I may not have been as
successful as keeping the rage out of my voice as I
thought. I frowned. It seemed I was slipping.
"Sorry, Neville," I told him, and everyone else, "I didn't
mean to frighten you or anything. I just don't like that
someone would willingly put you in harms way to try and
force magic out of you. That's no way to treat family." I
was being honest too. I had always believed that family
should be held in the highest regard and treated with love
and respect. And while I did not consider the Dursleys to
be my family, I did consider Lisa to be my family, and I
always tried to treat her well, even if I acted a little distant
at times.
"No, it's fine," Neville said. He seemed pleased by my
words, almost uncomfortably so. I got the feeling no one
had ever stuck up for him before. Hmm... maybe that
could be my ticket to gaining his allegiance. "Thank you."
I gave him a friendly smile.
"You're welcome."
Conversation flowed by and I let myself be swept into it. I
kept my ears open and listened to everyone else as they
spoke, even adding a few comments myself, but my body
was pretty much running on auto-pilot. I didn't need to pay
full attention to remember everything that went on around
me. It was one of the many benefits of having eidetic
memory.
I let my eyes scan the other tables, searching for those I
felt would make the best allies. Susan and Hannah were
sitting next to Sally-Ann Perks and Megan Jones, talking
animatedly. Well, Hannah was talking, Susan was listening
with a small smile. At the Slytherin table Tracey, Blaise
and Daphne were all sitting together. I noticed that while
they were sitting with the other first years, they seemed to
be a separate entity from most of them. Only Lilith Moon, a
dark-haired girl with green eyes, pale skin and a few
freckles on her nose seemed to be separate from Draco
Malfoy and his ilk like the other three. I got the feeling she
was a bit of a loner.
My eyes wandered over the Ravenclaw table. I didn't
know anyone in that house, so I couldn't make a welljudged decision on who to ally with from their yet. I studied
a few of the first years for a moment, before moving on.
Over at the staff table I could see Albus Dumbledore
speaking to Professor McGonagall about something, and
Hagrid was drinking from a large cup. I tried to put a name
to the faces I could see based on my mother's
descriptions in her journal. I recognized Professor's
Flitwick and Sprout, the Head of House Ravenclaw and
Hufflepuff respectively. My mind could also place the
school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, but many of the others I
did not recognize. They must have come after my parents
graduated.
One person I did recognize was Severus Snape. My
mother's former best friend. He looked a lot like her
journals described him as, only more angry and bitter. His
face seemed to be set in a constant sneer, like he had just
gotten so used to sneering all the time that it became
permanently stuck on his face. He sat next to a man I did
not recognize wearing a purple turban.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Snape turned and his sneer
seemed to deepen. At the same time I sensed a burst of
intense pain in my scar. I ignored it, having felt much
worse, and simply let my eyes move away from the
greasy-haired man's loathsome gaze and continue
studying the other teachers.
The desserts soon disappeared in the same manner as
dinner, and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again.
The hall fell silent, and Harry found himself impressed.
Despite looking like a frail old man, he obviously
commanded a lot of respect.
"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and
watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is
forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students
would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the
Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to
remind you all that no magic should be used between
classes in the corridors."
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the
term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams
should contact Madam Hooch."
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor
corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to
everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A few people laughed at the declaration. I did not. My eyes
narrowed. I wondered if he was being serious, and if so,
why was something apparently dangerous enough to
cause death even in this school in the first place?
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school
song!" cried Dumbledore. I noticed almost immediately
that the eyes of the other teacher's had become fixed.
Clearly, this was not something they enjoyed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying
to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out
of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself,
snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and
off we go!"
What followed next was quite possibly the most god awful
singing I had ever heard in my life, and when I considered
how bad Lisa was at singing, that was truly saying
something. I loved the girl like a sister, but by the gods her
voice could shatter glass. This was worse, much worse.
Everyone singing was doing so to a completely different
rhythm, they were all off beat, off key, off tune. It was
utterly horrendous, and I was extremely aggravated to
know that this memory was going to be branded into my
mind for life.
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