AN: Okay... That was a long break. A Really LOOOOOONG one. Finally, time for some blood.

Beware, my English had gotten a bit rusty through the last months.

Part I: Harry Potter and the Oncoming Doom

Chapter 5: Detention, duel, and the danger in the dungeons

With one more furious look at Harry, Snape in a few strides was over the unlucky Slytherin, casting spells – possibly to treat the fresh burn covering parts of Goyle's jaw and cheek, awful but not life-threatening. Harry assumed that the whole situation, save for any consequences, had so far turned out rather well – Dark-Lording is one thing, killing fellow students in the first year is another; yet he gave a short display of destructive magic, something he might need to repeat once or twice in the future, until his position was secured. On a second thought, he would have to be a bit more careful next time.

Not wishing to stay in his Head of House's presence any longer after the little incident, Harry was bent on getting to Dumbledore on his own. Anyone was better than Snape – even the headmaster, believed to be a genius if slightly mad wizard. Harry tried to work out why did he want to see him personally: not because of the brawl, unless he had been spying on Harry; and definitely not because he just wanted to ask how his first week at Hogwarts had been, which would be blatant favoritism. It probably was somehow connected to the Chosen One business then.

Side note: he needed to get rid of the 'Chosen One' reputation. While useful, it consumed too much time and drew unwanted attention.

He didn't even realize he had been standing in one place for quite a while (thankfully, Snape was probably still in the Common Room, but time was pressing).

"Lost again?" Harry heard a gloomy voice and suddenly felt as if a bucket of freezing cold water had been poured over his shoulder. He smiled; he knew that a few kind words to a lonely ghost every day would benefit him some time.

"Hello, Baron Archibald!"

Indeed, Harry's friends were anything but normal.

Let in by a magnificent scarlet bird, Harry entered the office. The headmaster was sitting at a claw-footed desk, incinerating some parchments one by one; when he saw Harry he smiled, vanished the ashes, and put the remaining notes aside.

"How's been your first week?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully, offering him a lemon drop. (Harry politely declined.)

"Quite good, Professor." He preferred not to elaborate. "I've made a few friends, and the assignments aren't overly difficult."

The headmaster gave him a warm smile. "I've heard you're doing well in class. Well enough for me to think of arranging some extracurricular lessons for you, actually. Tell me, Harry, have you read Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm going to read it soon, though."

"What about Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century?"

"Neither this one."

"Short History of the Vold War?" suggested Dumbledore.

"Not yet, sir."

Dumbledore suppressed a sigh. "I'd like you to do so, then," he said. "Reading the parts about Voldemort should help you understand certain things, and it will be a good starting point for what I'm going to prepare for you."

Harry smiled. "Of course, Professor. Thank you."

He was about to leave, but stopped suddenly, as if he'd remembered something.

"Professor, I need to tell you about something."

Dumbledore blinked. "Yes?" he encouraged.

"I've just had a quarrel with my housemates," Harry said, trying to look more sorry than he really felt. "It did turn into a fight."

Dumbledore took the news better than Harry expected, although he wasn't going to let him off. However, he insisted that professor Snape would be the one who introduced Harry to the consequences.

Harry would prefer if it was Dumbledore who administered the punishment, since he somehow knew Snape could prepare something nasty, though. Nonetheless he felt he did the right thing, telling Dumbledore before Snape did - even though he couldn't allow himself be caught in the act next time.

Before the dinner started, Harry was approached by Malfoy and his remaining... let's say: friend; Goyle, just to make sure there were no complications, was told to spend the night in the Hospital Wing.

"You attacked my minion," Malfoy tried hard to sound officially (with dubious results). "I hereby challenge you to a duel."

Harry did not understand what his housemate was saying at once, as he was scribbling in his Muggle notebook (what he just wrote might go along the lines of 'according to Merlin, wands, just like staves, are only used to channel wizard's magic, and so can be easily overloaded', but more likely it was just 'Snape is an asshole.')

"What?" he asked without much eloquence.

"A wizarding duel," Malfoy repeated, slightly annoyed. Seeing it wouldn't get him anywhere, he explained further: "Two wizards meet at midnight and cast spells until one overpowers the other. Simple enough for a half-blood?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He would get back on him soon. "Sure. I'm in."

Deliberately getting himself in trouble wasn't perhaps the wisest thing Harry could do... But since when are eleven-year-olds known for particular wisdom?

"I can't believe you are doing this."

Dumbledore twinkled with his eyes innocently. "I'm afraid I don't know what are you talking about, Severus."

"You know it perfectly well. Harry is just a little spoiled brat with an ego too big to fit in the Great Hall. It's as if I saw his father," Snape stated in a calm voice, but Dumbledore knew he was at best frustrated. "And he seems to be somewhat fascinated by Dark Magic. He'd already managed to get himself in trouble."

"He told me about it and as I believe, you've already punished him adequately. Severus, do I need to remind you that as a student you also showed great interest in the Dark Arts?"

The Potions Master supressed the snort with great effort, but Dumbledore seemed enough satisfied with his reaction.

"And come to think of it, it's good you're here to talk," said Dumbledore. "Since you constantly complain I don't treat Harry properly, I was wondering if you wouldn't like to help with that. Considering the suspicions we've been discussing throughout the summer, it would be a good idea to start teaching him the basics of Occlumency in a few months."

If non-basilisk looks could kill, Dumbledore would drop dead. "I won't do that," Snape said, "unless he was in grave danger or I was the last Occlumens in Britain."

Dumbeldore sighed. It seemed he had to ask someone else. Fortunately, he knew another potential candidate just under his nose.

Snape did think up a nice detention indeed; Harry had mixed feelings about it. He was slightly proud to have earned a mission in the Forbidden Forest so fast - from what he heard from Ron, his brothers sometimes did. They spoke about it as if it was an interesting adventure, so he even looked forward to it. On the other hand, wasn't the Forbidden Forest... well, forbidden? Like the set-foot-in-there-and-you-may-die kind of forbidden, if he was to trust Dumbledore's words?

Harry had read a bit about proper dueling (Hermione refused to help him break any rules) but he was aware he had little chance of winning. He decided to go alone; it was safer to keep his friends out of trouble, if it was possible.

Silvers in the Trophy Room glimmered eerily in moonlight; shadows of two little figures creeped upon the walls.

Standing seven steps apart from each other, they drew their wands.

"Afraid, aren't you, Potter? Your Muggle-loving friends didn't want to come to your help tonight?"

"It's none of your bussiness, Malfoy," Harry said coolly. "Such was my decision and I-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry heard the incantation and jerked his wand up to get aim at him, but was a second too late. His palm burned from the friction and he felt he had been pushed by an invisible force, far back and onto the floor – stone, dirty, damn hard floor.

And that was it – no flames raging around, no monsters rushing to aid, no curses wheezing through the air; just a couple of sparks.

Harry got to his feet. He'd been disarmed, but if he decided quickly...

One second... Two... Three...

He'd lost his chance and stayed alone; furious, he cursed under his breath. If he had been faster; if he knew a spell that would deflect Malfoy's magic; if he had a spare wand...

The last idea was the most tempting; a Dark Lord often had to fight and a second wand might help greatly – not only when somebody disarmed him but when his primary wand was damaged or simply lost. Though first, Harry decided, he would get used to this one, no matter how stubborn it sometimes was.

On his way back to the dormitory Harry had almost been caught by Filch; only by chance did he manage to find an escape route on the third floor. Obviously, he might have wandered into the the Armory or the One-eyed Witch Passage; but seriously, would the plot move forward in the necessary direction then?

So he found himself in front of locked door.

"Alohomora!" he whispered, pointing his wand at it. He would have to thank Hermione for insisting they would practice that spell together.

At his words, the doorknob slowly turned and, with a creak, the door stood open.

On the floor lay sleeping a russet dog the size of a Newfoundland, its front paws crossed on something that might be a trapdoor... Near the door rested an enormous bone accompanied by a metal bowl with the name FLUFFY engraved, filled with fresh water.

One of Fluffy's noses wrinkled; the amber eye cracked open. He yawned - and leaped forward without any further warning.

Harry turned a hasty retreat.

That Weasley boy was first of all Neville's friend; indeed, he didn't hate nor fear Harry so much anymore, but he remained wary. They sat together during History of Magic, though; mostly because Neville was snoring and Hermione still insisted on making notes, describing the subject (whatever it was; nothing concerning Dark wizards, anyway) in meticulous detail.

Ron was explaining the elementary rules of Quidditch; Harry didn't think he would bear reading Origins and Use of the Patronus Charm, a book he found in the library, any longer – no matter how interesting the tale of Raczidian was.

…as they refused to give up the girl, the Dark wizard attacked...

"Then there is a Keeper," Ron continued, "they defend the goal posts – try to catch the Quaffle, or really just hit it."

…hundreds of Dementors flew over the village until the sky turned black...

"What happens if they miss?" asked Harry.

…light from the little mouse burned the monsters or drew them away...

"Ten points for the other team. And the last player is the Seeker, chasing the Snitch, you know, the little golden ball."

"And...?"

"That's all of the basics. Seeker catches the Snitch, which gets him a hundred fifty points, and the game ends."

…when the Dark wizard raised his wand to cast his own Patronus, maggots covered his whole body and devoured him in no time...

"Cool. I think I'll go watch the next ga- Wait. What?" Harry reread the paragraph. "How the hell could you get eaten by maggots?"

"He tried to kill them all," Ron looked at the ink illustration depicting the screaming wizard: dark smoke was rising from his wand and turning into awful larvae in contact with his skin. "Say what you want, but it was a well-deserved death."

The footnote said that only wizards pure of heart could create a Patronus. Harry frowned; he would learn that spell anyway. Dark isn't equal to evil, ergo – a Dark Lord could still be pure of heart. Right? Right?

During the two hours spent wading through bushes, mud, and cobwebs he barely avoided being eaten by something with way too many legs, getting shot with an arrow for trespassing centaur territory, and being impaled by a unicorn. The last creature seemed to be scared half to death and turned out to be a pain to catch; however, it was wounded heavily enough to need proper care, safe from dangers of the Forest.

At least the groundskeeper was the exact opposite of Snape: kind, funny, and eager to share his knowledge about magical beasts.

In the second week of the school year, on Thursday, precisely speaking, the flying classes began for the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Although during the warm-up the students exercised mostly in classical, Muggle way, the main part consisted of learning to ride a broom. Harry disappointed the professors (with an obvious exception of Snape): he didn't seem to have particular interest in Quidditch, or any other wizarding sport for that matter. For the next few weeks the boy had proved to have a little bit of his father's talent; but never in the future did he do anything about it.

Despite the odds, there came some excellent news as well. Apparently, the Quidditch try-outs had started and Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor team, gave Ron a chance (Neville suspected blackmail, bribery, and intervention of the Weasley twins). As the word goes, even McGonagall was truly impressed by his display of flying skills, and she made sure Ron would be the new reserve Keeper in Gryffindor team.

Aunt Petunia loathed mess of any sort; now Harry was thankful she managed to instill some sense of pedantery in him. Annoying as it might seem, being well-organized was a very valuable quality for an aspiring Dark Lord. His wand was always within his reach, under the pillow during the nights; schoolbooks were on one side of his trunk, library tomes covering interesting subjects on the opposite. Any notes that could cause suspicions were hidden between the pages of History of Magic textbook, because no student in their right mind would touch it willingly. Above his bed he pinned two photographs - one of his parents and one of the Dursleys - and a piece of (Muggle) paper with a list of current priorities.

1. Finish reading Chapter I of Transfiguration for Beginners (today) (scratched out)

2. Learn the Unlocking Charm. (tomorrow?)

3. Write an essay on Spotted Mandrake for Snape. (Tuesday)

4. Learn at least twenty useful spells. (till the end of the school year)

5. Defeat Voldemort.(?)

His plans didn't have much shape - not yet; but what Harry knew for sure was that there would be more and more to study with each passing year, and a Dark Lord for obvious reasons should be a prodigy.

"You won't manage it," said Theodore Nott when he saw Harry the fifth day in a row attempting to cast the Patronus. "It's a NEWT level spell. Haven't you even learned how to be quiet for a while, half-blood? Some people actually try to study here, too."

"Oh, shut up," Harry murmured.

When the Halloween feast was so suddenly interrupted by Quirrell, Ron and Neville rushed out of the Great Hall together with other students. However, somebody grasped their cloaks from behind, forcing them to stop.

"Guys, wait. Hermione is missing."

None of them was eager to go and become the troll's Halloween dish.

"So how exactly you want to fight it?" Neville asked.

Harry had to admit he had a point: the three of them would go to the bathroom and then what? They posed no challenge for a troll; not counting some purebloods, Harry was the only one who had successfully cast a decent Locomotor Mortis in the last Defence class (the Ravenclaws had been inconsolable). And he did not know if it would work on such a creature.

"No idea. Let's find Hermione first," he said. "I will have to think of something."

The plan he soon came up with was far from good and safe. Okay, I'm lying. When you're a child facing a mountain troll, you rarely have any plans when it comes to preferable way of defeating it. He could try using some offensive magic, just to have the troll die laughing at his attempts - alas, Dark Lords can't afford to lose too much dignity in front of their enemies. Even if the intellect of said enemies is comparable to that of a table leg.

Harry leapt on its back, intending to cast Diffindo or a similar spell in close proximity of the creature's head, but it turned out to be less easy than expected.

The troll apparently didn't like getting a wand shoved up its nose (it was nowhere near as bad as a wand up somewhere else, but the author has been keeping her promise of 'no slash', at least for now). It roared in blind fury, running around the bathroom and struggling to throw Harry off or reach him with his club.

"VinGAARdium levioSAA!" shouted Ron in a rush of courage. Neville had just enough time to think that the incantation probably wasn't as correct as it should be, when the troll's club rapidly flew out of the owner's hand and flipped horizontally, hitting him in the temple with force sufficient to succesfully knock him out.

"I love how safe this school is," Harry said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "It can wake up any moment," he examined the troll and tried to think of the most effective way to dispatch it. "Any ideas how to kill it? Not that I'd like to, but I doubt we'll have this much luck the second time, and the teachers still haven't come."

"Scamander mentioned in Fantastic Beasts something about severing the troll's head being the safest way," said Hermione, who looked somewhat sick. "But I don't think we should... You know," she looked at the troll with pity.

"Harry, it's just a troll," Neville said cautiously. "It probably didn't even enter the castle on its own. It is dangerous, but it doesn't deserve death."

Harry raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, if you both prefer to have this troll eat you, that's your choice."

Neither Ron seemed to like the idea, but he handed Harry a pocket knife. "I don't have anything better."

"Thanks." Harry grabbed it, estimated that the blade was about two inches long, and gave no shit since he believed that a Dark wizard shouldn't be afraid to get his hands dirty.

He was absolutely, completely, entirely convinced he was doing the right thing.

over an hour later

"I can't believe... You could have been eaten..."

McGonagall settled on taking five points from each of their houses - for not asking a teacher or a prefect for help.

Flitwick was torn between praising the kids for the strategy, and punishing them for the reckless rush; in the end, he just told them to never try that on their own again.

Snape gladly awarded them thirty cauldrons to clean without magic.

AN: You know, I'm not even going to apologize for the delay.

I suppose I should make Harry win the next fight, before shit starts to happen again, though.