Chapter 5

A/N Note: This has not been beta'd, and I try to keep the mistakes as few as possible- but there will always be some.

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Hogwarts Dungeons: First Teacher Meeting

Albus Dumbledore stared hard at the painting on the wall, his mind wandering. Harry Potter was here this year… definitely interesting. He couldn't make any assumptions about the boy yet; better to hear the teachers out.

Two pairs of feet strolled into the room; Dumbledore turned. He honestly didn't need to. He already knew who they were. "Have you done as I asked?"

"Of course, Dumbledore. Of course." Flitwick said, bowing his head respectfully.

The headmaster nodded, satisfied. "Everything done is, of course, a test. We'd be fools to move up a student, no matter how intelligent he is, in the first day of school"

Nods all around. "Good; I'm glad you understand. Anything to report on students? Pomona, let's start with you. Any shining stars?"

Professor Sprout puffed herself up. "Of course. The Potter boy and Longbottom are exceptionally talented…"

Snape, at the end of the table, sneered at this, muttering under his breath. Pomona gave him a look that could cow a lion before continuing: "And both are naturals at herbology; Potter, though, has most of his talent from memorization and precision. Neville is more of a natural."

Mcgonagall raised an eyebrow. "I was about to report the exact opposite, actually…" she muttered. "He is a whiz at transfigurations, but he clearly hasn't read as much as the Granger girl- he just feels it by heart."

Snape scoffed again. "Feels it by heart? He's as greedy, arrogant, and pig-like as his father before him! You're all blinded by the 'Boy-Who-Lived' nonsense that you fail to see the bigger picture!"

At this, Flitwick glared. "Severus, watch your tongue. I won't have you insulting students from my house."

He turned to Dumbledore. "I find similar things; though Mrs. Granger shines in my class. Harry is a close second, though; he's got his mother's brains- and a tad bit more, it seems."

Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. He turned once more to the mural on the wall. "Alright. Thank you for your views. I won't trouble you with my presence any longer."

They all nodded respectfully before bustling out the door- all except Snape, of course, who worked in the meeting room. He stalked up to Dumbledore. "Albus, I wouldn't trust the boy if I were you. He's headstrong, arrogant, foolish… an image of his father. The world couldn't have a more unfit Chosen of the prophecy."

Still sneering, he returned to his desk.

Dumbledore contemplated the teachers' words. Their views were interesting… everybody seemed to think that Harry was exceptionally talented- all except for Snape and Quirrel. Snape's word he took with a pint of salt; the man clearly allowed his anger to cover his eyes.

Quirrell, on the other hand, had left the school hurriedly right after his classes were over. He'd bustled quickly into the Forbidden Forest, shrieking, "I-I've got an important m-meeting to attend!" He couldn't give his views even if he wanted to.

Ah, Quirrell. Dumbledore's eyes glinted. He'd seemed such a confident young man when he first arrived at Hogwarts. It was just Dumbledore's luck that the moment he returns, he's a crazy, turban-donning, stuttering maniac.

Sighing, he buried his face in his hands.

Fudge had, for the thousandth time, sent him yet another letter requesting to meet the 'Boy-Who-Lived', and Dumbledore, for the thousandth time, had written back kindly before chucking the letter into the fire.

Somebody would have to put a leash on Fudge, definitely. Perhaps he could have Shacklebolt talk some sense into him.

'Sense' of course, being Dumbledore's viewpoint. Dumbledore was a funny man; strictly light of course, but his intellect rose so high above the average man that he considered all those around him to be nothing more than gerbils, creatures he could utilize in his plans for the Greater Good.

He tried to maintain a strong sense of morality, but when said morality was instilled by babbling do-gooders with no understanding of anything at all, he felt himself lose hope in humanity.

Or at least, other humans. He still had complete faith in himself. His brain hadn't failed him yet, and he didn't expect it to- at least not anytime soon.

Harry hardly felt the class change; if anything, the courses were now easier. He loved the feeling of superiority, the looks of astonishment he got when he surpassed his older peers. The looks on their faces were worth nothing less than gold.

He soon fell into a routine- go to classes, take the classes, eat, piss Snape off, piss Snape off even more, eat, wait for others to go to bed, practice magic, sleep.

He kept it fairly regular; so regular that the days seemed to fly by. Every day started to become indistinguishable from the next; before he could register it, a month had gone by. And then the only serious altercations came by.

Professor Quirrell began calling in sick. Harry didn't know why; he just did. Substitutes became commonplace in the DADA classroom; in all honesty, Harry felt his lessons had improved. At least the substitutes had some vague idea of how to teach- and that was much better than Quirrell's useless speeches.

There was one boy in particular he kept an eye on. Draco Malfoy. The kid was a snake.

He'd approached Harry three days into the first week; and by the sight of him, Harry could tell Draco was bad news. Rich? Check. Aristocratic? Check. Pompous? Check.

This child had no use for friends. He did have use for powerful political allies, however. When Harry firmly rebuffed him, Draco instantly flew into a rage. He seemed quite spoiled; Harry's friendship was the one thing he couldn't get. And Harry had no intention of letting him, or any pompous brat, take his friendship so easily.

Friendship was not trash to be tossed around; friendship was a gift. A valuable gift- and these people didn't seem to be able to appreciate such things.

Friends were allies, he'd quickly learned. In Hogwarts, apparently, friends were more than mutually benefitting parties. There were many different and complex levels of it.

It made his head spin. He resolved to get a psychology textbook sometime soon.

"Potter!" a sharp voice barked. Harry turned swiftly around and cursed. Ron Weasley stood in a single file behind Draco Malfoy; Harry smirked at this. If he couldn't become a friend of Harry, he'd become the next best thing- a servant of Draco. Ron caught his glance and smirked, sticking his nose high.

"I challenge you to a wizard's duel!"

Harry cursed inwardly. He was sitting, quite calm, at the breakfast table; the entire hall sat in wide ranges, all eating. By bringing up the matter at breakfast, Harry would be forced to fight Draco; otherwise, he'd look like a coward.

A fierce gaze bored through the side of his head; Harry turned to find Dumbledore frowning upon the three.

"Draco? I accept."

The blonde boy's smile widened at this. "Alright. Dueling room, 12:00 A.M.-"

"Hold it."

Dumbledore's gravely voice rang through the hall; chatter instantly ceased.

"A wizard's duel, you say?" he murmured, his piercing eyes flashing. "Very well. It shall be arranged. Professor Quirrell, kindly clear out a time-space for a wizard's duel between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy at, let us say, 3:00 P.M.?"

Harry frowned. What was the man playing at, organizing his duels? As far as he knew, dueling among enemies in itself was outlawed; yet this man was making an exception. Why?

Draco, across the table, was having similar thoughts. What did Dumbledore intend by doing this?

"I trust you shall both show up…?" Dumbledore boomed, glancing pointedly at them. Draco hurriedly nodded, while Harry gave a small start of the head. Satisfied, Dumbledore returned to his meal.

Harry gave Draco one last piercing glare before returning to his plate and pondering Dumbledore's intentions.

The rest of the day passed by, it felt like, within mere minutes; before long, 2:40 had arrived. It was time for the wizard's duel. Shrugging himself, Harry walked off in search for Neville. He found the boy cramming desperately for the Herbology exam in the library. "Neville…"

The boy, still staring intently at the paper, gave a start. "Geez, Harry!" he muttered. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You know about the wizard's duel this afternoon, I assume?"

"Of course. The entire hall knows."

"Alright. Will you be my second?"

Neville froze at this. Small tears appeared at the corners of his eye; he brushed it off with the back of his hand. Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, is something the matter?"

"No; no. My grandmother… she… never mind. I'll… sure. I'll be your second."

Harry grinned. "Great! I'll see you in the dueling chambers in… oh, about 20 minutes."

"20 minutes?! Is it already 2:40?" he glanced at the clock and gulped. "Alright, I'll be there."

Nearly ¼ of the entire school watched with bated breath as the two duelers, followed by their seconds, entered the arena. It was nothing much, mind you; a simple boxer's arena coated in protective spells. But it could've been crafted from gold, and nobody would've paid any attention. This was the most fun thing that had happened since the beginning of the year. Everybody was anxious to see how things went; after all, scarcely a soul hadn't heard of Flitwick and Mcgonagall's appraising comments of Harry's skill.

It was commonplace for wizards to perform 'warm ups'; they were really intimidation tactics for their opponents. Draco, sneering, conjured up a wine goblet from thin air. He concentrated, muttering a deluge of spells.

For nearly half a minute, nothing happened.

Crack.

The entire hall (mostly, anyway) watched in amazement as a seam spread along the outsides, curving inward in a spiral as it sliced the goblet into ten thin strands. Draco bowed; everybody clapped.

Now it was Harry's turn. He felt the eyes of the entire hall slide on him as he held out his waff, praying to high heaven he'd get this correct. He held out his hand and urged his magic to him.

A spark of flame lit his palms; it hovered in mid-air, burning on no fuel, glowing blisteringly brightly. He closed his hand over the top of the fireball; it extinguished. Oohs and Aahs filled the air.

Draco looked taken aback; Ron looked beyond terrified.

"Now, we duel."

Draco composed his face into an emotionless mask; Ron was not quite so successful. It took three elbows from Draco before Ron was able to assume what could barely be

recognizable as a fighting stance. He looked like he wanted to run, but clearly couldn't

do that; not with his reputation at stake- or whatever shred he had left of his reputation.

He pulled out his wand, his hands trembling. Neville did likewise.

"B-begin!"

No sooner had Quirrell announced the word that beams of light began flying through the air. Several scarlet beams struck the ceilings and windows and… did absolutely nothing. Harry grinned.

A spell only had power if the user granted it power; Ron and Draco still didn't, or couldn't appreciate this fact.

Harry, meanwhile, watched in amusement as they struck the floor beneath him. He felt the magic swerving to strike him; but it was so weak it wouldn't even cause a bruise.

It was hilarious in a way. Neville, who'd been struck by five already, shook his head, dazed. The stunners had done absolutely nothing.

Draco was still shoving his wand about and screaming spells at random, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth.

Time to put an end to this blubbering fool.

He raised his waff; a beam of brilliant light blossomed about the Hall, forming a shield several meters in diameter. Ancient runes flitted about the light, throwing back all the spells that threatened the blockade's integrity.

Harry grinned. Foolish boys.

Ron nearly fell over at the sight of the shield; with a startled hand, he screamed, "EAT SLUGS!"

He promptly fell over, choking on what looked like giant sponges. Harry laughed again.

Draco finally realized exactly how much damage his 'attacks' were doing; he threw his wand to the ground.

"Professor Quirrell?" he called. "My wand is defective. Can we call off the duel?"

This was greeted by a massive 'boo!' from the audience; before Quirrell could respond, Harry lashed out. He stretched the strands of magic thin and bloated the shield outward, completely submerging Draco under layers and layers of magic. The boy gasped, startled, as a thick cocoon covered his head entirely.

"Do you submit?" Harry hissed. Draco nodded, his eyes wide with fright. "Yes- yes- just let me out of here!" he sounded as if he was speaking through water. Harry, nodding, waved his waff; the magic released Draco, who fell to the floor, gasping for air.

Ron, who'd seen his partner's fate, backed up entirely against the wall. A strand of magic effortlessly pulled him back to the fray; Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. Ron's face filled with utter desperation.

"Noxa!"

It was the only spell he could think of. He'd used it countless times to kill worms and spiders when his parents weren't looking; it became a failsafe spell of sorts. Whenever under extreme duress, he'd pull it out- and everything would be resolved. It was a thoughtless action, a reflexive action.

Harry watched in horror as the pulse of emerald light raced to Neville…

Diverting his focus from Draco, Harry inserted a thick wall of magic between Neville and the curse; to his surprise, it dissipated the curse entirely.

"RON WEASLEY!" Dumbledore roared, his eyes filled with rage. "Come with me to my office. Now."

The boy looked pale. "No- please, please, my mum will send me a Howler-"

Dumbledore frowned. "Come with me."

Grabbing Ron roughly by the elbows, he dragged him from the Hall- quite forcefully.

"Noxa!" a scratchy voice shrieked from the hallway.

Harry felt a cold hand clutch his heart; had Dumbledore harmed Ron? Then logic kicked in. No; the voice was shrill and childish. No doubt Ron was trying to free himself from punishment; the boy only had thought for himself.

The green light flashed a dark scarlet, indicating it struck the intended target; but Dumbledore merely laughed. The sound echoed from the hallway to the room. "A harming curse has no potential unless you give it power; and at your age, you have no energy to give. The most you could do is give me a nosebleed!"

Harry nodded. Of course. That was why it had been so easy to deflect the curse- it held no real power at all.

A shrill scream suddenly filled the hall, as well as an intermittent wailing. The voice grew softer and softer until it disappeared entirely into the distance.

Certain of the Headmaster's absence, the entire Hall began to whisper furiously.

"The boy! He-he!"

"Harry blocked it! Harry, Harry Potter!"

"Spectacular!"

"What was Ron thinking, the idiot?"

This final remark was Harry's parting words to Neville as they left the dueling arena. He would get punished, of course; although he could say he knew it wasn't going to kill somebody, he was simply trying to incapacitate- but that was like holding a knife and fighting with its flat side.

The harming curse, noxa, had been the unofficial fourth Unforgivable; it would, given enough strength, be harsh enough to break half the bones in the body. Hence why Dumbledore, right after the match, had given Ron a stern talking-to and had owled his parents immediately.

A very pale Ron made his way to the Breakfast table the next morning, and the morning after that- not at all. They received the news that he'd been suspended for 4 months- something Harry felt overjoyed at hearing.