A/n: And after a much-procrastinated release, the fifth chapter of Stones of Our Ancestors. Thank you for reading thus far, and I hope you continue onward. I have been thinking more about the creativity of the fanfics I have read, and what an honor it is to contribute to this tradition. So, thank you for the motivation and criticism alike. I'm considering reposting the first four chapters with my updated versions. Would it be better for me to start a new story rather than just update the individual chapters? Let me know in the comments what's considered "normal."

-AB

Chapter Five:

Everything Else is Sport

The occupants of the Great Hall responded in an enthusiastic confusion. The Ravenclaws were respectfully cheering, some more eagerly than others. The majority of Hufflepuffs gave a respectful round of applause. The Slytherins eyed Harry with contempt, while some had a curious glint in their eyes. On the opposite side of the hall, the Gryffindors were roaring in dismay. The Weasley twins, who shouted out for a resorting, had to be threatened with detention if they would not stop their childish wailing.

Harry handed the Sorting Hat to Professor McGonagall. She had returned to her stoic demeanor, only after telling the twins off. A slight frown appeared for only a second, before nodding Harry toward his new house. Harry flashed a smile and marched off to the eagles. Along the way, his tie turned blue and a Ravenclaw patch appeared on his chest. He found a seat next to Hermione as the sorting continued.

"Quite the hat-stall," she whispered, her eyes locked onto him. "Some of the upper years were worried you'd go to Slytherin."

Harry suggestively raised his eyebrows, and her eyes narrowed.

"Were you arguing with it to not go-"

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting Hat called. An Indian girl named Parvati Patil shrieked.

"-to Slytherin?" Hermione finished.

"RAVENCLAW!" Harry clapped along with his housemates. Parvati's twin Padma did not shriek. She calmly found her way over to Ravenclaw table and sat across from Harry. Giving him a grin and a nod.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Harry asked, returning his attention to the sorting. Hermione huffed but didn't press any further. He glanced to the Slytherins, and picked out Draco's slick blond hair, sitting with his back to Ravenclaw's table. "Oh, Draco went to Slytherin."

"You didn't notice?" Hermione asked. "Like he could go anywhere else."

Harry shrugged.

Dean went to Gryffindor, looking quite relieved. Lisa Turpin, a short, timid girl joined their table. She awkwardly took the seat next to Harry, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Weasley, Ronald!" Professor McGonagall called.

Ron stumbled to the hat, and hardly sat for a second before it called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Twins howled and whistled while the house gave their customary roar. Harry could just make out Prefect Weasley berating them to calm down as Blaise Zabini went to Slytherin.

"That concludes this year's sorting," Professor McGonagall shouted above the still chattering Gryffindors. She picked up the stool, Sorting Hat wedged between her elbow and side, and disappeared into a chamber behind the hall. She returned as Professor Dumbledore stood from his seat.

"Welcome!" Professor Dumbledore began. The hall went silent on cue. "Welcome to our first years, and welcome back to everyone else! Before we begin our feast, I have some important words to impart onto you: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" He paused, as Harry shared a look of concern with Hermione. "Thank you!"

He sat down. The hall, mostly Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, cheered and clapped. The Ravenclaws mostly whispered to one another, while the Slytherins scowled. Harry looked to an older student whose badge read 'Prefect Hilliard.'

"Is he always like that?" Harry asked. Prefect Hilliard smirked.

"Only when he wants to come off a bit… zany," Prefect Hilliard said with a smirk. "Don't let it fool you, he's as wise as he is brave. Watch your elbow."

The tables of the Great Hall filled with a feast unlike any Harry had ever seen. Chops of every cut were stacked on golden platters. Roast chicken, roast beef, sausages, and unfamiliar meats lined the finer cuts. Bowls of lumpy mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, peas, carrots, fries, and Yorkshire pudding were passed around. Rich, creamy gravy in great boats floated around on their own accord.

Harry didn't need any prodding before digging in.

"I'll have you know," Hermione commented after a few minutes. "If you continue to do this to your body, your heart will give out."

"I'll take a potion," Harry said between bites of gravy covered steak. "If you take a gander at Mr. Ronald, you'll find that I am not the one to be of any concern."

Hermione rolled her eyes, cutting into her piece of chicken. After a second of watching Ron, she set down her fork and knife.

"Good Lord! Why is eating two chicken legs at once!" She cast a disgusted look his way, before choosing to focus on Harry. "I pity Neville."

"AH!" Harry shouted as a sullen, yet beautiful ghost floated through the middle of his plate. Her eyes looked around and settled on Harry.

"I do apologize," her ghostly voice unmistakably depressed. She floated up and sat right in a bowl of peas. "I was surprised to see you join my house, Mr. Potter."

Harry, deeply embarrassed for being singled out, noticed his housemates analyzing the conversation.

"Surprised, but not disappointed?" Harry asked apprehensively. Her ghostly chuckle seemed forced.

"Oh, definitely not disappointed. I wish your mother had been an eagle as well, she certainly had the aptitude. And the wit," she paused, turning to look at the burly ghost sitting beside Draco. "I must be off. Farewell, Mr. Potter."

Without another word, she sank through the table

"That was…" Harry began unintelligently.

"Rare," commented Prefect Hilliard. "I've never seen the Gray Lady talk to a student, let alone welcome one to the house. She keeps to herself, mostly." He took a moment to spoon potatoes into his mouth. "Count yourself lucky."

And Harry did. The feast, as all feasts go, turned into dessert. Thick blocks of ice cream of all flavors materialized between massive pies of equal variety. Doughnuts, cakes, tarts, and fudges popped onto the table.

"So," Hermione asked another fifth year Prefect Penelope Clearwater. "Your O.W.L.s are taken at the end of fifth year, and you need to pass these in order to continue on in the class?"

"Correct," Penelope, as she insisted they called her, said. "They are the most important tests of your Hogwarts career. Other than your N.E.W.T.s, of course. They decide what you can do post-Hogwarts."

"What classes are you hoping to continue taking?" Harry asked, peering around Hermione over his Treacle Tart.

"All of them, of course," she laughed, but not in a mocking way. "Well, except Divination and Magical Creatures. I'm trying to keep my options open for my career. I imagine I'll end up working in the Ministry, in some respect."

"What are your favorite classes?" Hermione asked, in a sort of begging way.

"I love Ancient Runes, but you won't have that option until you start your third year. Charms is a close second. Our Head of House, Professor Filius Flitwick," she pointed discreetly at the tiniest Professor, sitting at the head table beside Professor McGonagall. He had a wide smile and wiry, white hair with a bald spot at the top. If he were standing, he wouldn't have reached Professor McGonagall's waist. "He's the Charms Master. Don't mistake his size for lack of power. He was a Champion in the Dueling Circuit in his younger years. Right genius when it comes to charm work."

"Ha, I bought his book not realizing who he was. Who's that next to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked with his back turned to the head table. Penelope snorted into her pudding. "What?"

"I see you've already met the new Defense Professor. He taught Muggle Studies a few years back," Penelope's face soured as she glanced up to the most anti-social of the professors. "That's Professor Snape of course, Potions Master." Harry took the chance to sneak a glance at Professor Snape. He had a deep scowl etched into his face, seemingly ignoring the dark-haired witch talking beside him. He had a long, crooked nose, and dark, angry eyes. His skin pale as snow and his hair black as night. It fell to the sides of his head with an unnatural oil thick in his thin hair.

"Does he always… grimace like he's in pain?" Hermione asked in a timid voice.

"Not when the Slytherins crush Gryffindor at Quidditch. Or when they win the House cup, like they have for the past six years," Prefect Hilliard interjected. "Doesn't mean it's any better than right now, unfortunately."

Professor Snape's eyes found Harry's. His scowl focused into a harden glare and his face contorted into a sneer. Harry was sure that Professor Snape could hear his gulp.

"Don't be too frightened by him," Penelope tried to mediate. "Professor Dumbledore wouldn't keep him around if he was actually as scary as he looks. At least, I don't think he would…"

Professor Dumbledore decided it was an opportune time to stand, and the hall quieted once more. The dishes of ice-cream and cakes and pies disappeared. Ron's lone wail of disappointment was quickly fixed with Prefect Weasley's obnoxious hush. Professor Dumbledore nodded his thanks to the Prefect, whose chest inflated like a clown's balloon.

Harry couldn't help but glance at Professor Snape during the interruption, but his glare hadn't moved from Harry. Harry felt a flash of a vibration as the hall faded from his view. His field sprouted up around him. The flowers were bright, although no people could be seen from his position. Harry could hear Professor Dumbledore's voice echo around him, but the puffy clouds in the sky spun and swirled. "…Watered and fed…"

He was thrown images of his nights spent in the cupboard under the stairs, serving Vernon mixed-drinks, Dudley and his friends pushing him down and kicking him in the middle of a park, metallic blood in his mouth. He was five years old, sitting in the car as Vernon and Petunia ranted about Harry's parents being drunks. He was across from Allan, listening to him share stories about his father. Teachers asking about his home life. Switching schools. A flash of green. Running from Dudley. Jumping for letters. Glass disappearing. Vernon grabbing his arm, a sickening pop, throwing up, cleaning up his mess, days in the cupboard. Amelia holding his face. Meeting Draco. Pulling his wand out against Ernie.

"…I have a few start of Term.."

Harry reeled in his field, looking away from the clouds. Sounds of Dumbledore's speech mixed with Vernon's shouts.

"… Good for nothing, FREAK! Just like your parents…"

"… Forest on the grounds are Forbidden to all…"

Harry searched for Allan in his field, running, pushing against the soft grass. Allan popped out between a grouping of ferns, smiling as his scar wiggled.

"He was a brilliant duelist." Allan said, laughing his silly laugh.

"… Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes…"

Amelia followed Allan out of the fern. "Brave," she smiled. "They were driven. They were awe inspiring. They were good."

Harry's gut clenched as he forced himself not to gasp. Professor Dumbledore continued his speech. Harry glared at the clean plate in front of him. He felt Hermione nudge him, as if to say he should be looking at their headmaster.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term, anyone interested should contact their house's captain," Professor Dumbledore said. Harry's breathing was silent, ragged, and rapid, while slowly calming him down. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very slow, and painful death." He paused as he stared down the Weasley twins. A number of awkward, misplaced laughs erupted, and quickly were snuffed out. "Now, before we depart to our awaited beds… let us sing our school song!"

And with that, everyone stood and began singing at different volumes, melodies, and rhythms. "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees, our heads could do with filling with some interesting stuff! For now they're bare and full of air, dead flies and bits of fluff, so teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot!" Nearly everybody finished the song until the Weasley twins were left singing a slow, but rich, opera. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand until they came to a halt.

Harry didn't open his mouth the entire time.

"Music, unlike any magic we have yet to discover," Professor Dumbledore wiped away invisible tears. "Off to bed!"

Harry stood, mechanically following Penelope and Prefect Hilliard with Hermione by his side.

"Any reason you didn't sing along?" Hermione asked softly. Penelope led them to the Gryffindor first years, who were being led by Prefect Weasley and his female counterpart Prefect Birchgrove.

They left the hall as a group while Harry searched for an answer.

"Didn't know the lyrics," Harry muttered as they turned out of the hall and towards the Grand Staircase.

"Now, watch your step," Penelope called out. "The staircases like to move."

The staircases did, in fact, rotate and swing around as they climbed. The people in the portraits raced around them, pointing and whispering. Harry kept in step with his year mates as Ron and Seamus went on about the food in the hall.

"I'll accept that for now," Hermione, clearly unaccepting, said.

Harry absentmindedly nodded.

They reached the fifth floor, and split off from the Gryffindors who went left up another flight of stairs. The Ravenclaws lumbered through a doorway into a long corridor, feet heavy and eyes droopy. After a few minutes of walking, they turned into an alcove where a spiral staircase brought them to a landing with a peculiar door. This door had no doorknob or keyhole. A bronze eagle door knocker, whose eyes were made of a navy blue crystal, was situated in the middle. Penelope raised it once and knocked.

"What must first be broken, before it is of use?" The mouth of the eagle opened, and a voice similar to the Grey Lady spoke.

"An egg," Penelope easily answered. The eagle nodded and the door fully opened. "We do not have a password," Penelope explained, taking a step into the room, turning to face the group. "You must answer a riddle before entering, or wait until someone else can figure it out."

Harry found himself in an airy room, with long, arched windows surrounding him on all sides. Wide navy blue draperies, anchored to the center of the ceiling, flowed like water to the tops of the window sills. Bookcases stood between the windows with blue lanterns sitting on top. Tables and armchairs were scattered about, each accompanied with their own lantern. Five small fireplaces were evenly dispersed around the room. Marble bases held the enchanted bronze flames, with large talons piercing the base around four sides that came up to a bronze eagle's foot, connecting the chimney to the base. Comfy chairs, love-seats, and couches encircled the fireplaces. "Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower. I will be explaining some of the finer elements of our house tomorrow morning at our daily house meeting, at 7:30 sharp. For now, you should get to bed, but I won't argue if you want to stay in the common room for a bit. Your dormitories are over there-" she pointed at a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw made of polished marble. Two doors sat on either side. 'Boys' and 'Girls' were inscribed on plaques on the left and right doors. Penelope and Prefect Hilliard bid them a goodnight and went through their respective doors.

Harry wandered to a window, and met the darkness of night. From his view, he could see the Great Hall's candles being extinguished around the edges of the center of the castle.

"Harry," Hermione came to his side. "I don't mean to be rude," she took a deep breath. "But you don't seem yourself. You seem… you seem like you were after you met Hagrid."

Harry looked through the window out over the lake, the moon's reflection glittering across the calm waters.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "I can't… I don't know how to explain it."

"It's none of my business, I'm sorry," Hermione rushed out. Harry turned to see her biting her lip nervously.

"It's okay," Harry said, smiling a bit. "Nothing that I'm not used to, at least. Well, besides… ya know…" He gestured around the room, chuckling. "All of this is beyond my imagination." He looked around the common room. His year mates awkwardly wandered about, mostly in their own heads. "I think I'm going to head to bed. I'll see you at the morning meeting?"

"Of course, Harry. Goodnight," Hermione said.

"Night, Hermione."

At 7:29, Harry descended the circular staircase from his dorm as his dorm mates were still scrambling for socks. He found the common room filled with the first year girls, Hermione sitting at a table nearest Penelope and Prefect Hilliard's chalkboard. She waved him over, having saved him a seat.

"Good morning," Harry said, suppressing a yawn. He gave a tired wave to the prefects, who were much too cheery for this early in the day. "Question," Penelope nodded. "Do other years have a morning meeting or is this a first year requirement?"

"There is a weekly meeting for second through fourth years during a free period, fifth and sixth years have a bi-monthly meeting, and seventh years meet at the beginning of every month. Of course, this is separate from our irregularly scheduled house meetings," Penelope explained. The rest of the boys stumbled out of the stairwell, disheveled and disoriented. "Ah, welcome boys, only one minute late. Not bad, let's try to get here on time though. We have a lot to cover. Rob," So that was his name! "would you like to begin?"

"Thank you, Penny," Rob said. He turned to address the first years, who had crowded on the ground or pulled chairs over. "Can everyone hear me okay? Good. Penny was just explaining to Mr. Potter the structure of our meetings, but she didn't explain why. We have these meetings for you. Everyday, you will be able to help us organize the tutoring schedules and content that will begin next week. We have between two and three hours of allotted time to help you with homework, with a rotating schedule of tutors. Second years will be primarily available for you to get help with any questions you may have, while we supervise." Rob gestured Penelope to continue.

"This time is not meant for you to acquire the previous year's essays from the older students. Cheating is not only against the Hogwarts' Code of Conduct, but against Ravenclaw's moral standard. We are the house of intellect. The house of wisdom. The house of the curious. Any plagiarism or cheating in any sense of the word will not be tolerated. Prefects are allowed to take points from you for misbehavior, and while some other houses may condone cheating, we do not. That is our cardinal sin. Repeat after me: Cheating is morally wrong."

"Cheating is morally wrong," the first years repeated.

"Cheating is not the way of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Cheating is not the way of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Cheating reflects poorly against my house, my peers, and most importantly, myself."

"Cheating reflects poorly against my house, my peers, and most importantly, myself."

"Cheating will not be tolerated; any hint of cheating should be reported to a prefect or Professor Flitwick."

This got a few of the first years murmuring to one another before Penelope's stern glare gave Professor McGonagall's a run for her money.

"Cheating will not be tolerated; any hint of cheating should be reported to a prefect or Professor Flitwick." Repeated the first years.

"Now that we have gotten that out of the way, we will be repeating that every day this year, mind you Michael. Yes, I saw you roll your eyes," Rob said sharply. Michael Corner, the boy who slept across from Harry, tried to make himself as small as possible. "Rowena Ravenclaw is remembered to this day for the ideals and values that we uphold. Ravenclaw House has produced some of the most influential people in every field of study. Uric the Oddball to Professors Flitwick and Quirrell to former Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold, all once dwelled in this tower. We hold ourselves to a standard higher than the rest, because they do not understand the power of knowledge. The nuance that secrets hold. The very nature of being is to learn, to grow, and to change…" Harry vividly remembered the words uttered by the Sorting Hat. "That is why Ravenclaw does not tolerate cheating. Because cheating in potions is cheating your chance to learn, to grow, to change… to be fully in this body. Do not take this lightly."

Penelope cleared her throat.

"Now that we have gotten that out of the way." She chuckled, analyzing the fearful faces before her. "Your house is your family, and we are here to help you in your endeavors. The lions are proud and brave, but do not take them as foolish. They often achieve what no other house is able to do, because of their sheer courage to challenge the status quo. The Snakes are not conniving or innately malicious (although you may have heard otherwise.) They are ambitious to their own ends, and the means are simply a path to their desire. Some of their desires may be misguided, but do not underestimate their intelligence. And Hufflepuffs…" She paused, meeting each of them in the eyes before continuing. "Beware the badgers." As a few kids laughed, Harry remained on the edge of his seat. "And already, you let preconceived biases cloud your judgment. The badgers are hardworking and industrious. They are not simple-minded nor unambitious. Their loyalty runs deep, and they take this seriously. They might not have our sheer love of information, but they won't give up without a fight. And they fight as one unified body. Why am I telling you about the other houses on your first day?" She left the answer open, and nearly all the hands went up in the air. Harry's did not.

"Miss Macdougal?" Penelope asked.

"We need to learn how to pit them against each other to beat them in the house cup," Morag answered.

"Not quite, but a good start. Anyone else?" Penelope asked. Again, hands shot up. Harry's did not.

"Miss Granger?" Penelope asked.

"They are our classmates. Understanding them will lead to better inter-house cooperation," Hermione said.

"A fruitful endeavor, but unfortunately too optimistic," Penelope said. Seeing Hermione's face fall, she added sympathetically, "Don't give up on it so easily, perhaps with time."

"Mr. Potter, any guesses?" Rob asked before Penelope could pick someone else.

"Every house has their strengths. We should learn how to apply them for ourselves when needed," Harry answered, biting his lip.

"How is that any different from Miss Macdougal's observation?" Rob prodded. Harry glanced at Penelope, who seemed just as interested in his response.

"Well…" Harry thought for a moment. How was it different? "It does apply to the house cup. But we don't necessarily need to pit them against each other to beat them. And truthfully, although we should do everything we can to win the cup, it isn't the real goal of education is it? To simply win a title? Learning how these students operate can help us later in life, once we get into the real world." Rob and Penelope grinned simultaneously.

"And here we have reached the crux of our meeting. We are in a competition. That is one that Professor Flitwick and all of the Ravenclaws are adamant towards winning… but we must not forget that our yearning for knowledge is not a means to an end. It is the end; everything else is sport," Penelope checked her wristwatch, and smiled. "Off to breakfast, Rob will show you the way. Harry, if you could help me pack up?"

Harry nodded, glancing at Hermione. She flashed him an a brief smile before following the rest of the first years out. At this point, Ravenclaws hurried out of their dorms and created a flood of blue and bronze in the common room. As quickly as they came, they went. A few stragglers found their way out, but Penelope hadn't moved.

"You had good observations," Penelope commented. She began stacking parchments together on a table in the corner. Harry noticed the schedules as he reached out to help. "Oh, don't bother. I wanted a word with you. Keep an eye on Michael Corner and Mandy Brocklehurst for me, would you?"

Harry almost immediately nodded but caught himself. "Why would I do that?" He asked, trying to not make it sound like an accusation.

"To put it simply, not all snakes wear green. Of course, they are your housemates, so I expect you to be respectful and helpful," she paused and set down the parchment she was holding. Her blue eyes calculated Harry for a second, before she smiled. "Don't begin an investigation, but know this… There are some in our house that are willing to do anything to achieve academically. Just… keep an eye out, kay?"

"Got it," Harry accepted. "That was an unusual speech. I'm assuming not all of the houses receive such a warm welcome."

"If only they were so lucky," Penelope smirked. Harry couldn't help but laugh. She took her wand out, waved a wide arc, and whispered a charm. The chairs returned to their original locations. "Come on, I'm hungry. And I'll show you a shortcut."

Harry hurried after her, as she didn't wait for a response. After they descended the spiral staircase from Ravenclaw tower, instead of turning left to the Grand Staircase, Penelope went right. At the end of the corridor, she turned to an inconspicuous broom closet and entered, motioning for Harry to join. Feeling uncomfortable, but not quite understanding why, he followed.

Closing the door, she whipped her wand out and pointed it at the back wall, and touched the centermost cobblestone.

"Mutare," Penelope cast. After a moment of Harry thinking this was an elaborate prank, she poked her head out into the hall and led Harry out. They were in a seemingly identical corridor, with no other students in sight.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"First floor. History of Magic is taught at the opposite end in room 4F," Penelope talked as they went to the end of the corridor and passed through the door to the Grand Staircase. "Don't tell anyone I showed you that, alright? At least not anyone who hasn't earned it."

"You wouldn't get in trouble, would you?" Harry asked, eliciting a chuckle from Penelope.

"Of course not, well… Mr. Filch hates when use the shortcuts, because he can't access the ones that need magic to activate," Penelope said lowly as a group of Hufflepuff girls passed. "He's the only squib working at Hogwarts."

"So, squibs are allowed to work in magical places?" Harry asked.

"Depends on the establishment. Professor Dumbledore has always championed squib and muggleborn rights, quite right of him in my opinion," Penelope said, pushing open the Great Hall doors. "Anyway, have a good first day of classes!"

"Thanks for showing me that," Harry whispered. She gave him a pat on his shoulder and took a seat with the other Ravenclaw prefects. Hermione waved at Harry from near the front of the hall. Harry found a seat between her and Padma Patil. "Hey Padma, Hermione, did I miss anything?"

"Nothing particularly interesting," Hermione said, glancing at Michael Corner a few places down. Then, in a whisper added, "Michael made some comments about you getting special treatment on the first day."

Harry couldn't help his eyes rolling.

"You might see it that way, but I have a suspicion that this is the tip of the iceberg," Hermione said in the same hushed voice. She straightened up as the Heads of Houses descended from the head table, stacks of parchments floating behind them.

Professor Flitwick and his wide smile passed them with a nod of his head, continuing to where his prefects were sitting. Harry loaded his plate as a goblet of his golden potion and a number of vitamins appeared on a plain metal plate on the table. Hermione's head turned so slightly that Harry almost missed her glance.

"Not going to ask?" Harry asked after taking the vitamins and sipping on the potion. Hermione's cheeks slightly reddened.

"I deduced you would need to do something about your core, as a matter of fact," Hermione answered, slicing her turkey bacon.

Harry finished his potion and began his meal as the other Heads of Houses descended from the head table. Professor Flitwick gestured to his prefects, who stood and began handing out scrolls to the seventh-year students. Professor Flitwick took it upon himself to hand out the first-year schedules while his six prefects continued down the line.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick said in his merry tone, popping between Harry and Hermione's elbows. "I was most surprised to find you in my House, Mr. Potter." He paused, as Harry turned to face his more directly, eyebrow raised. "Your parents were lions, and your father's family has held the Gryffindor badge for as long as I can remember."

"The Gray Lady was also surprised," Harry commented, taking in the information about his parents with gratitude. "I honestly hadn't put much weight in which house I would be sorted."

"Well, I am glad to have you both in the eagle's nest," Professor Flitwick said, handing each a scroll. "I will see you after Defense Against the Dark Arts, good luck!"

And he was on to the next group.

"Best be off," Hermione said as Harry shoveled in the rest of his eggs. She had her scroll open as she stood from the table. "Defense Against the Dark Arts practical, hm I wonder why we begin with a practical without any theory. A split Charms theory and then a practical, then a Transfiguration practical, and a flying lesson? Well, that's a full day if I've seen one," She listed off, more to herself than to Harry, who still munched on a piece of toast as they crossed the Great Hall.

Harry decided to show Hermione the secret passage way, and after a quick trip to Ravenclaw tower, they found themselves sitting outside of their locked DADA classroom. Harry pulled open The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and sped through the first chapter.

"You aren't retaining any of the information by reading like that," Hermione absently said while reading her own copy.

"Didn't you say you had already read all of the textbooks?" Harry asked.

"I have, yes," she answered curtly.

"Then why are you rereading right now?"

"To brush up on some of the details, of course," Hermione answered.

"Well I work top down," Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry continued. "I'll go back and study the details of course but knowing some of the overarching themes is all I need prior to a class. It helps me organize the information the way the professor presents it, which can be different from how the book organizes the information."

Professor Quirrell decided to make an appearance, tittering past the two seemingly not noticing either, and flicking his wand at the door. "E-enter," he instructed.

Hermione shared a glance with Harry, before following their turban wearing professor into his classroom. Despite being on the third floor, Room 3C had very little light. Four dimly lit chandeliers chained to the ceiling gave off enough light for Harry to be able to take in his surroundings. There wasn't much to see. Bare walls, empty desks, and the smell of garlic impressed Harry little.

Professor Quirrell stood at the podium in the front of the classroom, reading through a few pieces of parchment.

"Sit wherever you'd like," he instructed calmly, stutter-less. Harry and Hermione glanced at one another, before sitting in the front.

Harry returned to skimming his text-book as students found their way in. At 8:45 on the dot, Professor Quirrell wandered to the front of the desks and whipped his wand out at locked the door, and then centered his wand at Susan Bones.

"Sir?" A timid Hermione called out as Harry slipped his wand out of his pocket. No spells came to mind, but it felt like the right thing to do. "Er, are you okay?"

"Q-quite alright, Miss Granger," he answered, wand unwavering. "If I were to cast any dark spell at Miss Bones, would anyone be able to save her?"

Silence.

"Would anyone be able to get help?"

Deathly, absolute silence.

"Would anyone c-care to answer?" Hermione's hand went up. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"No sir, I'd assume most of us wouldn't be able to stop you from hurting her. But we have no reason to believe you actually would do anything… dangerous."

"Oh? Just because you c-cannot think of a reason for me to hurt an innocent student, that means you must not prepare for that possibility?" Professor Quirrell asked. "Only one of you has thought of a good start," he directed his intimidating gaze at Harry. "Mr. P-Potter, one point to Ravenclaw for your bravery, ironically enough."

Harry blushed, but then he had a thought. He raised his wand above the desk and centered it at Professor Quirrell.

"Harry!" Hermione admonished. "Put that away!"

"Not until he does," Harry answered loudly, voice breaking midway through his sentence.

"Sir, what is the point of this?" Terry Boot, sitting two rows behind Harry, asked. "I think most of us understand that we couldn't fight a Defense Professor, but isn't this… unnecessary?" He waved his hand at the still tense interaction.

"What is my c-current fault in evaluating my opponents?" Professor Quirrell asked. He rolled his dull brown eyes, as if the answer should be self-evident. "Mr. Potter, why haven't you attacked me yet?"

"I'm not… sure, exactly," Harry admitted cautiously. He then had an unfortunate realization. "The fault is that you haven't changed your target to the most realistic threat you face so far."

At that, Professor Quirrell took his advice and pointed his wand at Harry.

"Satisfied, Mr. Potter?" Professor Quirrell asked, a slight smirk on his lips. Harry nodded more confidently than he felt. "It is curious that none of your classmates have joined you," he nodded at the classmates. "I'd expect Hufflepuffs to feel drawn toward feeling loyal to a fellow student. I'd expect Ravenclaws to know that there would be a higher likelihood of success if all of you attempted even the weakest of jinxes or hexes against my vast array of s-spells."

At that, more wands were raised. Hermione, for whatever reason, found herself among the minority of students who did not join in. Harry glanced and saw the shaking wand of Susan Bones aimed at their professor. She had a hard look in her eye, reminding Harry of how Amelia looked when interacting with Dung.

"Better," Professor Quirrell said, lowering his wand. A rush of relief fell over the first years, returning their wands to their pockets. Harry kept his wand in hand, but rested it against the desktop, its point still aimed at the professor. Hermione nudged Harry in the side, beginning to whisper about respect for school faculty and rules.

Professor Quirrell whipped his wand back up at Harry, who met it with equal reflex. His wand hummed with power and one word came to mind.

"Flipendo!" Harry shouted, forcing the energy out of his hand and into his wand for the first time. A dull blue haze of light shot out at Professor Quirrell. A cry of surprise erupted beside Harry, and among the other students behind him.

Professor Quirrell switched his footing, slashed his wand diagonally, and harmlessly deflected it up into the ceiling. He then lowered his wand and returned it to the inside of his robes.

"See me after class, Mr. P-Potter," Professor Quirrell said, before calmly walking back to his podium. "Today we will be starting on page two of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection."

There was silence. Then, the slow shuffle of book bags and turning pages filled the void. Harry looked around as they mechanically responded. Did I just hallucinate that? He couldn't help but think, keeping his wand on his desk while finding page three.

"Harry-" Hermione began, indicating his wand.

"If you think I'm putting this away, you didn't understand his lesson," Harry said in a quiet and shaky voice. He didn't look up from the text, but he felt Hermione's frustration in the form of her stiffly turning to the appropriate page.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Quirrell said, finishing his lecture. After going over the syllabus, which would be covering the majority of level X and some XX dark creatures, and a few basic defensive spells, he explained to the students how to properly hold their wands. This could be summarized as 'point the pointy end at whatever you are trying to attack or defend against.' Harry assumed most of the students realized this from the moment they picked up a wand.

Harry glanced to Hermione and some of his fellow Ravenclaws, who were halfway toward the door.

"Hermione, could you…" Harry mentioned, packing away his book. His wand sitting on the desk.

"I'll, I'll be late to Charms if I stay-" Hermione began. Harry nodded in understanding.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Quirrell repeated. Once again, it was only Harry, Hermione, and Professor Quirrell in the classroom. "I would like to speak to you for a moment. Miss Granger, you are excused."

Hermione gave an apologetic look to Harry before scurrying from the room.

"I'm surprised you stayed without friends to… b-back you up," Professor Quirrell admitted, not moving from the podium. Harry paused and thought for a moment. Why did he stay? His first thought was to leave immediately after Professor Quirrell began his lecture. Yet, he stayed. He remembered to pick his wand up and hold it how Professor Quirrell instructed. Firm in his grip, but light enough to make the proper motions for defensive magic. "You're not in trouble, Mr. Potter. At least, not yet."

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked, finding more confidence as he edged near the door. Professor Quirrell stayed at his podium. "I'm not in trouble for attacking you?"

"No, Mr. Potter. Being the only sensible person in the room, you at least had the gumption to take on a fearsome opponent. How often does Madam Bones train you?"

Harry couldn't help the surprise from showing.

"I see. Well, I suggest you should know what a spell does before your first attempt. Flipendo is a very basic first year offensive charm. You'll find the history and different functions of the spell in our text. The actual wand movement is a sharp flourish at the target and a quick flick upwards at the end. Watch closely." Harry didn't notice the wand fall in his professor's hand. Professor Quirrell repeated the motions. The nearest desk shot up into the air, flipping once, and landing right-side up. He then tapped something on his desk, and a ripped piece of parchment floated up and over to Harry. "This will excuse your tardiness, good d-day Mr. P-Potter. By the way, take ten points to Ravenclaw for your behavior today."

And Harry was free from the most awkward encounter he had ever had with a teacher, including the time his teacher hissed at him. At least he had earned some points for the chaos. He left the class in haste and ran to his next class. He found the right room and he could hear the rumble of students inside. Hoping he could sneak in unnoticed, he opened the door and quickly scanned the room for Hermione.

The classroom had three platforms, each raised higher than the one in front, similar to the desks at Gringotts. At the end of the hall sat a raised podium with a stack of books behind it. The seats were full, with Ravenclaws on one side filling a fourth of the side, and Gryffindors opposite of them, both nearest the podium. He found Hermione sitting at the edge of the first row, with an open seat to her right. She waved him over with a concerned smile plastered on her face.

"Professor Flitwick hasn't arrived yet, so no need to fret," Hermione said as Harry plopped into the seat beside her. "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded, pulling out his charms textbook. He looked around and saw the Gryffindor students talking amongst themselves, while his Ravenclaw companions mostly reread their book. "Yeah, he was actually… helpful? I guess. He showed me how to properly do the spell that I, ah, shot at him," Harry grinned sheepishly.

Hermione huffed a bit, shaking her head in indignation. "You really shouldn't have done that. What did you think he would realistically do to you?"

"I didn't care to find out, Hermione. I think that was the lesson, in part. He also thought Madam Bones had been training me to fight," Harry chuckled a bit to himself, knowing Amelia wouldn't think to do that. At least not yet, maybe he should ask for her advice. "Anyway-"

At that moment, the door opened. Harry saw the bobbing wizard's cap of his Head of House as he made his way into the classroom. "Hello all! Welcome to your first lesson in Charms! For those of you who do not know, I am Professor Filius Flitwick." He crossed the open section of the room and climbed his way up a stack of books to stand behind his podium as the class of first year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors fell silent. Harry could see Ron from his seat, staring out the window at God knows what. Neville sat to his right, looking down at his desk.

"Charms, oh silly, fun little charms," Professor Flitwick began, giggling a bit. He whipped his wand out and silently conjured miniature quidditch quaffles. Then, with a flick, the balls began flying and rapidly changing color. They seemed to move without his direction. They grew little arms and legs and began dancing on their desks. With a quick slash of his wand, the balls disappeared, and Harry returned his attention to Professor Flitwick. "Often, I have found there is little room to talk seriously about charms in higher level academic situations. They are too often talked down upon, with little reason. I beg of you to take your Charms studies seriously. I beg that you believe that Charms are as necessary to our society as Transfiguration, Potions, Defensive magic, and all of the other disciplines. There are charms to help you clean your house, to help you cook, to tie your shoes… but there are levels of charms that can hide you from even the most dangerous of beings. There are charms that create protective barriers that only a few spells can penetrate. Charms that fight back the darkest creatures on Earth. Charms are not all fun and games, though we will play games and hopefully have fun," He paused as the class broke into a nervous laughter. "I do not mean to frighten you. I mean to educate you of the reality of my discipline." He took the time to look each one in the eyes, smiling eagerly as his eagles had tunnel vision in his direction. "In my younger years I was a participant in the World Dueling Circuit. More than once, I used creativity over brute force. Being someone of my size, I could not hope to withstand an onslaught of combat. You too, must find your weakness, and definitely work to better yourself. But also, find your strengths and capitalize on those things too."

He looked around the class and a wide smile broke on his face.

"One of my favorite parts of teaching is our first days together. I get to see you you start your journey. I get to then see you grow as students, as people, throughout your years here at Hogwarts. I am ultimately hopeful for your success, and I will do anything I can to help you along the way," He sniffed a bit, and Harry could just hardly see a few tears fall. He gathered himself and continued. "Today, we will begin with the Color-Changing Charm. Please open to page one of Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling."

And so, they began.

At noon, they took a break for lunch and then returned to Charms to continue their split lesson. Harry realized as he read through the first chapter of Magical Theory, that he did not quite appreciate the differences in the many disciplines of magic. His first reading, consisting of him swallowing paragraphs and pages in quick succession, made the ideas jumble together in his head. As Professor Flitwick outlined the first chapter, he supplied different theories not mentioned in the book. He also made a point to show how the development of Charms is substantially different from how Transfiguration came about.

"Charms," Professor Flitwick added, summarizing his specialty. "Are not about substance or material. It is emotion and action. It is the change of certain qualities about an object's behavior, not its essence."

And so Harry stored this in his field, remembering his words exactly as Professor Flitwick said. However, he found it hard to distinguish between Professor Flitwick's, Amelia's, and Allan's voices as they seemed to want to speak at the same time. So instead, he imagined the Hogwarts' Express as vividly as possible. He put each of these memories in a different section on the train. One compartment to each individual in his head. The moment he realized he could ask them to come out of their compartment and recite the information, he began laughing at how easy it was to remember certain moments in great detail.

"Harry, pay attention," Hermione chided absently, following along with Professor Flitwick.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered back with a smirk.

"Alright everyone, you should now have the basic grasp of the charm, and Charms in general, as you read and heard about its development. You should understand that, in its beginning, as Waffling describes, it was used during a civil war in Rome, between Lucius Cornelius Sulla's and Gaius Marius' factions. The few wizards amongst Sulla's men used this spell to change the color of their armor and war flags, snuck into the enemy's camp late in night at the end of the war, and slaughtered many of Marius' men. Ideally, you will learn more of this in your fifth year History of Magic class. Anyway, I would like everyone to begin practicing the wand motions. If you feel up to it, try the actual incantation. Repeat after me: Colorvaria!"

And the class repeated with him a couple of times before he set them off, levitating feathers to each student.

"Professor Flitwick is so knowledgeable," Hermione said, rereading the pronunciation and mouthing it to herself. "And he was a professional duelist. I thought Penny was joking."

"I would give all of my galleons in my vault to see him duel again," Harry admitted, thinking of how much money that actually was. "Eh, maybe half. That would probably do it. Anyway, do you want to try first?"

Without another word, she pulled a long Vine Wood wand from her schoolbag. It had spindly, circular grooves and growths from the base to about two-thirds up to its point. The wand had no obvious grip, unlike many of the wands Harry has both seen and tried at Ollivander's.

"Colorvaria!" She cast, pointing her wand at the feather in front of her. The pure white color rippled and morphed into a deep bronze. "Eep!"

"You did it!" Harry laughed, why should he have expected otherwise? "Nice color work, Hermione."

"Miss Granger!" Professor Flitwick, sneaking up beside the pair, excitedly laughed. "On your first try? Take ten points to Ravenclaw!"

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said proudly, her cheeks reddening. "Harry, give it a go."

"Colorvaira!" Harry said enthusiastically, pointing his wand at his feather. No result. Looking to Hermione, he asked, "What did I do wrong?"

Professor Flitwick looked to Hermione for an explanation.

"Um, well, it's Color-Var-ia. I think you mixed it up a bit," Hermione corrected softly.

Harry reread the pronunciation and laughed a bit to himself. "I was so focused on actually seeing the change of color. Colorvaria!" He cast, correcting himself. This forced a small channel of magic down his arm and out his wand. Like Hermione's feather, the white rippled away, yet was replaced with a rich Ravenclaw blue.

"A hah! Good work Mr. Potter, take five points!" Professor Flitwick congratulated, patting him on the back. "Why don't you two go around and help some of your classmates? I'll do the same with the Gryffindors."

Hermione and Harry went around to their classmates, who were mostly struggling with focusing on both the incantation and the mental image aspect of the charm. Anthony Goldstein did a bit of a flick with his charm, while pronouncing the spell correctly, causing his inkwell to turn purple.

"Hey Anthony, I'm Harry-"

"I know who you are, Potter," Anthony said, rereading his text with narrowed eyes. "I don't need your help."

"Well… ah, if you do, I'll be over with Neville. Looks like he could use a bit of advice on his wand work. Good luck!" Harry absentmindedly wandered over to Neville. As he moved across the class, he kept an eye on Anthony, watching as he successfully cast the spell. He looked up and around to see if anyone had noticed, and locked eyes with Harry.

Harry, in good nature, flashed him a thumbs up and a smile. Anthony, on the opposite spectrum, dropped his eyes to his desk. Harry nodded to himself as he turned to watch Neville.

"Color-veria," Neville cast, stuttering slightly, while keeping his wand straight at his feather. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. Ron, why don't you try?"

"I won't need this charm, Neville. It's pointless to learn. I'm not goin' to attack any Romans, am I?"

"Ya never know," Harry interjected, grinning to himself. "How's it going, fellas?"

"I've tried three times now, but I can't get it right!" Neville said, neck reddening slightly. "I heard you got it right, what's the secret?"

"Hermione is the secret, mate," Harry joked. Ron looked around for her before he realized what Harry meant. "She corrected my pronunciation. I was too busy imaging the color vividly, like the book says, instead of doing that while not making it sound like I'm saying Colorvaira."

"So, what did I do wrong?" Neville asked.

"I think it's mostly with the break in the middle of the cast. Also, it's a hard A. Not the 'erh' sound. Colorvar-ia."

"Colorvaria," Neville repeated, nodding to himself.

"You can do it," Harry urged, looking on with interest.

"Colorvaria!" Neville cast, this feather rippled into a vibrant gold. "I did it?"

"You did! Nice work Nev," Harry grinned. "What about you, Ron?"

"Mum showed me this spell once, but isn't this just girly magic? What's the point of even learning it, I mean-" Ron asked, before realizing Professor Flitwick had heard every word of his rant. "I mean, I'm sure it's dead useful sometimes, Professor. But seriously? Couldn't we learn the Levitation Charm? It's like, mum used this spell once from what I can remember. And that was just because Ginny was upset because she had gotten a pink jumper and not a blue-"

Professor Flitwick had his wand out in an instant and looked at Harry. "Do not be alarmed Mr. Potter, however I only wish to show Mr. Weasley how useful this spell can be. Do you agree to be used in an example?"

Flashes of Professor Quirrell whipping his wand out at him bombarded Harry's mind, forcing him into his field and out of the Hogwarts Express, tumbling to his grassy plain. He fell to his knees as the sky swirled around him. Professor Quirrell warned of expecting the probability of a threat, no matter the oddity of the circumstance. He spun in his mind, contorting his body as he turned to face Professor Quirrell, wand in hand, finding his feet.

Thoughts sprouted up from the stems of the Chamomile around them, reminding him to force Professor Quirrell onto his internal train. In a flash, a sunflower struck out, wrapped around Professor Quirrell, and hauled him off to a compartment.

"Mr. Potter- Mr. Potter, are you… Hello, son," Professor Flitwick met his eyes, as Neville and Ron shared a confused glance. "Lost in thought?"

"Something of the sort. Example, utility of the color-change charm?" Harry asked. Professor Flitwick nodded patiently. "I'm game, Professor."

Professor Flitwick calmly smiled, pointed his wand at Harry's face, and said, "Colorvaria."

The lenses on his glasses turned into a kaleidoscope of colors. Harry couldn't make out his own hand in front of him, and for all intents and purposes, blinded Harry.

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed, gaining the attention of the rest of the class. "That's… that's brilliant for a duel, Professor."

"Not quite, as you deemed it, 'girly magic' whatever it is you might mean by that," Professor Flitwick challenged. "One point from Gryffindor for failing to participate, and you will owe me a single paragraph on why we should not be so quick to judge seemingly docile and innocent charms, or people, as useless." Ron barely managed to withhold his dismay, as Professor Flitwick checked his watch and looked to the otherwise silent class. "That is all for today class. Next session, we will be joined by your Slytherin and Hufflepuff classmates for a theoretical lesson!"

They left the class in a herd. Talk ranged from the Color-Change Charm on the Ravenclaw side of the pack, to Flying Lessons on the Gryffindor side.

"Neville!" Harry called out. Neville was nearly the last person out of the room, however Harry swung his arm out, waving wildly. Neville grinned slightly to himself, before making his way over and trailing along with them. "Good work in class."

"Thanks mate," he said, a slight blush on his face. "Where are you two headed?"

"Transfiguration practical with Slytherins," Hermione listed off, looking through her book bag. Harry pulled her arm to help her avoid a suit of armor. "Thanks. What about you?"

"We have a break before flying lessons…" Neville nervously laughed. "I've never actually flown before, kinda nervous."

Harry chuckled. "We haven't either, so don't worry too much."

"Yeah, well… I guess I feel kind of, held back- or-or less of a Pureblood because of it," Neville shrugged. "I'm sure Malfoy is an expert at this point."

"He might act like it," Harry mentioned as they neared the Grand Staircase. "Anyway, we'll see you on the pitch."

"See you there, guys," Neville said, starting the climb up to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry and Hermione walked in silence for a while. They passed groups of students, all color-coordinated by House, chatting loudly about Quidditch or classes.

"You seem to have garnered a lot of attention already," Hermione commented, turning the corner into the Transfiguration Courtyard.

"Have I? Hadn't noticed," Harry smirked as she rolled her eyes. "Like I said on the train, I didn't decide any of this."

"They," Hermione pointed at a gaggle of second year Gryffindors eyeing them. "Seem not to know that, or do, and do not care."

"Why would they? They've had ten years of stories fed to them like Neville had," Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I can't do anything about it right now. Not yet."

"You don't want them to know you? I've known you for two days. You're not as gallant or fearsome as they seem to think you are," Hermione admitted, finding a seat on a bench outside of their classroom.

"'You underestimate the power of the dark side,'" Harry joked.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Star Wars? You've never seen Star Wars?" Harry asked wildly. She shook her head and snorted. "And here I thought you were cool."

"'Big mistake'," Hermione laughed.

"Pretty Woman? Really?" Harry asked, joining her laughter.

"My mom made me watch it. Thought it might help with my sense of style," Hermione snorted. She thought for a second. "How do you know the quote?"

"Aunt Petunia loved that movie. Made me gag every time it was on," Harry laughed, remembering listening to it through the vent in the door to his cupboard. He wished he knew what Star Wars actually looked like. He had only listened to it.

"You haven't talked about your muggle relatives much," Hermione said softly. Harry nodded, not meeting her eyes. She decided to drop the subject. "What other movies do you like?"

Harry had to think for a minute, remembering all of the silent laughs he had, listening to whatever it was the Dursleys decided to put on.

"Well, the Chronicles of Narnia TV series was amazing, but my relatives didn't… they thought it was too much magic," Harry laughed, now realizing their suffering. "They didn't, they don't like magic very much. And the books were better. Star Wars was the extent of the fantasy that they allowed my cousin, us to watch." He felt his throat clutch as he allowed himself to lie. He remembered to breathe, thinking that cracking open that Occlumency book might be a good idea at this point. "Rocky was classic, but it was obvious where they were going with every installment. I read more than I watched, honestly."

"Good afternoon," the abrupt voice of Professor McGonagall shocked them out of their conversation. She seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. "I've got to meet with Headmaster Dumbledore for a quick chat, but I'll unlock the door for the two of you."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said as they gathered up their bags.

"I'll join you momentarily," Professor McGonagall allowed herself a kind smile before tapping her wand toward the door, turning away, and marching away.

"She terrifies me in the most positive way possible," Harry said mostly to himself. Hermione smirked at him, nodding and raising her eyebrows quickly.

"That's her goal," Hermione laughed, pushing open the door.

This classroom was much more familiar to Harry than either of the other two he had been inside. The four long columns of tables led to the end of the hall. At the far end, a platform similar to the raised section of the Great Hall, stood apart from the rest of the class. A rather plain, yet elegant, mahogany desk sat in the middle, with an organized set of books on display. The teacher's podium was the same one as Professor Flitwick's, sans the stack of books acting as a stool. A rather inconspicuous door was located in the back-right corner, leading to Professor McGonagall's office.

"Feels like I'm back in muggle school," Harry admitted, joining Hermione at the front of the classroom.

"It's strange isn't it?" Hermione asked, looking around at the various diagrams. "These must be for the upper years, right? We won't be changing a dove into a peacock this year… not from what the text said."

"I doubt it," Harry agreed. At that moment, the door to the private office opened, yet no one joined them. "That's…"

"Odd," Hermione finished, craning her neck to see around the desk. "Ooh, Professor McGonagall has a cat. Fitting."

A tabby cat slithered around the desk, jumping up to sit on the podium. It had intensely curious eyes, which scanned the room before leaning its neck at the two of them, as if studying them.

"Well, it sure is interested in us, no?" Harry asked. "I wonder if it's a real cat."

"What do you mean, if it's real?" A voice asked behind them. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, strolled in. He took the seat across the aisle, closest to Harry, as Crabbe sat to his right and Goyle just behind him. "It looks as real as any other cat."

"We're in a school of magic, is it out of the question that it could be charmed or transfigured?" Harry asked. He leaned across the way and reached out his hand. His magic twitched a bit, reminding him of something. "Good to see you, Heir Malfoy. Hadn't had a chance on congratulating you on making Slytherin."

Draco's chin tilted up slightly, but he nodded and shook Harry's hand. "Good to see you as well, Heir Potter. Thank you," he said. "I, along with the majority of the school, were surprised you didn't go into the lion's den. Congratulations yourself."

"Honestly? The Sorting Hat said I could go to any of the Houses," Harry shrugged, adjusting himself in his seat to a more comfortable position. He glanced at the cat again. "Do you know of a charm that can let an animal act as a medium to watch or listen, or at least relay information in some way?"

"If it exists, of which I'm doubtful, father hasn't told me about it," Draco smirked to himself. "A bit of a paranoid thought, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't call it paranoia as much as curiosity," Harry countered, before turning to Hermione. "Remind me to look that up when we go to the library later."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. Harry sensed her discomfort in how easily he was handling Draco. He bounced his head subtly about, as if to both say, 'I'm sorry, but it's necessary.' She understood but huffed a bit anyway.

Their fellow classmates soon joined. The Ravenclaws filled in the seats behind and to the left of Harry and Hermione. The Slytherins did the same nearest and to the right of Draco. Still, the hall could easily hold the rest of their fellow year mates with room to spare.

"Anyone know why there's a cat sitting there?" Michael Corner asked, sitting as far away as possible. "Shouldn't class have started by no-oh my God!"

The cat in question powerfully leapt from the Podium, morphing midair into Professor McGonagall. She continued with the momentum, walking down the middle of the divided houses, forcing them to turn to look at her.

"Transfigurations, as you have seen, are complex processes of magic that take years of closely instructed study to master. They are quite literally, and continually, the most dangerous branch of magic studied at Hogwarts. I am a registered Animagus, and my form, as you witnessed, is a cat. All who study the subcategory of Animagi must register their forms with the ministry. They also must study from a Master of Transfiguration, who carries both a license to teach Transfiguration and a certificate to teach the process. As you can tell, learning to become an Animagus, like all forms of Transfiguration, carries a great deal of consequences when done without care and attention." Professor McGonagall hardly broke rhythm in her introduction, yet somehow spoke clearly and concisely to convey her exact message. She was unemotional in her explanation, but firm in her presentation.

Harry sat dumbstruck, locking away this information in his internal compartment, newly minted and labeled for Transfiguration class.

"I do not accept any less from all of you. Whether we are attempting intricate uses of conjuration magic in your fifth year or inter-species transfigurations in your sixth year, you will do so with caution, with focus, and with precision. Whether we are practicing inanimate-to-inanimate transfigurations, as we will be today and for the majority of the month, or Human transfiguration, as we will be in your seventh years, you must remain at your utmost level of dedication and veracity," She now stood at her podium, having lulled her first years into a trance while walking back to the platform. "I schedule Ravenclaws and Slytherins together for practical on purpose, if any of you were wondering." A bemused look landed on her face for a moment, breaking them out of the non-spell. "I find the most success out of your houses, though that is not a rule, nor do I expect any less from the other houses. The qualities of your houses are hard to distinguish in certain cases. In a place like a Transfigurations Classroom, where rules are not simple guidelines, but genuine laws of nature and a framework of tried and true success, Ravenclaws seem to adhere to these principles almost innately. Slytherins, and I see your smirking and knowing looks, think I am insulting them for such a comment. Because for most of you, rules are simply effective guidelines for most other people to follow… I assure you, in my classroom, if a rule is broken on purpose because you might think of a better way to perform the spell, I assure you I won't teach you another bit of Transfigurations magic while you walk the halls of this school. You have been warned. That goes for all of you, by the way."

Harry glanced at Draco, noticing his tightly held glare directed at Professor McGonagall. He was taking this as a personal insult, Harry realized, and not a practical analysis of personality traits in a setting that calls for nearly dogmatic acceptance of rules. Perhaps he should chat with him.

Without warning, Professor McGonagall had her wand out and flourished it at her desk. It grew a fat wooden belly, the legs shortened, and hooves formed. The books on top morphed into a head and slid into place at the end of the belly, which looked around and even oinked once. The pig, other than just having been a desk, seemed to be a fully alive and real animal.

"Good God," Harry muttered to himself, openly staring at the pig. Professor McGonagall seemed satisfied with her work and turned to the class.

"Question, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked, having heard him.

"Many," Harry answered, slightly shaken. "It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't-" Draco blurted out, before realizing he was interrupting. Professor McGonagall looked a bit surprised but nodded to him to continue. "What doesn't make sense about it? It's a fourth- or fifth-year spell, sure, but it's magic."

"You will ideally begin to learn this at the end of your sixth years," Professor McGonagall corrected. "However, it is not simply just 'magic.' It is precise intention, accurate use of magical power, a quality wand, and most importantly, years of constant practice-"

Harry raised his hand, and she nodded. Harry felt the eyes of every student on him as he lowered his hand.

"I completely believe you, but my issue isn't with the magic. It's the… can it feel?" Harry asked, eliciting a round of laughs from some of the students. Harry felt the blush but kept his head held high.

"Ah, I see. It can feel as much as a desk can, Mr. Potter," she paused to glare at the students. "And I would suggest you hold your laughter lest you wish to also be laughed at for asking important questions." She held her glare somewhere toward the back of the classroom where a blonde haired Slytherin girl sat. "For all ethical purposes, perhaps not for practical purposes, this pig is still a desk. It only understands what I instruct it to understand, which is part of the animation aspect of the Transfiguration. The base level of this spell creates an immobile version of the Vietnamese Pot-Belly yet combined with a number of charms incorporated within your intent, you can manipulate the animal to do anything you wish."

She looked over the class, as if she was sharing a secret.

"However, this is not necessary for you to begin to practice or really understand until we begin animate-to-animate Transfigurations next year," Professor McGonagall warned. "Any other questions?"

The class stayed silent. Either from the fear of the potential laughter that could be at their expense, or fear of speaking to the intense form of Professor McGonagall.

"Very well, open to page three of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch," Professor McGonagall instructed as the true lecture began.

"As you may have realized, intent and focus to magic, is as to water and air to life. You simply will find yourself unsuccessful if you cannot fully imagine the complete process of your Transfiguration from beginning to end," At this, she flicked her wand at the pig, and it quickly returned to the shape of her desk. "While we spoke, I needed to maintain the image of the pig in the back of my mind, or it would begin to return to its original shape. Thus, you can assume that Transfiguration uses a great deal of magic to not only perform the spell once, but to sustain said spell. There are certain forms of high-level Charms that aid in maintaining a Transfigured item. Even a number of Transfiguration spells do not require the intent to sustain, but these are few and far between. If you have the aptitude, an entire discipline called Alchemy has the intent of changing material to material absolutely, among its other practices. Alchemy is only available to a select few individuals, namely those who can find an Alchemist willing to teach them of their ways." She looked down at a copy of the textbook to remind herself of where to continue, but it seemed rehearsed to Harry.

"Ma'am?" Hermione asked, hand raised. Professor McGonagall nodded. "You said we would find ourselves unsuccessful if we did not have the full process in our imagination. How thorough must we imagine the object?"

"Well, it depends on the object you wish to transfigure. As you begin today, you will need to know that you are actively transfiguring the wood of a match to the metal of a needle," Professor McGonagall explained. "The more detailed the object, the more detailed the imagination must become."

"But we do not need to understand the substructure of the metal or wood? Or of the potassium chlorate in the head of the match, or of the combination of different metals in the needle?" Hermione asked. Harry turned and grinned at her. Assuming she was correct, the random bit of knowledge about the chemical structure of a match intrigued him.

"I assure you, the creator of the spell did not have potassium chlorate in mind when constructing the transfiguration," Professor McGonagall said in a tight smile. "Five points to Ravenclaw for pointing out a clear conflicting problem. How intricate must our imagination be when we perform these spells? If you have it in mind that a match is made of wood, you need not know all of the different chemicals that go into the process of growing a tree. Nor must you understand the balance of metals in a pin. While you must imagine the process, the change of one object as it is known commonly to another commonly known object, it is unnecessary to delve into anything more complex."

The blonde haired Slytherin girl in the back raised her hand. "And if we do?"

"You will most likely end up with half of a match and half of a needle," Professor McGonagall said, a stricter tone in her voice than before. "While I assumed many of you might miscalculate the level of complexity needed, I did not fully consider whether or not you might overcomplicate the process. Everyone close your eyes," and everyone did. "Imagine a beetle, of any type and variety."

Harry's mind went to an image of a beetle he once found crawling in Petunia's garden as he weeded it out. It crawled over his arm and quickly returned to the dirt. Barry the Beetle.

"Did you imagine what its intestines looked like? Or how its nervous system worked?" She was satisfied with the communal shaking of heads no. "That is what you can imagine when we work on transfiguring a button into a beetle later this year. If you find yourself diving deeper, it may work for you, as long as you have every other aspect of the process correct," Professor McGonagall explained. "Headmaster Dumbledore, for example, can create objects he has never truly seen in reality. I once saw him conjure a piece of abstract art using elmwood and obsidian glass." For a moment, she was lost in memory. "If he is wandering the halls and has a free moment, and you will know so because he will be chatting with the portraits, ask him to show you some of his work. It is truly remarkable."

And they continued, taking turns reading paragraphs out of the book until they reached the end of the chapter.

"That is the last time we will read together in class," Professor McGonagall sharply announced. "I expect you to have the readings done before practical. During our theoretical lessons, we will be reading articles silently, taking quizzes or exams, or preparing for our next practical lesson." She checked her pocket watch. "We have twenty minutes left. All of you will now begin to work on transfiguring your matches to needles."

She levitated matches to each student, and then sat behind her desk and watched.

Harry and Hermione shared a look, before grinning to one another.

"I went first last time," Hermione challenged. Harry could only snort, before pulling his wand out of his pocket.

"Par Acusas!" Harry commanded, focusing all of his energy into imagining the wood change to metal. In his mind, it elongated, sharpened, and hardened into a needle. In reality, the match looked no different. He picked it up and bent it. The sharp snap of wood dropped his heart into his knees.

"Reparo," Professor McGonagall cast from her seat, hardly looking at him.

He stared at his wand, then the newly fixed match, and then back at his wand.

"It sounded right," Hermione supplied, shrugging. "Par Acusas," she said more firmly.

Snap.

"Hmm," Hermione supplied intelligently. "I really imagined it changing."

"I did too," Harry agreed, staring at his match. He checked the pronunciation, rechecked it, and then went back to staring. "Do you think this is a joke spell?"

"Try to be more serious, Harry," Hermione huffed. Harry glanced to Draco, who was adamantly looking between his wand and his match. "What are we missing?"

"Do you truly believe it'll change?" Harry asked before realizing what he was asking. "Or are you hopeful?"

"I'm, I guess I'm hopeful," Hermione replied, clicking her tongue. "Par Acusas!" She kept her wand steady, and the match seemed to have nothing change. Without picking it up, she flipped open her book and glared at the page.

"We can't really expect to be successful on the first try," Harry muttered to himself, picking up her match. He tugged on both ends, bending it slightly with a crunch of wood. "Hermione," Harry nudged her slightly. She didn't look up, but muttered half of a response. "Hermione, you're too focused on the material."

"What?" She asked, turning to face him. "How- oh, I see." She raised her hand, and Professor McGonagall flicked her wand their way. The match returned to its original state, but Professor McGonagall turned and fixed another's match. "Give me a minute," Hermione closed her eyes and sat motionless.

Harry sat, looking at his match once more. Perhaps he shouldn't try changing this match, he began to think. The spell wasn't created to change this match, it was to change all matches. It was to change not only the physical form of the match, but the entire idea of a match into the idea of a needle. The spell, which required an exact level of imagination, magical power, intent, and focus, did not actually require the first match turned into a needle. He grinned to himself, glancing up at Professor McGonagall. She looked on, jutting her chin up expectedly.

"Par Acusas," Harry cast, his voice soft in the wake of his understanding. He felt the magic as it left his wand. In the center of the match, a metallic shimmer began to form. It grew out, encapsulating the entire match. It elongated until one end was razor sharp and the other opened for the eye, rounding off at the end. Harry picked it up and pulled on both ends. Nothing.

"You did it," Hermione said, sounding both surprised and betrayed. "How?" She all but demanded.

"I work top down," Harry reiterated. "You'll get it, keep trying." His encouragement wasn't meant to frustrate her, as much as it did. He firmly believed that his understanding wouldn't work for her, and she might even disregard it as too easy.

"Mr. Potter, may I inspect your match?" Professor McGonagall asked, now standing at the front of their desk. Harry, not understanding why, felt a pull of magic out of his body. He remembered to focus on sustainment, and the pull lessened, but only just.

"It seems to be a needle," Harry replied smartly, voice catching as his vision swayed.

"We shall see," Professor McGonagall replied, equally as smart. She did her best to bend of the needle, finally bending the skinny form slightly. She set it back down and tapping it with her wand. The subtle drain on Harry's magic released, and the match returned to its original material, with an unnatural bend to its structure. "Well," she said, looking around the class as the other students continued on practicing. "Your father would truly be proud that you have… his strange talent in my field. Three points to Ravenclaw. You may be excused for the rest of the class. I would like a paragraph or two on how you successfully accomplished this spell, due by next Tuesday at the beginning of our next Practical class."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, locking this bit of information away, along with the past five minutes of his experimenting. "Would you mind if I stayed and watched? Or if I kept practicing?"

Professor McGonagall nodded, allowing herself a small smile. "Please do," she said, tapping her wand, repairing the match. "Miss Granger, any progress?"

"I think I'm transfiguring the inside first," Hermione explained, glancing at Harry. "Par Acusas."

Again, there was no noticeable change. She picked it up and tried to bend it, only to find it had the density of a needle.

"You're getting there," Professor McGonagall encouraged. She tapped her wand again and fixed the match. "Remember to not get bogged down by the muggle understanding of the match. It is valuable to understand, but not in this class."

Hermione nodded, not meeting their eyes.

Professor McGonagall glanced at Harry, who uncomfortably signaled he didn't know how to help. She subtly shrugged and meandered over to Draco's desk.

Harry looked around and found that most of the other students were not having any success. Only the blonde Slytherin girl had made anything that resembled a needle, but it snapped in two every time she tried it. Su Li, sitting off in the corner with Padma Patil, had the same problem Hermione was currently facing.

"I helped you in charms," Hermione finally said after a moment of watching Harry change his match into a needle once again. Harry focused on maintaining the spell, holding it as she continued. "It's coming very easily to you and-"

"I wasn't that great in muggle primary school, Hermione," Harry interrupted. "I mean, I really enjoyed reading in the library, but… I had difficulties that I don't know how to explain, and, well."

"You have learning disabilities?" Hermione asked, rather bluntly.

"No, at least I don't think so. I was just, discouraged early on from trying," Harry corrected. "So, when I couldn't play around with ideas in my imagination, I couldn't get myself to try. Science and math classes weren't my forte. English and social sciences, while they have their own set of rules and everything else… well, I'm more oriented to thinking creatively than procedurally."

"That doesn't explain why this is so easy for you," Hermione argued. Harry shrugged. "I mean, we seriously need to follow the rules of the spell, in a specific order, and be able to sustain it- your needle hasn't changed back yet."

"I'm struggling to hold it at the moment," Harry admitted, feeling the strain on his core. He closed his eyes, entering his field. He could see the strands of magic in the air around him, but he knew of no way to shape or control them. Nothing he imagined would work to direct them in any structured form, flowing wildly in the bright blue sky under the constant blaring sun. He opened his eyes, and immediately let go of the magic. It popped back into match form.

Hermione, biting the inside of her mouth, shook her head.

"I'm doing it exactly how the spell should work logically and-" Hermione began.

"Is that how the creator of the spell thought?" Harry asked, tired of trying to get her to the answer.

"That's all the time we have for today, you can leave your matches on your desks. One final warning, do not attempt any sort of transfiguration unless you have a third year with you to reverse the spell. Do not attempt any spell that you have not been taught in class, or there will be serious repercussions: physically, magically, and disciplinarily."

And they were out of the classroom, wandering back to Ravenclaw Tower to drop their books off. Their classmates were discussing their lessons, sharing ideas about possible methods for success. Hermione hardly glanced Harry's way the entire walk back.

"What'd you do to piss her off?" Michael asked as they split up to their dormitories. "She seemed… annoyed."

"More of what I didn't do," Harry said, shrugging and packing away his books. Choosing not to elaborate, he pulled out his schedule and glanced over it. "We better get down to the pitch, flying lessons start soon."

"Well," Harry said, glancing at Hermione with a smirk. "That was a waste of time."

He felt her annoyance lingering, but she shared the smirk. 'Flying Lessons,' or at least the first lesson, was a history of broomsticks and the laws around it.

"It wasn't a complete waste," Hermione argued, most likely for the Devil. Her knowing smile continued. "Like reminding us that flying over muggle-populated areas is… what did she say?"

"'Not worth the paperwork,'" Harry quoted, listening to Madam Hooch's demeaning voice from her compartment. "Doesn't that…"

"Slightly reduces the importance?" Hermione finished as they wandered from the Quidditch Pitch up to the front of the castle. Their Ravenclaw counterparts were sharing similar criticisms, while the majority of the other students were chattering about getting to fly next week. "Is that Headmaster Dumbledore?"

The doors to the Entrance Hall were open, and between the doors stood Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Quirrell. The first two stood with a deep concern on their faces, while Professor Quirrell curiously watched the first-years approach.

"Wonder what that could be about," Harry absentmindedly asked.

"Ah," Susan's timid tone told Harry all he needed to know. He turned to look at her, realizing she was a few inches taller than him. She had a guilt ridden look on her face, but her shoulders were square, and she walked confidently. "I- well, I didn't think what Professor Quirrell did today was appropriate. I talked to Professor Sprout after Charms, and she must have, well-"

"Don't worry, Susan," Harry reassured. "You did what you thought was best."

"And you don't think it was best?" Susan challenged as they crossed the stone courtyard. "He was going to attack you!"

"He was teaching us," Harry dug in, staring at Professor Quirrell. The corners of his mouth tilted up in the smallest of grins. The majority of the first years passed by apprehensively, only daring to glance in the direction of the headmaster. Harry, Susan, and Hermione split off and waited for the students to fall away.

"Miss Granger, it is not necessary for you to be here," Professor Quirrell commented. "Unless, you t-too would like to lodge a complaint alongside Miss Bones."

Harry couldn't help but wonder what Professor Quirrell's endgame was by doing this. Egging on another student in the presence of his bosses? Or perhaps angling himself as a victim of undue scrutiny? He didn't seem the victim type, but Harry couldn't adequately get a 'type' out of him.

"I was in the class, and I wasn't a target of the lesson, sir," Hermione responded, looking at Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, you were," Harry argued, shaking his head. "We all were meant to-"

"Why don't we continue in my office?" Professor Dumbledore cut in, indicating they should follow him. They turned into a corridor just outside the front doors and reached a large stone Griffin. "Pumpkin Pasties."

Harry raised his eyebrow, but nonetheless followed his teachers up the spiraling staircase. The Headmaster's Office was organized chaos. The walls were lined to the ceiling with bookshelves. Each shelf was densely populated with ancient texts, modern books, and dusty scrolls. He had an ornate, cluttered desk with a tall armchair sitting behind it. Plush, cushioned chairs sat opposite of his, with an empty perch standing beside Professor Dumbledore's desk.

"Please, have a seat," Professor Dumbledore flicked his wand, conjuring two additional chairs to join the original ones. The three students took a seat. Professor Dumbledore glided into his chair, and his professors stood beside him. "Professor McGonagall and I understand, and agree with, your concern for Professor Quirrell's choices and actions today. We have given him an official warning, one that will be on his permanent Educator Record."

"I appreciate the concern," Harry began, looking to Professor Dumbledore to continue. He beckoned him with a nod. "However, if the two of you paid attention to what he was saying- wait Hermione, please. If you paid attention, you would understand that he was acting out what his message was. We shouldn't blindly trust anyone."

"But he is a Professor, and you attacked him!" Hermione burst out. Blushing, she realized where she was. "I'm sorry Professors, but it was our first class. They wouldn't allow this anywhere else-"

"They wouldn't allow it anywhere else because this is Hogwarts, the greatest school of magic in the world!" Harry argued back, turning to face her. "You read Hogwarts, A History. Do you think Professor Gryffindor would start beginner classes by warning them of the danger of dark magic? Or the people who might be willing to use it against good and innocent people?" He stared intently, his sharp emerald green piercing through her. "I expect nothing less from my Professors. Professor Quirrell, thank you for showing me why I shouldn't just trust you, just because you've been appointed to a Professorship. Professor Dumbledore, I don't mean to sound… like a child. But I do think you see the value in Professor Quirrell's lesson, and I think the message was received by many. Though the response from some may be different from others, my response is to walk into my next Defense class with my wand ready."

"Perhaps, you should consider having it out in every class," Professor Quirrell quietly corrected, ignoring the pointed glare from Professor McGonagall.

There was a moment of silence as Harry met Professor Quirrell's eyes, before nodding. Professor Dumbledore looked between the two, and then to his deputy.

"If all of you could excuse myself and Harry, I should like a word with him in private," Professor Dumbledore nearly ordered. Without another word, the two students and two professors left the room. Hermione and Susan cast short glares at Harry, who held a firm and passive look toward them. "Harry."

"Headmaster?" Harry asked as the door closed.

"I worry that you place too much faith in Professor Quirrell's first lesson," Professor Dumbledore began. "I fear that, in his attempt to seem impressive in his first Defense course, he has put an image of distrust of authority figures in you that-"

"I have little faith and absolutely no trust in Professor Quirrell, Headmaster," Harry interrupted abruptly. "I'm sorry, sir, but the message… he wasn't warning of others while not including himself in that warning." He paused, gathering his thoughts before the greatest wizard of the twentieth century. "He warned me to walk into other classes with my wand raised ready for an attack. I don't know how to explain it… exactly. But I have this feeling that I will with him, and perhaps others as I go to their classes. But with Professors Flitwick and McGonagall? Well, I wouldn't dare draw my wand on them."

Professor Dumbledore's curious blue eyes stared openly at his first-year student. The deep and nearly ancient blue took him in, before a slight smile overtook his face and a bright twinkle appeared in his eyes.

"I seem to have both misunderstood you, and your understanding of Professor Quirrell. I apologize for that, my boy," Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Amelia has taught you well."

"I didn't learn to distrust certain people from Madam Bones," Harry said, choosing his words carefully. "I learned that from the Dursleys. Professor Quirrell only reminded me that the magical world has similar folks as the muggle, only with the…"

"Added consequence of magic?" Professor Dumbledore supplied. Harry nodded. "Well, I find myself in a difficult place. Misses Bones and Granger are adamant in their position, as are you. I also want to retain Professor Quirrell's unique skill set but ensure this doesn't happen again."

"Then, perhaps his students should revise the lesson he had today, and reconsider why they might not trust him," Harry argued, sending a wide smile on Professor Dumbledore's face.

"You remind me so much of your father, Harry. It is truly remarkable. But I see your mother in you," Harry cast his stare down to his shoes. "And I ensure you, this is deeper than the shape and color of your eyes. I hope my earlier observations were not inappropriate, I had not seen those eyes or your father's face in ten years… I was quite shocked."

"I understand that, sir," Harry said quietly.

"Well," Professor Dumbledore began, almost cherishing the memories that flooded his mind. "Your father found himself in that very chair on his first day at Hogwarts," Harry's head shot up, his face laced with a smirk. Professor Dumbledore continued smiling, sharing a moment with his student. "He and a few of his friends decided to sabotage their classmate's potion project in their first class. Their professor, one Horace Slughorn, was absolutely disappointed that they didn't realize the violation of the social norm that might harm them in the future."

"Sir?" Harry asked, the logic did not follow.

"All I ask of you, Harry, is that you do not walk into your potion's class with your wand drawn. Do not antagonize, insult, or underestimate your professor. Do not try anything that might harm nor sully your classmates' performances," Professor Dumbledore warned.

"Sir, if I walked into Professor Snape's class with a wand drawn… well, I doubt I'd be walking out of it alive," Harry reminded.

"Alive? Of course, you would, dear boy. In one piece, well…"

A/n: Thank you all for reading. Anyway, this is shaping out to a longer story than I imagined it would be. So, I'll likely jump through time quickly in the next few chapters. I think I'll end up making new stories for each year, or however it ends up divided up. Remember to review with any thoughts you may have: good, bad, and ugly.

-AB