A/N: I seem to have run afoul a terrible monster. Its main hunting grounds are the office, the campus and the student bedroom. I am sure you have heard of it; it is called Procrastination (lat.: tempus atrophia). Thankfully, I managed to escape with only minor injuries. That said, I am posting the next chapter in case I meet another one in the wild. They are very messy to deal with.

P.S. I am still searching for a beta for this story. If you'd be interested, feel free to PM me!

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ V — Vᴏʟᴀᴛɪʟᴇ

"There are a thousand things you should not do, even if you can, for every one you should."

—Albus Dumbledore

Snoring echoed throughout the dark room. Harry was already thanking whoever was thoughtful enough to provide Silencing Charms on their bed curtains. It certainly made life in a dorm a lot more manageable. His watch showed it was five eighteen. He had always been an early riser.

Trying to be as silent as he could, he flicked the little switch next to his trunk lock and then opened it. A few moments later, his head disappeared into the trunk and the lid closed soundlessly behind him. The ladder went down to a small room full of bookcases and drawers. Weren't space-expansion runes wonderful? There was even a small table and chair for writing, as well as a bed. Just in case.

After dressing, he slowly climbed up, pushing the lid open with an invisible hand. He didn't really need to use his Invisibility Cloak, but he had wanted to use it for something ever since he got it yesterday. The castle was asleep, and that meant it was time to explore.

The letters above the double doors read Library. They creaked a little when he opened them, and Harry cringed. It wasn't as if he was doing anything against the rules. The Hogwarts Library was open at all times, if you didn't need the help of the librarian. Even the Invisibility Cloak was perfectly within the school rules. Apparently, they were rare enough that no bans or restrictions had ever been made. Still, creaking doors before sunrise were creepy.

Harry had always felt that calling the place a library did not do it justice. It was the Library. It was probably bigger than the Great Hall. No, scratch that, it is definitely bigger than the Great Hall, he had spent quite a significant amount of time in Hogwarts growing up, and he still got lost in the Library. Most people never bothered, relying on Mrs Pince and her retrieval charms. But there was just something about the endless labyrinthine shelves of books that made Harry want to come back here. That, and he was sure that there were a lot more books than the librarian had access to. Some knowledge was just too shy to be found that easily.

Moving past the front with its many chairs, tables, armchairs and couches, he walked past an archway that marked the beginning of the Library proper. It was not as well-lit as the study area, and instead of bright yellow, the books were bathed in dim red. Taking the main staircase, he went down a flight of stairs. Then another. Turning right, he went down yet again.

This was the Runes section, and he was on a mission. Yesterday, he started thinking about why wands didn't have runes on them. It seemed so simple, once it occurred to him—engrave some into the wand, and it can be more accurate. More volatile. More… magical.

But then again, he wasn't stupid. That was why he was trying to find something to double check. But it couldn't possibly go wrong… right?

He was deep into the curving maze of the Library at this point. The books looked a little older, and the titles were starting to sound more and more archaic. He was quite sure that the shelves would have a thick layer of dust on them, if it wasn't for magic.

He went further still. Down, down, left, down, right, straight, left… or was it right?

Ah heck. He was lost, wasn't he? He just realised he could not remember how he came here. He knew he was trying to get into the 'W' section to look for wand runes, but looking around, he only saw books. Lots and lots of books. Brown, black, green; leather, parchment, scroll.

Hogwarts is a peculiar place, Harry. If you wander too far, it might prove quite hard to find you. You see, Hogwarts is more than just a place. It is a cornerstone of the place, and yet it is more than just a castle. You can walk for miles in the same direction, following the same straight corridor, and end up walking out of the door next to the one you entered. But fear not, you can usually find a portrait soon enough, you can always ask them!

The only problem was that there were no portraits in the Library. But it was still Hogwarts, and so he had no idea where he actually was. He was starting to doubt whether he was still in Scotland. He probably was. But then again, he was probably lower than the Dungeons, and... Where would you even fit something this size? Surely the castle isn't that big.

I wonder, if I go forward, will I end in a graveyard or in some tower? It seemed wiser to turn back and try to come where he came from. He was quite sure the last turn was a left.

…

Right?

He was desperately trying not to look at his watch. He didn't want to know how much time had passed since he entered the Library. It was not as if it would change anything. He really hoped he did not miss his first class. Damn.

He was starting to see why most people didn't bother going into the Library. Alone. Very smart of you, Harry, good job lad, he thought as he gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder. Rounding a corner, he saw a bare stretch of stone. That was something new. Most walls were either made from books, scrolls or old stone tablets with writing scratched into them.

Two fingers trailing the smooth stone, he walked along the wall, trying to decipher why he was feeling so weird. It's just a wall, it's just a wall, it's just a wall, he chanted inside his own mind. The hallway curved slightly, so he couldn't even see the end of it. After what felt, and could possibly have been, forever, he felt a bump.

Adrenaline flooding his system, he jumped away, crashing into a bookshelf and wincing at the dull thud his shoulder made against a shelf. Ow.

He had been lost in thought, trying to think of a way out, or figure out what this wall was, when his fingers suddenly dipped into something cold. He slowly approached the wall, but there was nothing there. Shakily, he placed his hand, fingers outstretched, on the stone. The moment he touched the stone, he felt a cool something running down his palm in a straight line. Some kind of ward?

From the outside, it looked just like the wall to the right, or to the left, but there was definitely something there. After standing there for a while, he shrugged. He had no idea what this was. After a quick discussion, all parts of him agreed to continue along the wall. Not even a minute later, he came across a bigger hallway from the left. The stone wall moulded into another archway, covered in faintly glowing blue runes. It looked as if there was a waterfall of Magic running down the archway. He wasn't sure touching it would be the best thing to do. Trying to read the runes, his eyes trailing to the peaked top, his brain experienced a mental hiccup. The Restricted Section.

He really, really, really wanted to remember where this was. This was like the coolest place in the whole Library, and that was saying something, considering it was basically made out of books.

He was out of his depth. The entrance was covered in unfamiliar runes, and he couldn't even begin to fathom what to do now. He sighed. He was good in Runes. But the archway served as a great reminder that he was no Albus Dumbledore. He really wished he could return here later and work on it, when he wasn't lost, and wasn't probably late for Transfiguration. If only I had a map—…

Oh. Right.

Hogwarts wasn't a place. It was a direction. It was never built, but conjured by the Founders. You couldn't draw a map of something that wasn't a place. You couldn't build something that was not a place. Harry blamed it all on the early morning hours. He totally forgot that just yesterday, in fact, he had acquired a map that did seem to deal with Hogwarts pretty well.

Well, there goes that. And with that, thoughts of power and world conquest put aside, he pulled out the Marauder's Map, whispering the password. As patterns started to trace along the parchment, he sat on the floor. It was going to take a while to unfold it until he found the exit. He had been walking for a while.

He twisted his arm until the faint red light shone on his wristwatch. After a quick glance, he was glad to see he could still make it to class if he hurried and skipped breakfast. He'd rather not be late to his first-ever class in Hogwarts.

Harry was excited. Today was Thursday, and that meant his first proper Potions class. He had always liked Potions. Oh sure, he could see the usefulness of Charms. Maybe even Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, to an extent. He couldn't really think of a way to use what he learned in those two classes on a daily basis, though it was fun. A match to a needle to a match to a needle to a stick to a match to a needle. It was fun. But not that useful, not really. He gave an inner shrug. Well-rounded education never hurt nobody… okay, maybe it did, but that's besides the point. It would probably come in handy at one point or another.

Or maybe he was just biased.

Still, it was better than History of Magic.

Learning that he could do magic, but could not actually, y'know, do it, as it required a wand and you could not get that until you turned eleven. It was like giving someone a puppy, and then telling them a week later it was just a transfigured block of wood.

To console him, Dumbledore had told him there were subjects he could start learning before he got his hands on a wand. So, at the age of six—he would later learn this was the age muggle children started going to school—he and Daphne got their first private class with Professor Snape. And then he learned that his mother—his first mum, he had two now—was good in potions too and she had been friends with Snape. He was a strict teacher, and quite unpleasant when he messed something up. But he did know his bottles, and that's what mattered most.

Two years later, he discovered a book about Ancient Runes. That winter, he spent most of his time in his room, and in the spring he crawled out of his cave reading Old Norse poetry. You can imagine how the rest went. Daphne found it funny. So did mum.

But he couldn't take Ancient Runes until his third year, so he would have to be content with Potions for now. Which wasn't all that hard. He was practically jumping around the Ravenclaw common room as he waited for Daphne. It was a wonder he did not start to spontaneously levitate.

"Hey, Harry, how'd you sleep?" she asked as she came down the stairs, smiling as Harry hugged her, took her hand immediately started walking towards the exit. "Excited, are we?"

"Yes, well, it's Potions," Harry replied with a small smile.

"Yeah, be glad you have me. Otherwise you'd be paler than a Vampire," Daphne chuckled.

"Would not!" came the indignant reply.

"Actually, yeah, you're probably right," he said into the silence as they were waiting for a staircase to grace them with its presence a few minutes later.

She just rolled her eyes. Harry stuck out his tongue. He knew she liked Potions too. Honestly, who doesn't? Potions were neat! It was a bit like water, but magic.

As they entered the near-empty Great Hall, they were surprised to see Susan already sitting at the Hufflepuff table talking with Hannah and Sally-something-something. That girl looks like she'll be gone tomorrow, Harry thought absently. Susan waved them over when she noticed them.

After the introductions, Hannah told them her friend told her that her friend told her that Goyle, one of Malfoy's friends-slash-bodyguard-wannabes, stole Weasley's something during their first flying lesson and they went on a chase. It ended with someone falling off the broom, managing to survive with only a broken wrist, and Goyle getting heaps of detention. All the while Hooch was fetching a broom—one of the ones she brought to the lesson were broken.

"Um, so she just told them not to go flying in broomstick class while she went somewhere?" Susan asked incredulously. "Hold on, does she know that the worst possible thing to do if you want someone not to do something is to tell them not to do it? And don't even get me started on leaving a class of Slytherins and Gryffindors alone!"

"Hey, at least they don't give them beater bats until October," Harry replied.

Hannah and Daphne both nodded, equally horrified at that image.

Something really ought to be done about broomstick classes. Why not just rename them to Quidditch prep. and make it voluntary?

He said just that. "I mean, with Apparition, Portkeys, the Floo Network, isn't it a bit pointless to teach kids to ride on brooms?"

"You forget, there's also Dragons, Hippogriffs, Abraxans, enchanted umbrellas, and I think I once read about a carriage that was dragged by a flock of Grindylows," Daphne ticked off her fingers, one by one.

"You forgot Phoenixes' flame travel," Harry added, thoughtfully. "Yeah, there really are a few ways better than broomsticks for getting places."

"Anyway," Hannah started, "I've heard that Professor Snape is really strict. He deducted so many points from Gryffindor yesterday that they went into negative points." She did look a bit afraid to go down to the Dungeons.

"Better than Harry blowing up a feather in his face," Daphne said with a giggle. "With a Levitation Charm, no less. How'd you do that, anyway, were you trying to make it into a rocket?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I try to make one lousy rocket. When are you going to stop going on about that?" Missed pronunciation, that's how.

"Oh I don't know, maybe when you have kids so that I can tell them too," she shot back with an evil smile.

When he discovered that muggles wrote some really good books, he started reading a lot more. That is how he came across one with rockets… And you know how little boys and rockets were. The disadvantage of knowing Potions was that he could make a pretty good rocket engine at the age of nine. Not that it worked that well; he went about the next two months without eyebrows, as if he was still surprised it had blown up in his face. He wasn't, not really. That was the day he resolved to build his next rocket after he learned some basic charms. And maybe he would add some runes too.

The Potions laboratory looked like the base of a mad vampire scientist. Dried plants hung from the ceiling, and there were jars with all sorts of ingredients alongside the walls. The room looked like it should have been damp and chilly, but it wasn't. There was the slight shifting of air that accompanied all Potions laboratories, with air-fresheners working overtime to get rid of any fumes that might escape. Rows of desks lined the classroom, each with two chairs and two burners in the middle.

He had arrived to the lab a full thirty minutes early. Yes, he was good in Potions. But he got there by working hard, not by waiting for a blessing. He decided it never hurt to go through some of the material before class.

He lifted his backpack from the floor (weren't featherlight and extension charms just wonderful?) and pulled out a small book bound in black leather. It wasn't the standard-issue Potions text. Actually, there were only three copies of this book in the world so far. The other two belonged to Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, the man who wrote it. It wasn't even finished yet.

Harry had been amazed when Snape showed it to him last year, telling him he wanted Harry to have one. He wasn't quite sure whether the Professor had given it to him as a gift or as a sheer precautionary measure so that he would not blow himself up.

Harry liked to invent stuff, and this book was a veritable gold mine for information about ingredients and processes, as well as the standard cookbook-esque recipes.

He had added his own little improvement to it, stitching small runes along the cover, so that the book was not taller than he was wide. There was a lot of Potions trivia and even more recipes in this book. And then there were the secret sections, with all the spells and such. It was a great book.

Lamplight glinted from the silver letters on the front. The Brewer's Guide to Potion-making. Underneath, in bright green were two words: Don't panic.

Some twenty minutes later found him re-reading the sections on asphodel when the door to the Potions classroom flew open, rebounding from the wall and slamming shut behind the man that strode into the cluster of children, desks and cauldrons. He hadn't even noticed the classroom fill up.

Yeah, actually, pretty spooky. He had tried to tell Hannah that Professor Snape wasn't evil, just strict. Not that she believed me.

"Quiet," said the low voice of Severus Snape. The last few kids went silent.

He proceeded to the roll call, giving a brief nod when everyone was present. Then he slowly drew himself up and walked to the centre of the classroom.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." It was a quiet speech, but everyone heard it through the total silence that spread across the room. McGonagall was strict. Snape was downright menacing. "Making potions is not flashy, there is minimal wandwork and pretentious chanting. If you see colorful sparks, you are probably doing something wrong." He paused, looking from one student to the next.

"I suspect many of you will not be able to appreciate the subtle artistry that brewing potions provides. But there is a sort of integrity to the simmering cauldron, shimmering fumes and glimmering vials. There is power, barely contained, within each stoppered bottle. It can grant the power to break a man's will; the power to break a man's heart. The power to bend Magic towards your own desire, bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses… I can teach you how to bottle flame, brew glory, even stopper death. All that and much more, provided you don't exhibit the same talent at tipping over cauldrons as those dunderheads Weasley and Thomas. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought the boys to have sworn vengeance against pewter."

There was more silence. Did he just make a joke? Harry looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back at Harry. They both shrugged. Probably yes. Oh well, there are weirder things in the world.

But still. What?

"I expect you to be paying attention. I expect you to take notes and take great care not to hurt yourselves or your classmates. Potions is one of the most dangerous subjects you will be taught at Hogwarts. If you are not careful, you could faint, choke, burn, explode, melt, or even simply die. Brewing potions is doing surgery on Mother Nature. Be careful, be precise, be exact. Is that clear?"

There was yet more silence.

"It is customary to provide an answer when the teacher poses a question," Snape drawled. "Should I start thinking you are impolite as well as uneducated?"

"No, sir," came a small voice from the back of the classroom.

"Is that clear?" he asked again, putting emphasis on every word.

"Yes," came a weak chorus from the class.

"Very well, then. We will start with the Antidote for Common Poisons. Please open your textbooks on page thirty-six. It is as easy to brew as they come and I have every confidence you will manage it quite well on your own, provided you are capable of at least successfully making a cup of tea. All ingredients and procedures are listed in the book; if you have questions, read first, ask second. Mr Potter, Miss Greengrass, I expect you to continue where we left off."

They got a few sidelong glances from their classmates until Snape asked what they were waiting for in a voice that would have scared off a griffin, and those were creatures of courage.

The introduction to the class over, they looked at each other, nodded and got to work. The Enhanced Calming Draught was not going to brew itself, after all. As he started cutting the peppermint and Daphne held the lavender above the flame, he started reflecting on what the first week had been like so far.

"Today, we will be learning the Levitation Charm, one of the simplest feats of magic there are," squeaked Flitwick. He was standing on a stack of books so high Harry wondered how did he manage to keep his balance. He looked a bit like a statue, one made by a very confused sculptor—the person was too small and the pedestal too large. There were some really obscure books in the stack too. Conductivity of Serpent Venoms sounded like something that should be kept out of sight.

"Whoa, that woman just turned into a cat. How can I do that?"

"Professor, I was wondering, why do Aurors not have runes that make something like Protego? Or, actually, why don't wizards have warming runes on their clothes?" Harry asked. It had never really occurred to him, but after Professor Quirrel started the lesson outlining the plan for their first year… There had to be a catch, right? If other humans were the most dangerous enemy, why not protect yourself—

"Very good question, Mr Potter. The answer is just as simple, and just as striking," the balding man replied, "even if it is not what you were hoping for, I assume. Simply put, when struck by other magic, such as a hex or a curse, the Runic Array could become unstable. I trust you can fill in the rest." His smile was small and ever so sinister.

"Oh," said Harry in a small voice. That… sounded like a very, very good reason why there would be no runes on clothes. Something about a rocket comes to mind…

He was just reflecting on their first Occlumency session with Dumbledore when it happened.

"Longbottom, what do you think you're doing?" came the near-shout from Professor Snape. Harry nearly cut himself as he was jerked from his reverie.

"N-n-nothing, P-professor," stuttered the boy, his full fist slowly withdrawing from above the cauldron. He looked terrified.

"Can you explain, Mr Longbottom, why you were talking with your classmate instead of following the instructions?" asked Snape. This wasn't going to end well. "Do you have any idea what you were about to do, boy?"

"N-no, Professor."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, absently waving his wand and turning the flame below Neville's cauldron off. "There are three ingredients, Mr Longbottom. Three. Does anyone know what happens when you add sodium to boiling water?"

After a moment, Harry raised his hand. It didn't look like anyone else knew.

"Yes, Mr Potter?"

"It explodes, sir."

"Correct. Take one point for Ravenclaw, Mr Potter. This is not cooking, Mr Longbottom. You don't throw all ingredients into the cauldron and expect a miracle. If you put in an explosive before treating the solution to be inert, you are going to blow up your hand, desk, and quite possibly more than that. You are getting a T from today's class, Mr Longbottom, and I will be taking five points from Hufflepuff for your carelessness that endangered your fellow classmates. I also expect a three-paragraph on why order is important in brewing by next week. You are dismissed."

The boy looked ready to cry. Harry was torn. On one hand, what Neville did was incredibly stupid, and he needed to understand that if he wanted to keep ten fingers for the rest of his life. But… that was a bit harsh.

"Back to work," snapped Snape, "I hope you were able to either continue brewing or stabilse your potions during this debacle. If I see anyone else make a mistake like Mr Longbottom here did today, I shall be very displeased." Harry heard someone gulp.