Undo, Retry
Chapter 5

by Olafr – Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended.

Rating: PG (so far)

Last updated: 8 April 2005.

Author's Notes: Harry and Hermione become friends, and the trip on the Hogwarts Express.

oOoOoOo

"Good morning, Mrs Granger," said Harry with a happy smile. She returned the smile, looking down at him.

"Good morning, Harry. I must say, Hermione is very eager to begin reading about... her school material." She silently berated herself; she had almost said magic

"It wouldn't surprise me if she spent all last night reading."

Helen suppressed a giggle. 'He's more right than he could possibly know.'

oOoOoOo

The walk to the Grangers' home was less than ten minutes. The got back just in time for Helen Granger to kiss her husband, Terence, as he went out the door to attend their dental surgery for the day.

As this happened, Hermione ran out from what Harry later discovered was the kitchen, which also had a small dining table which was used for breakfasts and for general utility purposes. When she saw Harry, her face lit up with a shy smile and she stepped forward to face him.

"Hello, Harry," she said shyly. "Thank you for coming over."

Returning her smile, Harry replied seriously, "Thanks for inviting me." Then his smile widened into a broad grin and he continued, "Did you read any of your books last night? Did you try anything out?"

"I started reading The Standard Book of Spells Volume 1. I didn't actually try anything out, though. I wanted to read the books first. Did you try a spell? Did it work?" Harry nodded wordlessly, and Hermione almost bounced up and down in glee. "Well, come on, then, come and show me. We can work on it together."

Helen Granger smiled down at the children as Hermione took Harry's hand and dragged him into the kitchen where Hermione had been reading one of her school books over breakfast. The breakfast dishes had been cleared away, but Hermione had remained, fascinated. Now, it appeared she had made a friend and found someone to share her fascination with. It was lovely to see; Hermione's school this past year had been a difficult environment for her. She sometimes regretted not putting Hermione into a school for gifted children, but they had thought that a more normal social environment would be better for their only daughter. In retrospect that had been a mistake, but at least now it seemed that things would be better for her from now on.

With that thought, Helen closed the front door and followed the children into the kitchen. Just because he was magical didn't mean Harry, for all his earnestness, didn't merit watching at least at first, and she thought through her morning activities so that the children would be more or less under direct supervision at first.

She would start with some baking.

oOoOoOo

The pencil remained firmly on the tabletop. Hermione withdrew her wand, crossed her arms, and pouted. Harry had made it look so easy! Why couldn't she do it? She knew she wasn't stupid, but maybe she just wasn't cut out to be a witch after all?

No! She would do it. She would keep at it until she had levitated that rotten pencil, or she wouldn't sleep that night! She'd show Harry Bloody Potter, so she would! With a nod and a spirit of determination, she uncrossed her arms and pointed her wand at the red-painted, B2 pencil.

"Wingardium LeviOhsah!"

The chewed end of the pencil mocked her with its motionlessness. Frustrated, she tried again, this time pointing at a wadded-up sheet of paper, almost shouting, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Nothing. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

She was a failure. She felt like she wanted to cry. A hand on her forearm broke her concentration and drew her out of her funk. "Hermione, just a moment."

Frustration jerked her naescent sadness into anger. She glared at Harry. He smiled back at her gently, pushing the hand containing her wand down so that it rested on the tabletop. Taking a hint, she let the wand fall out of her hand onto the table, and sadness returned as she watched it roll out from beneath her hand. It came to rest after a moment.

"Hermione... listen for a moment." Looking back at Harry, she saw that he was looking at her with a serious expression.

"What?"

"I did this before, and you assume it's easy. The thing is, I made myself a wand to help get my accidental magic under control but it took me over a year to be able to use it."

Hermione stared at him in horror. "A year! What...! They couldn't possibly...! No, no, they wouldn't have us buy a spellbook if we weren't expected to do anything in our first year. You must be wrong!" Calming a little at her own argument, she added, "Besides, Mr Ollivander said that you'd made the wand wrongly. You were working against resistance."

"Yes. But what I meant was, I know how magic is supposed to feel. After all, I did all kinds of things like expanding my room and conjuring furniture without any spells like they describe in here." A lie... but not really; he really could do that now after extensive practice. He gestured at the book, which was open to Wingardium Leviosa and had a wand movement diagram and a pronunciation guide. "I think all these are aids. Crutches to help people. I mean, if these were really necessary, would there be any accidental magic?"

"Oh! You mean, then, that you don't need this to cast a spell?"

Harry smiled, and pointed his wand directly at the pencil. Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed deeply in and out then in again, then opening his eyes once again and without a single word or movement of his wand, the pencil began to float. Now Harry moved his wand, like a pointer. As he pointed, the pencil followed, but not every movement was caused by the wand. He made the pencil spin in place, and pirouette on its axis, and even move closer and farther away, all without fancy movements, to say nothing of a swish-and-flick.

Then the pencil rested once again on the table and Hermione's eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Please, Harry, can you show me how to do that?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, of course I will. Err, I mean, I'll try. I'll try my very hardest."

There was a long pause, which Hermione broke by saying, "So? How do you do it?"

"Intent, focus, relaxation, and decision."

"Excuse me? What do you mean by that?"

"You must know what you intend to do, and you must focus upon it. You must relax, so that your power will flow, and you must decide to perform the spell."

"I don't understand. Maybe if you gave an example. Like, what process did you go through when you levitated the pencil?"

"Well, my intent varied, but to start with I decided I wanted it to float in line with my wand, staying the same distance away, and remaining otherwise still. I didn't decide that I just wanted it to rise, or it would have just gone up and not stopped until I decided for it to stop." He smirked a little in memory. "I put a book through the ceiling once that way." He shared a laugh with Hermione, and continued.

"Um, focus. I focused on my magic, feeling it and telling it that I needed it to do something for me, and I focused on the pencil – I didn't want the table itself to levitate, after all. Relaxation, you have to relax when you cast a spell or your magic won't flow. It's rather like having to hold on when you can't get to the toilet; tensing up like you were before only ensures that your magic can't get out. And decision, I imagined a valve in my wrist to control the flow of magic; when I wanted to start levitating I flipped the valve on; when I wanted the spell to end I turned it off."

"Oh! And when you made it twirl about, that was varying your intent?"

Harry nodded. "That's really the most important thing. All the others you have to do, too, but if you don't control your intent properly then all kinds of weird things can happen."

"I think I get it! Looking at this book, then, the description helps set the intent so you have a mental image of what will happen; the words and the movements help focus intent and the starting and ending movements are the decision! Yes?"

"I guess so! All I know is what works for me. I suppose that we'll spend a while in class building our confidence so that relaxation takes care of itself, too. If you doubt whether the spell will happen, it won't. You have to know it will work."

Hermione sat back in her chair, looking up at the top of the far wall as she mulled things over. "I suppose," she said at length, "that I understand everything except what you meant by feeling your magic and telling it... something."

"Ah. Yes. Well, as I said it took me a while. I had to borrow books on meditation from the library before I had any luck."

"I rather imagine the meditation helped with relaxation, too," said Hermione in a not-quite know-it-all voice. Harry just shrugged in reply.

From the kitchen, Helen decided to help out. She had found the dicusssion fascinating. "Hermione," she said as she paused from stirring chocolate chips into a big bowl of bisuit dough, "books on meditation are in the unit on the left-hand wall of the library, second bay, bottom shelf."

Harry could not help but raise his eyebrows. "Library?" he asked, trying to sound surprised.

"Knowledge is power, Mr Potter," said Helen archly. "Knowledge is power." Then she ruined the effect with an impish smile. "Besides, both Terence and I are bibliophiles. We love to read, and I rather think we've passed that trait on to Hermione. Which reminds me, Hermione dear, I want to teach you some speed learning and memory skills before you go off to Hogwarts. They were ever so valuable when I was in Uni; I really wish I'd known how earlier. Perhaps Harry might like to learn, too. A trade for his help to you, don't you think?"

oOoOoOo

September the first dawned bright and clear, and Harry bounced out of bed in good spirits. Today was the day! Today was the day he would go to Hogwarts, would meet once again all his old school friends, would be imbued in the magical atmosphere of that magical place.

He had been staying with the Grangers for the past two weeks. Comments he had dropped accidentally-on-purpose combined with artful disingenuousness had resulted in a semi-permanent invitation to live with the Grangers and a deep contempt by the Grangers of the Dursleys. He had accepted, knowing that he would not have to worry about staying with the Dursleys to recharge his 'protection' until the following summer, although he said nothing about that to the Grangers for now. Besides, he liked staying with the Grangers – they made him feel welcome, even loved, and after ten years of the Dursleys he hungered for the affection he got from Mrs Granger in particular like a man in a desert thirsted for water.

He had spent the time relearning magic with Hermione, building a friendship that seemed more a meeting of equals than it had last time. They had even raided the several bookstores in and around Diagon Alley on two occasions while both elder Grangers were at work, catching the train and hiding Harry's scar beneath an artfully positioned wizard's hat once they entered the Leaky Cauldron. He had also paid a rather shady character to remove the Ministry tracking from their wands on their first visit.

He mused as he showered about the fact that it had taken him so long and so much costly experience to gain an appreciation of knowledge that Hermione had already had at age eleven, and wondered how the coming year would go. In particular, what of Ron?

What of Ron?

He still had no answer to that question as he stepped into the kitchen for breakfast to be greeted by the other members of the family.

oOoOoOo

Kings Cross Station hustled and bustled around them as Mr and Mrs Granger accompanied Harry and Hermione as they pushed their way along Platform 9. It was barely ten o'clock, almost an hour before the Hogwarts Express was due to leave, but the Grangers were believers in the virtues of arriving early for airplanes and trains and so here they were. It was Sunday, so they didn't have to deal with the crush of commuter traffic, although it was still fairly busy with people bustling to and fro. Both their parents could take the time to see them off, which Harry decided was very nice.

When did he start thinking of Mr and Mrs Granger as his parents? The thought made him zone out, trying to remember when his mental shift had occurred.

"So where's the barrier you were telling us about, Harry?" Mrs Granger's voice startled Harry out of his reverie, and Hermione giggled when he jerked in surprise. He hauled his cart to a stop as he saw that they had just passed the right spot, and there was a moment of confusion as he led them back slightly to stand by the visibly solid and broad brick pillar.

"This is it," he said.

"Are you sure?" asked Mrs Granger uncertainly. She reached out to touch the somewhat worn bricks, and was faintly surprised when they felt precisely normal – solid, rough, and quite cool to the touch. She pulled her hand away and ran her thumb over her fingertips, feeling the faint not-quite-there impression of grit which faded away as her mind told her that the feeling was impressions left in her fingertips, not actual grit that had come loose from the bricks. "It feels quite solid to me."

Harry nodded, smiling. "Yes. But here, watch." With that, Harry pushed his hand through the slightly treacle-like resistance of the barrier. Helen goggled at the sight of Harry's hand embedded up to his wrist in the apparently-solid wall. "I see," she said. "Simple but effective."

Withdrawing his hand, Harry drew the others to one side where he stopped and stood, awkwardly. "I'm sorry but I don't know how to get you through the barrier," he said regretfully. "So we'll have to say goodbye here."

"Cheer up, Harry," put in Mr Granger with a light slap to his shoulder. "We know you'll take good care of our little girl."

"Yes, that's right," said Mrs Granger with a brittle brightness that almost had Harry in tears. "We'll see you at Christmas. You will come, won't you Harry?"

Nodding, Harry smiled at her, though Helen saw a shadow pass behind his eyes. "I'd love to."

"Good, we'll expect to see you then. Well, have a good term, children," she said as she pulled Hermione into a strong hug. "Don't forget to write!"

"Bye bye, mum," said Hermione with the same brittle brightness as her mother. "I won't."

oOoOoOo

Harry allowed Hermione to select a compartment in the nearly-empty train, and now they sat side by side, watching as the crowd of people on the platform rapidly swelled. People greeted one another, children of all ages gathered in clannish groups away from their parents, and younger children ran around underfoot, squealing and playing together. By twenty to eleven, children variously dressed in muggle clothing, brightly-coloured summer robes, and the occasional black Hogwarts uniform robe were streaming onto the train to claim their compartments before returning to the platform to say their final goodbyes. Around them the other compartments in their car filled up, the rolling and banging noises of the compartment doors opening and closing forming a counterpoint to the thud of running feet and the growing swell of voices of all ages. It was about a quarter to eleven when the door to their compartment flung itself open. In the doorway stood a burly fifth year that Harry recognised as Marcus Flint, with a number of his classmates standing in the corridor behind him. Flint's lip curled.

"You're in our compartment, firsties," he snarled. "Out."

Hermione made to move but Harry stilled her with an unobtrusive hand. "I'm sure there are plenty of other compartments," he said.

Flint's beetle brows grew together as he glowered impressively at the pair. "I don't much care, Firsty. Now get out before we throw you out." To underline his words, he drew his wand threateningly.

So smoothly that it was done before Flint could react, Harry's wand flew into his hand from his recently-purchased wrist holster and he cast an exclusion ward. "You're not very polite," said Harry disdainfully, adopting Hermione's toffee accent for the moment. "I can see that your education in the social mores has been rather lacking. Perhaps if I put it in words of a single syllable you will be able to understand me," he said casually, even as he tensed internally, ready to spring into action. "Get stuffed, you unlettered yob."

There was a gasp from the girls standing behind Flint, and Harry silently cast his strongest shield just in case. Flint's eyes bulged in disbelief which rapidly turned into incandescent fury. "Why you little...! I'll teach you! Diffindo!"

The cutting curse burst forth from Flint's wand, only to reflect almost instantly from an invisible barrier only two feet in front of him, whereupon it reflected back upon him and opened a wide gash in his shoulder. Blood began to flow from the cut almost immediately, even as Flint fell backwards under the power of his own curse.

Harry stood and strode over to stand near the door to the compartment. "What. A. Moron," he muttered disdainfully, loudly enough for the others in the corridor to hear. "I suppose I'd better heal him." With one quick motion, and no further words, Harry healed Flint and looked up at the crowd that had gathered outside his and Hermione's compartment. "Why don't you all go and find somewhere to sit?" he said, his voice once again pleasant. "I'm sure you're not comfortable standing around there." With that he closed the compartment door before returning to his seat. He sighed deeply as he sat, his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.

After a moment, he looked up to see Hermione looking at him with concern in her eyes. He smiled at her. "So what do you think, Hermione? Should I play the casual and powerful nobleman? I don't think it went very well just then, do you?"

Hermione's concern broke, and she smiled. "I'm not sure," she said. "Aren't you rather committed now? I mean, a first year, defending himself against an older student... don't you think word will spread?"

Harry looked back to the floor, grasping his hair in his hands. "Arrgh! I didn't think of that. God, what have I done?"

There was a long pause. Then, Hermione asked, "What do you mean?"

He looked up at her. "I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to make a splash, never mind what I told Dumbledore. I want friends, like you, Hermione. I want to be with people who like me for myself. I don't want hangers on who are attracted by a display of power."

"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have had to deal with people like that anyway. I mean, just look at the way you've been written up in the history books. And that book of children's stories! Can you imagine the kind of image the children going to Hogwarts right now have of you? They might have been told the story of Harry Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, since they were little children!"

"Urrgh," agreed Harry as he grasped his hair in his fists.

"Why don't you look at it this way, Harry. Let's go and find some other first years and see if we can't find some other muggle-borns like me who don't know anything about you? And maybe we'll find some other people who don't assume you're some kind of demi-god."

"God, like I helped that today. Can you imagine what it's going to be like once the story gets around?"

Hermione smirked, and patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, Harry. Think. They won't say a thing. Imagine the ribbing they'd get saying they were defeated by a first-year."

Harry sat up and pulled Hermione into a warm hug. "Thanks, Hermione. You always seem to know how to make me feel better."

Flushing a little, Hermione hugged Harry back for a moment then gently pushed him away. "Come on, then. Why don't we change into our robes and then go and see what we can find?"

oOoOoOo

Harry and Hermione eventually found a compartment of fellow first-years. They were all girls, but Harry didn't mind that. In fact, the notion of finding Ron Weasley and being asked to show his scar made him slightly queasy, for all that he missed the boistrousness of their relationship. Perhaps Neville would be okay, though. He was nice and quiet.

For the meantime, though, Hermione led him into the compartment. It was she who had peered into every compartment on the way down, she who had gasped in shock after opening one compartment which had had its glass turned opaque, Hermione who talked briefly with one or two compartments before emerging shaking her head... and now she who picked out this compartment of people to join. Harry was quite happy for her to do this – even after over twenty years of life experience, he was still reluctant to push himself forward or to meet new people. He preferred his own company or that of people he trusted – a very short list. Meeting new people was difficult for him as he was always on edge, waiting for the hated glance up to his scar and the prejudice which followed.

So it was with some nervousness that Harry allowed himself to be pulled along by the hand into the compartment. Inside were four girls, two blondes and two brunettes. The brunettes he recognised immediately as the Patils, but the blondes he was not quite certain about. Something tickled his memory...

The Patils were sitting side by side at the window end of one of the seats; one blonde sat next to the Patils while the other sat by the window opposite them, leaving the two seats closest to the compartment door open. Hermione dragged Harry into the seat and sat down with a little flounce, smiling at everyone in the compartment before turning to him. The other girls looked on expectantly, almost eagerly.

oOoOoOo

The train trip had been decidedly fun, Harry reflected as he walked down the twisty, shadowed path with the other first-years to the lake. After the initial shock of the girls at being introduced to the Harry Potter, they had soon become used to him and he had enjoyed the chance to get to know the four girls from a point of view he had never had before – meaning, without house affiliations to get in the way. After a little while, Lavender Brown rejoined them – Lavender and the Patils were old acquaintances – and in the resulting press of bodies, with some playful sitting in laps (especially Harry's), Harry somehow ended up with Hermione squished against his side as four of them sat in seats designed for three. He didn't mind in the least, and Hermione didn't seem to mind the arm he put about her shoulders as she leaned against his chest. In his mind Harry knew that there could be nothing romantic in the gesture, although this 'knowledge' was rapidly eroded by repeated teasing from the other girls and Hermione's occasional blushes.

It wasn't until Lavender and Parvarti and their newly-recruited partner in crime Hannah started pushing for them all to play a kissing game – with shrieks at the prospect of Harry kissing them all – that Harry's long-lived idea that girls of age eleven were pure creatures with no thoughts of boys at all died a final death. After talking Padma and Susan into playing, and finally a weakly-protesting Hermione, Harry's participation had been assumed.

Watching the girls kiss each other had been a genuinely peculiar experience. He had taken his turn kissing each of the girls – or rather, being kissed by them – and he had been surprised at how different they felt. Hermione was hard bone and muscle, as he had become used to, whereas Susan, Hannah and Lavender were already beginning to feel more like the young women of his memories from his previous life, and the Patils were hard and dense, all muscle but no boniness, as though they were hewn of solid, hard rubber.

It was nothing serious, though, even though the obvious familiarity between himself and Hermione had been the subject of some teasing from the other girls.

The only disruptions had come when Neville had come looking for his toad, Trevor – Harry had retrieved the errant pet with a quick Accio – and later, in the mid-afternoon, when Draco Malfoy had made an appearance.

The door had thrust itself open with a bang, Malfoy standing in the doorway with a few other children gathered behind him. Harry recognised Goyle and Crabbe and Nott, but there were a few other kids lurking about too. Malfoy stared at him with a direct gaze.

"Word's been going up and down the train that Harry Potter is aboard," he drawled in the manner of a bored 1930's aristocrat. "Are you he?"

Harry nodded cautiously. "Yes."

"I'm Draco Malfoy," said the blond-haired boy said. "I see you're starting early," he added with a leer.

Harry stood, his hand on Hermione's arm preventing her from jumping up in indignation. The other girls were annoyed but waited to see what Harry had planned. "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating, Malfoy."

Hermione stood and thrust herself between them, her hand extended. "I'm Hermione Granger. How do you do?"

Malfoy turned his head to look down his nose at her, his lip curling like he had stepped in something unsavoury. "Nobody likes a pushy mudblood, Granger," he sneered. He stepped forward only to encounter the same transparent wall that Flint had run into earlier. "What the...?" he exclaimed in shock. He felt at the wall, finally pushing hard. "What's going on here?"

With a snort, Harry replied, "For someone brought up in the world of magic, Malfoy, you don't seem to know much about it." He grinned mockingly. "It's called a 'shield'."

Malfoy snarled even as he flushed red in humiliation. "Just you wait, Potter; you'll soon see who really knows magic."

"I look forward to the day, Malfoy. Now, if you'll excuse us?" And with that, Harry reached forward and closed the compartment door in Malfoy's face.

A giggle erupted from the rear of the compartment, and Harry turned to see that the Patil girls were laughing together. "Did you see that? He looked just like some kind of mime!" Parvarti proceeded to mimic Draco pressing against the sheild, her expression drooling and cross-eyed. The other girls laughed and Harry found himself joining in as the tension in the compartment evaporated.

oOoOoOo

Stepping into the great hall, Harry allowed himself to revel in Hermione's reaction to the sheer beauty and subtle ostentation of the Great Hall. He was careful to ensure that he, too, acted the part. He caught Dumbledore's eye momentarily as he walked with the other first-years to gather near the sorting hat and its stool. The old Professor's eyes seemed to be set on overdrive, so much did they twinkle.

The sorting proceeded much as it had before. Hannah was placed into Hufflebuf, Hermione was placed into Gryffindor after a stomach-clenching wait, and the Patil girls were split up as they had been before, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Now it was Harry's turn, and he strode with a confident, firm stride to the sorting hat. He perched himself on the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the old hat upon his head. Immediately he felt icy, inhuman fingers probing his mind. For a long moment, nothing happened, but then...

Well, well, well, what have we here? An occlumens! And so young, too, said the hat. Harry Potter... how am I supposed to sort you, Harry Potter, if you don't let me judge you?

Harry frowned. The Hat had stressed 'young' - did it suspect something?

Oh yes, Harry Potter, I most certainly suspect something. Your mind is far too old, too mature, for your apparent age. Still, Occlumens aren't in the habit of dropping their shields in my experience, so I think I'll have to just ask you instead. What house were in in last time, Harry Potter? Harry briefly wondered whether he should perhaps try for Ravenclaw house, but the Hat interrupted him. Gryffindor, eh? Well, then, better be, "Gryffindor!"

With a smile, Harry slipped off the stool as McGonagall lifted the hat from his head. He waved to Hannah and Padma as walked to join Hermione and Parvarti at the Gryffindor table. The girls hugged him and as Percy Weasley thumped him enthusiastically on the back in greeting, his greeting lost beneath the general pandemonium, Harry grinned as he thought forward to the coming year. So much to do... and by the end of the year, he was sure, Voldemort would be forever a memory.