Thank you for reading! Even if you don't like it and it's terrible. I don't know what was in my head, as usual, when I write this. I will eventually rewrite it, but that won't happen just yet so you may have to make due with this (or not). Anyway, a certain idea in his chapter I had didn't come out very well so I will explain it now.

In the prologue, Harry absorbed some of the residual magic left behind from Voldemort's demise and there are of course side effects. A good effect is that it expanded his magical core and boosted already present characteristics (take a guess what I mean). There are "bad" effects too however. On certain days of the year, such as Samhain, Yule, and the solstices, when magic is at its most potent and "sentient" in a sense, the magic he absorbed is agitated and it shows in his behavior. It's not too great now, he is only more cynical and acerbic, but when he is older he may be more agressive. As good as this sounds, it didn't come out well in this chapter ._. okay, that's all I had to say.

Enjoy my excessive retelling of Harry Potter. Good luck.

{TUoM}

"Look! It seems Longbottom forgot his gran's gift."

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a Seeker."

"I challenge you to a wizard's duel, Potter."

Harry massaged his temples as the words repeated over and over in his head. He hadn't known so many things could go wrong in one day. Though many of his fellow Gryffindors would disagree, focusing on the hilarity and novelty of not only standing up to Draco Malfoy, but becoming the youngest Seeker in the century at the same time. And if they knew of what would occurred even later, they would be throwing a fit over not getting to see what happened.

Harry, however, was groaning from a growing headache over the events that took place. The day had been just an ordinary Thursday, aside from the fact that the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins would be having joint broom flying practice. He should've known the day wouldn't end well as soon as he learned that. He didn't, unfortunately, due to being distracted by the constant long, boastful stories of his classmates of their great flying advents that never happened. He could understand that people enjoyed being praised and the center of attention — well, maybe not the latter — but why did they have to go on and on and on about it? Especially Seamus Fletcher, Ron, and Draco of all people. When he started proclaiming flying for years, often to escape the attacks of Muggle helicopters, Harry could only stare at the boy as if he'd suddenly grown another head. One would think his father would have squashed such a thing out of him, judging by how strict he was about composure and decorum. Maybe Draco was just a naturally flamboyant and boastful person?

Thankfully, the stories had calmed down as the impending lessons finally arrived, but things only went down hill from there. The lessons were with a woman called Madame Hooch, and were relatively simple despite how nervous almost all the students were. At least to Harry it was; all they had to do was call the broom up to their hand upon a stated command, which many struggled with. He was a bit confused when most didn't get theirs on the first try and gave simple advice for those struggling to just be assertive and set aside their nerves. It helped some more than others but eventually, everyone got a hold of it.

Harry had been wincing at the old, faint magical presence within and coating his broom as he floated on it with remarkable ease when things went wrong. Neville, quite unsurprisingly he had to admit, had somehow lost control of his rickety broom — it was partly the broom's fault, he supposed — and fell off, breaking a wrist. Harry had felt tempted to volunteer to take the boy to the hospital wing again, but the teacher took him herself so he stayed silent. Directly after, Draco found the gift Neville had received that morning from his grandmother — a curious object called a Remembrall that somehow changed color when it's owner forgot something. In a mixture of distaste for Draco causing people to laugh at his potential friend and wanting to feel the presence and investigate the ball, Harry had asked for the blond to give it to him.

It came out almost like a demand in his eagerness and that had resulted in Draco's face twisting in something not too far from disdain. He was still angry and hurt, it seemed, because of his apparent closeness with a certain redhead with stalker-ish tendencies. This lead to Draco flying into the air and him following, against the wishes of Hermione Granger who he couldn't decide was more worried for him or getting in trouble for him breaking the rules. He forgot all about her when he and Draco were high above the ground.

"Why are you behaving so immaturely," Harry had questioned seriously, after overcoming the initial exhiliration of flying so high. "From what I saw, your father wouldn't approve."

That was the wrong thing to say. Draco immediately snapped at him not to speak of his father. After all, they weren't friends, nor even allies. He had no right to. Harry had been surprised to hear that but quickly understood — he used this term loosely — what the boy meant and apologized. The boy still thought he had lied to him about being his friend. His apology hadn't helped and it eventually got to the point where Draco snarled at him that no matter how much time passed, he'd never be his friend, and then he threw the Remembrall in a fit of anger.

Harry had finally lost his patience at that and hissed that he wouldn't want to be friends with such a prat — not a wise decision in hindsight — anyway before racing after the magical ball. His ease with a broom and kinetic vision allowed him to chase it and later dive at it until he caught it, though he did have to tumble onto the ground to land because of the terrible condition of the broom. He was scowling internally and admiring the ball at the same time when Professor McGonagall suddenly shouted his name. He could only listen when she began to furiously tell him exactly what was wrong with what he just did, but he was pleased to see that redeeming Gryffindor loyalty even when it was facing McGonagall of all people.

He honestly thought he was in serious trouble when she made him follow her, not saying a single word of explanation, and he almost panickec. What was going to happen? Would he be suspended? And have to go back to the Dursleys not even after a month away from them. Or worse, would he be expelled? He didn't give much thought to expulsion, since he hadn't really done anything too terrible, but it dwelled enough that he might have been hyperventilating had the Transfiguration teacher not suddenly introduced him to an older student named Oliver Wood. His panic quickly faded to disbelief when she stated he was to be Gryffindor's Seeker.

Later, that disbelief had turned into extreme irritation. That would take even more time away from reading and practicing magic! Did the Gryffindors have something against him? Could he not use any of his free time on his own? Had the hat known this would happen? Why didn't he just put him in Ravenclaw, honestly!

Things spiralled even more from bad to terrible when dinnertime arrived and Ron was begging for him to tell him what happened. He didn't tell him, of course, since he was in no mood to be generous, but he didn't have to when the twin Weasleys spilled the beans to their younger brother. They were the Beaters on the team, he learned, and were excited to finally have a chance to win the Quidditch cup. A bit of Harry's day was salvaged by finally officially meeting the infamous prankster twins Fred and George — he couldn't understand why Ron was irritated with them so often, they were hilarious, if a bit careless — but his day had become even worse once they left.

He still didn't quite know how it came down to it. There was a brief, one-sided, acidic exchange between them before Draco suddenly challenged him. He didn't know what a wizard's duel was and, despite disliking being the ignorant person in regards to a subject, he was prepared to suck it up and ask what it entailed when Ron suddenly accepted on his behalf and declared himself his second. His eyes went wide but before he could day anything, Draco stated his own second and declared a meeting place before striding away stiffly. There was a moment where Ron acted as if he hadn't just forced him into a duel and started spouting interesting but useless facts about wizarding duels, to which he walked away from and mostly ignored him until the time came for them to leave for the duel, which he apparently could not ignore unless he wanted to lose his magic. He didn't put much stock in that though since he hadn't felt any magic present in the challenge like he read about, but was curious enough to go.

It surprised him briefly when Hermione was still awake and confronted them, he hadn't known anyone had overheard Draco's challenge. They had been in the Great Hall when it happened, but there had beenenough talking around them that he thought it went unheard, which was pretty stupid of him when he thought about about it. Of course someone heard them, they were in public! It was more strange that only Hermione was present, to be honest. And more inconvenient. She and Ron got on like oil and water; they just didn't mix.

Thus him massaging his temples as they started to go at each other viciously. He watched her and Ron argue for a few seconds — Hermione saying considerably sharper, wittier quips, but he wasn't in the mood to appreciate — before snapping at them to either keep bickering like five year olds or shut up and follow him. He ignored the shocked looks on their faces and started to head for the Trophy Room, where Draco said to meet. Unsurprisingly, they were silent on the way there — except for a moment where they found a sleeping Neville. Harry silently apologized for just leaving the boy as they passed him — he had to hiss at them to be quieter just in cast the caretaker, Filch or his cat, Mrs. Norris, were near. They made it up to the third floor — he almost didn't realize that was where they were, but he did and remembered how the professor warned them against going in a corridor near the one they were in.

Why did Draco choose to meet here, he wondered as he walked into the Trophy Room. The empty trophy room. His verdant eyes narrowed as soon as he noticed. He had come to realize over the past few weeks that Slytherins were always first to anything; breakfast, class, lunch, and dinner. Regardless of year, they were never late, or at the very least, not later than anyone not their own. For Draco and his dull bodyguards to not be there meant either of two things. One, he was unable to come and, due to it already being too late, wouldn't. Or two, he hadn't come on purpose, and was planning something cruel, like any Snake would. Hadn't the boy seemed to almost hate him during their exchange during dinner, he wouldn't have considered the second option.

When he heard the sound of Filch's voice, he concluded it was the latter, sadly. "Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

Harry didn't wait any longer to lament the possible loss of a potential friend as he waved for the other two to follow him as quickly as possible. Filch had gone into the Trophy Room just as he lead them out and into a long gallery of suits of armor. There escape was going perfectly fine until Ron tripped over one and sent it crashing to the floor loud enough to wake the dead. To make matters worse, the redhead screamed to run and they had no choice but to do just that. Harry was leading, whipping around corners with little thought other than a few choice tips on being covert towards Ron, when he felt a draft from behind a tapestry. He nearly tore it from the wall on good faith that it was one of the hidden pathways the Weasley twins had boasted of, and was rewarded with going right through and appearing in a corridor near their charms classroom.

He, along with Hermione and Ron, was panting as they finally stopped. He wasn't too tired, he actually appreciated the small bout of exercise after an entire month, but the cause of it lessened his appreciation. He was still a bit disappointed about Draco. He wasn't going to be able to investigate his unique presence, no time soon at least. He was thinking about giving more thought to being friends with him later — perhaps when they were older and less prone to tantrums — when Hermione suddenly spoke.

"Malfoy tricked you," she told him bluntly. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you, Filch new someone would be in the Trophy Room. Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Harry's lip curled briefly in anger before he swallowed his ire. He knew the girl was only speaking what she knew, not being callous but factual. But it didn't stop irritation from blooming at her mention of it as if he was slow. "I realized," he gritted out, unable to withhold a glare. She blinked in surprise and he turned away, taking a calming breath. "Let's go."

Not long after, Peeves, an annoying pest of a poltergeist, appeared in their path. He muttered mischievously over whether or not to tell Filch, and Ron apparently got impatient. Like the Gryffindor in a foul mood he was, he snapped at Peeves to get out of the way and actually took a swipe at him. An intangible ghost. The poltergeist proceeded to smirk and began to shout out their location and Harry was once again leading them in a run around the corner. They came upon a locked door and Hermione quickly unlocked it with a whispered "Alohomora!" — which Harry eyed appreciatively; they weren't set to learn it for another few weeks, so he had went ahead and practiced it once he realized classes would be slow — and they were in.

As Ron and Hermione pressed their ears to the door, listening to Peeves do the same thing he did to them to Filch, Harry examined there surroundings. They weren't in a room but the forbidden corridor. The one that would lead to a "very painful death". And he could see why the mad professor had said as such.

He was looking straight into the eyes of a huge dog that filled the entire space between the floor and ceiling with three heads. It's presence saturated the air — wild and feral — and it raised the fine hairs on the back of Harry's neck on end. It was the most frightening creature he'd ever seen, but his fear didn't prevent him from scanning the room and noticing the trapdoor beneath the dog. His eyes widened and he realized why something so dangerous was in a school for children. It was protecting something, something Albus Dumbledore would apparently risk children's lives for.

As soon as the thought registered, he turned around and pushed the two who were silent with horror out of the room just as the three-headed dog growled and lunged forward. He slammed the door shut behind them — missing the unaided clicking of the door locking itself once again — and they were all running until they reached the seventh floor. He woke Neville this time and they all went into the common room. Neville was looking perplexedly at them, questioning with his eyes but nowhere near confident enough to voice them, at their ragged forms.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ron said almost hysterically, and Harry sent him a warning look to quiet down. Ron didn't notice. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Harry massaged the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he breathed out deeply. Idiot.

"You don't use your eyes, do you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?" Hermione snapped in a display of observational skills and her inability to hold her tongue.

"The floor?" Ron stated the obvious with a quasi-growl, sounding like he had something caught in his throat.

"No," she said, rolling her eyes before glaring at him. "It was standing on a trapdoor. Obviously, it was guarding something." She stood up. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves. We could have been killed, or worse — expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Harry hissed inaudibly in anger. Was that accusation he heard in her words? She, who had demanded to come with them, and had voluntarily? Where did she get off with the belief that she could say something like that?

When Ron said something very similar to his thoughts, Harry shivered. It was a sign that he was being infected by the boy's presence, wasn't it? He took that as a sign that it was time to go to bed and left the boy without a word. He did exchange a brief look with a confused Neville and knew the boy wouldn't speak of what he'd just heard, but he may ask about it if he ever gained the courage. He smiled a bit at that and was glad that he was at least going to sleep with a smile on his face.

Just before his eyes drifted closed, he connected the guard dog to what Hagrid had withdrawn out of Gringotts. It was only a theory, but if he was right, he now knew it's approximate location and just how much worth it held.

Enough worth to have a huge, untamed dog in a school of young, defenseless children.

And just like that, Harry went to sleep with a scowl curling his lips.

{TUoM}

The next morning, as soon as Harry stepped into the Great Hall, his bright verdant eyes were on the Slytherin table. If there was any way to clear whether or not Draco had given away his location, it'd be the first moment he laid eyes on him. He looked at the Slytherin table and met silver grey eyes wide with surprise. It was only for a single moment, but he saw the sheer surprise and something akin to regret eclipse the boys face before it shuttered into indifference.

Relief flashed through Harry as he moved his gaze and sat at the Gryffindor table, even though he realized what had happened. Draco had tricked him, if the regret was enough of a sign to go by, breaking what little trust he had for the platinum haired boy, but the regret meant there might be a chance to be friends. Someday. No time soon. But now it meant he had to focus on other matters, such as the object being guarded by the three-headed dog, the Cerberus. He found the name when looking earlier that morning in one of his extra books on dangerous creatures, and dangerous was an understatement for the hellhound if you didn't know it's weaknesses. What object holds such value that the headmaster would risk hundreds of children?

His pondering was cut short when owls suddenly flooded into the hall. Like everyone else, his attention was caught by a long package carried by six owls. His brows rose when they dropped it into his hands as well as a note from Professor McGonagall. Inside the parcel, which the note had expressly said not to open, was a racing brooms, one of the best according to Ron, called the Nimbus Two Thousand. Despite the packaging around it, he could feel the broom practically humming with vitality. So he now had something good to expect from Quidditch; lovely. He was to go to a meeting with Oliver Wood that afternoon too. Even better.

Before Ron could even ask what was in the parcel or what the note said, Harry got up and headed to the owlery. Hedwig, his beautiful snowy white owl, was peering at him with golden eyes as if she expected him. He smiled and petted her before trusting her alone with his parcel, after casting a lightening charm he'd finally gotten to learning on it with his wand.

After, he left for classes as normally, refusing to answer anyone's questions, even when he left the castle at seven to meet Oliver Wood. The older boy hadn't been there, so he took his new broom out for a fly and it was even better than he thought; it was so free. When Wood did come, the boy repeated what Ron had told him about Quidditch in more detail and explained his role as Seeker. Harry was pleased to learn his role didn't restrict him from his freedom to fly however he wanted, even when he was chasing after the Snitch. His thoughts about the sport were only improved when he realized players had to be in good shape thus appropriate physical training. He had noticed there weren't many physical activities wizards and witches did often since hey had magic, aside from dueling but that wasn't the most common activity in the average household.

Quidditch practices seemed to make time pass by faster, and Harry was almost surprised when he realized it had been two months since Hogwarts became more like home to him than the Dursleys' house had ever been. He had grown used to the innumerable presences and sensations in the old castle, to a degree, though he was never able to release his shields even halfway. It was something he was able to live with though, since he hadn't felt a single instance of that horrible nausea he lived with for seven years of his life. So he was happy for the majority of his residence there.

For a few rare days, however, he was rather caustic and had a morbid sense of humor. One of those days just happened to be Halloween. It had begun when he was younger, his enthusiasm suddenly vanishing and leaving him pessimistic and irritable on the holiday, and it had nothing to do with his relatives affectively putting him on house arrest in the cupboard for the day. He had never known why, just that the day was one where his happiness seemed to become vapid and intangible. Now he had an idea why. It was the day his parents were killed. Why an event that took place when he was little more than one affected his behaviour so significantly, he didn't know — he had a feeling it was related to magic, as all odd events had so far — but he knew it wasn't going to improve his mood, even when venting on others.

So he was silent for that day. During breakfast he had to bite his tongue when his Gryffindor mates got all excited about the holidays — about Halloween and not Samhain, the actual Wizarding holiday. Bloody children were so excited about candy and treats they were forsaking wizarding traditions. Disgraceful. Celebrating a non-magical holiday denoted from their own rather than the original. I worry for the future of this country if this is the best it has to offer.

He completely ignored the fact that celebrating Samhain was technically illegal and he himself knew little more than that it was time where magic was closest to the deceased.

Needless to say, Harry didn't say a single word and had to strengthen his shields to hold back his more...critical thoughts.

They hadn't improved when they finally moved onto the practical part of Charms. It would have been exciting, hadn't he learned the charm years ago on his own. Now all he had to do was say some ridiculous words and flick his wand to get the same reaction. It was only a matter of putting in just the right amount of magic and controlling it. Simple. Yet his incompetent and shamefully inept classmates couldn't get it even after a dozen tries. With the exception of a certain Muggleborn with a refreshing and lively presence and a few scattered through the room, but she was just as bad as the others when she decided to argue with the incompetent, complacent redhead with no other admirable skills than strategy, and that was only applied during chess. And when the boy insulted her, she ran away. To cry in the lavatory .

I don't know which one to feel worse about, the boy who wastes his potential out of laziness and complacency, or the girl with insecurity issues despite her obviously superior talent. Will they ever grow out of this?

He doubted it.

During dinner, he was satisfied to cut into his dinner while thinking decidedly untoward thoughts of the people around him. That is, until an incompetent professor, the teacher for bloody Defense, came in screaming about a troll before passing out like a coward. After the children had all screamed in terror, the wise, ever-sacrificing Professor Dumbledore had ordered the prefects to lead the students back to the dorms. Perhaps he forgot for a moment that the Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons, and that the Hufflepuffs had to pass by them to get to their dorms, but Harry's opinion of the man plunged from the already low expectations he had.

Harry figured the head of houses would do something and focused on his own dilemma. He would've been happy to go back to the dorms, hadn't his morals gotten in the way. He just happened to notice Hermione was gone. After tearing into Ron about him being the cause gently — he snorted, it was anything but. He imagined Snape would've been proud hadn't he hated him — and lead the boy to where he knew Hermione to be. There was a moment when he noticed Professor Snape heading toward the third floor rather than the dungeons, but he filed it for later as he focused on the girl he was risking his life for to find. He could feel her presence getting stronger, along with that of another almost as sickening as Muggles' — vile, putrid, insignificant —and assumed it was the troll. He got out his holly wand, telling Ron to do the same, as they got closer.

Before anything, it became noticeable. First by scent, and how foul that was. Worse than old mold combined with months of built up sewage waste. The sounds of the creature became audible next, a dull, low grunting and loud, shuffling footsteps. Not too long after, it became visible; twelve feet, granite gray skin, and a great, horribly lumpy body with a head disproportionately small. It was like a monster out of a nightmare, made just a bit more alarming by the huge club in its limp grip.

Harry found the creature repulsive and wondered how it got in. Trolls were notorious for being highly unintelligent, there was no way it had gotten in on its own. Unless Albus Dumbledore was so senile he forgot to set the wards that were always around Magical Britain's securest location, the troll hadn't gotten in on its own. Someone had let it in.

His train of thought broken when a high-pitched shriek of fear coming from the place the troll had just gone. It was the bathroom, he realized with a start, and gestured for Ron to follow him in. He wasn't surprised by the sight that welcomed them. Hermione was squeezing herself as tightly against the wall as she could while the troll swung his club wildly as it advanced toward her.

So much for having some of the most potential of this generation, he thought snidely before shaking his head of the thoughts and telling Ron to distract it. Or, in layman's terms, be bait. Harry shamelessly took the opportunity of Ron attracting the simple-minded creature's attention to reach Hermione and pull her out of harm's way. When they were clear, he shouted at Ron to run but he should have known better than to be so loud when the noise, combined with those that Ron made as a distraction, seemed to drive the troll berserk. It began to roar and headed towards Ron, who was the nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry hissed in annoyance mixed with alarm and acted before his mind caught up with his actions. Blasted Gryffindors had rubbed off on him. He raised his wand, flooded magic into it — he had enough mind to not use no wand at all at least — and directed it at the troll. He wasn't exactly sure what intent he put behind the magic, but the troll suddenly flew to the side, head bashing into the wall with a sickening crunch. A second later, it slid down to the floor, a trail of blood flowing it and soon pooling beside it.

When the vile and putrid presence suddenly disappeared, Harry felt himself go cold. Had he just done what he thought he had?

"Is it...dead?"

He didn't even look at Hermione, who asked the question, as he felt himself begin to tremble a little. He had killed it, hadn't he? A living being. He felt it's presence, as disgusting and appalling as it was, vanish into nothing. Nothing. He'd just extinguished a life.

"What is going on here?"

Harry looked up, feeling a bit numb as Professor McGonagall flew in through the door, followed by Snape and Quirrell at the rear. He saw Professor Snape go directly to the troll and saw his dark eyes widen just a bit as he recognized the body for what it was; just a body. Harry's pale verdant eyes turned to Professor McGonagall who was bristling with almost righteous fury but he didn't feel any fear as he usually would have, even in his current mood.

"What on earth were you thinking?" She demanded, cold fury chilling her voice. "You were lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in the dormitories?"

Harry saw Professor Snape direct a piercing, narrowed look in his direction, but he couldn't move his lips, even if he had felt any inclination to — which he didn't.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter?" She said frostily, sending a sharp look at each in turn when saying their name, but she paused when she looked at Harry. He didn't know what he looked like, but it obviously wasn't good if almost all the anger on his professor's face vanished, replaced by something with a semblance of shock and concern. "Is something wrong, Mr. Potter?"

Harry even blink as he looked down toward the body, now without a presence.

"Mr. Potter? What's wrong?" Professor McGonagall asked again. She turned towards Ron and Hermione. "What happened? What's wrong with him?"

Both were pale and seemed incapable of saying anything.

"The troll is dead." Professor Snape stated in his singularly unique speech.

The Transfiguration teacher looked at him sharply, in surprise, before her eyes went back to Harry. "Are you saying he..." She didn't say anything else as looked him over once more and realization suddenly dawned in her eyes. "He's in shock."

Harry tilted his head a fraction at that and he felt a drop of cold sweat drip down his neck. He'd heard that term before. When a person hadn't completely taken in a situation, they'd shut down in a way. Feeling almost nothing toward what they'd done until it finally registered in their mind. Those who went into shock had reported feeling numb and almost emotionless at the time as their pulse raced uncontrollably.

"That is...most probable." He said in a blank, absent tone.

That seemed to shock everyone into movement as Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron and Hermione to go to her office, and begun to lead Harry away by his hand. Professor Snape was staring at him expressionlessly before looking at Professor Quirrell, who'd sat down on a toilet at the sight of the troll in fear, with a sneer. Harry watched the man leave from the corner of his eye before following Professor McGonagall to the hospital wing, where he was looked at by the healer and later kept overnight when his being in shock was confirmed.

It was probably due to it being a bad day that he lost control of his magic, he concluded just before he went to sleep. And he would definitely feel it when he woke up. If he could have grimaced, he would have. Remorse was a terrible feeling; the horrid squirming of his stomach it caused was one of the reasons why he loathed doing anything that would cause him to feel it.

And good lord — Merlin, whoever — did he in the morning. Remorse hit harder, sliced deeper and ached far more than Vernon's belt ever did. Some would have thought it strange, he knew, for him to be taking his killing of one troll so hard, but it wasn't. Harry was interested in all creatures, mostly due to his ability to sense them, but it had always been within his morals to not take a life if it was avoidable, like most people. Perhaps it wasn't avoidable in this case, Ron was in danger and couldn't save himself, so he acted before he thought. It was only reflex, nothing of conscious thought, but he still felt like it was. And the feeling was only made worse by the fact that he had sensed the death of the troll, the draining of its life and presence.

It was then he realized his ability wasn't only a wondrous gift that's only consequence was frequent overwhelming in places of concentrated presences. There was also the consequence of sensing those presences vanish. Sensing when the owner's life has ended. His ability was also a curse in that sense. He would always know when someone died, feel every second of their passing.

But he still loved it. He genuinely enjoyed experiencing the sensations of others. Maybe not the occasional bad ones, but he wouldn't give his ability to anyone else if he had the choice. Feeling presences as they vanished with lives would just have to be a part he lived with. Especially when those lives were taken by his own hand. Though, it was likely that now that he knew, he would avoid killing and death at all costs. It was likely, but the future wasn't definite. He may have to do it one day...and he'd have to live with it.

He was thinking much along the same lines when Ron and Hermione came by his room that morning. They informed him of the story they told the professors, to which he was surprised to hear Hermione had blatantly lied to them — or in her words, didn't admit that what she was saying was just a theory. At the end of it, they said they told the teachers he'd used Wingardium Leviosa, wickedly overpowered, to send the troll into the wall. It wasn't completely untrue so he didn't correct them. He had actually just sent his will, he believed, in the form of pure magic, but he didn't just tell them that.

There was a semi-uncomfortable silence after the explanation until Ron thanked him for saving him, but he fidgeted while saying it and almost ran away right after, so Harry wasn't sure of his sincerity. From the looks of it, the redhead was now afraid of him, or just unsettled by his actions, and had run away. It made him frown, but Harry didn't take it to heart. He'd probably react the same, and his intuition was telling him the boy would come back anyway.

When the redhead had gone, that left him and Hermione alone. He watched the girl with a mix of curiosity and wariness and a bit of concern when he saw her eyes were red from tears. He didn't say anything though, only watching as she watched back, vaguely aware of his shields lowering to observe her presence more closely. It was one of the most pleasant he'd ever felt, as were the other Muggleborns' he'd come by, he realized when he thought about it. But Hermione's felt the best, though he couldn't figure out why.

"I wanted to thank you," Hermione suddenly blurted out. He blinked at her and she stammered for a second before finding some words. "I know that no one likes me here...including you, but you still came after me. You risked your life and ended up taking another. I'm so sorry I forced you into doing that. And I thank you as well. I...I owe you my life."

Harry felt some kind shift in magic as the words left her mouth but decided to think of that later. He met the girls eyes as he sat up in his bed. "I won't lie to you, I don't particularly like you, but I don't dislike you either." He saw her eyes prickle with tears briefly before her brows furrowed in confusion. Before she could speak, he continued. "I just don't like making opinions about people without getting to know them. I won't become friends with anyone unless I truly like them." That's my goal at least.

"Like Ron?"

Harry half-smiled, half-grimaced at that. "You could say that," he murmured. He didn't consider the boy a friend, and nor did he particularly like him. It was a comparison that could be used, he guessed.

"Would...would you ever consider being friends with...me?"

His brows rose at the question. He was under the impression that the girl didn't like him after the advent with the Cerberus. It should have gotten worse since she saw him...kill. Yet she wanted to be friends? "Why?"

She looked a bit flustered by the question. "I'm pretty sure you know I have no friends," she began. "I know it's because I'm a know-it-all and I tend to be a bit bossy, I'm not blind to my own behaviour. But I refuse to change myself for others." A sort of fierceness entered her brown eyes and Harry's eyes widened when he felt that fire reflect in her presence. He took note to study that later too. "However, I am willing to compromise with those I want to be friends with."

"But you didn't say why," Harry said, frowning a bit. He knew she was telling the truth, but he wanted to know why. People attached to others for many reasons, such as Ron sticking to him since he was the first to meet him on the train — or whatever he was there for, he could be wrong — or various Slytherins hanging around Draco for his nobility and wealth. He didn't think the girl before him was like either of those types, but he could never be sure if he didn't ask.

"I've been interested in you for a while," the girl admitted quietly. His brows shot up. "Since that time in the train when you told me not to believe everything I read. I thought you were just trying to look cool in front of your friends, but I realized there might be more to it when your later actions spoke contrary to that." Harry's brows furrowed at that. "I've been observing you since the first day off school. I've noticed how you hold back in class, though I don't know how much or why, and how you read a lot in you spare time. You're more like a Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor."

Harry smiled drily at that. If only he had been in Ravenclaw, he never wouldn't have to discover new ways to evade his housemates just to read or do homework rather than laze about.

"Just like I am," the girl continued. "I want to be friends with you because I feel like you'd at least give me a chance. Like you wouldn't abandon me just because of my bad habits."

Bad habits? Harry's frowned. Was that what she considered the eccentricities of her personality?

"And you'd be my very first friend, in my entire life," she admitted with a half-hearted laugh. "I never had any friends when I was in Muggle primary school either for the same reasons I don't here. I'd like to become friends with you, but not out of pity. Just for someone I can possibly enjoy reading and talking to, that's all I want."

Harry mulled over her words silently for a few moments before nodding. "Then I'd love to be friends with you," he said, and smiled a bit. Despite only thinking about it for a moment, he didn't make the decision lightly. Hermione had already been on the list of potential friends, but Ron's constant presence had made it difficult to decide since he always bad-mouthed and instigated the girl. Now that he could see her alone, without agitations, he knew they would become great friends. Her presence and intelligence were a welcomed bonus.

Her brown eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" Harry could hear the hope and disbelief in her voice and smiled wider as he nodded. "Oh, thank you, Harry! You won't regret this!" She gave him a quick hug before skipping out of the hospital wing.

Harry was frozen on his bed in shock — no one had ever hugged him before — before his smile widened again. He'd just made his first friend. Finally. Excitement bubbled in him before it morphed into confusion.

What did friends even do together?

{TUoM}

The weather grew colder as November progressed. Harry barely even noticed since he was caught up in Quidditch — which he had been cleared for after showing complete recovery from his shock — as the first game was against Slytherin. He was strangely nervous over it, just first time jitters he supposed, but he felt a bit better when Hermione had enough forethought to get him a book on Quidditch, one he hadn't seen before. She had also given him a jar of bluebell flames — he wondered how she got that particular spell, he hadn't been able to find its incantation, though he could summon flames of any temperature and color wandlessly, so it didn't really matter — which had kept him warm enough to not have to cast a Warming Charm.

He would admit he was a bit giddy over his new friend's presence, though she had clashed a bit with Ron when he had returned. He couldn't believe how much he enjoyed having a friend, especially one with so many similar interests. It was...fun. When he actually thought about it, he realized he hadn't had any fun since arriving at Hogwarts. Sure, he had enjoyed certain moments, mostly whem flying in Quidditch practice, but with Hermione, and Ron to a lesser degree, he had fun. And he loved how having fun felt.

Which was why he nearly lost his temper with Professor Snape when he confiscated the book she'd given him. It made him restless and almost temperamental that entire day until he actually got up and stormed to the staffroom to get it back. But being angry did not equate being rude; he refused to act like his relatives and they were practically synonymous to rude. He knocked on the door a few times, but since there was no answer, he opened the door a bit.

He was surprised to see that the room was occupied by two people in a curious position. Professor Snape was sitting, holding his robes above his legs as Filch handed him some bandages. Harry's eyes widened at the horrible sight of one his legs bloody and mangled. With teeth marks. Very large teeth marks. The Cerberus.

His thought was assured when the professor spoke. "Blasted thing. How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. Why was he risking getting close to the three-headed dog? To get the object being guarded? That would be the most obvious and simplest conclusion, but he wasn't going to make assumptions. He began to pull away quietly but his professor chose that moment to flick his dark eyes in his direction.

"Potter!"

Harry flinched back at the pure vehemence in the one word and grimaced defensively. "I was just wondering if I could have my book back."

"Get out! Now!"

He didn't have to be told a second time. Although he did send the man a scathing glare before leaving. He honestly didn't understand why the man loathed him so much. It made him curious but he put aside his thoughts on Snape's words and attitude to focus on the object the dog was guarding, whatever Hagrid had withdrawn from Gringotts. He hadn't been able to figure out what it was, so he went out on a limb and told Hermione, and since Ron was with them, the redhead as well.

The Weasley made the surprisingly plausible theory that since they had seen Snape going to the third floor the day the troll was there — Harry still flinched at the felt a stab of guilt at the mention of it — he was probably the one who let it in. Of course, Ron had stated it as if it were the absolute truth and only possibility, to which Harry gave him an unimpressed look, but the boy hadn't noticed. Again. Was it even possible for someone to be so oblivious?

The next day was the first Quidditch match of the season. Harry had been unable to relax and eat until Hermione finally gave him a book to distract him — a Muggle novel on a futuristic world where a new race was diverging from humans — and he nearly forgot what would be happening. It didn't last long though, since he soon had to be outside, along with the rest of the school, at eleven. He was excited yet at the same time a bit apprehensive. He had a feeling something would happen; something always happened.

The match was amazing, from his viewpoint in the air, though he better understood the situation with the commentator Lee Jordan announcing every pass, feint, and score. He shouldn't have been surprised to hear a completely subjective assessment of the game. It was rather funny actually, and Harry had been on the verge of laughing when he saw the Snitch. He pursued the golden orb but lost it when the Slytherin captain suddenly blocked him, nearly causing him to crash in the process. He knew from the rules that it would not be a foul, but it did grant Gryffindor a free shot, so he wasn't too angered.

His anger truly sparked when he later felt his broom start moving out of his control. Flying was one of the few things thst he truly enjoyed and found some peace in, who was jinxing or cursing it? Even while being thrown around, he was able to look around, to search for the person casting on him since it probably required eye contact from a long distance. It was lucky — and mind boggling considering he was hundreds of meters in the air — that no one had noticed his situation yet aside from Hermione and the few who'd been watching him instead of the match. He looked towards the teachers' seats with slight difficulty, the broom was getting wilder, and saw two people looking at him, lips moving.

Professor Snape and Quirrell.

His eyes narrowed, but he couldn't focus on them any more to figure out which was jinxing him, his broom suddenly jerked higher. People were beginning to notice, including his teammates. The Weasley twins tried to get him off his broom and onto to theirs, but the closer they got, the higher he went, so they began to circle beneath him just in case he fell. Harry was just thankful he didn't suffer from a fear of heights.

Splitting his focus between keeping a grip on his broom — praise to Wood for knowing to train him in that specifically — he looked towards the teachers section again. He was surprised to see that Hermione had also noticed there was a jinx on his broom and was moving to intercept. He felt a bit warm. Was that how friendship felt? He shook away the feeling as he saw her knock over Quirrell and then set bluebell fire to Snape's robes. He wasn't sure if the first was intended, but the jerking of his broom suddenly stopped as both professors simultaneously lost eye contact and focus, leaving him unaware of the true perpetrator.

After, he had easily won the match, though it was only after he sped toward the ground and nearly crashed headfirst to catch it. There was a celebration afterwards, but he didn't participate. Instead, he had gone to Hagrid's with Hermione and Ron. He almost wished he'd left the latter behind when he plainly said the one who did it was Snape. He couldn't though, since Hagrid seemed to like talking to the boy, though the half-giant didn't seem particularly fond of him at the moment. He had joined Hagrid in the belief that they shouldn't blame Snape, at least not automatically without absolute proof.

Though a few good things came from Ron's outburst and big mouth. He mentioned the three-headed dog and they learned it's name was Fluffy, of all things, and was lent by Hagrid to guard whatever Professor Dumbledore wanted hidden. Hagrid had stopped once he realized he'd almost spilled what the item was but Ron once again proved useful by being obstinate and getting him to spill more.

Harry was more than pleased when Hagrid blurted the item was one between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. He stopped just then and asked them to leave, but Harry wasn't disappointed. Not at all. He knew who Nicholas Flamel was, and now he knew what the valuable hidden item was. He smiled wickedly as he led Hermione and Ron back to the castle.

They had a stone to find.