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Perfecting The Groundhogwarts Years

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Chapter 1

The Second First Year

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1998, After the Battle

The darkest of nights had been chosen to hide a foul deed, yet the cracked white slabs of Dumbledore's tomb stood out clearly, grimacing through the gloom like broken teeth. Harry Potter edged closer to the gaping maw created by Voldemort's incursion, and from his robe struggled against the Elder Wand's resistance, preparing to return it whence it came. But the call of its Magic was stronger now there were no distractions, and more compelling with his attention entirely focused.

"So many dead..." – whispers ... on the wind. And something creeping ... through the crushed grasses.

Harry raised the wand defensively, whirling about. "Who's there!"

It came back to its master then, the Resurrection Stone he'd dropped in the Forest, nudging against the side of his foot like a lost puppy. He took it up. Stared at its bland face. "Never again!" But when he threw it down, it remained in the air, rotating slowly, the sign of the Hallows caught repeatedly in the faint ambience from the sepulchre.

"So many..."

"Who are you?" gasped the young man. "What are you?"

"Magic had many voices, Harry – yet now so much depleted..."

"I did what I could! I did my best! Why torment me further?"

"Shall the Master of Death, empowered with limitless possibilities, willingly accept less than perfection?"

"Any battle like this has casualties!"

"Two or three perhaps, but there was unnecessary slaughter because of your failings..."

Reckless anger conquered fear of the unknown. "Have it your way, then!" He gripped the wand with both hands, pointed it skyward. "If there be any way that Magic can bring them all back, then so be it! But I will not use the Resurrection St–"

–The grim clouds above flashed their outrage, and the earth pounded and shook underfoot, toppling the youth into utter black forgetfulness...

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Almost Eight Years Before

Bewildered, Harry shook his head to clear it, and wondered how to get onto platform nine and three-quarters. Why hadn't Hagrid told him about–

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the–

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry shook his head again. Hadn't she just said that? "Excuse me–"

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

The scrawny little boy gripped the sides of his head, staring in disbelief. What was going on? Hagrid had given no indication that magic behaved in this way. "Excuse me–"

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry Potter staggered back in shock. His legs collided with a bench and he sat down heavily, staring at the family as, one by one, they walked through the wall between platforms nine and ten. He blinked, waiting to see if the scene would repeat again. It didn't. Perhaps his words had coincidentally been a spell name? Hagrid had mentioned something about accidental magic – no, his wand was still safely in his back pocket ... wasn't it?

He stood up and pulled it out, then gawped in amazement. Hard nodules had grown on the wand, like clusters of the berries Aunt Petunia used when making wine. They certainly helped his grip but it didn't even look like the wand he'd bought. Ollivander had said the wand had chosen him; he hadn't mentioned that the wand would swell and grow to fit his hand better. He wanted to give it a swish but after a glance around at the crowds, thought better of it. What words had he used that made that woman repeat?

Cautiously he held the wand low and gave it a tiny flick. "Excuse me," he hissed.

There was no change. Perhaps he'd mispronounced the incantation. "Scoosee?" ... "Skew me?" Nothing happened except an announcement squawked over a tannoy. He glanced at the station clock, gripped by a sudden realisation – he'd missed the trai–

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

So astonished was Harry to find himself standing again, that he lost hold of his wand and began scrabbling under the seat for it. It wasn't there. When he stood up, the red-haired family had all disappeared through the wall once more. Panicking, he patted himself down, hoping he'd returned the wand to–

–his back pocket! It was there all along! Yet he couldn't remember putting it away. And how was he to contact Hagrid to tell him he'd missed the train. Hadn't he? Harry scratched his head. The station clock now said it was only eight minutes to eleven. Should he follow the family through the wall? He grabbed his cart, steadied Hedwig's cage on top of it, and rushed unthinkingly at the solid bricks.

KER-ASH!

"Watch where you're going you lout! That's my cart you hit." It was a pale-faced boy, one that Harry had met at Madam Malkin's robe shop weeks before.

"Sorry."

"Pick my things up would you?"

A whistle sounded and the boy's head turned. "I say, wheel it over when you're done or I'll miss the train."

Harry gaped after the boy who was strolling leisurely away. Beyond him, a scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock. Clouds of white and black were panting out impatiently. Harry didn't wait, but rattled his cart quickly towards the train, abandoning the other boy's overturned trolley behind him.

The first carriages he passed were dominated by older students. He dismissed a few nearly full, and hurried by the one with the pale-faced boy. Rather than be left behind on the platform, he dragged his trunk onto the next carriage he reached and pulled it along the inner corridor, peering into each compartment. Most seats were taken. A round-faced boy wedged between two bigger boys was anxiously clutching a toad and trying to avoid the stares of all the kids opposite him. His trousers were wet as if he'd been carelessly dousing his pet earlier in preparation for the long journey.

The only empty compartment had 'Reserved' stickers on each seat. Another urgent whistle sounded, startling Harry. He rushed to the next cabin. It was empty except for a wild-haired girl frowning at a book in her lap. She looked up hopefully. A tentative smile revealed large teeth.

Harry didn't know how to talk to girls, so pushed ahead along the corridor. He felt awful immediately, but he couldn't go back. The train began to lurch into motion and he staggered. Two carriages further he caught sight of the youngest boy from the redheaded family turning into a compartment.

When he reached the doorway, he panted, "are th–these seats free?"

The boy opened his mouth to speak – but vanished. Harry then noticed the 'Reserved' stickers on every seat; had they been there before? Ought the boy not to have been there? He must have powerful magic to be able to– Another urgent whistle sounded, startling Harry. He rushed to the next compartment. It was almost empty except for... a twin of the bushy-haired girl. She looked up hopefully. A little smile uncovered prominent teeth. Harry gawped at her like a loony then hurried on, feeling even more guilty.

The train lurched and he staggered. Two carriages further he caught sight of what might be one of the brothers of the redheaded boy. He was sliding open the door of a compartment, and struggling to drag in his travel trunk.

"Hey, there!" called Harry.

When he reached him, he said, as if in equally-shared discovery, "Ah, this one looks free."

The tall boy nodded and hoisted up his trunk onto the rack. "Yeah, should be–"

–He was cut off by the shriek of another whistle. Harry heaved down on his own trunk to push it into the compartment. Abruptly, 'Reserved' stickers appeared on every seat. His eyes widened, and he asked, "Is that supposed to happen?" but when he looked up, the other boy was gone.

For a few moments, Harry had to sit down on his travel chest, blinking in amazement. The clatter of the train urged him back to his feet, and he trundled on to the next compartment. It was almost empty except for... yet another identical girl reading a book. She looked up hopefully. A little smile revealed protruding teeth. Harry, wide-eyed, shook his head at her like he was crazy. "Erm... are these all uuh... reserved?"

She rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Of course not. They'd put stickers on if they were, wouldn't they?"

"Uumm..." He hesitated, waiting to see if any labels would suddenly spring out from nowhere.

The train lurched into motion.

"Well?" she pouted. "Could you slide the door shut if you're not coming in – it'll get draughty now the train's moving." Her head slumped back down to entirely attend her book.

Harry bit his lip. The seats looked okay so far but... "Sorry, yes... I mean..." Softly he slid the door shut. She didn't look up, but through the glass he saw the line of her mouth set in disappointment.

He felt dreadful as he continued up the corridor. He stopped. Was that another of the red-haired boy's brothers up ahead? Was someone playing a prank? He worked his way more slowly forward, dreading what he might find.

Hesitating at the doorway, he peered round. There were definitely no 'Reserved' stickers. Yet from somewhere deep inside he sensed he had to get this right. "Erm...?"

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry groaned as he watched the red-haired family disappear through the wall again. Would he ever get to Hogwarts? He took a few steps forward, then paused. He took a step back. Nothing changed. So most things were safe to do, he thought to himself, but certain things...

To test a theory that was forming in his mind, he turned and strode off the platform, heading towards the station exit, when...

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry screamed aloud with frustration. The family looked around. The plump woman smiled benignly and opened her mouth as if to ask him if–

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry kept his mouth shut. Watched them go through the bricks. Followed them at a safe distance. Walked slowly. Avoided colliding with the haughty boy's trolley. Got on the train. Passed the toad boy's compartment. Shuddered by the 'Reserved' one. Hesitated before the wild-haired-book-girl came into view, then rushed past without looking in.

Now what? he thought. When he'd made contact with the red-haired woman on the platform, everything started again. Harry also flipped back in time when he'd spoken to her son. Was he supposed to stand in the corridor all the way? Tooth-girl was a bit weird but had seemed safe enough. At least she hadn't vanished in a puff of nothing and changed into reserved stickers.

Cautiously he pulled his travel chest back and peered in. Don't speak to her, whatever you do. He crept in, quietly slid the door shut behind him, hoisted Hedwig's cage and his trunk up onto the rack, then sat down in a sort of neutral-not-affecting-anything kind of position in the middle of the opposite row, and nervously eyed the seats around him, hoping they wouldn't suddenly produce reserv–

"–Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you?"

"Uumm..."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Harry Potter!" he blurted out, terrified that he'd be back on the platform at King's Cross if he didn't answer.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading. I knew nothing about any of this until I got my letter – My parents are non-magical, you see – your owl looks nice – I wish I could have– what are your favourite subjects? – Do you know what house you want to be in? I hope I'm in Gryffindor, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad – it's so exciting isn't it!" She said all this very fast as if keeping pace with the rattle of the train.

Harry noticed now she wasn't wearing the strange garb that most of the others on the train wore; her grey skirt and jacket reminded him of one of the more formal schools of south London. "Uuhh... you don't have any uumm... twin sisters do you?" asked Harry, cautiously eyeing the door. "Only–"

"–Twins? Goodness no!" She looked thoughtful for a moment, as if drawing on past regrets. "One brother and one sister would be nice though. Eleven to thirteen months apart would be ideal. Then we could learn from each other and share books and things." She spoke as if long expecting it might still happen.

Harry said, "I live with my cousin but there's not much sharing of–"

–The door slid open and the round-faced boy looked worriedly around floor, walls, and ceiling. "You've not seen a toad anywhere, have you?"

"Have you tried the toilets?" said Hermione. "Some idiot splashed water on the floor earlier and – or further along you could ask one of the pref– oh, I'll come with you!" she added quickly when she saw his apprehension.

The compartment felt very quiet after they'd left. Harry gazed out of the window at the passing scenery. The distant scene moved lazily along, while now and again a trackside signal post flashed speedily by. The rhythm of the rails lulled the boy's senses into tranquillity. He descended into a pleasurable dozy state of mind, and the strange start to the journey was forgotten. The world was full of promise again; even the fields and hills seemed magical to his comfortable attitude.

"They're saying Harry Potter's on the train. Is that you?"

Harry jerked back to wakefulness. It was the boy from Malkin's robe shop with two friends looking really mean and crowding over him. "Yes, look, I'm really sorry about leaving your luggage at the... uuh..."

"What?" scowled the boy. "Crabbe – run back and check my trunk."

He held out his hand and Harry took it, feeling he'd better make amends, but also wondering if the trolley crash had really taken place.

"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," continued the boy. He gestured carelessly at his other friend who was now standing in the corridor look for the return of Crabbe. "That's Gregory Goyle." Goyle was fidgeting and dancing about as if anxious to go to the loo. Draco sniffed his disdain and continued as if he couldn't care less whether his companion heard him or not. "A passable lineage but some of us are better appointed. My family can help you along if you get into Slytherin."

Footsteps were heard pounding towards them. Goyle squirmed some more and grunted, "...Says your chest is fine."

Malfoy gave Harry a strange look. "Why'd you–?" He looked up at Harry's own travel trunk on the rack then across to the smart set of suitcases on the opposite side. "What are those poncy things? You've not got Muggle-filth in here, have you? You don't want to associate with people like that, Pott–"

"–Like what!" Harry was on his feet, closing in with bunched fists and glaring at Malfoy. Although scrawny, Harry was at least an inch taller than the other boy. But his arm was suddenly gripped, and he was pulled viciously aside. Crabbe and Goyle were significantly higher still, and much more heavily built.

"Mudbloods are completely the wrong sort, of course!" drawled Malfoy. "Teach him what's what, you two."

Crabbe seized Harry by the legs and he was hoisted upside down, with his head banging on the floor..

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks!" cried Harry, more bravely than he felt.

"Pee on him, Goyle, then hang him out to dry till he learns some manners," sniggered Draco.

Stinking, steaming hot wetness followed by a huge wall of cold air hit Harry. He tried to kick out with his other foot but that was grabbed too, and Goyle's grip was even tighter than Crabbe's. Everywhere was suddenly brighter as he was thrust through the outer doorway into a rush of wind that battered him about madly.

"Ready to show some respect yet, Potter?"

"You wish!" howled Harry, squirming to get a better view of his predicament – of a door handle – anything he might grab hold of to – but Crabbe and Goyle swung him by his ankles even further out so his hands were too distant from the hurtling Hogwarts Express to have any hope of–

–THUD!

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry Potter staggered back in shock that his arms and shoulders and even his head were still attached, and there was no blood at all. His legs collided with a bench and he dropped down onto it hard, still feeling the heavy impact of the signal post and staring at the family of redheads as one by one they walked through the wall between platforms nine and ten.

He sat there for many minutes, lacking any further appetite for a train journey, or even to attend Hogwarts. Magic out of control! ... Makes no sense! Events were repeating themselves again and again without reason. He sighed and rose to his feet. All he could do was to avoid the Weasleys and try not to get killed again. Toad-boy and Tooth-girl seemed safe so probably everyone else without red or blond hair was as well. Reluctantly, he walked back through the brickwork onto platform nine and three-quarters.

He found the girl's compartment, took a seat opposite, and stared at the floor, feeling Hermione's scorn burning into the top of his head. He heard her draw breath...

"I'm anxious too," she said with a touch of sympathy in her voice. "I knew nothing about magic until I got my letter – My parents are Muggles, you see – your owl looks nice – I wish I could have– what are your favourite subjects? – Do you know what house you want to be in? I hope I'm in Gryffindor, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad – oh, I'm a nervous wreck, but it's so exciting isn't it!"

"Uh-huh," murmured Harry without looking up.

"I'm Hermione Granger by the way. Who are you?"

"Harry."

"Oh."

She fell silent after that and Harry felt dreadful for being so terse. He hated magic, and he hated Hogwarts, but most of all he hated himself. The emptiness dragged on forever. How many hours would it take to get to Scotland...?

"You've not seen a toad anywhere, have you?"

"Have you tried the toilets?" said Hermione. "There was water on the floor earlier and – or you could ask– oh, I'll come with you!" She sounded glad to get away from Harry.

He looked around at the empty compartment. Harry had forgotten about Hermione going to search for Neville's pet toad. Perhaps he could hide somewhere and not meet with Malfoy this time. But where? He thought and thought but couldn't think of a safe place except the toilet, and what if Hermione found him cowering there? Oh, Neville, is that your butt-ugly toad whimpering on the floor? Or is it that pathetic boy who's not even learned to talk civilly yet? Perhaps he simply should not argue with Malfoy. He'd never stood up to his cousin Dudley, so what on earth had caused him to–

"They're saying Harry Potter's on the train. Is that you?"

Harry jerked to attention. "Mmm... yeah."

Draco held out his hand and Harry took it, feeling he'd better – or else.

"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," continued the boy. He gestured carelessly at his other friends. "That's Crabbe and Goyle." Draco sniffed. "Some of us are better than others. I can help you there."

"Thanks."

Malfoy gave Harry a strange look, then up at Harry's travel trunk on the rack, and finally across to the suitcases on the opposite side. "What are those? You've not got a Mudblood in here, have you? You don't want to associate with people like that, Pott–"

"–Like what!" Harry was on his feet, glaring at Malfoy.

Malfoy stepped back in surprise. Harry gulped and sat down again. "Sorry."

"What's got into you? All I said was... oh, no, don't tell me he's your friend!"

Draco laughed and Harry could hear Goyle fumbling with the lock on one of Hermione's suitcases.

"Well, smash it open then," said Malfoy.

There was a metallic crunching sound. Harry looked up and his mouth fell open. Crabbe giggled loudly. He was rummaging through clothing and held up some underwear.

"A girl? She your girlfriend, Potter?" He held up a small brass telescope. "This how you spy on her?"

"No! She's not my–"

"–Your boyfriend then?" He draped the undies over Harry's head. "This what you're into is it?"

"Hoping, more like," sneered Goyle. "Here, get into this!" He flung a thin cotton camisole at Harry.

"Stop that!" Harry got up and began thrusting Hermione's clothing back into her suitcase. "You've no right to–"

–There was a cry from the doorway. "What are you–"

"–Potter wants to see your knickers, Mudblood – show him Goyle!" – Hermione shrieked and writhed as she was hoisted into the air – Harry's arm swished in a wide arc – Goyle convulsed in spinning pain – Crabbe smashed his head against a wall – Malfoy screamed once then scrunched up into a tight ball on the floor, face contorted in excruciating, silent agony, still clutching Hermione's little telescope. Harry lowered his smoking wand, staring in astonishment and wondering how it had all happened so quickly, and what spell he'd shouted, and why he wasn't instantly back on the platform at King's Cross – then wishing he was.

"Harry! How dare you go through my–!" Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink as she hesitated, then lowered her voice to murmur, "Oh, you were stopping THEM, weren't you."

"That's the most powerful..." Neville was clutching his toad so tightly, its eyes were bulging nearly as much as his own. "...ever seen."

"What was?" Hermione was staring around at the mess of casualties.

"That Stinging Jinx!" He nudged Goyle with his foot. The bully seemed to be in a dazed nightmare. "I should know. Uncle Algie used to–"

"–What happened here?"

Harry flinched. It was an older boy wearing a prefect badge. "I uuh... these three were stealing from Hermione's– they... they attacked her."

"–He jinxed them!" cried Neville. "It was amazing! He's Harry Potter!"

"You're Harry Potter?" said the older boy. "You did this?"

"I didn't know what else to do. I had to stop them... hurting her. Just reacted I suppose."

"Finite Incantatem." The boy pulled Draco to his feet. "You're Malfoy's son, aren't you? I shall be reporting all three of you to the Deputy Headmistress when we arrive. Until then, stay in your own compartment." He hustled them out, calling back over his shoulder, "No doubt Professor McGonagall will be calling on all of you as witnesses after the Sorting, so be prepared."

Harry puffed out air and sank down on his seat. "You saw them, didn't you, Neville? You'll tell–"

"–Yes, of course."

"And you too, Hermione? You'll back me up?"

But realisation of the enormity of what had occurred finally struck Hermione, and she burst into tears. "I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..." She buried her face in her hands.

Harry and Neville looked at each other, wondering what to do. Neither had ever received any significant comfort from anyone, and certainly had no idea how to give it – especially to a girl. Harry wished there was an older, more motherly person there who could–

"–Waaahh!" Hermione rushed out to escape their open-mouthed stares.

Harry cringed. "Neville, why didn't you–"

–Hermione was suddenly back in her place again, burying her face in her hands. "I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..."

Harry groaned. It was happening all over again. Neville was looking at him, wondering what to do.

"–Waaahh!" Hermione rushed out to escape them.

"Do something!" cried Harry.

"What can I–"

Hermione was in her place again, burying her face in her hands. "I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..."

Neville was looking at Harry, as if expecting him to take the initiative. Harry had to think of something fast or this would happen forever. But what?

"–Waaahh!" Hermione rushed out.

Harry braced to sprint after her, then pulled back, looking wildly about for inspiration. He was distracted by a noisy sequence of metal bridge rails fuh-whuffing rapidly past the window.–

"–"I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..." wailed Hermione.

Neville was looking at Harry, wondering what to do.

"–Waaahh!" Hermione rushed out yet again.

"–"I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..." wailed Hermione, back yet again in her seat–

"–Stop, stop!" cried Harry. "Uumm... er... Hermione we'll uuh... what can I... can I help you to... look, please, please don't cry. We can fix this." –though he had no idea how.

"B–but..."

Nervously, he sat down beside her, and tentatively took her hand–

"–Aaaaagh!" Hermione jerked her hand away and rushed out yet again.

Neville winced. "I don't think she liked being touched on bare skin by a boy she hardly knows, Harry."

"–"I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..." wailed Hermione, back in her place.

"Please don't cry, Hermione," said Harry, sitting down beside her once more. "We'll help you, won't we, Neville?" Timidly he patted her on the shoulder, hoping she wouldn't shriek; you never knew with girls.

"You w–will?"

"Of course. Whatever it takes. I promise."

"But you've not known me long enough to–"

"–Longer than you think," grinned Harry, rubbing her back and half-hugging–

"–Waaahh!" Hermione rushed out.

Neville cringed. "I don't think girls like being, ... well, cuddled, by strangers, Harry. Especially after she's just been–"

"–But you said bare skin, Neville. It wasn't bare skin this time!"

"What?" frowned Neville, trying to remember everything he'd said before.

Harry sighed and waited...

"–"I'll b–be ... everyone w–will..." wailed Hermione, back in her seat.

"Please don't cry, Hermione," said Harry, sitting down beside her yet again, determined to comfort the poor girl. "We'll help you, won't we, Neville?" Very, very cautiously, he patted her on the shoulder.

"You w–will?"

"Of course. Whatever it takes. I promise."

"But you've not known me long enough to–"

"But we'd like to know you."

"You would?" A weak smiled touched the corners of her mouth.

"Definitely. We're all going to Hogwarts together, right? We can be friends – look, what's done is done and nobody can change that but at least we–" The bridge railings were still hurtling by the window. Hang on, ... perhaps he could prevent what had caused her such distress! Dare he...? Might he...?

"What are you doing?" cried Neville, as he and Hermione stared at Harry gingerly easing the outside door handle...

"Goodbye, Hermione. This one's for you. Back in a few minutes – I hope."

"HARREEEE!" shrilled Hermione, as he threw himself from the trai–

"–packed with Muggles, of course."

Harry Potter staggered from the momentary pain, then steadied himself as his legs collided with a bench. He sat down quietly, staring at the family of redheads as one by one they walked through the wall between platforms nine and ten.

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Try, Try Again

Determined not to make a single mistake this time, Harry mentally rolled up his sleeves, marched into Hermione's compartment once more, and sat down opposite her, thinking furiously. Be nice to Hermione. Kill Draco. Be nice to Hermione. Kill Draco. Be–

"–Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you?"

"Harry Potter," he said.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about–"

–Harry tuned her out, nodding and smiling slightly at appropriate moments.

"You've not seen a toad anywhere, have you?"

Hermione offered to help and hurried off with Neville. Harry sighed and touched the side of his strange wand to reassure himself it was ready for action.

"They're saying Harry Potter's on the train. Is that you?" Draco had arrived on cue.

"Mmm... yeah," said Harry.

Draco held out his hand and Harry took it, feeling he'd better keep everything the same until–

"–My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," continued the boy. He gestured carelessly at his other friends. "That's Crabbe and that's Goyle." Draco sniffed. "Some of us are better than others. I can help you there."

"Thanks," said Harry – rather too stiffly.

Malfoy gave Harry a strange look, perused his cheap, secondhand garments, then up at the travel trunk on the rack above him, and finally across to the suitcases on the opposite side. "What are those? You've not got a Mudblood in here, have you? You don't want to associate with people like that, Pott–"

"–Like what!" Harry played his part, got to his feet, and glared at Malfoy.

Malfoy stepped back, startled by Harry's sudden fury.

"What's got into you? All I said was... oh, no, don't tell me he's your friend!"

Draco laughed and Harry could hear Goyle fumbling with the lock on one of Hermione's suitcases.

"Well, smash it open then," said Malfoy.

There was a crunch. Crabbe giggled loudly. He was rummaging through underwear and held up something flimsy.

"A girl? She your girlfriend, Potter?"

"No, I..."

"Your boyfriend then?" He draped the undies over Harry's head. "This what you're into is it?"

"Hoping, more like," sneered Goyle, who was wearing a pewter cauldron as a helmet. "Here, get into this!" He flung a silky little camisole.

Harry could hear approaching footsteps out in the corridor, so quickly stuffed the underwear out of sight before taking his seat and shouting loudly enough for Neville and Hermione to hear him outside, "Stop that! You've no right to STEAL those–"

–There was a cry from the doorway. "What are you–"

"–They're robbing you, Hermione! – "Upend her, Goyle!" cried Malfoy – Harry's arm swished in a wide arc – Goyle convulsed in spinning pain – Crabbe smashed his head against a wall – Malfoy screamed once then scrunched up into a ball on the floor, face contorted in excruciating, silent agony, still clutching the telescope. Harry lowered his smouldering wand. "I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen!"

She was in shock that they'd broken open her suitcase and been going through her things, but Harry comforted her with such thoughtfulness that she soon put her anxieties aside and accepted his offer of friendship with only a little hesitation.

.

Expulsion

"Fifty points to Gryffindor!" said Professor McGonagall. "Well done, Mr Potter for defending this young lady from a serious assault and robbery. We do not normally approve using magic outside of classes but in the circumstances, and since it was only a Stinging Jinx, I–"

"–Some sting!" cried Neville.

"Mmm... yes, no doubt," said McGonagall. "Miss Granger, you will be relieved to hear the bullies have been expelled and may face criminal charges."

"Thank you," said Hermione. "I can't imagine what it would have been like to have those three at Hogwarts for seven whole years!"

"Well, I for one," smiled Neville as they walked back to finish the feast that awaited them, "think it will be perfect."

.

True Gryffindors All

It was certainly easier to listen to Hermione's chatter while Neville was there to absorb most of her breathless excitement. Nothing had repeated for ages except for a double helping of treacle tart, and, as they followed the others up to Gryffindor Tower, Harry had, for once in his life, a full, contented stomach. When they reached their dorm, three other boys had already taken the first beds nearest the door and were busy sorting out their wardrobes. Harry and Neville went to the far corner which at least was snug, and had its own window with the best view over the lake.

They both began sorting out the possessions in their travel trunks, transferring clothing into cupboards and arranging schoolbooks on shelves. Harry found a curious stone at the bottom of his chest that he couldn't remember packing. On its surface was etched a strange triangular symbol that–

"–Are you really Harry Potter?" one of the boys blurted out.

Harry saw then that it was one of the redheads – the one who'd been Sorted. What was his name? And why hadn't things repeated? He nodded. "Mmm... yeah, er..."

"Ron, Ron Weasley." The boy was staring at Harry's forehead.

"I'm Dean and this is Seamus," said one of the other boys.

"Right," said Harry, "this is Neville."

"And is it true what they're saying," continued Ron, as if he hadn't been interrupted, "that you duelled three boys on the train at once, and won?"

"Uuh... not really a duel, more of a–"

"–Absolutely!" cried Neville. "Floored them with one Stinging Jinx! You should have–"

"–Way to go, Harry!" cried Dean.

"Just luck, honestly. I didn't even really know the spell but, well, lashed out. I mean, they were robbing someone's baggage! Hagrid said things like that are accidental magic."

"You're definitely a Gryffindor," said Seamus. "I reckon I'm only here because I wouldn't fit anywhere else."

Neville mumbled something about expecting to be in Hufflepuff. Ron said only his family name got him in.

Dean said, "Way I heard it, the Sorting Hat is NEVER wrong. We must all be true Gryffindors."

Ron and Neville perked up a bit at that. They all grinned at one another, and, as they prepared for bed, each one was looking forward to the next day.

"Night, Neville."

"Night, Harry."

.

Self Defence

Seamus, Dean, and Ron formed a loose triad of friendship over the next few days. Harry, Neville, and Hermione had been thrown together as well. A seemingly random sequence of events on the train, and chance bed positions seemed to have determined these two groupings. Harry could not help wondering what might have happened if he'd managed to speak to Ron on the train.

But his reliving parts of that first day over and over were soon forgotten – until, that is, their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. This was being taught by Professor Quirrell who Harry had met with Hagrid in the Leaky Cauldron – except now he was wearing a peculiar purple turban, and smelt oddly of garlic.

After much preamble and theorising, Quirrell finally suggested they practise some real magic.

"The f–first b–basic spell to c–consider," stammered the man, "sh–sh–shoots green sparks from your w–wand to signal your wh–wh–wh–"

"–whereabouts?" Hermione's hand was in the air.

"Th–thank you M–Miss Granger, yes to signal your wh–wh–position, and th–that you are s–safe. P–Point your w–wand upwards and use the incantation: V–V–Verdimillious! – Ow!" Quirrell rubbed his nose irritably.

"Shouldn't we hold the wand further away from our faces, Professor?" Hermione said doubtfully.

"Quite right, M–Miss Granger, th–thank you."

Harry managed the charm after three or four attempts. During the next twenty minutes, most of the students had also mastered the spell. Ron was deliberately saying "V–V–V–V–V–V–Ver–Ver–Ver–" repeatedly laughing with Seamus and waving his arm about madly. Dean had a Muggle newspaper folded on his knees out of sight and was filling in a crossword puzzle. Seamus began yawning. A girl called Parvati had her wand upside down and couldn't understand why her shoelaces were smouldering greenly.

This is boring, thought Harry, who had been hoping for something more exciting. With Hermione's help, Neville finally got the spell right and his face lit up with delight. Dean was muttering, "...predetermine events... one two, three... seven letters... Harry wished the class could be over so he could–

"–That's all f–for t–today, ch–ch–children. Next lesson we'll b–be learning how to cast red sparks"

"Oh, wow!" murmured Harry. "Can't wait for that one."

They were just walking out of the classroom – Ron was muttering something about what a load of old tosh – when Harry found himself walking back in again. He stopped in the doorway. Neville bumped into him from behind.

Hermione said, "What is it, Harry?"

"Erm... Why are we going back in?" He looked around. "Why is everyone going back in?"

"This is our next class, Harry, remember?" said Neville, holding up his schedule. He dropped his arm when he saw Harry's puzzled expression. "And I thought my memory was bad!"

"Out of the way, Potter." Kids were trying to push past them so Harry had little option but to go with the flow.

Harry sat down in a daze as Quirrell waffled on and on in the same way he had previously, before finally declaring they would be practising a spell to cast green sparks. Harry performed it first time. Hermione frowned but quickly followed him with her own success. Dean was still doing his crossword and Parvati was singeing her socks.

"–That's all f–for t–today, ch–ch–children. Next lesson we'll b–be learning how to cast–"

"–red sparks," murmured Harry. "Can't wait."

The third time Harry found himself re-entering Quirrell's green sparks class he put his foot down very firmly, "No," and turned away aiming to get some fresh air outside.

"Harry?" said Neville, glancing at Hermione,"where are you going? It's our first Defence class!"

"For you, maybe, but I've had enough sparks for one day."

Neville bumped into him from behind.

Hermione said, "What is it, Harry?"

"Erm..." He looked around. "We're going back in, aren't we?"

He resigned himself to being pushed inside again, and took his usual seat. What was he going to do? Was he trapped forever in this one class? Why couldn't it have been while eating a nice meal or... for some reason an image of him rubbing Hermione's back came into his head. That had been... interesting. When events had repeated on the train he'd found a way because he was part of the action; here, he was a passive observer who was not causing the repeat. Perhaps he should try some things. But what...?

"The f–first b–basic spell to c–consider," stammered Professor Quirrell, "sh–sh–shoots green sparks from your w–wand to signal your wh–"

"your position," said Harry, not bothering to raise his hand, " to signal where you are."

"Correct, Mr Potter."

But soon, Seamus was yawning again, Dean was doing his crossword and Parvati–"

"–This way up," said Harry, helping Parvati. "Your wand has no taper, so it's hard to tell top from bottom. That notch there is at the bottom, I think."

"Oo–thank you, Harry," cried Parvati, as she cast a shower of sparks up towards the ceiling.

"Power or agency believed to predetermine events... one two, three... seven letters..." muttered Dean.

"Miracle," growled Harry. "It'd be a miracle if–"

"–No, it ends in 'Y'."

"Sorcery then. It can only be magic that forces me to–"

"–It's Destiny," said Hermione.

"What?" said Harry.

"–That's all f–for t–today, ch–ch–children. Next lesson we'll b–be learning how to cast–"

"–RED sparks!" shouted Harry.

Everyone froze. The clatter stopped.

"That's r–right, Mr P–Potter, red sparks."

Harry groaned. The noise of the exodus resumed.

Neville looked back. "Aren't you coming, Harry?"

"What's the point? I'm doomed to– Hermione!" he jumped up and ran after the girl who was ahead of Neville through the doorway. "Hermione! Quickly! tell me what you meant about–"

–Neville bumped into him from behind.

Hermione said, "What is it, Harry?"

"What did you mean about destiny?"

"Pardon? What about it?"

"You said it's destiny."

"When?"

"Erm..." He didn't need to look about. "We're going back in, aren't we?"

Hermione frowned at him. "Are you sure you're alright, Harry?"

"Fine. Talk later."

Harry had to wait until Hermione had finished helping Neville with his sparks and everyone else was preoccupied before he could whisper to her, "Hermione, do you think there's such a thing as destiny?"

"Well... if you had asked me a year ago I'd have said no, but now I know that magic is real, then perhaps there is. I mean, it would be silly to assume–"

"–And how would it work?"

He glanced sideways, Parvati had her wand upside down again; Dean was muttering under his breath, "...agency believed to... seven letters..." and Ron was still flailing wildly with his fake stammered incantation.

Hermione pouted thoughtfully. "How would it work? Well, I suppose it's that whatever you do, things would work out a certain way. I'll check the library this evening to see if I can–"

"–You won't be able to, Hermione. Not while–"

"–What do you mean! Surely the library can't be closed!" Her eyes bulged as if someone had said the oxygen supply was about to be cut off. "I have my homework to research!"

"No, nothing like that but... so, anyway, what if one didn't know how things should work out?"

"It wouldn't matter, one's destiny would unfold correctly anyway."

"But what if it didn't? Suppose you kind of, failed to get it exactly right, would you be erm... reborn or something to uuh... get it absolutely perfect the second time round?"

"If destiny is real, then by definition, it can't fail, Harry."

"Why not?"

"Because otherwise it wouldn't be..." hissed Hermione, rolling her eyes up to the green sparks flying around the ceiling, "DESTINY, would it?"

"Ah yes, of course," said Dean, "thanks."

Harry sighed. Yes, there was something inevitable about all of this. But why couldn't destiny get it right in the first place? Why did it have to try over and over?

V–V–VER–VER–VERDIMILLIOUS! bellowed Ron, and a gout of green sparks swept wildly towards Harry's face – he pulled back his head – Hermione shrieked – Harry thrust up his wand to block the spell from hitting her – there was sharp pain as the sparks hit his wrist – the wand almost fell, but strangely clung to his palm. "OW!"

"Mercif–ful Merlin, Mr P–Potter!" said Quirrell, walking tentatively towards him. "Are you b–badly–" Without warning, he seized Harry by the arm, but it was not Harry's injury that he was examining. "This wand, boy! Where did you get it! Speak up!"

The classroom fell silent at the complete lapse of their teacher's nervous stutter.

Quirrell reached for the wand with his other hand, never releasing his vicious grip on Harry's wand arm – Harry tilted the wand away – Quirrell snatched at Harry's hand to shake it free – a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry"s scar as if his head was about to split in two – TWO screams rang out!

Quirrell had staggered away, clutching at his own fingers which were blistering as if by invisible fire. "What is this!"

And then another voice, a high thin utterance, was heard, freezing the veins of everyone present: "SEIZE HIM! TAKE HIM! WE MUST LEAVE!"

Several girls screamed in terror. Most of the students were on their feet, backing away from the frightening attack. Harry was too numb with fear to avoid it. Both arms were seized this time. Quirrell's expression was manic. Harry's forehead butted into his chin. The man screamed again but held on, despite his jaw looking raw, red, and shiny, as though the skin was ripped away. Harry still had his wand but could not bring it to bear except–

There was a cold, purple explosion of sparks between Harry and his assailant, blasting them apart. As he fell, the boy thought he saw the Headmaster in the doorway, a terrible fury on his face. It was a struggle to remain conscious, but Harry dazedly slipped his wand back under his robes as a dark shadow seemed to pass from Quirrell – then he knew no more.

.

Wandless

Harry became conscious of light on his closed eyelids but he was much too comfortable to consider what it might mean.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Headmaster!" Harry's eyes blinked open, and he realised he must be in a hospital or perhaps a first aid section within Hogwarts.

"This is the hospital wing, Harry; you're perfectly safe now."

Harry groped for his spectacles glinting on the bedside table, then everything swam into focus. "Thank you for saving me, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. "Alas, I am without a wand this week, Harry. No, it was not I that saved you, but your own magic. That was quite a Revulsion Jinx you performed."

"A what? Me? I tried to... I think it was gut reaction, sir – accidental magic like on the train."

"I see. Well, perhaps you would be wise to keep that to yourself, Harry." Dumbledore winked. "You're quite the hero now." He gestured to another, larger table, which was filled with get-well cards and gift-wrapped packages. "The invocation is Relashio should you wish to erm... refresh your memory in the school library." Dumbledore's eyes flicked in the direction of the bedside table.

"Thank you, sir."

"Harry, might I examine your wand?"

Harry's attempt to suppress panic was not lost on Dumbledore. "Relax, dear boy, it's normal for wizards to be concerned when separated from their wands – yours is right here." He picked it up. "Interesting ... holly is it not?"

"Uumm..." Harry stared at the wand held lightly in Dumbledore's hands. "Sometimes I think it changes a little."

"Really? Most intriguing. Well, as you probably know, the wand chooses the wizard, Harry." He gave it a light swish. "Yours does nothing for me. Alas, I shall have to visit Ollivander's during the next few days to purchase a new one. Must have misplaced mine at the start of term – elevated anticipation does that to an old man, you know, though I never dreamt there was to be quite so much excitement so soon after your arrival, what with the incident on the train and–"

–Harry's response was an apologetic smile. "And Professor Quirrell? What was that...?"

"Alas, your Defence teacher allowed himself to become possessed by Voldemort. That dark wizard has fled from you once more, Harry, and Professor Quirrell is currently in St Mungo's Hospital being treated for strange burns – your doing, I believe?"

"I didn't mean to, sir. I–"

"–That's quite alright. Not your fault at all. Professor Quirrell will be put on trial and I, no doubt, must seek a new Defence teacher as well as a new wand." Dumbledore turned to leave.

"Sir, one last thing... do you believe in ... Destiny?"

The Headmaster spun abruptly around to face Harry once more, and his blue eyes were twinkling with astonished delight. "Most definitely, Harry, most definitely."

.

Rocket Man

Everyone was looking forward to their first flying lesson which started smoothly enough. Harry couldn't wait to get in the air for the first time.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch.

He braced himself to push off. The instructor prepared to blow her whistle, but Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before it had even touched her lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and–

"–Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch.

Harry watched in astonishment as Neville shot up like a rocket for a second time – then a third and fourth. Never did he quite splat into the ground before Hooch was repeating her preparatory speech. The fifth time, Harry pushed up into the air after Neville, but in vain. There was no way he could hold the slightly chubby Neville as he slid off once more.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, yet again.

"Neville!" hissed Harry out of the side of his mouth, "not too hard! Push gently forward then pull it up to stop. I'm sure it's important to practise braking before we go higher."

Neville gritted his teeth so hard, Harry felt sure he heard them grating. The whistle blew. Together they drifted slowly forward then came to a jerky stop. Neville stumbled slightly, but held on.

"I did it!" he cried.

"Well done, Longbottom," cried Hooch, "now try circling around a few times. Practice makes perfect."

"This yours, Neville?" said Harry, picking something up from the grass. "It fell out of your pocket, I think."

"Oh, yes, that's my Remembrall. Helps me remember to erm..."

.

Research

Potions lessons took place down in one of the creepy dungeons. Snape started the class by taking the register; he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new ... celebrity."

Some of the Slytherins sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class with black, empty eyes. His introductory speech was hypnotic, transfixing the class into silence without effort.

Without warning, he suddenly snapped, "Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, whose hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir."

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry shook his head.

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry mumbled, "I don't–"

"–Potter!" repeated Snape. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Erm... didn't you already ask that one?"

"Potter, what would I get if..."

And on and on they repeated this cycle.

"Hermione?" he pleaded.

"You will not cheat, Potter! Clearly–"

"–Wait! Yes, perhaps I can!" Harry flipped through his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, scouring it for the answers.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Ten points from Gryffindor. You should have researched this–"

"–Research, yes!" Harry jumped up and ran to the door.

Snape, and everyone else, stared after him. "Potter! Detention! This evening after–"

–but the rest of what the teacher was saying was lost as Harry raced through the stone corridors towards the library. Hurriedly, he scanned the shelves, pulled out a huge tome grandly titled: Everything You Could Possibly Wish To Know About Potion Ingredients and began to hasten through its pages.

Then he stopped. ... Why rush? If Destiny or Magic wanted him to give the right answers then who was he to fight it?

An hour or two passed while Harry made notes, read them and re-read them, committing to memory every word. Finally he went over it all in his mind until he was confident he could not forget. He closed the huge book with a resounding–

"–Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry leaned back, trying to look thoughtful, then nodded to himself. "That would be Living Death, wouldn't it, sir?"

Snape frowned.

"And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Aah... let's see now..." grinned Harry, as if he were enjoying the questions, "a goat's stomach is the best place but they can also be found in–"

"–What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" spat Snape.

Harry frowned with feigned puzzlement, delaying as long as possible. Snape sneered. Harry blinked confusedly. "Surely they're the same thing, aren't they, sir?"

Harry's face brightened triumphantly at Snape's bitter expression.

For the practical brewing part of the lesson, he paired with Hermione, so he couldn't go far wrong. Dean and Ron, meanwhile, were struggling with their snake fangs.

Harry sprinkled on the final few porcupine quills then Hermione moved the cauldron away from their fire.

"–That's perfect, Harry," smiled Hermione, squeezing his arm. "The colour is just right and–"

"–AAAAARRRGH!"

Harry looked round. Children were climbing onto their stools but he couldn't see–

Harry was suddenly sprinkling in porcupine quills again. In a daze, he watched Hermione move their cauldron away from their fire.

"–That's perfect, Harry," smiled Hermione, squeezing his arm. "The colour is just right and–"

"–AAAAARRRGH!"

Quickly, Harry looked round. Potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes but–

Before he could detect the cause, Harry was again sprinkling in the final few porcupine quills and Hermione was moving the cauldron away from their fire.

"–That's perfect, Harry," smiled Hermione, squeezing his arm. "The colour is just right and–"

"–AAAAARRRGH!"

Harry whirled about so quickly this time that Hermione, still gripping his arm, almost toppled over. He had just spotted that Neville and Seamus's cauldron had melted into a twisted blob when once again, he found himself grasping a handful of porcupine quills.

"–That's perfect, Harry," smiled Hermione, squeezing his arm. "The colour is just right and–"

"–AAAAARRRGH!"

"–That's perfect, Harry," smiled Hermione, squeezing his arm. "The–"

"–What if we hadn't added the quills? Quickly, Hermione!"

"Well, the–

"–AAAAARRRGH!"

"–That's perf–"

"–Why the quills, Hermione!"

"Well the heat would continue to increase and probably melt the–"

"–AAAAARRRGH!"

"–That's perfect, Harry," smiled Hermione – but she never got to squeeze his arm. In three strides, Harry had reached Neville and sprinkled in the remainder of his porcupine quills. Just in time, for Seamus was in the act of moving the cauldron away.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for cheating!" snarled Snape.

.

Tart Heaven

"Thanks again, Harry," said Neville, at dinner that evening.

"Well, I couldn't stand by and do nothing."

"You're too modest, Harry. I think you were brilliant," said Hermione. "Neville could have been badly injured if not for your swift action. How did you know he'd forgotten to add his porcupine quills?"

"Just happened to glance that way, I guess."

Neville pushed away his empty plate, reached for a dish of lemon meringue, and sighed. "It's been a perfect first week at Hogwarts. "I've turned a match into a needle, learned to fly a broomstick, and brewed perfect boil-cure potion. What about you, Hermione?"

"Friends. I've made two good friends right away," she said happily. "And you, Harry? What's your idea of heaven?"

"Well," he said, reaching for dessert, "suppose it was your destiny to eat a custard pie, then probably you could, instead, eat treacle tart forever without getting full."

Hermione's expression was a treat to behold. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"You're absolutely right, Hermione," said Harry, as he bit into his favourite pudding, "none whatsoever."

"Harry, I've been wondering, said Neville, "uumm... what's that sticking out of your pocket?"

The Boy of Destiny looked down and frowned. It wasn't a handkerchief. Tentatively, he pulled it out and held it up. It was Hermione's knickers he'd stuffed away on the train. She squealed so loudly a nearby candle flickered out. Total silence had fallen over the Great Hall. Many were on their feet, staring in disgust at Harry and the underwear he was rapidly trying to conceal. Dumbledore rose up in astonishment, an awful disappointment on his face. Harry opened his mouth to explain–

"–And you, Harry?" Hermione was saying, "What's your idea of heaven?"

"Well," he said, trying to compose himself as he reached for dessert, "suppose it was your destiny to eat a custard pie, then probably you could instead eat treacle tart forever without getting full."

Hermione's expression was a treat to behold. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"You're absolutely right, Hermione," smiled Harry, as he bit into his favourite pudding yet again, "none whatsoever."

.

The Good Life

The rest of the term passed by as perfectly as the first week. The three learned to hover feathers. Quirrell was sent to Azkaban, and the Ministry assigned an Auror to replace him at Hogwarts. There was a story going around that a young dragon had been seen near Hagrid's hut, flying away in the direction of Romania, but nobody believed that nonsense. Neville invited Harry to his home for Christmas, and Hermione joined them after first spending time with her own family. They exchanged gifts and had a wonderful time of it, except for one temporary episode...

Harry spent an entire day of repeated minutes trying to stop Neville's gran from sitting on Neville's wand but without success. No matter how often he warned her, or snatched the wand in the nick of time, the minutes kept repeating. Only when he was so mentally exhausted that he couldn't shout, and the wand was inevitably sat on and broken, did the day continue normally. She chastised her grandson for carelessly leaving his wand on her favourite chair after impressing her with his range of coloured sparks, but eventually promised to take him to buy a new one before the holidays were over.

Hermione scowled at Harry. "You were nearest. Why didn't you say something? You must have seen it!"

"Sorry, Hermione. Sorry, Neville."

She sighed. "I can't stay mad at you for long, I suppose. And perhaps Neville's new wand will serve him better."

Hermione was right. Neville's sparks were even brighter and more colourful after that, and his feathers flew higher.

An additional present awaited Harry on his return to Hogwarts: an invisibility cloak that had belonged to his father. He placed it with the curious stone he'd found at the bottom of his travel chest. The garment also helped conceal Hermione's knickers. What was he do with them? He couldn't exactly hand them back, could he. If he tried to burn them on the common room fire he might be seen. Bury them in the Forest? – it was forbidden, and anyway, suppose Hagrid's dog Fang dug them up? Harry cringed at the thought of the wolfhound walking into the Great Hall during dinner and dropping them at his feet...

The months flew by. The weather grew warmer. At the end of a perfect year, the three agreed to spend as much time as they could with each other over the summer holidays.

Life was good.

.

—oOo—

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Author's Notes

This story is a 30,000-word novella of five chapters already written and proof-read several times and each chapter to be checked and polished one last time then posted every 7 to 10 days. There's one short chapter of just under 4K as I recall. Don't take the story too seriously, but enjoy! Meanwhile I am working hard on the next chapter of Chance of a Lifetime!

Ollivander said 'The wand chooses the wizard' so it seems plausible that one as powerful as the elder wand would not give up its choice without a fight. Did it transfigure Harry's original wand into itself? Or somehow take its place? I prefer that they merged somehow and can display itself as it wishes.

You might have been puzzled about Quirrell recognising the Elder Wand, but, although Voldemort perhaps didn't know of it at that time, Quirrell may well have researched it in his efforts to improve himself and be recognised. Even if the form of the wand was not known, he could have recognised the type of wood as elder. And, incidentally, Petunia liked to make elderberry wine which is what Harry remembered even though he didn't know exactly what it was.

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

- Hippothestrowl

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