Special thanks to darkphoenix31 - you've been an amazing beta.

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter, the Wizarding World and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no claims of ownership.

A STATEMENT OF INTENT

Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts was a simple man who was content in his hut with his dog Fang. Bar the occasional disturbance in the Forbidden Forest, his job was fairly light and did not require a lot of communication. It thus came to him as a surprise when one chilly winter day, the Letter showed up.

It was addressed to Mr Rubeus Hagrid and made Hagrid feel very important indeed – the smooth cursive letters and their loops seemed familiar to Hagrid, but he could not identify them immediately. He opened the seal and read the letter.

Dear Hagrid,

I hope this letter finds you and Fang well. If you have received this letter, it means that I have departed the mortal plane for the next great adventure. But things do not seem as simple now as they once did. Great darkness is brewing on the horizon, and I need your help to make things right again. And this is only possible if I return to the realm of mortals again.

Hagrid's eyes widened at this. Surely it wasn't…?

His eyes travelled down the page, taking in snippets of information – "The Philosopher's Stone", "…would request you not to tell anyone to avoid suspicion being raised or hopes being dashed in the eventuality that…", "…fairly complex ritual but I am sure that you can achieve it…" until finally, his eyes saw the very name he had thought he would never see again writing a letter to him.

Albus Dumbledore.

His interest aroused, Hagrid read the letter thoroughly and his eyes gleamed with the faint beginnings of hope and joy as he smiled. Dumbledore always was the best wizard in the world.

December 26, 1991

"But uncle, are you sure that there's nothing you can do?"

Sirius sighed. Harry had not taken Draco's "betrayal" well, and this was possibly the hundredth time he was asking the same question to Sirius in the past couple of days. "I'm sure, Harry. Believe me, I want to. But Slytherin has a reputation for some extremely bigoted batches every now and then, and unfortunately your batch is one of them. Besides, what exactly can I do? I can't write to their parents, they're as bigoted as their kids are – and while Professor Riddle or one of the other Professors would take me seriously, even they cannot separate Draco from the rest of his House – since that will only lead to further tension."

He did not add his personal views on the topic – that Draco should have wanted to resist, that he should have fought against Nott and his gang of bigots rather than taking the easier way out. The fact that he had chosen to give in showed that he did not wish to; he had chosen to do what was easy than what was right. Courage may be a Gryffindor trait but it holds all people in good stead at some points in their lives.

Sirius looked at Harry's downcast expression and something in him reached out to the boy. His own batch had been rather tolerant and thus he had never faced any overt troubles from his classmates, but there had been several older students who had tried to give Sirius his "comeuppance" for being a blood traitor. In all those instances, James and Peter had stood by him like a rock – always by his side, never backing down even when the opponents were thrice their size. With you to the end of the line, pal, Peter had often said. And James would just smile, his eyes enough to convey what Sirius needed to know – that he was not alone.

"Look, it's only a matter of this year, right?" Sirius said encouragingly. "Let him tide over this and as soon as these Seventh Years pass out of Hogwarts, you can go back to being friends. I'll try and speak to Cissa in the meanwhile, see if she can get you to meet Draco once during the holidays." Harry looked up, his face shining with hope. "Then at least you can have a proper conversation once before you get back to school, alright?"

Harry nodded happily. "Thank you so much, uncle."

"Always happy to help, Harry. Now, you were saying that you have difficulty with the Erecting Charm?"

"Yeah, I don't seem to be able to cast it with enough control. Neither am I getting any of the other spells in my book, really."

Sirius frowned. "Maybe it's just practice. Let's go over it once, shall we?"

"Of course!"

December 29, 1991

"They're on vacation, Harry – in Switzerland. Cissa said that she did sympathize, but Draco did not want to abandon his vacation just so that he could Floo down to Britain to meet you. They're returning only on the fifth of January, so there will not be enough time to meet before school starts."

Harry was very dejected at this. A growing fear had been nibbling at him since his last meeting with Draco, the fear that Draco had become one of them. Is that why he doesn't what he doesn't want to meet me? Because he thinks that I'm a "blood traitor" and so I'm not his friend anymore?

Sirius had noticed that Harry had been thinking too much about this over the last week and tried to distract him. "Read the papers today?"

Harry nodded. "Another claim without any proof for the Fawley killings. They're slipping up, are the Oracle."

Sirius was impressed. He had been asking about James' use of the D'Orazio dive in the recent match and how the other team had found it difficult to counter it, but this was something new. At such a young age, he's already reading between the lines of a newspaper report written by senior journalists? Nice. "What exactly told you that it was without any proof?" He took out his fidget spinner and spun it as Harry spoke.

"The fact that they alleged that the Fawleys were involved in a fe-feu-"

"Feud. It means to fight."

"I know what it means," Harry grumbled. "Just couldn't pronounce it. The fact that they were in a feud with the Smiths when we saw them speaking quite happily at the ball in the summer."

Sirius was amused and intrigued in equal measure. He has some very good observation skills. But the deduction isn't necessarily right. "Harry, speaking happily – or the appearance of speaking happily – does not necessarily mean that two people aren't disagreeing."

"You mean people fight while talking happily? How does that even work?"

Sirius suppressed a laugh. "It's not a fight exactly. They don't use their fists or anything. They just disagree on certain issues. That doesn't mean that they can't speak politely with each other."

Harry was looking incredulous at this point. "But…that's not…how is that even possible?"

Sirius chuckled. "Most issues can be solved simply by talking with one another. If two people disagree about something, the first thing to do is just talk. I cannot tell you how many times that simple step saves a lot of pain and time." Sirius paused for a bit, reversing the direction his toy was spinning in.

"Also, more often than not when a newspaper prints a report about a 'feud', they're just trying to sensationalize a small disagreement. If that is the case here, then it could be possible that they were talking about something else when you saw them – something they did not disagree on." Harry nodded in understanding.

"There is also the fact that even if the Fawleys and Smiths did actually have a 'feud', or they were fighting about something, they would hardly choose to do discuss it in a public party where others could see them. Such matters are always discussed behind closed doors in private. In that case as well the two parties would be polite with each other in public, since they would not want others to know that there was any such issue – because the media would just blow it out of proportion."

Harry nodded again, lost deep in thought and Sirius smiled. "So, you see, the Smiths and the Fawleys may have been disagreeing on something or even may have had a feud – the fact that they were speaking normally at the party cannot be used to confirm whether they did or not. That being said, you're right that it is highly unlikely."

Harry sat silently and Sirius could see his thoughts churning, processing all that he had been told. Finally, he asked, "Uncle Sirius? Who do you think is responsible for the killings?"

Sirius shrugged eloquently, a gesture that he was not in the habit of making very often. "Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. The Auror Corps have not shared any information, saying that an investigation is still ongoing – though I suspect that they have their own guesses, much more informed ones than what everyone else is speculating." He spun the toy in his hands a bit faster, cutting a black arc through the air.

"I read in the papers that they're planning to reintroduce the Properties Act for debate. Is that true?"

"Yes, Harry," Sirius sighed. "I tried to stop it from happening but public sentiment isn't really at its best towards the Muggleborns right now."

"You'll win, right? They won't pass such a bigoted law, will they?"

Sirius smiled at Harry, innocent in so many ways and yet so knowledgeable in others. "They won't, Harry. Not when I'm still there." Harry smiled back. "Now, enough of serious talk. Find something fun to do, go on!"

Sirius continued to smile at Harry's retreating figure, his emotions tumultuous underneath. I can only hope that it is as easy as I just told you it will be, Harry. The margins are fine, and the clamour only grows louder.

January 6, 1992

Harry found himself rather downcast as he made his way to the Gryffindor dormitories with Neville and Ron. While the journey on the Express had been very comfortable, the pangs of homesickness refused to leave him alone. He cheered up a little at the thought of the things he had learnt over the holidays – his Erecting charm now worked fairly well, although Harry still found perfect accuracy very tricky. If he got the spell going well then it took almost no effort to maintain it, but getting it going well had proved to be quite elusive.

"Your dad was amazing in that game against the Bats, Harry," Ron gushed. "By golly, he has to be the best Chaser we've seen this season." Harry nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly – his father had been in a sweet spot and opposition teams, on the whole, had found it rather difficult to stop James Potter from scoring.

He's been too busy, though, a part of him complained. He's almost always away for training sessions or matches, not to mention even at home he keeps thinking about strategies and possible moves.

Well, he is a professional Quidditch player, the other part of him retorted. What did you expect, he'll sit around and the broom will score the goals?

His mum had been unusually busy as well – there had been a rather large demand for her opinions regarding a new Potion that claimed to offer a cure to dragon pox with lesser side effects. As one of the very few independent Potioneers, she had been flooded with requests to verify the claims of the inventors. It had meant several long nights for her in the lab and rather less fun for Harry than what he had been used to over the last few years. Sirius had tried his best to keep Harry occupied, however.

"…she's not all that bad, Neville. I reckon she's just lonely and likes books a bit too much."

With a start, Harry snapped out of his musings to see what Ron and Neville were going back and forth about.

"Easy enough to say, Ron, but she's positively mad. She's memorized the entire of First Year and Second Year spells!"

Ah, they're talking about Hermione.

Ron had introduced them to the Muggleborn again on the train, and the girl had been rather subdued in comparison to the early weeks. Harry had noticed that Ron had seemed noticeably closer to her – maybe he's been writing letters in the hols, he mused – while Neville had been polite throughout but had found her vexing, to say the least.

"…can't possibly just memorize everything, you've got to understand it as well!"

"You're getting her wrong, mate, she's not…"

Harry sighed. This was one conversation that he did want to be a part of since his own view regarding Hermione were rather complicated. She's definitely very talented, and has a knack for learning things quick and remembering them as well. But…

She's too stubborn. And refuses to listen to anything that contradicts her precious books, his brain supplied helpfully.

Yeah.

The Muggleborn had indeed been rather insistent on certain matters. Harry had found her attitude towards wizarding culture to be extremely dismissive, which had not improved her estimation in his eyes. Her derision towards wizarding culture was based on the fact that she thought wizarding culture to be backward in comparison to Muggle culture, which Harry knew wasn't true at all.

A sudden reduction in the general levels of background noise alerted Harry that something was amiss. He abandoned his train of thought and focused on the two boys standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly.

"Yes?" he ventured, tentatively.

To his great surprise, both of them gave identical snorts and refused to say any more.

January 7, 1992

"This seems to be a standard magical disturbance except with an aleph-null pattern discharge," Saul Croaker said, and Bathsheba Babbling bobbed her head in agreement. "A level-one cordon with a precaution against going into the area should suffice for now, but in the case that it persists for more than a hundred-and-eighty-six days, a deep scan will be needed."

"Wouldn't it be prudent to carry out a deep scan now rather than wait for six months?" Tom Riddle asked.

"That would be a major inconvenience, for two reasons – one, the castle needs to be empty for a deep scan to be carried out. Two, a deep scan takes the entirety of a week to yield best results since it involves an entire team to examine the source and then also cast several profiling and detection charms to make sure of the cause. Given that the children have just returned from their holidays, I don't see too many parents being happy about their children being sent back for the entirety of a week."

Tom still looked sceptical. "I could hardly care less about what the parents think, Saul. The children are our responsibility, and keeping them safe is my utmost priority. Are you sure that this is safe?"

"I wouldn't suggest it otherwise," returned Croaker stiffly. "I am quite certain that this will not cause any problems. Given that this is an aleph-null pattern, spontaneous magical discharges have a probability of less than point zero six per cent. There are absolutely no other dangers that such a low-level magical discharge can possess, and the cordon should keep any damage from happening in the extremely unlikely case something does happen." He looked at Bathsheba now. "Besides, I'm sure that Bathsheba here will be monitoring the wards and will intimate us in the event that something happens – such as a change in the pattern – in which case we can swiftly move and evacuate the castle."

Tom nodded. "Very well. I must, however, voice my concerns regarding the availability of knowledge regarding ward protocols and magical disturbances. Long has Department of Mysteries has maintained a monopoly over such information, and in such cases, I would very much prefer to be equipped with the same knowledge myself to avoid any oversights on your part."

Croaker shot Tom a glare. "I have already told you that such information cannot be made accessible to any persons not within the employ of the Department. Your…concerns aside, the rules clearly state that I cannot provide this information to any member of the general public." He smirked. "That being said, the offer from some time back still stands. You are welcome to join the Department and I will be happy to provide the information to you, subject to the…conditions I had told you would be necessary that you agree with."

It was Tom's turn to glower. "My answer remains the same as last time." His expression suddenly changed to thoughtfulness. "Can you at least tell me a possible reason for why this kind of disturbance is occurring? We've not seen like this in a very long time indeed, so do you have any theories?"

Saul nodded. "Yes. One of the many theories that is currently looking likely is that this is due to the upcoming Conjunction on the Summer Solstice." Tom looked intrigued, as did Bathsheba, Snape and Trelawney. The rest of the room, however, merely looked blank.

"Can you elaborate on what the Conjunction is, Mr Croaker, for the benefit of those who are not as well-versed with such matters as you are?" Professor McDonald asked.

Sybil Trelawney spoke in dreamy tones. "It is an auspicious time that occurs once in several centuries and is particularly fortuitous for several magical phenomena. The connection with the Quint is particularly strong during this period, and many wondrous observations have been reported in the past."

Professor McDonald snorted, as did Pomona Sprout – their views regarding Divination were no secret. However, Saul Croaker nodded. "Indeed. The fact that the Conjunction will occur on the longest day this time is yet another reason why any magic may be amplified – since the Solstice has long been known to have several connotations with powerful magic."

Tom looked very contemplative at this. "If you have no further queries, I will take my leave," Saul Croaker said.

"Of course. I'll see you to the Hall," Professor McDonald said, and accompanied the Unspeakable. On returning, she immediately asked Tom, "Do you buy this theory of the Conjunction, Tom?"

"I'm not sure whether it is the cause in this case, but it cannot be ruled out. One of the major principles of magical analysis is Sympathy, after all. While the occurrence of events such as the Conjunction is now considered to be mere trivia, the relevance attached to it cannot be dismissed out of hand," Tom said, phrasing his answer in a way that Professor McDonald would not argue about the 'reliability' of Divination.

Professor Snape, however, had no such compunctions. "The Conjunction is a perfectly well-characterized event that has historically been very auspicious. It is almost certain that one of the more arcane devices hidden in the halls of Hogwarts is reacting to this." He looked at Tom as he said, "Croaker suggested a level-one cordon, and that should keep students from going into the corridor itself. But a slightly more…intimidating face may be needed to ward off some of the more mischievous students from poking around the cordon itself."

Tom grinned, the thought sparking through his mind at the same time as Snape. "What do you suggest, Severus?"

Severus smiled at Professor McDonald. "You remember that Cerebrus glamour that you had conjured last year to scare Filch? The one with depth perception and the ability to pursue any humans in its vicinity?"

"Yes," Professor McDonald said, her lips pursed. Then her face lit up. "Of course! I'll try and add some features – make it look more tangible, for one and…I'll have to program it to return it to the same spot." Then her face furrowed. "I'll also need a seven-set runic array for power – the magic won't sustain on its own."

Professor Babbling smiled. "It's a good thing I'm on hand then, isn't it?"

The entire classroom laughed.

January 8, 1992

Charms class was very interesting – they were learning the Body-Bind curse, or at least the localized version of it.

"It's technically a Defense spell, but it opens up the opportunity for use with modifiers so I'm teaching it as part of Charms," Professor Flitwick said. He had also informed them that they would use it with the Totalum modifier the next time around and had urged them to revise their notes regarding the modifier, which Professor Riddle had already covered.

Hermione and Diana had managed the spell about five minutes into the class, with Neville following not long after. However, Ron's spell didn't work quite as well he would have liked it to and Harry's attempts proved to be completely unsuccessful.

"Mr Potter, I suspect that you are not as intent on this spell as you should be," Professor Flitwick chided.

"Sorry, Professor. I'm trying my best but it just isn't working."

Flitwick's face softened. "It takes some time to master certain spells. Do not lose heart, just keep trying."

Harry nodded and trained his wand again on the rat in front of him. "PETRIFICUS!"

The rat looked at Harry with an expression that Harry could have sworn was a smirk and leapt off the table.

Harry, Ron and Neville made idle chatter as they walked back from class to their dormitories when suddenly a loud scream pierced the air.

The three boys stared at each other, alarmed. Then in one swift motion, they ran to the end of the corridor and round the bend. Harry's anger rose as he saw Hermione on the floor sobbing, her hair hanging loosely. All of them gasped as they saw her face.

Two long scars, vicious and red ran down each side, bleeding. Harry's eyes snapped up to see three older students – the same ones who had been bullying Justin – and his anger flared up. Ron and Neville had recognized them as well, and all three of them drew their wands.

"Back off," Ron said. "I'll call one of the Professors if you don't."

The Ravenclaw laughed. "You firsties again? Can't take a hint once, can you?" His eyes darkened as he walked up to Ron. "You'll call the Professor, innit? Go ahead. Call him."

Ron's eyes widened. "Professor Riddle!" he hollered at the top of his voice. "Professor-"

"STUPEFY!"

Ron collapsed to the floor in a heap, and Neville took the opening. "PETRIFICUS!" he said, pointing at one of the boys' legs, which locked together. The boy fell face-first onto the ground.

"PETRIFICUS!" Harry cast, but the spell failed to work and Harry cussed. You haven't mastered the Erecting charm with that much practice, how did you think you were going to get that spell right? A part of him chided.

What's with the insults all the time? I'm trying to save our skins here!

The Ravenclaw and the other Slytherin only smirked at Neville's display. "STUPEFY!" Neville collapsed onto the floor as well.

Harry raised his wand again but the Ravenclaw was faster. "FLIPENDO!" Harry flew onto his back and slumped onto the floor. The Ravenclaw then undid the spell on the Slytherin, who rose to his feet groaning. Hermione was sobbing more than ever, and one of the boys walked up to her.

"Shut up, you filthy Mudblood," he spat. "You assume that you can walk around the school poncing about your knowledge? Nott and the others told me that you thought too much of yourself."

"Second coming of Merlin, she is," the other student mimicked Nott, and they laughed. "Honestly, you'll think the whore should know her place in society better." He looked at Hermione. "Your place is below us," he hissed.

They raised their wands but a voice called out, strongly, "STOP!"

Harry stood again, his head woozy and still shaking, but wand trained on the two boys. "Let her go," he said, far more confidently than he felt at the moment.

"Or what, firstie? You'll try some other simple spells? Stuff we can undo in a moment?"

"PETRIFI-"

"FLIPENDO!" Harry flew through the air and hit the wall, this time much harder. His head swam from the impact and his vision blurred, his glasses knocked askew. The boys knocked over to Harry. "This one deserves something special, don't you think?" one of the Slytherins remarked. "Ruddy Potters have become Mudwallowers these days."

"Let me show you what happens to blood traitors and sons of Mudbloods," the Ravenclaw said, walking over to Harry. Harry tried to raise himself but a punch knocked him down again. "I'm gonna beat you the Muggle way," the Ravenclaw said. "With my fists." Another blow landed, and Harry spat blood this time, wheezing from the blow. His head swam, he could barely see and all his body wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep.

A third blow landed and Harry could feel sleep beckoning. The darkness called to him, its lure powerful. There's nothing you can do anyway, it said. Sleep.

And Harry would have, had it not been for one thing that the Ravenclaw said.

"Give up yet, Potter? Or do you want to be humiliated before you learn to lose?"

Suddenly, unbidden, a memory sprung to the front of Harry's mind.

March 12, 1990

It had started as an ordinary pickup game between Harry and his dad but tempers had run high. Without Sirius to keep the peace, the game had been fraught with jeering from both sides – not to mention that both of them had been in bad moods from the very beginning. James had been frustrated with the antics of some players in his team due to which they had lost the match the day before and Harry had been upset over the fact that he had not won a single game over the course of the summer yet.

Not to mention that a worked-up James had been absolutely relentless on the field, scoring every single time he could and not letting up even a single mistake. Harry had been inspired to his best as well, but a score of a hundred-and-seventy to forty in a two-hundred points match didn't look very good.

"Give up, Harry! I don't want to humiliate you!" James taunted, scoring yet again. "Just admit defeat!"

Hurt flashed across Harry's face. His dad had never taunted him so openly on the field. Sure, a bit of gamesmanship was something they both enjoyed, but this was a line that James had never crossed.

"Are you gonna play on or what, Harry?"

Somewhere, something in Harry lit up – a spark that grew into a fire, raging like a maelstrom. His green eyes darkened as he took in the situation – his father needed thirty points to win, he needed a hundred-and-sixty to win.

Simple, innit? I'm just not going to allow him to score – at all.

He took the Quaffle and accelerated, his broom being put through the paces as he flew straight at James. Ordinarily he would have tried to keep away, but James had been cornering him when he tried to fly putting some distance between them. It was time to try something different.

James sped up too and as they came close to each other, James tried to reach for the Quaffle. But Harry changed his grip and flattening himself on the broom, jerked it to the left. The broom spun in a fast circle as Harry straightened himself up again and sped past James, scoring easily. A hundred-and-fifty to win.

Surprised by the sudden change in Harry's play, James responded by pulling out his own tricks – but Harry was simply unstoppable. Porskoff Ploys were anticipated, Woollongong Shimmies were simply cut through and even a Transylvanian Tackle couldn't stop Harry. James scored twice more but Harry dominated the proceedings, doing things with a broom that both of them had never seen before.

Finally, the score stood at a hundred-and-ninety apiece and Harry looked at a sweating James, his hazel eyes narrowed in disbelief at Harry's relentless onslaught. He gripped his broom and took off with the Quaffle, determined to win against his father.

The broom whizzed as James flew towards Harry too, his face determined to corner Harry – and just as they came within proximity, Harry threw the Quaffle into the air. James swerved, as did Harry. They both flew upward towards the ball that was gaining in altitude. Harry urged his broom on, his hands tense on the stick, his eyes only on the Quaffle as it stopped and then dipped. James bottomed out, adjusting his broomstick for the new angle to intercept the falling ball, but Harry continued to ascend.

James' right hand was reaching for the Quaffle – fingers outstretched, hazel eyes gleaming with the victory of getting the ball in his hand again – as Harry jumped off his broom.

For one glorious second, Harry was in the air, upside-down, his fingers outstretched too and wrapping around the Quaffle, green eyes still burning dark.

Then momentum and gravity took over, Harry landed back on his broom and a very surprised James shot into the opposite direction on his broom as Harry zipped towards the goal. James swerved and sped after Harry, but the distance was too much – and Harry scored.

A thrill coursed through Harry along with adrenaline as he realized that he had won; that he had beaten James Potter, professional Quidditch player for the English National team and considered among the best Chasers of the modern game. He disembarked from his broom, as did James.

"That was amazing!" James gushed. "When did you learn to fly like that?"

Harry just smiled weakly, his body now starting to throb with pain due to his exertions. "Dunno. Just went with the flow."

James smiled at Harry, his face beaming with pride. "I'm sorry for taunting you. It's just…it's been a bad week, you know?" Harry nodded tiredly. "I am really very sorry. I promise, I will never do that again," James said, his face smiling with genuine pride as he continued, "I am so very proud of you." Harry smiled back but with a grimace which his father noticed – his body was really starting to ache badly.

"You need a Pepper-Up and a Pain-Reliever, you're completely beaten up. Come on in!"

They trudged into the house wearily, all anger forgotten. But Harry never forgot the thrill – the sheer exhilaration of winning – and the insult which had sparked it off in the first place.

January 8, 1992

Back in the present, Harry lay down, exhausted but not yet unconscious, white anger surging through him. I will not be humiliated. I will not lose. The bullies stood above him, still throwing insults and laughing, asking him to get up on his feet so that they could knock him out again. The cogs of his mind whirred, trying to explore all the possibilities.

He knew he couldn't possibly try a Petrificus again – he hadn't learnt it well enough yet. The only spell he knew he could do passably well was the Erecting Charm.

That's not much, isn't it? A part of his mind retorted.

But it's worth a try, his other part countered.

There are three of them! Surely even if one of them is taken down, the others won't spare me!

You've read about the numerical modifiers, remember. A Tria should do at the end, along with a half-flick and vertical drag with the wand.

This is never going to work. You've not even mastered the ordinary charm completely, let alone numerical modifiers! Professor Riddle hasn't even taught them, you just read about them a bit.

Why don't you stop thinking and actually try? It's not like it's gonna hurt, you know. It's that or get punched repeatedly.

The anger surged hot through Harry again, his blood rushing as his mind focussed on the steps and the wand motions. Then he remembered what Professor Riddle had told him before the holidays.

There is a reason, Mr Potter, that intent is the most important stage of spell-casting.

And in that instant, Harry understood. He just knew what Professor Riddle had been trying to say – what intent meant. I want my spell to work. No, even better. He opened his eyes, green orbs burning dark with fire as he raised his wand.

I need my spell to work.

"ERECTO TRIA!"

Tom Riddle hurried along the corridor, his senses tingling. He had felt as though one of the students had been calling for help. Blast those damned bullies, he thought. His own childhood had taught him that the pureblood "nobility" was more than happy to look down on the Muggleborns and Half-Bloods as though they were somehow lesser. It's not like they could do half the magic I can, and yet they strutted around acting like pompous buffoons.

He turned around the bend and his eyes narrowed. The Granger girl lay on the floor, sobbing and bleeding from her face. Longbottom and Weasley were down, Stunned. But Harry Potter was flat on the floor and three older students were taunting him. His fury rose, white anger that threatened to spill out as he saw that they were the same ones who had been reprimanded earlier. He had pushed for a longer suspension for them but their parents had pleaded and begged and eventually, Tom could do no more except warning them that this was the final time such an action would be pardoned. Now I will see them expelled, he thought triumphantly. I have witnessed them doing it first-hand. He drew his wand, preparing to walk into the scene.

Then something pricked at the end of his senses. A feeling. He frowned as he saw into the Quint – and his eyes widened.

Harry Potter was at the centre of an absolute storm. Magic swirled around him; tendrils being sucked into him as he crackled with energy. The boy's eyes burned dark with fire and for one second, despite himself, Tom Riddle felt fear.

Then the boy raised his wand and cried, "ERECTO TRIA!"

No, you fool! Tom cried internally but he watched dumbstruck, unable to move.

The bullies suddenly found themselves ramrod stiff. Their hands shot into the air, their toes stood up, and their eyes rolled into their sockets. Every single strand of hair on their body was up on end. The magic around Harry only seemed to intensify as it poured into him, his eyes still burning eerily as the spell worked the purpose it was meant to – to erect things.

The older boys' howls of agony broke Tom's paralysis. He snapped into action, hitting Potter with a sleeping hex and the three other boys slumped to the floor, wheezing for breath. He hit them and the Granger girl with sleeping hexes as well and levitated all of the children onto stretchers that he conjured. Then he began the long walk to the Infirmary.

But while he had just caught the bullies red-handed and should've been whooping in joy, for the very first time in his life Tom felt an emotion so strong that it overpowered him, leaving him unable to think of anything else. Fear.

A.N. I apologize profusely to my faithful readers, but real life coupled with a slight bit of writer's block meant that this update was much more delayed than I had expected or wanted it to be. That being said, I have both good and bad news. Bad news first - my update speed will reduce to once a fortnight, as opposed to the twice a week schedule I'd been running with. Sorry about that :(

Good news - my writer's block does not persist, so I have a clear outline for I want to do with the rest of Year One. Your reviews and feedback are very much appreciated. Thanks everyone, and until next time!