Harry walked to the common room and came in to find Ron sitting and playing chess with Dean. "Hey, mate! What did McGonagall want? You in trouble again?"

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked closer and quickly thought up a reasonable excuse for the meeting, "Um, not really. She wanted advice on the quidditch schedule but you know, since I can't play, she didn't want to ask me in front of everyone," he then decided he needed to change the subject quickly, "I see that transfiguration essay is coming along."

Harry smirked as Ron rolled his eyes, "You know I can't think on a Saturday morning. It's bloody impossible! I have all weekend ahead." Harry just chuckled and sat down next to the boys to watch Ron finish his domination over Dean. He kept rubbing absent-mindedly at the back his right hand the whole game but didn't look down at it again.

By the time the boys agreed to go check in on Hermoine in the library he was mildly shocked to see the words were once again invisible. Had they really been there?

oooooooooooooo

"So, what I'm thinking, is that we need more data." Hermoine was deep into 'Operation Harry's Freaky Magic Numbers' as Harry and Ron had dubbed it. Books and parchments were scattered all around her work surface in the library and her hair was more frizzed out than normal.

"Data? What do you mean?" Ron asked while casually slipping Bertie Bott's beans from his pockets.

"Honestly Ron, there's no food allowed in the library," she scowled. He grinned. "Well, I'm thinking that surely Harry isn't the only person here that has two scores. He's just the only one we know about. So we need more data. We need more scores from everyone else."

"Okay, but how are we going to do that?" Harry asked. "Umbridge put down that decree pretty quickly. I don't want to end up in detention again, do you?"

Hermoine gave him a sympathetic look before answering, "Well, we'll just have to be careful, now shouldn't we? We don't need to get everyone's scores, hopefully. We just need to get a broad range. Examples of different wizards and witches with different lifestyles and backgrounds. That way maybe we can find a common denominator to you."

"Common what-a-nator?" Ron asked around a mouth of beans.

Hermoine scrunched her nose, "Denominator, Ron. You know, what ties them together? Similarities?"

Ron nodded his head and shoved more beans in his mouth. Both Harry and Hermoine couldn't help but shake their heads in fond exasperation.

"So I've made a list here of people we don't have scores on, yet. Maybe one of them will have two numbers as well." She pulled forward one piece of parchment where she'd scribbled down a bunch of names. There were all sorts on the list, both students and staff. Some would be easy, like Trelawney and the Patils. Trelawney was basically blind and drunk all the time lately so she wouldn't notice if the trio cast jelly-legs jinx on her. But then there was…

"Snape? And Umbridge? You expect us to cast the charm on them?" Harry whisper shrieked at her.

"Well of course we leave those for the last, Harry. Hopefully, we don't have to do that. But we shouldn't count them out just because it'll be difficult."

"More like bloody suicidal," Ron replied. He and Harry exchanged doubtful looks. The witch was crazy.

"Well, hopefully, it won't get to that point. Now let's get to work."

oooooooooo

Over the next few days, they worked their way through Hermoine's list. It was at times tricky to avoid detection from teachers when trying to get the scores of those in other houses, but eventually, they had worked their way through the majority of the school.

None of them had more than one number. Hermoine was still pleased because she had acquired a good sampling for her other research into the spell, into whether wizarding heritage played a role in the score of an individual. Naturally, it didn't.

It was late one evening as the boys were getting to bed and Ron and Harry were in the bathroom going through their routines. "You know, Ron. It's only a matter of time before she's going to have us trailing Umbridge around. Or trying to break into her rooms at night," Harry said.

Ron shuddered, "Can you imagine what her rooms look like? If her office is that pink, just imagine. I bet it's covered in lace and ribbons and kittens. Bleh!"

Harry laughed as he watched Ron lean close to the mirror and stroke his jawline. Ron had unsurprisingly started shaving sooner than Harry. And he loved to rub it in. The mirror supplied it's own commentary. "Yes, it looks like it's time for a shave there. Or is that rust?"

"Oh, bugger off," Ron replied back before he took his wand in hand and performed the shaving spell. Harry cocked his head as he watched. He supposed Ron's dad or older brothers had shown him the spell. The wand moved along his skin with a small twinkle of magic slicing off the thin red hairs.

Harry looked into his own mirror and rubbed along his jaw. If he concentrated, he could start to feel some fine stubble making its appearance. He looked back to Ron and wondered to himself if Ron would show him the spell.

He looked to his other side where Seamus was at another sink using his muggle razor and shaving cream. It took him a moment to remember that Seamus's dad was muggle, so naturally, he wouldn't have someone to show him the shaving charm either. He watched fascinated as the blade moved across the face of his Irish friend. Then he remembered.

During the previous summer, he was at Privet Drive. He stood watching for a moment as his uncle stood at his sink and did his morning shave. He was old-fashioned and used a round brush to apply to the shaving cream followed by a straight razor. A couple of years earlier he had shown Dudley how to shave. The two had had a strong father-son bonding moment as Vernon had slapped Dudley on the back and praised his growing boy.

Uncle Vernon rensed the blade off in the sink and wiped off his face before turning to see Harry watching him from the doorway. "What are you looking at? A freak like you can't shave like a man. You can't even grow a beard properly."

The man then reached back to the straight blade that was still sitting dripping on the edge of the sink. He took it in hand and with two swift steps walked to Harry. He grabbed Harry around the neck with one hand and with the razor he dragged a long line down the side of Harry's face. Harry cried out as sharp pain clouded his senses before he felt the blood ooze down his face.

"There, freak. That's the closest shave you're ever gonna get." The man walked off chuckling at his own joke. Harry stood, cupping his face, blood dripping to the floor.

Harry now stood in the bathroom with the other Gryffindor boys, gasping for breath. His eyes were glazed over as he remembered the pain his uncle had caused him. It wasn't that he had totally forgotten the incident before that moment, but for some reason watching Seamus had brought it back in sharp memory and he realized the horror of his uncle's actions.

"Earth to Harry! Hello in there! Are you having a vision or something, mate?" Ron's voice finally jarred him from his reflections as his friend jostled his shoulders. Harry shook his head to clear his mind before turning to look at Ron. But before he could say a word to ease his friend's concern Ron gasped, "Bloody hell! Where did that come from?" Ron was looking wide-eyed at Harry's face.

"Huh? What?" Harry turned to the mirror to see that there was now a long, deep but thin scar from just below his left eye down to the edge of his jaw. It resembled the track a tear makes. "What the hell? I….I don't…..know."

"Mate, that's really weird. We should get you to Pomfrey or something."

For a moment Harry was about to agree, but then he realized he'd have to explain the memory. "I….I don't think we should. It's not like I'm bleeding or something. It's after curfew. We'd get in trouble for being out." Harry realized that the other boys had already gone to bed, including Seamus. He must have been dazed off for awhile. He was glad they hadn't noticed the scar, though.

"No, come on. I'm sure they'll understand. It's not like a scar just up and appears out of nowhere, right?" Ron started to pull Harry by his arm towards the door and down the stairs. But Harry planted his feet. He couldn't explain it, but he really didn't want to bother Madame Pomfrey with it right at that moment. Having to explain that memory to her filled him with dread.

"Seriously, Ron. I don't think we should leave. I really don't want to get detention over this. Not again. Come on, we'll go in the morning. It's not hurting or anything."

Ron wavered for a moment. Ever since the blood quill incident, he understood Harry being reluctant to get detention. "Well, all right. But first thing in the morning we're going. That's really weird mate. Freaky."

And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? It was freaky. Freak.