Sorry this came a bit later than I hoped. It took me the entire night to finish this chapter to satisfactory standards and I hope you all appreciate it! And if you all were wondering, yes, I do have a direction with this story and hopefully the climax will be reached soon enough.

Extra thanks to Roheryn's Knight for putting up with all my requests and doing an awesome job at not only editing but offering me sound advice. This is for you!

Enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen: Discoveries

Friday, 7 March 1997

Harry felt his eyelids droop again as Draco's snotty voice washed over him.

The Slytherin had been rambling on for the past hour about the most biased version of Hogwarts a History Harry had ever heard. Harry had stopped listening when the blonde began what seemed like a well-used rant on Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and just about everything else in the castle that did not meet his standards.

Hiding a groan of dismay, Harry leaned backwards onto the bed and forced himself to pick out the rare important details Draco mentioned.

They had just breached the topic of Care of Magical Creatures and the class's teacher, Hagrid, who Draco seemed to hold a special kind of hatred toward, when a knock sounded on the heavily warded door.

"Draco," a muffled voice called out from behind the oak door. "We're going to head down for dinner. If you're finished with… with him, you're free to come with us."

Harry caught the blonde's narrowed eyes and interrupted hastily, standing up and shooting the Slytherin a strained smile. "We can finish this another time," he said, trying to hide his eagerness to escape.

"Very well," Draco said with a long-drawn out sigh. His gaze was still suspicious and guarded but he leveled Harry with a neutral stare. "Are you going to join us?"

Not in a million years, Harry thought as he said aloud, "No, I have other plans."

Draco's aristocratic features twisted into an ugly sneer. "Are we not good enough for the Boy-Who-Lived? Figures."

Harry felt annoyance rise within him. "No," he shot back heatedly. "I actually have something to do besides sitting around with school children. And what the hell is with that name?"

"Like you don't know," Draco sneered before storming across the room and marching out of the door. The boy who knocked, Zucchini or something, shot Harry a dirty look before following the blond.

Harry groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. This was the reason why he didn't socialize with people his age. They were childish, immature, and hateful, and they made Harry all the more thankful that he spent his childhood growing up in an isolated cabin with Evan.

Rising from the bed, he slowly made his way through the now-emptied Slytherin common room and back into the main hallways. Massaging his temples in an effort to push away the growing headache, Harry began to make his way in what he hoped was the direction of the Great Hall.

By the time he reached the large doors, a woman with a pointed hat was already pacing near the entrance, her face pinched together and her lips puckered in sharp disapproval. When she caught eye of Harry, her eyes widened before narrowing in anger. She strode toward him with the hunting steps of a wildcat and caught him on the arm.

"Mr. Potter," she admonished. "Where have you been? We were to sort you before dinner, not during."

Harry shot her an alarmed look and quickly moved his arm from her grasp. "Excuse me," he said in a cold voice. "Who are you?"

She looked taken aback for a second before the anger returned. "My name is Professor McGonagall," she said with a tilt of her head. "I teach Transfigurations and am the current Head of Gryffindor."

Ah yes, the house of the cowardly lions, as Draco would put it, Harry thought sardonically. He gave a deep sigh and pulled himself together to act his part. "Sorry," he said with a grimace. "I've been lost all over the school, forgive my rudeness."

Her features softened a tiny bit before she gestured toward the doors. "Yes, very well. Now come along, we must get you sorted into a new house." She sent him a small smile. "You are quite the sight. I almost thought it was your father in the halls again, always being late and in trouble."

Harry was unable to hide his scowl well enough but before McGonagall could comment on it, they heard Dumbledore's voice reverberate through the grand doors.

"Attention students, we have the pleasure of welcoming a new student among us today. He is a transfer student and due to some extraordinary circumstances, will be attending Hogwarts for the remainder of the school year. I ask that all of you respect his privacy and give him welcome. Mr. Potter, please come in."

The doors slowly opened with a loud groan and Harry found hundreds of eyes pinned on him. Coloring the slightest bit, Harry began to follow McGonagall into the hall, determined to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Unfortunately, it was hard to ignore the whispers around him.

"Potter, as in Harry Potter?"

"I heard he'd been dead for the past sixteen years. I guess not."

"I wonder what house he'll be sorted into?"

"The-Boy-Who-Lived!"

It was that damned name again. Frowning, Harry mulled the words over his head as he walked up the few steps onto the podium.

McGonagall gestured him onto a creaky, old stool, picking up a worn hat from on top and holding it with an expectant look.

Harry lowered himself carefully on the stool and stared out into the sea of students who all clamoured over each other to get a better view.

Cursing Evan and Voldemort and just about every force that brought him to Hogwarts, Harry felt the tattered base of the hat lowered onto his head and closed his eyes in anticipation.

Oh my, now what do we have here?

Harry froze. His eyes widened dramatically and he fought the urge to rip the hat off of his head. Feeling his magic rise dangerously, he desperately began to check his mind defenses, seeking out the intruder that had broken through the defenses of a crafter.

Why didn't his magic repel the intrusion?

Why, little crafter, it's simple. You're a part of Hogwarts now; I can easily bypass your magic as if it was my own. I'm a part of Hogwarts as well.

The hat gave a chuckle at Harry's rising alarm. No, don't be so worried, crafter, I am bound by the school to tell no one of my findings. Your secret is safe with me. Or shall I say secrets. That is none of my concern, Mr. Potter. My only job is to sort you—ah yes, let me take a look.

There was a pause. Oh, well isn't this interesting. The hat sounded a lot less pleasant all the sudden and Harry knew that the piece of cloth had discovered his past with Lord Voldemort.

Yes, I cannot give out your secrets, even if you are planning to assassinate the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I can only have faith that the Mother and her fates have greater plans for this scheme. The hat's tone cheered up slightly. Now, that's enough talk. Let me take a look… Ah yes, there is intelligence in you, yes, but you do not seek it out. You have the mind for it but not the drive. No, Ravenclaw is not for you.

I can see bravery. Yes, you would make Godric quite proud. A bit of a… how did he put it… ah, a hero's complex.

I don't have a hero's complex, Harry protested sharply.

The hat gave an amused chuckle. You are much to calculating to dive into a situation just on your bravery. No, you are much more thoughtful and shall we say cunning for that. Slytherin is a house for you. You have Salaazar's gift and Merlin knows you have the power for that house.

Slytherin will give you the people and the opportunity to become great but Hufflepuff will help you find who you really are. You lack the ambition for the Slytherin House, however, just as you lack the single-minded kindness of the Hufflepuff House.

Now the question is: where do we put you?

Harry thought for a moment. Where will it make completing my task the easiest.

There was a reluctant pause. Slytherin can help you find that path, but I can see Hufflepuff truly helping you. Helga's house will no doubt bring you to your right path.

I don't need to see right. I need to see Albus Dumbledore dead. Slytherin, I say.

I have the final say, crafter, the hat rebuked.

Harry narrowed his eyes. I am a part of Hogwarts' magic, more than you are. How easily do you think it is for me to make it so the magic holding your threads together simply dissipate?

Ohoho the hat chuckled. Slytherin House indeed. Yes, you are much too ruthless for the Hufflepuffs. Loyalty aside, they would be dead in their beds before dawn. But I urge for you to remember who you are, crafter, the hat warned cryptically. Remember who you are and who you are truly loyal to, and maybe you'll even find your place in SLYTHERIN!

Harry felt the hat be lifted from his head and he focused back on the students in front of him.

There was sparse clapping from the left side of the room where children in green and silver traded disbelieving looks. At the staff table, Dumbledore was clapping enthusiastically as he would for any other student while Snape looked as if he had swallowed twelve dozen lemons. McGonagall looked a bit disappointed but sent Harry a small smile of congratulations.

Standing up, Harry made his way toward the Slytherin table, feeling a wave of magic wash over him, decorating his plain black robes with the emblem of a snake.

Draco quickly made a space in the sixth-year section of the table despite the dirty looks from the other snakes. He shot his housemates lethal glares before fixing Harry with a pinched look on his face. There was no doubt the blond was only acting from the orders given to him by Lord Voldemort and Harry had no choice but to accept the offered truce.

Sitting down, Harry reached out toward the nearest dish of food—roasted potatoes—and scooped himself a spoonful. He could feel his magic dancing wildly under his skin and Harry fought back a wave of dizziness. It wouldn't do to show weakness right now.

He was still eating when he realized that a good half of the table was staring at him.

"Is there something I can help you all with?" he snapped.

"Yes," a voice called out from one end of the table. "Why the hell are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Harry sneered. "The sorting hat put me here."

"How can the Boy-Who-Lived have qualities of a Slytherin?" a girl called out incredulously.

Harry was just about sick of that nickname. "None of you know me," he shot back. "Nor will any of you. Maybe the sorting hat was wrong. Maybe it was right. Whatever it was, it's doesn't concern you so why don't you all stop staring and for Merlin's sake, stop throwing around that ridiculous name."

"Why you-"

With a twitch of his pinky finger, he shot a jolt of magic down the table and against a jug of pumpkin juice, which just so happened to tilt over and spill over the speaker's lap.

Grinning, Harry shot a challenging look at the spectators before turning back to his potatoes.

"I don't think making enemies is going to help you on your task," Draco hissed into Harry's ear.

Harry shrugged. "I don't care about school children. They'll hinder me either way. So you better be making your ass useful or someone will be hearing about it."

Draco paled and pulled away.

Harry smirked and reached for more potatoes.

Lord Voldemort was not happy.

He hadn't been very happy since Harry Potter was captured weeks ago. No, his mood had soured and deteriorated the day the damned boy had apparated through the manors with a pack of rabid werewolves. Neither his Death Eaters nor the wolves had made much progress in finding a way to get the crafter back and Voldemort was just about ready to go and try himself.

What use were servants if they couldn't even get a simple job done?

Leaning back into his chair with a dark smile, Voldemort looked down the row of his inner circle and sent them a sinister look.

"And how is our search for Mr. Potter?" he cut in smoothly.

There was a guilty silence and Nagini, who was curled around Voldemort's shoulders, darted her tongue out to taste the sudden increase of sweat and panic.

"My son sent me a letter today," Lucius spoke up. "Mr. Potter does not seem harmed physically or mentally. He has been sorted into Slytherin House—"

A bark of laughter interrupted the blond's speech and Lucius couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising incredulously as he watched the Dark Lord try to wipe off an expression of sardonic mirth.

"Slytherin, you say?" Voldemort asked incredulously. "I would have pegged the boy for Gryffindor."

No Death Eater dared to contradict the Dark Lord.

Lucius recovered first. "I would have thought as well, my lord," he agreed dryly. "Mr. Potter lacks the…finesse of a Slytherin."

Voldemort nodded, already losing interest. "You have told your son to offer his aid, did you not?"

Lucius nodded cautiously. "Yes, my lord."

"I wish to speak with him myself."

The blond froze. The edges of his eyes tightened and his mouth twitched as if attempting to turn downwards into a disapproving frown.

Voldemort caught the flinch. "Is there a problem, Lucius?" he drawled dangerously.

"No, of course not my lord," Lucius hastily revised. His eyes remained panicked. Beside him, Narcissa grabbed her husband's hand in a tight grip, digging her nails into his palm until they broke skin.

"Very well. You may go and summon him now."

There was a tense pause and Lucius's face paled even furthered. "Now, my lord?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Crucio," he intoned neutrally, watching with hidden delight as the well-composed blond crumpled out of his chair with a grunt. The wizard arched his back in pain and writhed on the marble floor as his mouth opened in a scream of agony.

He kept the curse on the Death Eater for another twenty seconds before lifting his wand.

"Remember who you are speaking to," Voldemort said softly. "Lord Voldemort does not wait, Lucius. Go."

He watched as the blond stumbled slightly to his feet, regaining what was left of his pride and elegance, and strode out of the room. Narcissa followed his movements with worried eyes.

Voldemort turned back to his inner circle, the members of which all subtly straightened their postures and fixed the Dark Lord with attentive looks.

"I want to make sure everyone of here recognizes the importance of the crafter," Voldemort said softly. "I don't want any mess ups. I don't want sloppy work. I want everything done just the way it was meant to be."

He shot a glance at the parents of Slytherin students. "Send letters to your chidren," he ordered. "Tell them they are at the disposal of Harry Potter. He is not to be hindered nor sabotaged, but do not tell them of his identity. It is crucial we preserve what we can so when the day comes," he smiled slowly, "We will take Hogwarts."

Voldemort turned to Bellatrix, who was leaning forward on her elbows with a hungry look in her crazed eyes. Her head dipped slightly as he made eye contact and she let her full lips curve in a welcoming smile.

"Bella," he said softly, reaching out with his wand to touch the dark mark etched on her skin. He watched with dark satisfaction as she let out a sigh of pain when the tattoo flared to life. "I have a job for you."

Crimson eyes smoldered. "Bring Evan Rosier back to me."

Draco was sitting next to Harry in transfiguration, watching with a smirk as the crafter attempted to turn the croaking toad into a raven.

"Damn it," Harry muttered again as his wand bounced uselessly off of the slimy coat of the amphibian. The toad gave an unhappy croak but was stuck to the desk by a sticking charm, and Harry shot a jealous look at the perfectly transfigured bird on Draco's desk before returning his gaze back onto the toad with a renewed look of determination.

Draco couldn't help the sense of self-satisfaction rise within him. Finally, he was better than the Boy-Who-Lived at something. He could barely believe the boy was an all-powerful crafter. For Salaazar's sake, he couldn't even transfigure the toad!

"Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said as she passed by their table. "Can you change it back?"

Smugly, Draco tapped the top of the raven with his wand and watched in delight as it slowly morphed back into a toad in one flowing motion.

"Wonderful transfiguration," the stern professor congratulated. "Five points to Slytherin." She turned to Harry, who was attempting to change the toad into a bird with a deathly glare. "Mr. Potter," she said in a slightly happier tone. "Let's see you transfigure your toad."

Harry's face remained stoic. His face twitched and he pointed his wand at the toad. Slowly, it began to change, growing larger and sprouting feathers until it was a raven.

At least almost. The raven opened its beak and a long tongue shot out.

"Croak."

Professor McGonagall did not look impressed. She tapped the animal with her wand and reverted it back to its original form. "Continue practicing, Mr. Potter."

Harry shot a dirty look at Draco, who was not so subtly snickering at the end of the table.

"Shut up Malfoy," he hissed.

Before Draco could shoot back a scathing comeback, the door opened and a Slytherin seventh-year strode in.

"Professor McGonagall?" the boy drawled. "Draco Malfoy is summoned by the Headmaster."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Very well, go ahead Mr. Malfoy."

Draco shot Harry a panicked look. "What does the Headmaster want with me?" he hissed frantically.

Harry shot him a dead stare. "Maybe to entertain him by transfiguring yourself into a ferret. You seem quite good at that."

Draco scowled before he stood up, shoving his chair behind him. "Oh shut up, Potter," he muttered.

The Slytherin student led Draco up to the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Before he gave the blond the password, the seventh-year leveled Draco with a glare.

"I don't know what trouble you've gotten into but most of us have gotten letters about Harry Potter. Says he's not to be troubled. And it isn't Dumbledore who's summoning you; it's your father." He shot Draco a smirk. "Licorice Wand."

The gargoyle sprang into motion and revealed a steep, winding staircase.

Speechless and apprehensive, Draco climbed up the stairs, his mind working furiously to determine why his father would summon him in the middle of the school year.

Potter. It had to be Potter.

Knocking on the wooden door, Draco waited until it swung open by itself.

Dumbledore was sitting behind the desk, his wrinkled hands folded against each other. His twinkling blue eyes greeted the Slytherin kindly and he stood up in welcome.

"Ah yes, Mr. Malfoy. Your father has requested that you return to your manor. Some family concerns, I believe."

Draco felt alarm ring inside of him. "My mother?" he asked foolishly.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I don't know, Mr. Malfoy."

The Headmaster walked toward the large fireplace and pulled out a jar of Floo powder. "I have excused you from the rest of the day. I expect you should return before nightfall." Dumbledore paused and his face turned serious. "Mr. Malfoy, I want you to know that you always have a choice. If it need it be, you will always find sanctuary here at Hogwarts."

Draco stared speechless for a moment too long. "I don't need sanctuary," he sneered, his voice rising a pitch higher. "Ridiculous, as if I'd need to stay a day longer in this ridiculous school." Stepping into the fireplace, he yelled out "Malfoy Manor!"

There was a swirl of flames and Draco stepped out onto the cool, marble floor, dusting powder from his Hogwarts robes.

He looked up to meet the eyes of his father. Lucius looked slightly haggard and unusually distraught. Draco frowned in concern.

"Father, is everything alright? Is mother alright?"

"Yes, she's well," Lucius said distractedly. "Come, we must hurry."

Draco had to run slightly to keep up with his father's long strides. "Go where?"

Lucius's throat worked slightly before he stopped and turned to stare down at his son. They were nearly the same height but he could see the childishness in Draco's face. He could see a softness that came from Narcissa that decorated his son's face, showing a child's vulnerability and fear.

"Draco," Lucius said softly, putting his hands on Draco's shoulders in a rare display of affection. "I need you to be strong. The Dark Lord has summoned you to talk with him privately. About Harry Potter, I suspect. Remember what I've taught you and all will be well."

A sharp lump formed in Draco's throat and he swallowed painfully. "The Dark Lord?" he squeaked out. The last time he had met with the Dark Lord, he was on the ground screaming as he was tortured to the brink of unconsciousness.

Lucius sighed and rubbed his temples. "Yes, Draco. If I could prevent it I would but we do as the Dark Lord commands. Remember to be calm and respectful. Bow. Call him Master. Do not insult Harry Potter under any circumstance. Is that understood?"

Draco swallowed again and felt fear trickle down his spine. "Yes Father."

Nodding, Lucius turned and strode quickly toward the large meeting room were Lord Voldemort was waiting.

To his discomfort, Draco found it difficult to keep up with his father's long strides and felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment as he was forced to jog once in a while to keep by Lucius's side.

Lucius was again reminded of Draco's age.

When they reached the large double doors, Lucius quietly opened them.

The room was still full of the inner circle, all lounging in the chairs and discussing strategy.

The Dark Lord looked up from a piece of parchment and made eye contact with Lucius before sliding his gaze over to Draco.

"Excellent, you've brought him," Voldemort said pleasantly. "Leave. All of you. I will summon you I require you."

"Yes m'lord," they all murmured, bowing reverently before escaping out of the room.

Lucius lingered by the doorway as Narcissa caught up with him, subtly twining her fingers around his arm. Her eyes were fixed on Draco, who remained frozen by his father's side.

Voldemort hissed impatiently. "Leave us Lucius. I tire of your presence." His crimson eyes narrowed. "Come here boy."

Lucius sent a pointed look at his son before turning and guiding an anxious Narcissa out of the room.

Draco took a couple of shaky steps forward before he heard the doors close behind him with a hallow bang. Shaking himself out of his fear, Draco made his way to where Voldemort was sitting and kneeled down.

"My lord," he greeted quietly, silently congratulating himself on not making his voice shake.

Voldemort looked down at the Slytherin with disregarding eyes. The boy was weak and arrogant. If he was lucky, he might grow up to be half the man Lucius was but Voldemort had his doubts.

"Your father tells me that our little crafter has been sorted into your house," Voldemort began softly.

Draco gave a start. "Y-yes, my lord."

"And how is he?" the Dark Lord asked nonchalantly, his eyes focused on Nagini who he was stroking languidly.

For some unfathomable reason, Draco couldn't find his tongue to answer such a simple question.

"I-I…" Draco stammered.

Voldemort sneered in distaste. "I don't believe your father taught you how to talk so ineloquently. Speak up, boy, unless you need me to loosen your tongue for you so it can remember how to move."

Draco felt his ears flush. "He is well, my lord."

"Is that so?" Voldemort drawled, leaning back with dangerous eyes. "My more… reliable sources tell me otherwise." His voice turned serious. "Harry Potter is very important to me, young Malfoy. More important than you or any other of your Slytherin friends could be combined. Do you understand that?"

There was a spark of jealousy that boiled deep down in Draco's stomach but he forced his head to nod.

The Dark Lord continued softly. "He is far too precious to lose the Light side. I have eyes and ears inside of Hogwarts but they are not enough. I need another source, one who can be close to him and for him to share a friendship," the word was spat out, "with."

Draco bowed his head. "I will do as you ask me, my lord."

"As he has protected you, you will do the same," Voldemort ordered in a flat tone. "You will answer his every beck and call. You will protect him from the Light and you will protect him from those who wish to expose him. He is not to leave Hogwarts grounds under any circumstances and I expect you and the remainder of your loyal classmates to aid him in his task. If I hear of anything out of the ordinary or that he has been harmed, I will personally carve your skin to use as a rug for Nagini and rip your spine out as a new cane for your father. Is that understood?"

Draco felt sweat roll down his neck and he nodded vigorously. "Y-yes my lord. I understand."

"Very well," Voldemort said. "Do not disappoint me a second time, Draco Malfoy. There will be no savior for you this time. Now get out of my sight."

Draco turned and walked out as fast as his legs could carry him.

Harry's first day of Hogwarts was nearing its end and Harry was on the verge of using his quill to gouge out his own eyes.

School children were beyond irritating. They were like flies: persistent, annoying, and useless bugs. The more he tried to swat, the more there seemed to be. His classes were no better. He had been forced to resort to subtly using his crafter magic to simply show that he could actually cast magic. Nevertheless, his failures were strikingly obvious and he had received more than one disappointed look from his professors.

As he cast more and more of his magic, drawing on both his reserves and that of the castle, Harry could feel the magic madness bearing down on him. He could feel the webs pulling furiously at his own magic, drinking them in with vigor and sapping away at his energy. Harry could feel exhaustion rising in him, making his movements more sluggish and his thoughts slower.

There was only one more class Harry had before he could retreat deep into his rooms and hide underneath his covers.

Potions class.

Harry spent the entire afternoon attempting to come up with a plausible reason for him to be excused from the class. It was hard not to forget his pathetic attempts at brewing potions. His magic was simply too volatile and tangible for the intricate art, often infusing with the ingredients and causing his cauldron to either melt or explode.

It was only a slight consolation that Harry was partnered with a reluctant Blaise Zabini, the student who had held Harry at wandpoint earlier in the day. If Harry had to go down, he would rather take the arrogant git down a couple pegs as well.

The students had settled in only for a minute before the door to the Professor's private office slammed open and Snape strode out with a menacing look. He flicked his wand at the blackboard up front and instructions began scribbling themselves in neat cursive. At the top, invisible chalk underlined the title: Draught of Living Death.

"Begin," Snape snapped.

The Slytherins and Gryffindors immediately sprang into action, clamoring amongst themselves for ingredients and measuring materials. The noise level never rose about whispering and more than one wary glance was shot at the Potions Professor, who had returned to his desk upfront to grade papers, marking them viciously with T's and D's.

Harry glanced over at Blaise. "You get the ingredients," he suggested.

Blaise looked annoyed but did not complain. "Very well," he said with a long drawn-out sigh. "Heat the cauldron would you?"

As the dark-skinned wizard left, Harry stared down at the innocent cauldron. He knew well enough that the moment he lit a fire, the cauldron would shatter like glass.

When Blaise returned, he took one glace at the untouched cauldron and shot an ugly look at his partner. "Some use you are," he muttered angrily as he crouched down to light the fire. "Look," he sneered. "I don't know what your problem is. Boy-Who-Lived or not, I don't think you're a Slytherin. You're pathetic at magic and you've done nothing all class but sit there and stare like some kind of simpering idiot As long as you stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours."

Harry stared incredulously up at the wizard. "You dare-"

"Here," Blaise interrupted, slamming a bundle of asphodel roots on Harry's cutting board. "Crush these into powder. Make it fine if you can."

Harry glared. He hated being treated like some inferior being but there was nothing Harry could do to prove the Slytherin wrong except reveal himself as a Crafter.

That was one advantage Harry couldn't give up.

Swallowing his anger and frustration, Harry picked up the mortar and pestle and dropped a couple of the roots into the small bowl. He picked up the pestle hesitantly and focused on suppressing his magic. Using his vision, he pressed down, forcing his magic into a ball and consequently further into Hogwarts' wards, until he could barely see the outline of a web around his body.

Letting out a deep breath, Harry began to cautiously crush the root until it made a fine powder.

"Give me those," Blaise said suddenly, reaching out and snatching the bowl of crushed asphodel.

"Wait-" Harry tried.

"What?" Blaise asked in exasperation. He was already stirring the powder in, looking down at his textbook to read the next set of instructions.

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. He peered over the desk to their cauldron, which was bubbling happily with no sign of exploding.

It worked!

Enthusiastically, he grabbed a handful of sopophorous beans and a silver-tipped knife in the other. Hovering the knife over a single bean, he stabbed down, only to watch the bean slip out from underneath the blade.

Grabbing the bean, Harry tried again, only to watch it dance away in the last second.

Growling under his breath, Harry glanced around the room to see the rest of the students also struggling on cutting the sopophorous beans for the juice.

Harry clenched his hand around his knife and began to stab violently at the beans until he managed to pierce a few.

"Careful, Mr. Potter. We wouldn't want our newest celebrity to lose a finger, now would we?"

Harry heard the silky, condescending voice and internally groaned.

"No need to concern yourself," Harry said sweetly. "I assure you that my fingers will stay firmly attached to my hand."

Harry caught a flash of disappointment in Snape's eyes and inwardly smirked. This was way too easy.

Snape continued to hover around Harry's station, his cutting voice insulting Harry's every move until Blaise quickly moved in to gather the few drops of bean juice Harry managed to retrieve under Snape's watchful eye.

The Professor moved closer to the cauldron to watch Blaise add the drops of bean juice.

The moment the juice hit the surface of the bubbling concoction, the solution exploded outwards, spraying both Blaise and Snape in the face with frothing purple potion that smoked and stunk like dungbombs. The Potions Professor was thrown back a couple feet from the impact while Blaise tripped over his chair and fell backwards onto the hard cobbled floor.

Harry slapped a hand over his mouth in an effort to hide his horrified grin as the Gryffindors in the room erupted into laughter.

The moment was short-lasting and Snape dispersed the potions with a sweep of his wand. Dark eyes narrowed as they found Harry's amused gaze and his mouth twisted into an expression of hate.

"Potter," Snape growled lowly. "You little urchin—twenty points from Slytherin and detention for a week with Filch!"

Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped out of his mouth. "You know who I am, sir. Surely you know that I can't do potions."

To anyone else, that statement would have sounded arrogant, as if Harry was above making Potions, but Snape knew that he was a crafter. The man was smart enough to piece out why Harry would be so abysmal at potions.

Unfortunately, Harry's words had a less than desired effect on the man and Snape's face darkened. Eyes glittering with rising fury, the man stalked forward until his body was looming threatening over the crafter's.

"Get out!" he snarled, his tone as sharp as steel. "I don't want to see your face unless it's with Filch cleaning out spider webs on the eighth floor!"

Harry stood up with an amused look. He was well aware of the awed looks from the Gryffindors and the looks of disgust from the Slytherins but he couldn't bring himself about to care. He had a mission and it wasn't making friends with the Professors or students.

Turning, he stalked toward the door. Pausing halfway through the frame, he looked back with a thoughtful look.

"You should have Zabini over there looked at. The potion seemed to have dissolved a good part of his hair."

Harry let the heavy door close behind him with a laugh.

It was nightfall when Harry found himself somewhere on the eighth floor. According to one of the few helpful Slytherins, the right corridor of the eighth floor was covered with a dense forest of spider webs as thick as rope. It was rumored that a colony of acromantulas nested there and not even Filch dared to try and clean out the webs. The few students who were assigned to clean the spider webs up returned pale faced and never earned a single detention after that.

Harry wasn't fazed the slightest.

Brandishing his wand in front of him, Harry stood in the middle of the corridor. He felt a sliver of unease when he saw the clump of thick white strings stretching from the ceiling to the floor. The webs looked fresh and when Harry took a couple steps closer, he could see the strings vibrating as if something was crawling on top of them.

No matter, Harry knew webs like the back of his hand.

Clenching his right fist, he let out a sigh of relief as more familiar webs sprang into existence, their colors mixing and swirling together in a myriad of reds, blues, greens, and yellows. He snuck a glance behind him and when he saw an empty hallway, a sharp grin slowly etched on his face.

With the tips of his fingernails, he quickly began to weave together an intricate web, bringing together strings of reds and oranges. When a tightly coiled piece of magic lay between his forefinger and his thumb, Harry leaned close and gently blew outwards.

An enormous flame jumped out of his hand in the shape of a dragon. The fire dragon opened its enormous jaws and spewed out another jet of fire, which reared up into shapes of wyverns and snakes and phoenixes, cutting through the webs with flames of blue and red and screaming battle cries.

Harry watched with burning eyes as his magic washed over the webs and engulfed them, the fire raging further and further through the corridor. He could hear the shrieking of something not so human in the distance and smiled coldly.

As the fire burned, Harry walked through the charred corridor, his shoes making footprints through the growing layer of ash on the ground. His magic danced wildly around him, rejoicing in finally being put to use in such a grand manner. He could feel the magic madness blow away like the wind as his magic twined together with that of Hogwarts, building the flames higher and higher until they touched the ceiling. The creatures grew larger and Harry could see the dragon belching out fireballs at the last few bits of spider web.

It was magnificent.

He didn't know how long he stood alone, watching under the sprinkling of ash with the company of fire creatures that curled around his body, singing and crying out for destruction, when a voice caught his attention.

"Boy! That is enough!"

Through the haze of magic, Harry lifted his head. He could have sworn someone was calling out to him.

"Yes you, boy. My lord, are all of you as rude as you are nowadays? Stop your fire at once!"

"Why should I?" Harry asked heatedly. His eyes burned with fury and he sought out the speaker. "Where are you? Reveal yourself!"

"Oh listen to you," the condescending voice scolded. "You sound ridiculous. Get that magic out of your head, it's making it larger than it should. For Merlin's sake, act like the crafter you are!"

The one word penetrated through the fog in Harry's head and he felt him and his magic freeze.

"What?" he croaked out.

"Yes, I know you're a crafter. You think a glamour like that can hide you from me? Now come closer so I can see your face more clearly. Thank goodness you got rid of those horrendous spider webs but the ash is no improvement."

Harry stumbled after the source of the voice and found himself face to face with a grand portrait. The frame was gilded gold that curled and swirled over each other in intricate designs. Birds with long tails and decorated wings flew around the edge of the painting, where a woman was sitting elegantly on a bench under a looming willow tree. She had dark brown hair which cascaded down her back in soft curls and bright blue eyes that glimmered like the deepest sapphire gem. Her face was marred with wrinkles of age and wisdom but she held herself high and her body did not betray her age. What was most striking about her werethe black markings that stood out starkly from her pale skin, encircling her eyes and swirling down her neck and arms in a familiar pattern.

"You're a crafter," Harry breathed out.

"Yes, boy, as are you. Now clean off the ash and for goodness sake vanish that fire of yours. You've certainly got a lot to learn if your magic still acts like that."

Harry blinked before snapping his fingers, watching with wide eyes as ash disappeared off of the painting's surface. The roaring dragon behind him was silenced and disappeared with a single twist of a string.

"Hmm," the woman said critically. "Crude, but effective. For heaven's sake, who taught you?"

Harry frowned. "The same as you. My grounder."

"Your grounder?" she asked with a shocked look. "Well then of course you didn't learn any sophistication. What happened to your mentor?"

"Mentor?" Harry asked in return. "I had no mentor, ma'am. There hadn't been a crafter for a very long time."

The woman looked suspicious. "What do you mean? Crafters are born through cycles. The old teach the new and it repeats over and over again, century after century. I can still remember my student—my, he was a bright one."

"I told you," Harry said, irritated. "I've been the first crafter in centuries. I can't see why you've been complaining—my magic works just fine."

"I can see you ripping the magic as you weave, boy," the woman snarled. "It's crude and it's inefficient and it physically hurts me to watch."

Harry scowled. "The only tutoring I got was through books dating ages ago."

"Well who was your mentor supposed to be?"

"I suppose the last crafter that existed was Merlin, but he lived centuries ago. It wouldn't matter now."

Sapphire eyes widened. "Merlin, you say?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly.

"Oh goodness… Tell me, what date is it today?"

"March 7, 1997."

"Oh heavens…"

Harry felt frustration surge within him. "Look, what's going on? I don't even know your name."

"My name is Arianne Oakheart," the woman said faintly. "I was the mentor of Merlin, who you claimed was the last crafter until you."

"How is that even possible?" Harry began, stepping closer with an inquisitive look. "Portraits didn't even exist back then."

"Merlin was an extraordinary student," Arianne said with a fond look. "Before his markings even began to show, he was creating magic I had never even seen before. I did not want to be made into a portrait but he promised that I would never awaken unless another crafter found me. Imagine my surprise when I wake for the first time in face with an amateur crafter using magic he should never touch."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

Arianne sighed. "You are fueling your magic with hatred. You've suppressed your magic to the point that it will sing and dance with any use you give it. Our magic is pure, boy, it is the very essence of the Mother. But yours, yes, it has been tainted by the magic of this castle." She peered closer. "You've already encountered the madness."

"Yes," Harry exclaimed. "The madness, how did you deal with it?"

Arianne regarded him with a pitying look. "I was never affected, boy. I had much more control over my magic and being that by the time I arrived here at Hogwarts, its magic could not even suppress a quarter of my own."

"How do I get that control?" Harry breathed out desperately. "I've been here for a day and a half and I already cannot keep myself upright. It-it's pulling at me every second of every minute."

The other crafter was looking at him with a peculiar look. "There is something else in your magic," she whispered, ignoring his last statement. "Something dark, something… unordinary." She studied him for another half-second before her eyes grew wide in horror. "You… Boy, you have cast black magic. You have taken lives. You have broken our vow and you have turned against the Mother—" Her voice rose with every word spat out and the portrait began to tremble.

Harry took a step back, taken aback by the pure vehemence in her voice. Before he could put in a word of protest, he heard a shout at his back.

"Oi Potter! You crazy bastard!"

Pushing his hand out, Harry quickly weaved a camouflage web over the painting so that it fit in with the charred wall and put on what he hoped was a sheepish face.

Turning to face the speaker, Harry smiled winningly.

"I got rid of the spider webs."

The same Ravenclaw Harry had met outside of the Forbidden Forest looked at him with a face full of horror and fascination.

"What have you done?" the boy breathed out.

Harry took a look around at the destroyed floor and took a deep breath. He subtly touched the nail of his pinky to his thigh and summoned his magic vision. Looking up and down the boy's aura, he smiled darkly.

"No more than what you could have done," he said coldly. It was time to pull out some of his wild cards. "I'm surprised Headmaster let a vampire through Hogwarts' gates."

The boy gaped.

Harry smiled nastily. "Yes, it seems we have plenty to discuss, do we not?"

Yes new characters, new plots, new discoveries! I have plenty of twists and turns so don't be expecting much in the future.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, and read the story! I know my updates have been a lot less these past few weeks but school is near its end, which means a never ending flow of finals. I'm hoping to get out an extra chapter this week but we'll see how it goes.

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