Know What It Is To Grow
Harry
Harry had had low expectations for Magical History, after what he had heard of the professor from Cedric. Truly, a disappointment in his mind, given the importance he placed on passing on the events of the past, given the purpose of a bard, as a societal role. Suffice it to say, he was rather surprised at the response his entrance to the classroom got from the Professor.
He had entered the room shortly after a huddle of Gryffindors, staff in hand. Crossing the threshold of the room, he was immediately confronted by the ghostly professor’s awe-struck stare. Now, Harry was aware of the bell that had manifested itself on his staff after a trip through Annwn, having noticed it a while later. He was, however, a bit forgetful of it, blending into the rest of the noises he heard all day. But for its toll to attract such attention from a specter? Now that was an unknown.
“Greetings, Good Professor?” Harry asked more than he said. “What help might I be?”
“I don’t quite remember the last time I was this lucid.” Binns idly commented. “It’s rather discomforting, I feel. Tell me, young man, what is so different about you as to break my reverie?”
“It mightn’t be an inherent trait of mine, Good Professor.” Harry replied, ignoring the stares of the other students. “I’m rather certain the cause would be the bell attached to my staff.”
“Ah, a bard are you?” Binns asked, turning to face Harry. “And one with a tinge of beyond. I’ve grown rather tired of the monotony of my existence, bard. Would you do an old spirit a favor and help me to pass on?”
“Allowing for a research interval, I wouldn’t object to it. Though, I would, of course, have to ask for something in return, so that the barter might be well-weighted.”
“Would access to my research materials suffice? I never quite got around to willing them to my children, and they couldn’t gain access to the safe I held them in. They were always rather poor magicians.”
“It would indeed suffice, Good Professor. I shall inform you of my findings when possible.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Transmogrification was a… different experience when compared to Harry’s first Magical History lesson. He had, of course, learned of the strictness of Professor McGonagall from Cedric, and, as such, had made sure to be seated in the class rather early. Of course, he had only sat down after greeting the cat perched upon the professor’s desk, seeing as it emanated the same song as McGonagall.
The class itself was rather boring if he was being entirely honest. The first hour was a lecture on the theory behind turning a match into a needle, one which he simply ignored, seeing as it was irrelevant. The second half was simply a repetition of the test that Dumbledore had asked of him, which was rather simpler with the tiniest bit of experience. After he had accomplished the required task, the lesson was even more boring than before. Thankfully, books existed.
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Thaumaturgy was… frustrating. Harry had already had his reservations about the subject, and the nature of changing State instead of Form, the artificial constructs that so many of the spells functioned within and relied upon. The double lesson began with a half-hour lecture, before Professor Flitwick, who was oddly wary of Harry, avoiding him whenever possible, had them casting the Wand-Lighting Charm, Lumos, a simple enough spell for most people, though a pitifully easy spell for Harry.
It was the next period that proved frustrating. Shortly after everyone in their class had succeeded with Lumos, they began working on the theory behind the Unlocking charm, Alohomora, with just enough time at the end of the lesson for a few attempts at casting the charm. Which was where the frustration stemmed from. Harry had already anticipated that he would have… difficulties with performing specific charms. It was merely a confirmation of his suspicions when he completely and utterly failed to perform the spell.
“Mr. Potter, what seems to be the issue?” Flitwick asked, standing just close enough that he and Harry would be able to hear each other.
“I’ve found that I won’t be able to perform this spell, Good Professor.”
“Ah. I… confess to not quite understanding how to help you, given the… circumstances.”
“I rather think this is a scenario where I am simply incapable of casting the spell, Good Professor. If I understand the theory, the charm functions to change the state of the lock, yes?”
“You would be correct, Mr. Potter. The spell, when performed correctly causes the lock to switch from a state of being locked, to a state of being unlocked, along with acting as the counterspell for the Locking Charm.”
“Yes, well, as a general statement, I cannot perform magic that changes a State of a thing, Good Professor. The Form, or the Nature of a thing, certainly, they’re more commonly innate aspects of whatever I happen to be manipulating. States are more likely to be manufactured concepts, artificial constructs with no rooting in nature.”
“I’m certain there should be a way to allow you to perform such spells, Mr. Potter.” Flitwick replied, looking rather nervous. “I’ll have a discussion with the Headmaster and inform you of any findings.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Apotropaic Arts was, Harry had decided, a thoroughly unpleasant lesson. He had also decided that he rather despised the professor, one Mr. Alder Huckleberry. He had been sitting in the classroom, Artorius at his feet, and Lenore on his shoulder, as they had every other class, when Professor Huckleberry entered the room.
“Take the grim and crow out of the class Mr. Potter.”
“Artorius is a gwyllgi, not a grim, and Lenore a raven, not a crow, Good Professor. More importantly, however, is that they are their own beings that I do not control. They would simply follow me back into the classroom.”
“That is clearly a grim, Mr. Potter, and that’ll be ten points from Hufflepuff for not obeying a teacher’s order. Finally, I shall be addressed as Professor Huckleberry, or sir, not Good Professor.”
“Once again, Artorius is a gwyllgi, not a grim, or more accurately a Church Grim. You may, instead, be thinking of the English Black Dog, which is rather more similar, but still a distinctly different entity. As for you final point, I shall not have indirect terms of address dictated to me, Professor.”
“Well!” The professor exclaimed, slamming his hands against his desk. “Today’s lesson was going to be about the basics of evasion, but I’ve decided we’ll go for something different. Headmaster Dumbledore informed all of the professors about your ‘adventures’ Potter. How do you harm a faerie, then?”
Huckleberry
Alder’s mother had always told him that his brash nature and bull-headed stubbornness would be the end of him. He had never believed her, youthful as he was, and hadn’t experienced anything that would prove her correct in his adult life either. Or, at least, he hadn’t believed her until the first lesson he taught with the first-year Hufflepuffs. It was meant to be a boring, rote lesson. Drilling the mantra of ‘You can’t be hit if you aren’t there’ into their heads.
But Harry Potter was being stubborn. So, Alder Huckleberry reacted brashly and was scared of a teenager for the first time in his life.
He had asked the boy about harming faeries, skeptical about Dumbledore’s claims. Clearly, that was the wrong thing to ask. Giving the teen his undivided attention, waiting for an answer, Alder noticed as he turned his head to the side, the angle just the tiniest bit unnatural, as a blade skittered across his teeth behind his pursed lips.
“I would be able to give a theory-based answer, Huckleberry. I would be unable to give a practical answer, as I spent my time treating the Good Neighbors with respect, and bartering with those that wished it, instead of harming and slaughtering them.” The student responded, a shifting sharpness glinting behind his eyes. “And I do believe that question finds you in violation of Hogwarts’ Charter.”
“Which section would that be, exactly?” Alder asked, affecting a sarcastic drawl to hide his fear, taking in the bladed grin of the child with fearful eyes.
Harry
Harry wasn’t entirely certain why Huckleberry had paled so dramatically or seemed to be hiding a degree of fear, but he thought it was rather entertaining.
“The Treaty of Taliesin, ratified in 786 by the Council of the Magus, grandfathered into the Wizard’s Council and then retroactively grandfathered into Hogwarts’ Charter four years after the school’s founding.”
“And how exactly am I in violation of that?” The professor asked, his fear belied by the tremble in his voice.
“Within the Treaty of Taliesin resides a stipulation regarding bards and their interactions with the Good Neighbors, forbidding magicians from inquiring with a bard about methods by which they could harm the Fair Folk. The penalty of a violation was stated to be determined by the bard to which the question was directed.”
“And what exactly could you, a first-year, do to me?”
“I could ask Artorius to exact the punishment?” Harry proposed lightly. “Though his punishment would be rather lighter than what I would do. Now, would you wish a punishment, or do you wish to leave my companions and terms of address be?”
“The… the latter, Mr. Potter.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
It was after a Transmogrification lesson, not the first, nor the second, but certainly one of them, that Harry was asked to stay behind after the rest of the class had been dismissed. Still sitting in his seat, he looked at Professor McGonagall, who was sitting behind her desk, staring at him as though she expected him to ask why he had been held behind. Eventually, however, she broke before he did.
“I have received complaints from each and every professor of yours, Mr. Potter.” She began. “Ordinarily discipline would be handled by your Head of House, but, due to the quantity, I have elected to step in.”
“I was unaware of any particular issues surrounding my classroom performance, bar State based spells within Thaumaturgy, Good Professor.”
“Well, it surrounds your homework. I shall have to insist that you sign your name on your homework, Mr. Potter.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request, Mr. Potter.”
“All the same, I shall have to decline, Good Professor. Such a resource would put one at risk of beguilement and enchantments, at risk of being charmed and entrapped.” Harry replied. “Such a risk is not one that I shall take.”
McGonagall simply sighed, before waving her hand at the door, dismissing him with a parting regard of informing Dumbledore of his response.
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Harry had rather high hopes for Potions. Technically speaking, he still had high hopes for Potions, though the subject would likely involve a greater deal of self-study than he would have otherwise preferred. At the exact moment the class was set to start, their Professor, a man by the name of Severus Snape, swept into the class. Taking a roll of the class, he added a slight jab towards Harry’s status as an orphan, though it was likely intended as an insult to his perceived intelligence, given his celebrity status.
“You are here to learn the subtle, exacting art of potion-brewing.” The professor drawled, his voice barely more than a whisper, but clear for all to hear. “There shall be no foolish wand-waving, nor shall there be any strumming of an instrument. As such many of you may not view such an art as being magical in nature. A position that may change if you possess a mote of intelligence, unlike those that I usually teach.”
“Potter! What would a combination of powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood create?”
“I would assume some form of poison, or a potion to induce sleep, of a sort.” Harry replied.
“Explain.” Snape demanded.
“The asphodel is one of the primary symbols used in representing Erebus. In combination with wormwood, a plant with the capacity to be fatally toxic, most notably having a higher risk of fatality when turned into an oil-based infusion, which has meanings of absence in poetic contexts, I would think it could become a potent poison, or a potent somniferous concoction, depending on the other ingredients. I would think extract of nightshade for the former, extract of poppy seeds for the latter.”
“Correct, on both accounts, the latter being the requested answer, the Draught of Living Death. Where would I find a bezoar?”
“Traditionally, the stomach of a goat, though one could use the gallstones of an ox. They can also be found in the large intestine, the trachea, and the esophagus.”
“Correct. So, it seems you are capable of reading. Tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
“Bar folkloric perceptions, there is none. Both names are used for the plant known as Delphinieae Aconitum L. Otherwise known as Leopard’s Bane, Devil’s Helmet, Blue Rocket and Aconite, Aconitum is known for its toxicity, the roots commonly being used as a poisoning agent, and other parts used in folk medicinal practices, and was thought to have sprung from the River Acheron, or the spittle dripping from the jowls of Cerberus.”
“You have proven… adequate.” Snape said, before looking at the rest of the class. “Why are the rest of you failing to take notes?”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
With the monotony of a school schedule, assigned homework, and maintaining the human friendship he had formed, it took Harry a while to finally set about to look for the origin of the humming of y Tylwyth Teg that he heard on the food in the Great Hall. Until October, more precisely.
With his feet being guided not by his thought, but his goal, the charm he had made so long ago causing his route to lay as true as a well-fletched arrow flew. The portrait he came up against was dealt with by a quick strum of his lyre, separating the frame from the canvas. Walking through the gap where there had been the portrait, Harry heard the instrumentation of the Good Neighbors, the tune bearing a superficial similarity to the Dames of Elfin Land, but it was… wrong. Fundamentally, it was wrong, warped, as though the source of the song was out of tune, and hadn’t been maintained at all. Looking around, he saw beings that held similarities to a coblyn, and a bwbach, with the pointed ears of an elf.
“What happened to you?”