Let Me Come to Be
Harry grins as his timetable soars down to land neatly in his porridge.
"Ready for a normal year, Hermione?" he asks, tapping the spine of the thick book topped by a mass of tight brown curls.
She looks up from the tome (Advanced Protection Charms) and smiles back at him. "Nothing is ever normal with you, Harry."
Harry laughs, giving the book a soft smack. "Rude. I am perfectly normal, thank you."
Hermione lets out a laugh and shakes her head, turning back to her book.
"What are you taking this year?" Dean asks. "Surprised you're even here. Figured you'd go straight to Auror training with Ron."
Harry shakes his head. "No, I wanted a normal school year." Besides, I've had my fill of fighting.
"Makes sense," Seamus answers, snagging a sausage off Dean's plate.
"Yeah. I have NEWT Charms, NEWT Potions, NEWT Transfiguration, and NEWT Defence."
"No Herbology? Sprout says we get to grow our own Neptunian Pixie Traps," Neville chimes in.
"Well those sound terrifying."
Neville beams, his light blue eyes lighting up. "Oh no, they're actually very docile when raised from egglings."
Harry makes an impressed sort of noise. "Ah, no Herbology then. I figured I'd try out this class I found: Sigils & Magical Calligraphy?"
Hermione's head pops up from behind her book. "Ooh, I read about that class in Hogwarts, A History. Only twelve students are allowed to take it at a time; I tried to get in but McGonagall said it was full already. You have to loan me your books, Harry, please."
"Of course."
***
Harry gets to the mostly unused sixth floor corridor and peers at the dust-covered numbers.
A voice comes out of the darkness: "The seven hundreds are down this hallway."
Harry jumps, whirling around with his wand already in his hand and the first syllable of Stupefy already falling from his lips when he flushes at the sight of the smirking Nott boy, his silver eyes sparkling with amusement.
"You all right there, Potter?"
Harry sheepishly slips his wand back into his pocket and nods. "Yeah. You're taking this class too?"
Nott smiles at him, the sort of smile you give if you aren't used to smiling but know it's the expected thing to do. "Yes," he answers simply. "It hasn't been offered in years not since Riddle was a student. My father took it with him." He gazes at Harry through half-lidded eyes. "Why are you taking it?"
Harry shrugs. "Sounded neat. I just hope it's not taught by a ghost."
Malfoy's voice rises out from the darkness and Harry sees Nott roll his eyes.
"Honestly, Potter, don't you ever listen when Granger lectures you about Hogwarts? This class is taught by a Master of the craft and is only available to the best Seventh-Years," Malfoy says, sneering. "But I suppose after the War, they're letting anyone join."
"Considering you're also in this class, I'd definitely say the standards have slipped," Nott drawls and Harry stifles a laugh when the door to room 712 swings open with a creak.
Harry peers into the classroom and excitedly heads inside, followed by the soft steps of Nott and a disgruntled Malfoy. His eyes adjust to the bright natural light and Harry realizes he's the only Gryffindor in the class. And then that everyone else is already paired up, save for Nott and Malfoy.
Harry sees Malfoy's eyes widen in recognition and then quick as a flash, Nott's wand tip slips out of his sleeve and starts to glow. Malfoy makes a frustrated noise as he struggles to move and Harry slides into the seat next to Nott with a grateful grin and just as abruptly as it started Malfoy can move again.
Malfoy mutters something that makes Nott hiss, his silver eyes smouldering, and wave his wand and shortly afterwards Malfoy lets out a wordless gasp and clutches his throat. Nott smirks.
"Wandless Silencing Charm, Mr. Nott?"
"Something like that, Professor."
"Excellent job, 5 points to Slytherin. And an extra 5 if you can dispel it wandlessly as well."
Harry watches as Nott concentrates, the tip of his tongue poking out, and then with a strangled snarl Malfoy whirls around and glares at Nott.
"Bloody hell, Nott! What was that for?"
Nott levels a steady glare at Malfoy's face. "You know exactly what that was for."
The professor comes into view now, clapping his hands. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, there's no need to spar. Nott earned your House points. Besides, too much negativity will upset the inks."
He pauses and Harry watches him glide to the front of the classroom, coming to stand in front of a blackboard full of various symbols. "Now then," he says, voice echoing around the small classroom. "I am Doctor Piotruś Musiał. And while these may just look like scribblings of a madman, I'm sure there are some of you know what they really are."
Harry watches the professor look around the classroom, deep brown curls bouncing slightly as he swivels his head side to side.
A hand goes up and Harry notices it belongs to a Ravenclaw girl seating near their group at breakfast.
"Ah yes, Mrs.-"
"Runcorn, sir! Ariella."
"Mrs. Runcorn, then. Enlighten the class."
Runcorn smiles, pushing her glasses up on her nose, ignoring the smudge her fingers leave behind on the lens, and answers. "Sigils, sir."
Harry hears Nott mutter under his breath about "Know-it-all Ravenclaws" and he holds back a snicker.
"Precisely, five points to Ravenclaw."
Harry scribbles a quick note, thankful his and Nott's desk isn't at the front. Hey, you got more points for cursing Malfoy!
Nott's eyebrow raises and he gives Harry a small smile.
"Now as I gaze upon your faces, I recognize many Houses that already have sigils." Dr. Musiał snaps his fingers and the board flips around, showing a wide deep grey blank slate. "Would anyone like to demonstrate theirs?"
Malfoy's hand shoots up immediately and the professor beams.
"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy. Go slow so the class can see."
Malfoy struts up to the board and begins to use his wand, a low litany of French streaming out of his mouth as thin black lines begin to appear on the blackboard.
Harry tilts his head, writing down a question on a scrap of parchment and sliding it towards Nott. Why is Malfoy using French?
Another eyebrow raise and Nott writes something back, his handwriting an elegant scrawl with little flourishes on the Ls and Hs.
A lot of magical families have their familial spells, like those used to make their Sigil, in their native tongue. For the Malfoys, that's French. The Notts, we cast in Faroese but my mother's native tongue was Irish. The Zabini clan cast in a dialect of Italian: Abruzzo. I'm not sure what the Potters used, my Father had records I can check if you'd like.
Harry's eye widen and he looks up at Nott. Neat! I've never heard of any of this. Yes please, I'd love anything you have on the Potters.
A soft small quirk of his lips upward and Nott turns back to the board. Excellent. I'll check in over the weekend.
Harry smiles and turns back to the board as well where Malfoy stands in front of a series of glowing thin black lines connected by a few dots, resembling an outline of a particularly fat dragon with its wing outstretched.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. As you can see, the sigil of the Malfoy family resembles the very animal our Mr. Malfoy is named after, which suggests the Malfoy family is connected with dragons. Familial animals are very common in magical families, those in Albion and on the continent. My own family's animal is the hardy adaptable dormouse," Dr. Musiał explains. He pauses to look around the classroom. "Would anyone else like to demonstrate?"
His brown eyes alight on a Slytherin Harry hadn't met before who has his hand straight up. "Ah, Mr. Cowley! Yes, of course, come right up. I taught your mother years ago, back when she was a Mac Suibhne. Absolutely delightful Sigil, very bold."
The Slytherin smiles at Doctor Musiał and struts up to the board, starting to move his wand as smooth as water, a lilting string of Irish coming out of his mouth until he stands back proudly, a heavily stylized bull's face gleaming on the blackboard, its horns taking up most of the space.
"Oh, that's lovely. Little on the nose, though?"
Cowley gives him a toothy grin. "We're a straightforward people, Doctor."
Doctor Musiał smiles back and waves his wand, clearing the board and with a quick swoop, he begins to lecture, his words appearing on the blackboard behind him. The rest of class soon passes in a flurry of scratching quills and rustling parchment.