Of Coins and Crosses Book 1

Harry awoke on his second day of school and stretched slowly, yawning as the curtains were pulled back and the blankets yanked off by some unseen force. He slowly got up out of bed and went into the bathroom and brushed and washed and changed his clothes, and made sure that he slipped out the knife from under the pillow and into his shoe, just in case. He then grabbed his wand, leaving his ghost dust in the drawer and trudged out of the room and down the stairs to the sitting room. When everyone was gathered, he fell in step with Ron and Hermione as they made their way down the confusing corridors and shifting stairs to the Great Hall.

“Enjoying your second day of Hogwarts, Harry?” asked Ron as he idly petted his frankly mangy and creepy looking rat who he had proudly introduced as Scabbers the family pet the previous morning.

“I mean, it hasn’t really started yet today, has it?” replied Harry as he ducked under a tapestry and quickened his pace to catch the stairwell before it changed.

“True, I suppose, mate. Did you grab the paper off your trunk?” Ron asked, pulling out a paper of his own and glancing over it. “Oh, we have Transfiguration first. Fred and George said that the first class Professor McGonogall transforms everyone into a cat!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” chastised Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Of course the Professor isn’t going to turn us into cats. That would not be allowed at all. Really, you shouldn’t believe everything the twins say. You know how they are.”

Ron turned and gave Harry an exaggerated eye roll. “Yes, Mum,” he said to Hermione. She frowned even more severely and opened her mouth to say more when Harry decided he should step in. He was starting to realize that the reason she told him off for not having many friends at home may not have been as black and white as she had made it seem.

“Ron, she has a point. The twins aren’t exactly the most trustworthy source there is. And Hermione, you do kinda sound like someone’s Mom. Come on guys, let’s just all get along at least till breakfast?” He said, with a hint of exasperation under his firm tone. He felt like a parent dealing with two unruly children. Like how he felt with Molly sometimes, so he had experience at least.

“Alright, fine. Bloody annoying though,” Ron muttered as they got into the entrance hall and through the large double doors, making their way to their table. He cast a glance for Molly but didn't see her, so he just sat down at his table. 

Thankfully after their brief spat in the stairs, Hermione and Ron were friendly once again, and he laughed and joked along with them, until about halfway through breakfast Hedwig flew over them along with the dozens of other owls and dropped a rolled up newspaper onto the table in front of him. He picked it up and unrolled it, with Ron doing the same with his own. Harry’s headline was different from his. 

CHICAGO TRIBUNE 9/3/91

Police Declare Curfew Of 8PM For Civilians Safety As Gang War Rages Through The Streets!!

He hurriedly scanned the article, but it didn't give much information. It just talked about how in the last week there had been an uptick in violence among different gangs for unexplained reasons and rumors circling that Tony Vargassi had lost some of his power. No one had been hurt, but police were advising people to stay indoors at night to avoid the firefights as they tried to deal with the problem. He hoped his parents were safe, and as he put down his newspaper Dean jostled him from beside him and pointed at his own.

“Harry, look at this. It’s insane, innit?” He said, showing him the headline that was shifting between two statements.

The Daily Prophet 9/3/91

Break in at Gringotts, Unsuccessful Robber Flees The Scene!

27 Goblins Pronounced Dead, Many More In Critical Condition. 

Outrage Roars Through The Magical Community!

The shifting picture underneath the loud headline showed armored goblins with spears and shields angrily pushing the reporter taking the picture away as other goblins sadly carried a procession of bodies covered in white sheets through the big iron vault door down the tunnel stairs. Blood stained the ground, and even though there was no sound it seemed the goblins were chanting a song as they carried them away, heads bowed and ears drooping.

Harry looked down at the article, once again quickly scanning it before he stopped in surprise and slowly re-read it once more. His eyebrows shot up and he inwardly gasped, though he tried not to show any outward emotion on his face. Clearly he didn’t succeed though, as Seamus caught on and called him out. 

“Bloody hell, mate, yer face jus’ went white! What is it?” asked Seamus. Harry noticed that Seamus’s Irish accent grew thicker when he was excited, which he had learned last night in a very intense game of Wizard Chess against Ron.

“T-this was the vault that the Headmaster visited when he went and helped us get money from our vault! I saw the number on the key when he got in the cart! Vault 713!” Harry said, shocked. “It says the robbery was a failure because the vault was empty. When he went down there, the Headmaster must have cleared it. We just got ahead of it!” Harry said. Then his shock turned to anger as he continued to read the article. It seemed the reason outrage was roaring through the community of non-human magical creatures was that it took the Auror squad a full fifteen minutes to respond, and when they did they rendered no aid to the dying goblins, but simply went to check the vaults of powerful witches and wizard families. Angry goblins were saying that they could have saved some goblin’s lives if they had stopped and tried healing spells on them, and brought them into cover. At this time, the article finished, Head Auror Alastor Moody had declined to comment nor former Head Auror and now Minister of Magic Amelia Bones.

Harry slammed down the article in anger, his eyes blazing. “Those stupid Auror a-hats didn’t even bother to give help to those goblins?! They could have saved lives!”

Another Gryffindor boy, Reginald Rowle, waved off his anger. “Oh please. They were just goblins. They are creatures, Harry. We humans must protect our own interests first of course. Besides, they are a foreign power after all, technically. If they want so badly to be independent, they can’t come crawling back to us every time they need help.”

Harry rose from his chair, his hands into fists, his eyes blazing. “They have every right to help, as do all of us. The Bible says that the Lord made all equal in his eyes! And they are just as intelligent and sapient as you and me.”

Ron stood up also and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Calm down, mate. Don’t get into a fight right here. This git doesn’t know his head from his arse, and that’s the bloody truth. Seems the Sorting Hat mistook pure stupidity for bravery in this case. He’s not worth the effort.” He slowly guided Harry back into his seat, who slipped a hand under his shirt and gripped his cross, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He then stayed mostly silent for the rest of the breakfast and Seamus, Dean, Ron and Hermione all shunned Reginald for the rest of the meal.

After the meal was finished, Harry got up with the rest of his group and made their way to Transfiguration, Hermione leading the way because she had studied and memorized in detail the entire layout of the non shifting part of the castle, which was the first and bottom floors only. They eventually found the classroom and found that it was split in half, one side for the Gryffindors and one side for the Ravenclaws. 

Harry went to the Gryffindor side and sat down at one of the two-person desks, with Ron sitting beside him. He put his books under his chair and waited as the classroom slowly filled up. After a few minutes, the classroom was filled but the teacher still had not appeared yet. They all sat in silence for a few seconds until the doors swung open on their own accord but for some reason it looked like no one had entered. That was, until a small tabby cat began to strut down the aisle between the rows of seats. Ron immediately jumped and swore.

“The twins were right, Harry! Merlin’s beard, the crazy git really is gonna turn us into cats!” he shouted and ducked behind his desk, Harry not sure if he should duck under there with him or laugh at him. Hermione, one desk over, looked very horrified that the twins might not have been lying. 

The cat finished its strut and stopped in front of the desk, where it spun around and in a blur that Harry could not follow, turned into a very stern Professor McGonagall, who straightened her glasses and looked at where Ron was still cowering. “Mr. Weasley! I would appreciate it if you would remove yourself from under your desk and sit properly. And stop that yammering of yours!” she said sharply, flicking her wand and the book Ron had in front of his face for some inexplicable reason was yanked from his hands and rested back on the desk, the writing equipment straightening itself also so it was all neat and tidy. 

Ron, red faced, slowly got out from under the table and sat in his seat, not able to look up and meet the Professor’s eyes. “Sorry, Professor.” He said. “It’s just that the twins-”

“I expect you to know better than to listen to those obnoxious hoodlums by now, Mr. Weasley! Five points from Gryffindor for sheer stupidity, and causing a disruption!” Professor McGonagall said, shaking her head and moving around the desk to sit down at it.

“B-but we are your own House!” protested Ron, as the Ravenclaws on the other side of the room snickered to themselves.

“Yes, and I expect there to not be bumbling idiots with the last name Weasley in it once again this year. Merlin knows I have dealt with the twins enough to last me several lifetimes.” Professor McGonogall took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. “Now where were we, before Mr. Weasley’s antics? Ah, yes.” She stood up, and clasped her hands behind her back after putting back on her glasses. “My name is Professor McGonagall. I am the Head of the Gryffindor house, but that is not relevant to this class, because I will be showing no favoritism just because there are Gryffindors in my room. I have sadly already had to demonstrate that.” She cast a stern look at Ron, who was still staring down at his lap, his face burning as red as his hair. “Now as most of you saw, the highest form of Transfiguration is to turn oneself into an animal. I want you to dismiss all such fancies and ideas from your head immediately. It is one of the most difficult processes of magic that one can do and takes much more practice before you are even prepared to attempt a sort of thing. Another rule I must fully impress on you is that you must never, ever attempt to transfigure something into food or liquid. And even if you are stupid enough to do so, you must never consume, or heaven forbid, trick someone else into consuming it. For when the transfigured object hits the stomach acid and it begins its work, the object will revert back to its natural form as the magic is eaten away by the acid. And then it shall get into the bloodstream and lodge itself there, causing a slow and painful death that is rather irreversible and quite excruciating. Do I make myself clear?” she said, glaring at each one of them in turn.

“Yes, Professor,” the class said in unison, the Ravenclaws rather subdued from their earlier snickering with the gruesome scene that had just been presented to them in detail.

“Very good.” She sniffed, satisfied. “Now, unlike other magics there are no fancy wand movements or special incantations that one must tediously memorize to perform this magic. When you advance to other levels of transfiguration, there will be. But we will be only focusing on the first of the five levels, and the most basic. Straight transfiguration. For those curious, the other levels are Vanishment, Switching, Conjuring and Un-transfiguration. But we will be focusing on solely simple transformation this year. Now, do you all see the matchstick in front of you?”

Harry looked down at his desk and to his surprise a matchstick had indeed appeared in front of him on the desk. 

“Now the one spell I will have you memorize is Mutarifor. It is the basic spell that is at the root of all transfigurations and the only one you shall need for the first level. Simply point your wand at the object you wish to change and say the spell. Make sure you have a firm mental image of what you wish for it to change into. Any wavering or distraction will make it not work. Now please, try and change the matchstick into a needle.”

For the rest of the class, while the Professor walked around and quietly corrected posture and pronunciations. No one made even the slightest bit of progress, with Hermione taking it the hardest, getting more and more frustrated. Harry was frustrated also, but the lack of progress from everyone made him feel like it was expected to make no progress. At the end of class the Professor once again sat down at the front of the class. “I see you all tried very hard. Of course you are not expected to get it the first time. Do not be surprised if none of you get it before Halloween. Transfiguration is one of the hardest pieces of magic you will perform in these halls. It requires an iron will and narrow focus of the mind. But for a first attempt, you all did well. I will see you later this week.”

Professor McGonogall had clearly given this speech many times, because she had timed it perfectly with the bell ringing. Once it rang, students gathered up their papers and books and began to head out to their next class. Harry walked over to Hermione where she was angrily slamming her books one on top of each other, clearly frustrated. “Hey, Hermione, it’s okay. None of us got it either, you know. You were the hardest working grabowski out of all of us, that I can assure you.”

She shot him a weird look, anger abating. “Harry, what the hell is a grabowski?”

Inwardly he winced by how bad she had butchered the word. “Oh it means a hard worker, who’s concentrated and doesn’t give up. It’s…a Chicago thing.”

“Oh yes. I sometimes forget you’re from an American city. Well I appreciate the kind words, but I read the book! I should have been better than the rest of you! I studied the book intensively!” She said, holding up her dog eared book that had very clearly been studied over by Hermione judging by the wear and tear, and all the sticky notes sticking out of it.

Ron came up to them also, and looked at the book. “Hermione, mate. Just because you read the books doesn’t make you better than all of us.” She spun on him angrily, but before she could say anything Ron raised his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Calm down, ‘Mione. I’m just sayin’ that knowledge and practice are different. I could read a dozen books about pranking and never be as good as Fred and George. Though Mum would probably murder me if she caught me with pranking books.” He rubbed his neck and smiled apologetically. “I’m just saying this ‘cuz I know you grew up in the Muggle world. I grew up around all this, ya know?” 

By the time he was done with his speech, they were already nearing the next class, History of Magic. They took a detour from the hall and strode through a small, mossy courtyard. The sun felt great beating down on them, and there was a light breeze that rustled his hair as they walked through it. He felt sad when they had to go back inside the hallways and then into the 4F classroom. When they got in the classroom, they found that it was one of the classes of the day that had just one house in it. So there were many spare desks and the Gryffindors spread out among them, some taking up two to put their books down. Harry pushed together three desks with the help of Ron, and him, Ron and Hermione all sat down together. Dean and Seamus also sat by them, connecting with the chain of desks. Once again, Harry thought there was no teacher present until, from behind the large desk a figure stood up. Well, Harry thought it was standing up, until the teacher floated through the desk. Harry’s eyes went wide. He knew there were ghosts in the castle, and they were referred to as staff in the vaguest sort of terms, but he didn't actually think one would be a teacher! Though he supposed if a ghost was going to teach any class, History would make the most sense. 

The moment he and the Professor locked eyes however, the little old man’s eyes widened and he hurriedly floated towards Harry’s desk. “Now before you go and try and exorcize me, I must say I am quite friendly!” he said with a jest, a small smile playing across his wizened face, and his voice deep yet reedy.

Harry forced himself to relax and he smiled back. “I’m sure you are. I must sincerely apologize for that whole… Incident the other night. I didn’t know about-“

The ghost waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, boy! I dare say a firm kick in the arse is exactly what Peeves needed. He has actually been quite easier to deal with these last few days indeed. Though I would advise you to keep one eye open when you go to bed at night. He is not one to forgive or forget, if you get my meaning.” He winked and then began to float backwards towards his desk. “So I have your word that you won’t try and exorcize me, and I will give you mine that I will assign no pop quizzes this year, eh?”

Beside him, Ron elbowed him quite viciously. “Mate, give him your word right now! I hate pop quizzes.”

Harry smiled, discreetly rubbing where Ron’s elbow had struck his rib cage. “Yes, I give you my word I will not try and murder any of my teachers this year, Professor.”

“Great! I can see your young Weasley friend is quite happy with that also. Well, I assume he’s a Weasley judging by that hair color, of course. Tell me, young boy, how is Arthur? I remember teaching him when he was your age here! Must have been, oh, twenty or so years back by now?” The Professor was floating in front of his desk, waiting as one or two more students hurried in, having gotten lost between classrooms.

“Thirty, actually, sir. He is doing well. Got a job at the Ministry and all that.” Ron said haltingly, not exactly sure how to respond or if he should correct the teacher.

“Oh well, time flies when you're dead, I suppose,” the Professor said, with a smile. “Well, I’m glad he is doing well. And if nothing else, the Weasley line is certainly in no danger of dying out any time soon, with all you boys running about, now is there? Your mother, she was a fiery woman also, I remember. Fiery indeed.” He stared off into the distance for a few seconds before shaking his head and refocusing. “Well, I believe that is all of us!” He clapped his hands together, which didn't have much effect seeing that it wasn’t substantial enough to create a noise. “Now, if anyone would be so kind as to volunteer to write on the blackboard for me?” He raised up his ghostly see-through hands. “Occupational hazard, you see.” The class rippled with laughter and, as Harry expected, Hermione immediately shot up her hand. “Perfect, my girl! Come up here, if you would be so kind?” Hermione happily walked to the front of the room and stood in front of the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk as he swiveled in midair to address the class once again. “My name is Professor Cuthbert Binns. That’s Binn’s with two n’s, Miss… sorry, I don’t quite know your name, my dear girl. What is it?”

“Hermione Granger, sir,” she said, writing the name down in big, looping letters across the chalkboard.

“Oh please, don’t call me sir. I may be old, but I’m not that old,” he said with a laugh and waved her back to her seat. “Very good, Miss Granger. You may return to your seat now.” Hermione put down the chalk and made her way back to her seat, smiling happily still. Professor Binns then pointed at one of the girls who was raising her hand, a girl named Parvati. “Yes?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you, exactly?” She said, curiosity on her face.

The ghost ran a hand through his almost non-existent hair and chuckled. “Well, I suppose that question would have been asked eventually, wouldn’t it? If I am being honest, I do not remember how old I was when I died. I can tell you I was born sometime around 1483. I remember my pa telling me when I was just a wee lad, younger than you are right now, about how some man from Spain had just returned from an expedition and discovered a new land. Ah, I remember the shock and wonderment I felt when I realized there were parts of the world, whole huge continents, I didn’t know the word back then of course, that were undiscovered. It was the biggest shock of my young life. Well, until I discovered I was magical of course.” He seemed to start once again and seemed to realize he had been rambling and he flushed in embarrassment. “Ah, thank you young Parvati, for allowing a silly old man a moment to reminisce in times long past. Those days are far gone however. So no, I cannot say exactly how old I was when I died, but I believe I was around 280, I was certainly pushing 300, I remember that. Was quite excited for my big 300th birthday party. But alas, I never made it that far.”

By the time he finished his spiel, Harry felt his jaw hit the floor. This man was so old he was born before America, his home, was even discovered?! His mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend the age that this professor might be, or the things he lived through. “Wow,” he whispered to himself in a shocked tone, a sentiment that Hermione echoed. Ron seemed to be decidedly unimpressed for some reason. Casualties of being magical, Harry guessed.

The Professor began talking once more. “Now we shall start our first unit with the Founders themselves. I can assume you're all aware of their names? Would anyone care to name and write them down on the board for me?” He asked, sweeping his gaze across the room. Once again, Hermione’s hand shot up and he smiled, his tortoise face wrinkling up even more. “Ah, I thought you might be raising your hand again, young Granger. Please, please, come up here.” 

She got up and walked over to the chalkboard, erasing his name and writing it much smaller on the top left side of the blackboard, along with the date and Unit 1: The Founders. Harry copied down on his parchment the same words she had just written across the top of the blackboard on his own notes, grateful that Hermione was so detail oriented for once.

“Now, the Founders. As you all know, there were four of them. The only one who was truly famous before the founding of Hogwarts was Godric Gryffindor. He was famous for not using a wand to channel magic, but his sword. He was also, needless to say, an expert in combat. During the war on wizardkind, he led the battles to protect the wizards from the armies of the Roman Catholics.”

Harry raised a hand, confused. “I’m sorry sir, but what do you mean by Catholic armies? I mean, I am a Catholic and I have never heard in history of us waging war on magic users.”

“Oh, your church didn’t call it that of course,” said Binns as he floated down till he looked like he was standing on the floor. “Your church called it the Holy Crusades. One second here.” He shuffled through his papers on his desk with seemingly much effort until he looked up. “Here it is. They claimed it was to seize and return Holy Relics of the Church to their own possession. That was their excuse, at least. In reality, what they actually were hunting for were us. Wizards, witches, anything they saw as unholy. But Godric Gryffindor, he helped gather together the bands of wizards living in countries that were scattered everywhere. We weren’t a unified bunch back then, existing in our own petty squabbles and sects. But he was a gathering point, someone to rally behind. He helped stop the armies and hold them off long enough for many witches and wizards to retreat to the hills of Scotland, where he grew up and the place he knew best. That is where he met the other famous founders you no doubt know, like Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw. They fought with him on the front lines, saving many lives in the process. I’m sure you’ve heard of Salazar’s unique ability to speak to snakes?” Beside the name Salazar, Hermione wrote the name Parseltongue, which Harry quickly copied down, his eyes wide as he heard this history he knew absolutely nothing about.

“Yes, he was one of the few wizards gifted with this incredible talent. It is said that when he was young, he found a pet… monster. The details of it have been lost to time, sadly. According to the book written by Rowena herself, which you can find in the library if you are so inclined, it is said that when Salazar appeared at the front of the army, his mere presence would be enough to break the lines.” He chuckled darkly, his mouth grim but his face was animated and his arms moving about wildly. “For when they saw him, they always knew his pet beast was never far behind. He was by far the most vicious of the founders, offering no mercy for those who met the end of his wand or the jaws of his creature.”

“Well yes, of course!” said Seamus. “Everyone knows that Slytherins are evil. So of course their Founder would be also.”

For the first time, when Binns leveled his gaze at Seamus, he looked annoyed, if very slightly. “My dear boy, as you will come to see in my class, nobody, not you, not me, not even Voldemort himself is purely black or white.”

One of his classmates whom Harry thought was Reginald, let out a horrified gasp. “You can’t say his name! It’s too sac–horrifying! Names have power, Professor.”

Professor Binns absentmindedly waved off the horror that had overtaken the classroom. “What will he do to me? Kill me?” He laughed and stuck his hand through the desk at the front of the room. “I dare say that ship has sailed, wouldn’t you? And I hardly believe he will have the faith and holiness to perform an exorcism on me, like young Harry here. No, I’m quite safe. Now back to the topic.” He looked back at Seamus. “You wish to know why he was so harsh on his enemies? Well, once again to refer to Rowena’s book. He lost his wife and son to them, when he was out on a trip to help try and convince other witches and wizards to gather up behind Godric to protect their way of life. But we don’t actually have to rely on just her book, in this case. For you see, after Hogwarts was founded, Mr Salazar developed a very intense addiction. He became addicted to the Pensieve that had been found where Hogwarts was then built. A magic of incredible strength. So we can see for ourselves some of the memories he left in vials during his time as Hogwarts first Headmaster. And I have gotten special permission from the Headmaster to show some of these memories to you all.”

“Professor,” asked Hermione from behind him. “If all this happened like you say, why are there no records from the time of the Crusades? According to our histories, the Crusades happened in the Middle East and had nothing to do with magic.”

The Professor raised a ghostly eyebrow at Hermione. “Tell me, Ms. Granger, if one of the biggest armies ever assembled in history failed in wiping out a group of people who numbered only a few thousand strong, with you proclaiming that God was on your side, would you go advertising it? Or instead would you do your best to scrub it from all recorded history, and launch a new one immediately after to cover up the failure?” He chuckled and shook his head. “As they say, history is written by the victors. And while we may have managed to survive our complete genocide, we were not exactly the victors. No indeed. So that is why the Church immediately launched a campaign ‘to take back the Middle East from the cruel Muslim barbarians.’”

Hermione purses her lips and nodded. “I… suppose that makes sense. Another question though, if you don’t mind?”

He smiled widely, his eyes almost disappearing from the wrinkles. “I do not at all! It is nice to see a youth so interested in history. I’m afraid it’s been quite a few years since that has happened.”

“What exactly is a Pensieve? And how can one be addicted to it?” She asked, putting down the chalkboard.

“Oh, silly me. I completely forgot to explain that, didn’t I?” He shook his head ruefully. “A Pensieve is that.” He pointed one finger towards the corner of the room, where a large stone basin sat almost as tall as Harry. “I got permission from Dumbledore to be able to bring it down to this classroom for the first week of school, to show you what it contains. What it does is it allows one to draw out memories from their head and put them in vials, and when the vials are poured into the basin one can dip their head into the liquid and relive the memories in full and complete detail as much as they want. As far as we know, there is only one Pensieve that has ever been created, and we have no idea how or why it was made. But the point is, Salazar pulled the memories out of his own mind and stored them in vials that have been preserved from Headmaster to Headmaster, along with any that they choose to add to the collection. He used it to get rid of painful memories, and also to be able to relieve any memories he had time and time again. And as I stated, he sadly became quite addicted to it.” He drifted over to his desk and looked at a piece of parchment paper laying there and then looked up. “Now, Miss Brown I believe it is, and Sally Anne-Perkins, may you please move the basin into the middle of the room. And while it is being moved, Miss Granger, may you search my desk for the vial labeled Salazar Class One?” He asked as Lavender and Sally both got up to grunt and wrestle with the large stone object, scraping it across the floor to the center of the room. 

“Thank you, my dear students. Ms. Granger, simply pour that into the basin and tap it with your wand. When the Headmaster brought it down for me, I had him pre-set a spell into it that will show the vision to the entire class. It just needs a little spark to set it off. I would do it myself but I’m afraid I misplaced my wand a long time ago. Not that it would do me much good.” Once again he chuckled at his own self-deprecating joke. Hermione, obviously pleased to be given such an important task, strode to the basin and uncorked the small glass vial, Harry watching as a long strand of silver hair-like substance flowed out of it and into the water, turning it all silver. 

“This is a compilation of different memories that Salazar stored, all strung together so we may get a complete picture of his life and character. Please, sit back and enjoy.”

Harry sat back as Hermione tapped the basin with her wand, and immediately steam began rising in a steady vapor from the bowl. Hermione made her way back to her seat, quill in hand, prepared to take notes. The steam slowly coalesced into an image, which Harry watched with wide eyes, so shocked at this magical movie projector he forgot to take notes. 

The first scene featured a tall, gaunt man, with hooded eyes and wearing black clothes accented with green. He had a hooked nose and a small smile playing on his lips. He strode along a forest path, and Harry could even hear the birds chirping and the wind rustling the trees around him. He caught the faint smell of flowers, and saw a small rabbit scurry off the road into the underbrush when it sensed someone approaching.

Suddenly though, his pace changed and the smile dropped from his lips, and he began to hurry forward. At first Harry wasn’t sure what had made his demeanor change so rapidly, but then he saw the smoke rising from above the trees. As he broke into a run, he pulled out his wand from his coat pocket, and jumped in midair. In a blur that he couldn’t quite follow, he turned into a dark cloud of black smoke and shot down the path at breakneck speeds. Harry felt a little motion-sick watching it go by so fast. Eventually he turned back into his human form once more, stumbling to regain his balance, and turned a corner. There was a beautiful little cottage in a wooded glen, with flowers adorning the windowsills and a small rocking chair on the porch. There was also a clothesline stretched out, with many different clothes that were obviously for many different-sized and aged people on it. But what immediately caught his attention was the two stakes in front of the house, with a dozen soldiers in what Harry was pretty sure was Roman armor surrounding them. When Harry looked directly at the stakes, it seemed to be blurred out and not being able to be seen clearly. But he could see that there was a grown woman and another a small boy on them. There was also fire on the wooden stakes, and Harry felt sick knowing what must have been going on. Salazar looked sick too, and his face turned ugly. Harry was very thankful for the blurring of the stakes so he didn’t have to see the horror that so clearly reflected on Salazar’s face. He glanced over and saw that Ron’s face had gone pale and Hermione had a hand over her mouth, looking sick.

Salazar wasted no time, his wand already in hand, and he began to send curses out at the soldiers, who had yet to notice his presence. Rage twisted his face into an ugly expression and green bolts of energy began flying, and soldiers dropped dead where they stood. A few of them managed to react quickly enough, panicked cries of “Wizard!!” filling the air. A few even managed to wrestle the crossbows off their backs and fired bolts at him. He contemptuously flicked his wand and the bolts reversed their path, flying and burying themselves in their owners instead. He then sent blasting curses at them, throwing them into trees, breaking their necks with a loud crunch. But one soldier, when Salazar ran past him to get his wife and son down from the stakes, the rage now gone and worry on his face instead, managed to injure him. He had been playing dead on the ground, and when he saw his chance the soldier had spun and sank the knife deep into Salazar’s side. Barely even noticing the knife now sticking out of him, his mind only focused on his children, he put a green bolt directly between the eyes of the bold and foolhardy soldier, and with that the last of them was killed. Hurriedly, he used his wand to stop the fires on the stakes, and pulled down his wife and son. The blurring finally lifted, and Harry could see them. The wife was still alive, barely, and had horribly charred skin. She managed a smile that clearly took a lot of effort and raised a shaking hand to Salazar’s tear-stained cheek, where he lay over them sobbing loudly, shaking uncontrollably.

“My love. I’m glad that I could see you one last time,” she said in a raspy, barely human voice, so burned was her throat and so much smoke she had inhaled.

“D-don’t talk like that, my dear. I-I-I can save you.” He grabbed his wand from where he had dropped it on the ground, hands barely steady, his face a mask of anguish and pain, deep human pain Harry had never before seen the depths of. Before he could do anything, she grabbed his wrist firmly and lowered his arm.

“Please, let us not fill our last moments together with lies, Sallie. We both know there is nothing you can do for me at this stage. You are many things, and the most talented wizard I know. But healing magic has never been your strong suit. I don’t want to live a half-life in pain just to gain a few more hours on this earth. Just remember…” her voice began to fade away and her eyes closed, but with a sudden burst of will she opened them once more, looking deep into his eyes. “It is not their fault. They are misguided and act out of fear. I…always loved you, and I will forever. I promise to watch over your son, in the life beyond. We will be waiting for you.” With that, she closed and exhaled once more, and Harry watched as the life faded from her eyes.

Salazar sobbed, his body shaking and Harry could feel his own tears, hot and stinging, slide down his own cheeks. With shaking fingers, he slowly reached down and closed the eyes of his wife, his tears hitting her face and sizzling away from the heat. He then turned and did the same with his son’s eyes, clutching them both close to his chest and rocking back and forth. He tipped his head back and let out a primal scream of anguish, which Harry felt rip through his very soul, the grief so real in that voice that it cut him like a knife. It echoed through the forest, and the birds seemed to add their own voices as they shrieked and took flight. And with that, the scene ended.

Shift.

A clearly older Salazar stood in front of a stone castle, surrounded by who Harry assumed were the other four founders. Harry could see that House-Elves were assembling stones and magically stacking them on top of each other, building up the walls. A large man in armor and holding a sword was not paying attention to the castle, but conferring quietly with a man who was standing off to the side. Obviously satisfied, he patted the man on the shoulder and rejoined Salazar and the two women, sliding his sword back on his back.

“Good news, my friends!” He said in a loud, booming voice, his red beard reaching halfway down his torso in a braid, and his fiery red hair draping over his shoulders down his back. “Your deterrent spell has been successful, dear Rowena! The lookouts report that every centurions who comes near the other side of the lake are turning away! This spell, it’s mighty useful indeed. A true blessing, it is, that you discovered it when you did!” he said, sighing and looking up at the castle. “I dream of the day that wizardkind will be able to live in peace, and not have to always look over their shoulder to wonder if a Knight Templar is riding up to burn their home to the ground.” He shook his head. “But here! Here we shall build the greatest school our kind has ever known!”

“The only school our kind has ever known, Godric,” chided a matronly looking woman with brown curled hair, giving him an admonishing look.

“Ah yes, well, it still will be the greatest!” said Godric, completely unabashed.

“First, let us focus on surviving this ideal. This is to be a safe haven for the children, our place to raise the future generation to be successful,” said the black haired Rowena softly and precisely, clipping her words. “I have a contact within the ——-“ for some reason, to Harry’s ears, the word seemed to be censored completely. “They will help us expand our school and lay down deep and powerful protections.”

“Oh, Rowena,” said Helga sympathetically. “What did you have to promise them to make such a deal?”

She sniffed and turned away. “It does not matter. Here,” she tapped her forehead, where a blue Diadem laid. “Here is the knowledge we shall all need. I will get the job done, and that is enough.”

Godric smiled once more, and put an arm around the two women. He attempted to include Salazar also, but he took a step back, sneering, so he wouldn’t have to be included. “To the future, my friends.”

Shift.

An even older Salazar stood inside of what Harry recognized as the Great Hall, sitting at a table with the other three founders. Silver streaks shot through his hair, and his face looked weary. “A school cannot run itself, Godric!” he said angrily, slamming his hand on the table. “One of us must step up! You are the general! You are used to leading. You must do it.”

“I am used to leading soldiers, Salazar. Not running a school! I take the front lines, and I fight. Life is simple when it is just you and an enemy, swords locked or magic flying around. There are no complications or, Merlin forbid, paperwork to do.”

Salazar threw up his hands in disgust and turned to Rowena, who was not looking well at all. While the rest had aged slightly, she had gone completely white, deep hollows under her eyes and her face wrinkled and gaunt. Her eyes still shone with intelligence though, and she shook her head. “No, Salazar. My domain is in research. I would not even begin to know how to handle children.”

“You are the only on-“ his voice broke off with a sound of grief before he swallowed and continued. “You are the only one of us with children though, Rowena.” 

She shook her head. “And that in and of itself should be an answer. Look how that turned out. She won’t even speak to me anymore, and she is off God knows where. I only hope that Baron Mark manages to find her soon.”

Desperately, he looked at Helga, who was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry, my old friend. I do not want to have to discipline the students! I am perfectly happy running the kitchen, and being a confidant to the students, thank you.”

He sighed, putting his head in his hands. “You already all came to a conclusion, didn’t you?” he asked, muffled behind his hands.

Gryffindor laughed and slapped a large hand on his back, Salazar groaned. “Yes, we already decided, my friend. As usual, you were the last to figure it out. Salazar, let us face it. You are the only one who is right for the job. We know it, and I know that you know it. Please, you are the best man for the job. We need you to do this.”

Salazar lifted his head slowly, resigned, but his face was determined. “Fine. I will do it. Not for you though. For the children. I shall do it for the children.”

Shift.

Salazar sat in a high backed plush chair, with a large desk of mahogany wood in front of him. His hair was fully silver now, and he had many more wrinkles than he had had a few moments ago. The desk was covered with paper and self writing quills, but he was not focused on that. Instead, he was looking at a young girl who was hunched down in her chair, looking nervous yet annoyed.

“Salina. We can’t keep doing this every month,” he said softly, looking at her with concern.

“She started it!” the girl protested.

“Yes, they always do. Malfoy, Rowle, Potter. They always cause it first, and yet they are always the ones who are rushed to the infirmary for healing afterwards.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that I’m better than them!”

Salazar sighed and shook his head. “Salina. You have one more chance until we will have no choice to expel you. I am assigning you mandatory meetings with Counselor Hufflepuff twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. If you do not attend…” he spread out his arms widely and shook his head sadly. “You force my hand. Please.”

She sighed and slumped down in her chair. “Fine.” She muttered, getting up and heading to the door.

“I expect to hear from Ms. Hufflepuff tomorrow that you showed up for your first meeting!” He shouted after her as the door swung closed. The moment it closed, he slumped in his chair and rubbed at his face. After a few moments, he leaned down and pulled out a small glass vial, which he opened and walked over to the side of the room, to an alcove in the wall. He opened the vial and poured it, and dipped his head in the Pensieve.

After a few moments, the door once again opened, Salazar completely unaware as he was still deep in his memories. Harry was surprised when it was Godric, who strode over to where Salazar was and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and yanking him backwards and out of the memory.

“No! Esmeralda!” Salazar cried in anguish. He then snarled and spun around, and Harry was shocked to see the pure bestial rage on his face, twisting his expression into an ugly caricature of his earlier kindness. He pulled out his wand, but Godric grabbed his wand arm and squeezed and the wand dropped to the floor.

“Salazar! Compose yourself!” Godric barked angrily, pushing him backwards into the wall. 

Once he hit the wall, all his rage evaporated and he slumped to the bottom of the wall. “I’m sorry. I'm–I'm sorry Godric.”

Godric leaned down and offered a hand, which Salazar took and hauled himself up, slipping his wand back into his pocket. He  stumbled and sat down heavily in his desk.

“Salazar. You must stop this. You have a school to run! You have done admirably for the last century, but how long can you continue if you spend every moment in that accursed world of memories and lies? You're addicted.”

Salazar just shook his head. “Why did you come here, Godric?”

Godric sighed and shook his head, his make of red hair also streaked with grey, and sighed. “We have another student show up on the list to get into Hogwarts.”

“So? Sign the letter and send it as you always do! It is your job after all, as Deputy Headmaster.”

“Salazar…” Godric exhaled heavily and clasped his hands in front of his great belly. “It’s a Muggleborn.”

Salazar pressed his lips tightly and shook his head. “Then destroy the letter. I told you I will not allow Muggleborn’ in Hogwarts as long as I am Headmaster. I didn’t even want to let in half-bloods until you forced my hand.”

“Salazar. We all lost people during the Crusades. But you can’t make their children pay for the crimes of their elders! Is that really what Esmeralda would have wanted?” Godric implored.

A fire smoldered in Salazar’s eyes as he rose from his chair and slammed his hands on the desk. “Do not dare speak her name! You have no idea what she would want. Do you know what the last thing I see before I go to bed every night is?!” He stalked around the desk and jabbed a finger into Godric’s chest. “I see their faces! I see their faces as they passed from this life into the next, and I. Couldn’t. Save. Them. I--“ his voice broke off in a strangled sob. “I watched them die, and was helpless to save them. And who was it? The goddamned Muggles killed them! And why? Because we did something that they couldn’t do, and that made them jealous. And when they were jealous, they killed them! My wife wasn’t even magic, Godric. Her crime? Simply falling in love with one. And my boy? My boy…” once again his voice cracked and he swallowed hard before continuing. “He never even grew old enough to know if he had magic or not. So don’t tell me that you lost people also. Don’t you dare presume to speak those words to me. Muggles murdered my beautiful family, and I will NOT let Muggleborns come and poison these halls as long as I am here to protect my beautiful school. Muggles will never change, they bring death and misery with them wherever they go. Now get out. I have made my decision and I am firm in it.”

“Salazar, please. The children are a great opportunity. We can help shape them so our relations with the Muggles can be improved!” Godric said, spreading his hands. “Surely you see the opportunity in front of us?”

Salazar pointed at the door and said in a quiet, deadly voice. “Get. Out. Now.”

Godric sighed and slumped his shoulders. “I’m afraid it was going to come to this.” He sighed and turned away, looking at the door. “Come in please.”

From behind the door, Helga strode in, holding for some strange reason, the painting of Rowena Ravenclaw in her hands. There was also a small woman wearing the colors of the Slytherin house alongside her.

“Salazar Slytherin,” Helga intoned in a formal voice. “The Heads of the House have conversed, and we have come to the decision that you are no longer fit to run Hogwarts from this time forward. We hereby remove you from power, due to reasons of bigotry and prejudicial discrimination. You shall forfeit your office immediately and take up residence elsewhere. You may, however, stay in the castle, where you may choose. I speak for Hufflepuff.”

“I speak for Slytherin,” said the short woman in a gravelly voice.

“I speak for Ravenclaw, in all my capacity,” said the painting of Ravenclaw sternly.

“And I…” Godric looked down, immensely saddened. “I speak for Gryffindor. As of now, Salazar Slytherin is Headmaster no more.”

Salazar looked around at all of them shocked. “I helped build this school! I raised the children like my own. I served this office for over a century! And you will remove me because I choose not to let Muggleborns come in and stab us in the back like they always do?”

No one answered his pleas. “You have one hour to remove yourself. That is all,” said Helga, turning away and walking down the stairs, still carrying the painting of Ravenclaw.

Salazar walked to his desk and pulled out an empty vial, opening the top and putting a wand to his head. “I give you this memory so that when Hogwarts is overrun with Muggle vermin and these hallowed halls have fallen, you will remember I advised you to stop this!” he shouted at the departing backs, and he began to pull a long silvery strand from his head. The memory went black then, and the vapor began to slowly disperse.

Harry wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, so engrossed in the visions he had been. Professor Binns floated back to the front of the room.

“Ah, no matter how many times I see that, it is no less heartbreaking,” Binns shook his head sadly

“W-wait,” said Seamus, confused and much less sure of himself than he had been earlier.

“Yes?” Professor Binns asked, floating near him.

“That’s the famous fight that drove Salazar to leave the castle and destroyed the friendship between him and Gryffindor? Just because he didn’t want to let in Muggleborns, because Muggles had killed his family?”

A small smile played across the Professor’s lips. “Yes, it was. Now do you see the validity of what I said earlier? History and people are not so black and white as it seems at first glance is it? Was Salazar biased and a Pureblood elitist? Yes, he was. But did he have understandable reason to not want half-bloods or Muggleborn in his school because of his past? The answer, my dear boy, is also yes.”

Before Seamus could respond, a bell rang and people began to get up, gathering their stuff.

“Well, that is the end of the class for today! Next class we shall break down more on how Hogwarts was made! No homework, just make sure you took thorough notes. If you did not, I believe Ms. Granger could help you, seeing at how furiously her quill was scribbling the whole time.” He smiled at her, and she beamed back, standing straighter with pride. “I shall be checking your notes next class, so don’t forget! Have a good day and I will be seeing you soon my dears.”

* * *

Harry walked into the classroom the next day, clutching his books to his chest, shivering, due to the coldness in the dungeons of the castle.

He looked around and saw Molly there, who he immediately walked over to. “Hey, sis! You excited for your first Potions class? I know you, uh…studied the books intensively for it.”

She grinned, and plopped her books down on the desk. “Oh yes! Very excited indeed! Though I hear that the teacher is not exactly the nicest. I hear he doesn't like children at all.”

Harry laughed off her concerns, waving a hand in the air as if to bat away a pesky fly. “Oh, that’s ridiculous Molly. Why the heck would he be a teacher if he didn't like children. I’m sure people are just exaggerating.” He was about to continue when the sallow-faced man he had noticed at the feast the first day strode into the room, stopping in front of them where they were speaking.

“I humbly apologize-” He began slowly, with a deep voice and a strange cadence to it. Harry felt an inward surge of victory over his sister. See? He was already apologizing! He couldn't be the mean teacher Ron had made him out to be. “-to see that my class has regrettably interrupted your conversation time. Shall we wait for you to finish, or should I just cancel the class now to allow you to talk all you wish?” Instantly that feeling of triumph Harry had felt just moments earlier faded. Molly opened her mouth to respond angrily, but Harry put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. She sighed and sat down at her seat, and he walked over to his seat also, sitting down.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said, hoping to earn back some respect in the eyes of the teacher. “I just wanted to check in with my sister, that’s all.”

“Off to a great start of the school year, I see, Mr. Potter,” the teacher sneered.

“Sir, my name is Harry Carpenter-Potter. The Carpenters are who raised me, and I proudly take on their name,” snapped Harry, fed up with the patronizing he was receiving.

The Professor clearly didn’t like that, and he strode forward angrily, leaning down close enough that his sharp chemical smells burned Harry’s nose. “What, Mr. Potter, made you think I give a damn? Ten points from Gryffindor for insubordination,” he said quietly with a smirk.

“Hey! Don’t talk to my brother like that!” Molly shouted, standing up. “If you're gonna take points away from him for speaking during class time, well I was too! Are you gonna take points away from your own house?”

Snape twirled around angrily, and then smiled and raised an eyebrow at her coldly. “You make an excellent argument, Ms. Carpenter. Ten points from Slytherin for annoying me as well.”

She looked at him, shocked, as hisses rang from the rest of the assembled Slytherins. Without saying anything, she slowly sat back down in her seat. Harry was horrified. In less than five minutes in class, he had been berated by the teacher and he and his sister had both gotten points taken away from their houses for simply catching up after not seeing each other all day. What kind of teacher was this? He thought to himself angrily, silently fuming inside.

Snaps strode to the front of the room, and looked down at all of his students. “Welcome to Potions class. As I have sadly already had to demonstrate, there will be no shenanigans in my class. No slacking off, no holding side conversations while I teach. In Potions class, I expect absolute obedience and if you disobey a direct order you will be getting detention. In my class, there will be no silly wand waving or magical nonsense words you must memorize. The art of potions is true magic and science, merged together in one perfect union. In this class, I will teach you to brew death, to catch hope in a bottle, to make happiness or grief drip into a cup. You will learn many wonderful and powerful things in my class. If you pay attention and are dutiful in your studies. Ms. Carpenter!” he said sharply, from where she had been staring down at her desk, obviously still angry. She jerked her head up when he called her though, and glared at him.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked in a tone so respectful that Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing. Molly was never that respectful unless she was truly pissed off.

“Tell me, since clearly you know better than me, what is the name for the potion that is commonly known as liquid luck?” he asked dismissively.

“Felix Felicis, sir!”

He pressed his lips together. “If you wanted to make an electricity conducting potion, what bird would you need for it?”

She smiled proudly. “While some people say that you could use the feather of a Mundukul, the actual and far more reliable answer is the Impundulu, which can be found in the plains of Africa.”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up, though he quickly regained control of his expression immediately, putting on an air of boredom. “An easy question. If you wanted to make the strongest memory potion possible, what special ingredient could you use that has been lost to time?”

Molly paused for a moment, and Snape smiled in triumph. He had reveled in his victory too soon however. Molly looked up and grinned lopsidedly. “Oh, you almost got me. The water from the pool of Mnemosyne, the Greek Titaness of Memory. For the more common ingredient you could use the cry of a Glawackus cat which can steal memories, but if you capture it right, it can reinforce your own.” She sat back happily, obviously quite pleased with herself.

Snape simply nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Well, I’m glad to see that at least an American can answer the basic questions one might find on a quiz.” He said with a sniff, and turned away. For the rest of the class, he gave them an extensive tour of the classroom and where to find most ingredients and how to properly dispose of the chemicals. He also showed where the safety equipment was, in a tone implying that he expected they would not remember anyway. 

“But what if we need to make a Dark Artifacts purifier and we accidentally mishandle the Basilisk venom? You didn’t mention any Phoenix tear ingredients in the safety section, Professor!” Molly said with a raised hand.

“Well, then I’m afraid you’re doomed. I would have expected my students not to be stupid enough to mishandle the most dangerous venom known to wizards, but I suppose that I was overestimating you. Also, there will be a one page essay due next class on all the safety precautions that we just went over in class and how they can potentially save your life, if you’re smart enough to actually enact them.”

There were groans from Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, but he simply swished his robe and retreated to his desk, the bell ringing seconds later. People rushed to their desk and grabbed their stuff, happy to be free of school, and this cruel Professor who seems to enjoy tormenting them.

“Please, don’t all rush at once to leave. It would hurt my feelings,” Snape said in a bored tone as he reclined in his chair, watching everyone, even his own house in a hurry to leave the classroom.

Harry shook his head and muttered to himself as he left the room. “Who, in God’s good name, cleared that man to get a teaching license?”

Ron, who had walked up beside him, looked at him confused. “What the hell is a teaching license?”

* * *

Harry walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom the next day, excited for his next class and the weekend that he would soon be able to enjoy. He had greatly enjoyed the first one, in spite of the disturbing part where the teacher had used the death curse right in front of his eyes. Seeing the green bolt of light shoot from her wand had brought back an uncomfortable feeling of panic and pain with it. He had done his best to shrug it off, however, to not much success. When he entered and took his seat, the cabinet was once again in the center of the room.

“Hello, class. I’m glad to see your punctuality is improving,” DuPont said, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her face flushed with slight excitement. She had evidently been waiting for them. “Now, as I mentioned last class, we will be using our resident boggart to train you on dangerous magical creatures. But before we can fight the demonic creatures that inhabit the real world, we must first conquer the demons that exist within ourselves. So if you please, come and line up behind this line I have put on the floor for you all.”

Dutifully, and remembering the order from last class, Harry and the other students all lined up right behind the line with no chit-chatting or messing around with each other as they did so.

Harry watched as Lavender Brown was called up first, and Harry watched as she strode up nervously, anticipation heavy on the air. The teacher opened the doors to the wardrobe. For a second, nothing happened, but then a black floating shadow that Harry couldn't quite make out what it was, emerged from the wardrobe and hovered in the air for a second, before transforming into a love potion in front of her. It began to whisper some words that, once again Harry could not make out because he was too far away, but they seemed to have an effect on Lavender and she clutched at her ears, shaking her head and whispering vehemently to herself.

“Remember the spell! It is just a Boggart, it can’t hurt you!” shouted the teacher over the whispering, and Lavender raised her wand, dropping her hands from her ears. She pointed the tip right at the sparkling bottle of pink love potion and shouted, “Riddikulus!”.

Instantly the potion turned into a small pile of glass and liquid that formed itself into a lopsided smiley face. The class laughed and Lavender made her way back to her desk, her face considerably paler. With a flick of the teacher’s wand, the potion and glass disappeared as the thing was flung back into the cabinet, the doors swinging closed.

“Very good, Ms. Brown. It’s not easy being the first one who has to go up.” She said sympathetically, and then turned back to her list. “Who’s next? Ah yes, Millicent. You are up next.”

A tall girl from the Slytherin side strode forward. She had a strong jaw and a brutish face, and she showed no fear as she walked up. When the cabinet doors opened once more, the form that buzzed out this time was a large, nasty looking wasp. Without any hesitation, Millicent raised her wand and pointed it up at where the bug was hovering. “Riddikulus!” She said with a firm tone, and the wasp lost its wings suddenly, dropping to the ground with a thunk before once again retreating back into the safety of its home.

“Why is a wasp your biggest fear when clearly you are not that afraid of it, Millicent?” The Professor asked as Millicent began to retreat back to her own seat.

“Deathly allergic to it, Professor. Not afraid no more after one time I was stung, my parents rushed me to a Muggle Hospital. They gave me an Epi-pen that I carry around all the time now, so I don’t have to worry about dying from them anymore. Not afraid of anything else really,” she spoke haltingly, clearly awkward speaking in front of so many.

“Ah, I see.” The teacher said with a nod, motioning for her to go back to her seat, which she gratefully shambled to and sat down. “Molly Carpenter! It is your turn!”

Harry watched with interest as she walked up to the front of the cabinet. He was very curious what shape the boggart would take, seeing as she never talked about her fears much to him, and as far as he knew, anyone else either. The door once again popped open, and the shape that came out made Harry have to stifle a laugh. It was Molly, older, but she was dressed in their mother's garments with her signature wooden spoon that had brought terror on them all in her hand.

“This is your future, you are destined to be me.” Their moms voice came out of older Molly’s lips.

Moly shrieked and pointed her wand at herself. “I will not become you! I’m going to become someone completely different! Riddikulus!”

Older Molly suddenly got a bow in her hair and a motorcycle jacket, two things that clashed greatly with the mother persona. Harry couldn’t keep in his laugh anymore and bent double, holding his knees to keep from falling over as he laughed and laughed. 

Molly, walking by, swatted him on the back of the head, annoyed. “Oh shut up Harry. I bet your biggest fear will be something equally stupid.”

This caused him to sober up slightly, enough so he could catch his breath. When he straightened up slowly, he saw that the entire class was staring at him amused, and he flushed slightly in embarrassment.

“Are you quite composed enough to continue now, Mr. Carpenter?” Professor DuPont asked with a raised eyebrow coldly.

“Y-yes. Sorry about that Professor.” He said with even more embarrassment, and the Professor just waved him forward. He strode forward. Every foot step was heavy and sounded like they echoed in his ears like the rolling of the bell that announced his death coming closer and closer. He knew he was just being dramatic, but it was also the fact that he wasn’t sure what would come out of the cabinet that made it worse for him. He had never been one for self-reflection so he hasn’t put much thought into what it might be. But now, as he walked the few feet to the cabinet that felt like a mile, he desperately wished that he had. Suddenly, he realized after just a few seconds of running the possibilities in his head, he knew what would come out of the closet. Clowns. Ever since Mom and Dad had taken him to a circus at six years old, he had hated clowns. They were creepy and patronizing and evil looking, with their make-up and grins.

He took a deep breath and muttered to himself, pointing his wand in front of him. “Clowns. It's just clowns, Harry. You can deal with clowns.” He then turned his head and spoke louder to the teacher. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She nodded and flicked her wand. The old, battered door slowly creaked open, inch by inch, the hinges squealing. The first thing that happened was a howling wind echoed from the cabinet, and the one open window in the classroom closed with a slam. The mysterious wind also blew out some of the candles in the room, putting the corners in shadows. Some of those shadows seemed to grow longer, stretching unnaturally far, all of this happening as the door continued to open. And from the door, seeping across the floor, was darkness, more black and deep than mere shadow, more dangerous, if such a thing was possible. From the darkness between the crack in the door, loud, deep laughter came from it, echoing strangely in the room, amplifying and building on itself. Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach, realizing that this wasn't what he had been expecting. 

Finally, the doors opened all the way, and a man stepped daintily down to the ground in his impeccable brown loafers. Harry was confused when he looked at him, however. This was not some sort of demonic clown like he was expecting. This was a middle aged man, in a gray suit and short hair that was black with silver peppered in, which somehow made him look more elegant, more distinguished, than old. His fingernails were perfectly manicured, and his shadow stretched tall and dark behind him, even though there was no source of light that should have made it so long. But what drew Harry’s attention immediately were the eyes. Those terrible eyes. They were pitch black, blacker than a starless night, blacker than anything Harry had ever experienced before. They weren't just the color black, they were an absence of all light, an absence of…anything recognizable. And they were old. They spoke of ancient secrets, of primordial things that had long passed out of human understanding being held behind that gaze. Harry had always heard that the eyes were the window into a soul, but it seemed to work the opposite way with this man. He felt like the man glimpsed into his very soul, his very core of being, and catalogued and filed all he found away immediately, while Harry could see nothing, nothing behind those eyes, nothing at all. 

The man stretched his arm to the left, twisting to pop his back, breaking the trance. “Ah,” the man said in a deep voice, smooth yet still sending shivers down Harry’s spine, the voice like running a hand down a fish's body. Smooth, yes. But if he was to run his hand the other way, it would turn his hand into shredded flesh. But as the man stretched, the immaculate suit shifted just slightly, wrinkling so Harry could see more clearly what lay underneath the three piece button-up. What he had assumed was a tie was actually a rope of some sort, all rotted and gray with age and time–a noose. It lay so perfectly under the collar and then right down under the suit jacket that it looked just like a tie. But why would anyone wear a noose around their…

Harry’s eyes widened, and he took a half-step backwards. “O-oh God.” He whispered in a strained, horrified voice.

Nicodemus Archelone took a step forward, a large grin showing off all his teeth spreading across his face. “Not…exactly, young Mr. Carpenter.”

Nicodemus Archleone. The very name brought a quake of horror to Harry. The Knight Butcher. The single most dangerous man to ever walk this earth from time untold. He was so ancient that he had lived longer than any other previous Denarian host. He was the bane of a Knight’s existence, having killed more than every other Denarian combined. Andruiel wasn't the most powerful Denarian, but what made Nicodemus so potent was that Andruiel had found the perfect host, the binding of host and Fallen Angel so perfect, so in tandem with each other, so fused, that they rose through the ranks to become the leader of the Fallen and Lucifer’s right hand man. He was Hell’s representative on Earth, bringing death and chaos as he saw fit, slaughtering innocents with a wave of his hand.

As if reading his thoughts, Nicodemus looked at his hand and examined it as if bored. “Do you know how I got these rings, my boy?” When Harry didn’t answer, he held up his hand to show Harry that on each hand he had several rings, some fingers even having two or three each. “These rings are a trophy from the Knights I’ve killed. I used to just keep a mental tally, but I killed so many I began to lose count.” He grinned that horrible grin once again. “So I began taking the crosses they wore around their neck off and melting them into rings. Each ring represents about ten crosses melted together. As if a simple piece of jewelry would save them. Much more manageable way to remember. And here?” He held up his index finger on his right hand. “Why, this spot I’m saving alone for your dear old Daddy.”

Hearing that, Harry snapped somewhat out of his trance, and he raised his wand with a shaking arm, pointing it at the man in front of him. “R-Riddikulus!” He said through a hoarse throat, a slight quaver in his voice. The man in front of him…did nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

Nicodemus tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh my, my. Did the teacher tell you I was a Boggart? A vapid little creature that if you said the right word I would just…poof? Vanish into thin air? A little daydream to be vanquished?” He raised his arms out wide, and the shadows in the room seemed to grow, stretching like fingers towards him, whispering horrible things. “You should know, my boy, I’m so much more than that.” From his forehead, two vertical slits appeared. The slits began to widen and it turned into purple eyes that gleamed with otherworldly light, and all four trained on him, such evil in their gaze that with a heavy thud Harry dropped to his knees on the cold ground. Distantly, as if from the other end of a long tunnel, he could hear his classmates screaming and his teacher shouting something to him, but he couldn’t make out what it was, all he could make out was Nicodemus. He watched as Nicodemus' shadow twisted and turned in on itself, until it seemed to grow huge, bird-like wings, jagged and torn at the edges. With a steady thumping Nicodemus raised himself in the air, looking down at Harry.

“I must thank you, my boy! I had a Vanishing cabinet in my home for a long time, one that connected to this great school. But I could never use it until someone I had a connection with opened the other end! So I am sincerely grateful for your help in getting me here. All these magical artifacts and young, talented children. So much…” he grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Potential.”

Still those wings thumped, thumping and thumping as he stayed steadily in place, digging into his ears and paralyzing his brain. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The teacher stepped forward, blocking his line of view from Nicodemus, although Harry was far too numb to care anymore. “This has gone on quite long enough,” he heard her exclaim angrily in the distance, and she raised her wand and said firmly, “Riddikulus!” Instantly the spell was broken, and Nicodemus fell to the ground once more, turning into a scared little boy. But still with those accursed rings on his hand, those rings of his Dad’s predecessors. But then he was gone completely, when the teacher slammed him back into the cabinet and the doors closed shut with a bang.

As the spell over him broke, Harry turned his head and could see the tears and the fear from the other students as the candles once again rekindled and light flooded the room.

“What the hell was that!?” shouted Draco from where he was cowering behind a desk, his two thugs standing in front of it with their wands out, looking scared but grimly determined.

“What kind of bloody twisted nightmares do you have?!” said Ron from where he was crouched on the ground, comforting Hermione, who was on the ground, face buried in her hands and tears dripping from between her fingers onto the ground, seeping between the cracks to disappear wherever the liquid went.

“The shadows…” Grey whispered in a brown voice, his eyes hollow. “They spoke to me. They said such horrible things…”

Harry was slowly trying to get up, taking deep breaths to try and get some air in his lungs. Molly came up beside him and leaned down, hooking an arm under his and hauling him up to his feet. With her help, he lurched to one of the few chairs that weren’t overturned and sat down heavily, with her sitting beside him.

Even the teacher’s face was pale, her eyes barely hiding her fear. “I…believe that will be all for today, class.” She said, running her hand through her frazzled hair. Across the classroom, people were helping each other up, wiping tears from their faces and uprighting the desks and chairs, the normal animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor forgotten as they comforted each other.

None of them responded to the proclamation of class being canceled early with the normal cheers that might have greeted it in different circumstances. Instead, they just sat as far away from Harry as possible, with only Molly sticking by him. Even Ron and Hermione sent him fearful glances, and Harry sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling tiredly, closing his eyes, taking comfort in the presence of Molly by his side.

* * *

Harry walked outside into yet another class of joint Slytherin and Gryffindor students. It had been a week since the incident with the Boggart had occurred, and the animosity and fear had mostly dispersed, though an undercurrent of tenseness still remained, quiet but there. Harry could see it in the way Grey winced when he saw him, the way that Dean took a step to the left when he walked by, and the way that Malfoy’s goons tightened around him, putting their bodies in between him and Draco. Monday’s class had gone smoothly without a hitch, the other Boggarts being normal, easily vanquished fears, which everyone, most of all him, was relieved for.

Now it was Wednesday, and he had his first Flying lesson. He didn’t really understand why it was so essential for them to learn how to fly on, to be frank, unreliable looking objects. But he had just figured it was a safety instruction class.

A thin woman with short cropped silver hair stood in the middle of the field, a whistle dangling around her neck and a broomstick in her hand. “Class, I want you to line up on either side of the brooms that are lying on the ground. One kid, one broom. Got it?”

The students did so, jostling each other for what they thought was the best broom, laughing and joking as they did so.

“My name,” said the teacher, striding forward to check that everyone was indeed standing in front of a single broom, “is Madame Hooch. I have taught flying at Hogwarts for over twenty five years and not a single student has ever been grievously injured under my care. I will not allow your foolishness to change that this year either. So when I say to line up, I do not mind if you fool around with each other. But once I actually start teaching and, Merlin forbid, once you’re in the air, I expect absolute obedience to my instructions.” Once the class nodded, she smiled slightly. “Thank you. Now for the first lesson, we will not be riding the brooms just yet. I want you to all outstretch your hands over the broom.” Harry did as she instructed, and she walked once again down the length of the double line, swatting at hands that were stretching over the wrong brooms or shoving each other.

After a minute, she was satisfied and continued on with her instructions. “Very well. Now, I want you to say the word “Up” to your broom. Yes, yes, I know it seems silly. But it is the command that is ingrained into the woodwork and it will allow you to summon the broom into your hand. It should take you a few tries”

Harry reached out a hand slowly over the wooden broomstick, and whispered the word, “Up.” To no effect, feeling quite ridiculous. What he did feel, however, was a strange tingling sensation in his fingertips. He repeated the command again, louder and more forcefully.

Instantly, Harry’s hand wrapped around the broom as it flew up into his hand, sending a tingling sensation through his arm as it slapped into his palm with such force. The way his fingers curled around it and his fingertips rested in the grooves that had been worn into it by so many hands if other former students made it feel like it was natural, that it was right. The wood was smooth and warm in his palm, and he loved it.

It felt familiar, somehow, like an old friend giving him a hug, or the smell of his Mom’s cookies just out of the oven, warm and crumbling in the inside of his mouth. He suddenly felt right, the images of the purple eyes that had plagued his thoughts vanishing.

“Very good, Carpenters!” Madame Hooch said approvingly, nodding. He looked around, noticing they were one of the few who had managed to get their brooms up on the first try. He smiled at Molly, who grinned excitedly back. 

But Neville had put too much force into his command, because to Harry’s bemused eyes, he watched as Neville called to his broom and the broom flew from the ground, past his outstretched hand, and smacked into his face with a vicious crack. Neville cried out and clutched at his nose, falling backwards into the ground, blood pouring out from between his fingers.

Madame Hooch rushed over, cursing under her breath. “Not even fifteen minutes into our bloody class.” Harry heard her say as she rushed by, crouching over Neville, who was moaning on the ground. She tugged at his hands to assess the damage. “Move your hands, boy! Let me get a look at it, for Merlin’s sake.” Neville moved his hands just enough that Madame Hooch could see the damage, and she hissed softly.

“Ooh, you managed to do a number on that poor nose of yours alright boy.” She sighed and helped him up, putting an arm around her shoulders to guide him, the blood impeding his vision. She turned towards the rest of the class, and stared sternly at them. “I will be taking Neville to Madame Pomfrey. None of you touch the brooms while I am gone, or there will be severe consequences.” She glared at all of them to emphasize her point, and then she hurried Neville back into the building.

The moment that she disappeared around the doorway, the ranks broke, and people began to form their little friend groups. Draco and his cronies were loudly laughing, making fun of Neville. “Stupid Longbottom, can’t even hold a broom properly! Is there anything a Longbottom can’t mess up?” Draco then caught sight of something that shifted his attention, and as Harry watched he strode over to the bloody grass and leaned over, and when he straightened back up he had a glass ball in his hand, about the size of a marble. It looked exactly like the one Harry had seen on Lord Gringotts desk a few months ago.

“Why, look at this, boys! Little Neville needs a Remembrall! Can’t even keep track of things himself can he? Let’s see how long it takes him to remember the ball itself!” Cruel laughter drifted out from the group as Draco made a dramatic showing of slipping it in his pocket. Harry began to move towards it, annoyed they were stealing Neville’s stuff.

But Molly got there first, her hands tightened into fists. “Give it back right now, Draco. That’s not nice and you know it.”

Draco sneered at her. “Oh yeah? And what’s a Mudblood going to do about it?” Harry didn’t know what that word meant exactly, but he did know that he said it like a slur, and even some of the Slytherin possie looked shocked at the use of the word. Harry rushed over but Molly, incensed, made a grab for it. She missed, however, as the one called Crabbe got in the way, intercepting the wild grab with his body.

Draco laughed and said, “Fine! You want this stupid thing so badly? Come and get it!” He dangled it in front of her, and then, of all the stupid things he could have done, he grabbed a broom from the ground and straddled it, launching into the air.

Before Harry even quite knew what he was doing, his body was moving on its own accord. He outstretched his hand, shouted “Up!” To the nearest broom and it flew into his palm. He caught it and as if moving on instinct he swung one leg over the broom, slit it between his legs and launched into the air with a push of his legs and a firm grip on the balloon.

Once he was in the air, however, he looked around, finally realizing what he had done. “What the heck am I doing? I’m in the air!” Harry knew he should have been scared. He had always hated airplanes. But somehow, in this he felt more safe, more at home. The wind was in his hair and the sun was beating down on him, and it felt so right. It felt like this was where he was meant to be, what he had been missing.

Refocusing himself, he looked at Draco, who was hovering in his own broom a few feet in front of him. “Give it back, Draco Malfoy. There’s no thugs up here to protect you this time!” Said thugs were desperately trying to get their own brooms to work, with no success.

Draco tried to look unconcerned, but Harry could see the nervousness in his posture. “If you want it so bad, you freak, go and get it yourself!” And to Harry’s horror, he took the ball from his hand and chucked it far in the air away from the both of them. Draco then immediately dove back down towards the safety of the ground and his goons.

Harry didn’t register this, however, as he was watching the ball arc in the air. Once again, as if on instinct, Harry leaned forward on his broom, tightening his legs around the broom and zipped forward. Time seemed to slow as the sunlight twinkled on the little glass ball, as it began its descent to shatter on the ground. Harry reached out a hand desperately, clinging to the broom with the other, but it fell just out of reach, past his fingers. Harry leaned more to the left, and the broom turned upside down, so Harry was clutching for dear life in the broom as he once again reached out his hand and managed to just grasp the ball as it hurtled past. He quickly uprighted himself and slowly aimed the broom at the ground, and slowly guided it to a landing.

Once he touched ground, Harry was met with cheers from the classmates, even some of the Slytherin’s looking impressed with him. He felt a warm glow, basking in their appreciation. 

The warm feeling didn’t last long, however, as Harry heard a voice call out his name. “Harry James Carpenter-Potter!” Turning his head, he saw Professor McGonagall marching towards him, her brow furrowed and her mouth an angry line.

“What part of do not touch the brooms from Madame Hooch did you not understand?” She asked.

“But Professor-“ 

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “That was a rhetorical question, Carpenter. Come with me. Now.”

Sighing, he spread his hands to Molly in a What can you do? expression and silently followed the irate teacher.

She led him through the hallways, twisting fans turning. Harry was worried that she was leading him to the Headmaster to get him in serious trouble, but to his confusion he was brought outside the Foundations classroom that he had been in earlier that week. Turning towards him, she said, “You stay right there, Carpenter, and if I hear so much as a peep from you so help me…” she let the threat hang in the air, much more effective than if she had finished it, Harry thought nervously. He nodded in a quick, jerking fashion and she turned and stepped into the classroom.

“Mr. Quirrell, I hate to interrupt your Muggle Studies class, but may I borrow young Mr. Wood for a moment of his time?” 

The teacher looked up and nodded at her, looking bored. That is, until he caught sight of Harry, standing very confused in the doorway. Instantly his gaze sharpened and he peered at him with the same creepy gaze that Harry had the displeasure of experiencing during his earlier classes with him. The teacher seemed to have a fascination with him. No, not a fascination. That made it sound like something normal. Perhaps fixation would be the more accurate word. The entire class, that gaze had bore down on him like a cat looking at the hamster that ran on its little wheel above him. A tasty morsel for the cat, but just out of reach, making the cat watch it all the more, want it and crave it all the more. Harry felt like the hamster running on the wheel, always moving but never out of the hungry gaze of the cat. And now those eyes were trained on him once more.

“Why yes, of course. Anything for young Mr. Carpenter here. After all, we don’t want him siccing anymore flying demons with purple eyes on us, now do we?” said the teacher with a touch of irony in his voice, disguised as humor.

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing. So even the teachers have heard about the incident? he thought silently to himself as an older boy that Harry could only assume was Mr. Wood rose and walked over to the Professor standing in the doorway. He was a Gryffindor boy, judging by his robes. As he got closer, Harry realized that he knew him, somewhat. He had seen him sitting at their table, but far away from the First-Years, sitting with all the older boys and girls like Ron’s older brother Percy. Harry just hadn’t known his name, because he never bothered to learn the names of all the older ones.

“Yes, Professor?” Wood asked, looking as confused as Harry felt, as she gestured for him to step out and she closed the door behind him.

“Mr. Wood. I would like you to meet young Mr. Carpenter. Mr. Carpenter, meet Oliver Wood. Mr. Wood is the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team here at Hogwarts.” Professor McGonagall made the introductions and Harry shook Oliver’s hand out of politeness and instinct.

“That’s great, Professor, but why am I here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Harry asked, confusion building, replacing the ebbing dread of a dreadful punishment.

“Because even if you are not supposed to be in the air, the grace and energy you had while breaking the rules was evident for all to see. You have talent, raw talent, Harry. Wood, I want you to put him on the team as the new Seeker for this year.” Professor McGonagall looked expectantly at Wood, her face having raised a few deco belts with passion as she described what Harry had done to catch the ball to Wood, who’s eyes slowly widened.

“And this is the first time you’ve ever been on a broom?” exclaimed Wood, turning towards him with a wide, awestruck expression.

“Yes, unless you count sweeping the floors at home.” Harry said, nervous under the gaze of two people much older than him staring with such amazement and passion.

Wood ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up on all ends. “Is this even allowed? He’s just a first year.” He said to McGonagall.

“Well, it’s certainly not the norm, no. But I think I can convince the Headmaster to do it.” She replied.

“I will run him through some training after school today. If he is as good as you say, if you can get the Headmaster to agree I will see what we can do.”

“Does that mean I’m not in trouble?” Asked Harry hopefully, excited for the prospect of being able to be on a broom once again later today, this time without any rule breaking to do so.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. “Oh, nice try, Mr. Carpenter. I expect you in my office first thing during lunch time to serve your detention. Along with Mr. Malfoy. There are some cabinets in my room that hasn’t seen cleaning in a long time. I’m sure your small arms will be able to reach all the cracks and crevices. I expect a very thorough job.”

Harry sighed, images of a relaxing afternoon spent out by the lake like today vanishing from his head.