Classes
Harry awoke in his bed probably about an hour or so earlier than he had to. He was still exhausted. The dorm would've been silent if it wasn’t for the snoring of pretty much every boy in the room with him. He stood from his bed and remembered that he never changed from his robes after the entrance ceremony. He pulled his wand out of his robe’s pocket and once again found himself marveling at the pretty, white color of his wand. It was in such stark contrast to the color he imagined when he thought of his own magical core that he was truly shocked the wand chose him so long ago.
“Accio,” he murmured.
His house’s robes flew toward him at his bidding, and he quickly changed behind the curtains of his bed once he flung them shut like he should have the night before. He walked out moments later with the red color scheme and Gryffindor seal displayed for all to see. The only part of his wardrobe currently on his body of his own will was the singular fingerless glove covering his left hand like it always did and always would. It was truly a shame that Gryffindor's colors couldn’t have been green. The red clashed with his eyes in a way that he didn’t find appealing in the slightest. It made him feel like some kind of suped-up Christmas ornament. Alone, he walked out of his room, down the stairs, out of his common room, and down to the Great Hall.
The Hall was almost completely empty, but Harry smiled lightly when he saw the man he was looking for at the table. His mentor always got up early. It was one of the things that ended up drawing Harry to the man who eventually became a respected male figure in his life. Harry was technically still a student, but there were no students in the hall at the moment, and he was at ease around the professors. It would have been a horrid existence for him if he hadn’t learned to treat them more casually than he should in their current professional relationship.
Harry sauntered up to the teacher’s table. Snape noticed his presence immediately and regarded the boy with an almost challenging look. Harry walked behind the table and sat right beside the professor, in the seat of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It wasn’t like the fraud was going to be here for another half hour anyway.
“Your arrogance truly knows no bounds, does it, Potter?”
Harry shot him a cocky smirk. The man was unrelentingly sarcastic, harsh, and scathing, but it was through matching him word for word that his respect was earned.
“Arrogant? For taking Lockheart’s position next to you? Please! If I dueled that piece of work for his seat, the man would never be able to show his face in public again.”
His smile turned genuine when Snape’s lips turned up just a little bit at his comment. Harry yawned as he stretched against the tall, wooden chair he sat in.
“Tired?” Snape asked with a critical look at the boy’s condition.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I always am around this time. I’ll be better tomorrow or the day after.”
Snape nodded at the boy’s answer. It was to be expected. “Nevertheless, if you can’t handle your classes, make sure you go to Madam Pomfrey. It wouldn’t do for the students to catch onto your condition.”
Harry chuckled at the man’s 24/7 paranoia. “Severus, if you aren’t careful with your favoritism, the students in your house are going to feel left out.”
The potions master made a face. “If you were in Slytherin, this wouldn’t be a problem. Your red robes might make me vomit.”
Despite Harry’s obvious hatred for the house system, Severus was almost single-mindedly obsessed with it. It was one of the many things they vehemently disagreed about. “I think you’re just embarrassed that you actually like a Gryffindor.”
Severus scoffed at the boy. “Any self-respecting wizard would be.”
The two sat in companionable silence for about twenty minutes before Harry supposed that it was time for him to leave. He wouldn’t want any of the other staff to find him in Lockheart’s seat. The defense professor, he couldn’t care less about; Minerva McGonagall, however, earned every cent of his wariness. She had all of the strictness that Snape did, but she didn’t have the same penchant for allowing her favorites to break the rules on occasion if it was done with class. He would be in detention for the rest of the year, and that was the least of the troubles that would come his way, courtesy of his irate surrogate grandmother.
Speaking of which, Professor McGonagall approached him the moment she walked into the Great Hall and handed him a slip of paper with his schedule. He apparently had much more free time than he expected. It honestly pissed him off. He could be doing so much more.
He was "thrilled" that he had DADA today after lunch. At least he got transfiguration and a double class of charms. History of Magic might as well be a free period, so he paid it no attention.
More students began to stumble in one after the other to receive their schedules from the head of their house. Harry was glad that he chose to sit at the very end of the table, and he almost sighed in relief when a few Gryffindors probably somewhere in their sixth or seventh year claimed the seats directly around him. It was not hard to ignore the scowl shot at him by Ron when the boy finally entered the hall or the way that the redhead girl called Ginny kept her eyes straight ahead of her and refused to even acknowledge him as she walked to the complete opposite side of the table with as much speed as she could muster. His departure last night must've discouraged further contact between him and the other students around his age. He was hard-pressed to be disappointed. He wouldn’t have to deal with the immaturity of the average Gryffindor underclassman if they avoided him like the plague.
Harry ate his breakfast silently, got up from the table early, and walked to transfiguration. It was a good idea in his head, but he forgot that he couldn’t actually get into Minerva’s classroom until she got there herself. He was used to spending summers here when locked doors didn’t exist. Instead of sitting in front of the door like an idiot until his class started, he decided to wander around the halls close to the transfiguration classroom.
It was easy for him to occupy himself by meandering around the castle. It was second nature at this point. Most of the students were still having breakfast, so it was just as vacant as it normally was when he used to spend time there. He turned right down another corridor before he saw two kids with green ties looking to be on the verge of having their own individual panic attacks. Harry sighed to himself. Severus was going to owe him for this. It wasn’t his job to keep tabs on the firsties, no matter how much Albus wished it was.
“Hey,” he said just a bit softer than he normally would’ve. “Are you lost?”
The two Slytherins looked even more panicked than they were before. It didn’t matter that they were less than knowledgeable first-years. Everyone knew that Gryffindors didn’t help Slytherins. Meeting an older one alone in the corridors was nothing less than inviting a bad time. It was fortunate for them that they were meeting him instead of someone else.
“Yes,” the one on the right answered him hesitantly.
“What class are you going to?”
The two Slytherins exchanged glances as if privately debating whether or not to tell the student supposedly offering help. “Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“Ah,” Harry said with a snap of his fingers. “You're a floor lower than you need to be. Go to the nearest staircase and move a floor up.”
Harry leaned in conspiratorially and whispered to the two first-years, “Just between us, portraits will give you directions if you ask. They literally have nothing better to do.”
The two Slytherins smiled at each other as if they had just learned some sort of significant bit of information. To be fair, though, they kind of did. It wasn’t as if none of the other students knew that paintings could give directions, but a vast majority of them simply never thought to utilize the rather useful pieces of magical art. Harry watched the two kids walk away in high spirits, and his own ears twitched when he heard the subtle, graceful steps of Minerva McGonagall approaching her classroom around the corner that he had just come from.
It was hard for him to not identify people based on the way their steps sounded, and that was doubly so for someone with a unique stride like McGonagall. Partially due to her animagus form, she had a near inhuman elegance to her steps that made it sound almost as if pieces of foam were hitting the ground instead of shoes. It was so distinct that he would have to be an idiot to mistake it for someone else. He smiled to himself as he turned to go back to the classroom. At least he didn’t have to wander around anymore. She must've realized where he'd gone and left early from breakfast just to keep him company. Minerva was like that. She was an unusually caring woman for one so strict and serious.
Walking into the now unlocked door, he lifted his eyebrow at the cat sitting on top of his professor's desk. “Please, Minerva, you know how your form affects me.”
The cat tilted her head cheekily at him before leaping from the desk and onto his shoulder where she sat for a moment. Harry couldn't stop the growl seeping from his lips. He wasn't angry or worried for her safety, but felines naturally grated on his nerves, especially right after his illness took its course. Hopping down to the floor behind him, the cat morphed painlessly back into the old transfiguration teacher he knew so well.
“Be that as it may,” she said with a bit of a smirk. “It's good to remind the students of the kinds of things transfiguration can give them.”
It was now Harry’s turn to smirk though. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so necessary if we actually did interesting things in this class.”
“I can hardly be expected to teach second years the ‘interesting’ aspects of transfiguration when they do not understand the basics,” she said, bristling good-naturedly at his insult.
Harry sat on the long wooden table that would act as the desk for a pair of partnered students once class began. “I don’t seem to have such a problem.”
“Well, luckily for everyone else, you are not the standard that students are being judged by.”
Anyone could tell how little he wanted to be in the class he was about to attend by the scowl on his face. “Maybe we would have more competent wizards and witches if they were.”
Minerva was far from unsympathetic toward the boy. It was almost more frustrating to her than it was to him that such a talented individual was forced to hang back for the sake of safety and strategic advantage, but she couldn’t just let such arrogant statements pass her by.
“Harry, there would be about 70 wizards and witches in the world you just described. It's amazing that you grasp magic so brilliantly, but that doesn't mean everyone else should be expected to match your abilities.”
Harry scoffed, “That doesn’t mean I should be forced to lower myself to their level though.”
“You're correct, Harry, but you also know that Albus has good reasons for forcing you to attend, and he also has good reasons for putting you in the year he did.”
She was right; he did, and Harry hated it with his entire being. With a dramatic humph that had Minerva chuckling to herself, Harry leaned back and waited on top of the table while students began to filter into the classroom. He paid no attention to any of the people walking into the room even as they began pointing out Minerva’s cat form that they were introduced to in their first year, but his apathy was destroyed by two students who almost walked in late.
“Oh, honestly, Ronald, do you have to eat so much!? We almost missed class because you had to finish your third helping!”
They were so late, in fact, that Harry noticed the only two seats open were next to him and a kid whom Harry identified as Neville Longbottom from the descriptions of a certain potions professor. He was one of the three who interrupted the professors' scheme to catch Voldemort. The redhead immediately noticed the seats that were open and rushed to sit next to Neville, leaving him with the third child in the philosopher's stone debacle. She sat down in the chair behind the desk that he sat upon while giving him an odd look. It wasn’t until he looked back up to Minerva to find her quirking her eyebrow at him that he realized he was making a scene by sitting on the table.
Moving off of the table and into a chair, he listened to what the lesson was going to be. He was not happy.
“For the first day of the semester, we're going to be reviewing some of the basic transfigurations we learned last year to scrape off the rust. If you cannot perform every transfiguration we do today, then I expect you to practice over today and tomorrow until you can. You will be very lost this year if you cannot keep up with last year’s material.”
Harry almost blew his brain out with a reductor curse when that woman put a matchstick on his desk with an unbearable smirk on her face. He was ready to up the ante to a killing curse when the girl next to him jumped to perform one of the most basic transfigurations in the world like it was actually something to be proud of. She, of course, made a perfect needle on the first try. Harry sat back, shooting dubious glares at Minerva while the rest of the class made their attempts. ATTEMPTS!!! PLURAL!!!
He was losing faith in humanity with every second he watched Ronald Weasley try and fail to make the matchstick change into a needle until he heard a throat clearing to his left.
“Are you going to try it? You weren’t here last year. Don’t you want to see where you stand?”
Harry turned to the girl with a deadpan expression that almost smacked her across the face with how strongly he despised her comment. When he looked back to Minerva, he saw her once again smirking at him. Sighing, he pulled out his wand and almost lost consciousness from how bored it was. His wand loved action and adventure, but it hated normalcy and mundanity. It practically hurt his hand to hold onto it with the intention of casting such an insultingly simple spell. Something deep within him rumbled with an animosity that didn’t surprise him in the slightest. His entire being detested this situation.
“Acus,” he said.
His magical core didn’t respond to his incantation. Spells were powered by his will, his desire to see the spell’s effects. He didn’t have enough desire to do the spell for it to work. His wand and his inner feelings deemed the magic too below them for his willpower to really be into it. Nothing happened when he flicked his wand at the matchstick. He wanted to curse the bushy-haired girl when a self-satisfied smirk worked its way onto her face. She was top of the class, and he couldn’t help but think that she was rather glad to find that there would be no new competition between them. As much as he despised her for her ill-conceived notion of superiority, he loathed even more the smile that Minerva gave him. He'd just realized something that almost forced him to let loose a bout of accidental magic: they knew this was going to happen.
It was no secret among the professors that Harry was a very bold, confident, and eager student. He simply absorbed the magic thrown at him like he was born to perform it, but he was also a student that needed a challenge. He was easily frustrated when he felt as if he were stagnating. Harry yearned to achieve and progress. With his situation and the wand that chose him, these personality traits only grew stronger. They usually worked magnificently for him. In this case, however, it made it very difficult for him to motivate himself enough to perform such boring and useless magic when he felt he should be doing more. Their plan wasn’t just to present him as a normal second year; their plan was to paint him as an inadequate second year. He was going to flop in all of his practical classes.
It was ingenious. All of the free death eaters would think he was a joke! As much as that might work for Albus and the rest of the Hogwarts staff, it made his blood boil.
He was tempted to throw the plan back in Minerva’s face by transfiguring the matchstick into a miniature dagger, but her piercing stare discouraged him. With fury pumping through his body like a hurricane, he continued to try and fail to perform every single first-year spell presented to the class. Minerva looked almost sympathetic at his barely concealed frustration as she handed him even more homework than the worst student in the class, and he stormed out of the room before he had the chance to look at the girl who sat beside him during the day’s lessons.
Wasting no time, he walked all the way to Flitwick’s class and moved through the crowd of fifth-years blocking the hall in front of the door. He paid none of them any mind as he walked into the classroom and plopped himself into a seat in the back of the class before shooting an angry glare at an obviously mirth-filled professor.
“Now, Harry, what's the matter?”
Harry scoffed after checking the door to make sure they still had their privacy. “You knew what would happen, didn’t you?”
The half-goblin’s face lit with understanding the moment he heard the question. “Yes… I did suspect. It's hardly a secret that wizards give power to their spells in proportion to their desire to cast them, and you made it even less of a secret how little you cared for Headmaster Dumbledore’s plan.” The charms professor smiled as Harry’s glare only gained more malice. “Please, Harry, spare me the hatred. I honestly thought that you would've deduced this as a possibility before classes started.”
Harry blushed a bit at the professor’s apparent overestimation of his cleverness. It stung more than a little that he didn't rise to Professor Flitwick's expectations. He rarely fell short when it came to magic. That just made it all the worse for him when he did.
“Yeah, well,” Harry said defensively. “I already had so many reasons to hate his plan that I didn’t think to come up with more.”
Flitwick didn’t look surprised at all. “And that, my boy, is your downfall. It's in your nature to react as soon as a problem presents itself. You must remember to think from every angle before deciding to act when at all possible. If you had taken the time to think about this particular consequence, you may have come up with a way to deal with it besides throwing a temper tantrum after the fact.”
Flitwick was always harsh with his criticisms. He was part-goblin; it was to be expected. Harry had come to respect that about the man though. It was nice to have a professor who was completely unbiased and brutally honest with his opinions.
Properly admonished, Harry softened his gaze and decided to fiddle with his wand while he waited for class to start.
Feeling as though he should accompany his particularly stinging advice with a bit of encouragement, Filius decided to impart his student with something he knew the boy would like. “Just between you and me, now that you're outside of Albus’s direct supervision, perhaps you will be able to spend more time in the restricted section than you've been able to enjoy previously.”
Harry smiled wickedly at his professor while his spirits rose more than they ever had over the past few months. Filius was right; Albus always tried to keep his "innocent" eyes away from less-than-virtuous spells. As a student, he would be able to gain access to the kinds of magic he wanted to learn without the old man constantly interfering with his education. It was this thought that allowed him to make it through an even more aggravating session of double-charms. At Least there were a few first-year spells in this class that were useful enough for him to make them work in such a dull classroom setting.
The noise at lunchtime was almost unbearable. Breakfast was nowhere near this bad. All of the students were just dead enough on the inside to make the first meal of the day a peaceful affair. Lunch, however, was going to make Harry go deaf if he wasn't careful. His hearing was sensitive enough on a normal day. He was either going to have to find a way to muffle the noise, talk to Severus about some kind of solution, or find some other place to gain his sustenance because he refused to sit through this again.
His lunch was only made worse when the know-it-all decided to sit down across from him with the redhead that seemed to detest him so much after their interaction last night. The girl looked at him curiously before she started to put food onto her plate.
"If you don't mind me asking, where were you schooled?"
Harry took a bite of dark red steak before meeting her eyes. "I was taught at home."
It was true, he supposed. That his home was technically the Headmaster's home was not an important consideration at the moment. She looked as if she had been expecting that answer.
"Who taught you?"
Harry knew why she asked, and it raised his internal temperature by at least three degrees. "Masters in their field."
That was true as well. While they were the very same teachers who took the children of Hogwarts under their wing every semester, that didn’t mean they weren’t masters. It was more the fault of the students that they never got to see the full extent of their professors’ skills. The girl did not look as if she believed his answer.
"Well, if you would like any help with your homework, I would be glad to assist you. I know how hard it is to change settings so suddenly."
Harry once again had to resist the urge to defend his unhealthy level of pride, but he held himself back. This time, the girl didn't seem to hold that insufferable sheen of cocky superiority that she did during their first class. The offer seemed to be a genuine attempt to reach out to him, and even if his situation truly burned him to his very core, she seemed to honestly regret the way she'd acted during transfiguration.
He really did have an anger problem. He was self-aware, but he found himself quite helpless before some of his more intense emotions. It was what it was. He learned to accept it early on in his childhood.
“Really? Help?” a girl asked before taking an open seat next to him. He resisted an instinctual groan when he saw her flaming red hair. He thought that he had already rid himself of her presence last night. Did none of them understand how little he cared for their company? They must've been mistaking reluctant kindness for an invitation. “I would've thought he’d be fine. He knew how to power the locks in the train compartments.”
The bushy-haired girl immediately looked at him with suspicion and surprise. “You mean the ward schemes!? We aren’t even taking beginner runes until next year! Where did you learn to do that?”
Harry immediately regretted the help he tried to give the first-years during their train ride. They weren’t meant to go spewing the things he told them or did for them. He shouldn’t have expected so much from them. It was a mistake he wouldn’t be making again. Choosing his words very carefully, he gave the best answer he could.
“The things I learned were just different from the things you did.”
That was certainly an answer that worked. It explained his odd skills while simultaneously explaining his lack of others. It was technically the truth. Just because the stuff he learned was far beyond what Hogwarts taught the general student didn’t mean he wasn’t learning something different.
“It isn’t that hard though," he continued. "The blonde first-year could do it too. You should be more impressed with her.”
“You mean Luna?” the girl next to him asked. “She’s just… Different. I expect odd things from her.”
Harry snorted at the information. “Odd or not, she's good at magic.”
He remained silent on what that meant about him, but something deep within him preened a bit at the knowledge that he'd found a way to defend his own skill, however subtle it may have been. He could see the way his temporary transfiguration partner looked at him. It seemed that she was halfway between thinking of him as a failure and a possible avenue to new information. He decided to leave early again for his next class to avoid the questions and get away from the ear-shattering noise of the Great Hall. None of the kids sitting with him questioned his departure this time. Hopefully, they would all get a hint and leave him the hell alone. He was not here to make friends; he was here because he had to be.
Harry noticed that the DADA tables were set to force each student into a partnership. He let his eyes travel up the stairs at the back of the classroom and to the office door with a picture of Lockhart hanging on it. It was amazing how much that man loved himself. Harry knew a lot about self-confidence, and he would be the last to condemn someone for believing in their own skills. What he could not get behind, however, was completely unfounded arrogance, and Lockhart had it in spades.
He was on the second floor of Albus’s office when Lockhart had his interview. Let it never be said that he was unbiased when it came to the perpetual liar, but even his most esteemed fans would've been appalled by the way he addressed the best wizard of his age. It was almost as if he were trying to goad the old man into a duel. Harry personally wished that Albus had obliterated the man where he stood, but both he and the headmaster understood how few candidates there were for the DADA position. The pompous fool would have to do, even if he was a bastard that absolutely no one liked.
He took a seat in the back of the class while more students entered the classroom. He saw the Granger girl, Ron, and Neville enter eventually, taking a seat in the front right corner. He was pleased to find that they didn’t spare him a second glance. That was, at least, until a certain blond decided to confidently walk up to his desk and take a seat next to him. This was a class they had with Slytherins; he should have expected Malfoy to come to him.
To his surprise, however, he found that the Slytherin’s impromptu seating choice ended up being beneficial to him. Harry saw the way the “terrific trio” looked at him. Harry didn’t think that he’d have a problem with staying away from them anymore. Better to be condemned as a lover of Slytherins than to be accosted by fools one, two, and three every time he walked into a class. He looked over at Malfoy with a blank stare.
“What?” the blond asked. “You told me I was welcome to join you.”
The Malfoy boy was a little different than the rest of the idiots in his year. He was informed, within the loop. His father was a death eater, and he was certain to be much more advanced than the rest of these students. All of the Malfoys and Blacks were intelligent and cunning. The boy’s allegiances were hard to discern, and if he stood true to his last name, they would remain hidden for a long time. Albus seemed to think that Malfoy could be turned, but Severus was adamant that his father would have already latched his talons into his son.
This, of course, left Harry to take the middle road. Merlin knew that he couldn't be any more different than the people who raised him during his earlier years. With that in mind, he decided to carry on a conversation. The Slytherin was far more worth his time than the rest of these morons, and Harry still managed to talk to them for a while.
“You're not the one that's bothering me,” Harry said as he looked back up to the office door with a sigh.
Malfoy followed Harry’s gaze up to the door and chuckled when he saw Lockhart giving the class his best smolder from his position within a very flattering portrait. “He looks like a tool. You have a problem with him?”
Harry didn't hold back his thoughts about how stupid of a question he thought that was, but Malfoy’s amusement only seemed to increase when their eyes met. “You don’t?”
Malfoy shrugged before leaning back in his chair. “Why would I? The man is certainly a fool and a fraud, but lying is a skill too. I’m kind of impressed that he managed to get away with his bullshit for so long.”
Harry actually almost laughed despite himself. Of course, a Malfoy would see it that way. Even a fool was worth something if he had a skill worth exploiting. It was an admirable outlook in a twisted sort of way.
“Yeah,” Harry admitted glumly. “Until you realize that he's about to be teaching us magic for the next hour.”
Malfoy suddenly looked just as bored and disappointed as Harry. Neither of them cared for classes that weren’t worth their time. Harry found it commendable that his current partner made it through the first year of classes without bursting a blood vessel.
“I’m surprised you’re sitting here,” Harry said out of nowhere.
Malfoy gave him an odd look. “Why?”
Harry, always the bold one, decided to go with blatant honesty. “I’m in Gryffindor, and I don’t think I’m going to get along with your father. I would think that being friendly with me would only hurt your position.”
“Are you sure you’re a lion?” Malfoy said, looking a little impressed.
“I’m brave,” Harry answered. “Not stupid.”
All cards on the table, Malfoy took the rare risk of being honest as well. So long as they were being cordial, there was no real reason to lie about his motives. This was very different than when he talked to the average second year. Both of them were mixed in with things far beyond the scope of a schoolchild, and it forced them both to mature at previously unprecedented rates. They were young boys in a war, and it showed in the way they schemed in such an unchildlike manner.
“You're an unknown; you dropped off the map once the Dark Lord fell, you didn’t show up your first year, and you're here now for what seems to be no good reason. Wouldn’t you want to figure it out too?”
Harry was very surprised that the boy was being so open with him. Severus seemed to think that Draco Malfoy was going to be much more disagreeable. It made him equally suspicious of Malfoy and skeptical of Severus's opinion. If only he'd actually mastered Legilimency, but it was sadly far beyond his skill for now. Albus said it would take a solid two more years before he could efficiently handle even the basics. From what he was gleaning through his rather astute ability to read people on a physical level though, the boy seemed genuine.
“Why? So you can report to daddy?”
Malfoy smirked at the insult. “I would be lying if I said he wasn’t curiou-.”
“HELLO, STUDENTS!”
The office door opened with a bang as a tall, ginger professor walked out and took in all of his eagerly awaiting students from his position at the top of the overhang outside of his office. Brushing his hair to the side of his face and giving a dazzling smile, the man began to strut down the stairs like a world-class model.
“It is my pleasure to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor…” he pronounced with the most cheeky attitude he could muster. “Me.”
Malfoy laughed to himself. Harry, on the other hand, resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“My name is Gilderoy Lockhart: order of Merlin, third class; adventurer; rescuer of the common witch and wizard; and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award.”
Pausing for the smallest of moments after he stepped onto the ground floor, he whipped around to face the students while flicking his head to the side to shift his hair out of his eyes. Seeing the look of admiration upon most of his students' faces obviously filled him with the most rotten sort of pride, and he gave a smug smirk to the easily manipulated audience. It was as if this was just another performance to him. Though, to be fair, to him, it probably was.
“But I’m not here to talk to you about that. I didn’t defeat the Wagga Wagga Werewolf with my good looks.”
Merlin’s beard, that man was going to kill him on the first day. He honestly didn’t know if he could take this much longer.
“Now, before I can reveal to you my many defensive exploits, we must first start with a small pre-test.”
The man started handing out stacks of paper to the front-row students and asked them to pass the papers to the back. When Harry got his test, he couldn’t stop himself from huffing a single, loud, exasperated laugh that he turned into a cough.
Question 1: When did Gilderoy Lockhart sign his first autograph?
Malfoy, Harry noticed, was equally amused. He suddenly decided that this class might not be as bad as he thought. Both he and the blond were well beyond second-year defense as it was. Even if they had Albus himself teaching this class, it would've been completely useless. Harry was actually kind of happy that one of his classes would be equally pointless for everyone involved. For one or two hours every other day, everyone would share in his miserable boredom.
Harry didn’t bother to answer a single question, and he would've gotten all of them wrong if he did. After handing his paper to the front, Harry watched Lockhart click his tongue while he went over the results. The man was apparently less than pleased with his students’ knowledge of his personal life. Harry zoned out as the "professor" made some idle comments about some of his student’s answers. He did, however, notice when Lockhart got to his own test by the way the man’s eyes barely twitched in annoyance. Like the celebrity he was, though, the man decided that his public image was more important than soothing his temper and moved on without comment. It wouldn’t do for Harry Potter to be blatantly opposing him on the first day of class.
“Now, students!” the man exclaimed dramatically. “In this classroom, you will be introduced to some of the darkest creatures imaginable. All I ask of you is that you trust me and learn to the best of your abilities.” The entire class sans only the smallest number of better-informed students were tense with anxiety and rapt with attention. The fraud walked over to what looked to be a cage covered with a blue sheet as he withdrew his wand. “Are you prepared?”
Smiling to himself when the class hesitantly nodded, Gilderoy yanked the sheet from the cage, revealing a swarm of slightly humanoid, blue creatures with tiny wings and large, round eyes. The entire class chuckled at the decidedly not frightening monsters, and one kid even shouted his opinion that Cornish Pixies weren't on the list of what he would consider dark. Harry saw it before the rest of the class, most likely because he had felt the exact same thing within himself during some of his less admirable moments: The look of wounded pride. Lockhart was going to do something rash in an attempt to prove his point.
“Is that right, Mr. Finnigan?” the man slid the cage’s lock away with his off-hand, wearing a deadly smirk. “Well, let’s see what you think of them when they aren’t kept in a cage.”
The class erupted into pandemonium as about twenty pixies began wreaking havoc across the room. Students dove under the table, Neville swatted away two that tried to lift him by his ears, and Lockhart realized moments too late that this was beyond his capacity to control. Harry stayed seated, and Malfoy refused to let himself panic with a partner who was seemingly so unworried. The Boy-Who-Lived, though, was currently changing his mind once again about the joy he would gain from this class.
It had started off amusing, but it was just discouraging when his teacher got to this level of incompetence. Even the ever-pessimistic Harry Potter had faith that Lockhart could responsibly handle a small swarm of pixies. His extraordinarily low expectations were apparently not low enough. Was he truly expected to get through the whole year with this git?
A group of five pixies decided to try their luck with the duo upon seeing their calm demeanors. Pixies were very proud of their ability to propagate mayhem. They didn't enjoy it when their antics failed to have the desired effect.
They flew at them from all angles, intent on doing something devilish with their robes, when a wave of malice halted them on the spot. Malfoy noticed it as well, and he turned to look at Harry just in time to see his eyes turn from dark green to something more along the lines of neon lime or some other odd mixture of green and yellow. It was so fast that Malfoy almost thought that he had imagined it, but he knew that it must've been more than his imagination when the five pixies flew away faster than he thought possible to go ruin someone else’s day.
Something about Potter frightened them off. It could be any number of things, really. Pixies were maniacal, but they were also cowards when they bit off more than they could chew. Potter, apparently, fit into that category.
The two boys smirked when Lockhart retreated to his office, leaving the rest of the students to round up the tiny creatures. That really meant that almost the entire class gathered whatever they could and fled from the chaos. Harry continued to relax, eyeing the ones that he thought might be a bit more courageous or ambitious than the majority of the swarm. He was planning on dealing with the little shits once the rest of the class inevitably left, but he was saved the effort when Granger immobilized the lot of them with a simple freezing jinx. It was impressive for a second-year; he had to give her that.
With all of the Pixies immobilized, it was a simple matter of catching one of them with a levitation charm and directing them to the cage. He felt like the “Golden Trio” could handle that small amount of responsibility without mucking it up, and he had no desire to converse with them while they worked. This wasn’t a charity, and he had no desire to lend his magical talents. Malfoy, apparently, was of the same mind. The two walked out of the class while the trio stayed to clean Lockhart’s mess. At least one good thing came out of today’s disaster: there was no way in hell that any of the students with a brain would treat Lockhart with respect now that he showed how useless he was.
“Hey!” the Malfoy called out once they got out of the classroom. “Look, I know that you don't trust me, but we both know this school is absolute rubbish, and we have most of our core classes together this year. I have my task, I’m sure you have yours too, and we both don’t want to deal with these stupid classes. Sounds like a partnership in the making to me. It isn’t like the Dark Lord is here to rally his troops anyway."
With that, Malfoy extended his hand. Harry eyed it warily for a second, but the image of Albus’s proud face when he discovered that his pupil had reached out to a misguided soul almost made the decision for him on its own. He took the hand and gave it a shake. Malfoy was right; they were both told to get to know the other and report back. What did it matter if they did so on friendly terms instead of as enemies?
“HA!” came a harsh laugh behind him followed by the closing of a classroom door. “See, I told you he was a git.”
Harry turned to see the Golden Trio looking at him with varying levels of disapproval and disgust. It was expected. More naive kids seeing the world in black and white. He expected more of the muggle-born though. Granger should know better than to judge people based on surface-level information.
She was unlucky to have made the friends she did. If her goal was to gain an unbiased, informed view of the world, she chose about as horribly as she could have, save making friends with Bellatrix or Voldemort himself.
“Are you jealous, Weasel?” Malfoy chuckled to himself. “It isn’t my fault that Potter has standards.”
Harry was shocked that Malfoy actually lowered himself to Ron’s squabbling until he watched the boy’s face turn bright red with anger and saw the weight fly from the blond’s shoulders. This wasn’t squabbling; this was Malfoy venting his frustration just like Harry did with Lockhart by not answering any of his stupid questions. Draco was directing the ire he held for his situation toward the people he deemed incompetent. Malfoy was more right than he knew when he insinuated that they would make good partners.
“Jealous!?” the redhead replied. “You can keep the snakey git if you want him.”
Malfoy laughed heartily as he turned to walk away, waving cheekily at the Gryffindors. “Blind, the lot of you.”
The trio walked away in the opposite direction, but Ron made sure to shoot him a scathing comment while they left. “There's no bloody way you were the one who beat you-know-who.”
Harry’s temper flared at the snide remark shot at both him and his parents by a kid who couldn’t even say the name of the man who tore his family apart. If the three had been facing the boy, they would have seen his eyes take on that same yellowish-green hue.
“You’re damn lucky I did!” he shouted back. “Because if I didn’t, he would've made sure that Longbottom’s parents didn’t live to see that hospital room they lay in every day, and he wouldn’t have been left with a Grandmother to take up the reins either!”
Neville Longbottom turned around with fire in his eyes and drew his wand without hesitation, sending a snapping sound through the corridor. Longbottom walked at him dangerously, and he couldn't help but give him a wide, teeth-filled grin.
“Oh!? Did that hit a nerve, Longbottom!?”
Neville gave an extremely nasty scowl and shoved a wand into his face, but he was already so hysterically angered that he was practically begging the boy to fucking do something with it.
“Come on!” Harry exclaimed as he spread his arms akimbo cockily. “Give me a fucking reason to send all three of your ignorant arses to the hospital wing.”
Harry chuckled harshly and relished the feeling of Neville’s restraint slowly crumbling away before his eyes.
“Don’t say another word against my parents!” Neville growled as he glared into the yellow-green eyes of the boy-who-lived.
“Then control your pet, Neville,” he said mockingly, ignoring the fact that he didn't say anything bad about them except the fact that they were hospitalized, which they were. “Because my parents are dead. The only time I get to see their faces is in a scrapbook.”
The two other members of the trio seemed apprehensive at the potentially violent scene before them. Neither of the two had ever seen Neville react so explosively to anything before. Ron looked angrily at Harry, rightfully blaming his best mate’s reaction on his new enemy’s words. Hermione, though, looked confused and hurt.
“Neville?” Hermione prodded quietly. “What happened to your parents?”
Harry’s eyes widened, but they didn’t lose their venom. “You haven't told them? Well, maybe you should. It would help your arrogant friend learn a little respect for the people who actually lost something to the bastard.”
With that, Harry walked off, but not without getting one last word in. “It's ironic that the one spouting off so much bullshit is best mates with one of the people who lost the most to him.”
Ron's voice followed him down the hallway as he left for the common room. It sounded worried and insistent. "Neville… what happened?"
Harry hoped the guilt would kill the kid. He would deserve it as far as Harry was concerned.
Harry didn't even really know where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to be somewhere else. Magic pumped through his veins, but he tried to calm himself when he dubiously noticed that his now deadly sharp teeth managed to prick his mouth in his angry bout. It was with no small amount of frustration that he realized he couldn't make it fade. The harder he tried, the more he felt like he was about to explode. Feeling the deep-seated need to do something, he threw his fist into the nearest wall and felt a sharp sense of relief that meshed gloriously well with the crunching sound that filled his ears. It was with a slightly duller euphoria that he looked down to his hand and saw that his knuckles were just as shattered as the stone wall.
"Harry, my boy." Said boy almost jumped out of his skin as a frail, wrinkled hand fell on his shoulder. That old man really had a talent for sneaking up on him, especially in his castle. Harry pondered for a moment about whether or not she aided him in his sneaking. It would hardly be the strangest thing to happen here. "While I do recommend that my students learn to cope with their feelings, I always make sure to stress that the coping is done safely."
Harry couldn't help but quirk his lips just a little when he saw the gentle twinkle in Albus's eyes that always seemed to lift his spirits.
"Besides," the old man lamented. "I daresay that your methods of stress relief may one day bring my beloved castle to the ground."
Harry grunted at him, now deciding to join in on the banter rather than let himself get pummeled by the headmaster's clever jibes. "Please, professor, both you and I know that she can take care of herself."
Even as he said this, the two of them watched the stones begin to meld together until it was as if the wall had never been damaged in the first place. Harry's battle wound, though, did not get such a miraculous treatment. Dumbledore held his hand out, and Harry did not hesitate to give him his now crippled appendage.
"Amazing, Hogwarts is. No matter how many incredible things I witness, I'm always surprised by the next thing she does." smirking to himself, the man then very suddenly said, "Episkey!"
Harry barely flinched when the normally elementary healing spell was pumped with so much power that it managed to snap his entire hand back into order at the same time. Harry admitted to himself that he had similar feelings when it came to both the castle and the headmaster residing over it.
"Now, Harry, would you like to participate in some slightly more healthy methods of dealing with your anger?"
As always, Harry felt much more silly after his temper died down than he did in the moment.
"I don't know why it made me so mad," Harry started. "But Ronald Weasley threw Halloween night in my face, and I just couldn't help myself."
Dumbledore, being no stranger to loss or the pain that could come from other people making light of it, understood immediately why Harry was so upset.
"Yes, Mister Weasley has shown himself to be a very headstrong, stubborn, and insensitive boy. Many people who do not know the meaning of loss have a hard time with truly understanding the gravity of its effects, doubly so when they're easily agitated and have a strong temper. In that second aspect, I think, he is not alone."
Harry huffed. Dumbledore was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Yeah, but everyone still puts me in my place when I make an arse of myself."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like stars as he smiled kindly at Harry's reluctant acceptance. The old headmaster truly did love his young pupil. The boy was a stubborn one, but Albus had never once looked beneath it to see anything other than a superb, outstanding, kind child.
"Yes, my boy, as they should. However, I'm sure that you're also aware of how little they hold it against you once you admit your fault. Anger is, unfortunately, a vice that gets the best of all of us eventually."
Harry hated it when Albus hit the nail right on the head. It was truly a travesty for the boy that it happened so terribly often. He blamed it on how damn old the wizard was. It couldn't be considered fair that he always had to face a man with more than twenty times his experience and wisdom every time he made a questionable decision. It was the price he had to pay for gaining such a brilliant mentor.
"Fine…" Harry said as he turned away from the headmaster and started walking away. He felt much better; he always did after their little talks. "But I'm not forgiving him until he fucking apologizes!" He shouted indignantly behind him.
The old man's kind voice reached him as he turned down another corridor. "I would expect nothing less."