Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Early June 1993
Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, sat in a comfortable armchair near the fire and read the book in his lap with a frown. He was a small, scrawny boy of twelve, with raven black messy hair, emerald green eyes, glasses and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, which he covered up with his long fringe, because he hated it when people stared at his most famous feature.
With an exasperated snort, he closed the book and set off out of the Common Room for the Library to return the book, which was a copy of 'Hogwarts: a History' he had borrowed on the sly, so his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, didn't find out about it.
The Boy-Who-Lived snorted. Ron would look at his as if he was mad for borrowing the book for anything but whacking Draco Malfoy over the head with it, while Hermione would be ecstatic that he had read it and start bombarding him with questions on what his favourite sections were.
Thinking of Hermione, Harry's face drew slightly taught as he navigated the Grand Staircase. His female best friend had almost been killed earlier that year by Slytherin's Monster, a sixty-foot Basilisk that came far too close to killing her with its deadly killing gaze. Only the fact that the first person she ran into, a Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, had happened to have a compact mirror on her person had spared Hermione from dying.
Harry shook his head as he walked into the Library and returned the book to the irascible Madam Pince before wandering the shelves to look for a book on his favourite subject, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Thanks to the idiot who had been hired for that post this year, Gilderoy Lockhart, a sham of a wizard who stole the fame from other witches and wizards and erased their memories with the Memory Charm, Obliviate, who had taught Harry only one thing in the entire year.
Narcissism in a teacher is the least desirable quality to look for.
He had learned several other charms, hexes, curses and spells from other teachers this year, including the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus, from Professor Severus Snape, the Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. Snape was Harry's least favourite teacher by far at Hogwarts, but Harry had felt like cheering like an idiot when the hook-nosed, greasy-haired git had sent the arrogant, foppish popinjay Lockhart flying with this particular spell.
A book caught Harry's eye. It was titled 'When Words Aren't Enough: Spells and Charms for Self-Defence' by I.N Cognito.
"Incognito? Geh, wizards have no imagination." Harry muttered as he pulled the book from the shelf and sought a table so he could read the book and actually learn some DADA this year.
This year's adventure of Basilisk slaying, he felt, didn't count, as he wasn't likely to get the Sword of Gryffindor every time he was confronted with a Dark Creature like a Basilisk, so spell research it was.
Several of the spells in the book were already known to him from his first year book, 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection' by Quentin Trimble, but there were the odd spell that caught Harry's eye and he marked them down on a piece of parchment with a quill.
One of the spells was the Curse of the Bogies that Peeves the Poltergeist had used on him last year. Harry already knew the counter-curse from his efforts researching it, but Peeves had somehow cast the spell silently, so he hadn't known the actual spell up until now.
'Mucus ad Nauseam. At least I can tell Ron about it now.' Harry thought as he scribbled the prescribed wand movement, which resembled a teardrop, next to the curse's incantation.
"Studying at the end of the year, Harry?" a soft voice asked from his side. Harry looked up to see Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts regarding him over his half-moon spectacles with a soft smile.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said in surprise, "Is something wrong?"
"No, no my dear boy." Dumbledore reassured him, "I have merely been informed that the Goblins of Gringotts Wizarding Bank wish to speak to you, although they have not specified the reason."
Harry was confused. He had been in Gringotts before school started with the Weasley Family and they hadn't said anything then.
"Er…OK." Harry took out his wand waved it at the parchment and muttered, "Aresco." and dried the ink instantly. The Ink Drying Charm was a very useful tool when dealing with quills.
A well performed charm there Harry." Dumbledore commented, "Doubtless, you have had quite a bit of practice with it."
"Yeah." Harry admitted as he replaced the book on the shelf, "The ink at Hogwarts takes a long time to dry. When I next visit Diagon Ally, I think I'll invest in some Quick-Drying ink."
"Most ink is quick drying because we use quills, but then as it gets older, the quick drying portion of its makeup fades." Dumbledore explained as he led Harry from the Library, "I think your idea is an excellent one though. I can point you towards my favourite brand, Wicker's One Wipe. No sooner do you write it than it is dry, a marvellous ink really."
"Thank you sir." Harry replied politely, thinking to himself that it sounded more like a brand of toilet paper than ink.
Sherbet Lemon." Dumbledore told the gargoyle standing guard outside his office, making it spring to one side to reveal the stone escalator leading to his office. Once they were safely ensconced in the room, Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace, which was blazing away merrily, and pulled a pot from the mantelpiece.
Scooping out a pinch of the green powder, which Harry recognised with a flinch as Floo Powder, and threw it into the fire, turning it green.