"Were you planning to teach, Mr. Potter?"
Harry blinked, squinting up from where he was scrawling some hastily written notes on the other side of McGonagall's desk in response to the conversation they'd been having—him knowing she'd be here because she was always here this time of day and she hadn't as of yet kicked him out for intruding in her office hours with a never ending river of questions to pester her with. He'd been so focused on working out his plan and getting started, he'd almost forgotten he was actually talking to his teacher, and not the direct source of all Transfiguration knowledge in his world.
He zoned back in, seeing her giving him a rather amused look. It wasn't condescending exactly, but she usually got that kind of look when he was spouting random questions that she had a cold hard facts she could use to smack him down with, and for some reason they both actually enjoyed that.
Maybe Blaise was right about his loose marbles, or whatever.
"Teach?" He repeated, confused.
"Transfiguration. You clearly have an aptitude for it."
Harry tilted his head at that. Honestly, he hadn't given his path in life beyond this year that much though. He was only eleven after all, and Slytherin-like or not, even he didn't plan that far ahead. He mulled it over for a second though in response to her query, finding the answer a lot less difficult than most of his day-to-day issues.
"Nah, not really. I don't think I'm patient enough to be a teacher. Besides, I like Hogwarts but definitely wanted to travel or do something else than be in a castle my whole life."
She seemed mildly surprised by that, but nodded his point. "Were you thinking of still continuing the subject though?"
"Sure, if I find something worth learning about." He shrugged.
"So did you have any thoughts of what you wanted to be when you grew up?" She was definitely amused at this point, and Harry let her have it, though he wasn't sure why she cared.
He liked her as one of the solid adults in his life, so he gave it some thought for a second. He imagined Dell and all her adventures… and I mean as heir to a lot of money he didn't need to work but it might be fun to open a shop or something…
"I think I'll open a shop in Contrair Alley with some weird Transfiguration Odd Solution. Like a clothes shop or a bakery." He mused aloud. "Those things aren't anything alike so I'll have to think on it."
McGonagall blinked at him one, and then shook her head with a warm sigh. "That's…very unique."
"I think it'll be fun!" He chirped happily, and she gave him one of her wider smiles as if approving.
Harry imagined it… opening a shop, living his life out like that…
Wait.
Wouldn't it get boring? It'd be fun for a couple years but… all this work befriending people, only to be outcasted in Contrair Alley? He was famous, he could probably use that… but he didn't want to be in politics or the Ministry, and yet…
According to Draco, Mr. Malfoy had his hand in every pie without being officially anything but a Malfoy. Harry kind of liked that plan but he wasn't really sure on how to get there. He also really didn't even know what pies he wanted, going with that analogy.
Okay, new plan: a cloths shop, and then world domination. He would probably keep that second part from McGonagall though.
"Well, whatever it is you pursue in the end, I do hope you'll keep this passion for Transfiguration with you. I've never quite had a student as ardent about this as I once was, and it's quite refreshing." Harry blinked at her in surprise, forgetting his notes for a moment to sit up at that admission. He felt… odd.
Like he had something in common with this older woman who really had nothing in common with him except Transfiguration.
And it kind of felt like an echo of what he'd felt when he'd learned he had his mother's hair.
Huh.
"Keep up the good work, Mr. Potter. I think you have a lot of promise in my class, and you clearly have big plans with it, Odd Solution or not." She smiled, legitimately that time, and Harry felt himself straighten up almost unwillingly. "If you need any assistance, I am happy to help."
000
Operation fox would only work if he were up to third year level Transfiguration topics in skill, or at least knowledge, by this coming spring. And he could technically use any subject for this, but Transfiguration was easy for him and with McGonagall willingly, and seemingly out of nowhere, offering her assistance not even realizing what he was actually planning, Harry couldn't exactly pass up that unexpected gift.
He was also at the point where he could safely say he was probably her favorite student, so this fast-pace of learning was made easier by the fact McGonagall let him knock on her office door almost at any hour of the day she was there and bother her with questions—and what was even better, was that she seemed genuinely happy to entertain him.
(And if he was racking up favors with the twins by 'distracting' her with questions at particular times that pranks might be happening elsewhere in the castle, that was no one's business but his own).
Even being eleven and however-old-she-was, his relationship with McGonagall almost felt like friendship if that made sense. Or at least a comradery over a shared topic, and while she was still his teacher who corrected and guided him when he didn't know what he was talking about, Harry quickly reached the point where he could argue her points or provide a counterargument that she would respectfully entertain instead of dismissing out of hand like most adults did, and either follow the argument through to completion until she won with fact or hard research to prove herself right, or they had to call it a draw until either of them could come up with some proof or resource to back themselves up. She was the only adult Harry knew of that would concede an argument to a child if she didn't have a hard fact to support her claims, nor did she ever get upset by the questioning, doubting, or disproving of her own arguments/statements. She almost treated him like a peer—with Transfiguration at least—and Harry discovered that respect felt pretty damn good.
And thankfully, despite it also being a means to an end, Transfiguration really just fascinated him, so it really didn't feel like work despite how much effort he was putting into the class. And he wasn't ashamed to say it was probably mostly in part to the rare, pleased smiles the notoriously strict Professor McGonagall sent him when he was consistently the first person to complete their exercises during class. Dell also seemed to have a heavy interest in it since her journal was almost a third simply writings and musings about how she could transfigure new and interesting clothes from the materials she had (and or stole from her neighbor/arch nemesis' potion stores out of pettiness). The interesting journals and adventures of his adopted ancestor and the steady, gut-warming praise and validation he was getting from his head of house meant he was all about doing well in the subject and thoroughly pleased when he turned out to be a natural with a lot of studying and a bit of hard work put into it.
He wasn't too prideful or ignorant enough to not realize that earned validation was a very addictive thing to him after having grown up in the Dursley household where he was seen as only slightly more than a stray dog dropping—and only then because dog droppings couldn't sweep floors or cook meals. Being patted on the head for a good job should've been condescending at face value, but Harry was not too proud to admit he'd willingly write an extra foot on his homework assignments if he got to be the only one in class his strict Professor was gracing with a smile when he turned it in and then received it with perfect "O"s atop every single one. It made him feel good and he saw no reason not to pursue what made him feel good, since he was a simple creature at heart. Besides, he could tell McGonagall wasn't doing it to manipulate him in the slightest—her praise was earnest in a way it was not when she was talking Quidditch (because she was alarmingly obsessive with the sport and clearly praising him to keep him in top form, so he could clearly tell the difference between her praise because she wanted something and praise because she was a good teacher who approved of her student doing well in her chosen subject). There was something to be said for earnest, non-manipulative praise because of his accomplishment that made him feel all warm and tingly inside and not hollow and annoyed like when someone talked about that 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense.
And on another note, McGonagall had also mentioned it was his father's best subject, and while he found himself looking up to his mother and all the ways he could emulate her, he found having this one small part of himself in common with his father was warming.
It was because of these many reasons he found himself applying Dell's musings to his homework when he could, reading ahead as far as he could like Hermione at least in this one class and getting into it to the point where he was actually very much enjoying learning more about it. The part he liked best was that McGonagall, for all her strict and no-nonsense personality would suggest otherwise, was very receptive to him writing a full extra page on his homeworks on what ifs. Like, what if you used this principle they were required to write about on this other application? Or what if the theory behind this one concept was actually this instead of that or maybe it was connected to this other thing and wouldn't that be interesting if they could be combined and you do this or that with it!?
McGonagall was very good at filling his margins and occasionally slipping in a whole other page of comments at the back on his assignments, citing why some things weren't possible and here's why, or saying it was a good idea so shelve it until they reached that particular topic later down the line. She also suggested other books and resources that would either disprove or support his ideas and arguments so he could go research it himself and come back with another argument or learn why his ideas weren't going to be possible after all. He knew all of that wasn't required by the homework and Hermione kept getting points taken off by writing excessively too-long essays beyond the minimum requirement, but he kept getting "O"s so he figured maybe his content was a little more satisfactory. He was essentially asking to learn more, and then proceeding to actually learn more, whereas Hermione had a habit of regurgitating what she'd read word-for-word or citing an author's work as the bible truth—and McGonagall had already read probably all the Transfiguration texts at Hogwarts so she didn't really want to hear it again.
Besides, Harry knew after reading a couple Transfiguration books he'd found in the library back-to-front that some authors were idiots. Just writing a book didn't make you an expert or even at all right—it only meant the people who'd published it didn't know enough about the subject to prevent someone from publishing a book of nonsense. He'd disproved three concepts of Transfiguration from one book alone and wrote at least six feet total on the subjects combined before McGonagall had gone to the library and removed the copies of that text from the shelves. He'd earned thirty points for Gryffindor from that—and twenty more from Flitwick when he heard what a Ravenclaw-ish thing one of the lions had done.
Flitwick was visibly disappointed he didn't have the same interest and passion for Charms, since that was apparently his mother was great at it, but other than getting decent marks in Charms he wasn't nearly as gung-ho about it as he was with Transfiguration, and barely read the chapter ahead in that class, much less the whole textbook or any additional readings. He wavered between Os and Es there, and honestly the Es far outweighed the Os he got most days—with a sprinkling of As just for flavor. He'd even gotten a rather unfortunate P once too, much to his chagrin. (Draco had noticed immediately, given he seemed to like Charms just as much as he did Potions, so Harry was not going to be repeating that mistake or otherwise be subjected to another hour-long rant about slacking off. He didn't even really need the lecture to be motivated though, because Blaise's stupid devious smirk when he heard what Draco was saying was enough to light a fire hot enough inside of him to never give the tall Slytherin this kind of ammo ever again.)
So, given Dell's example and Draco's insistence in good studying habits, he started up a journal for each subject—although his Transfiguration one quickly filled as the semester wore on. As his grades continued to hit perfects on every single assignment and test in McGonagall's class until a rumor of favoritism started spreading (before quickly being stamped out because McGonagall was fair—in all aspects aside from Quidditch at least), he realized he was in a very good position—especially with the Slytherins.
And that would work perfectly for his newly realized operation fox, he gleefully plotted.
Since he realized he was so far ahead he could keep one ear on McGonagall's lectures and easily work on something else, he took to creating detailed, concise, clearly labeled, fully explained (with citations) notes on the class subject and even added in a few references that might help with whatever homework assignments McGonagall assigned—which was child's play since he was now intimately aware of the Transfiguration section of the Hogwarts library, and even if he hadn't read even a fraction of the full selection he at least knew the names of every text relating to year-one level spells and had an idea of what they were about even if he hadn't read them fully.
A very kind Ravenclaw upper year who was happy to spout their knowledge when he asked about a copying charm later (as well as Draco's confused help to allow him to perfect the spell several years early), and he now had a serious bargaining chip for people who cared about their grades. Meaning Slytherins and Ravenclaws, once word spread on how convenient his notes were, would sell their first born children to get their hands on such easy Os, and Gryffindors would likely follow the week before midterms when they realized they hadn't been studying nearly as much as they should've been—or you were Hermione Granger and despite being able to recite the textbook from memory still freaked out before every test and quiz as if she hadn't studied at all. Hufflepuffs would be less interested since they were content to study themselves and not panicked to get top marks like some other students, unless they were fifth years before their OWLs and they didn't exactly want or need detailed notes on first-year topics when there were bigger fish to fry, so to speak.
Still, he had what he'd wanted two-fold—a bargaining chip with which to get into more Slytherins' good sides and their information network, and step one for a plan that was starting to unfold brilliantly in his mind.
A plan to make sure Graham Montague never opened his stupid fat mouth about one of Harry's friends ever again.
He could not help but grin as he finished his latest set of notes. They did always say that success was the best form of vengeance, but personally Harry thought vengeance through success was only truly sweet if your opponent didn't just miss out on the glory, but failed in comparison too.
And he was very much looking forward to seeing a certain third year Slytherin crashing and burning.
000
It was rare to see the twins alone, but he did manage to track them down looking mighty suspicious hanging out in an empty hallway. He ran up to them eagerly, hoping they'd be in to help—he'd almost forgotten they were third years given how much they hung out these days, but he'd hit a snag in his plan that would really benefit from two professional pranksters who also happen to be in Harry's target class.
"Fred! George!"
"Wotcher Harry!" One greeted, the other turning and their suspicious posture disappearing. They were probably planning their own prank and deemed him safe enough not to rat them out if he noticed the equally suspicious buckets of colorful something stashed in the alcove they were standing in front of.
"What are you two learning in Transfiguration right now?" He jumped right in without preamble.
"Hm, sounding a bit like Hermione there, Apples."
"Thinking of curling your hair?"
"Shut up," He rolled his eyes, amused. "Let's just say I'm planning my first prank, but I need to be up to speed on at least third year level Transfiguration by Easter."
Both their eyebrows shot up as if in sync, and then their faces split into wicked grins of glee.
"We'll spill everything we know,"
"And lend you a textbook if you need it,"
"And if you can actually do it by Easter, then we'll take one favor from you as payment."
"Having an ally that's great at Transfiguration will come in mighty handy one of these days!"
They offered their hands and Harry crossed his arms over his chest to shake them properly, grinning his own wicked smile to match. "Make it two favors and help me set the stage for my prank when the time comes. I think you'll like the outcome."
"Hm, you make a mighty tempting deal there, Apples."
"Tempting indeed… pray, who is the lucky winner of your first prank?"
"Graham Montague."
The twins exchanged a look between each other that seemed to speak volumes in a silent instant before turning back to him in sync with vicious mirth lighting their brown eyes.
"Done."
000
Time continued, and in what felt like no time at all the Christmas break was bearing down on them, they just had to survive finals and then they were free for a few blessed weeks. He was only half bummed that none of the Slytherins were staying, but he was also kind of looking forward to at least some time without having to be on his toes constantly with their witty politics constantly being thrown around over his head if he wasn't careful.
He felt he'd made a lot of progress, not only in operation fox, but also in his side mission to get the school to realize he was Harry Potter, and not some titled Boy Who Lived.
By the time December was here in earnest, and there was enough snow on the ground that the rapidly growing/improving soccer club needed to postpone their activities for now, most people had stopped caring what table he was sitting at during meals as it was abundantly clear that he was going to sit wherever the hell he wanted regardless of what they did or said or acted like. Slytherin got used to it first because he was there most often, and he was apparently had a sharp enough wit that they learned better than to be too blatantly against him sitting at their table—and subtle looks he dutifully ignored so without a better option they just stopped acknowledging him.
He also managed to branch out a bit with a couple of the first year Slytherin girls, as they'd seemed just as wary of him as everyone else at first, if not more confused as first years still learning the proverbial ropes, but they'd been inching closer every day by moving their seating positions until they just so happened to be within earshot of where he sat with Draco, Blaise, and Nott most meals he spent visiting the Slytherin side of the room. It was probably to just eavesdrop on them but at least one of them was openly fascinated and suspicious of him all at once—and with a freeness that reminded Harry of Blaise a bit. She alone didn't seem threatened, just curious and was almost blatantly watching him interact with the boys of her year level.
Harry didn't really know what to make of that, as he hadn't even gotten to know the Gryffindor girls of his year to even know where to start with them. They had a seriously tight girly-girl clique of their own going on and didn't look at a single boy ever so he didn't even try with them, the exception being Hermione who kept to herself, nose buried in a book at all times (Harry really wondered why she wasn't in Ravenclaw sometimes).
On the flipside, Gryffindor seemed to quickly figure out that Malfoy—who rarely but still occasionally deigned to join Harry over at the Gryffindor table in the seldom moment he plucked up enough willingness to try that— was going to be on his best behavior while at their table so as to not upset Harry and therefore let it go without too much hassle.
Ron was a general hassle, but he was usually stuffing his face at meal times and Harry pretended not to understand what he was saying through his full mouth, much to everyone's amusement, and Ron wasn't fond of being laughed at so he really just sat elsewhere most days.
Draco remained distinctly uncomfortable while sitting at the lions' table, but he was perfectly polite and it was clear he did it only for Harry's sake, so the other Gryffindor first years got used to him and they had many a friendly conversation here and there. Draco was just as obsessed with Quidditch as Dean and Seamus were, which made it so they always had at least that to fall back on to prevent it from being too awkward most times.
And Harry was warmed that Draco was trying, even if he was far from subtle about it. It made all the effort he was putting into operation fox worth it all over again, every time he could only smile in helpless happiness by his baby cactus of a friend trying to very awkwardly relate to Gryffindors he very much did not actually want to relate to.
Apart from those two houses, he made a concerted effort to try and get to know Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too, but the Ravenclaws weren't really into talking about much other than books they read or classes, and Harry could contribute to a point but was quickly out-paced the times he tried to join their study sessions in the library or in their groups they hung out in while they waited for class to begin. They weren't against speaking to him, but if he couldn't contribute to the intellectual conversation going on he was glossed over in the course of the conversation, and it happened a lot. He was earning himself a reputation with Transfiguration, and of course Lu and his year mates seemed to be all in to chatting about things other than academics at times, but it was slower progress with that house than he'd thought it be.
Hufflepuff was easier to get to know, as he'd actually had Hannah and Susan as legitimate friends and they were definitely in the same boat as the Gryffindor girls were so far as gossip and networking went. He learned that Susan was from a well known family that even got Slytherins perking their ears up, and while other houses outside the snake den didn't put that much emphasis on family reputation, clearly it still meant something to pure and half-bloods, as Susan was probably the de facto leader of the first year Hufflepuffs by the time their first semester ended. Even muggleborns who didn't quite get the whole bloodline business fell in line to her magnetic, burning personality, and with her very openly happy about the football club and welcoming Harry in every time he came to sit at the Hufflepuff table, he found himself branching out quickly.
It was kind of funny, comparing how hard Slytherin fought within themselves for power and status, yet right next door at their neighboring table was a full table of born followers who all fell in line at the first shining example of a leader that popped up among them. And they were all just so well-meaning and trusting that there was no animosity in it either, which Harry found extremely refreshing if he spent too many meals in a row over at the Slytherin table.
And it was so easy to talk to them, unlike any other house—not even Gryffindor! When he came to talk to Susan or Hannah, the Hufflepuffs around them were not ones to sit out, welcoming him in and jumping right into their conversations. And they really were great at conversation, traversing many topics and listening to his words and then having thoughtful, interactive responses back to show they'd truly been listening. Really, Blaise was damn good at what he did, but he could learn from a Hufflepuff on how to at least pretend to be interested in what someone else was saying.
Not that he'd ever tell that to the tall Slytherin, because he valued his life.
"Excited for Christmas?" He asked, directed towards Neville who shrugged a bit as they walked back from their last class of the day—of the semester actually, so the relief in the air was a bit more palpable than your typical Friday.
The upside was that they were done for now—the down side is that last class had been their potions final, and Harry had called it: that potion he missed from the troll incident had been a feature of the exam. At least a third of the questions related to it, used it as an example, or required background knowledge of it and its uses to get other questions right.
Even Draco had been hard pressed to get around defending Snape for that one, and had settled for mulishly admitting Harry was right for studying it so hard in preparation.
Know thy enemy, and all that. Harry at least had Snape almost figured out by now, so toughest final ever aside, he was feeling pretty good with himself. The Potions professor might've been a royal snitch in his behind, but he was predictable in his maliciousness. Predictable people, Harry could definitely handle—he'd only had a lifetime with the Dursleys to get the hang of it. Snape had made it clear he hated him, so if Harry proceeded under the assumption that the snarly teacher would pull out all the stops to get at him, he could plan accordingly and as annoying a hindrance it was, it wasn't a problem exactly—or, not one he couldn't deal with as a matter of course.
Neville didn't look quite as thrilled, still a bit green around the gills from the stress of that last exam and probably worrying himself sick right now about his grandmother getting his marks in a couple weeks.
"I guess." Neville shrugged a bit, readjusting his bag. "I'll be happy to see Gran. Uh… for maybe a couple days." He grimaced, and Harry smiled sympathetically. Neville seemed to have a love/hate thing for his grandmother—he clearly loved her and thought highly of her, all while simultaneously being scared out of his wits of her.
"Well, I wish you luck! Any big plans?"
"Um, no, not really." His blond head ducked and Harry could tell when to drop a conversation. He wondered what that was about, but it really wasn't his business.
"Well a quiet break sounds just as nice as anything, right about now. I'll look forward to you getting back! I hear the whole Weasley clan is staying so I'll be sharing the room with Ron, ugh. You can't return fast enough with that prospect in mind." He complained, and Neville lifted his head again to smile wryly.
"He's been better lately, right?"
"He has." Harry allowed, but he wasn't willing to give the guy too much credit. Avoiding each other was not the same as suddenly being on better terms, just more manageable on a day-to-day basis. "In any case, I know the twins are planning some kind of prank but they won't tell me who it's on so I've got that to look forward to… or, you know, keep on my toes in case I'm the culprit."
Neville laughed lightly. "Their pranks are pretty good, I have to admit. I liked the one last month with the bubbles."
"Oh yeah! And they tasted like popcorn!" He brightened. "I should get them to teach me that spell, but I have a feeling they obtained it in an underhanded way so maybe I don't want to know."
"Underhanded popcorn." Neville deadpanned, and Harry was so taken off guard by the abrupt shift in humor he deteriorated in breathless laughter.
Neville grinned brightly, seeming just as entertained as Harry was to be the cause of his laughter.
Harry leaned over and wrapped an arm around his, picking up their pace back to the tower. "Come on—you have to leave tomorrow so let's stay up all night playing exploding snap or something! I've been stockpiling candy for a special occasion and this is it!"
"I'm not eating candy corn."
"Candy corn is for Halloween, but just for the record I resent that."
000
"Scarabaeibus," Harry concentrated, feeling a little hot under the collar given all the layers he was wearing to protect against the snowy landscape and how hard he'd been pushing himself. His initial concept of 'it's magic, so if I imagine it hard enough it'll definitely happen' still held true on the most part, but he'd really been underestimating just how much energy magic physically took from you.
The trick, he found, particularly with Transfiguration, was that power only got you so far. You pushed as hard as you could, but when you felt like you were going to pop something in your eye or maybe were just straining a bit too much, the best tactic was to take a big breath and forcibly relax all the tension that had coiled in your muscles subconsciously.
There was a graceful arc to the way magic moved through objects he was transfiguring—a sharp incline of power, but then once you pushed it over that tiny invisible edge, you could relax and simply guide it's graceful fall with the elegant, precise, finely tuned wand movements they'd been taught. You didn't simply do it all at once: wand movement, incantation, and magical power were three separate steps that moved together, less like a lock sliding home but more like a dance—or somewhere in the middle of those two things.
The order was not identical for every spell, but once you figured it out you could practice it until it did feel like it was one continuous, instantaneous motion to cast the spell.
Which was that case for this particular spell, and he leaned back in satisfaction as the wide flat rock covered in beetles instantly stilled—the dozen or so that'd been crawling there flopping lifelessly down as shiny black buttons. Beetles and buttons were such tiny things, he though he had a handle on this spell when he could do it once on one beetle, but didn't consider himself fully in control of it until he could do it multiple times—perhaps even simultaneously like for this application.
He had plenty of beetles to spare, after all.
"Reparifarge," He slashed his wand with a tiny curve at the end, and all the buttons jumped back to life, beetles flying away in a swarm now that they realized they were being used as test subjects.
He grinned as muffled applause from a little ways away greeting him, giving a dramatic bow for the twins who were squashed together on their own rock to keep their feet out of the snow while they watched him, mittened hands making the applause slightly muted but no less enthusiastic.
"Brilliant, Apples!" Harry randomly decided that one was George, flashing him a grin.
"You even got Reparifarge down too—talk about class!" Fred chimed in eagerly.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you very much," he ate up the praise, spinning his wand as he walked back over to them. "Although honestly I wouldn't have made it near this far without you guys. Most of it is thanks to you,"
"No way," they both crossed their arms in an 'x' motion in front of them, heads shaking once in sync.
"We told you what we know, but you're picking this up way too fast!"
"You're definitely either a prodigy,"
"Or really motivated to rake Montague over the coals!"
Harry laughed at that, accepting that point. "Maybe both? Transfiguration comes easy to me for some reason."
"It's extremely unnatural, how fast you can learn this stuff. Not that it's a bad thing, but you should know." Fred pointed out.
"I know those Slytherins of yours like to barter for stuff-"
"-we've heard all about some of that political stuff from Dad-"
"-so definitely keep this to yourself if you can. I mean it's awesome-"
"-but if you don't like being called a celebrity or the Boy Who Lived, this will not help."
Harry frowned a bit, giving that some thought. "Is it really that unnatural? I mean some people just have talents I guess. I like Transfiguration and I really have worked hard at this the past semester, so it's not that strange, right?"
The twins exchanged looks, and Harry could already tell he wouldn't like the answer.
"We don't claim to know everything-"
"-but just from what we've heard, the latest great genius in a field of magic in Britain was Severus Snape."
"And doesn't that leave a bitter taste in your mouth?"
"But even he didn't break out from how things are taught at Hogwarts until like NEWT level classes. To actually be successfully reading ahead and being able to perform magic above your year level is, generally, just thought to be impossible."
"Doesn't mean it isn't, just that people will definitely think it is if they hear about this."
"And not just because that's how it's done, or whatever. Technically first years shouldn't have the magical power-"
"-or the skill with it to do anything but their year level spells."
"First year spells seem kind of random because they're chosen for eleven-year-olds who only have tiny magical cores starting out." They explained, and Harry got a sinking feeling.
"So… me doing this is really strange."
"Really strange." They nodded as one, giving him sympathetic looks.
"We know you don't like getting called out for being famous,"
"But if this is common knowledge, I'm thinking most of the school won't see it as your hard work,"
"-and more because you're Harry Potter."
And that rankled him in all the wrong ways. The one thing he hated more than anything was that stupid reputation he had—one he didn't want and didn't earn and generally just didn't like to be reminded of. He was thankful the twins seemed to have picked up on that somewhere along the line and were thoughtful enough to tell him now.
"I guess that means this'll be between us. And McGonagall probably, as I can't exactly hide this from her."
"And Dumbledore." They reminded him.
"She's extremely loyal to him. Anything you tell her, he'll definitely know about."
"Then again, he knows everything about what happens in the castle anyway. Somehow."
"Hm." He huffed, not really sure what to do about that. He couldn't hide this from McGonagall as she was instrumental in his plan (not to mention his favorite teacher he didn't want to hide from) but her being in Dumbledore's pocket didn't give him any good feelings.
He still hadn't met the headmaster, but the guy hadn't really endeared himself to Harry so far. He already knew the old man was a player of his own type of game, given his title of headmaster and a political figure in government, which meant ex-Gryffindor or not, he should probably treat the guy like a Slytherin.
Harry was, after all, a Gryffindor who probably should've been in Slytherin. He knew it was possible, and the given evidence, he knew to tread cautiously.
"You know, my glasses guy in Contrair Alley made a joke about Potters not needing to see the broadside of a barn to level it. Do you think its related?"
They dissolved into snickers, hiding behind their mittens for a moment.
"I mean maybe," Fred grinned. "It could be why you haven't passed out yet from practicing all morning."
"So far as being able to control how much power you're using though, that's skill you typically just learn from practice. Learning two years' worth of control in six months can't be explained away by genetics." George scoffed, and Harry could only shrug at that.
"But that's a good joke, we should keep it." Fred nodded.
"No, don't do that!" Harry complained. "It wasn't really that funny the first time!"
They laughed at his expense again, uncaring of his playful pout.
"Are ya done fer now, boys? It's getting cold!" A booming voice cut them off, Hagrid standing in the doorway of his tiny hut making it look tinier somehow, waving them over. Beetles were abundant in the Greenhouses and around the groundskeeper's garden, making either the perfect place for some practice—however Hagrid's place also had the promise of hot chocolate and rock cakes that weren't too bad when they were still warm from the oven. They were softer, at least.
And Harry had been practicing the softening charm as one of his second year Transfiguration spells to get to, so maybe it'd work on rock cakes?
…he should probably ask McGonagall if it was safe to eat products of transfiguration first.
The three boys ran over to him as he ushered them inside—Fred and George not frequent visitor's of Hagrid's hut until recently (they typically avoided it so Hagrid wouldn't spot them sneaking around the Forbidden Forest) but were quickly learning the joys of gallon sized tea mugs filled with hot chocolate on the exceptionally frosty days of winter break, so they were happy to join in on Harry's plans of practice and visiting Hagrid this Christmas eve.
"I kinda like 'avin you 'ere where I can keep an eye on ya, ya know?" Hagrid chuckled good naturedly as he handed the twins some chocolate, and they could only grin their most innocent smiles back up at him.
And Hagrid was too trusting and rather slow sometimes, but even he wasn't fooled.