Luckily, today was Wednesday, which meant the fact Harry had booked it back to his dorm mid-way through breakfast to dive into the pile of Transfiguration texts he'd hoarded on his desk meant he was only missing Transfiguration itself, and History of Magic. The only other class he had today was Astronomy at midnight, so he had all day to figure this out. McGonagall would not be pleased he'd skipped her class, but hopefully she'd understand why as soon as he finished here, and Binns wouldn't notice if he started a pick-up football game in his classroom mid-lecture much less that he wasn't there.
He was so far ahead in Transfiguration that his attendance in that class was a joke anyway, and he could live without hearing about another goblin war for one day.
This was it: the crowning jewel in his operation fox plot, so he needed to get it done as soon as he could. Preferably before his next Transfiguration class on Monday where McGonagall was sure to give him detention for skipping if he didn't have a damn good reason to provide. That would give her… oh, about a solid five weeks to stew over this, and by the time finals hit he would be in the clear.
It would also give him five weeks to position Montague exactly where he wanted him.
So, with some serious glee, he spun through the third-year textbook the twins had lent him and found the spell he was looking for, pulling out a couple other reference texts McGonagall herself had recommended him over the year that would only help support his argument.
The concept was simple. The spell was called duro, and it literally meant 'into stone' if you dove deep enough into the Latin base of it, but the most equivalent English translation was the hardening charm. If you could forgive him for getting technical for a moment, the way the textbook explained it, the spell would harden anything into stone and make it difficult to break. Common applications were 'hardening' a glass that was falling so that instead of maybe levitating it to catch it's fall, it simply wouldn't break when it hit the ground (it's incantation and wand movement were far quicker than the 'wingardiam leviosa' of the levitating charm, after all, and a falling glass often had a split second at best to spare before shattering). While Hogwarts texts never outlined how spells could be used in a battle situation, through his conversations with McGonagall he knew that it also came in handy for, say, hardening the ground so you had stable earth to move on while perhaps your opponent was stuck on muddy grass. Or say, if you shot a bunch of deceptively soft feathers at someone only for them to hit like they were solid stone.
The more useful aspect of this bit of magic was it's counterpart, the softening charm which was a second-year level spell as opposed to duro being learned third year. Harry knew for a fact this was because while duro had less practical applications, it was difficult to learn because of how the spell was structured and a good exercise in working backwards. Second years mastered spongify and so as third years learning to do it in reverse for duro was both great practice and a very low level introduction to how to reverse-engineer Transfiguration spells. It was a simple counterspell in theory, but since third years should theoretically have spongify down flat for over a year by the time they learned duro, it was a great teaching opportunity.
And he knew this because in one of their many discussion, McGonagall had told him this.
She's also implied heavily that because of its critical usefulness as a teaching tool instead of an actually useful spell when he'd pointed out how… well, boring it was, that this particular spell would be a key feature of the third year Transfiguration final.
He knew at least three quarters of what would be on the third year final (and he was paying back another favor by providing this information freely to the twins, in fact) so he'd had his pick of the liter with spells, but this one…
Duro was interesting, because the idea he'd just had, was that it was wrong.
Into stone—what did that even mean? The English translation was a hardening charm, which sure, it certainly hardened things, but into stone?
Porcelain was stone, wasn't it?
The porcelain of your average teacup shattered when you dropped it. Yes, it hardened but that hardened product was brittle.
Objects hardened with duro didn't break. Ever. Not when you dropped them off a table at least, Harry hadn't done a full barrage of destructive tests to see if he could destroy something he'd hardened, but the principle outlined in their textbook was clear. It hardened things so that they wouldn't break, but the effects that all the books and objects he'd read/seen hardened with this spell were just that: hard.
They weren't stone.
Because stone was more than just hard. There were countless different types of stone! If he grabbed a bunch of pebbles from the shores of the lake, he would have a handful of different stones that all fractured or cracked under different forces. Statues were made of different stone than teacups, porcelain and ceramic, flint and coal, pumice and chalk, obsidian and slate, marble and granite…
Maybe he'd given a little too much thought to his graveyard, because he'd looked up far too many different types of materials used for headstones and now knew an unsettling amount about marble and granite, to be fair. But even he with his eleven-year-old muggle education knew that pumice floated on water, marble sunk. If you punched a stick of chalk, it'd crumble, while if you punched a statue, you'd break your hand.
If you hardened a teacup with duro, it didn't break.
But a teacup was made of porcelain, which was already stone, would.
So… how could you turn something already made of stone, into stone again? Unless, of course, into stone was just not the accurate wording for what the spell was actually doing.
Which made no sense because incantations did not mess around—they were there and they were those exact words for incredibly specific, important reasons which is why moving to wordless or wandless spells was easily fifth year level or above type work. And even then it was only tested in small doses on even the NEWTs, Hogwarts just didn't actively train people to use wordless magic. You either got so good at spells you've learned previously that it just comes to you or you put in the effort to figure it out as an adult after graduating.
In summary for his racing thoughts, point remained that turning something into stone was way too non-specific for a spell. If anything, he'd learned that Transfiguration required a lot of attention to detail, and focus in your mental image to get proper results, so the fact you could point at a donut and say duro and not fear it'd crumble apart like chalk, splinter in your hands like obsidian, shatter if you dropped it like ceramic, or weigh suddenly ten times more like marble, meant into stone was a horrible definition of how the spell worked.
Because spells were named very specifically, for very good reasons.
While he did not claim to be an expert, or even frankly know what the hell he was talking about in all honesty, he did know about two things when it came to Arithmancy, and they both related back to his Transfiguration work. Fred and George said when you got to third year they had the option to take Arithmancy, and they said McGonagall recommends it to those interested in pursuing careers heavy in Transfiguration. It wasn't necessary to pass her class, but apparently it would help, and she'd pointed him in the direction of several texts in the past that had used Arithmancy to prove why his ideas wouldn't work.
Arithmancy itself was probably a bad definition of the actual field, as the word itself meant using a connection between numbers and something else to mathematically predict the future, or someone's personality type, not unlike a real life version of astrology. Apparently the wizarding world also used the term to cover literally everything relating to math, finances, spell creation, and more.
Which… did not bode well for Harry's faith in this world if math was an optional class they didn't even start teaching wizards until they were thirteen.
He did not profess to be great at math, but he most certainly wasn't as dumb about it as he pretended to be when he had to look like his test scores were worse than Dudley's. If anything he'd gotten great at the subject, or what little he had of it just so he could know how not to put down the right answers (because really the level of stupidity Dudley could muster up was actually impressive, so it was almost an actual effort to fail tests worse than him most days, particularly in mathematics). Additionally, wizards clearly did not put a lot of emphasis on math, nor did they have calculators much less a focus on mental math, so the textbook that had the equation he needed also had no less than twenty pages where they listed out the answer to every number multiplied or divided by any other number through 0-100.
Which was truly just excessive, but honestly not the stupidest thing about the wizarding world Harry had seen so far.
He didn't need the help with the addition, subtraction, multiplication, or division aspects of any of it, but since his knowledge of things like exponents and square roots amounted to only knowing generally that they existed, the charts actually turned out to be very helpful. Because he'd asked a couple weeks ago about some of the more basic equations relating to transfiguration, McGonagall had taken him through a slightly more elevated way of handling the basic equation they'd literally learned the first month at Hogwarts in her class—and although he wasn't 100% sure, he was fairly certain this 'elevated method' she was talking about was what muggles called algebra.
Essentially, the basics of Transfiguration she taught them as they started getting the hang of more difficult spells last semester, is that a Transfiguration spell was influenced by bodyweight (a), viciousness (v), wand power (w), concentration (c), and a fifth unknown variable (Z) that was kind of a ridiculous answer when you were talking about literal math. Apparently, no one knew what the unknown variable was but it was generally assumed to be magical talent, which was such a cop-out answer Harry didn't even bother acknowledging it.
As he was up to third year level now, he had a basic understanding of how to quantify these inherently unquantifiable things when mastering new spells. And with his extremely basic grasp of the math behind how moving the variables around the equation would actually work, and come up with a theory on how to reverse engineer duro to prove it wasn't the spell everyone thought it was.
If the result of the equation was a spell (t) then if he moved that component to the other side of the equation to instead search for the exact amount of viciousness a spell needed, he could probably get somewhere.
After all, he'd managed to do it on instinct at the breakfast table just now, so he just needed to quantify it on paper.
He spent the morning scrawling out his plan and slipping through pages of several books to find the right sources, taking three trips back and forth to the library both to stretch his legs and mind for a moment and collect another reference or look up something new, and when his roommates came back for the day after their classes and saw him with his head bent over his desk writing furiously, they wisely let him be.
000
He did manage to get himself to Astronomy that night, but he barely listened to a thing Professor Sinistra said. He was very much wiped from his day of intense thought and the early hour of the morning that they finally got back to Gryffindor tower, so he had no problem falling asleep that night though.
Thursday was a bit hazy as he recovered from his brainstorming session, but after Potions on Friday he felt refreshed enough to start back in on his work and the break really had cleared his mind to give him a new perspective.
He'd always appreciated Transfiguration, from day one, for being the only class at Hogwarts that had even a lick of common sense written into the syllabus. There was concrete fact and math to back up some of the spells (even if they were tainted here and there with the 'because magic' answer at times) and McGonagall herself spoke and taught with solid references behind her, not speaking out her butt or flaunting personal experiences as stone cold truth of how things were like some professors.
Wizards sure liked to recite anecdotes as if that was all there ever was to a story. Like Quirrell talking about that time he met a vampire and it tried to eat him—but Harry was sure the fact he was wandering in a secluded forest known to be a vampire hang-out (that he had to break a ward to enter, by the way, like the ward wasn't there for a reason) likely had something to do with it and yet here he was telling a whole generation of young witches and wizards that every vampire they'd meet would try to eat them immediately.
Harry really hated people sometimes.
In any case, Transfiguration (and even Potions at times, though it pained him to admit it) were more logical than any other branch of magic, and maybe he was just a logical, technical person at heart, but that really resonated with him. Which would probably shock people, to learn he wasn't as right-brained as he dressed.
It meant though, that as he worked out his equation logically, trying to prove what he already knew he could do, he managed to stumble upon it by crossing off every possible thing that he knew it wasn't. It wasn't easy, as he hadn't had to do math in over a year and getting back into it gave him a headache, but he was determined and it was for a good cause so he persevered and by Saturday night he thought he might just have it.
You see, he had the equation, but he was getting an answer different than what the rest of the world, when, according to math, that really shouldn't be possible.
Yet it was possible, because there was an extra factor in there. Like a "multiplied by 1" variable that had no impact on if you left it in or took it out, because the answer was still the same.
If you changed the "1" though, suddenly you would get a different answer. No one ever changed that variable though, because no one knew it was there or that it could be changed. It was also an afterthought—after the equation as you knew it was completed, then you tacked on this little bit. If you didn't, no worries there was no impact to the spell because it was like multiplying by 1. If you did though…
Well, tiny nuances in how the spell performed started to emerge.
It wasn't the (Z) variable, he didn't think, because he was fairly certain that was your mental image of what you were transfiguring although he had no way of proving that—no one did, according to McGonagall, but she was willing to buy into that theory without much issue and no evidence to prove or disprove it. This variable he'd discovered was different, because he could quantify it, although it was hard.
However, as he finished the finishing touches on his equation, he realized he'd already known about this variable from they very start. It was the fall.
The fall—that weird dropping motion he pictured in his mind when he cast a spell. If you dropped something from head height to the ground, the end point would always be the ground and the starting point would always be head height, however…there was a world of possibility, in how the object got there.
What path did it take as it fell? Could it go backwards before dropping to the ground? It was magic, so if he could imagine it, it could happen. And if he could make it happen, and write out exactly what that 'falling' motion looked like when casting a spell, he could create a technically new spell—one that would harden something into stone with the same exact incantation and wand movement as duro, and yet just by changing how the fall felt when you performed it, would turn something to porcelain instead of marble, and cause it to shatter instead of survive a fall.
Was it useful?
Harry had no idea, nor did he care.
It's about the fact I'm creating a spell, even a modified existing spell, as a first year. Which will once and for all prove I've got something useful that any Slytherin would want to take advantage of, and make my work unique to any other student at Hogwarts. Like a calling card McGonagall will be able to see from ten miles away.
With his plan now in place, it was only a matter of putting his head down and writing it out clearly, which he spent Sunday, well into the night, getting in place for his next Transfiguration class first thing in the morning. He mapped the exact movements of the mental 'fall' that you needed for the traditional duro and his new one, comparing the differences and breaking out the equation to prove it could work. He'd read enough Transfiguration texts at this point to be able to mimic how authors wrote, at least to a point. He was still eleven and he'd had a lot of points taken off this year for his essay-writing skills so he was banking on the content speaking for itself for now.
He went to bed that night with a big grin on his face, and woke up the next morning earlier than ever before in order to make it down to Professor McGonagall's office before breakfast.
000
He'd stopped knocking and waiting for the curt 'enter' from within McGonagall's office months ago, so he knocked as was considered polite but then still walked right in as he pleased. True to form, she simply lifted her head from where she was grading some papers and acknowledged him with a brief nod, too used to his sudden appearances at her door by now to offer him more than that. Harry was thrilled to learn she was an early riser like he was, however this time of her morning she reserved for grading upper year homeworks and tests so she typically didn't entertain his questions or any attempts to stop by to chat at this hour, telling him to come back later during her more open afternoon office hours.
He hoped not to take too much of her time for this though, and he needed to talk to her before class otherwise she'd give him another detention for skipping.
And right on cue:
"I was told by your classmates that you'd been poisoned at breakfast which is why you didn't appear at my class last week, Mr. Potter. Madam Pomfrey assured me you hadn't visited so I assume you have a fair excuse for your absence." Her warning gaze promising pain if he didn't.
He smiled widely and walked up to her desk to put several sheets of paper clipped together on the edge, above where she had other papers mid-grading spread out in front of her. She picked it up to place over her current work, reading the otherwise blank top sheet save for the title.
She lifted one skeptical eyebrow.
"The Porcelain Theory? What exactly is this, Mr. Potter?"
"I wasn't poisoned, I just had a sudden interesting thought while drinking some tea," He chirped. "I really wanted to figure it out so I might've skipped your class and History of Magic to do some research… but I will totally accept a detention if it means you'll read that and give me some feedback during that detention?" he offered diplomatically, and she gave him an even more skeptical look (how was it she managed that he couldn't figure out but it was super impressive) and lifted the cover sheet to scan the first page.
Her eyebrows slowly rose over the long silent minute she read the first paragraphs. Harry just waited patiently with a big grin on his face, waiting for her reaction.
Unfortunately she didn't give much of one, just placed the paper down and measured him up carefully, expectantly. He took the cue to elaborate.
"If some of those dimbat authors who have books in the Hogwarts library can write about principles of Transfiguration with only half knowledge on how it works, then so can I. I figured something out about the hardening charm and I want your take on it, is all. I even did the Arithmancy for it! Although if you could double check I actually did it right it be much appreciated…" He admitted a bit abashedly, and she just stared at him.
She lifted the paper and narrowed her eyes at the content once more, another long minute passing….
"That goes against the principles of how the subject is taught." She pointed out, like he didn't already know that.
"Which is why I wrote a paper, because I've got proof and I'm sure I'm right. Will you read it and tell me what you think?" He pleaded politely, hoping she'd forget about the detention deal, distracted by the paper itself.
It seemed to work as she tapped a finger absentmindedly on the closed paper thoughtfully.
"You're quite presumptuous for a first year, trying to revolutionize a thousand-year-old subject."
"You'd be bored without me," he insisted, and she looked like she was very tempted to roll her eyes, if she were the type of person to do such a thing.
"It does not make you any less presumptuous, but yes, I suppose you do keep my on my toes." She politely ignored his snickering as she continued. "Very well, I'll take a look. Expect me to read it with prejudice. Grammar included."
He tried not to wince at that threat, instead grinning gratefully. "Please do! Thank you professor!" He tried to make his escape, waving enthusiastically in thanks—but he only made it to the door.
"And I will tell you about my findings in detention, this Thursday, Mr. Potter."
He winced visibly that time.
"Ah… yes Professor…"
000
Minerva put the small packet of paper in front of her down, having just finished reading through it--three times.
Harry Potter was a curiosity, for sure.
She had so been expecting to see a mini-James Potter in front of her when she knew he would be starting this year at Hogwarts, and his initial letter to her was absolutely filled with a self-confidence and snarky wit that screamed James Potter in every way possible. That kind of sass and assuredness did not belong on an eleven-year-old in any way, and so it was always the few that had it that stood out to her. Forget the shock of him looking just like his mother, she'd thought she'd recognized James in him clear as day.
She'd been a teacher for a long, long time, and she knew that those who had sheer unfounded confidence were always excellent at magic, because Mr. Potter's determined insistence that it's magic, so if I can imagine it I can do it, really did have some merit. There was no published work out there that quantified confidence relating in any way to magical ability, but she'd spent her whole career studying Transfiguration and knew that the unknown variable required for Transfiguration spells was most probably something related to belief.
If you fully believed you could do it, and didn't back away from that belief and had the known variables down pat, then on the most part you could.
James Potter had been a rather spoiled child, with the Potter name being long-lived, wealthy, pureblood, and very full of their superior morals compared to other pureblood families. Minerva had been on friendly terms with Fleamont Potter and so when she met his son she was absolutely not surprised that James had been a ball of shining wit and full of mischief. No one had ever told the boy no, and he'd been loved and spoiled and given every resource and tool he'd ever need to be a brilliant wizard someday from the very beginning. He had no reason to ever think he couldn't do any damn thing in this world, as the whole world had been put at his feet since birth, so it was no shock to her that he'd been very good at Transfiguration.
Even as an eleven-year-old he hadn't hesitated for a second when performing spells, and because of it every spell he'd ever tried in her class had always gone well for him. He didn't particularly like her class better than any others, but he was good at it and very well-spoken from his upbringing, so even his essays and homeworks were all but flawless, without fail. He got Os without trying, and surely because of his glowing confidence in everything he did.
She had watched him grow, over his seven years at Hogwarts. He was a spoiled child for sure when he started, but he befriended a werewolf who was treated absolutely despicably by the world at large, a meek little boy who was bullied relentlessly from day one at Hogwarts, and the heir of the Black family who was sorted into Gryffindor—someone Minerva knew was not treated well by his parents up until the day he was disowned and took up permanent residency at Potter Manor. He'd started out vain, full-of-himself, sheltered, and arrogant—but by the time James Potter had graduated he'd been a kind man, who protected his friends from this world's evils with all his heart and soul.
She would never tell Severus this, but honestly the mother-hen like traits the young Draco Malfoy was showing every time Harry got into trouble seemed really familiar to her. Only, James had been a seventh year by the time he'd grown up enough to worry about those around him like an old woman and get so indignant over his friends' reckless behavior (like he wasn't the most reckless of them all half the time).
Harry though… she'd thought she recognized his unfounded confidence because of his father before him, and she'd been very on guard against feeding into the insane arrogance of a spoiled child at first. James had grown up to be a wonderful man, but he was a little terror in his earlier years at Hogwarts and she liked to think the countless detentions she'd given him had done something to straighten him out, at least just a bit, since it was clear his own parents would never actually discipline him.
It a matter of weeks though, Minerva realized Harry's confidence was not just a replica of his father's, but something else entirely.
They had spent so many hours talking at this point that she now knew the muggles he'd been placed with had in fact not spoiled him at all. And she had no proof, but she was absolutely sure when she got her proof, she was going to be exceedingly pissed off about it.
But however he'd been raised, it was clear he did not have confidence just because no one had ever told him no before. No… Harry's confidence he could do anything was because he simply had no choice.
Failure was not an option, in his mind, as failure seemed to equate to him something far more severe than a poor homework grade. She could practically feel the insane thirst for success, for understanding and full comprehension and awareness in him when he went to her with questions. She saw the way he came to her pretending to be a Granger-look-alike, as if he were just curious about the theory and wanted to brown-nose his way into her good graces—but the second she'd started to treat him like his questions deserved real, full answers as if he were her equal, not her student, the mask had dropped and he'd gotten a hungry look in his eye that took her off guard.
When she'd complimented his use of Transfiguration against the mountain troll, he'd seemed legitimately stunned someone had complimented him. And ever since then, he looked less desperate to get her time and her answers to his questions, and actually seemed comfortable in her office when he visited.
And he visited often. Far more than any student she'd ever had before, by a clear margin.
And for some reason she could never bring herself to turn him away—maybe asking him to come back another time if she were busy, but she never ignored him or told him no.
Ah… maybe she'd ended up guilty of spoiling him herself, despite her best efforts.
But she just couldn't help it, she'd gotten along with quite a few students over the years on a more personal relationship than teacher-to-student, James being one of them eventually, especially as they'd worked side-by-side in the last war after he'd graduated. No student had ever trailed after her the way Harry did now though, like he'd never met an adult he actually trusted in his life before, and was clinging to her guidance like a moth to a flame.
He was an exceedingly clever boy and his thirst for success and intense desire to be the person in the room who knew the most, or had all the cards up his sleeve is perhaps a better way to say it, meant he probably should've been in Slytherin, honestly. Minerva had had so many Slytherins in her office before, asking questions primed for entirely different lessons than the kinds of things your typical Ravenclaw would want to know, and Harry's presence here, particularly in the first half of the year, had rang all kinds of alarm bells in her mind.
He was so smart and patient, but he was an eleven-year-old boy.
She saw the way he startled every time she praised his work, the way he was eager to share not just his Transfiguration questions but also how his day was going when he visited, the way he eagerly grabbed at his homeworks as she handed them back, excited to read her comments. The way he thought he was so clever in hiding how much her rare smiles made him perk up with a big grin of his own. The way his mask had dropped like a bag of bricks the second she'd validated him in any way, and how his questions went from 'I'm asking because I want something from you', to instantly switching in tone to be 'I want you to acknowledge me'.
She'd had plenty of children who did not have great home lives or role models to turn to cross through her classroom.
Most of them were Slytherin.
But because they were Slytherin, almost none had clung to her but she'd definitely seen them cling to Severus, and even Aurora on occasion as the woman was a Slytherin herself a long time ago, though she hardly acted the part Severus did these days.
Slytherins of these days had been raised by war-torn parents, so Severus was typically their most familiar role model.
And she didn't approve exactly, of Severus methods as a teacher, but she'd been here when he went from being a student to a Professor in his own right, and she'd watched him break down more than once about how…rampant, the disease of terrible parents and pitiful home lives truly was. How the snake house hid it, even from each other, but how much that had to hurt. How he'd gone his entire education thinking he was alone in his isolated hell, only to realize how gut-wrenchingly unspecial being an abused child actually was amongst his classmates.
Given Severus' own history, she didn't exactly blame him for it.
And she couldn't exactly blame him as he lashed out on the other houses, even though they were just children who didn't quite understand, because he was playing the role he'd so desperately wanted when he himself was at Hogwarts, and a role that no professor had been able to give him. That one person, that one adult in their lives who would always be on your side—no matter how unreasonable and unfair it made him seem as a person (and he was—unreasonable and unfair but Minerva just couldn't find it within herself to actively stop him)everyone knew Professor Snape would take a Slytherin's side over anyone else's just because he was a mean old bat.
But Severus did not care about what everyone knew, he only cared that his Slytherins were fully aware they had at least one adult who was forever and always unreasonably on their side for no other reason than that they were in Slytherin. That they would always have a champion in their corner no matter if it made political sense or not.
And for a young snake who trusted no one, that was huge.
Severus did it at the expense of earning the ire of every other house and the annoyance of his colleagues, but he was a petty man at heart and he did not care. He was the oddest mix of incredibly cruel, and unimaginably kind.
He would sacrifice 75% of the children in this school for the sake of the last 25%, without hesitation. Which, on one hand Minerva kind of hated him for, as he was a professor and supposed to be here to protect all of their children, and yet… the lengths he would go to in order to protect those of the student body who maybe needed it the most always touched her, too. She'd always hated never knowing, or finding out too late that one of her students was afraid to go home each summer, beating herself up for not being able to do more sooner…
And whether she approved of his methods, Severus was constantly acting the role he needed to, so that any child of his house that might've been afraid or might never have trusted an adult again so long as they lived, could still look at the head of Slytherin house and consider him an ally. That they would go to him and tell him before it was too late because they knew he was on their side beyond a shadow of a doubt. That Snape, as the fine Slytherin he'd grown up to be, would be able to do something about it while every other professor kept a professional distance between them and their students… and so were usually finding out second hand about a student they were too late to protect.
She'd never been able to come to a conclusion about what she thought of Severus and his role as a professor at Hogwarts, not for nearly a decade has she been able to decide. Of course she liked the man and wished he would just be happier if he could manage it, even outside of the role he played in front of the students, but beyond that… she didn't get in his way, but she also didn't take it lying down if one of her lions came to her for help with him. She let him do as he pleased because she knew why he was doing it, so long as he didn't get excessive about it.
Now though… now, she had one of her own.
A lion who was looking at her like he finally believed she would take his side if it came down to it, and he was relieved and thankful for it. One of her own who came to her with wide green eyes always so surprised when she complimented him, and surprised that she wasn't dismissing or ignoring him every time he spoke.
She hadn't quite realized what Severus was up against, having probably dozens of children under his wing all looking to him like he was their last line of defense against the world that hated them—their only hope that things would turn out fine. Because they were all just children, and they didn't actually have any control at all: their lives were up to the adults around them and they knew it. Everyone knew it, but no one had done a damn thing about it until finally they found that one adult who would.
Harry was not his father. James had liked her well enough, but he had never needed her in the slightest. He'd had everything he'd ever wanted given to him on a silver platter, but Harry…
Harry hadn't.
Harry had come a long way by the skin of his teeth if the way he'd mastered how to fake a smile and deflect a conversation was anything to go by. Harry was more than ready to be reasonable and patient if it meant getting what he wanted, because he'd learned that nothing was a guarantee unless you were willing to work for it. Harry was observant and interested in those around him both because he knew people could be used for greater purposes, and also because he liked it when people liked him, probably because it was still a novelty for him.
Harry hadn't known a thing about the wizarding world until his Hogwarts letter, because his muggle relatives hadn't told him a damn thing. And if he didn't know about the wizarding world, he didn't know his parents were magical. Which meant he hadn't known how they died.
Which meant he'd grown up probably thinking they'd died for another reason… and that that reason wasn't putting an end to decades of war by sacrificing themselves for the life of their child whom they loved.
Which meant James' confidence Minerva thought she saw in his son, it wasn't actually James' confidence at all. And the kindness she could've sworn was Lily's that Harry showed, it wasn't Lily's in the slightest.
Harry had grown up without James or Lily, and he had no idea who they were or what they were like, so maybe a tiny bit of them was alive inside their son, but most of it just wasn't theirs. Harry was someone else entirely different from his parents, who for some reason had learned his mother's kindness and passion, as well as his father's dedication and sheer pride all on his own. Not because he'd come from loving families like his parents had, but because he'd grown up alone and learned a lot of lessons his parents hadn't until they were all but graduated Hogwarts.
After all, at eleven-years-old, James Potter had been a bit of a spoiled brat and Lily Evans had been a bit of a foul-tempered know-it-all. They grew up to be wonderful adults, but they were not easy students as first or second years.
She remembered how Lily and James had been when they were actually Harry's age, and it hadn't been this.
Harry seemed to be all the good parts of his adult parents, which clearly drove Severus insane and most of the professors found it so refreshing he acted like his parents, but Minerva knew. She knew what that really meant—that Harry had already done a lot of growing up before ever stepping foot into Hogwarts. Everyone was so happy to mourn the memories of their adults selves, but Minerva would never forget the children Lily and James had once been, because they'd once been hers to straighten out, and raise in place of their parents for most of the year. They'd grown up to be wonderful, and she had been so proud.
Their son had already grown up before he'd entered into her care though. And she'd missed it all.And so… it was with an exceedingly heavy, yet proud heart that she rested a hand over the leaflet of papers she'd been given, and pondered what was in it.
The thing was… the boy was right.
The paper was far from a work of art since his grammar and essay-writing skills left something to be desired, but the content within was remarkable. No, more than that, it was genius.
The fact he was good enough at arguing his point to know what equation to use and how to break it down in a clearly worded, simple manner only a child would be so good at was impressive enough, but backing himself up with no less than two dozen texts and principles proven to be true meant his argument was all but impenetrable. She would have to run it by Septima to double check the Arithmancy, but from what she knew of the subject is was all spot-on.
Unable to help herself, she'd taken a goblet she had on hand for demonstration purposes, and with only a couple tries to apply the theory herself… she found it worked.
This boy… is going to break my heart one day.
Minerva put her wand down to stare at the goblet that had turned to porcelain in front of her, mind racing from a technical point of view of what this would mean in general for the field of Transfiguration, and also a sinking heart.
Harry was eleven.
He took to her classes and her in general and she was both proud and worried every time he displayed his incredible skill, thrilled that he wanted to do her proud in her subject, but also silently fretting over the concern that he wasn't pushing himself just because she was the only adult in his life he trusted. He was far too mature for his age, and as he raced ahead on Transfiguration topics, she had hoped that meant he was only reading ahead.
If he knew this much about the theory to be able to successfully alter a spell and leave a gaping hole in the magical world's understanding of Transfiguration as a branch of magic, she very much doubted he was just reading theory. Which means he was practicing upper level spells unsupervised, and on a magical core for someone so young, she feared for what impact that might have. Children were only supposed to use their year-level spells to protect their budding magical cores, not overexert themselves and their core by racing ahead too far, too fast.
Not that many children could do something like this. Not even Severus had openly displayed his prodigious talent at Potions until after his OWLs were completed, and he was the youngest prodigy by a wide margin in decades.
And Harry was eleven.
It should not only be impossible, but it was also dangerous. Both for his magical core, and what little childhood Harry had left to him—if, even, there was any left at all by now, which was a thought that made her want to start drinking at eight in the morning. If (when) this paper got out Minerva feared what kind of things he'd be pulled into. The pressure to follow it up with more advancements, to prove his prodigious talent, to publish more papers and write books and…
Well. Harry had already told her he wanted to open a clothes shop, or a bakery even. The amount of people who'd harass him for not only being known as the Boy Who Lived, but now one of the youngest prodigies ever in a notoriously difficult branch of magic… he'd never get another moment's peace.
Which, maybe was a good thing, as he certainly seemed more okay with obtaining fame through his own achievements rather than the ones he happened into as an infant, but still.
He was eleven.
She lifted the paper again to re-read the equation he'd altered, putting her hand beneath her chin as she worried at her bottom lip. Every academic bone in her body wanted to go deeper into this subject that posed a question that cast into doubt everything she'd worked for in her career, but she forced herself to refrain.
What he needs is more time. He doesn't need to be the boy who inherited James Potter's Transfiguration talent, or the Boy Who Lived prodigy. He just needs to be Harry.
Even if he'd grown up too fast and didn't have a childhood left to enjoy, Minerva would still try to get him that time, just on the off chance he could still catch a few years of blissful ignorance of some things. He was clearly already too world-savvy, but she could do this much at least.
I can prevent this from getting out, for now. Send him back for more research, pick at his grammar until he'd a fifth year. Maybe he'll buy it.
She probably wouldn't do it, but she silently felt like she owed Severus an apology for her reserved judgement this past decade. She'd never had a student she was willing to suddenly toss her carefully composed set of ideals out the window for before. Any other student and she'd be praising them outright, calling up the nearest publisher to see if this couldn't get into the next issue of the academic journals she was subscribed to.
But this wasn't any other student, and even if it broke the rules she had imposed on herself for being a teacher, she couldn't find it in herself to care.
This lion was special, and she was going to ensure he could continue to trust her, professionalism be damned.
000
"Minerva!"
Septima was, as a rule, a very refined woman who did not run and gave even Minerva herself a run for her money with her reputation of being strict amongst the Hogwarts students. And knowing her personally, Minerva was one to agree that the woman was rather… boring.
She dedicated her life to numbers and was very content to be that way, which was admirable if not a little dull.
But that persona was what made it very entertaining when she burst into the Transfiguration professor's office, cheeks flushed from the clear run she'd just taken, brandishing a packet of papers emphatically.
"Minerva! Who wrote this!?"
She put down her quill and safely covered the essay she'd been grading just in time for Septima to plop the papers down with abandon over her work, pacing before her desk distractedly.
"Can you not guess?" She offered, amused at this reaction. It wasn't like she didn't mention her most promising student often enough in the teacher's lounge, after all.
"Minerva you don't understand. It's too simple, it's like learning the green gummies are strawberry flavored: yes it's obvious but at the same time what?"
Minerva frowned, not actually having known that.
"The writing level is quite low and admittedly I'm not the greatest at Transfiguration spells, but the Arithmancy is so painfully simple of course a first year came up with it. It's just also absolutely shocking that no one has ever considered this possibility before." She pressed on, seeming very harassed about the whole thing.
"So the calculations are accurate?"
"Yes, but that's the annoying thing. It's not like he did it wrong, he just…" She waved her hands helplessly as if trying to find the right words for it. "He just—added onto it or something! He added more to the equation. Which isn't wrong apparently—which alone is just stunning— but also who the hell would think of that? It's not like there was anything wrong with how the spell or equation was done prior so why did he even think of this? How did he even know it would work? What was even the point much less getting into the absolutely stunning fact his wild suspicion was actually right?"
Minerva sighed silently, having already asked herself all these questions.
"I plan to ask him those questions myself in time, but I wanted to run it by you first to make sure I hadn't made a calculation error." She soothed. "I'm going to meet with him in a couple minutes actually to discuss this more, so you've made good time."
"Does he plan to publish this?" Septima cut right to the chase, and Minerva winced slightly.
"I suspect that may be the ultimate goal, yes, but his writing needs a significant amount of work. The theory is good, but it still sounds like an eleven-year-old wrote it."
The Arithmancy professor snorted delicately. "Geniuses, I swear. If you ever read some of Severus' work, you know what I mean."
That earned a small smile from her, at least. Severus was the youngest potions master ever and was undoubtedly gifted, but his published works were rough to get through despite them being groundbreaking in the Potions field. Minerva had read the summaries and left the actual reading of those papers to other Potions masters who really wanted to know. As was often the case, being knowledgeable didn't mean you could express it well either in words or writing.
"Mr. Potter has time to learn; this is only the first draft and I expect many more before he's ready to publish but… he is correct in his theories if you're here to tell me you agree with his calculations."
"I sure do! I am amazed at this kind of creative thinking, much less that it worked! It's like using the wrong equation on a problem and getting an even better answer—I'm intrigued to say the least. You'll have to keep me updated, and also when he gets there try to convince him to take Arithmancy if you can."
"I can assure you Mr. Potter will do as he pleases with or without my input, but I can put in a good word." She admitted wryly. "Thank you for your help, but if you could keep this under wraps for now, it would be appreciated. I think this potential work can be fleshed out more thoroughly for the time being, and perhaps published when he's a bit older."
"What? Why? Think of the kind of work he could get to in his life if he starts publishing now!"
"Septima, he's a first year. Yes this is clever, but imagine what he could do with a little more Transfiguration experience under his belt?" The woman blinked, giving it some thought and shrugging.
"Well if you're sure. As I said I only vaguely grasp the Transfiguration side of it. Just let me know if I can double check anything else; I'll look forward to the final product then. Please help his writing skills, if you can."
"I'll do my best," Minerva sighed. "Thank you, Septima."
The took her leave with a distracted look still firmly on her face, and while the Arithmancy professor often had a one-track mind for her numbers, she also wasn't the gossipy type in any way. Minerva had faith she'd keep this quiet, at least for the time being—she might get too excited and let something slip as she started ranting about her numbers, but as a general rule people avoided triggering her long-winded (and exceptionally dull) diatribes about finances and calculations, so it was probably a safe secret for now.
She took a breath, almost a bit disappointed she'd confirmed what Minerva had already suspected.
"Professor?"
Minerva lifted her head, and a flame of red greeted her at the door, smiling a bit abashedly.
"Mr. Potter. Welcome to detention."
"Right… am I going to be doing lines or can we talk about my paper?" He hedged, clearly trying to be charming and she let it slide for now. She'd always intended just to talk, after all. They both knew his presence in her actual classes was… rather pointless honestly, but it was the principle of the thing and she refused to let his skipping become a bad habit. First it would start with her classes and then it'd be others, and she wasn't about to make it so obvious she clearly had a soft spot for him.
She knew it would already be a losing battle, but she was obligated to make the attempt.
She stood, leading the way back out into the hallway and towards her classroom. "I think perhaps our time would be better used addressing some questions I have for you. I'd like to run some spellwork drills, if you are up to it."
"Spellwork drills?" He blinked, following after her quickly. She had long strides, and he was rather small for his age so it always felt like he was jogging to keep up with her. "What are those?"
"Children with particularly unruly magical cores are often taught spellwork drills to help them master a level of control in a safe environment. They are 'blank' spells, meaning they stress one's magical core almost as much as the actual spell, but without any effect taking place." She explained as they entered her classroom. She already had several multi-colored buttons laid out on a desk that Harry clearly inferenced were for him as he went and sat down in front of it, whipping out his wan obediently.
"Ok?" He allowed, clearly not seeing the point of it but not arguing exactly. "Is my magical core unruly?"
"That is what I want to determine." She stood before him, arms folded behind her back and nodded to the buttons. "I've seen you preform the switching spell previously; can you perform it now please."
He perked up a bit and executed the spell flawlessly with a simple "Ibi," and the buttons came to a rest in their new locations, both glowing dully. He blinked at them. "Are they supposed to glow?"
She lifted a brow, noting the color they were shining. "That's part of the spellwork drill. These buttons are enchanted to reveal the level and type of magic you're using on them."
"Oh. Ah, actually that's pretty cool," he seemed genuinely interested, picking them up and turning them over in his hand curiously. "So this'll tell me if my magical core is unruly or whatnot?"
"In a way," she admitted. "I read your paper, Mr. Potter, and to be honest… you are correct. The development you made, according to my observations, is right." He straightened up, grinning proudly. "But."
He deflated a bit. "But? What about it?" He demanded.
She gave a tired sigh. What felt like the thousandth in only a couple days.
"For one, your essay-writing skills need quite a bit of work, to say the least. But that's a secondary matter… what concerns me most, is that you've been practicing third-year level spells. To be honest I had hoped you were only reading ahead."
The boy stared at her, wide green eyes uncomprehending. "But… isn't the point of learning magic to do it? Why wouldn't I be trying out this stuff if I could?"
This boy… he didn't inherit his father's recklessness exactly, but he definitely has a lack of awareness for danger at the very least.
"Because you are eleven." She told him pointedly, but calmly. He seemed surprised by that change in direction the conversation had taken. "First year spells are what they are to protect growing magical cores from overexerting themselves too young. You can learn all the theory you'd like and I'd never stop you, but the fact you were able to perform and alter a third-year level spell concerns me, because I fear you're unknowingly doing damage to your magical core."
He gaped at her, clearly not having imagined that as a possibility.
"But…" he glanced down at the buttons that had stopped glowing on the desk in front of him. "Is that what these tell you? That my core is messed up now?"
Minerva pressed her lips. "No. When they glow blue like that, it's the appropriate level of magic used for that spell." She admitted.
"Then… I'm okay?"
"I would like to test out as many spells as you know so far and see their results before I answer that."
"Right…"
He didn't put up a fuss though as he ran though all the first year spells he knew and then proceeded to go through all the second and third year Transfiguration spells as well with her providing goblets, snuffboxes, and other trinkets she had stored in her classroom for him to test them out on.
Each time, the objects glowed blue, meaning he was performing the spells perfectly.
It just… it makes no sense. Prodigies are not unheard of, but this just shouldn't be possible—at least not without harming his core. There has to be a drawback, but where?
Minerva's plans weren't exactly working out. She had hoped to use this threat of endangering his magical core to get him to slow down (please just be a carefree child just a little longer) but it didn't seem like even her logical fears had any ground to stand on. She knew Potters were rumored to have large magical cores, but this was ridiculous. To be able to perform all these spells back-to-back, without breaking a sweat, didn't just mean he had a large reserve to draw from, but it also meant he could control it.
If James had this kind of talent and had wasted it she was going to give him an earful in the next life.
Almost half an hour later Harry finally stopped casting spells, seeming to scratch his brain trying to remember any more and realize he'd run out. He turned to her expectantly.
"So? Did any of that mean my core is off? They all turned blue."
"They did. Which, would imply there's nothing amiss." The boy looked triumphant and Minerva knew she was going to have to resort to honesty here. She stood before his desk pointedly and he paused in his victory to pay attention to what she was going to say. "To be frank, Mr. Potter, even though it seems to be fine I am still concerned you're pushing yourself too far, for no good reason. Where is the need to master these spells? You have your entire career at Hogwarts in front of you, why not dedicate your time to enjoying it instead of getting so needlessly ahead? Just because you can does not necessarily mean it's wise to spend your life overreaching and never simply enjoying the moment." She paused, seeing him stiffen in alarm as he listened. "You are eleven. It is insanely impressive you've done this, but where is the fire?"
He ducked his head, long red strands of his wild, distinctive hair fell in his face and he seemed to mull something over for a long minute.
Then:
"Okay… okay." He blew out a breath, tapping the desk in front of him almost as a nervous habit. "Can I be totally honest? And maybe you… not give me another detention for it?"
She did not budge in her stern expression.
"We'll see."
"Okay, that's fair." He admitted, seeming to brace himself for a second before suddenly a dam broke and it all came spilling out. "Well… I guess I'm doing this for three reasons. One: I'm friends with a lot of Slytherins and I'm a Gryffindor, which already puts me at a disadvantage but then I'm also the Boy Who Lived or whatever so half of them really hate me on top of it. But what Slytherins do like, is to trade: if I'm really good at something I can trade them lessons or notes or essays or whatever in exchange for other stuff, and they like that arrangement. Which means I can be friends with my Slytherin friends and on the most part everyone else leaves us alone, because they want something out of me. Like, everyone knows I'm really good at Transfiguration now, and I can trade myclass notes for like, a lot of stuff these days. I even gave a few people lessons before midterms and now they owe me, which is exactly where I want to be with Slytherins, right?"
"I… see."
She really should've seen that coming. She was aware Harry and the young Draco Malfoy were friends and it'd caused quite a stir in the start of the year, but she hadn't realized it was quite so dicey. She knew Severus was very concerned about the friendship but Minerva had always been on board as probably the first, if not only Gryffindor/Slytherin friendship in decades. She was no Slytherin though, so all of that… political-ness was lost on her—she knew it was a thing, just not that it was quite so important.
She hadn't given it any thought since the first day of term when Severus had stormed off seeing the two young first years share their schedules, and then refuse to show up for meals for the entire next week. She'd thought he was being dramatic, honestly.
She was starting to think that maybe all of Slytherin copied Severus' dramatics and if that were true then lord help them all.
Harry cut off her wary thoughts by reaching into his bag he'd brought with him and unearthing a simple black journal with dark blue etchings on the front, setting in on the desk in front of him pointedly. It seemed to have quite a bit of age to it, although it was well preserved.
"The second reason is a bit weird, but uh…. I was raised by muggles who hated magic and didn't really know anything about my parents so like… when I got to the magical world for the first time the Potter name didn't really mean anything to me, you know? I mean I just had no idea who my parents were, much less the bloodline as a whole, so when I got to Gringotts and they told me I'd accidentally avenged the Monroe line or something I just kind of accepted it, because why not? I kinda of agreed without thinking but then there was that whole blood ritual thing which was not fun but you can't really back out of agreements with goblins I've learned—not that I tried, since I immediately knew that was a bad idea, but yeah… point is I also adopted the Monroe bloodline so I got to see their vault. The Potter vault is locked until I'm seventeen so the only 'family' vault or history I've seen has all been Monroe, and a part of it is these journals from one of my ancestors that I like, legitimately love. She was super big into Transfiguration and I've read dozens of her journals already and she's maybe my favorite adopted ancestor ever. I genuinely like this topic because I got to see it through her eyes too, and she actually owned a clothes shop herself and used Transfiguration to do it, and that's sort of my goal at the moment as well so… there's no reason not to get wrapped up in this subject, to me. Since this is what I want."
Minerva felt her heart break, at least a little. At the same moment she was… oddly touched that Harry seemed to have found some kind of meaning in his heritage, all on his own. The fact he thought nothing of his father's family because he just didn't know them made her want to withdraw into herself for a moment to grieve, but at the same time… if the boy found a place in an adoptive heritage… he both deserved and was owed that right, she supposed.
Harry spread his hands out over the desk, giving her a kind of guilty smile.
"And the third reason…is that I really do like it. I mean, it makes the most sense of all the branches of magic and it just comes naturally I guess? Fred and George said its definitely unnatural how quick I pick this stuff up and they're pretty unnatural themselves so that says a lot. I swear I'm not doing it for any crazy reason or not spending enough time with my friends or something by being obsessed with learning Transfiguration or anything, it really is a hobby, I promise."
"So, the Weasley twins have been assisting you." She narrowed her eyes, but knew it was more grasping at straws now than anything. He made… a very compelling point.
"At most they're just very helpful tutors! You can't be mad at them because I asked for their help and they were glad to do it—that's just being considerate! And I'm 100% sure they didn't know it was dangerous, they just thought it was impressive at best. They're reckless as heck but they'd never purposefully harm someone!" He defended his friends, a bit panicked, but she just sighed audibly to let him know she was too used to their nonsense to actually be bothered by their involvement.
"Yes, I'm aware. Troublesome as they are, they do understand where the line is." She pursed her lips, taking a moment to consider before giving in. She really just… had no grounds to stand on at the moment. "I suppose I can accept that reasoning. But do you understand how uneasy I am about this entire ordeal? Not that I'm not proud one of my student has come so far in such short amount of time, but it is a cause for concern."
"I understand." He vowed. "Are you… going to tell me to stop?"
"What is the purpose of writing this paper, may I ask? Do you plan to publish it?"
"Well, eventually I think. Not like tomorrow or anything, but maybe after I graduate? This is only one aspect of one spell, but I'm sure I can do a lot more and as you've said… I've got time, right?"
"You do." She was… more than a little relieved he seemed to understand without her having to outright say it, and the tension across her shoulders relaxed some. "It would put me at ease if you would wait a bit before publishing, both because you're right that there's a significant amount you can add with some research and also because being a published author so young can have some… adverse side effects."
"Yeah, I'm not interested in more fame. I'm totally fine keeping it just between you and I if that's what you're saying." He perked up cheerily. "I know I need to be a better writer before doing anything official, anyway."
"That you do. And also, I hope you don't mind but I shared it with Professor Vector as well, so that she could double check the calculations for me. I was fairly certain of it myself, but having another pair of eyes on something so delicate is always a good tactic."
"No, that's fine. I had kind of figured; she's the Arithmancy professor, right?"
"Yes." Minerva tilted her head back, coming to a conclusion. "I will make you a deal, Mr. Potter, since you seem to be good at those." Perk up "I will not tell you to stop, however I insist that you will come to me to do these spellwork drills at regular intervals to ensure there is no impact to your health—and if I even suspect you are overreaching yourself then you will cease and desist all practical work until you're old enough to bear it. Theory is fine of course."
"I understand." He swore seriously, sensing how serious she herself was about this.
Good.
She was serious.
"Also, you will keep this information and the status of your abilities to yourself the best you are able. At least for the time being. And in exchange…" He tilted his head curiously at her. "I will be happy to peer review your work no matter what you come up with, and help get your writing into shape for this to one day be published." She took the packet of papers she'd had behind her back and placed them gently back before him on his desk. "Either as a stand alone paper, or even a book since given enough time I'm sure you could fill several novels with your… Odd Solutions, I think you called them?"
Harry grinned widely, green eyes lighting up that she'd remembered.
"An Odd Solution is a muggle-inspired magical solution, but I like the sound of it anyway! Okay, you have a deal!"
Minerva knew asking him to hide his abilities was probably selfish. But as he scooped up his papers to clutch them to his chest and immediately began talking her ear off about other Odd Solutions he'd found interesting like they weren't technically in detention right now, she found herself unwilling to care.
She'd been a teacher for decades, and had always maintained absolute professionalism and fairness for the thousands of students who'd crossed through her classroom.
If the world could forgive Severus for being the most selfish teacher on the planet, it could forgive her just this once.
000
Draco was surprised, but pleasantly so, when a snowy white owl fluttered over to him the second he stepped into the owlery to send a letter to his parents. Of course he knew Hedwig—there was no one at Hogwarts who didn't know who the most vibrant owl amongst the flock of mail delivery owls was, because that person was probably the most vibrant person amongst the flock of students at this school in the first place. It only seemed fitting the prettiest of owls belonged to the most colorful of persons—although there was an irony in the fact Harry stood out for his electric colors whilst Hedwig stood out for her startling lack of any color at all amongst a sea of browns and blacks and tans.
He was also more than familiar with her because pretty much half the summer she'd spent in his bedroom, eating up his owl treats and sharing Bastian's water bowl, chirping over his shoulder as he wrote out his response letter to her owner. Draco sometimes spent all day trying to craft a letter since he knew Harry wouldn't get it until late evening anyway so it didn't matter how long it took him to write it, and Hedwig had seemed extremely judgmental at times, sitting at the corner of his desk and giving him wide golden eyes every time he crumpled his paper to start again.
She was a freakishly intelligent bird. He even thought Bastian was a clever eagle-owl, but this arctic owl spun circles around him, the two of them getting into quite a tiff here and there in his bedroom until he kicked them both out to play elsewhere while he finished writing. He'd watched his poor pet get so flustered over Hedwig stealing things out from under him and nipping at this flight feathers until he was irritated enough to try and claw at her—only for her to disappear in a flutter of snowy white wings and Bastian to give chase, always in vain unfortunately.
She definitely picked up several bad habits from her owner, Draco though dryly as he held out an arm for Hedwig to land on, surprised by the letter tied around her leg that was addressed to him.
Why was Hedwig bringing him a letter? Had Harry lent her out to someone?
No… he recognized that handwriting on the front.
Well, he'd never know unless he read it, and it was addressed to him so he tucked the letter he had for his parents into his pocket for now and untied this one, letting Hedwig hop up onto his shoulder like she too wanted to read what it said and opened it curiously. And yeah, he definitely recognized his handwriting; he'd only memorized it.
Dear Draco,
It's a bit weird, I'm writing you a letter when I see you pretty much every other day, but bear with me for a second. The fact is that I don'tsee you every other day anymore and Daphne tells me it's because this is essentially open season for Slytherins' plots and to be honest I have something going on myself that I'm so excited to tell you about—after it happens, that is. No need to spoil the surprise, but I'm sure you'll love it.
Honestly, we live in the same building (huge at this castle is) and now somehow talk less than we did when we were still writing letters over the summer from lord-knows how many miles apart. Not to mention half of what we say is not actually what we want to say since, you know, you never sit at the Gryffindor table and I'm not about to talk about my personal business in front of Blaise if I can help it. I can only imagine it's worse as someone how actually has to share a house, much less room with the guy. If you want my opinion on all of this, then I'll tell you outright that it's annoying and generally just sucks.
So, why don't we go back to the way it was? I know you said the Ministry monitors letters legally, but how can they monitor letters that never leave Hogwarts' grounds? And if you tell me they can then I need to have a serious talk with someone about personal rights in the wizarding world because what the hell. For being better than the muggle world, muggles seem to have a lot more personal liberties guaranteed to them by their government than wizards do, and yes I'm sure I just heard you scoff at that. Fight me.
Anyway—like the idea? I hope you like the idea, because it's been months already and I still haven't rubbed it in your face enough about how I was right on Snape including the hiccupping potion on our last final. I mean, you didn't believe me: I never got to say it in person, but I would like it in writing that I told you so….
Draco didn't even realize he'd sat down on the steps outside the owlery as he continued to read the couple pages that were left, smiling.
And it didn't matter, because only Hedwig was there on his shoulder as if reading along, cooing lightly in the early spring air. Bastian might've judged him, but he was up in the rafters avoiding Hedwig like the plague and watching her cuddle up to his owner in annoyance from above.
Not that Hedwig wouldn't absolutely use his smile against him if she were given the chance, but given she couldn't speak, he felt confidence in his relative solitude to smile broadly at his letter.
000
"Excuse me, is this where the beginners to this game start?"
It was not the first time someone just walked up to where they were gathering on the quidditch pitch and asked to join with very confused, hesitant voices—given spring had just sprung and these were the first truly nice days now that the ever-present cold had faded away, they got a lot of new recruits joining all of a sudden. Plus, an upper year Gryffindor who was significantly better at drawing than Harry had re-done their posters and hung them around the hall, particularly on the door outside the Great Hall, so people were still learning about it and as it gained popularity, slowly being enticed by the rumors and the nice weather to give it a try.
With Harry off playing with the more experienced group, people tended to approach the people in the beginner's group who looked like they knew what they were doing. Lu visited to give them drills and help out sometimes, but really stuck to the other group, so that kind of just left Susan. She, Hannah, and Neville were now the most-senior of the beginner's group, and Susan herself had even played on the "division 1" team during their last 'official/unofficial' game they'd held. She definitely hadn't been the best player on her team by far, but she hadn't completely failed off the pitch either.
Hannah was perfectly content deflecting questions her way and while Neville was the most senior of anyone here, his timid personality meant pretty much no one asked him questions first.
Which made Susan the de facto leader on this side of the field, and she was content with this role. She didn't grab for power like a Slytherin would, but she was well suited for it and thought the work worthwhile— fulfilling even. The fact everyone looked to her automatically in the absence of all the stronger personalities off to the north side of the quidditch pitch kind of just worked out. She turned, fully expecting to welcome in a new player and give them the run down of the rules while they stretched and prepared to do some drills and have a mini-mock game today, only to freeze solid when she realized who it was.
What greeted her was long raven hair tied in a braid down to the small of her back, and eyes an unnerving cyan blue as they stared Susan down as if daring her to reject her. She was a lot less hesitant than their normal recruit, and Susan knew it was because this particular girl had probably already mulled over joining extensively, so the fact she was here meant she was here—all in.
And likely because she wanted something.
"Greengrass." Susan greeted politely, and sensed when those stretching and chatting around her realized a Slytherin had actually appeared before them.
She was suddenly extremely thankful this was one of the days Ron Weasley had decided to skip—he was a very unreliable club member, which was totally fine but it meant you never knew when he'd be at practice or not.
Then again, giving who this girl was, the fact she'd picked a day when the most loud-mouthed Weasley wasn't here was probably not an accident.
"Daphne is fine, if that's okay." The noirette smiled, eyes flickering around the group and her posture clearly saying she was trying not to be too threatening. But still a little threatening because… well, because. "Harry was telling me about this club and it seems interesting. Although I have no idea how to play."
She wasn't alone—they still had quite a large group who still had no idea how to play. In fact, 'Harry told me about this but I'm not sure what to do' was the excuse no less than half the people currently in the football club had given when they started.
The reminder of Harry snapped Susan out of her stiffness.
"I'm Susan." She greeted just as politely and welcomingly and she would anyone else, also leaving off the last name because she was a Bones and Daphne was a Greengrass—both purebloods and they were both extremely aware of each other and their family's reputations—no need to bring it into the club though. "And no worries, most of us had no idea what this game was when we started," She dismissed.
"Most of us still don't!" A second year Hufflepuff joked brightly. He was a muggleborn, and had no idea about pureblood families nor did he pay much attention to the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry.
Daphne looked a bit surprised at the friendly address, but her smile widened.
"You can jump right in—we're just stretching a bit before we get into it, and then doing some drills to start. This is the beginner's group so you'll find people of all levels here, and then once you get comfortable enough you can go join those crazies as you like," She explained, nodding across the pitch where the other group was already mid-mock game and Seamus was already shouting something unintelligible from this distance.
"Sounds fun. What exactly are the rules?"
Susan was cut off before she could answer—a third year Ravenclaw jumping forward almost automatically.
"No! Don't let Susan explain! She thinks she knows the rules but really she just makes them up if she's losing!"
"Mark! Shut up!" She snapped at him, and he stuck his tongue out at her.
"You may be the in charge over here, but Lu's warned me not to listen to your rules!"
"I know what I'm doing!"
"Yeah, doesn't mean you're doing it right." Hannah snickered, unable to help teasing her best friend and she got several laughs as Susan kicked the nearest football they had at her full force—causing her to need to dive to dodge it.
Daphne was highly amused by this scene and grinned like only a Slytherin could as they enjoyed someone else's misery, watching Hannah run for her life from her friend.
She startled though when a ball entered her peripheral vision and she blinked to see Neville Longbottom handing her one of the strange un-enchanted balls lying around the grass. She took it almost automatically and gave him a curious look, silently questioning.
He just shrugged and nodded to the net a couple meters away.
"You just try and kick the balls into the nets on each end. One goalie in each net can defend using their hands, everyone else had to use their feet." He explained quietly.
"Oh, thanks." She smiled at him, a bit surprised someone had actually answered her question with the chaos going on around them.
He didn't quite smile back as he nodded and made his quick retreat, but Daphne straightened up as she let the ball drop and gave it an experimental kick. She was a true Slytherin and she was here for her own reasons… but if that reason was to have the fun she couldn't have anywhere else it seemed…
Well… the rest of her house didn't need to know that.