Well, apparently that last chapter was not the smartest move I've ever made. Now I know. I won't do that again.
DISLCAIMER: I own Lizzie, Whizzy and Michael. Yada, yada, yada….
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LAST TIME: "Blood pops," Harry said, grimacing. The statue started rotating upwards to create a spiral staircase, and Harry and Michael jumped on. A few minutes later, they finally reached Dumbledore's office. Harry knocked twice on the wooden door.
"Come in."
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Chapter 7 - Something Wicked This Way Comes
Harry opened the door to Dumbledore's office, careful to keep his eyes lowered.
"Ah, Messrs. Potter and Black," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Please, sit." They both sat in the chairs opposite of the aged wizard, still keeping their gaze to the floor. "Lemon drop?" he offered. They both politely declined. "I trust that your first day at Hogwarts has gone well?"
"Yes, sir," Michael said respectfully.
"Excellent." For a minute, the only sound in the room was the whirring of various instruments in Dumbledore's office and the soft trilling of his phoenix.
"I'm sure that you are wondering why I've called you here today," Dumbledore said. "Harry, there seems to have been a problem with your placement."
"How so, professor?" Harry asked calmly, but clenched his teeth in anger.
"You were supposed to be placed with the Dursleys, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "That is the only place where you are safe. That is the only place where your mother's blood still lives."
"Safe?" Harry scoffed. "I live in a house with every protection spell imaginable cast on it. If you tried and failed to locate me for ten years, I doubt that Voldemort did. And I don't consider Petunia Dursley my family."
"Harry, you have been raised by the man who betrayed your parents!" Dumbledore said loudly, beginning to get frustrated.
"Funny," Harry said. "He told us that Pettigrew did it."
"Rather convenient to blame a dead man, Harry," Dumbledore said, calming himself down. Harry felt something probing in his mind, and quickly snapped his Occlumency shields up, a look of anger on his face. Dumbledore seemed surprised that Harry could know Occlumency so well.
"Forgive us, sir," Michael said, apparently having been probed as well, "we weren't aware that it was school protocol to poke into students' minds." Sighing, Dumbledore turned to Michael.
"Michael," he said softly, like a grandfather would talk to his grandson, "you can still live with your mother if you tell me where Sirius Black is." Michael scoffed.
"Even if I could, I wouldn't tell you," Michael said. Dumbledore sighed in defeat; he knew that he couldn't get these two boys to cooperate.
"Very well, you may go," he said. They got up to leave, but as Harry was about to exit, he said, "One last thing, Professor."
"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.
"I've done my homework. There's no such thing as blood wards." And with that, he left the room.
"So, how'd it go?" Blaise asked when they got back to the Gryffindor common room.
"Not so great," Michael said, dropping into a chair and sighing.
"Tried to get us to `fess up where Dad is, and we wouldn't," Harry continued.
"Not that we could anyway." Harry sighed and hauled himself up.
"I'm gonna go write Mum," he said, before going up to his dormitory.
"Yeah, I should do that too," Michael said, reluctantly pulling himself out of his comfortable chair and following his brother.
Two days later, during breakfast, both Hedwig and Smoke-Rings swooped down with letters tied to their legs. Harry untied his letter and fed Hedwig a piece of bacon before she flew up to the owlrey. Harry tore up the envelope and read the letter.
Dear Harry,
I'm glad that you and Michael are making friends already! And about Hermione, give her time; I'm sure that she's just shy.
The sorting sounds really interesting. Wish I was there to see it.
Your father did a happy dance when I told him that you two were in Gryffindor. I'm still not sure what he's so excited about.
Your Potions professor doesn't sound very pleasant. I'm proud that you kept a level head and informed another teacher instead of taking matters into your own hands.
Your History of Magic professor sounds even more boring than mine. At least mine took a breath every now and then.
Dad and Uncle Moony say "hi."
Love,
Mum.
"What's the method of torture for today?" Blaise sighed.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said. "That could be fun." Blaise shrugged dismissively and the four of them got up to find the class.
When they reached the DADA classroom, they were immediately assaulted by the smell of garlic. It was so strong, that they almost vomited right there.
"God, I like garlic, but this is ridiculous," Michael gagged, covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe.
"I ap-p-p-pologize, Mister Black," Professor Quirrel said, coming from the back of the classroom. "I k-k-k-keep the garlic to ward off a vamp-p-p-pire I angered some time ago."
"This smell will ward off more than just vampires," Blaise muttered darkly, but due to her mouth being covered by her arm, no one heard her.
Soon the class started, with the rest of the students making similar comments on the pungent smell that filled the room.
"So, who here c-c-c-can tell me what exactly the Dark Arts are?" Quirrel asked. Several people raised their hands. "Mister Malfoy."
"Any spell that is to cause pain or death," the slick-haired Slytherin said, smirking.
"A g-g-g-good answer, Mister Malfoy. Anyone else? Mister P-p-p-potter."
"The Dark Arts is not so much a specific caste of spells as a state of mind," Harry said.
"How so, Mister P-p-p-potter?"
"While there are some spells specifically designed to maim or kill, a lot of legal spells can be used to do the same thing. It's the intent of the caster that defines it as Dark or Light." Everybody was looking at Harry in awe, except for Malfoy, who just sneered.
"Excellent answer, Mister P-p-p-potter. Five p-p-p-points to Gryffindor." He turned his attention to the rest of the class. "Open your t-t-t-textbooks to p-p-p-page five, if you would."
A long hour later, the class ended, and the class gave a collective gasp of air as they exited the classroom.
"I thought I was gonna suffocate in there!" Blaise gasped.
"Water. I need water," Michael wheezed.
"The loo's right over here," Harry said, looking a little green himself. All four of them rushed to their respective lavoratories.
The next day, a brown owl swooped down at Harry and deposited a letter for him.
"Who's that from?" Michael asked.
"I don't know," Harry said. He opened the letter and read the large, scribbly handwriting.
Harry,
I know you got Fridays off, so why don't you come visit me for a cuppa? I live in the hut on the grounds
near the forest.
Hagrid.
"Meh, what could it hurt?" Harry said. After they finished breakfast, the four of them went down to the hut on the edge of the forbidden forest.
Harry knocked on the door, and a loud barking and scratching boomed from behind the door.
"Fang! Back Fang, ye crazy mutt," a man shouted, before the door swung open to reveal the large man that Harry and Michael saw the day they went to Diagon Alley. "`Arry!" Hagrid exclaimed. "I `aven' seen ye since ye was a lil' baby. Come in, come in." The four kids climbed into Hagrid's hut. It was small, with only one room. Various pots and pelts hung from the ceiling; it had a quaint look to it.
"Who're yer friends, `Arry?"
"Michael," Michael said, being careful not to mention his surname.
"Blaise Zambini," Blaise said proudly. Hermione mumbled something.
"Wuzzat? I didn't quite hear ye."
"Hermione Granger," Hermione said a little louder.
"Pleased to meet ye. Care for a cuppa?" Not waiting for an answer, Hagrid put on a pot of tea.
"So, how've yer classes been, `Arry?"
"They're okay," Harry said, shrugging. "History of Magic is boring, and I think Snape has it in for me."
"Nonsense! Why woul' Professor Snape have it in fer ye?"
"Seven years of public humiliation at the hands of my father," Harry said flatly.
"Codswallop," Hagrid said as he placed a cup of tea in front of everyone. Harry sipped his tea when he saw a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. He turned it around to read the headline. GRINGOTTS BANK BROKEN INTO; NOTHING STOLEN. Harry saw it was dated 31 of July. But before he could read it, Hagrid snatched it away.
"Sorry `bout tha', meant to throw that away." They made some more small talk, then headed back to the castle.
"That was strange," Blaise said, "the way he reacted to you reading that paper and all."
"The library has past copies of the Daily Prophet. We can look there," Hermione said.
"We can play detective later, I'm hungry," Michael said. Everybody rolled their eyes as they headed to the Great Hall.
The weeks passed by quickly, and soon it was the day of Halloween. Dumbledore had apparently dismissed Harry's complaint, as Snape was as vindicative as ever.
"Today, we will be learning the levitation charm," the tiny Professor Flitwick said, standing on his pedestal of books. "That is, the ability to make things float. The wand movement is a swish and flick, and the incantation is - repeat after me now - Wingardium Leviosa."
"Wingardium Leviosa," the class echoed.
"Excellent. And be sure to pronounce it correctly. Do not forget the wizard Baruffio, who pronounced it with an `R' instead of an `N' and ended up with a buffalo on his chest. Begin!" Michael and Blaise were paired together, Harry with a Hufflepuff named Seamus Finnigan, and Hermione with a red-haired Gryffindor boy named Ronald Weasley.
"Wingardium Leviosar. Wingardium Leviosar!" Weasley shouted, waving his wand frantically.
"Stop, stop," Hermione said. "You're doing it wrong. It's Levi-oh-sah, not
Leviosar."
"Why don't you just leave me alone, bookworm!" Hermione seemed on the verge of tears.
"I was just trying to help," she said softly.
"Mister Weasley," Professor Flitwick said. "Is there a problem?"
"No, professor," Weasley mumbled.
"I hope not. Miss Granger, if you would demonstrate the charm?" Nodding, Hermione wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said clearly, "Wingardium Leviosa." Her feather floated high above their heads.
"Oh! Oh! Look, class! Miss Granger has done it! Well done." A few minutes later, Harry succeeded in performing the charm, followed by Blaise, then finally Michael. In total, they earned ten points for Gryffindor.
Later that day, Harry and Michael were heading towards the common room when they saw a head of bushy brown hair streak by them.
"Hermione?" Harry asked before they ran after her. They turned the corner to see her run into the girl's lavoratory. "Michael, find Blaise." Nodding, Michael ran off and Harry sat on the wall by the door.
Twenty minutes later, Blaise and Hermione came out of the lavoratory, Hermione sniffling.
"Hey," Harry said. "You gonna be okay?" Hermione nodded her head.
"Yeah," she said, choked. "It's silly, I'll be fine."
"You sure?" She nodded again. "Okay. C'mon, let's get something to eat."
By the time they were at the Halloween feast, the four of them were talking and laughing like nothing had ever happened. But the mood was killed when Quirrel burst through the doors of the Great Hall.
"TROLL! IN THE DUNGEON! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! Thought you ought to know," he added before collapsing. Then pandemonium coursed through the hall.
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore shouted, and immediately the room went silent. "Prefects, escort the students to their common rooms; the teachers and I will head to the dungeons."
"Students! Students follow me!" the prefects shouted as they hurried to their respective common rooms.
"What the hell is a troll doing in the castle?" Michael huffed when they finally reached the Gryffindor common room.
"I don't know," Harry panted. No one knew how the troll got there, or why it was there to begin with, save one. And he currently laid unconscious in the Great Hall.
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And here's chapter seven. Enjoy.
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