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crazyclouds5281 · 3 years

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Beast 1

The Killing Curse does not leave a mark. Ever. It forces the soul out of the body without touching it at all. What happens, then, when something takes possession of the empty husk?

Thomas Dorian Potter could barely contain his excitement. He was finally going to Hogwarts! His parents had told him so many stories of their years there- most of his father’s involving pranks, much to Lily’s fond exasperation- that Thomas didn’t even want to wait for the Hogwarts Express. He had begged his parents to just let him Floo straight over, or Apparate him there, but his mother put her foot down.

“It’s tradition, Thomas. You’re getting on that train.” And that was the end of that. So, here he was, at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, staring in awe at the steel beast in front of him. The Express was much more impressive than he expected, shining red and spewing steam.

Thomas was excitedly chatting with Ronald Weasely and Neville Longbottom, his two yearmates and best friends. Molly Weasely was giving the twins, Fred and George, a stern talking-to, while Arthur just chuckled about their latest prank. Percy looked about ready to join his mother in scolding his younger brothers, but she didn’t pause long enough for him to slip in his own comments. So, he simply glared at them, arms crossed, Prefect badge glinting on the breast of his robes. Ginevra hid behind her mother’s leg, staring at Thomas longingly, not that he noticed. James, Sirius, and Remus were joking around, with occasional input from Ted Tonks, who was also here with his wife, Andromeda. Their daughter, and Thomas’ cousin, Nymphadora, had already gotten on the Express, along with Cedric Diggory, the Weasley’ neighbor.

Suddenly, Thomas was dragged into a crushing hug by Lily, who sighed sadly. “Oh, my baby’s growing up so fast!” she cried, much to Thomas’ embarrassment.

“Mum!” he hissed, “Not in front of my friends!”

She swatted him on the back of the head, not releasing him. “Hush, you! I’ll hug my son if I want to! It’s going to be so quiet without you running around the house,” she said, already overcome with nostalgia.

“Mum!” Thomas whined, squirming in her grip. The snickers of his friends made him turn bright red.

“Fine,” Lily drawled, letting him go, but not before planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “You three get on the Express now- don’t wanna miss it, do you?”

“Bye, Mrs. Potter,” Ron and Neville chirped, dragging Thomas on board, then proceeding to take the mickey out of him.

“Oh, shut up!” Thomas snapped. “Don’t act like I didn’t see your mum wipe the dirt off your nose, Ron!” He grinned victoriously when the youngest Weasley son went as red as his hair. The three boys broke down into chuckles, lightheartedly shoving each other as they went to find a compartment, dragging their trunks along with them. They found an empty one towards the back of the train, loading their trunks up on the racks and plopping down on the comfortable seats, stretching out a bit.

“So, which class are you blokes most excited for?” Neville asked.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts!” Thomas said instantly. “I’ve already defeated a Dark Lord, so it’s obviously gonna be my best class!” he boasted, making his friends smile.

“I dunno, I’m kinda looking forward to Flying,” Ron said, a wide grin on his face. “Have I told you guys about that time I-”

“Hit a Muggle hang glider with Charlie’s old broom? Only about a million times,” Neville teased, making Ron cross his arms with a faux-pout. “I’m gonna enjoy Herbology. Mum doesn’t have much time to work in the greenhouses with me, what with being an Auror and all.”

“Speaking of being an Auror,” Thomas said, rising to his feet and pulling out his wand- ten inches, dogwood, dragon heartstring core- “Dad finally showed me a spell that he said is essential for all Aurors.” He spun his wand in a circular movement, and cried “Prot-!”

The compartment door slammed open, startling the three boys. Thomas dropped his wand from the shock.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” a bushy-haired girl with large front teeth introduced herself. “Would it be alright if I sat with you three? The people in the other compartments are horribly rude,” she rattled off. Hermione’s eye caught sight of Thomas’ wand as he picked it up, and placed her hands on her hips. “Were you about to do magic? Well, let’s see it. I’ve already cast a few of the spells in the Charms textbook, and they worked perfectly.”

The boys shared confused glances, before Ron shrugged, not seeing the harm in letting her sit with them. Thomas repeated his wand movement, shouting “Protego!”

“Er, mate… Was something supposed to happen?” Ron asked, barely holding in his chortles. Thomas frowned.

“Yeah. Dad said it was a Shield Charm.”

“Looks more like a prank,” Neville said, making Ron lose control and begin howling with laughter. Thomas stomped his foot in frustration.

“It worked when Dad did it, I swear!”

“Protego?” Hermione piped up. “That’s not in the First Year curriculum. I would know- I’ve already read all the books. It probably didn’t work because it’s too advanced for you.”

Thomas bristled at the slight to his abilities, but Ron came to his defense, stopping his cackling. “Hey, he’s the Boy-Who-Lived! He defeated the Dark Lord when he was a year old- nothing’s too advanced for him!”

“You’re Thomas Potter?” Hermione asked, latching on to the new piece of information. “I’ve read all about you! Is it true that you rode a dragon to Russia to help the Kremlin against a goblin invasion?”

“Uh… What?”

“Oh! Did you broker a peace treaty with the Canadian Prime Minister after you saved his daughter’s life?”

“Who?”

“Ooh! What about that time-!”

“Wait!” Thomas yelled, holding his hands. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all your adventures in the books, of course!”

“Books?” Thomas asked, looking at his two friends. “What books?”

Realization dawned in Ron’s eyes. “Oh, I know what she’s talking about! A buncha people have written all these crazy things about you- Ginny’s obsessed with ‘em, despite how absolutely barmy they are.”

“Books are not barmy!” Hermione cried, offended. “They wouldn’t have been published if they weren’t true!”

“I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but Thomas hasn’t done any of that stuff,” Neville said gently. The girl looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating.

“But, but, books don’t lie!” she shrieked, bushy hair fluffing out even more. The three boys were starting to panic; none of them knew how to deal with a crying girl! They were saved by the compartment door slamming open once more. A platinum-blond boy, with his hair slicked back by copious amounts of gel, stood there with a superior smirk on his face. Flanking him were two goons, one tall and one fat, neither very intelligent judging by how dull their eyes were.

“I heard Thomas Potter was starting Hogwarts this year.”

“Malfoy,” Thomas growled, right hand tightening around his wand.

“Looks like it’s true- I was wondering if you might be denied entry for being too stupid. Anyways, I’m here to extend a hand of friendship. Now that you aren’t being led around by the nose by your blood-traitor father, maybe you’ll have the good sense to accept it. After all, the Malfoys are one of the most prominent Pureblood families in all of Britain. You would be wise to fall in line, Potter.”

“Are you even listening to the crap coming out of your mouth, Malfoy?” Neville snarled, as he and Ron stood, pulling out their wands- nevermind the fact that none of them knew any spells that would do anything worthwhile.

“Bugger off, ya slimy little git! Nobody’s joining your stupid Junior Death Eater club!” Ron snapped.

“Longbottom,” Malfoy greeted imperiously. “And look at that, another Weasel. How many does that make now, fifty? Hogwarts really needs to do something about this infestation in its halls. I suppose Potter would count amongst you idiots, what with his hair. What’s up with that, anyway, Potter? Did you dye it to look like a cheap knock-off? Or did your whore mudblood mother get a little too frisky with Weasley Senior?”

Thomas hauled off and made to slug Malfoy in his fat mouth, when a hand came out of nowhere and latched onto the boy’s wrist with an iron grip. The First Years all made various noises of surprise when a tall boy with disheveled black hair stepped into view, wearing dark gray sweatpants and a forest green hoodie. He dropped Thomas’ arm, then stooped down so he was face-to-face with Malfoy, emerald eyes glowing fiercely.

“Leave.”

Surprisingly, the three Death Eater wannabes obeyed, scurrying back up the train.

“Harry!” Thomas cried excitedly. His next cry was one filled with pain, however, as the young man slapped him upside the head. “Ow! What-?”

“Sit down. Shut up.” A livid glare stifled any protests, and all four First Years did as he said, despite three of them not being the target. “You idiots woke me up with all your yelling.” The dark bags under his eyes, which looked more like bruises, attested to how much he actually needed his sleep.

“S-Sorry,” Thomas stuttered. The older boy stared at him for a long moment, that seemed to stretch infinitely, before turning away, allowing the redheaded boy to finally breathe.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he rumbled, sliding the compartment door closed behind him. For a long while, silence reigned between the four eleven-year-olds, the rumbling of the train a dull roar in the background.

“Who… Who was that?” Hermione asked Thomas weakly.

“My older brother, Harry.”

---

Thomas was positively shaking with nerves. They were about to be Sorted, and his parents had refused to tell him how. Ron was convinced they had to fight a troll, though it was the twins who told him that, so all four agreed it was probably just a joke. Neville said it might depend on their heritage, but that didn’t quite sit right with Thomas. After all, despite the Potters traditionally being Gryffindors, Harry wasn’t (then again, Harry wasn’t exactly normal by Potter standards). Hermione theorized they might have to take some sort of test that determined their personality, which was apparently a Muggle thing. Thomas didn’t really get it.

Finally, however, Professor McGonagall ushered them into the Great Hall. The starry ceiling was absolutely gorgeous, and the archaic architecture of the Hall was a lot different than the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow. In the middle of the Hall was a hat, sitting on a stool. One of the wrinkled flaps opened up, and then-

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty…”

It started singing! Thomas didn’t particularly pay attention to the song, too amazed by the fact that a hat was singing. Even in the Wizarding World, that wasn’t something one saw often. Eventually, McGonagall started calling people up in alphabetical order. Each student sat on the stool and wore the Sorting Hat, which screamed out a house name after a few moments. Hermione and Neville both ended up in Gryffindor, making Thomas cheer loudly, though moreso for the latter. Then, it was his turn. Thomas sat down on the stool, and the brim of the Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, blocking out the Great Hall.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” a voice echoed in his head. Despite being somewhat prepared for it, he still jolted a bit. “Headstrong, you are. You don’t think much before jumping into things, and you have no problems with confrontation. A bit of an aversion to reading, so Ravenclaw’s out, and you tend to not do things you don’t like, so Hufflepuff is as well.”

“Don’t put me in Slytherin!” Thomas thought loudly, hoping the Hat could somehow hear him.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, lad. Better be GRYFFINDOR!” The House name was shouted out loud, and the Great Hall erupted into cheers. The loudest were the Weasely twins, who stood up on the table and yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” With a wide grin, Thomas did a few deep bows, shooting a smug smirk at Draco Malfoy, and going to join his housemates. There were many congratulatory pats on the back, and people introduced themselves to the Boy-Who-Lived in droves, which made it a little hard to keep track of all the new faces.

Thomas had a feeling Hogwarts was going to be fun.

---

Hogwarts was not fun. Classes were boring. The teachers lectured for the majority of the period, leaving hardly any time for the practical lesson, and they always assigned feet of homework to people who didn’t do the spell correctly in class, such as Thomas. His hand ended up aching by the time he went to bed, every day, without fail. And then came Friday, when Gryffindor had double Potions.

The Boy-Who-Lived sat down next to Ron in the classroom in the dungeon. The youngest Weasley son was shooting suspicious glares at the Slytherins on the other half of the room.

“I don’t like sharing classes with all these slimy snakes,” Ron whispered, looking at Malfoy pointedly.

“Yeah? Well, my Dad said Snape’s the worst of them,” Thomas muttered back. It was at that moment that the classroom door slammed open, and in strode a tall man, with greasy hair, a hooked nose, and dressed in billowing black robes.

“You are here,” Severus Snape began, soft voice echoing through the room, “To learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” The man began roll call afterwards, not even glancing up when a student answered to their name. At least, until he called on Thomas.

“Potter.”

“Here.”

Snape paused, staring at Thomas for a long moment. “Ah, yes… Our resident celebrity,” he drawled. The Professor finished roll, and then turned back to Thomas. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would be the result of adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Thomas gaped, too shocked at being singled out to make a sound. Meanwhile, at the next table over, Hermione’s hand shot into the air like a rocket. However, Snape stayed focused on the Boy-Who-Lived.

“No answer? Well, let us try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to locate a bezoar?”

“I… I don’t know, Sir,” Thomas answered reluctantly. Once again, Hermione’s hand was waving in the air, and once again, Snape ignored her.

“Then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Thomas remained silent, red rising to his face as he fumed.

“Pity,” Snape muttered. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”

“Dad was right- you really are just a big git,” Thomas whispered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, the entire classroom was silent, so Snape heard him easily enough if the thunderous expression on his face was any clue.

“Out, Potter.”

“Wh-What?”

“I want you out of my classroom. I will not tolerate such insolence, such disrespect! Go to the Headmaster’s office, and you can expect at least a month of detention.”

“You can’t-!”

“Two months.”

“But!”

“Would you like to make it the rest of the year?” Thomas fell quiet, and Snape smirked smugly. “I thought not. Pack your belongings, and get out- now.”

Filled with anger, Thomas did as he was ordered, shoving his quills and papers into his bag haphazardly. He was a bit more careful with his inkwell, making sure to cap it, but that was all. He kicked his stool back under the table, and shot Snape the filthiest glare he could as he passed by the greasy bastard.

“Oh, and… Fifty points from Gryffindor.”

---

Everything pretty much went downhill from there. Much to Snape’s chagrin, he’d only been able to assign two weeks of detention, but that was far more than Thomas deserved, in his own opinion; two hours of scrubbing cauldrons by hand, or writing lines until his wrist cramped (and then continuing to write while his muscles spasmed painfully) every evening after dinner cut into much of his freetime. Thomas had to choose between hanging out with his friends or doing his homework, since he didn’t have time to do both, and the choice was obvious. After all, homework didn’t talk about Quidditch.

Snape continued being a snide arse in Potions, so whenever the Boy-Who-Lived talked back, the bat of the dungeon gleefully tacked on yet another few days of punishment. It eventually totalled up to the two months Snape had promised, and Thomas became more and more agitated as the weeks went by.

Hermione did her best to coerce them into finishing assignments, but eleven-year-old boys had a notorious lack of common sense, so it was an exercise in futility for the bushy-haired girl. More often than not, she ended up storming off with a huff, while the boys laughed at her indignance, then went back to whatever they were doing.

It all came to a head on Halloween. The First Year Gryffindors were in Charms, with Professor Flitwick standing on his stack of books to lecture them on the Levitation Charm.

“One of a wizard’s most rudimentary skills is levitation. Or, the ability to make objects float. Now, don’t forget the nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing. A swish and flick! Everyone?” The class repeated the movements together. “Good. And, don’t forget to enunciate! The incantation for the Levitation Charm is Wingardium Leviosa. Give it a try, all of you.”

A chorus of prepubescent voices filled the room as each student practiced the charm. One of the more notable attempts was by Ronald Weasely, who chanted the incantation, then flailed his wand up and down like a mace.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Hermione said, holding a hand up. “You’re going to take somebody’s eye out, Ronald. Besides, you’re saying it wrong. It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saaa.”

The redhead rolled his eyes. “You do it then, if you’re so bloody smart,” he said, grinning smugly as he got ready to watch her fail. “Go on! Go on!” Hermione shrugged.

“Wingardium Levi-o-sa!” With a swish and a flick, the feather floated into the air, guided halfway towards the ceiling by Hermione’s wand. Ron stared at it in shock, and the rest of the room grew silent.

“Well done, Ms. Granger! Truly spectacular! Five points to Gryffindor, for being the first one to learn today’s spell!”

Ron fell into a sulk, not even noticing when Seamus Finnegan somehow managed to blow up his feather. After class, the youngest Weasley male jammed his supplies into his bag and stormed out of the room, followed by Thomas and Neville.

“It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saa,” he mocked, pitching his voice higher to mimic a girl’s voice. “She’s a nightmare, honestly- it’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends!”

A moment later, Hermione stormed past Ron, shoving him aside and scurrying down the hall. An awkward silence fell among the three boys.

“I think she heard you,” Thomas finally said.

---

That stench… It was unfamiliar. Not one he’d smelled in these halls before. There were many other strange ones, as there was at the start of every year, but this one was noxious, overpowering… Predatory instincts roused, his bones contorted and he dropped to four legs, ready to begin the search.

It was time to hunt.

---

“That stupid, rotten Ronald Weasley,” Hermione Granger whispered to herself, sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how long she’d been here, curled up in this stall in the second floor bathroom. It must’ve been a few hours, at least. However long it was, though, she still felt raw.

She’d come to Hogwarts hoping to find people like herself. People she could fit in with, people she could be friends with. That hadn’t been possible in the Muggle world, what with the bouts of Accidental Magic that became more frequent the more she was bullied. However, this school was supposed to have people like her; people who could bend the rules of reality. And, she’d hoped, people who had the same love for learning as her. After all, how could they not want to learn everything they could about magic? It was, by far, the most interesting subject she’d ever come across, and the fact that she could actually replicate the things she read in her books with nothing more than a few words and a wave of her wand made her feel powerful. Like she was more than the daughter of two dentists, more than a bushy-haired bookworm with too-big teeth and an even bigger attitude.

All she found in this castle was disappointment.

The Savior of the Wizarding World was just a typical eleven-year-old boy- not even a particularly pleasant one! The students were the same jealous cretins she’d grown up around, unable to handle that someone was smarter than them, able to do things they couldn’t, and they sought to tear her down to make themselves feel better. One of the most revered wizards in the country, her own headmaster, seemed like nothing but a barmy old man. It didn’t help that he hired rude people like Professor Snape, or incompetent people like Professor Quirrel.

It all added up to a very unhappy Hermione Granger, one who was starting to wish she’d never accepted her invitation to this stupid school. Then, the bathroom door exploded.

---

It was close. The second floor was where the scent was the strongest, and the monstrous bellows, like cannon blasts to his sensitive ears, let him know he was in the right place. The smell was almost unbearable, but he blocked it out, instead following the loud crashing, as whatever he hunted destroyed the room it was in.

He pushed himself faster.

---

A troll. A mountain troll, judging by its gray skin, incredible height, and the absolutely horrid smell, Hermione’s quick mind analyzed. However, while her thoughts were racing with panic, her body was frozen in terror. She’d exited the stall to see what all the noise was about, and immediately regretted it when the wall blew inwards. She was nearly brained with a piece of marble, only avoiding it because she fell on her rump with a shrill shriek. The troll roared once more, waving its club wildly, and Hermione answered with a scream of pure fear.

She scrambled backwards until she hit the far wall of the bathroom. Unable to stand, she simply curled up in the fetal position, covering her head with her arms, waiting for her demise. The troll advanced towards her slowly, swinging its cudgel around and demolishing each stall it passed, the steel crumpling under the thick wood like it was aluminum.

The only warning the mountain troll had was a low, bestial growl that reverberated off the tiles, before something slammed into its back, sending the massive monster flopping to the floor hard enough to crack the slick tiles. Razor-sharp teeth dug into the back of the troll’s neck, and it had just enough time to grunt in confusion, before its spinal cord was severed. Its ugly, misshapen head dropped to the ground, bouncing against the ceramic.

Silence reigned. Hermione, who had fully expected to be dead by now, cautiously peered past her arms, and came face-to-face with a large cat with insanely long fangs. A sabre-toothed tiger (Smilodon, her academically-inclined brain automatically corrected). It had to be over five feet tall, dwarfing Hermione’s modest height (modest for her age and gender, that is). It had thick, midnight-black fur that shone lusciously in the magical light. Its most noticeable feature, however, were the bright, emerald eyes that stared at her passively.

The smilodon hopped down off the troll’s back and stalked over to the trembling girl. There was intelligence in its eyes, though, and Hermione had a feeling the feline wasn’t going to kill her, despite the purposeful manner in which it moved, and the crimson blood dripping from its fangs. She pushed herself upright, standing on shaky legs, back pressed against the cold marble wall. Then, right in front of her, the smilodon began to change. Its long body became more compact, and it became a few inches taller. Its teeth shrunk, snout flattening, hair shortening, and before her stood Thomas’ older brother, Harry Potter. Even as a human, he cut an imposing figure, with his glowing eyes- amplified by the lenses of his glasses- apathetic stare, and the blood smeared across his lips. His tongue darted out, licking up the red liquid, only for him to turn his head and spit it out a moment later, a grimace on his face.

“Troll blood,” he murmured distastefully, turning his attention back on Hermione. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?” His rumbling voice shook her out of her daze.

“Um, I…” She was too embarrassed to admit that she’d been in here, bawling her eyes out. So, she did something she much preferred; she rushed forward and circled her arms around his waist, burying her face in his solid stomach. “Thankyousomuch!” she forced out. Tears were sliding down her cheeks once more, but this time, it was in relief that she was still alive.

Hermione chanced a glance up when she noticed that her saviour was rather silent, and was unnerved by his flat expression. “Move,” he grunted, plucking her off the ground by the back of her robes. The First Year made a noise in the back of her throat, choking when her collar pulled against her neck uncomfortably. Harry unceremoniously deposited her outside the bathroom, not even bothering to make sure her feet were steady. She stumbled back against the wall, nearly falling. When she straightened up, she went stock-still with terror, unable to force her body to move away from the grisly scene in front of her.

So much blood...

---

It was a few minutes before the Professors arrived. Minerva, Severus, and Filius all skidded around the corner, Quirrel following after a few seconds.

“Ms. Granger!” Minerva shouted, “What are you doing here!?” The girl didn’t respond, and it was only then that she noticed her staring, horrified, at a gaping hole in the wall. Minerva pulled out her wand, ready to hex to bits anything that popped out, while herding her Lion a few steps away. Severus and Filius slowly approached, peering into the shattered bathroom, and the half-goblin squeaked.

“Mr. Potter!?”

“Potter, what do you think you’re doing!?” Severus barked, pointing his wand at the boy. Quirrel looked about ready to faint again. Curious, Minerva crept closer, and gasped, unable to comprehend what she saw. Standing ankle-deep in the guts of a troll corpse was Fourth Year Ravenclaw, Harry Potter. He was positively drenched in crimson- it dripped from the bottom of his blue-trimmed robes, was smeared over the lenses of his glasses, and nearly covered the entirety of his face. The only reason he was recognizable was because of the trademark Potter hair, which looked like a localized tornado had swept across his scalp.

Potter swiped a sleeve across his glasses- the motion drawing Minerva’s attention to the wicked, curved silver knife in his right hand- in an attempt to see who was talking to him, not that it did much good.

“I’ll be done in a moment,” the boy grunted. His knife melted into a metal baton- a wand?- and he waved it, Conjuring multiple cylindrical glass tanks. Another wave, and the troll organs, lined up on a tarp on the bathroom floor, were each guided into one tank. The last three were filled completely with dark red blood. The glass jars were all wrapped up in one burlap sack, while another bag was Conjured and filled with solid body parts, such as teeth, bones, nails, and the skull. A few Charms cleaned all the grime off Harry, and he stepped down from the ripped-up corpse, gesturing with his wand for the two floating sacks to follow after him.

“Can I help you, Professors?” Potter asked, his tone indicating it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

“You can start by explaining what this is, Potter,” Severus drawled, looking pointedly at the disastrous scene behind the Fourth Year.

“I believe it’s rather obvious, Sir,” Potter replied dryly. Severus rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment further.

“Why weren’t you at the Halloween Feast, Mr. Potter?” the Deputy Headmistress asked.

“Personal reasons,” he deflected quickly, and Minerva grimaced. Of course he wouldn’t care to celebrate on this night.

“Yes, my apologies,” she said. “Ms. Granger? What about you?” she asked the girl who was standing a few paces away. The girl flushed, seemingly embarrassed.

“I… Came her because… Some of the other students were teasing me. I swear, I didn’t mean to skip the feast! I just lost track of the time!” she cried, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. Minerva felt righteous rage burning in her breast.

“Who?” she asked, ready to slap every single one of them with detention for the rest of the year. Bullying the poor girl enough to make her cry in the bathroom for hours was horrible on its own, but for it to result in her nearly dying to a troll attack!? They were lucky Minerva wasn’t contemplating expulsion! It was only the fact that this sort of incident was nearly impossible to plan, especially for a student, that kept her anger in check. Granger looked panicked, as if she didn’t want to reveal their identity and let them be punished- a kind sentiment, but utterly misplaced, in Minerva’s opinion- when Potter opened his mouth.

“Weasley Number Six, hm?”

Granger’s jaw dropped. “H-How…?” she asked, unable to formulate full sentences. Potter snorted.

“That little fool has been putting his foot in his mouth for as long as I’ve had the displeasure of knowing him. I doubt the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived is completely innocent, either.”

Minerva’s nostrils flared. “Is that so?” She turned to Granger. “Is Mr. Potter correct, Ms. Granger?” Shame-faced, the girl nodded, and Minerva’s heart went out to her little Lion. She swept forward, engulfing her charge in a tight hug. That was all it took for Granger to break down into sobs.

“I just- wanted to h-help him perf-form the Levitation Charm!” Granger wailed. Minerva squeezed her tighter, glancing at Filius for confirmation. The Charms Professor nodded, scowling furiously.

“Mr. Weasley was sitting next to Ms. Granger during class, and he didn’t seem to be having much success. I remember deciding to leave him be and help a few other students, because I saw Ms. Granger explaining the spell to him, and figured he was in good hands.”

Minerva was positively quaking with fury. “Mr. Potter, would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Granger to the Hospital Wing? I believe a Calming Draught would not be remiss at the moment. I have students to discipline.”-

Potter sighed, and looked to Severus, who flicked his wand at the troll remains, taking control of them. “I will bring them down to my office. Collect them before breakfast.”

“The livers are off-limits; I actually need those for a project.” Minerva quirked an eyebrow at the interaction, but didn’t comment. Potter came forward and scooped Granger up in a princess-style carry, causing the girl to squeak.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said, lips thin with disapproval.

“Have you seen how short her legs are? I’d like to get to the Infirmary today, thank you.” Minerva snorted quietly, noting how Granger buried her face in the crook of Potter’s neck, face flaming. She smiled slightly.

“Well, since Ms. Granger seems so comfortable, I’ll allow it this time.”

“Professor!” Granger cried, sounding scandalized, though she made no move to change her position. The old Scot chuckled.

“Off with you two. Filius, Severus, I suggest you two head down to your own Common Rooms and inform the students that the situation has been taken care of.”

The other Professors nodded, before Severus said, “Fifty points to Ravenclaw, Potter, for saving a fellow student’s life.” The Potions Master stalked off down the hallway, robes billowing dramatically behind him. Filius exclaimed his agreement, and scampered away to Ravenclaw Tower, while Minerva strode gracefully to the Lion’s Den, ready to raise hell.

Tonight’s verbal arse-whooping would be legendary.

---

“Sit there, Mr. Potter. I must check you over.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you fought a bloody troll, that’s why!” Madame Pomfrey shrieked.

Harry scowled. “I didn’t fight it, I killed it. There’s a difference.”

“Don’t get smart with me, lad! If you think I won’t put you over my knee-”

Hermione giggled, watching as the Mediwitch stood toe-to-toe with the raven-haired boy, attempting to glare him into submission despite him being nearly half a head taller. The elderly woman was standing in front of the door of the Hospital Wing, blocking Harry’s attempt to leave after dropping Hermione off. The First Year felt a bit hurt, but decided that, since he’d already saved her life, he wasn’t obligated to spend more time around her. She was, however, secretly pleased when he stepped back into the Infirmary, sitting on the bed next to hers with a huff.

“Fine. Just get this over with. I’ve things to do,” Harry said impatiently. Madame Pomfrey swatted him on the head.

“I will finish when I do, and not a second sooner!” Harry muttered something about crazy old hags, earning yet another thump. Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand and whispering incantations. Lights appeared in front of Harry, and Madame Pomfrey finally cut off the flow of diagnostic spells, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, it seems you were telling the truth, Mr. Potter.” The boy growled and made to leave, only for the nurse to stop him. “However, you’ll be staying here until Professor McGonagall arrives. She Floo-messaged me, and wishes you to keep Ms. Granger company.”

A rumbling noise echoed from his chest, and the Fourth Year looked enraged. However, Madame Pomfrey just whipped out a bar of chocolate from the pocket of her robes and shoved it into his hands. The boy reluctantly quieted down, tearing open the wrapper and nibbling on the corner. Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

“Like a toddler,” she muttered, a fond smirk on her lips. Harry stuck his tongue out, moving to sit in the chair next to Hermione’s bed. He tapped a finger to the inside of his right wrist, and a leather-covered book with no visible title appeared, startling Hermione something bad.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, eyes sparkling at the thought of more arcane knowledge. Harry just cracked open the book, leaned back in his chair, and began reading. Hermione considered pouting- it worked on her parents, sometimes, when she was younger- but decided against it. He wasn’t even looking at her in the first place. They sat quietly for a while, but the silence was starting to drive Hermione mad. She didn’t even have a book to occupy herself! “So, what year are you in?”

“Fourth.”

“And you’re in Ravenclaw, judging by your robes.”

“Mm.”

“Fifth Year is when students do their OWLs, yes?”

“Mm.”

“Are you prepared for them?”

“No.”

“What? Don’t you know they’re the most important exams in your life, alongside the NEWTs? Your grades on those exams can very well determine the course of your life, such as which classes you’ll be allowed to take from Sixth Year on, and after Hogwarts, which jobs you’ll be qualified for! You must prepare properly for them- your very livelihood depends on it!”

Harry flipped the page in his book.

“Are you listening to me!?” Hermione shrieked, making the Fourth Year glance up, looking very annoyed.

“Yes. I simply chose to ignore you.”

Hermione huffed. “How rude!”

“It’s more rude of you to assume I knew none of that, despite me being in this school for longer than you,” Harry droned, returning to his reading. His eyes were flitting across the words at incredible speeds- speeds that Hermione knew she couldn’t match.

“Are you even reading, or just skimming the pages?” she asked snidely.

Harry snapped his book shut, making the First Year flinch. “Is there a reason you’re trying to piss me off?” he hissed, glaring at her menacingly. His emerald eyes glowed with a fierce light, cowing Hermione. She tried drawing upon her Gryffindor courage, but to no avail. A shiver racked her spine.

“I-I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I’m simply trying to impress upon you the importance of your exams,” Hermione explained weakly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need you telling me that.”

“You said you weren’t prepared for your OWLs, even though they’re next year!”

“Why would I bother with that when I’ve already done them?”

“...What does that even mean?”

“It means, I did my OWLs in Second Year,” Harry said slowly, condescendingly. Hermione ignored his tone.

“What!? How!? Would I be able to do that as well!?”

“That is a matter to take up with you Head of House, Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, striding out of Madame Pomfrey’s office, where she Flooed in. “And, since I am here, I am forbidding it. You will take your OWLs in your Fifth Year, along with the rest of your classmates.”

“But, Professor McGonagall, Harry-”

“Mr. Potter is a special case, Ms. Granger.” That was when the Deputy Headmistress noticed the bar of chocolate the Fourth Year was nibbling on. “I see Poppy had to bribe you once more,” she commented, beyond amused. Harry glared impotently, the effect ruined by the eagerness with which he bit into the treat.

“‘S not my fault,” he grumbled around a mouthful of gooey goodness. “The smell of potions is too strong in here.”

“Well, then I suppose I shan’t ask you to suffer it any longer. You may return to your dorm for the night, Mr. Potter.” The young man positively rocketed out of the Infirmary, making the Iron Lady of Hogwarts chuckle fondly, shaking her head. “That boy…” She occupied the chair he had been sitting in, turning her attention to her little Lion.

“How are you, my dear?”

“I’ve… Been better,” Hermione hedged. “The Calming Draught seems to have worked, at the very least.”

“Yes, Madame Pomphrey’s skill in potion brewing is only outclassed by Severus, a Potions Master. She does good work.”

“Um, Professor…” Hermione trailed off, unsure how to say what she wanted to. She fiddled with the loose fabric of her robes.

“Yes, Ms. Granger? If you have a question, you need but ask.”

“What’s going to happen with Ronald and Thomas?”

McGonagall’s face darkened like a black thundercloud. “They, along with Mr. Longbottom, will be serving three months of detention, and have been deducted fifty House Points each. Given how Mr. Potter- the younger, that is- has already lost fifty points for insulting Professor Snape during class, I’m afraid this might put Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup.”

Tears sprung to Hermione’s eyes, despite the Calming Draught. The first term wasn’t even done, and all her hard work had already been undone? She had gained the most points among the Gryffindor First Years through her diligent, if somewhat excessive, work, and it resulted in nothing? McGonagall seemed to be able to follow her train of thoughts, because she stood and put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but bullying will not be tolerated in any capacity. Hopefully having the rest of the House being quite cross with them will set those boys straight. At any rate, I have paperwork to do. Will you be fine on your own?” Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall strode out of the Hospital Wing, leaving the bushy-haired girl alone with her thoughts.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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