Intersections in Real Time

Snape wasn't at breakfast the next morning. Harry was disappointed, but tried not to show it. He was hoping that his father might be willing to teach him how to use the broom...

"Good morning, Harry. How is your owl?" asked Dumbledore, looking up from a parchment he was reading.

"Godewina's fine, sir," said Harry. He sat down and toyed with his sausages for a bit before asking the question that was on his mind. Dumbledore had gone back to his parchment and was humming to himself.

"Excuse me," Harry said. Dumbledore looked up, smiling. "Do you know where Mr. Snape is?"

"Severus is at the Snapes' castle, I believe. The house elves have been having trouble getting around some of the more ancient protections there," he explained.

"Castle? He said he had a house."

"Well, it is a small castle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. He didn't seem to notice the incredulous look that Harry was giving him. The old wizard began humming again, leaving Harry to his breakfast.

He ate quickly, then wandered toward his room, wondering if he should actually do what he was thinking of doing. The broom was still leaning against the wall, and Harry hesitated for a moment before taking its handle firmly in his hand. He held it vertical and let it drop. It hit the carpet and bounced before lying still.

Harry stared at the prone broom. He was sure that the broom was supposed to support him, not the other way around. But how was it supposed to support him if it didn't float? He considered asking Dumbledore, but he couldn't even picture the old wizard on a broom, not to mention that the Headmaster might forbid him from flying if he mentioned it. He could ask Hagrid... Harry imagined the huge man riding the Nimbus 2000 and winced when the broom broke under Hagrid's weight. Surely he could figure this out on his own.

He removed the broom from the carpet, and slung it over his shoulder. He couldn't resist going over to the picture of his family and giving it one last look before he left. His father looked so happy in it.

He checked to make sure he still had his wand with him before he set off, walking quickly down various corridors, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible with a broom in his hands. It took him about ten minutes to realize he was lost.

Harry groaned inwardly. No matter how well he thought he knew Hogwarts, he would try to get somewhere and find the layout of the castle had changed overnight. He was sure he had seen that statue of Beatrice the Bemused in three different places in the last couple of days. He kept walking in the hopes that he would wander into an area that he recognized.

Turning a corner, he saw Mr. Filch, the caretaker, on his knees near a bucket of water. Then his foot came down on something soft. There was a great yowl, and Harry went flying forward. His broom skidded further down the corridor, but his body hit the bucket, sending its contents all over Mr. Filch and the surrounding floor.

Harry landed hard, wincing as his chin hit the stone. His glasses went flying, and a menacing hiss from a grey blur beside him alerted him to the fact that he had tripped over Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. Harry scrambled for his glasses and sat up. This was not going to be fun.

He had been avoiding Filch since he had arrived at Hogwarts. The man's forbidding expression and his tendency to mutter imprecations at mischievous students - despite there not being any students around during the summer holiday - was enough to make Harry stay clear. The angry look on Mr. Filch's face made him wish he had continued this practice. The caretaker's expression reminded him uncomfortably of an angry Uncle Vernon.

In an attempt to stave off the inevitable scolding, Harry jumped up and grabbed the nearby mop. He quickly used it to clear up the spreading water near him, replacing as much of the water as he could in the bucket.

Mr. Filch watched him in silence, but when Harry went to clean up the rest of the floor, Mr. Filch grabbed the handle of the mop to stop him.

"It's not your job," said Mr. Filch in a gruff voice.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to both Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris. Despite the water dripping from his clothes, Mr. Filch seemed to accept the apology.

"Look where you are going next time," he said, and started using the mop. Mrs. Norris was still watching him with her oddly coloured eyes, but she didn't seem angry anymore.

Harry went to pick up his broom and examine it for any damage. There was none he could see.

"You're not planning on flying in here, are you?" asked Filch in a menacing voice, pausing in his task. Harry froze for a moment, then turned around to shake his head 'no' at the man. "Good." Filch went back to his mop as Mrs. Norris rubbed against his leg, purring. Harry let out a breath he had been holding, and headed down the corridor away from them. A few right-turns later, he found a familiar staircase. The library was only a few doorways beyond it, and he didn't run into anyone else along the way. He had been lucky that Filch hadn't found it odd to see him wandering around with a broom.

The library was a large room that gave the impression of being small because so much of its space was taken up with books. Harry went over to the row of thick books that represented a listing of all the tomes in the library. It took him some time to figure out how to look up things, but eventually he discovered where he might find books on flying.

He located the proper spot on the shelves and spent a few moments wondering whether How to Fly by Sollis Caelum or Flying: The Basics by Eramus Divum would help him more. Eventually, he took them both over to a table and started reading.

Ten minutes later, he closed both books and wondered if it was that easy. All he had to do was say 'up'? He was tempted to try it right there, but remembering his encounter with Filch, he put the books away and ran through the corridors towards the main doors. Once there, he opened them slightly to peek out. Hagrid and Fang were nowhere to be seen, so he slipped outside.

It was not exactly a nice day. The sky was grey and it looked like it would rain any moment, but Harry had gone too far to stop now. He headed towards the Quidditch field and stopped when he reached its well-trimmed grass.

Carefully placing the Nimbus 2000 on the ground and closing his eyes, he held out his hand.

"Up," he said firmly. The broom's handle slammed into his palm. He opened his eyes and grinned.

He mounted the broom, putting his hands in the positions he had seen in a diagram in one of the books. Taking a deep breath, he kicked off the ground. The broom rose smoothly and responded perfectly to all his commands, and soon he found himself laughing with delight. He felt like he could do anything. To challenge himself, he followed a fly around the field, looping and zigzagging whenever it did. When it disappeared, he occupied himself by attempting - well, anything he could think of doing while on a broom.

He was doing a complicated figure eight around some rings at the end of the field when he heard a voice calling his name. Bringing the broom to a halt, he spun around. Someone was standing near the edge of the field. He let the broom drift sideways until he was close enough to see that the black-robed figure was his father.

He grinned and angled the broom so he was rushing straight towards Snape at a terrific speed. He didn't realize until he got closer that Snape was giving him an industrial-strength glare. It was easy to make the broom stop just before he hit the ground, though his grin faded at the look on his father's face. Perhaps he should have stayed in the air.

"Who told you that you could go flying on your own?" asked Snape through gritted teeth. He looked as if he was about to pull out his wand and hex Harry.

Harry gave him a defiant look. Snape probably wouldn't have shown him how to fly even if he had been here.

"No one told me I couldn't," he said, trying to meet Snape's glare with one of his own. Unfortunately, Snape had had years of practice. Harry was forced to look away.

"The Quidditch field is not protected the way Hogwarts is," said Snape slowly. "You can't be out here without supervision. Don't you remember what happened at Gringotts?"

Harry felt a wave of sadness come over him. Of course he remembered. He had dreamt about it last night...

Snape sighed. "You can't do this again, Harry," he said in a flat tone.

"I can't fly?" Harry protested. His moments on the broom today had been some of the happiest in his life.

"No!" Snape spit out. "You can't go outside without another wizard to accompany you," he explained slowly, as if to a slow student.

Harry frowned, but nodded his reluctant agreement.

"Will you watch me fly, then?" he asked.

Snape smirked at him.

"Yes, but tonight you're helping me mince ferret livers," he said, sounding very pleased.

Harry blanched at the evil-sounding task. "Why?" he asked.

"Consider it a lesson in why you should ask before doing something like this," said Snape. "Are you going to fly, or are you going to stand there gawking?"

Harry grimaced, and got back on his broom. Well, at least he got to fly.

*****

When he awakened on the Tuesday after his birthday, the castle was strangely quiet. He took his broom with him to breakfast, but discovered that a veritable downpour was falling outside.

During the meal, Hagrid came into the front hall, looking as wet as if he had been swimming, and informed Dumbledore that the lake was overflowing and flooding some of the lower areas of the castle.

The Headmaster rushed to protect the castle, as did Snape, after sternly admonishing him not to go out in the rain or into the flooded lower levels. His father had actually been letting him fly for an hour or two each day, and Harry was grateful for it, even if Snape just sat impatiently in a conjured chair on the side of the field. He wanted to know what Snape thought of his flying, but the opportunity to ask never seemed to come up. It was impossible to fly in this weather however, especially now that he had been forbidden to go outside.

He ate the rest of breakfast alone, then returned his broom to his room. He didn't feel like reading, so he headed for some of the upper floors of the castle. There had to be something he could do to occupy himself.

The corridors were still. The rain outside muffled the noise of his footsteps. He heard a distant cackle and quickened his pace. He had run into Peeves the Poltergeist on his first day exploring Hogwarts. Peeves had attempted to get him lost, but had soon given up when he realized that Harry didn't mind being lost (most of the time). His occasional run-ins with the poltergeist after that had not been fun. He was becoming very adept at dodging the vengeful spirit.

Peeves' cackles sounded like they were right behind him now, so he pushed open the first door he saw - a heavy oak one that he'd never been through before - and shut it as quietly as he could behind him. Then he turned to survey the room, leaving Peeves to ramble on madly about Hogwarts sinking as he passed by the closed door.

It looked like a children's playroom. A wooden rocking horse stood next to his feet. He reached out to touch it and was shocked when it neighed and tossed its head. Other children's toys were scattered about the room, looking as if they had been left where they had fallen when the children were tired of them. The once light-blue curtains had turned grey with age and the wallpaper was so faded he couldn't make out its original pattern. Harry was sure that nobody - except maybe the house-elves - had been in this room for years.

For a moment, he hesitated to disturb the room, but his curiosity won out and he wandered around aimlessly, marvelling at the wizarding toys. Pushing aside the fragile curtains to look outside, he saw that he would have had a wonderful view of the lake if the rain hadn't been falling so hard.

"It raineth here. It raineth there," said a voice behind him.

Harry whirled around and saw nothing. The room looked exactly the same, though the rocking horse was now rocking slowly back and forth.

"The rain doth fall everywhere," continued the voice. It seemed to be coming from the right, so Harry took a step in that direction. There was a chill in the air.

"But not on me. No. Never on me," the voice lamented in a dramatic tone. It had come from the low table in front of him, but all Harry could see there was an abundance of painted porcelain cats of the sort Mrs. Figg had favoured. His eyes focused in particular on a blue and white one with little flower patterns running up its back.

"Where are you?" Harry asked softly. He jumped slightly when the porcelain cat moved.

"Where are you?" repeated the voice mockingly. Harry was sure it came from the cat, though its painted porcelain smile never wavered. He was reminded of the Alice in Wonderland book that the Dursleys had read to Dudley when he was younger, until Dudley had thrown the book in the fireplace one day. This was like talking to the Cheshire cat, only stranger.

"Hello? I'm still here," said the voice impatiently. It sounded a lot younger than before.

"I'm sorry, but I've never talked to a porcelain cat before," said Harry. The entire table shook, and the cat fell over. Harry watched in surprise as a strange glowing mist streamed out of the cat and coalesced above the table.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a porcelain cat." It was the ghost of a boy, perhaps a few years older than Harry. Although it was hard to tell through the blue tint that all ghosts had, Harry thought that the boy had brown hair and clear grey eyes. He was wearing the standard robes of a Hogwarts student. There was a silver stain right where the boy's house crest should have been.

"Who are you?" he asked, knowing he had never seen this particular ghost around the castle before. The boy bowed slightly to him.

"Josiah Ashburn," he said.

Harry wondered if he was supposed to recognize the name. The boy looked as if he were expecting something.

"I've never seen you before," said Harry.

Josiah looked sad as he waved his hand to encompass the room and its contents.

"I've been haunting this room for years and years," he said. "You're my first visitor, and I was bored enough to try scaring you."

"You might want to try blood and howling next time," advised Harry. "Why can't you roam the castle like the other ghosts?"

Josiah looked around as if he were afraid someone might be listening.

"Some of the ghosts here can be really territorial," he said in a soft voice.

Harry pictured the Bloody Baron, and nodded his understanding. He had never realized that ghosts could have it so tough. Josiah had already died after all. He deserved some happiness.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Josiah looked like he was thinking hard, then grinned broadly at him.

"You can let me haunt your watch!" he said triumphantly.

"What will that do?" Harry asked.

"Haunting objects is a bit harder than haunting a room, but I've had plenty of practice in doing so," Josiah said, gesturing at the porcelain cats. "If I haunt your watch, no one can object to my roaming about the castle." Harry looked down at his watch. It was an old one of Dudley's. The band was way too big for him, but it still worked.

"Will it hurt the watch?" he asked.

Josiah shook his head no.

"You won't even notice. Though you can talk to me if you want to," the ghost said hesitantly.

Harry imagined it must have been very lonely to be stuck in this room for eternity. He grinned at the boy.

"Of course I'll talk to you. I bet you know a lot of things about Hogwarts that I don't." A ghost had to be more interesting than Hogwarts: A History, he thought.

Josiah nodded in mock solemnity.

"I know everything," he intoned, then started laughing. "Well, I do know where a room full of magical wigs is at least. Want to see if it's still here?"

Harry nodded, and watched as Josiah streamed into a thin line of blue and descended into his watch. It made Harry's wrist cold, and he shivered a little but the watch continued to tick like always.

"Are you still there?" he asked, feeling a bit silly about talking to his watch.

Josiah's head came out of the watch to hover above it.

"Yes. Let's go find some wigs," he said.

Harry nodded and headed out the door. He was going to have to thank Peeves someday.