Fate's Whim

Fate's Whim : chapter two

-surprising turns-

Dumbledore stood once more as the remains of the desserts faded back into nonexistence, the platters sparkling clean as if they had never been touched by food. "Attention, students," he said, voice surprisingly strong for his age. "I have a few more start-of-terms announcements. First years should note that the Forbidden Forest is just that--forbidden." Dumbledore smiled indulgently at the two Gryffindor boys who had cheered earlier. "A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

"Also, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you all that use of magic in corridors in between classes is strictly forbidden.

"Quiddich trials will be held next week. Those students interested in joining their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"Finally, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side in this school should be considered inaccessible to anyone here who does not wish to die a very painful death." The twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes had vanished.

Harry swallowed hard, and was with the majority when he did not laugh. He nudged Terry, sitting next to him. "I suppose he's serious?" he murmured, as the Headmaster, smiling benignly once more, announced the students and teachers would proceed singing the school song.

Terry's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore. "Yeah, I think he is, Harry. He was scary there for a moment, wasn't he? He hardly looked the pushover my sisters told me he would be." He was interrupted from saying anything more by the entire school bursting forth into a rather ragtag version of a song. Harry thought the lyrics rather silly, but perhaps that was what all music was like in the magical world.

Soon enough, the carol was over, and a short bloke only a little over five feet tall stood up at the far end of the Ravenclaw table and came over to where the First years were congregated. He was a brunette with straight eyebrows and dark eyes. "I'm Kieran, resident Ravenclaw Prefect," he said, staring evenly at all the students. "Follow me; I'm going to take you all to the Ravenclaw Common Room, where you'll be sleeping and spending much of the school year."

Harry fell in step with Terry and another boy as they rose to follow Kieran. Padma and Hermione followed more slowly behind the trio.

As they walked, the new boy introduced himself. "Orlando Devonshire," he stated, shaking both Harry and Terry's hands. He pushed his reddish-brown hair out of his eyes and smiled widely. "Didn't get to introduce myself earlier, sorry. Bit busy trying to stuff down as much food as I could." His eyes sparkled. "I love good food. Don't get much back there, I-" He broke off, frowning, and stumbled a bit on the enormous staircase they were being led up before he caught himself.

Harry wanted to ask, "Back where?" but it hardly seemed polite. "I'm Harry Potter," he said, gauging for the boy's reaction. He barely blinked, so Harry went on, "And this is Terry Boot. Pleasure to meet you."

"The same to you too." Orlando's easygoing expression was back in place.

Terry said, "How about Hogwarts, hmm? I've never seen any place quite like it. The second-hand descriptions I received hardly do it justice."

Orlando rubbed his hands together. "Boy, I'm looking forward to Transfiguration, aren't you?"

"We're here."

They had been stopped in what appeared to be an abandoned hallway. Suits of armor lined the walls, and there was a statue near the end of the hall that led to the main path, but nothing of interest appeared to be here. The First years looked at Kieran in confusion. "Look up," he said, motioning to the ceiling with a graceful gesture of his wand. The design he made was so smooth his wand seemed to be just an extension of his fingers.

A small square had appeared in the ceiling and was slowly widening. Then a gap opened up and stairs slowly shimmered from below the gap into existence. The steps alternated between bronze and blue, the Ravenclaw House colors. They solidified, and Kieran surveyed the group.

"I hope you were watching what I just did with my wand, because that's the only way to enter the Quarters. A lonely night or two sleeping on the stone should teach those too lazy or arrogant to pay attention a lesson. Vices such as these have no place here. Follow me up the stairs."

The First years ascended the steps single-file after Kieran, utterly silent. When Harry reached the gap, he automatically scanned the room before stepping fully out. Because he was used to the elephantine Dudley sneaking up behind him and beating the crap out of him without warning or provocation, he was naturally suspicious of wide-open spaces.

"Good, Potter." Harry almost fell down the steps in surprise. Kieran was standing just to his right, peering down approvingly at Harry. "Now get out of the way, if you will."

Harry did as he was told. As the remainder of the students came up, he noticed that no one else looked around before exiting the stairs. He felt strangely pleased about that.

The Ravenclaw Quarters were quite comfortable-looking. Blue was the chief color present. The plush carpeting, the walls, and even the flames in the hearth had been charmed blue. Scattered around the room were many oversized, puffy bronze spheres that seemed to be designed for sitting on, based on the fact that many of the upper year students were sprawled across them. The students themselves seemed friendly enough, talking animatedly with their friends or simply leaning back to read some text. In one corner were two glimmering ladders with rungs that, like the stairs, rotated between bronze and blue.

Kieran slid smoothly in front of them again. He spoke quietly, but there was no need for him to talk louder. Not one of the students' attentions wandered. "The ladder on the left leads to the boys' turret, which contains a series of rooms stacked on top of each other. First years' are the bottommost layer. The right ladder leads to identical circumstances for the girls.

"I give you fair warning-only the best is expected from all students in Ravenclaw House. We do not tolerate those who do not have goals and work toward them; we will transfer those unworthy entirely out of Hogwarts." He grinned suddenly, and the students jumped. "We are the only House without a Head of House, the only House that is self-governed, for a reason.

"I bid you all goodnight." And with that, Kieran spun on his heel and descended the steps to exit the Quarters. The gap and steps dissolved behind his footsteps.

Harry, Terry, and Orlando discovered the boys' turret to be just as Kieran had described it. A spiral staircase wound up through all seven stories, the staircase itself being contained in a small room on the far west end of every story. Also, each boy had a huge four-poster bed to himself, the bedspread blue with bronze embroidery.

"I never thought I'd say this in the context of school, but I'm actually looking forward to classes," Harry remarked idly as he picked a spider off his old Muggle shirts.

Orlando laughed. "Yes, but this is different, isn't it? I grew up in a place where people most certainly didn't believe in nonsense like magic. Didn't you?"

"Grow up with people who didn't believe in magic? Orlando, I..." Harry was unsure of exactly how one went about explaining they were famous to someone who didn't realize that. Hagrid's explanations had given him a pretty good idea of just how widespread his fame was: young American sorcerers went to sleep to his, Harry's tale, as a bedtime story. And, of course, the general wizarding community was perfectly aware of the fact that Harry Potter had been raised by Muggles.

It was Terry who helped him out. "Orlando, Harry's famous. He defeated the Dark Lord when he was a baby, and now everyone knows his name. Some people damn near worship him. I don't think you're so wonderful or anything though, Harry." He backtracked. "I mean, I like you, Harry, honest-to-God. But s'far as I'm concerned, you're a pretty normal kid." That said, he peered nervously over at the bespectacled boy.

Harry, for his part, hadn't heard anything more welcoming the entire day. "Thanks, Terry." He climbed under his covers and closed his eyes. "I mean it. Thanks a lot."

Awakening the next morning was brought graciously by Orlando, who was apparently an early riser. Harry was literally jolted awake when Orlando pounced on his bed and began jumping, yelling something that sounded like a war cry. "Up, Harry, up!" he panted, bounding over to Terry's bed.

As Harry turned over and rearranged his covers around him in a vain attempt to fall back asleep, he heard Terry mumble into his pillow, "'ucking 'illock." Orlando ceased jumping at that, and glared at Terry.

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. And with that, everything seemed to be okay again.

Orlando dragged the two boys out of bed, and handed them soap. "I've already taken mine, see," Orlando said gleefully. "But as it's so late, you might not be able to get hot water."

Terry looked pained. "Orlando, look outside. That's the sunrise."

"All the same," Orlando said, and pushed them in the direction of the showers.

When they emerged, clean and in better spirits, the sun was fully up in the sky. Orlando was sitting on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. "Come on guys," he said, hopping up. "Pack your bags so we don't have to waste time getting our quills and stuff together after breakfast."

As Harry dug out his quills and parchment, he asked, "Do we know which class we have first this morning?"

"No, I don't think we get our timetables until we get to the Great Hall."

There was a knock on the door. Harry got up to open it, but before he could, Hermione had pushed it open and was peeking her head into the room. She smiled brightly when she saw him. "Would you like to walk down with Padma and me, Harry?" Harry pulled the door open wider, and there was Padma, eyes downcast and hair crimped.

"Love to. Ready, guys?" Terry and Orlando expressed their assent, and Harry grabbed his schoolbag.

Hermione chatted happily as they made their way to the Great Hall. She took little notice of Padma, who had said nothing the entire time, and had smiled only once, at Harry, when he told her that her hair looked nice without the braids.

While Hermione asked Terry and Orlando, dead seriously, what type of career choices they were considering, Harry cornered Padma. "Why do you seem so sad?" he asked, for lack of a better way to phrase her current state.

It seemed for a moment she wasn't going to answer, then she spoke so fast, it was as if the words were tripping over each other to get out. "I'm just so- confused! I've always, always known I was going to be in Gryffindor with my sister. And then, last night, I told the Sorting Hat that, and it laughed at me! Told me if I thought myself a Gryffindor, then Hufflepuff was going to win the Quiddich Cup." She took several deep breaths and avoided eye contact as they walked.

Harry didn't know what to say. After a pause, he managed to get out, "Oh...well, as long as you're here, I really hope Ravenclaw won't be too terrible for you."

She smiled up at him, and Harry hoped he hadn't blundered things too badly.

Harry followed Orlando and Padma into the Great Hall, and immediately whispers sprang up to precede him to the Ravenclaw table. It was on the far end of the entrance they used, so they had to slip between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables to find their seats.

It seemed the students had had time to mull over the fact that Harry Potter did not appear to be following in his parents' footsteps. A couple students at the Gryffindor table actually made booing and hissing noises at him as he passed.

"Ignore them, Harry," Hermione said in a low voice from behind them. "It's time they learned that it doesn't matter what one is, but who one is."

He couldn't help feeling betrayed, however. "I didn't do anything to them," he whispered furiously back.

Hermione glared at the Gryffindors as they finally passed the full length of the table. "They're just jealous, I think, Harry. They probably always assumed Harry Potter would be in their House."

"Harry." He jumped, stopped in his tracks, and looked around to find the person who had tugged on his sleeve.

"Draco!" The boy was sitting at the Slytherin tables between the blonde girl Harry had seen last night and another boy. Harry motioned Hermione and Terry to go on, and squatted down so hey could be at eye level with Draco.

Draco allowed himself a reserved smile. "Hey, Harry. Listen, I never congratulated you on getting placed in Ravenclaw. I mean, if you couldn't be Slytherin, Ravenclaw's the next best thing. And mind, I probably wouldn't even be talking to you if you'd been put in Hufflepuff, or, god forbid, Gryffindor. Poor you." Harry allowed himself a smirk at Draco's nonchalant egocentricity. "I have a present for you."

"Really?"

Draco lowered his voice so only Harry could hear. "Yeah, and I'd give it to you now, but the teachers probably wouldn't approve. Meet me by the lake right after breakfast, alright?"

Harry nodded and tried to express his thanks, but Draco waved his gratitude off with, "Don't thank me 'till you've seen it, silly."

As Harry sat down at his House table, he noticed Hermione looked crestfallen about something. She kept glancing irately from a strip of parchment in her hand to her book bag, at her feet.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked, turning concernedly to his friend.

"We don't have our first class until this afternoon!"

Orlando snickered, and Harry rolled his eyes and fixed himself breakfast.

After eating, Harry excused himself and headed to the lake. There was Draco, leaning against a willow tree on the far east side. Harry hurried toward him, temporarily unneeded book bag still slung over his shoulder.

Draco was flipping through a thick greenish tome when Harry approached. Harry dropped down beside him, causing Draco to look up, startled.

"Here." He thrust the book into Harry's hands as if he was unused to giving presents.

Harry glanced at the title, which simply read, A Selection of Carefully Chosen Potions and Poisons, before opening it. Inside were huge sections of different types of compositions for intricate potions and poisons, sorted by results. Every concoction described came with full-color, moving illustrations, a detailed guide to the way the results of every reaction were to appear, and a layman's guide to obtaining the less easily acquirable items.

"Draco, this is awesome. Thanks." He reached out to feel the oddly textured cover. "What is this stuff?"

Draco smiled. "Dragon-hide. Resilient properties." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I'm glad you like it. I've only created very simple potions, but Potions is already my favorite subject, and I haven't even had classes yet. Class!" An alarmed expression crossed his face, and he grabbed his bag. "Bugger, I've got to go, Harry. Class with the bloody Gryffindors." Then he was running back in the direction of the castle, waving over his shoulder.

Harry shrugged, sat down, and opened to the first page of his new book.

---

The blazing noonday sun eventually drew Harry out of his reading, so he carefully slipped his book into his bag and headed toward the Great Hall for lunch.

So far, he hadn't even gotten out of the basic history and background "prologue," but it was intriguing. For instance, 187 years ago, an overly ambitious Hufflepuff girl had actually brewed an almost-successful Draught of Living Death, a Dark magic potion, most knowledge of it being theoretical, that trapped a person's soul in a sort of bubble in eternity.

Minutes before she began the final step, equally overly ambitious Aurors attacked without stopping to think, obliterating the girl. The affair was hushed up, and the girl's family was sent a large sum of money, though the Aurors were never tried for homicide, or even manslaughter.

All in all, a stellar example of the oddness and unjustness of the world. In any case, the matter was long dead, and Harry put it firmly out of his mind.

He met Orlando entering the Great Hall. "Afternoon, Harry," Orlando greeted him. "Guess what? We have Potions first class of our first day of our first year at Hogwarts, right after lunch."

Harry laughed. "I get the idea, Orlando. Exciting stuff." He patted his bag. "I got a new book on Potions though, really advanced, so I think I'm all set."

"Ah, but you're going to have to compete with Hermione, I think, for teacher's pet, Harry. Mind, I bought about twenty extra Transfiguration books when we went to Niffler's Alley."

He laughed again. "Come on, Orlando, let's eat. I'm starved." They had reached their table, accomplished by Harry's skillful maneuvering. He had careful to stay to the far side of the Gryffindor table, and it seemed he wasn't noticed with all the other students around.

Unofficial meals, it seemed, were buffet-style, so they stuffed their plates and ate like they would never see food again, as boys will, Orlando keeping a running commentary of his opinions of the teachers at the Staff Table the entire time. ("See the short one? That's Flitwick. He's an albino Smurf. See the ghost? That's Professor Binns. He's living proof you can die of boredom.")

"Terry's sisters told him all about the professors here, see, so we know what to expect. For instance, next class, Potions, is taught by a...prickly man whose good side you really, really, need to get on. He doesn't seem to mind the Ravenclaws so much, but you should hear the stories of what he does to the Gryffindors!"

Talking about the Gryffindors made Harry lose his appetite. "Let's go get our books," he said urgently, pulling on Orlando's sleeve to make him get up.

"Sheesh, Harry, I'm coming."

It turned out to be a good thing that they had left lunch a little early, as they had quite a bit of trouble getting back to their dormitory. They finally found the minor hallway that housed the Ravenclaw entrance, but then they had to remember how to open the trapdoor. That morning, Harry and his friends had all gone down in a group, and the trapdoor had already been activated. Orlando also had spent all morning outside after breakfast, so now the boys were trying their best to concentrate on what had happened last night and how, exactly, Kieran had conjured the stairs. Harry remembered Kieran's hand gesture as a loop and several slashes, and Orlando recalled that Orlando had jerked his hand five times after what he said was a complete circle.

It was Harry who finally managed to make the ceiling open and the steps descend, after realizing the shape was a circle with a five-pointed star in the center. He concentrated on making his wand's movements both loose and precise, and was rewarded with a click and the magic began to come into existence, creating shimmering stairs.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Kieran was standing right next to him. The other boy nodded slowly. "It's a pentagram," he said. "The ancient symbol of the magical world and mortals' appreciation for it. Never forget whom you are, Harry Potter." Then, like the night before, he slid up the stairs before anyone else could, leaving Harry and Orlando looking at each other, perplexed.

They followed at his heels, though, when Orlando glanced at his watch and let out a yelp. Class started in less than ten minutes. The boys rushed up the stairs, into their dormitory, and sprinted for their trunks. "Get your Transfiguration books too, Harry," Orlando said, gasping, as he shoved books into his bag.

"Right," Harry replied, taking those. He briefly considered taking his new Potions book with him, but decided against that. Draco had said something about it being considered inappropriate by the population at large, and he didn't want to get himself or Draco in trouble with this Professor Snape.

They managed to make it out of the Quarters and down the steps at the heels of other hurrying individuals, so they didn't need to mess with the trapdoor again. Even more luckily, Orlando had asked for directions to the Potions classroom (to all his classes, actually) beforehand.

"Orlando, you're brilliant," Harry said, when Orlando revealed he already knew the way. "Remind me to buy you a huge box of candies or something later."

"Alrighty."

They entered the lower levels of Hogwarts, and Harry steeled himself for his first class of this new era of his life. He slid into the first open seat when he stepped through the doorway to the classroom, which just happened to be one between a girl he didn't know, and Hermione. Orlando sat down next to Padma, winking at Harry from across the room.

Snape wasn't in the room yet, so Hermione greeted him, then said in a soft voice, "Apparently the Hufflepuffs are more anxious than most about displeasing Professor Snape. Almost every seat was taken when I got here, which was twenty minutes early!"

Harry grinned, and remembered what Orlando had said about Hermione wanting to be teacher's pet. He started to reply, but a silky voice brought his and everybody else's heads snapping up.

A man that reminded Harry forcefully of the pictures of vampires he had seen flipping through his Defense Against the Dark Arts books had wafted to the front of the classroom.

After a roll call, during which the Professor paused slightly at Harry's name but said nothing more, Snape put the parchment he had been marking on into a pocket in his robes. Very softly, he began to speak. "I am Professor Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts. I am here to teach you the subtle and exact art of Potions-making. You are here to waste my time and be general dunderheads." He sighed. "This class will at least be more bearable than this morning's, however. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs do not tend to delude themselves with visions of their own superiority, unlike another House I could name. Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped. "Yes, Professor?"

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Of course! He knew the answer to that one, thanks to Draco's book. "It would result in a most basic form of the Draught of Living Death, sir."

Snape's lips twisted up into an odd smile. He seemed on the verge of saying one thing, then appeared to change his mind.

"Perhaps you could all take a leaf out of Potter's book and study the material beforehand," was all he said about the matter, sweeping his gaze over Harry and around evenly to the rest of the pupils.

"Order yourself into pairs, and you will begin to create an extremely simple potion to cure boils." Snape glided to his desk, and sat down, waiting for them to finish preparing the ingredients.

Harry partnered with Hermione, and, as she cut up the beetles' legs, she said hotly to Harry, "I reviewed the material beforehand, too, you know, Harry. I do hope he doesn't think all of us dunderheads." She cast a contemptuous look at the girl to Harry's left, who had cut her hand slicing the serpent eggs and was whimpering loudly.

"I dunno, Hermione, but Orlando said he's way worse to the Gryffindors."

She sniffed loudly. "Serves those snobs right then. They were so rude this morning, weren't they?"

Snape was at the front of the classroom once more, again without Harry noticing him walking there. "You should all be sufficiently prepared to commence creating the potion. Ms. Granger, are you and Mr. Potter quite ready to proceed with the potion?"

Hermione gave a sharp intake of breath. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Tell me, have you studied this particular potion beforehand?"

To her credit, her voice wavered only a little under his gaze. "I have, Professor."

"In that case, you and Mr. Potter will demonstrate the lesson for the class. You may place your materials on this desk in front of the class." He waved his wand, and an oak table appeared, complete with indents for vials and stoppers. "I will return to dismiss you when class is over." He walked briskly through a doorway in the wall behind his desk and disappeared through it, shutting the door softly behind him.

Harry and Hermione glanced confusedly at each other, then Hermione gathered their materials and led the way to the small table.

Harry had never heard of the potion they were doing before, so Hermione led most of the lesson, Harry being content with stirring in the ingredients when she said to. The students were extremely attentive listeners; Snape's presence still was acutely felt in the room.

Snape returned to dismiss them as everyone was bottling their potions. "Mr. Potter, Ms Granger, It will reflect on your own grades how well the other students did on their potions," he stated, as everyone began to congregate near the door.

"Yes, Professor," they said together. The bell rang, and Hermione hurried to go put their potion on Snape's desk.

Snape rounded on him, steepled his fingers under his chin and seemed to peer deep inside Harry. While the general bustle prevented anyone else from potentially hearing, he still spoke softly. "Mr. Potter. It seems as if you will choose a different path, and therefore a different end than your parents. Be wary, however, and live up to your House's qualities."

"Yes, sir," Harry said uncomprehendingly.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry and headed to that back room again.

Hermione returned with his bag and handed it to him. "Come on Harry, straight to Transfiguration."

As they walked together back out of the dungeons, Harry told Hermione about Snape's odd little speech.

"I don't know Harry...that sort of sounds like one of those, 'It'll all make sense when you're older' speeches, doesn't it?"

Harry shrugged and changed the subject. "At least I think we did okay teaching the class, right?"

"I think so...oh, but he seems so strict. I did my best, and I know you did, too."

"Dropping in the stuff and stirring the potion?"

Hermione allowed a grin. "Don't be so self-deprecating. Your job was important, too."

They were steadily getting higher in altitude, and the decor in the hallways was leaning more and more toward heavy crimson accents. Hermione seemed to know where to go, at least. She directed him down a hallway made of walls plastered with posters of lions in various poses, in all sorts of art mediums, from pastels to pop art. All the works moved, of course, and the lions snarled and growled at Harry and Hermione as they passed.

The Transfiguration class was at the far end of that hall, and the professor greeted them at the door. She was a stiff-looking woman with her hair pulled tightly back into a bun. She eyed Harry askance, as if he were a cat that had laid a dead rabbit at her feet.

"Mr. Potter, I presume," she said just as primly as appearance deemed her to. "And this is..."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione supplied, smiling tremulously at the professor, who didn't return the smile.

She looked them both over once more with a disapproving air, and pressed her lips together. "I am Professor McGonnagal. Well, go on, get inside."

Hermione looked hurt, but Harry had already suspected an attitude like that, what with what Gryffindor's general stance toward him seemed to be.

Hermione went to sit next to Padma, and Terry and Orlando were already sitting together, so Harry chose an empty seat in front of the two of them. "You were great in Potions, Harry," Terry whispered. "I doubt I'll ever do so well again if that old bat starts teaching."

There was a sudden sound of hisses and furious whispers in the classroom as a group of Gryffindors came in. A redheaded boy with a long nose in particular sneered at Harry and motioned his sandy-haired, freckled friend to him as he sauntered towards Harry.

"Harry Potter, are you?" the redhead said heatedly.

"Yes," said Harry.

The boy snorted and rubbed his nose with the back of his sleeve. "Well, Harry Potter, I think I speak for Gryffindor as a whole when I say we were not impressed with that little stunt you pulled last night."

Harry stared. "What?"

The boy snorted again and plopped down in the empty seat next to Harry. The freckly blond kid leaned against the desk in front of Harry's and tried to look menacing. "That stunt, Potter. Talking the Hat out of its rightful decision. You knew very well where you belong. Not that we'd have you back, now."

Harry abruptly knew what the boy was talking about. Hagrid had told him both his parents had been in Gryffindor, and this boy obviously thought that meant Harry should be, too. "Look," Harry said. "I certainly don't regret not being put in Gryffindor, if all the kids act like you do."

The boy sputtered incoherently, and his friend jumped in.

"Potter, there you go again. You think you're too good for us? You can bloody well go to hell."

"Language, Mr. Finnigan. And go find a seat." As the boy slouched away, Professor McGonnagal spotted Harry. "Mr. Potter, do not provoke the boys. Two points from Gryffindor. I will not tolerate that in my classroom. Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded sullenly, forcing himself not to scream at his teacher. The world of Gryffindors was a very, very unfair one. The redhead had snickered when Harry had points docked off, and Harry made a mental not to look up a very unpleasant curse and test it out on this boy.

It could have been worse, though, and McGonnagal could have had the two of them partner up for the lesson. Instead, after taking very lengthy notes, she handed out matches and told them to concentrate on turning theirs into needles.

Harry forced all of his bottled rage into his magic, meaning he was the third person to Transfigure the match successfully. Orlando had actually been first, and he earned a rare smile from McGonnagal and an exemption from that night's homework. Hermione earned a close second, followed by Harry and several other Ravenclaws, including a couple of girls Harry didn't know. Not a single Gryffindor had managed to make his or her matches even remotely resemble a needle, Harry noted with no small amount of satisfaction.

The redhead in particular seemed to be a complete failure. He jabbed in the general direction of the match when he was supposed to flick, and McGonnagal gave up trying to correct him after the fifth time she came around.

Minutes before the bell rang, McGonnagal assigned some light homework to the students who had been successful Transfiguring, and a much heavier load for the rest. She dismissed them actually smiling, though it seemed reluctant. "Best results I've had in a First Year's class for some time. Good day."

Harry exited the room with Orlando and Terry, after making it past a ring of Gryffindors hovering around the classroom entrance, calling out lame insults. The redhead said something about how Harry's parents would be ashamed of him, being Sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry almost turned back, but he reminded himself firmly, No retaliation 'till I've learned some decent curses.

"Those blokes are jerks, aren't they, Harry?" Terry asked as soon as they were out of McGonnagal's earshot. "As if you'd want to be in Gryffindor, after all that."

"Exactly! My parents wouldn't care which House I'm in! Bastards."

"I heard the number of former Gryffindors killed from magical accidents by doing dumb things is over the number of all the other Houses combined!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I saw an episode of 'Ashwinder's Amazing Stats: The Alumni Edition' on the ETN."

"Unsurprising, that."

They continued to rant on like this until they reached the Quarters. Orlando, still glowing from Transfiguration, only said, "He ha' a bi' of a cock-nay accen', Harry. I would na' listen t' hi', if I were yous," in a decent imitation of the redhead's speech, which cracked the other two boys up.

They got to their dormitories, and collapsed on their respective beds. "In any case," Harry said, "You guys are a million times better than any Gryffindor."

"Rock on, sister!" Orlando shrieked, and the boys fell into hysterics again.

Yes, Harry concluded, he was very content right where he was, thank you very much.