Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

I finally start in at my classes at Hogwarts. I have to admit that I'm excited about this. Almost as much as I had been about the prospect of going to Torn Elkandu for the first time. I just have to hope that this time, I'm not going to meet with some horrible disaster just a week in.

My least favorite class is Astronomy. I don't see how this will help me learn magic or even to get by in the world at all. And I really don't appreciate having to go up at midnight every Wednesday to stare at the sky. I miss the two moons of Lezaria.

Herbology's a little more practical, at least. Although it's not what I'd prefer to study, I figure it might come in handy at some point, even though I doubt I'd exactly have time to wait for a plant to grow if I'm facing down a dark wizard.

History of Magic is taught by a ghost. I'm interested in the subject matter, as it'll help me get a grasp on this world, but the way Professor Binns teaches makes me just want to spend the class period taking a nap. And it appears that I'm not the only one having that thought.

I've been really looking forward to Charms, too. I'm excited at the prospect of trying out some practical spells, or showing off the ones that I managed to get more or less down during the summer. But instead, to my disappointment, we're to spend the class period reading and discussing magical theory. Well, I suppose it's good to have a grounding for what we're doing. I push aside my disappointment and focus upon gleaning what knowledge I can, and refreshing what I've already read over.

I'm excited about Transfiguration, too. Even if it's just another lecture on magical theory. That's okay, too. When I walk into the classroom, there's a cat sitting on the desk. As I watch, the cat jumps onto the floor and transforms into Professor McGonagall.

"That's totally awesome," I say. "Can you teach me how to turn into a dragon?"

Professor McGonagall replies, "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I'm afraid you won't likely be ready for such an attempt for quite some time. Today, you will be transfiguring matchsticks into needles."

"Can you teach me how to turn into a dragon later?" I beg. "Please?"

"No promises, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "I am an Animagus, and that is a talent that takes years of study and diligent practice to master. Not everyone can become an Animagus. You only get one form, and you do not get to choose your form. It is highly doubtful that you would become so fanciful as a dragon if you were to actually manage it."

"I'd make a great dragon!" I insist.

"Furthermore, the level of Transfiguration required to perform such a feat without being an Animagus is quite advanced and complex," McGonagall. "For today... Matchsticks. Needles. If you can handle this, perhaps, one day, you might have some hope of fulfilling your dream."

Professor McGonagall launches into the lesson, explaining the means by which to utilize one's magic to transfigure an object and alter its form and substance. I listen with great interest and enthusiasm.

So, once the lecture is over and the practical part of class begins, I pull out my wand and attempt to follow the instructions given to transform my matchstick. Nothing happens. My heart sinks a little. Well, maybe I shouldn't feel so bad about not getting it on the first try. I wave my wand over the matchstick again, and again. Still nothing. Ah, come on, can't it at least change a little?

"Look here," McGonagall says, holding up Hermione's work for the class to see. "See how it's now silver and pointy? Good work, Hermione. Five points to Gryffindor."

"Good job, Hermione," I say, grinning at her and making a mental note that she's the one to study with.

Then there's Defense Against the Dark Arts. This is the class I had most been looking forward to. I'm practically bouncing in my seat with excitement as the lesson begins. Quirrell stutters a lot and his turban smells funny, but surely he wouldn't have gotten the position if he doesn't know what he's talking about, right? Unfortunately, that still remains to be seen.

On Friday morning, Solomon flutters in at breakfast to bring me a letter in addition to today's Daily Prophet. I pick it up and take a look at it. It's from Hagrid, inviting me to tea this afternoon. I shrug and scribble, "Sure, why not?" and send it back with Solomon.

Today we have Potions with the Slytherins. While it's hardly a class I'm particularly looking forward to for the subject matter, I am happy to be going to a class with Snape. I don't want to disappoint him.

I make sure to pair off with Hermione. Potions isn't really my sort of magic. It requires so much precision and preparation. I'm pretty mediocre with it, but Hermione makes up for that. I have to feel a little sorry for Ron, who got stuck with Neville as his partner. Their cauldron practically explodes partway through class, causing Neville to erupt with boils.

"You added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, didn't you, Longbottom?" Snape says. "Weasley, take him to the hospital wing."

I'm glad none of the faulty potion managed to get on me. They were awfully close to me.

"And you, Potter," Snape says, looking at me meaningfully. "Detention. Tomorrow. Straight after dinner."

"Me?" I protest obligatorily. "What did I do?"

"Don't talk back to your teacher, Potter," Snape says. "You should have stopped Longbottom from botching his potion so badly."

I bite my lip and look down, and say, "Yes, Professor."

We resume the lesson, and Seamus leans over to me and murmurs, "Rough time, mate."

Ron, Hermione, and I go over to Hagrid's hut that afternoon to join him for tea. I'm mostly just trying to be polite and socialize a bit. I can't spend every moment studying, after all.

"Hello, kids," Hagrid says. "Make yourselves at home. Who'd you bring with you? It's nice to see you're making friends already, Harry."

"This is Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger," I introduce them.

"Ah, I should've guessed he was another Weasley," Hagrid says. "I remember your brother, Charlie. I liked him, good with animals."

"Yeah, and now he's off studying dragons," Ron says, trying to nibble on one of Hagrid's rock cakes.

"He's lucky, that boy is," Hagrid says. "Dragons are such magnificent creatures. I wish I could have one."

"You want to have one?" Hermione says. "But that's dangerous. And illegal."

"I know, I know," Hagrid says. "I can dream, can't I?"

Hermione gives up on her own rock cake after seeing how much it lives up to its name, muttering something about what her parents would do if she broke a tooth. "What's this?" she asks, pulling up a piece of paper that was on the table.

I glance over at it. It's a newspaper clipping from the Daily Prophet. "Oh, the break-in at Gringotts? I heard about that."

"I wonder what they were after?" Hermione says. "It says nothing was even stolen."

I turn to Hagrid and say, "It was the package you picked up for Dumbledore, wasn't it? Lucky you retrieved it, isn't it?"

"Have some more rock cakes, kids," Hagrid says, evading the question.

I chuckle softly at the obvious avoidance. "Although I have to wonder why Dumbledore had you do it. You're a great guy and all, Hagrid, but you're really bad at keeping a secret. Especially when you've got a newspaper article about it sitting right on your table. Anyway, I wasn't going to ask about it. I trust Dumbledore and I respect his privacy. If it were something he wanted me to know, he'd have told me."

"Dumbledore's a great man, isn't he?" Hagrid says, smiling at me.

The next Thursday, we've got flying lessons with the Slytherins. That just strikes me as a disaster waiting to happen even worse than Potions. Okay, maybe Potions is worse. Let's just put together two groups of people who have taken it upon themselves to be pointless rivals, and give them dangerous chemicals! Great plan, guys.

"I've never ridden a broom before," I say a little uneasily. "Have you guys?"

Hermione shakes her head, and Ron says, "I used to play around with Charlie's old broom. I once almost hit a hang glider!"

"My gran would never let me near one," Neville says.

"Now everyone stand beside a broom!" Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, tells us. "Stick your right hand out over the broom, and say 'Up!'"

"What if I'm left-handed, ma'am?" I ask as the other students start following her instructions.

"Just do it, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch says.

"Alright then..." I say dubiously, positioning myself over the broom. "Up!" The broom jerks a little. "Up!" The broom bounces up and hits me in the knee. "Up, damn it!" The broom hits me in the face. "Ow!" I give a glare to Madam Hooch and move over to the other side of the broom, and put out my left hand instead. "Up!" This time, the broom jumps up to my hand like it's supposed to.

"You're going to have trouble with it if you do it that way," Madam Hooch says.

"Don't tell me you've never had a left-handed student before?" I say.

"You're supposed to use your right hand, even if you're left-handed," Hooch says. "You! Mr. Malfoy! You grip is all wrong!"

"But it didn't work for me the other way, and it worked right away when I tried it this way," I protest.

"And you'll keep getting it wrong until you learn it the right way," Hooch insists. "Now, watch, children. This is how you properly mount a broom..."

After she finishes her instructions and demonstrations, we're to kick off in unison. I'm still stubbornly using the broom my way. It's a little awkward, but at least it works. The charms on the broom seem to be set up backwards to me.

Then, Neville rises up into the air prematurely. He shoots up into the air rapidly, and then slips off his broom. There's a sickening crunch as he lands on the ground. I think he must have broken something.

"Looks like a broken wrist," Hooch says. "I'm going to take this boy to the hospital wing. The rest of you better stay on the ground while I'm gone if you know what's good for you!"

That's practically an invitation to cause trouble. What's she thinking? Draco is already laughing at Neville's ineptitude again. He goes over to where Neville fell and picks up something shiny from the grass.

"Look what I've got," Draco says. "Isn't this that stupid thing Longbottom's grandmother sent him to remember things?"

"Draco, why can't you be nicer to people?" I say.

"Why should I?" Draco says. "He's practically a Squib, anyway!"

"That's no reason to be a prat," I say. "Besides, he's great with Herbology. I'd probably fail that class if it weren't for him."

"Bah," Draco says. "If you really want this stupid thing, come and take it from me!"

Draco takes off and circles into the air on his broom. Fine, I'll see about that. I kick off, keeping a tight grip on my broom to make sure I don't meet the same fate Neville did. But I'm still not quite used to the gravity on this world, and I overestimate my strength. I shoot up high into the air. Thankfully, there's nothing in my direct path to run into before I can get control over my broom again.

"You're almost as bad as Longbottom with that!" Draco mocks me. "Almost, anyway. At least you haven't fallen off of it yet!"

"Give me a break, Draco," I say. "I've never flown on one of these things before in my life."

"Hah," Draco laughs at me. "You'd be rubbish at Quidditch. Let's see if you can catch this!"

Draco throws Neville's Remembrall up in the air. It sails up in a wide arc. I keep my eyes on the ball as it starts coming down, trying to position myself beneath it to try to catch it.

Crunch! I entirely failed to notice I was too close to the castle wall. Pain. Pain. I think something's broken, and not just the broom. I go tumbling toward the ground. Gazing up at the clear blue sky. I'm going to die, aren't I? Well, I hope so. Recovering from all the broken bones I'm about to get would suck a lot more than a quick death.

I strike the ground at an odd angle. Mercifully, my neck snaps, and it's over.

I groan softly as I wake up in my bed in the Gryffindor dorms, and rub my neck self-consciously. Well, that was a little unpleasant.

We have Charms and Transfiguration on Thursdays. I don't mind sitting through those classes again. I can especially use the extra practice in Transfiguration.

Then, the afternoon flying lesson comes around again. I stubbornly continue to use the broom left-handed, against Hooch's protests. It's not my damned fault people built these things backwards. But I have my wand at the ready. I know what's going to happen.

As Neville goes tumbling toward the ground, I point my wand and shout, "Spongify!" Neville strikes the ground, which is now very soft and rubbery, and bounces a few times. He doesn't appear to be harmed.

"Good job, Mr. Potter," Hooch says. "Five points to Gryffindor for your quick thinking. Mr. Longbottom, are you alright?"

"I-- I'm okay," Neville says. "Thanks, Harry."

I go over to pick up the shiny ball from the spongy ground he'd landed on. "Here, you dropped this."

"Oh, my Remembrall," Neville says, taking it. "Thanks again."

The remainder of the lesson goes much better this time. Draco doesn't steal Neville's Remembrall. I don't fall and break my neck. All in all, a good day. The second time, at least.

Draco approaches me at dinner, flanked by his bodyguards as usual. Crabbe and Goyle, I think their names were. I haven't figured out which is which yet. "You think you're so noble, Potter, sticking up for Mudbloods, Squibs, and blood traitors," Draco says.

"What's your problem this time, Draco?" I ask.

"You've rotten choice in friends, Potter," Draco says. "You think you can protect them all the time?"

I tried to be friendly with Draco at one point, but he's just been antagonizing me more and more. I bristle with annoyance at him. "And you think you're so hot, with those two around to protect you? I'd imagine that they don't know anything but hexes and jinxes."

"I'll take you on anytime, one on one," Draco says. "How about tonight? Wizard's duel. Midnight in the the trophy room."

"You're on," I say without thinking about it.

"Crabbe's my second," Draco says. "Who's yours?"

"I am," Ron interjects.

What's the second for, I wonder? Dueling traditions must be different than those the Elkandu use, I suppose. No matter. I'll get Ron to drill me on it after dinner.

"Be there," Draco says. "And don't be late." He turns to stride off with his goons.

I'm pretty tired by the time night comes around. I'd like nothing better than to curl up in my bed and sleep. In fact, I'd have loved to have gone to bed early. Of course I'm tired. I woke up at seven o'clock this morning. Twice. So by the time midnight rolls around, I'll have actually been awake for almost twenty-four hours.

It's a good thing I'm from Lezaria. Lezarian days are twenty-eight hours long, so I'm used to having a few more hours in my day. Still, I don't like the prospect of going to a duel so tired, and would really like to have had a nap in there. I don't think I've have trusted myself not to just sleep until morning, however. So I brush off my tiredness and head down to the common room at eleven thirty with Ron.

"Where are you two going?" says Hermione.

"Er," Ron says uneasily, which is more than I can manage to get out.

"You shouldn't go wandering around the school at night!" Hermione admonishes us. "You'll get in trouble!"

"We'll be careful," I assure her. "Don't worry about us."

"But if you get caught, you'll lose lots of points for Gryffindor!" Hermione says. "I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup!"

I stare at her incredulously. "I honestly don't care about points or the house cup. I came to Hogwarts to learn magic, not to play stupid games like that."

"Then what do you think you're doing now?" Hermione says.

"This is different!" I insist. "This is a matter of honor! I gave my word that I'd be there."

"I'm going to tell Percy about this!" Hermione says.

"Do what you think you must," I say. "I won't stop you."

Ron and I leave the common room and climb out of the portrait hole, and make our way down to the third floor. We move carefully, keeping a close eye out for any sign of the caretaker, Mr. Filch. I have to think that his only purpose at Hogwarts is to get students in trouble.

We get lost along the way and make a detour to avoid Mrs. Norris, Filch's mangy cat. We arrive in the trophy room late, expecting to see Draco and Crabbe already waiting for us, but it's empty. Nobody's there.

"Oh, man," Ron says. "Harry, I think we've been set up."

"What?" I say. "Would Draco really do something like that?"

"Yes," Ron says.

There's a sound from outside the trophy room. I turn suddenly to look over to the entrance. Filch is approaching. We've got to get out of here, now!

Ron and I try to hide, and manage to slip out the far doorway. I think we might manage to get away without being discovered. And then my foot catches something, and a suit of armor goes tumbling to the ground with a clatter loud enough to wake the dead.

"Run!" Ron cries.

We make a break for it. We scramble through corridors trying to get away from where Filch is. We almost run into Peeves, the poltergeist, who starts screaming loudly to try to get us in trouble. Then, we hit a locked door blocking our path.

"It's locked!" Ron says. "Bugger it all, we're doomed!"

"Relax, Ron," I say, pulling out my wand and pointing it at the door. "Alohomora." I haven't had a good opportunity to try out this spell before. And, of course, I don't get it quite right on the first try. There's a click-click, but the door remains locked. "Alohomora!" I say more insistantly. This time, the lock gives.

Ron and I yank the door open and rush inside, shutting it behind us. "That was close," Ron says. "He won't find us in here. He'll think this door is still locked."

Panting a little, I turn around to put my back against the door we'd just come in, and come face to face with an enormous, three-headed hound. A trio of slavering mouths full of long, razor-sharp fangs approaches us.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim. I yank open the door again. "Run!"

"Ahh!" Ron screams, rushing out into the main corridor.

My hand is still on the door handle. I stumble. Exhaustion is catching up with weariness, and I'm very clumsy in this light gravity when under stress. I fall flat on my face. I hope Ron doesn't stop for me...

I try to scramble away, but the three-headed dog is upon me before I can even get up again.

I wake again, still exhausted. Oh, hell. There's no way I'm going to be able to make it through another day of classes like this.

I drag myself out of bed in a hurry and make my way down to Professor Snape's office. "Potter? What is it?" Snape asks.

"Need to ask you a favor, sir," I say.

"You look like you're about to pass out, Potter," Snape says. "Sit down, before you fall over."

I collapse into the seat. "I'm going to either need something to keep me awake, or an excuse to sleep through Charms and Transfigurations," I say.

"You should have slept better last night, then," Snape says. "Were you having nightmares?"

"That's not it," I say. "Can I... can I speak freely?"

"Muffliato," Snape says, giving a wave of his wand. "You may speak without fear of being overheard. Is this something to do with your temporal powers?"

I nod. "It really takes a toll on me sometimes," I say. "If I've been awake for nine hours before I go back... it still feels like I've been awake for nine hours. I've now been awake for twenty-four hours without rest."

"Ah," Snape says. "You should have mentioned this earlier. I could have given you a supply of Wideye Potion for when it is required. Here, drink this." He pulls a potion off a shelf and hands it to me. "What killed you this time?"

I take the bottle and guzzle it down. Immediately, I start to feel more alert. "Flying lessons start today," I explain. "I, er... kind of... fell off a broom and broke my neck."

"Multiple times?" Snape says, raising an eyebrow. "If you are that bad at flying..."

"No, only once," I say. "The second time, I got mauled by the three-headed dog on the third floor."

Snape looks at me in surprise. "What on earth were you doing in the forbidden corridor on the third floor?"

"It was an accident," I say. "I didn't realize where I was. Admittedly, I shouldn't have been there at midnight anyway. You can go ahead and give me detention for that if you want, even if it's not just an excuse for Occlumency lessons."

"And why, praytell, were you wandering around the school at midnight?" Snape asks.

"Draco Malfoy challenged me to an honorable duel at midnight in the trophy room," I say. "But I think he just set me up and told Filch instead."

"Oh, I can just imagine an honorable duel between eleven-year-olds," Snape says. "Making each other get pimples and snotty noses."

"I didn't think Draco would lie to me," I say.

Snape sighs and presses his fingers to his temples. "At least you have the presence of mind to be honest about it when you do something foolish, and for that, I'm not going to give you a real detention." I imagine he doesn't want to discourage me from telling him these sorts of things in the future. "I will also brew up some Wideye Potion for your use, for when you get yourself stupidly killed."

"Thank you, sir," I say.

"Run along, now, boy," Snape says. "You'd best get yourself changed before breakfast."

I glance down at myself, and realize that I'd just run all the way across the castle in my lightning bolt pajamas. "Oops," I say.

I hurry back to Gryffindor Tower to take a shower and get changed before going down to breakfast. I'm quite thankful for Snape's potion. So I'll have to sit through my morning classes again. That's alright. I just need to not get myself killed again by my own foolishness.

The day passes by in the same way again. I cast another Spongify to stop Neville from breaking his wrist, and return his Remembrall. Then Draco approaches me at dinner once again.

"You're always sticking up for such filth, Potter," Draco says. "Mudbloods and Squibs? Muggles and blood traitors, too, I imagine."

"I have a soft spot for the underdogs," I reply lightly. "You know, it's always so much more satisfying when you win against impossible odds, than when victory was a foregone conclusion."

"What are you talking about?" Draco says. "You really think you're going to win?"

I shrug. "That wasn't a challenge. That was a suggestion."

"What do you mean?" Draco says. Well, I've succeeded in confusing him, at least.

Somehow, though, I don't think that this is the time or place to be having this conversation. The words stumble in my mouth, and I can't make my thoughts make sense. "You know," I say. "Sometimes something is just worth doing. No matter what happens."

And the moment is past. "Right, Potter," Draco drawls, rolling his eyes. "You go right on being stupidly noble, if you want. That hat was right to put you in Gryffindor."

He and his cronies wander off again, leaving me to stare at my plate of food, wondering just what it was I was trying to tell him. I think I've just discovered something more important than magic that I need to learn. And that's something that's normally Keolah's forte. Not her magic, not her Seeking powers, but her skill at diplomacy.

I need to learn how to speak in such a way to convince anyone of anything. That's something that would be useful no matter where or when I go. And that's something that's likely to take years to master. And they don't exactly offer courses on it at Hogwarts.