Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

The morning of September 1st dawns bright and hopeful. I've collected all my school supplies by this point, so now it's just time to go and board the train and get this school year started. I make sure everything is packed and take the Leaky Cauldron's Floo over to King's Cross Station.

I board the train early and grab an empty compartment. Whoever wants to sit with me can do so. Let's see who actually wants to be friends with me this term. I refuse to be bothered by this. It doesn't really matter, does it? I think I'm just trying to reassure myself. It's not really working, though. I curl up in the back of the compartment and stare out the window at the platform, watching students and their families milling about in preparation for boarding.

I'm distracted and don't notice when someone comes into the compartment and sits down. "It doesn't look good for you to sit all by yourself, Potter," says Draco. "Someone might think you were being antisocial. Or worse, that you'd been shunned, or something."

I snort softly and turn to look. "Hello, Draco," I say, rubbing my eyes. "And I'm not antisocial. I think some are shunning me, though."

"Who?" Draco asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"The Weasleys," I say.

"Oh, them," Draco says. "Well, you don't need to associate with their sort, anyway. Some wizarding families are better than others, you know."

I shrug a bit. "It's probably just as well, I suppose," I say. "I didn't exactly want to be spending holidays at their barn, anyway."

"Hah," Draco says. He glances out to the corridor, and says, "Ah, there's Crabbe and Goyle. In here, you two!"

The two oafish boys come into the compartment and take a seat. "Who's this, boss?" Crabbe says. Or possibly Goyle. Damn, am I going to have to learn to tell those two apart? Alright, I'll just do what I do with the twins and randomly assign them names mentally. They don't look identical, but I really don't care which is which.

"That, you fool, is Harry Potter," Draco says. "Don't forget it. And unless I explicitly tell you otherwise, you will treat him with respect and do nothing to annoy him. Is that understood?"

"Yes, boss," Crabbe says. The two of them start looking at me as though I'm a snake that might suddenly strike at any moment.

"So, how'd you like the book we sent you, Potter?" Draco asks. "My father wasn't sure if you might already know all the spells in there already."

"Do call me, Harry, please," I say. "People I don't like call me Potter."

"Sorry," Draco says hurriedly. "Harry."

"And no, a lot of that is new to me, so thanks," I say. I can't exactly blame the Malfoys on getting me killed there. That was my own damned fault for being unable to properly control the spell.

"I'm just surprised that you think you're going to be in Gryffindor, of all things," Draco says.

I shrug. "What can I say? As I said earlier, I'm a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation. I could almost guarantee I won't survive all seven years at Hogwarts. I'll probably wind up doing something stupid trying to save somebody -- maybe even you."

"I don't know if I'd want to be betting on my impending death," Draco says.

"I don't bet," I say. "I don't believe in luck. Chance is never on my side. If I want anything to go right, I need to make sure of it myself."

"Well, I suppose that's a sensible attitude," Draco says.

I'm certain that, after that inadvertent display before, Draco must think that I'm a dangerous thing, possibly crazy. Which kind of makes me wonder if he would be entirely wrong in thinking that. And yet a part of me thinks that I'm not yet dangerous enough.

We're on our way to Hogwarts now. Soon enough, the door to the corridor opens and Hermione pokes her head in. "Have any of you seen a toad?" Hermione says. "Neville has misplaced his."

I have to restrain the urge to hug Hermione the minute I see her. "Hello, Hermione. No sign of any toads around here, except possibly Crabbe and Goyle here," I reply offhandedly with a small grin. "Why don't you ask one of the prefects? They probably know a spell that can help."

"Oh, that's a good idea," Hermione says. "I'll try that, thank you!" She runs off again.

"Friend of yours?" Draco asks.

"Yeah," I say. "That's a Mudblood named Hermione Granger."

"You're friends with Mudbloods?" Draco asks.

"I'd rather hang around smart Mudbloods than stupid purebloods, honestly," I say. "And she's likely to be the top of our year."

Draco stares at me as though I've just said something strange. "How could a Mudblood be that good?"

"Probably secretly Ravenclaw's heir or something," I say, shrugging.

"But... she's a Mudblood," Draco says. "Her parents are Muggles."

"Muggles don't have any magic," I say. "Magic doesn't just come from nowhere. If the pureblood families didn't keep tossing their Squibs out into the Muggle world, there wouldn't be so many Mudbloods."

Draco blinks for a moment. "I never thought about it that way. But they're obviously not as good as us, right?"

"You realize 'they' includes my mother, don't you?" I point out.

"Oh, right," Draco says. "I forgot about that."

"Personally, I'm of the opinion that magical blood should be kept in the magical community," I say. "None of this breeding with Muggles or casting out Squibs, and bring in any Mudbloods that pop up. We don't need Muggles."

"I suppose there's a point to that," Draco admits. "But still, you say that Granger girl is your friend? I don't know if I could be friends with a Mudblood."

"Could you be friends with Ravenclaw's secret heir?" I ask.

"Well, sure, of course," Draco says. "Wait, you aren't suggesting that she actually is, are you? You don't know something about that, do you?"

I smirk. "She could be," I say lightly. "That's all I'll say on the matter."

"You... just... argh!" Draco says.

We finally arrive at Hogsmeade Station and disembark from the train, and I join the other first years in riding the boats across the lake to the castle. For all I've done this before and seen Hogwarts plenty of times before, the view is still pretty impressive. All those spiring towers rising up majestically over the sparkling lake.

We're ushered inside, and I roll my eyes a little as the eleven year olds around me start to speculate if they have to wrestle a troll. I don't really care to correct them. They'll find out for themselves soon enough. We then head in for the Sorting ceremony.

I watch the Sorting attentively, keeping an eye out for any changes, but everything's going just as I expect it to. This one to Hufflepuff, that one to Ravenclaw... Hermione Granger to Gryffindor.

"Gryffindor?" Draco murmurs. "I thought you said she was smart."

"She is," I say quietly. "You'll see what I mean about that."

Neville gets Gryffindor, Draco gets Slytherin of course, and "Potter, Harry!" gets called up to the front. I stride forward to the stool and toss the hat onto my head.

"Hello there, Lexen," the hat whispers into my head. "My, my, you really have been through a lot, haven't you."

"You could say that," I reply silently. "So where are you going to put me this time?"

"Personally, I'd recommend avoiding this school entirely and just seeking professional help for your post-traumatic stress disorder," the Sorting Hat tells me.

"Huh?" I think.

"But never mind that," the Sorting Hat says. "You won't do that. But could I at least recommend going to Hufflepuff? You'll find lots of supportive friends there, which you sorely need at the moment."

"You want to send me to Hufflepuff?" I think dubiously.

"If not that, then perhaps Ravenclaw?" the hat suggests. "They won't even mind if you spend most of your free time holed away with your books. No? What about Slytherin, then? They look after their own."

"Are you trying to discourage me from going to Gryffindor?" I ask.

"Gryffindor might not be the best idea for you, under the circumstances," the hat says. "But if you insist upon it, I will send you there."

"Which house actually fits me, though?" I wonder.

"I'll stand by what I told you in that other life. You'd fit well into any of the houses. You have traits of all of them. That makes you very flexible and open-minded. You could be anyone and do anything, Stormseeker. It all comes down to your own choices."

"Well, I want to go to Gryffindor again," I tell the hat.

"Very well," the hat murmurs, almost seeming to sigh a little at me. "It may not be what's best for you, but if that is your own choice, then so be it. Let's send you to GRYFFINDOR!"

I slip the hat off my head and go over to take a seat by Hermione and Neville. The table seems a little less enthusiastic to have me around than last time, and I'm sure it's not just my imagination. I kind of have to wonder if the Sorting Hat was right, but I stand by my decision. Although I wonder what in the Abyss "post-traumatic stress disorder" might be.

"Hello, all," I say brightly. Hide my concerns behind mental barriers and put on a cheerful mask.

"Hello," Neville says nervously.

"Oh, Neville, did you find your toad?" I ask.

"Yeah, he's right here," Neville says.

"Percy knew a spell that brought him straight in," Hermione says, beaming. "I'm going to have to learn that one."

"Me, too," I say. "Sounds useful. What was it?"

"I believe it was 'Accio'..." Hermione says.

"Yes, it was," Percy tells her. "It's a fourth year charm, though. You might not be able to do it yet."

"Hmm, oh well," Hermione says. "I'll look it up anyway."

I make a mental note to look that one up myself. That's closer to the level I'm at right now, and it definitely sounds like a useful spell to know.

Once the new students are all sorted, Dumbledore stands up and says, "I'd like to welcome you all to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we begin, I have a few words that I would like to say to you all today: Blather! Rutabaga! Cuckoo! Fork!"

Seamus says softly, "I say, is he quite mad?"

I snicker softly. "I think he's brilliant."

I have trouble sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitory. There's charms to block out Ron's snoring, but I can't quite shake the feeling of distrust. I find myself tossing and turning for hours before finally drifting off into sleep. And that's when the nightmares hit me.

I'm running through the Hogwarts corridors. It's chasing me, but I can't look back. I'll die if I look behind me. I just have to keep running. I come to a staircase, trip, stumble, falling end over end. At the bottom, I land in a pile of bodies. Everyone I ever knew is laying dead around me, their eyes frozen open, but without a mark on them.

I sit bolt upright in a cold sweat, panting. This is no good. At this rate, I might need Wideye Potion just to get through my first day of classes. But no, I can't do that. I don't have access to Snape's stores anymore. Snape isn't on my side this time. A Dreamless Sleep Potion would be nice at the moment, too, for that matter. I sigh and curl up again to try to sleep.

Classes start up in the morning, ready to teach me things that I already know. I just take them as an opportunity to practice my spells and keep in top form, and get better at them, while doing some self-study. But I don't want to neglect interacting with my classmates. At least most of them aren't as bad as the Weasleys, but there's still some distrust among some of them. What did Lucius Malfoy say about me? Oh well.

It's just as well that I already know the material, considering I'm half asleep the entire day and my reaction time is pretty slow. It gets to the point where McGonagall approaches me during Transfiguration class. "You're quite the Transfiguration prodigy, Mr. Potter, just like your father," she tells me quietly. "You could do this lesson in your sleep. Which is good, because it seems like you're mostly asleep at the moment."

"Huh?" I say drowsily.

"Did you not sleep well last night, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asks.

"Oh," I say. "Sorry, ma'am. It's just, I'm not used to sleeping in a room with other people. I could shut out the noises, but I couldn't forget they were there, if you know what I mean."

"Ah," McGonagall says. "Quite understandable. You're not the first one to have that problem."

"I'll get used to it in time," I assure her. "It won't be a problem, ma'am."

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. "But if you do continue to have problems, please come to see me or visit the hospital wing."

"Thank you, ma'am," I say.

I look down at the needle on my desk, which had formerly been a matchstick. I'm the only one that's managed to perform this spell so far. I'd been intending on trying to hold back in class, but perhaps it's just as well that I can turn matchsticks into needles in my sleep by this point. Who knows what stupid mistakes I might make when trying to do magic while tired?

If I'm going to be exhausted my entire first week of school, at least I can take a nap during History of Magic. I find the soothing drone of Professor Binns' voice to be quite relaxing. Maybe I can even get away with napping during Defense Against the Dark Arts as well.

I'm in for quite a surprise when I step into the first Defense class of the year, however. The heavy smell of garlic that pervaded the classroom during the previous loop is gone, for starters, and there are a number of practice dummies arranged along the far wall. Quirrell gives me a long, odd look as I come in and take my seat along with the rest of the class.

"Welcome, students, to my class, which has been so foolishly termed 'Defense Against the Dark Arts'," Quirrell says. What, no stuttering? "This is a naive view, and I will tell you why. The Dark Arts are not a force to be feared. They are a weapon, nothing more. A weapon is nothing without those who wield it."

"So, it's wizards who wield the Dark Arts that we should be wary of?" Seamus says.

"No," Quirrell goes on. "It is a weapon, yes, but it is not the only weapon in existence. Yes, those who wield the Dark Arts can make dangerous adversaries, if you should become their enemies. But are there not also spells which are not considered Dark that could be used to harm someone? Should you not be able to defend against those as well?"

"That's true," Hermione says. "Even some of the first-year spells could hurt someone if used in the wrong way."

"Or the right way," Quirrell counters. "And what of magical beasts? Some dark creatures are dangerous, yes, but some are not. And plenty of non-dark creatures can be dangerous as well. And then there are Muggles. Many wizards make the mistake of thinking them harmless just because they don't have magic. But do not let your guard down around them. They have their own weapons just as dangerous as magic. The only saving grace is that, unlike wizards, not every Muggle carries around a deadly weapon on their person."

I sit at my desk, staring at Quirrell, positively stunned. What happened to cause such a change? Was it my conversation with him? I can't imagine how that might have made a difference. I'm very confused. Do I have wrackspurts in my head?

"Now, today, I will be starting you off with a simple, utilitarian spell," Quirrell says. "It's called the Knockback Jinx, and the incantation is Flipendo. Allow me to demonstrate." Quirrell aims his wand at one of the practice dummies, and says, "Flipendo!" A bolt of blue light shoots out of the end of the wand and strikes the dummy, sending it flying backwards.

Is this the Dark Lord actually teaching this class rather than Quirrell himself? I couldn't say. The class gets up to start practicing the spell themselves. It's an easy spell for me, but after what happened in Transfiguration, I don't want to appear overcompetent. I stand in front of one of the dummies, looking deep in thought and concentration, but don't actually cast the spell.

"Potter," Quirrell says, approaching me. "Do you not wish to cast the spell?"

"Er..." I say.

"You haven't even tried to cast it yet," Quirrell says. "Why don't you show us how it's done, then?"

So much for not drawing attention to myself. Fine, so be it then. Ignoring my unintended audience, I aim my wand at the dummy and incant, "Flipendo!" The blue bolt knocks into my dummy, sending it flying nearly as far back as Quirrell's. Many of my classmates had barely gotten their dummies to budge.

"Ah, very good, Potter," Quirrell says. "Five points to Gryffindor for that demonstration. See, class? Potter displays an innate measure of talent with this jinx." He looks me over thoughtfully, and adds more quietly, "Perhaps your magical core is inherently attuned toward Dark Magic."

"What does that mean, sir?" I ask hesitantly.

"Do you have an easier time casting jinxes, hexes, and curses than other spells?" Quirrell says. "And at a greater than usual power level?"

"I can usually cast them on the first try," I admit.

"And the same is not true with charms?" Quirrell asks.

I shake my head. "Charms usually take me several tries before I can get them to work. But I'm good with Transfiguration, too."

"Transfiguration doesn't count," Quirrell says. "That's unaligned magic. Charms are Light Magic, so there you have it, then. It's likely that you would make for a fine dark wizard."

That's all well and good, but I wish he hadn't said something like that aloud in the middle of class. Gryffindor is distrustful enough of me at the moment as it is. Although if it's true, that might help to explain why I've had little success in getting the Patronus Charm to work. I really ought to start practicing that again. I shouldn't use my current general emotional state as an excuse for that. Maybe practicing thinking happy thoughts would help with that instead.

I try to get a better night of sleep in preparation for the first Potions class of the year, as difficult as it is to sleep in a room where there are people who seem to hate me for no good reason. Potions is one class that could be seriously problematic if any mistakes are made. Speaking of which.

"Looks like we've got Potions today," I say at breakfast.

"With Slytherin," Neville says with distaste. "This is going to be awful."

"You don't think you'll be good with Potions, Neville?" Hermione says. "It doesn't sound so bad to me."

"It's going to be a disaster, I just know it," Neville says.

"If you're worried about it, Neville, why don't you pair up with Hermione for it?" I suggest. "That might help to mitigate any more explosive potential."

"That's a great idea, Harry," Hermione says.

"Well, if you didn't mind, I suppose that might help..." Neville says.

"Of course I don't mind," Hermione assures him. "But who would be your partner, Harry? I'd thought you would want to pair up with me yourself."

I wave my hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me. I'll probably just ask Draco or something."

Seamus casts a nasty look at me at the mention of that, and mutters something about, "Dark wizard in training... should've been in Slytherin."

In Potions class, Snape gives me a long, nasty look as well as he's checking attendance. "I see our resident celebrity is present today," Snape says in a droll manner, and then proceeds to launch into a speech about brewing fame, bottling glory, curing indigestion, whatever it was. I'm not really paying attention to it very much. "Potter!" he snaps at me.

"Yes, sir?" I say, returning my attention to where I am and what I'm doing.

"What would you have if you combined powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asks.

"Huh?" I say dumbly. I'm definitely not prepared for a surprise quiz today. I try to wrack my brain to see if I can recall ever having seen mention of a potion like this in the first and second year texts, but I'm coming up with a blank. "Er, sorry, sir, I don't know the answer to that."

"Hmm, fame isn't everything, so it would seem," Snape says. "How about another question? Where would you obtain a bezoar, and what is it used for?"

What the hell? As sleepy as I am, I'm pretty sure that I'd remember it if I'd ever run across mention of this. "I don't know, sir," I answer, frowning a little. Maybe I just haven't been paying enough attention to the material. It's not like I ever gave enough due to Potions.

"I see," Snape says. "Could you tell me what the difference is between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

I feel like I should know this one, but maybe there's wrackspurts flitting around in my brain at the moment. "Sorry, sir," I say, shaking my head.

"A pity," Snape says. "It seems that you have little appreciation for the delicate and precise art of potion making. For your reference, asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and can cure most poisons--"

At this point, I scrabble to pull out my quill to write this down, but wind up dropping it and having to pick it up off the floor.

"--and monkshood and wolfsbane are different names for the same plant, which is also called aconite," Snape finishes. He glares down at me fumbling with the quill, and says, "If you are having such difficulties with writing implements, I fear what you will do with a cauldron."

"Sorry, sir," I murmur, righting myself in my seat and going to hurriedly write down the information for future reference. I definitely want to see about obtaining some bezoars and carrying them around with me at all times.

When we go to pair up for working on our Boil-Curing Potions, Neville teams up with Hermione as I'd suggested. Ron hooks up with Seamus, which is just as well as I didn't want to get stuck with either of them anyway. I go over toward Draco and ask, "Hey, Draco. You want to be my partner?"

"Sure," Draco says. As I take a seat next to him and we get started on our potion, he says in a low voice, "I hope you're not always that clumsy. You do the chopping and I'll put in the ingredients, if that's going to be the case."

"I'm just tired," I reply quietly. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Why don't you ask Professor Snape for a potion to help with that?" Draco asks.

I look at him as though he's said something crazy. "I don't care to be poisoned. He obviously hates me, didn't you see?"

"Hmm, point," Draco says. He whispers, "Those questions were obviously above our level. Good on you for keeping your cover and claiming not to know the answers." More loudly, he says, "Why've you been having trouble sleeping?"

"My dormmates," I reply, glancing around toward Ron and Seamus uneasily. "I don't trust them. I keep being subconsciously afraid they might do something to me in my sleep, I guess."

"Ah," Draco says, "Yeah, I can understand that. I wouldn't want to share a room with Gryffindors, either. I told you that you should have been in Slytherin. Nobody would dare do anything like that in our house."

"I'll survive," I murmur.

"You're a wreck and you're driving yourself insane," Draco says. "You're going to either need to get over your issues with your roommates, find someplace else to sleep, or learn a protective charm that you can cast over your bed while you sleep."

Snape, obviously noticing us whispering and muttering a lot to one another, comes over to our table. "Malfoy. Potter. How is your potion coming?"

"Quite well, Professor," Draco says, carefully dropping in the next ingredient and showing him that it's finished up the proper color.

"Good," Snape says, examining it closely and nodding. "Five points to Slytherin for your perfectly brewed potion."

"Harry helped with it, too," Draco says.

"I really don't care about house points," I put in, then add more quietly, "In fact, I wouldn't mind terribly much if you took away points from Gryffindor just to spite the others for being assholes."

"Five points from Gryffindor for your language, Potter," Snape says offhandedly, although his lips twitch into what might be a smirk.

Draco snickers in amusement as Snape walks away to check on the other students. "You know, Harry," he murmurs. "I was a bit concerned when my father ordered me to make absolutely sure to be friends with you. I thought it was going to be difficult, you know, what with your self-proclaimed Gryffindor tendancies. But you keep this up, and I might just not completely hate being your friend."

I have to laugh aloud at that, earning some more offhanded glares from some of the Gryffindors in the room. Just for that, when they're not looking, I flick a snake fang into Seamus and Ron's cauldron. It immediately fumes and fizzes, turning a sickly shade of green, before boiling over.

"Can't you dunderheads do even such a simple potion properly?" Snape says in irritation. "Five points from Gryffindor."

"It wasn't our fault!" Ron says, putting his hands in the air frantically to avoid touching any of the faulty potion. "One of the Slytherins tossed something into our cauldron!"

"And another five points from Gryffindor for giving false accusations toward my students," Snape says, waving his wand and vanishing their potion.

As Snape walks away, Seamus mutters, "Bloody Snape. Always favoring the Slytherins."

I grin broadly at Draco and say quietly, "You know, I think I might actually have some fun this year. Say, you wouldn't happen to know where I could find a protective charm to cast over my bed at night, by chance, would you?"

"Not offhand," Draco says. "But why don't you ask Ravenclaw's secret heir?"

"Good idea," I say. "If she doesn't already know one, I'd imagine that she could find one quick enough."