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The dungeons were exactly as dreary as Harry expected - all rough-hewn stone walls slick with condensation, flickering torches casting dancing shadows, and an ever-present chill that seemed to seep through their thick winter cloaks. The Ravenclaws huddled together near the entrance to the Potions classroom, their blue-trimmed robes standing out against the gloom.
"This isn't right," Anna muttered, checking her schedule again. Her prefect badge gleamed in the torchlight. "We're supposed to have Potions with Hufflepuff, not Slytherin. It's been that way for years."
"Maybe someone wanted to shake things up," Harry suggested, noting the group of green-trimmed students approaching from the opposite direction. Most were giving him looks that could curdle milk.
"Or someone's playing politics," Anakin observed. "Watch your back, padawan."
The Slytherins positioned themselves on the opposite wall, creating an invisible divide in the corridor. Harry noticed their robes were notably better quality than average - clearly new and made of finer materials. Malfoy's platinum blonde hair practically glowed in the dim light as he held court among his housemates.
However, one Slytherin caught Harry's attention. A girl with long blonde hair and an air of quiet detachment stood slightly apart from her housemates. Unlike the others, she wasn't participating in the glaring contest. Instead, she seemed absorbed in a book, her green-trimmed robes slightly wrinkled as if she'd forgotten about them entirely.
"That's Daphne Greengrass," Hermione whispered, following his gaze. "I read about her family in 'Notable Magical Families of Britain.' They're known for-"
"Their neutrality during the last war," Anna finished. "And their ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley."
"Ice cream?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Best sundaes in magical Britain," Anna confirmed. "Though don't let that fool you - the Greengrasses are as cunning as any Slytherin."
The classroom door swung open with a dramatic creak. "Speaking of cunning and dramatic," Harry muttered.
The classroom was a large, circular chamber with high vaulted ceilings. Wooden workbenches were arranged in concentric circles, each equipped with cauldrons and basic brewing equipment. The walls were lined with shelves holding hundreds of glass jars containing various preserved specimens - some floating, some crystallized, and some that appeared to be moving.
"If you're quite finished gawking, Mr. Potter," Snape's silky voice cut through the silence, "perhaps you'd care to take your seat? Or does the Boy Who Lived require a special invitation?"
Harry had been examining a particularly interesting jar containing what looked like ethereal butterfly wings. He turned slowly, meeting Snape's cold black eyes. "Just admiring your collection, Professor. The preservation charm on those Morpho wings is particularly elegant."
Snape's eyes narrowed fractionally. He stood at the front of the room, his black robes making him look like an overgrown bat in the dim lighting.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw for dawdling," Snape said silkily. "Sit. Down."
"Charming fellow," Anakin commented as Harry took his seat beside Hermione. "Though his cape work needs practice."
Snape began taking roll call, pausing at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."
"I prefer 'enigmatic prodigy,' sir," Harry replied automatically. "Celebrity sounds so tabloid."
Several students gasped. Hermione looked horrified. The blonde Slytherin girl - Daphne - actually glanced up from her textbook with mild interest.
"Another ten points from Ravenclaw for your cheek, Potter," Snape practically purred. "Shall we go for twenty?"
"That depends, sir. Is there a bulk discount?"
"Harry!" Hermione hissed.
"Listen to your classmate, Potter," Snape's voice was dangerous now. "You may find that your... newfound fame does not grant you special privileges in my classroom."
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began, his voice barely above a whisper. The class hung on every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."
"Potter!" Snape suddenly barked. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Harry tilted his head slightly. "The Draught of Living Death, sir. Though traditionally, the wormwood should be gathered under a waning moon for optimal potency."
Snape's lip curled. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"The stomach of a goat, sir. Though I've heard the synthetic ones from Singapore are becoming quite popular."
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"They're the same plant, sir. Also known as aconite. Makes a lovely garden border, I'm told, though the mortality rate among careless gardeners is rather high."
The silence in the dungeon was absolute. Snape's face had taken on an interesting purple tinge.
"Well?" he snapped at the class. "Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And twenty points from Ravenclaw for being an insufferable know-it-all."
"That seems a bit counterintuitive for a school, sir," Harry observed mildly. "Shouldn't knowledge be encouraged?"
"Silence Potter."
They were soon set to working on a simple potion to cure boils. Harry partnered with Hermione, who was still giving him reproachful looks as she precisely weighed dried nettles.
"You shouldn't antagonize him," she whispered.
"I answered his questions correctly," Harry pointed out, crushing snake fangs with perhaps more force than necessary.
"You know what I mean!"
"No I don't. You know he was at the wrong. Why are you defending him, Hermione?"
"I'm not defending him, but he is a Professor, Harry. You shouldn't antagonise him and give him even more reason to be against you."
Harry wanted to point out that Snape seemed to have a personal vendetta against him, but he decided to ignore the bushy-haired girl for now.
Across the room, Daphne Greengrass was working alone, her movements precise and economical. She added ingredients without consulting the textbook once, Harry noticed.
Snape swept around the room in his black cloak, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to favor. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.
"Force push!" Anakin commanded suddenly.
Harry reacted instinctively, using the Force to subtly deflect the spray of potion that would have hit several students. Instead, it splashed harmlessly against the stone floor.
"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled at the unfortunate Ravenclaw whose cauldron had melted. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
As Snape vanished the spilled potion, he rounded on Harry. "Potter! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought it would make you look good if he failed? That's another five points from Ravenclaw."
"I apologize, sir," Harry said earnestly. "Next time I'll be sure to simultaneously monitor everyone's cauldrons while brewing my own potion. Perhaps you could teach me that trick with your eyes? The one where they glitter so menacingly in the darkness?"
"Detention, Potter."
"On what grounds, Professor?" Harry's voice cut through the dungeon, clear and measured. Several students looked up from their cauldrons.
"Excuse me?" Snape's silky tone carried a dangerous edge.
"I asked on what grounds you're assigning detention. I answered all questions correctly, followed safety protocols, and my potion" - he gestured to his perfectly simmering cauldron - "is textbook perfect. Unless Hogwarts has instituted a policy against accurate knowledge?"
The dungeon grew deathly quiet. Even Malfoy stopped stirring his potion to watch.
"You dare question my authority?" Snape's voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm questioning the educational validity of your punishment, sir. As a Ravenclaw, I believe in the pursuit of knowledge and understanding. Punishing correct answers seems... counterproductive."
"One hundred points from Ravenclaw!" Snape spat, his face contorting with fury. Several Ravenclaws gasped in outrage.
"Careful Harry," Anakin warned.
"That seems rather excessive for academic excellence," Harry replied calmly. "I wonder what the Board of Governors would think about using house points to pursue personal vendettas?"
Snape took a menacing step forward, his robes billowing. Suddenly, his foot caught on... nothing. He pitched forward, arms windmilling, and face-planted directly into Theodore Nott's cauldron. When he jerked upright, his usually greasy black hair had turned a vibrant, bloody red.
"Professor!" Harry exclaimed with exaggerated concern, both hands clearly visible on his desk. "Are you alright? That was quite a fall. Perhaps the dungeons need better lighting? I hear trip hazards are a serious workplace safety concern."
Snape's face matched his new hair color as he wiped potion from his eyes. His gaze locked onto Harry with pure hatred.
"You..." he began, trembling with rage.
"Me?" Harry blinked innocently. "But sir, my wand is right here on the desk. Unless you're suggesting I can perform wandless magic as a first-year?" He smiled sweetly. "That would be quite extraordinary, wouldn't it?"
Daphne Greengrass had to duck behind her textbook to hide what suspiciously looked like a smile. Even some of the other Slytherins seemed to be fighting grins at their Head of House's new appearance.
"Get. Out." Snape's voice shook with suppressed rage. "All of you. OUT!"
As students hastily packed their bags, Harry carefully bottled a sample of his perfect potion and placed it on Snape's desk. "For grading, Professor. Though you might want to wash your hair first - that particular shade clashes terribly with your robes."
"Nicely done," Anakin commented as they left the dungeon. "Though you might want to be more subtle with the Force next time. And perhaps less cheeky with the aftermath."
"I have no idea what you mean, Master," Harry thought back innocently. "I'm just a humble first-year who happens to be deeply concerned about dungeon safety standards."
Behind him, he could hear Snape's roar of frustration echoing off the stone walls.
As they climbed the stairs from the dungeons, students clustered around Harry, their voices a mix of awe and suspicion.
"How did you do that?" Terry Boot demanded. "That was wandless magic!"
"What? No, it wasn't," Harry replied, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "I'm barely managing the basic wand movements Flitwick taught us yesterday. Wandless magic is way beyond first-year level."
"That's bull--you know what I mean, you have already managed to use second year charms, and your wand was on the desk," Padma Patil insisted. "And Snape definitely tripped on something."
"Maybe his robes?" Harry suggested helpfully. "They do seem rather impractically long. Health and safety hazard, if you ask me."
"It looked more like he was pushed," Daphne's cool voice cut through the speculation. She had fallen into step beside them, her green-trimmed robes swishing softly. Her pale blue eyes studied Harry with calculated intensity. "Rather convenient how he fell exactly where he needed to for maximum embarrassment."
"Fortune favors the fortunate?" Harry offered with a slight shrug.
"Try again, Potter," Daphne's voice was quiet enough that only those closest could hear. "That was too precise to be accidental."
"I'm flattered you think I'm capable of such advanced magic," Harry replied easily. "But I think you're giving me too much credit. Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences."
"Keep your secrets then," Daphne said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "But you might want to be more careful. Not everyone appreciates... coincidences."
"Perceptive, that one," Anakin observed as Daphne broke away from the group, heading toward the Slytherin common room. "Watch out for her."
"She seems different from the others," Harry thought back.
"Different isn't always safer," Anakin cautioned. "Though she did handle that potion brewing with impressive skill."
"Harry James Potter!" Hermione's voice cut through his internal conversation. "You're going to get expelled!"
"For what? Being in the vicinity when our esteemed Potions professor had an unfortunate encounter with gravity?"
"You know what I mean!" she hissed, though her righteous indignation was somewhat undermined by the twitching at the corners of her mouth.
"I really don't," Harry said innocently. "Though I do hope the red washes out eventually. It really wasn't his color."
Anna, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "Whatever did or didn't happen down there... be careful, Harry. Snape isn't known for forgetting grudges."
"Noted," Harry nodded. "Though I think he had that grudge well before I ever set foot in his classroom."
"Still," Michael Corner piped up, "that was brilliant! The way he just face-planted right into-"
"Mr. Potter." Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice interrupted their conversation. The tiny Charms professor stood at the top of the stairs, looking unusually serious. "A word, if you please?"
"Of course, Professor," Harry replied politely, ignoring Hermione's worried look.
"Remember," Anakin advised as Harry followed Flitwick, "Don't say anything. And maybe work on your innocent face - you look more smug than guileless."
"I learned from the best, Master."
Later
The gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office barely had time to leap aside before Severus Snape stormed past, his still-reddish hair leaving a faint trail of potion droplets behind him. He burst into the circular office, robes billowing dramatically, only to stop short at the sight of Professors Flitwick and Garlick already engaged in conversation with Dumbledore.
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "We were just discussing the new interdisciplinary project between Herbology and Charms. Though I must say, that shade of red is quite--"
"Potter must be expelled!" Snape cut in, his face contorted with rage. "He's even worse than his father - arrogant, disrespectful, deliberately sabotaging my class!"
Professor Garlick's normally warm expression turned to ice. "Severus Snape! How dare you speak about a child that way?"
"A child?" Snape sneered. "He's James Potter's spawn, strutting about the castle like he owns it, just like his--"
"Finish that sentence," Garlick interrupted, rising from her chair. Despite being shorter than Snape, she seemed to loom over him. "Go on, finish explaining how you're judging an eleven-year-old based on a schoolboy grudge from two decades ago."
"Mirabel," Dumbledore began soothingly, but Flitwick suddenly stood on his chair, bringing himself to eye level with Snape.
"Mr. Potter is a member of my house," the professor declared, his usually cheerful voice sharp. "And I will not stand here while you slander him based on your prejudices about his father!"
"Slander?" Snape's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Shall I tell you what your precious Ravenclaw did in my class today?"
"Please do," Garlick crossed her arms. "And make it good, because I've just come from the greenhouses where several Ravenclaws were discussing a rather different version of events."
Snape's face tightened. "Potter deliberately disrupted my class with his insolent attitude. When I attempted to correct his behavior with a perfectly reasonable detention--"
"For what offense?" Flitwick interrupted.
"His disrespect--"
"Specifically, Severus," Garlick pressed. "What exactly did he do?"
Snape's jaw worked for a moment. "He questioned my authority in front of the entire class!"
"By asking what rule he had broken?" Flitwick raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I've heard about that part. Quite reasonable of him, actually."
"He then proceeded to cause a disruption that resulted in--" Snape gestured angrily at his hair.
"Ah yes, your unfortunate trip," Garlick's voice dripped with false sympathy. "Into young Mr. Nott's cauldron, wasn't it? Most peculiar, given your usual grace in the classroom."
"Potter did something!" Snape insisted. "He must have!"
"Without a wand?" Flitwick asked innocently. "Most impressive, if true. Perhaps we should accelerate his Charms curriculum?"
"You're all blind to what he really is!" Snape snarled. "Just like his father, getting away with--"
"That's quite enough!" Garlick's voice cracked like a whip. "Severus Snape, I have been here only for a week and everyone has said the same things about you, but this vendetta against a child for the crime of existing is beyond the pale!"
"Perhaps," Dumbledore interjected carefully, "we should hear from the students who were present?"
"An excellent suggestion," Flitwick nodded vigorously. "Shall we summon the Ravenclaws and Slytherins from that class? I'm sure they can provide unbiased accounts of what transpired."
The remaining color drained from Snape's face.
"Actually," he said stiffly, "I have a class to prepare for."
"Oh, but surely this is more important?" Garlick's smile was sharp. "After all, you did just demand a student's expulsion. The least we can do is thoroughly investigate the incident."
"I... may have overstated the severity of the situation," Snape ground out.
"You don't say," Flitwick muttered.
"Though Potter still deserves punishment for his attitude!" Snape added quickly.
"His attitude of... answering questions correctly and following safety protocols?" Garlick asked sweetly. "Yes, how dare he demonstrate competence in your classroom. The audacity."
"Now, now," Dumbledore raised his hands placatingly. "I'm sure we can resolve this without--"
"Without what, Albus?" Garlick turned to him. "Without addressing the fact that one of your professors is attempting to get a student expelled over a personal grudge against said student's dead father?"
Dumbledore winced.
"I believe," Flitwick said firmly, "that as Mr. Potter's Head of House, any disciplinary matters should come through me first. And from what I've heard, the only person who needs disciplining in this situation isn't a student at all."
"Is that a threat, Filius?" Snape's hand twitched toward his wand.
"An observation," Flitwick replied calmly. "And a reminder that while you may have forgotten, I was once a dueling champion. Would you care to test how much I remember?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Well!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "I believe we've all made our positions clear. Severus, perhaps it would be best to focus on your upcoming class? And might I suggest a cooling potion for your... situation?"
Snape's lips pressed into a thin line. Without another word, he turned and swept from the office, though the effect was somewhat undermined by his still-red hair.
As the door closed behind him, Garlick let out a long breath. "That man needs therapy."
"Don't we all?" Flitwick sighed, climbing down from his chair. " Though I must say, it's refreshing to see someone finally stand up to him. Most of the staff have simply accepted his behavior over the years."
"Well, perhaps that's the problem," Garlick replied, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "Everyone's so used to it they've forgotten it's not normal. And I may be the newest and youngest professor here, but I won't stand by while any student is treated that way."
"Youth often sees most clearly what age has grown blind to," Dumbledore mused.
"Age has nothing to do with it, Headmaster," Garlick responded firmly. "It's about doing what's right, regardless of how long someone's been allowed to do wrong."
"Though I must say, Albus, this has gone on long enough. If Severus can't separate Harry from James in his mind, perhaps he shouldn't be teaching at all."
"Severus has my complete confidence," Dumbledore began.
"Then your judgment is questionable," Garlick cut in bluntly. "One week is all it took for me to realise how much students hate the man, even some Slytherins do not like him, but this fixation on Harry Potter is different. It's personal, it's vindictive, and it's completely inappropriate."
"Mirabel--"
"No, Albus. Either you address this, or I'll take it to the Board of Governors myself. I won't stand by and watch him psychologically abuse children for another week."
"I quite agree," Flitwick nodded.
Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed considerably. "I will... speak with him."
"See that you do," Garlick headed for the door. "Because if I hear one more report of him bullying students, our next conversation won't be nearly so pleasant."
After she left, Flitwick turned to Dumbledore. "You know, Albus, for all Severus's complaints about Harry being like James, I see much more of Lily in him. Brilliant, principled, and unwilling to back down from bullies - even when they're teachers."
"Perhaps that's what truly bothers Severus," Dumbledore mused.
"Perhaps," Flitwick agreed. "But that's his problem to solve, not Harry's to bear. Good day, Headmaster."
As Flitwick left, several of the portraits began muttering among themselves.
"Well, that was entertaining," Phineas Nigellus Black commented. "Though I must say, standards have really slipped if we're letting professors walk around with hair like that."
"Phineas," Dumbledore sighed, "not now."
"I'm just saying, in my day we had proper dress codes. And proper punishments too - none of this namby-pamby detention business. Why, I remember--"
"Phineas!"
"Fine, fine. But mark my words, when the next Dark Lord rises, they'll take one look at that hair and laugh themselves silly. How are we supposed to maintain proper fear and respect with professors looking like they fell into a paint bucket?"
Dumbledore dropped his head into his hands and wondered, not for the first time, if retirement might not be such a bad idea after all.
Meanwhile, in the corridors below, students were still whispering about the mysterious incident in Potions. The story grew with each retelling - by dinner, according to some versions, Harry had transfigured Snape into a flamingo, while others claimed he had summoned ancient magic to curse the professor's hair permanently red.
The truth, as usual, lay somewhere in between. Though if anyone noticed Harry Potter looking particularly pleased with himself during dinner, or saw him slip an extra treat to a snowy owl, well... that was purely coincidental.
And if Hedwig's delivery to Professor Snape contained a bottle of color-removing shampoo with a note saying "Red really isn't your color - better luck next time!", well... that could have been from anyone, really.
Though Daphne Greengrass, watching from the Slytherin table, couldn't help but notice that Potter's innocent expression needed some work. Then again, she mused, watching Snape's face turn an interesting shade of purple as he read the note, perhaps that was entirely intentional.
After all, the best revenge isn't just served cold - it's served with style, wit, and just enough plausible deniability to make accusations impossible to prove.
"Another package, Professor?" Harry called out helpfully from the Ravenclaw table. "I do hope it's something for your hair. That red is starting to fade to pink, and while I support your journey of self-expression, I'm not sure it's quite your shade."
Several students choked on their breakfast. Professor Garlick suddenly became very interested in her teacup, though her shoulders were shaking suspiciously. Even Professor McGonagall's lips twitched slightly.
Snape's glare could have melted steel, but Harry just smiled beatifically and returned to his breakfast.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw!" Snape snarled.
"For commenting on fashion choices?" Harry asked innocently. "I didn't realize that was against school rules. Should I check my copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' for the specific statute?"
"Another ten points!"
"Severus," Flitwick's voice carried clearly across the Hall. "Are you really taking points for breakfast table conversation? How fascinating. I wasn't aware we had started policing students' opinions on hair care."
The Great Hall went silent as students watched the exchange like a tennis match.
Snape opened his mouth, closed it, then stood abruptly and stormed out, his robes billowing behind him.
"You know," Harry remarked to no one in particular, "I think the billowing robes thing would work better if his hair wasn't quite so... festive."
"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall called out, her voice stern but her eyes suspiciously bright, "do try to show some restraint."
"Of course, Professor," Harry nodded solemnly. "Though I must say, at least pink is a warmer color. Really brings out his... unique personality."
Even McGonagall couldn't quite hide her smile at that one.
Two Days Later
The morning air was crisp as the first-year Ravenclaws made their way across the grounds toward the greenhouses, their blue-trimmed robes rustling in the autumn breeze. Harry walked beside Hermione, who was enthusiastically discussing the introductory chapter of "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."
"Did you know that some magical plants can actually—" Hermione began.
"Books again?" came a voice from the approaching Gryffindor group. "Do Ravenclaws do anything else besides read?"
"Well, we also excel at not getting lost on the way to class," Hermione replied primly, noting how several Gryffindors had been heading in the wrong direction before following their group.
"At least we know how to have fun!" another Gryffindor called out. "When's the last time any of you saw sunlight?"
A Ravenclaw boy named Michael Corner gestured at the bright morning sun. "About three seconds ago. Would you like us to explain how solar radiation works?"
"Or perhaps they'd prefer a picture book?" added Lisa Turpin, earning snickers from her housemates.
Harry continued reading his book as they walked, seemingly oblivious to the exchange until a Gryffindor boy – Seamus Finnigan – addressed him directly.
"Oi, Potter! Even during the walk to class? What's so interesting in that book anyway?"
Without looking up, Harry replied, "Oh, just reading about various magical plants that can save your life – or end it. You know, light breakfast reading." His tone was perfectly casual, as if discussing the weather.
"Nice one, Harrikins," Anakin's amused voice echoed in his mind.
"You're mental, mate," Seamus declared, shaking his head.
Harry finally glanced up, an innocent expression on his face. "Really? And here I thought charging headfirst into situations without knowing what might kill you was the mental approach. My mistake."
The Ravenclaws burst into laughter, while several Gryffindors turned red. Neville Longbottom, however, was trying to hide a smile.
"At least we've got courage!" Dean Thomas shot back.
"Ah yes, because knowledge and courage are mutually exclusive," Harry drawled. "I suppose that's why history's greatest warriors never bothered learning battle strategy. They just ran in screaming and hoped for the best."
Their bickering was interrupted as they reached the greenhouse entrance. As they filed in, the warm, earthy air enveloped them, filled with the scent of soil and various magical plants. Professor Garlick stood at the front of the classroom, her vibrant red hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the glass panels. She wore practical emerald robes with the sleeves rolled up, dragon-hide gloves tucked into her belt.
"Welcome, everyone!" she greeted warmly, her smile brightening the already sun-filled room. "Please find your stations – we'll be working in pairs today."
There was a sudden scramble as several boys, both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, rushed to get stations near the front. Harry noticed even some of his more composed housemates seemed to have forgotten their usual dignity.
"I see professor Garlick has quite the effect on her students," Anakin observed, clearly amused.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Harry thought, though he had to admit that Professor Garlick was strikingly beautiful. He could appreciate that fact objectively while maintaining his composure, unlike some of his classmates who seemed to have forgotten how to form complete sentences.
"Now then," Professor Garlick continued, either oblivious to or professionally ignoring the attention, "today we'll be studying the proper care of Whistling Wormwood. Can anyone tell me its properties?"
Hermione's hand shot up instantly, but Harry noticed she was now using the less aggressive hand-raising technique they'd discussed in the common room. Professor Garlick nodded to her with an encouraging smile.
"Whistling Wormwood is a key ingredient in several potions, including the Draught of Living Death. It's called 'whistling' because the leaves emit a high-pitched sound when properly harvested."
"Excellent! Five points to Ravenclaw," Professor Garlick beamed. "Now, who can tell me why we harvest it at dawn?"
This time, Harry raised his hand, having just read about it. When called upon, he said, "Because that's when it's least likely to scream instead of whistle. Though personally, I think a screaming plant would make Potions class more entertaining."
Several students laughed, and Professor Garlick's eyes twinkled with amusement. "While that might indeed liven up Professor Snape's classroom, Mr. Potter, I don't think he'd appreciate the addition. But you're correct about the harvesting time – take another five points."
"Probably because he can't stand competition in the dramatic department," Harry muttered, just loud enough for nearby students to hear. More laughter erupted, though some Gryffindors looked nervous at the casual mockery of Snape.
"You might want to be careful there, Harrikins," Anakin cautioned. "Snape seems like the grudge-holding type."
"I'll take my chances," Harry replied. "Besides, it's not like he can hate me more than he already does."
Professor Garlick began demonstrating the proper handling technique for the Wormwood. "Remember, gentle but firm pressure when handling the stems. Too gentle, and you'll never get the leaves off. Too firm, and you'll trigger the defense mechanism."
"What's the defense mechanism, Professor?" Lavender Brown asked.
"It releases a cloud of spores that cause uncontrollable singing for several hours," Professor Garlick explained. "The Weird Sisters' greatest hits, usually."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Seamus commented.
"In opera style," she added with a grin.
"Speaking from experience, Professor?" Harry asked innocently.
Professor Garlick laughed. "Let's just say my first year of apprenticeship was very musical, Mr. Potter. Now, partner up and we'll begin. Remember – gentle but firm!"
As they paired up, Hermione naturally gravitating toward Harry, the class settled into their work. The greenhouse filled with the soft whistling of properly handled Wormwood, occasionally punctuated by an operatic burst of "Do The Hippogriff" when someone squeezed too hard.
"You know," Harry commented to Hermione as they worked, "between the screaming mandrakes and the singing Wormwood, I'm starting to think Herbology is just magical gardening mixed with a very strange music class."
"Well, it's certainly more entertaining than Professor Binns' class," Hermione replied, carefully stripping leaves from her stem.
"True. Though I'm pretty sure I saw a ghost of a student who died of boredom floating through his classroom yesterday."
Their talk was interrupted by a particularly impressive rendition of "This Is The Night" from the Gryffindor side of the room, where Ron Weasley was desperately trying to stop singing while his partner, Neville, attempted to help while trying not to laugh.
Professor Garlick quickly provided the counter-solution, though she was fighting back a smile herself. "Remember, everyone – gentle but firm. Think of it like handling a baby dragon."
"Because we all have so much experience with that," Harry commented dryly.
"You'd be surprised, Mr. Potter," Professor Garlick replied with a mysterious smile. "Hogwarts has quite a history with dragons. Though perhaps that's a story for another lesson."
As the class continued, Harry found himself enjoying the practical aspects of Herbology. There was something satisfying about working with his hands.
When class ended, Professor Garlick called out, "Excellent work today, everyone! Three feet of parchment on the various uses of Whistling Wormwood, due next class. And Mr. Weasley?" Ron turned back nervously. "Perhaps practice your vocals before attempting the practical exam?" She winked, and the class departed in high spirits, even the Gryffindors laughing at the gentle teasing.
As they walked back to the castle, Harry found himself thinking that if all their professors were like McGonagall and Garlick, this year might not be so bad after all.
Three Days Later
"Now then, Mr. Potter, before we begin..." Professor Flitwick settled into his chair, which was enchanted to keep him at eye level with his students. "Did you have any questions?"
"Actually, yes, Professor. I read that you were a Dueling Champion," Harry said, trying not to sound too eager. "What was that like?"
Flitwick's eyes lit up. "Ah! Those were exciting days indeed. Took me all around the world – from the grand halls of Beauxbatons to the floating pavilions of Mahoutokoro."
"Floating pavilions?"
"The Japanese magical school has quite remarkable architecture," Flitwick chuckled. "But perhaps we should save those tales for after our lesson? I have quite a few stories about magical duels in Venice that I think you'll find fascinating."
Harry nodded, though he couldn't help but feel curious about what else Flitwick had seen in his dueling days.
"Now then, let's see how you handle some second-year charms. Nothing too advanced, mind you – we'll start with the Freezing Charm. The incantation is 'Immobulus.'"
Harry watched carefully as Flitwick demonstrated the wand movement – a sort of horizontal figure-eight followed by a quick downward flick. A feather that had been floating nearby suddenly froze in mid-air.
"Your turn, Mr. Potter."
Harry raised his wand, consciously keeping his Force abilities in check. "Immobulus!" His first attempt made the feather wobble slightly. On his second try, the feather froze perfectly.
"Excellent! Most students take far longer to master that one." Flitwick clapped his hands together. "Let's try the Softening Charm – 'Spongify.'"
Over the next hour, Harry worked through several second-year charms. The Dancing Feet Spell took three attempts, and the Engorgement Charm was mastered in two. Only the Disillusionment Charm gave him any real trouble, requiring five attempts before he managed to make a book partially transparent.
"Remarkable, Mr. Potter, truly remarkable!" Flitwick was practically bouncing with excitement. "Professor McGonagall mentioned you're showing similar aptitude in Transfiguration?"
"I suppose so," Harry said modestly. "It just... makes sense to me, somehow."
"Just like your mother. Lily had an incredible intuitive grasp of magic." Flitwick's expression grew nostalgic. "Though she particularly excelled in Charms and Ancient Runes."
Harry was about to ask about his mother when another question occurred to him. "Professor, what's wrong with Professor Quirrell? In class the other day, he could barely get through a sentence without stuttering."
Flitwick's cheerful expression dimmed slightly. "Professor Quirrell... well, he wasn't always like that. He took a year off to get some practical experience, and when he returned..." He shook his head. "He was never the bravest of wizards, but this level of nervousness is new."
"He's practically useless as a teacher," Harry said bluntly. "Would it be possible for me to study Defense Against the Dark Arts on my own?"
"Mr. Potter," Flitwick's tone grew stern. "While I understand your frustration, we must show respect to all professors, regardless of their... teaching methods. That said..." His expression softened slightly. "There's nothing wrong with supplementing your education with additional reading."
"He's right about showing respect," Anakin's voice echoed in Harry's mind. "Even if Quirrell does seem more nervous than a Jawa in a rancor pit."
"Sorry, Professor," Harry said sincerely. "I shouldn't have called him useless."
"Quite alright, Mr. Potter. Now, I believe I promised you some stories about magical duels in Venice?"
Harry leaned forward eagerly as Flitwick began describing a particularly memorable duel that had taken place on the Bridge of Sighs. The tiny professor was an excellent storyteller, painting vivid pictures of spells reflecting off the canal waters and tourists diving for cover as hexes flew overhead.
"...and then, if you can believe it, my opponent tried to transfigure one of the bridge's stone lions into a real one!" Flitwick chuckled. "Unfortunately for him, he forgot about the anti-transfiguration charms the Venetian Ministry had placed on all historical monuments. The backfire sent him straight into the canal!"
"Did you compete in tournaments everywhere you went?" Harry asked.
"Oh yes, though some were more formal than others. The French take their dueling very seriously – all ceremony and rigid rules. The Brazilian wizards, on the other hand..." Flitwick grinned. "Well, let's just say their style is considerably more... improvisational."
Harry noticed the time and realized they'd been talking for almost half an hour after the lesson. "I should probably go, Professor. Thank you for the lessons and the stories."
"My pleasure, Mr. Potter. See you next time?" When Harry nodded, Flitwick added, "And perhaps next time I'll tell you about the time I dueled on top of Mount Fuji. Now that was an interesting experience – trying to cast spells in that thin air!"
As Harry left the classroom, Anakin's voice echoed in his mind. "I like him. Reminds me a bit of Master Yoda – small in size but huge in skill and knowledge."
"Is that a compliment or are you just happy to meet someone shorter than you used to be?" Harry thought back cheekily.
"Watch it, Padawan, or I'll have you doing mental Force exercises all night."
Harry grinned as he headed back to the Ravenclaw tower, already looking forward to next week's lesson. There was something comforting about learning from someone who clearly loved both teaching and their subject matter. Plus, those dueling stories... Harry had a feeling he'd be spending some time in the library reading up on magical dueling techniques.
"Just remember," Anakin added, "no trying any of those dueling moves without proper supervision."
"Would I do that?" Harry thought innocently.
"Yes. Yes, you would. That's why I'm saying it."
Harry couldn't really argue with that logic as he gave the eagle knocker the answer to its latest riddle and entered the common room, his mind still full of images of magical duels on Venetian bridges and Japanese floating pavilions.
⚯ ͛
Harry was picking at his food, not really seeing the elaborate Halloween decorations that had transformed the Great Hall. Even the enchanted bats flying overhead couldn't lift his mood.
"It's okay to feel this way," Anakin's voice was gentle. "Loss isn't something you just get over."
"Harry, you have to try this pumpkin cake," Hermione said, pushing a plate toward him.
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," Harry replied quietly.
"Are you feeling ill?" Susan Bones asked from across the table, looking concerned.
"I'm fine," Harry said, then added more softly, "Just... not a great day for me."
Understanding dawned in Susan's eyes, and she quickly changed the subject, drawing attention away from Harry. He shot her a grateful look.
Looking around the table, Harry noticed Anna's usual spot was empty. "Where's Anna?"
A Fifth year, who was sitting nearby, spoke up. "Haven't you heard? She had a huge row with her boyfriend – that seventh-year Hufflepuff, Daniel. Someone said she's been crying in the girls' bathroom since afternoon."
"Anna has a boyfriend?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Had, from what I heard," said a fifth-year named Marcus. "Apparently, he was seen getting rather cozy with a sixth-year Gryffindor."
Harry frowned. He didn't like the idea of Anna being upset, especially not alone on Halloween.
"You care about her," Anakin observed.
"She's always looking out for everyone else," Harry thought back. "It's not right that she's alone when she's hurting."
His brooding was interrupted by the Great Hall's doors banging open. Professor Quirrell stumbled in, his turban askew and face ashen.
"T-t-troll in the d-dungeon!" he stammered out, louder than Harry had ever heard him speak. "Troll in the dungeon! Thought you ought to know." With that, he promptly fainted, collapsing face-first onto the floor.
The Hall erupted into chaos. Several students screamed, and Harry could see panic spreading across every house table.
"Something's not right," Anakin's voice was sharp. "How does a troll just wander into a heavily warded castle?"
"And why does Quirrell look more theatrical than actually scared?" Harry thought back, noticing how the professor had managed to faint in a way that didn't actually hurt himself.
Dumbledore's voice boomed across the Hall, shooting purple firecrackers from his wand to get attention. "Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
As the Ravenclaw prefects began gathering the younger students, Harry grabbed Susan's arm. "Anna doesn't know about the troll."
Susan's eyes widened. "The bathroom she's in – it's on the first floor. We have to tell a teacher!"
Harry looked around at the chaos. The teachers were already heading toward the dungeons, and the prefects were too busy managing panicked students.
"Harry..." Anakin's warning tone was clear. "Don't even think about it."
"She's alone and there's a troll loose in the castle," Harry argued. "I can't just—"
"At least don't go alone," Anakin sighed, knowing he couldn't talk Harry out of it completely.
"Susan," Harry whispered urgently. "Can you tell Professor Flitwick where Anna is? I'm going to make sure she's okay."
"I'm coming with you," Susan said firmly.
"No, we need someone to tell the teachers."
Susan looked torn but nodded. "Be careful. And Harry? If you see the troll—"
"Run the other way, I know."
"Unless you're planning to levitate its club over its head?" Anakin's sarcastic comment made Harry smile despite the situation.
Harry slipped away down a deserted side corridor as the crowd moved toward the dormitories.
"I hope you have a plan," Anakin said.
"Find Anna, warn her about the troll, get back to the dormitory without being seen or eaten."
"That's not a plan, that's a wish list."
Harry moved quietly through the corridors, keeping his senses alert like Anakin had taught him. He could feel something... off. A presence that was both dull and aggressive.
"The troll," Anakin confirmed. "And it's not in the dungeon anymore."
A horrible stench reached Harry's nostrils, and he heard heavy footfalls ahead. Pressing himself against the wall, he peered around the corner – and his heart nearly stopped.
Harry burst into the bathroom just as Anna's terrified scream echoed off the tiled walls. The troll had already destroyed half the stalls, water spraying from broken pipes.
"Hey!" Harry shouted, simultaneously pushing with the Force. The massive creature stumbled slightly left, its tiny head turning toward Harry with surprising speed. Its eyes narrowed with primitive rage.
"Careful," Anakin warned. "Trolls are somewhat resistant to magic – and apparently to Force pushes too."
Harry spotted Anna's wand lying in a puddle near the sinks. She was crouched inside one of the remaining bathroom stalls, her face pale with fear.
The troll roared, swinging its club in a deadly arc. Harry ducked, the movement coming naturally thanks to his Force-enhanced reflexes. The club smashed into the wall behind him, sending tiles flying.
"The club – try to take it from him!" Anakin suggested urgently.
"Why waste time? I could just break its neck with the Force," Harry thought back, his concern for Anna making him reckless.
"Harry, no! That's not—"
"Stupefy!" Anna's voice rang out. She had retrieved her wand and fired a red bolt at the troll. The spell merely bounced off its thick hide, but it was enough to draw its attention.
The monster turned back toward her, raising its club high.
Time seemed to slow down. Harry could see everything with crystal clarity – the club beginning its downward arc, Anna's terrified face, the water pooling on the floor from broken sinks. In that stretched moment, he felt the Force flowing through him, around him, and a new idea formed.
"I don't know if this will work," Harry thought.
"Trust your instincts," Anakin urged.
Harry raised his wand, channeling both the Force and his magic. "Lumos Maxima!" he shouted, but instead of creating normal light, he shaped the Force around the spell, molding it into a sphere that encased the troll completely.
The barrier gleamed with golden light, catching the troll's club mid-swing. The weapon bounced off the inside of the sphere, spinning back to crack against the troll's own skull with a sickening thud. The monster's eyes crossed, and it toppled forward, contained within Harry's glowing prison.
In that moment, both Harry and Anakin felt something - a ripple in the Force, strange and yet somehow familiar. Harry couldn't identify the sensation. But Anakin's consciousness sharpened with recognition, though he kept his sudden concern carefully shielded from his young apprentice. The presence he'd sensed was one he hadn't felt since another life, and he desperately hoped he was wrong about its identity.
"That's... that's Woow," Anna whispered, staring at the unconscious troll inside the golden sphere of light. "What kind of spell is that?"
The bathroom door burst open. Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Garlick rushed in, with Susan Bones right behind them, her face pale with worry.
"Anna!" Susan cried out, trying to push past Professor Garlick.
"Stay back, Miss Bones," Professor Garlick said firmly, placing a gentle but restraining hand on Susan's shoulder.
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall's voice was sharp with shock and concern. "Miss Bones! What in Merlin's name happened here?"
"I... I was in here when the troll came in," Anna explained, still shaking slightly. "Harry saved me. He created some sort of shield that made the troll knock itself out."
Professor Garlick moved forward to examine Anna for injuries while Flitwick studied the glowing sphere with obvious fascination. "Remarkable... I've never seen anything quite like it. A combination of Lumos and a containment charm, perhaps?"
Snape's dark eyes were fixed on Harry, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. Most... unusual magic for a first-year student. Perhaps you'd care to explain this particular spell, Mr. Potter?"
Harry met Snape's gaze steadily. "It's a variation of the Protego Totalum shield, sir. I read about it in the library's defensive magic section. Instead of creating a flat shield, I just shaped it into a sphere and added Lumos to make it visible."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Protego Totalum is a fifth-year spell, Potter. Are you suggesting you simply... modified it?"
"The theory seemed straightforward enough, Professor," Harry replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. "The basic shield charm creates a flat surface because that's how most wizards visualize it. I just thought... why not make it round?"
Professor Flitwick clapped his hands together. "Brilliant deduction, Mr. Potter! Indeed, the shape of many defensive spells is limited only by our visualization and intent. Ten points to Ravenclaw for innovative magical theory."
"While I share Severus's concern about a first-year attempting advanced magic," McGonagall said, "I must admit the results speak for themselves."
Professor Garlick nodded in agreement. "Sometimes the most effective solutions come from thinking outside conventional applications. Though perhaps some supervised practice would be wise, Filius?"
"Oh, absolutely!" Flitwick beamed. "We'll need to work on your control, Mr. Potter, but this shows remarkable potential."
Snape still looked skeptical, but before he could press further, Anna stepped forward. "Whatever spell it was, it saved my life." She turned to Harry and, before he could react, kissed him quickly on both cheeks. "Thank you, Harry."
Harry felt his face burning red hot, and he heard Anakin's amused chuckle in his mind. The other professors seemed to be fighting smiles, except for Snape, who looked like he'd swallowed something particularly unpleasant.
"Yes, well," Professor Garlick said, her eyes twinkling, "let's get you and your sister to the hospital wing, Miss Bones. Come along."
As they left the bathroom, Susan was grinning despite her previous worry. "Your face matches the Gryffindor tie, Harry," she whispered as she passed, making him blush even harder.
"Smooth, Padawan," Anakin teased. "Very smooth."
"Shut up," Harry thought back, still feeling the ghost of Anna's kisses on his cheeks. "At least they bought the Protego explanation."
"Most of them did," Anakin corrected, more seriously. "But Snape isn't convinced. We'll need to be more careful around him."
Harry nodded slightly, heading to the Hospital Wing. Between defeating a troll, coming up with a plausible explanation for Force abilities, and getting kissed by Anna Bones, this Halloween had definitely turned out differently than he'd expected.
At least it had given him something to think about besides his parents' death. Though somehow, he felt they would have approved of how he'd spent the evening – protecting his friends and standing up to danger. It wasn't a bad way to honor their memory.
⚯ ͛
As Harry was sleeping in the Hospital Wing, Anakin's consciousness drifted into contemplation. That moment in the bathroom, just before Harry created the Force-enhanced Lumos sphere... there had been something else. A ripple in the Force, familiar yet distant, like an echo from his past life.
Could it be possible? he wondered. Am I not alone here?
The feeling had been fleeting but unmistakable – another Force presence, watching through someone else's eyes, just as he watched through Harry's.
Anakin reflected on his own mysterious arrival in this world. His last memory had been fading away on the Death Star, looking at Luke with his own eyes for the first and final time, feeling at peace. Then... darkness. And suddenly, he was here, a voice in young Harry's mind, hearing him calling for help.
He still didn't understand how or why he had been brought here. Was it the Force's will? Some cosmic accident? Or perhaps something more deliberate?
Please, he thought into the darkness, let it not be him. Anyone but...Palpatine.
The mere thought of his former master sent a chill through his incorporeal form. Anakin had sacrificed everything to destroy the Sith Lord and save Luke. The idea that Palpatine might also be here, potentially influencing another student...or someone even worse.
Whoever you are, Anakin projected into the Force, though he doubted it would reach anyone, I hope you're an ally. These children have enough to deal with without becoming pawns in another war.
He turned his attention back to Harry's peaceful sleeping form. At least he could protect this one child, teach him to use his gifts wisely, help him avoid the mistakes that had led to Anakin's own fall.
But he would remain vigilant. The Force had brought him here for a reason, and if there were others like him in this world, he needed to be ready – either to welcome an ally or to defend against an enemy.
For now, though, all he could do was watch, wait, and wonder about that hauntingly familiar presence he'd sensed in the castle's ancient halls.
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