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to sweep the clouds away
Pottervor
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No one is expecting him to be awake at four in the morning. No one, in fact, is expecting him to be awake before around seven in the morning, it appears. The dorms' silence is only broken by the soft snores, and the common room doesn't have even that.

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He sits in the common room and reads Hogwarts: A History by firelight.

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And the first person to get up seems to be, in fact, Percy Weasley, at around six-thirty. "Oh, good morning. I don't usually find anyone here this early."

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"Good morning," says Victor. "I woke up early and came down to read so I wouldn't disturb anyone."

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"Ah, I see. What are you reading?"

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"Hogwarts: A History."

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"Interesting choice. Not all that useful, though, I'd recommend going through school books first."

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He nods. "Thank you, I'll remember that."

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"I'm going to have breakfast, though. Want to come with? Or wait for my brother and Longbottom?"

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"I'll go with you - do you mind waiting while I see if my raven is awake?"

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"—sure, go ahead. Ah, most owls stay in the Owlery..."

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"Muninn isn't an owl," he says reasonably.

He goes up the stairs and returns in mere moments with a raven on his shoulder.

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"Was Muninn authorised...?" Percy asks dubiously as they make their way to the Great Hall.

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"The owl shop in Diagon Alley sold him to me and the person there said there wouldn't be any trouble over him."

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"No trouble," croaks Muninn.

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"Huh. Alright."

The way back down is not, in fact, the same way they came up, and there are unfamiliar turns and twists in the way.

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Victor pays close attention. Again.

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Eventually: the Great Hall! They are not the first ones there, but just because there's a fourth-year Ravenclaw reading a book and failing to move food from his plate to his mouth.

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Well. Being this early to breakfast makes him feel a little less unsettled about everything. He feeds Muninn some bacon.

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There is fortunately a lot of bacon!

People start coming into the Great Hall in twos and threes, but not in any appreciable quantity until around seven-fifteen, which is when Draco Malfoy and his two minions appear.

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Oh, them.

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Yep, them.

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Next come Ron and Neville, followed by Dean and Seamus.

"You got up really early."

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"I'm used to being up early," he says.

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"Even after a day travelling and then going to sleep super late?"

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"What's it to you?" says Muninn.

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"I wonder if all ravens respond rudely to questions," says Victor.

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"I think it's just yours."

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And oh look who's here! Making her way to the Slytherin table.

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He feeds Muninn some more bacon and smiles tentatively at Dayo.

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Dayo smiles back, and takes a seat at a table where literally everyone is ignoring her.

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That sure is a thing that's happening. Well, she'll probably be fine.

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Probably!

There is once again an enormous banquet before them.

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It is good that they get so much food here. That is a good thing about Hogwarts.

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Soon enough they're done eating and the Gryffindors have History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs as their first class.

"I heard the teacher is a ghost," Neville whispers.

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"I wonder how that happened."

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"They say he just one day walked out of his office and never noticed he'd left his body behind."

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"Oh."

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They need to ask the paintings for directions twice but eventually arrive at the auditorium-like classroom whose walls are covered by books.

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He inspects the titles of the books.

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History books, all of them, with the most fantastical titles, like "A History of the Modern Usage of Cleaning Utensils" or "An Ancient History of Broomsticks: From Inappropriate Metaphor to Indispensable Tool."

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That's actually sort of fascinating. He wonders if he is allowed to read them.

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Perhaps, but before he has time to do more than wonder the whole class gasps as a short, hunchbacked, old ghost walks through the wall and takes a seat.

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Victor pays attention. That is what you are supposed to do in class is pay attention to the teacher.

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...that might be harder than he's anticipating. Professor Binns seems to be an experiment designed to make even the coolest magical revolutions sound mind-numbingly dull.

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He has had dull teachers before. He takes notes.

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No, Victor doesn't understand, he has not had any teacher a tenth as dull as this teacher. He is really really extremely dull.

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Well that's hardly Professor Binns's fault. He didn't ask to be dead.

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The consequences are the same regardless of his intentions.

Thus proceeds their first class, and most other kids are drooping or asleep by the time it ends. Homework is five inches on whatever boring topic they covered today, which elicits a collective groan.

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That's an interesting way to measure homework, but he supposes it makes sense if everyone's using scrolls of parchment. He looks around and observes that he seems to be the only person in the room who succeeded in taking notes.

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Yep.

Fortunately, after this class they have a break until after lunch.

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He sort of wants to offer to let people borrow his notes but he feels a little too shy. He sits in the common room and organizes them and copies them out more neatly and then starts on his homework.

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"You're already doing it?" wonders Ron.

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"If I don't do it, it won't get done," he says.

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"But why now? It's our first break in Hogwarts!"

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"I don't like having unfinished work."

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"Huh. You sure you shouldn't be in Ravenclaw?"

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He shakes his head.

"It was between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor and I chose Gryffindor because I want to be braver."

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He blinks. "I thought the Hat put people who were already brave here."

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He shrugs slightly.

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"Well Seamus and Dean are gonna play Exploding Snap, I'm gonna play with them."

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"Have fun."

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Exploding Snap is rather explosive and noisy.

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Victor nevertheless finishes his homework well before lunch.

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So he can join them?

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...maybe he'll watch a game first.

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Each player has a few magical cards and the cards are turned face-up and put on top of each other in the middle of the table and when a card is put on top of another card that has the same picture you have to touch it with your wand. If you do you get all the cards on the table, but if you get it wrong the cards explode in your face. The longer the game goes on the faster the cards go, and whoever ends up with no cards loses the game. All three boys are covered in soot and giggling at each other.

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This does not look like a game Victor would enjoy but he's glad they're having fun.

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Eventually it's lunchtime, though.

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Lunch is a good thing. Victor approves of lunch.

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That wall didn't use to be there.

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That's unfortunate.

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Muninn, perched on Victor's shoulder, shifts his weight slightly.

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...well, maybe...

"Muninn, can you find us a way to the Great Hall?"

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"Sure thing, boss," he croaks, and launches himself into the air.

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...well they'll follow the raven, then.

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He has to backtrack a few times, but he's a very good navigator. Mail-carrying birds, you know.

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And eventually: the Great Hall.

"Sorry if I ever said anything bad about you, Muninn."

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"I'm the prettiest," he croaks smugly, settling back onto Victor's shoulder.

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Dayo walks over to their table.

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"Hello."

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"Hey," she says, taking a seat.

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"Er, excuse me, your table is over there," he says, pointing.

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"So I've been informed," she replies, then looks at the other firsties again. "How was your first morning?"

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"It was good."

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Percy looks confused but given that there is not actually a rule about this decides to leave it be.

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"We almost got lost just now but Muninn found the way."

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"Did he now. What a smart bird," she says, looking at him.

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"I'm the prettiest!"

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"Of course you are," she snorts. "Malfoy has the whole House convinced not to talk to me."

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"That sounds unpleasant."

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"It kinda is, I'm an extrovert, but I'll just undermine his rep until people are no longer listening to him."

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He blinks.

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"Or I could save him through the Power of Friendship but I don't really see an avenue, there, given that I'm a muggleborn."

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"You shouldn't be friends with Malfoy, anyway, he's evil."

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"I don't think he's evil."

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"Well his parents are."

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"Then maybe it would be good to make friends with him so he doesn't end up evil too."

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"You saw what he said, he's already evil, and he's in Sly—"

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"Well he's evil."

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"He said some very unpleasant things but that doesn't make him evil, just unpleasant."

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"I suppose I could use the Power of Friendship..."

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Victor still isn't entirely sure what that means.

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"Something on your mind?"

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"What's it to you?"

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"Social curiosity."

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"I'm just not sure what you mean by that."

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"Using the Power of Friendship? That's just a fancy way of saying I'll become his friend and through that he will see the error in his ways."

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"Oh."

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"It actually does help, I'm just not sure I'll have an opening."

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"We'll see."

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"You have an idea?"

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"Not exactly..."

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"If you come up with one do let me know."

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Nod.

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"What do you guys have after lunch? We're free."

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"Defence Against the Dark Arts."

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"Oh, cool, tell me how that went, I'm curious about..." And she glances at the Head Table where Professor Quirrel looks too terrified to eat his soup.

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"Yes," says Victor.

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And soon they're done eating and the Gryffindors should go to DADA. Dayo decides she'll give that 'Power of Friendship' thing a try.

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"Good luck," says Victor.

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"Thank you!" And off she goes.

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Time to go to Defence.

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Quirrell's lesson turns out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smells strongly of garlic, which someone mentions is to ward off a vampire he's met in Romania and is afraid will be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he tells them, was given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but the kids aren't sure they believe this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asks eagerly to hear how Quirrell fought off the zombie, Quirrell goes pink and starts talking about the weather; for another, a funny smell seems to hang around the turban, not dissimilar to that of his classroom.

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Well. Nevertheless, he's their teacher.

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Next they have Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws.

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And what's that like?

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At first, like nothing. The classroom is empty when they walk in, except for a tabby cat sitting on the Professor's table with strangely intelligent eyes.

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...hm. He takes a seat near the front.

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At 2:30 sharp the doors slam shut and the cat jumps from the table, turning into Professor McGonagall in a fluid motion that makes several students gasp in surprise.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she says without preamble. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she wordlessly waves her wand and changes her desk into a pig and back again.

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...

Well.

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She starts explaining a lot of complicated stuff on which they're supposed to take notes, and then she gives each of them a match and tasks them with trying to turn it into a needle.

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Okay. Victor pays careful attention and takes excellent notes and does his best to transfigure the match.

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By the end of the class he'll be the only one who managed to as much as turn his match silvery and somewhat pointy, which earns an actual smile from McGonagall.

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Oh. That's probably good, at least for Victor.

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He gets five points for that, and they're dismissed.

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And they have a break now. If he doesn't have any more homework to do maybe he'll watch the other first-years play Exploding Snap again or something.

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He has to read a chapter of the DADA book and keep practising turning a match into a needle but the result the Professor's expecting by next class is only slightly better than what he already got.

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Well he will read a chapter of the book and spend five minutes trying to turn a match into a needle and by then the break is almost over.

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And then: dinner! They almost get lost twice but Muninn is actually really good at what he does.

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"I'm the prettiest!"

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When they reach the Great Hall they see Dayo engrossed in conversation with Pansy Parkinson.

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Well that's interesting.

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She waves at them when she sees them arrive and Pansy makes a face and says something, to which Dayo replies something else that makes her pause and consider before saying something back.

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That seems like a Dayo sort of thing.

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It does! She keeps talking to Parkinson who after a bit looks at the Gryffindors again, more thoughtfully this time.

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This Gryffindor is eating dinner!

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Dayo says something and Parkinson looks at her again, and apparently they change subjects from Gryffindors. The rest of dinner passes uneventfully.

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Victor feeds his raven. Meals at Hogwarts are such a good thing.

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And after she's done eating she makes a beeline for them.

"So! How's Defence?"

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"I think Professor Quirrell has had more experience with Dark creatures than he would like," says Victor diplomatically.

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"That either makes him very good or very bad at teaching Defence, I'd expect!"

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"Bad," Ron says. "He looks like he's scared of his own shadow and he smells funny."

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Victor doesn't say anything. Saying unkind things about authority figures seems like a bad idea.

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"Mm. Disappointing. Do magical people even encounter Dark creatures and other magical people that often anyway?"

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"Not really, but when they do the potential disaster is rather large."

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He gives Muninn another grape.

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"Hmm. Makes sense, I guess. Well, project 'befriend Draco and bring him to the Light Side' is going well, he still won't speak to me but I managed to leverage that into making Pansy Parkinson speak to me—she likes being contrarian—and I bet I can reach him before year's end."

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Ron makes a face at that.

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Percy pretends better than his brother to not be making a face.

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"Good luck," says Victor.

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"Did we hear—"

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"—Malfoy's name?"

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"Where did you two come from—? And yes I'm going to make him good."

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"Really?"

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"Malfoy?"

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"Yes! And I'm gonna return to my table to do just that."

And off she goes.

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The twins are... a tiny bit unsettling.

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Maybe, but they seem to be oblivious to this. Instead, they take a seat to each side of Victor.

"So, Evans! How're you liking Hogwarts?"

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"Our brothers annoyed you to death yet?"

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"What's it to you?" says Victor's raven.

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"I like Hogwarts," says Victor. "The food is nice and the classes are interesting."

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"Really? Interesting? We had Defence today and honestly this one's crazy."

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"Well, I've never had magic lessons before, so even not very good ones are better than nothing."

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"That makes sense."

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"What's it like?"

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"...what's what like?"

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"Not having magic."

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He gives this question careful consideration for a few seconds, and then says, "Things move around less."

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"Sounds dull."

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"It's all right."

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The various Weasleys and Longbottom chat to each other and to Evans until it's time to retire for the night.

(Except for the Hufflepuffs who are only retiring for the next four hours and then apparently have Astronomy at midnight.)

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That seems like a really inconvenient time to have Astronomy but at least it won't be Victor's problem for another few days.

He sleeps somewhat better that night but still wakes up very early.

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Their first class the next morning is Defence again. Quirrell continues to smell funny.

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That probably isn't his fault. Victor continues to be an attentive and diligent student.

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Their next class is Herbology, which happens behind the castle in the greenhouse, and is taught by a short dumpy witch called Professor Sprout. It is comparatively more relaxed, and she explains that each class will be dedicated to one plant or fungus and how to care for it and what its uses are.

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Well, that sounds useful and interesting.

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She certainly seems to think so!

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They share Charms with the Hufflepuffs on Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning. It's taught by a tiny little wizard who has to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he takes the roll call, and when he reaches Victor's name he gives an excited squeak and topples out of sight. 

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Oh dear. Um. "Are you all right, Professor?"

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"Yes, certainly, Mr. Evans!" he calls from under the desk before regaining his feet. "Now, where were we..."

And he starts his class.

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Charms seems like it's going to be interesting too.

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It is!

Wednesday, at midnight, they have Astronomy, to learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets.

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This is a terrible time to have a class but he's not about to complain. And the stars are sort of interesting, too.

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They have a huge pile of Transfiguration homework assigned Thursday, and Friday morning—

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron says. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them—we'll be able to see if it's true."

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...he decides not to bring Muninn to this particular class. Call it a hunch.

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Before they depart for class, though, one of the school's owls drops an envelope in front of Victor.

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...okay...

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When he opens it it says, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Victor,
I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? 
I want to hear all about your first week.
Hagrid

 

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Oh. That's nice.

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"Are we going? You should write him back if so."

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"Yes, all right."

He writes a very polite note back saying he would like to do that and might bring a friend or two, and asks Muninn to carry it.

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Off he goes.

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Dayo meets up with them on the way to the dungeons.

"It's kinda annoying that we only have the one class together."

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"Well, maybe it'll be different in different years."

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"Probably," he agrees.

Parkinson catches up to him. "Evans," she tells Victor neutrally. "Weasley. Longbottom."

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"...Parkinson."

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He mumbles something.

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"Hello," says Victor.

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She pulls Dayo aside and starts talking to him about something.

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"I don't get that."

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"What do you mean?"

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"I dunno, it's just weird, the two of them."

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"I don't see why."

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He shrugs.

They soon reach the classroom, which is empty of Professors.

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Well all right then. Given the opportunity, Victor likes to sit close to the front but not actually all the way there, so he can see and hear the teacher clearly without drawing attention to himself.

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And then the giant bat walks into the room.

He is of course not really a giant bat but the way he stalks and his cloak billowing behind him as he does give that very strong impression. When he reaches his table he starts taking the roll call and, like Flitwick, pauses at Victor's name, but not to gasp in surprise.

"Ah, yes," he says softly, "Victor Evans. Our new—celebrity." That last word is said with something that is almost—disgust, his mouth curling in distaste and his eyes narrowing with disdain.

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Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle giggle behind their hands, but Parkinson gives Malfoy a light shove and gives him a "cut it out" look.

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The Professor eventually finishes taking the roll call and starts speaking.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he begins. He speaks in barely more than a whisper, but they catch every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape has the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

And he looks at Victor after saying every fourth 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," he continues, his eyes lingering at Victor again, "the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." And at that word he is definitely looking directly at Victor—he doesn't even try to disguise it.

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This is a really alarming teacher. Victor wishes he had sat farther back.

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"Evans!" says Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

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(aaaaaa)

"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't know," he says.

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Snape's lips curl into a sneer, if a sneer could contain enough venom to kill a cobra. "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything.

"Let's try again, Evans. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

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(Malfoy starts snickering again but Parkinson slaps the back of his head and starts whispering at him in annoyed tones.)

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"I'm sorry, I don't know."

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His eyes narrow to the point where it's easy to imagine his pupils are slits underneath his lids. "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Evans?"

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- that's so unfair -

- but lots of things are unfair and he's never gotten anywhere trying to change them.

"Sorry, Professor," he says meekly.

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"What is the difference, Evans, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

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"They're the same thing," Dayo calls from his seat, frowning.

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He whirls on the spot, but loses his stride when he noticed Dayo is a Slytherin. "What?" he hisses.

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"They're the same thing, Professor, but nowhere in our letters or anywhere did anyone say we should open a book before coming and no other Professor asked for it and having random facts memorised isn't a very good indicator of knowing anything about what you're doing."

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Snape is rendered momentarily speechless by this challenge from someone from his own House.

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- no, Dayo, it's not worth it, not for this one, be careful...

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"I believe you weren't called, Iroko—"

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"I wasn't, sir, but Victor didn't know the answer to those questions and was clearly looking terrified which is not a helpful thing for eleven-year-olds to be in their first class and that's honestly bullying, you're supposed to be a Head of House and if this is the behaviour we get from the third most important person in Hogwarts faculty—"

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"Five points from Slytherin for backchat and interrupting me."

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At this Dayo smiles and settles back down.

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The other Slytherins—even Parkinson—shoot him venomous looks.

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Oh dear oh dear.

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He turns back to the rest of the classroom and tells them to divide in pairs, because they'll be making a cure for boils potion today.

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Okay. He can do that. Assuming anyone is willing to pair with him.

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Well there are still the Gryffindors.

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Dayo's running some damage control with Parkinson.

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Victor is the most attentive and diligent he has ever been in any class, and still obviously terrified.

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Snape sweeps around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seems to like.

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Neville himself looks even more terrified than Victor, shaking like a leaf and jumping whenever Snape says anything within five feet of him. He tremblingly reaches for the porcupine quills to add them to his steaming cauldron...

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"Take the cauldron off the fire first," Victor murmurs to him.

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That also makes him jump, but he looks at the instructions again and shoots Victor a grateful glance before doing just that.

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Small smile. Back to work.

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Snape seems to find it awfully annoying that he can't actually find anything to criticise in Victor's or Dayo's work, so he doubles down on Neville, making the boy even more nervous, if that's at all possible.

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Poor Neville. Victor keeps an eye out for further errors while attending to his own potion.

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The rest of class passes without further incident (although Neville needs to be corrected again twice) and then it's lunchtime.

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Well, that could've gone much worse.

He - isn't sure how to talk to Dayo about what happened. Nor is he sure that he should. So he just goes to lunch.

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Well Dayo seems to be busy doing politics or something and doesn't approach their table at lunch.

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Probably a good thing.

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"Can I go to Hagrid's with you?" he asks.

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"Yes."

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"Cool!"

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"He's nice."

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"Yeah, he looked cool."

Lunch proceeds apace.

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Lunch!

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And it's soon three PM.

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Muninn leads the way to Hagrid's cottage.

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It's on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes are outside the front door.

When they knock they hear a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rings out, saying, "Back, Fang—back!" Hagrid's big, hairy face appears in the crack as he pulls the door open. "Hang on," he says. "Back, Fang!"

He lets them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. There's only one room inside. Hams and pheasants are hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle's boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stands a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," he says, letting go of Fang, who bounds straight at Ron and starts licking his ears.

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Muninn peers curiously around the interior of the cottage from his place on Victor's shoulder.

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Victor goes in and finds a chair to sit on.

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He peers at Ron. "And who're yeh?"

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He manages to push Fang away for long enough to say, "Ron, erm, Weasley, sir."

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Hagrid starts pouring some boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" he says. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

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Victor picks up a rock cake and ventures a question.

"What's in the forest that makes it so dangerous?"

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The cakes are shapeless lumps with raisins that almost break their teeth but Ron takes one, too.

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"Lotser things," Hagrid says. "Hogwarts lets whatever wants ter live there live there an' sum very nasty things wants ter live there."

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He nibbles very patiently at his rock cake.

"Oh," he says. He wants to ask why the very nasty things are allowed near the school full of children, but it seems sort of... impertinent.

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"So how was yer first week?"

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"It was all right. The classes are interesting. I like the food."

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"No one give yeh trouble?"

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"...it's been all right," he says hesitantly. Hagrid would probably want to know about Professor Snape, but then what if Professor Snape was horrible to Hagrid too?

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Ron has no such compunctions. He tells Hagrid all about their Potions class.

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Fang makes his way to Victor and rests his head on Victor's lap, slobbering all over his robes, and Hagrid snorts. "Likes hardly anyone, Snape. It's normal fer him."

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Victor looks nervously down at Fang. "Um. All right."

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"How's yer brother Charles?" Hagrid asks Ron, changing the subject rather suddenly. "I liked him a lot—great with animals."

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Ron starts telling Hagrid all about his brother's work with dragons. He reaches for his cake and accidentally pushes a piece of paper that was lying nearby off the table.

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Victor automatically catches it.

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It's a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at
Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the
work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing
had been taken. The vault that was searched had in
fact been emptied the same day.
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so
keep your noses out if you know what's good
for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

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Hm. He puts it back.

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Hagrid asks more questions about their week and they exchange more pleasantries and he sends them off on their way, pockets loaded with rock-hard rock cakes.

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He offers a rock cake to Muninn.

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He takes it in his beak but then flings it away. It hits a rock and goes clunk.

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That night at dinner Dayo's busy doing politics again but afterwards he catches up with them on their way to the Gryffindor common room.

"Hey. You alright?"

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"Yes, of course."

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Ron nods.

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"Okay, cool. Sorry about, er, disappearing all day, losing five points in our first week kinda stung and people are correctly concluding I actually like you Gryffindors, shocker, I know, and I need to make this work."

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"It might have been better if you hadn't said anything to Professor Snape."

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"Better for whom?"

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"What do you mean?"

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"Who'd have been better off if I hadn't said anything to Professor Snape? Not you. Not Neville. Not me. I'm not inclined to care if Snape was upset."

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"...what do you expect would have happened?"

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"I expect he would have bullied you for a while longer and then been satisfied with some more low-key bullying for the rest of class, and would think he could keep doing this with no ill consequences, and the Slytherins would feel very satisfied, and nothing would change. Not that I expect this in particular to change anything but I feel like Snape and I are going to have a long, intimate relationship, like a splinter and a toe, and I am a very insistent splinter."

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He shakes his head. "It's no wonder Slytherin gets this rep, if this is the kind of thing the Head of House does, it's like he doesn't know anything at all—"

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"Doesn't know what?"

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"How to be a Slytherin. There is no sensible goal he could have possibly most effectively and efficiently achieved by bullying eleven-year-olds—he was just being plain old petty, that's not a conduct appropriate to an adult much less an adult in a position of authority over children, and he acted like some other kid jealous of Victor's fame."

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"So, my goal here is making this stupid adult with institutional power stop abusing it even if his targets would prefer I not meddle. It's just wrong."

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"Anyway yeah good night seeya gotta see if I can get an in with Crabbe or Goyle."

He skips off.

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"Erm."

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"I'm worried about him," says Victor quietly.

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"Worried?"

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"I think he might end up getting hurt."

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"The teachers won't actually hurt us, they can't."

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"Are you sure?"

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"Yeah, there's rules about that, they haven't been allowed to for years."

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"Sometimes things that aren't allowed to happen do anyway."

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"I guess," he says dubiously, and here's the portrait.

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Victor is tired. He goes to sleep early.

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The next morning a confused-looking Hufflepuff walks to the Gryffindor table to give Victor a note.

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...and what does the note say...?

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Library, behind the Potions shelf, 10:30AM today. Bring the bird.

—A

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Muninn steals the note and shreds it.

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That makes the confused Hufflepuff even more confused!

"What was that?" asks Ron.

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"What's it to you?"

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"Nothing important," sighs Victor.

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He blinks. "So why'd a Hufflepuff come bring it?"

The Hufflepuff looks equally curious about this.

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He shakes his head.

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Oh well. He shrugs and returns to his discussion with Seamus about Quidditch, and the Hufflepuff returns to his table.

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Victor decides to spend the day reading in the library. He brings Muninn, who sits neatly on his shoulder and is impeccably well-behaved.

They are not behind the Potions shelf at 10:30, but they are within sight of it.

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And a girl they've literally never seen in Hogwarts is sitting there, reading a book.

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Muninn flies over to inspect her.

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She winks at him.

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He perches on her shoulder and messes up her hair.

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The girl's giggles change in pitch as she morphs into Dayo's boy form. "Get Victor here, too."

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"Why?"

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"Well, 'cause I wanna talk to him, too, not just you."

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"Kind of bossy, telling him to meet you here like that."

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"Ask him if he'd like to come here?" he tries.

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"What'd you want to talk about?"

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"Well. The reason I called you two here in particular was because I wanted to talk to you without giving much away, believe it or not I do in fact get it that you would want to be a secret. And if he was here it'd be easier to pretend I was just talking to him if we need that. But also I—feel like we didn't end yesterday's conversation on the best of notes and I wanna fix that."

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"I'd kind of like it if you'd stop acting suspicious of my intelligence," he says. "It's just going to put the idea in people's heads that I might be more than I seem."

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"—oh. I'm sorry, you're right, I hadn't thought about it, I was just acting the way I'd act if I didn't know anything about it."

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"Try acting the way you'd act if you were satisfied I was just a chatty owl," he says. "As for Victor - well, I'll see what he thinks."

He swoops off.

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And when he comes back, it's on Victor's shoulder.

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"Hi," he says. "I'm—sorry if I was rude or something yesterday."

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"It's all right."

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"How are you? Do you want to—do anything?"

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"What do you mean?"

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"About Snape. You didn't seem to think what I was doing was a good idea but I don't get why. Do you disagree that it was wrong of him?"

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"It could have been much worse and I was afraid you were going to make it much worse by acting like that."

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"Much worse like how?"

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...He shakes his head.

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"...I'm not gonna stop doing it if you don't tell me what exactly I should be afraid of, here, I haven't been able to think of anything not worth it."

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"Really? Somebody's scared of something and scared to tell you what, and your response is 'okay, guess I'll just ignore you'?"

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"What should it be instead? 'Okay I'll just stop doing the things I think are good ideas on someone else's ill-defined fears'?"

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"Ill-defined?"

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"I don't know what his fears are. Snape isn't going to kill or torture me, and if he tries it will be worse for him, Veritaserum is a thing that exists and if I'm missing time I left myself a note telling myself what to do, and I got an older Slytherin to enchant something else—anyway he won't do it, and then he'll give me detention and take points from me but meanwhile maybe other people will get the idea that, hey, the third most powerful member of faculty in this school shouldn't be bullying eleven-year-olds!"

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"How confident are you that he couldn't dodge a truth potion if he really wanted to? How confident are you that he wouldn't guess you've got all those safeguards and go after Victor instead? He hasn't, but you don't know enough yet to be sure that makes you right as opposed to lucky."

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"I meant a truth potion for myself not for him, and anyway yeah but he's a Professor at a school, these things don't happen, I may not be paranoid enough for the worst-case but I'm pretty sure I'm paranoid enough for school. The answer to a teacher bullying you isn't keeping your head down because he may murder you."

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"Am I the only one who remembers the Headmaster telling us all that if we walk down the wrong hallway we're going to die horribly?" he asks rhetorically.

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"You aren't," says Victor.

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"Okay so what do you suggest?"

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"Wait until you know more," says Victor. "Maybe there are rules about how teachers are allowed to behave. If you know the rules, then you can notice when someone breaks them and tell the - tell someone about it. I'm not sure if the Headmaster is the right person. Maybe Professor McGonagall."

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"And supposing the rules allow them to do whatever?"

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"Then you know it might be dangerous to try to do something about them."

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He purses his lips. "A Gryffindor advising caution to a Slytherin. Fine, I'll figure more things out." Pause. "But a student should ask this of their Head of House, and mine's the problem—you could ask McGonagall?" he says hopefully.

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He nods.

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He nods, too.

"...but if the rules do allow it then I'm going to change them."

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"Then at least you'll know that's what you need to do."

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He sighs. "Fine, you're right."

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"Thank you."

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He rubs the back of his neck. "So, erm, I'm sorry."

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"Thank you."

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He looks at Muninn now. "That apology extended to you, as well, for what it's worth."

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"Thanks."

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"So... what's your story?" he asks Muninn.

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"Unethical magical experiments."

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Blink. "Were you the only, ah, success, so to speak?"

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"I wasn't even what they were looking for!"

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"What were they looking for?"

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"Doesn't matter now; they're not about to try again."

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"I guess. And are you—you know, okay? Is there anything you want?"

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He makes a sort of shrug-like gesture with his wings.

"I'm all right."

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"If you're sure."

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"Yep."

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"So what are your plans for the weekend?"

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"Stay in and read books."

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"Sounds reasonable. I should—perhaps rethink my approach with the other Slytherins."

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"Oh?"

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"Well you know clearly my first idea on how to solve things isn't necessarily the best one so I should probably think more before I act."

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"Smart," the raven agrees.

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He sighs. "If I'm being an idiot again will you tell me?"

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"Count on it," says Muninn.

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So Dayo returns to the Slytherin common room to continue working on his plans for world domination. Or, you know, something.

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And Muninn and Victor stay in the library reading all of the books.

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Professor McGonagall's office hours include two to four PM on Saturdays.

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So Victor visits her office at two.

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"Oh, Mr. Evans. How can I help you?"

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"I'd like to know if there is a - a code of conduct for teachers at Hogwarts, please," he says.

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She blinks slowly. "May I ask what's prompting this question?"

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"Um," he says nervously, "Professor Snape was acting sort of strange in our first lesson and I wanted to know if that was all right."

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The corners of her mouth twitch. "Strange? Could you elaborate, Mr. Evans?"

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"He, er, clearly likes Potions a lot but I don't think he likes children very much," he says. "And he, um, he asked me some questions that weren't in the textbook and then when I didn't know the answers he said I obviously hadn't opened any books before coming to class. And when one of the Slytherin students told him to stop doing that sort of thing because it wasn't very educationally helpful, he took five points from Slytherin for backchat. And when he criticizes students and they get nervous and make mistakes he criticizes them more for the mistakes."

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"Well, that conduct is very unbecoming of a Potions Master, and especially of a Head of House," she says with utmost seriousness, but her eyes twinkle with pride. "I recommend you file a formal complaint, so this can be taken up to Professor Dumbledore and we can properly discuss it."

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Professor McGonagall is good.

"How do I do that?"

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"Oh, I have the form here—" She opens a drawer inside a drawer inside a little cabinet inside her top drawer and gets a form. She taps it with her wand, duplicating it, then hands it to him. It's very short and to the point, merely requiring his name, year, House, a description of the incident, and his signature.

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He sits down and carefully writes everything out.

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She takes it when he's done. "I'll make sure to look into this and, if need be, we will take appropriate actions to prevent such incidents from happening again." And here's another genuine McGonagall smile.

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"Thank you, Professor."

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"You're quite welcome. Was there anything else?"

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"No, Professor."

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"Then I will return to grading some essays and paperwork."

The door behind Victor opens by itself.

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He goes away and returns to the library.

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That evening at dinner Dayo's "politics" looks a lot more like him just befriending people than him trying to impart precious wisdom on them. Or, well, there is, at any rate, notably much less looking at people at other tables with curiosity happening.

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Victor notices that.

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Dayo doesn't go talk to them that evening, and it's soon time to return to bed.

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The library is really fascinating. He is looking forward to reading more of it.

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The next morning she's there in the library again, undisguised. Actually reading.

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He glances at her on his way to his favourite library table.

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After he settles down there she makes her way to his table. "Okay if I sit here?"

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"Okay."

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She sits. "So I sorta dropped the line of argument that it was politically stupid to disregard three-quarters of the population. ...well, at least dropped it as my main line of argument."

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"I don't think I knew that that was your main line of argument before."

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"It was. They were like 'why are you talking to Gryffindors' and I was like 'what sort of short-sighted ambition do you have that will work if you restrict your social circle to twenty-five percent of the population of the United Kingdom?' and that was going somewhere but it did not explain Potions class very well."

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"What are you now saying instead?"

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"Well, it's still something like that, but rather than going on about political expediency I'm just saying that I'm your friend and I like you. ...and I'm implying I have ulterior motives but I'll probably drop that too once I'm actually friends with someone there."

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"Is it working?"

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"Sort of. Parkinson's convinced I have some plan that called for this sudden change of tacks, Crabbe and Goyle... don't really understand any of this, I have no idea what they're doing in Slytherin, Malfoy just won't speak to me and neither will Zabini and Nott. Bulstrode and Greengrass are sort of neutral ground, they won't directly ignore me but won't really do much more than that."

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He nods.

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"Parkinson likes Malfoy but in the way where she wants to be better than him, and different than him, and talking to me helps with that. I'm still not sure what I'll use to befriend the others but it's just the first week."

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Nod.

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Shrug. "Maybe I'll just be my usual irresistible self."

And back to reading.

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The library is good. Victor appreciates the library.

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The next few days are uneventful. Malfoy continues being a little pest, but Dayo's seen with Pansy Parkinson pretty frequently.

And on Friday there's Potions again.

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He sits farther from the front of the room this time.

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Snape stalks into the classroom, looking like he's eaten something that didn't agree with him. He turns to face the classroom and starts taking attendance. He very studiously does not look at Dayo and Victor when calling their names, and when he reaches the end of the list he takes a deep breath.

"It has been... brought to my attention," he drawls, "that my conduct in this classroom last week was..." Now his eyes rest on Dayo, but betray nothing. "Subpar. I apologise for any upset I may have caused," he says, looking as if uttering the word is physically harming him, and this time he looks at Victor. "I shall endeavour to avoid failing you thusly in the future."

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Well okay that's nearly as terrifying as being picked on, but if it worked -

Victor looks very much like his mother for a moment.

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Which is when he breaks eye contact and starts actually teaching something.

He is extremely quiet all through, and doesn't unduly criticise anyone. He avoids Victor like the plague, but in a perfectly plausibly deniable way.

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Victor dedicates himself to brewing a perfect potion.

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It is a very good potion. Snape has nothing negative to say about it.

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And after class, Dayo catches up with them.

"What did you do?"

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Neville looks at Victor like he's his hero. "You did this?"

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"I asked Professor McGonagall if there was a code of conduct for teachers and she asked why I wanted to know and I explained what our first Potions lesson was like and she said I could file a formal complaint and gave me a form and I wrote everything down and she smiled and thanked me."

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"...and that worked?"

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Dayo covers her mouth to try to stifle the fit of giggles threatening to overcome her.

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"Apparently it did."

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"Victor," she says between strangled noises that sound like hiccups, "you are a genius and you are allowed to use this against me forever."

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"Against you?"

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"Because my solution to Professor Snape worked better?"

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"Oh."

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"In my defence," she says, starting to recover enough to form complete uninterrupted sentences, "I'd assumed someone must have done that before. I mean, surely he hasn't started his bullying career with you!"

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"He did seem sort of... focused."

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"Yeah. You think that's because of something other than the celebrity thing?"

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"I don't know and I'm not sure how to find out."

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"...maybe ask McGonagall?"

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"Maybe."

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"By the way, Parkinson asked me if I had anything to do with that and I didn't really know what to tell her, what should I?"

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"I don't know."

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"I don't like lying. I'll just say it wasn't me and stay mum otherwise."

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Nod.

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She waves with two fingers and rejoins the Slytherins.

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For the following couple of weeks Potions is the only class the Gryffindors share with the Slytherins. One morning, however, they spot a notice pinned up in the common room saying that flying lessons will be starting on Thursday afternoon with them.

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That's good to know.

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Neville is in a panic. Most other purebloods, Ron included, have some experience with broomsticks. Seamus Finnigan, to hear him tell it, spent his childhood on one, and if Malfoy is to be believed he's had near brushes with certain death by helicopter blade several times. Neville, however, has never been allowed on a broomstick, and given his propensity for merely terrestrial accidents that's probably not all bad.

On the morning of, he's sweating bullets and at times asking other kids for as many tips as they can give and quietly contemplating his certain impending death.

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"I think you will probably be all right," Victor murmurs to him.

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He's distracted from his misery by the arrival of mail. As usual, Malfoy gets a package of sweets (Dayo wondered aloud once what he needed all those sweets for, they're in Hogwarts for crying out loud), but even Dayo's occasional letter was more than Victor got.

This morning, a barn owl brings Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opens it excitedly and shows them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seems to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explains. "Gran knows I forget things—this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red—oh..." His face falls as the white smoke turns a deep red. "But I don't know what I forgot..."

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That seems like kind of a cruel gift to get Neville Longbottom. Victor decides not to say that.

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Neville's trying to remember what he's forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who's passing the Gryffindor table, snatches the Remembrall out of his hand. 

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"That's not yours," says Victor. "Give it back, please."

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Before Malfoy has time to formulate a response McGonagall's there. "What's going on?"

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"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville squeaks.

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Scowling, Malfoy quickly drops the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he says, and goes away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. 

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Troublesome. But nothing came of it, this time.

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At three-thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindors make their way down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It's a clear, breezy day, and the grass ripples under their feet as they march down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees sway darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins are already there, and so are some twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Victor's heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left. 

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Flying on broomsticks in the first place seems a bit dubious to Victor, but he's hardly going to say anything about it.

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Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrives.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barks. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

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Okay. Victor goes and stands by a broomstick.

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"Stick out your right hand over your broom," she calls at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

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"Up!"

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Victor's broom jumps into his hand at once, but it's one of the few that does, alongside Malfoy and Dayo. Neville's hasn't moved at all. Neville, in fact, looks utterly terrified of his broomstick.

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Poor Neville. Victor waits to hear what they're supposed to do next.

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Madam Hooch then shows them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walks up and down the rows correcting their grips. Ron is delighted when she tells Malfoy he's been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," she says. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly."

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That seems reasonably simple, although he wishes it was better explained. Maybe it will be easier once they try it.

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"On my whistle: three, two..."

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But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushes off hard before the whistle has touched Madam Hooch's lips.

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"Come back, boy!" she shouts.

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...that's not good, but there's not much Victor can do about it from here.

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Neville's rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. Victor can see his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, see him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and—

A thud and a nasty crack and Neville lays facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick's still rising higher and higher, and starts drifting lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

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Madam Hooch bends over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," she mutters. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get." She turns to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

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Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbles off with Madam Hooch, who has her arm around him.

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No sooner are they out of earshot than Malfoy bursts into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins (Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Dayo excepted) join in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snaps Parvati Patil.

He ignores her. "Look!" he says, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glitters in the sun as he holds it up. 

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"It's not yours," says Victor.

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Malfoy smiles nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

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"That would be wrong," says Victor. "Put it down."

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Malfoy dashes over to his broomstick, leaps onto it, and takes off. He didn't lie, he can fly well.

Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he calls, "Come and get it, Evans!"

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"That is a bad idea on so many levels," he sighs.

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"You'll be in trouble if Madam Hooch comes back while you're up there," Victor points out.

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"I'll be back on the ground before she is."

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"You shouldn't take Neville's Remembrall. It belongs to him."

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He shrugs, turns around, and zips away towards some trees.

...then thinks better of it. "You know, I think a better place for him to look is in the lake." And he turns around again and flies towards it. He aims, throws—

—a bit too strongly, and now it's going to crash against the castle's walls—

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- and it would be so, so stupid for Victor to try to do anything but by the time he thinks of that he's already in the air.

Flying is easy. Flying is wonderful. His hand closes around the Remembrall when it's three feet from a window, and he pulls neatly into a hover and looks at it in blank amazement.

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Well that sorta ruins Dayo's plans grumble grumble but in the end it's probably better.

As long as, you know, no one's expelled, it would be devastatingly stupid if they got expelled over a Remembrall.

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The blank amazement is however shared by several people—

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—some less positive about it than others—

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—and some much less expected and, perhaps, desirable than others.

"VICTOR EVANS!" shouts Professor McGonagall, running towards him.

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...oh. Yes.

It takes him a few tries to get himself on course to return to the ground - he keeps nervously overthinking it - but he lands again in short order and steps away from the broom.

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...shit.

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"Never—in all my time at Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall seems almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flash furiously. "—how dare you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil."

"But Malfoy—"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Evans, follow me, now."

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Draco, who managed to land just before McGonagall arrived, beams.

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"Yes, Professor," he says quietly.

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Professor McGonagall strides toward the castle. She's sweeping along without even looking at him, fast enough he might need to jog to keep up. Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, not a word exchanged. She wrenches open doors and marches along corridors, until she eventually stops outside a classroom. She opens the door and pokes her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

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At least she doesn't seem to be expelling him from the school immediately...?

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Wood turns out to be a confused-looking burly fifth-year boy.

"Follow me, you two," McGonagall says, and leads them up a corridor while Wood peers at Victor curiously. They reach a classroom empty except for Peeves, who's busy writing rude words on the blackboard. "Out, Peeves!" she calls, and the poltergeist throws his bit of chalk into a bin, which clangs loudly, and swoops out cursing. Professor McGonagall slams the door behind him then faces the two boys. "Evans, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I've found you a Seeker."

His expressions changes from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," she says crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Evans?"

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So he's... not in trouble? Maybe? Um.

"Yes, Professor," he says, trying to hide his confusion.

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"He caught that thing in his hand between Malfoy throwing it and it reaching the wall from a standing start," Professor McGonagall tells Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood is now looking as though all his dreams have come true at once. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Evans?" he asks excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explains.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," says Wood, now walking around Victor and staring at him. "Light—speedy—we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor—a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

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He shakes his head very slightly at Wood's question and otherwise doesn't interrupt.

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Professor McGonagall peers sternly over her glasses at Victor. "I want to hear you're training hard, Evans, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then she suddenly smiles. "Your mother would have been proud," she says. "She was an excellent Quidditch player, herself.”

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"I think it's unfair to put me on the Quidditch team when first years normally aren't allowed," he says, quiet and a little nervous. "I think if I'm allowed on the Quidditch team other first years should be too."

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She blinks. "That would be harder to convince Albus of—and there's a reason for the rule—"

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"If there's a reason for the rule, then what's the reason why I'm an exception?"

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"Well, you've demonstrated aptitude far beyond most other first years..."

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"Then maybe other first years should have a chance to demonstrate aptitude if they have it."

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"Yes... perhaps we could set something up with Rolanda..." She nods. "Very well, Mr. Evans. I'll see what I can do."

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"Thank you, Professor."

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"If you boys will excuse me, I'll get on that. Don't take too long up turn to your classroom," she tells Wood before striding off.

The older boy beams at Victor. "This will be amazing, you'll be the youngest player in a century!"

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He smiles slightly.

"I don't know anything about how to play. That was my first time on a broom," he says. "But I'll learn."

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"You sure will!" he says, starting to walk back to his class. "We'll start training next week—although if we open tryouts for firsties too we might have to push that back another week, older students already did..."

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He nods.

He goes back out to see if the remains of the flying class have dissolved into chaos yet.

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The class has actually been dismissed slightly earlier. He runs into the Gryffindors on his way there but Dayo is the only Slytherin in sight.

"Were you expelled?" he immediately asks.

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"Professor McGonagall wants me to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I told her it wouldn't be fair unless other first years could try out too."

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"You're joking," Ron says, agape.

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"That doesn't sound very Victor-shaped, as a joke."

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"I'm not joking," he says, smiling a little.

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"Tell us everything!"

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"She introduced me to the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and told him how I caught the Remembrall and said she'd found him a Seeker."

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"And that's it? Now first years can play?"

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"I said it wouldn't be fair if I was the only one who was allowed, and Professor McGonagall said I'd demonstrated aptitude, and I said everyone else should get a chance to demonstrate aptitude too, and she said all right."

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"Cool, I'm gonna try out!"

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"I think I will, too "

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That evening at dinner, Malfoy walks up to the Gryffindor table with Crabbe and Goyle. "Enjoying your last meal before taking the train back to the muggles?"

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Victor looks up at Malfoy, decides it is not worth explaining, shakes his head, and returns his attention to his food.

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"Thought so," he says self-satisfiedly.

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"He's not gonna be expelled, he's joining the Quidditch team!"

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"Don't be daft, Weasley, first years can't join teams."

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"They can now."

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He snorts and shakes his head, returning to his table.

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And at this moment Dumbledore clinks a fork against his glasses, and the Great Hall falls silent.

"Good evening! I hope you have all had a splendid first few weeks!

"Now, I have an announcement. It is an old rule that first years cannot join Quidditch teams. This rule dates from when Quidditch games—and being a wizard, in general—were much more dangerous than they are nowadays. So, I say, it is time to get rid of this rule!"

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Draco drops his fork.

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"It is still the case that first years are less experienced and skilled, however, so before you're allowed to try out Madam Hooch will need to clear you. If you're interested, talk to her, and talk to your House's team captain. They will be able to tell you what you'll need to do.

"That was all. Bon appetit!"

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And now Draco is the embodiment of "if looks could kill."

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Happily, they cannot. Victor eats his dinner.

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Conversation's dominated by firsties who want to try out and arguing about which position they'd be best at and whatnot. They're still talking about it by the time they've gotten back to the common room.

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It's kind of nice.

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Soon they start going to bed.

And there's still no sign of Neville.

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...that isn't good.

Victor, with Muninn on his shoulder, goes down to check the portrait in case Neville is stuck on the other side.

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No Neville visible.

...although there's suspicious sniffling coming from around that corner.

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Oh dear. He investigates.

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There's Neville, who starts when he sees Victor. "I thought you were Filch. Oh did you let the portrait close—" Yep. Slump. "I forgot the password, and the Fat Lady went out..."

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"The password's 'pig snout'."

He contemplates the portraitless portrait.

"I suppose we should wait for her..."

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"Yeah... She didn't say when she was coming back though."

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Hmm...

"Muninn," he says, "can you find her and tell her there are students stuck in the corridor?"

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The raven takes off from his shoulder.

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He looks down at his lap and stays quiet.

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Victor sits next to him.

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They hear something.

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What sort of a something.

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...appears to be a feline something.

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...that could be good or bad...

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That cat rounding the corner looks a lot like Filch's cat.

It mrrows.

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...he really wishes Muninn would come back right now.

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He unfortunately seems to not be anywhere in sight. Mrs. Norris bristles and hisses, then bounds off.

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"We need to run away! If she gets Filch we're doomed!"

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Running away would be breaking the rules... but they've already broken the rules through no fault of their own. And Argus Filch is terrifying.

He thinks he can navigate the school well enough, although he's never done it at night...

"This way," he says, picking himself up off the floor.

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He gets up and follows.

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He hurries, but quietly. Stairs, corridor, more stairs - Mrs. Norris went that way so they should go here -

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Except they hear Filch's voice a bit ahead of them: "What is it, my sweet? Students out of bed? Show me them!"

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Back the other way, then - maybe the Fat Lady will be back -

But the stairs have shifted. Now they lead down instead of up.

Well, better lost than captured. Muninn will find them. Onward.

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They'll certainly manage to get away from Filch's voice! Except it becomes increasingly obvious how lost they are and by the third unfamiliar corridor Neville starts sniffling. "We're lost... what are we gonna do...?"

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"We'll be fine," says Victor. "Muninn will find us and lead us back to the tower. We just have to keep out of Mr. Filch's way until then."

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"But how will Muninn even find us? We could be anywhere!"

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"He's my raven; he always knows how to find me."

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"I guess that makes sense..."

He shuffles along.

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This corridor is completely unfamiliar. Victor looks around for anything recognizable.

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Nothing whatsoever.

And there's Mrs. Norris at one end of it. She hisses and starts running after them.

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- back the other way then.

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They go around a corner and run some more but then they can hear Filch's voice coming from the other end of the corridor—" Are they here, my sweet?"

Cat behind, Filch ahead... and a door locked with a padlock on a wall between.

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This is probably a bad idea but it would also be a bad idea to get caught -

"Alohomora," he whispers, tapping the padlock with his wand.

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They slip through the door and close it and Neville leans with his back against it, breathing heavily.

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They can hear the sound of footsteps outside. "Where are they, sweet? They were here? I don't see them. We should look, students shouldn't be out of bed..." And the footsteps recede.

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Wherever they are, it is somewhere they should not be, and therefore they should get out of it again as soon as possible. Victor listens intently to the receding footsteps.

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"Victor," Neville says, his voice trembling, looking up at—

—they aren't in a room. They're in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And they're looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that fills the whole space between ceiling and floor. It has three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. And under it—a trapdoor.

It's standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and it seems to be quickly getting over its surprise; there's no mistaking what those thunderous growls mean.

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- right, being caught out of bed at night is still better than being eaten by an enormous three-headed dog. He opens the door again and pulls Neville out into the hall, then closes the padlock.

And if this is the forbidden corridor then that is the way back to Gryffindor Tower -

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It might be but Neville is way too terrified to comment and where is Muninn he'll just follow Victor wherever—

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They're back on familiar ground after a couple of turns. He listens carefully for trouble and hurries.

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There is no more trouble on their way. Neville whimpers quietly whenever they see a particularly lifelike statue or a painting snores too loudly.

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Muninn meets them at the base of the tower and swoops down onto Victor's shoulder. "Message delivered."

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"Thank you, Muninn."

And they go up the stairs and Victor gives the password.

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And they're in and Neville flops down on the ground.

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"Are you all right?"

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He does a thing with his head that's probably a nod and a head shake at the same time.

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"Come on, let's go upstairs and go to bed."

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He takes a few seconds but eventually manages to get up and follow Victor.

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Victor seems strangely unperturbed by this experience.

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He goes to bed and lies there and covers his head with his blanket and closes his eyes and hopes it was all a dream.

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Victor curls up in bed and tries to figure out how he could have done that better. Maybe if he'd sent Muninn around the corner instead of leaving the portrait himself...

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"Pss," Ron calls from his bed.

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"Yes?"

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"Where were you?" he whispers.

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"Neville was locked out of the tower because the Fat Lady left her portrait, and then we saw Mr. Filch's cat and had to run away and got lost for a little while."

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"Oh. How'd you find your way back?"

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"We eventually came to a place I knew how to find my way from." Pause. "It was the forbidden corridor on the third floor. There's a giant three-headed dog in it."

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"What?" Ron exclaims.

"Be quiet, Weasley, we're trying to sleep," Seamus grumbles.

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"I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

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"...okay."

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Sleep.

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Then: morning!

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And does Ron ask him about the corridor?

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As soon as they're reasonably isolated, yes!

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"There was a giant three-headed dog."

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"Why was there a giant three-headed dog, what was it doing there, how are you alive?"

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"I don't know. It was there and it growled at us. I didn't stay to ask it its business."

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"And it was just—there? There was nothing else?"

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"It blocked the entire corridor, I couldn't see if there was anything behind it. There was a trapdoor under its foot."

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"—so it's guarding something."

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"I suppose."

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"I wonder what it is..."

And presently: the Great Hall.

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Breakfast!

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Neville really really doesn't wanna talk about last night.

And then it's mail time, and as the owls flood into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention's caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. They soar down and drop it right in front of Victor, and are immediately followed by another owl dropping a letter on top of the parcel. 

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...he opens the letter.

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DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't
want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll
all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the
Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall

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He looks at the extremely broomstick-shaped parcel.

He looks at Professor McGonagall.

He looks at the extremely broomstick-shaped parcel again.

...well, if she doesn't want him to open it at the table, he won't.

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"Is that what I think it is?"

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"Professor McGonagall doesn't want me to open it at the table," he says, leaning it against the side of his chair. "So I won't."

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"And what'd the letter say?"

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"Not to open the package at the table because then everyone might want one."

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"So it is a broomstick!"

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"If everyone hears you say that, they might want one too!"

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"Well everyone will know anyway, what else could it be?"

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"Yes."

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"Well which broom is it?"

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"I don't think Professor McGonagall wants me to say that it's a broom. And if I said it was a Nimbus Two Thousand that would certainly be saying it was a broom."

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His chin falls. "Wow! That is so unfair! Come on let's eat and open it—" And he starts stuffing his face. Well, more than usual, anyway.

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Victor finishes eating.

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Okay so now they can go, yes?

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Yes.

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Halfway across the entrance hall they find the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy tries to seize the package from Victor.

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"You shouldn't try to take things that don't belong to you," says Victor.

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"That's a broomstick," he starts, narrowing his eyes. "You'll be in for it this time, Evans—"

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"Wingardium Leviosa!"

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Draco's left shoe is lifted off the ground—with his foot still in it—which causes him to stumble and fall. "Iroko—"

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"Oh, you know my name, fancy that."

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"Hello, Dayo."

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Crabbe and Goyle step towards Dayo menacingly but then Professor Flitwick shows up.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaks.

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"Evans has been sent a broomstick, Professor! And Iroko hexed me."

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"Is that true?" he asks Dayo.

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"Of course not, I don't know any hexes."

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"Professor McGonagall told me not to open this package at the breakfast table so I'm taking it back to the Gryffindor common room to open it there."

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"Oh, yes," he beams at Victor, "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Evans. And what model is it?"

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Okay even if Malfoy gets his wits back and tells on him detention is totally worth seeing that look on Malfoy's face.

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"The letter said Nimbus Two Thousand."

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"How splendid! Well, I won't keep you any longer."

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"B-but Professor! Iroko—"

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"I used the Wingardium Leviosa on him," he sighs.

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He blinks. "Well, that's... technically forbidden, magic isn't to be used in the corridors... but it's not a hex. I could take points from Slytherin..."

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"No!"

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"Then I suppose I should get going."

Off he scoots.

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"Well let's go!"

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Draco scrambles to get up.

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And Dayo offers him a hand.

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"—what do you think you're doing you filthy mudblood?"

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Dayo flashes him a smile. "Helping you up." He winks at Victor.

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"I don't need your help," he says, finishing getting up. He glares at Dayo and Victor but doesn't dare do anything more for fear of unexpected Professoral retribution. Crabbe and Goyle follow after him as he stalks off.

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Okay then. To the Gryffindor common room, now that that's over with.

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"Open it open it open it!" he says, bouncing, as soon as they get there.

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He opens it.

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It's very pretty, even to Victor's untrained eyes. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it has a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top. 

"Wow," Ron breathes.

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"It is sort of unfair..."

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"Why? It's a gift, people can get gifts."

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"Well, all right."

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They soon need to go down to the dungeons for today's Potions class, though. Snape looks particularly irritated by something, today, and is correspondingly more exact and formal.

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Victor is the politest and most diligent student imaginable.

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Then Snape will probably have no reason to be exactingly and frostily polite to him, will he?

Soon their lesson's over, and they're free for the day.

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Victor would kind of like to go fly. But he isn't sure how to accomplish that. Is he allowed to just... go outside and fly around? It feels like there should be a rule against that but he can't think of one.

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There are in fact rules against flying outside of flying classes or Quidditch practice but McGonagall told him in the letter he should meet Wood in the Pitch tonight at seven o'clock, so he'll presumably fly then.

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Well. Then maybe he should just do that.

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Hundreds of seats are raised in stands around the field so that the spectators are high enough to see what's going on. At either end of the field are three golden poles with hoops on the end. The pitch is empty of anyone other than him.

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Well that's a little unnerving.

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A couple of minutes later Oliver Wood arrives, carrying a large crate. "Hullo, Evans."

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"Hello."

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"Alright, so," he says, and puts the crate on the ground. "You're technically not in the team yet, we're having special firsty edition tryouts next week, but honestly if what McGonagall says is true you'll get in no prob. Now you were raised by muggles, yes?"

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"Yes."

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"Right." He opens the crate, revealing four different-sized balls. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

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This is Victor's listening face! It is a lot like his ordinary face.

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Wood takes out a bright red ball about the size of a football.

"This ball's called the Quaffle. The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

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"Yes."

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"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper—I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring." He reaches into the crate to get small club, a bit like a short baseball bat. "Take this," he says, offering it to Victor.

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...he looks at the club with mild suspicion, but takes it.

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"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood says. "These two are the Bludgers," he continues, showing Victor two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. They seem to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box. "Stand back," the boy warns, before freeing one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rises high in the air and then pelts straight at Victor's face.

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He ducks.

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The ball passes over his head and curves backwards, this time shooting for Wood, who dives on top of it and manages to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood pants, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team—the Weasley twins are ours—it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them towards the other team. So—think you've got all that?"

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"Yes."

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"Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you, if you get in. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers—only about the Golden Snitch." He reaches into the crate and takes out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it's tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It's bright gold and has little fluttering silver wings. "It's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages—I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

"Well, that's it—any questions?"

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He thinks about it.

He shakes his head.

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"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," says Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these." He pulls a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket. "I'll throw them, you'll catch them, how's that?"

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"All right."

He gets on his broom.

...being on a good broom is even better than the school one.

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It is! It practically responds to his thoughts, sensitive to his every movement and wish.

And Wood starts throwing balls—at first, in Victor's general direction.

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He catches them. He just - wants to catch them and then he does. It's amazing.

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Well then Wood can start throwing them every which way.

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He catches those too.

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They keep at it for half an hour, after which it's proper night and Wood calls a stop to it, utterly delighted. "That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," he says happily as they trudge back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

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Victor is cheerful. He's not sure he remembers ever having been cheerful before.

"I like flying."

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"You're incredible at it! I heard great things about your mother but it's something else to actually see it in action."

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He smiles.

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The following Thursday they have flying lessons again.

"So, as you've probably all heard seventeen hundred times over since last Thursday, first-years are now allowed to try out for Quidditch—if I deem them capable of not getting themselves and others killed with a broom. So today's lesson will be a little different, and I'll give you a few instructions and evaluate how well you follow them and take to the air."

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Victor waits to find out what kind of different she means.

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She will give a few simple instructions—like, take off vertically, go up fifty feet, then return—and watch as the students do them, writing things as she does.

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Victor can do all of those things.

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Dayo is actually pretty good, too. She lacks Victor's natural skill, but makes up for it by being an extremely quick learner.

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Draco learnt some things wrong but once they're corrected he's had quite a lot of practice flying in his life already.

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Flying is the best thing.

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Madam Hooch allows Dayo and Ron to try out, although Ron only barely scrapes by. Neville is completely hopeless and satisfied with this. After collecting Hooch's permission slips, the Gryffindor firsties will have tryouts this evening (Slytherin's tomorrow), and Ron is definitely going regardless of how well he did.

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So that evening around seven, Ron, Seamus, and Parvati go try out.

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And Victor too, he supposes.

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Indeed! Oliver Wood is already there waiting for them when they get there. He winks at Victor when he sees the boy.

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"I know Hooch said you won't kill yourselves flying," he says after collecting their permission slips, "but we have a higher bar. Everyone without their own broom can use one of the school's." He gestures towards the pile of brooms on the ground and the other Gryffindors scramble to get one each.

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Victor has his own broom. He gets on it.

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And Wood tells them to try a series of flying exercises and tricks of increasing difficulty, hmming and aahing as he watches. After about ten minutes of this, a few other Gryffindor players arrive and Wood starts assembling small subteams that will test each other's strengths in their preferred positions. Victor will play Seeker with glowing enchanted balls.

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Victor likes playing Seeker.

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He is extremely good at it!

After about half an hour Wood thanks and dismisses them all, and tells them they'll have results on Saturday and training sessions begin next week.

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Victor suspects that he is going to make the team!

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The next day Dayo herself is excited about Slytherin tryouts but Malfoy will also be there so that's a slight bummer.

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Yes, Malfoy being places is like that.

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On Saturday morning the notice board in the Gryffindor common room announces the official team. Victor made it. Ron, Seamus, and Parvati did not.

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Oh.

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Yeah they're gonna go get breakfast and mope.

At least, Ron is. Seamus and Parvati are mostly okay with it.

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"You can try again next year."

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"Wood's the Keeper, I shouldn't even have tried, I'm not that good at the other positions, and he won't graduate for a few years yet..."

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Sympathetic nod.

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He sighs. "Maybe in fifth year."

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Dayo himself looks exactly the kind of torn that seems to indicate he probably got in but so did Draco.

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That sure is a specific kind of torn.

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The following weeks pass by very quickly as classes get more interesting and Quidditch practice keeps them busy. Dayo's Slytherin's new Beater (and they very carefully do not brag at all—wouldn't do to let their rivals know of their strengths too early, see), while Draco's the replacement Seeker in case Terence Higgs is indisposed (a fact which he mysteriously omits when he tells others about it). Ron gets over not having been picked and goes to every practice to watch Victor—who is, predictably, incredible at it.

On Halloween morning they wake to the smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors, and in their first class Flitwick announces they will finally be learning the Levitation Charm. They're supposed to practice in pairs, and Neville tries to catch Victor's eye.

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He can partner with Neville, then.

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"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaks Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

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That sounds very uncomfortable for Wizard Baruffio.

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They start practising the spell.

It's hard.

At one point, Seamus, who's partnering with Ron, sets fire to his feather.

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Oh dear.

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They manage to put out the fire with the aid of Ron's hat.

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Neville continually fails to make his feather levitate.

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And eventually class is over.

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Victor tries to help Neville as much as he can, but only barely manages to levitate his own feather before the end of class.

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That evening, the Halloween Feast greets them in the Great Hall. A thousand live bats flutter from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swoop over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appears suddenly on the golden plates, as it did at the start-of-term banquet.

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Victor is slightly worried for the bats. Bats and candles don't seem like the best combination.

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They seem to manage.

Dayo walks over to the Gryffindor table—towards Victor, specifically. "Hi." Pause. "My condolences."

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"What's she—" Pause. "Oh."

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"—um. Should I not have mentioned it—?"

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"I don't - think about it usually." Pause. "Thank you."

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"Yeah, I just—you know." She shrugs uncomfortably.

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Nod.

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Okay enough awkwardness, she waves 'bye and goes back to the Slytherin table.

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Victor is thoughtful.

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And right about then Quirrell runs into the Great Hall, red in the face, and people stop talking to pay attention to him.

"Troll!" he cries, "In the dungeons!" He reaches the Head Table panting and finishes with, "Thought you ought to know," before passing out.

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...

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There's an uproar. People standing, shouting, talking over each other—it takes several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wands to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbles, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

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Percy's in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

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Victor looks around to double-check that everyone he knows is safe.

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—well Dayo seems to not be anywhere visible but perhaps she's just in that mass of Slytherins over there, and the fact that Millicent Bulstrode seems to be looking around worriedly isn't important.

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...no.

"Muninn, where's Dayo?"

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Muninn takes off, does a quick circuit of the room, and lands on Victor's shoulder again. "Not here," he says quietly.

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...he could get in very big trouble. Or be eaten by a troll.

But so could Dayo.

He hesitates.

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Percy starts leading the Gryffindors outside.

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"How did a troll even get here?"

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"I don't know. But Dayo isn't here and I'm afraid she might be in danger."

He looks around for Professor McGonagall.

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Nowhere in sight—in fact, most Professors are gone, probably after the troll. The students make their way out of the Great Hall.

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...he could leave it up to the teachers. But the teachers don't know that Dayo isn't here, and if he's going to do the stupid thing he had better do the stupid thing as soon as possible if he wants to find Dayo and warn her instead of finding Dayo and watching her be eaten by a troll. And Muninn, much as Victor respects him, does not seem equipped to be of much use if he arrives alone mid-troll-encounter.

"...I'm going to go looking for her," he says to Ron.

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"—I'm going with you!"

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"All right. This way," he says, and he heads out at the end of Percy's trail of students and then ducks into a side corridor - "Muninn, find Dayo -"

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Muninn can definitely find Dayo.

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But on the way to finding Dayo he might just see Snape, separated from the other teachers, going in what seems to be the direction of the third floor.

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- something with the forbidden corridor, presumably. Maybe he's afraid someone sent the troll after it. Well, if they did, then Professor Snape can deal with the troll and Dayo will be safe when Victor finds her.

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They turn a few corners and go down some stairs and...

...smell something. Something like a mix of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

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Well. That's probably a troll.

Where's Dayo -

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Hiding in that bathroom.

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Is the troll also in that bathroom.

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Nope. It's rounding that corner, grunting, just out of sight. By the sound of the footsteps it must be rather large.

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"Muninn, go get Professor McGonagall."

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The raven wings away down the hall.

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And Victor, after looking around for other hiding spots and finding none, ducks into the bathroom.

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Dayo points her wand at them when they walk in but lowers it when she recognises them. "—oh hi. Erm. This was probably a bad idea."

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"You don't say!"

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"I think we should be quiet," Victor murmurs, "the troll's right outside..."

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And approaching, if these approaching footsteps can be trusted.

She mimes zipping her lips closed.

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Victor holds perfectly still and hopes very hard for the troll to go away.

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If hopes were horses...

The troll's definitely approaching the bathroom, now. Dayo looks around, and darts for a stall, hiding in it and gesturing for the other two to do the same.

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Yes that seems like a good plan. Victor does the same.

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As does Ron.

The troll walks into the bathroom and grunts, sniffing around. They can see its feet, flat and horny and thicker than tree trunks, if they look through the gap between the stall door and the floor.

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He really hopes Professor McGonagall was nearby.

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Not nearby enough.

The troll swings its club—it has a club, and it's huge—removing the upper half of all stalls. Ron screams, and now that they have an unimpeded view they can see the troll in all its... trollness. Twelve feet tall, its skin's a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. The legs are short and knobby, and the horny feet start abruptly.

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Victor ducks when the club goes through the stalls, then peers up at the troll from behind his upraised arms.

...yes, that's a troll all right. If he saw that creature out of context and had to put a name to it, 'troll' would probably be the first word he reached for. It's so trollish.

He freezes up for a moment - but then he tries to switch tracks and think. Fine, it's a troll: what can be done about it? He's heard of spells to make fire and water, but he doesn't know either of them. It is not a door he can lock or unlock. It is not a broken object he can repair.

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And the troll has definitely noticed them. It roars, and starts swinging its club with more murderous intent. Not much aim, though. Dayo tries to roll to dodge its club but ends up pinned between it and the wall.

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- an object he can levitate -

"Wingardium Leviosa," he says, and the club rises straight out of the troll's hand. It's heavy; keeping it in the air is hard. He has no idea what to do next.

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The troll looks extremely confused by its sudden lack of club.

"—drop it on its head—" Ron yells.

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Oh. Yes, of course.

He wobbles the club up and to the left a bit, and drops it.

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It hits the troll's head with a sickening crack, then clattering (if the noise that tree trunk makes could be called that) to the floor. The troll sways a bit on the spot—thick skull, for all that it's so tiny compared to its body—before falling flat on its face, with a thud that makes the whole room tremble.

"—well that was a close one."

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"Are you utterly, completely, barking mad?"

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"Dayo," says Victor seriously, "I think maybe you should make a habit of asking someone else what they think of your ideas before trying them, in case they are dangerous and will get you eaten by trolls."

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"I just wanted to get a look at it! This is, like, some D&D stuff!"

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"What's D&D?"

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"You could have died," says Victor.

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"Well I hadn't been planning to get so close to it."

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There's sudden slamming and loud footsteps. A moment later, Professor McGonagall comes bursting into the room—

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—closely followed by Snape—

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—with Quirrell bringing up the rear. He takes one look at the troll, lets out a faint whimper, and sits quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

 

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Snape bends over the troll to peer at it.

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Professor McGonagall looks at the three of them, livid to the point that her lips are white.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" says Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

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Snape gives Victor a swift, piercing look.

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"I—I'm sorry, Professor, it's my fault," says Dayo. "I went looking for the troll—I just wanted to have a look—"

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Now Snape turns to look at Dayo, with somehow even more disgust—and is that betrayal?—than usual. "I would not have expected this of a member of my House," he says, the careful emphasis betraying his opinion of certain other Houses.

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Muninn settles on Victor's shoulder.

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"I noticed Dayo was missing and I couldn't find any teachers to tell about it," he says, looking up at Professor McGonagall. "I didn't know she'd gone after the troll on purpose; it seemed like the most important thing was to warn her quickly, so I went looking for her. I sent Muninn for you as soon as I found her. The troll was already nearby. And - I probably shouldn't have let Ron come along but it might have turned out a lot worse if I hadn't - he's the one who thought of dropping its club on its head."

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"Well—in that case..." says Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Iroko, you foolish girl, how could you think of going after a mountain troll on your own?"

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She shrugs slightly, pursing her lips.

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"Five points will be taken from Slytherin for this," she says.

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Snape makes a face like he's bitten into a lemon but doesn't gainsay this.

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"I'm very disappointed in you," she continues, either not noticing or caring about that. "If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to the Slytherin dungeons. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

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Yeah she's not waiting for Snape to say anything about that. She quickly slips off.

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She turns to Victor and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

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"Thank you, Professor."

And back to Gryffindor Tower with them.

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Ron is completely silent until they've climbed two floors up, then grumbles, "We should have gotten more than ten points."

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"I'm just glad no one died."

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"I guess."

They reach the portrait and, after "Pig snout"ing it are greeted by a packed and noisy common room, with all the food. Ron makes a beeline for the pumpkin pie.

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...well, all right. Food is good.