Untitled Ravenclaw Story

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted except for personal use. JK Rowling owns the Potterverse. I\'m just playing around in it.

AUTHOR\'S NOTE: Thus begins Year Two. This morning, I wrote this chapter, and now I\'ve got a fairly good idea of where I\'m going to go with some of it. There will be some vague fits-and-starts of adult material in this year, although I doubt there\'ll be any lemon just yet. Year Two will also be longer than Year One -- while I don\'t necessarily plan to expand logarithmically, as Rowling tends to do with each successive Potter book, each year there\'ll be more to tell.

Reviews are welcome, either via e-mail or on here.

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YEAR TWO

Dad and I caught the Floo back to the Leaky Cauldron, and from there we walked to the nearest Tube station in the company of Terry Boot and his mother. She was built about the same as he was – average. In fact, almost everything about Terry was average. He had average-color brown hair and average-color brown eyes – a darker shade than the amber-brown I had. He was about my height, and a little heavier. But while I was wearing my buffalo-in-large-numbers t-shirt and a pair of jeans, Terry had on a button-down black shirt and khaki slacks. “I can’t explain it, David,” he complained to me. “It’s not like I don’t have t-shirts and jeans, but Mum always insists that I wear nice clothes to get on the train.”

“I guess.” I had a thought. “D’you think we’ll have any shot at the House Cup this year?”

“Hardly,” Terry scoffed. “Not with Potter and his friends over in Gryffindor, and the gits in Slytherin trying to take it for themselves.” Terry obviously wasn’t much a fan of Potter either, especially after what happened at the end of last year, but he didn’t know what Da had told me about Potter’s father and his friends. “Face it, David. Unless something horrible happens to them – and I don’t want that to happen to anyone, even Potter and that know-it-all he hangs out with – I doubt we’ll get higher than second in the House Cup rankings.”

“About what I suspected.” Ahead of us, Dad was talking to Mrs. Boot, the two of them ostensibly pushing our luggage trolleys, which were in fact enchanted so that it felt more like pushing a feather. “I guess it makes sense that I’m not that interested in Quidditch or the House Cup. Not really.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

I tried a small grin. “Terry, we’re mates, no doubt about it, but beyond being good at brooms and being in the same house, I don’t think we have that much in common.”

“Suppose you’re right.”

We walked on in silence until we arrived at the Tube Station; Dad paid for the four of us, and we made our way to the platform.

“Please mind the doors,” the recorded voice warned us.

Terry looked down at the painted Mind the Gap on the slightly-grubby ground, and looked thoughtful. “So Mum knows this author fellow, lives over in America but was born here. He’s been kicking around this idea for a story about subways and the underworld of London.”

I peered down the Tube line, and there was the first glint of light from the train’s headlamp. “Like criminals?”

“Nah, not really.” Terry looked over to where Dad and his mum were standing, a few feet away, and lowered his voice. “Like magical creatures and such, and wizardly things. Mum suspects he might be onto our world.”

“Would I have read anything by him?”

“Are you into Sandman?”

And all of a sudden, Terry and I had something in common.

One of Dad’s associates at work had seen an ill muggle at the market pop a lozenge into his mouth to alleviate a cough, and from that, he had worked with Dad to create a method by which potions could be distilled down into a lozenge form and taken that way. It was still in the patent-and-testing phase, but Zorba Makenopolous – a contact of Dad’s in the Ministry of Magic – assured the team that they would indeed be approved for use within the next year or so.

So I was less than worried when Dad broke out four small electric-blue mints from a common muggle-style blister pack. We each took one, and I don’t know what the others felt, but I know I felt the slow warm glow of a Disillusionment Charm spread through my body. “Makes it easier to get through to the platform when the muggles don’t look at you,” Terry observed as he made his run-up and slipped through effortlessly.

On the other side, Dad tapped us all on the head with his wand, and the coolness of an evaporating charm replaced the comfortable warmth of the Disillusionment. “Wicked!” said Kev Eheulhule from about three yards away. “Never seen one of those in person!” He came over to us and clapped Terry on the back; Terry gave me a long-suffering look – Kev’s family lived near enough to Terry’s, and was the only other wizarding family in their town, that the two of them had practically been forced to hang out together through their first ten years. “So, everyone looking forward to getting back to school?”

“I don’t know, Kev. Will you be so bloody...” I groped for a good word. “So bloody effusive when we get there?”

He frowned. “Just trying to be friendly.” He flicked his eyebrows over toward where his folks were chatting with the Malfoys, and then lowered his voice. “Mother and Father have been cozying up to them all summer. I’ve got a bad feeling about it all. And Malfoy’s a prig that I’d love to wipe the floor with.”

“Ah.” So that explained Kev’s attitude. But given how he referred to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named last year, I was still going to be leery of him. “Oh, damn.”

“What?” That was Terry, and as I pointed to a tall, blond man in lilac robes trimmed in a deep violet, Terry echoed the sentiment. “Lockhart.”

Terry, Kev, and I found Stephen and Anthony, and we loaded our trunks into the Ravenclaw section of the baggage car. When we came back out, I saw Lockhart had cornered Dad, who had a look on his face not unlike the one he would pull out during a particularly-unwelcome visit from his boss – I’d seen it on some of the days I’d helped out at the lab.

Unfortunately, Lockhart saw us and Dad was forced to motion me over. “So, this is the next generation of Goldmans, then?” Lockhart asked in a booming, confident voice.

“Yes, Professor.” I actually held out my hand, and Lockhart shook it heartily. “It’s good to meet you.”

“And you as well, lad!” He draped an arm around my shoulders. “Oh, I imagine Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with you in them will be truly interesting.”

“I’m...” Dad gave me a quick glare that I knew he didn’t mean. “I’m looking forward to it,” I managed to say through clenched teeth. Fortunately, it appeared that Lockhart was too full of himself to notice.

“What an interesting year this will be!” He was starting to orate, and I could tell just from Dad’s eyes that he – Lockhart, not Dad – was starting to grate. “Potter and now Goldman as well!” He spied someone across the way – I suppose he had excellent eyesight, or he was just making it up – and took his arm off my shoulders. “I must be going. There’s someone I wish to say hello to before the Express leaves the station. Goldman, I’ll see you in classes. Arthur, a pleasure as always.”

“Likewise.” Dad and I sound exactly the same, but for the pitch of our voices, when we speak through clenched teeth.

The moment Lockhart was gone, Dad checked his watch – it was a hybrid of muggle and wizarding technology; it showed where everyone in the family was on the analog part, rather like the clock in the Weasleys’ house, and there was a digital display showing actual muggle time behind that – and motioned me over. “You didn’t feel it either, did you?”

I knew what Dad was talking about. It’s not exactly a common ability for wizards to be able to feel a power flush just from touching another wizard’s hand – witches, in whom the ability is even more rare, can only do it through their lips – but Dad had it, and so did I. “There’s something there, but it’s not that strong. Not even as strong as the flush I got last time I touched Ginny.”

Da nodded. “I’m going to be doing a little research into your new professor. Be careful around him, and keep your wand handy. I’d be surprised if he could even banish a boggart.”

Even I could banish a boggart, and I\'d learned that at age five.

The train whistle signaled that only two minutes remained before it left the station. “That’s my ride, Dad.”

“I know.” He hugged me, and I hugged him back. “Have a good term. I’ll see you at the holidays. Owl your mother once in a while, would you?”

I nodded. “I’ll try.”

We separated, and I climbed onto the train. Dad was watching me, but then he seemed to feel something – it almost felt as if there was a tiny pop in the air pressure – and he turned to the portal between the platform and the muggle side. I ducked into the first compartment I came to – a couple of fourth-year Hufflepuffs were already in there, snogging, and they didn’t even notice – and watched out the window as Dad slid his wand half-out of the sleeve holster in which he carried it and walked toward the portal.

But the train pulled out of the station and around the bend before I could see what he was so interested in.

Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, and the Patil twins were in a cabin a bit down the train. I waved to them as I walked past, looking for Terry; Padma and Hermione waved back, and I could see in Padma’s eyes that she was aching for an excuse to get out of there. But it wasn’t until an hour into the trip, when I left the cabin I was sharing with Terry, Lisa, and Anthony to stretch my legs that I ran into Padma, coming from the direction of the loo.

She hugged me; I hugged her back. My family is somewhat demonstrative with physical affection – my parents are always kissing or touching each other – so I was able to mask my inclination to pull away. “You’ve got to come with me,” she said. “Hermione has something she wants to ask you.”

“Are the sparrows still in there?” I asked as I followed her down the corridor.

“No. It’s finally quiet.”

“Good.”

When we got to the cabin and pulled the door shut, Hermione seemed to be relieved. “I’m glad you’re here, David,” she said, all business, as I sat down next to Padma. I was very aware of her knee barely touching mine through her robes and her skirt – she had to have been wearing one; I could see her ankles – and my jeans. “Did you feel something strange, just as the Express started off?”

I shrugged. “It was like... have you ever been on a muggle airplane?” Hermione nodded; Padma didn’t. The Patil family was pure-blooded, although they didn’t seem to have the same prejudices as some of the other all-wizarding families. I guess Padma had Flooed everywhere, or ridden a broom. “What about deep-sea diving?” Again Padma shook her head.

Hermione tried one. “Ever have a really bad cold, and feel your ears fill up? So much that you have to yawn to make them drain in your head?”

“Yeah, just this summer, actually.”

“All right. Well, it was kind of like that.”

Padma looked puzzled. “I didn’t feel anything.” Not a surprise to me – Padma had plenty of magical talent, but it wasn’t enough to feel something so subtle. Hermione’s power flush was almost as strong as my father’s; I would have been surprised if she hadn’t felt it.

“I did.” Hermione looked thoughtful, absently playing with a curl of her bushy brown mop of hair. “It almost felt like what happens when a Floo-connected fireplace is shut off.”

“I suppose that’s true.” I was guessing someone from our world had Flooed to the muggle-born Hermione’s house over the summer, connecting it to the Floo Network for a short time. “Have you got any idea of what it might have been?”

“No. I was hoping you might.”

I shifted in my seat, accidentally-on-purpose allowing more of my knee to come into contact with Padma’s. She didn’t seem to mind. “Your guess is as good as any. It was like there was some sort of door closing. Da – my dad – seemed to feel it too. He was looking at the portal between our platform and... the... oh.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Padma, have you seen Harry or Ron?”

Of course it would come back to Potter.

“No, I haven’t. David?”

“I wasn’t really looking for him.”

Hermione got up. “Come on, you two. Let’s find one of the other Weasleys.”

But Percy had no idea where Ron might be. He’d come through the portal first, so he could make sure Ginny would be all right. Fred and George didn’t seem to care – “Ron always comes out all right.” – and Ginny, who was sitting with Luna Lovegood and Mandy Brocklehurst in one of the other cabins, hadn\'t seen him either.

“All right, now I’m concerned,” Hermione said. “It’s not like Harry to miss the train, especially since he hates being back at home so much.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I said in my most assuring tone.

“I’m going to keep looking.” Hermione took off in the other direction; Padma and I went back to the other cabin, but this time we sat on opposite sides.

“Worse comes to worst,” I said, “I suppose Ron’s parents will get them to Hogwarts on time. Percy did say Harry had spent a little time at the Burrow this summer.”

“I guess so.”

“I mean,” I continued, “it’s not like they’re going to steal Mr. Weasley’s car and fly to Hogwarts, right?”

The next morning, I had the intense satisfaction of seeing Ron Weasley face a Howler. It didn’t make up for everyone talking about Potter and the amazing entrance he and Ron made into the school the previous night. It didn’t make Professor Snape any less prickly in Potions; it didn’t make Professor McGonagall any less intense; the next day, Professors Flitwick, Sinistra, and Sprout were all their usual selves. Only Professor Lockhart seemed more impressed than the students.

And, naturally, there was a quiz the first day. A quiz of Lockhart’s favorite things. A couple of the Hufflepuffs actually did better than the Ravenclaw girls, but it seemed as though none of the guys cared enough to even try.

“This is bollocks,” Kev whispered to me. “Weren’t we supposed to learn some defensive spells or something?”

“Too right, Mister... umm...” Like everyone else, Lockhart seemed to have trouble pronouncing Kev’s last name. “Kevin, then. We will be learning defensive spells, but in order to learn said spells, you must learn about the person who’s teaching them to you. It will give you a better... foundation, I suppose you could say... of why the spells work.”

Kev rolled his eyes at me the moment Lockhart turned round to answer a question from a starstruck Hufflepuff girl – I believe it was Megan Jones, but I wasn’t really paying attention. While Lockhart droned on and on about winning Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award, I pulled out one of my enchanted quills and began writing a tiny message in one corner of my parchment.

Dad had enchanted the quills that could decipher my handwriting, but Mum, in her own way, had come up with a way to use them for something other than their strictly-intended purpose. There was an enchantment she placed on one of them – the blue one, not the black or green one – that would allow me to write whatever I wanted, but it would only become legible if I crossed it out with plain, unenchanted ink.

So I scribbled a letter to Da about Lockhart’s little missive. It must have looked like I was taking good notes, because the preening wizard didn’t seem to take much notice of me.

Padma and I went up to the Owlery together after dinner to post letters – she had one to send to a penfriend at the Salem Academy for Witches, a girls’ school in America. Her tawny owl was much better-behaved than the school owl I was trying to coax down with a bit of Owl Treat.

She chuckled at me. “Would you like a little help?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Padma convinced the brown barn owl to come down to a lower perch, and I fed it while Padma tied the letter gently round its right leg. “Now, if you would be so kind,” and here she smiled at me, “please take this letter to Mister Arthur Goldman, in the village of Ottery-St.-Catchpole.”

The owl hooted and took flight; the two of us trudged back down from the Owlery tower and toward the Ravenclaw dorms. “Now I understand why you don’t have a pet.”

I shrugged. “The only animals I get along with well are dogs and dog-family creatures. Wolves, foxes, and so on. I don’t know why. Cats are indifferent, and owls can’t stand me.”

“Yes, so Shira seemed to tell me when she brought back your letters.”

We turned a corner and came face-to-face with Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, dressed in knockabout robes, brooms over their shoulders. I nodded a polite greeting as we passed, and then pretended to stumble as I passed Harry Potter. He grabbed me to keep me from falling, and one of the Weasley twins – I think it was Fred – helped him set me on my feet.

“Careful there,” Harry said.

“Indeed. Thank you. And you, Fred.”

“George.”

“George then.”

“What?” That from the other Weasley twin, up ahead, talking to one of the attractive girls that Chased the quaffle.

“One of these days, Fred, I will tell the two of you apart.”

“Sure, sure.”

They went on their way, and Padma and I continued toward Ravenclaw.

But I had the information I needed.

Harry Potter was, without a doubt, the most powerful wizard of his age. He felt stronger than Dad, stronger even than Mrs. Weasley, who was an immensely-powerful witch, although Dad privately remarked to me that she didn’t seem to know it. There were still a few cold spots in his flush, areas that he would never manage to cover with knowledge or experience, but I certainly wouldn’t want to get in the way of one of his spells.

Great. Just great.

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Year Two will continue, just as soon as I write more of it.

A/N, 4/1/05: This chapter has now been beta\'d by Divine Angel.