NOVEL NEXT Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Chapter 14:
"Alright," Harry nodded, drawing his wand and leveling it at the toothpick. He knew this was the most basic level of transfiguration they would be studying; this ought to be a piece of cake. He imagined the small wooden object as one of metal instead, focusing all his willpower on the change. Then he waved his wand and channeled his magic into the object.
The toothpick did transform into metal, but it also spouted off several sharp spikes in all directions. Seamus Finnigan howled in pain as one lodged itself into his cheek; several other students dove for cover from the projectiles. Horrified, Harry lowered his wand.
McGonagall quickly Vanished the toothpick as well as all the projectiles, leaving Seamus wincing with a small pinprick of blood on his face. "I didn't expect you to get it right the first time, Potter," said McGonagall diplomatically. "Though you must be careful with your intent, or accidents like that can happen. Take your seat, please."
Harry did so shamefully, mouthing sorry to a fuming Seamus as he passed by his seat. His Kneazle wand continued to fluctuate wildly in power, at times providing only minimal effect or drastically overpowering his spells. Why was this happening? Why must he endure the snickers of his peers when he knew he ought to be light-years ahead of them in terms of skill?
Don't be arrogant, Harry told himself as he stewed in his seat for the rest of the lesson. You just have to learn how to control it. Your magic is still growing and has to catch up with what you already know.
Next on the schedule was Astronomy, held high up in the tallest tower of the castle. Harry quickly remembered why it was one of his least-favorite subjects (besides History of Magic), as Professor Sinistra went on and on about various planets and celestial bodies that Harry couldn't care less about. Worse yet, she assigned them all a foot and a half of homework for their very first day – no amount of prior knowledge would help Harry avoid the busy-work of his classes he so loathed.
After a quick lunch, Harry arrived early for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, waiting for the previous class to let out. He sat idly in the corridor chatting with Terry Boot, who was prattling on about how attractive Professor Sinistra was, pretending to listen and occasionally saying "uh huh" to placate him.
His ears perked up at the sound of a disturbance nearby: scuffling of shoes, muted sounds of conflict. Harry leapt to his feet and rushed around the corner, where he encountered an odd sight: three Slytherin upper-year boys, surrounding a cowering Peter Pettigrew in the corner.
"What's the matter, sir?" one of the boys asked the caretaker mockingly, brandishing a broom that they'd clearly just stolen from him. "Can't take a broom back from a teenager?"
"G-g-give that back, n-now," Peter stammered, reaching for the broom only for it to be pulled out of reach, as the other two boys pressed in closer.
"You didn't say please," the Slytherin boy said nastily, as the other two chuckled.
"Oi! Leave him alone!" Harry bellowed from down the hall, wand clutched firmly in his hand. All three boys looked up at him, looking temporarily caught, but they snickered when they saw who had addressed them.
"Mind your own, firstie," one of the boys sneered. "If you know what's good for you." He fired a Stinging Hex at Harry, who wordlessly swiped it aside, eyes narrowed, veins pumping with anger.
"Ooh, the firstie wants to play!" another boy laughed. They turned their attention towards Harry, leaving Peter to cower in the corner behind them. "Want to dance, boy? Tarantallegra!"
"Protego!" Harry bellowed; a golden shield burst into existence before him, deflecting the spell and sending it careening into another boy, whose legs began to dance uncontrollably beneath him. The boy who fired the hex gawked at the perfect, shimmering shield, far more advanced than any first-year should have been capable of casting. But the other's face contorted into anger.
"You'll pay for that one, firstie," he snarled, brandishing his wand. "Lacera—"
"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted; his Body-Bind Curse hit the boy squarely in the chest, interrupting his own spell and sending him toppling over like a frozen statue.
Harry wasted no time, making use of the element of surprise by firing a Disarming Charm at the third boy, whose wand clattered away out of reach. But he didn't look up to fighting anymore; he simply gawked at Harry, as though unable to process how this boy had so cleanly dispatched three much older boys.
"What is the meaning of this?" a familiar voice sneered; Harry's stomach dropped as Snape came rushing around the corner, looking furious. With a mighty swipe of his wand, he canceled all of the spells in effect, freeing the limbs of one of the boys and ceasing the leg movements of another, while Harry's shield dissipated into thin air.
"That boy attacked us!" one of the Slytherins protested, pointing a finger at Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.
"They attacked me first," Harry said simply. "And they were harassing Peter."
Snape rounded on Peter, who continued to watch on in silent fright. "Well, Pettigrew?" he demanded. "What transpired here?"
"P-Potter was d-defending himself," Peter managed. "Th-the others were t-trying to hex him."
Snape stared at Peter with clear disdain. "Perhaps, if the proper parties had asserted their authority, there would be no need for such foolish fighting," he drawled malevolently. "Wouldn't you agree, Peter?"
"C-certainly, Severus," Peter nodded, looking ashamed. Snape looked again at Harry, clearly looking for a reason to give him detention for the rest of his life. Harry just stood there, awaiting his judgment. But Snape instead turned to the three Slytherins, who looked up at their Head of House sheepishly.
"Off to class, Flint," Snape sneered at the ringleader. "You too, Avery. Bode." The three boys threw one last malicious look at Harry before gathering their things and leaving the hall, Snape sweeping away behind them.
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