NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: Confusing Feelings
"Thank you for coming today, Harry," McGonagall said as they prepared to leave the playroom. Some of the other children were already heading out with their parents, Draco Malfoy strutting ahead of his father while showing off his new toy snitch.
"Auntie Min, did you see me catch all the snitches?" Harry chattered excitedly next to her. "Even the fast ones! And I made new friends and-"
He stopped mid-sentence, his smile fading. Something in the corner of his eye made his tummy feel funny. Not hungry-funny or sick-funny, but the same way it felt when the bigger students were nearby. His eyes darted around until he spotted it - a small brown weasel near a potted plant.
Harry frowned, grabbing McGonagall's hand tightly. The weasel felt wrong. Not as strong as Grandpa or Auntie Min, but way stronger than any animal should be. Like when he saw the sixth years practice dueling, but even stronger somehow.
"Auntie Min," he whispered, tugging on her robes. "That weasel... it's dangerous."
He didn't know how to explain it better. How do you tell someone that a little weasel felt more dangerous than most of the adults?
McGonagall looked down at him, noting his sudden change in demeanor. Harry wasn't usually this quiet unless something was truly wrong. She followed his gaze to the weasel, tensing as she registered the unnatural stillness of the creature.
"Harry, get behind-" she started, but the weasel had already noticed them watching.
But the weasel had already noticed them watching, and suddenly there was a scary wizard there instead - with wild eyes and torn black robes. Harry had never felt danger like this directed at him before.
"The famous Boy-Who-Lived," the wizard snarled, his wand already moving. "My Lord's killer!"
Several things happened very fast. McGonagall's shield charm blocked the first spell. Harry transformed into an eagle purely because his body told him to, wings beating frantically as he tried to get away. And Draco Malfoy, who had been showing off his snitch-catching near the door, shouted "Watch this, Harry!" and unknowingly ran right into the path of the wizard's second spell.
A flash of purple light hit Draco in the chest. The blonde boy crumpled to the ground with a small whimper that made Harry's eagle heart skip. That spell had been meant for him. That spell had been meant for him and now Draco, who wasn't even close to being as strong as Harry, was hurt because of it.
The scary wizard laughed - an awful sound that reminded Harry of the time he'd heard a fox killing its prey. "Crucio!" he shouted, aiming at Harry again.
But then Grandpa was there, appearing between Harry and the bad wizard like he'd always been there. Harry had never felt power like this from him before - it was like watching a dragon fight an ant.
"Rookwood," Dumbledore said quietly, but his voice carried through the whole room. With just a wave of his hand, the bad wizard's spell was blocked by a pane of glass that immediately exploded into glass shards.
The wizard - Rookwood – turned into black smoke that immediately flew straight for the exit at speeds even Harry couldn't match so quickly as an eagle, but Dumbledore's magic grabbed him like invisible hands. Harry watched in awe as his Grandpa forced the scary wizard to his knees without even using his wand.
"You dare," Dumbledore's voice was colder than Harry had ever heard it, "attack children in my presence?"
Harry landed on McGonagall's arm, transforming back but keeping his eyes fixed on the scene. He could hear Draco crying softly where his father was holding him, could hear other children sniffling too.
"He killed our Lord!" Rookwood spat, struggling against Dumbledore's magic. "The Dark Lord would have given us everything! And this brat-"
"Silencio," Dumbledore said almost lazily, and Rookwood's voice cut off. More Aurors were rushing in now, led by the scary eye-wizard from before.
But Harry wasn't really listening anymore. He was thinking about Draco getting hurt. About how he'd felt the danger but hadn't said anything fast enough.
"Grandpa?" he asked in a small voice. "Is... is Draco going to be okay?"
Dumbledore's face softened as he looked at Harry, though his magic still held Rookwood firmly. "He will be, my boy. Though I believe we need to have a talk about what happened today."
Harry nodded, watching as the Aurors took Rookwood away. He noticed that none of the other children would look at him now. They huddled with their parents, stealing scared glances his way.
It made his tummy feel funny again, but not like danger-funny. More like lonely-funny. He'd just started making friends, and now...
"I should have said something sooner," he whispered to McGonagall. "About the weasel feeling wrong. Then Draco wouldn't..."
"You did very well, Harry," McGonagall said firmly, but Harry could feel her hand trembling slightly where it rested on his shoulder. "You noticed the danger when none of us did. That's very impressive for someone your age."
Harry stared at the floor, feeling strange inside. Draco had gotten hurt because he was too weak - that's how things worked. When Harry played with rabbits as an eagle, the slow ones got caught. When the older students were mean, it was because they were stronger. But seeing Draco fall like that made his tummy feel all twisty, even though it shouldn't.
"Can we go home now?" he asked quietly. "I don't... I don't think anyone wants to play anymore."
While Auntie Min led him away, he heard Mr. Malfoy's angry voice rising behind them: "Dumbledore, this is outrageous! My son could have been killed! Having that boy here without proper security-"
Harry squeezed McGonagall's hand tighter. He wasn't going to cry - crying was for babies. But why did he feel so bad? Draco was the one who ran in front of the spell like a dumb rabbit. That's what Harry always thought when small things got hurt - they were just too weak or too stupid. So why did his chest hurt when he remembered Draco's whimper?
Just then, while these confusing thoughts swirled in his head, his green eyes darkened momentarily...
[Once Every Century - Fate/Legends - Empires of Antiquity] – 100CP, 100CP left
Talent that comes only once in a hundred years might stand out at the time but against the expanse of history? It just means there's been a dozen or two others like that already. World class talent might be the peak of what normal humans can do but it's just the start for those in the magical world. Like the famed Salieri and his music, you have that world class talent in one art form of your choosing. Singing, the piano, painting, architectural design, acting or some other method. With just this and the right connections, you could certainly go down in the history of the mundane as one of the greatest performers of your art to ever live. But you've got the potential to go further, as you find yourself having a moderately easier time learning magical spells and abilities closely associated with your chosen art, as well as such things becoming easier to use and somewhat more powerful as well. Magic cast through a special instrument of the musical art you've mastered would be stronger, whereas a great painter would find magic relating to manipulating paintings and drawn images to be significantly better for them than any others.
Harry closed his eyes momentarily, trying to push away the scary thoughts. He didn't want to think about Draco getting hurt anymore. The strange words about talent, art and singing filled his head, and he latched onto it eagerly.
"Auntie Min?" He tugged at her sleeve as they stepped out of the fireplace in Hogsmeade, green eyes bright with forced excitement. "What's better - singing or drawing or... arki... archi..."
"Architecture?" McGonagall offered gently. She noticed how quickly he'd switched topics, but didn't comment on it. If focusing on something new helped him cope with what happened, she would follow his lead.
"What's that mean?" Harry asked, deliberately jumping into a puddle. Water splashed everywhere, but he didn't care - puddles were fun, and fun things made bad memories go away.
McGonagall sighed fondly and cast a cleaning charm on his shoes. "It means designing buildings, like castles and houses."
"Oh." Harry wrinkled his nose. "That's boring. But what about the other things? Can you do magic with singing?"
McGonagall nodded as they walked along the path to Hogwarts. "Some wizards and witches use music in their spells. Professor Flitwick leads a choir with the older students."
"Really?" Harry bounced on his toes, genuinely interested now. "But what about drawing? Like the pictures in the castle that talk to me!"
"That's right. Magical artists can create all sorts of wonderful things. Portraits that move and speak, paintings you can step into..."
"Could I make my dragon drawings fly around for real?" Harry bounced excitedly beside her.
"With proper training, yes. Though that's very advanced magic," McGonagall smiled down at him, noting how the tension had slowly left his shoulders as they walked. "Would you like to learn more about magical art?"
"Yes! Yes!" Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Can we ask Uncle Filius for more crayons? And maybe some of those special paints that change color?"
"I suppose we could," McGonagall said. "But you'll have to promise not to draw on the castle walls again."
"That was one time!" Harry protested. "And the suit of armor said he liked his new mustache!"
McGonagall tried to hide her smile. "Nevertheless, paper only from now on. Deal?"
"Deal!" Harry grinned, then immediately got distracted by a chocolate frog hopping across their path. "Look! Can I catch it?"
"We're almost late for dinner as it is," McGonagall said, gently steering him back toward the castle. "Perhaps tomorrow we can ask Filius about those art supplies."
Harry skipped alongside her, already planning all the magical pictures he would make. Maybe he could even draw something scary enough to keep the mean older students away - though it probably wouldn't be as scary as his mist.