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1: Nothing Important Happened Today2: Shape and Diverge3: Summer Night Showtime4: My Place in All Things5: Some Internal Bell6: The Best Kinds of Monsters

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4: My Place in All Things

It was always disorienting to wake up and not be entirely sure where you were.

Scott was used to it. A moment’s unease was all he suffered before his brain snapped into gear and recent events came flooding back into his consciousness.

It helped that he had awoken several times during the night, and thus his head wasn’t thick and heavy with accumulated snooze. His instincts were always on a hair trigger – the slightest noise could wake him. He’d learned to sleep extremely lightly the hard way, through experience, and now it was deeply ingrained. It could be customised, however. A couple of weeks would train his subconscious to tune out sounds that were a part of the nightly backdrop at Hogwarts and allow him uninterrupted sleep in the absence of anything out of the ordinary.

It didn’t take him long to brush his teeth and don his school robes. Neville was also running a little late. He had only one shoe on and was frantically flailing about with his robes tangled up on his arms and neck. Scott reached over and grabbed what he thought was the hem of the robes, tugging them downwards.

“Thanks!” Neville gasped, emerging red-faced from his cotton cocoon.

“Couldn’t let you suffocate on the first day of the year,” Scott said amiably.

“Don’t know if I’d mind entirely….” Neville laughed nervously, straightening out his collar with hands that were not quite steady.

Scott gave him a comradely clap on the shoulder. “Some days you just gotta roll with the punches.”

Neville didn’t look very reassured by that. “I think I’d rather not get hit.”

“Only if that’s an option, man. There’s always someone trying to screw with you.”

Scott looked down at himself before heading for the common room, wrinkling his nose at the unflattering clothing. To him it looked like he had cut a few holes into a garbage bag and pulled it over his head.

The common room was full of students readying themselves for the day ahead, a steady stream of them exiting through the portrait to head to breakfast. Scott came down the staircase just in time to catch the tail end of an argument between Ron and Hermione apparently centring around a ‘Fanged Frisbee’. He considered the two of them thoughtfully – what was he going to do about them? He knew that if he didn’t do anything, his sister would. Perhaps, then, it was better to leave it to her. Still, a few nudges in the right direction couldn’t hurt.

“I hate to interrupt your sparkling wordplay,” he said loudly as he stepped into the common room, “but I’m hungry, and I must be fed. Kindly point me towards the nearest trough.”

“That would be the Great Hall,” Harry said dryly, clearly glad to have a distraction from his friends’ bickering. “You remember the way?”

“I’m a man of the people,” Scott said expansively. “And though I might know the way, I would much prefer to traverse this fragile earth in the company of others.”

Harry turned towards Ron and Hermione. “Coming?”

They spent another minute standing around while Hermione rushed back to her dorm and checked to make sure that she hadn’t left any of her textbooks behind. When she returned, they stepped out of the portal and into the halls of Hogwarts, lit by the morning sun.

“About breakfast,” Scott said as they approached the doors to the Great Hall. “Do you order whatever you want or is it sort of a buffet kind of thing?”

“Almost all meals are served family style,” Hermione explained. “With a few exceptions, such as the Yule Ball.”

“I don’t suppose the words ‘chicken fried steak’ mean anything to you?”

Hermione frowned. “No, what is that?”

“I guess ‘sawmill gravy’ wouldn’t either then,” Scott said with a sinking expression.

“I’m afraid not,” she confessed.

Scott sighed. “It’s gonna be a long year.”

During breakfast Scott filled his plate with a high cholesterol assortment of bacon and eggs, and observed his new classmates between mouthfuls. He saw that he was being similarly watched by Dumbledore from his seat at the teachers’ table and gave the Headmaster an acknowledging nod before turning his attention back to the food and trying to follow a conversation between Harry and Ron concerning Quidditch. Hermione didn’t eat much, rigid with anticipation for the moment when McGonagall would assign their new class schedules.

When the stern professor began moving down the benches, Scott found himself glad that he didn’t have the same class load as Hermione. He’d have more than enough learning to do by books alone, and that was without counting his overriding objectives that had nothing to do with school. He broke from his thoughts long enough to help Neville with a whispered “Charms ain’t a soft option, I’d say go for it”, which earned him a grateful smile. Scott didn’t actually have any idea whether Charms was a soft option or not, but Neville had looked like he needed some backup.

When it came to his turn, McGonagall shuffled through a slightly thicker folder than she had for the other students. Scott wondered just how many documents Dumbledore had forged. Of course, Scott knew as well as anybody that you could pain`t out an entire life in paperwork. Social security numbers, credit cards, birth certificates – all tracing the trail of a person who had never existed.

“There was some difficulty obtaining your school records,” McGonagall told him as she leafed through the papers. “But fortunately the Headmaster was able to get them all together in time.” She withdrew a blank schedule from the folder. “As I know you are aware, besides your normal classes you will periodically be assigned tutoring sessions.”

“But whether I keep going to a teacher or not depends on how much they find out I already know, right?”

“Correct. I hope it won’t be necessary for you to be tutored in more than one or two subjects extensively.” She handed him a list of his available subjects. “Remember to choose the classes which interest you the most, as you will be pursuing them to N.E.W.T level.”

Scott picked out his classes from the sheet, being careful to select the same line-up as Harry without being too obvious about it. He thought McGonagall knew what he was up to anyway, but she didn’t say anything. Once he was done, she tapped the empty schedule with her wand, filling it. “A schedule of your extra sessions should be given to you by tomorrow,” she told him. “It will be altered at the discretion of your professors.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Scott said, looking over the timetable she had given him. He had three free periods, which would actually translate into about two, taking into account his tutoring sessions. Some days he would probably only have one, at least until he had proven he could pass the classes without help. In order to achieve that, he’d have to step up on his reading.

His first class of the day would be Defence Against the Dark Arts, following a free period. He frowned. Snape was a potential problem, the man’s hatred for Harry being what it was. Scott’s growing friendship with Harry and status as a Gryffindor would already make him a target for Snape, though he didn’t think the professor could do anything more than be verbally vicious.

Really, the opposition for this mission was fairly minor. Voldemort didn’t have anything serious enough in his arsenal to justify more than a single field team since, if he did, then Scott would have been given more authority when it came to field support. As it was, he had to run the entire gamut of red tape in order to request even a single additional agent. There were much stronger enemies to be bested than a bitter Dark wizard whose power wouldn’t even fill a thimble in many of the places Scott had been.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have some practical experience in combating the ‘Dark Arts’ in the local fashion. It could be useful to at least appear to be fighting normally. Plus he highly doubted that he would be allowed to shoot whomever he was partnered with when practicing spells. There were some things that were generally frowned upon, and putting a bullet in the head of a fellow student was one of them.

Scott spent most of the free period before his first class going over his Defence textbooks. While he remembered everything he had ever read, he simply hadn’t read all of them yet. Harry and Ron talked Quidditch. It seemed that he was going to have to develop some sort of interest in the sport.

They met Hermione in the hallway outside of the Defence classroom, looking frazzled and weighed down by enough books to choke a large mammal. She complained about the workload she had already been assigned in Ancient Runes, but Harry and Ron seemed unsympathetic.

Other students soon congregated around them. Scott noticed, not for the first time, the amount of attention Harry drew to himself without any effort. Harry always seemed extremely discomfited by the scrutiny, even on the occasions when it wasn’t bordering on hero worship. Some people just couldn’t fit into the role of celebrity, and Harry was one of them.

“Your fly open or something?” Scott murmured to the media-proclaimed ‘Chosen One’.

Harry looked down in confusion before realising that Scott was joking about all the focus on him. “They’ve been reading the Prophet,” he said disgustedly. “First they hate me, now they love me. Maybe one of these days they’ll wake up and start thinking for themselves.”

“Unlikely. It’s much easier to believe the hype than to open your eyes.”

Their discussion was halted when Snape emerged from the classroom. He was glowering at all the students, but especially at the two of them. It was Scott’s first close-up look at the man, and it didn’t serve to improve his opinion of him.

“Inside,” the professor said shortly, and they filed in.

The interior of the classroom was clearly a reflection of Snape’s personality. Scott thought a few pentagrams on the floor would have fit in nicely. The gory illustrations lining the walls looked like they had come right off the cover of some ninety-nine cent horror novels. At least the shades had been drawn and the room was candlelit – the less light he had to see Snape in, the better.

The object of his inner derision finished trying to bore a hole through Harry with his eyes and turned his attention to Scott. “Scott Kharan,” Snape said, caressing the syllables. “The new exchange student.” His gaze shot to Harry for a second. “And already in the close confidences of our very own Chosen One.… I suppose fame really is the most valuable commodity in America.”

Harry’s fists clenched on top of his desk. Hermione hissed something to Ron, who had gone pale with anger.

Scott’s lips partially raised in a bland half-smile. “Don’t hate the player, Professor – hate the game.”

The room fell completely silent. Scott’s comment hadn’t been directly insulting, but Snape needed no excuse to hand out punishments. From the other side of the class, Scott could feel Malfoy’s hate-filled stare like the heat from an open oven.

Snape’s eyes flashed, but the slight curve his lips held suggested that he was pleased to be given the opportunity to discipline his new student. “Wasting no time establishing your arrogance, I see, Kharan. I should have expected no less from an American. Detention – Saturday night, my office.”

Scott nodded impassively in reply, employing all his self-control (weakened by his newfound youth, though it was) to suppress a flippant response. This was Hogwarts, not his home universe – his power and credibility would not grant him verbal freedom here. He needed to keep himself in check and play by the rules.

Scott listened to the rest of Snape’s opening lecture with one ear – he had long since mastered the ability of multitasking his attention. It was good practice to daydream and absorb everything a teacher was saying at the same time. He took particular pleasure in looking spaced out, and then perfectly reciting everything that had been said when the teacher called him on it. Snape didn’t take the bait, though. Maybe his classroom was too dark for him to discern the vacant expression Scott had fixed on his face.

A girl that Scott hadn’t identified yet asked something about ‘Inferi’, which Scott had discovered in his readings to be another word for zombies. Magically reanimated corpses were as common an idea as sand in most magical worlds. They were far less threatening than the kind of zombie that resulted from viral infection or other biological contamination. From what he had read, they were also of the slow variety, and therefore nothing that couldn’t be handled with a quick walking pace and a shot to the brain.

Things became more interesting when Snape divided the class into pairs to practice non-verbal spells. He found himself working with Harry while Ron and Hermione silently squared off.

Harry raised his wand and sighed. “Even if I can do this, what’s the point? It won’t do anything to you.”

Scott blinked. Had that been a tacit admission that there was something out of the ordinary about him? Dumbledore must have included some strong hints in his letter. “I won’t block it. Go ahead and zap me.” Harry visibly strained himself at the task for a moment, lips fighting to stay shut. Scott shook his head. “You’re not lifting anything, man – stop trying to give yourself a hernia and just think the words.”

“Yeah? You do it, then,” Harry said, looking a little put out.

“I’ve already got a non-verbal spell,” Scott grumbled as he readied his wand. “It’s got a custom hardwood grip and a smooth action.” Nevertheless, he pointed his wand at Harry and tried to fire off a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Nothing happened.

Harry looked rather smug about that. “I’m still waiting.”

“It didn’t work,” Scott explained. “But I know why.” He could feel the power lying latent in the back of his body, but it lacked a focusing point. The words gave the spell impetus, and the wand gave it direction. So in order to cast a non-verbal spell, he needed to force the power into the wand using the phrase in his mind only as a blueprint. Speaking was an act of expulsion, releasing both breath and energy. Shutting down that method of producing action would thus require what could be described as internal telekinesis. It wasn’t enough to only think the words. He had to project them.

“Well?” Harry said impatiently. “Why isn’t it working, then?”

Scott started to explain his epiphany to Harry but in mid-sentence, Snape swept over to them, sneering at their lack of progress. “Pathetic, Potter. This is the proper method-” The man spun on Scott with practiced speed, raising his wand.

Viewed in the right context, there was nothing unusual about what Scott did next. It was exactly the sort of thing that he had been trained for. The transfer student didn’t even bother to try and block the spell with a Shield Charm – he dropped underneath the jinx and went into a shoulder roll. The assault harmlessly passed through the spot where he had been a second before as he swept Snape’s feet out from under him with one blurred leg, sending the professor crashing to the floor with an impact that drove the breath from his lungs.

All activity in the classroom ceased as everyone lapsed into a stunned silence that made the previous one sound like a party.

Scott hadn’t intended to leg sweep Snape. It had just happened, a natural outgrowth of his dodge manoeuvre. Sometimes the deep-seated reactions that were a part of his makeup came into effect without any purposeful thought. He didn’t feel sorry about hurting Snape, but the consequences could be difficult to work around. He tried to appreciate the irony, that his consciously exercised self-control had been overridden by years of training and experience, but any amusement that he might have derived from the situation was blotted out by the furious racing of his mind. He had to think of a way to smooth this over.

It took Snape several seconds to rise back to his feet as he tried to draw breath into his battered body, and even then he wasn’t entirely steady. Harry’s face was blank, but his eyes were very bright. Hermione had both hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes were as big as saucers. Ron had an odd expression – somewhere between shock and ecstasy. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott could also see Neville, who simply looked stunned.

“Headmaster’s office,” Snape finally managed to gasp. “Now.”

Nobody said a word as Snape stormed out of the classroom with Scott in tow.

On their way to Dumbledore’s office, Scott ignored Snape’s cold fury and concentrated on devising a logical solution to the situation. His first option was to bank on the fact that Dumbledore wasn’t as blind as he appeared when it came to Snape, and that Scott’s actions could reasonably be construed as self-defence. If he could pull that off, he’d probably walk away suffering nothing worse than having to apologise. The absolute worst-case scenario was expulsion, in which case he’d have to use more confrontational methods of swaying Dumbledore, something he really didn’t want to do. Dumbledore lacked the power to make him leave, but a fight would still turn the rest of the school against him, and after that, he might as well have been expelled anyway.

He’d play it by ear and, if he could talk to Dumbledore without Snape present, remind the Headmaster of certain responsibilities they both had regarding a mutual beneficiary.

Snape snarled the password to the gargoyle, and it obediently leapt aside, revealing the spiralling partial staircase. On reaching the top, Snape slammed open the double doors, revealing Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, looking entirely unruffled.

“Severus,” the Headmaster greeted his irate employee, smiling slightly. “What brings you by this afternoon?”

“Kharan!” Snape spat. “He deliberately attacked me – grounds for expulsion.”

Straight for the jugular, then, was it? Scott could play that way too. The Headmaster raised his eyebrows slightly but otherwise showed no reaction to Snape’s accusation. “Is this true, Mr. Kharan?”

“I was defending myself, sir,” Scott clarified. “Things might have gotten a little out of hand.” He looked directly into Dumbledore’s eyes, trying to silently communicate with the man. “I’m sorry it happened,” he lied. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

Dumbledore regarded him for a moment. “I’m afraid this is a serious charge, Mr. Kharan. Please sit down so we can talk about it more thoroughly.” He nodded at Snape with a small smile. “I’m sure you need to return to your class, Severus. I’m sorry there was a disruption.” It was clearly a dismissal, albeit a friendly one. Snape’s jaw clenched in a moment of soundless fury, but under the Headmaster’s quiet gaze, he gave in and left, closing the doors behind him with more force than was required.

“We were doing non-verbal spells, and Snape tried to jinx me without warning, in ‘demonstration’,” Scott said immediately after Snape had left. “I dodged it and leg swept him. It was kind of automatic.”

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore corrected him, and Scott had the feeling that someday he and Dumbledore were going to have it out about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, it was self-defence. Ask any kid in the class.” He paused, thinking of Malfoy. “Well, almost any kid.”

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I believe you. However, you must understand that such an incident cannot go entirely unpunished. You will serve a detention with Professor Snape; that should suffice.”

“I’m already serving a detention with Snape.”

Dumbledore sighed again. He didn’t look very surprised. “That will do, then.” He leaned forward. “Scott, I must admit I do not feel entirely comfortable punishing you, the situation being what it is,” he said sincerely. “But while you are a part of this school, there are rules that must be followed.” He shook his head, withdrawing again. “Perhaps I am approaching this incorrectly. I confess that my place in all things seems to have shrunk as of late.”

“The truth leaves you marginalised,” Scott nodded knowingly. “The mountain always looks insurmountable when you’re standing at the bottom.”

“Have we not yet even begun to climb?” Dumbledore whispered, almost to himself.

“We can get there,” Scott promised. “Our real problem is time, remember?”

“I do,” Dumbledore said. “All too well.”

**********

Scott spent the rest of what would have been his break period talking to Dumbledore of such weighty matters. The Headmaster was one of the few people with whom Scott could actively engage in theoretical disputes and who could, if not readily comprehend, then at least consider the complexities of space, time, and the stuff in between. There was a loneliness implicit in the greater knowledge, and it took some of the weight from Scott’s shoulders to share it.

So it was that he found himself ducking into Potions class within an inch of being late. He gave the professor an apologetic smile, thinking that it would have been smart to get a note from Dumbledore, but the corpulent Slughorn only waved him in without comment. He squeezed himself in between Ron and Harry, pulling a chair from an empty table behind them.

“Scott!” Hermione gasped. “What happened? Are you expelled?” She sounded horrified by the very thought.

“Just detention,” Scott told her. “Same as before.”

Ron was awestruck. “You knocked Snape flat on his arse and only got a detention? That’s brilliant!”

“Ron!” Hermione admonished him. “It most certainly is not – attacking a teacher is an expellable offence!”

Harry looked like he was about to say something, but Professor Slughorn began talking, and they fell silent to listen.

There was some to-do with Harry and Ron not having the proper class supplies, but after that was all sorted out, Slughorn proceeded with the lesson. At least, Scott thought he did – despite his attention splitting capabilities, he found himself wondering why it was so hot in the classroom. There was a mixture of delectable odours wafting through the air that seemed to set his skin to tingling.

While Hermione was identifying various potions for Slughorn, Scott leaned over to Harry and whispered, “You smell that?”

Harry started to answer but was diverted when Hermione correctly identified the source of the entrancing smells as Amortentia, a powerful love potion. Scott knew that no corporeal substance could create love. That was a lesson as basic as Relativity. He figured that ‘love potion’ was probably a euphemism for an aphrodisiac with some unusual capabilities. He paid close attention to Slughorn’s explanation of the potion’s workings.

His attention was further captured by the Felix Felicis that Slughorn was offering as a prize to the best potion maker at the end of class. Despite the professor’s ramblings about its power and price, Scott knew that nobody else in the room understood exactly what they were looking at. Liquid luck? If the potion did what Slughorn said it was capable of, then it was something truly extraordinary. Scott was, in his own way, a human form of Felix Felicis. A potion with the capacity to alter the course of events like engineers diverting a river was incredible. He had to get his hands on some to see how it worked, and whether he could influence its effects. Normally, any objects of such import gave off a tangible sense of power. If the Felix was a shaping substance, then it was dormant in its current state. It occupied no burning rift in local space. It didn’t call to him from its cauldron.

However, making the best potion in the class on his first try would be a bad idea – not that he was remotely capable of pulling that off. He’d try to perform acceptably, and find a way to get his hands on the liquid luck at some later date. To his left, he noticed Harry was working off of some instructions that had been scribbled in the margins of his school loaned book. He mentally shrugged. If Harry wanted to roll the dice with unverified advice, that was his business.

“So,” he said to Harry while they worked, “what does that stuff smell like to you?”

“I’m not quite sure – it’s hard to pick out the main one.” Harry frowned in thought. “Some sort of flowers? I’m almost sure I’ve smelled it before … but I can’t think of where.” He looked at Ron. “Maybe The Burrow?”

Ron shrugged. “We do have a garden; that might be it. Didn’t think you had a thing for flowers, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, annoyed. “What’s it smell like for you, then?”

Ron immediately looked embarrassed. “Ah, well… Sort of warm, I guess…” he said awkwardly. “And like – books, maybe? But warm… I don’t know.”

“Warm books. That’s the key to your heart.”

“Stuff it,” Ron grumbled, stirring his potion viciously.

“How about you, Scott?” Harry asked the blond boy.

“Wildflowers, strawberries – like body lotion. Warm skin, sun-warmed hair. Clean cotton.” Scott stopped. “And something else.”

“Something else?”

Scott grinned. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“You’re not any older than us!” Ron protested. “Where do you get off, talking like my mum?”

“There are all kinds of age, Ron,” Scott said sententiously. “Someday you’ll understand.”

“Wanker,” Ron said under his breath; Harry looked inclined to agree.

“Will the three of you shut up?” Hermione snapped. She was becoming increasingly frustrated that her textbook instructions were not yielding the same excellent results as Harry’s. “Some of us are trying to work!”

“And yet, Harry’s potion is looking pretty good about now,” Scott shot back. “Maybe you should try less?”

Hermione’s face coloured, but before she could formulate a rejoinder, the time was up. It came as no surprise to Scott that Harry was the clear winner, though his own potion received an approving smile from Slughorn. He supposed he could just steal the Felix from Harry on the way out of the room, being a practiced pickpocket as he was, but so much of what he was doing was based on trust that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d have to get some Felix another way. “Sweet deal,” he said to Harry as the other boy looked closely at the small vial of potion that was his reward. “Gonna take it before you proposition Ginny?”

To their right, Ron made a sound like someone had just jabbed him in the kidneys. Harry stared at Scott. “What?”

“If that shit works like Slughorn says it does, then you’re guaranteed some action,” Scott said, deadpan. “Just take a sip and ask Ginny if she wants to play ‘hide the salami’.”

Ron opened his mouth and spluttered, “What the f-”

“Ron!” It was Hermione, at the door of the classroom. “What are you three doing?”

The rest of the classroom had been vacated, leaving Scott, Harry and Ron still at their table. There was a flurry of activity while they packed up their things and went out into the hallway. Scott was feeling like he had scored a minor victory. In the earliest stages of manipulation, subtlety came in different forms – it was enough to bring up the concept, even if it was disguised as a joke. Harry might have been put on the spot and embarrassed by Scott’s salacious ribbing, but the thought was there now. He’d be considering Ginny in that light, if only for a second. The mind of a teenage male was a fertile place for that particular sort of seed.

He imagined his sister might take issue with his methods… but when it came to matters of the heart, she was such a girl. It didn’t matter. If she thought she could do better, she’d have her chance.

At dinner that night, Hermione confronted Harry about his performance during Potions. Scott said nothing, personally thinking that if Harry had been given the book, he should be allowed to use it. Ron didn’t seem too bothered either. Ginny overheard their conversation and questioned Harry worriedly about the book, no doubt remembering her first-year experiences. Scott caught a hint of flowers when she went past him, and hid a smile. Maybe this whole thing would be easier than he had thought.

In the late evening, when both dinner and classes had finished for the day, there was a space of time in which the Gryffindors congregated in the common room to relax or study. Ron and Harry settled into a game of chess, which soon ended in utter defeat for Harry, who didn’t look surprised. Scott found himself approached by various students who had been present in their Defence class, or had heard what had happened, all expressing some form of admiration. He heard Neville retelling the story to some third-years after they had pressed him for it and smiled to himself. Snape had lost a lot of his social capital after being put flat on his back by a student. That didn’t mean Scott would be in a hurry to do anything like that again, though. It was all right if Harry and those close to him were familiar with Scott’s sometimes outrageous personality, but Scott didn’t want to attract very much attention from the student body. It was difficult to work under a spotlight.

Harry and Ron sat next to Hermione on a couch opposite the chair Scott had slouched into. “I can’t face my homework tonight,” Ron groaned.

Harry nodded in agreement. “At least Snape didn’t give us any.” He grinned at Scott. “Guess we have you to thank for that.”

Ron stared dreamily off into the distance as he relived the incident. Hermione looked on reproachfully. “I’m glad you didn’t get expelled,” she said, “but you really shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re right,” Scott agreed. Hermione began to give him an approving smile for his penance but then he added, “If I had done it a little harder, he might have broken his damn neck. Ah, well. Missed opportunities.”

Harry and Ron both laughed while Hermione pursed her lips sternly. “That’s really nothing to joke about.”

“And yet, I did.” Scott was feeling quite self-satisfied. “So what exactly do you guys do around here in the evening?”

Ron shrugged. “Sit around. Talk. Sometimes we play games.” He quickly looked at Hermione. “But don’t say homework!”

As if on cue, Neville approached them, looking hopeful as he sat in the chair next to Scott’s. “Hey… what are we talking about?” he asked slightly nervously. Neville seemed to exist on the edge of Harry, Ron and Hermione’s close friendship. The poor guy was just looking for someone to hang out with, and Scott had no problem including him.

“Hey Nev,” Scott said, like he’d known him for years. Most people weren’t aware of it, but there was such a thing as forced familiarity. It was an extremely useful tool for a Kharadjai in Scott’s situation. People tended to respond based on how they were treated, and jumping straight in the verbal lexicon from ‘acquaintance’ to ‘close friend’ accelerated the bonding process. “Just stuff, mostly.”

The five of them chattered on about nothing until it was a little past the normal bedtime. Hermione left her seat before the others to help gather the first years up for bed and make sure no one was out after curfew, Ron reluctantly rising to follow her. The remaining three boys trudged up to their dormitory to settle in for the night. Scott remembered that he’d probably be getting his schedule of additional lessons in the morning.

The lights went out, and Hogwarts fell under the blanket of sleep. Scott allowed himself to succumb to its smothering influence, slipping off not long after the others.

About one in the morning Scott awoke to the sound of Harry stirring in his bed. Rather than get up immediately, he waited until Harry tapped him on the leg. Pushing off his sheets and rolling to his feet, Scott silently padded across the room and followed Harry down the staircase. The common room was empty, the fire still smouldering in its place against the far wall. Harry and Scott sat in the two chairs closest to its feeble light, facing each other. Neither spoke for a moment. Harry was holding a worn letter in one hand.

“I wrote to Dumbledore after you left,” he said in a hushed voice.

“I know.”

“He seems to think that you’re on the level… so far as being on our side goes.”

“That was the impression he gave me,” Scott agreed. “Like I said, you don’t have to believe all of it. But I really am here to help you.”

Harry sighed. “It’s not easy to accept, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I know – believe me, I know,” Scott stated. “Some days I’m not sure if I believe it.”

“What changes your mind?” Harry asked wryly.

“If you could see The City stretching to the end of the horizon,” Scott said, his eyes far away, “or walk through the endless halls of the Bibliotheca, you’d understand.” He saw Harry’s uncomprehending look and shrugged apologetically. “Sometimes you have to realise that you’re part of something much bigger than yourself. That’s what pulls me back when I start thinking that this limited space–” he waved his hands at the room, a gesture meant to encompass much more than just that, “–is all there is.”

“Do you ever make any sense?”

“As little as possible. It makes me mysterious, and girls love that.”

“What I want to know,” Harry said, determinedly moving on, “is what you told Dumbledore to make him believe you.”

“It wasn’t just what I told him,” Scott said, “but what I showed him. It’s a long story.”

“I know you met with him,” Harry said, sounding frustrated. “Just tell me what happened then. Dumbledore wasn’t very clear.”

“There were some things that happened a long time before that. But,” Scott said, stopping Harry when he started to speak again, “I’ll tell you what I can.”

“You convinced him somehow.”

“He was already at least partially convinced before I showed up,” Scott said. “The rest of it came with a serious amount of honesty.”

“So tell me the same thing.”

“It was just before school started,” Scott began to explain. “And it was really the second time – but nobody ever said stories have to be chronological…”

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1: Nothing Important Happened Today2: Shape and Diverge3: Summer Night Showtime4: My Place in All Things5: Some Internal Bell6: The Best Kinds of Monsters

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