Chương 19: Outside

I walked with Ginny past Myrtle's bathroom, then we split at the end of the corridor. I still needed an alternative way around the Chamber's entrance. This was only my second time making the trip to Ravenclaw Tower, so I probably should have expected problems. That didn't make them any less annoying when I inevitably encountered them. The castle proper only had standard floors up to the eighth, but Hogwarts was far from box-shaped, and the towers reached higher.

The entrance to the Ravenclaw common room was on what is technically the eighth floor, with my dorm on the ninth. I hadn't walked all the way up from the lake today, but I had already climbed up the eighth floor once to reach the Room, and had done considerably more walking besides. Without the added adrenaline and distraction from worry over Ginny, I quickly started to slow.

Madam Pomfrey's potion fixed the issue, but I quickly regretted taking it so soon as it became obvious there was some mild sleep-inducing effect. The side-effect made me worry about drug abuse and potential added issues when mixing magic into consumables. Was there an issue with addiction? Could people overdose on this kind of medicine? More things to look into. More things on my ever expanding list. Two steps forward, one step back. The march of progress.

I had to stop entirely when a door I could distinctly remember being guided through by Penelope yesterday was simply gone. I spent five minutes trying to find a way around and somehow ended up right back where I started. I was too tired to parse what went wrong. My eyes didn't want to stay open. It was then that Nearly Headless Nick found me.

"Ahh, yes. The door you're likely looking for likes to follow the Sentinel of Stone wherever it moves around the castle. I think it may have moved over to the dungeons last night."

"What?" Eloquence is the first sacrifice of a tired mind.

"Yes. Hogwarts—that is the castle itself—is mostly asleep during the day, but at night, it gets quite lively; another reason you students shouldn't move about when the sun goes down." That– that was interesting. Harry never experienced much trouble when he snuck out at night.

"What's the Sentinel of Stone?"

"Hmm? Oh, my mistake; of course you wouldn't know. It is a suit of armor enchanted by Godric Gryffindor to defend students against goblins, and the reason none of their kind dare to enter these sacred halls of learning." So Gryffindor had basically left behind a fully autonomous construct programmed to murder a specific type of sentient creature whenever it encountered one. And it had apparently been operating for a thousand years without anyone seeing that as a problem. Nick even seemed approving of its role.

I held back a grimace. Racism. Wonderful. I was too exhausted to think about the ramification of this right now.

"So, the door I need is now down in the dungeons?"

"Most probably. Though if you are looking for the way back to your common room, I could be of assistance." He was. They really needed to hand out a guide for new students. My thoughts went to the Marauder's Map. Then tiredly shifted to Fred and George. I'd like the Map, but—as Nick had just proven—people who could be convinced to focus more on directions than Penelope's rambling would be more than adequate for now. I blinked as I found myself in the common room; not quite sure how I got there.

I think the door asked something about which Hogwarts' subject was most important? A question I identified as less about the answer and more about defending an opinion. It took too long to get ready for bed, but I somehow managed it, and curled up under the blankets. I fell asleep within moments. v^v^V^v^v The next day we managed to make it on time for breakfast. The arrival of the owls startled me, and I moved to protect my food from droppings. Riley laughed at me.

"Your food is safe~ Normal creatures, like delivery owls that interact with enough magic, tend to pick up extra intelligence."

"Even if they're smarter, that doesn't mean they bathe, or that they won't drop something in my food."

"It's fine~ owls get a bit more out of magic than most. Symbolically—at least in most western cultures—they're linked with wisdom. They have that whole finding people instinctively thing. Moreover, most can understand human speech without problem. Language really helps with added intellect." Language? My thoughts went to Harry talking to the snake in the zoo. That snake was definitely smarter than any mundane animal should be. If that was the result of Harry saying just a few words to it in Parseltongue…

"It's still unsanitary," I finally muttered, but relaxed my defensive pose over my plate. I wondered for a moment if humans benefited from that increase in intelligence too. We were technically animals, but I dismissed the thought after remembering how stupid many fully grown wizards were in canon. Probably shouldn't take a passing comment from an eleven year old as perfectly factual, nor extrapolate too deeply on it.

"Aww, no howler today," Fiona whined, "You guys missed it. That friend of Harry Potter got one yesterday about the flying car. It was hilarious." I was beginning to see a bit of a pattern with Fiona. The conversation continued, but I wasn't particularly interested in discussing the trio with my burgeoning friends. The risk of sharing more than I should know was one point, but it was also starting to feel degrading to be shoved to the side of the main plot.

Also, while I did enjoy karma, schadenfreude was never really my thing. I liked knowing the person deserved their misfortune before I could take pleasure in it. Though… Ron kind of did deserve it. He was the one who suggested flying to Hogwarts. The conversation eventually shifted to our first class of the day: Flying Lessons. Riley was so excited she practically dragged me outside after finishing breakfast. I didn't share any of her enthusiasm.

I had already flown in the Room, and I found the experience far less enjoyable than I'd hoped. Going higher was not a thrilling prospect; it was nerve-racking. Madam Hooch started us with a quick practical—hooking her audience with what we would be learning for the next two months. We took off, landed, and floated around for a short bit before being called in for a lecture on the specifics of flight and broom care. Unfortunately, the quality of brooms we used for the lesson was around equal to those in the Room.

Which meant flying really wasn't some instinctual skill for me like it had been for Harry. The best thing about the lesson was that nothing like Neville's accident happened. Both Riley and Ginny were annoyingly exuberant and skilled. My pelvis was sore because the broom I'd been paired with had a faulty cushioning charm. Flying lessons were followed by double Herbology, and I found the single most detestable class at Hogwarts.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Professor Sprout started the lesson going over basic plant care. Followed by how magical plants differ from mundane varieties.

"Care for magical plants can be extremely varied, as magic can lead to all sorts of changes between the individual plants, even of the same species. Of particular note is that Magic imparts Will; as in the plants you will be working on have emotions, even personality." She then proceeded to pull out a massive knife and dissect the plant she was showcasing.

Going slowly—and with great detail—cutting, peeling, crushing, and generally mutilating the poor thing she just described as having a personality as it writhed in what I assumed had to be agony. Did no one else see the way the foliage curled away from the knife? It didn't help that the hands-on portion of the class was very messy and dirty. I hated being unclean—and this wasn't just unclean, we were working with magical manure. Dung from magical creatures enchanted to increase its natural properties.

I'd need to climb all the way to Ravenclaw Tower just to take a shower after every lesson. Learning Scourgify—and other cleaning spells—just went up on my priority list. At least Potions required a constant level of sanitation, and had the tools to achieve such right there in the classroom. Herbology had a hose. Only a hose. To top the stupid subject off, I ended up needing to go to the Hospital Wing. Not because of an injury or magical malady. No; I got sunburned.

Flying lessons followed by being stuck outside in the muck meant I was progressing my way towards cancer. Could current magic even cure cancer? Why wizards couldn't just stay indoors 24/7 like sensible people, I would never know. Madam Pomfrey addressed my concerns with a rub-on creamy potion to apply before spending time outdoors. It reminded me of sunscreen in function, but didn't leave any noticeable residue, and would work all day long.

The last class of the day was Astronomy, which could only be taken at night. After a shower and a change of clothes, I decided to spend the intervening time checking out the library. There were several topics I needed to research. Unfortunately, Madam Pince, the librarian, informed me that all forms of mental magic—including mental defenses like Occlumency—were in the restricted section.

With that out of reach for the time being, I asked her for help looking up dangerous magical snakes; citing Hagrid as the source of my interest. Basilisks, the King of Serpents, were born in high-magic environments when a frog successfully incubates a chicken egg. Spiders—which cannot close their eyes and had 360-degree vision—feared them above all else. Roosters could kill them with their crow.

All of their organs contained slow-acting toxins, and their venom was one of the most destructive substances in the wizarding world. Phoenix tears were the only known way to heal injuries caused by that venom, but the other poisons weren't as extreme. Interestingly, basilisks—like most snakes—were immune to their own venom. Rather obvious when you realize they don't die from storing it in their bodies.

There was even a potion—created by Herpo the Foul, the man who first figured out how to birth a basilisk—that could immunize a person to their venom. It required both phoenix tears and basilisk blood, so unless I could somehow injure the thing, get away, and brew an advanced potion; it likely wouldn't matter. Basilisk parts were also extremely illegal to buy or sell, so no work-around on that end either.

Not to mention I didn't even have the recipe yet; just the name of a book in the restricted section that would have it. The most concerning thing I found was when I started to look up information about Salazar Slytherin. He was known for his obsession with snakes, particularly experiments in giving them more magical abilities than they should normally have. One account even claimed he had created a spell—now lost to time—that could give them the ability to change their size and weight. I guess it made sense.

Plumbing didn't exist in the founders' time, and the snake had to have a way to get around the castle back then. With that out of the way, I moved on to looking up details on sensing magic. McGonagall had told me the truth; a person could develop magic-detecting senses through continued effort. It was ridiculously time-consuming to develop, and was usually only picked up by older witches and wizards passively over decades of mild effort. It was possible to speed the process up by losing one of your primary senses.

In other words, if I gouged out my own eyes, my magic might compensate. Innate wizard magic reacts to need after all, and constantly trying to use a damaged sense would result in magic filling that void. Not really an option. Apart from the uncertainty, I didn't want to lose a sense to gain another. The potion McGonagall had mentioned was Arsenius Jigger's Magical Synesthesia Solution. A potion which required both considerable time—about a month—and expensive ingredients to brew.

Most notably, it required a freshly harvested sensory organ from a magical beast—one strongly attuned to the way you wanted to sense magic from then on. If I wanted to see magic, I'd need a magically potent eye; if I wanted to hear magic, I'd need a similarly magical ear; and so on for each sense. Naturally, I immediately thought of the basilisk. But, as I just read, their eyes contained deadly slow-acting poisons. Probably too much to turn into a drinkable potion. Probably. But what if I ate a bezoar right after?

The book suggested the easiest material to obtain for this potion was sensory feathers or scales from a few specific species. Resulting in the development of a touch-based magical sense. It was certainly much more humane than gouging out eyes. In fact, the book advised specifically against using eyes. As the most primary sense to a human, trying to overlap another sense with either often caused an overstimulation issue in the imbiber. That explanation seemed weak to me. Shouldn't every sense have a similar issue?

I can handle it. I was a kid again, that should mean increased brain plasticity, and seeing magic seemed like the most useful way to sense it. If I wanted to eventually catch up to powerhouses like Dumbledore and Voldemort, I needed to push myself. The last thing I grabbed—and checked out for later reading—were several potion theory books. I wanted to know why Snape was substituting ingredients and methods. Potions were one of the most useful magical disciplines. It was a force multiplier.

A way to prep for specific events, and to push past the normal limits of magic. If either side had drunk some Felix Felicis right before the Battle of Hogwarts, how different would things have ended up? I wasn't going to let a less-than-ideal teacher hamper my growth. It was a subject all about planning, a philosophy I could agree with. However, at its core, potion-brewing was basically magical drug-making. Understanding the dangers associated with that was of utmost importance.

Especially if I wanted to experiment and push limits. Ladened with my new books I stopped by the kitchens for some more food, made a couple more connections, and asked about whether it was possible to make requests for specific food. It was. It'd just take extra time for them to prepare it, and would be dependent on the ingredients they had. Washy, who was still serving as my primary contact for them, looked thrilled that I had even asked.

It made me wonder if their species was magically forced to feel pleasure at the thought of serving others. Whether that was the root of their slavery or a possible symptom. I kept the thought off my face. It was wild speculation, but theories needed to start somewhere, and the scientific method was to come up with a hypothesis that could be proved wrong. Researching mind control was already on my list, so bundling this with that wouldn't expand my to-do list much. I didn't stay long.

The elves were content to ignore me while I sat at that round table by the door, but I didn't want to impose. I had some time before needing to be at the top of the Astronomy Tower. So I investigated alternative paths around Myrtle's. Getting lost a few times before giving up and making my way to class. Hogwarts was simply huge. As if the staircases weren't bad enough, the doors and 'secret' passages were equally as frustrating. Many of the doors in the castle were magical in some way.

I'd already encountered doors that pretended to be walls, paintings, or even hid behind furnishings. The most frustrating so far was one pretending to be the entrance to a boys' toilet. If it hadn't laughed at me the first time I walked past, I never would've discovered the stairs behind it. Then several doors required passwords or keys. Alohomora; another spell I need to learn. I thought, annoyed. At least I have a book that will teach it already.

I already knew the main path to the Astronomy Tower due to interacting with the Room, so it wasn't too complicated to reach; just exhausting, as it was the tallest tower. Astronomy itself was a mildly interesting subject; but just that. From the syllabus, it looked like what I already knew—between my past-life knowledge and my summer studying—would easily carry me through the first-year. At least, on the non-magical, raw-information side of things. After class, I pulled Ginny aside to walk with me.

"I'm calling in what you owe me for losing the bet." I spoke quietly. Whispers tended to be pitched in a way that drew attention. Naturally, my words caused her to tense and look around for eavesdroppers. Basically giving away that I was trying to hide the conversation.

"What is it?" she asked, matching my tone. I handed over a rubber duck I'd picked up from my room after Herbology.

"I want you to hide this in Fred or George's shoes." She stared at the duck. Then stared at me.

"Why?" Her volume had returned to normal, her tone now flat.

"I ran into them when I was breaking into the kitchens," I said seriously.

"They claimed to be the best pranksters in the school." I narrowed my eyes and continued, "I won't let that stand. Just don't let them know the duck came from me. If you get caught, tell me. I'll need to adjust my plans." I couldn't care less about any 'prankster' title, but I needed to know whether the twins had magical protections on their belongings for if I ever decided to go after the Map. Ginny could get away with messing with her brothers without issue.

I, on the other hand, would face serious punishment if I was found in the Gryffindor common room, let alone rummaging through others' property.

"You broke into the kitchens?" she hissed, growing a lot more intense.

"I missed dinner." I shrugged.

"Look, this is just the initial move. There's no magic in the duck. They shouldn't be on guard against you." My biggest concern about using Ginny to plant the duck was if they decided to start warding their stuff in response. However, the duck was harmless. The risk was worth the information gain. My thief book probably had some knowledge on getting around the most basic of item protection spells. She let out a sigh and pocketed the duck.

"One last thing before you head out," I said in a much more casual tone.

"I'm planning on setting up a betting pool for quidditch. I don't have the plans for it fully settled yet—I'm aiming to get a professor to back up the rules—but pass the word around to the Gryffindors. Age doesn't matter. I expect to have things finalized before next weekend."

"A betting pool?"

"Yeah, I'll go into more detail once I discuss it with Flitwick, but, in short, everyone places their bets at the start of the season, all the money goes into a pool, and I pay out after each match. The teachers will be overseeing everything so no one thinks I'm cheating them. Unknown first-year and all that. Anyway, pass the word around." The least offensive form of large-scale gambling I could think of. She shrugged.

"Okay." Perfect.