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Harry sat cross-legged on his bed in Ravenclaw Tower, the early morning sun casting long shadows through the gothic windows. His dormmates were still asleep, their soft breathing providing a peaceful backdrop to his mental conversation with Anakin.
"You showed wisdom beyond your years last night, young one," Anakin's voice echoed in his mind. "Containing the threat without destroying it – that's the mark of a true Jedi."
Harry absently traced the intricate patterns on his blue and bronze bedspread. "I could have killed it, you know. When it threatened Anna, I wanted to snap it's neck..."
"But you didn't," Anakin interrupted firmly. "That's what matters. You chose protection over destruction. Many would have given in to fear or anger in that moment."
A small smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Still, I can't help wondering where it came from. Trolls aren't exactly subtle creatures, are they? How does something that big just wander into a castle?"
"Hmm." Anakin's tone grew thoughtful. "I'm not from this world, Harry, but from what I have seen. I don't think a troll walking into the school is part of the school program."
Harry stood up and walked to the window, watching as the morning mist rolled across the grounds. "Maybe someone saw something," he mused, tapping his fingers against the cold glass. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "The portraits!"
"The what now?"
"The portraits, Master!" Harry turned away from the window, excitement building in his voice. "They're all over the castle walls. They move and talk – they see everything that happens in the corridors. If anyone saw how the troll got in..."
"Clever thinking," Anakin praised. "Though I still find it disturbing that you have paintings watching your every move. But you're right – they could be valuable witnesses."
Harry began pacing, his sock-clad feet silent on the stone floor. "But why would anyone want to let a troll in? What's the point?"
"That," Anakin said with a hint of amusement, "is something I want you to figure out. You're a Ravenclaw after all, last time I checked, that talking hat said your kind is supposed to be smart. Use that analytical mind of yours."
Harry stopped pacing and sat on the window seat, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Right. Okay. Let me think..."
He closed his eyes, recalling the events of the previous night. The feast. Quirrell's dramatic entrance. The panic. The troll's rampage seemed random, destructive but without purpose...
His eyes snapped open. "It was a distraction!"
"Very good," Anakin's approval warmed Harry's mind. "But a distraction from what?"
"I... I don't know," Harry admitted, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "But it makes sense. Everyone was focused on the troll – the students were sent to their common rooms, the teachers were searching the dungeons..."
"Leaving other parts of the castle unguarded," Anakin finished. "Remember what I taught you about military tactics? Sometimes the obvious threat isn't the real danger."
"Like when you told me about that battle on Christophsis," Harry nodded. "When the Separatists attacked the front lines to draw attention away from their real assault from behind."
"Exactly. Though I'm still not entirely sure how you manage to remember my war stories but forget basic levitation techniques."
Harry grinned. "Hey! I haven't dropped anything in at least two days."
"The ceiling beam in the bathroom yesterday doesn't count?"
"That was intentional! I was trying to see if I could combine Force Push with the Levitation Charm."
"Ah yes, your 'experiments.' Speaking of which, we need to be more careful about using the Force openly. That shield you created last night... it wasn't exactly subtle."
Harry's grin faded slightly. "I know. But I couldn't just let the troll hurt Anna. Besides, everyone thinks it was just an advanced Shield Charm."
"Professor Flitwick didn't seem entirely convinced," Anakin pointed out. "He's more observant than you give him credit for."
"He's brilliant," Harry agreed. "But also fair. Even if he suspects something, I don't think he'd push too hard about it." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Unlike certain Potions professors I could mention."
"Ah yes, Professor Snape." Anakin's tone grew serious. "Be careful around him, Harry. There's something... familiar about the darkness I sense in him. It reminds me of... well, of people I used to know."
"Former Sith?" Harry asked, curious. Anakin rarely spoke about his past in detail.
"Not exactly. But he sounds like a very bitter person, and is quite clear he is targeting you specifically. I mean...he is targeting everyone who is not part of his little Slytherin House, but my point is that it's clear he was targeting you when you had potions with him. I don't claim to know what happened before I arrived in this world over two years ago, but I would bet this man must have some kind of history with you, either he is secretly a Voldemort supportist, and he is mad you took away his Master, or maybe he had trouble with your parents when they were here. I don't know." There was a weight to Anakin's words that made Harry shiver slightly.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Terry Boot stirring in his bed. Harry glanced at the enchanted clock on the wall – almost time for breakfast.
"We should continue this later," Anakin said. "But Harry... keep your eyes open today. Watch for anything unusual. Whoever let that troll in might try something else now that their first attempt at... whatever they were planning... failed."
"I will, Master." Harry stood and began gathering his clothes for the day. "Maybe I should start by talking to some of the portraits near the entrance hall? They might have seen something useful."
"Good idea. But be discrete. We don't want whoever's behind this to know we're investigating."
"Right. Subtle. I can do subtle."
"Says the boy who made his professor face-plant into a cauldron."
"That was an accident!" Harry protested, trying to keep his voice down as his dormmates began to wake. Sometimes, when the emotions got the better of him, he completely forgot that he was supposed to talk using his mind, not his mouth. "The Force just... happened to make him trip. Pure coincidence."
"Mm-hmm."Anakin's skepticism was clear. "Just like that time the Force 'happened' to make your uncle trip and fall over the entire set of stairs? Or 'happened' to make your aunt trip on mud?"
"Well..." Harry grinned as he pulled on his robes. "The Force works in mysterious ways, doesn't it, Master?"
"Sometimes," Anakin sighed, "you remind me far too much of myself at your age. And that, young one, is not entirely a compliment."
Michael Corner's sleepy voice cut off Harry's retort. "Harry? Are you okay? You have been just standing there looking at the wall."
"Just... practicing some charm pronunciations. You know how Professor Flitwick is about proper enunciation."
As Michael nodded and stumbled toward the bathroom, Harry heard Anakin's amused voice one last time: "Smooth, Padawan. Very smooth."
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As Harry stepped into the Great Hall, the usual buzz of conversation abruptly died down. Hundreds of eyes swiveled towards him, and an expectant hush fell over the room. Harry felt his stomach drop as he realized he was once again the center of attention.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, suppressing a groan. "Just what I needed."
He could already hear the whispers starting up again, snippets of conversation reaching his ears: "Did you hear about Potter and the troll?" "They say he took it down single-handedly!" "I heard he used some kind of advanced shield charm!" "I heard he punched the thing unconscious,"
As Harry stood there, torn between finding a seat and fleeing the hall altogether, Anakin's amused voice echoed in his mind. "Well, well, my young apprentice. It seems you've become quite the celebrity overnight. You should start practicing your signature – I have a feeling you'll be needing it soon."
Confused, Harry replied mentally, "My signature? Why would I need to practice that?"
Anakin's mental chuckle reverberated through their connection. "For autographs, of course! Trust me, Harry, when you become a hero, people tend to want a piece of you – quite literally, in this case."
Harry's eyes widened in horror at the thought. "Autographs? You can't be serious! Please tell me you're joking, Master."
"I'm afraid not," Anakin replied, his tone a mixture of sympathy and amusement. "Though I can't say I have much personal experience with it. During the Clone Wars, there wasn't exactly time for meet-and-greets between battles."
Before Harry could respond, he heard Anna Bones calling out to him from the Ravenclaw table. "Harry! Over here! I saved you a seat!"
Grateful for the distraction, Harry made his way over to Anna, doing his best to ignore the stares and whispers that followed him. As he slid into the seat next to her, he found himself immediately surrounded by eager faces.
"Harry, that shield charm you used – was it really a Protego?" Terry Boot asked, leaning across the table.
"I've never seen a Protego that could trap something inside it," added Padma Patil, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Even some of the older Ravenclaws were paying attention now. "Potter, was that spell something you learned from a book, or did you invent it yourself?" a pretty sixth-year girl inquired.
Harry felt overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, but he knew he needed to come up with a plausible explanation that didn't involve the Force. Taking a deep breath, he began, "Well, it wasn't exactly a standard Protego. I've been doing some extra reading on defensive charms, and I sort of... combined a few different spells."
This answer seemed to satisfy some of his housemates while intriguing others even more. Michael Corner piped up, "But how did you make it spherical? And how did you trap the troll inside?"
Harry thought quickly, drawing on his actual magical knowledge to craft a believable lie. "I used the basic structure of the Protego charm but modified the wand movement to create a sphere instead of a flat shield. As for trapping the troll, I incorporated elements of the Containment Charm we learned in Charms class last week. It was really just a spur-of-the-moment thing – I wasn't sure it would work."
This explanation set off a new round of excited chatter among the Ravenclaws. Even some Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors from nearby tables were leaning in to listen.
"That's bloody brilliant, mate!" exclaimed Justin Finch-Fletchley from the Hufflepuff table.
Hermione Granger, who had been listening intently, finally spoke up. "But Harry, combining spells like that is incredibly advanced magic. Most wizards don't attempt that kind of spell creation until after their O.W.L.s at least!"
Harry shrugged, trying to appear modest. "Like I said, it was mostly luck. I didn't really think it through – I just knew I had to do something to protect Anna."
At the mention of her name, Anna beamed at Harry. "And I'm eternally grateful that you did," she said, squeezing his arm affectionately, making him feel a little hot on the face, and it didn't help that Anna was quite a pretty girl.
Just then, a familiar voice called out from behind Harry. "Well, well, if it isn't our resident troll-tamer!"
Harry turned to see Tonks approaching, her hair a vivid shade of violet today. Before he could react, she leaned down and planted a kiss on each of his cheeks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Congratulations on your daring rescue, Harry," she said with a wink. "I always knew you had it in you."
Harry felt his face burning, certain that he must be as red as a tomato. He could hear Anakin's laughter echoing in his mind, which only made him blush harder.
"T-thanks, Tonks," he managed to stammer out, acutely aware of the giggles and whispers erupting around him.
Tonks ruffled his hair playfully. "Anytime, Harrikins. Just don't let it go to your head, yeah? We can't have you getting a big ego and forgetting about us little people."
As Tonks sauntered away, Harry couldn't help but notice the impressed and slightly envious looks some of the other boys were giving him. He groaned inwardly, realizing that this incident would probably only add to his unwanted fame.
"So, Harry," Padma said, a sly smile on her face, "are you going to teach us that shield charm of yours?"
"Did you see Snape's face when he came in after the troll was down? Looked like he'd swallowed a particularly sour lemon drop." One asked, interrupting Padma, who glared at Tod for opening his big mouth.
"Professor Snape," Hermione corrected automatically.
"He's probably just upset that a first-year Ravenclaw showed more combat prowess than his precious Slytherins," Anna whispered, though not quietly enough to prevent several nearby Slytherins from shooting her dark looks.
"I noticed he was limping," Harry mused, remembering how the Potions master had barely put weight on his right leg. "Wonder what happened there?"
"Probably tried to kick the troll and missed," Tonks suggested, causing several students to snort into their breakfast.
"More likely he was somewhere he shouldn't have been," Anakin's voice was thoughtful. "Remember what we discussed earlier about distractions?"
Before Harry could pursue that line of thought, the morning post arrived in a flurry of owls. To his horror, several of them dropped letters directly onto his plate.
"Looks like word's getting out," Anna grinned, picking up one of the envelopes. "Oh, this one's from my aunt! She'll be absolutely beside herself when she hears you saved me."
"Please don't tell her," Harry groaned, eyeing the growing pile of letters with dread. "I really don't need any more attention."
"Too late for that, I'm afraid," Tonks ruffled his hair affectionately. "Better get used to it, hero."
"I told you about the autographs," Anakin's smug voice echoed in his mind.
"Not helping, Master."
"Never claimed I would be. Though I should mention, your signature really could use some work. It's rather messy."
"I'm eleven!"
"No excuse for poor penmanship, Padawan."
Harry was saved from further teasing by the arrival of Professor Flitwick, who was beaming at him with obvious pride.
"Mr. Potter! Might I have a word after breakfast about your extraordinary spellwork last night? Perhaps we could incorporate some of those shield variations into our private lessons?"
"Of course, Professor," Harry nodded, secretly wondering how he was going to demonstrate a Force-enhanced shield charm without revealing his abilities.
"Careful," Anakin warned. "Flitwick's sharper than he looks. We'll need to work on making your magical shields look more... conventional."
As conversations resumed around him and more students tried to catch his eye, Harry sighed and reached for another piece of toast. It was going to be a very long day.
"Look on the bright side," Anakin offered. "At least no one's asking you to sign anything yet."
Right on cue, a tiny first-year Hufflepuff approached the table clutching a piece of parchment and a quill.
"Um, Harry? I was wondering if maybe you could..."
Harry let his head drop onto the table with a soft thud, much to the amusement of his friends and his mental companion.
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"It's a variation of the Protego Totalum shield, sir," Harry explained, trying to keep his voice steady as he sat in Flitwick's office. "I read about it in the library's defensive magic section. Instead of creating a flat shield, I just shaped it into a sphere and added Lumos to make it visible."
Flitwick's eyes twinkled with interest as he balanced atop his stack of books behind the desk. "Most impressive, Mr. Potter. Though I suspect there's more to it than that." He held up a tiny hand when Harry started to protest. "No need to explain further. We all have our little secrets, and you've clearly demonstrated both skill and responsibility in their use."
Harry felt Anakin's approval at Flitwick's discretion. "Thank you, sir."
There was a moment of silence, but eventually, Harry asked. "Professor, last time you mentioned that there is a Duelling Club in Hogwarts."
"Yes, there is one."
"And you said that since I'm still a first year, I cannot join, but Dumbledore can give me permission, and I would be able to join, right?"
"Yes, my Headmaster when I was a student at Hogwarts gave me one, they also gave one for a boy many years ago, his name was Tom if I remember."
"Your shield charm alone proves you're capable," Anakin commented in Harry's mind. "Though we'd need to be careful about how much we show."
Before Harry could respond to either of them, a knock at the office door interrupted their conversation. Susan Bones stood in the doorway, looking slightly nervous.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor, but could I have a moment with Harry?"
"Of course, of course!" Flitwick beamed. "We'll continue our discussion later, Mr. Potter. Perhaps after tomorrow's Charms lesson?"
Harry nodded and followed Susan into the corridor. "What can I do for you?"
Susan's usual composed demeanor slipped slightly as she suddenly hugged him. "Thank you for saving my sister," she said fiercely. "Anna told me everything. If you hadn't been there..."
"It was nothing, really," Harry said awkwardly, patting her back. "Anyone would have done the same."
"But they didn't. You did." She pulled back, her eyes suspiciously bright. "The Bones family won't forget this, Harry Potter."
"Ah, the noble houses and their debt of honor," Anakin's voice held a hint of amusement. "Looks like your fan club is already forming, Padawan."
"Please stop calling it that," Harry thought back desperately.
"Would you prefer 'Harry Potter Appreciation Society'? Or perhaps 'The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Save-Others Club'?"
Susan was still talking. "...and Auntie wants to invite you to our estate during the winter holidays. She insists on thanking you properly."
"Oh, um, that's really not necessary..." Harry began, but Susan's determined expression told him this wasn't a battle he was going to win.
"Just accept graciously," Anakin advised. "Trust me, refusing such offers only makes things more complicated. I learned that the hard way with several planetary governments."
"Thank you," Harry said to Susan, trying to sound sincere rather than overwhelmed. "That's very kind of your aunt." he noticed she didn't say father or mother but decided not to ask why.
"Excellent!" Susan beamed. "I'll owl Auntie right away. Oh, and Harry?" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Anna might have mentioned something about a Duelling Club? If you need anyone to support your petition to join early, the Bones family has one seat on the Board of Governors."
As Susan hurried away, Harry leaned against the cool stone wall and closed his eyes. "Master?"
"Yes, Padawan?"
"Is it too late to go back to being just 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'?"
Anakin's laughter echoed through his mind. "Welcome to the burden of heroism, young one. At least no one's written any ballads about you yet."
"Yet?!"
"Give it time, Padawan. Give it time."
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The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the castle's gothic windows as Harry made his way through the entrance hall, examining the numerous portraits that lined the walls. After escaping what felt like an endless barrage of questions from the Gryffindors about his apparent "troll-fighting techniques," he finally had time to investigate.
"Remember," Anakin's voice echoed in his mind, "be subtle. We don't want anyone questioning why you're so interested in the troll incident."
Harry approached the first portrait, an elderly wizard in elaborate Renaissance clothing who was polishing a golden telescope. "Excuse me, sir? I was wondering if you saw anything unusual on Halloween night?"
The wizard barely glanced up from his task. "Unusual? My boy, I've been hanging in this castle for three centuries. Your definition of 'unusual' might need some clarification."
"A troll, perhaps?" Harry suggested dryly. "Large, grey, smell that could knock out a dragon?"
"A troll?" The wizard looked scandalized. "Certainly not! I was far too busy cataloging the movement of Jupiter's moons that evening."
"The telescope in your painting doesn't actually work," Harry pointed out.
"Well, I never!" The wizard huffed and stormed out of his frame.
"Smooth, Padawan," Anakin commented. "Very diplomatic."
Harry moved on to the next portrait, a plump witch stirring a cauldron. Her response wasn't much more helpful: "I was napping, dear. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don't need my beauty rest!"
The next hour proved equally frustrating. Portrait after portrait offered nothing useful – they were sleeping, visiting other frames, or simply hadn't noticed anything unusual. One particularly unhelpful knight claimed he'd been too busy fighting a painted dragon in the East Tower to pay attention to "mere trolls."
"This is hopeless," Harry muttered, leaning against the wall. "These portraits are about as useful as the Dursleys at a magic show."
"Patience," Anakin advised. "Remember what I taught you about investigation – sometimes the most valuable witnesses are in the least obvious places."
Harry's eyes drifted up the grand staircase, landing on a small portrait nearly hidden in an alcove. Unlike the other ornate frames, this one was simple, containing a young woman in medieval dress who appeared to be sketching the staircase itself.
"Excuse me?" Harry called up to her. "Might I ask you something?"
The woman looked up from her parchment, regarding Harry with intelligent eyes. "You're the first person to notice my portrait in seventy-three years," she said matter-of-factly. "Most people are too distracted by Sir Pompous and his theatrical tales." She nodded toward the knight's empty frame.
"Well, they're missing out," Harry smiled. "I'm Harry Potter."
"Adelaide Blackwood, former Hogwarts architectural apprentice," she replied. "I helped design the moving staircases, you know. Before that unfortunate incident with the vanishing step..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "But you didn't come to hear about that, did you?"
"No, ma'am. I was wondering if you saw anything unusual on Halloween night?"
Adelaide's face lit up. "As a matter of fact, I did! Most interesting thing I've seen in decades. Someone with a purple head came running up these very stairs, headed straight for the third-floor corridor."
Harry's pulse quickened. "The forbidden corridor? Are you sure?"
"My dear boy, I've spent centuries studying these stairs. I know exactly where they lead." She tapped her sketching parchment. "The figure was moving quite quickly, almost as if they were in a hurry to get somewhere while everyone else was distracted..."
"Or distracted by a troll," Harry murmured.
"Precisely!" Adelaide beamed.
Harry thanked Adelaide and walked away, waiting until he was alone in an empty corridor before speaking to Anakin. "It has to be Quirrell, right? He's the only one who wears that purple turban."
"Indeed," Anakin's voice was thoughtful. "But you seem skeptical."
"Well, yeah! Have you seen him in Defense class? He jumps at his own shadow, stutters so badly it takes ten minutes to explain a simple spell, and last week he fainted because a student's cat meowed too loudly."
"Ah," Anakin's tone grew serious. "And tell me, young one, what better way to avoid suspicion than to appear completely harmless?"
Harry stopped walking. "You think it's an act?"
"I think," Anakin said carefully, "that you should never underestimate someone based on appearances alone. People can wear masks, Harry. They can present a face to the world that hides their true nature, making others trust them, lower their guard..."
There was something in Anakin's voice – a weight, a darkness, a hint of old pain – that made Harry's spine tingle. He sensed his master was speaking from experience, but the warning in Anakin's tone suggested this wasn't the time to ask for details.
"So what should we do?" Harry asked instead.
"For now, we observe. Watch Quirrell carefully, but don't let him know we suspect anything. And Harry?" Anakin's voice grew stern. "Stay away from that third-floor corridor. Whatever's hidden there, it's dangerous enough for Dumbledore himself to warn students away. We need more information before we act."
"Yes, Master." Harry nodded, then grinned slightly. "Though you have to admit, it's a bit suspicious that the headmaster basically announced 'Hey, don't go to this specific place or you'll die horribly!' It's like he wanted students to be curious about it."
"Sometimes," Anakin said dryly, "I forget you're eleven. Then you say something like that and remind me exactly why I have grey hairs in the Force."
"You can get grey hairs in the Force?"
"Figure of speech, Padawan. Now, shouldn't you be heading to dinner? I believe Miss Bones mentioned something about treacle tart tonight."
"Are you trying to distract me from dangerous mysteries with dessert?"
"Is it working?"
Harry's stomach growled traitorously. "Maybe. But this conversation isn't over."
"It never is with you," Anakin sighed, but Harry could hear the fondness in his master's voice. "Go on, then. But remember what I said about Quirrell – sometimes the most dangerous predators are the ones that pretend to be prey."
As Harry headed toward the Great Hall, he cast one last look at the third-floor corridor. Whatever was hidden up there, he had a feeling he'd find out sooner rather than later. After all, between the Force, magic, and his own curiosity, how dangerous could it really be?
One Week Later
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning activity as Harry absently pushed his scrambled eggs around his plate, his mind still on the previous night's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Professor Quirrell had spent forty-five minutes trying to explain the difference between defensive and offensive spells, though his stutter had made it sound more like a lecture on "d-d-d-dangerous d-dancing."
"Still watching our trembling professor?" Anna asked, sliding onto the bench beside him with her usual grace. Her prefect badge caught the morning light as she reached for the toast.
"I think 'watching' implies he actually does something worth observing," Harry replied dryly.
Tonks dropped into the seat across from them, her hair cycling through various shades of purple before settling on a bright turquoise. "At least his classes give you plenty of time to catch up on sleep. Though personally, I think his stutter is getting worse. Yesterday he took ten minutes to say 'good morning.'"
"Be nice," Hermione chided, not looking up from her thick tome on magical theory. "Professor Quirrell is clearly trying his best."
"Is he, though?" Harry muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Susan asked, joining their group with a bright smile.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly, earning a knowing chuckle from Anakin in his mind.
"Mr. Potter?" A formal voice interrupted his internal dialogue. The Ravenclaw Head Boy, Robert Hilliard, stood behind them, looking unusually pleased. "I have an announcement for all first-year Ravenclaws. Madam Hooch has recovered from her bout of Magical Flu, and your first flying lesson will take place this afternoon."
Harry's attention snapped into focus. "Flying? Like, on actual broomsticks?"
"No, on magical teapots," Tonks teased. "Of course on broomsticks! Though I should warn you, the school brooms are ancient. Pretty sure some of them predate Dumbledore."
"Why did it take so long to start lessons?" Hermione asked, finally looking up from her book with barely concealed anxiety. "Term started weeks ago."
"Madam Hooch caught a particularly nasty strain of Magical Flu," Robert explained.
"Finally, something more exciting than watching plants grow," Harry said, immediately regretting his words when Professor Garlick walked past their table.
"I heard that, Mr. Potter," she said, though her beautiful face held more amusement than annoyance. "Perhaps next lesson I'll have you replanting the Tentacula seedlings. They could use a strong hand."
Harry felt his face heat up as she walked away, her long red hair swaying with each step. Anna and Tonks dissolved into giggles.
"Smooth, Harry," Tonks winked. "Real smooth."
"Our little Harry has a crush!" Anna sing-songed quietly.
"I do not!" Harry protested, his blush deepening.
"Your face suggests otherwise," Anakin's amused voice echoed in his mind.
"Not helping, Master!"
"Who said I was trying to help?"
"Can we please focus on the flying lessons?" Harry said aloud, desperate to change the subject. "I'd rather talk about that than... anything else."
"Afraid of heights?" Susan asked sympathetically.
Harry shook his head. "No, actually. I'm quite looking forward to it. It can't be that different from..." he caught himself before saying 'Force jumping,' "...um, climbing trees."
"Because climbing trees is exactly like flying fifty feet in the air on a piece of enchanted wood," Hermione said nervously, clutching her book tighter.
"Relax, Hermione," Anna patted her hand. "The school brooms are perfectly safe. Well, mostly safe. Occasionally safe?"
"Very reassuring," Hermione muttered.
"Just think of it as practical application of magical theory," Tonks suggested. "You know, lift versus drag, magical propulsion, atmospheric resistance..."
"Now you've done it," Susan groaned as Hermione's eyes lit up. "She'll be in the library all morning researching aerodynamics."
"Better than having her worry herself sick," Tonks shrugged. "Though speaking of sick, Harry, you might want to eat something more substantial than pushed-around eggs if you're going to be flying today."
"Yes, mother," Harry rolled his eyes but reached for some bacon anyway.
"Flying is actually quite similar to certain Force techniques," Anakin commented. "Though perhaps with less danger of crashing into Star Destroyers."
"Is that something you did often?" Harry thought back.
"Only on Tuesdays. And special occasions. And whenever Obi-Wan wasn't looking. Actually, now that I think about it..."
Their mental conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the morning post. A large barn owl dropped a note in front of Harry, nearly landing in his pumpkin juice.
"It's from Professor Flitwick," Harry said, recognizing the tiny, neat handwriting. "Our extra lesson is canceled for today because of the flying class, but..." his eyes widened slightly, "he says Dumbledore wants to see me in his office tomorrow morning."
"Ooh, the Headmaster's office!" Anna leaned over to peek at the note. "That's exciting! I wonder if it's about the Duelling Club?"
"Maybe," Harry said thoughtfully. "Though Professor Flitwick usually tells me directly about that sort of thing."
"Perhaps he's finally noticed your tendency to be wherever trouble is," Hermione suggested primly.
"I do not get into trouble!"
Five disbelieving stares met his protest.
"The troll?" Susan offered.
"That wasn't my fault!"
"The exploding cauldron in Potions?" Hermione added.
"That was definitely not my fault!"
"Snape's mysterious trip into Nott's potion?" Tonks grinned.
"Pure coincidence," Harry said firmly, though he couldn't quite hide his smirk.
"Your 'accidental' transformation of Mrs. Norris's fur into rainbow colors?" Anna raised an eyebrow.
"I maintain that was a practical demonstration of advanced color-changing charms."
"Face it, Harry," Tonks reached across to ruffle his hair. "You're a trouble magnet. Though at least you make it entertaining."
"With great power comes great responsibility to provide quality entertainment," Harry quipped, ducking away from her hand.
"And on that note," Hermione stood, gathering her books, "I'm going to the library to research proper flying techniques before class. Anyone want to join me?"
"I think I'll pass on reading about flying in favor of actually doing it," Harry said, finally finishing his breakfast. "Though maybe you could look up if there's a charm to make brooms more comfortable? I've sat on wooden chairs more inviting than those school brooms look."
"There probably is," Hermione brightened at the research possibility. "I'll add it to my list!"
As their friends dispersed for morning classes, Harry couldn't help but feel excited about the afternoon's flying lesson. After all, how different could it be from Force-enhanced jumping?
"That," Anakin's voice held a distinctly worried tone, "is exactly the kind of thinking that leads to crash landings and emergency evacuations."
"You worry too much, Master."
"And you, young one, don't worry nearly enough. Try not to break any altitude records on your first day, hmm?"
Harry just grinned, already imagining the feeling of soaring through the air. Between magic and the Force, what could possibly go wrong?
In his mind, Anakin's long-suffering sigh spoke volumes about exactly how much could, and probably would, go wrong. But then again, that was half the fun.
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At precisely two o'clock, Harry stood with his fellow Ravenclaws on the training grounds, a rather worn-looking school broom lying on the grass beside him. Madam Hooch, with her sharp yellow eyes and short grey hair, surveyed the group with the intensity of a hawk studying potential prey.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Stand by your brooms, hold your right hand over it, and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped instantly into his hand, one of the very few that did. Hermione's broom merely rolled over, while Terry Boot's didn't move at all. Michael Corner's broom rose halfway before dropping back to the ground.
"Excellent natural instinct, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch nodded approvingly. "The broom responds to confidence and intent, much like a wand."
"More like the Force," Anakin commented in Harry's mind. "Your connection to it makes you naturally attuned to flight."
Harry felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him through their bond. "Master? Did you enjoy flying?"
"Enjoy it?" Anakin's mental voice filled with pride and excitement. "I was the best star fighter pilot in the galaxy! Could outmaneuver anyone in the Republic or Separatist fleets. Even Obi-Wan admitted my skills were unmatched, though he'd usually follow it with a lecture about reckless behavior."
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you will kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly."
The whistle blew, and Harry kicked off. The sensation was incredible – better than Force-jumping, better than anything he'd experienced before. The broom responded to his slightest touch, as if it were an extension of his own body.
"Beautiful form, Potter!" Madam Hooch called out. "Natural flier, just like your father!"
"This is brilliant!" Harry thought to Anakin, executing a perfect hover while his classmates struggled with basic control.
"Reminds me of podracing," Anakin replied nostalgically. "Though these brooms seem a bit slower than my old pod. Then again, most things were."
"Podracing?"
"The most dangerous racing in the galaxy. Won my freedom with it when I was nine."
"Your what—"
"Mr. Potter!" Madam Hooch's voice cut through their conversation. "Since you seem so comfortable, why don't you demonstrate a basic turning maneuver for the class?"
Harry grinned and banked left, then right, the movements feeling as natural as breathing. The broom responded perfectly to each subtle shift of his weight.
"Excellent! Now, for those struggling with control, observe how Mr. Potter maintains his balance point. Notice the positioning of his—" Madam Hooch's instruction was interrupted by a yelp from Hermione, whose broom had started spinning slowly in place.
"Just relax, Miss Granger," Hooch called out. "The broom senses your tension. Potter, would you mind helping your housemate while I assist Mr. Boot? He seems to have managed to fly backwards somehow..."
Harry maneuvered his broom alongside Hermione's. "Try to feel the broom's movement," he suggested. "Don't fight it – work with it, like in Charms when we have to guide the magic rather than force it."
"That's... actually helpful," Hermione said, her spinning gradually stopping. "Though I think I prefer keeping both feet on the ground."
"Your loss," Harry grinned, doing a quick loop just because he could.
"Show-off," Anakin chuckled in his mind. "Though I have to admit, you've got talent. Reminds me of my first time in a starfighter – pure instinct, total freedom."
"Will you tell me about the podracing sometime?" Harry asked mentally while helping Michael Corner straighten out his grip.
"Later," Anakin promised. "For now, focus on not giving your flight instructor a heart attack with those loops."
"They're not that bad!"
"Tell that to Hermione."
Sure enough, Hermione was watching Harry's aerial acrobatics with a mixture of admiration and disapproval. "You know, statistically speaking, most flying accidents occur when—"
"Less quoting, more flying," Harry interrupted cheerfully, demonstrating another perfect turn. "Come on, Hermione. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Firmly on the ground with my common sense," she muttered, though Harry noticed she was starting to smile slightly as her control improved.
By the end of the lesson, Harry had helped several of his classmates master basic maneuvers, earned twenty points for Ravenclaw, and received an open invitation from Madam Hooch to assist with future flying lessons.
"Just like your father," she said warmly. "James Potter was a natural on a broom too. Would've made an excellent flying instructor if he hadn't chosen to be an Auror."
As the class headed back to the castle, Harry lingered behind, still floating lazily a few feet off the ground.
"You know," he thought to Anakin, "I think I understand now why you miss flying so much."
"It's the closest thing to true freedom," Anakin agreed. "Though perhaps we should work on some of those aerial maneuvers. I noticed your inverse loops could use some refinement."
"Master, I don't think Madam Hooch even knows what an inverse loop is."
"Then it's time you learned, Padawan. After all, if you're going to show off, you might as well do it properly."
Harry laughed out loud, earning curious looks from his departing classmates. But he didn't care – he was already looking forward to his next flying lesson, and whatever other aerial tricks his master might teach him.
After all, if Anakin had been the best pilot in the galaxy, Harry was determined to be the best flyer at Hogwarts.
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The empty classroom was dark, save for a sliver of moonlight cutting through the high windows. Professor Quirrell stumbled against a desk, his trembling hands gripping the wooden edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"M-master," he gasped, his usually affected stutter replaced by genuine pain. "What's happening?"
The pain intensified, feeling like molten metal being poured directly into his skull. Quirrell's legs gave out, and he collapsed against the desk.
"Please," he whimpered, tears streaming down his face. "Please help me. Make it stop."
His turban began to feel like it was made of burning iron, crushing his skull. "IT HURTS!" he screamed, no longer caring if anyone might hear. "MASTER, IT HURTS!"
Quirrell's body convulsed as he fell to the floor, his head pounding with each heartbeat. The pain was beyond anything he'd ever experienced – worse than any Cruciatus Curse, worse than when he'd first accepted his Master's presence.
"I'm dying," he thought desperately. "This is death."
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain vanished. The silence that followed was deafening. Quirrell lay on the cold stone floor, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Minutes passed as he waited, feared, wondered.
"M-master?" he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. "Are you... are you well?"
When the response came, it wasn't the usual burning sensation at the back of his head. Instead, the voice echoed directly in his mind, cold and clear as winter frost.
"The plan has changed, Quirrell."
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