Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

It would be unthinkable that the world's most renowned alchemist had not examined the dark lore of Horcruxes.

"What if the soul being used in the exchange is Harry's?" Ian asked. Horcruxes had never held his interest, so his understanding of their nature was rudimentary at best.

"That would be impossible. Harry's soul is far too deeply entwined with Voldemort's fragment. Unless the Dark Lord were mad enough to sacrifice both the Horcrux and himself, he wouldn't dare attempt such a ritual." Nicolas Flamel shook his head slowly. "He has so few Horcruxes remaining, he won't squander one willingly."

"But we should still account for the possibility," Ian replied, his tone guarded. Voldemort's thinking had always bordered on the unfathomable; presuming rationality from a man like that was a mistake in itself.

"You're right to be cautious. Prudence now may save us grave trouble later," Flamel agreed, setting aside the shimmering half-formed construct he'd been tinkering with and rising to his feet. He reached for his outer robes, preparing to leave.

"I'll go to the hospital wing and examine the boy myself."

"You're not going to notify Dumbledore?" Ian asked, watching the older wizard, whose steps bore the slight wobble of someone more comfortable among scrolls than stairs. Ian didn't doubt Flamel's magical prowess, only that Dumbledore's wisdom might be better suited to unravel Voldemort's tangled schemes.

Dumbledore, after all, was like Jerry. Both brilliance and might were needed to oppose Voldemort.

"He and his old companion are not at Hogwarts at the moment. You might say they've left behind precautions, but nothing that offers us, or Harry, any real aid."

"Perhaps that's precisely why trouble has taken root." Nicolas sighed deeply, as though Voldemort had timed his assault to the minute.

"They're time traveling?" Ian asked, glancing over at a tall grandfather clock nestled beside a shelf of brass alchemical instruments. Its hands shimmered faintly, locked on a point nearly a thousand years in the past.

"They're chasing down a task of great consequence," Nicolas replied enigmatically. "If fortune favours them, the Dumbledore who returns may well be capable of resolving all this."

Ian absorbed this quietly.

"Alright then, I'll keep a closer watch on the school myself." With that, he followed Nicolas Flamel out of the office. Once the elder alchemist turned toward the hospital wing, Ian instead headed for the staircases.

From his vantage point at the top of the tower, Ian looked out across the wide green of the school's lawn.

There, first-year students were attending their very first Flying Lesson. Madam Hooch stood in her usual spot, arms crossed, demonstrating the proper grip and posture. Just as she began to explain the basics of take-off,

Whoosh~

A flustered Neville Longbottom kicked off the ground far too hard, launching skyward with alarming velocity. Even Ian, watching from the tower, was momentarily impressed by the speed.

"Get down! Child!" Madam Hooch cried in alarm.

"I CAN'T CONTROL IT!" Neville shouted, flailing as he soared higher and higher.

"Help! Somebody help me!"

Perhaps he'd forgotten the key points from the lesson, or perhaps his nerves had gotten the better of him, but Neville quickly lost control. He tipped dangerously forward on the broom and began to plummet toward the stone courtyard far below.

"…."

Ian recognized the scene. He remembered this.

He raised his wand instinctively, prepared to intervene from afar, but before he could speak the incantation, Neville's descent was broken.

He'd landed, awkwardly but safely, on the ledge of a nearby tower.

"…."

Ian lowered his wand with a thoughtful hum.

Others had reacted more swiftly than he had, with their wands already drawn.

And truthfully, Ian wasn't particularly concerned with House points today. Let someone else win the professors' praise.

"Wingardium Leviosa~"

Sure enough, a small witch down on the green had cast the charm. Amid gasps and shrieks from the other first-years, she guided Neville gently from the ledge to the grass below.

"Well done, Miss Granger! That was splendid work, exceptional wandwork for a first-year! You may have saved this boy's life!" Madam Hooch, clearly still rattled, clutched her chest and gave Hermione a grateful nod.

Hermione, cheeks flushed, mumbled something bashfully.

Meanwhile, Neville groaned pitifully.

"My hand! My leg! My back!"

Poor Neville wasn't just shaken, he'd clearly suffered some bruising in the ordeal. His pale face was slick with sweat, his arms trembling from the jolt.

"I'll need to take him to the hospital wing at once," Madam Hooch muttered, already conjuring a stretcher charm. "His bones are battered. Madam Pomfrey must see to him immediately."

With a worried expression, Madam Hooch scooped up Neville and, before hastening off, shot a fierce glare at the gathered students.

"Not one of you is to touch a broomstick while I'm gone!"

"If I come back and find you've disobeyed me, forget Quidditch for the rest of the year, you'll be out of Hogwarts faster than a snitch in flight!"

Clearly, she was using fear as her best disciplinary tool.

She had little choice. Years of accident-free teaching had just gone up in smoke, and Madam Hooch wasn't only rattled about her professional record, she was genuinely shaken by having such an accident under her watch for the first time.

"I warned her about this last year."

Watching from atop the tower, Ian felt that Madam Hooch was finally learning the hard way. This particular professor really did need to revise a few of her training methods.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't faint on me now," Madam Hooch murmured to Neville, unaware that Ian was observing from a distance, and certainly unaware, or unwilling to remember, his prior warnings from the year before.

She hurried toward the castle, offering comfort to Neville all the while.

The moment the Flying instructor vanished from sight, Malfoy seized his opportunity to sneer. "Did you see that? The great lumbering oaf, absolutely priceless!" Several of the new Slytherin students chuckled at his cruel remark.

"Shut it, Malfoy." Hermione couldn't stand the smug look on his face and stepped forward defiantly.

Malfoy's grin faltered.

"Don't think just because Prince is backing you, you can get uppity with us, Granger," he muttered, clearly a bit rattled but unwilling to lose face. "I'm not having a go at you, just taking the mickey out of the dunce."

With several housemates egging him on, he managed to muster some bravado.

"What exactly are you planning to do?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she watched Malfoy wander toward the patch of grass where Neville had fallen.

There was something far too gleeful in the way he moved.

"I just want to play a little game of hide-and-seek with our clumsy friend." Malfoy stooped to pick up a small round object from the lawn and held it up for all to see.

"Look what I found, his dear old granny's gift: a Remembrall. He's so forgetful, maybe he'll forget he ever had one!"

With that, Malfoy mounted one of the broomsticks that Madam Hooch had explicitly forbidden anyone to touch. But Malfoy didn't care. With his father being a school governor, who was going to expel him?

"Give that back! Malfoy, you're a right menace!" Hermione shouted, outraged as Malfoy took to the air with remarkable ease.

"Want it back? Come and get it, then!" Malfoy dangled the Remembrall mockingly. "Just don't go crying to your precious Prince," he added, swooping above her.

His flying was annoyingly smooth.

But then, just as Hermione was about to snatch up a broomstick herself, school rules be damned, something unexpected happened. Malfoy's triumphant smirk twisted into alarm.

"Wait, no, no, this isn't right!"

"I didn't mean to go this high! The ruddy broom's gone barmy!" Now it was Malfoy who was panicking, his shouts not unlike Neville's earlier cries.

"???"

Hermione and the others blinked, confused.

"Is he pretending?" More than one student muttered that suspicion aloud.

To be fair, his broom was soaring in an unbroken, graceful arc, until it veered sharply and vanished beyond their line of sight.

"He's definitely pretending!" Hermione huffed. "That little snake wants an excuse, he'll probably tell the professors the broom went wild!"

Many of the first-year Gryffindors nodded in agreement.

"What a schemer."

"Pure-blood families are all the same, always dodging the rules."

"Snakes and tricks, that's what they're known for."

…

(To Be Continued…)

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