The Mysteries Unfold

Harry held out the letter and Hedwig hooted her agreement. Harry tied the letter to her leg and thanked her. She was off, on the wing toward Diagon Alley.

Harry's digging in the library had finally discovered what he should purchase for Hermione. She was much enthused of the current Hogwarts: A History, which Harry had paged through. However, the library had a few earlier editions. The ninth edition, rather than the twenty-first, was fascinating. There were spells mentioned in it. There were lessons from history. There were explanations of how the school ran back then. It was a more brutal place where they did use chains on misbehaving wizards and more than one naughty person was transfigured into a rabbit for a day or three.

Harry had written a letter to a used book store he'd heard about in the common room. It wasn't the one that Hermione had found, this one was bigger. Harry wanted two copies of the ninth edition Hogwarts: A History, which would become the second book Harry would shelve in his personal library. There were things mentioned in there that conflicted with the recent version, there were things in there that Harry hadn't seen mentioned anywhere else. That meant it was a book he ought to own. He had asked in his letter for the price for two copies.

He had plenty of money in his coin purse and nothing to spend it on. Not yet, at least.

The summer might be different. Harry left the owlery and returned to the castle. He had finally worked out the last of the details for his summer. He wasn't going 'home' to Little Whinging for the summer break. No. He was going to camp out in the rooms he'd found.

He wasn't going to ask nicely first. He decided there was no point in asking permission. He would just do what he needed to do, which was to stay in the magical world.

He was going to look into something the ninth edition mentioned, too. It might take care of his food worries.

When he got back into the castle he went walking down corridors he'd never used before. There. It looked like a still-life painting. Tickling a pear, wasn't it?

The framed painting opened.

The house elves in the kitchen were more than happy to chat with Harry. When he brought up his question of acquiring food for the summer, he learned that they were also happy to supply him with what he needed daily.

That seemed too easy so Harry probed.

From what he could make out, more than one clever student who couldn't return home for the summer had made a spot for themselves in Hogwarts. While the ones who asked were refused, the ones who just did as they needed made sure not to be found.

"Why?" Harry asked.

There was a lot of parsing to do, but the answer was that the house elves preferred a full castle to an empty one. Even if the person staying wasn't technically supposed to be there. They had lots of stories of people who'd hidden out in Hogwarts over the last decades. Criminals in the dungeons, rat-men in the Gryffindor Tower, infants in conjured cribs who the house elves cooed over in varied abandoned rooms before they were smuggled out and away on a long weekend. So long as they hurt no one, visitors were welcomed by the house elves.

That was a relief. Harry would have to be careful not to be seen or heard, but the few teachers and staff staying on for the summer wouldn't expect someone to be in the school. Plus he had an invisibility cloak.

The house elves knew differently. Harry was the third planning to remain this year. They wouldn't tell. They wished the number was higher. Maybe two or three more might decide to also remain. The castle would still be mostly empty.

....

One week before classes ended, Quirrel had a red stone in his hand as he moved through the halls. Harry had the misfortune to leave a few moments late from the library so he could snag lunch in the Great Hall.

"Harry. Potter," Quirrel said with an otherworldly voice.

Harry turned and noted the red stone...and the red splashed on the man's clothes. Quirrel looked rather spell-worn, like he'd been attacked.

"Professor?"

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry knew those words. He dropped to the floor hoping to dodge the spell aimed at him, but the green hit his face. He slumped to the floor, unmoving.

There was a keening wail in the hallway. It wasn't Harry's voice. It was Quirrel's.

For he had done as he desired, but the cost had been too high.

Harry woke up from his uncomfortable spot on the floor. The green hadn't killed him, for a second time.

He saw that Quirrel was still close by, kneeling on the floor as two voices wailed over a number of red shards that decorated the flagstones.

That red stone he'd been holding had shattered somehow.

Harry didn't care. His teacher had just tried to murder him. Harry felt anger at Quirrel, then he felt anger at himself for being unprepared. Danger wasn't just confined to the outside when an adventurer was wandering. It could be anywhere.

This was a lesson Harry knew and had thought he was prepared for.

Harry pulled his wand from his robe pocket.

"Aquamenti Globus." He'd said it quietly, but he had practiced up the spell. Quirrel flew against the wall from the force of the water globe.

"Fulmenifer."

The lightning struck true. The professor was smoking, though one of his voices was still wailing and screaming. How? His mouth wasn't moving.

The red shards on the stone floor had dissolved in the water. They were little more than errant flashes of red light now.

Harry got up, slowed his breathing, and resumed his walk to the Great Hall. He managed to finish most of his lunch before someone burst into the room to proclaim that Professor Quirrel was dead.

No one seemed to mourn him, least of all the boy he'd attacked.

It wasn't until that evening that Harry looked into a mirror and discovered that his scar, the one that he had quite liked as a young child, was completely gone.

He didn't understand that at all. He also couldn't mention it to anyone.

.....

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