Hari decided to spend the evening exploring. The wonderful thing about the castle was that no matter how much of it he found, there always seemed to be a bit more for him to discover. It was fun. He was fairly certain that he had in his head a more complete map of the castle than anyone but perhaps the House Elves. He wasn't sure about that, since he didn't know if they actually knew the castle layout, or just knew where they were needed and went there.
At the moment, a corridor had made itself known on the fifth floor that he was pretty sure he hadn't encountered before. Certainly, none of the three thousand, two hundred, ninety-six and four-thirteenths secret passageways he knew of led to it (the fraction was because there were passages that were only intermittently extant and the fractions added up quickly).
There was only one door in the corridor, and he couldn't see through it. That happened often enough. It was mildly annoying to be as blind as normal people, but usually once he'd explored an area, the castle let him see into it as long as unexplored parts weren't in the way. Otherwise, his Byakugan was unreliable. It was weird.
Without anything better to do at one in the morning (he was adjusting to having things to do at night—it meant he was learning to operate on less sleep than he had. He suspected that this was how many ninja managed to switch from sleeping late except in special circumstances. He resolved to savor those chances as his more advanced professional instincts were now making themselves known.) he pushed the door open. Inside was a large, almost-empty room. There was an ornate mirror in the center.
"Hello, Professor Headmaster, sir," Hari said in a conversational tone as he walked towards the mirror.
"I call bullshit," replied Dumbledore as he faded into normal sight. "Mad-Eye Moody couldn't see me like that."
Hari gave him an enigmatic smile and turned to the mirror. "Hey, cool!" He gave the image he saw a look again and then nodded. "That's something to aim for. Headmaster? Does the magical world have a way to give someone a third eye?"
"What?" Dumbledore blinked for a moment. "Oh. Yes. I suppose it could be done. You'd want a skilled medical mage to do the job and it would be expensive, but it can be done."
"Sweet! Now I just need to figure out how to make another of Uncle Pein's eyes!"
"Might I ask what you saw?"
"In the mirror that shows not my face, but my heart's desire? Sure. I saw my dad saying he was proud of me surpassing him completely. And I had a third eye with Uncle Pein's Samsara Eye."
"So you know what the Mirror of Erised does?"
"Well, I can make a guess or two."
"It does rather explain itself, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. Just one question: does it tell the future?"
"No, Harry, it just shows you what you'd like to see."
"Ah. Powerful genjutsu then." He nodded. "Devious trap, that." Dumbledore's twitch went by him as he looked over the Mirror. "I think I can see some of how it works written into the edging. Not enough, though. I really need to study magic writing, or whatever it's called."
"Runes," Dumbledore was perfectly happy to get away from the trap thing.
"Right. Well, it's an interesting mirror. I'll aim for what I saw, of course. But I guess that's what I'd been planning before."
"Good morning, then, Harry. By the way, thank you for your gift. It was lovely."
"Not a problem, Professor Headmaster sir."
X
X
Slightly more than a week of exploring had failed to net a single interesting thing. Beyond the usual contents of the castle, of course. Lots of passages everywhere, for one thing. He'd found a cup with a cross on it in a back room. The thing had nearly blinded him with its magical aura before he managed to tone down his sight a bit. He'd left it where it was, next to a gem-hilted sword.
He had also found a room with a rather nice bed and, carved into the wood frame in inch-high letters, "Padfoot" and "Prongs" and tick marks under each. The room looked like it hadn't seen use in around twenty years, judging from the slight fading of the colors in the fabric (dust was a useless measurement when House Elves were in the area).
The castle had failed, however to yield anything trying to kill him. Moving staircases didn't count. He'd even found one staircase that would move to catch falling students. He was fairly certain that hitting marble at falling speeds wouldn't actually be better than doing so a second or two later, but perhaps he was missing something. It had come as an unpleasant shock when he'd jumped from a bannister and discovered a staircase swooping under him without warning.
X
X
Speaking of without warning . . . Hari found himself accosted by Dumbledore on his way to breakfast one morning. The old man was smiling broadly as he intercepted Hari and walked with him into the Great Hall.
"I wanted to commend you, Harry," he commented as they made for the table.
"Oh?"
"Oh yes. You looked once at the Mirror of Erised and turned away."
"And?"
"Many haven't managed that. Men have wasted away in front of it, trapped by their own desires." The man gave a twinkle at him and went to his seat.
Hari mused on the oddness of the encounter as he sat and served himself fruit from the platter in front of him. He absently took a bite of melon. "Where's Professor Sutterfaces?"
"I believe Professor Stutterfaces is in convalescence," Dumbledore replied across the empty table. "He reported that he had gone on a short trip during the Holidays and encountered some sort of unpleasant magic the nature of which means he can't be attended to by our resident mediwitch." At Hari's blank look, he went on. "He's recovering in his rooms after being nastily cursed and is possibly dangerous to those around him until he's better."
"Ah."
"Ah indeed." Dumbledore waved as McGonagall came into the Hall and joined them. "Minerva!"
Hari looked up as several Professors entered and began to dine. He focused on his food for a time.
"Madame Pomfrey?" he asked suddenly. Since he was also now directly beside her, she gave a little scream and threw the jam across the table, where it struck Gred in the forehead. He clutched at his skull and screamed theatrically as red goo dripped down his face. "Can I ask you a question?" In the background, George was asking 'are you alright, brother? Don't head towards the light!'.
"Perhaps, Mister Potter." The nurse tried to smile after her scare. It was a bit shaky with adrenalin.
"Does the magical world do much in the way of transplants?"
"Of what?" 'Me leg! I can't feel me leg!' "Oh. Not many, really. We can reattach things if they're not too badly damaged and it's soon enough."
"But what about implantation of organs." 'Honestly, Mister Weasley, it hit your head. What could possibly be the matter with your limbs?'
"Not really. Well . . . there are extreme cases. Mad-Eye Moody comes to mind. The man had a magical device implanted in his eye socket." Hari perked up. 'The pain! I'm dying! Tell mum I love her!'
"Yeah? What about actual eyes?" 'Someone get a healer!' A piece of toast was being used to wipe up the jam.
"Aside from some rituals that can grow new ones in odd places, no. Though we can regrow someone's own eye and implant that." 'But Professor, I was just having a bit of fun.'
"So in theory, it would be possible to use someone else's eye?" 'Minerva, it was rather entertaining, don't you think you're being a bit hard on them?'
"I suppose? I replace enough eyes during the year." 'No, Albus, I do not. It was juvenile and pointless.' "But when I can regrow someone's own eye, why would I want to use someone else's?"
"But if someone asked you to, you could." 'You don't think Severus's issuance of detentions cleaning first-year cauldrons is sufficient?'
"I suppose I could." 'Could someone pass the marmalade?'
"Wonderful." 'No, Mister Weasley, they cannot. I do not wish to learn what you intend to do with it.'
X
X
Hari had taken up residence in the library. Despite being able to, in theory, read all the books at once, there were several things preventing it. The simplest was just that reading magical texts was not as simple as seeing the characters. There were added dimensions to the task.
Added on to that was the fact that there were some books he couldn't see into at the moment. And the books he could only read every tenth minute for six seconds. And the one that only opened at midnight. Just from that restriction, half the library at the least was closed to him without further effort.
The biggest obstacle to the task, though, was that there were few limits to the perceptive qualities of the Byakugan, but reading libraries simply surpassed its ability to perceive everything at once. While the words might flit by, there was no real comprehension, so much as a vague memory.
And so he was forced to actually go through book after book, trying to find ways to duplicate unique magical artifacts. He didn't actually expect to manage it soon, or even figure it out, but he wanted to get started on reading the books he would need when that became a possible avenue of advancement to his newly acquired goal of three eyes of awesome power.
Right now, he was working on reading a book that kept trying to scream at him. It was getting on his nerves. His first answer would be to stab the thing, but the librarian was impressively threatening with her lecture on what she would do to someone who damaged a book. He knew that even with magic, there was little chance she could do everything she'd promised, the sheer variety of options she had laid out had been impressive. He thought he should introduce her to Uncle Hidan on one of his polite days. They would have fun.
Since direct violence wasn't an option, he had been forced to steal a pillow from the dorms and was smothering the damn thing. It kept struggling, but he was keeping it buried as its struggles got weaker and weaker. He'd been taught that sometimes a target had to be removed without lots of obvious marks. He was currently sitting on the pillow on the book on the floor.
"Good morning, Madam Pince," he said politely to the terrifying old woman.
"I have my eye on you, Potter," she growled. "What are you up to?"
"Reading a book?" Hari gestured to the text on alchemy in his lap. "Mister Flamel is a fascinating history lesson on his own."
"Hmph." She was apparently upset that she had not caught him doing something blatantly evil. Or even worthy of skinning his entire family and using the results for a whip with which to belabor him.
The book gave a shudder and fell limp under him. He decided to wait a little longer. In case it was faking.
X
X
Tracy Davis was greeted to the morning copy of the Daily Prophet accompanied by a school owl with a small package. The tag on it addressed to her. This was beyond odd. Christmas was something like a week ago and now presents were showing up? Present, anyway.
With a shrug, she opened the wrapping paper, and then the box inside.
Tracy, said the note inside. I probably should have sent this a while ago, but I kept forgetting. I'm not used to this holiday. I hope you like it. I understand the magic is supposed to help do up your hair for you.
Under the note was a small hair comb. It was made of some whitish material she tentatively identified as ivory. The small emerald set in the handle was just the shade to set off her hair.
"You have an admirer?" asked her father over her shoulder. She flushed and whirled around.
"No!"
"Remarkably strong denial."
"How does he do this even from a distance?"
X
X
Millicent found a package sitting on the rough-hewn table in her kitchen. The address to her was surprising. Why would anyone send a package this far after Christmas? Granted, her family didn't celebrate Christmas at all (favoring Saturnalia), but presents were a tradition everyone enjoyed. Since they were stealing the presents from the holiday, her family usually handled them at that time.
The note inside shed only a bit of light. Millicent, I know I should have sent this sooner, but I'm not used to this Christmas thing, so I'm glad I just remembered at all. I don't know if you'll like this, but you sometimes look like you really want a pair.
Under the note were a set of brass knuckles.
"Aww," cooed her mother from behind her.
It always struck Millicent that it was incredibly unfair that her mother was fine-boned and lithe and she had to take after her father. The man was large and brutish and had Troll blood that apparently bred true.
"Such a sweet gift." That was the other thing about her family. Her father was a gentle man who wouldn't hurt a fly if it were trying to kill him. Her mother on the other hand . . . had married her father because he was the only male in history (her father included) not to provoke the woman into a violent rage. Before their marriage, she had been known for turning down gentlemen suitors whose only mistake was asking if she wanted to dance by kicking them so hard that their testicles popped out their mouths. "Is it from a boy?"
On the upside, Millicent mused, unlike most families, the response she had was totally acceptable. She punched her mother in the jaw with her new gift.
X
X
Daphne Greengrass had the unpleasant experience of learning that she had a gift from her little sister. She loved the girl, but she was two years younger than her and infuriatingly chipper. Where Daphne had inherited her mother's black hair and her father's dry outlook on life, her sister had gotten her father's golden-blonde hair and her mother's cheerful disposition.
"Daphne!" the worst part was she was being informed while in bed, trying to sleep. "You have a package!"
"A what?"
"Pack-age!"
Ten minutes later, her sister had the jinxes reversed and Daphne was downstairs in the kitchen, glaring at the blonde menace to her sleep. "What was so important that I couldn't wait until sometime around dinner to get up?"
"There's a package addressed to you," her father replied.
"And it would have still been there this evening."
"Yes, but if I have to pick between waking you up and my having to deal with your sister pestering me to open the gift, I'll choose you being awake if it were two in the morning."
"Fine. Give it here." She had to shove her sister away so she could open the thing.
Daphne said the note, I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you earlier in the year, but it seems to have worked out. I know you said you're safe from reprisals, but I found this and thought of you.
"I'm going to regret opening this, aren't I?" She looked down as her sister began to squeal. Yes. There was a heart-shaped locket on a gold chain. "Definitely regretting it." She opened the locket, sighing, and found a miniature foe-glass in it. "That might actually be useful," she muttered as she considered if her parents would mind terribly her holding Astoria's head under water for a while.
X
X
Pansy was sitting at the breakfast table when a school owl flew in the window and dropped a package on the large table between her and her parents. The elder diners glared at the owl as it flew away, angry that it had interrupted their orderly and proper routine.
"It's got to be Hari," said Pansy as she began to carefully undo the wrapping paper and then open the box. "No one else would send a gift so late without any warning."
Her parents had not been happy to find out that she was not the top of the Slytherin crowd, nor that she was spending time with Harry Potter. She had considered explaining to them the fact that Hari tended to warp reality around him like planets orbited the sun, but had decided that her rather conservative parents wouldn't understand. She used conservative in the sense that someone might say that the ocean was wet or that the sky was big.
Pansy, I should really have sent this sooner, but I didn't actually get a chance to get anything for people until after Christmas, so I guess this will have to do. Thanks for the tea, by the way. It's been a godssend. The House Elves are trying to find me some, but I fear they may have to raid the normal world for it. I hope this finds you in good health.
Under the note was a digital watch. Pansy's eye twitched. The papers with the watch said that it was accurate to a few seconds a decade. The best magical clock could not do nearly that. And this one promised a discrete alarm—something magic had yet to develop at all.
"What is that?" hissed her mother. "It looks like a watch!"
Pansy mused on the fact that her mother seemed aware of what it was. She decided given that, the question didn't need an answer. Instead, she checked and found the watch was already set to the correct time according to a second note. She noticed that the edge of the watch had a crude astrolabe built in as well. Enough it could be used with a finger to get a good guess of location.
She shrugged and put the band on her wrist.
X
X
"Blaise!" called his mother. She was dressed in a rather revealing bathing suit. He was used to it. He had been dozing in the sun on the veranda.
"Yes, mother?"
"You have a gift. I hope it's from a girl."
"I doubt it, mother," he replied. "I am only close to four girls at the moment, and they all sent me gifts."
"You're not working hard enough, then." His mother had a broad grin on her face as she gave a dramatic sniff of disapproval. Then her smile became more mischievous. "Maybe you have a secret admirer?"
"Anything is possible, mother." His tone was humoring.
Blaise, I was out . . . "shopping" and I thought of you when I came across this.
"He had better not be a secret admirer."
"Scandalous!" His mother was grinning again.
Blaise lifted from the long package a dagger. "Is this?"
"A well-made dueling dagger? Yes, I think it is." Her eyebrows waggled.
"Don't even say it mother."
X
X
"Hermione?"
"Yes, dad?"
"Could you come into the kitchen, please?"
Hermione sighed and put down the book she was reading. Her new . . . friends had come through. Even Pansy had sent something. It was nice to have people send things to her other than family—and to be able to send gifts outside the family. Pansy's gift had been several books on pureblood customs and history. Despite the slant of the writing, they were highly informative and explained a great deal of the attitude she had discovered.
"What's wrong?" She walked into the kitchen. "Oh." There was an owl sitting on the table, currently stealing her father's bacon. She took the package off its leg. "Shove off." The bird gave her a glare and took flight. "Sorry, that was a school owl and I think they're used to being fed at the end of the journey."
"I don't mind that," replied Dan Granger. "But that was my breakfast it fed on. Just be glad your mom was out of the house. She'd have had a right fit if she'd seen it on the table."
Hermione nodded absently as she opened the gift. She twitched and the plate on the table cracked in half, both pieces rising into the air so quickly they exploded against the ceiling.
"Okay . . ." Dan rose. "I know that look from your mother. I'm going to be in the garage, working on . . . uh . . . something." He scurried out of the room.
Hermione, read the note, I was thinking of you and what I could get you and then I realized that success is its own reward. I expect you to levitate a rock by the time you get back. Hari.