it wasn't about you

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52771279.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Danny Phantom
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter &
Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Danny Fenton, Hermione Granger, Ron
Weasley, Original Hogwarts Professors
Additional Tags: Harry Potter's Obsession With Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and Danny
Fenton are Twins, Alternate Universe - Twins, the Fenton-Nightingales
were witch hunters. this does not spell good for danny, Humor,
Hufflepuff Danny Fenton, no Dolores Umbridge, GIW - Ghost
Investigation Ward (Danny Phantom), Good Parents Jack and Maddie
Fenton, they prob aren't going to appear much but they're trying their
best, Trans Danny Fenton, Teaching Assistant Harry Potter, Hogwarts
Fifth Year, Crack Treated Seriously
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of you were a clown
Collections: Scarily powerful authors and their stories, he’s a phantom, one of the
good HP fics
Stats: Published: 2024-01-03 Updated: 2024-02-11 Words: 9,098 Chapters: 8/?
 it wasn't about you
by written by (legonerd)

Summary

"Look!" Harry forcibly moved Ron's head. "He's laughing."

"Yes, people tend to do that if they find something funny," Ron said, still chewing.

"Malfoy laughs at people. He's laughing with the Hufflepuff!" Harry insisted.
"Definitely up to no good."

Or: Draco Malfoy and Danny Fenton were twins reunited, and they were making it everyone
else's problem.

Inspired by Stars Aligned by Marsalias

Inspired by Constellations by QueenofHearts7378
 he's up to no good!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

There was something decidedly off with Malfoy this year. For one thing, he was eating dinner
at the Hufflepuff table, talking to a Hufflepuff of all people. In Malfoy's world, all the duffers
went to Hufflepuff. Before Hogwarts at Madam Malkin's shop, Malfoy had loudly
proclaimed he'd rather be a squib than be Sorted into that House. And associating with
someone in a House was as good as being in that house, according to Malfoy. This was all
very suspicious behavior, and yet none of his friends could just see it!

"Mate, you really have got to let go of your Malfoy obsession," Ron said except with half the
syllables missing as he was yet again talking with his mouth full of chicken leg. "Could you
pass the potatoes?"

Harry stared past Ron's head and absentmindly pushed the bowl. "I think the Hufflepuffs
have figured out Malfoy's plot."

Ron turned his head and squinted. "You sure? It looks more like they're terrified of sitting less
than two seats away from him, minus the one."

"They're sitting away from Malfoy because they know what he's up to!"

"Malfoy could just smell bad."

"He wears the same cologne everyday. It's impossible he forgot it today. In fact, I can smell it
from here, right now." Harry couldn't name the bottle, but it was an inoffensive vanilla scent
with notes of amber and wood.

"I'm only saying—"

"Look!" Harry forcibly moved Ron's head. "He's laughing."

"Yes, people tend to do that if they find something funny," Ron said, still chewing.

"Malfoy laughs at people. He's laughing with the Hufflepuff!" Harry insisted. "Definitely up
to no good."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe it's not Malfoy. Who knows, that 'Puff could have snuck something
into his drink."

"He's sitting at the Hufflepuff table!" Harry was beginning to seethe.

"It is a bit out of character to see a Slytherin at any of the other tables," Ron admitted.
"Especially alone, like Malfoy usually keeps bodyguards with him."
"Oh honestly, you don't even know the student's name," Hermione huffed. She leaned across
the table and frowned. "Admittedly, I can't place a name on him either."

Harry was distinctly aware he likely was making a fool out of himself squinting evermore
into the back of the unidentified Hufflepuff's head, but he found he didn't care. He had
absolutely no idea who that Hufflepuff Malfoy was talking with was, which was a bit of a
problem, considering he now was utterly convinced he had to be involved with Malfoy's plot.

"You do realize every time we've thought it was Malfoy's fault, it hasn't been?" Hermione
said.

"Well," Harry said, "one of these days it will be his fault eventually."

"That's..." Hermione sighed. "Oh nevermind. But you can't just keep staring at them,
honestly."

"You're right," said Harry, who definitely did not have a reckless idea in mind.

"You know, I really don't trust that," Ron said pointedly. "That's Harry's reckless idea face."

"We'll have to just steal their post and see who they're letting in on their evil plans," he
explained.

"Oh good," Ron said, "I thought he was about to suggest something crazy like killing our
Defense professor again even though that would be completely unrelated to the Malfoy
situation."

"Ron, going through other people's mail is illegal," Hermione pointed out.

Ron did not seem very concerned at the prospect, which was understandable, considering he
was the one who decided to drive a flying car to get to Hogwarts their second year. "Someone
should have told Dobby that's the case our second year," he declared.

Despite his friends largely dismissing Harry's very valid concerns, they willingly regrouped
later in an empty classroom. Hermione came armed with recently learned Decoding Spells,
and Ron brought a camera. Which actually, by itself, was rather suspect.

"When did you have a camera?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Borrowed it from Creevey. I figured we might as well document the
memories for the scrapbook."

"I didn't know he let other people even touch his camera," said Harry.

"I was very persuasive."

Hermione frowned. "That'd be evidence against us for our crimes."

"Okay, but consider: scrapbook." Ron held up his fingers as if he were framing a shot. "It'd be
dead useful if we ever need to look back on this moment, I reckon."
 "Tempting," Harry admitted. "Well, we'll be making copies of all the letters anyway, which is
evidence enough. Might as well."

Ron whooped.

Would Harry regret this? He looked at Ron, earnestly cheerful after his brooding stint with
the Goblet last year. Nah.

Unfortunately, this plan was not panning out. The Hufflepuff would not appear on the
Maurander's Map. Even with Ron coming back with visual confirmation the two were
chatting it up in the hall, blurry polaroid photo in hand, Harry could only spot one dot on the
map: Draco Malfoy. Alone. Like the Hufflepuff wasn't a real person.

Ron, ignorant to Harry's declining mental state, stuck his terrible polaroid photo into his
recently converted planner to scrapbook.

"I gifted that to you years ago for Christmas!" Hermione squawked.

"Yeah, which means I can't exactly use it to plan anymore," Ron said. "Reduce, reuse,
recycle, baby!"

Hermione, painfully, could not find a fault in Ron's sudden eco-consciousness. Harry was
merely disturbed that Ron correctly used a muggle phrase. He'd have to figure out who taught
him later.

"Do you think the Hufflepuff might not have a name?" Harry asked, stumped at the moment.

"Harry, don't be ridiculous, everyone has a name!" Hermione said. "Maybe the map just relies
on you to know it before the person starts showing up on it."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I'd really rather not."

With him running out of options though, it seemed he was cornered: Harry would have to talk
to the bloke in a normal conversation. At least he could interrogate him on why Malfoy was
giving him the time of day, or figure out if he was another Death Eater in sheep's clothing
like Pettigrew.

Chapter End Notes

yk I sort of told myself I wouldn't write another hp fic. obviously I failed.

 who's that prof?
Chapter Notes

edit: sorry for those who got emailed this chapter's name was "what's up, malfoy?" that
was for the original plan of this chapter that got pushed for ch3 given how long the
harry's first DADA class took.

edit 2: no this is not walker the warden. I'm just bad with names.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry did not, in fact, go up and ask the Hufflepuff his name. He swears he was going to, but
the time between dinner and breakfast just made the thought of dragging his feet along for
introductions unappealing. More important right now was finding out how their new Defense
teacher would hold up this year, given Dumbledore's difficulty in filling the position.

When he and his friends entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, there was a
blackboard set up. In an overzealous cursive, read his name: Prof. Presley Walker. Harry
wasn't entirely sure why the professor bothered, given that he was already introduced by
Dumbledore at the Welcoming Feast. It was almost like someone had forgotten to write that
part and was compensating.

As more students fluttered in, Professor Walker sat behind his desk, rummaging through
papers. His hair oddly reminded Harry of Neville's, with a similar somewhat messy but still
neater than Harry's own wet mop-like, appearance. And blond. He was tanner though.
Finally, with everyone in their seats, the professor stood.

"Some of you may have heard that the British Ministry of Magic had petitioned for one of
their own to fill my position," he said in a distinctly American accent.

Harry glanced around, and it was obvious that he wasn't the only one in mild shock.

"Fortunately, as a friend of a friend of a friend of a… oh, you get the point, the Headmaster
has graciously extended the offer of this position to me. Notably before that deadline the
Ministry set."

Hermione shot up her hand.

"Yes? And name, please."

"Hermione Granger. Is magic taught differently where you're from? You're American, aren't
you? Did you attend Ilvermorny?"
"Well, there were never any curses on teaching positions at Ilvermorny when I attended,"
Professor Walker said. "I was a Wampus, the house of warriors. Which is a bit of an
oversimplification but..." He shrugged.

Navigating through the desks, he murmured, "Hmm, this room is a lot smaller than I expected
it… I heard you once had to complete an obstacle course for a final. How did they fit it?"

Neville raised his hand. "Professor Lupin had us running it in a different, larger room, sir. Uh,
Neville Longbottom, sir."

"Ah, naturally." Professor Walker clapped his hands. "All right, I was hired on rather short
notice, so I didn't have time to prepare a pre-assessment. How about y'all get out some
writing supplies and write down bullet points of what you've covered?"

"Y'all?" Ron whispered.

Harry shrugged. Americans were weird.

"If anyone would prefer to do so orally, you may come up to me after class," Professor
Walker continued. "I hope you've already done your summer homework from your other
professors, but you can work on that if you're finished or waiting."

As Harry wrote about what Lupin taught him, from grindylows to the Patronus Charm, it
occurred to him that Professor Walker was almost downright normal. There was no headache
from his scar, he wasn't famous, and he wasn't a slightly mad fake Auror. Highly suspicious.

"Professor, I just wondered, could you clarify what your qualifications are?" Hermione asked.
"It's just, I heard from Professor Dumbledore that's what made filling the position difficult…"

Professor Walker shot up out of his daze. "Oh! Sorry, I haven't left America in ages… I did
certain types of work that were a bit more odd. Sort of like a combination between an Auror
and an Unspeakable, I suppose. I'm afraid I'm under an NDA not to speak much of it."

That… was slightly suspicious. Harry would have to research what departments the
American Ministry of Magic had. And by that, he meant to ask Hermione, who either knew
what Walker meant already or would research the answer much faster.

"I assure you though, that I'll have all of you sitting here pass your OWLs even if it means
setting up review lessons after hours." He paused. "Assuming, of course, that Professor
McGonagall allows it. I'll have my office open at daylight hours as well."

Professor Walker then took out a piece of chalk and wrote below his name on the blackboard:

Course Goals:
1. Know and identify Dark magic.
2. Know and identify Dark creatures.
3. Know how to defend yourself from threats, using magical and non-magical means.

"I understand you're all fifth years, so the basis for this class is hopefully not beneath your
notice," Professor Walker said. "These goals are just what I'm hoping to be able to broadly
 teach you by the end of the year. Now, I hope I'm not asking too much for you to multitask,
but can anyone tell me of any situation where you've had to defend yourselves before?"

Harry raised his hand, along with most of the class.

"Erm, you in the glasses?"

"Harry Potter," he said. Maybe the Boy Who Lived thing didn't cross the pond? "Voldemort's
minion forcibly took my blood and then tried to kill me. Very life-threatening situation that
required me defending myself."

"Ah."

"Voldemort also murdered Cedric Diggory," Harry said. "Right in front of me. 'Kill the spare'
is what he said."

"I am beginning to wonder," Professor Walker said slowly, "if coming to Britain was a good
idea after all." His eyes twitched. "Are all of you traumatized children?"

Several hands went down, but there was still a majority, surprising Harry. It almost offended
him. Were they the ones being called mad by the Prophet for saying the truth? He supposed
they all did go through the fear of petrification or death during the Chamber of Secrets ordeal.
Maybe that was traumatizing for some. Harry was perfectly sane though.

"Well then." Professor Walker clapped. "If anyone needs a therapist recommendation, I can
give you information for mine. She does virtual appointments, so no need to worry about
finding transportation to America." He laughed nervously.

"What's a therapist?" Ron asked, hand raised.

Professor Walker stared at him. "I am going to have a very long day, aren't I? Okay, so a
therapist is…"

Chapter End Notes

yeah sorry, no umbridge. ik ppl love to hate her, but I got tired of her. here's a boring OC
instead.
 injured? :eyes_emoji:
Chapter Notes

edit: Forgot Danny's not supposed to appear on the map, has since been fixed. Btw the
logic for it is that the map does not generally track non-humans. Otherwise, I think the
names of the house-eleves would flood it. And considering Mr. Filch appears on it, the
map doesn't rely on wizard magic for someone to appear.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It seemed Harry wasn't going to need to run an investigation after all for the Hufflepuff's
name. The Daily Prophet already beat him to the punch.

Hogwarts Admits American Witch Hunter!

As soon as he saw the article was written by Skeeter, he scowled.

"Hey, wasn't that the Hufflepuff you thought about stalking?" Ron asked. "Says his name is
Daniel Fenton, descendant of the Fenton-Nightingales."

Hermione's frown deepened as she kept reading. Harry, for the sake of his mental health,
refused to actually read the article directly.

"I do feel bad for him," Hermione admitted. "The Fenton-Nightingales were infamous for
being the rare few effective Muggle witch hunters of their time. They developed unique
methods of countering spells, jinxes, and curses completely non-magically. It's quite
impressive, really, but the negative reputation…" She trailed off at right about the same time
Harry noticed.

Malfoy, back at the Slytherin table with Fenton, tore his copy of the Prophet apart. He was
dragging Fenton by the neck collar out of the Great Hall, looking quite furious.

Harry blinked. "We should follow them."

"Harry, what have we talked about your stalker tendencies?" Ron said.

"I do not have stalker tendencies!" Harry hissed.

"Sure you don't, mate." He shoved his face with more scrambled eggs.

Hermione sighed, but didn't stop Harry from following them.

Using his cloak right now, with so many witnesses, wouldn't work. He tried to walk casually
in the hallway, keeping a listening ear for wherever Malfoy went.
"Do we really have to?" said an unknown voice. It came from one of the classrooms. Harry
stopped.

"You're not even actually related to them," Malfoy said, enraged. "It's not—it's not right.
They have no right to be saying this about you."

"I mean, yeah, but won't it just blow over by next week? They didn't even get my name
right."

"Danny, you don't even get your name right."

"I'd be shoved into even more lockers if I went by Deneb. I don't think you understand how
extensive the bullying problem at Casper High is, Drake."

Harry nearly blew his cover by choking. Drake, Merlin, this kid wanted to be hexed.

"Yeah, yeah, but just… whatever, I'm still telling Father about this."

"Your father. Just because you're my brother doesn't mean Lucius is my dad. I already have a
dad."

"Right. I still stand it would have been better if you had just gone by Malfoy and avoided
this."

Harry blue screened.

"I could almost forget the Fentons used to be witch hunters. Ghost hunting runs in the Fenton
family."

"Paranormal hunting runs in the Fenton family. I think there was a brief stint where they
hunted vampires."

Harry shook himself out of his stupor and cast a tempus. He grimaced. He'd have to head to
herbology now if he didn't want to be late. Lucky for him, Gryffindor fifth-years had
herbology with Hufflepuff.

Fenton wasn't in herbology. He wasn't even on the attendance sheet. Did American wizarding
schools not teach the subject?

"Have you seen Fenton in any classes?" Harry asked Ron after class.

Ron shook his head. "We take the same classes, Harry. If you haven't, then I haven't."

Harry frowned as he kept walking upstairs. Granted, it was the first week, but Fenton seemed
to just disappear. He felt tempted to pull out the map just to check, but Hermione might just
lecture about privacy again and—he stopped walking.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ron also stopped. "Do you think she got a time turner again?"

Harry pulled out the map. Hermione was with Malfoy outside on the grounds with Rita
Skeeter.

"Blimey, they teamed up to fight Skeeter…" Ron said in awe.

Harry squinted. "Are we sure that's what's happening?" He remembered Malfoy being quite
eager to give Skeeter a few quotes last year.

"We could check," Ron said. "Lunch isn't until an hour later anyway."

Considering that Ron's growth spurt made him into an absolute giant, Harry thought they
were handling the task of hiding the mess of limbs under the Invisibility Cloak quite well.
Which was to say, they failed so spectacularly that they refolded the cloak back under Harry's
robes and resorted to traditional sneaking methods. Unfortunately, they were not, as per the
expectations of being British boarding school boys, very sneaky at all.

Hermione took pity on them. "We managed to get Skeeter to confess who her source was for
her article this morning."

Malfoy actually looked quite dangerous about it. "Walker," he spat.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? He's been the most sane Defense teacher we've ever had."

Fenton, meanwhile, just looked tired. "For the record, I still don't understand what the big
deal is. Like, even if it was him, he's still the least dangerous Walker I know."

"Danny, just shut up before I explode about having to work with Gryffindors," Malfoy said.

It was strange to be within ten feet of Malfoy and not hear an insult from him after fifteen
seconds, Harry mused.

"Also Potter, you have an awful sauce stain on your robes. Are you incapable of performing
simple cleaning spells, or are you too used to other people taking on the trouble of cleaning
you?" Malfoy sneered.

Ah, there was good old Malfoy back to normal. Mostly. They were still walking together to
march at Professor Walker's office, which was out of character for Malfoy. He supposed the
fact he already was acting out of character out of kindness for his brother though might have
messed him in the head.

And Harry had stopped paying attention until Malfoy started strangling Professor Walker, and
Fenton had to pry his brother off their teacher.

Professor Walker hacked to catch his breath. "I'm just going to pretend that wasn't an assault."
 "My father is on the Governor's Board and can have you removed," Malfoy said primly.

Professor Walker raised his hands in surrender. "I am sorry for the trouble I've inadvertently
caused. I'll have to avoid going out to the bar from now on, since evidently I'm a bit loose
lipped…"

"I can't believe you worry over your students on your own time," Fenton said. "Don't you do
that enough on the hours you're actually paid?"

"I'm an emphatic drunk," Professor Walker sniffed. "The possibility that your magic was
being suppressed because you came from a witch hunting family haunts me."

"Well, they're ghost hunters now, so you have nothing to worry about," Fenton reassured their
professor.

Professor Walker then frowned. "Rita Skeeter's lack of journalistic integrity is baffling,
however. Not asking for permission or at least disclosing she's a reporter… I should sue her."

"Do you have a magical lawyer?" Fenton asked. "Unfortunately, my personal lawyer is
muggle."

"Not one who has experience with British law," Professor Walker said. "Even so, I believe a
coworker of mine may know someone..."

And so, with Hermione's duty to spite Skeeter finished, the three of them left Malfoy and
Fenton to discuss suing the Prophet with the professor.

"Do all Americans have personal lawyers?" Ron wondered.

"I think so," Harry said. "I heard they all like to sue each other a lot."

Hermione, for some reason, looked to be in pain at that.

Chapter End Notes

quite frankly, I can no longer deny that this is a crack fic. I can't take this outsider POV
of Harry's seriously. it fills me with joy to make everything absolutely ridiculous.
 the fenton scourer
Chapter Notes

Workskin for the letter was from here.

His eyes widened as he finally processed what he learned earlier, sitting up from his bed.
"Fenton's Malfoy's long lost brother!"

In the process, he accidentally messed up the exploding snap deck that Ron was playing with
him. To his credit, Ron only sighed and started putting away the cards.

"Some of us are trying to nap here," Dean complained.

"Er, sorry, Dean." Harry whispered over to Ron, "It sounds like Malfoy's parents must have
given Fenton up for adoption when he was born—that's why he's Fenton, not Malfoy."

"So why's he back with the family and at Hogwarts now?" Ron asked.

"I have no idea."

"That's worse than you reminding me we have homework."

They did, unfortunately, have homework. Essays, their teachers were obsessed with them.
British boarding school boys' worst common enemy, next to Snape and Snape-like authority
figures.

Harry was handing Hedwig his letter to Sirius when Fenton entered the Owlery, looking
considerably lost.

"Hey! Harry, right?" Fenton said. "Or do you prefer Potter? Or a nickname?"

"Harry's… fine." Harry's never been asked before what he wanted to be called. He was Harry
Potter, and everyone already had an opinion on him. Americans, from being less familiar
about the Boy Who Lived, didn't have that, it seemed.

"Harry, great to see you! Sorry we didn't get to talk much last time, was a bit busy with
organizing that lawsuit with Professor Walker. Skeeter's been writing libel against you all
summer, right? Would you be willing to join the suit, actually?"
"You can do that?" Harry asked, surprised at the turn in conversation. A lawsuit—could his
media issues really be solved so easily?

"Yeah! It'd make our case stronger, especially since you've had multiple infractions, and
you're also underage."

"Yeah, I'd… really like that."

"Awesome!" Danny held a hand up in a fistbump, a gesture Harry returned. "You know,
you're really not a bad guy, no idea why Drake's been warning me from talking to you."

"Malfoy's been warning you about me," Harry repeated dryly.

"Honestly, it's the highlight of my day to hear him complain about you," Fenton said. "No
offense."

Harry raised his hands up in surrender. "I don't doubt it."

Fenton laughed. "But anyway, since you're here, I've been meaning to ask—how far can owls
fly? Like, could one fly across the ocean to send packages?"

"That sounds like a lot to ask from them," Harry said slowly.

Fenton deflated.

Remembering his original goal, Harry quickly added, "But Hedwig's a good flier. I'll
probably have to bribe her with treats first when she comes back, but I'll see if I can convince
her to give it a try."

"YES!"

Harry slapped his hands over his ears.

"Sorry," Fentom said, "but thank you so much. Drake would go nuts if I brought it up with
him." He handed him his letter.

Taking it, Harry asked him warily, "And why's that?"

Fenton groaned. "Because Ernie thinks I'm a scourer, and Drake thinks that Fenton tech will
only make that worse. But obviously I'm going to go insane being here for a year without
even cell service, so logically I need to see if any of my parents' inventions can fix that."

He got the impression that Fenton's adoptive family was like the muggle versions of Mr.
Weasley, using technology and science to explain magic, which disturbed Harry. Of course,
that was a welcome alternative than being raised by the Dursleys who detested all magic. As
such, Harry did not know what a scourer was. Given that Fenton was Malfoy's estranged
brother, which spelled doom and disaster, he should nod his head, leave, and find Hermione
to explain.

Harry did not do that. "What's a scourer?"

"Didn't you read the newspaper this morning?" Fenton asked, annoyed.

He shook his head. "I just get a summary from my friends. I don't read their drivel, what with
Skeeter's libel against me and all."

A small twinge of a smile lifted from Fenton's face. "Then you're already better than every
wizard I've met." He slapped Harry's arm. "I've gotta blast though, see you around, Harry!"

As Fenton left the Owlery, Harry held his letter in hand, and realized he had just been duped.
Fenton hadn't explained what a scourer was at all!

"Scourers were bounty hunters who captured witches for a reward," Hermione explained,
once Harry caught up to her. "Most real witch hunters were other witches, the Fenton-
Nightingales being the muggle exception."

"Oh." He couldn't blame Fenton being up in arms with Ernie over that. Ernie had also thought
he was the Heir of Slytherin his second-year when his best friend was Hermione, a
muggleborn. It almost made Fenton seem more human.

"I thought we were going to read the bloke's mail," Ron said.

"We are." Harry then proceeded to continue only staring at the letter set on his bed. Maybe
they should be doing this somewhere where he didn't sleep.

Hermione pointed her wand at the letter. "Geminio." An exact replica of the letter appeared.
She opened it.

Dear Jazz,

I should have put my foot down harder about finishing high school first. Sure, I was failing
my classes, but now I'm so behind they put me in the same classes as the 13-year-olds.
Literally the entire point of me being at magic school was to bond with my brother, and we
don't even share any classes. And get control of my magic finally, I guess, since I can already
hear your protests, Jazz. Still not sure I can even actually do magic, and it’s not the other
thing being picked up.

Have our parents figured out that ectoplasm-powered phone yet? I think Tucker would
collapse before willingly writing a snail mail letter, even if it's neat they have owls deliver
them. This owl’s borrowed, hopefully you can convince it to carry back stuff. I don’t envy the
little guys having to fly over the Atlantic ocean.

They hired someone from MACUSA this year to teach defense. From talking with my
classmates, even though apparently no guy can hold down this job for longer than a year,
every teacher graduated from this school before. You can see how I’m suspicious, right?
Same year I got here, they hired someone from Ilvermorny? His name’s Walker, and while he
is better than the other Walker we know, I’m not really buying it. Drake doesn’t think he’s
connected to Britain’s dark lord problem, but Walker 2 already is a blabbermouth to the local
media. It’s suspicious. I’ll be keeping an eye on him.

Haven't made much progress on the slavery issue with Drake, except that apparently Pig
School employs what sounds like an army of house elves. Yeah, maybe don’t mention that to
Sam.

Your favorite little brother,

Danny

“Wow, this guy is almost as suspicious of Professor Walker as you are about Malfoy,” Ron
said.

“Hey!”

“No, no, you’re right, your Malfoy obsession far outclasses a normal person’s healthy amount
of vigilance,” Ron said, nodding along to himself.

Hermione was humming to herself in thought. "You know, it sounds like Fenton was muggle
raised. If I could get him on board with SPEW…"

"So? We already knew that the Fenton-Nightingales were famously muggles," Ron said.
"Favorite little brother though, Jazz must be the Fentons's biological kid."

"Of course, but it's curious—why would the Malfoys give up one of their sons to live like a
muggle?"

Harry gasped. "In the letter, Fenton said he's still not sure he can do magic. They probably
thought he was a squib, like with Neville before he was accepted at Hogwarts!"

"It sounds like they reclaimed custody of him as soon as he showed magic," Hermione
mused. "It's odd to think he didn't have any bouts of accidental magic sooner though. It must
be awful, being so behind."

"So Fenton's clear, right?" Ron asked. "Sounds like he's trying to redeem Malfoy with his
Hufflepuff ways rather than planning a plot. Nothing really dodgy in the letter."

Harry frowned. He did think it was odd for Dumbledore to hire an American as their defense
teacher, but for Fenton to be so actively suspicious when he knew he was working on a
lawsuit with the professor… "What's MACUSA?"

"It's the American version of their Ministry of Magic," Hermione explained.

"It might be a little hypocritical," Harry said, "but it's a little dodgy that the guy's first
assumption is that Professor Walker is a government agent out for him."

Ron flashed a photo. Harry swatted his hands at the sudden light.

"Argh, a little warning would be nice next time," Harry complained.

He duly ignored him in favor of adding the polaroid to his scrapbook.
 professor potter
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry did hear back from Sirius the next day, and managed to convince Hedwig to make a
flight with Fenton's original letter after a bribe of several slices of bacon.

In Defense class, Professor Walker lectured on inferi—dark zombies, essentially, although the
in-depth explanation after some prompting from Hermione left Harry quite pale. Most spells
didn't work on them, such as cutting curses that didn't have anything to cut. If one was
unfortunate enough to stumble upon an inferius, fire was your best bet.

When the lesson concluded and class dismissed, Professor Walker asked for him to stay
behind.

Ron and Hermione shot him a look, and Harry tried to give a reassuring look. He had no idea
what it could be about, but Professor Walker believed him so far. Harry would listen.

"Mr. Potter, it has come to my attention after reviewing your legal case—and interviewing
some of your classmates—that you may be more practically qualified to teach this class than
myself," Professor Walker drawled. "First year, you successfully defended an attack from
your defense instructor, which honestly, I'm not sure how you don't have more severe trust
issues from that."

"Voldemort was possessing him," Harry clarified.

Professor Walker's eyes twitched. "Of course he was. It's always about some dark lord with
the British… Second year, you apparently killed a basilisk that miraculously survived
centuries of being in the school's basement."

"To be fair, Voldemort was also controlling that basilisk."

He muttered under his breath about useless dark lords. "And I cannot believe they let
dementors anywhere near children. Are your Aurors not competent enough to catch a
madman on their own? It's shameful."

"I had an excellent defense professor in my third year who taught me the Patronus Charm to
help."

"Yes, it's too bad he's a werewolf… and then there was the Triwizard Tournament, which you
already explained the first day of my class." Professor thrummed his fingers on his desk.
"Frankly, Mr. Potter, with your track record, I'm not sure you're getting anything out of my
class."

"But you're the best defense professor we've had since Professor Lupin!" Harry said, taken
aback.
Professor Walker looked at him unimpressed. "Ah yes, because inferi are so riveting,
especially when due to general hazards, I can't allow any students to practice the Firestorm
charm." He paused. "Also, I doubt a disguised Death Eater is really the type of instructor I'd
like to be compared with."

"He actually was all right, all things considered. Lockhart was much worse. I don't think he
actually knew any defense spells."

"The point I was trying to get across," he said rather firmly, electing to ignore the last
comment, "is that there is very little I can reasonably teach you within the confines of this
course. Therefore, it is better to have your current understanding be reinforced than try to find
new and legal material."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Potter, how would you feel about becoming my TA?"

Harry blinked, stunned. Him, a teaching assistant? He wasn't someone professors gave
authority to. Hell, Dumbledore had chosen Ron over him for prefect! "Are you serious, sir?"

"No, I do believe that's your murderous godfather who escaped Azkaban two years ago,"
Professor Walker said dryly.

Professor Walker really never missed. Harry said, "I hadn't realized you knew about that." Or
that he had the same sense of humor as said godfather. It really was too bad Sirius was still a
fugitive. They would get along swimmingly, he was sure. Maybe Dumbledore would invite
him into the Order if he survived the year, and he could introduce them.

"Mr. Potter, even the no-majs know about Sirius Black."

"Erm, no-maj?"

"Muggles," Professor Walker corrected himself. "Sorry, no-maj is the American term."

"American wizards use different words?" Harry wondered.

Professor Walker shrugged. "A friend tried to explain it to me once. Something about dialect
shift. I hear Brits here call mundys squibs."

"Er, yes?"

"That's awful. It's like calling someone mundane a dud just for not having magic."

Harry winced. "I haven't ever thought about it that way."

"It also may help endear you to the classmates who believe Prophet rubbish," Professor
Walker suggested. "Besides, I hear you can conjure a mean shield charm. I'm going to need
everyone in fifth year and up to be up to snuff on it at least. Considering the current political
climate though, really everyone should know it."
 Harry grinned. "I can help with that!"

In the following free hour, Harry looked over the compiled information Professor Walker had
crunched from the pre-assessment. The lessons he had made in response seemed logical
enough, although Harry itched to make his own adjustments.

"We should go over the disarming charm," Harry said firmly. "I know it's a first-year spell,
but it saved my life. And I want to teach everyone the patronus charm."

Professor Walker raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Potter, I can't cast a patronus. We don't have
dementors in America to bother with it in the curriculum."

"Well, then it's a good thing you have me, innit?" Harry said cheekily.

He nodded slowly. "I have another class coming soon. I expect you in my office after hours to
discuss your schedule."

Chapter End Notes

is this an excuse to have harry be in the same classroom as danny later? absolutely. time
for harry to be a TA and realize that danny is a bit,,, at spellwork.
 when dark lords fall
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

He was still in shock as he walked out of Professor Walker's classroom. Harry excelled in
defense, but he never expected to be properly recognized for it.

He quickly found Ron and Hermione in the corridor, who had been waiting for him. He told
them the news, feeling almost giddy for himself.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Harry!" Hermione gushed. "You'll be brilliant at it!"

Ron grinned and clapped him on the back. "Yeah, mate, that's awesome! You're the best at
defense out of all of us."

As they made their way to the potions class, he noticed Draco Malfoy walking towards them,
flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle. A wave of annoyance washed over him as he saw
the sneer on Malfoy's face. It seemed their temporary truce over a shared disgust for Skeeter
ended.

"Potter," Malfoy drawled, stopping in front of them. "I don't know what's going on in your
Gryffindor head of yours, but do leave Danny alone. You won't like it when he gets the
brilliant idea to practice casting the fire-making charm indoors."

Harry raised an eyebrow. That was almost nice, coming from him—and it was suspect. "You
have that little faith in him?"

"Just stay in your lane, Potter. I know it's difficult for you, believing you're entitled to be
stuck in everyone else's business."

Harry was ready to retort, but Hermione spoke first.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped. "Harry's been chosen as a teaching assistant for Professor
Walker. He's going to help him teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. What have you done
lately, apart from being a nuisance?"

Malfoy's eyes widened, then narrowed. He looked at Harry with a mix of envy and contempt.

"Is that so?" he sneered. "Well, congratulations, Potter. You've managed to suck up to the new
teacher. I'm sure he'll be very impressed by your pathetic skills. But you know what? It won't
matter in the end. If you want to be an Auror, you'll need an O on your potions OWL. And
we both know you'll be lucky to even scrape an A."

He smirked, then turned to leave, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, who sniggered.

Harry felt a surge of anger, but he knew Malfoy was right about one thing: he needed to take
NEWT potions to qualify for the Auror program. And he also knew that he could never learn
potions from Snape, who required all his NEWT students to earn an O on their OWL.

Being the TA for defense would certainly help him become an Auror. The job was expected
out of the Boy Who Lived. Harry wasn't even sure the Wizarding World would even let him
do anything else. But if being an Auror required such an in-depth understanding of his most
dreaded subject, he was beginning to place doubts if that's what he wanted. He wondered if
there were other options for him, other ways to use his talents and make a difference. He
wondered what Professor Walker would say, if he asked him for advice.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He followed Ron and Hermione into the
potions classroom, hoping that he could escape the worst of Snape's wrath today.

After dinner, Harry made his way to Professor Walker's office, as he had instructed him.

He knocked on the door, and heard a cheerful voice say, "Come in!"

He opened the door, and stepped into the office. Harry let out a small gasp at the sight of
technology in Hogwarts. It wasn't just the sleek, large telly hung on the wall, which he knew
would make Dudley very nealous. Strange devices he's never seen before in the muggle
world, some of which glowed with green or pink light. There was a pink-glowing coffee
machine on a table. Small American flags were etched onto some of the equipment, along
with the words: Property of the GIW.

Professor Walker was sitting at his desk, drowning in papers and books, some of which
undoubtedly were not meant to actually be on the floor. He pushed out a small peephole out
of a pile that then only fell on his head. "Ow. Welcome to my office." He tried to gesture to
the inconspicuously empty chair in front. "Do you want anything? Coffee?"

Harry shook his head, feeling a bit overwhelmed and lost. "You haven't even assigned us any
essays in class…"

He took a passing glance at some of the fallen stack, the words capture and test subject
catching his attention. It must have been published research on dark creatures, Harry realized.
His old job might have only dealt with dark wizards.

"For good reason," Professor Walker muttered. "If none of you do the readings at all, it'll
show in discussion, anyway. The amount of writing the other professors expect out of you is
already unreasonable, in my opinion. You can show your understanding of the subject by
talking to me just as well as writing it."

"Is that how it goes in America?" Harry asked.

Professor Walker seemed to have given up any pretenses of organization and swiped all his
papers off his desk. At least now they could see each other talk properly.
"Don't be mistaken, I still had to write my fair share of essays," he said, "but the everyday
proof of understanding came through intense debate. In fact, one time I had gotten into an
argument about how there must have been an error in the calculations for where vanished
objects go."

"I thought no one knew where they went," Harry said.

He raised an eyebrow. "What exactly has Professor Flitwick been teaching you?"

"... creating legs on teacups, sir."

Professor Walker stared at him. "Why."

"To make them dance." Feeling the need to defend the professor, Harry added, "The charm is
quite advanced. Ron and I are having loads of trouble with it."

"The world as we know it may as well end tomorrow, and your professor wants you to make
teacups dance." He looked up at the ceiling with a groan. "Does he want Britain to continue
harboring its dark lord problem? I know he believes you that he's come back. It's talked about
extensively in staff meetings." He grimaced.

"Do you mean the curriculum at Ilvermorny is more practical then?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not. I just hoped he would lighten the load for me to ensure you'll survive
whatever comes next."

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. Kill the spare. Every time he survived, it was because he'd
gotten lucky. Suddenly, he wasn't quite so sure he was deserving of helping to teach Defense
Against the Dark Arts.

"Did Voldemort ever reach the States the last time?" he asked.

Professor Walker snorted. "No, thank god for that." His eyes looked sullen and sad at the
thought though, which alarmed Harry before he continued. "He would have had a much
easier time if he bothered."

He stood and paced around the room. "Rappaport's Law was repealed only thirty years ago. It
made having any type of relationship with no-majs highly illegal. MACUSA and the no-maj
Congress communicate now, but there's still distrust and hostility for the centuries MACUSA
kept its silence.

"No-maj-borns were kidnapped from their families. Every memory of having that child was
erased. They could never go back home. And if they tried, at best, they'd be disappointed. At
worst, they face arrest.

"I know the Dark Lord wants to create a world darker than Rappaport's Law. He believes
those without magic are unworthy of living. But if the Dark Lord wanted the perfect opening
to create his reality, he would have been in America." He stopped his pacing to look at Harry.
"That inaction will be his downfall."
 Professor Walker cleared his throat. "But enough about me! What times are you available?"

Once they made a tentative schedule for Harry to come in, he left the office, his thoughts in a
whir. He knew why Voldemort wouldn't have made his revolution start in America. Tom
Riddle grew up here, in Britain, and he'd mark his revenge here again. But why hadn't he
expanded over the pond, especially since before Harry had defeated him as a baby, his control
of Britain was only a matter of time?

"Phantom's here?" he heard hissed, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry looked up to see the House ghosts… arguing? He hid behind a corner, keen on
eavesdropping. What could have the House ghosts in a ruckus besides Peeves?

"What could Phantom possibly want with us?" Nearly Headless Nick whispered, doing a
rather poor job of it.

"Maybe he'll get rid of Peeves," Bloody Baron suggested.

"Do you think the rumors are true then?" Fat Friar said.

Harry couldn't hear anything else and cursed softly under his breath. They must have gone
through a wall. What could scare a ghost though?

Chapter End Notes

would y'all be bothered if I did the characters singing in a fic like they're in a musical
even though you can't hear text? Hazbin Hotel has been living rentfree in my head. I
might record myself actually singing it if I do, I might not, depends on how I feel that
day.
 beware of sally-anne
Chapter Notes

I've started a podfic for this fic!

Rating has been bumped up because as I'm writing songs for this fic, I keep putting
swearing into the lyrics. I usually end up scrapping those lines, but there's one that
seems to want to be in the final script, so forewarning, I suppose, if you wanted to read
this to children.

Hedwig flew down at breakfast, carrying an entire basket of gadgets of letters, looking
absolutely knackered. Harry stacked three plates of bacon for her in exchange.

Danny walked up to the table, clearly embarrassed. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Is there a reason you couldn't have used Malfoy's owl?" Harry asked.

He flushed. "I tried once, actually. The owl, erm, didn't take too well to my parents." Danny
took his basket and took out a box. "Fudge?"

"Not much of a fan," Harry admitted.

"Your loss." Fenton opened the box and popped one into his mouth.

When he left, Hermione did not say anything. Ron though—

"I would've liked to watch them having a showdown against Malfoy's owl."

"It probably was funny," Harry allowed.

They all stood up from the table to queue in front of Filch, who was checking everyone had
permission to visit Hogsmeade. Hermione looked deep in thought throughout. Finally, once
they crossed the winged boars on tall stone pillars, she said, "I don't think Malfoy's parents
had directly chosen his adoptive family. Even if they thought Danny was a squib, they
wouldn't have risked a Malfoy child to a family with a history as infamous as the Fentons."

"Eh? So he's gonna be a right terror for Malfoy, who cares?" Ron asked. "What does it
matter?"

Harry cared more than he'd like to admit. Ron had said he was obsessed with Malfoy, and
while he still vehemently denied it… he couldn't promise that if Malfoy held back on being a
brat that first day at Madam Malkins, he wouldn't have taken that hand. It wouldn't have been
easy, being a snake and under Snape's scrutiny even more than he already was. But someone
who was as confident as Malfoy, knowledgeable in a way only someone who lived and
breathed magic since the day he was born, even if it came with snobbishness—it was
attractive, in its own way.

The circumstances were different now though. Voldemort was back. Lucius Malfoy was
undoubtedly going to follow his dark lord again. Fenton was under Malfoy's wing for now,
but it couldn't last. Malfoy hid it well, but he was straining just from the Prophet's words.
Malfoy was going to betray his brother. And Fenton had no one else in the magical world in
his corner.

He muttered the password to the portrait. "It matters," Harry said carefully, "because Fenton's
going to be stranded in Britain once the Malfoys show their true loyalties."

"Or worse, dead," Hermione said gravely. "They tried hiding him from the papers but
couldn't. Not when Fenton didn't want to change his last name. Understandable really,
especially if they're keeping him in the dark, but it leaves him vulnerable to any Death Eaters
who want to 'clean up' their inner circle."

Ron gulped. Suddenly, Harry realized he might not be the biggest target for the threat this
year.

"So, is anyone up for butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks?" Harry asked.

With muttered agreement from Ron and Hermione, Harry quietly ordered three butterbeers,
and the three of them took up a private booth. Before his butterbeer had the chance to turn
warm though, there was a rush of incoming people. Harry felt a prickle of multiple heads
looking from behind him. With a slow turn around, he must have been flanked by the entirety
of Gryffindor house and an impressive chunk of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

"Hi Harry," Neville said, taking up a seat opposite of him. It was, in fact, the last seat directly
in the booth they were occupying. Everyone else made an effort to sit at neighboring booths
and bring in extra chairs.

"We heard an interesting rumor," a blond boy began.

Harry was not given any forewarning for why his classmates felt the need to smother him. He
did have a slight inkling of an idea as to what it could have been about, but Harry had no idea
why they would organize this attention around him.

"Is it true that Professor Walker hired you on as an assistant?" Terry Boot asked bluntly.

"I was warming up to that!" he squawked.

"Who are you?" Ron asked rudely.

"Zacharias Smith."

Harry desperately wanted to ignore whatever kind of staring match the two had engaged in.
"Yes," Harry said slowly, "although I was under the impression it was only for under-year
classes. Certainly not NEWT level."

"You should touch base with him again then," Marietta Edgecomb spoke up. Harry had to
crane his neck to see her next to Cho, clutching her hand fiercely. "He told us that you were
coming in to show why you survived and Cedric didn't."

Cho elbowed her friend. "He didn't say it like that. Don't worry, Harry, I can talk to him about
it, if you really don't feel up to it. But you did well in those tasks last year, getting past
dragons and merpeople, and all those other things, enough to compete with students at
NEWT level already…"

"And you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who first year!"

"Slayed a basilisk!"

And on it went, much like the conversation Harry already had with Professor Walker when he
was offering the position to Harry. Except this time, he couldn't hide behind making the
professor squirm. Everyone here knew Harry for far too long for that to work.

"Surely Professor Walker can teach us how to cast a Patronus by himself…" Zacharias
drawled.

"No," Harry said, relieved to finally be able to talk about something that he knew he
accomplished himself on his own terms. "He can't. They don't have dementors in the States.
He's never had a reason to try to cast one. It's not a charm you can just learn from a book,
either."

There was a murmur in the pub at that. None of the seventh-years here knew how to cast a
Patronus. Having Harry TA their class might be their only shot at learning the spell.

"So, are you lot done with interrogating Harry now?" Ron demanded. "He'll do a good job,
whichever classes he's helping in."

Ernie squeezed into the front. "Just one more question, a request, really… could you maybe
try reaching out to Sally-Anne and Danny when you're covering the third-year 'Puffs?"

Harry frowned. "I thought they were in our year."

His eyes flicked up at that and tried not to look put-out. "They should be, but Sally-Anne's
been out for too long, and Danny… well, in any case, when he transferred in this year, his
exam scores weren't high enough to put him in our year. It's my job as a prefect to help them
out with transitioning to Hogwarts life, but neither of them are really fitting in."

He had no idea what Ernie was expecting him to do, but considering he had his own reasons
for looking out for Fenton, adding Sally-Anne to the mix wouldn't do much harm. "I'll try."
 not an obscurus (yet)

He wondered absentmindedly, if Malfoy had forgotten the danger that lingered in the
wizarding world. It was increasingly apparent that although Fenton was the tallest third-year
here in Defense class, that he might also be the least magically talented. Why hadn't Malfoy
taught him seemingly any defense?

Ernie was right to give him a heads-up on Sally-Anne as well. She was faring much better
than Fenton, but she almost just gave up halfway through every spell she tried to cast. In fact,
to free Professor Walker, Harry was relegated to focus mostly on the two of them.

After Fenton managed to only lose his own wand again when casting the disarming charm,
Harry pinched his nose. "I wondered before why both of you weren't in my year…"

"Medical leave of absence," Sally-Anne answered briskly. "Couldn't catch up to OWL level."

Fenton gave a what-can-you-do shrug. "It turns out you can't just read your way through four
years of school in one summer."

"I can't believe you managed to not have a single bout of accidental magic until you were
fifteen," Sally-Anne said. "There must be something wrong with the Trace in the States."

He shrugged. "We have a bit of a ghost problem in my hometown. Any accidental magic
would've gotten blamed on them, anyway." Fenton paused. "Also, there is the slight issue that
I'm banned from every American magic school."

Harry does a double-take. "How?"

Fenton rolled his eyes. "Witch hunters, remember? Every direct descendent of the Fenton-
Nightingales has been barred from a magical education in America."

Sally-Anne frowned. "That sounds highly irresponsible. That's just asking for the first
muggleborn kid in the family to turn into an Obscurus."

Fenton huffed. "Magic is overrated anyway. Every contact I have with it just seems to injure
me."

"At least your wand hasn't attacked your face yet?" Harry offered.

"No, it has," Fenton said grimly. "Drake tried to teach me this spell before."

He really had no idea why Fenton's spells seemed hellbent on never cooperating. As far as he
could tell, Fenton was holding his wand correctly and pronounced the incantation accurately.
At one point, he tried putting on a British accent to see if it made any difference, but it only
miraculously served to set his robes on fire. Harry conjured water to put it out, leaving
Fenton a shivering, depressed mess.

Sally-Anne was successful and able to cast the spell consistently by the end of class, at least.
"I think," Harry said slowly, "we may need to spend time outside the classroom on this,
Fenton."

There was no classroom Harry knew about for Fenton to practice. He held no illusions that
the Defense classroom would be viable; it was already subpar to what accommodations
Professor Walker had been expecting. Undoubtedly, any classroom he could find on his own
would not survive an encounter with Fenton's nightmare casting. The curtains barely survived
Seamus before he got a handle on not setting everything on fire in their first year. Suddenly,
Harry had a terrible idea.

"How did Seamus manage to stop setting everything on fire?" Harry asked.

Ron thought about it. "Mate, I don't think he ever did. I think he just learned aguamenti to put
them all out."

"I guess that explains why he wasn't panicking that one time he accidentally set his bed on
fire." He really would have preferred to prevent the spontaneous fire-making altogether, but it
seemed there weren't going to be any shortcuts to disciplined practice and control. "Do you
think having a reward system might work? Every time he manages to not injure himself, he
gets a treacle tart?"

"I don't think Fenton's a dog like Sirius," Ron began.

He would not repeat the screaming their heads off incident to another soul besides Hermione,
although edited. Dobby, being the only slightly creepy worshiper he was, had popped in with
a plate of treacle tart for Harry Potter. Ron and Harry did not almost injure themselves trying
to get out their wands for the supposed threat before it clocked in that it was just Dobby, who
admittedly they did not know before was employed at the castle. More importantly, Dobby
had information of a suitable room to use to contain Fenton while Harry desperately
attempted to drill any defensive magic into the Hufflepuff before he got himself killed.

(Before he would be another victim of this war, another dead Hufflepuff who didn't ask to be
involved, like Cedric.)

The house-elves called it the Room of Requirement, and it was perfect.

It would be a few days before Harry would start his tutoring sessions with Fenton though, so
he explored. In the Room of Hidden Things, one can find just about anything. The other sock,
some wayward inventions from the Weasley Twins, and all sorts of strange, magical artifacts.
Being raised by the Dursleys, anything Harry had for himself were Dudley's castoffs and
what he could rescue from the rubbish bin. So really, it shouldn't surprise anyone that Harry
would enjoy having access to a room where he could rescue the discarded. When he wanted
to be alone and decompress, he would dig through the piles of rubbish to save what he could.
Harry would find an open book on the floor after rifling through such a pile, and spot that
there were notes in the margins. This was a potions book, he realized as he picked it up. The
notes were detailed and complained about the faults in the recipes from the textbook. When
he flipped through it, there were even spells Harry had never heard of crammed in.

He would close the book and open to the front page, where all was written: Property of the
Half-Blood Prince.
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