(Arcane Tinker) Chapter 25: Alternate Perception

AN: Like the other AT chapters so far, this isn’t part of the weekly schedule. Tomorrow will be an AWM (EM Vol. 2) chapter, as you guys chose in the last poll.

Chapter 25: Alternate Perception

25th October 1991, Hogwarts

Harry Potter had dreamt of going to Hogwarts ever since he was young. His parents had often spoken of the castle, of their times there before the war, before Lord Voldemort and what came after. His mum even spoke somewhat fondly of their pranks, even though she always disapproved of them. All in all, his mother and father always seemed to smile when they spoke of it, and Harry had been looking forward to making some nice memories, leaving his mark on House Gryffindor, maybe joining the Quidditch team, and making them proud.

Unfortunately, the world wasn’t so kind. It had been a bit of a slap in the face to realise that almost everyone in his year was special in some way. He had no idea why that happened, only that it did. There was Neville Longbottom, the boy who lived himself, in his house, the son of Lucius Malfoy in Slytherin, and Amelia Bones’ niece in Hufflepuff, and the one that made the least sense, Dean Thomas, whom he happened to befriend on the Express.

He hadn’t really liked hanging out with Neville or Malfoy. The former was a bit full of himself and didn’t like people questioning him, while the latter was a prat. He hadn’t really spoken much with Susan Bones, if only because her aunt was his father’s boss and he didn’t want to make things weird.

Given that in his house, most of the boys spent fawning over Neville, the only one who remained to befriend him that wouldn’t make Harry want to hex them every day was Dean Thomas. Even if he hadn’t met the boy on the train, he would have befriended him anyway as long as he wasn’t a prick.

He had found it hilarious when he pranked most of the school, pretending to be a pyromancer while being an enchanter. His mother was one as well, something that was often considered a miracle given that she was a muggleborn. Most had even tried to look for her bloodline for some kind of hidden magical ancestor, but as far as Harry knew, they had found nothing before his mother cursed them to bits.

He also knew that people did not leave her alone, not one bit, enough that she had to learn to defend herself and even joined the Charms Club for the sake of protection. His parents had warned him that Hogwarts was made up of groups, mostly formed out of a shared interest, while also doubling as a form of protection in numbers. His father had been part of the Quidditch Team, which worked somewhat in the same way, but only that the entirety of Gryffindor House would protect him.

A position on the team was more valuable than one would think, as it made every player almost untouchable in the castle. Harry had planned on following his father’s footsteps, though he’d have done it without the perks of the position, considering his love for the sport, especially the position of seeker.

His thoughts were broken as McGonagall’s voice spread across the room, “Well done, Mr Thomas. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Harry turned to his friend, suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as he had perfectly transformed his wooden statue of a cat into a metallic bat, the only one to have been able to do so in their class. He could almost feel Neville and Malfoy glaring at his progress.

Hell, even Dean himself seemed surprised, as if he had been lost in thought. It truly was a wonder how good he was at wand magic. Harry’s dad had once told him that enchanters were unfairly good with a wand, but that they were fairly rubbish at anything that didn’t need them to use an object they could interact with. As an example, his mother had spent decades trying to become an Animagus, and she failed spectacularly at it.

Still, Harry couldn’t help but feel slightly envious at the other boy’s progress, though Dean had been quite distracted lately, perhaps even ever since their flying lessons, when Malfoy accused him of killing his own parents.

Sure, he had almost made Malfoy piss himself in fear that day, and some of the Gryffindor upperclassmen seemed to avoid him like a plague. Sure, most stayed away given the rumours of him being an unstable muggleborn pyromancer, but this felt… more than that.

Dean also disappeared for more nights than before and barely talked during the day. Harry wouldn’t have been worried normally since he already assumed that he was practising his Enchanting during the night or at least trying to figure out his specialisation, but he could feel that something was wrong.

The day continued just as it had before, and Harry decided that he had had enough. He and Dean had been friends for almost two months, and he had kept the other boy’s secrets. However, he was starting to get worried.

That very night, after their dinner, he used his invisibility cloak, the one that his father had given to him the night before he went to Hogwarts and discreetly followed Dean as he left the common room. It was a bit of a family heirloom, a relic that had been passed down from father to son for centuries.

His father had even told him that it had saved him a fair share of detentions in school and was sure that whatever the ancestor who had made it, an immensely powerful enchanter most likely, had woven some anti-detection spells into its silky fabric for it to work that well. Merlin, even his mother was utterly baffled by the cloak, and she was one of the best enchanters around.

Still, knowing how bullshit Dean could be, Harry had even used his personal magic to muffle the air around his feet enough that it made his footsteps almost silent.

It was a trick that he had learned when he snuck around back home. Harry’s magic was a bit more involved than just hopping around in the air, which also included an ability to shift changes in the wind. It wasn’t something that he advertised as his father had told him. It was better to stick with a simple definition for the ministry, especially given how many people would be able to access that information.

And so, he followed Dean to the seventh floor, where Harry guessed the boy’s hidden workshop must have been. To his surprise, Dean walked near one of the suits of armour, right next to the tapestry of dancing trolls, and took its shield.

What followed did not make any more sense, given the fact that he seemed to walk back and forth while staring at an empty wall. Before Harry could think if his friend had gone mad, a door suddenly materialised out of nowhere, and he saw Dean take a deep breath before walking forward.

Harry quickly followed behind him, worry almost gone, being replaced by his curiosity. He was met with an impossibly large room filled with what could only be a mountain of junk. Old furniture was piled everywhere: broken desks stacked on top of each other, wardrobe doors hanging off their hinges, and school trunks with faded initials that made Harry wonder who they used to belong to.

Cauldrons sat on crooked shelves, most of them dented or melted at the edges, as if whatever had been brewed inside them had gone very, very wrong. There were also a few banned items, some fanged frisbees, and a few broken cages, which were covered with torn cloaks.

Books were scattered across the floor and tables, most of them missing covers or partially ripped apart. Dean seemed to be mostly on those, not really delving too far into the strange room that they had found. Still, Harry was sure that this wasn’t Dean’s secret workshop. The other boy was moving too carefully, casting spells that Harry didn’t recognise while examining a few books, while wearing a dragonhide glove in one hand and his wand in another.

He seemed to be sorting them into piles, the process being far more boring than Harry expected. And so, it wasn’t a surprise when his attention wavered and turned towards the small, messy pile of broomsticks, nearly all either cracked or bent in some way, that would make him stop complaining about Madam Hooch’s brooms during their flying lessons. Beneath them, he noticed a black broom, one whose handle also seemed far thicker than it should have, in a way that made their use in Quidditch almost unthinkable.

Still, he had never even heard of brooms like this, and he curiously knelt to pick it up. The moment he touched the brooms, half of them suddenly started to fly away as if they had gained a life of their own. And his eyes widened as he noticed a suit of rusted armour falling towards him.

Harry raised his hand and activated his personal magic, creating a wall of air above his fist, which he threw up in the air. The piece of armour flew away, but the act seemingly woke a bunch of small, fairy-like creatures, which he quickly recognised as being doxies. He turned and saw Dean raising his wand and yelling out, “Immobulus!”

The doxies had suddenly frozen in the air, and he waved his wand, sending them flying away. Harry then dodged a jinx that came towards him and gaped as he saw Dean pointing his wand near him. He immediately removed his cloak and raised his hand, “It’s me, Dean. Bloody hell, mate!”

Immediately, the seriousness on his friend’s face turned into exasperation, “What are you doing here, Harry?”

“I followed you. What are you doing here? And what even is this place?”

Dean looked around, feeling almost panicked before slumping and muttering something beneath his breath, “Let’s get out of here first. I have no idea what else is in this place, and we made too much noise.”

Harry heard something move in the distance and wisely chose not to argue with this: “Do you know the way out?”

Dean nodded, and Harry followed behind him. They walked quickly through the winding aisles of junk, Harry clutching the cloak in one hand and his wand in the other, glancing back every few seconds. Dean was moving faster now, eyes scanning the darkness between the shelves as if he expected something to leap out at any moment.

“Left here,” Dean muttered. “Then past the statues.”

But they didn’t make it that far.

A low groan echoed through the chamber, then something shifted in the distance. Harry’s eyes widened as he noticed one of the giant piles of junk moved, seemingly making the ones around it collapse. In the distance, he swore that he saw a faint bluish light beginning to seep out.

“What is that?” Harry asked, voice low.

Dean didn’t answer. He grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him away, even when a sea of collapsing furniture and cauldrons prepared to swallow them. When they approached, Harry closed his eyes, knowing that his magic wouldn’t be able to protect him, given that it was localised near his limbs.

Thankfully, Dean raised his shield, and the moment the impact touched it, a loud pulse of magic sent everything away, almost staggering the incoming pile of objects coming towards them. Dean grabbed his hand once more and whispered harshly, “Run!”

They did.

They sprinted through the aisles, Dean guiding them with a shaky Lumos while Harry kept an eye behind, half-expecting something to grab his shoulder. A Dungbomb flew past them, exploding in a way it really shouldn’t have, and shattering a pile of glass vials that fell towards them. This time, Harry was able to send them flying away.

Finally, they ran until a door appeared, and they practically threw themselves through it.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Dean spun and slammed the door shut, which slowly melted away back into the wall. Finally, done, they both slumped to the ground, with only their heavy breathing remaining, echoing through the corridor.

After a moment, Dean straightened and glared at Harry.

Harry raised both hands. “Okay. I’ll admit it. That was probably not my best idea.”

Dean didn’t say anything at first. He just wiped his brow with the back of his hand and muttered, “Bloody hell. Why did you have to follow me today of all days?”

The boy was obviously not expecting an answer, and so, Harry followed with the question that he had been buzzing to ask him ever since he set foot inside the strange room, “What is this place? And what were you doing there?”

The dark-skinned boy slumped slightly, “It’s called the Room of Hidden Things, and I’ve been preparing to explore it for weeks.”

AN: As I said above, this isn’t part of the weekly schedule. Tomorrow will be an AWM (EM Vol. 2) chapter, as you guys chose in the last poll. That said, writing this was fun, even if I felt somewhat rusty since it has been a while. I decided on a Harry POV to get back into things, as well as give a bit of an outsider's perspective on Dean's actions so far. As usual, I don’t mind rewriting this depending on your feedback, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

Anyway, I'll try to do extra chapters when I can, though they won't be limited to AT or AWM. If I have an idea that won't leave my head, I'll probably write it down in an extra chapter to avoid messing with the standard upload schedule.