Harry's mouth snapped shut. He sent his best Death Glare at McGonagall but she only seemed to find it amusing.
"Yes, definitely an announcement at dinner," Professor McGonagall mused. "But it wouldn't do to offend the Slytherins, so the announcement should be brief. Just the number of points and the fact of the record... and if anyone comes to you for help with their schoolwork and is disappointed that you haven't even started reading your textbooks, you can always refer them to Miss Granger."
"Professor!" said Hermione in a rather high-pitched voice.
Professor McGonagall ignored her. "My, I wonder how long it will take before Miss Granger does something deserving of a dinnertime announcement? I look forward to seeing it, whatever it may be."
Harry and Hermione, by unspoken mutual consent, turned and stormed out of the classroom. They were followed by a trail of hypnotised Ravenclaws.
"Um," Harry said. "Are we still on for after dinner?"
"Of course," said Hermione. "I wouldn't want you to fall further behind on your studying."
"Why, thank you. And let me say that as brilliant as you are already, I can't help but wonder what you'll be like once you have some elementary training in rationality."
"Is it really that useful? It didn't seem to help you with Charms or Transfiguration."
There was a slight pause.
"Well, I only got my schoolbooks four days ago. That's why I had to earn those seventeen House points without using my wand."
"Four days ago? Maybe you can't read eight books in four days but you might have at least read one. How many days will it take to finish at that rate? You know all that mathematics, so can you tell me what's eight, times four, divided by zero?"
"I've got classes now, which you didn't, but weekends are free, so... limit of eight times four divided by epsilon as epsilon approaches zero plus... 10:47AM on Sunday."
"I did it in three days actually."
"2:47PM on Saturday it is, then. I'm sure I'll find the time somewhere."
And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.
Chapter 16: Lateral Thinking
As soon as he walked into the Defence classroom on Wednesday, Harry knew that this subject was going to be different.
It was, for a start, the largest classroom he had yet seen at Hogwarts, akin to a major university classroom, with layered tiers of desks facing a gigantic flat stage of white marble. The classroom was high up in the castle - on the fifth floor - and Harry knew that was as much explanation as he'd get for where a room like this was supposed to fit. It was becoming clear that Hogwarts simply did not have a geometry, Euclidean or otherwise; it had connections, not directions.
Unlike a university hall, there weren't rows of folding seats; instead there were quite ordinary Hogwarts wooden desks and wooden chairs, lined up in a curve across each level of the classroom. Except that each desk had a flat, white, rectangular, mysterious object propped up on it.
In the center of the gigantic platform, on a small raised dais of darker marble, was a lone teacher's desk. At which Quirrell sat slumped over in his chair, head lolled back, drooling slightly over his robes.
Now what does that remind me of...?
Harry had arrived at the lesson so early that no other students were there yet. (The English language was defective when it came to describing time travel; in particular, English lacked any words capable of expressing how convenient it was.) Quirrell didn't seem to be... functional... at the moment, and Harry didn't particularly feel like approaching Quirrell anyway.
Harry selected a desk, climbed up to it, sat down, and retrieved the Defence textbook. He was around seven-eighths of the way through - he'd planned on finishing the book before this lesson, actually, but he was running behind schedule and had already used the Time-Turner twice today.
Soon there were sounds as the classroom began to fill up. Harry ignored them.
"Potter? What are you doing here?"
That voice didn't belong here. Harry looked up. "Draco? What are you doing in oh my god you have minions."
One of the lads standing behind Draco seemed to have rather a lot of muscle for an eleven-year-old, and the other was poised in a suspiciously balanced-looking stance.
The white-blonde-haired boy smiled rather smugly and gestured behind him. "Potter, I introduce to you Mr. Crabbe," his hand moved from Muscles to Balance, "Mr. Goyle. Vincent, Gregory, this is Harry Potter."
Mr. Goyle tilted his head and gave Harry a look that was probably supposed to mean something but ended up just looking squinty. Mr. Crabbe said "Please to meetcha" in a tone that sounded like he was trying to lower his voice as far as it could go.
A fleeting expression of consternation crossed Draco's face, but was quickly replaced by his superior grin.
"You have minions!" Harry repeated. "Where do I get minions?"
Draco's smirk grew wider. "I'm afraid, Potter, that the first step is to be Sorted into Slytherin -"
"What? That's not fair!"
"- and then for your families to have an arrangement from before you were born."
Harry looked at Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle. They both seemed to be trying very hard to loom. That is, they were leaning forwards, hunching over their shoulders, sticking their necks out and staring at him.
"Um... hold on," said Harry. "This was arranged years ago?"
"Exactly, Potter. I'm afraid you're out of luck."
Mr. Goyle produced a toothpick and began cleaning his teeth, still looming.
"And," said Harry, "Lucius insisted that you were not to grow up knowing your bodyguards, and that you were only to meet them on your first day of school."
That wiped the grin from Draco's face. "Yes, Potter, we all know you're brilliant, the whole school knows by now, you can stop showing off -"
"So they've been told their whole lives that they're going to be your minions and they've spent years imagining what minions are supposed to be like -"
Draco winced.
"- and what's worse, they do know each other and they've been practising -"
"The boss told ya to shut it," rumbled Mr. Crabbe. Mr. Goyle bit down on his toothpick, holding it between his teeth, and used one hand to crack the knuckles on the other.
"I told you not to do this in front of Harry Potter!"
The two looked a bit sheepish and Mr. Goyle quickly put the toothpick back in a pocket of his robes.
But the moment Draco turned away from them to face Harry again, they went back to looming.
"I apologise," Draco said stiffly, "for the insult which these imbeciles have offered you."
Harry gave a meaningful look to Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle. "I'd say you're being a little harsh on them, Draco. I think they're acting exactly the way I'd want my minions to act. I mean, if I had any minions."
Draco's jaw dropped.
"Hey, Gregory, you don' think he's tryna lure us away from the boss, do ya?"
"I'm sure Mr. Potter wouldn't be that foolish."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Harry said smoothly. "It's just something to keep in mind if your current employer seems unappreciative. Besides, it never hurts to have other offers while you're negotiating your working conditions, right?"