"Ah, you have loyalty that no one can compete, Mr. Potter: 20 points to Hufflepuff for excellent explanation of the discrimination of muggleborns and loyalty to a friend," Dumbledore replied with his eyes twinkling.
Harry gave a small nod to his former (current) headmaster. He didn't trust Dumbledore in this dimension any more than he really trusted the last one. Dumbledore obviously knew what he had done those other students. And considering he had an unknown power level first year that also happened to be an apprentice to every subject, Harry was certain Dumbledore had one thing on his agenda: peg that kid's power level down and get him swayed to helping the old goat out as much as he could squeeze out of him.
Suddenly Harry felt some mental pressure trying to penetrate his thought barrier. Harry glanced at the headmaster and smirked, winking at the old man as an imaginary arm opened the rickety door in his mind and put out a message to the would-be attacker. It read:
Am minding my own bizness, bub.
Ah'd appreciate it if'n you'd ask for
permission first before poking around
this here swiss cheese.
Dumbledore's shocked look was kind of funny. The psychic expanse was a bright white in all directions. There was only this little house in the middle of the anti-landscape. Smoke came out of its chimney and the rickety door was anything but when he tried to press against it.
There was no movement at all. Still, Dumbledore did get a reaction. He got a splinter in his hand from the old wood.
And it was a stinger.
Nursing his hand in the real world, Dumbledore smiled at the two first years and said, "So, Mr. Potter, you've learned the arts of Occulmency. I'm surprised."
Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. "I doubt that, headmaster. You heard the sorting hat as well as I did. I'm sure you knew exactly what you'd find."
"Let's just chalk it up to me having an inkling but no specifics. You'd be amazed at how many of the other old families try to teach their children how to occlude their minds before they come to Hogwarts. You are the first I've met that has progressed this far at your young age."
"Why, thank you, Headmaster. I taught myself. I'm not what I'd consider a master of the art yet, but I'm getting there. It's not like it was hard or anything," Harry replied.
"I knew it," Hermione muttered to herself, making a mental note to find those books on Occulmency and Legillmency as soon as she could.
Harry hadn't heard her as he continued, "Even Longbottom could learn it. Given a decade or two."
"Mr. Potter, learning Occulmency on your own is truly a magnificent accomplishment. It also happens to be illegal," Dumbledore pointed out quietly.
Harry smirked.
"Actually Headmaster, what I read in Magical Law Enforcement For Dummies was that it was illegal to use Legillmency on uninformed people. Not creating mental barriers for yourself using Occulmency."
Albus smiled at the response. His apprentice was certainly not one to mince words if he could help it. He ratcheted up his eye twinkle to full blast as to give the impression that he was more amused than amazed at this mystery called Harry Potter.
There was no getting around it: he was going to have to ask James and Lily how they helped their son become so powerful. James certainly must have had his hand in training the boy's Occulmency. As is, having a grasp of magical laws by the age of 11 was an impressive feat. He had heard from his deputy of how a certain student had shot a standard spell with an unknown outcome that she still couldn't identify. It was as if a bludgeoning and a disarming spell had been intermingled which had left one student nursing a broken clavicle. This apprentice certainly needed watching, that was for certain. Especially if he were to ever recruit him into the Order when Voldemort rose again. And rise he will, he knew sadly.
"Well Mr. Potter, I'm here to tell you your detention is with Professor McGonagall tonight at 8:00. Do not be late." He smiled down at the students and Harry smiled back, neither giving anything away.
Bowing his head slightly, "Please don't be late to your next class, Miss Granger. Mr. Potter, take all the time you need to compose yourself." And with that he walked out the door. Harry watched him leave, not really sure where he was going to take this conversation. The old goat knew something - that was possible. He definitely suspected something - that was a certainty.
"Harry, do you want me to tell Professor McGonagall you'll be late?"
Just then the bell rang.
....
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