The Day After — When Legends Are Born
If you asked Harry Potter what he'd learned in his eleven years of existence—and honestly, you probably shouldn't unless you had a few hours to spare—it would be this: fame was like accidentally stepping on a Lego while barefoot. It hurt, it was unexpected, and once it happened, you knew you were in for a long day.
The morning after Halloween, standing outside the Great Hall doors with his friends, Harry figured this was going to be one of those days that made stepping on Legos look like a relaxing spa treatment.
"OH, THIS IS GOING TO BE *SPECTACULAR*!" Jim's voice exploded in Harry's mind like a mental marching band having a disagreement with a fireworks factory. The Ruyi Jingu Bang was vibrating so enthusiastically in its wrist holster that Harry's entire arm was starting to tingle. "Kid, kid, KID! Do you realize what you've done? You've gone from 'that Potter boy who probably smells like cabbage' to 'HARRY THE MAGNIFICENT TROLL-SLAYING LEGEND OF AWESOME' in exactly—" Jim paused for dramatic effect "—twelve hours, thirty-seven minutes, and forty-two seconds! That's got to be some kind of record! I'm talking Guinness Book of World Records material here!"
Harry watched Aether do what could only be described as celebratory cloud gymnastics around his head—loop-de-loops, barrel rolls, and what might have been an attempt at spell-checking his homework. The little silver cloud was practically glowing with pride.
"Good boy, Aether," Harry murmured, and the cloud puffed up even more.
"I can hear them chanting already," he said to his friends, his emerald eyes with their distinctive silver flecks practically sparkling with anticipation.
"*Chanting?*" Jim's voice shot up so high it probably violated several noise ordinances. "OH MY SWEET CHAOS-LOVING CHILD! They're not just chanting! They're composing BALLADS! EPIC POEMS! I can feel the legend crystallizing through the very stones of this castle like—like—like magical concrete! But the good kind of magical concrete that makes statues, not the kind that makes ugly sidewalks!"
Ron Weasley, whose ears had already turned that particular shade of pink that meant he was either embarrassed or excited—and honestly, with Ron, it was usually both—was practically vibrating. "This is going to be brilliant," he said, his voice cracking slightly on the word 'brilliant.'
"This is going to be mortifying," Hermione Granger corrected, and Harry could practically see her brain working overtime, calculating social dynamics and probability matrices like the daughter of Athena she was. Her bushy brown hair seemed to crackle with intellectual energy, which, knowing Hermione, might not have been entirely metaphorical.
Neville Longbottom just blushed and tried to disappear into his robes, but there was a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The boy who'd stood up to a twelve-foot troll was still getting used to people actually *noticing* him for good reasons.
Tracey Davis examined her nails with the kind of calculated indifference that could only come from someone who'd spent years in Slytherin House. "Well," she said in that dry way of hers, "at least if we're going to be famous, we're going to be famous for something interesting."
Daphne Greengrass nodded approvingly, her blonde hair catching the morning light streaming through the castle windows. "Agreed. Much better than being famous for, say, accidentally setting the Potions classroom on fire."
"That was ONE TIME!" Susan Bones protested, her red hair practically standing on end with indignation. "And technically it wasn't an accident, it was an experiment!"
"An experiment in what?" Hannah Abbott asked, her voice somehow managing to convey both innocent curiosity and deep concern.
"Rapid classroom evacuation techniques," Susan replied with the kind of straight face that would have made Jim proud.
"*I LOVE THESE CHILDREN!*" Jim announced to Harry's mental soundtrack. "*They're like tiny chaos agents in training! Your father Loki would be so proud, he'd probably throw a party! With fireworks! And possibly some light property damage!*"
Harry grinned and pushed open the doors to the Great Hall.
What happened next was like getting hit by a wave made entirely of sound, enthusiasm, and what might have been actual glitter.
"TROLL SLAYERS! TROLL SLAYERS! TROLL SLAYERS!"
The entire Gryffindor table exploded into cheers so loud that several portraits along the walls covered their ears. Hufflepuff joined in with the kind of polite but enthusiastic applause usually reserved for particularly good puddings. Even Ravenclaw looked up from their morning reading, and that was saying something, because Harry was pretty sure some of those books were more interesting than real life.
Slytherin tried to maintain their reputation for cool indifference, but Harry caught more than one calculating smirk and several impressed nods. Even they had to respect a good troll-slaying.
"Well," Hermione said, covering her face with her hands, "this is exactly as mortifying as I predicted."
"Are you kidding?" Ron's voice shot up an octave, and his whole face had gone the color of a particularly enthusiastic sunset. "This is BRILLIANT!"
Before Harry could respond, Fred Weasley had somehow materialized on top of the Gryffindor table like a red-haired jack-in-the-box, striking a dramatic pose that would have made Shakespeare weep with envy.
"BEHOLD!" Fred announced to the entire hall, his voice carrying the kind of theatrical gravitas usually reserved for royal proclamations or really good bacon. "HARRY THE TROLL SLAYER!"
George appeared beside his twin with a sound effect that might have been magical but was probably just really good timing. "DESTROYER OF BATHROOMS!"
"SAVIOR OF INDOOR PLUMBING!"
"SCOURGE OF UNSUSPECTING MOUNTAIN TROLLS!"
"FRIEND TO HOUSE-ELVES AND TERROR TO MINISTRY BUILDING CODES!"
Harry threw them a lazy two-fingered salute because, honestly, why fight it? He was the Monkey King. Chaos was basically in his DNA.
"*OH, I LIKE THESE TWO!*" Jim was practically purring with approval. "*Very theatrical! Very... chaotic! They understand the importance of a good dramatic presentation! Your father would adopt them immediately!*"
"Don't give him ideas," Harry muttered under his breath.
By this point, Susan and Hannah had caught up with them, both looking like they'd been hit by the same enthusiasm wave but with completely different reactions. Susan's red hair was practically defying gravity with excitement, while Hannah looked like she might faint from all the attention.
"This is mental," Susan breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the continuing ovation.
"Mental in the best possible way," Tracey added with a smirk that could have cut glass and probably left scarring.
"*MENTAL IS RIGHT!*" Jim interjected. "*This is BEAUTIFUL chaos! Organized chaos! The kind of chaos that builds legends and makes people write songs and name their children after you! Well, maybe not the last part, but you get the idea!*"
Daphne surveyed the hall with the kind of cool assessment that came naturally to someone who'd been raised to see social situations as chess games. "Well," she said, her voice carrying that slight drawl that made everything sound either very important or very dangerous, "I suppose we're celebrities now."
"*CELEBRITIES?*" Jim's voice hit a frequency that probably caused several dogs in the village to start howling. "*KID, YOU'RE NOT CELEBRITIES! YOU'RE LEGENDS! MYTHS IN THE MAKING! There's a difference! Celebrities get magazine covers and awkward interviews! Legends get SONGS written about them that last for CENTURIES! People name their PETS after you! Their CHILDREN! Their PARTICULARLY IMPRESSIVE HOUSEPLANTS!*"
As if Jim had somehow managed to influence reality through sheer enthusiasm alone, someone from the Hufflepuff table started singing what sounded suspiciously like a ballad about brave first-years and fallen trolls. It wasn't particularly good, but it was definitely heartfelt.
Hermione looked like she might actually expire from embarrassment, which would have been a terrible waste of a brilliant mind.
"*Don't worry about her,*" Jim advised. "*She's strategic. Give her ten minutes to process this, and she'll figure out exactly how to turn it into an advantage. Daughters of Athena don't stay embarrassed for long—they get even.*"
Aether drifted closer to Harry's shoulder, somehow managing to look smug for a cloud. Harry gave him a gentle pat, and Aether puffed up with pride.
"Good boy," Harry murmured again, because positive reinforcement was important, even for magical clouds.
At the staff table, Professor McGonagall was watching their group with the kind of expression that suggested she was trying to decide whether to be proud or start planning their funerals. Professor Snape looked like he'd bitten into something that was not only sour but possibly still moving. His black eyes were narrowed to slits as he glared at their group with the intensity of someone trying to solve a particularly annoying puzzle.
And Professor Dumbledore...
Well, Professor Dumbledore was trying to butter his napkin while his actual toast sat forgotten on his plate.
"Sir," Professor Flitwick said gently, his tiny voice carrying across the staff table, "perhaps you meant to butter the toast?"
"Hmm?" Dumbledore blinked owlishly around the hall, his half-moon spectacles sliding down his nose. "Oh yes, quite right, Filius. Though I do think napkins need more fiber in their diet these days. Or was that house-elves? Have you seen my left sock? I'm quite sure it was plotting something with the right one earlier..."
Professor McGonagall's lips had gone so thin they were practically invisible, which was her default expression whenever the Headmaster said anything these days.
"*Is it just me,*" Jim wondered, "*or is the old man getting a bit... you know... dottier than usual?*"
Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on that situation. A senile Dumbledore could be either very dangerous or very convenient, depending on the circumstances.
But for now, he was content to bask in the glory of being Harry the Troll Slayer, surrounded by his fellow legends, while his magical cloud preened and his ancient monkey king staff provided running commentary like the world's most enthusiastic sports announcer.
Fame might be weird, but Harry was beginning to think it had its advantages.
—
Ten Days Later — When Stories Grow Wings and Learn to Fly
By the time they'd been Troll Slayers for ten whole days, Harry was starting to understand why his father Loki had such a complicated relationship with the truth. It wasn't that the truth was boring, exactly—it was just that the truth had limitations that a good story could completely ignore.
Take lunch in the Great Hall, for example.
"So then," Ron was saying, gesturing wildly with a chicken leg that was rapidly becoming less chicken leg and more prop in an increasingly dramatic performance, "Harry grabs the troll's club with his bare hands—"
"That's not what happened," Hermione interrupted automatically, but she was smiling despite herself, which Harry took as a sign that her brilliant brain had finished processing their new social status and moved on to the 'strategic advantages' phase of planning.
"—and he looks this twelve-foot monster right in its stupid ugly face," Ron continued, completely ignoring the interruption, "and he says, 'Not today, you overgrown booger!'"
"I definitely didn't say that," Harry protested, though he was grinning.
"*You should have,*" Jim interjected gleefully. "*That's a CLASSIC one-liner! Very heroic! Very... you know... monkey-king-ish! Next time, you should definitely go with something like that. Maybe throw in some dramatic music. I can provide sound effects!*"
"—and then," Ron's voice was getting louder and more animated by the second, "he flips the troll over his shoulder like it weighs nothing!"
"Ron," Harry said, trying not to laugh, "the troll was twelve feet tall and probably weighed more than a small dragon."
"Details!" Ron waved the chicken leg dismissively, sending small bits of meat flying across the table. One piece landed in Colin Creevey's pumpkin juice, but Colin was too busy taking notes to notice. "So Harry flips this twelve-foot, dragon-weight troll, right? And it goes FLYING—"
"*Flying?*" one of the second-years gasped, leaning forward so far he nearly fell off the bench.
"Oh yes," Tracey jumped in smoothly, her dark eyes glittering with the kind of mischief that made Harry understand why the Sorting Hat had put her in Slytherin. "But that was nothing compared to what Daphne did."
Daphne, who had been delicately eating her salad with the poise of someone attending a formal dinner rather than listening to increasingly ridiculous stories about herself, raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What I allegedly did?"
"The way you summoned those snakes," Tracey continued, her voice taking on the kind of dramatic tone usually reserved for ghost stories and really good gossip.
"I did not summon snakes," Daphne said calmly, though there was a hint of amusement in her blue eyes.
"Dozens of them," Tracey pressed on relentlessly, "all silver and green, wrapping around the troll's legs like magical rope—"
"There were no snakes!"
"*SNAKES!*" Jim was practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "*Oh, that's GOOD! Very dramatic! Very snake-charmer-ish! You should totally learn to summon snakes, just in case. You know, for authenticity!*"
"And then Susan," Hannah added, getting into the spirit of things with the kind of innocent enthusiasm that made Harry suspect she was more dangerous than she looked, "conjured that shield of badgers—"
"Shield of what now?" Susan nearly choked on her pumpkin juice.
"Badgers, Susan. Magical badgers. Everyone saw it. They were glowing and everything."
"Nobody saw it because it didn't happen!" Susan's hair was practically standing on end with indignation, which only made her look more like someone who might actually summon magical badgers.
"*BADGERS!*" Jim was now laughing so hard that Harry's entire left arm was shaking. "*Oh, this is EVEN BETTER than I hoped! Kid, do you realize what's happening? You're not just becoming legends—you're becoming MYTHS! The kind of stories people tell around campfires for the next thousand years while roasting marshmallows and scaring their children!*"
"The kind of stories that are complete rubbish," Harry pointed out mentally.
"*Even better! The best myths are always complete rubbish! That's what makes them mythical instead of just historical! Besides, chaos building on chaos—your father would be so proud his trickster heart might actually grow three sizes, like that green Christmas fellow!*"
Harry caught Hermione's eye across the table. She was scribbling frantically in what looked like a brand new journal, her quill moving so fast it was leaving small ink splatters on the parchment.
"What are you writing?" he asked.
"Damage control," she muttered without looking up. "If people are going to insist on spreading completely inaccurate accounts of what actually happened, the least I can do is document the real events for posterity. Someone needs to maintain some connection to actual reality."
"*Reality is overrated,*" Jim observed sagely. "*Much too limiting. Very boring. Not nearly enough flying or magical badgers.*"
"Or," Tracey suggested with a grin that belonged in a horror movie, "we could just lean into it. Make the stories even more ridiculous."
Hermione's head snapped up so fast Harry was surprised she didn't get whiplash. "Don't you dare."
"Oh, come on," Daphne added, her voice carrying that subtle purr that suggested she found the idea personally amusing. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"*FAMOUS LAST WORDS!*" Jim announced with the enthusiasm of someone watching their favorite disaster movie. "*Oh, I love these girls! They're like tiny agents of beautiful chaos! Your father would adopt them all and teach them advanced pranking techniques!*"
Neville, who had been quietly eating his way through what appeared to be his third helping of shepherd's pie, looked up nervously. "Um," he said in his soft voice, "I don't think I want to know what I supposedly did in these stories."
"Oh, that's easy," a fourth-year Hufflepuff called out cheerfully. "You summoned a pack of wild boars and rode one into battle while playing a war horn made from a troll's tooth!"
Neville turned an interesting shade of green that matched his tie. "I did what now?"
"Very heroic," the fourth-year continued approvingly. "Even though you're a Gryffindor, I have to admit that was very... Hufflepuffy, to be honest. I mean, if Hufflepuffs were known for riding boars into battle, which we're totally not, but it would be brilliant if we were."
"*BOARS!*" Jim was now laughing so hard that Harry's vision was getting slightly blurry. "*Kid, I'm telling you, these stories are getting better by the day! At this rate, by Christmas they'll have you wrestling dragons and arm-wrestling giants and possibly negotiating trade agreements with the moon!*"
"And what about me?" Ron asked hopefully. "What am I supposed to have done?"
"Oh, everyone knows about the flaming sword," a third-year Gryffindor said matter-of-factly. "Very impressive magic for a first-year. Where did you learn to conjure fire weapons?"
Ron's ears went so red they were practically glowing. "Did I really conjure a flaming sword?"
"NO!" Hermione practically shrieked, causing several nearby conversations to pause and turn in their direction.
"*This is BEAUTIFUL,*" Jim purred contentedly. "*Absolutely beautiful chaos! I haven't seen story-telling this creative since your father convinced half the Norse gods that he'd accidentally married their prize stallion! Which, to be fair, wasn't entirely inaccurate, but the details were much more complicated than—*"
"Jim," Harry interrupted mentally, "I really don't need to hear about Dad's romantic complications."
"*Fair point. Where was I? Oh yes! BEAUTIFUL CHAOS!*"
At the staff table, Professor McGonagall was watching their increasingly animated group with the kind of expression that suggested she was seriously considering early retirement. Professor Snape looked like he was contemplating whether poison in the pumpkin juice would be too obvious. His black eyes were fixed on their table with the intensity of someone solving a particularly irritating crossword puzzle.
Professor Sprout was nodding approvingly at the mention of magical badgers, because apparently even the teachers were getting caught up in the stories.
"Badgers are very noble creatures," she said to Professor Flitwick, who was trying very hard not to laugh. "Very determined. If I were going to magically summon anything to fight a troll, badgers would be an excellent choice."
"*See?*" Jim pointed out. "*Even the TEACHERS think the badger thing is brilliant! You're achieving cross-generational myth-building! That's advanced chaos theory right there!*"
And Professor Dumbledore was attempting to eat his soup with what appeared to be a quill, while his actual spoon sat forgotten beside his bowl.
"Headmaster," Professor McGonagall said in that carefully controlled voice that suggested she was counting to ten in several different languages, "perhaps you'd prefer to use the spoon?"
"Hmm?" Dumbledore looked up, blinking owlishly through his half-moon spectacles. "Oh, quite right, Minerva. Though I do think the quill gives the soup a certain... literary flavor. Very educational. Have you seen my other shoe? I'm sure it was having a philosophical discussion with my sock drawer this morning..."
Professor McGonagall's left eye had developed a slight twitch.
"*Okay, that's definitely getting weirder,*" Jim observed with uncharacteristic seriousness. "*Kid, I've seen a lot of powerful wizards in my time, and that's not normal absent-minded professor behavior. That's... something else.*"
Harry made another mental note about keeping an eye on the Headmaster situation.
But for now, he was content to listen to his friends' increasingly ridiculous stories, watch Aether do lazy loop-de-loops around the enchanted ceiling, and enjoy being part of the most entertainingly chaotic group of first-years in Hogwarts history.
"*Seven years to go, kid,*" Jim reminded him cheerfully. "*Seven years of chaos, glory, and creative truth-telling. And this? This is just the opening act. Wait until we get to the really interesting parts.*"
Harry grinned and reached for another piece of treacle tart.
He could hardly wait.
—
Three Weeks In — When Detention Becomes Social Hour
"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said in that tone that managed to convey both stern disapproval and grudging admiration, "you seem remarkably cheerful for someone who's been scrubbing cauldrons every evening for three weeks straight."
Harry looked up from his current cauldron—which had apparently been used for something that left stains in colors that didn't exist in nature—and gave her his most innocent smile. "It's honest work, Professor. Builds character."
"*And upper body strength!*" Jim added helpfully. "*All that scrubbing is great for developing those monkey-king muscles! Very important for future troll-slaying activities!*"
Professor McGonagall's lips twitched in what might have been amusement if she hadn't been a Scottish transfiguration teacher with a reputation to maintain. "Indeed. And I suppose the fact that your fame has only grown during your punishment is purely coincidental?"
"I wouldn't know anything about that," Harry replied with the kind of straight face that would have made Loki proud. Which was complete rubbish and they both knew it, but sometimes the dance of plausible deniability was more important than actual truth.
"Mmm." McGonagall settled into her chair—a piece of furniture that had probably seen more detentions than most people had seen birthdays—and pulled out a stack of essays to grade. The red ink on her desk suggested this was going to be a long night for some very unfortunate students.
"*She's got that look,*" Jim observed. "*That 'I know you're up to something but I can't quite figure out what' look. I've seen that look before. Usually right before someone starts asking very uncomfortable questions about recent property damage.*"
"Tell me, Mr. Potter," McGonagall continued, her sharp eyes watching him over her spectacles, "do you ever intend to explain exactly how eight first-years managed to defeat a fully-grown mountain troll?"
Harry met her gaze with his own, silver flecks in his green eyes catching the candlelight. It was a fair question. A reasonable question. The kind of question that deserved an honest answer.
Too bad honest answers were complicated when you were the son of a trickster god and the reincarnation of the Monkey King.
"Would you believe us if we did?" he asked instead.
There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the gentle scratching of McGonagall's quill and the distant sound of Peeves singing what might have been opera or might have been someone torturing a cat. With Peeves, it was often hard to tell the difference.
"*Ooh, she's thinking,*" Jim whispered. "*I can practically hear the gears turning. Very dangerous, thinking teachers. They tend to figure things out just when you least expect it.*"
Finally, McGonagall looked up from her essays. "Try me," she said simply.
"*TEMPTING!*" Jim's voice shot up several octaves. "*Oh, that's very tempting, kid! We could tell her EVERYTHING! The whole glorious truth! About me being a shapeshifting magical staff! About you being the legendary Monkey King! About your dear old dad Loki! About Hermione being the daughter of Athena! About—*"
"Jim," Harry interrupted mentally, "breathe."
"*I don't breathe! I'm a magical weapon! But if I did breathe, I would be hyperventilating right now because this is SO EXCITING!*"
Harry considered his options. The truth would be... complicated. And probably result in a lot more questions than anyone was prepared to answer. But someday, maybe...
"Maybe someday, Professor," he said finally. "When the time is right."
McGonagall studied him for a long moment, and Harry had the distinct impression she was seeing far more than she was letting on. Her sharp eyes seemed to catalog every detail—the way he held himself, the confidence in his voice, the fact that he was scrubbing cauldrons without complaint while most eleven-year-olds would be whimpering about unfairness and child labor laws.
"*She's GOOD,*" Jim observed with reluctant admiration. "*Very good. Reminds me of your mother—both the mortal one and the goddess one, actually. They both had that same way of looking at you like they could see right through all your clever lies and halfway decent deceptions.*"
Finally, McGonagall nodded slowly. "Very well. But Mr. Potter?" Her voice carried a note of warning that made Harry pay attention. "Whatever secrets you're keeping—and I'm quite certain you're keeping several—be careful. Hogwarts has a way of bringing hidden things to light, whether we want them revealed or not."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, and meant it.
"*She's not wrong,*" Jim agreed as Harry returned to his cauldron scrubbing. "*This place is absolutely crawling with ancient magic and nosy ghosts and portraits that gossip worse than old ladies at a knitting circle. Keeping secrets here is like trying to hide a dragon in a teacup—technically possible, but only until someone tries to make tea.*"
As Harry worked, he found himself thinking about McGonagall's warning. She was right, of course. Secrets had a way of coming out at Hogwarts, usually at the worst possible moment and in the most dramatic way imaginable.
But then again, he was the Monkey King. He'd been keeping secrets from gods and emperors for longer than most civilizations had existed. A few suspicious teachers were nothing compared to the Jade Emperor's entire celestial bureaucracy.
"*Plus,*" Jim added cheerfully, "*if anyone does figure out the truth, we can always claim it was performance art. Very avant-garde. Very... interpretive.*"
"That's your solution to everything," Harry pointed out.
"*It's a GOOD solution! Very versatile! You'd be surprised how many awkward situations can be resolved by claiming they were performance art. I once got out of a very uncomfortable conversation with the Buddha that way.*"
"I'm afraid to ask."
"*Probably best not to. The details are... complicated.*"
As Harry finished his assigned cauldron and moved on to the next one—this one appeared to have been used for something that had left actual claw marks on the interior—he reflected on the past three weeks.
Being famous was definitely weird. Being notorious was even weirder. But being legendary?
That was starting to be fun.
"*Just wait,*" Jim said with the kind of glee usually reserved for children on Christmas morning or villains in particularly dramatic movies. "*Kid, you haven't seen ANYTHING yet. This is just the warm-up act. The opening number. The appetizer before the main course of beautiful, glorious chaos!*"
"Should I be worried?" Harry asked.
"*Only if you don't like adventure, excitement, and the occasional bit of world-saving heroics. Oh, and property damage. There's probably going to be some property damage.*"
Harry grinned as he scrubbed. With Jim around, there was always going to be property damage.
And honestly? He was looking forward to it.
—
The End of November — When Secrets Start to Bubble
The Great Hall was buzzing with the kind of excitement that usually accompanied either Quidditch matches or rumors about the kitchen serving chocolate cake for dessert. Since the upcoming Gryffindor versus Slytherin match was still two days away, Harry figured it was probably the chocolate cake rumors.
Or possibly the fact that their table had become the unofficial headquarters for increasingly ridiculous troll-related storytelling.
"Do you think they'll ever get tired of the story?" Neville asked quietly, his voice just barely audible over the general dining hall chaos. He'd grown more confident over the past month—standing up to twelve-foot trolls had a way of putting regular social interactions into perspective—but he still blushed whenever someone mentioned his supposed boar-riding cavalry charge.
"Are you kidding?" Ron laughed, and Harry noticed that his voice didn't crack quite as much as it used to. Fame, apparently, was good for Ron's confidence. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to us! We're famous! People know our names! People want to sit with us!"
"We're notorious," Hermione corrected, though she didn't sound entirely displeased about it. Her brilliant brain had clearly finished processing their new social status and moved into what Harry privately thought of as 'strategic advantages mode.' "There's a significant difference between fame and notoriety."
"*She's right,*" Jim agreed approvingly. "*Fame is what you get for doing something nice. Notoriety is what you get for doing something INTERESTING. Much more fun, notoriety. Much more... flexible.*"
"Is there really a difference?" Susan asked, grinning. She'd been enjoying the attention more than she'd expected, especially from the older Hufflepuff students who now treated her like she'd personally saved the entire school from troll-related bathroom damage.
"Oh yes," Daphne said with that cool smile that made everything sound like it might be either a compliment or a threat. "Notorious is much more interesting than famous. Famous people get invited to boring parties and have to be polite all the time. Notorious people get to do whatever they want because everyone already expects them to be interesting."
"*SMART GIRL!*" Jim announced with the enthusiasm of someone who'd found a kindred spirit. "*Very smart girl! She understands the fundamental principles of reputation management! Your father would definitely try to recruit her for advanced chaos theory!*"
Hannah nodded eagerly, her blonde hair bobbing with enthusiasm. "Besides, it's not like we lied about anything important. We really did fight the troll."
"We really did," Harry agreed, catching Hermione's eye across the table. She gave him a small nod—their more significant secrets were still safe.
For now.
"*The key word being 'for now,'*" Jim observed with the kind of cheerful ominousness usually reserved for fortune cookies written by people with very dark senses of humor. "*But don't worry, kid. When the time comes for the big reveals, it's going to be SPECTACULAR. I'm talking fireworks, dramatic music, possibly some tasteful explosions...*"
"Please tell me you're not planning the dramatic reveals already," Harry said mentally.
"*I'm not planning the dramatic reveals already,*" Jim replied promptly.
"That sounded suspiciously like a lie."
"*It was a BEAUTIFUL lie! Very convincing! I've been taking lessons from your father!*"
At the staff table, the teachers were providing their own entertainment. Professor Dumbledore was attempting to cut his roast beef with a spoon while his actual knife sat forgotten beside his plate, gleaming uselessly in the candlelight.
"Headmaster," Professor Flitwick said in his tiny, worried voice, "perhaps you'd prefer to use the knife?"
"Hmm?" Dumbledore looked up, blinking owlishly through his half-moon spectacles. "Oh, quite right, Filius. Though I do think spoons are much more versatile than people give them credit for. Very philosophical, spoons. They understand the deeper meanings of soup. Have you seen my hat? I'm quite sure it was having a conversation with my beard earlier about the proper etiquette for addressing Tuesday..."
Professor McGonagall had developed what appeared to be a permanent eye twitch, while Professor Snape looked like he was seriously considering whether a career change might be in order. His black eyes surveyed the Great Hall with the expression of someone who'd signed up to teach potions and somehow ended up in charge of a magical asylum.
"*Definitely getting weirder,*" Jim muttered. "*That's not absent-minded professor behavior, kid. That's... something else entirely. Something that might be worth keeping an eye on.*"
"Do you think she knows?" Tracey asked quietly, nodding toward McGonagall, who was currently watching their group with that particular expression she got when she was trying to solve a puzzle that had too many missing pieces.
"McGonagall knows everything," Ron said matter-of-factly, as if this were a law of nature like gravity or the tendency of toast to land butter-side down. "It's like a rule or something. She probably knew we were going to fight that troll before we knew it."
"*Not everything,*" Jim corrected with gleeful smugness. "*She doesn't know about me! Or about Hermione's divine parentage! Or about the fact that she's got the actual, honest-to-gods Monkey King sitting in her dining hall eating shepherd's pie and complaining about potions homework like a normal eleven-year-old!*"
"Yet," Harry murmured under his breath.
"Yet," Hermione echoed, understanding immediately. Because they both knew it was only a matter of time. Secrets this big had a way of coming out, especially in a place like Hogwarts where the walls themselves seemed to have opinions about current events.
But for now, they were just eight first-years who'd gotten very lucky with a troll.
For now, that was enough.
"*Seven years to go, kid,*" Jim reminded him cheerfully. "*Seven years of chaos, glory, and creative truth-telling. And this? This is just the warm-up act.*"
Aether drifted lazily around Harry's shoulders, a contented silver cloud basking in the attention.
Harry grinned and raised his pumpkin juice in a small toast to his friends.
Seven years to go, indeed.
And honestly? He couldn't wait to see what happened next.
"Pass the treacle tart," he said to Ron, and settled back to enjoy the show.
After all, the Monkey King had always been a fan of good entertainment.
And something told him the best was yet to come.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!