With the marauders map in my possession I didn't have to worry about missing the point when Quirrell went for the stone, this caused me to spend slightly more time with my friends and just being more relaxed in general.

Life at Hogwarts had become a routine. Sometimes I even started thinking about magic as something mundane, but I always managed to stop myself quickly enough. Magic was nothing but magical, this was a belief I was willing to defend in a duel of honour.

I was sitting in the hospital wing listening to Pomfrey rant at me at the moment though, not slaughtering heretics with my broadaxe. I didn't even know why the woman was so brought up, I had only suggested hurting myself to progress my healing skills faster.

Well, I guess that's what criminal muggles were for. I could train my legilimency on them as well.

I had thought of an interesting spell pertaining the mind arts, I was itching to test it out.

My teacher suddenly went deathly still.

"You're not listening are you?" She asked calmly, calm before the storm.

My sigh was answer enough.

"Ronald Weasley I will tell you this, you are incredibly talented, but I cannot teach you unless you mature and rescind your flippancy in regards to healing.” Her gaze softened, probably remembering that I was only a first year, and that being immature was par of the course.

I wasn’t actually a first year if you could believe it, but just an adult with a macabre sense of humour and priorities. I could milk the fact that others saw me as a strapping young lad though.

“You can come and continue lessons in a few years. If you can convince me you have grown." She added.

Giving her a slightly betrayed look I left the hospital wing, unwilling to argue the issue.

It had been my fault really, I had forgotten to filter my words around her, having grown to trust her in my time spend studying under here. But I’d forgotten that adults took it very seriously when children suggested with a deadpan that they could cut themselves up to practice healing spells.

Sometimes I fancied myself a protagonist of some story that always had things go his way.

Obviously that was not the case.

-/-

Back in the common room Wayne cracked bad jokes at me until I came out of my funk, I thanked him and left for Quidditch practice.

Thanks to the comet 360 Bill had gifted me I had become able to participate in practice matches, finally. Next year I would definitely become a beater for my house, one of our sixth years was leaving to concentrate on his NEWTS.

I even got to practice my healing on the beat up members of my team after training. Fun times. Just because I had lost access to formal healer training did not mean my journey along that path was over.

I took a glance at the map, it was awkward lugging that thing around everywhere, especially fitting it in my quidditch robes, but it was necessary.

Quirrell’s footsteps were moving in the first room of the third floor parkour course. I looked for Dumbledore but didn’t find him.

"Sorry guys, I have to go."

The only one I hadn't healed yet was Diggory, who was too nice to say anything.

Meh it would toughen him up, maybe he wouldn't have died during the triwizard tournament if he wasn’t such a pansy.

-/-

Transfiguring my school tie into Gryffindor colours I ran up the stairs towards the red and gold tower.

The fat lady probably knew I wasn't a Gryffindork, but she had to let me in with huff due to her programming.

The password by the way was 'adventure', slightly ironic considering my situation.

A glance at the map assured me that everyone that could recognize me, but for FInnegan was elsewhere, and that Potter was talking with Mcgonagall at the moment.

Huh, I honestly hadn't thought that scene would repeat itself with how different Wonderscar boy's experience at Hogwarts had been.

I entered the first year dorm.

"Hey, who are you!?" shouted Seamus Finnigan, who was already standing up and pulling out his wand. Dude, we shared half our classes, come on. Was this what being a Hufflepuff was like?

I rolled my eyes, honestly, the only offensive spell the boy probably knew was the knockback jinx.

"Stupefy"

A flash of red and he was lying on the floor. I considered him for a moment and took a firewhiskey flask out of my inventory. I used it as a disinfectant only, trust.

I knelt by his unconscious body, splashed some in his face and into his mouth and put the thing into his right hand, as a final act I stuck the hand not holding the bottle in his pants.

I grinned, now this, was art.

"Accio invisibility cloak"

It didn't work, why would it. According to legend the thing was immune to such spells, but it had been worth a try.

I quickly determined which bed was Potter’s due to it having a glasses cleaning kit on the night table.

Running over to it I pulled his trunk out of under his bed and started rummaging in it.

Socks, a bong, some meth, and finally, a shimmering cloak, I detected some spells that I assumed were tracking ones.

Probably from Dumbledore. Although I wondered how the hell he had applied them.

"Finite"

An overpowered dispelling charm wiped them out of existence. The cloak probably helped, I was fairly sure no first year should have been able to dispel any of Dumbledore’s spells.

The cloak felt powerful when I picked it up, the magic surrounding it gave of a feeling of death and invincibility, it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever felt.

I heard a feminine giggle.

I spun around and was already casting the stunning charm when I noticed nobody was there.

I took a look at the map, nobody. Potter and my twin brothers were in the second room of the corridor. No Time!

I put on the cloak and started running.

When I arrived at the entrance of the first room the map said Scarface was already in the second to last one.

I stared at the door with all of my senses.

The wards I had felt all those months ago scouting this place were gone. This was the reason I had had to wait for Quirrel to make his move. Ward breaking while a very useful branch of magic, was not something I could have mastered in the time I had.

No more hesitation.

I opened the door.