MetaFic

Harry and Ginny climbed through the portrait hole of Gryffindor tower behind Professor McGonagall after memorizing the password “caput draconis.”  Ginny’s brothers were the only ones still awake, and the professor left after Percy promised to be sure that the new students found their dormitories.

The pair endured confused questioning from the four boys.  Percy seemed most concerned that Ginny had broken school rules, so he was satisfied when they explained that the Headmaster had agreed to her attendance.  Fred and George wanted to know how she had arrived, and she explained Dumbledore’s theory that the castle itself had somehow summoned her.  Ron was left to ask about the odd Sorting ceremony, but Harry and Ginny silently agreed to tell the brothers the same thing they had told Ginny’s parents.  They decided to tell the boys about their odd experiences once they had some idea of what to say.

Finally, Percy pointed Ginny to the girls’ staircase and led Harry up to the first-year boys’ dormitory.  His trunk waited at the end of one of the four-poster beds, so he walked to that one and sat down.  Ginny was happy to discover that a trunk had been delivered for her, also, though she was not entirely pleased by the trunk itself.

The trunk was half the size of the other trunks Harry had seen, and it was completely plain.  The vertical boards on the sides were unfinished and seemed very likely to cause splinters.  The interior was lined with rough wool.

It’s a storage bin. See where Dad added a Muggle latch?  Mum was using it to hold yarn in the attic.

Harry changed into his pyjamas while Ginny carefully examined the contents of her battered trunk.  Inside, she found her clothes, a few treasures from her room at The Burrow, and a birch wand which had once been her grandmother’s.  She gave the wand a firm swish, but only a few half-hearted yellow sparks flew into the darkened dormitory.

As she placed her wand on her nightstand, the curtains on the next bed parted and Hermione poked her head out.  “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” she stated quietly but firmly.  She wore her dressing gown over a full-length nightgown.  Ginny thought that the other girl must have stayed awake and waited for her to get to their room.

“Ginny Weasley.  Nice to meet you,” Ginny whispered.

The brunette wasted no time.  “How did you get here?”

This is going to get old, Harry.

“Magic,” Ginny replied out loud and winked.  At the other girl’s frown, she added, “I don’t really know.  Headmaster Dumbledore thinks that maybe the castle summoned me somehow.”

Hermione did not seem convinced, but let it pass in favour of her next question.  “Why did you get Sorted at the same time as Harry Potter?  Do you know him?”

“I met him on the platform this morning.  The Sorting Hat said it was saving time by Sorting us both at the same time after I got here.”  Ginny shrugged.

“Why didn’t you come on the train, then?”

“I’ve only just turned ten,” she explained.

“They’re letting you enrol early?”  The older girl seemed vaguely offended.

“The Sorting Hat said I could come, and the castle set up a bed for me, so I guess I didn’t have a choice.  If I didn’t start this year, they’d have had to expel me and try to readmit me next year.”  Ginny was not ready to admit that the Hat had said she must come, not just that she could come.

Hermione looked puzzled.  “Surely you want to be at Hogwarts.”  

“Of course I do,” Ginny replied excitedly.  “I’ve heard about all the spells, the castle, and everything else from five brothers.  I can’t wait to see it all and do everything myself.”

“You’ve heard about the spells?”  Hermione bounced to the edge of her bed and began speaking very rapidly.  “What do you think of Wingardium Leviosa?  It seemed simple enough when I tried it on the train, but the book says it takes a lot of practice to really master the charm.  Do you suppose they’ll have us learn the theory and practice the wand motion first, then start casting it, or just let us attempt it and see what happens?  I think it’s important to learn why and how a spell works, but I can see how practice might be more effective from the beginning.”

Ginny was taken aback by the other girl’s sudden enthusiasm.  I’m not sure she breathed at all, Harry commented.

Wanting to be helpful, Ginny scanned her memory for any occasion when one of her brothers had talked about first-year charms.  “Err . . . Charlie said his class spent a lot of time practicing, so I guess we probably will, too.  He said the charm really isn’t very difficult, so the practice is mostly to help you learn fine control of whatever you’re levitating.  Then you can levitate things further from your wand, or move them faster.”

Finding a source of knowledge, even second-hand knowledge, only excited Hermione more.  She pulled Ginny into a whispered discussion about the mechanics of the levitation charm.  Ginny had seen the spell used and had spoken to people who had mastered it, while Hermione had apparently memorized her textbooks almost verbatim in addition to trying the spell herself.

After they recalled everything they could about Wingardium Leviosa, Hermione wanted to move on to Transfiguration spells, but Ginny declined because she was tired.  The two girls said goodnight and crawled into their respective beds.

That was incredible, Harry commented.  He had followed the discussion as best he could by drawing on Ginny’s memories to explain some of the things the girls said.  I never knew there was so much behind a spell.  I thought you just waved your wand, and it did what you wanted it to do.

It’s a little scary, don’t you think? he asked.

She’s clever, that’s all, Ginny told him. I like her. She must be Muggle-born, and she’s trying to catch up with all the things she missed.  It’s not that different from you and me, really.  We have to catch up, too.   I’m younger and smaller than everyone else, and you might as well be Muggle-born, for all you know about magic.

He thought for a moment.  I guess you’re right.  If she feels as weird being here as I do, I don’t blame her for doing everything she can to fit in.  I could never memorize the textbooks, though.  I was barely able to understand what they were saying at all.

We can ask her when we have questions, then, Ginny concluded.  Count sheep or something while I put on my nightgown, okay?

Err, sure.  Harry began to carefully count the strands of yarn in the tassel at the end of the rope that pulled his curtains open and closed.  He was halfway across the thick bundle when Ginny spoke again.

Thanks, Harry.  Clad in a long flannel nightdress, she climbed into her four-poster bed and pulled the curtain closed.  She left her dressing gown within easy reach at the foot of her bed.

The beds here are great, aren’t they?  Harry asked.  Mine doesn’t seem to have even one broken spring or lumpy spot.

Harry thought about the mattress he had slept on at the Dursleys’, and Ginny saw what he meant.  The mattress had been abused by Dudley before Harry moved into the smallest bedroom, and it was in terrible shape.  I bet the other mattresses aren’t like that, but I’ve never been allowed inside any of the other bedrooms.  His resentment stirred again.

Oh, Harry, I’m sorry things were so terrible for you there.  It’ll be better here, you’ll see.  We can talk to Hermione, and I bet you’ll like Ron once he forgets about how I got here.

Sorry, Ginny, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.  I’ve just spent so long being angry at them that I don’t know how to stop, Harry mused.

Dad’s like that, Ginny said.  The rest of us get mad really easily and then forget about it quickly.  Dad doesn’t get angry often at all, but when he does it builds up for a long time before he shows it at all.  Eventually, he disappears into his shed for a while and we hear a lot of banging.  Then he’s okay again.  Fortunately he only gets angry about big stuff.  He never gets mad when one of us does something wrong unless it’s really dangerous.

Well, probably not that exactly.  But I bet you’ll find some way to let it out, Ginny reassured him confidently.

I hope so, Ginny.  I don’t like the way I lose control when I get mad, and I don’t think you should have to feel it.

He finally smiled again.  That sounds entertaining.

Oh, it is.  They both felt her yawn, and Harry’s yawn followed before hers ended.  Goodnight, Harry.

Here in your head, or here at Hogwarts? she thought wryly.

Both, he stated.

They settled down to sleep, but both found it very difficult to get comfortable.  Their beds and pillows were wonderful, but they could not seem to arrange themselves well enough to fall asleep.

Finally, Harry’s body relaxed enough to drift off.  Harry felt himself floating in limbo, but he could still sense Ginny lying in her bed, even though he could no longer feel himself in his.

I’m sorry, Ginny.  Are you still awake?

Yeah, she replied groggily.  What is it?

What? she exclaimed, suddenly alert.  After a pause, she said, I can’t feel anything from you, either.

I’m not dreaming, am I? he asked.

I don’t think so.  I’ve been awake the whole time, so I know I’m not dreaming.  She thought a moment.  What were you doing before you stopped feeling your body?

That must be it, then, she decided. You’re asleep, or at least your body is.  I don’t know why you’re still able to talk to me, though.

Out of nowhere, they saw a flash of green light and heard a high-pitched voice cackling with laughter. Ginny’s eyes were closed, however, and her dorm room was silent.

Oh no, Harry thought.

What was that light?

It’s a nightmare.  I get it every few nights, he replied.

What is it, though?  Who’s laughing?

Harry remembered his conversation with Hagrid, and Ginny’s body shivered slightly as she heard Hagrid’s story.  I think it’s a memory of Voldemort killing my parents.  The scene repeated in their heads, over and over.

Oh, Harry, Ginny sobbed.  She opened her eyes and focused on a tassel as Harry had earlier.  Count with me.  They began counting threads, saying each number together silently, and the cycling nightmare faded from their sight and hearing.  Eventually, Ginny fell asleep while counting, and they both dreamed of green light and cruel laughter.

***

The next morning, Harry was the first to wake, so he and Ginny found themselves staring up at the canopy above his bed.  Ginny identified Ron’s snores coming from the next bed, and other sounds indicated that the other three boys were still sleeping also.

That was awful, Ginny said.  They had suffered through cycles of Harry’s nightmare three times overnight.  Very briefly, they had shared dreams about other bits of one of their lives, but those images were already forgotten as they woke.  

I’ve seen it hundreds of times, but it never gets any better. I’ve never had it that many times in one night.

What time is it? she asked.

Probably about six thirty.  That’s when I usually wake up.

Ugh, she grunted.  I hate seeing anything before seven.  I’d rather sleep.

Well, you are asleep, aren’t you? he teased.

It’s hardly fair if I don’t feel like I’m sleeping.

Let’s hope, she said.  I’m cranky when I don’t feel rested.

She snorted mentally.  Everybody’s unpleasant sometimes.  We can’t all manage it full-time, like you do, but . . . she trailed off, and Harry could hear her snickering at him.

Keep it up and you’ll reach my skill level, oh young one.

Fine, she conceded.  You’re gloomy, I’m young.  Let’s get up.

Well, no, he admitted.  How do we get you to wake up?

I’m not showering until you’re awake, he stated firmly.  You can shower at the same time, if you want, so we only have to deal with it once.

That’s fine, Ginny said.

Harry crossed to the window, and they watched the grounds slowly lightening as the sun came up.  Half an hour later, they began to hear sounds from Ginny’s dormitory as she finally drifted awake.

Harry stayed by his window as Ginny pulled on her dressing gown.  She opened the curtains around her bed to see the two girls she had not met, wearing only their knickers, pulling their school uniforms out of their wardrobes.  Unfortunately, Harry was not prepared, so he saw the same thing.

Ginny yanked her curtains closed again, blocking both of their views, as Harry started counting trees in the Forbidden Forest.

I’m so sorry, Ginny.  I didn’t know your roommates would be getting dressed out in the open like that.

I’d hate to make them mad or anything.  I didn’t mean to see, Harry said shamefully.

I know, and of course I won’t tell them.  Keep counting trees.

While Harry kept himself occupied, Ginny pulled the curtains open again, quickly gathered her toiletries, and headed for the shower.  Okay, Harry.  Get to the door of your shower room, and then we’ll both focus on ourselves.

They managed to shower and dress themselves without any more mishaps, and Ginny remembered to distract herself when Harry’s roommates began waking up.  Harry wore one of his school uniforms and a set of robes, and he carried his other set of robes for Ginny to put on over her clothes in the common room.  Dumbledore had promised that she would have uniforms for the following day, but for now she was wearing blue jeans and a faded green jumper.

They met downstairs, and Ginny slipped the robes over her head.  They were a couple of inches too long for her, but the difference was not enough to interfere with her feet.

Do you mind if we wait for Ron before we go to breakfast, Harry?

The two of them explored the common room, examining the various knickknacks and odd trophies that had been collected over the years by previous Gryffindors.  Students drifted out through the portrait hole in small groups.  After a few minutes, Hermione came down the girls’ stairs and headed for the exit.

“Morning, Hermione,” Ginny called.

“Good morning, Ginny.  Are you alright?”  Hermione asked, walking towards them.

“I’m fine, thanks.  Why?”

“You woke up this morning, took one look at our room, and then closed your curtains again.  You looked startled, or frightened.”

Ginny thought quickly.  “Oh, I was startled.  I hadn’t expected to be here this year, so I hadn’t thought that I’d wake up with other people in the room.”

“Oh, that makes sense, I suppose.  Good morning, Harry.”

“Hi, Hermione,” he replied.

“We’re waiting for my brother Ron to come down to go to breakfast.  Would you like to come along with us?  If you don’t mind waiting, that is,” Ginny offered.

The older girl seemed to consider the offer for a moment.  “I guess that would be okay,” she replied in an uncertain yet hopeful voice.

Soon Ron came down the stairs, and the four students left for breakfast in the Great Hall.  After several false turns and deceptive stairways, they reached their destination.  Along the way, students they passed pointed at the group, whispering about Harry’s scar or Ginny’s mysterious appearance.  Neither of them appreciated the attention, but they managed to ignore it for the most part.

Breakfast was not large enough to be considered a feast, but it was still a greater quantity and variety of food than Harry had seen before arriving at Hogwarts.  Ginny and Harry silently agreed on eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. By the end of the meal, Hermione was gazing at them thoughtfully, but she refrained from asking about their eating habits.

During breakfast, the students received their timetables for the upcoming term.  That morning they had Transfiguration and Herbology, followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts and a mandatory homework period in the afternoon.

With Sir Nicholas’ help, they made it to the Transfiguration classroom without any delays.  Professor McGonagall was every bit as stern in her classroom as she had been the previous evening.  After warning them of the difficulties and dangers of her subject, she gave each student a match and instructed them to attempt to turn it into a needle.

After several attempts, Harry’s match lost its grainy texture, developed a slight point at one end, and a tiny hole appeared in the opposite end.  Hermione did better. Her match was definitely silvery, with a hole in the end and a sharp point.   Ron’s match, though, was faring poorly. The surface of his match was somewhat smooth, but it was still clearly a match.  To Ginny’s dismay, her match was refusing to do more than become rounded on one end.

I don’t understand, Harry.  I’m doing everything exactly like you are.  I know I am – I can feel what you’re doing.  It just doesn’t feel the same when it happens.

So what am I doing wrong? she asked, growing frustrated.

Well, the match is the same, your wand movement is the same, and you’re focusing as well or better than I am.  What does that leave?

My wand!  Ginny exclaimed.  The wand chooses the wizard, right?  Mine is second-hand, and yours chose you.  This old wand must not like me.

Here, try mine then, he offered.

They exchanged wands, and Ginny tried again.  This time, her match promptly smoothed out, became bluntly pointed, and developed a hole in the end.

That’s great, Ginny.  Your match is better than mine and almost as good as Hermione’s.

Passing Harry’s wand back and forth, they kept practicing.  By the end of the period, Hermione’s match had not progressed any further toward being a needle, and Ron had managed a rounded point. Harry and Ginny’s matches were now silvery and sharp, almost completing the transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall noticed them exchanging wands and came by to check on their progress.  Leaning close to the pair, she asked, “Miss Weasley, is there a problem with your wand?”

“Not really, Professor.  It just doesn’t work very well for me.  It was my grandmother’s,” Ginny replied.

“And Mr. Potter’s wand is more suitable?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see.”  The stern woman thought for a moment.  “Very well.  You may use Mr. Potter’s wand for practical work, but I will need to see you each do the task separately at the end of every class period, and I will need to watch you perform the practical component of any tests.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” Ginny said.  Harry nodded his agreement.

McGonagall gave them each a new match, and they separately transfigured their matches using Harry’s wand.  The results were identical to their earlier efforts.

“Well done, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter,” the professor praised.

When class was over, Professor McGonagall asked Harry and Ginny to stay behind for a moment.  Ron and Hermione waited in the hallway outside.

“Miss Weasley, you will have the same experience with your wand in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts.  I will speak to Professors Flitwick and Quirrell and ask them to allow you to share Mr. Potter’s wand, if he doesn’t mind,” she told them.

“That’s fine with me, Professor,” Harry confirmed.

“Excellent.  You will both be subject to the same rules in your other lessons. Your professor will have to see each of you perform a spell separately for either of you to get credit for it.  Miss Weasley, as you practice, you will find that you can do more with your wand, but it will never serve you as well as Mr. Potter’s. When possible, I suggest that you visit Ollivander’s for a new wand.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said.  Harry and Ginny left the room and joined Ron and Hermione to walk to the greenhouses for Herbology.

By the end of their first day of lessons, Harry and Ginny were thoroughly exhausted.Neither of them had slept well the previous night, and their classes had been stressful.

Professor Sprout had asked them to identify different types of dirt in Herbology. It was not difficult, but spending time in the heated greenhouse had made it uncomfortable, and neither Harry nor Ginny were particularly interested in the subject.Neville, of all people, had proven to be quite skilled with plants.

After lunch they went to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Everyone had looked forward to Professor Quirrell's class, but the timid man spent most of the period explaining the various protective items in his classroom and on his person.  Hermione confirmed that garlic was rumoured to repel vampires, but even she admitted that Quirrell seemed prepared to hold off an entire flock of them.

The school day had ended with a homework period in the Great Hall.Having just started lessons, the first years had very little homework, but Harry and Ginny kept busy by attempting to study their Defence Against the Dark Arts book.They both found the subject interesting, especially considering Harry's past, and they wanted to learn what Quirrell was not teaching them.Harry practiced memorizing things the way Ginny did, even though they were not sure which one of them might be remembering what.

After dinner in the Great Hall, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were relaxing in the common room.Hermione was reading her textbooks, for the most part, while Ron taught Harry how to play wizard's chess. According to Ginny, Ron was almost unbeatable at chess, but with her help Harry avoided making a fool of himself in his first few games.

Harry was quiet by nature, and Ron and Hermione seemed to have very little to say to each other. Ginny, however, kept the evening friendly by chatting easily with all three of them. She wanted Ron and Hermione to get along with each other.She and Ron had been best friends before coming to Hogwarts, and Hermione seemed like she might become a friend, too.So far, the only thing the two had in common to talk about was schoolwork. Their approaches to their studies were vastly different, however, so any conversation they had on that topic inevitably ended in an argument.

After a few hours in the common room, the four students went upstairs to bed.In spite of their exhaustion, Harry and Ginny found themselves unable to fall asleep.Neither of them wanted a repeat of the previous night's battle with nightmares, but they were both desperately tired.

I'm sorry we can't sleep because of my dream, Harry said shamefully as they lay in their beds.

I think we could handle the dream, as bad as it is, if we could just sleep when we're not dreaming, she replied. She completely ignored his apology, and he knew she had dismissed it as unnecessary.

I've never really had problems sleeping before.Have you?he asked.

No, Mum says my problem is waking up, she admitted.I just don't feel comfortable enough to get to sleep here.

Ron's snoring? Ginny asked.That keeps me awake sometimes.

They lay in silence for a while longer, struggling to sleep.

This is ridiculous!Ginny raged in their heads.Let's go downstairs and do something to make us sleepy.

If that doesn't work, nothing will, she said sourly.

As promised, a complete set of school books, supplies, uniforms, and robes had been delivered to Ginny's room during dinner.They met in the common room with their copies of Dirt Distinguished and Soil Selected.

Going up or down stairs at the same time is still hard. I keep feeling like I'm losing my balance, Ginny said as she entered the room.

Yeah, but it's already a little easier than it was yesterday, he replied.

Thank goodness.

They chose a sofa facing the banked fire and sat together on the middle cushion. As they read, they gradually relaxed until each of them was reclining against one of the sofa's arms, with their ankles overlapping between them.Oddly comfortable, they quickly and simultaneously fell asleep.

***

While Harry and Ginny were drifting off to sleep, Professor Dumbledore and Septima Vector, Professor of Arithmancy, were meeting in the Headmaster’s office.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Septima,” Dumbledore greeted her.

Visually, Professor Vector was thoroughly unremarkable.  She was of medium height and weight, with straight black hair and brown eyes.  Her robes, though clean and well-kept, never seemed to hang correctly on her body, as though she had not bothered to put them on properly.  She moved about the castle with a distracted air.  She noticed everyone around her and responded appropriately, but her mind was often stuck in a problem few others would care to understand.

“I always appreciate a late night stroll, Albus.  It brings a new perspective to my thinking . . . or, at least, a semblance of movement to the problem.”  She gave a half smile and then shrugged.  “Besides, my syllabus has not changed in years, so I hardly need extensive preparation time,” she explained.

“Yes, the convenience of Arithmancy. Most of it does not change.”

“Maybe for the students it doesn’t, but  . . .” she trailed off and was silent for a moment before adding, almost wistfully, “I always look forward to the next gifted student.  They come along so rarely.

“So, how may I help you, Albus?  That is why you asked me to come here?”  It was more a statement than a question.

“You are familiar with the Arithmantic Magical Power scale, are you not?”

Septima’s eyes lit up. “Of course.  The Arithmantic Magical Power scale, or AMP, is fascinating, though it is largely theoretical at this point. It was created by German Arithmancers before Grindelwald’s rise to power as a way to categorize wizards and witches as worthy or beneath notice.

“Though created to promote prejudice, it has become a legitimate tool for gauging the potential power of a witch or wizard prior to their beginning their magical education.  Ninety percent of the magical community falls into an AMP range of three to five.  The remaining ten percent are split between the two extremes of the scale, and most of them are at the lower end.

“Muggles are said to have an AMP of one, and they provide a base comparison group for the remainder of the scale.  Contrary to popular belief, they do carry magical power.  They simply don’t have enough of it to do anything recognizable as magic.  Squibs have AMP ratings above one but below two.  AMP two is the cut-off between Squibs and low-powered practitioners of magic.

“Some few wizards and witches, such as you, have an AMP of seven.  There have even been rumours that there might be a wizard with an EMP of eight, though those claims have never been documented or independently verified.”

Without pausing for breath, Professor Vector stood and began using her wand to draw simple graphs in the air.  Dumbledore waited patiently for an opportunity to interrupt her.  “It is important to remember that the levels of power on the AMP scale increase geometrically rather than in a simple linear progression.  That is to say that each level on the scale represents twice as much potential power as the previous level.

“Several Arithmancers, notably the Swedish wizard Hansel von Straut, believe that the scale should be adjusted to an eleven point scale with the average wizard or witch’s power set at six.  In that case, the divisions would be smaller and the scale more precise, but a closed scale of that sort would not allow for the discovery of power levels beyond those currently documented.

“I myself have not focused my attention on the mechanics of the scale itself.  Instead, I have chosen to study the spheres created when a person is tested for magical strength.  The spheres vary enough that assigning a rating on the AMP scale based on the configuration of an individual sphere has become something of an art.”

“Do you feel that you can generally identify major differences in power levels, based on the appearance of a sphere?” Dumbledore asked.  Before Septima could interject her own warning, he added, “To an extent that your colleagues would generally agree with your assessments?”

“I believe so,” Vector replied.  “As part of my current research, I have amassed an extensive collection of Pensieve memories showing various spheres.  I hope to develop a useful guideline for deriving AMP ratings based on all of the visible properties of the spheres.  Such a method would be especially useful for AMP ratings of three, four, and five, where the wizarding population provides so many power levels that fall between those ratings.  Given significant differences, however, I can reliably estimate AMP ratings based only on volume and brightness.”

“Excellent,” interjected the Headmaster.  “Would you be so kind as to cast the testing spell on me, to give us a starting point?”

“Certainly.”  Septima repeated the same incantation Dumbledore had used twice the previous day.  Albus’ sphere was quite large and consisted of garishly mixed shades of yellow, orange, and green.  “I would consider you to be at AMP seven, Albus.  Your sphere has been well documented over the years, and every independent assessment has agreed with mine.”

“Indeed, I daresay that my ugly ball of light has been thoroughly tossed about among your colleagues.  What other wizards or witches do you know of who have or had an AMP of seven or more, Septima?”

“None that have been independently verified and confirmed,” she responded.  “As I mentioned, the measurement scale was developed about seventy years ago, so we have no way of knowing how magical people before that might have tested.  

“Grindelwald was suspected to be at AMP seven, like yourself, but that is based solely on records of your battles and the feats he performed in the presence of others.  To the best of our knowledge, the test was never performed on him.  Merlin might have been an eight or nine, based on the stories told of him, but history has warped the stories too much to be any more specific than that.  The Founders were very likely sevens and eights, based on the evidence found in Hogwarts itself, but again there is no way to prove that speculation.”

“And Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked.

Septima flinched at the name, but did not hesitate in her answer.  “There have been rumours that he was tested and measured on the scale, but no one knows who did the testing, so his rating can not be confirmed through Pensieve-viewing, which is standard.  With that caveat, the rumours agree that he was at AMP eight.  If the rumours are true, then he is the only eight ever tested.”

“Yes, I’ve heard those rumours also,” the old man said.  “I would like to show you several spheres in my own Pensieve, and I’d like you to assess them for me.  For reasons that will become clear, I have modified these memories to obscure the person emitting the sphere.”

“Most excellent, Albus,” Septima gushed. “I have been looking for new spheres to test my theories on for several months now. This might help me to verify  . . . I mean to test several of my  . . . well, my . . . recent hypotheses.”

Ignoring the other professor’s unwillingness to share her research, Dumbledore pulled his Pensieve onto the desk in front of him and set out four vials next to it.  Each vial contained a short wisp of memory, and each vial was numbered.

After pouring the contents of the first vial into the basin, Dumbledore swirled the contents and tapped his wand to the surface, causing the memory to appear in miniature above the surface of the liquid.

The power test in the memory had taken place in an office of some kind, which appeared to be in Hogwarts.  It was not, however, the Headmaster’s office.  In the centre of the view was a chair with a patch of darkness obscuring its occupant.  

As soon as the scene materialized, a sphere formed around the chair, extending into the floor and out towards the walls in all directions.  It was blue, white, and gold, in a pattern of well-defined bands around the circumference.  It was clearly larger and brighter than the Headmaster’s sphere had been only moments before.

“Headmaster! That sphere . . . it could only be an . . . I mean . . .” Her voice faded away as she sat mesmerized by the largest sphere she had ever seen. Her eyes were wide and almost fearful as she asked, “Is that his sphere?”

“Incongruously beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.  Vector could only nod.

“Regardless of what individuals in certain professions believe, the colours appear to be truly meaningless,” Dumbledore added. “Where would you place this sphere on the AMP scale?”

Shaking her head a bit, Septima Vector stared absently at the sphere as her finger moved in the air, making calculations as she murmured under her breath.  “ . . . standard chair . . . seated . . . no, a child . . . larger than . . .”  She thought for a few more moments and then nodded, her face becoming fixed and focused again. “I would agree with the rumours. Though larger than yours, the volume increase is not such that it could be greater than an AMP of eight.  It might be slightly lower or higher, but since no other eight has ever been seen, I cannot give you more of an answer than that.”

The scene faded, and Dumbledore returned the memory to the first vial.  He then added a memory from the second vial.

A scene formed, showing a sitting room in a home somewhere.  There were not enough details to determine where the home might be or who might be in it.  This time, the patch of darkness was long and narrow, indicating that the subject of the measurement spell was lying in the middle of the floor.  As Septima watched, a vague green sphere formed around the middle of the darkened area, extending barely far enough to be seen in the modified memory.

Professor Vector’s eyebrows furrowed. “That is an odd sphere, Albus. Many of my colleagues would tell you that it represents a powerful Squib. However, I believe that the moment a sphere extends beyond the skin, it indicates that magical power can be directed outward. Although it is very small and dim, I would place it at an AMP of two. Even in such weak spheres, though, it is unusual to find only one colour with no patterns. Are you certain I cannot convince you to tell me who generated this sphere?”

“Quite certain, I’m afraid.  However, the point seems to be moot.  Let us examine the next memory.”

“No sphere is ever moot, Headmaster,” Septima argued. “Even the sphere of a deceased wizard holds information that can help in the overall understanding of the AMP system.”

Albus waved off her objection, and he exchanged the contents of the Pensieve for those of a new vial.  The scene which appeared showed the Headmaster’s office, with the view centred on the very chair Septima currently occupied.  Immediately, a very large sphere formed around the chair, glowing in a whorled pattern of red, green, and purple.

Professor Vector was trembling as she viewed the new sphere. “Albus . . . how . . . how can this be?” Even thrown off balance, she was spreading her arms and making quick calculations. “That sphere is an eight. I am certain of it. Its volume is approximately double that of your sphere.  And if that is an eight, I am now certain about He-Who . . . But, if this is not yours, and if it’s not . . . him . . . then who produced this sphere?”

“A question whose answer I must deny you, Septima.  I’m sorry,” the Headmaster looked truly regretful, knowing how much the woman enjoyed exploring her field and how disturbed she was by what she was seeing.

“I have one more sphere to show you,” he continued.  “Please watch it carefully.”

Memories were exchanged, and the exact same setting appeared above the Pensieve.  This time, a sphere appeared which completely filled the viewing area.  It was patterned identically to the last sphere, but the patterns were moving across the surface and through the interior of the globe.

“Ridiculo . . .esto es imposible,” Septima muttered to herself as she reached out, framing the image of the globe with her hands and approximating its span based on the dimensions of the room around her.  Finally, she shook her head.  “Albus, what did you do to that memory?”

“Nothing at all except obscure the subject, as I told you.”

“Headmaster, with all due respect, what you’ve just shown me is impossible.  That is clearly the same sphere you just showed me, but it’s grown even larger.  I’ve never heard of a sphere changing at all, I’ve never heard of a sphere that large, and the patterns never, ever, move.  This must be a forgery!” she stated.

“It is an actual sphere, Septima.  As you may have guessed, these are all my own memories.  The last two spheres were produced quite recently, and I remain as surprised as you are now,” he replied patiently.  “Could you hazard a guess as to the AMP rating of this last sphere?”

“It’s . . . I can’t . . . Albus, really, there is no reliable basis for comparison,” she complained, jumping to her feet and pacing about the room, counting out the radius of the sphere she had just seen.  “Today you’ve shown me the first two level eight spheres that any Arithmancer has seen in recorded history, and now you have shown me something which is orders of magnitude larger than the level eight spheres.”

Septima stopped pacing and drew her wand to make quick calculations in the air.  Numbers, symbols, and runes burned briefly and then faded to be replaced by new calculations.  The dark-haired professor seemed to take comfort in the familiar process.

Finally she sighed and sank back into her chair. “It could be a nine, because we have no experience of what a nine might look like.  But based on the progression of size from seven to eight, I would stake my reputation on this sphere being a ten.

“Albus, you must understand that an AMP of ten is more than purely theoretical. The power potential of a wizard or witch with an AMP of ten is eight times your own. Arithmancers do not believe that the human body is capable of containing that much power,” she finished.

“I have heard that myself, and I find no reason to disagree with it,” Dumbledore said cryptically.  “Thank you, Septima.  I apologize for not sharing more information with you, but I assure you that secrecy is imperative.  I trust you will not share what you’ve seen today with your colleagues?”

She sighed.  “If that’s what you want, Headmaster.  I hope that someday I or another Arithmancer might be allowed to study these spheres more closely, even if we do not know who generated them.”

“I sincerely hope that there will come a time when you can study these spheres at your leisure and speak to the subject.  But that time has not yet come.”

“Very well, Headmaster.  Will that be all?”  Professor Vector had recovered her composure and resumed her normal attitude of casual distraction.  Now, however, there was no question about what she was contemplating.

“Yes, and thank you again,” he replied, nodding politely as she left his office.

Returning to his chair, Dumbledore replaced the contents of the Pensieve with a memory from a vial he produced from his pocket.  This scene showed the same sphere that Professor Vector had just assessed as AMP ten.  In this memory, however, the subject was not obscured.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley sat in the large chair at the centre of the memory.  When the sphere had fully formed, Albus froze the memory, halting the motion of the globe’s patterns and preventing the scene from fading back into the Pensieve.

He had thought he had noticed something when this sphere had been produced the day before, and he had stared at this memory for several hours since that time.  He could no longer pretend to be unsure.  This magnificent sphere was not centred on Ginny Weasley.  Instead, it was centred on the two children’s joined hands.

Dumbledore had lost count of the number of times he had been surprised in the last twenty-four hours, but he thought that this might be the greatest shock of them all.