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Chapter Text

1^st September 1991

There was no crash.

Harry opened his eyes, let out a yelp and barely managed to slam on the metaphorical brakes in time to keep from running over a large gray cat.

Around him, King’s Cross had disappeared entirely.

The bustling scene before him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Thick billowing clouds of steam, emerging from the scarlet locomotive that he assumed was the Hogwarts Express mingled with the crisp air, lending an ethereal haze to an already magical atmosphere.

Students of all ages were gathered on the platform, their faces alight with excitement, nervousness, or a mixture of both. A few feet away, a gangly, freckled boy with flaming red hair seemed to be struggling with a battered trunk almost as large as himself, while a girl who seemed to be on her own, her bushy brown hair flying wildly, was clutching a large book in one hand and was casting nervous glances towards the train. Nearby, a dark-haired youth with a rather prominent nose and a supremely bored expression leaned against a pillar, a sleek black cat winding around his legs.

A large number of parents and guardians filled the platform as well, offering last-minute advice, affectionate hugs, and stern reminders. A round-faced boy with a kind, anxious smile was being fussed over by an elderly woman in a tartan cloak, who repeatedly patted him down to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Harry immediately recognized him as Neville, from Madam Malkin’s and toyed with the idea of going up to him to say hello. But the stern and severe expression of the boy’s guardian made him think better of the idea.

Further along, a set of twins also with vivid red hair, identical down to the last freckle, were loudly joking and demonstrating a series of tricks to a younger boy who watched them with wide, awestruck eyes.

Pets of all kinds were everywhere, adding their own chaos to the scene. Owls hooted from their cages, cats of various colors and breeds slinked through the throng, and an assortment of strange creatures peeked out from trunks and bags. A large, regal owl sat perched on a trolley beside a tall, wiry boy, its amber eyes surveying the crowd with a rather disdainful air that immediately reminded Harry of Snark.

Even the actual platform itself was a veritable riot of color and noise. Posters advertising new Quidditch brooms and other wizarding goods adorned the walls, and a couple of vendors roamed through the crowd, selling sweets and other treats. But dominating the whole scene, the Hogwarts Express stood proudly gleaming in the morning light, its polished exterior reflecting the excitement and anticipation that filled the air. Its carriages, each one marked with the emblem of Hogwarts, seemed to promise adventures yet to come.

Harry’s gaze swept across the crowd again. Not far from them, a surly-looking boy with sleek, platinum blond hair stood flanked by two hulking companions, all of them already dressed in what seemed to be their school uniforms, their matching sneers directed at the bustling crowd. For a brief second Harry’s eyes met those of the blond boy and the sneer seemed to intensify as he took in Harry’s hat and obviously mundane clothing.

With a final, lingering glance around the platform, Harry began to make his way towards an open carriage door nearby, careful to avoid bumping into folks with his trolley, or accidentally squashing someone’s pet.

Thanks to the charms on his trunk, it was easy for him to unload it from the trolley and haul it onto the train itself. With this done, he set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment. The other students he passed didn’t so much as give him a second glance, even though a lot of them seemed to be scanning the crowd as if looking for someone.

Probably looking to find and catch up with their friends after spending the summer away from each other, Harry assumed.

He had to walk to nearly the end of the train before he finally found an unoccupied compartment and dragged his trunk into it. He hesitated a moment before opening it up to extract a set of his black school robes, and then stowed the trunk on the luggage rack overhead.

That done, he settled into the window seat and resumed his perusal of the crowd of people on the platform.

As he watched more families bidding farewell to their children, just for a moment, he felt all alone. He had always had the comforting presence of Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon near him whenever he had left home for whatever reason, and going somewhere all by himself was a new and strangely overwhelming experience. He wondered if he should have kept Hedwig with him like most of the other children seemed to have done, just so he would have had the opportunity to write to them and let them know that he had gotten aboard the train safely…before reluctantly quashing the thought.

It was curious though how so many of the witches and wizards who were on the platform seemed to be dressed in a manner which indicated that they weren’t concerned about how they might be perceived by any non-magical folks they could run into. So, either there were other ways to arrive at the platform that Harry wasn’t aware of, or a lot of these folks simply didn’t care about the statute of secrecy or didn’t consider attracting the attention of mundane folks as something to be worried about.

Harry couldn’t tell if the latter was more likely to be caused by the innate superiority complex of magical folks to their mundane counterparts, or a dependency on freely using memory charms (something that he’d read about and was quite disturbed by the idea of) whenever things went awry. He also wasn't sure about which possible explanation he found more concerning.

With an effort, he calmed himself by entering into a trance for a few moments. It would not be helpful to start off by being overly critical of everything he observed in a world he was still so new to, he started to tell himself right as his musings were interrupted by the sound of the door to his compartment sliding open.

A couple of girls his age, each dragging a trunk behind them stood at the entrance to the compartment eyeing him with a bit of uncertainty, before one of them smiled brightly.

“Hello, are these seats taken?” She asked. “Most places are already full or occupied by upperclassmen.”

“Er, n-no.” Harry stammered, caught off guard. “Please feel free,” he gestured with a small smile.

“Thanks!” The girl in the lead grinned and strode into the compartment, her long and braided dark hair swinging behind her.

As Harry helped the two newcomers hoist their trunks onto the racks above them, he realized that they were twins. He vaguely recalled seeing them in Diagon Alley during his shopping trip.

“I’m Parvati,” the lead twin said, extending a hand once they had settled down. “And exhibit A here is my brilliant but socially awkward twin sister Padma.”

The second twin swatted the more talkative sister with a paperback novel that Harry hadn't spotted earlier and offered Harry a small smile.

“Hello,” Harry smiled in return. “I’m H-”

He was interrupted by the compartment door slamming open once more and the gangly, freckled boy with red hair, who he had clocked earlier, giving them a quick once over before abruptly turning on his heels and heading away, leaving the door still ajar.

“Wow, that was…rude,” Parvati commented, her dark eyes narrowing.

“He’s probably not going to be the only one trying to find and befriend Harry Potter,” Padma observed. Harry noticed that even though both sisters had the same voice, their mannerisms and even tone were starkly different.

“I mean, I’d like to say hello to him too, but imagine making a spectacle of yourself like that to find him,” Parvati said, shaking her head. “I’m almost tempted to lock the door to prevent any more such crass intrusions, but I guess there’s still more seats here in case someone needs them. You want the window seat, Padma? No? Ok, I’m taking it then!”

Padma rolled her eyes and scooted out of the way, as the more rambunctious twin dove for the aforementioned seat and offered a quiet sigh in Harry’s direction as if to say, ‘Sorry about this’.

Harry found himself grinning, as some of his earlier trepidations melted away.

True, he was about to enter a new world that he understood very little of, but first and foremost he and everyone else here was a child heading to school. It would likely still be years before he would need to worry about anything beyond getting good grades and learning magic, and instead of being surrounded by people out to get him, he would be around more Dudleys, Pierses and Wasims.

He allowed himself to relax and smiled at Padma to reassure her that he didn’t mind her sister’s exuberance, as the twin in question hollered out of the window, trying to get the attention of their parents who were presumably still on the platform.

He sat back and watched the twins interact with their parents through the window. They seemed to be of Indian descent and spoke rapidly in a language that Harry didn’t know, but their mother seemed to be exuding the same energy as Aunt Petunia did whenever she had to try and convince Dudley to curb his excitement. From experience, he suspected that this was just as futile an endeavor as what he was used to witnessing.

In the days leading up to September 1^st, Harry had decided that it was probably a good idea to stop using a pseudonym when he met his fellow students. As it was, his identity was bound to be revealed once he arrived at Hogwarts, so there was no benefit in pretending to be someone else on the train ride over. He’d kept the hat and the lenses on for their drive into London and was ready to ditch the first and swap the second for his glasses as soon as the train started moving. He honestly preferred his glasses to the lenses, and only ever used contacts during fencing lessons and the like.

Which of course would be something he would be forced to discontinue except during the summer.

He’d have to look into what kind of sports and extra-curricular activities were available at Hogwarts, since he rather doubted that Quidditch could be the only thing there was. He didn’t suppose that he’d be able to try that particular sport himself since most kids from magical backgrounds would likely have had a significant head start in learning to fly on a broomstick, but the flying lessons still sounded interesting.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door to the compartment opening once more.

This time it was the blond boy from the platform with his two oversized companions. His gray eyes swept the compartment imperiously and paused when he noticed the twins’ parents just outside the compartment, as they had stopped their conversation to regard the newcomer.

“My apologies, I seem to have come to the wrong compartment,” he muttered with stiff politeness and left without another word while one of his mates closed the door behind them.

“Well, at least that’s an improvement,” Parvati giggled.

Harry was saved from having to respond by the sound of a whistle that indicated that they were ready to depart. He watched both twins hug their parents through the compartment window and wondered if Dudley, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were already on their way back to Surrey. He suspected that they may have stuck around for a while just in case and wished that they could have come through to the platform to see him off. But further reflections were terminated when the train finally lurched into motion.

As the Hogwarts Express slowly picked up speed and left the crowd of parents behind as it pulled out of the platform, Parvati finally sat back down from having leaned out of the window as far as she could go and waving at her parents until they were out of sight.

“Hogwarts! Here we come!” she said with barely contained excitement. “What house do you think you’ll be sorted into, er-Oh! I’m sorry, we never got around to catching your name!”

Harry took a deep breath.

“I’m H-”

The door opened right on cue.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

The new arrivals, this time, were the bushy-haired girl Harry remembered seeing on the platform and a sheepish-looking Neville following along in her wake. The girl was looking at Harry and the twins expectantly.

“Uh-no toad here, sorry” Parvati muttered, sounding a little amused.

“I can’t believe I’ve lost him already!” Neville wailed. “It hasn’t even been a full minute since we've left the station!”

Harry decided to take pity on the boy.

“I think there is a spell that could be useful in this situation,” he offered. “If you find one of the upper year students or a prefect they might be able to summon your er-toad with the summoning charm. And also, good to see you again Neville.”

Instead of Neville, it was the bushy-haired girl who replied.

“I don’t remember reading about a charm like that,” she stated flatly, suspicion clear in her eyes. “And I have read through the entire ‘Standard Book of Spells – Grade One’!”

“It’s not part of the first-year syllabus,” he offered weakly.

“So, how do you know about it then?”

“Um…I read ahead?” Damnit, it wasn’t even a full five minutes into this trip, and he was already drawing attention to himself. “Look, just ask a prefect, I’m sure they’ll be able to help out.”

“So, you can’t perform the spell yourself?” the girl asked, before continuing without giving Harry a chance to respond. “All the spells I tried have worked for me so far.”

“Oh Merlin, you’re annoying!” Parvati’s voice interrupted her, and Harry turned to stare at her in mute admiration.

“Look, we haven’t seen your friend’s toad, and he’s just offered good advice on how you might track it down. So do you want to follow it or just brag about having read the whole book or being able to use a few spells?”

The girl’s eyes bulged for a moment as the whole compartment went quiet.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered after a second. “I swear I didn’t mean to brag, it’s just that I’m very new to magic and I was very excited about all this and so I had read all the schoolbooks and some supplementary stuff ahead of time so I wouldn’t fall behind-”

“It’s ok, breathe” Padma stopped the sudden rant by getting up from her seat and placing a gentle hand on the new girl’s shoulder. “My sister has a tendency of being abrasive and harsh. All she meant was that perhaps what you should be focusing on is helping, er, Neville, find his toad instead of comparing notes about what we’ve read so far. Right, Parvati?”

“Well, partially,” Parvati muttered before sighing at the glare from her twin. “Yes, that is what I meant. I’m sorry it came out so rough.”

She flashed them all another bright smile as Neville and the girl looked at her a bit uncertainly.

“Look, tell you what. Papa told us that prefects travel the corridors during the train journey to make sure everyone’s doing fine and help the first years if they need anything. Why don’t the two of you wait with us, and once a prefect passes by, we can stop them and ask for help, yes?”

“I-if you’re sure?” the girl asked hesitantly.

“I am,” Parvati offered with another easy smile and extended her hand in the direction of the two newcomers. “Come on in and close the door, we have plenty of room. I’m Parvati by the way, Parvati Patil. This is my more tactful twin Padma.”

“I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger,” the bushy-haired girl said cautiously, accepting the offered hand and shaking it. “And I really am sorry about before,” she added, turning to include Harry in her apology.

“No harm done, and I really ought to stop reacting like that,” Parvati accepted the apology on both their behalf, much to Harry’s amusement and extended her hand towards Neville. “It drives Mama crazy. She calls it my ‘Gryffindorish tactlessness’.”

“Neville. Neville Longbottom,” Neville said quietly, accepting Parvati’s hand and giving it a limp shake.

“Merry meet both of you,” Parvati beamed, before realizing that everyone was still rooted to their spots. “Well don’t just stand there! Come in and grab a seat. The prefects won’t show up faster if you remain standing, will they?”

At Parvati’s prodding, Neville and Hermione finally sat down in the seats closest to the door facing each other. Padma rolled her eyes and resumed her seat, which put her in between Hermione and her sister and picked up the paperback she had been browsing whenever she hadn’t been corralled into a conversation by her twin.

“Oh wow! Was it the third time now?” Parvati suddenly laughed. “Every time you try to introduce yourself, someone interrupts you! Maybe the fourth time’s the charm?” she finished with a twinkle in her dark eyes as she surveyed Harry.

Harry smiled in spite of himself and took a breath.

“My name is,” he paused with an eye on the door which showed no sign of springing open again, “Harry. Harry Potter.”

He was met with silence.

“Oh…” Parvati eventually said, her eyes wide.

“You’re Harry Potter?” Hermione was the first to shake off the surprise in a sudden rush of excitement. “I’ve read all about you! You’re mentioned in ‘Modern Magical History’, ‘The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts’ and ‘Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century’!”

“Er…” Harry responded with his usual tongue-tied eloquence. He had read Modern Magical History and GWETC too and knew that he had been mentioned in passing in both. The second book in particular had made him sound like some kind of magical miracle on account of him having supposedly survived the killing curse as a baby. He wondered if everyone he was going to meet would have a similar reaction to finding out who he was.

“Ugh,” Parvati snorted in disgust. “You two are such Ravenclaws,” she declared, casting a disdainful glance at Hermione and Padma.

She turned back to Harry, “Don’t let them get to you Harry. Books might teach you a lot of things, but they clearly don’t teach subtlety. Hey!”

The last part was in response to being swatted on the head by her twin once more.

“Um, sorry,” Hermione said, blushing slightly again. “I mean, you are kind of famous. Is that why you’re in disguise? Apparently, no one knows where you went after you defeated You-Know-Who, but your family, the Potters, are all rumored to have distinctively messy black hair-”

“You’re doing it again,” Parvati smirked.

Hermione restrained herself with an effort as Harry smiled in amusement.

“Um, honestly…yes. My Aunt and Uncle thought it would be a good idea if I didn’t attract too much attention until I was safely on the train. Hence the hat and all.”

“Y-you’re really H-Harry Potter?” Neville asked very quietly.

Harry turned to face him, remembering that he had introduced himself to the boy at Madam Malkin’s back in July under a different name.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that Neville. My Uncle and Aunt thought that it might be simpler to er, not reveal who I was while shopping at Diagon Alley in case, er you know.”

Neville didn’t respond but still seemed to be staring at him.

“Um, I know who you are too of course,” Harry offered, speaking to fill the silence. “I’ve read about the, er, att-”

He had enough sense to break off abruptly the instant he recognized the suddenly rising panic in Neville’s eyes and tried to hastily change the subject.

“But er, enough about reading things…you were asking about which houses we would be sorted into, Parvati?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, right!” Parvati perked up again. “I’m definitely going to be in Gryffindor. I bet Padma gets sorted into Ravenclaw, bookworm that she is,” she added, deftly ducking a third attempted swipe from Padma’s paperback. “What do you all reckon?”

“I-I think Gryffindor sounds by far like the best house,” Hermione said contemplatively. “Even Dumbledore himself was one! And he’s considered the greatest wizard of our time! But to be fair, Ravenclaw also does sound pretty nice. Apparently they have their own private library in their common room.”

She took in their somewhat surprised gazes and shrugged, “I read about it in ‘Hogwarts: A History’.”

“I’ve read that too,” Harry said, feeling a little relieved that the conversation was back on familiar grounds for now. “But honestly, it feels a bit like a puff piece masquerading as a history book. All the fun facts are amazing of course, but the constant references to Hogwarts being the best school there is, are just plain misleading.”

“They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true!” Hermione immediately huffed with visible indignation.

“No, he’s right,” Padma chipped in. “Hogwarts is the best school for magical education in the British Isles, but worldwide there are lots of other prestigious schools that produce amazing witches and wizards every year. In fact, based on the recent rankings of quality and variety of education offered, Hogwarts ranks third in Europe alone, behind Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.”

“I-” Hermione began uncertainly.

“I think my g-gran really wants me to be in Gryffindor. But I might be a Hufflepuff,” Neville said in a whisper, heading off the imminent debate.

“The house of loyalty and hard work,” Parvati declared solemnly. “I think every house has merit and important values, so no matter where you go, I’m sure you’ll do great, Neville. What about you Harry?”

“I…honestly don’t know,” Harry conceded. “I am not sure if I even understand what the point of sorting students into different houses is, and how it’s supposed to be a good thing.”

“Of course, it’s a good thing! Without being sorted into a house how would we know what our most prominent traits are?” Hermione declared, sounding scandalized.

“We’re eleven,” Harry sighed. “Are you really saying that being a little brave, or bookish as we are now should automatically exclude us from being housed with folks who are loyal and hardworking, or cunning and ambitious? If anything, I’d think the reverse would be a much better idea. House the folks with a tendency of rash impulsiveness with folks that are more pragmatic. House the children who are ambitious with people who value loyalty…and try to ensure that you eventually have graduates who are well-rounded individuals instead of products of some kind of medieval echo chamber.”

Harry stopped for a breath; he hadn’t realized that he had inadvertently raised his voice above normal during the impassioned mini-rant. He calmed himself and continued in a more level tone.

“Look all I’m saying is, the idea of segregating children, and yes that is exactly what the sorting sounds like, based on their supposed qualities at the age of eleven, is more likely to produce young adults with less balanced personalities and almost tribalistic loyalties towards their own housemates and an innate distaste for others. Even the separation of classes based on the skills of the students sounds like a better way to split folks up, if the primary idea is to bring down the number of people per class to a more manageable number.”

“But the founders were wise! And surely, in all their wisdom-”

“The founders started something new. They decided to individually teach folks, who they personally approved of. The original Hogwarts was more akin to a massive mentorship program than an actual school. As a result, during their time it must have been a matter of convenience to house all of Gryffindor’s pupils in the same area and so on. From everything I’ve read and heard…that is no longer the case today.”

Hermione leaned back and bit her lip with a worried frown. Harry had a sense that questioning figures of authority or the status quo, or even the printed word, wasn’t something that came naturally to her. And it didn’t seem like the rest of the folks in the compartment were convinced either.

Harry gave each of them a small apologetic smile and tried to steer the conversation to safer waters.

“Well, that’s just what I feel. So…if it were up to me, I’d rather not be in any house at all and be able to spend time with everyone without associating any specific trait or stigma to them. But, as it’s not, I honestly couldn’t begin to guess where I’ll be sorted.”

“Well, I’ll still be a courageous Gryffindor,” Parvati said, recovering first. “So, regardless of where you end up, I’ll be sure to come and say hi from time to time...no matter how well you try and disguise yourself.”

And just like that the tension evaporated as they all chuckled.

Harry looked around again and received a small meek smile from Neville and a thoughtful nod from Hermione. Padma was still frowning at something though, and just as he met her eyes she spoke up abruptly.

“Lesson plans.”

“Sorry, what?” Harry asked, startled.

“Students of different temperaments, or ones who value different things, might require different lesson plans or teaching approaches to be effectively educated,” Padma said. “So, it would make sense that the children with more bravery than brains might benefit more from a more practical challenges-based curriculum than ones who prefer a more abstract and theoretical lesson.”

Harry considered the idea. It clearly had merit; he quickly accepted and nodded to Padma.

“That is actually a very good point,” he said, pretending not to see Hermione’s gleeful smile out of the corner of his eye. “So, is that how different classes are taught at Hogwarts, then? A different style of teaching based on the students’ temperaments?”

“No. To the best of my knowledge, the same instructor teaches every class of the particular subject, in exactly the same manner.”

Hermione deflated in the corner.

“Ah,” Harry shrugged. “Yeah, then I think I’d much rather be houseless.”

“What is this about being houseless?” A new voice suddenly intruded.

They all looked around, startled. They’d been so caught up in their discussion that they had completely missed the compartment door opening, and a tall older boy appeared on the other side.

 “Oh, didn’t mean to startle you,” the boy began with a slightly self-important air, as Harry noted that this was yet another of the gangly freckled red-haired specimens that there seemed to be far too many of. In addition to the other traits, this one also had on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and what appeared to be a shiny red and gold badge pinned to his dark robes. “I am Percy Weasley, one of the two fifth-year prefects from Gryffindor. Would I be correct in assuming that you are all first-year students?”

At their hesitant nods, he stepped into their compartment confidently and clasped his hands behind his back in the manner of a pastor about to begin a sermon.

“Allow me to be the first to welcome you all to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the finest institute for magical education there is. I am aware that starting out at such a prestigious institution can be a little daunting at first, but I can assure you that no one will suffer the ignominy of being houseless,” Percy the Prefect continued, with what Harry assumed was meant to be a reassuring glance in his direction. “The sorting process is a time-honored tradition at Hogwarts, since the days of its founding over a millennium ago, and while I am not at liberty to divulge its workings, I can promise you that it is nothing to be afraid of. Now, are there any other matters that I could perhaps assist any of you in?”

“Can you do a summoning charm?” Parvati shot immediately.

“Er-that’s. Why exactly do you ask?” Percy said, suddenly seeming a little off guard.

“Neville here has lost his toad,” Hermione spoke up. “H-We heard that there might be an upper-year spell, the summoning charm might be able to help?”

“I see,” Percy said, glancing at Hermione and then Neville. “Well, I am aware of the spell, it is part of the fifth-year charms curriculum, but most regrettably I haven’t had an opportunity to master it just yet.”

He saw the disappointment in Neville’s eyes and immediately pushed on. “But have no fear young man, I’ll find one of our senior prefects and bring them along shortly and they should definitely be able to assist. Oh! As a matter of fact, here are some of them now! Thruston! Merryweather! Would either of you have a moment to spare?”

The two students Percy had just hailed had been passing by engaged in conversation with each other but turned at the sound of Percy’s call.

“What do you want Percy?” the boy, Thruston, asked cordially.

Harry had seen a few wizards around so far, dressed in old-fashioned robes, or in some cases wearing mundane attire that they didn’t seem too comfortable in. But nothing he’d seen so far in Diagon, King’s Cross or anywhere else had prepared him for Thruston.

The pale boy, presumably a slight bit older than Percy, was dressed in an open-chested leopard print jacket over a gray tank top. His head was shaved completely bald on the left side, and he wore thick dark eyeliner along with a metal necklace that looked like an iron cross. Harry couldn’t be quite sure, but he guessed that the extremely tight dark pants the older boy was wearing were probably made of dragon hide.

“Orsino Thruston here,” Percy was saying, “despite appearances, was chosen to be the male prefect for Hufflepuff house last year. He turned down the position to focus more on his musical pursuits. He’s somewhat of a prodigy on the drums and already works with the band known as ‘The Weird Sisters’.”

He gestured at the girl who had been accompanying Orsino (who none of them had paid any attention to on account of being transfixed by her companion’s getup) and continued.

“Sarah Merryweather is the sixth-year prefect for Hufflepuff and one of the top students of her year. I’m positive that between the two of them, they’ll be able to help you out.”

“Wotcher fellas,” Sarah, a tall, slim, girl with her long blond hair in a loose braid said with an easy smile. Unlike Orsino, she seemed to have already changed into her Hogwarts robes, just as Percy had. But where his tie and Prefect badge were crimson and gold, hers were yellow and black. “I don’t know what Perce has been telling ya, but having a stick up one’s behind, is not in fact a requirement to become a prefect.”

“Plus, there’s much better things to do out there than prowling the castle at nights busting people anyway,” Orsino winked. “But what is it you need help with?”

“Um-Neville here has lost his toad. But can I have your autograph? I really love the Weird Sisters! ‘Yuletide Schmuletide’ is like my favorite track ever! I knew you were young, but I didn’t know you were still in school!” Parvati gushed, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her dark hair around her index finger.

Harry saw Sarah Merryweather roll her eyes theatrically and move closer to Neville while Orsino dealt with his fan. Hermione seemed to have asked Percy something to which he was responding. He shifted closer to Neville, to hear what the sixth-year prefect was saying.

“Ok, I should be able to help summon your toad assuming it’s on the train and not left back on the platform. But this spell requires visualizing the intended target. We don’t want to be summoning someone else’s pet now, do we? So, Neville, can you describe your toad as clearly as you can?”

“Uh-yes, I-I think so,” Neville stuttered. “He’s called T-Trevor. I’ve had him for two years n-now, and even though he’s supposed to be a smooth-sided toad, he’s brown and covered in wart-like bumps. My Uncle Algie picked him out of me because of the irregularity. He has black eyes.”

Harry made a mental note that Neville’s nervousness and stutter seemed to disappear when he was focused on talking about something that he was clearly invested in.

“Very good,” Sarah said approvingly. “I dare say that is gonna be enough. So, stand back lads and let’s give it a whirl, shall we?”

Harry watched with keen interest as Sarah withdrew a wand from her skirt pocket and fought the temptation to try and sense the wand’s wood or core. She squinted her eyes for a second and performed a curved horizontal slash in the air in front of her while clearly intoning what he assumed was the incantation for the spell. “Accio Trevor!”

For a second, nothing seemed to happen, but just as Harry was about to look away so as not to show his disappointment, there was a rush of air and a toad slapped into Sarah’s outstretched left palm with a muffled croak.

“Trevor!” Neville leapt up immediately and reached out to take the toad from the prefect, who seemed quite glad to hand him over.

“Try to take better care of him now Neville,” she called cheerfully as she dragged Orsino away from the compartment. “And welcome to Hogwarts y’all. Good luck with the sorting!” She yelled as they left.

Harry tore his eyes away from Neville stuffing a squirming Trevor into his pocket and caught the tail end of Hermione’s conversation with Percy as the door shut behind the departing sixth-year students.

“-the exception to the allowed pets is purely on the grounds that no witch or wizard can be legally separated from their familiars unless they are incarcerated. But, since it’s hard to predict exactly where a familiar bond might end up developing, a lot of students bring their pets along hoping that one day it will become their familiar through time and proximity. The school tends to take a lenient view of this-” Percy was explaining.

“But a tarantula?” Hermione interrupted.

“Well, they might look big and scary, but they aren’t harmful to people. Their bites are similar to a bee sting at best. But actually, that reminds me…my little brother Ronald, who is also starting Hogwarts this year, is deathly scared of spiders. And knowing my other brothers, the twins, they’ll think it a merry prank to find and put this tarantula in his bed or something. I had better go and warn him.” He looked around. “Assuming you do not require any additional assistance that is?”

Hearing a chorus of “No and thank you!” He smiled and took his leave.

“He’s a bit stuffy, but he seems helpful,” Padma observed once the door had closed again.

Harry and Neville nodded, while Hermione looked affronted and, in the background, Parvati declared that she wanted to be in Hufflepuff now.

The next few hours of the journey were spent chatting amongst themselves.

Neville, it seemed, had been raised by his grandmother and homeschooled by a large number of great uncles and aunts, and before anyone could ask him what happened to his parents, Harry shifted the focus by starting to talk about the Dursleys. He rather thought that Parvati and Dudley might get along like a house on fire.

Hermione it seemed was the first witch in her family, her parents being dentists who had set up their practice on the outskirts of London. To no one’s surprise, she also revealed that she had been a part of the gifted program in her former school and clearly couldn’t dream of doing any less brilliantly at her magical education. She squealed in joy when Harry mentioned Aunt Petunia’s plans for him to take his GCSEs eventually through summer preparations and asked him if they could meet up for some study sessions during the school year as well.

The twins’ parents were second-generation arrivals to the UK and helped manage the London office of their magical import and export business between India and England. Harry listened with fascinated attention as Padma spoke about the various different magical ingredients and products that would only grow in specific climates and regions and how their global availability benefited any new research into potion-making, by allowing folks to work with substances that would have been unavailable to potioneers even a few decades ago.

Sometime around midday, a lunch trolley arrived, pushed along by a friendly witch. And while all of the kids in Harry’s compartment had been sent packed lunches, they couldn’t resist buying a few small sampler packs of the more exotic-looking sweets.

They laughed, joked and talked about which subjects they were most looking forward to learning while coughing from the occasional weirdly flavored Bertie Bott’s Bean.

They also had fun catching and eating the animated chocolate frogs which Neville and Padma mentioned contained collectible cards inside them. Hermione and Harry had both looked a little horrified at the prospect at first, before Parvati had explained that these were just chocolate figures charmed to hop around and weren’t really alive in any sense of the word. She’d explained that if allowed to do so, the charm would merely wear off after fifteen or so minutes of the frog being unwrapped.

Apparently, Padma and Neville were both avid collectors of these chocolate frog cards and were looking for specific characters to improve their collections. They each generously offered Harry and Hermione all the cards they claimed to already have, and soon Harry found himself the proud owner of cards depicting his soon-to-be headmaster Albus Dumbledore, some horrifyingly evil wizard from ancient Greece called Herpo the Foul and master potioneer Damocles Belby along with an ancestor of his, Flavius Belby, the only known wizard to have ever survived a Lethifold attack.

He was however very interested in the card that Hermione had passed to him, citing a desire not to develop a reason to get addicted to chocolate products and thereby risk being disowned, which depicted ‘Merlin the Wild’.

The portrait within the card was currently blank (Parvati had scoffed at him when he’d drawn attention to the fact and asked why he was expecting them to stick around all the time), but Harry’s eyes were carefully re-reading the small blurb of text beneath the space for the picture.

“Merlin the Wild, also known as the Prince of Enchanters is perhaps the most famous mage to have ever walked the British Isles. Credited with founding the British Wizengamot during his tenure as the First Minister and Court Wizard of King Arthur, he is just as renowned for shaping the muggle governance of the time as he is for helping mold wizarding Britain into its current state. Merlin was one of the first generation of students to be educated at Hogwarts, supposedly directly by its founders, and is to date the only known Hogwarts student to have refused to be placed in any single house. Merlin is also known for creating the charms that allow for the animation of portraits and for rumors of recurring violent interactions with his far more divisive historical contemporary, Morgana le Fay. Whether the two were lovers or enemies remains unclear to this day with each account painting their relationship in a different light.”

Now that was a bit of information that Harry hadn’t known about Merlin. He carefully considered what it might mean in his head.

“Fifteen minutes from Hogsmeade! Everyone should change into their school uniforms if they haven’t already! Leave your luggage on the train!” The sudden booming voice that reverberated through the compartment, and most likely the whole train, made them all jump about a foot into the air.

As they hastily pulled on their school robes, and Harry finally doffed his baseball hat and stowed it in his trunk before similarly discarding his lenses and putting on his round glasses, it took every ounce of the mental discipline that he’d mastered over the last few years to keep his sudden nervousness from showing.

When the train finally began to slow and he carefully followed Neville and the girls off the train and onto a platform already crowded with students in Hogwarts uniforms, he let out an exhale and whispered, “Ok…Showtime.”

Chapter Text

1^st September 1991

The last rays of the setting sun barely illuminated the nearby area as they took in their surroundings. Over in the distance, Harry could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky.

Their small group of first years milled around uncertainly, unsure if they ought to be following the crowd that seemed to be heading towards one end of the narrow platform. A few moments later, their confusion was cleared as they heard a loud voice calling out in the distance.

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!”

Harry turned in the direction of the voice and peered over the shoulders of the robed students, and soon spotted an approaching lantern, held aloft by the same giant of a man he had seen at the Leakey Cauldron.

The group started moving in the direction of the man, who acknowledged them with a cheery wave as he kept on calling.

“C’mon, this way, any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years ter me!”

Once the man, Harry thought his name was Hagrid, seemed satisfied that all of the first-year students had been rounded up, he began to lead them away from the platform along a steep and narrow path that seemed to descend into the darkness.

Slipping and stumbling, they followed him. It was so dark here that Harry felt certain that they were passing through some sort of wood that was thick enough to block out even any ambient light from the stars that ought to be out by now.

Finally, after several minutes of walking in silence, Hagrid looked back over his shoulder and called out.

“Everyone still keepin' up? Good! Ye'll get yer first sight o' Hogwarts soon, it's jus’ 'round this bend here.”

They rounded the bend on the path that had leveled out somewhat and suddenly the silence was broken by a loud collective gasp.

They were standing on the edge of a great black lake where a fleet of little boats were assembled, each bearing a lantern at its helm. Overhead, stars glittered in the darkness of a moonless sky, creating a beautiful backdrop for a captivating scene.

But the attention of all of the gathered students was focused on the massive castle that sat atop a cliff in the distance on the other side of the lake and dominated the landscape around it. Windows all over its many turrets and towers glowed golden from the lights within and its dark stone walls whispered of centuries of history.

They were startled out of their reverie by Hagrid’s amused chuckle.

“That’s gonna be yer home fer the next few years, so ye’ll have plenty o’ time ter admire it,” he grinned as he gestured with a bucket-sized hand at the boats arrayed in front of them all. “But fer now, time’s a wastin’ and the welcome feast awaits! Climb in ye lot, and no more than four ter a boat!”

The students shuffled forward, and Harry made to follow his group before immediately realizing the problem. One of them, at least, would have to split up from the rest.

Hermione was already climbing into a boat behind Parvati and Padma, focused on not rocking the vessel too much and Neville was making his way towards her before also stopping suddenly and turning a suddenly nervous gaze at Harry.

“Go on,” Harry whispered, doing his best to keep his own nervousness out of his voice. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Neville looked relieved, and with a muttered thanks began to clamber into the boat now that Hermione had seated herself. Harry, meanwhile, looked around and noticed a boat a little way off to the left that currently only had three occupants and headed over to it.

It was occupied by the blond boy from earlier and his two plus-sized companions.

Harry debated with himself for a moment and decided to go for it. He would have to share classes and meals with everyone here for the next seven years anyway, so there was no point avoiding anyone without reason to do so.

“Merry meet,” he said with what he hoped was a composed smile as he started climbing into the boat.

The blond boy who had been saying something to one of his friends looked around immediately.

“Merry m-” he started to say before abruptly cutting off and fixing Harry with an intense gaze.

“You’re Harry Potter,” he said flatly just as Harry sat down, his gray eyes taking in the scar on Harry’s forehead, which was now no longer obscured by his hat.

It wasn’t a question, and Harry had been expecting something similar to this sooner or later anyway. So, he kept the smile up and nodded.

“Guilty as charged. Pleased to meet you, er-?” He said casually extending his hand towards the blond.

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” the boy said, sounding a little taken aback as he shook Harry’s hand after a moment of hesitation. “Merry meet, Harry Potter.”

Harry turned his smile and extended his hand towards the other two boys in the boat, but it was the blond, Draco, who answered.

“These are Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe,” he gestured towards them with what Harry thought was a dismissive air. “I looked for you on the train,” he continued, once more greetings had been exchanged. “Were you not on it?”

Harry thought back to the boy’s sneer at his attire earlier in the day and decided to go with a white lie. He’d recognized the name Malfoy from the conversation with Griphook, and didn’t feel keen on sharing too much too soon.

“I made some friends,” he said casually. “We spent the whole journey together, maybe you missed me in the crowd?”

Draco seemed to be considering this and was about to say something in response when Hagrid’s voice rang out once more from the boat that he had all to himself.

“Everyone in? No one left behin’? Ok then, FORWARD!”

Immediately, all of the boats began to glide silently across the dark surface of the lake, leaving behind ripples that seemed to fade far too quickly on the still waters.

Everyone fell silent once more and gazed up at the towering castle in the distance that they were heading towards. It loomed ever larger in their field of vision, and they seemed to be making a beeline towards the cliff it stood on.

“You know, we’re actually distantly related,” Draco’s voice interrupted Harry’s gawking.

“We are?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised. He had deduced that since the Black family required prospective Lords to be descended from a prior Lord Black, for both Draco and him to be eligible indicated that they both had ancestors in the Black family who fit the bill, but he hadn’t considered that this might make them related too. He wondered what it signified, that Draco was so aware of this connection.

“On my mother’s side,” Draco explained, unaffected by Harry’s inner monologue. “She was a Black before her marriage. One of her great-aunts married a Potter, possibly your great-grandfather. So, we’re like distant cousins or something, I believe.”

“Huh,” Harry said, processing this new information. “I never knew that. Well, well-met once again Cousin Draco. I don’t think I know much about my father’s side of the family if I’m being honest.”

“Is it-is it true that you grew up with muggles?” Draco asked with what Harry wondered was a horrified shudder.

“With my mother’s sister and her family, yes.” Harry returned calmly. There would be plenty of time to dissect this apparent apathy of some wizards towards mundane folks and getting into an argument before even arriving at Hogwarts, would probably be counterproductive.

“That’s horrible!” Draco declared, sounding genuinely appalled. “Any of your magical relatives would have been glad to raise you after, er, after what happened.”

“They’re nice people,” Harry offered weakly. Was the boy’s disgust directed at depriving a magical child of a supposedly deserved upbringing instead of at mundane people in general?

“Oh, I’m sure they are. But they couldn’t very well instruct you in the ways of the wizarding world, now could they?” Draco insisted.

Harry almost responded that his aunt had done her best, thank you very much! Before catching himself when he remembered Uncle Vernon’s suggestion.

“I suppose,” he said slowly before pasting a bright smile on his face. “But I guess the upside is that I get to experience magic with the wide-eyed wonder of new discovery, instead of feeling like it’s something commonplace. Everything I’ve discovered so far has been simply fascinating!”

Draco grinned too.

“That it is,” he said, turning back to admire the castle once more. “I’ve known about Hogwarts and that I’d come here one day for as long as I can remember. And still, just the sight of the castle just took my breath away. For you, it must be an even more magnificent feeling.”

He stopped and let out a bark of laughter. “I’m almost jealous!”

Harry chuckled in response, and after a few minutes gestured at their quieter companions.

“Do you, Vincent and Gregory know each other from before Hogwarts?”

“Our fathers are friends, so we spent a lot of time hanging out as kids,” Draco responded. “They are all on the Wizengamot together. The Potters have a seat too, although I don’t know who currently votes on your behalf.”

“Huh,” Harry muttered again. “Guess that’s gonna have to be added to the list of things I need to learn.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to let me know,” Draco said immediately. “My father can find out easily enough, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Draco. That’s very kind of you to offer,” Harry said smiling.

“What’s family for?” the boy shot back with a smirk.

Further conversation was cut off as the boats headed towards a huge curtain of ivy that seemingly hid a cavernous opening in the side of the cliff they had arrived at. Hagrid bellowed at the first-year students to keep their heads down as they sailed into it and emerged into a dark tunnel that Harry guessed might be located directly underneath the castle proper. And after a few more minutes of sailing, they arrived at what looked like a hidden underground harbor.

As they helped each other out of the boat, Harry gave them all another smile.

“I’d better go find my friends from the train,” he said lightly. “But see you all around soon Vince, Greg and Cousin Draco.”

Something like a mixture of annoyance and disappointment crossed the blond boy’s features, before he nodded.

“Just remember Harry, be careful of who you hang out with,” he said somewhat ominously. “Not every witch or wizard can be trusted.” He seemed to realize how dramatic that must have sounded and blushed before adding more normally, “And don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, thank you,” Harry smiled, filing the interaction away for later. “See you at the feast!”

He made his way back to where the girls were helping Neville off of the boat just in time to catch and steady him as he stumbled. Then they stood back from the edge of the water as the other boats emptied onto the harbor and Hagrid instructed them all to begin following him again.

Just as they were starting to move, a plaintive croak alerted them to a forlorn Trevor glaring dolefully at Neville from the boat they had arrived in. Neville, blushing crimson from embarrassment, rushed to retrieve him while a few scattered chuckles broke the tension among the gathered students.

They started to follow Hagrid, up rough narrow passageways and stone stairs until they emerged onto a smooth damp lawn, right in front of the castle.

Another flight of steps later they were all standing in front of a pair of massive Oak doors.

“Everyone still here? Ye still got yer toad?” Hagrid asked with a grin and seeing most of them nod, raised a meaty fist and knocked on the doors three times.

The doors slowly began to swing open as soon as the third booming knock sounded and revealed a tall witch with dark graying hair done up in a tight bun and a severe expression, dressed in emerald robes.

Hagrid gave her a deferential smile and gestured at the assembled students behind him.

“Evenin', Professor McGonagall, here are the first years.”

Ah, so this was the deputy headmistress, Harry thought. She didn’t seem like someone he wanted to cross.

Professor McGonagall nodded at Hagrid. “Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take them from here.”

The gigantic man stepped aside and waved at the first-year students cheerfully before heading inside past Professor McGonagall, who was inspecting them all critically.

“Good evening everyone and welcome to Hogwarts,” she said after a while with a very slight Scottish lilt, having apparently not found anything egregious enough to warrant immediate correction. “If you will all follow me in an orderly fashion…”

They trailed behind her obediently as she led them into a massive entrance hall that seemed like it was big enough to fit the entirety of Number Four inside it. The stone walls were lit by rows of flaming torches that burned without producing any smoke, the vaulted ceiling was so far above them as to be barely visible in the darkness and a magnificent staircase of white marble stood in front of them leading to upper floors.

As they were led across the flagged stone floor, Harry thought he could hear the muted drone of dozens of voices coming from behind a large brown door off to their right. He guessed that the rest of the school must already be in there somewhere.

Professor McGonagall however, led them to a small stone chamber off to the side where they crowded around nervously as they waited for further instructions.

She waited for the fidgeting to die down before addressing them again.

“The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly in the ‘Great Hall’. But before you join the rest of the school and take part in it, you will be sorted into your houses. While you are here your houses will be like your families. You will have classes with the rest of your year mates from your house, sleep in your house dormitories and spend a significant amount of your free time in your house common rooms.”

She looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention before continuing.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has produced outstanding witches and wizards in the past and has their own noble history. During your time here your various successes will earn you house points, and any rule-breaking will cost you those points. At the end of the academic year, the total points are tallied and the house with the most points wins the prestigious House Cup, which is a great honor.”

“The sorting ceremony will take place in front of the rest of the school,” she finished. “I suggest you all smarten yourselves up while you wait. I shall be back when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly until then.”

Her steely gaze lingered for a moment on a few of the students and she turned to take her leave.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the whispers broke out as the first-years speculated how they would be sorted.

“Fred said the sorting hurts a lot,” Harry heard someone say behind him and turned to look. It was the red-haired boy from just after he’d boarded the train, speaking to a dark-skinned youth with thick curly hair and a blond kid who was almost as pale as Draco. All three of them looked as nervous as Harry felt.

He put on a smile and laid a hand on Hermione’s shoulder to stop her from muttering a list of all the spells she’d memorized and trying to figure out which ones would be useful here.

Harry entered a trance for just a second to calm his nerves and adopt an outward appearance of serenity that he didn’t necessarily feel.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be alright,” he said out loud to his group, and raised his voice just enough to include the three boys nearby in his pronouncement. “We’re only eleven after all, surely they won’t put us through something dangerous even before we start learning magic, right?”

He smiled reassuringly at the girls, Neville and also at the Blond, Brunette and Redhead nearby, trying to indicate that they were welcome to join the conversation if they wished.

“And besides,” he continued. “It’s like Professor McGonagall said, every house has produced great witches and wizards in the past, so I’m sure we’ll do just fine wherever we’re sorted.”

He gave everyone another smile but realized that Neville was still looking distinctly green.

“Chin up, Nev,” he tried again. “It will be alright!”

“W-what if I-I don’t get sorted?” Neville whispered. “I-I’m p-practically a s-squib!”

“Percy said that everyone gets sorted, remember? Just-just focus on which house you’d like to be in and hope it comes true.”

“Wait, how do you know Percy?” the redhead asked suddenly, clearly they’d been listening.

Harry turned towards them, hoping that some conversation would keep everyone from worrying themselves sick. But before he could say anything, Hermione was already answering.

“Are you Ronald by any chance? Percy helped us back on the train and mentioned you and two other brothers,” she said, no longer running through a list of spells.

“Er-yeah. I prefer Ron though. Percy is the only one that calls me Ronald except for mum when she’s angry or the twins when they think they’re being funny,” the redhead responded with a slight grimace. “Um-nice to meet you, er?”

“Hermione. Hermione Granger,” Hermione returned with a small, slightly hesitant smile and turned her gaze questioningly towards the redhead’s companions.

“Anthony Goldstein,” the blond said amiably.

“Dean Thomas,” the brunette added, in turn directing a curious gaze at the folks standing near Hermione.

“I’m Parvati Patil, and this is my sister Padma,” Parvati said, introducing both herself and her twin. “We’re twins too,” she said brightly.

“N-Neville Longbottom,” Neville muttered.

Seven pairs of eyes turned towards Harry, who steeled himself mentally.

“Harry Potter,” he said evenly.

Ron’s eyes widened and immediately flicked up to the scar on his forehead, while Dean took in a sharp breath and Anthony’s eyebrows shot up.

“I couldn’t find you on the train! I-I wanted to say hello,” Ron burst out and immediately blushed, his ears turning nearly as red as his hair.

“I think we remember you from barging into our compartment and leaving immediately,” Parvati smirked.

“Er-yeah. Right. Sorry about that,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck.

A faint scoff from somewhere off to their right made Harry’s eyes swing over in the direction, just in time to see Draco sneering at Ron’s back. Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, and the boy immediately schooled his features and gave Harry a smile that looked slightly forced before turning away to mutter something inaudible to Vincent, who grinned in response.

None of the other folks seemed to have heard the sound though, so to spare Ron from further embarrassment, he decided to change the topic of conversation.

“Based on what Percy said, your twin brothers sound like they’re prone to pranks and mischief,” he said. “So, chances are that they made up the stuff about the sorting hurting, isn’t it?”

“Um-yeah, I guess so,” Ron conceded. “They just made it sound so believable; you know? Fred, he’s one of the twins, the other one’s George, just kept going on and on about fighting a troll-”

Harry ignored the faint but derisive snort from his supposed cousin’s direction which, once again, seemed like something that only he’d picked up…possibly on account of having expected it this time. He’d have to ask Draco what his deal was at some point.

“That-that cannot possibly be right!” Hermione said, looking appalled.

The group, with the exception of Neville, who had gone pale as chalk, nodded. But before anyone could speculate further on how the sorting took place, their conversation was interrupted by a surprised shriek from elsewhere among the students.

They whipped around in alarm and immediately spotted the cause of the scream.

Floating several feet overhead, and having seemingly absent-mindedly drifted into the room, were nearly two dozen translucent figures of men and women in a variety of old-fashioned clothes, chatting with each other and apparently unaware of the gathered students until the panicked shout.

One of the figures, a portly jovial man dressed in what Harry felt were the robes of a religious figure and not what you’d see on a witch or wizard, broke off from a conversation with a man in a large ruff.

“Oh, I say! You must be the first-year students,” he exclaimed loudly. “Pray do not be alarmed now, we’re the Hogwarts ghosts!”

Fifty blank and not altogether reassured sets of eyes regarded him.

“I suspect you must be waiting to be sorted, yes?” the fat ghost continued cheerfully, seeming oblivious to their demeanor. “I hope to get to know you all better in the coming years, especially those of you who are sorted into Hufflepuff. The house of the loyal and the hard-working!”

“Friar, we’re going to be late if we do not get a move on,” the ghost of a woman with long flowing hair and a detached expression said from behind him as she resumed moving towards the far wall. “We shall see you all at the feast, children, and good luck with your sorting.”

Once the ghosts had departed, with ‘Friar’ giving them another merry wave as he floated through the solid stone after his departed comrades, there was absolute silence in the waiting room for a whole minute.

“What the actual-” Harry began just as the door opened and Professor McGonagall returned.

“Now form a line, everyone,” she announced without preamble, “and follow me.”

Harry shuffled into a line with the rest of the students, finding himself between Neville and Ron as they obediently followed Professor McGonagall back out into the entrance hall. She led them to the door that Harry had noted earlier, and which now swung open seemingly of its own accord as she approached. She strode through it purposefully, and they trailed in behind her and tried to hold back the anxiety.

The sight that met their eyes was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Four long tables stretched the length of the hall, each already brimming with students all dressed in black robes. The room buzzed with excited chatter and curious glances directed at the newcomers. Above the tables, countless candles floated serenely in mid-air, casting a warm, flickering glow that lit up the hall. The candles seemed to hang suspended beneath a ceiling that wasn't a ceiling at all but an enchanted sky. Tonight, it showed a deep, velvety blackness dotted with sparkling stars, making it appear as though they were standing under the open night sky.

He thought he heard Hermione whisper to Parvati, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside! I read about it in ‘Hogwarts: A History’!”

At the far end of the hall was the staff table, where the teachers sat, watching the procession with varying degrees of interest. Harry's eyes roved over them, easily picking out the familiar face and giant stature of Hagrid. In the center, on an ornate golden chair that resembled a throne with outspread wings, sat a man with long, silver hair and a beard that matched, wearing half-moon spectacles and flowing purple robes with silver and gold stars. Harry immediately recognized him from his chocolate frog card earlier in the day. Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, radiated an aura of calm authority as he smiled benignly at their group.

Beside him were other professors: a tiny, excitable-looking man with a fringe of wispy hair and unusual features, a greasy-haired and scowling professor with sallow skin and dark eyes who seemed like he was annoyed to be here, and several others who looked equally formidable or kind in turn.

In front of the staff table, on a small stool, sat a frayed, ancient wizard’s hat. It was patched and dirty and its pointed peak drooped sadly to the side. Harry felt sure that Aunt Petunia would never let something so dusty into her house.

Harry had no idea what it was for, but it seemed to draw every eye nearby with its presence alone.

Harry’s stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. He could feel Neville trembling beside him and Ron muttering under his breath about hoping he wouldn’t end up in Slytherin. None of them knew what the sorting would entail, and the mystery of the hat only added to the tension.

Maybe they were expected to reach into it and draw out chits, like a raffle? Harry thought wildly. They wouldn’t expect any of them to conjure a rabbit or something, would they?

Professor McGonagall led them to a halt in front of the staff table and glanced back at the first-years. Her face softened slightly as she took in their anxious expressions but didn’t otherwise say anything to them. She, along with every single person in the halls, seemed to be waiting for something to happen, and the majority of them, at least among the ones who weren’t scanning the first-year students for familiar faces, had their eyes glued to the hat.

Suddenly, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing!

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So, try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil.

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind.

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll learn to get things done,

Practical, cunning and ambitious

Their house is second to none!

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands, though I have none,

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The hall erupted in loud applause from the assembled students while Harry and the other first-years gawped.

So…all they would have to do was put on the hat, and it would tell them which house they were in?

“I’m going to murder Fred!” Harry heard Ron groan beside him and empathized with the sentiment. He himself felt really relieved too and was further pleased to see that Neville seemed a tad less nervous as well.

Once the clapping died down, Professor McGonagall began speaking again.

She gestured to the hat. “When I call your name, you will come forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool to be sorted. The hat will then decide your house.”

With that, she unfurled a long roll of parchment, that Harry was sure had not been in her hand a second ago, and called out: “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl, with blond pigtails stumbled out of line and cautiously sat down on the stool. Professor McGonagall put the hat on her head, and it sank down past her eyes. There was a moment’s pause-

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hat roared into the silence, and the second table from the left cheered in response.

McGonagall pulled the hat off of Hannah’s head and the girl hopped off the stool and hurried over to the table above which hung the yellow banners decorated with the black badgers. Harry saw the ghost from earlier, the Friar, wave at the newcomer in welcome.

“Bones, Susan!” The deputy headmistress called, and another blond girl, this one sporting a determined expression, stepped forward purposefully towards the hat and took her place as Hannah had.

“HUFFLEPUFF” the hat announced once more after a second and the same group of students shouted in approval again while the rest of the hall clapped much more politely.

And so it went. Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst became the first new Ravenclaws and the third table roared its approval. Lavender Brown was sorted into Gryffindor to the delight of the first table, beneath the crimson banners with a golden lion. But when Millicent Bulstrode was sorted into Slytherin, the cheers from the fourth table could not entirely drown out a few boos that emanated from the Gryffindor side of the hall.

There were too many new students for Harry to keep track of where everyone got sorted, but he did make it a point to pay attention to the sorting of the folks he had met so far.

Vince went into Slytherin after a few seconds of the hat’s deliberations, Anthony went into Ravenclaw after about the same amount of time, as did Greg who was also sorted into Slytherin. But when it came to Hermione’s turn, the hall had to wait in silence for nearly a whole minute before the hat finally called out: “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry clapped along with everyone else as Hermione made her way to the table on the far left with a pleased smile on her face. He noticed that the Slytherins were sneering with each new Gryffindor sorting just as the Gryffindors were jeering each new incoming Slytherin. It seemed like much more than just friendly rivalry and frankly unnerved him a bit, but there really wasn’t much that could be done about it.

The sorting continued and soon enough, Professor McGonagall called out: “Longbottom, Neville!”

Neville stumbled forward on shaky legs and nearly toppled off the stool before settling himself, and Harry held his breath as the seconds ticked by after the hat had been placed on his head.

After what seemed like an even longer wait than it had been for Hermione, the hat finally made its decision: “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and started to clap as Neville rushed over to the Gryffindor table on the left to loud cheers and what seemed to be whoops coming from a pair of freckled red-headed twins.

When it was Draco’s turn to be sorted Harry wasn’t sure if the hat had even had time to touch the blond boy’s hair before it was yelling out, “SLYTHERIN!” Harry smiled at Draco’s look of smug self-satisfaction as he strutted over to a place between Vince and Greg, opposite the recently sorted Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis in addition to Millicent. He was also soon joined by Theodore Nott while Lily Moon and Pansy Parkinson sat down next to the girls on the other side of the table below a line of green banners embroidered with silver snakes.

“Patil, Padma!”

A few seconds was all it took the hat to place Padma in Ravenclaw and by the time she settled down at the table underneath the blue banners with bronze eagles, Professor McGonagall was already calling for her twin.

It took the hat an even shorter time to place Parvati in Gryffindor, and she strode away with a confident smile to join Hermione who seemed to have saved a seat for her.

He couldn’t quite catch where Sally-Anne Perks was sorted because the realization that he was likely next was making his ears ring. And sure enough, even before the girl had finished making her way towards one of the tables on the right, Professor McGonagall called out: “Potter, Harry!”

Unlike when the previous names had been called, the hall immediately erupted in excited whispers. Harry stepped forward, trying to keep his pace and breathing steady, as he made his way to the stool and sat down on it carefully.

His last sight of the Great Hall was a large number of students from every house staring at him intently, with some even standing up and leaning around their neighbors to get a better view before the hat dropped over his eyes.

“Oh, my. Now what do we have here?”

A soft and silky voice spoke directly into his mind and nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an eleven-year-old whose mind was primed for occlumency before! Aren’t you quite the little overachiever, mmm?”

“Uh…” Harry thought, unsure how or whether to respond.

“Oh, no need, no need. I can sense your thoughts and your concerns; I will know your response even before you finish consciously thinking about them.” The voice remarked. “Just sit back (not too far back mind you, this is a stool and not a chair after all) and let me figure out where I should put you.”

Harry froze, unsure what to do as the hat continued.

“Wow, been learning as much about magic as you possibly can hmm? And practicing casting it as well? There are good reasons why children whose cores aren’t developed aren’t encouraged to cast intentional magic, you know. It can be very, very dangerous to them and anyone in the vicinity. You’ve been rather lucky in that regard, and your core is far larger than anyone of your age. Rather a Gryffindor trait that, going all gung-ho into things they don’t fully understand and trying things with no consideration of what could possibly go wrong.”

“But then again…you managed to keep working at even the areas of magic that didn’t wholly capture your interests. And yeah, the reason Astronomy is a viable subject here is because there are spells, powerful ones, that can control the weather to a limited degree. The staff here help clear the skies prior to the scheduled lessons so that you can aim your telescopes skywards and see something other than storm clouds. But regardless, that dedication to your studies would make you fit right in at Ravenclaw.”

“Loyal too, hmm? Currently, it's only to your aunt, uncle and cousin…but I suspect it’s a sentiment you will readily extend towards anyone you consider a friend. Very Hufflepuff that. Helga would be really proud.”

“Not a lot of cunning, and not nearly as much subtlety as you would like to think you have. But certainly, as resourceful as anyone else I’ve met so far tonight…and most definitely not short of ambition are we? Barely eleven, and already you think you can change the wizarding-ah, magical world for the better hmm? Very, very ambitious indeed…even by Slytherin standards.”

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, but before he could voice (was ‘voice’ even the right word for trying to project thoughts to the hat on your head?) anything, the hat was already interrupting.

“Nope. Not happening kid. I’m not letting you not get sorted, or putting you in all four houses, or something pseudo-grandiose like that.”

Harry whined mentally.

“I don’t give a toss if Merlin set a precedent! My sole function is to sort you into a house where you will not only fit in but also be happy. Get it? Even if you do, at least theoretically, display some of the traits I look for to sort you into each of the four houses, it’s going to cause nothing but trouble for you if you do end up pulling a Merlin.”

He started to think something obstinately-

“You’re already gonna stand out more than is healthy for a child. Being branded as the second coming of Merlin is gonna mean you can kiss any semblance of privacy goodbye. If you ever blow your nose, tabloid articles will speculate if it’s a portent of some sorts. If you ever belch, people across the country will demand the head of the house elf whose cooking made you gassy. And if you ever put a single toe out of line, they’ll all turn on you and everyone close to you trying to figure out where you went wrong. Trust me, kid, it’s gonna be a mess.”

Before Harry could say or think anything, the hat went on.

“And what of the extra work it’s gonna create for everyone, hmm? You ever think of that? Everything goes all smoothly for over a thousand years, and suddenly you show up and the headmaster and the staff have to make all kinds of special arrangements for you. That’s just plain inconsiderate!”

Harry conceded that point, resignedly.

“No, kid. Being in one house will not mean that you’ll lose the chance of acquiring or honing the traits of the other ones. If you want, you could very well make friends in each house and learn and grow with them. In fact, that is what the founders had wanted all along. I absolutely agree that this current era of tribalistic hatred between the houses, at least the lions and the snakes, is unhealthy. So, it’s up to you to not give in to it and show folks a better and more harmonious way of coexistence.”

After another second, while Harry considered the idea, the voice suddenly turned cheerful.

“That actually helps us come to a decision too, doesn’t it?”

Harry mentally raised his eyebrows.

“You’ll potentially be happy in any of the houses. Hufflepuffs always take care of their own, Ravenclaws will always respect the snooty little prodigy you’re shaping up to be, Gryffindors will hero-worship you for being the Boy Who Lived anyway…and Slytherin will just adore you for being the first Parselmouth to return to Hogwarts in decades. But given what you want, which is making friends everywhere and learning from them all, you cannot be in Slytherin or Gryffindor. The other side will hate your guts on general principles alone. And while Hufflepuff is a solid choice, the unfortunate and wholly unfounded reputation they have acquired is going to stand in the way of snobby brats from taking you seriously. Ravenclaw now, that I think everyone can get behind.”

Harry thought for a second and nodded.

“Alright then! Glad we’re in agreement! Oh, and by the way kid, be careful about revealing the things you can already do to everyone you meet. Even aside from people who’ll beg you to teach them, there are some who might very well use the knowledge against you.”

Before he had a chance to acknowledge the advice or thank the weird hat, it was already yelling its decision to the hall.

“RAVENCLAW!”

He felt the hat whipped off his head and blinked at the sudden light and registered the silence that had settled over the entire hall.

It only lasted for a second though, because the third table exploded with whoops and cheers!

Harry stood up slowly from the stool and tottered towards where he could see Padma, receiving various congratulatory pats on the back from his new housemates before he sat down. He didn’t want to overthink this, but it looked like the cheering was not only louder but also going on for far longer than it had for the other students.

It went for so long that he missed the name of the next boy being sorted when it was announced by Professor McGonagall and had only quietened down enough for the hat’s decisive shout of “HUFFLEPUFF!” to be barely audible.

Padma leaned over to him as the noise levels finally receded to the point where any kind of conversation was even possible.

“I’m not entirely sure, seeing as I do not have a watch on me, but I think your sorting took well over five minutes. Congratulations.”

“T-That long?” Harry said surprised.

“The conversation with the hat,” Padma nodded and smiled slightly, “does not take place in the void apparently. Folks around the hall had started placing bets on where you would eventually be ending up, I think.”

“And I am lucky that I am not carrying any change, cause I would have wound up losing everything by betting that you’d be a Gryffindor,” a black-haired boy with green eyes quipped from beside Anthony. “Your parents were well known for having been the poster people for the house of the lions according to my mum. Name’s Michael by the way, Michael Corner. Folks have been mistaking me for you ever since the platform this morning.”

“Oh-er, merry meet,” Harry responded, a little taken aback. “Sorry about that I guess. Did your mum know my parents well?”

“Not very well I think,” Michael replied. “She was a couple of years ahead of them in school, so I doubt they interacted too much. But she said that your mum became the Gryffindor prefect, and your dad was already the Quidditch captain by the time she left school.”

Harry nodded as another boy was sorted into Slytherin. They seemed to be more than halfway through the sorting now, and more than a few of the older kids were occasionally sneaking glances at the golden plates in front of them, as if wishing that their dinner would be served already. He also steadfastly avoided the various looks that were being directed at him from all along the table at periodic intervals.

Shortly after Dean had been sorted into Gryffindor, Lisa Turpin joined their table and took her seat, leaving only a handful of people remaining. Ron was sorted into Gryffindor as well, to loud gleeful cheers from the twins while the last first-year, a dark boy with high cheekbones took his seat on the stool and was instantly placed in Slytherin.

With the sorting concluded, Professor McGonagall waved her wand and immediately, the stool, scroll and hat all vanished into thin air. She then climbed up the steps of the dais to take her own seat, at the headmaster’s right side, as he got to his feet with a broad smile on his lips.

The buzz of conversation that had threatened to pick up again quietened down and Dumbledore cast a fond gaze around the hall.

“Welcome everyone,” he announced in a clear, jovial voice that easily carried to everyone in the hall. “Welcome back to another wonderful year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. Ahem…Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

“Thank you,” he said simply and sat back down.

Harry glanced at Padma, “Er, is he-?”

But before he could finish asking whether the headmaster of Hogwarts was off his rocker, his attention was caught by a glimmer at the edge of his vision from the golden plates in front of them.

One moment they were empty and the next they were piled high with food. His mouth dropped open as he surveyed the selection in front of him. He had never seen such a diverse spread before in his life: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, bacon, steak, joints, steak and kidney pie, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, mashed potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some inexplicable reason, peppermint humbugs.

The upperclassmen seemed to be tucking in already, so Harry decided to keep his questions regarding Dumbledore’s sanity until later and started putting stuff on his plate as well.

And in between mouthfuls of everything besides the humbugs, he also finally got a chance to meet the other first-year students who had joined Ravenclaw.

Aside from himself, Tony, Mike and Terry, Kevin Entwhistle and Roger Malone were the remaining Ravenclaw first-year boys. Alongside Padma, Mandy and Lisa, Amanda Hooch, Morag McDougal and Sue Li were the incoming first-year Ravenclaw girls.

Kevin was a skinny Irish boy from Dublin who was the first in his family to exhibit magic. Harry listened intently as Kev shared the story of the stern-faced Professor Snape arriving unannounced on their doorstep and the uproar it had caused. Roger on the other hand was a quiet and reserved lad who mumbled something about being half-and-half and hailing from somewhere near Belfast.

Amanda, meanwhile, was a brown-haired Irish girl who mentioned she was the niece of the Hogwarts flying tutor. Morag steadfastly denied being related to Professor McGonagall and Sue was a dark-haired witch of Chinese descent who had moved to Britain with her parents early in her youth. All of the girls were from at least partly magical families but seemed reasonably well informed about the mundane world.

They also learned who their house prefects from the fifth, sixth and seventh years were, as being the folks to reach out to, should they need any kind of assistance. It was also revealed that this year's Head Girl, Eliza Oswald, was also from Ravenclaw alongside Edward Taylor, the Head Boy, who was from Hufflepuff.

Harry sat listening to the various conversations taking place all around them as nearby senior students offered helpful tips and advice to the newly sorted Ravenclaws about life at Hogwarts and their various lessons. Professor Snape and McGonagall were respectively the heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor, and apparently weren’t teachers who should be crossed. In comparison, Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who respectively headed Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were much more approachable and went out of their way to help their students.

There was still the occasional stare being directed at Harry, and after he caught the gaze of a pretty second-year girl (he thought her name was Cho) who winked at him once she saw him catch her looking, he blushed and redirected his eyes towards the staff table to see if he could put a face to the names of the Professors that he’d been hearing about.

Professor Flitwick was easy to spot, the tiny professor seemed to be engaged in an animated conversation with a witch with a mop of wild gray hair he suspected might be Professor Sprout from the vine and leaf decorated hat she was wearing. He couldn’t quite place who the white-haired wizard with the handlebar mustache, missing eye and wooden hand was, or the witch with immensely thick round glasses who sat wrapped in shawls and didn’t seem to be interacting with anyone around her.

Neither could he place who the wizard in the massive purple turban was, who was chatting with, he was almost certain, Professor Snape.

Just as he was about to move his gaze onward, Professor Snape’s eyes met his and the turbaned Professor turned around in his direction as well. Immediately, a sudden, searing stab of pain shot through his forehead seemingly centered around his scar.

“Ouch!” he yelped before he could stop himself, instinctively slapping a hand to his forehead.

“What happened?” Padma asked, concerned.

“I-I don’t know,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead, “My head suddenly hurts. Who…who do you think is the person talking to Professor Snape? The one in the ridiculous turban.”

“Turbans are a perfectly acceptable cultural apparel,” Padma sniffed. “But that one is ridiculous, I agree. I think that might be Professor Quirrell, the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Harry nodded. The pain in his scar seemed to have disappeared as abruptly as it had occurred, and he couldn’t be quite sure if it had just been a chance that it had appeared just as Professors Snape and Quirrell had met his eyes. He couldn’t remember his scar ever hurting before either, maybe it was the stress of the day and being around so much ambient magic that was to blame? When he got a chance he’d have to see if he could feel the magic of Hogwarts like he had done at Godric’s Hollow. But for now, it might be a good idea to also monitor if there was any correlation between his sudden pain with meeting the Potions or Defense professor’s eyes.

He spent the rest of the dinner trying to catch either man’s eyes again but to no avail. He barely paid attention to the Gray Lady when she stopped by their seats to welcome them to Ravenclaw, and half-heartedly helped himself to the dessert that had replaced the main course.

Soon, the platters of assorted ice cream, apple pies, spotted dick, chocolate gateau, treacle tart, pumpkin tart, chocolate éclairs & jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, and rice pudding vanished as well, leaving the plates sparkling clean again. Harry wondered how this was accomplished, seeing as it shouldn’t be possible to conjure food with any meaningful nutritional value from out of nothing, at least if Gamp’s law and its exceptions held true. But before he could ask one of the upper year students, Dumbledore was rising to his feet again. Harry noticed that some students were getting up from their tables and starting to make their way towards one side of the hall.

“Ahem! Now that we are all fed and watered, I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”

He paused to survey the hall with his twinkling blue eyes before continuing, “The ‘Forbidden’ forest is forbidden…hence the name. Subtle, I know. In addition to our new students who may be learning this for the first time, I think some of our older returning students need to be reminded of this yet again.”

He seemed to be staring directly at the red-haired twins at the Gryffindor table as he said the last part.

“Mr. Filch, our caretaker,” Dumbledore said with a gesture towards the far end of the staff table, where a slightly scruffy man was feeding scraps to a cat with dust-colored fur, “has also asked me to remind everyone that the list of banned items is nailed to his office door and all students should familiarize themselves with it should they wish to avoid having their possessions confiscated.”

Harry could see the eye-rolls and sense the derision around the hall and instantly felt a surge of sympathy for the man. But Dumbledore was already continuing.

“Quidditch try-outs will be held in the second week of term. Those interested in representing their house teams should contact their respective captains, and those who might require the use of school brooms should contact Madam Hooch, our flying instructor.”

There was a lot more excitement that greeted this announcement and Harry saw several heads turn at each house table, presumably at the various captains. He couldn’t quite see who the Ravenclaw captain was, but a burly dark-haired Gryffindor’s determined nod seemed to mark him as Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain.

“After the injuries during last year’s end-of-term dueling exhibition, coupled with the departure of Professor Green, I must regretfully announce that the dueling club has been disbanded,” he went on despite the groans around the hall. “We may of course restart the club once Professor Quirrell, who has been kind enough to take up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, has settled into his new role, but until then interested or aspiring duelists must make do with informal group studies, so long as they are held under the supervision of a professor. Professors Snape and Flitwick, have both been kind enough to offer to help out in this endeavor.”

Harry watched as Quirrell smiled nervously, Flitwick waved with a grin and Snape took a disdainful sip from his goblet.

“Which leads us to welcome a new member of our faculty,” Dumbledore beamed. “Please put your hands together for Professor Charity Burbage who has accepted the position of Professor of Muggle Studies to take over from Professor Quirrell. I’m sure we wish them both every success in their respective positions.”

Harry applauded politely along with the rest of the hall. He thought, based on the lack of reaction, that the students over at the Slytherin table seemed a bit disinterested in welcoming this particular Professor.

“The meeting and practice schedules for the Choir, Gobstones, Wizard’s Chess, Snap and all other clubs will be available on the notice board of the entrance hall and in your common rooms by the start of next week. It will also include the various student contact points and faculty supervisors of each of these groups.”

More eager murmurs around the hall. Harry thought it was a good thing that there were more activities to be pursued in addition to studies and Quidditch, but he was starting to feel sleepy.

“Parts of the castle will also be closed for long overdue renovations this year. The first such area that will be temporarily off-limits will be the third-floor corridor overlooking the greenhouses. Prefects and head students, along with the staff will be making sure that no one is accidentally injured by falling masonry and the like by venturing into areas that are being redesigned.”

Harry stifled a yawn.

“And speaking of our head students, please give a warm round of applause for Eliza Oswald and Edward Taylor, who are the Head Girl and Head Boy this year.”

The applause felt more genuine this time around, at least from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and Harry clapped along with the rest of them, feeling a little less sleepy.

“And…I do believe that is all,” Dumbledore said, finally wrapping up. “So, before we pop off to bed and begin our annual adventure of gathering knowledge only to forget it all over the summer, let us all join in the rendition of our school song by the Hogwarts Choir!”

At his cue a line of students walked out from the left side of the hall and formed a couple of neat rows in the center of the hall and faced the rest of the student populace.

Harry leaned forward in his seat, curious once more. Almost all of the students seemed to have some manner of pet with them. In most cases it was owls perched on their shoulders, but a few were holding frogs, or possibly toads, in their hands. He nearly missed Dumbledore twirling his wand overhead and the long silver ribbon that shot out and twisted in the air to form rows of words, and the choir began to sing.

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald,

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling,

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

So we bid you truly welcome,

You are a funny lot.

But any guest of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

Cannot be all rot.”

It was…interesting, Harry mused diplomatically.

There was definitely a…something to be said for the frequent ribbits and hoots that frequently, er, provided accompaniment to the song, which in itself, unless Harry was quite mistaken, was delivered to the tune of ‘God save the queen’.

And while he could definitely see a lot of poker faces around the hall, there were a few, like the Weasley twins, who were singing along loudly and with evident glee.

After the final verse had been sung, and the last few croaks had subsided, Dumbledore wiped his eyes.

“Ah, music. A magic greater than anything we do here,” he said, sounding, to Harry’s amazement, sincere! “Off you pop now, pip pip.”

At the dismissal from the headmaster, there was an immediate exodus of students from the hall.

One of their fifth-year prefects, a blonde girl by the name of Penelope Clearwater, rounded up Harry and the rest of his year mates and led them through the crowds and up the marble staircase they had seen in the entrance hall earlier.

Try as he might Harry found it impossible to memorize the path she led them along, through secret passageways hidden behind moving tapestries, along staircases that kept shuffling around and up so many flights of spiraling steps that by the time they paused in front of a simple, yet elegant arched door with no knob but a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle, Padma was using him as a crutch.

“Ravenclaw house places great importance on knowledge and its pursuit over all other values,” Penelope said, stopping in front of the door and turning to regard the first-years. “So, in order to access our common room, you must answer the question that is posed to you. If you do not know the answer, you must wait around for someone to come along who has the necessary knowledge. And that is how you begin learning from the very moment you start your life amongst the eagles.”

Harry barely stopped himself from yawning and sleepily thought that Penelope might get along very well with Percy.

Penelope seemed a little disappointed at their lack of excitement and used the knocker to knock firmly on the polished wooden door.

"I can be short and sometimes hot. When displayed, I rarely impress. What am I?"

A voice rang out immediately, high and clear in the silence.

Penelope appeared to think about it for a moment. “Temper,” she said eventually.

“And it would be wise for us all to bear that in mind,” the knocker agreed as the door swung open.

As Harry entered the Ravenclaw common room for the first time, he felt an immediate sense of awe and wonder despite the sleepy haze from the excellent feast and the exhausting day. The group of first-years, bleary-eyed and tired shuffled behind Penelope, who led the way with quiet solemnity.

The common room was a striking blend of grace and grandeur, illuminated by the soft glow of floating orbs of light that bobbed gently in the air. The ceiling arched high above, painted a deep midnight blue and speckled with enchanted stars that twinkled softly, casting a calming, celestial light over the entire space. Tall, narrow windows with intricate, leaded glasswork lined the curved walls, offering a breathtaking view of the castle grounds and the moonlit sky beyond.

The room itself was circular, with comfortable, deep-blue velvet armchairs and sofas arranged in cozy clusters around low, polished wooden tables. In the center of the room stood a magnificent marble statue of a stately witch, who Harry assumed must be Rowena Ravenclaw. Her wise eyes seemed to follow them as they entered. A majestic diadem, sparkling with blue sapphires, was perched delicately on her head, extolling the value of wit and wisdom by bearing the phrase ‘Wit beyond measure, is man’s greatest treasure’ spelled out in glittering gemstones.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes on every subject imaginable, from ancient runes to the latest advancements in magical theory. A large, ornately carved fireplace crackled with a welcoming fire, its warmth spreading through the room and warding off the evening chill.

Penelope asked the boys to wait for her a while as she showed the girls up to their dorms, saying something about Colton, the fifth-year male prefect having been called away on another errand. Harry bade Padma a goodnight and looked around the common room some more as he and the other boys waited for the prefect to return.

He slowly took in the elegant touches that made the room uniquely Ravenclaw. Tapestries depicting famous Ravenclaw alumni and significant historical events adorned the walls, each woven with exquisite detail. There were also several small study alcoves, each furnished with a desk and lamp, offering quiet spaces for reading and contemplation.

Eventually, Penelope returned and led them up a winding staircase to the dormitories, explaining that each year had their own shared bath close to their dorms. When they finally arrived outside a door bearing a bronze plaque that said ‘First Year Boys’, she pushed it open and led then in, causing their jaws to drop once more. Their dormitory was beautiful…with furniture, wardrobes and four-poster beds, all draped in rich blue and bronze hangings. The beds looked incredibly inviting to the weary first-years, their soft pillows and thick comforters promising some much-needed rest.

Once the prefect had left, after having explained that boys were not allowed in the girls’ dormitories and advising them to wake up early the following morning for Professor Flitwick’s welcome address, Harry, feeling both overwhelmed and enchanted by his new surroundings, quickly found his T-100 near one of the six beds that lined the edge of the semi-circular room. Each bed was next to a window that overlooked the grounds outside and taking a quick peek as he changed into his pajamas made Harry really appreciate just how high they had climbed.

He could barely make out the details of the grounds far below and estimated that they were easily over a hundred feet above the surface of the lake. He imagined he could vaguely see something that looked like greenhouses in the distance, but it was far too dark to say for certain.

Harry resolved to explore more in the light of day, and after a sleepily mumbled ‘goodnight’ to the rest of the boys, he placed his glasses on his nightstand and crawled into bed.

He settled into the supremely comfortable four-poster, drew the curtains closed and was out like a light the second his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

2^nd September 1991

Harry woke up to the soft chime of a bell that sounded through the dormitory, and groggily took stock of his new surroundings.

It only took a moment for the disorientation to be replaced by unbridled excitement, and in a trice, he’d grabbed his glasses off the tiny nightstand, thrown off his covers, pushed open the curtains around his four-poster and clambered out into the semi-circular room that was now illuminated by the rays of an early sun.

He looked around the room, now a lot more alert than the previous night, and appraised what was to be his home for the next seven years.

Of the six beds that lined the walls of the room, his was at one end of the row and the first bed on the right once someone entered the room. Each bed had a trunk near its foot, beneath a tall glass window and a narrow wardrobe near its head.

On the opposite wall from the entrance, between the trunks and windows adjacent to beds three and four, was a full-length mirror above which hung the Ravenclaw house banner featuring a regal bronze eagle on a vibrant blue background. The same color scheme was everywhere you looked in this room, from the drapes on the windows to the curtains on the four-posters.

There was also a hexagonal table of polished wood at the very center of the space that seemed to have been built as a shared study desk, which was surrounded by six straight-backed chairs. At the very center of the table was what looked like a mechanically powered hourglass affixed to a bronze bell. This must have been the source of the sound that had woken him up, he guessed.

This would do very nicely, Harry thought with a smile and glanced at his watch.

Which seemed to have stopped working.

Harry sighed and slid it off his wrist. He’d expected that electronics might not work due to the ambient magic of the castle based on some of the passages in ‘Hogwarts: A History’, but it was annoying to receive the confirmation anyway. He took a few steps over to the hourglass and saw that the lower bulb had markings to help tell the time based on the amount of sand that had been collected in it. Currently, it seemed to be just past six.

Hmm, so if he had a bit of time before he needed to start getting ready for the first day of classes, he should probably unpack and use the facilities before the rest of his dormmates stirred, but before that…he wondered if it might be possible to find Hedwig.

He turned towards his window when he heard a sharp rapping from it and grinned widely as he beheld the snowy owl just beyond. He rushed over to it and fumbled with the latch to let her in, and she glided over to his trunk and perched on it with a soft hoot.

Harry quickly got out a pen and some paper and hastily scribbled down two notes, one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and the other for Dudley for them to forward. He mentioned his sorting, the experiences from the previous evening and his new dorm, trying to avoid mentioning anything blatantly magical in case Dudley’s letter was seen by any of his new friends, and was soon watching Hedwig fly away into the distance with an envelope tied to her leg.

Now then, he’d better start unpacking.

It didn’t take too long. Soon, his T-100 had been emptied of his clothes (which had gone straight into his wardrobe) his schoolbooks and equipment (which had gone into his enchanted backpack) and most of his writing materials and spare scrolls and notebooks (which he carefully arranged on the section of the six-sided study table closest to his bed).

This done, he made his bed, took his small bag of toiletries and hesitantly peered out into landing outside intending to head to the shared baths for the first-year Ravenclaw boys.

The wide spiraling stairs seemed to be completely empty this early in the day, but Harry imagined he could hear distant voices echoing up from somewhere below from the direction of the common room. He tried to recall where the baths were from Penelope’s instructions the previous evening and hesitantly made his way up another half a flight of steps before finding it.

Aside from the shower stalls, washbasins and usual fixtures, there were six wicker laundry hampers on either side of the door beneath a small cabinet each.

Assuming that the allotment of these would also be based on the same pattern as their beds in the dorm, Harry stowed his things into the cabinet that was the first one on the right and hurried through his morning routine.

A short while later, as he re-entered the dorms, another chime sounded from the bell near the hourglass, louder than the last one Harry felt, and the curtains on the first bed on his left parted and a very groggy Terry poked his head out.

“Mornin,” he mumbled sleepily when he caught sight of Harry. “How long have you been up?” he asked, stifling a massive yawn.

“Er, about half an hour I think,” Harry said with a glance at the hourglass. “Should we wake up the other you think?”

“No need, I’m up and ready to take on whatever the day has in store,” Tony’s voice preceded its owner out of the third bed on the right, even though his tone, tousled hair and bleary eyes quite clearly belied his words.

Harry smiled and helped the other two boys rouse their still sleeping year mates.

Once they’d all gotten up and started getting ready for the day, with Roger seeming to be the least happy about the early rise, Harry started getting dressed himself.

He realized as he was doing up his tie that it had changed in appearance and was now blue and bronze instead of the simple dark gray it had been the previous day. In fact, now that he was looking for it, he realized that his previously plain black robes had changed as well and now had blue trimmings and the Ravenclaw crest emblazoned on its chest.

He smiled and looked himself over in the mirror to make sure he was presentable enough for the first day of classes.

“Might want to do something about that hair,” the mirror said, startling Harry so much that he nearly tripped over his robes as he stumbled back.

“I-It doesn’t lie flat no matter what I do,” he responded hesitantly, unsure if he should be addressing his reflection, the mirror or if he should be responding at all.

“Try Sleekeazy's,” the mirror returned cordially. “It helps tame even the unruliest hair.”

Harry nodded dumbly and was saved from having to continue the conversation by Tony reentering the dorm.

“Looks like you’re all set,” he said, spotting Harry near the mirror. “Just give me a second and I should be good to go as well.”

Harry nodded and quickly double and triple-checked if he had everything he needed. Since he wasn’t sure which classes would be on today’s schedule, he had placed all of his school textbooks in the backpack. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to carry around any of his other books, or even the older and annotated copies that belonged to his mom, so those had been left in the trunk. He had pens, quills and ink stands on him. He had the telescope, the potions stuff, spare writing material too…so why did he get the feeling he was missing something important.

Ah, right. Wand.

He hurried back over to the trunk and extracted the case that he hadn’t opened since the day he had visited Mr. Ollivander, no matter how much he’d wanted to. On the very few occasions since its acquisition when he had attempted to sense magic again, he had experienced the same tug from the wand that had led him to find it back at the shop, coupled with a sense of patience.

He opened the case carefully and gazed upon the smooth dark wood. He took a deep, steadying breath and almost reverently, pulled it out.

The rush of warmth was perhaps not as pronounced as it had been back at the shop, but the sudden sense of being whole, being complete was undiminished. He wondered how people ever put their wands down or come to think of it…where they usually carried it.

“Tony?” He called as he returned the empty case to his trunk and locked it again. “Do we keep our wands in our pockets, or up our sleeves or…just carry them in our hands all the time?”

“What?” Anthony responded, sounding a bit muffled for a moment before his blond head made its way out of the neck of the jumper he was donning. “Some people keep it in the pockets of their trousers or robes. Others have their sleeves re-done to include a little pocket or straps to hold their wands. But personally, I think having a holster is much cooler. You could strap it to your thigh or your forearm. It’s supposed to be super convenient.”

“Huh,” Harry said, carefully placing his wand in the right pocket of his robes and gingerly letting go. He was pleased when the feeling of warmth didn’t ebb. Apparently, so long as his wand was on him, he was still connected to it and it to him. He considered Tony’s words and decided that the next time he went shopping he’d look into getting a holster, but for now he’d prefer to have it in his robes, given his pockets were nowhere near deep enough.

Further musings were interrupted as Terry, Kevin and Mike returned to the dorm and began to get dressed, each excitedly talking about what classes they would have first.

Roger returned shortly afterwards, more alert and less grumpy than before and once they were all dressed and certain they each had everything they needed for the day, the boys filed out of the dorm and headed downstairs to the common room.

They passed a few older boys on the stairs as they went, who either ignored them or nodded in greeting. Harry was rather pleased that there was no more ogling going on. Ravenclaws, it seemed, firmly prioritized getting ready for classes over staring at child celebrities, and that suited Harry just fine. Finally, after a long walk they arrived at the circular common room from the previous night.

It looked even more bright and airy in the light of day as the marble and bronze furnishings were bathed in the light from the glass dome above the statue. A few groups of students were already clustering around some of the larger tables, and Harry quickly spotted Padma in one of these and they all headed over to join the first-year girls.

They had barely finished exchanging good mornings when a tall boy with a prefect’s badge and an easy smile walked up to them.

“Good morning and merry meet everyone!” He announced as they broke off from their conversations to regard him. “My name is Colton McLean, and I am the other fifth-year prefect this year. I should have met you all last evening, but there was a bit of trouble that needed handling and by the time everything was sorted out, Penny had already taken care of getting you all settled in.”

He looked around at them all, waiting to see if there were any questions before continuing.

“It’s five minutes to seven, so Professor Flitwick should be here shortly to deliver his welcome address, after which I’ll take you all down to the Great Hall for breakfast where you shall receive your timetables for the term. Classes begin at nine in the morning but be warned that some classes are held out on the grounds so you may want to leave for them with time in hand. There are two periods before lunch, followed by two more classes after, which should all wrap up by four-thirty. Breakfast starts at half-past-seven in the morning, lunch is of course from twelve to one-thirty, tea is served at a quarter to five and dinner begins at eight. Curfew commences at ten at night and ends at six in the morning and being caught outside the common room during those hours without a good reason will result in detentions and loss of house points. The library is open from seven-forty-five in the morning to nine-forty-five in the evening on weekdays as well as on weekends,” Colton belted out before pausing for a breath and winked.

“You should be writing that down, you know,” he said, smiling.

There was immediately a scramble as they all rushed to extract quills, ink and parchment from their bags to take down the schedule and the timings.

Once they’d gotten the details down, Colton continued. “You should also familiarize yourselves with the way to the library, the hospital wing, Professor Flitwick’s office, the caretaker’s office, the owlery and the way to and from the Great Hall as soon as you can, since the castle takes a fair amount of getting used to. And do leave for your lessons with time to spare so that you aren’t late. I and the other prefects will help you find your way in the first few weeks to make things easier.”

At this point, the door to the common room opened and the diminutive Professor Flitwick, the head of their House walked in.

“Ah, Mr. McLean,” he squeaked in a high-pitched voice that sounded cheerful and friendly. “Giving the first-years the run-down I assume? Good, good. Just let me know once you’ve wrapped up and I can take things forward.”

“Good morning Professor,” Colton said, stepping to the side. “Actually, I think we’re all done. They were all here with time to spare.”

“Very nice, very nice indeed!” Flitwick beamed at them. “The rigors of the first ride on the express coupled with the stress of being sorted and the excellent nosh at the feast afterwards, sometimes has a tendency of causing students to oversleep on their first day of classes. So, it’s quite commendable that you’re all up and active without having to be prodded awake.”

He paused to survey them all with a friendly smile, before addressing them again.

“Welcome, formally, to the great House of Ravenclaw. I am Professor Filius Flitwick, your head of house and the Charms tutor at the school,” he said gazing around at the assembled first-years. “Being sorted into the house of learning and wisdom is a singular honor and privilege, that I am certain you will all prove yourselves to be worthy of, and me, your fellow housemates, and indeed everyone here at Hogwarts will eagerly help you in every way we can on your path to acquire knowledge,” he said solemnly.

“Ours is the only one of the four houses at Hogwarts,” he continued, “which does not restrict access to our common room to students from other houses. Anyone who is able to answer the question or the riddle posed by the guardian eagle is welcome to enter. Do you know why that is?”

After a moment of silence, Harry slowly raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Flitwick turned to him.

“Er, because no one should be turned away if they’re here to learn and…er, there is something we can learn from everyone?”

“Very well put, Mr. Potter!” Flitwick praised. “That is exactly right! And five points to Ravenclaw.”

Harry tried not to blush as the professor continued.

“We do indeed value the pursuit of knowledge above all other virtues, and thus do not turn away from seeking it no matter where it may be found. An interesting example of which is the library you see around you,” he said gesturing at the rows of bookshelves that lined the walls of the common room. “While the collection here is smaller than the main Hogwarts library of course, we have a lot more rare books and limited editions that are constantly augmented by what our students contribute. You are all allowed, nay, recommended to read anything you find on the shelves here so long as you return it to its proper place once you are done. If you feel that you are in possession of a book that would enhance the library and add information to it that is not currently present, feel free to bring your volume to any of the senior students or myself and we will be happy to help preserve a copy of your tome amongst our collections. And thus, we will help each other learn and grow.

“In fact, the only reason our library doesn’t have a copy of every tome in the main library, is to avoid redundancy and out of deference to the headmaster and the ministry’s directive of keeping restricted books away from younger students. That said, if any of you do feel the need to study a tome that is only available in the restricted section of the library, feel free to approach me with your reasons and I shall do my best to aid you in your research.”

He paused for a moment. “Let’s see now, what else was there…ah, yes!”

“As I’m sure you heard the headmaster mention yesterday, certain parts of the castle will be closed for renovations this year,” he said, “so, please avoid them lest an injury disrupt your academic pursuits. The professors, the aides and prefects have all been advised to monitor the areas undergoing repairs so you shouldn’t accidentally stumble into them anyway.”

“Your first flying lessons will be deferred in favor of a medical checkup administered by our very own Madam Pomfrey. It is purely a formality of course, but it helps gauge your magical and physical development and in case you have missed any of your magical vaccines or something similar, the results from the work up will allow us to rectify the issue.”

He paused and looked more serious before adding.

“Additionally, for those among you who may not have adult magical relatives, as your head of house, I shall serve as your magical guardian should you ever need me. I believe this applies to Mr. Entwhistle and Mr. Potter in particular, but I am more than happy to be of assistance to anyone who requires it. So, please do not hesitate to approach me if there is anything I can do in the capacity of your guardian while you’re here at Hogwarts.”

Harry wondered if he even needed a magical guardian. Were squibs considered magical for the purposes of guardianship? Aunt Petunia would be his magical guardian if it did. He’d have to check in with the professor later and clarify this.

“Well, that’s about everything I think,” Flitwick announced, clapping his hands together and interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “I do not really adhere to maintaining a strictly impersonal teacher-student relationship, so my door is always open if you want to chat. In fact, I encourage you all to stop by from time to time so we can discuss your learning journey and if anything can be done to assist you in your endeavors. I think I’ve kept you from your breakfast long enough, yes? Mr. McLean will show you the way to the Great Hall…and I shall see you shortly with your timetables. Unless anyone has a question for me? No? Ok then! See you all in a bit.”

As the Professor finished with a smile, Colton gestured at them to follow him and began to lead the way out of the common room. After being assured that they all had everything they were likely to need for the day, he exited through the arched door with the eagle-shaped knocker and bade them to follow.

“Some folks struggle with the questions and the riddles,” he said as they began climbing down the spiral stairs. “It doesn’t mean that they’re slow or ‘unworthy’ of entering the tower. Some of the riddles are just unlikely to easily be solved by folks who think very directly or literally. The lesson in that, or so I’ve been told, is that a collection of minds is usually better equipped to handle a more diverse set of problems than a single individual. In other words, collaboration is usually a wiser course of action than solitary pursuits.”

He stopped as he reached the bottom of the stairs and waited until all of them had made it down.

“We seem to be doing ok for time, and there’s still a bit before breakfast is on the table. You kids want me to show you some of the places you’ll be seeing a lot of before heading down to the hall?”

They all nodded, and Colton grinned in response.

“That’s the spirit! Let’s start with Professor Flitwick’s office, and maybe Filch’s too if only so you know where you shouldn’t end up accidentally,” he said with a chuckle as he began leading them again. “And of course, I’ll show you the library too. We are Ravenclaws after all, that stereotype of being a bookworm isn’t entirely unfounded.”

Colton was a treasure trove of information about the castle and its denizens, and Harry and the rest of the first-years found themselves hanging off his every word as he gave them the brief tour of the castle before breakfast.

He showed them interesting tapestries that could serve as markers when they navigated the corridors on their own, since the stairs, doors and even the damn suits of armor were prone to moving around. He showed them various trick steps that they ought to avoid when making their way around the castle. And even a restroom that they should avoid whenever possible on account of being haunted by a particularly mopey ghost.

They also walked past a few people who seemed to be far too young to be professors but were not attired like the students. Once Harry expressed his curiosity, Colton explained.

“They’re teaching assistants and aides. Mostly they’re former students who after completing their NEWTs have decided to pursue mastery in their chosen fields. They’re apprentices to some of the Professors here and help take some of the classes from time to time,” he said as he showed them the entrance to the library, which was still closed. “Without them, it would be impossible for a single Professor to conduct all of their classes for every house in every year, without learning how to be in multiple places at once. And before you ask, no that cannot be done. But don’t worry, the first-year, fifth-year and seventh-year classes are all personally overseen by the professors themselves. The folks appearing for their OWLs and NEWTs need special handling apparently. So, you all will probably not be taught by the aides until next year at least.”

Colton was also full of interesting trivia about the castle and its lore, some of which weren’t even a part of ‘Hogwarts: A History’.

“That’s a good question, Kev” he said, leading them past Flitwick’s office, whose door was adorned with a brass plaque bearing the tiny Professor’s name, a rather impressive list of credentials and qualifications (the Charms tutor was a former two-time World Dueling Champion, Harry observed with awe) and the Ravenclaw eagle, identifying him as their head of the house. “I understand why you’d expect the Ravenclaw house animal to be a raven, or the Gryffindor symbol to be a Gryffin. But the answer lies in the fact that three out of our four illustrious founders were something called an ‘Animagus’. That means they had the ability to transform into a specific animal at will without needing to perform any active magic or wielding a wand. A very rare talent requiring exceptional mastery of transfiguration and years of dedicated study.”

After a brief interlude where he stopped upon hearing a loud cackle from an upcoming corridor, informed them of the existence of Peeves the Poltergeist, why it was a very good idea to give him as wide a berth as possible, and proceeded to turn them all around to take a longer but safer route forward, he continued.

“Godric Gryffindor, it is said, could transform into a lion. Helga Hufflepuff, also as per rumors, had the animagus form of a badger. You see where I’m going with this?”

“Rowena Ravenclaw was an eagle!” Mandy said breathlessly.

“Exactly,” Colton nodded. “And hence the animals that symbolize our various houses. Now, I did say that three of our four founders were animagi. If Salazar Slytherin was not an animagus, why is the Slytherin crest a snake? Any guesses?”

“He was a Parseltongue?” Lisa guessed.

“Parselmouth,” Colton corrected. “Parseltongue is the language of snakes, and Parselmouth is the term for a witch or a wizard with the ability to speak it. Slytherin was indeed a Parselmouth and could communicate with snakes and allegedly have them serve him. It’s an inherited ability that either you’re born with, or you aren’t…even rarer than animagery and impossible to learn. Hence, the crest of Slytherin house is a silver serpent.”

“Isn’t that, like, very dark magic?” Mike asked hesitantly.

“No, it’s not!” Padma objected immediately. “There are lots of Parselmouth families in India, and most of them are exceptional healers. That stigma is just in Britain!”

“Padma is right,” Colton agreed as Sue nodded along in agreement with Padma’s comment. “The bad reputation associated with Parselmouths or Parseltongue is largely due to dark individuals who displayed the ability. You-Know-Who, was the last known Parselmouth in Britain and part of his legacy is a continued vilification of many of the abilities he displayed.”

He paused for a second as they started to descend the wide marble stairs that Harry recognized as the same ones that brought them to the entrance hall.

“But remember,” Colton continued. “We are Ravenclaws. We do not shy away from knowledge of any kind just because of its reputation or hearsay. We learn, we analyze, and we do our own research to make up our own minds.”

Harry absorbed that with a neutral expression as Colton led them into the Great Hall and made a show of pretending to rein in a team of horses and helping them get off from an imaginary carriage (he also asked for tips and pretended to be heartbroken when they didn’t oblige), before taking their leave and heading to a different part of the Ravenclaw table to catch up with his own year mates.

As Harry followed the rest of the first-year Ravenclaws towards the table (by some unspoken rule, the younger students appeared to gravitate towards the end of the table closer to the staff and the more senior students preferred the far end) he glanced around the hall. The Gryffindor table was nearly empty, save for a few older kids that he thought might be their prefects. He immediately spotted the red hair that identified Percy and waved at him, who nodded back with a smile. None of the younger years appeared to have arrived yet, so as much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t go over and say hi to Parvati, Hermione, Neville or Ron.

By contrast the Hufflepuff table was a little fuller. Most of the upper years seemed to have made it to breakfast already, but very few of the younger students had arrived. Harry couldn’t spot anyone he really recognized, so Orsino or Sarah were probably not here yet.

The Slytherin situation though was the exact opposite. Harry could see what he thought might be the whole first-year batch at the table already, working their way through breakfast while the rest of the table lay empty. He spotted Draco’s blond head immediately, between Vince and Greg, and decided to go say hello before starting his own breakfast.

Dropping his backpack off in an empty seat between Tony and Padma, he muttered “I’ll be right back, gonna go say hello to some folks,” and trotted over to the adjacent table.

“Morning cousin, looking forward to the first day of lessons?” he called cheerfully as he approached.

Draco looked up, startled and after an instant where a complicated expression flashed on his face, he gave Harry a slightly tired smile.

“Not all of us have the same affinity for classes as you and your eagles, you know.” He drawled good-naturedly. “You’re all settled in then?”

“Still getting used to it,” Harry returned. “Morning Vince, Greg.”

He received two mumbled greetings in return from them through mouthfuls of eggs and bacon respectively, as Draco spoke up again.

“Oh, allow me to introduce Pansy Parkinson, Heiress to the Ancient and Noble house of Parkinson,” he said, indicating the slim, sharp-nosed girl on the other side of the table.

“Merry meet,” Harry said cordially, assuming that the traditional greeting was more appropriate after what seemed like a formal introduction.

“Merry meet, Heir Potter,” the girl responded with a practiced smile, shaking her brown hair out of calculating eyes which didn’t seem to quite match the smile on her lips.

Harry nodded and looked around at the other Slytherin first-years and became aware of a subtle difference between how they were seated and how his own housemates were arranged over in the Ravenclaw section.

There seemed to be intentional gaps left between what appeared to be three separate groups of students at the morning meal.

Draco’s group, which comprised of himself, Vince, Greg and Pansy were at the very front of the table, followed by two or so empty seats before a group of five students comprising of the dark-skinned boy who was last to be sorted the previous evening, a broad-shouldered dark-haired girl with a strong jaw and hard eyes, a pale dark haired girl with icy-blue eyes who Harry thought might have been called Groangrass, a silver-haired girl who seemed to be reading a book and ignoring everyone around her and a cheerful girl with dirty-blond hair who looked to be blatantly eavesdropping on Harry and Draco’s chat.

While the rest of this second group seemed to be politely unaware of Harry’s presence at the Slytherin table, the same could not be said of the third group that sat after another apparently non-accidental gap from the second.

As Harry looked in their direction, he saw an unmistakably hateful glare directed towards him from the larger of the two boys in the final group before he quickly averted his gaze. He was accompanied by another boy, this one with dark hair, who seemed even skinnier than Kev, a girl with a deep sneer that was pointed at Harry and an auburn-haired girl who was focused on her plate.

“Erm, Draco?” Harry said cautiously, lowering his voice. “Why are some of your friends glaring at me?”

Draco flushed and looked over quickly in the direction that Harry had been gazing at.

“They’re-they’re not my friends,” he said after a pause, his voice tight. “They’re idiots and hateful bigots who created a big scene last night because they felt they deserved to have a say in who I can and cannot be friends with.”

Harry was nonplussed.

“Sorry, what?” he asked after trying and failing to make sense of this. “Why?”

“It’s complicated,” the blond sighed, looking more tired than ever. “I’ll explain some other time when there’s less folks about. But don’t worry, I-I’m handling it.”

He caught Harry’s dubious expression and forced a smile on his face. “No seriously, don’t worry about it. Actually, while you are here, I should probably introduce you to some more folks.”

Without giving Harry a chance to object, he cleared his throat and called out in the direction of the group next to theirs.

“Greengrass, if you have a moment, I’d like to introduce you to Harry Potter, my cousin and Heir to the Ancient and Noble house of Potter. Harry, this is Daphne Greengrass, the Heiress to the Ancient and Noble house of Greengrass.”

“Merry meet,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Merry meet, Heir Potter,” the girl returned evenly. If Harry had thought that Pansy’s gaze had been calculating, Daphne’s icy-blue eyes made him feel like he was being x-rayed.

“Milicent Bulstrode, of the Ancient and Noble house of Bulstrode,” Draco continued indicating the girl with the hard expression, “Tracey Davis,” with a nod towards the girl who Harry felt sure had been trying to listen in, “Lily Moon,” the girl with her nose in a book who didn’t respond, “and Blaise Zabini, the son and Heir of Contessa Anatolia Zabini,” Blaise, a dark skinned youth, responded with an easy smile, a nod and a mischievous wink.

“Uh-merry meet and good morning y’all,” Harry said, feeling more than a little out of depth. He felt sure that there was a strong undercurrent of something going on here, but he hadn’t the darndest clue as to what it was. He would have to corner Draco somewhere later and demand an explanation for whatever this was and why his pomposity had been dialed up to eleven since last they’d met.

After the greeting had been returned from its various recipients, Blaise Zabini smirked at him.

“Would you care to join us for breakfast, Heir Potter?” he asked with a faint Italian accent lacing his words and amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Uh-thank you for the invitation, but I think I’ll have to rejoin my housemates soon,” Harry responded, trying to be as suave as he could. “Oh, and please, call me Harry,” he added, glancing around at the two groups indicating that the others were also included in this request. He really didn’t think he would ever get used to being addressed as ‘Heir Potter’ and didn’t want to try.

“Only, if you agree to call me Blaise,” the boy responded with an elegant bow of the head while everyone else, with the exception of Lily Moon who was still engrossed in her book, said something similar.

“Er-right,” Harry said. “Well, it was a pleasure to make all your acquaintances, but I really ought to return to my table. I look forward to seeing you all in classes.”

More nods of acknowledgement followed, and Harry turned back to Draco, “I’ll see you soon, cousin,” he said, trying to convey that there had better be an explanation for all of this when he did.

Draco smirked unabashedly, “See you around Harry.”

Back at his own house’s table, Harry moved the backpack from the seat he’d left it in earlier and dropped heavily into it with a huff.

“Everything ok?” Padma asked, not missing his reaction as Tony quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Weirdness might be a secret Slytherin trait, alongside ambition, resourcefulness and the rest,” he said with a scowl as he reached for a piece of toast and started to butter it.

Breakfast and the conversation that came with it soon distracted Harry from the strange Slytherin politicking. The hall started filling up gradually as well, and the arrival of the Gryffindor students, easily the loudest house of the four, caused him to further shift his focus from the Slytherins.

He’d just about wrapped up his breakfast of eggs, toast and bacon, when a sudden loud rushing sound from overhead caused him to look up in alarm at the enchanted ceiling above.

The hall was being invaded by scores of owls that had soared in through the high windows near the roof, bearing letters, packages and what seemed to be newspapers.

Harry watched as the owls landed in front of students and teachers and waited to be relieved of their parcels, occasionally being treated to bits of bacon or sausage by the recipients. He wondered how far Hedwig had managed to travel so far and when she would be back. He also felt curious about how all of the owls had arrived at once in such strange synchronization, when they must have been dispatched from very different places. Maybe if the owls arrived at Hogwarts really late at night, they hung out at the owlery Colton had mentioned so as not to disrupt the sleep of the kids they had been sent to? Hmm, he’d have to find out where exactly the owlery was and check it out.

Some of the people near him had also received mail. He watched, trying not to feel homesick as Mike unwrapped a care package from his mother containing toffees that he immediately handed out. Padma meanwhile was unrolling a newspaper while the owl that had delivered it pecked at the forgotten breakfast on her plate.

“Hmm, not surprising,” she said critically after surveying the front page for a moment. “You’ve made the headlines Harry” she said casually, as if commenting on the weather before passing the sheet over to him.

“What?! Why?!” Harry sputtered for the second time this morning as he wiped the butter from his fingers and accepted the broadsheet and looked at it, with Tony leaning closer and taking a peek as well from over his shoulder.

The Daily Prophet - September 2, 1991 - “Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived Sorted into Ravenclaw?!”

Exclusive Report

Mysterious happenings at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Yesterday, amidst much fanfare and anticipation, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was finally sorted. But in a twist that left many jaws agape, young Potter was placed not in Gryffindor, as many had predicted, but in the studious house of Ravenclaw.

This revelation has left the wizarding world buzzing with speculation. What could this unexpected sorting mean for the future of our young savior? Is there a hidden brilliance in Harry that the Sorting Hat detected, or is there something more sinister at play?

Even more puzzling is the fact that Harry Potter, the most famous young wizard in the world, managed to evade all eyes during his journey to Hogwarts. Sources at King's Cross and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters confirmed that there was no sighting of the boy with the lightning scar. How could it be that the wizarding world's most watched for child slipped through unnoticed?

Despite the best efforts of the wizarding community to catch a glimpse of him, Harry Potter remained unseen. One can only wonder how he managed to board the Hogwarts Express without drawing a single curious glance. Could he have used an Invisibility Cloak, or was he perhaps spirited away by some powerful magical means?

Albus Dumbledore, ever the enigmatic Headmaster, is no stranger to secrecy and intrigue. Could this all be part of some grand design orchestrated by Dumbledore himself? There are whispers that the venerable headmaster has his own agenda for the Boy Who Lived, one that might not align with the interests of the wizarding public. By placing Harry in Ravenclaw, is Dumbledore subtly guiding the boy down a path of his own choosing?

Furthermore, we must ask ourselves: why was Harry kept hidden from the wizarding world for so long? It has been ten lengthy years since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow, and yet Harry's reappearance has been shrouded in mystery. Could there be a reason why Dumbledore does not want Harry to be exposed to the public eye? Is there something he does not want us to know about the Boy Who Lived?

In the absence of any concrete information, we are left to speculate. Is Harry Potter being groomed for some secret purpose? Is there a dark and dangerous reason for his unexpected sorting and mysterious arrival at Hogwarts? Only time will tell, but one thing is certain: the Boy Who Lived has once again captured our imagination and left us with more questions than answers.

Stay tuned to the Daily Prophet for all the latest updates on this unfolding story. And remember, dear readers, in a world of magic and mystery, nothing is ever quite as it seems.

Signing off with a quill dipped in suspicion and a parchment filled with possibilities.

Rita Skeeter,

Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

Harry stared at the paper, gradually becoming aware that his mouth was hanging open.

“What in the name of-” he began before Padma and Tony’s laughter stopped him.

“Yep, that’s vintage Rita Skeeter, that is,” Tony guffawed, wiping a tear from his eye. “My parents hate her guts. She can make the most mundane of things sound like some sort of fascinating conspiracy.”

“It was just a sorting,” Harry said in disbelief. “I was one of fifty people being sorted! Why is this even news? Also, who was out there making predictions about where I’d be sorted?”

He paused for a breath as Padma took back the paper, still smirking, and flipped to the next page.

Harry resumed ranting.

“How do people even know so fast? The sorting was just last evening! Why were people looking for me to begin with? That’s just creepy! What the hell is an invisibility cloak? What does she have against Dumbledore? And for the love of God, I do not want to capture anyone’s imagination!”

Tony nodded in sympathy, “Yeah, I guess it can’t be fun to be the subject of that. But you have to see the bigger picture in all of this, Harry.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s entertaining for the rest of us-ow!” Harry’s elbow to his ribs cut him off abruptly but failed to wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face.

He dimly realized that there were more stares directed towards him again. Some sympathetic, and others suspicious…and it made him want to bury his face in his hands. He looked around the hall, and surprisingly, it was the boisterous Gryffindors who seemed to be reacting the least to the article. Well, maybe that was just because theirs was the table that had received the least number of newspapers.

“We still have some time before breakfast ends and the timetables are handed out, yes?” he asked Padma, refusing to acknowledge Tony’s smug expression or his existence.

“Hmm?” she asked, looking up from an article on page three that seemed to be questioning the wisdom of goblins being contracted by the ministry to help in the renovation of wards around secure magical sites all across Britain and had a caricature of an evil looking goblin accompanying the article. “I think so. Why?”

“I’ll go say hi to Hermione, Neville and the rest,” Harry responded, getting up from his seat. “You want to come?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Padma said, turning back to the paper. “Tell Parvati that I don’t miss her in the slightest though, would you? She’ll know what it means.”

Harry got up with a nod and made his way past the Hufflepuff table, ignoring the gazes he was still attracting, and headed towards the cluster of first-year Gryffindors, using Ron’s bright red mane as a homing beacon.

“Morning Ron, Nev, Hermione, Dean,” he announced once he was close enough to them to be heard. “Parvati, Padma said to tell you that she doesn’t miss you…or something.”

“Aww, I better go see her before she gets any poutier,” Parvati giggled and got up from the table with a piece of toast in hand and skipped away to the Ravenclaw table. Harry shook his head at the strangely endearing dynamic between the twin sisters as he watched her casually slip into the seat he’d just vacated. He turned back to the Gryffindors still here.

“All set for the first day of classes?” he asked.

“Oh yes!” Hermione exclaimed in response. “I do so hope that we start with Transfiguration. It’s the subject that Professor McGonagall teaches. She’s our head of the house and everyone says she’s one of the best teachers there are. Although Charms with Professor Flitwick, that’s your head of house, in case you didn’t know Harry, is supposed to be really interesting as well. A lot of the folks seem to hold a very negative view of Potions though, but I can’t imagine it’d be as bad as they’re making it out to be given that Professor Snape is the youngest person in history to have achieved a mastery in the field!”

“Mate, we’d barely gotten her to shut up!” Ron groaned as he downed a glass of milk, while Dean smirked in response. “Can we swap her for you-ow!”

“Don’t be rude, Ronald,” Hermione sniffed at him, putting away the rolled-up Prophet that she’d just used to smack Ron on the head. “The sorting hat knows best where we’d all grow to be the best version of who we can become. Although, your sorting took ages, Harry. I’ve been asking around and it might have been one of the longest that anyone remembers. I know that mine took time because the hat was undecided between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, was it a similar situation for you as well? Which houses was the hat torn between for you?”

“Um, all of them I think,” Harry replied. “It said something along the lines of me having traits that it looks for in students of each of the houses. But eventually concluded that I’d do best in Ravenclaw.”

“Oh! That sounds amazing!” Hermione said. “I was worried you were trying to convince the hat not to sort you at all, like you said on the train-”

“Wait,” Ron interrupted after forcibly swallowing his bacon, and suddenly sounding aghast. “The hat thought you had Slytherin traits too?”

“Er…yeah,” Harry said carefully. “It didn’t think I was particularly subtle or cunning, but it felt that I was resourceful enough.”

“Mate,” Ron said in a horrified whisper. “That’s the dark house. You of all people shouldn’t be having any of the traits of the slimy snakes.”

“Don’t be absurd, Ronald!” Hermione snapped before Harry could form a response. “As if any house is inherently dark. Or being resourceful, or subtle is somehow a bad thing. Honestly! I don’t understand this rampant hostility that everyone in Gryffindor seems to harbor towards Slytherin.”

“You don’t understand,” Ron said stubbornly, shaking his head. “All of You-Know-Who’s followers were from Slytherin. There’s never been a dark wizard who wasn’t from that house.”

“That is patently untrue,” Hermione announced. “Sirius Black was famously a Gryffindor for instance. I’m sure others were too.”

“Rookwood was a Ravenclaw,” Dean said quietly.

“Barty Crouch was a Hufflepuff,” Neville said unexpectedly in a very soft voice.

“See?” Hermione said triumphantly. “I for one, do not think this bigotry serves any purpose. And it’s perfectly valid to possess traits that are prized by other houses. In fact, your own brother, Percy, was nearly sorted into Slytherin because the hat considered his ambition to be one of his most defined traits…well that and his desire to join the ministry. He told me so himself, on the train yesterday.”

That finally seemed to give Ron pause, but not in the way Hermione had expected. “Wait, really? Percy was nearly sorted into Slytherin? I always knew there was something off about him…I wonder if mum and dad know about this. Should I tell them, you think?”

“Ronald!” Hermione said shrilly, sounding shocked beyond measure. “He’s been nothing but kind and helpful to us, and you’re-you’re turning on him just because of where he might have been sorted? Do you even hear yourself?”

Harry tuned out the conversation, seriously regretting coming over to talk to the Gryffindors. The hat was right, it would have been an uphill and losing battle to get any Gryffindor to get along with him if he’d been sorted into Slytherin and vice-versa. He hoped that Percy wouldn’t get into any trouble because of all this. The older Weasley brother had indeed been very helpful and informative the previous day and Harry would hate it if his own sorting had sparked a chain of events that led to friction between Percy and his family. He resolved to seek Percy out and give him a heads-up as soon as possible.

For now, he turned to Neville, since Dean seemed to have also been drawn into Ron and Hermione’s argument, and the other first-years were having a lively conversation of their own a little further down the table.

“You alright there Nev?” he asked kindly.

Neville nodded slowly. There was a small portion of untouched breakfast on the plate in front of him.

“The h-hat wanted to put me in H-Hufflepuff,” he said in a voice so low that Harry had to lean close and strain his ears to hear him over background noise. “I c-convinced it that not going to G-Gryffindor would make gran very unhappy, so it eventually relented. She even gave me d-dad’s old wand so I c-could follow in his footsteps.”

Harry gently patted the boy on his shoulder, only half listening to him due to still being somewhat distracted by the continuing row.

“Nev, if you managed to convince the hat, that means it agrees with you,” he said gently. “It wouldn’t have put you in Gryffindor if it felt you wouldn’t do well here I’m sure.”

Neville nodded, not looking convinced.

“But if it ever gets too…Gryffindorish here,” Harry continued, making a small gesture towards Ron and Hermione who were still going at it, “you’re always welcome to hang out with me. After all, I have enough of the traits required to at least be a substitute Hufflepuff, according to the hat.”

That caused a small smile to appear on Neville’s face. He mumbled a small thanks as Harry clapped him on the back again.

“What’s that you’ve got there, by the way?” Harry asked, spotting a strange glass orb, about the size of his fist next to Neville’s uneaten breakfast.

“That’s a Remembrall,” Neville explained, sounding a bit more relaxed. “Gran sent it by owl post this morning. It’s supposed to glow a bright red if you’ve forgotten something.”

“Oh. That sounds neat,” Harry voiced. “Does it also remind you of what it is that you’ve forgotten?”

“Er…no, I don’t think it does that,” Neville said hesitantly, and Harry was immediately forced to revise his opinion. Now it sounded like a crappy gift that would only cause anxiety instead of actually being of much help.

“Ah, I see,” he said diplomatically. “Oh, I think the heads of houses are getting up! It must be time to receive the timetables! I better get back to my seat. I’ll see you around, ok Nev?”

Neville nodded and Harry hurried back to his seat at the Ravenclaw table by the time the heads of houses had descended to the main floor of the hall. He quickly dislodged Parvati from his seat and shooed her back to the Gryffindor section of the hall (silently hoping that she’d be able to get Ron and Hermione to quit bickering before McGonagall arrived at their location) and patiently settled down to wait for Professor Flitwick to reach them.

It didn’t take long for them to receive their timetables. Since the first-year students had no elective subjects or optional courses, they would all be attending the same classes this year. Professor Flitwick reminded them once more that the Flying Lesson in the first week of term would instead be used to administer a medical checkup, before moving on to hand out the second-year timetables.

They would need to wait until one of the prefects was available to show them to their first class, so Harry looked closer at his timetable to figure out what that was supposed to be.

Ah, Transfiguration with the Gryffindors. Hermione had gotten her wish it seemed, and with any luck there would be no more quarrels breaking out while they were in class. He continued reading.

History of Magic with Hufflepuff. Colton had said something about the professor being a ghost…so that was bound to be an interesting experience. Followed by a double period of Potions with the Slytherins after lunch. Hmm, now that one he was especially looking forward to.

All in all, it looked like all the Ravenclaw Transfiguration and Charms classes would be with the Gryffindors, and there would be three of those per week. One single and one double period for each. Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts would be with the Slytherins, also three classes per week split into a single and a double period. And Herbology, History of Magic and Astronomy Theory would be with the Hufflepuffs. There were three Herbology periods each week, but only two classes for History and just one for Astronomy Theory, so all in all it looked like they’d get to spend the same amount of time in classes with each of the other houses.

He looked at the other lessons and realized that the single weekly lesson for Magical Theory and the Astronomy Practical classes were going to include all the houses at once. Predictably, the Astronomy Practical lessons would be held after dinner on Thursday evenings. The Flying lessons would also be held once a week and would involve the Ravenclaws being grouped together with the Hufflepuffs once again.

“Alright, if you’re all done memorizing your schedules, it is time we headed to your first lesson,” Colton’s voice interrupted his musings. “First up is Transfiguration, right?”

They all stumbled to their feet, Harry hastily stowed his timetable into his backpack, and nodded their agreement. Colton gave them a moment to make sure they had everything they needed with them and began to lead them from the hall. Elsewhere, at the other tables, Harry spotted similar groups of first-years students being rounded up by their respective house prefects prior to being escorted to their own lessons.

“Professor McGonagall is the head of Gryffindor and the Deputy Headmistress in addition to being the Transfiguration instructor,” Colton informed them as he led them into the entrance hall and up the marble staircase. “She’s strict but fair and is an extremely talented witch who is also-er, never mind. I think she’d prefer to show you that herself. Try not to get on her bad side, because she’s never one to shy away from handing out detentions like they are Halloween candy.”

Harry tried to absorb this as they followed the prefect and soon arrived outside a door marked ‘Transfiguration – First Year’. He craned his neck and tried to read the plaque on the next door along the corridor, and predictably, it read ‘Transfiguration – Second Year’. There were several other doors on either side of the hallway, which Harry guessed would be the classrooms for the senior years. The arrangement was probably so that it was easy for the Professors to make their way to their various classes without losing too much time in between. Perhaps the other classrooms would have similar setups, he assumed.

“Alright, me or another prefect will come by to take you to your next class once you’re done with Transfiguration. Don’t go inside until the professor arrives, and don’t wander off until we come to get you, ok?” Colton announced.

“I need to head to my own classes now, so see you all later! And don’t forget to have fun!” He left with a cheery wave at them as they waited for McGonagall and the Gryffindors to arrive, and before too long, the sounds of approaching voices preceded the Gryffindor first-years, led by Percy, into the Transfiguration corridor.

Percy seemed to still be his slightly pompous but entirely professional self, so Harry assumed that Ron hadn’t made a big deal out of what he’d learned at breakfast just yet. He smiled at the prefect and received a cordial nod in return. Maybe now would be a good time to speak to him in private for a moment-?

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” a familiar voice with a Scottish lilt derailed his train of thought. “Please enter the classroom and take your seats.”

Where had the Professor even come from? Harry was sure he hadn’t seen or heard anyone other than the Gryffindors enter the corridor just now. And yet, there stood Professor McGonagall, holding the door open and waiting for them all to enter the class as Percy nodded at her and took his leave.

Judging by Padma and Tony’s expressions, they were surprised at her arrival too, but the Gryffindor contingent had likely assumed she had been here ahead of them and did not seem surprised by her presence.

Quietly, and under the Professor’s watchful gaze, they filed into the classroom and picked out their seats. Harry found a seat in the first row, sharing a desk with Padma and Tony. Most of the Ravenclaws, with the exception of Roger, seemed to have made a beeline for the desks closer to the front of the class, while most of the Gryffindors with the exception of Hermione seemed to have opted to fill in the rows closer to the back. Harry mentally nodded to himself. That checked out.

Professor McGonagall shut the door once they had all entered and stood in front of her desk, waiting for them to settle down and extract their texts (‘A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration’ by Emeric Switch) and writing implements. Once she deemed they were all ready, she began to speak.

"Good morning, and welcome to your first Transfiguration lesson. I am Professor McGonagall, and it is my honor to introduce you to one of the most complex and challenging branches of magic you will study at Hogwarts,” she said in a clear voice that carried across the room.

“Transfiguration is the art of changing the form and appearance of an object or being. It is not merely waving your wand and muttering an incantation. No, it requires precision, concentration, and above all, a deep understanding of the magical principles involved.

“As you progress in your studies, you will learn to transfigure objects into animals, animals into objects, and even, eventually, change the fundamental properties of matter itself. But be warned: Transfiguration is not to be taken lightly. It is a skill that demands respect and practice, because the consequences of a miscast spell can be both unpredictable and dangerous.

“You will begin today with the basics. Remember, the foundation you build now will determine your success in more advanced transformations. Approach your studies with diligence and curiosity, and you may find Transfiguration to be one of the most rewarding subjects at this school.

“We shall start with an overview of the fundamental laws governing this magical art. Pay close attention, for understanding these principles is key to mastering Transfiguration."

And so, they began. Even though Harry was quite familiar with the basics of the theory (and at least the wandless implementation of most of the foundational transfiguration exercises) he made sure to give his undivided attention to Professor McGonagall’s lecture.

She seemed to be highly familiar with the concepts she spoke of and helped clarify principles to make them easier to understand, which spoke to an in-depth knowledge and mastery of the subject that Harry instinctively respected. He took notes diligently as she spoke about the Principle of Intent (the caster's intention and focus were crucial in Transfiguration; a clear mental image of the desired transformation and a strong intent were necessary for successful spell casting), the law of elemental transfiguration (transfiguring a wooden object into another wooden object was easier than transforming it into metal), the Law of Conservation of Mass (while magic could alter the appearance and properties of objects, it generally could not change the amount of matter in an object without significantly increasing the amount of magic required) and so on.

She paused from time to time to take questions, re-focus the wavering attention of some of the Gryffindors at the back of the class or ask questions to test their understanding of the concepts being discussed. Hermione’s hand usually shot up along with most of the Ravenclaws during these instances and each correctly answered question bagged them a couple of house points each.

Before he knew it, the lecture was drawing to an end, had that really been an hour and a half? Where had the time gone?

“Now that we’re familiar with some of the basic principles involved, our next lesson will be a more hands-on one,” Professor McGonagall announced. “We will attempt to transform toothpicks into needles. The exercise will be made challenging by the fact that a toothpick is made of wood, while the target state of a needle is metallic in nature, but it will be simplified by the close shape and size of the initial and final states of the object being transfigured in accordance with the Law of Equivalence and the Principle of Similarity.”

She glanced at the hourglass on her desk and smiled. “In fact, since we have a few minutes before your prefects come to collect you for your next lesson, I think we have sufficient time on hand for at least a first attempt at the transfiguration.”

She drew a wand from her sleeve and gave it a casual wave, and one of her desk drawers opened and a bundle of toothpicks dispersed and floated to each student in the class.

“Since there are near infinite potential things that can be transfigured into other objects, there isn’t an incantation for every possible transformation,” she continued as the students watched the toothpicks settle on the desk in front of them. “So, the standard incantation to achieve a transfiguration is ‘Mutatio’. When you’re ready, I would like you all to raise your wand in front of you, focus your intent, in this case, the desire to alter the toothpick on your desk into a needle, visualize the final state of the transfiguration with as much clarity and detail as you can…and tap your wand against the toothpick and clearly speak the incantation. Repeat the incantation aloud after me to make sure you’re all pronouncing it right.”

They all followed the professor in speaking the incantation out loud, and Harry scored another two points for Ravenclaw due to his Latin tutoring coming in handy.

“Alright then, in your own time if you please,” Professor McGonagall announced, once she was satisfied that everyone was saying it correctly. “And do not be disheartened if you’re unable to affect a change in the toothpick. Transfiguration is one of the most challenging subjects you will learn here after all, and we have plenty of time ahead of us to get it right.”

The students got to work, and Harry took a deep breath and pulled his wand out of the pocket of his robes. He immediately felt excitement, anticipation and a sense of warning. He frowned and tried to understand what the last part was about.

A chorus of voices was muttering, intoning or flat-out yelling the incantation by this point while Professor McGonagall moved among them correcting the grip or motion of their wands, their pronunciation and the like. It didn’t look like anyone had managed to affect any change at all. Harry raised his wand, and the impression of warning immediately grew stronger, and he hesitated.

“Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall was watching him, “Go on, please attempt the transfiguration.” It looked like the rest of the classroom, all with toothpicks unchanged, had stopped in their attempts to watch him as well.

Harry took a deep breath, revised the incantation in his head and fixed the image of the needle he wanted to turn the toothpick into in his mind and entered his mind palace. After so many years of practice, it was the work of a moment to access the various memories that helped him call forth and channel his magic.

“Mutatio!” he said clearly, tapping his wand on his toothpick.

It was a shame that the one thing he hadn’t had a chance to practice, was how to wield his wand.

His aim was just a tiny bit off and it struck the surface of his, Padma and Anthony’s shared desk instead of the toothpick he had been aiming for.

The desk vanished.

You could hear a pin drop in the class…which turned out to be rather lucky, because the faint ting of a needle landing on the stone floor just barely managed to reach his, Tony’s, Padma’s and Professor McGonagall’s ears.

“Ah,” Harry thought in a slight shock. The warning had been about the amount of power he’d been about to use hadn’t it? He had become so accustomed to channeling his magic without any sort of focus, he had instinctively given the spell everything he had. Had he not missed and hit the desk, the toothpick would most likely have exploded from the magic that had been poured into it. A sense of incredulity from the wand made Harry question whether the miss had been accidental or the wand proactively averting an impending accident.

He took a deep breath and with some effort, focused on his surroundings again.

The class was awash with whispers and Professor McGonagall was peering closely at a needle she had just summoned off the floor.

“Everyone, back away a bit,” she called, seemingly coming to some kind of conclusion and fixing Harry with an inscrutable stare. “Mr. Potter, the standard incantation to un-transfigure an object is ‘Reverti’. Would you like to give it a try on what used to be your desk?”

Harry nodded dumbly and Professor McGonagall floated the needle near him.

He felt his palms begin to sweat slightly and he tried to ignore the stares from all over the class. He closed his eyes as if blinking very slowly and quickly entered a trance to calm himself.

Raising his wand again, and this time finding nothing but warm assurance flowing to him, he summoned his magic and tapped the needle.

“Reverti!” he said.

The desk materialized in an instant and years of training in dodging other fencers was all that allowed Harry to get his foot out of the way before it landed on it.

The class was completely silent again and Professor McGonagall was staring at him once more.

“Remarkable,” she finally breathed. “The power requirements alone for such a transfiguration should be well beyond your years, and yet you have managed to change it and switch it back without so much as giving yourself a nosebleed. Your father was a gifted student of the subject, but your abilities might truly be transcendental in comparison.”

She shook her head as if in disbelief before regaining her stern manner.

“Twenty points to Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter,” she announced. “But, before the class is dismissed, would you like to try and transform the toothpick too?”

Harry nodded, feeling his neck grow warm from the attention and embarrassment. All he had done was practice for years and then somehow still be stupid and careless enough not to tone the magic down when attempting to cast the spell. He definitely did not deserve praise for this, did he?

He picked up the toothpick from where it had rolled off and placed it on the freshly un-transfigured desk that Professor McGonagall had floated back to its original place.

Being very, very cautious about the amount of magic he channeled, this time, he raised his wand and carefully tapped the toothpick, visualizing the change once more in his mind.

“Mutatio” he whispered.

The toothpick turned into a needle.

Somewhere a bell rang, signaling the completion of the lesson and ending the silence that had yet again settled over the classroom.

“Five points to Ravenclaw, for a successful transfiguration on the first actual attempt,” Professor McGonagall called over the sounds of the students packing away their stuff while whispering to themselves. “And as for your assignment, I’d like a five-hundred-word essay on the fundamental principles of transfiguration and their applications in the toothpick to needle transformation. Due on Monday. Dismissed!”

Chapter Text

2^nd September 1991

Harry hurried out of the class, skulking between Padma and Anthony, not meeting anyone’s eyes and purposefully avoiding Hermione who seemed to be trying to get his attention. He wasn’t ready to talk about it though, not by a long shot, and pretended not to see or hear her as he left the Transfiguration corridor.

Fortunately, their sixth-year female prefect, Serena Jenkins, a tall lithe girl with short spiky hair was already there to collect the Ravenclaws and lead them to their next lesson, History of Magic.

Unlike Colton, Serena was a person of very few words, and other than answering any questions put to her in a short and concise fashion, didn’t try to engage them in conversation. This suited Harry fine as he ignored the occasional look being leveled at him as they tried to keep up with her long strides.

It didn’t take them long to reach their destination, not while traveling at the pace set by Serena, and soon they were entering a short corridor on the sixth-floor with three doors on each side of the hall.

Harry ran his gaze along the signs of the various doors so as to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes and being sucked into talking about what had happened and frowned.

“Are the sixth and seventh-year history classes taught elsewhere?” he asked Serena before the prefect could disappear back the way they had come.

“No,” she responded curtly. “There aren’t sixth or seventh-year classes for History of Magic. No one has opted to take those in several decades. People drop the subject as soon as they are done with their OWLs.”

“Really? Why?” Kevin piped up, sounding curious.

“You’ll see,” Serena said mysteriously and left before they could ask anything further.

Thankfully, this ominous revelation about the lack of interest in the subject among the older students served as enough of a distraction that the first-year Ravenclaws immediately broke up into impromptu groups to theorize about what might be its cause, and Harry found himself left in his own pocket of space with Padma and Anthony, who were being as tactful as eleven-year-olds bursting with curiosity possibly could.

Harry sighed. It might be better to come clean at least to a few people than have everyone go wild in their speculations he figured. Mentally steeling himself, he forced himself to meet the gazes of his two burgeoning friends, both of whom immediately pretended they hadn’t been casting sidelong glances in his direction while maintaining the façade of having their own discussion.

“Look,” Harry began in a quiet voice, keeping an eye open for anyone who might be looking to eavesdrop “it’s really not that big a deal. I started practicing with spells and the like when I found out about magic. Since I didn’t have a wand I got used to putting a lot of power into every spell I attempted…and back in the classroom, I er-kind of forgot that when casting with a wand to focus the magic, I didn’t need to do that anymore. It was just a simple honest mistake!”

Padma was gazing at him with an inscrutable expression and Anthony’s golden eyebrows were at risk of vanishing into his hairline.

“And just how long have you been overpowering your spells to be able to cast wandless magic?” Padma eventually asked in a slightly too calm tone.

“Since I was about seven, I guess? Does it matter?” Harry shrugged.

“Seven?!” Anthony’s exclamation caused all the other students to turn briefly in their direction as he forcibly regained his composure while Harry did his best to look nonchalant.

“Look Harry,” Padma whispered urgently, “I’m certainly no expert, but there’s a reason why kids aren’t sent to Hogwarts before they’re eleven. Our cores aren’t supposed to be developed enough before then to be able to do more than a rare bit of accidental magic. It's only at around age ten to eleven, that all our magical cores are supposed to have settled down enough that they can be accessed willfully, which is why this is when we start school and learning to cast actual spells intentionally.”

She hesitated, unsure of how to continue, and Anthony, having regained his poise, took over.

“So basically, the fact that you’ve been intentionally casting magic since seven, is a damn big deal!” He said through gritted teeth. “Not to mention that whatever you have been doing has clearly messed with the rate at which your core is supposed to develop. The seven years at Hogwarts, or any other magical school really, are not the result of people coming up with a random number. These seven years of education coincide with the period in a witch or wizard’s life where their cores develop the most steadily. After around seventeen, it mostly balances out for most people and there’s rarely any significant change in magical potential.”

Harry felt his head spinning a bit. “So, what does that mean for me?” he asked hesitantly.

“You’re a freak,” Anthony said immediately, and Padma elbowed him in the side.

“You’re a-a bit of an anomaly,” she said with more tact. “If your core can handle the strain of spells that usually require the magical reserves of a fifteen or sixteen-year-old, it could mean that you hit your peak much sooner than the rest of us. Or it could mean that your core continues to grow and make your magical potential significantly greater than most people. I…don’t really know much about all this.”

“You both seem to know a lot more than I do,” Harry frowned. “How come I never learned about any of this from the books I got?”

“I have an uncle who works at St. Mungo’s,” Anthony shrugged. “He did my vaccinations a few years back and I asked him why I wasn’t allowed to go to Hogwarts even though I was immunized. He explained about the development of the core and how it relates to a person’s age.”

“We visit India from time to time, and one of our cousins started school at Kailash, one of the best schools for magic in India,” Padma added. “I got curious about why the schools there also taught magic from eleven to eighteen just like Hogwarts, even when the type of magic taught out there was so very different and asked around. Maybe the books you’ve read growing up were not focused on magical growth or development?”

Harry nodded and thought about this slowly. So, this was what the darn hat had been talking about the previous evening, he mused. Maybe he could do some more research and try to understand exactly what this meant for him and his magic. If only there was someone he could talk to about it…

“You could ask the school nurse,” Padma interrupted, almost seeming to read his thoughts. “I’m sure she’d know more about the implications of this than us.”

Harry hesitated before inclining his head. It was worth a shot. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. “But, if you don’t mind, could you, er-keep this between us? At least for the time being?”

Both Tony and Padma nodded, looking at him with understanding in their eyes, and Harry was spared from having to express his gratitude by the arrival of the Hufflepuffs.

Harry thought he recognized two of the girls, Abott and Bones, as being the first two students to be sorted the night before, from amongst the crowd following Sarah. The new arrivals were also blissfully unaware of the incident in the previous class, so the gazes being directed at him were more akin to ones staring at ‘Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived’ than at ‘Harry Potter, Transcendental Transfiguration Prodigy’, and Harry considered it an improvement.

“Ah, we’re a teensy bit late, aren’t we?” Sarah announced once she’d made sure that all Hufflepuffs had arrived at their destination safely. “Since this is History of Magic, you’ll have to open the door and enter your class without having to rely on the professor to announce when they’re ready. Don’t be shy now.”

Roger and Kevin, who were the closest to the door, looked at Sarah dubiously and exchanged a quick glance between each other, before cautiously pushing open the door.

The droning voice of a professor, apparently already in the middle of a lecture on goblin rebellions despite his students being conspicuous by their absence, floated out of the classroom and immediately spurred the students on to rush to enter the class…which, as Colton had mentioned in passing, really was being taught by a ghost.

Harry barely broke stride as he took this in, on his way to a desk near the back of the room since his starting position had been much farther from the door than most of his classmates. He had bigger things on his mind than the fact that History was taught by a literal ghost. Maybe that made the professor even more qualified at the subject, on account of having likely lived through some of the events he’d be lecturing them on.

The professor, the sign on whose desk identified him as Cuthbert Binns, appeared to pay no heed to the tardiness of his entire class and barely paused in his monologue as they found their seats and settled into them and began to take notes and very soon, even the academic inclination of the most ardent Ravenclaw was being put to the test.

Harry frowned for a bit as he listened to the professor while his eyes traced the words printed on ‘A History of Magic’ by Bathilda Bagshot. It didn’t take him too long to draw a frustrating conclusion.

Professor Binns’s lecture was woefully out of date when compared to the material in the books.

The ancient ghost’s lecture on wars against the goblins appeared to be more akin to propaganda pieces designed to paint wizards and witches in a favorable light while vilifying their enemies and did not make any note of the subtleties that had caused the conflicts in question. By contrast, Bagshot’s book weighed the known facts pertaining to the wars from the perspectives and cultural differences of both parties and presented a lot less biased take. If this was the difference between the lectures and the recommended reading material, it was hardly a surprise that people dropped the class as soon as they were able. Perhaps senior students focused on self-study as a better way to prepare for their NEWTs, he wondered.

He glanced around him and saw that most of the Hufflepuffs and several of his Ravenclaw housemates had glazed expressions as they clearly failed to keep paying attention to the droning lecture. As he watched, Padma sighed, put away the history books and pulled out a blank parchment and started work on her transfiguration essay. Anthony seemed to still be soldiering on.

Not wanting to be reminded of transfiguration again so soon, Harry looked around some more and realized that the two blonde Hufflepuff girls were seated at the desk behind him and were having a whispered conversation about some article in the prophet. After making sure that the article being discussed was not Rita Skeeter’s dramatic speculations about him, he perked up his ears to figure out what they were saying.

“…most of the pushback against this is obviously from the traditionalists, and most of the support is from the progressives,” the one he thought was called Susan seemed to be explaining, “but in this instance, auntie thinks, it might be best to dig deeper into why they’ve decided to fight for the contract after centuries of not showing any interest in this type of thing.”

“Mum says, that’s just the deep-rooted distrust talking,” the other blond, probably Hannah, countered timidly. “She says we wouldn’t be this suspicious if it was a human group who had responded to the tender-oh hello, did you want something?”

Harry flushed a bit at having been caught snooping and flashed them an embarrassed smile.

“Er-sorry, your conversation sounded more interesting than the lecture,” he offered lamely.

“Well, please don’t hesitate to join in,” presumably Hannah offered with a kind smile. “Oh wait! Unless I’m mistake, you’re Harry Potter, aren’t you?”

“Er-yeah, I am.”

“I’m Hannah and this is Susan,” she continued, gesturing at her friend and not making a fuss or reacting to this confirmation which made Harry instantly feel grateful. “How are you holding up with all the rumors surrounding you flying around?”

“I-I don’t know what to make of any of it, to be honest,” Harry admitted. If this candid frankness and seemingly genuine concern was what Hufflepuff was all about, he was sure he’d have been just as happy to have been sorted there. “The article this morning, was a bit of a shock. I’m honestly not sure why people care so much.”

“That’s just Skeeter, being Skeeter,” Susan nodded compassionately. “My auntie says that the wizarding world is in dire need of libel laws, or something, to curb the stuff that tabloid hacks can get away with publishing.”

Harry agreed internally, before asking, “Is your aunt an attorney?”

“No, she’s the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Amelia Bones,” Susan clarified. “I reckon she has had to deal with a lot of fallout over the years from situations arising out of so-called journalists riling people up with unfounded accusations and fanciful nonsense.”

“I think I may have heard about her!” Harry exclaimed, suddenly remembering one of the old articles he and Aunt Petunia had discovered. “She took over from someone called Barty Crouch about ten years ago, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Susan smiled and continued with pride in her voice. “She’s the youngest department head in a century and just a wonderful person. And she’s rarely, if ever, wrong about these things, which brings us back to this article,” she added, holding up a page from the morning’s Prophet. “Have you had a chance to read this?”

Harry took the paper and quickly perused the piece in question.

The Daily Prophet - September 2, 1991 - “Ministry Considers Goblin Contractors for Ward Renovations: Wise Decision or Dangerous Gamble?”

In an unprecedented move, the Ministry of Magic is considering entering into contracts with goblin firms to renovate and enhance the wards around several of Britain’s most secure magical sites. This proposal, if approved, would see goblins, creatures historically known for their rigid adherence to the letter of their agreements but notorious for their cunning and unyielding nature, taking responsibility for the protection of key locations such as the Ministry itself, Diagon Alley, St. Mungo’s Hospital, and even Azkaban.

The very suggestion has left many in the wizarding community scratching their heads and raising their wands in alarm. Goblins have, until now, remained firmly within their domain of managing Gringotts Wizarding Bank and handling financial matters. Their sudden interest in magical security raises several pressing questions and concerns.

First and foremost, there is the issue of trust. While goblins are famed for their unwavering adherence to the contracts they sign, this characteristic is a double-edged sword. Any slight misstep or overlooked clause could lead to complications, potentially granting goblins a degree of control or influence over our most critical security wards. Can we truly afford to place such power in the hands of beings whose primary loyalty is to their own kind?

Furthermore, the timing of this proposal is suspect. With the wizarding world still reeling from the last war and the continued fear of the resurgence of dark or seditious activities, one must question whether this is a genuine offer of assistance or a calculated move to exploit our current vulnerabilities. The goblins’ renowned intellect and strategic acumen cannot be underestimated, and it would be naive to dismiss the possibility of ulterior motives.

Critics argue that entrusting goblins with the maintenance and enhancement of our protective wards is akin to inviting a dragon into one’s home and expecting it to guard the family jewels. The potential risks far outweigh any conceivable benefits. Our wards have been traditionally maintained by skilled wizards and witches, individuals whose loyalties are beyond reproach and who possess a deep understanding of the magical safeguards required to protect our society.

Supporters of the proposal, however, point to the goblins’ unparalleled expertise in magical enchantments and their meticulous attention to detail. They argue that, with the right oversight, goblin involvement could significantly strengthen our defenses. Yet, this view is overshadowed by a pervasive sense of unease and distrust.

It is imperative that the Ministry conducts a thorough and transparent evaluation of this proposal, weighing the long-term implications and potential consequences. Our magical community must be reassured that security and safety are not being compromised in favor of expediency or cost-cutting measures.

In conclusion, while the idea of goblins taking on a role beyond their traditional financial management is intriguing, it is fraught with peril. The Ministry must proceed with utmost caution, ensuring that any agreement is watertight and devoid of loopholes that could be exploited to our detriment. The security of our magical institutions and the safety of the wizarding populace must remain the highest priority.

Peregrin Peabody,

Daily Prophet Correspondent.

It was the same article that Padma had been browsing earlier that morning, once she’d stopped being amused at the article about Harry.

He finished reading it carefully and took a closer look at the cartoon accompanying it. It seemed to be depicting a tiny goblin that sported a vicious smile and cruel eyes which seemed to ooze evil intent and was rubbing its hands together while scheming something behind the back of an unsuspecting minister of magic, who was also portrayed unflatteringly, as a portly man nervously spinning a bowler hat in his hands.

“So?” Susan asked, “What do you make of it?”

“Hmm,” Harry hedged, “the writer seems to have a bit of an agenda, and the sketch all but confirms that. But I suppose the question of ‘why now’ is a valid one.”

“Goblins are an intelligent group who have a knack for knowing how to best make money,” Hannah weighed in, “Maybe they’ve just decided that the time was right to diversify. After all, they do recruit the best ward breakers and ward makers for their own activities. So, the folks already on their payroll, which includes lots of witches and wizards, already have the skills needed for a contract like this.”

“Why do they have warders on their payroll?” Harry asked curiously before Susan could form a response to Hannah’s statement.

“Well, the Gringotts vaults need to be warded to high heaven,” Hannah explained. “So that’s where most of the ward makers focus if I were to guess. As for the ward breakers, mum once told me that they have a group of people whose sole job was to try and break down the wards on the vaults and expose any potential weaknesses in the security before they can be exploited by actual robbers.”

“I tink muggles have some-ting similar in some of der jobs,” came a voice from their right, where a brown boy with large black eyes seemed to have been listening in from the desk he was sitting alone at. “Dey call it ‘Penetration Testing’. It have to do wit computers.”

“Yes, that.” Hannah nodded, before realizing that she should probably make some introductions. “Oh, Harry this is Hussein. Hussein, Harry Potter.”

Harry smiled at the boy who didn’t react to his name and got a polite nod in return. There was something of Wasim’s accent in the boy’s words, but it was a lot more pronounced. But before he could ask, Hannah was already continuing.

“Aside from that, Gringotts funds expeditions all over the world to places suspected of having once held lost magical civilizations or colonies. The ventures bring back a lot of old treasures and knowledge from these sites but require the careful dismantling of wards to access these caches. Ward breakers come in handy on these as well.”

Harry was unsure how he felt about this. It sounded a lot like what the colonial era settlers had done to civilizations around the world, plundering their sacred relics to drag back wealth and treasures to their own museums. Hussein, however, it seemed, knew exactly how he felt about this bit of information.

“Typical,” he said shaking his head. “Wheder muggle or magical, people or goblins, stealing da histories and legacies of people dat not yours is not only okay but celebrated.”

“Huh?” Hannah turned to him, sounding surprised. “What do you mean?”

“You have da Stonehenge here, yes?” Hussein explained. “What if Germany, or Russia, or America come and take it and put it in deir museums? How would you feel?”

“Why would they do that? They’re theorized to be ancient druidic monoliths dating back to a period long before the Roman invasion…it’s not anyone else’s to take.” Susan asked frowning.

“Da pyramids in Egypt, British people dug-up and took artifacts and even mummies! Dey tink deir research or showing deese antiques to deir people is more important dan respecting da history of da lands dey took from! How would you feel if same ting happen to your relics?”

“I suppose, I’d be upset,” Hannah conceded, sounding hesitant and unsure.

“Den why you let Gringotts do da same ting around da world in da name of expeditions?” Hussein asked darkly before rubbing his temples and sighing out loud. “No matter. I sorry for my outburst. Abbu always says we cannot decide what others do, but we can try to control how we react to it.”

After a few moments, Harry made the misguided attempt to break the awkward silence that had followed Hussein’s pronouncement.

“What’s an ‘Abbu’?” he asked. “Is that like the monkey from Aladin?”

“It mean ‘father’, it an en-en-endeerment,” Hussein’s voice was cold as ice. “Last time I check, he still brown, but he not a monkey.”

“Oh shi-I’m sorry Hussein!” Harry rushed to explain. “I just didn’t know what the word meant. I swear I wasn’t trying to be insulting!”

Hussein nodded in acknowledgement, but resolutely returned his focus to the open history book in front of him, while Harry exchanged contrite looks with the girls. This was turning out to be quite a day, and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

The discussion regarding the article about the goblins had been well and truly derailed though, so Harry turned his attention back to the lecture, whose quality, unfortunately, had not improved. After hesitating a bit, he sighed, decided to emulate Padma and pulled out a blank roll of parchment and started on his transfiguration assignment as well, to make the most of the time.

He debated whether he should try and familiarize himself with the quill, something he’d struggled greatly with during the summer, but decided that a fountain pen was just objectively better and that he’d stick to it unless someone told him not to.

This immediately caught Anthony and the Hufflepuff girls’ interest and Harry was pleased to have a normal distraction from all his other concerns for a bit.

In the end, they were all forced to agree that even in the hands of someone unfamiliar with it, the pen worked much better than any quill, even if it lacked some of the fancier enchantments that some high-end quills could have. Harry promised to bring a few spares to class and to let them borrow his pens should they ever want to.

The transfiguration essay didn’t take too long to write. Harry was very familiar with the theory after all, and he made sure to include some of the insights that Professor McGonagall had revealed in class to supplement his work. By the time he finished and carefully rolled up the parchment, there were only ten minutes left in the lecture judging by the hourglass on Professor Binns’ desk.

He glanced around once more and was not surprised to see almost all of his year-mates engaged in their own activities and paying little attention to the lecture. Amanda was noticeably snoozing on her desk, while Roger and Terry seemed to be introducing Kevin to the rules of some kind of card game. He focused on the Hufflepuffs and saw that most of them were also engrossed in their own conversations. Hannah and Susan appeared to be solving a crossword together. Hussein was still staring steadfastly at his book, but his eyes were unfocused, and it was clear he wasn’t actually following the lecture.

Harry felt apologetic again and wondered if there was anything he could do to make the boy believe in his sincerity.

Ah, there was possibly one thing he could try…

A little while later, as the bell rang and the students began to gather their stuff in preparation for being escorted to lunch (Professor Binns had simply floated out through the blackboard without acknowledging their existence), he cautiously approached Hussein’s desk once the classroom had emptied a little.

“Maafi, Hussein,” he said carefully, the odd syllables sounding alien on his tongue. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, honest.”

The boy looked up sharply, his dark eyes boring into Harry’s with a piercing intensity for what seemed like a long time, before his lips quirked upwards as he gave him a slow deliberate smile.

“Dat word Urdu, not Arabic,” he corrected, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. “But tank you. Or as dey say where I am from, ‘Shukran’. And I sorry too. I react poorly. I try to do better.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, the relief pouring off him in waves as he accepted the proffered hand and shook it warmly. “Same here, I swear.”

They left the lecture hall together and Hussein went off with the rest of the Hufflepuffs and the prefect who had come to collect them, while the Ravenclaws waited for their chaperone.

“How did it go?” Padma asked immediately as soon as the Hufflepuffs had exited the corridor.

“Apparently ‘maafi’ is the Urdu word for ‘sorry’, not the Arabic one,” Harry said with a grin. “But I think he understood and accepted my apology. I owe you one Padma.”

“Good,” Padma said simply, before giving him a small mischievous smile. “You can pay me back by letting me borrow your fountain pens too. I refuse to pass up an advantage where I can take notes faster or turn in assignments with fewer ink blotches.”

“Yes ma’am, it shall be as you wish,” Harry said resisting the urge to give her a hug and changing the subject. “We have double potions after lunch, yeah? Now that one, I’m really looking forward to. Has to be better than history at any rate I reckon.”

“Hopefully,” Anthony mused sounding distracted. “But there’s a lot of rumors going around about the Potions Professor, so…could be interesting in an unpleasant way, I suppose.”

Before Harry could ask what exactly these rumors supposedly were, a short and cheerful seventh-year prefect, who introduced herself as Ellie Sutton, had arrived to take them back to the Great Hall for lunch. He figured there’d be plenty of time to ask Tony about it during the meal and followed the rest of his class out of the History corridor, hoping that the rest of the day would get better.

Lunch was, unfortunately, both tiresome and annoying. Rumors of the Transfiguration incident had spread through most of the school, and by the time the meal ended, it felt like most of the student body had heard about what had happened.

Even at the staff table, Harry could see Professors Sprout and Flitwick leaning close to listen to something that Professor McGonagall was saying with more animation than was usual for her. Professor Snape, however, seemed to be his usual surly, self-absorbed self and was in the process of dismantling his fish and chips as if it had insulted his honor. Harry immediately felt a surge of affection for the greasy-haired man for refusing to be affected by rumors and hearsay. It was decidedly a better reaction that Hagrid’s proud smile in his direction between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, or the person he assumed was Madam Pomfrey, peering suspiciously at him all through the meal.

Eventually, desperate to escape this unwanted attention, he tried to keep his eyes on his plate and his ears tuned out from the buzz of conversations, and as a result, entirely missed the first time that someone called his name.

“Potter! Can you hear me?” The second time was much louder than the first.

He jerked up from his private musings and turned around hastily to see a seventh-year Ravenclaw girl standing right behind his seat and looking expectantly at him.

“Oh-er, hi?” he said cautiously, unsure what this was about.

“We haven’t met,” the girl began confidently, tossing a strand of dark brown hair out of her hazel eyes. “I’m Eliza Oswald, the Head Girl this year. And I have a message for you from Madam Pomfrey, who has asked you to report to the hospital wing so that she can give you a once over, as soon as you are done with your classes for the day.”

“Oh. Um, I don’t think I know where that is,” Harry said, flustered.

“Not to worry,” Eliza continued. “One of the prefects will bring you all back to the Great Hall for tea once your day’s last class ends anyway. Just try and wrap up early and one of us can show you the way to the hospital wing afterwards.”

Harry nodded mutely. It didn’t sound like he had any particular choice in the matter. At least this would mean that he’d have a chance to ask Madam Pomfrey some of his own questions sooner rather than later, and hopefully in a more private setting than if it was during the scheduled checkup on Wednesday with the Hufflepuffs.

Eliza lowered her voice a bit before continuing. “Between you and me, if the rumors are true, then it was a very cool bit of transfiguration you did in class, doubly so for a first-year. Even aside from the power requirements, the level of mental discipline needed to hold onto the intent for a complex transformation of this nature speaks to a very focused and organized mind.”

She gazed around conspiratorially and glared at a couple of second-years who seemed to have been trying to eavesdrop until they backed off. “Assuming Madam Pomfrey gives you the all-clear to keep practicing magic, there’s an upper-year study group for Transfiguration that meets every Thursday after tea at the library, that you may want to check out…if you’re interested of course. I’m sure they’d love to understand if you’ve stumbled upon a variation of achieving major inanimate transfigurations that are less taxing in terms of magical drain, and you in turn could pick up a few spells from them or practice, or some things that are a little more advanced, since it seems like you’re much further ahead than what your course material allows.”

“I-I’ll think about it,” Harry said in a daze before his ears caught up to his brain and he immediately panicked. “Wait, Madam Pomfrey can stop me from using magic?!”

“What? Oh yeah,” Eliza said unconcerned. “She can advise you to refrain from using any active magic for a while if she decides that your core is strained or is at risk of rupturing.”

She saw the fear in his eyes and hastened to add, “It’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just a temporary measure…kind of like not putting your weight on a broken foot when it’s in the process of healing. It’s not like a permanent ban on using magic or something.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks,” Harry sighed in relief, and Eliza smiled, clapped him on the shoulder and left him with another reminder to not be late for his appointment with the Medi witch.

“Do I have to spell it out that anything you learn at your invitation-only, super-elite, upper-year study group, you need to teach the rest of us lowly plebs as well? Or is it understood that it’s a given?” Tony deadpanned as soon as Harry had turned back to his lunch. He responded by calmly and maturely flipping the other boy off.

Once lunch was over, Penelope came by to round them up and lead them to the dungeons.

Between the heavy meal and the excitement of all the gossip mongering that the first-years had found themselves in the center of, they were starting to feel a little tired and drowsy. A fact that did not escape the prefect’s notice.

“You all need to bring your A-game to potions,” she reminded them after Roger failed to stifle a yawn which immediately had Mandy yawning too. “Professor Snape is one of the strictest teachers at Hogwarts and he will not brook any laziness, perceived or otherwise, in his class. There is no surer way of getting on his bad side than by somehow conveying the impression that you’re either bored or disinterested in his lecture…and trust me, he can be vicious to folks he doesn’t like.”

She paused as they navigated past a couple of suits of armor that were engaged in a duel before continuing, “He also likes to gauge the preparedness of students at the start of the year, so I hope you’ve all read the potions text ahead of time. Oh, and given the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, any students, who he deems to be a favorite of Professor McGonagall…well, them he tends not to like on general principle.”

She said the last part with a sidelong glance at Harry, who groaned.

“But, with that said,” Penelope hurried to add, “he is an extremely talented potioneer, the youngest Potions Master in the history of Hogwarts and supremely knowledgeable in his field. There’s a lot that you can learn from him, so long as you don’t let his demeanor get to you.”

They all nodded dutifully, as they arrived in a cool, softly lit corridor, illuminated by high torches and stopped outside a door bearing the plaque ‘Potions – First Year’.

“Well, this is where I leave you,” Penelope announced. “Remember to be quiet, pay attention and be respectful. And…good luck, I suppose.”

“It’s going to be fine,” it wasn’t clear if Lisa was trying to reassure herself or the folks around her. “It’s going to be fine, right?”

There were a few half-hearted nods, as they waited for the Slytherins to arrive, and Harry had to enter into a quick trance to keep his sudden nervousness at bay. Thankfully, unlike the Hufflepuffs earlier in the day, the Slytherins were not tardy and soon arrived in an orderly line following a stocky brown prefect wearing a small turban.

Harry gave Draco a small smile and got one in return while ignoring the glares he was getting from the same large boy who had been staring daggers at him at breakfast. Even here the Slytherin students seemed to have arranged themselves into the same little groups he had observed at breakfast, but unless he was imagining it, the gap between Draco’s posse and that of Greengrass and Zabini seemed less pronounced that the distance between them and the group that apparently disliked Harry. Was this part of some elaborate political signaling, Harry wondered vaguely.

Unlike when they had been waiting for their history lesson to begin, the students of both houses stood in complete silence instead of conversing among themselves as they waited for the door to open. They didn’t have to wait long before the door swung open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges and a soft, silky drawl, that nonetheless made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck rise, whispered a single word that nonetheless easily carried to all of their ears: “Enter.”

Wordlessly, and trying to step lightly and not fidget too much, they silently filed into the classroom, which was markedly different from their previous classes so far.

Harry was immediately struck by the cool, almost chilling atmosphere that seemed to permeate the air. The room, just like the corridor outside, was nestled deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts, far from the warmth and light of the upper floors. Flickering torches, mounted high on the stone walls, cast a wavering, eerie glow that did little to dispel the pervasive shadows lurking in every corner.

Rows of sturdy wooden desks stretched across the room; each one designed for two students. A cauldron sat atop each desk, on a metal stand, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Beneath the cauldrons, there were stone depressions already filled with dried twigs appearing ready to leap to life with a mere spark. The desks themselves were worn and scarred from years of use; their surfaces etched with the faint outlines of countless potion-making mishaps.

At the front of the classroom, behind an imposing teacher's desk, stood shelves and glass-paneled cupboards filled to the brim with a staggering variety of ingredients. Jars of preserved newt eyes, snake fangs, and other grotesque specimens were arranged meticulously, their contents floating in viscous, amber-colored fluids. Dried herbs and strange roots hung in bunches, casting strange shadows on the stone walls behind them. The sight of such an array of mysterious substances sent a shiver down Harry's spine, despite his own experiments with some of the ingredients back at Privet Drive with Dudley and Aunt Petunia.

Seated behind the teacher's desk, Professor Snape regarded the entering students with an expression of cold indifference. His dark eyes glittered like onyx, sharp and penetrating, as if he could see right through to the innermost thoughts of each student. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows across his sallow face, accentuating the stern lines and making him appear even more intimidating.

The dungeon itself felt almost sterile, the air carrying a faint tang of various brewing concoctions. The stone floor was cool underfoot, and the walls seemed to absorb sound, making even the slightest noise echo eerily. The entire room exuded an aura of seriousness and foreboding, a stark contrast to the vibrant, welcoming and occasionally boisterous spaces Harry had encountered thus far in the other areas of the castle.

So engrossed was Harry in his wide-eyed appraisal of the Potions classroom, he didn’t realize until it was too late that having each desk housing only two students meant that either he, Anthony or Padma would have to find a different partner. And his delay at claiming a desk meant that they had already paired up…as had most of his other classmates.

Harry honestly couldn’t blame them for abandoning him, they were Ravenclaws after all. The warning about this particular Professor, having a tendency to pick on anyone who Professor McGonagall viewed favorably meant that they would likely have a quieter, less eventful, lesson if they stayed away from him. Perhaps a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff would have stuck by him out of solidarity or loyalty, but that was neither here nor there.

He noted dimly that Draco was heading towards a desk with Pansy, Vince towards the one just behind them with Greg in tow, and even the quiet girl from Daphne’s group, Lily, had claimed a table with Mandy. With an inward sigh, he headed towards the empty table in the middle row right in front of the teacher’s desk that was still entirely unoccupied. It looked like his first potions lesson would be a solo venture.

Professor Snape waited until they had all settled down and silently extracted their texts, writing implements and potioneering equipment from their bags, before waving a hand in the direction of the classroom door, which promptly shut itself with a snap.

He got up slowly from his desk, face impassive and expressionless, and stepped towards the front of the class, his footsteps quiet on the stone floor.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he whispered in a low menacing tone that they had to strain to hear. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds and ensnaring the senses...but if you do, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death! If, that is, you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Complete silence greeted his words as the entire classroom sat with their attention focused on the professor, whose measured steps had brought him to Harry’s desk.

“Ah yes,” the Potions Master whispered, regarding Harry with cold, piercing eyes that made Harry want to shiver. “Mr. Potter, our new celebrity.”

A barely-suppressed snort broke the silence of the classroom, from the direction of the two tables that had been claimed by the third-Slytherin group, as Harry was coming to refer to them in his own head. But Harry didn’t dare avert his gaze from Professor Snape’s eyes to confirm his guess in case it was considered a sign of disrespect or lack of attention. Snape on his part, pretended not to have heard the noise, and continued in his soft drawl.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter,” he asked. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry blinked. He knew the answer from having closely perused all of his mother’s notes on potion making, even the ones in her personal notebooks…and he also knew that back in the day, this was part of the sixth-year Potions curriculum and something that first-year students would be very unlikely to know the answer to. So, either, the standards of the course had changed vastly since the time his mom had attended Hogwarts, or this was exactly what Penny had warned them about with regard to the Slytherin head of the house's innate dislike of the Gryffindor head’s supposed favorites. He took a breath to steady himself.

“I believe that is the first step to create the sleeping potion known as ‘The Draught of Living Death’, professor,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm without inadvertently coming off as arrogant, stand-offish or worse…cocky.

If Snape was disappointed that he knew the answer, he didn’t show it. The slightest nod was the only acknowledgement of whether Harry’s response had even been correct, as the professor’s eyes bored even more intently into Harry’s.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

That…was easy, Harry thought surprised. If the professor’s agenda was to belittle him, he would have expected the next question to be an even more tricky or obscure one. But bezoars were covered in their first-year reading material. A quick glance out of the corner of his eyes at some of the Ravenclaws nearby confirmed that they too knew the answer.

“In the stomach of a goat, sir,” he said carefully. “It’s an antidote to a lot of poisons.” He hesitated for a second before plunging on. “But if a goat weren’t handy, I would likely find one in the school’s potions stores, sir, since as per Hagglemere’s advise in ‘Before you Begin to Brew’, it’s something that should always be kept on hand when any kind of brewing is in progress, especially those being performed by novices.”

He waited, heart hammering and palms sweaty. Wondering if he’d gone too far and the longer than necessary answer would be deemed to be some kind of cheek.

Snape continued to stare at him. Seriously, did the man never blink, he found himself wondering.

“Correct,” Snape said. “One final question then, Mr. Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry was lost. He furiously racked his brain for any kind of reference from his Potions texts or Lily’s notes about what the difference between the two potions ingredients was. He’d definitely seen references to both of them in the ingredient list for various brews, but none of them had explained how they were different. Besides, what kind of question even was that? How are two different things different? Because they are, that’s how! Wait…unless, maybe they weren’t?

He wished he’d spent as much time focusing on committing his Herbology text to memory as he had done with Potions recipes or Transfiguration principles, but since he hadn’t, there was nothing for it. He steeled himself, and under the pretext of squinting his eyes shut in an effort to remember something that was at the edge of his recollection, he entered his memory palace.

Applications of potion ingredients would be available in the Potions wing, but that wasn’t what he was after just now, so a quick scan of the Herbology section would be his best bet. And a moment later in the real world, though it felt like it was much longer in Harry’s mind, he had found the answer on the pages of Phyllida Spore’s ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’.

“Th-they’re the same thing, sir,” Harry said brightly, opening his eyes and meeting Snape’s gaze again. “I believe ‘Aconite’ is another name for it as well.” He tried but failed to keep a small, relieved smile from creeping across his lips.

Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the professor’s brow seemed to be furrowed momentarily as he regarded him, before Snape finally turned away with another tiny nod.

“And, why pray, are you not all writing that down?” he snapped at the rest of the class, who immediately rushed to copy the answers that Harry had just provided.

“We will begin by brewing one of the simplest potions ever devised,” he announced once he was back behind his desk. “I’ve found that it helps not to have high hopes from the majority of the students that walk in through these doors, but I will still be unpleasantly surprised if any of you somehow manage to mess this up. During the course of the year, you will also learn to prepare your own Murtlap Essence, which is an ingredient for today’s brew, but for now you may use the stock we already have in store.”

He withdrew a wand from his sleeve and waved it at the blackboard while adding, “The instructions for the ‘Fire Protection Potion’, is on the board, all of the ingredients you may require are on the shelves. You have sufficient time to brew the potion, and to restart the process from scratch if you manage to screw up. You may begin.” 

Harry grinned. The ‘Fire Protection Potion’ was one of the first he had learned to brew alongside Dudley and Aunt Petunia, and over the years they had brewed it so many times, he was certain he could prepare it in his sleep. He looked at the instructions on the board, and sure enough it was the standard set of steps listed in their texts and did not include the additional notes from Lily’s copy of the book. Hmm, should he make the version that lasted longer than the regular one, or should he just keep his head down and follow the prescribed instructions?

He shook himself out of his reverie when the rest of the class started pouring forward to gather the ingredients necessary for the day’s brew and after grabbing a set of vials, followed them at a distance, still trying to make up his mind.

He waited until the initial rush had died down a bit, before carefully collecting the required ingredients in the vials he had brought and took a second glance at the brewing instructions.

Fire Protection Potion (water-based)

Ingredients:

     Distilled water (2 cups)

     Salamander blood (2 drops)

     Ashwinder eggs (3)

     Flobberworm mucus (1 tablespoon)

     Salamander scales (5)

     Essence of Murtlap (3 drops)

Brewing Steps:

     Preparation: Ensure all ingredients are fresh and clean. Sterilize your cauldron before use.

     Step 1: Add 2 drops of salamander blood to your cauldron containing two cups of distilled water and heat it to a low simmer.

     Step 2: Carefully add the Ashwinder eggs one at a time, stirring clockwise/deosil twice after each addition.

     Step 3: Add 1 tablespoon of Flobberworm mucus, stirring clockwise/deosil continuously until fully dissolved.

     Step 4: Grind the salamander scales into a fine powder and sprinkle them into the cauldron, stirring counterclockwise/widdershins for five minutes.

     Step 5: Add 3 drops of essence of Murtlap and stir vigorously in any one direction until the potion turns a bright orange.

     Step 6: Remove from heat and let the potion cool. Once cooled, it is ready to use.

Bottle a sample, label it with your name, year and house and present it at my desk for grading.

Harry decided he was going to do it. He had tried it over the years and knew from experience that adding a single Dittany Leaf to the concoction before removing it from the fire greatly increased the potion’s shelf life, and if these brews had any purpose other than to serve as an exercise, they would be better off for it. He located the bundle of leaves marked ‘Dittany’ on the shelf and carefully extracted a single leaf from the bunch before bringing it all back to his desk.

Snape’s instructions as they started work turned out to be just as insightful and helpful as McGonagall’s. He taught them all a simple cleaning spell to cast on their workstations and the insides of their cauldrons called ‘Scourgify’ (accompanied by a flick of the wand) to perform a very basic sanitization. He advised them that more complex brews demanded far more careful and rigorous sterilization of their implements and then showed them a simple low powered spell, capable of setting dry, combustible material on flames called ‘Ardere’ whose wand movement was a tiny jab towards what the caster wanted to ignite, which he suggested they try on the kindling beneath their cauldrons only once they were certain their ingredients and workstations were thoroughly prepared, and they were ready to begin brewing.

Harry went through the motions he felt he was well versed with. Once he was happy with the cleanliness of his table and his cauldron, he carefully arranged his ingredients in the order in which they would be needed and made sure that his stirrer, spoons, mortar and pestle were all close at hand before donning his dragon hide gloves to prevent contaminating any of the ingredients with his sweat and sat about grinding the Salamander scales carefully while most of the tables around him had already started their work.

Professor Snape walked through the students without comment, clearly happy to let them make mistakes and learn from them before offering advice and gave him an inscrutable look as he passed his desk.

Once he was satisfied that everything he would need in the brew was within reach and available in the state he needed them in, Harry carefully channeled a trickle of his magic through his wand and whispered the incantation to light the fire beneath his cauldron.

“Ardere.”

The kindling crackled to life, and Harry grinned and began his brewing.

It was hardly a challenge. He thought he might have trouble measuring the exact five minutes for which he was expected to stir during step four, but because of how many times he had done this in the past, he knew from the very subtle change in the vapors rising from the cauldron exactly when it was time to move on to step five and add the Murtlap essence. 

Even though he had been last to start the actual brewing, he was the first to finish. He carefully bottled a sample, labeled it, before cleaning up his workspace, making sure there were no forgotten ingredients or spilled reagents left on the table before walking up to the professor’s desk carefully holding the little bottle in his hands.

Snape accepted it without a word and held it up to the light, looking at it critically.

“Tell me Mr. Potter,” he said quietly, “is there a particular reason you chose to deviate from the instructions provided on the board?”

Harry hesitated but stood his ground. He had known this was likely something he would have to explain, so he had had time to work on his response.

“I believe that the dittany leaf increases the shelf life of the potion professor,” he said, quietly. “I wasn’t sure if the brew was just an exercise or if it might be put to use at a later date.”

“Five points from Ravenclaw for failure to adhere to the instructions provided,” Snape said curtly. “There is a reason why novice potioneers are not encouraged to mess around with established recipes, Mr. Potter. Do you know what would have happened if the dittany was added too late after the potion had already begun to cool?”

“Er-no sir,” Harry shook his head, feeling aggrieved since he thought it was a moot point, given he hadn’t made that mistake, but deciding to hold his tongue regardless.

“It would have failed to dissolve thoroughly, resulting in particulate matter suspended in the brew which would cause persistent irritation of the throat when consumed,” Snape explained evenly. “In the future, if you wish to try more adventurous departures from the standard set of instructions, ask me before you attempt to implement them. That way, I can at least explain the risks of getting them wrong and you can describe your thought process on why you think they have merit.”

Harry nodded, disappointed. The Potions Master would be a tough person to impress, but he could kind of see his point. After all, he had followed instructions that were not standard and didn’t fully appreciate the potential for what could have gone wrong if it had been unwise. In all fairness, he didn’t really understand why the Dittany, when added to this potion worked in the way that it did, he had after all simply blindly followed his mom’s instructions. Perhaps some of his experimentation would do better to wait until he could reason out the ‘why’s in addition to the ‘how’s of potioneering. He turned to return to his desk to collect his stuff.

“And five points to Ravenclaw, for an acceptable brew,” Snape said quietly behind him, in a voice that would surely not carry to anyone else in the room. “You’re dismissed, feel free to leave early.”

Harry grinned despite himself. That was something at least, he thought as he gathered up his belongings and started putting them away in his backpack. Maybe Snape wasn’t as bad as everyone had said after all.

A quick glance at the hourglass on the professor’s desk confirmed that they were only just past the halfway mark of the double period and none of his classmates were anywhere close to completing their work. Most of them seemed to have some trouble working together or had realized halfway through step three that the Salamander scales had not been ground up and as a result had been unable to add it to the brew in a timely manner and been forced to start over again. In the case of Tony and Padma, it looked like their decision to switch who was stirring after the Murtlap had been added had resulted in a break in the process, which had caused the potion to fail and turn green instead of orange.

Huh, it looked like working by himself had actually been a blessing in disguise instead of a punishment after all, he thought with some amusement.

He saw Tony looking at him balefully as he slung his backpack on his shoulder and cheerfully stuck out his tongue at him when he was sure Professor Snape wasn’t looking and left the classroom with his belongings.

He exited out onto the corridor and immediately realized his mistake. There wouldn’t be a prefect along to lead them out of the dungeons for almost another hour.

Hmm, should he wait, or did he dare try and make his way back by himself, he wondered. No, he didn’t think he wanted to see Tony’s smug smile if he had to return to the classroom with his tail metaphorically between his legs, so…onwards it would have to be.

He took a moment to try and center himself and refer to the partially preserved memory of their journey down here and set off with a determined stride.

The dungeons were a labyrinthian mess for newcomers, and Harry was forced to wonder just why it had been designed the way it had. He kind of understood the point of the moving staircases since occasionally it would allow folks to reach their destination quicker. But whoever had designed the dungeons seemed to have been actively trying to get people lost down here.

It also didn’t help that he felt certain, that just like in the rest of the castle, the walls and doors had a tendency to shuffle around and rearrange themselves when no one was looking.

After the second such occurrence where the corridor he felt sure would lead him back to the entrance hall turned out to be a dead end, he sighed and keeping his rising frustration and panic at bay, decided to try a different approach.

He had been meaning to try this ever since he had laid eyes on the castle the previous evening but hadn’t had the chance yet on account of always being surrounded by people. He looked around the corridor he was currently in to make sure he was well and truly alone and entering a trance, very cautiously extended his magic outwards to try and sense whether the wall in front of him was truly just a wall, or something like the archway into Diagon Alley and just needed a tap with a wand to become a passageway.

If he’d felt that Ollivander’s shop had been awash with magical auras, then Hogwarts was practically incandescent with the sheer amount of magic that was practically radiating off of every square inch of it.

He involuntarily raised his hands in front of his eyes as if to keep from being blinded by the glow before realizing that the magic was something he was sensing not seeing. Every bit of the complex, layered and ancient bit of magic was manifesting itself as a different shimmering hue, some bright and some ominously dark, but it was like an overlay of colors resting on top of the stone walls and corridors that his eyes were seeing. Putting his hand up in front of him obscured the physical structures beyond but did nothing to block out the magical auras he was feeling.

Harry stood transfixed, all thoughts of finding his way out of the dungeons temporarily forgotten as he slowly revolved on his spot gazing in astonishment at this marvelous display of old magic. He imagined he could very vaguely sense intent woven into the various spells and enchantments that the stones were steeped in, but there were simply far too closely intertwined to study individually.

Some might have been protective in nature, perhaps designed long ago to safeguard the children who would come to the school to study magic in safety, far away from pitchfork bearing mobs. Others seemed to be designed to provide comfort and soothe the young ones who might be missing their loved ones after having been separated from them for the first time in their lives. Yet, others, he felt, might have been designed to regulate the coolness or the warmth within the castle, to provide a comfortable temperature for its denizens, regardless of the harshness of the weather outside. A few even seemed to be illusory and designed to beguile, and Harry had no idea what that might be about.

Some of the magic, perhaps they were wards Harry guessed, were old, ancient and mysterious, drawing their power from magical channels deep beneath the earth on which the castle stood, while a smaller number felt more recent, as if they had been carefully added to the existing tapestry of interwoven magic of Hogwarts by someone long after the founders had passed. A few of which seemed to have a decidedly dark feel to them that Harry instinctively shied away from focusing on too much and cautiously brushed the tips of his fingers against a different section of the wall.

Immediately, he felt a connection as something noticed the sliver of magic he’d just channeled into the castle, and Harry instantly realized something new.

All of this ambient magic that made Hogwarts glow like a firework display to his magical senses had a life of their own, and just as Harry beheld them, they in turn were observing him.

Centuries of having been shaped by the yearnings, desires and expectations of generation after generation of children had given the magic of the castle something of a personality of its own. It was vast, almost alien and nearly incomprehensible, but it was there. It sought to protect those within its walls from threats both within and without. It aimed to provide comfort and peace to any who called it home, even if only for a short while. It rejoiced when at the start of each year a fresh group of younglings arrived wide-eyed and excited to its halls, and it grieved when at the end of every year a fresh batch of students left its halls, never becoming aware of the part Hogwarts itself had played in their magical education, even as the castle wished health and happiness on them wherever their paths may lead.

Hogwarts was so much more than an old Scottish castle built and sustained with ancient magic from witches and wizards long gone; it was a miraculous blend of chaos and intent that was…alive.

Harry staggered back, mind and magic reeling from the brief insight and tried to steady himself.

The last impression he had received before Hogwarts had shut down their connection, was one of warning. Someone was coming and it might be best if he were to leave the area posthaste.

He looked around, wondering what the threat was. Perhaps it was one of the Slytherins who seemed to have it out for him, he guessed, and agreed with the castle’s recommendation that leaving the area was likely the best course of action. But he didn’t quite know which way he should go in order to avoid a confrontation in a dimply lit corridor down in the dungeons.

As if Hogwarts was listening in on his thoughts, or observing his panicked glances all about him, one of the torches high above briefly flared just as the faint click of the door directly beneath it becoming unlocked reached his years.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He immediately reached for the handle, pushed it open and stepped through…into the entrance hall.

Harry stopped short, nonplussed and turned back to the door he had just pulled shut behind him. And not entirely unsurprisingly, it had already disappeared.

That, he decided, was going to take a lot of getting used to, he shook his head and surveyed the hall once more. Since most of the students were still in classes, the hall was largely empty. The transient shortcut that had brought him here had deposited him right next to four larger-than-life sized hourglasses, each bearing the symbol of one of the four houses and filled with, Harry had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, gemstones instead of sand.

The Gryffindor hourglass, the first in the row, had a king’s ransom in rubies in the bottom bulb and small dark label at its base with the number ‘27’ elegantly scrawled on it. Next to it, the Hufflepuff hourglass contained a smaller pile of topazes along with a similar label bearing the number ‘12’. The Slytherin hourglass at the far end of the queue had emeralds in the bottom glass (‘25’), but the Ravenclaw score, and pile of sapphires, dwarfed all of the others, and stood at a whopping ‘45’.

Harry tried not to feel a little smug about this, knowing that he had contributed to this early lead.

He stood staring at the arrangement for a few minutes, watching as more gemstones trickled down from the top bulbs of the hourglasses ever so often, or more rarely, as some of the gems flew back up from the lower bulb, either occurrence causing the numbers on the respective labels to shimmer and morph into new figures, reflecting the updated current totals.

After a while, he shook himself and wondered what to do with the unexpected free time he’d found himself with. Based on his experience on his way back from the dungeons, he didn’t really feel comfortable exploring more of the castle by himself. He probably did not have sufficient time anyway to make a meaningful trip up to the Ravenclaw library in their common room or the regular Hogwarts one before tea would begin anyway. And he didn’t have any more unfinished essays since neither Binns nor Snape had assigned any. He should probably check with Padma if Snape had set assignments at the end of the class-

“O-o-out of c-class on the very f-f-first d-day, P-P-Potter?”

A stuttering voice from very close behind him made him jump and turn around in surprise, and come face to face with Professor Quirrell, who seemed to have just come up from the dungeons, still looking comical in his oversized purple turban.

“Y-yes, professor,” he said, hesitating briefly as his nostrils were suddenly assaulted by an odd smell of garlic and perhaps a faint whiff of something rancid, similar to rotting meat. “Professor Snape let me leave early once I’d completed today’s potion.”

“H-h-he d-did?” Quirrell stuttered, sounding surprised, though it was hard to tell with his stammer. “H-how, very c-curious.”

Harry remembered the incident with his scar from the evening before and tried to meet the strange Professor’s gaze to see if the same thing happened again. To his surprise, he realized that even though the man was looking at him, his eyes appeared to be focused on his forehead.

Was Quirrell one of the folks who found it difficult to look people in the eye, Harry found himself wondering. They had been taught about people with some forms of Autism or Asperger’s who tended to do that, given this Professor’s evident nervousness and likely issues with personal hygiene, perhaps that might very well be the case. Wait, was he being biased and discriminatory about what Autism entailed? He would have to read up more on these…maybe Aunt Petunia could send him a book, so he knew better than to assume these things? Hold on a second, he was trying to focus on something just a moment ago wasn't he? Why were his thoughts so unfocused and disjointed all of a sudden?

Abruptly, Quirrell broke away from his appraisal of Harry’s hairline and took a step back.

“W-well, it is a l-lovely a-afternoon outside, m-maybe you s-should take a s-stroll on the g-grounds instead o-of b-being c-c-cooped up in t-the c-castle all d-day, eh P-Potter?”

Harry nodded dumbly wondering what the hell had just happened, just as the large doors to the grounds opened and the unmistakable figure of Hagrid strode through.

“Ah, good afternoon, Professor!” the giant man called cheerfully as he spotted Quirrell. “Lovely day out, yeah?”

Quirrell nodded nervously and mumbled an agreement as he began to make his way towards the marble staircase, as Hagrid and Harry both watched him go, respectively, with a compassionate smile and a suspicious frown.

“Professor Quirrell used ter be the Muggle Studies teacher until last year, yeh know,” Hagrid said with what Harry assumed passed as quietly for him. “Some say he had a bad run-in with a vampire when he was off vacationin’ in Albania this summer. Came back with the stutter an’ nervousness, an’ that headdress full o’ garlic, poor bloke. Still agreed ter teach Defense like he’d promised at the end o’ last term though, so hope it means he’ll recover from the shock soon.”

He stopped and turned to Harry as if surprised to have found himself rambling.

“Oh, where’re me manners! I don’t think I’ve formally introduced meself ter yeh yet, Harry,” he announced, seeming a tiny bit nervous all of a sudden. “The name’s Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o’ Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts. An’, er, I used ter be a good friend o’ yer mum an’ dad back in the day.”

He hesitated a second, before ploughing forward, “In fact, I, uh, even knew yeh when yeh were a wee boy. Took yeh from Godric’s Hollow ter yer aunt an’ uncle’s meself, see? On Dumbledore’s orders that. So, er, if yeh ever want ter stop by me hut fer a cuppa, feel free. I’d love the company, an’ I’m sure yeh might have questions an’ the like, yeah?”

Harry nodded, too surprised to figure out how he was supposed to take this unexpected revelation.

Hagrid seemed oblivious, “Good lad!” he boomed brightly. “Yer mum an’ dad were great people, Harry. Head Girl an’ Head Boy durin’ their final year at Hogwarts. I’m sure yeh’ll make ’em right proud, yeh will.”

He clapped Harry on the back with a massive palm that nearly drove him to his knees as he prepared to take his leave and head into the Great Hall.

“Me hut’s right at the edge o’ the grounds, yeh can’t miss it. If yeh enter the forest, yeh’ve gone too far,” he said with a chuckle and wave as he departed. “In fact, bring any o’ yer friends along if yeh like! More the merrier, I always say!”

Harry gazed after the man as the door closed behind him, massaging his back and trying to make it all make sense.

Ok, so the school groundskeeper was a friend of his dead parents and had been the one to take him from the ruins of his childhood home to his aunt and uncle, and he was only hearing about this due to a chance encounter while being creepily stared down by a professor who stank of rotting meat, after accidentally interacting with a semi-sentient magical castle that had warned him to leave a corridor that it itself had blocked because someone might be coming to get him.

And all of that had happened in just the last five minutes!

Harry shook his head in and slowly tottered off in the direction of the Great Hall. Maybe sitting down for a while would be a good idea.

Harry spent the time until the rest of the Ravenclaws joined him by making small notes in his potions text, in the same way his mum had made in hers. He carefully added Professor Snape’s warning about the mistimed addition of the Dittany leaf to the Fire Protection Potion to his notes as well. This done he double-checked the next day’s schedule and suppressed a groan when he realized that they started with History of Magic and ended with a double period of Defense Against the Dark Arts. At least the single period of potions thrown in there would be interesting, he mused…although if Snape was as tough a taskmaster as he seemed to be, he might have given the class essays to be completed and turned in for the very next day.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the Potions professor just yet, but he seemed to have passed some sort of tough, almost unfair, initial assessment in the teacher’s eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite as bad as Penny had warned.

He’d already finished his tea by the time the students started arriving from their last class of the day and smiled in the direction of Susan, Hannah and Hussein when they arrived at the Hufflepuff table, seemingly engrossed in a serious discussion among themselves.

The Gryffindor first-years arrived at almost the same time but seemed to be in much better spirits, with the exception of Hermione. After a brief debate with himself over the wisdom of what he was about to do, Harry sighed and got up from the still empty section of the Ravenclaw table and headed over to ask her what was wrong.

“Everything alright there, Hermione?” he asked delicately to the clearly dejected girl who most of the other Gryffindors seemed to be giving a wide berth to, part of him hoping she’d just say ‘yes’ and he could leave it at that.

“Professor Quirrell didn’t even show up to class!” she wailed in response, turning petulant brown eyes towards him. “I’ve asked around, and first-year, fifth-year and seventh-year classes are all supposed to be conducted by the Professors themselves and not the teaching assistants!”

“I thought our replacement instructor was nice and friendly,” Neville offered in a small voice, one of the only two Gryffindor first-years, the other being Parvati, to be sitting close to Hermione.

“That’s not the point, Neville!” Hermione moaned. “Assistant Professor Sharpe was fine but imagine how much more we could have learned from the actual Professor of the subject! Part of the requirement to become a Hogwarts Professor for any field is to hold a mastery in the topic you intend to teach. So, unlike Professor Quirrell, who must have a mastery, Assistant Professor Sharpe is,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “merely an apprentice!”

“I actually ran into Quirrell in the entrance hall,” Harry offered. “He was coming up from the dungeon when I was passing through the hall about half an hour or so ago.”

“Professor Quirrell Harry!” Hermione immediately admonished him. “I wonder why he needed to visit the dungeons in the middle of classes. I’ve heard that the Potions classrooms are down there, so maybe he needed some sort of emergency meeting with Professor Snape?”

“Unlikely,” Harry shrugged. “I was at Potions just now. Sn-Professor Snape was there, Professor Quirrell was not.”

“Well, I just hope that he can make it to our next class,” Hermione sighed. “Say, where are all your other housemates anyway?”

The next several minutes passed with Harry and Hermione happily swapping details of the lectures they had attended thus far, which caused Parvati to roll her eyes and pointedly ignore them. It also gave Hermione a chance to ask him about the Transfiguration incident from earlier in the day.

“Not now,” Harry said, lowering his voice so that only Hermione, Neville and Parvati could hear him. “I’ll tell you about it later, I promise.”

He thought for a second and added, “Actually, I’ve heard that upper year folks have study groups which meet at the library from time to time. We might be able to talk there in greater privacy if you want to meet me there, say at around six-thirty?”

Hermione agreed immediately, Harry suspected she had started nodding as soon as the word ‘library’ was mentioned. Neville nodded with a bit more hesitation and Parvati looked appalled at the idea until Harry mentioned that he was sure that Padma would be there, following which she grudgingly agreed to tag along.

“S-should we invite anyone else?” Neville asked hesitantly, his eyes straying nervously towards Ron who seemed to be alternating between stuffing scones in his mouth, explaining the rules of Quidditch to Dean (who didn’t look like he had asked to be enlightened on the subject) and peering suspiciously at Percy who was placidly reading a book further down the table.

Harry hesitated before responding carefully, “I’ll leave that up to you. But-um, I’m not sure that I would be comfortable if what I’m planning on sharing with you became common knowledge.”

Neville looked slightly troubled even as Parvati nodded in understanding just as Hermione opened her mouth to ask more questions, but the doors slamming open just then gave Harry the opportunity of citing the arrival of the first-year Ravenclaws who had just entered along with the Slytherins as an excuse to head back to his own table.

He hurried back over to what he was starting to think of as his seat, and after confirming that Professor Snape had indeed set them all an assignment, a five-hundred-word essay on the best practices involved with preparing one’s workstation and brewing implements and why such habits were necessary, which was due the very next day, informed Tony and Padma of his plans to meet up with the Gryffindors in the library at six-thirty, by which time he was hoping to have concluded his appointment with the school nurse.

They both agreed readily enough, apparently curious to hear Madam Pomfrey’s verdict themselves. Besides, as Ravenclaws they weren’t really averse to spending more time at the library. They talked for a while about what they had thought of their first Potions class and Professor Snape himself, and before too long, Colton had come up to them to check if Harry was ready to be taken to the Hospital Wing.

Harry braced himself and got up from his seat, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and started to follow the prefect out of the hall, pretending that he couldn’t see and feel the dozens of gazes watching his every move.

“Don’t worry about them, Harry,” Colton said brightly as they exited the hall and started heading towards the marble staircase that led to the upper floors. “You may not have figured this out, but I’m like, super famous! Folks just cannot keep their eyes off of me.”

Harry snorted despite himself and found himself smiling. It was hard not to be affected by Colton’s ready wit and infectious optimism. Once they had reached the top of the stairs, and Colton started leading him down a corridor that he felt sure was new to him, he requested the older boy to slow down a bit so he could try and memorize the path they were taking.

“Sure,” Colton shrugged. “But if you ask me, most of us navigate Hogwarts corridors by instinct more than anything else. I mean sure, you still have to head in the right approximate direction of your intended destination and all, that’s where using a few reference points comes in handy, but the exact turns you take along the corridor are near impossible to commit to memory since the corridors keep switching around so often.”

He paused for a second as if trying to find the right words. “So long as you have the idea of where you want to go clearly in mind, we’ve found that it’s best to just, um, let your steps guide you so to speak. Maybe it’s the magic of the castle that helps you get where you need to be, maybe it’s your own muscle memory leading you to your target…but I suspect that the reason that most newcomers to the castle struggle in their initial days here is that they try too hard to focus on what they remember of the avenues they have taken in the past and retracing their steps exactly.”

“It is just a theory though,” he added with a smile. “But, case in point, I’ve been focusing on talking to you and not really thinking too hard about which stairs or corridors to take in order to reach the Hospital Wing, just tried to keep heading in its general direction; and yet, here we are.”

They had been climbing up a set of wide stone stairs, their footsteps echoing off the walls before fading as they stopped at the entrance of the airy corridor they had just arrived at. High windows along one side flooded the space with sunlight, casting long shadows and offering breathtaking views of the lake and grounds far below. The water shimmered in the afternoon sun, and Harry could see the Forbidden Forest's dark outline beyond it.

At their side of the corridor, the stairs he had just ascended twisted down into the heart of the castle, leading back to the bustling hallways filled with students. While on the opposite end, another set of stairs spiraled upwards, disappearing into the upper levels of Hogwarts.

In the center of the corridor, a single large door stood slightly ajar, marking the entrance to the hospital wing. Harry hesitated for a moment, before following Colton to it, who pushed it the rest of the way open, and stepped inside.

Rows upon rows of beds lined the spacious room, each one neatly made and surrounded by privacy screens. The white linen sheets and fluffy pillows looked inviting, though Harry guessed that they were most frequently occupied by students recovering from various magical mishaps and consequently unlikely to be here of their own volition. Beside each bed, a small wooden table held a pitcher of water and a glass, while two chairs stood ready for visitors. The atmosphere was calm and sterile, the faint smell of antiseptic mingling with the scent of fresh linens.

At the far end of the infirmary, a large door led to what he suspected must be Madam Pomfrey's office and quarters. It was closed, but Harry could hear the faint sounds of movement from within, indicating the matron was busy with her work. The whole area was bathed in a gentle, soothing light from the high windows, making it feel more like a sanctuary than a hospital.

Colton glanced around for a second and satisfied that the infirmary was completely empty, it being the first day of term after all, headed to the second set of doors, knocked and called out. “Madam Pomfrey, you asked for Harry Potter to be brought to see you?”

“Have a seat! I shall be right with you,” a voice responded from within and Colton shrugged and led Harry to the chairs beside the nearest bed, where they waited in companionable silence as Harry tried not to fidget and show his nervousness.

A mere few minutes afterwards, the door to the Mediwitch’s offices swung open and a figure Harry vaguely recognized from the welcome feast emerged and fixed them both with an unwavering gaze.

“When I heard that you would be starting Hogwarts this year,” she announced in a no-nonsense tone focusing on Harry, “I figured I’d see more of you than the average student, seeing as you are your father’s son after all. What I did not expect was hearing rumors of you having magical accidents in your first-ever class and reportedly channeling an amount of magic that should be well beyond what your magical core should be capable of at your age! Remove your glasses, any jewelry or magical accessories and lie down on that bed so I can see for myself exactly how much damage you have done to yourself!”

Harry complied as Colton offered him a commiserating smile. He placed his glasses and his wand on the bedside cabinet and after kicking off his shoes lay down on the hospital bed next to them and watched inquisitively as the Matron began to cast spells over him that seemed to be generating various transparent reports written in different glowing colors float in the air in front of the nurse.

Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he was forced to ask, “Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey-? But what are the spells you are casting?”

“Hmm? What?” The Mediwitch said distractedly. “These are diagnostics. There are different families of diagnostic spells that can be used to gauge a patient’s physical, mental and magical state. Right now, since you seem to be physically and mentally fine, I’m focusing on charms designed to detect the state of your magic.”

She glanced up from a green report to meet his eyes, and seeing that he still seemed interested, began to explain further.

“Physical diagnostic spells either focus on your external or internal injuries and their extent, or biological markers such as heart rate, blood sugar, pressure, adrenaline levels etc. If tied to your own magic, these diagnostics are capable of sustaining themselves during prolonged observations and even alerting an attending physician if something were to change drastically. Mental diagnostics are similar except they monitor your brainwaves, stress levels and other similar attributes that may indicate a disruption in your normal psychological functioning.”

She cast a few more spells, all done silently, Harry noticed, causing another couple of new reports to materialize and continued her explanation while reading them.

“The magical diagnostics are similar, but sometimes a little more unpredictable. Currently, I’m trying to measure the integrity of your core, as in whether it has ruptured or is close to doing so, the rate of its recovery, which measures how quickly you can recover depleted magic along with the potency of it, and whether you’re under the effects of any magical spells or enchantments that you may have been exposed to during or as a result of your display. And so far, most of them look ok.”

She tapped her wand on the most recent report that she had conjured and frowned.

“Your core integrity seems to be uncompromised. Your recovery rates appear to be a fair bit higher than what is usually found in children of your age. You also do not seem to be under the effects of any recent magic, I’m ignoring the decades-old magical residues, both from dark magic and protective ones, given what I know of your unique history. But even the advanced diagnostics that are determined to measure your core’s potency keep coming back inconclusive.”

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she dismissed the other reports that she had already perused. “Guess that means we have to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said grimly, and turned to perform a familiar looking slash in the air while muttering “Accio”.

Something zoomed into her hand an instant later, and she held it out for Harry to take. It was an oval looking crystal of some transparent substance, encasing something dark and red in its center that was hard to see clearly due to the innumerable facets on the device’s surface.

Harry took it cautiously and watched as Madam Pomfrey gestured at the thing with her wand.

“This is a device that helps drain your core in a controlled manner and glows according to the intensity of the magic it draws out. It’ll keep going until it has drained your core, and immediately return all of the magic back to you, so you don’t have to spend a week recovering from severe magical exhaustion,” she explained. “It’s affectionately called ‘The Leech’, in healing circles, and is typically only used if the usual diagnostic spells turn out to be inconclusive like they were here.”

She looked at him evenly. “I’m not going to lie to you Mr. Potter, this is an unpleasant experience even for adult witches and wizards. But I think it would be useful for us both to understand exactly what your core is capable of if we are to guard against accidentally over-exerting and damaging it. It is, however, your choice. If you do not wish to go through with this test or would prefer to have your head of the house, or your magical guardian present for it.”

Harry considered that for a second, before nodding resolutely. “Let’s do it,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he really felt.

The Matron nodded. “Grasp the crystal firmly with both your hands, try to have as much of your skin in contact with its surface as possible, and let me know when you’re ready.”

Once Harry had done so and had nodded his assent that he was as ready as he’d ever be, she tapped the top of the crystal with her wand and muttered, “Expergiscimini!”

Immediately the crystal began to glow a deep dark red and Harry began to feel his magic start to drain away from him through his palms and into the device at an alarming rate. He was so shocked he would have dropped the crystal out of reflex, had his hands not become seemingly stuck to it.

Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulders and attempted to soothe him, “It’s just for a moment Mr. Potter. Try to take deep breaths and keep calm.”

Harry struggled to follow the advice as he felt more and more of his magic draining away and watched as the crystal glowed steadily brighter in his hands. Orange, then yellow which bled into a fluorescent shade of green which slowly began to morph into a vivid shade of blue that kept growing darker until it suddenly seemed to stabilize.

Harry gasped as he felt the last of his magic leave his body and instinctively entered a trance to keep from going into shock. The panic lasted for less than a heartbeat before all of the magic that had been sucked out of him sprang back like a giant rubber band had been stretched to its limit and abruptly released. He winced at the feeling of his magic flooding back into him all at once but immediately felt better.

Finally free of the enchantment, keeping his hands glued to the crystal, Harry immediately let go of it, and Madam Pomfrey caught it deftly before it could land.

Harry tried to steady his breathing as the nurse carefully inspected the crystal which still seemed to be glowing the same dark shade of blue as when he’d released it.

“Hmm,” she said softly, before tapping the crystal with her wand once more and muttering “Finite” which returned it to its original transparent state.

She turned to Colton who had watched all of this in silence. “Please wait outside the infirmary, Mr. McLean. I will summon you as soon as I’ve had a chance to speak to Mr. Potter in private. Rest assured, that no harm will come to him while he is in my care.”

Colton looked unsure for a second, but nodded and with a quick reassuring look at Harry took his leave. Within seconds he had left, and Harry was alone with the Mediwitch.

“So,” she began. “Either you’re an unusually powerful sixteen-year-old masquerading as an eleven-year-old child, or you have been abusing your magic for years. Which is it?”

“Er-well,” Harry said fidgeting nervously. “You won’t tell anyone else will you?”

“Anything pertaining to your mental, physical or magical health that we discuss, is going to remain between us and your magical guardian unless your safety or that of someone else is compromised,” she promised. “Now start talking Mr. Potter.”

Hesitantly, and with a lot of prodding on the part of the Matron, Harry explained his nightly experiments with magic ever since he was seven years old. He talked about how much even the simplest spells would drain him initially, but how he was able to do better as the years and months rolled by, his voluntarily taking up physical activities to improve his stamina…all the way up to the incident at Transfiguration where he hadn’t realized until it was too late that channeling his magic through a focus would cost far less effort than what he was used to.

The stern Matron was less than impressed.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of when that barmy old fool told me he’d left you with your muggle relatives!” she thundered.

“Hey!” Harry protested, “They did their best!”

Madam Pomfrey waved this away with a dismissive swat of her hand. “Yes, yes, I’m sure they did. But there are a lot of good reasons that magical families are better at taking care of magical children. And your situation is a textbook example of it.”

She took a deep breath and launched into an explanation that sounded more like a tirade, “A muggle-born child, when they first show signs of magic, tends to rationalize away what they see, or quickly learns to keep it a secret. A magical child in a magical household takes it as granted that magic exists and is somewhat jaded about it, so they don’t go out of their way to push it without cause…and the fact that they know that they’ll learn to harness and channel it when they go to school means that there isn’t any fascinated and ill-advised experimentation with their abilities either! Unsupervised, dangerous experimentation that apparently went on for years!”

She glared at Harry.

“But you Mr. Potter,” she huffed, “were the perfect example of everything shaping up to be just the right amount of wrong. Your family knew of magic, which meant that they immediately explained that what you did was not just your imagination. But they did not know enough about magic to ensure that you did not mess around with it now, did they? They also most likely did not know what the signs of magical exhaustion were or that they ought to look for it. They were supportive enough to get you more things for you to study and learn from, but they were too scared of the magical world, perhaps with good reason in your case, to seek help or advise on how your abilities needed to be nurtured!”

She paused for a breath and Harry jumped in to defend the Dursleys, “They did seek advice! Aunt Petunia even purchased an owl to send to Dumbledore, but it just kept coming back looking confused! And there was no one else that they knew who they could reach out to.”

That gave Madam Pomfrey pause. “Really?” she asked, sounding surprised. “Hmm, that rather sounds like a bi-directional mail ward. That white-haired idiot must have thought he was protecting you from possible stalkers or maybe rabid fans, but why would it have been designed to prevent communications from going out as well as in?”

She gathered her thoughts and focused on Harry again, “But be that as it may Mr. Potter, the fact remains that your years of abuse of your magical core has led to it being significantly more potent, and by extension, at a significantly greater risk of imploding than that of your peers!”

She spotted his confused gaze and sighed and continued while pinching the bridge of her nose. “What this means is that you will have a greater potential for channeling raw magical power than your classmates, but any instance of you pushing your core further will come with a far greater risk of doing significant damage to it. While other children may simply fail to cast spells that have a Flamel scale requirement that is beyond their current potential, your core is unstable enough to even rupture under the stress and collapse in on itself should you push its boundaries too far! So, no strenuous magic of any kind until your core has a chance of settling down, no matter how many months or years it might take!”

Harry absorbed this solemnly. “Will it continue to grow with age? My core I mean. Or will it always be suck at its current, er, size?” he eventually asked.

“Your core is not a balloon Mr. Potter, so we prefer using the term potency rather than size when we refer to it. But to answer your question...once it has recovered sufficiently from the years of stress you put it through it should once more begin to develop with age, resulting in a greater than average magical aptitude when you are an adult,” she conceded. “But regardless, it was unbelievably lucky that you haven’t had a major magical mishap already, so try not to give other people ideas!”

Harry nodded, accepting this, before Madam Pomfrey interrupted again. “And I will have to inform your Magical Guardian about all this of course.”

Harry nodded hopelessly, “Yeah, she’s gonna be pissed.”

The Matron blinked, “She? What are you on about Mr. Potter? Are you not aware that your magical guardian is the headmaster?”

“What? Why?” Harry asked surprised, “Surely Aunt Petunia would be my guardian?”

“One’s Magical Guardian needs to be magical, Mr. Potter,” The Mediwitch said with a shake of her head. “A witch, a wizard, or even a squib would suffice, but unfortunately not a muggle relative. For muggle-born children at Hogwarts, their heads of houses typically take up this roll, but in your case, since the headmaster had been involved in determining your upbringing to an extent and was a close acquaintance of your parents, he informed us at breakfast this morning, that he will serve as yours instead of Professor Flitwick.”

Harry frowned, “Aunt Petunia is a Squib, same as Dudley. That’s why she’s been able to head into Diagon Alley all these years and get us books and stuff.”

Madam Pomfrey seemed gobsmacked by this for some reason. “Well, I-I guess, you’re right! I suppose I’ll have to check with him and explain that he really doesn’t have the legal standing to be your magical guardian after all!”

“Would it be possible to keep all this private, until we resolve who my actual Magical Guardian is?” Harry asked timidly.

“I guess so,” the nurse conceded, looking put out for a moment before rallying almost immediately. “But make no mistake Mr. Potter, if I hear one single rumor indicating that you’re flouting my instructions and continuing to push your magic, I won’t need the sign-off of a guardian to confine you to the hospital wing indefinitely!”

Chapter Text

7^th September 1991

Harry stretched slowly in his bed, hating the fact that he had to be up and about early. His first week at Hogwarts had ended, and seeing as it was Saturday, he figured he had earned a bit of a lie-in…or he would have if he hadn’t made plans for this morning.

Beyond the curtains of his four-poster, the dormitory was slowly growing brighter as the rays of the rising sun gradually illuminated the dark interiors of the space. After a few minutes of procrastination, Harry sighed, grabbed his spectacles off his bedside table, and still feeling a little bit groggy, swung his legs out of bed.

The week had been an interesting one, he mused as he pushed open his curtains, got up and stretched again. Not as eventful as his first day, thankfully, but it had still been quite memorable. Well, not that he wanted to preserve the memory of his disastrous first Magical Theory class, he cringed internally, repressing that recollection with a shudder.

After the unplanned appointment with Madam Pomfrey, he had dutifully filled his friends in about the essentials of what he’d found out. That group had also expanded a bit when they’d run into Hannah and Susan during their next study session at the library, and the two Hufflepuffs had happily joined the ranks of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first-years and had come along to their subsequent sessions as well.

He had also asked them if they would be comfortable if some of his Slytherin friends joined them in the future, and while Neville, Susan and Hannah had looked a bit uncertain, no one had objected outright. Harry planned on asking Draco over the weekend, when he finally cornered the blond to ask for an explanation about what all the weird posturing in their house was even about.

He took a look around the dorm, where predictably, no one else had stirred this early in the morning and strode over to Tony’s bed and rapped sharply on the foot-board.

“It’s time, Tony,” he called softly through the curtains so as not to disturb any of his other dormmates. “We better start getting ready or we’re gonna be late.”

Getting a muffled grunt that sounded vaguely like a curse in response, Harry nodded with satisfaction and headed to the shared bath to freshen up. He was fairly certain that Padma was quite capable of ensuring that she was up and awake in a timely manner without any assistance, and the same was probably true for Hermione, who would hopefully manage to wrangle Neville with her. He was less certain about the Hufflepuffs, but he wasn’t really in a position to do anything to help, so there was no point worrying about it.

By the time he was done with his morning ablutions Tony was stumbling into the bathroom. Harry gave him a nod as he returned to the first-year dormitory to get dressed and opted to head down to the common room instead of waiting in the dorm and being serenaded by the sounds of the four other eleven-year-olds who shared this space, snoring away in peace.

As he’d guessed, Padma was there already, nestled into one of the more comfortable armchairs close to the fireplace with her nose in a book. Harry smiled and headed over to join her and plonked himself down on the chair opposite her. Between the warmth from the hearth and the coziness of these chairs, not to mention the best view of the surrounding grounds available from anywhere in the common room, it was no surprise why all the upper year students tended to hog this spot on most evenings.

He grinned at Padma when she looked up from her book.

“He’ll be down in a second,” he said in lieu of a greeting, and watched Padma nod and return her attention to the book that she seemed to be on one of the very last pages of.

Harry peered more closely at the title. It was a standard copy of ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’, he observed and nodded to himself. That definitely explains her place in the book, he thought. Although, if he was being honest, this was one of the books on the first-year reading list that had made very little sense to him so far.

He had gathered that third-year students had the option of choosing the elective subject ‘Care of Magical Creatures’, for whom this book could be very useful, but seeing as first-years did not learn something similar, it was a baffling addition to their list. It also didn’t help that based on the comments of the second-year students, the book had not been a fixture on their first-year shopping list the previous year.

He'd speculated that perhaps their potions curriculum would occasionally reference the creatures listed in the FBWFT text, but that hadn’t been the case so far. Even in History of Magic, where Harry knew that Bagshot’s book often referred to various historical (and sometimes near-catastrophic) incidents that had transpired due to dragons escaping their reserves or runaway Fwoopers hiding in the rafters of a muggle church, there had been no sign that Professor Binns was likely to ever discuss these events in the context of the creatures that caused them, or even talk about anything aside from what he kept referring to as ‘Goblin Rebellions’, which was, incidentally, a terminology Harry found himself vehemently disagreeing with, since the word rebellion implied that the people doing the rebelling were rising up against their lawful government. But, given the whole fiasco at their first ‘Magical Theory’ lesson, he was going to keep his opinions to himself.

In a bid to suppress the memory of that embarrassing episode, he found himself mentally reciting Dudley’s revised alphabet song based on the creatures listed in the FBWFT.

“A is for Acromantula, they will talk to you as they eat you,

B is for Basilisk, a giant snake with a petrifying gaze.

C is for Cerberus, a literal damn hellhound,

D is for Dragons, well, I think that’s enough said…”

He’d made it all the way up to ‘L’ (for Lethifolds) before Anthony finally arrived and they got up and began to make their way out of the Ravenclaw common room.

“We’re not late, are we?” the blond boy asked, fidgeting a bit and trying to tuck a few errant strands of hair into place.

“No, we’ve got time,” Harry assured him. “Hagrid asked us to meet him by his hut by six-thirty, and I reckon it’s just barely past six right now.”

That was the other unexpected development of this last week, he contemplated as they made their way down the spiral staircase after having exited the common room. Meeting and befriending the big, hairy and kind groundskeeper.

Not wanting to be rude, Harry had headed down to Hagrid’s hut on Tuesday afternoon once his classes had concluded, with only Neville for company, and while he hadn’t quite known what he was expecting, he had been pleasantly surprised. Not only was Hagrid fun and easy to talk to, it had turned out that he had also been a close friend of Neville’s mom and dad in addition to Harry’s own and had a lot of fun anecdotes to share about both sets of parents and their time here at Hogwarts. They had such a good time, that Harry and Neville had gone down to meet the friendly giant again on Friday, and had managed to coerce Hermione, Susan, Padma and Hannah to tag along.

Hermione had (somehow) recognized the tuft of unicorn hair hanging from a twine in the hut and that had kicked off a lively and informative discussion that had spoken volumes about Hagrid’s in-depth and firsthand knowledge of the magical creatures that resided in the forest and culminated in the early-morning expedition that had dragged them all out of bed today.

“Huh,” Padma said, sounding a bit surprised as they arrived at the top of the marble staircase leading down to the entrance hall and began making their descent. “Guess it really does work the way Colton said. I just let my feet guide me instead of trying to remember what turns to take, and here we are. I wonder if the same principle would work even when trying to navigate to places we don’t actually know the location of.”

“Probably not,” Harry guessed. “We still need to keep to the approximate direction of where we need to go, remember?”

“Can’t hurt to try though,” Tony observed, and Padma nodded in agreement.

Harry shrugged. That was true, he supposed. Besides, even if they did wind up lost, they would be able to rely on what he was internally referring to as the Hogwarts Sat-Nav to find their way back to their common room or the main halls.

They weren’t the first to arrive. Hannah and Susan were both lounging by the stairs leading to the dungeons when they made it down the staircase. Susan looked a little bleary-eyed, but Hannah was looking quite bright and chipper.

“Morning,” she sang brightly as they approached. “We were just beginning to wonder if Susan delayed our getting up here so much that the rest of you all had left without us.”

Susan grunted and flipped her off, while Padma and Tony snickered.

“Is your common room somewhere in the dungeons?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Ah-right, that’s supposed to be a secret,” Hannah blushed. “Just, uh-forget you figured that out, yeah? Or at least that you deduced that based on something I let slip.”

“I actually don’t understand the secrecy around it,” Anthony said airily, sitting down on the stairs leading to the dungeon next to Susan. “The Ravenclaw common room isn’t a Ravenclaw only space for instance. Anyone is welcome to enter it. That actually makes much more sense if students are to be encouraged to not lose themselves in this ‘Us and Them’ mindset.”

“Wait? Really?” Susan asked, sitting up straighter. “You guys really don’t have issues with visitors from other houses coming to your common room?” She asked, looking at Harry and Padma for confirmation, as if she didn’t fully trust Anthony.

Padma nodded, “Professor Flitwick explained on our first day,” she said. “We don’t turn away anyone who comes with the aim of learning something, or anyone from whom we ourselves might have something to learn. Whoever can answer the question posed by the entrance is welcome to enter our common room.”

“Question?” Hannah asked, sounding puzzled. “You mean you don’t have a password?”

“Is that what you guys have?” Harry shot back immediately interested. “We have new questions or riddles every time we go back. Sometimes it takes a fair amount of time to get in as a result. It’s right ruddy annoying if you really need to use the loo, and no one with you knows the answer-”

The sound of hurrying footsteps from the stairs made Harry break off as they all focused on the approaching forms of Hermione and Neville.

“Oh good! We aren’t too late after all!” Hermione beamed, sounding slightly out of breath as a red-faced Neville doubled over wheezing. “It took ages to wake Neville up, and then Percy wanted to know where we were off to so early in the morning! I say, shouldn’t we get going?”

The rest of them collectively cast a worried glance at Neville, who made a motion as if to say he was fine, and slowly began to proceed toward the exit.

Emerging out into the crisp morning air, they began to make their way down towards the edge of the forest where Hagrid’s hut stood. They gave a wide berth to the deceptively still willow that stood by itself like a silent sentinel overlooking the grounds, and which, Hagrid had warned them, would viciously attack anything and everything that made the mistake of getting within the reach of its branches. Way off to their left were the empty stands surrounding the school’s Quidditch pitch, and far ahead on the path they were following, before they left it to descend towards the hut the forest, were the gates to the school grounds. Apparently that was used by most students when they arrived at the start of term or left to visit the neighboring all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade on some weekends. The boats they had used on their arrival were only used when first-year students reached the castle for the first time and when the final year students left the school for good after their graduation. It was something of a rite of passage; Harry had gathered.

Hagrid and Fang, his giant boarhound that was as scary to look at as he was friendly, were both waiting for them outside the hut when they arrived.

“Mornin’ yeh lot!” Hagrid called out to them cheerfully in his big booming voice, as they approached. “Glad yeh all made it! I know it’s rather early ter be out an’ about on a Saturday, but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

They chorused their good mornings back at Hagrid, while Neville did his best to fend off Fang who had bounded up to him and was trying to lick his face. Of all of them, Fang had instantly taken a liking to Neville, and Harry for one was quite glad that it wasn’t him who was being forced to return from every visit to Hagrid covered in the overly affectionate boarhound’s slobber. He made a mental note of doing some research into whether ‘Scourgify’ might help and letting Nev know his findings.

“Right, follow me then,” Hagrid announced, hoisting a small sack and starting to lead the way along a small path running parallel to the edge of the forest. “The herd mostly keep ter a couple o’ glades that they’ve claimed deep in the forests. The centaurs in these parts also make sure that other creatures stay away from their territory. But there aren’t a lot o’ clean sources o’ water inside that aren’t close ter Acromantula colonies an’ the like, so when they’ve got the foals with ‘em, they prefer makin’ a daily trip, early in the mornin’ ter the Black Lake ter fill up.”

They listened with rapt attention as Hagrid spoke, Fang bounding along beside them and occasionally disappearing from view as he chased a squirrel or rabbit.

“Reg’lar horses usually need ‘bout fifteen gallons o’ water a day, abraxans obviously need much more on account of their sizes and thestrals need a lot less, all usually spread out over two or three drinks, but thankfully, these lot can make do with just one. They guzzle down an entire day’s worth o’ water in a matter o’ minutes, they do…an’ then they’re all set fer the whole day an’ night, longer if they really need it. Ah, here we are.”

They’d followed the trail next to the forest and passed the massive vegetable patch that lay beyond the greenhouses where Herbology was taught, and could see the dark, still waters of the lake further ahead. But now, Hagrid was leading them off away from the track and into the forest itself.

“Stay close now, the forest is safe enough close ter the edge, even more so durin’ the day, especially if I’m with yeh,” he assured, “but better safe than sorry, right? Just try an’ make sure yeh step carefully around the roots an’ not trip over anythin’, an’ yeh’ll be fine. We’re tryin’ ter make our way ter a little knoll that has a nice view o’ a little inlet o’ the lake that comes inter the forest. It’s a good place ter observe creatures comin’ fer a drink, without gettin’ so close as ter accidentally spook ‘em. It’s not too far now, just stay close an’ mind yer steps.”

They continued following him, equal parts excited and nervous to be in the forest that less than a week ago the headmaster had reminded them was ‘forbidden’. But even Hermione, the biggest stickler for rules among them, had been unable to turn down the opportunity that Hagrid had casually offered them the previous evening.

After about fifteen or so minutes of marching into the forest, during which silence descended heavily upon them, as if the forest itself was sucking away all ambient noises and every crack of a twig beneath their feet sounded increasingly loud and unnatural, the ground finally started to ascend as they began to climb a small hill, the top of which appeared to rise above the trees nearby. Harry instinctively caught Neville as he stumbled on a root and the group began to hike up the slope towards the grassy crown of the hill.

“Alright’ no loud noises now,” Hagrid cautioned in a whisper as they neared the top. “I reckon’ they’ve had nearly enough time ter drink their fill by this point. So, we’re jus’ gonna quietly watch ‘em fer a while, an’ when they look like they’re gettin’ ready ter leave, I’ll see if I can lure some o’ ‘em close an’ give yeh all a chance ter interact with ‘em. But no promises. They’re awful skittish, see? An’ with good reason too, what with so many poachers an’ the like out ter get ‘em.”

They nodded as they slowly climbed to the top of the hill and feeling a little out of breath from having to keep up with Hagrid’s huge stride and Fang’s bounding pace, looked down.

Before them lay a picturesque inlet of the Black Lake, its surface smooth and glassy, reflecting the soft hues of dawn. The water shimmered under the rising sun, creating an ethereal glow that seemed to dance across its surface. But the natural beauty of the lake could not hold a candle to the magical beauty of the creatures that had gathered near it.

Assembled at the water’s edge were close to two dozen or so unicorns, their pristine, immaculate white coats gleaming in the early morning light. The elegant creatures moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, their long, flowing manes and tails rippling gently in the breeze. Among them were a couple of foals, smaller and even more delicate, their coats gleaming golden, their movements slightly clumsy but endearing. The foals stayed close to their mothers, occasionally nuzzling them as they drank from the lake.

The sight was breathtaking. The magnificent creatures dipped their heads to drink, their slender horns catching the light and casting shimmering reflections on the water’s surface. The tranquility of the scene was only broken by the soft splashing of water and the gentle rustling of the forest.

Around the inlet, the dark and dense thicket framed the clearing perfectly, with ancient trees standing sentinel-like, their branches creating an almost protective, natural canopy over the gathering. The leaves were a vibrant green, contrasting beautifully with the white of the unicorns and the dark blue of the lake. Sunlight filtered through the foliage in occasional patches, casting dappled shadows that played on the forest floor and adding to the enchantment of the moment.

They all watched in awed silence, Harry silently committing the image to his memory, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the peaceful tableau. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint, earthy scent of the forest. It was a moment of pure magic, a rare glimpse into the untouched beauty of the natural world and the mythical creatures that inhabited it.

“Beautiful, aren’ they?” Hagrid said in a fond whisper. “It’s rare fer two foals ter be born at the same time. They live a long time unicorns, but they don’ breed too often. The foals keep the golden coat till abou’ two years o’ age, then gradually turn silver till ‘round the age o’ seven. They don’ turn fully white till they mature, an’ then they’re so dazzlin’ly white they make fresh snow look gray. Beautiful, majestic creatures, jus’ like so many o’ the others that call the forest their home.”

They admired the herd with wide-eyed fascination for several more minutes, until it seemed like they were preparing to disappear back into the murky depths of the forbidden forest, at which point, Hagrid opened the sack he’d been carrying and brought out a handful of what seemed to be sugar lumps.

“Alrigh’,” he instructed, “we’re goin’ ter slowly descend the slope towards the edge o’ the lake an’ hold out the sugar lumps ter see if we can entice any o’ them ter come closer, ok? Remember, no sudden moves or they’ll turn tail an’ run faster than yeh can say ‘Quidditch’. They’re incredibly easy ter frighten they are, so it’s best if we spread out a little bit as well. Yeh all got that? Ok, then start movin’ out now, slow as yeh like. Fang, wait here!”

They accepted a few lumps of the sugar each and proceeded to slowly start descending the somewhat steep slope on the other side, freezing occasionally as the unicorns took notice and tensed up every time one of them moved marginally too quickly as they approached.

Harry found himself at the far end of the line, Tony was to his right, followed by the others with Susan at the far end. He struggled to move cautiously and slowly, clutching the lumps of sugar in slightly sweaty palms, sure that a tumble down the hill would be a guaranteed way to scatter the beautiful creatures in addition to being badly hurt. He was relieved when they finally arrived on slightly more level ground, and the herd had still not left and was watching their approach with evident wariness.

He noticed with interest that the foals were being carefully kept back by the larger members of the herd as they attempted to come forward to inspect the new arrivals. Apparently the younger unicorns were more curious than their older counterparts. Harry eventually came to a halt, about twenty or so yards from the nearest creature, a huge specimen with a tiny chip on its horn that was standing easily at about eighteen or twenty hands tall, and being careful not to move too quickly, cautiously extended his right hand holding a lump in his open palm.

He thought he saw the unicorn’s snout twitch as it perhaps caught the scent of the treat being offered, but it made no move to approach him. A sidelong glance to his right confirmed that the rest of their party had also come to a halt and were mimicking his motion, but with as little success. He focused his attention back on the unicorn closest to him and tried to convey a sense of not meaning any harm through a relaxed posture and waited with as much stillness as he could muster to see whether he could make it approach.

Several long seconds trickled past, and Harry realized that many of the unicorns had begun to slowly withdraw back into the forest. The few that were still there seemed to be either keeping an eye on their group in case they did something suspicious that the rest of the herd needed to be warned about, or perhaps they were considering coming in closer. Eventually, even the last few stragglers began to slowly back away from them, and Hagrid sighed with disappointment.

“Ah well,” he said, shaking his head. “Probably didn’ want ter risk gettin’ too close ter such a large group like ours, I reckon. It happens, sometimes…can’t be helped. The important thing is ter give ‘em their space an’ let ‘em come ter yeh if they want ter. Majestic creatures, unicorns. Some say they can even sense ambient magic in the air an’ water ‘round ‘em an’ consequently are drawn ter places with a lot o’ magical potential. It’s why this herd chose ter make Hogwarts their home, I suspect.”

They watched as the last straggler stopped at the edge of the woods and fixed them all with a stare before turning and darting away into the forest.

“But in exchange fer drawin’ from the magic o’ the place they settle in, they also end up givin’ a lot o’ magic back into their surroundings. This forest would never have grown as large or as dense, or been capable o’ supportin’ as many magical species, if it weren’ fer the creatures that dwell here symbiotically enrichin’ it in return,” Hagrid continued as they began climbing back up the hill they had cautiously descended from. “Take Bowtruckles, fer instance. They make their homes in large trees, but after a few years o’ a plant bein’ home ter one o’ their colonies, they start growin’ faster than ever an’ are frequently sought after by wandmakers lookin’ fer wand-grade wood. The presence o’ the Bowtruckles gives the bark an’ branches o’ these trees a much higher affinity ter channel magic or somethin’, I heard one o’ them explain once. Likewise, Mooncalf dung, Diricawl droppin’s, heck, even thestral tail hairs that get tangled in tree branches, all enrich the forest.”

“Hagrid?” Padma asked curiously as they crested the top of the knoll and having collected Fang began their journey back towards the castle. “A lot of these creatures and their um, by-products, also have applications in potioneering, or alchemy and so on. How, er, how are these parts usually harvested?”

“Depends on wha’s needed,” Hagrid said evenly. “If wha’ yeh need are Fwooper feathers, yeh can just keep track o’ their nestin’ areas an’ collect the ones they’ve lost. If yeh’re lookin’ fer unicorn hair, yeh can find ‘em hangin’ from low branches where they might’ve been yanked out as they galloped through. More dangerous stuff, like Acromantula venom, requires stunnin’ the creature before the stuff can be harvested. Same goes fer dragon blood, hippogriff talons, shavin’s o’ graphorn horns an’ the like. An’ o’ course, very, very few items can only ever be harvested from a creature that has died, dragon heartstrings fer example or just about anythin’ from a manticore or a chimaera or even Moke skin. So, naturally these items are a little more contentious ter harvest. I personally prefer ter bury the bodies o’ dead creatures I find in the forest, but once in a while Professor Sprout or Snape need ingredients fer their classes that would be far too difficult ter purchase from ethically sourced vendors, so they ask me ter keep an eye out. I like ter think that the deceased creatures would not mind terribly if they knew that their sacrifice was goin’ into ensurin’ that others o’ their kind were not bein’ targeted fer their bits an’ pieces.”

The trip back to the familiar grounds of Hogwarts passed with the students bombarding Hagrid with more questions about the creatures of the forest and his own experiences with them, and yet again the giant man exhibited an astounding amount of knowledge and insight about just about everything there was to know on the subject. He also kept referring to a lot of the creatures by name and expressing his desire to eventually introduce them to some of his ‘friends’, who he maintained were not dangerous and just misunderstood. Harry found himself almost believing him with how earnest he sounded when he said that.

Once they’d all arrived back on the trail at the edge of the forest, Hagrid took his leave, citing his need to attend to his other duty of keeping an eye on the main gate into the grounds in case anyone wanted to enter or leave and having extracted a promise from them to visit him again as soon as their schedules permitted strode away with Fang at his heels. The rest of them turned to head back towards the castle, debating if breakfast or a shower should be their first order of business after the early morning adventure.

As they were coming up towards the huge doors that would admit them into the entrance hall, they were surprised to see it open and what appeared to be the entirety of the Slytherin first-year group of students emerge onto the lawn and heedless of Harry’s group begin to march off in the direction of the greenhouses.

Harry looked at their retreating backs with a raised eyebrow and turned to his companions, “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that they haven’t been called in for remedial Herbology…so, I suppose the only important question is, do we follow them and see what’s up?”

“What?” Hermione was the first to yelp out her disagreement. “Why would we possibly want to do that? There are no rules against heading to the greenhouses during the weekend, so there’s no reason for us to spy on them!”

“Spying is such an ugly word,” Harry grinned. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with my cousin for a week now, so all I’m proposing is we go and see what he’s up to and then talk to him like we had intended to anyway.”

Neville looked unsure, while Hermione looked disapproving. The others didn’t seem to be particularly sold on the idea either, so Harry relented. “Look, I really have been meaning to talk to Draco ever since breakfast on the first day,” he explained. “It’s cool if you guys don’t wanna tag along, yeah? I’ll see you all at breakfast.”

When they continued to look doubtful, he rolled his eyes. “Oh c’mon, you have to pick a lane here!”

Eventually, Hannah and Susan agreed to accompany him in following the Slytherins while Neville, Hermione, Padma and Tony decided to head back to the castle, once they had extracted a promise that they wouldn’t do anything too stupid, and Harry found himself heading towards the greenhouses with the two Hufflepuffs in tow.

“What have you been meaning to talk to Draco about?” Hannah asked as they walked. “Was it about seeing if he was interested in joining the study group?”

“Well, that and more,” Harry agreed, looking to see if he could spot where the Slytherin first-years had gone. “There’s also some kinda weird group dynamic thing going on with their house where they’re always split up in three distinct clusters, one of which always glares at me as if I’ve insulted their mum. So, I wanted to talk to him about what that was all about.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Susan asked in a strangled voice. “Of course, some of them hate your guts, they’re the children of convicted Death Eaters! How did you not figure that out?!”

Harry pulled up short and resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Ah yes, that would definitely explain a lot, he thought. Damn, he really ought to have been able to deduce this. He slowly turned towards Susan, trying not to look too sheepish.

“Um, right. Ok,” he muttered. “You don’t by any chance also know who exactly these kids are, do you? Is it all four of their third faction, or just a couple of them-?”

Susan rolled her eyes and started to rattle off a list of names from memory, “Of the current batch of first-year Slytherin students, Krispin Yaxley is the son of Fredeger Yaxley, who was tried and convicted as a Death Eater after the war and is still incarcerated in Azkaban. Krispin is also the nephew and heir of Corban Yaxley, a Lord of the Wizengamot and a high-ranking member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Corban himself was also accused of being a Death Eater but was ultimately acquitted after pleading the Imperius defense. Sophie Runcorn, another Slytherin first-year, is the younger daughter of Albert and Candice Runcorn, both of whom were tried and convicted of being Death Eaters. Candice died in Azkaban a few years back, and Albert is still in prison. Sophie was raised by Tiberius Nott, another Lord of the Wizengamot who was tried and later acquitted after being accused of being a Death Eater.”

She paused to catch her breath and realized that both Harry and Hannah were staring at her with their jaws hanging open.

“What?” she said defensively, “Auntie Amelia had dossiers, and she made sure I knew who-was-who amongst my peers before I started school. Do you want to hear this or not?”

Glaring at them once more for good measure when they were slow to nod and indicate that she should proceed, she continued, “So, where was I? Ah! The Notts! Tiberius Nott is also the father of Theodore Nott, another of our year mates. Theodore is the younger son, his older brother is Alexander, a student at Durmstrang, which is a school with a somewhat dark reputation following their involvement in the Balkan wars. No, I don’t have any more details; you can read about it in a history book if you like. But the long and short of it is that the Notts are also generally regarded as staunchly traditional in their outlook and at the very least were considered to have financially supported You-Know-Who’s movement during the war.”

She paused again, seemingly trying to remember who else she had been made to study secret reports on, before resuming.

“Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, are respectively, the spare and heir for Christopher Crabbe Senior and Godfrey Goyle. Vincent’s older brother, Chris Junior, who graduated the year before last is the heir to the family seat on the Wizengamot. Both fathers were accused of being Death Eaters and acquitted of most charges except financially aiding a terrorist organization. The resulting fines led to near bankruptcy of the family estates until they were aided by an unknown benefactor. In the same year, Godfrey and Christopher, nominated another Lord of the Wizengamot as the proxy to their ancestral seats, so make of that what you will.”

“And finally, that brings us to your delightful cousin, Draco,” Susan said sunnily. “Draco is the son and heir of Lord Lucious Malfoy, who incidentally holds the Crabbe and Goyle proxies on the Wizengamot, and was himself also accused of being a Death Eater alongside his wife, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, before the charges against them were all dropped. Speaking of the Blacks, Draco is most likely also the heir to the Black seat on the Wizengamot in addition to the Malfoy one, once the other Black claimants pass away. Some of the notable members of the Black family are Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, who tortured Neville’s parents into insanity and Sirius Black, who betrayed your parents. Both are currently incarcerated at Azkaban as convicted Death Eaters.”

She regarded him closely as she finished, “Do you see now why I had some reservations about inviting Malfoy or some of the Slytherins to our study sessions?”

Harry had been listening with increasing fascination as Susan had parroted off the information her aunt had made her memorize but had been jolted out of his reverie by the bit at the very end.

It seemed that Susan and almost everyone else set absolute store by secondhand information fed to them through reports and articles. As far as they were concerned, there was very little difference between being accused of a crime and being found guilty of one. To the world at large, the mere fact that someone was in prison, meant that they must be responsible for every reprehensible rumor they’d heard about them…and they didn’t care enough about the truth, unless it pertained closely to them, to weigh the evidence and decide for themselves what was true and what was a fabrication.

Harry gave Susan a bright smile. “They’re children, just like us,” he said firmly. “Whatever their parents allegedly were does not matter to me. In fact, if the courts themselves found most of these folks to be innocent of the crimes they had been brought up on charges for, who am I to shun them and their kids or keep them at arm’s length?”

Susan threw up her arms in exasperation.

“We’re not talking about a petty little schoolyard squabble here Harry!” she practically snarled. “Some of these are kids who likely blame you for their parent’s imprisonment or deaths! Do you really think they are wholly unlikely to seek some sort of revenge or something?”

“I’m just saying that they are their own people,” Harry implored quietly. “Some of them might very well detest me just because of who I am…but I don’t want to do the same to them, because if I do, I would be no better.”

“Fine!” Susan hissed. “But mark my words Harry, you’re not the only person who lost family or parents when these psychopaths were last on a rampage. So, while you try to see the best in them, I’ll keep my eyes peeled when they’re around, and someday you’ll thank me when that helps stop you from getting shanked in the back!”

She turned on her heel and continued storming off towards the nearest glass greenhouse, her bright blonde braid swinging wildly behind her in time with her footsteps.

Harry turned his helpless gaze towards Hannah, who shrugged and gave him a small smile.

“I think you’re both right,” she said softly, starting to follow Susan. “Susan has suffered a lot and her aunt’s profession means that she’s never had a break from being reminded of the worst that can happen when we let our guards down. But my mom always says that if we never give people a chance to show us that they’ve changed, they will never truly be able to.”

Harry nodded at her gratefully and together they followed in the direction in which Susan had headed. They caught up with her a short while later, where she was crouched next to a low stone wall encircling the recently tilled earth between greenhouses two and three. From up ahead and presumably around the corner of greenhouse three, which obscured them from view, voices raised in a heated argument were clearly audible.

“I will not accept the eminence of a pathetic pretty boy that debases himself for the approval of blood traitors and mudbloods!” A voice that sounded like it might have belonged to the larger boy of the third Slytherin group was practically screaming.

“Oh, you would know all about debasing yourself, wouldn’t you Yaxley,” the mocking tones of Pansy interrupted him, jeering and cutting at the same time. “I wonder who dear uncle Corban had to debase himself to in order to keep his posh DMLE job, hmm? For someone as high and mighty as you and your family want to play at being, I would have expected him to do the honorable thing and follow your daddy to the Dementor’s den!”

“Now, now everyone,” the smooth and sarcastic drawl that Harry instantly recognized as belonging to Blaise eventually rose above the unintelligible bickering that had immediately followed Pansy’s words. “As charming as this little display has been, I really don’t want to spend my whole day out next to heaps of compost. So, let us please move this along a little, yes?”

A few muted grunts greeted the comment, and apparently construing it as assent, the Italian boy continued.

“Eccellente!” he said, evidently, while clapping. “The votes still stand at four apiece for Heir Malfoy and Heir Yaxley, with five abstaining. We need someone to get to seven before we return to the common room this evening or be disgraced even further than we have been thus far with our indecision. So…in the effort to help move the needle further, I shall henceforth commit myself as well.”

Harry exchanged a confused look with Hannah as the boy’s words were followed by a muffled gasp. They didn’t have any time to do much else about it before Blaise was talking again.

“I have only had a limited amount of interaction with Heir Malfoy’s cousin, who apparently divides opinions just by existing, and have not found in him anything to despise that warrants a reaction as strong as what seems to be consuming Heir Yaxley and his cohort. Therefore, my vote for the eminence among Slytherin students for the year goes to Heir Malfoy.”

The pronouncement was instantly followed by two outraged voices yelling profanities about spineless Italian traitors.

“Mamma mia! Davvero?” Blaise’s voice was audible again after a moment; it sounded like he was bored with the proceedings. “Do you think I’m not gonna keep that dramatic reaction in mind when we vote again at the start of the next school year? Anyway, for anyone not keeping track, that means you Heir Goyle, Crabbe and Moon, the current tally stands at five votes for Heir Malfoy, four for Heir Yaxley with four still abstaining. Now…I have done my part, please someone else do theirs so we can go back to the castle.”

A soft and hesitant female voice spoke up next, one that Harry was unable to place.

“I-I think I would like to change my vote to M-Malfoy,” it said haltingly. “I mean, it sounds like the whole issue is around whether or not he can be friends with whom he wants, right?”

“Sal, no-!” an exclamation from another unrecognized female voice was cut off, when Pansy loudly overrode her with a slightly smug interjection, “Well said Perks! And I do believe that brings the tally to six for Draco, three for Yaxley and four still refusing to commit either way.”

A few moments of silence followed before finally, yet another voice said something, this time in such a low voice that it failed to carry to Harry and the Hufflepuff’s eavesdropping ears, and Harry was certain it was probably Lily Moon mumbling into whatever book she was poring over right now.

“That makes seven!” Pansy crowed gleefully. “I’m going to go find a prefect and give them the results. See you all back at the castle. And Yaxley, don’t worry I’m sure we’ll consider you next year…or something.” She finished with a falsely sweet simper at the end and Harry and the girls barely had time to duck beneath the wall to avoid being spotted before she was walking past their hiding spot and back towards the castle.

“This isn’t over Malfoy,” Yaxley’s low growl still managed to reach their ears as they scrambled back to find a better hiding spot once Pansy was obscured from view. “There will be a reckoning for this, mark my words. My uncle will hear about this! C’mon Theo, Sophie, let’s not waste our time any further with these pathetic blood traitors!”

Draco snorted as they left, “You’re so sensitive, Yaxley. Try and loosen up a bit and maybe you’ll stop being such a blowhard that’s so desperate for the affection of his surrogate daddy. Oh, I suppose that applies to you too, doesn’t it Runcorn?”

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and once he was reasonably certain that Yaxley’s group had departed, stepped around the corner of the greenhouse.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” he asked with forced cheeriness and nonchalance as he beheld the surprise on Draco’s face. “Anything interesting happen recently?”

“Huh!” Harry remarked softly.

It had been a good fifteen minutes since Daphne, sorry, Heir Greengrass had left with her entourage of Tracey, Lily, Milicent and Sally-Anne (who seemed to be floundering a little bit from the fallout of her perceived defection from the opposing faction) in tow. And Harry, flanked by a not-entirely at ease pair of Hufflepuffs were being filled in about life in Slytherin by Draco and Blaise while Vince and Greg observed.

“Wow! That sounds…” Hannah began before trailing off uncertainty.

“Mental!” Susan finished for her, before immediately blushing and then catching herself. “I mean who even thought up something like this, and why?”

“Boh!” Blaise grinned, shrugging. “But it certainly makes life interesting. This whole week people have been falling over themselves like they’re politicians at a campaign rally, trying to convince the rest of their year-mates to back their claim of being the eminent student from the year.”

He chuckled and cast a sidelong glance at Draco, who seemed a little defensive and continued, “When you consider that it is an internal house thing and not a formal position with little to no actual power beyond bragging rights within the house, and occasionally being asked to speak for the others by the head of the house, or prefects…the amount of animosity created over it was frankly outstanding!”

“It’s not that bad,” Draco defended. “Students who were eminent during their years while at Hogwarts often rise to hold important positions in their careers after school. I just-I just knew my dad held the position throughout his time here and wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

Harry considered this and nodded. “Yeah, Susan’s right. That is mental!” He immediately raised his hands up to forestall further defense of the frankly ridiculous notion, “But enough about that. Does your becoming imminent mean that Yaxley and the rest of his gang are no longer gonna be glaring at me every time I pass them in the corridor?”

“Er, probably not,” Draco conceded. “Being eminent is largely symbolic. So, I can’t really do anything about it. Also, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure if Nott feels particularly strongly about you either. I think he’s just sticking by Runcorn, his adoptive sister. She and Yaxley are probably the only two who, erm, might not like you very much.”

“Charming,” Harry snarked. “So, there’s only two eleven-year-olds who I’ve never met who might try to do me in, just because of who I happen to be. Swell!” He shook his head. “You know what, never mind. I did want to ask you if you want to join our little study group, but now I don’t know if that would be some kind of political faux-pas in your convoluted social life.”

Draco blushed again, “I-I wouldn’t mind stopping by from time to time. So long as no one objects of course.”

“Nope,” Harry said emphatically, not looking at Susan. “We’d all love to have you.”

“I’d love to come too,” Blaise announced, smiling innocently at Harry. “I know you didn’t invite me, but I’m choosing to intentionally misread social clues and make you ask me out of the sheer awkwardness of the situation.”

“Er-” Harry stuttered, looking at the others for help and finding none. “Um, ok…would-would you like to attend our study sessions too Blaise?”

“Why Harry!” Blaise beamed at him. “I really wasn’t expecting you to extend an invite, it’s so very sudden…but of course, it would be far too rude to refuse, so of course, I’d love to come!”

Draco looked Harry straight in the eye, “I’ve had to live with that for a whole week. I think I might legitimately go insane before I finish school.”

“Macché!” Blaise said airily, waving away the blond boy’s comments. “Heir Yaxley will have murdered your eminence-ship in your sleep long before then.”

“Speaking of inexplicable animosities,” Harry interrupted, raising his voice before the resultant squabbling could get out of hand. “What exactly is the deal with you and Ronald Weasley? Am I completely misreading the situation, or can you two barely stand each other’s guts?”

Draco sneered as soon as Ron was mentioned and opened his mouth disdainfully to respond to the question, Harry noticed, but it was Susan who answered before he could get a single word out.

“I reckon, I can provide a more unbiased take if you’re looking to open that particular can of worms, Harry” she said, sighing. “The short answer is, ‘Oath of Enmity’. Does that mean anything to any of you?” she asked, looking around their small group.

Blaise nodded slowly, whistling softly with his eyebrows raised and even Hannah looked surprised at the revelation. Draco just looked puzzled.

“What the hell is an ‘Oath of Enmity’?” he asked. “My beef with the Weasel is that him and his whole family are a bunch of destitute bottom feeders who have long since abandoned any adherence to long standing traditions of our ways and exist solely to cause problems for their betters while somehow still having the audacity to claim some sort of moral high ground.”

“An ‘Oath of Enmity’,” Susan said completely ignoring Draco’s rant, “is a type of magically binding obligation that can only be sworn by a head of a family that, if reciprocated by the targeted family’s matriarch or patriarch, causes all the members of their bloodline to intensely detest their opposite number beyond all rationality and logic. As demonstrated by ‘Exhibit A’ right here.” She finished waving at the blond Malfoy Heir while Blaise snickered.

“It’s true,” the dark-haired boy agreed once he’d calmed himself. “Such things have been outlawed in Italia for several centuries, and outstanding feuds ended under threat of litigation. I mean, we’re still Italians, so we just found less magically binding ways to hold onto a grudge, but the point still stands, capiche?”

“That explains so much!” Hannah added, sounding amazed. “Do you also know when this came into effect, or why?”

“And I can’t believe we’re asking this same question again so soon after the last time,” Harry said, rubbing his temples. “But who exactly thought this was a good idea either?”

“Well, the original intent made sense I think,” Blaise said, looking at the sky contemplatively. “I’m no expert, but the plan was to ensure that all members of the family would be inherently wary of people from the opposing faction, even if they attempted to worm themselves into positions close to them under disguise or whatever. You’d instantly dislike folks from a family which your family had a reciprocating oath of enmity with, even if you couldn’t explain why you felt the way you did.”

“As far as the Malfoy-Weasley feud goes,” Susan said scrunching her eyes in an attempt to remember, “I think it’s been around for centuries over some failed marriage negotiation. As a result, even centuries later, the Malfoys have shot down every attempt that the Weasley family has made to restore their status or return to their former holdings. Auntie actually thinks it goes beyond that, she feels that it’s quite likely that the Weasleys and the Malfoys always make sure they are on the opposite sides of every conflict that involves them both not because of the principles or details at play, but just out of mutual hatred. They oppose each other wherever they can and go out of their way to find more areas in which they can continue to butt heads. Even Arthur Weasley, the current Lord of their family seat, who is otherwise the nicest, most mild-mannered person you can ever come across has a massive blind spot as far as the Malfoy family is concerned.”

“That corrupt paper pusher tried to have my house raided and my parents arrested!” Draco scowled. “Tried to push through some nonsensical bill that allowed any department head to authorize open-ended search and seizures at their discretion! The whole family is like that, jumped up arrogant snots trying to malign their betters.”

“Wow, fascinating,” Harry muttered, studying Draco like he was an interesting insect. “Guess we can’t ask Ron if he would like to join the study sessions until we can figure out a way to handle this, huh? Then again, from what I’ve seen of him in the classes we’ve shared so far, he probably would have run as soon as the word ‘study’ was mentioned anyway.”

They returned to the castle shortly afterwards since not one of them had had a chance to have breakfast yet, and no one was particularly keen on missing it.

They parted ways at the entrance hall after making plans to meet up at the library in the evening and headed to their own house tables. Harry found his seat occupied by Parvati and had to settle for a seat opposite to her and caught the tail end of Tony and Padma filling her in on the morning’s adventures in the forbidden forest with Hagrid.

“Why didn’t any of you think to wake me?” the Gryffindor wailed as Anthony described the golden foals that they had spotted with the rest of the herd.

“I asked you if you wanted to accompany us last evening, and even before you had heard what it was about you said, and I quote, ‘Please, there is no possible reason why I would sacrifice my sleep on a weekend’,” Padma recited calmly, without looking up from her bacon and eggs.

“C’mon!” Parvati huffed, “You know, I’d have gotten up if I knew you were off to see unicorns!”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time,” Padma said, unmoved. “I’m sure Hagrid won’t mind taking us along on another excursion sometime.” She chewed for a while before changing the subject with a quick look towards Harry. “Everything go ok on your spying mission?”

“It was not a-yes, everything went very smoothly, thank you.” Harry muttered crossly.

“What’s this?” Parvati asked, instantly distracted by the prospect of gossip. “Who've you been spying on then? It had better not be a girl, Lavender would be heartbroken!”

“What? No!” Harry sputtered, spraying crumbs at Tony as he choked on the toast he was chewing. “I wasn’t spying on anyone. I wanted to talk to some of the Slytherin first-years, and we spotted them heading towards the greenhouse just as we were coming back to the castle, so I decided to follow them to have a little chat.”

“Eh, that’s boring,” Parvati sighed, disappointed as the owl post arrived overhead borne on dozens of feathery wings. “Some of them are kind of cute though. Are you sure you don’t fancy one of them? I reckon Greengrass might be your type.”

“Oh, get a grip!” Tony huffed annoyed as he was sprayed by crumbs again and moved over to the next seat in a bid to get out of the splash zone.

“I am eleven and a Ravenclaw!” Harry said horrified, as he finally managed to clear his throat. “The only things I fancy are books and an opportunity to study them!”

“Maybe it’s one of the boys then?” Parvati winked at him unabashed. “Malfoy looks like a doll. Just make sure that you keep your hands off Zabini, and we won’t have a problem, yeah?” she finished with a chuckle.

“I thought we were supposed to collectively keep away from Orsino, weren’t we?” Padma asked drily, unrolling the day’s newspaper that had just landed in front of them without even glancing at her sister. “Or have you switched targets already? That’s fast, even for you.”

“But, he’ll be gone after next year,” Parvati said, pretending to swoon. “What’s a girl even supposed to do if her bae leaves and she doesn’t have a backup lined up?”

Padma snorted and didn’t deign to respond to the remark. “Looks like the ministry will let the Wizengamot decide if the goblins will be granted the warding contract,” she said, sounding disinterested as she flipped over a page.

Harry tried not to show any emotions on his face and shrugged, as Parvati ostensibly slammed her palms down on the table and got up from their table.

“Right!” she announced. “That’s my cue to leave. If the topic of discussion has changed from adorable and cuddly baby unicorns to cute boys to boring news clippings, then I might as well head back over to the lion’s den and make googly eyes at Oliver. He looks super cute when he starts ranting about Quidditch. See you nerds later!” She sang as she left.

Padma clocked Harry’s incredulous stare and decided to take pity on him.

“She’s eleven Harry,” she exclaimed calmly, patting the back of his hand. “She’s just messing around in the same way that mum’s Bollywood movies have sort of normalized for her.”

Harry nodded, accepting this and got up as well to return to his regular seat, before Tony stopped him by drawing his attention to a figure preparing to leave the staff table.

“Not to cut-off your attempt to spray more crumbs at me from a closer range or anything,” he said blandly, “but weren’t you planning on apologizing to him at some point?” he asked, gesturing surreptitiously at Professor Johnston.

Harry grimaced. Professor Johnston had been their lecturer for the ‘Magical Theory’ class that had been held for all of the houses combined after lunch on Thursday. Aside from having had several points docked for being disruptive, Harry had also been told off in no uncertain terms by an irate Hermione at the end of the class and had consequently promised that he would apologize to the professor for his supposed impertinence as soon as possible.

Well, might as well brace up and bite the bullet, he supposed. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped away from the breakfast table and began to head towards the exit from the hall, aiming to catch up with the man outside.

By the time he emerged out into the entrance hall, Professor Johnston, who had a slight limp and used a walking stick, had almost reached the marble staircase. Casting a quick glance around to see if anyone else was nearby, Harry sped up and called out at the same time.

“Er, Professor Johnston?” his voice echoed off the stones and the man paused mid-stride to look over his shoulder and regard whoever had called out to him.

“Potter,” he scowled in way of greeting as he leaned on his cane. “If you have more unorthodox, unverified, non-ministry approved theories to spew, I suggest you save them for your next lesson.”

“Uh, actually,” Harry said, desperately bottling his irritation as he closed the gap to the lecturer. “I-uh, I actually wanted to apologize for my behavior during the previous class.”

Johnston turned fully to face him, his eyebrows rising high on his high, wrinkled forehead beneath the receding, gray-flecked hairline.

“Do you, now?” he asked with only the faintest hint of a sneer. “And what is it exactly about your behavior that you’re sorry for?”

“My questions and comments during your lecture were disruptive in nature, and I apologize for unintentionally insinuating that you weren’t perfectly well-versed in the subject you were teaching us,” Harry said, fighting his irritation and attempting to repeat Hermione’s words verbatim.

Johnston narrowed his eyes and fixed him with a searching look for a long moment, before snorting.

“No,” he said simply. “I do not buy that for a single second. I think this farcical pseudo-apology is just your way of keeping your less swollen-headed friends happy. I do not think you give a toss about having been disruptive, Potter. And I also do not think that you have the necessary amount of respect for your elders and your betters. Save your nonsense for someone who gives a damn and be grateful that you got off with a measly points deduction instead of landing in detention.”

He turned to leave, before suddenly stopping again and glaring at Harry afresh.

“In fact, for future reference, the next time you so much as open your mouth in my class unless I have explicitly called upon you, you will find yourself in detention. Let’s see how your adoring fans and your monstrous ego find that, eh? Or is our child wonder too precious to scrub bedpans?”

Harry seethed internally and sincerely hoped that none of his internal thoughts or anger was showing up in his expression. “I really did want to apologize for being disruptive, Professor,” he maintained stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge any of the man’s other remarks.

“Keep going on like that in my classes about your moronic half-baked ideas, and I’ll make sure you have to do a lot more than apologize,” the man snarled. “Now get out of my sight, I don’t want to have to deal with you all day.”

He turned and ascended the stairs rapidly, the tapping of his stick gradually fading from hearing, leaving Harry simultaneously incensed and fuming, remembering the lecture from two days ago in addition to this fresh clash.

“-but Professor, then how are squibs able to see through charms or enchantments specifically designed to repel mundane people-er, muggles?”

“It’s a statistically insignificant number of squibs that can do that, Potter, and as such, the phenomenon is not worthy of further comment or study.”

“But all of the squibs I’ve met-”

“Last time I checked Potter, you hadn’t published a paper citing the results of your extensive research interviewing hundreds of squibs. Was I mistaken?”

“No sir, but ‘The Mystical Origins of Magica’ also agrees that-”

“Silence! I have had enough of your pathetic attempts to continue to disrupt my lecture with your nonsensical unsubstantiated made-up rubbish! Unless you’re claiming to know better than the ministry approved texts and the collective knowledge of the entirety of the school’s teaching body, you will adhere to the principles and concepts found on the pages of the books that have been assigned to you instead of whatever crap you’ve seen fit to fill your head with.”

“I-”

“I! Said! Silence! Not only is your constant questioning of my authority a sign of your arrogance and lack of respect, but it also actively prevents all of the other students from learning what they came to learn. If you are that obsessed with the sound of your own voice, try singing to yourself in the shower, but keep it out of my lecture hall!”

“-”

“Ten points from Ravenclaw for your ceaseless impertinence and insubordination! If you can’t respect the subject that you’re here to learn, the least you can do is try and respect your classmates’ time. Assuming your fame and ego can manage at least that much!”

Heavily relying on a trance to keep his frustrations from spilling over, Harry mechanically turned on his heels and slowly returned to the Great Hall. At least, he wondered as he headed back towards the Ravenclaw table, his latest dressing down at the hands of the Professor had happened in private and he didn’t have to deal with the sniggers from certain Slytherins or the pitying or commiserating looks from most of the rest. He honestly hadn’t known which was worse.

He shook his head at Padma and Tony in response to their inquisitive glance, which made Tony wince and Padma give him a small kind smile. He’d just have to let Hermione know at some point that he had in fact followed through on her advice, and how it had gone down.

He rather doubted whether that particular conversation would be as subtle or succinct as the one he’d just had with his fellow Ravenclaws. There would most likely be follow-up questions, clarifications and he’d be forced to live through the whole ordeal anew.

He groaned and put his head down on the table, all of the euphoria from having seen the unicorns earlier in the morning had evaporated in the course of a mere thirty-second exchange. He sighed and began to perform a few simple breathing exercises instead of entering his mind palace and finding comfort in a happier memory.

Why was it apparently such a crime to have asked questions in a class, he wondered in anguish.

Chapter Text

September – October 1991

Life at Hogwarts, as exciting and eventful as it was, still quickly fell into a routine.

Aside from Magical Theory, during which Harry spent his time huddled in a corner of the room, trying not to catch Professor Johnston’s eye or ire, and History of Magic, during which he chose to get a head start on his assigned work, he found himself thoroughly enjoying all of his classes. He was careful not to accidentally overdo anything, as instructed by Madam Pomfrey, but couldn’t quite resist not ensuring that he remained among the only students to get most new spells or charms during their first attempt. He wasn’t a teacher’s pet, he kept telling himself every time he found himself preening under Professor McGonagall or Flitwick’s praise.

Potions was another subject that was just a little bit tricky. Professor Snape still seemed to be keeping his sharp eyes on every move he made during his classes and had an aura of being ready to seize upon the smallest mistake. However, he had realized that so long as he kept his nose extra clean, he could rely on something that was, while not fair, mostly professional. He felt reasonably certain that under any other tutor, his Potions performance would be lauded and praised, but under the Slytherin Head of House, it merely felt adequate. It had to be said though, that true to his remark at the end of their first lesson, the professor had given him additional pointers, warnings and notes every time he had consulted him before deviating from the standard recipe in favor of his mom’s improvements. The result was that Harry’s own copy of his first-year potions text was rapidly becoming annotated with even more detailed observations and suggestions than Lily’s had been.

Flying lessons had been another extremely interesting experience. As soon as Madam Hooch, their flying instructor, had indicated that the magic within a broomstick responded to a witch or wizard’s own magic and allowed them to use it to fly, meaning that mundane people would only ever find even the latest racing broom to be an over-engineered sweeping implement, Harry had extended his magic senses and been enthralled by what he’d found.

He'd absolutely ignored the technicalities of how grip, posture and weight distribution controlled a broom’s acceleration or how sharply it could turn, and instead simply nudged the magic within the device with his own to make it do exactly what he needed. He’d found that so long as he was in contact with a broomstick, he could make it respond to his magic with near perfect precision, and ever since then, he had been having the time of his life every week, flying around the Quidditch pitch and doing lazy loops around his classmates while they continued to learn about the proper way to grasp the handles. Madam Hooch had chalked up his prowess to having inherited his father’s genes and had declared that she would be extremely disappointed if he failed to at least try out for the Ravenclaw house team the following year.

Charms with Professor Flitwick was always another fun experience as well. The tiny professor was a big believer of learning through trying instead of listening, so their class which they shared with the Gryffindors was a massively entertaining one. Harry had also quickly discovered that Flitwick’s approach to teaching seemed to be far more effective for Gryffindors, with the exception of Neville, than the teaching style employed by their own Head of House. Even when Dean or Seamus cheerfully set fire to feathers they were trying to levitate, or straight up liquified the stones they were attempting to soften, they did so with good cheer and ended up mastering the required spell with impressive speed.

Professor Flitwick had also pulled him aside after one of their classes in their second week to inform him, that due to some kind of complication, he would not be Harry’s Magical Guardian in any official capacity, but not to let this deter him from approaching him if there was anything at all that he could help with. Upon hearing Harry’s comments about why his squib aunt was not qualified to be his Magical Guardian herself, he had also expressed his surprise, and promised he would take the matter up with Dumbledore and keep him apprised of any developments.

He had practically insisted on Harry visiting him for tea in his office after classes one day, and to bring along his friends too if they wanted to come. As a result,  Harry had spent an enjoyable afternoon with Padma, Hermione, Susan and Neville while the tiny professor regaled them all with tales of what their parents had gotten up to during their times at the school, and pointedly turned his back and busied himself with preparing tea when Harry’s eyes and attention had been drawn to a book on pranking spells on the teacher’s shelf.

The professor also made it a point to stop by the common room at least twice a week to check in with the students and see if anyone needed help, and Harry knew that he’d also had several one-on-one meetings with Kevin to better help the young boy settle into the magical world. During their tea, he had also extended an invitation to Hermione to visit the Ravenclaw library since her fascination with books was evident even to him.

All in all, Harry could not have wished for a better Head of House.

However, he could, and did, constantly wish for a better, or at least a different Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

The seemingly nervous and stuttering Professor Quirrell was terrible at his job, rarely, if ever, taught anything of any value in his classes and only seemed to be a source of cautionary tales about the dangers and risks of leaving your comfort zone. Given his own interaction with the strange professor, Harry had instinctively gravitated towards the last benches during his lectures anyway, and once he’d gotten over the atrocious standard of the class, had decided to use this period as an opportunity for his own research. Given that he was actively trying to seek more information on Oaths of Enmity, Magical Guardianship, Sentient Magical Places, Sensing Magic and Bi-Directional Mail Wards to name but a few things on his list, while at the same time keeping up with his own schoolwork, Dudley’s school curriculum...all without giving up on continuing to read ahead in his school subjects, this was fine by him. The few occasions where Quirrell flouted school traditions by having an aide take over for him actually made it more difficult for Harry to focus on what he was starting to see as more of a priority. In stark contrast, after experiencing the first of Quirrell’s lectures in person, Hermione had notably stopped complaining about Sharpe, the teaching aide hired under the previous professor, stepping in to teach the class.

Herbology was another class where Harry did ok, but most certainly did not excel. He was simply far too squeamish about getting fertilizer on himself to be a good gardener, he theorized, and was content to let Susan do the heavy lifting in their practical classes and made up for it during theory and the assignments through the extensive database he was building up in his memory palace. He’d also gathered that in the other first-year Herbology class, involving Gryffindor and Slytherin, Neville and Daphne had each built up a reputation of having quite the green-thumb and were one step away from being hailed as young prodigies. When questioned about this later, a blushing Neville had shyly attributed his skills to having spent a lot of time in the greenhouses on their family estates while growing up.

He enjoyed Astronomy too, although it felt like the least magical of all his subjects at Hogwarts. Harry assumed that perhaps the study of celestial objects would probably have applications in the electives they were expected to pick during their third-year, but for now it felt a little mundane. He didn’t shirk away from it though and diligently turned in his best work week after week, just without the same level of passion that he felt for Transfiguration, Charms and Potions.

He'd also taken a closer look at the various student clubs whose notices had gathered in the entrance hall and in the common rooms and had been dragged to a few meetings of the Wizards’ Chess club by Draco, who fancied himself to be a bit of a savant. Harry had looked on trying not to look too amused when upper year students with a lot more experience had trounced the cocky blond on a regular basis, even though he thought his cousin could benefit from a little more humility.

It hadn’t helped that Draco’s arch-nemesis, Ron had genuinely proven himself to be somewhat of a chess prodigy and had taken the little club by storm.

The other two things Harry had been interested in were Quidditch and Dueling, one of which he was too young for, and the other’s club had been disbanded this year. He had asked Professor Flitwick if it was likely that the Dueling club might resume later in the year, but had been told that it was almost entirely at the DADA teacher’s discretion and as such Harry would have to ask Quirrell for an update.

The time he spent at the library with his group was always something he looked forward to as well. They made it a point to meet at least four times a week and pooled their notes and knowledge across all their subjects to work on their essays, or in Harry’s case focus on his various lines of research by drawing on the tremendous breadth of knowledge the library had to offer. Madam Pince, the ageing hook-nosed librarian had quickly abandoned her habit of hovering over them once she had realized that they were all truly there to study and were treating the books carefully and with respect. The Slytherins, with Pansy occasionally joining Draco and Blaise, usually stopped by a couple of time each week, and upon learning about Harry’s interest in researching somewhat obscure or niche topics had kindly promised to write home to their parents for suggestions or to comb through their own family’s collections at home for anything that might prove useful.

Instead of extending a similar offer of assistance, Susan and Hannah had flatly told him that he should be studying less and going outside more, while Neville had fidgeted nervously and mumbled something about not wanting to bother his gran.

Even Ron came by to the study sessions every once in a while, carefully avoiding the days when the Slytherins might be around, likely at Hermione’s insistence and Harry was pleased to get to know the redhead a little more. Despite, having initially come off as a bit of a stubborn and judgmental prat, he was generally fun to talk to and was always chock full of anecdotes about Hogwarts, the ministry or the magical world at large that he was eager to share, having picked them up from five older brothers and his father who, as Draco had already mentioned, worked at the ministry. He wasn’t the most academically focused person and would frequently be caught staring wistfully out of the window while the rest of them pored over the various tomes and scrolls, but so long as no one got him going about Slytherins or the ‘Dark Side’ he was easygoing. His knowledge of chess strategies was another impressive thing about him, although it paled in comparison to his obsession with Quidditch.

By a mutual, unspoken agreement, they didn’t bring up the Slytherins when Ron was studying with them, just as they didn’t talk about Ron on the days when Draco, Blaise or Pansy were in attendance. Harry knew that they were all aware of his disdain for the deeply ingrained prejudices that ran so rampant amongst students hailing from magical families, so he was quietly grateful to them for letting him be instead of trying to badger him into seeing things their way.

The whole group, that Colton had jokingly started referring to as ‘Potter’s Dozen’, had also stopped by the Ravenclaw common room, mostly to experience for themselves that the secrecy about the location of the other house areas, truly did not extend to the Ravenclaw tower. Hermione had been especially moved by their extensive private library and had confessed that she might genuinely have chosen Ravenclaw had the hat mentioned to her that it would be one of the perks of becoming an Eagle.

Harry had smiled, patted her on the back and reminded her that she needn’t be a Ravenclaw to avail herself of the use of their library.

It still surprised him that none of the older students, save a very small handful of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs preparing for their NEWTs, were ever seen in their common room. Maybe more folks would make an appearance as their end of term exams drew nearer, he supposed, but even the general lack of awareness itself had been strange.

Come to think of it, there even seemed to be very few groups among the students, even the ones who were heavily into the various clubs, that spanned multiple houses. Perhaps their own collection of people was more of an anomaly than a norm, and other students who knew of the accessibility of the Ravenclaw library to any who wanted to be there simply never had the backing necessary to seek it out until they had an urgent need. But be that as it may, Hermione had started stopping by their tower frequently enough to have almost become an honorary Ravenclaw by this point.

Harry had also stopped by the upper-year Transfiguration study group that Eliza, the current year’s Head Girl, had invited him to. It had turned out to be a bunch of fifth, sixth and seventh year Ravenclaws and a single fifth-year Slytherin prefect called Gemma Farley, all of whom had been curious to hear about Harry’s first day transfiguration mishap but had been understanding when he’d told them that Madam Pomfrey had given him strict instructions not to stress his magical core until she gave him the green light. Eliza had told him he was welcome back as soon as his embargo had been lifted, and proceeded to teach him two spells that she believed every Ravenclaw should master as soon as possible.

The spells in question had been ‘Gemino’, whose incantation needed to be accompanied by a dual circular motion with the wand above the object being replicated. It was also known as the duplicating charm, and it worked to create a perfect replica of any inanimate object, with the power required to cast it increasing with complexity and mass. It was the perfect spell for folks looking to make copies of rare or in-demand books that were hard to get one’s hands on. Harry had immediately put it to use on filling out the second compartment in his T-100 and creating a respectable mini-library of his own.

The only major drawback of the Gemino charm, aside from the fact that it could not replicate anything living, was that the replica had a tendency of tarnishing at a much faster rate than the original. So, about a month after a book was copied using the spell, the words on its pages and even the pages themselves would start becoming frayed and unintelligible. And about six or so months in, nothing of the copy would remain. This rate of decay was even faster in the case of items of a magical nature, and even an ordinary non-complex potion or charmed quill when duplicated using the spell would lose their enchantments or potency within mere moments, while for more complex elixirs or items, the spell merely produced something that looked like the original thing or concoction but lacked all of their magical attributes. The charm also failed entirely when attempting to duplicate food or any materials containing nutritional value.

The solution to this problem of rapid deterioration, at least for mundane non-enchanted objects, lay in the second spell that Eliza had taught Harry. It was called a preservation or a stasis charm, whose incantation was ‘Habitus’ accompanied by a steady flat flick of the wand.

Eliza and the others had explained that this was a very practical and commonly used spell whose applications ranged from preserving potions to easily spoiled food and even utilized by law enforcement people who wanted more time to investigate a crime scene or forensic evidence. When applied to something that already was supposed to be stable and not at risk of decaying, such as a book freshly cloned by the duplicating charm, it massively enhanced the amount of time that would pass before the copied text would begin to show any degradation. She had said that the several years that Habitus would extend the shelf life of a book by, would be sufficient for a more conventional scribing of the text in question.

Harry had also found out that Habitus was also one of the spells that could safely be overpowered without running the risk of damaging its target and could be cast in a manner to further prolong its effects. Once he’d learned this, as far as he was concerned, Christmas had come early, and he wanted nothing more than to own his own personal copy of every book he could possibly get his hands on at Hogwarts.

Sharing these new spells with his friends had also been very well received.

Hermione and the Ravenclaws had reacted with the same excitement he’d felt upon learning the new charms. The Slytherins, when they’d been told, had been appreciative but a lot more measured in their reactions. The Hufflepuffs had shrugged and said that they’d ask him to teach it to them should they have need of it. And the Gryffindors apart from Hermione had been mostly bemused with his excitement, with Ron going so far as to roll his eyes and call the rest of them ‘mental’.

On the whole, the past two months had taught Harry a great deal about the people he had now come to regard as his friends. And while laid up in his dormitory after receiving a crash course of magical vaccines and writing long letters to Dudley, with the intention of catching him up on everything and everyone around him at Hogwarts, he’d had the opportunity of reflecting on how he perceived each of them.

Padma and Tony were both driven by their desire to learn as much as they could about every subject they could dream of. While Tony was usually quiet and tried to carry himself with more dignity than the scions of supposed magical aristocrats, Padma had a subtle sense of humor that she wielded like a stiletto whenever the opportunity presented itself. All three of them had bonded over multiple shared classes and spending long hours together in the library, just as Kevin and Roger had bonded with Morag and Mandy, while Terry, Mike, Sue, Lisa and Amanda had also become quite close and normally shared most of their meals together.

Among the Hufflepuffs, Hannah had a cheerful and friendly personality and was always willing to see the best in everyone around her, while Susan, by contrast, was a lot more guarded in terms of who she chose to befriend. Harry knew, without having to ask, that she still viewed the Slytherins, who occasionally studied with them with a measure of distrust but was polite and tactful enough for none of them to notice, with perhaps the exception of Blaise. Harry hadn’t had an opportunity to truly connect with any of the other Hufflepuffs of his year, but he still exchanged greetings with Hussein whenever they shared nearby desks or passed each other in the halls.

Blaise was a bit of an enigma. Always ready with a quick smile and quicker joke, he was as adept at social interactions as he chose to be and was unbelievably difficult to pin down. Harry honestly had no idea what to make of him, but his good spirits were frankly infectious, and he found himself enjoying his company even if he couldn’t be entirely certain of his motives. Pansy, by contrast, was cool, polite and was quite obviously only there in their study sessions because of Draco.

Draco, likewise, was easy enough to understand. He was only attending their sessions because of Harry. He seemed like a nice enough companion when he deigned to take the massive stick out of his arse, and on some subjects was just as well informed as Susan or Hermione, but Harry couldn’t tell how much of his geniality was a result of him tempering his persona so as not to alienate him. There had been various occasions where Harry had seen Draco exchange vicious barbs with Yaxley or Runcorn, who continued to glare and sneer at him at every opportunity or share jokes with Vince or Greg that caused the trio to sneer instead of smile. For his part though, Harry was content to treat Draco with the same courtesy that the blond had been treating him and his other friends with.

The other Slytherins, outside of Yaxley’s group, seemed cordial enough to him if a bit distant, with Daphne and Tracey always returning his greetings whenever they ran into each other.

The Gryffindors were a very different breed. Parvati showed up to the library and sat with them only when she needed last-minute assistance with assignments that were almost due, almost like Ron in that regard. But she did it with good grace and was generally fun to be around. Her closest friend in Gryffindor was apparently a girl named Lavender, and the two of them had already built up a reputation of being their year’s gossip queens. They got less work done on the days she was there, but inevitably had a more fun study session. Ron, of course, was Ron, far more eager to discuss conspiracy theories or Quidditch or Wizard’s Chess than the course work the rest of them wanted to focus on, but entertaining and fun to hang out with and a good sport in the face of their gentle ribbing.

Hermione more than made up for it by proving to be as rabid a bookworm as had ever graced Ravenclaw. She also set a lot of trust in the words and instructions dictated by authority figures and had a near unshakable trust that people in charge knew what was best, whether they be professors at the school or members of the government, whether muggle or magical. Even Susan, who also swore by the need to follow both the spirit and letter of the law, sometimes thought that she needed to loosen up, which was really saying something.

And then finally, there was Neville.

The blond boy would frequently go entire sessions without uttering a single word, and just quietly focus on his assignments or listen to the rest of them argue softly about lessons or Quidditch. He had struggled to cast even the simplest spells in any of their classes which involved active magic, he seemingly dreaded potions with Professor Snape and would start tying himself into knots even before their lessons began and apparently he had also had some kind of episode in his first flying lesson which had resulted in him being hospitalized with a broken wrist, while Blaise and Draco had gotten into an altercation with Yaxley and Runcorn to keep his Remembrall from being smashed. But, somehow, there seemed to be much more to him than that.

On days when not a lot of people showed up to study, Neville was decidedly less self-conscious, demonstrably more confident and assertive and more meticulous in his assignments.

Even leaving aside the fact that Professor Sprout could not stop gushing about how much of a natural talent he had for Herbology, he was solid at Magical Theory, Astronomy and even History of Magic, which none of them except for Hermione could reliably stay awake through. Harry was absolutely certain that almost all of Neville’s issues stemmed from a severe lack of confidence in himself and desperately wished that there was some way in which he could help his friend out.

In fact, the only occasions when he’d seen Neville almost completely relaxed was during their visits to Hagrid, who was always happy to see them. While the rest of the group accompanied them sometimes as well, with the exceptions of the Slytherins, since Hagrid had outed himself to be just as prejudiced about their house as Ron on his first day, Harry and Neville went most frequently. During one of these trips, on a Friday in the middle of October, when the day had begun with double Transfiguration and then Charms after lunch for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first-years, Neville confided that the reason he struggled so much when it came to casting magic was a persistent feeling he had from his wand that it hated him and wished to be left alone.

Harry had immediately wanted to extend his magical senses to test the validity of Nev’s remark, but there hadn’t been enough time, and it had slipped his mind later. He still intended to understand what exactly might be up with Neville’s wand wanting to leave him so soon after bonding, but he figured it was something that Nev would prefer to be only discussed in private.

As much time as all of them had been spending with Hagrid, with the big, bearded man frequently singing Dumbledore’s praises, Harry had been unable to find a single instance where he could speak to the headmaster himself. He had been meaning to enquire about the supposed ‘Bi-Directional’ wards, the situation with his Magical Guardianship and even about the letter that he’d apparently left with when being dropped off at Privet Drive almost a decade ago, but the silver haired wizard was rarely to be seen in the Great Hall. Hagrid had casually waved away Harry’s desire to meet with the man by extolling his many responsibilities both in Hogwarts as well as in the larger magical world but promised to pass on a word when he saw him next.

Harry wasn’t really convinced if a person should simultaneously be the headmaster of a school, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the Grand Sorcerer and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, especially when any number of these supposedly important positions clearly impacted their ability to discharge the duties associated with their other roles. Neither did he understand why the headmaster had tried to sign up as his magical guardian on top of everything else, if he already had so much going on. But it didn’t seem likely that he was going to receive any sort of answer until the venerated wizard found time for him, so there wasn’t really much that he could do. He was just glad that Madam Pomfrey had decided that his vaccines couldn’t wait for the confusion to resolve itself.

For now, Harry’s wait for a conversation with Dumbledore continued.

Following their annoyance with Hermione for not revealing that her birthday had come and gone in September, Hannah and Parvati had insisted on learning when everyone’s birthday in the group was. Harry was pretty sure that the two girls were actively trying to maintain a list of the birthdays of every student in their year if not beyond, but hadn’t seen a reason to withhold his information, given that it was essentially a matter of public record.

Blaise’s birthday was the one that was up next, and it was on the last day of October, i.e. the same day as Halloween. They rest of them had tried to spend a bit of time together surreptitiously to figure out if they ought to throw him a birthday party and what kind of present he might enjoy, before the suave, dark-haired boy had sauntered up to them with his trademark smirk and announced, that observing a traditional Gaelic Samhain would be what he would most like for his birthday, since it would be his first time spending the day in England.

So, Harry had added researching traditional Gaelic customs to his ever-growing list of things to do. But surprisingly, some of the others apparently already had some ideas about what it entailed.

“My family holds a traditional annual feast every Samhain,” Draco had revealed. “Well, at least the adults observe it at any rate, mum and dad have never mandated my participation…but anyway, it’s one of the traditional annual customs to prepare for the coming winter, offer sacrifice to the powers beyond so that people and their livestock survive the harsh season and cleanse our homes by lighting ritualistic bonfires. Most traditional families still observe it, at least in private. It’s only during Dumbledore’s tenure at Hogwarts that it has completely been discontinued in favor of stupid muggle Halloween.”

“That’s not quite true,” Susan had surprised them all by immediately objecting to Draco’s version of events. “Samhain was a pagan ritual that, among other things, was erroneously rumored to have involved dabbling in necromancy since at this time of year the veil between the worlds is considered to be very thin! The ministry officially classified the Gaelic druid rituals involved in all four major events as a form of low-grade blood magic and only permitted its observations under ministry supervision and completely outlawed exposing children to these traditions without the explicit, informed consent of their parents. This happened back in the mid-forties, when fear of Grindelwald was at an all-time high in the country. I don’t think the headmaster had any choice in the matter of continuing to allow the observations of the traditions, since it would be nigh impossible to get the permission of every single magical guardian for every student at the school.”

She’d then fixed Draco with a glare and added, “I reckon your family is  allowed to observe it in private because your father counts as a Ministry official due to his title as a Lord of the Wizengamot. But we most certainly cannot have an actual Samhain ritual here! Not only would there be no ministry personnel to supervise it, but most of your guardians would also need to be informed and their consent obtained before it would even be legal for you to be exposed to it!”

“Um, actually Bones,” Pansy had pointed out, “I believe some of us are already familiar with the rituals. At least those of us from families who take pride in preserving and honoring the old ways.”

Before Susan could clap back at the thinly veiled insult, Hannah had spoken up timidly. “That, er, applies to me as well. We have attended a few Samhain and Beltane feasts at Hearthmere Hollow. Since it’s held right after a Wizengamot session, usually, the adults just wind up talking for hours about politics while the children kind of hang out waiting for the food to be served, but I think me, and Neville are both familiar with the rituals.”

“I’m sure my parents won’t mind providing their consent if I write to them and explain,” Tony had shrugged, curious to experience something new. Padma and Hermione had both nodded, seemingly echoing the sentiment. Parvati had just looked excited at the prospect of doing something gothic and witchy.

“It’s all a moot point!” Susan had said firmly. “No ministry supervision means no rituals! Blaise will just have to find a legal thing to do to celebrate his birthday.”

They’d abandoned the topic for the evening and turned back to focus on their assignments, but Harry had been left with a lot of curiosity and unanswered questions. If so many magical families still observed the old ways, perhaps some of the older students from traditional backgrounds might be able to share more. And pulling on that thread had ultimately led to their seventh-year prefect, Matthew Harvey, suggesting that he take his curiosity to Professor Flitwick’s office.

The ever-helpful professor had explained that the ministry requirements made it impossible to observe the traditional rituals on school grounds, but as a result, the school had come up with a compromise that wasn’t widely advertised. Students who presented signed consent form from their guardians were granted a special pass by their Heads of House and were allowed to accompany a member of the staff to the nearby village of Hogsmeade where the ritual was observed by several of the residing families. Usually only a handful of upper-year students were even interested in the rituals, but there honestly wasn’t a reason for younger students to be excluded.

Harry had shared this news with his crew excitedly and there had immediately been a flurry of letters dispatched to their various families seeking permission to attend and observe the upcoming Samhain ritual. Ron had looked very shifty upon being informed and had explained that his folks were staunchly anti-traditional, and he’d honestly been looking forward to attending the school’s Halloween feast instead. Harry had informed him that it was quite alright and that the rest of them could fill him in on everything they saw if he was interested in knowing. The redhead had looked so relieved that he wouldn’t be pressured into attending and that Harry and the rest wouldn’t think less of him for not wanting to attend, that it had nearly made Harry want to give him a hug. In some ways, Harry had mused while walking away, Ron was just as strongly influenced and affected by the opinions of people around him as Neville.

Since the requirement in this instance, was a signed consent from a guardian, and not necessarily a magical one, Harry had opted to by-pass the lingering confusion around who his magical guardian was and write to Aunt Petunia and was hoping that Professor Flitwick would accept her response. His missive itself had started with an explanation of the details of magical traditions that he and some of his classmates were curious to experience first-hand and tried to preempt most of her and Uncle Vernon’s likely follow up questions so as not to turn the process of receiving permission into a multi-stage correspondence. He’d also helpfully included excerpts from books containing somewhat vanilla explanations of the celebrations themselves, curated to not include anything that contained words like necromancy, rituals, paganism or anything else that might worry them. All in all, he thought he had done a good job of framing the event as one he was mostly academically curious about and the requirement for the permission only necessary since the tradition was observed outside of the school grounds. Both he and Dudley had lots of practice with mollifying their concerned guardians, so he was optimistic about the outcome.

While they waited for the various guardians to consent, they had other things to occupy their attention. One of which was Professor Quirrell acting even odder than what they had assumed was usual for him. Just like Harry, other folks had also seen him either entering the dungeons or exiting them at times where he should have been teaching classes. Granted that usually his absence from a classroom resulted in a higher standard of teaching, but it was becoming something of a pattern which Harry was rather astounded that none of the other faculty made a note of. But then again, he was after all attending a school whose headmaster was noticeably absent more often than not and seemed to rely very heavily on his deputy for the discharging of his duties, so perhaps it wasn’t that surprising that none of the other Professors had found anything to be suspicious of in the DADA instructor’s behavior.

Not only did Quirrell look notably shifty on the few instances where Harry or his friends had run into him emerging from the dungeons, but the weirdest encounter of all had been in a second-floor corridor near the haunted girls’ bathroom that Colton had advised them to avoid on their first day.

He had been on his way down to the Great Hall for lunch after attending Charms on a Friday (the rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had left ahead of him when Flitwick had asked him to hang back in order to get a tentative headcount of how many of his friends might be looking to attend Samhain at Hogsmeade so that he could give the other members of the staff a heads up) when Harry had stopped short just before making a turn, hearing retreating footsteps and a familiar stuttering mumble. Having no desire to have another close encounter with the strange professor, but being desperately curious to understand what was happening, he had not been able to keep from eavesdropping just a little bit.

“I-it’s t-t-t-t-too risky,” Quirrell seemed to be saying to someone. “Th-they might m-move it out of the c-castle if the chamber is op-opened.”

After a pause during which even Harry straining his ears as hard as possible was unable to hear something, Quirrell had responded to his inaudible companion.

“Th-thank you for giv-giving me this chance. I p-promise I will not dis-disappoint you a-again.”

Harry had had no idea what to make of it, and later that evening when he’d shared the story with the group, which had included Ron on that particular day, the redhead had been quick to connect the dots to his own satisfaction and present a theory.

“It’s Snape!” he’d yelped loudly enough to warrant an immediate rebuke from Madam Pince and a glare from Hermione (“It’s Professor Snape!”).

“Here we go again,” Padma had rolled her eyes and sighed theatrically while Tony had edged away from the rest of them, so as not to let his studies be derailed by whatever discussion was about to take place. “So far you have suspected Professor Snape of trying to sabotage the Gryffindor Quidditch teams’ practice sessions, of trying to poison his students during his classes and of…what was it again, ah right! Of being a vampire! Please do share your obviously unbiased opinion regarding why you think that he’s somehow masquerading as Professor Quirrell.”

“He practically lives in a dungeon, is super pale and never goes out into the sunlight!” Ron had said with a huff. “I’m telling you he is a Vampire, and one day you’ll all be impressed that I pieced it together.”

“But I’m not saying he is Quirrell,” he’d gathered his thoughts before continuing (“Professor Quirrell, Ron!”), “I’m saying he’s manipulating or blackmailing him!”

He’d met five pairs of dubious eyes defiantly, since Neville had quietly followed Anthony’s lead and it was just Harry, Hermione, Padma and the Hufflepuffs who were still participating in the conversation and proceeded to explain. “He’s always disappearing into the dungeons, because Snape makes him report to him about-about whatever he’s making him do, the reason Harry couldn’t hear the other bloke’s response in the corridor is cause Snape (“I’m warning you Ronald! It's Professor Snape! Honestly, why is it so hard for you to use their honorifics?”) is always doing that creepy whisper thing in his classes and is clearly very good at it!”

He'd stared around the table triumphantly, as if he had unveiled some sort of smoking gun and been greeted with extremely unimpressed gazes.

“Are you quite sure that your notes on the Levitation Charm are correct, Harry?” Hermione had asked pointedly moving the conversation away and refusing to grace Ron’s latest crackpot theory with a response. “Miranda Goshawk, clearly stresses the importance of the correct wand movement and the proper pronunciation of the incantation…”

Since everyone except the Gryffindors ultimately agreed that whatever was up with Quirrell (or Snape) was at the end of the day no concern of theirs, they had let the matter drop. But unlike this particular subject, some problems were not as easily ignored.

Harry had been content to studiously ignore the aura of animosity towards him that Runcorn and Yaxley appeared to have adopted, but ever since he’d learned about the incident with Neville’s Remembrall, he no longer felt that turning the other cheek was a viable course of action.

So, these days the glares and sneers that he got from the two Slytherins were being returned with interest, and Harry hoped that eventually they’d get the message that he would fight back if they tried anything that targeted him or his friends. Thus far, it had not proved to have had any effect. And it also didn’t help that Hannah, Neville and Padma, three out of the five of his friends who had noticed his change in body language around the duo, did not approve.

“Escalation is not the answer,” Hannah kept telling him after every such instance of Harry engaging in a new glaring contest with Runcorn or Yaxley, quoting almost verbatim from Slinkhard’s ‘Defensive Magical Theory’ and a chapter dedicated to peaceful de-escalation of hostilities. Padma instead simply pointed out that not ignoring them would most probably prove to them that he cared about their vendetta and was likely to give them more fuel to keep it going for longer. Neville just looked uncomfortable and tried to make himself scarce when these situations recurred.

Susan and Ron on the other hand, were approving of his new stance, one silently and the other vocally. Blaise merely seemed amused (if not downright entertained) with this latest development.

It all came to a head on a Thursday afternoon, when after having spent three hours in Herbology learning how to turn dragon dung into manure, missing most of lunch to get a change of clothes and a quick shower to get rid of the persistent stink, and having to sit through another of Quirrell’s stuttering lecture Harry was forced to endure Professor Johnston’s ministry approved drivel on Magical Theory. He kept a cool head throughout the class and was torn between skipping tea to get some sleep prior to the night’s Astronomy practical or excusing himself from the evening’s study session as he accompanied the rest of the students out of the large classroom, when someone bumped into him from behind with a fair bit of force.

He stumbled heavily into Neville who had been just ahead of him and barely kept his feet as his less physically adept friend tumbled to the floor. He turned around with a scowl to see Yaxley’s smug and unrepentant grin inches from his face.

“Do watch where you’re going Potter,” the burly boy drawled, sounding awfully pleased with himself. “Longbottom has enough to worry about without you trying to knock him to the ground. And here I thought you two were friends.”

Harry was dimly aware that there were various people all around them who were watching and forced himself not to react. He directed a wordless glare at Yaxley, noting that Nott and Runcorn were right behind him, with the normally impassive skinny boy looking almost uncomfortable while his adoptive sister sneered, and deliberately turned around to help Neville up.

As he did so, he caught the hissed words that had likely been meant for his hearing alone.

“Spineless, just like your pathetic parents.”

Harry whipped around so fast that he was sure his robes had lashed against nearby bystanders, but suddenly his wand was in his hand, there was blood pounding in his ears, and he held an abruptly surprised looking Yaxley by the collar.

The immediate outcry from the watching students instantly drew the attention of a nearby faculty member, who, given that this had happened right outside his classroom, was Professor Johnston.

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Potter!” he announced from the doorway that he’d just thrown open on hearing the commotion and brandishing his walking stick in Harry’s direction. “If you’re incapable of following the minimum expectations of decorum and discipline that the school expects from you, then perhaps you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near civilized people!”

It was so patently unfair that Harry nearly screamed in frustration. But thankfully, Neville, in an unexpected moment of brilliance, or perhaps through a happy accident, trod heavily on his toe and made him lose his balance along with his train of thought.

As the crowd of students scattered towards their various common rooms, and Harry tried to regain some feeling in his toes, he heard Runcorn quietly whisper something in his direction.

“Quick to draw your wand against a helpless opponent, yeah?” she said contempt oozing from every syllable. “If you really have the stones for a fair fight, come down to the trophy room at midnight tomorrow for a proper Wizard’s Duel. We’ll see how long you last before eating dirt.”

This time around Harry kept his temper in much better control and merely held her glare with one of his own before nodding almost imperceptibly as he accepted the challenge. If they thought they could get the better of him in a fight, his inner Gryffindor seemed to snarl, they had another thing coming to them. He straightened up as Runcorn adopted the familiar annoying smirk that seemed to be the only expression she was capable of making aside from the trademark sneer and turned away to join Nott and Yaxley as they left the corridor.

“Harry,” Padma said immediately. Aside from his friends there didn’t seem to be a lot of other folks still hanging around. They’d probably left for tea and to begin spreading gossip about the altercation, he thought bitterly. “You cannot seriously be considering doing this. Leaving aside the fact that they’re clearly trying to set you up for something, you have no experience with dueling, no reason to break curfew and most definitely nothing to gain from doing this!”

Harry finally remembered to enter a meditative trance in order to calm this sudden fit of rage. Within a few seconds, the ringing in his ears had faded and he was breathing much more easily. He could also now see the sense in Padma’s words and gave her a stiff nod of acknowledgement. The tension in the group dissipated ever so slightly and they all collectively began to head towards the Great Hall for tea, all thoughts of taking a nap temporarily gone from their minds.

As they split up to head towards their respective house tables, he felt a tiny tug on his sleeve and turned his head to see Ron standing very close and pretending to fidget with the strap of his backpack while deliberately not looking at him.

“I’ll be your second for the duel,” he muttered into his own collar before straightening up and following Hermione and Neville towards the Gryffindor table, leaving Harry equal parts surprised and grateful. He hastily looked around to see if anyone else had been close enough to hear the redhead’s comment and saw two people staring right back at him with. Susan was eyeing him with grim determination while Blaise, much further away, was looking quietly contemplative instead of sporting his usual expression of amiable nonchalance.

Harry ignored them both and forced himself to walk slowly to his own house table. As much as he knew Padma had been right, he didn’t think he had it in himself to back away from a challenge he’d accepted. And he was glad that he had people to watch his back.

All through tea, dinner, their study session that evening, and the Astronomy Practical lesson which was the only other class that all the houses attended together, Harry kept drawing glances that ranged from curious to worried, from the rest of the students. Some folks seemed to be wondering how he’d react to the incident from the afternoon, while others seemed to be genuinely concerned that he was a lunatic that was prone to violence. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he felt that the rumors of the altercation had reached the teaching staff as well, and he did his best to ignore what seemed to be more than the usual number of stares that were being directed towards him, even from the professors. It was with some relief that he finally collapsed into his bed late at night, grateful that the trying day had finally concluded, and still being no closer to figuring out what he would be doing the following evening.

His mood was brightened considerably at breakfast the next morning when Snark flew in with the rest of the owl post bearing the response from Aunt Petunia that he had been watching for. He hurriedly slit open the envelope with his bread knife as Tony grimaced in distaste and shook it out to reveal a letter and a smaller note that was a signed consent form.

“Yes!” he hissed, pumping the air and causing Padma to look up sharply from the paper she had just unrolled with a questioning gaze.

“They said yes,” Harry grinned at her in explanation, holding up the permission slip for inspection. Padma gave him a small smile, nodded and returned her attention to her copy of the day’s Prophet.

Harry shrugged at his excitement not being echoed to the same degree and quickly scanned the main letter that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had penned.

There were the usual updates about how Dudley was getting along as Smeltings. They guessed that his next letter for Harry would arrive soon, and they’d enclose it with their next owl post to him. There were the usual queries about how he was getting along at Hogwarts, and additional questions about magical traditions, following Harry’s latest missive and the usual updates about what was new with them, Privet Drive or Grunnings. Apparently Uncle Vernon would soon be heading Southwest for some kind of biannual conference for Regional Managers, and since it would be an event lasting two weeks Aunt Petunia would be tagging along. They’d asked if Harry could also take care of Snark during that time, since they didn’t want to have him fend for himself for such a long duration. Harry doubted that would be an issue and he told Snark to make himself at home at the Hogwarts owlery when his aunt and uncle left for their trip. Aunt Petunia had also asked if he remembered the Merryweathers, who had apparently visited them about four and a half years ago, as they had kindly offered to host them during the trip, and Harry could send a message via Hedwig or Snark, in case any sort of emergency came up during their trip.

Harry blinked at that. Then stared at the letter for a long moment, his breakfast temporarily forgotten as he slowly dredged up a half-forgotten memory from the depths of his mind…from the evening when he had first demonstrated magic.

Merryweathers, the family that had come by for dinner, whose young daughter had been unable to keep herself from staring at him…the young daughter who styled her blond hair in a braid. What was she, about eleven or twelve at the time? And she was attending a boarding school somewhere in the Scottish Highlands? A school with a lake on its grounds? And a village that students were allowed to visit on weekends when they were older?

What had the school been called again? ‘Howards Institute’ wasn’t it? The same name that Professor McGonagall had provided when he’d written to her.

How old would the Merryweather girl be now, about fifteen or sixteen? Harry wondered, his mind racing as his eyes scanned the far end of the Hufflepuff table and eventually found Sarah, who was sharing a joke with Orsino. He superimposed the hazy mental image of the young girl who’d come to dinner with her parents onto the sixth-year Hufflepuff prefect and decided that it was a match.

She must have recognized him based on his name and appearance, even back then, he realized slowly. Hence the strange behavior during that dinner party. Understandable, since back then his scar and green eyes had always been on full display. But why hadn’t she said something when they met on the train? Or frankly at any point since? It was almost like she had no recollection of having met him before. Surely she wouldn’t have forgotten the whole thing altogether after having such a strong reaction, right?

“Hogwarts to Harry!” Tony said, poking him in the side. “You still with us? We’re gonna be late for Transfiguration if we don’t get going soon. And you might end up losing your status as McGonagall's pet, and then what would even be the point of existing?”

“Don’t mind him, Harry,” Parvati’s voice added as Harry shook himself out of the stupor he’d inadvertently sunk into. Since Transfiguration was taught jointly to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, she’d come over to their table to walk with her sister to their common destination. “He’s just jealous. But just out of idle curiosity, which pretty little Badger were you checking out just now, hmm? If it’s anyone in our year, I can put in a good word!”

“It-it’s nothing,” Harry said, for once not rising to the bait, his mind still dwelling on Sarah. “C’mon, let’s head to class.”

The classes managed to distract him from his musings easily enough, and he tried to ignore Ron’s frequent glances at him throughout the class. Eventually he managed to find a moment while on their way down to lunch, when no one else was close by, and whisper to the boy that he still hadn’t made up his mind but would let him know sometime before the end of the day.

After lunch, they had Charms, once again with the Gryffindors, and this time Ron held it together much better. In fact, aside from Neville, everyone else finally succeeded in successfully casting the Levitation Charm, and even Professor Flitwick was baffled why the blond boy wasn't able to do it despite using the correct wand movements and accurate incantation. Harry cursed himself and made a mental note to talk to Neville about inspecting his wand soon.

The last class of the day was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and Susan gave him a single meaningful and searching look to which Harry responded with a complicated shrug that honestly even he wasn’t sure conveyed that he was still trying to make up his mind. But she let the matter drop and focused on wrapping up the final lesson of the week while getting as little manure on their clothes as possible.

It wasn’t until a commotion broke out over tea that he finally made up his mind.

The Weasley twins had a bit of a reputation in school that they did their absolute best to embrace and enhance. They liked to think of themselves as merry pranksters that lived to entertain and spice up an otherwise dull and boring life in a magical castle. And being proud members of Gryffindor along with a long line of Weasleys past, more frequently than not, their pranks tended to target students from Slytherins.

This afternoon was no different. A few minutes after most of the students and staff had filed in after the conclusion of the day’s classes, there was a short scream from the Slytherin table that caused most heads in the hall to turn.

A group of students, probably fourth-years, right at the center of the table were recoiling in horror as their skin turned green and their hair silver.

Harry watched the scene unfold as Professors descended upon the affected students and began to try and reverse the spells. The other Slytherins had frozen, afraid to touch anything on their table, and some seemed to be rallying around to try and assist their housemates. Most of the Gryffindor students were laughing their heads off at the tableau, while the majority of the folks at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables looked on with mixed emotions that ranged from casual indifference to mild concern or academic curiosity.

Harry wasn’t sure where exactly the line was supposed to be between harmless jest and hurtful bullying but given the glares that some of the still giggling Lions were receiving from the other side of the hall, there would be some manner of retaliation for the ‘prank’. And the cycle of ever escalating ‘practical jokes’ would likely continue.

He observed impassively while Snape and McGonagall restored the normal complexions and hair colors to the students, while Flitwick swept the table for any more contaminated products and Sprout reamed out Fred and George Weasley (who after being questioned on account of being the usual suspects, had made no attempt to deny their handiwork) and put them in detention. The twins didn’t look at all apologetic, and somehow seemed to accept the punishment like it was a badge of honor that they were proud to have earned.

He noticed that Percy, Hermione and a small handful of other Gryffindor students seemed to have not joined in the general glee at their house table, but they were clearly in the minority and the retaliation from the Snakes would likely be indiscriminate.

Harry made up his mind to at least try and not enter into a similar cycle of mutual dislike that would feed upon itself and continue to grow. Yesterday had been a bad day from start to finish, and he’d been ignoring his occlumency exercises for the last month, having had to focus on so many other things. He was eleven, and it was understood that he was bound to make mistakes once in a while, but he still had a choice regarding whether to let those mistakes shape his dynamics with the people around him.

It probably wouldn’t work if he was a no-show to the scheduled ‘duel’, he mused. But he could show up and be the mature one, apologize for having lost his temper the day before and have a heart to heart and ask to wipe the slate clean. He didn’t know if it would work or if logical arguments or appeals to sensibilities even stood a chance against ingrained animosity, but he wanted to at least try before things got any worse.

He pulled out a notebook from his backpack, which he still used for most of his personal notes instead of the more commonly used parchment scrolls that were used for assignments and official schoolwork, and ripping out a sheet wrote down the words ‘Entrance Hall, 11:30’, once on the top half and once on the bottom half of the page, before tearing the page into two and stowing both halves into his pocket. Somewhere between now and the end of their study session, he was sure he'd find an opportunity to pass the notes to Susan and Ron. And hopefully, half an hour would be enough to convince them that what he had in mind was a more noble and wise thing to do than to try and curb stomp their classmates over their disagreements.

“All I’m saying is,” Susan said stiffly as Ron peered around the corner into the corridor up ahead to scan it for a patrolling teacher, prefect or the caretaker’s cat. “Don’t expect them to play nice just because you want to take the high road.”

They were making their way cautiously towards the trophy room, which was located on one of the upper floors of the castle. Harry had wanted to meet at the entrance hall which was as far away from the place as possible, not only because it was the place where most students tended to arrive from whichever corner of the school their common room was situated in and thus was the obvious choice for any inter-house rendezvous, but he also wanted to make use of the time it took for them all to reach the agreed upon ‘dueling venue’, to try and convince them to follow his lead in this...should his initial pitch be met with a lot of resistance.

It had, and the additional time had been necessary to coerce the duo into a grudging agreement. Harry was absolutely certain that both Ron and Susan completely expected Yaxley and Runcorn to utterly disregard Harry’s planned attempt to negotiate a truce and were simply preparing for the worst. He himself didn’t have a lot of hope in that regard either if he was being honest, but he really did want to at least try before the dynamics deteriorated any further.

He wondered if Padma would find his reasoning compelling enough to overlook the fact that he had still sneaked out of bed, violated curfew, kept things from the rest of them and dragged others into this. The best-case scenario, he assumed, was that everything went swimmingly, and she never had to find out…but the die was cast, and there was no turning back now.

“Oh, grazie a Dio, that I caught up to you! You must turn back!” Blaise’s voice from behind them made all three of them nearly jump out of their skins as they whipped around with wands raised as the dark-haired boy slid to a halt, sounding out of breath.

“What? Why?” Susan asked urgently, lowering her wand while Harry noted, Ron deliberately did not follow suit.

“Because, the bastardo set you up!” Blaise wheezed. “All three of them are holed up in the common room! They had no intention of showing up to your duel and have tipped off the caretaker that students are intending to break curfew and be at the trophy room at midnight!”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. He didn’t know if he felt angry at having been played for a fool, or disappointed that he wouldn’t even get a chance to mend some fences. “Are you sure about this, Blaise?”

“Theo, or Nott, as you call him, slipped me a note explaining what the plan was,” Blaise said, sounding a little less breathless. “I reckon he wasn’t particularly keen on a duel or the deception either. It’s a lot to expect him to openly split with his adoptive sister, but he tried to do the right thing in his own way.”

“Ok, I trust you,” Harry nodded with a tired sigh. “You two can tell me later how I was an idiot all along, but for tonight let's head back without getting caught out of bed by Mr. Filch.”

They turned around, each dealing with a varying set of emotions and immediately froze as they came face to face with Mrs. Norris.

“Ah, damn it!” Ron swore. “Um-nice kitty, we’re just um-just heading back see?”

The cat regarded them with a far too intelligent gaze for a feline and with a loud yowl, promptly took off past them in the direction they had been heading in. The same direction where the trophy room was. As in, the place where the caretaker was most likely waiting to apprehend them.

They exchanged a look.

“Run!” Harry yelled as he shook off his stupor and took off at a dash back the way they’d come. He could hear the footsteps behind him indicating that the others were following and focused on putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the caretaker, his cat and the blasted trophy room.

He descended stairs two or three at a time, barely keeping from tumbling ass over teakettle in his haste, sprinting along unfamiliar corridors and along unknown passages without any fixed destination in mind. He could always rely on Hogwarts leading them to familiar areas later, but for now they just needed to get somewhere far away where Mr. Filch or Mrs. Norris would be unlikely to give chase.

He’d lost count of how many floors they’d descended when an open door to his right caught his eye and without a second thought he charged right into it, closely followed by Blaise, Ron and Susan. It seemed to be a long corridor with no portraits or torches and only a handful of high, narrow windows overlooking the greenhouses and a single exit at the far end, and hesitating only a moment Harry sprinted towards it and tried to push it open.

It swung open easily as his shoulder came into contact with the surface and he stumbled through and barely managed to keep on his feet.

He looked around himself and his breath suddenly hitched, which had nothing to do with having sprinted down several floors.

He’d emerged into a massive high-ceilinged room that logically should never have fit within the castle. The space was completely bare of any furniture, paintings or even windows. The only exit from this area seemed to be the door he’d just barged through.

And standing at the very center of this dark dimly lit space, regarding him and the other three right behind (who’d just barely managed to stop at the threshold) with the kind of curiosity that a cat might regard a mouse that had waltzed into its box with, was a gigantic three headed dog of titanic proportions.

Fear and survival instinct was already making Harry back away before his conscious thoughts had quite finished processing and accepting that there was a literal hellhound being housed in a school full of children. He spotted the instant when the majority opinion of the cerberus’ three heads shifted from surprise to rage and just about managed to throw himself back through the door which was pulled shut by Susan an instant before a heavy impact on the other side of the door shook the walls and outlined just how narrow his escape had been.

“You know,” Ron said in an eerily calm manner that most likely meant he was about to go into shock, “if that door had been a pull instead of a push, we’d be a hellhound’s chew toy right now.”

Chapter Text

October 1991

To say that there had been a lot to discuss over the following weekend would be an understatement of massive proportions.

They’d spent a long time in the corridor leading to the cerberus’ room, unsure if they were safe enough from the beast and whether it was safe enough to exit. They’d eventually decided to brave the risk of being expelled over the certainty of being eviscerated and sneaked out. But not before they’d had a moment to discuss what they’d observed.

“What the hell do they think they’re playing at, keeping that-that thing locked up in there where anyone could stumble across it?” Susan had hyperventilated.

“This is the third-floor corridor,” Ron had remarked, looking around after risking a peek out of the other end of the corridor, the one that led back to the rest of the castle and not towards a monster straight out of mythology. He was still eerily calm and not really reacting to their close brush with a painful death, and it was putting both Harry and Blaise slightly ill at ease. “I reckon the whole smokescreen with renovations was the headmaster’s idea of a boring enough cover story that no one would question or be curious enough to investigate. And it mostly seems to have worked as well; we have no reports of dead or digested students, and we ourselves only ended up here by accident.”

“Er-Ron?” Harry had asked nervously, while exchanging a worried glance with Blaise.

“I don’t give a toss about what cover story they came up with!” Susan had snarled, interrupting him. “I want to know why! What possible reason can there be that justifies housing a monster like that in a school full of kids!”

“Probably because of whatever it’s guarding,” Ron had shrugged and spotted their confused expressions. “Ah, did none of you notice what it had been standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry had asked, confused. “Sorry, was a bit too focused on its heads…there were three of them in case you didn’t notice.”

“A trapdoor,” Ron had explained calmly. “It’s most likely guarding something. Some sort of secret passage or some expensive or dangerous artifact, if I were to guess. But I’m more curious about why there weren’t a few repelling or locking charms on the doors. Even my mum knows to put some up when she doesn’t want us to sneak into the pantry for midnight snacks and the like. But one of the doors leading up here was left wide open, and the other just sprang ajar at your touch. So, either it’s a very strange oversight on the part of Dumbledore, hah, I almost sense Hermione mumble ‘Professor Dumbledore’ in her sleep somewhere far away, or…someone probably broke into that room before us, and possibly not too long ago. Given the lack of bloodstains or entrails in the room, they were either swallowed whole or managed to get away just like us. I think I might be talking a little more than I normally do, aren’t I? Say, Harry, you don’t suppose I’m in shock, do you?”

He’d then proceeded to faint, and Harry had only barely managed to catch him before his head struck the stones below.

That had helped them focus up again, and after more whispered discussions about Ron’s observations while they waited for the Gryffindor to come around, they’d finally deemed it safe enough to risk returning to their common rooms.

Susan had gone off with Blaise, since both the Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms were located in the dungeons, while Ron and Harry had headed towards their respective house towers. Harry had made it back without any major issues, just having to dodge Peeves once while the Poltergeist had been painting crude signs on a tapestry depicting a wizard attempting to teach trolls how to dance, and by the time he had snuck into his dorm room and slipped into bed (thankfully tonight’s riddle had been an easy and borderline silly one: ‘What word is spelled incorrectly in every dictionary?’), it was barely two in the morning. He’d probably be feeling the aftereffects of tonight’s exertions tomorrow, but it was frankly his own fault for having stopped keeping up with his usual morning routine.

Now that he thought of it, it was the second time in as many days that he’d had a reminder that keeping on top of his old training might prove useful. Continuing with his occlumency exercise would likely have stopped him from losing his temper the previous afternoon, and keeping up with his fencing exercises and running would probably have prevented him from getting so out of breath after the mad dash away from Mrs. Norris tonight.

The occlumency conundrum was easily solved, he could spend some time in the privacy of his four-poster every night, performing the exercises and centering himself, cataloging his memories and organizing his thoughts and emotions. But the running might be a little trickier. Maybe he could go for a run around the Black Lake early in the morning? He hadn’t heard anyone say anything about it being forbidden or anything, but it might be a good idea to check with Hagrid before putting the plan into motion. But the first order of business would be to explain what they’d discovered tonight to the rest of their friends and deal with their reactions.

And so it was that about half an hour after everyone had eaten their fill at breakfast, Harry and his friends were all lounging on the shores of the Black Lake, looking across the ever-calm water at the castle in the distance. Unusually, the group today included Ron as well as the Slytherins, even Draco, who were seated as far away from each other as possible and pretending that the other didn’t exist.

“Huh, so there might be hope for Nott after all,” Pansy commented once they’d heard the full story from the four survivors of the previous night’s debacle, clearly choosing to focus, according to Harry, on the less important thing.

“Really?” Hermione asked incredulously, and Harry silently echoed the sentiment. “That’s what you’re focusing on? They could have been killed, or worse expelled!” Harry quietly took back that sense of agreement.

Padma put up her hand to stave off the impending bickering.

“Harry,” she said, leveling him with a cool stare. “I appreciate that your intent had been to smooth things over instead of escalating the feud, but it was still a stupid thing to do, and I’m disappointed that you didn’t tell the rest of us.”

Harry nodded, accepting this and muttering a sincere apology. Honestly, he really should have been more transparent about his plans with his friends, so this accusation was fair.

“But I agree, the big surprise isn't your lack of trust in us, or the fact that those two played you like a fiddle and nearly landed you in hot water,” she continued. “It’s the fact that there is apparently a quintuple-X rated monster living in the school.”

“What’s quintuple?” Harry heard Ron ask Parvati in a tiny whisper.

“We must ask one of the professors about this!” Hermione said, apparently not having heard Ron. “I’m sure they’ll be able to tell us what that beast is doing here and improve security, so students don’t wind up stumbling upon it by accident.”

“You’re not being serious right now, surely?” Pansy sneered at her, and Harry was immediately aware that Susan and Ron both bristled a bit. “That thing was being kept undisclosed for a reason. Marching up to the folks who were aware of it and telling them we’ve uncovered their secret not only lands all four of them in hot water, but it also potentially gets us obliviated!”

“What’s-what’s ‘obliviated’?” Harry asked, confused.

“It’s a type of memory charm that, well, removes specific memories from a person,” Draco explained. “Ministry officials use them on muggles who’ve accidentally witnessed magical creatures, spells or effects.”

“I’ve read about those!” Harry exclaimed, remembering. “They’ve always sounded…wrong to me. You think they might really consider using it on students to keep the cerberus a secret?”

“They actually might, Harry,” Padma said thoughtfully. “A cerberus is equivalent to a dragon or a chimera in terms of the threat they pose to untrained individuals. Which would basically be every single student at school. Whatever the reason behind the secrecy of housing one at Hogwarts, it is apparently important enough for them to risk a mishap of truly catastrophic proportions. I think they might genuinely consider that removing the memories of the folks who know about it an acceptable alternative to being exposed.”

“I can, write to my aunt,” Susan began in the same instant as Draco suggested writing to his father, before they both paused and looked at each other.

“Why are we considering snitching as our only option?” Parvati asked before Harry could weigh in on Susan and Draco’s suggestion. “We could at least do a little more digging and try to figure out why that thing is there before we run to someone and start blabbing, yes? I mean, for all we know, our correspondence might be intercepted, and we could wind up getting memory wiped anyway…so at the very least we could do some investigating and keep this to ourselves until we are ready to tell parents or guardians about this in person when we see them over Christmas, or something.”

“And by that time,” Blaise added slowly, “we might have learned enough to make a more educated decision on whether this might not just be a secret that we may want to help keep.”

Harry looked around uncertainly. His feelings seemed to be mirrored in the expressions of Draco, Tony, Susan, Hermione and Hannah. But Blaise and Parvati’s idea seemed to have gone down well with Ron, Padma and Pansy. Neville was staring off across the lake with a distracted expression.

“What do you think Nev?” he called out to the boy, who was startled out of his musings.

“I-I wish we hadn’t found out about this,” he mumbled miserably, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “My gran always says that kn-knowledge is power, but insufficient knowledge is immensely dangerous.”

“That sounds like an argument in favor of finding out more, mio amico,” Blaise said gently, placing a consoling hand on Neville’s shoulder. “But so long as we don’t reveal what we know, or the fact that we know anything at all to anyone outside of this group, we should be fine, yes?”

Neville nodded hesitantly, and most of the others followed suit. Harry noticed that Hermione still looked unconvinced and seemed to be chewing her lip nervously and patted her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out together, Hermione, and then depending on what we suspect we can go to the professors or Draco’s dad or Susan’s aunt.”

She finally nodded too, before taking a deep breath and switching gears and becoming much more focused. “So, what do we know and where and how do we start digging?”

“Figuring out who else knows of the creature, might be a good start,” Hannah mused. “Dumbledore definitely knows I guess, but I doubt that every other member of the staff is in on whatever is going on as well. Perhaps some of us could take turns watching the entrance to the corridor and keep track of who goes in?”

“Makes sense,” Tony agreed. “They have to keep something like that fed, I would assume. So, folks must be going in there with-with dog-food or something.”

“So long as they don’t take it for walks out in the castle’s hallways, I suppose.” Draco muttered.

“Nah, there’s no risk of that,” Blaise cheerfully interjected. “It’s far too big to even fit in most halls.”

“Not helping Blaise,” Susan rolled her eyes. “But that brings up an interesting question. If people are wrangling the beast, there must be some ways of controlling even a monster like that. Perhaps some of us should look into it, just in case?”

“I can focus on that,” Padma volunteered. “Hermione and I are better at research than the rest of you, so we could concentrate on that aspect of it.”

“Perfect,” Susan grinned. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“There might be one other thing,” Parvati said slowly. “Padma, do you remember that article you showed me over the summer? The one where the reporter was speculating that Gringotts might have been robbed? I think it was somewhere around the first week of July.”

“I think I recall it vaguely,” Padma responded, frowning. “What about it?”

“The article cited some dubious unverified sources who claimed that the vault that was targeted had been emptied earlier that same day,” Parvati said. “I mean it’s all conjecture of course, there isn’t even any concrete evidence that there ever was a robbery, aside from reports and rumors of the goblins being extra paranoid and such. But considering that this seems to be the first time Hogwarts has cordoned off an area of the castle, misled the students about why this was being done to keep them away from it, and secretly installed a guardian cerberus there to stand watch over a trapdoor, and all of this has happened just weeks after the rumor of a freshly emptied vault being broken into…perhaps whatever wealth or artifact that was almost stolen from Gringotts is now being guarded by Dumbledore and the teaching staff out here?”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “That’s quite a bit of a stretch, but we hear much worse from Ron about Professor Snape every week. So, how do we go about proving it?”

“I can write home for a copy of the paper,” Parvati said slowly. “Maybe we can reach out to the reporter who wrote that article and find out more?”

“I can write to auntie,” Susan said and immediately silenced the protests that were about to interrupt her by glaring at the perpetrators. “Not about the thing, you idiots! I could just say I’m interested in this supposed Gringotts heist since some of my friends mentioned it and see if the DMLE had received any more information that wasn’t available in the papers.”

“I can ask dad,” Draco volunteered. “Pansy and Hannah can too, I think. People on the Wizengamot hear a fair bit more than the public.”

“Can’t hurt,” Harry shrugged, before turning serious again. “But let us be careful about what we put into writing. I get the feeling that folks who might genuinely consider memory wiping children may not be above reading other people’s correspondence either.”

The sound of an excited bark from somewhere not too far from them distracted the attention of the group, and a few moments later Neville was being bowled over by a slobbering Fang, who was thrilled as ever to see him. Harry knew where Fang was, Hagrid would not be far behind and hurriedly cast a warning glance at the rest of the students, trying to convey to them that the discussion would have to be picked up at a later time.

Sure enough, less than a minute later, a looming shadow fell across the patch of grass they were seated on, and Hagrid’s cheerful booming voice had joined Fang’s happy yaps.

“Mornin’ yeh lot!” He grinned as he spotted the group. “Figured the secon’ Fang bolted off, that yeh all migh’ be somewhere nearby. Lovely day ter get outta the castle and-oh hullo, didn’ realize there was more of yeh than usual.”

Harry watched as Hagrid’s normally kind eyes hardened a bit as they landed on the Slytherin. Ah there was that prejudice again, he thought sadly. He kind of understood it when it came from immature children, but it really was unfortunate when grown adults, who were otherwise so compassionate and nice, couldn’t seem to see past it either. Maybe it was the fact that he had tried and failed to do the right thing the night before, or maybe his slacking in occlumency practices had made him much more impulsive, but before even he fully realized what he was doing, he was speaking out in defense of his friends.

“They’re all my friends, Hagrid,” he said in an even voice. “I really ought to have introduced them to you sooner, I think.” Before the big man could respond or make up an excuse to slip away, he continued. “This is Draco, he’s also my cousin through his mom’s side. That’s Pansy and that’s Blaise. And these are Ron and Parvati. They’re some of my closest friends at school.” He finished firmly. And immediately continued, still not giving Hagrid a chance to speak.

“Everyone, this is Hagrid,” he turned to the gathered folks, some of whom looked a tiny bit uncomfortable. “I mean, some of you lot know him already. But he’s the keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts and has a simply encyclopedic knowledge of every type of magical creature that lives out here or in the forests. Last month he took us out to see unicorns! Did you know their foals are completely golden until they mature?”

Hagrid, who had seemed just as uncomfortable when Harry had started to speak, seemed to have been sufficiently distracted by the praise and seemed to be blushing slightly.

“They turn silver from gold before they turn white,” he corrected with a mumble. “But somehow, they’re even brighter an’ glowin’ in their adult form than when they have the metallic coats. Um, it’s er-nice ter meet yeh all.”

Harry had never been more thankful for Blaise’s company as the dark-haired boy immediately launched into a myriad questions regarding unicorns, their characteristics, the herd that Hagrid monitored in the forest and soon Hagrid had joined the children on the grass and was happily answering his queries with an indulgent grin and his typical, unexpectedly, detailed insights.

Never one to shy away from gathering more knowledge of any sort, Padma, Tony and Hermione were drawn into the conversation soon, and most of the tension seemed to have dissipated. Harry thought he caught a contemplative look on Pansy’s and Draco’s faces as they regarded the giant man in his moleskin overcoat, but they both remained polite and courteous whenever either of them made an observation or commented on what the others were discussing.

Harry tore his focus away from Hagrid discussing some of the properties of wands that used unicorn hair as their cores, to see how the rest of them were doing. Parvati seemed to be in the middle of a separate quiet discussion with Susan and Hannah, and Harry hoped that they were discussing something other than the cerberus in the room. Neville was talking to Ron in a similarly quiet voice while scratching Fang behind his ears as the massive boarhound lay with its head in his lap. He smiled and dialed back into Hagrid’s impromptu lecture, feeling pleased with himself at how easy it was to nudge people to get past at least some of their inherent biases.

“-nah, I don’ reckon it’s possible fer a unicorn ter ever let someone ride ‘em,” he was saying with a chuckle, in response to someone’s question. “Yeh’ll have more luck convincin’ a centaur ter give yeh a lift…and that’s sayin’ somethin’. Nah, among the magical creatures in the forest, I reckon thestrals might be the only ones who wouldn’ mind takin’ a passenger. I’ve got ‘em real tame over the years, an’ we get ‘em ter draw the school carriages when folks go inter the village. They’re mighty intelligent creatures, that get a slightly bad reputation ‘cause of the whole death thing yeh know. But offer ‘em a bit of raw meat, an’ they’ll take yeh wherever yeh want ter go.”

“Death thing?” Hermione asked, sounding a little nervous. “What death thing?”

“Ah, yeh see,” Hagrid chuckled, completely at ease. “Thestrals are invisible ter a lot of people. Kind of like Dementors aren’ visible ter mugg-mundane people.” He corrected with a quick look at Harry. “But it’s different with thestrals, ‘cause er-the only folks who can see thestrals are folks who have seen death.”

There was a moment’s silence as the rest of them absorbed this.

“By ‘seen’ death, you mean,” Blaise began very slowly and carefully. “Seen the Grim Reaper?”

“Wha’? No!” Hagrid admonished immediately. “Seen death as in, seen someone pass away.” He paused. “An’ been old enough ter understand what it meant.”

“That’s bloody creepy,” Ron whispered. Evidently the other conversations had also been interrupted by the lore dump on thestrals.

Hagrid smiled sadly as Hermione chided Ron for his language. “Tha’s the unfortunate reaction most folks have, see? It’s not their fault how magic has shaped ‘em. They’re completely harmless an’ practically shy. It also doesn’ help that there are rumors that some of the most feared witches an’ wizards of the past used wands whose core was made of thestral hair. Folks think of the death an’ destruction they caused an’ imagine a connection with death an’ thestrals.”

He looked around them all again and sighed at their less than reassured expressions. “Ah well, I’ve rather put a dampener on the mood there haven’ I? Well, I’m afraid I had better be off at any rate. Gotta go an’ check on a colony of puffskeins. A couple of ‘em might’ve gotten ill, not sure wha’ it is but need ter make sure they ain’t contagious an’ the like. But stop by fer tea sometime…all of yeh. An’ I promise I’ll talk ‘bout somethin’ more cheerful than thestrals.”

They waved goodbye as Hagrid took his leave and Fang bounded off after him, and Harry looked around at the group, especially the Slytherins.

“What?” Draco asked, sounding defensive.

“Nothing,” he said with sincerity. “I know that you know that Hagrid also has some, er-preconceived notions about houses and the like. So, I’m grateful that you tried to, well, look past it I suppose. He’s honestly a great guy, and he just needs someone to show him that people are much more than what house they get sorted into.” He finished with a tiny sidelong glance at Ron, who seemed to be looking away at something on the surface of the lake.

“Non menzionarlo,” Blaise said, waving away Harry’s comment. “All my life, I’ve only ever met people who have had an opinion of me based on what they have heard. I don’t even start judging them for it until they’ve had a chance to see me in person and been given the opportunity to make up their own minds. And besides, I liked Hagrid. I quite like people who care about animals and forests more than they care about socializing and such. Ugh.”

“That…might be the most unbelievable thing I’ve heard all morning,” Parvati said with a snort.

The next Thursday was Samhain or Halloween, depending on who you asked, and not everyone in their group had received their parents’ permission to attend the ritual at Hogsmeade.

“I cannot believe they suggested that it might not be a good idea for me to be seen publicly associated with traditional rituals!” Draco whined, and Harry and Hannah nodded in sympathy.

He’d seen the response the Malfoy Heir had received from his father, and while the elder Malfoy had been appreciative of the fact that his scion was taking an interest in upholding the traditions that they held dear, he was concerned that given the political climate in the magical community, people might consider Draco’s public participation in the Samhain rites as indicative of him being anti progressive in his outlook. He agreed that it was unfortunate but had promised his son to make it up to him. Pansy had received a similar letter, but it seemed less politically motivated, and more a suggestion to adhere to the example being set by the Malfoys. And since Draco would not be attending the rites, neither would Pansy. Although she seemed just as miffed about that, she managed to hide it a lot better than the blond Slytherin.

Tony, to his dismay, had also been refused permission to attend. In his case it was because his parents thought that his focus should be firmly on his studies and were not convinced that attempting to experience magical traditions first-hand would not be a distraction from what they believed his priority ought to be. They were open to having a more detailed discussion when he next came home, but for the time being had shot down his request to be allowed to attend the Samhain rites. His only consolation had been Parvati and Padma had been denied as well.

The twins’ parents’ rejection was again due to very different reasons. They were quite pleased by their daughters taking an active interest in magical traditions but would want them to experience the traditions from India, that they felt was their heritage before getting too swept up in the magical history or culture of the British Isles. Parvati had thrown a tantrum when she’d received the note, bemoaning her parents’ old-fashioned mindset and calling them ‘square’. Padma had looked thoughtful after having read through the letter and seemed to see some wisdom in it and accepted their decision stoically.

Hermione and Hannah had been the next to drop out.

Hermione, because her parents had done their own research into Samhain and other old Gaelic traditions and customs and were worried that it veered too closely to paganism to endorse. It hadn’t helped that they had been limited to the mundane libraries as their primary source of information and some of the old lurid folk stories, spun and used by the church in centuries past to drive people away from the old ways, did not paint the customs in a particularly favorable light.

Hanah because, in a spirit of transparency and openness, she had explained to her mother how their desire to witness the ritual had come about and who all might attend the rites with her. Her mother had appreciated her sentiment, promised to allow her to play a bigger role in the rituals in the future but suggested that perhaps it was too soon for her to step outside the castle, especially in the company of people who might not be wholly trustworthy. She hadn’t elaborated on what she meant, but it appeared that the Zabini family was not one that she particularly approved of. Hannah had been extremely upset over what she saw as her mother’s prejudice but had not been able to argue the matter further.

All in all, the only people from Harry’s group who would be heading down to Hogsmeade come Thursday evening would be Neville, Susan, Blaise and Harry himself.

By Tuesday they’d all turned in their signed consent forms to their respective heads of houses. Professor Flitwick had been true to his word and had made sure that Sprout, Snape and McGonagall had already received a heads up in advance, so that had gone over smoothly enough.

On Wednesday night, they had a small get-together at the library after having an early dinner. They each wished Blaise and gave him the present they’d collectively got him and the usually composed boy tore open the wrapping paper with childlike glee and beamed at the book inside.

Frankly it was a bit of a joke gift, but they’d reckoned Blaise would appreciate it while seeing the humor in it. Their assumption was proven correct as the Italian went into peels of laughter as he held aloft his personal copy of ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’ by Dale Carnegie.

“I love it!” he’d exclaimed once he’d wiped the tears from his eyes. “I always knew there was something I was lacking when it came to social graces. I appreciate how amazingly thoughtful this was. Thank you, amici! I will certainly put this to good use.”

They’d had to cut short the get together in order to ensure they all made it back to their common rooms before curfew. None of them were keen on being caught out of bed after hours and risking their upcoming trip to Hogsmeade.

The next day was usually Harry’s least favorite day of the week given that he had double Herbology, Defense and Magical Theory, but on this occasion the excitement about the upcoming evening helped him get through it without a hitch. He dimly registered another attempt from Runcorn to try and trip him up as he left his last class for the day, but he managed to dodge it in time and leave without causing a scene like the previous week.

The Halloween feast later in the evening had led to the cancellation of the Astronomy Practical lesson, so they, or at least the four that would head to the village later, decided to change, drop off their school stuff in their dorms and then have an early tea before meeting at the entrance hall just as the sun was setting. They still didn’t know which staff member would be taking them to Hogsmeade, but Harry was fine with whomever it was going to be, just so long as it wasn’t Johnston or Quirrell.

Before rushing down to the Great Hall for a quick bite, Harry swapped out his Hogwarts uniform for a jacket and jeans. He’d asked around and confirmed that there was no ritual garb that was expected of the attendees, and besides most of the pagan rites seemed to be very flexible with what was expected from anyone who wouldn’t be directly involved in the actual ceremonies.

Twenty minutes later, after stuffing his face with a few crumpets and washing it down with scalding hot tea, he was pacing nervously in the entrance hall as Neville, Susan and Blaise looked on in amusement at his excitement.

“And I thought I was the one looking forward to this,” Blaise observed with a smirk. He too had changed out of his school robes and was dressed in khaki pants with a dark gray sweater over a white shirt. By contrast, Neville and Susan were still wearing robes.

Harry ignored Blaise in favor of pointing this out. “You guys didn’t want to change before heading out?”

Neville and Susan exchanged a confused look. “We did,” Susan said, sounding puzzled.

“You’re still wearing your robes,” Harry frowned.

“But not the school ones,” Susan said, pointing at herself. “These are much more comfortable.”

Harry peered closer, they looked exactly the same to his untrained eyes, and no different from what he was used to seeing them in. Come to think of it, he’d never seen them in anything aside from robes, even on the weekend when they had no classes. He himself occasionally hung out in sweaters and trousers, same as Hermione, Ron and the twins, but it appeared that none of the purely magically raised members of their group had a wardrobe aside from robes.

“We’re going to have to expand your fashion choices at some point,” he said with a sigh just as the door out of the castle started to swing open.

“Evenin’, yeh lot,” Hagrid announced with a grin as he beckoned them all to follow him. “Sorry, I’m jus’ a wee bit late. But I think the four of yeh are all that we’re expectin’ this year, so if yer ready we’d best be settin’ off.”

Harry grinned in relief as the four of them followed Hagrid out of the castle in the last light of the day and began to make their way down the long, graveled path towards the doors that led out of the Hogwarts grounds. Hagrid told them that the number of students who got permission to attend the various rituals varied greatly from year to year, and four was kind of an average turnout. He also seemed to be completely at ease with Blaise’s presence after their previous interaction and Harry was once again forced to wonder why Hannah’s mother had been the only person to have had such an adverse reaction to the Italian boy. Even Susan had been surprised and baffled.

It appeared that Hagrid was usually the person tasked with accompanying students to and from the village, since he was the one who carried the keys to the grounds. It made sense, Harry supposed, as he threw open the gates and shut them behind the students once they’d all exited. Harry imagined that he felt a strange sort of tingling as he stepped out of the school grounds as if the area within the gates were noticeably different in their magical content than the world right outside. He filed it away as yet another curious thing to be looked into later and began to follow Hagrid’s giant strides as they headed towards the village.

“We’re not goin’ inter the village proper today,” Hagrid explained as they continued their walk. “The Samhain ritual is held jus’ outside the actual village; yeh see? In the village graveyard usually.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “In-in a graveyard?”

It was Susan who leaned in to explain. “Part of the rituals are to commune with and honor the spirits of the ancestors. It’s normal.”

Harry nodded, and soon enough Hagrid was leading them off of the path towards the village and onto a large field, surrounded by a low wall in which a few dozen people seemed to have already gathered. Evening had set in in earnest by this point, so Harry had to look around more closely to spot the rows and rows of gravestones all around them, which they carefully made their way past as they headed towards the cluster of villagers up ahead.

A few people turned around curiously to glance at their little procession, but no one approached them as Hagrid led them off to the side, where they had a clear view of what looked like a large conical stack of wood and timber that had been piled high with various knick-knacks.

An extremely attractive woman was directing a couple of men as they attempted to place what looked like a dilapidated kitchen table onto the stack. She caught sight of Hagrid and gave him a cheery wink before returning her attention to the preparation of the bonfire.

Hagrid leaned in close to them and lowered his voice “Tha’s Madam Rosmerta. She runs the ‘Three Broomsticks’ at the village, an’ usually conducts the rites. Traditionally the one who does so is designated a priestess, but since out here is mostly informal there’s no titles an’ the like associated with the role. There’s usually a sacrifice, a lamb more often than not, the lightin’ of the bonfire, some prayers ter see all the folks safely through the winter, an’ augury usin’ the entrails of the sacrificed offerin’ an’ usually some mummery an’ other performance at the end. Once the divination has been done, people usually gather around an’ chit-chat fer a bit over some bread an’ meat an’ maybe a few drinks, there’s a table with all that over by that side,” he said with a gesture towards a long table off in the distance, while bringing out a large loaf of fresh sourdough from somewhere in his overcoat. “It’s all provided by the attendees of the rites. I’ve brought our contribution too, since I figured yeh wouldn’t know-”

He stopped, surprised as from within the folds of their robes Susan and Neville both withdrew what seemed to be a string of sausages and an entire cured ham respectively.

“Heh, fair enough,” he grinned. “We might still have a bit of time before the ministry bloke gets here. They can’t start the rituals without him. Feel free ter mingle but stay together so it’s easy fer me ter keep an eye on yeh. An’ if yeh need somethin’ ter drink, stick ter gillywater or butterbeer. I don’t want ter have ter explain ter Professor McGonagall if she catches yeh chock full of mead. Alright, I’ll go an’ put our stuff on the table.”

He ambled off, the bread and the meats in hand and Harry looked about the place curiously.

It really did seem to be more similar to a garden party than a mystical pagan ritual. Folks were chatting amiably with each other in small groups as they waited for things to begin. A group of volunteers, mostly on the younger side, seemed to be preparing the food that had been brought, and a couple of people were slowly moving amongst the gravestones and laying flowers and what seemed to be cords made of twisted ivy on them. He’d have to ask Susan or Neville to explain what that symbolized later.

“Should we maybe go and help out with something?” Blaise asked, watching the people around them and probably, just like Harry, wanting to feel a little less like an outsider.

The rest of them nodded, and after quickly evaluating their options they all headed towards the table with the food and beverages that Hagrid had been called away from by folks from the village who seemed to know him.

“Um, hi,” Susan said as they reached the kids who were working at the table. “We were um-wondering if there was anything we could do to help?”

The oldest of the kids here was a black-haired boy in a slightly wrinkled shirt and a pink apron, probably no more than thirteen, and his helpers all seemed to be in single digits. He smiled at them and held out a hand after wiping it on the smock.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he said politely, “so I must assume you’re students at Hogwarts? Ah where are my manners, I’m Bryce and these are Duncan, Camden, Edin and Leslie” he said pointing at the four other children near him.

Susan smiled back and shook the offered hand while the younger kids waved, pausing at their work of slicing the bread and meats and arranging them on the table for easy access. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Susan, and these are Neville, Harry and Balise. We just started at Hogwarts last month, so yeah, it’s our first-time attending Samhain at Hogsmeade.”

“That’s wonderful,” Bryce said easily and gestured to one of the other kids. “Dunc here is gonna turn eleven in August next year, right in time for the Hogwarts letter, you know, if he’s lucky enough to be accepted. If you’re looking to help, we can always use more hands…just pour the drinks into the paper cups and arrange them in rows near the sign indicating what they are. No meads amongst the lemonades, no pumpkin juice in the row of gillywater, and no butterbeer with the firewhiskey. One of you could help Edin slice up the loaves of bread we’ve got and put them in the basket. And the other two can slice up the meat and cheese.”

They got to work, with Harry volunteering to help cut up the cheese and meats, since his unfamiliarity with wizarding drinks would not be useful when pouring and separating drinks in the semi-darkness. Bryce and the other kids talked as they worked, and while carving up Neville’s ham he learned more about them.

There was a village school at Hogsmeade that provided primary education for the children of the residents. The curriculum sounded like it was designed specifically for a magical community, which made sense since Bryce confirmed that Hogsmeade was one of the rare all-magical hamlets in the country. The kids learned history (mostly magical, but with a bit of slightly outdated mundane knowledge thrown in as well), basic arithmetic, literature, basic geography and etiquette. They attended the school until they were eleven, before they were considered old enough to begin their magical education.

“Do you not go to Hogwarts?” Harry asked Bryce curiously. He had read about there being other, supposedly less prestigious, schools for magic in Britain, but so far he had never had an opportunity to learn more about them.

“Nope,” the boy shrugged without seeming to be fazed by the question that Harry realized a tad too late might have been considered rude. “Never received a letter even though I had displayed accidental magic. Probably wasn’t innately talented enough or something.”

“Oh,” Harry said hesitating, before deciding to ask anyway. “So where do you go to school and what’s it like?”

“White Ridge High,” Bryce responded, carefully arranging the slices of cheese they’d created into a circular pattern. “It’s close to the Cliffs of Dover. It’s not a boarding, so we Floo over in the morning in time for classes and return in the afternoon. But it’s really pretty and the classes are fun I guess. I think someone I spoke to some time ago mentioned that it’s similar to Hogwarts in terms of what they teach, but with a lot less focus on practical lessons. It’s mostly theory and about one hands-on class per subject once every two weeks.”

“Huh, that sounds nice,” Harry said thinking about it. “What about in terms of sports and co-curricular stuff? Is Quidditch just as popular as it is in Hogwarts?”

Bryce laughed before responding. “You’d be hard pressed to find any place in Britain or Europe where Quidditch isn’t insanely popular among wizards. But White Ridge doesn’t have its own pitch, so it doesn’t produce many league or national level players. We do have an annual Quidditch tournament with a few other schools, and practice pitches have to be booked for the school team to train for it. Most league clubs have their own grounds that rent them out at a discount to school teams when they aren’t using it…so it’s not so bad.”

Their conversation was interrupted when a loud gong sounded from the direction of the bonfire, where it seemed that the lady identified earlier as Madam Rosmerta, now dressed in a flowing robe that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, had been the one who had produced the sound to capture everyone’s attentions.

“Now that Mr. Lewis has joined us,” she announced without preamble, gesturing at the gruff looking man in a dark gray robe who Harry could have sworn hadn’t been there minutes ago, “we’re ready to start the rites of Samhain. Please gather around so that we may begin.”

The kids hurriedly put down their knives and wiped their hands as they made their way closer towards the as yet unlit bonfire. Sometime in the last half an hour a bit of a chill had crept in, and Harry zippered up his jacket to shield against it, standing close to Bryce and his friends as they waited for Madam Rosmerta to get things going.

The crudely crafted bonfire also seemed to have grown larger while he hadn’t paid attention. It was now a towering structure of broken chairs, splintered tables, and worn-out bed frames. The symbolism was clear, Harry thought: the old making way for the new, the past feeding the future. Madam Rosmerta, after ensuring that everyone had had plenty of time to approach, turned to face the bonfire with a solemn expression. As a hush fell on the watching crowd, she began chanting in a strange old lilt, her voice carrying easily through the quiet of the graveyard:

“Ancient flames, consume the past,

Guide us through the winter’s blast.

With this fire, our fears we burn,

To warmth and light, we shall return.”

With a flick of her wand, the bonfire roared to life, flames leaping and dancing, casting a warm glow over the assembled crowd. The villagers murmured something in unison and Harry failed to quite catch what it was, but next to him Susan and Neville did the same. He didn’t dare break the silence by whispering a question to either of them right now, so instead he held his tongue trying to be more alert in case the same refrain was repeated.

During his moment of confusion, the fire seemed to have risen ever higher and a burly villager who had been standing to the side had approached the raised stone slab directly in front of the bonfire and placed a small white lamb on it, which appeared to be asleep. Harry noticed with a start that Madam Rosmerta, now held a gleaming silver dagger in her left hand in addition to the wand already clutched in her right.

He felt uneasy, even knowing what was about to happen as he watched her slowly walk up to the sacrifice and placing her wand on the stone, laid a gentle hand on the lamb. She closed her eyes before opening them and looking up into the night sky and chanting again:

“With this life, we honor the earth,

Guide us through the night’s rebirth.

In this sacrifice, find peace anew,

Spirits of the past, we honor you.”

The dagger flashed in the night, as with a swift and practiced motion, Madam Rosmerta slit its throat. It never seemed to stir from its slumber but in the light of the bonfire Harry could see the rapidly spreading pool of dark blood on the surface of the stone. It spilled over the edges and flowed down to the ground beneath, a sacrifice in honor of the earth that sustained them and the dead that lay below.

Yet again, the crowd murmured something in unison, and this time Harry was able to understand it: “So mote it be!”

Madam Rosmerta knelt down and carefully placed her dagger on the slab on the other side of the sacrifice as her wand. Her hands were dark with blood which she used to carefully draw a series of strange shapes on the stone all around the lamb, in some cases sweeping aside the pooling blood to do so. After what seemed to be a long time during which the only sound was from the crackling flames, she finally stood up and chanted yet again, her head thrown back and eyes gazing up at the stars above:

“Great spirits, hear our plea,

Guard us through the winter's sea.

Peace to those who've passed this year,

Watch over us, keep us near.”

In unison, the villagers repeated their response and Harry joined in, “So mote it be!”

Their voices created a short-lived but hauntingly beautiful harmony that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath their feet and the magic that seemed to be emanating from the fire and slowly spreading out over the graveyard. Harry was sorely tempted to reach out with his own magical sense and try to see what he could feel.

Before he had a chance to do so however, another person from the crowd, an old woman with hair that was almost white and a face that seemed craggier and more wrinkled than a silkworm, stepped forward. Harry noticed that the other villagers had stepped forward ever so slightly and seemingly had closed ranks around the scene. He looked around when someone tugged at his sleeve and saw Bryce trying to catch his attention.

“You may want to look away for the next bit,” he whispered in a voice that went no further than Harry and his friends. “Auguries are done using the entrails of the sacrifice, and it can be a bit messy if you aren’t used to that sort of thing.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, and he realized that the older villagers had closed in so as to allow the children to more easily avert their gaze from the divination, should they wish to do so. He firmly looked away from the bonfire and focused on the stars gleaming above them.

After a few more minutes of silence, he heard a different voice speak, seemingly belonging to the old lady who had stepped up to the slab. But it sounded strange and harsh, very unlike the soft resonating cadence of Madam Rosmerta’s words and more akin to what he would have imagined the witches from Macbeth to have sounded like. And unlike the previous chants, which all seemed to have been prayers of some type or the other, this one sounded more like a warning.

“In the year ahead, an old foe stirs,

Hidden in shadows, his intent blurs.

Only through vigilance and unity strong,

Can we prevent his rise and right the wrong.”

The words seemed to send a shiver through the crowd, immediately followed by a series of whispers as everyone immediately began to speculate as to what the words might mean. Harry noticed the ministry representative at the edge of the crowd, Mr. Lewis, shifting uncomfortably and fidgeting with his robes. The man’s apparent disapproval of or discomfort with the ancient traditions made him furrow his brow in surprise. But the representative didn’t do anything to disrupt the proceedings and continued to observe in apparently sullen silence.

The temperature seemed to have plummeted even further as the rituals had gone on, and by now Harry was feeling distinctly chilly. He watched, trying not to let his teeth start to chatter as the woman with white hair stumbled back into the crowd, helped by a younger man. Did auguries or divinations drain someone much in the same way that casting magic used to drain Harry himself as a child, he wondered before filing this observation away for later as well. He forced himself to turn his gaze back in the direction of Madam Rosmerta, trying to resolutely avoid looking at the slab which he knew would be covered in the innards of the lamb at this point.

“Honored spirits, we give thanks,

For your presence in our ranks.

Samhain’s rites we now conclude,

By your blessings, our hope renewed.”

As soon as the crowd repeated the response: “So mote it be!”, the fire that had been blazing bright seemed to implode, and the entire structure crumbled into ash in an instant. But at the same time a wave of warmth flooded outward from where it had been, which instantly dispelled the rising chill in the air. Harry’s skin tingled again in a way that he was starting to recognize. The warmth from the extinguished fire had been, almost certainly, of a magical origin. But he had no idea if it had been a result of a spell that Madam Rosmerta or someone in the crowd had cast which he had failed to spot, or if it had been an instance of a spontaneous magical event that was somehow tied to the rituals themselves. Even now as the moments stretched on, it appeared that the whole group of people, perhaps even the whole graveyard was still shrouded in a persistent and protective bubble of warmth, which he felt kind of kept with the theme of the ritual and their various supplications to be safeguarded from the winter.

Harry and his friends stood together, taking in the scene as the crowd slowly broke apart into small groups that began to cluster around the table of food. Madam Rosmerta and a few other villagers were in conversation with the ministry representative, who seemed to be responding to them stiffly and with poorly concealed irritation.

As far as he was concerned, the ritual had been a fascinating window into the deep traditions that wove through the magical world which could never really be truly experienced through mere words on a page. As he turned towards Blaise with the intention of asking the boy if felt satisfied with his birthday treat, Hagrid’s large hand clapped Harry on the shoulder, his voice a comforting rumble.

“Not a bad way ter spend a Samhain, eh? Reminds yeh that magic’s not just spells an’ wands. It’s in the earth, the air…an’ in us, an' the ones we’re descended from too.”

They nodded quietly in agreement and Hagrid grinned.

“Yeh know,” he said. “This is the fastest that the rituals have ever been concluded. Not surprising tha' they cut it so short, what with the ministry sourpuss there clearly disapprovin’ of it all. I swear they get worse every year...but anyway, the rest of the folks will probably put on some shows ter entertain the kids once everyone has had a bite ter eat. But I think yeh lot might have a chance of makin’ it back in time fer the Halloween feast if yeh want. It’s yer choice, I could take yeh back ter the gates, let yeh in an’ head back down here.”

“Oh, can we? That’d be awesome.” Susan immediately responded with evident excitement. “That way we will have attended Samhain and Halloween!”

The rest of them nodded. The magic of Samhain, and the attraction of traditional rituals was amazing and all, but Hogwarts feasts were undeniably awesome as well.

“Alrigh’ then, c’mon,” Hagrid grinned. “I need ter get back here before they finish all the firewhiskey.”

They exchanged a hurried goodbye with Bryce and the other kids and set off behind Hagrid as he led them along the path heading back to school. 

“So,” Harry asked Blaise as they left the ritual grounds and immediately felt the air grow colder, “what did you think?”

“Very fascinating,” Blaise said thoughtfully. “The aspect of honoring the dead is shared across many different cultures, so is a sacrifice and pleas to higher powers for protection against the elements, but it’s one thing to read about them and an entirely different beast to see the rites being held firsthand.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everything from the types of plants that were being laid on the graves, to the type of wood used in the bonfire was all planned and bore cultural and magical significance, which would also explain that surge of lingering warmth at the end of the ritual. Maybe all of the Gaelic rites began as a type of elaborate, mostly free form, protective ritual magic before they became largely symbolic. Which would raise the question, of whether a more rigid and traditional version of the rites involving more people cause an even greater magical effect?”

“The rites here were a little different from what we have at the manor,” Neville supplied unexpectedly. “Well actually the one here was very, very casual and informal in comparison. The ones we have at home involve a lot more, er, protocols, incantations and the like. I haven't really taken part in them, but I've heard the prayers and such chanted from the ritual floor and they're all in Welsh or Gaelic or something and I don't even know what they mean. But even there, you can almost feel the magic gather as the rituals progress and you can feel it explode outwards and settle on the guests when the last supplications are made.”

“The larges’ observations of the traditions are usually held in Knockturn,” Hagrid, who had been listening in, commented as they continued to walk. “I’ve only been ter it once, fer Imbolc I think, an’ it really is somethin’ else. Yeh can practically feel the magic cracklin’ in the air an’ bein’ channeled by the high priestess. Granted that Knockturn isn’t really the nicest o’ neighborhoods an’ yeh lot shouldn’t ever venture in without someone ter watch yer backs, but it really is somethin’ that ought ter be experienced ter be fully believed.”

They continued to excitedly discuss everything they had seen and speculated what the ominous sounding prophecy might have alluded to, and before too long they were reentering the grounds of Hogwarts and waving good night to Hagrid, who locked the gates behind them before beginning to head back towards Hogsmeade.

The four of them began to make their way back up to the castle along the long, gravel covered driveway. After a while, the companionable silence that had settled on them since Hagrid had taken his leave was interrupted by a soft comment from Blaise.

“I’m sorry that Hannah wasn’t able to attend the rites,” he said, not looking at anyone.

Harry hesitated. He had thought that Blaise hadn’t been aware of why Hannah had been denied permission to attend Samhain. He glanced at Susan, who was also looking uncomfortable.

“Er,” she began sounding unsure. “What do you mean?”

“Oh please,” Blaise said, rolling his dark eyes at her. “Her family is traditional, so it’s not like she was stopped from attending because her folks were worried about paganism. They’re also one of the lightest, most liberal families on your Wizengamot, so they wouldn’t have been concerned about image and appearance like the Malfoys. So, the only reason for her mother to prevent her from attending the Samhain celebrations would be concerns over who else she might be attending them with. So, unless Madam Abbott has a secret grudge against the Bones, Potter or Longbottom families, Hannah’s absence was because I would be present at the rites.”

“Ah,” Harry said awkwardly. When you put it like that, the conclusion did sound easy enough to draw. “It’s-it’s not your fault,” he offered. “Even Hannah isn’t sure why her mom advised her what she did, so she definitely doesn’t hold it against you.”

Blaise sighed and started to say something before stopping.

“I’ll-I’ll speak to her later,” he said, before adding in an undertone that Harry wasn’t sure any of them were actually meant to hear, “not that it’s going to help.”

Harry saw and chose not to comment on the suspicious look that Susan directed at the back of Blaise’s head when the other boy wasn’t looking.

They had reached the large double doors that marked the entry into the castle, and Harry and Neville pushed them open, stepping into the brightly lit entrance hall, and they both immediately came to a halt. Something did not seem right.

“Why’d you stop?” Susan grumbled, having walked into Neville’s back.

“Shh,” Harry shushed her, having put a finger on what seemed to be out of place. “It’s too quiet,” he whispered. “The feast should still be in full swing, and yet there isn’t the slightest buzz of sound coming out of the Great Hall.”

“Maybe they wrapped up early?” Blaise speculated, also keeping his voice low.

“Maybe,” Harry said, not convinced. “I think it might be better if we just headed off to our various common rooms. Not sure I like the idea of wandering about the castle now that we know what else lurks inside it.”

The others didn’t argue that point, and after a set of hushed goodnights were exchanged, Harry and Neville began to climb the marble stairs leading towards the upper floors while Blaise and Susan headed towards the dungeons.

They had barely made it up to the second floor of the eerily quiet castle and had still some ways to go before the routes towards the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers would diverge, before they screeched to a halt again as an obviously irate Mr. Filch appeared to step out of a side passage ahead of them and block their way.

“And what, pray tell,” he sneered at the two of them, “makes you think that you two are above the petty rules and orders that the headmaster issues to the students?”

“Wh-what?” Neville gulped, his nervousness getting the better of him.

“We’re sorry sir,” Harry sputtered. “We didn’t realize it was curfew already.”

“Don’t play games with me boy!” the caretaker snapped. “The headmaster ordered everyone at the feast back to their common rooms for their own safety! No exceptions!”

“We weren’t at the feast!” Harry tried desperately. “We accompanied Hagrid to the Samhain celebrations at Hogsmeade!”

That seemed to give Filch pause, and his eyes widened.

“Oh,” he said, slowly as he processed this new information. “I see. In that case you two had better head back to your common rooms as fast as you can. On the double, now. Don’t let me catch you dilly-dallying!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded, slightly relieved. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what is happening? Why did the feast get cut short?”

Filch gave them a long look, “Apparently there’s a troll that has somehow managed to sneak into the dungeons. The staff are on the case, and they should have things handled shortly, but you both need to be back in your towers, along with the rest of your houses.”

A loud crash from somewhere off in the distance suddenly made all three of them flinch in alarm, and to his credit Filch instantly started to rush off in the direction the sound had come from instead of away from it like a sensible person would have.

“Get back to your common rooms now!” he yelled at them one last time as he disappeared around a bend in the corridor up ahead.

Harry and Neville shared a look, the same thought seemed to have occurred to both of them at the same instant.

“Susan and Blaise don’t know about the troll!” they said in unison.

By an instantaneous, unspoken agreement they both turned and began to head back the way they had just come. Neville was white as a sheet and Harry too was barely keeping his nervousness at bay.

As they rapidly made their way down to the entrance hall, peeking around every corner before emerging out into new corridors and passageway, Harry tried to desperately remember what little he’d learned about trolls, suddenly grateful that ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ had been on the first-year reading list after all.

They crossed the entrance hall, which was as empty as when they had entered it just a few minutes earlier but now seemed to feel even more eerie and disconcerting. As they quickly began to descend down the stairs leading to the dungeons, Harry tried to bring an image of Susan and Blaise to the forefront of his mind and projected to Hogwarts that wherever his two friends were, was where he and Neville wanted to go.

They passed a few more corridors, which seemed to be leading in a different direction than the one that Harry thought led to the Potions classrooms, and as they continued to inspect the corridors ahead for threats before emerging onto them, Harry reviewed what he was able to recall.

Mountain trolls were the biggest of the variety, he figured. They were also incredibly smelly, stupid and by far the most violent of their kind. Forest trolls were considered marginally more intelligent than other sub-species of trolls and were sometimes trained to perform menial tasks or even provide security. And River trolls, the third and final type, were the ones that were most frequently encountered in stories, seeing as they preferred to make their homes under bridges or riverside caves, and were more likely to hurl rocks at potential threats than try to wallop them with clubs like their cousins, were prone to doing.

Which kind of troll had infiltrated the castle became apparent even before the pair of them actually laid eyes on the monster, through the almost overpowering stench that announced its presence as they crept along yet another corridor, looking for their friends. The next thing they heard was the sound of something heavy being dragged along the stone floor with an ominous grinding noise.

They exchanged a look, fear and apprehension clearly written on each of their faces, as they cautiously peered around the next junction towards the direction the sound was coming from.

Harry spotted the towering figure, clad in a leather loincloth and standing easily about twelve feet tall, its gray lumpy skin standing out in the dimly lit passage as it carelessly scratched its head and stopped to sniff the air before slowly lumbering through a door to its right, a gigantic club being unceremoniously dragged over the flagstones behind it.

Harry reacted instantly, the stupid creature had gone into some kind of bathroom, if they locked it in there, they would hopefully be able to buy enough time to find and warn Blaise and Susan by the time it smashed its way out!

Ignoring Neville’s muffled yelp, he darted out into the corridor and rushed over to the door only to stop short as a girl’s scream from within the bathroom rang out in the quiet night, accompanied by a loud crash of masonry.

“Oh shit,” he swore as Neville caught up to him, “That’s Susan!”

Without thinking, he rushed in through the doors that he’d watched the troll go in just seconds before, Neville hot on his heels and came upon a scene of carnage.

The monstrous creature had smashed through a couple of wash basins, apparently by stumbling into them, and off in the distance, on the opposite side of the troll from Harry and Neville, Susan and Blaise were cowering in front of a row of wooden stalls as the thing blinked stupidly at them, as if confused about what it should do.

Instinctively, Harry seized a chunk of marble from the floor, presumably from one of the smashed sinks and threw it as hard as he could at the back of the troll’s head, while yelling as loudly as he could, “Run! I’ll distract it!”

The troll didn’t even seem to register the piece of masonry bouncing off the back of its skull, but half turned its head, momentarily distracted by Harry’s shout. It started to turn around, before Susan and Blaise’s attempt to move away caught its attention and without warning, it swung the club in its right hand in a wide, vicious arc that ended up tearing through the entire row of stalls they’d been standing in front of as easily as if they had been made of twigs.

Harry barely had time to make out that both his friends had just about managed to duck beneath the swing of what appeared to be an entire gnarled tree that the troll was using as a weapon, before having to focus on the troll once more, whose momentum had spun it all the way around and it was now blinking stupid yellow eyes at him and Neville.

Moving with deceptive speed for a being that large and slow to think, the troll raised its club overhead in both its massive hands and Harry and Neville were forced to dive in opposite directions as the weapon slammed into the space between them with enough force to crack tiles and send pieces flying.

There didn’t seem to be any time for more shouts or warnings, and Harry instantly entered a trance, vague memories of moving in slow motion as he tried to keep from cracking his skull at the edge of Aunt Petunia’s kitchen table popping into his head before he dismissed them as an unnecessary distraction for the moment.

Right. First order of business, make sure the others were safe, he thought as the world around him slowed down to a glacial crawl. Neville seemed to have landed awkwardly and was only starting to get back to his feet. Susan and Blaise had both regained their footing and were in the process of trying to reach the entrance of the bathroom while clinging as close to the walls as possible. So, he had to buy as much time as possible.

Now, how to do that, he wondered, subconsciously regaining his own balance as years of fencing training took over. What would cause a stupid being like a troll to focus on him instead of his friends? Well, if it was a creature that acted on instinct instead of on logic, it would focus on whatever it considered to be the biggest threat it was facing. So, he had to make it feel like he posed a threat instead of an annoyance. Now how would he do that?

Trolls were weak to fire, his memory supplied. Did he know any fire based offensive spells? Yes, the one that Professor Snape had taught them: Ardere. Would it have the desired effect when cast at a creature instead of at a dried pile of kindling? Probably not. Especially since trolls were known to possess tough hides that were inherently resistant to magic.

Ok, what else was there? The tough skin that granted trolls limited immunity to magic also granted them massive amounts of protection against physical damage. As had already been demonstrated by the piece of marble that had struck the back of the creature’s head and hadn’t left so much as a scratch. Oh no time, the troll was preparing to swing again, aiming for Neville, who hadn’t leapt as far away as Harry. Quick, what else had worked so far? Not much…but loud sounds did seem to distract it if only for a moment right? Well, it was worth a shot.

“Oi! Over here you stupid great lump!” Harry bellowed at the top of his lungs and immediately noted the troll’s beady little pupils, set within the yellow, almost jaundiced eyes stop tracking Neville and refocus on him. He didn’t think the troll was intelligent enough to have understood the insult, but the shout itself seemed to have caused it to change its target.

He was proved right a second later as the club nearly pulverized him and only an instinctive dodge saved him from being crushed like the tiles he had been standing on an instant before.

He quickly regained his balance again, entering yet another trance as the troll blinked stupidly, looking a little confused as to how the little annoyance wasn’t already a smear at the bottom of its club.

Susan and Blaise were halfway towards the door. Neville was trying to extricate something from the folds of his robes and was inexplicably, still rooted to the spot. What next, he thought frantically as the troll’s eyes wandered and seemed to begin to track the movement of Blaise. He would have to draw its attention again and dodge further into the bathroom so the others would have a chance of getting out, he decided. He would be running the risk of trapping himself in the process, but it would be a move guaranteed to give the others a clear run to the door.

He shouted again, “Hah! You can’t hit a slug if it was right on your bloated nose!” and waiting a moment for the troll to refocus on him, dodged to the left, rolling to a stop at almost the same spot where Susan had been when he’d charged into the lavatory.

Aside from the thud of the club leaving yet another crater on the floor, he could hear the sound of running footsteps as Susan and Blaise both reached the door. Straightening up from the crouch he’d landed in, he entered a trance for the third time to take stock of his situation.

Susan and Blaise had indeed reached the bathroom exit, but instead of running out and maybe going for help, they seemed to have both stopped to turn in his direction. The troll was glaring at him and was already raising its club once more, its eyes now looking distinctively angry, whether from Harry’s taunts, or from its own inability to hit him was anybody’s guess. And Neville, who had still not moved, was holding his wand in his hand and was glaring at the creature with an expression that was a mixture of fright and determination.

“Wand!” Harry thought with mounting incredulity, almost questioning if he even deserved to be called a wizard, having not thought of drawing his wand all this time. He plunged his hand into the pocket of his robes…which he wasn’t wearing, he realized in a surreal moment of bone chilling panic, having changed out of his robes into a jacket when getting ready to leave the castle for Samhain earlier.

“I-I think I might actually deserve to get smashed to bits for that,” the sarcastic part of his brain deadpanned as he was forced to dodge yet again, but this time, the water from the damaged stalls and toilets that he was now in front of caused his foot to slip, and instead of a planned roll, he skidded, lost his balance and fell prone.

He looked up, dimly aware that both Susan and Blaise were screaming now as well and watching a faintly smug expression creep into the troll’s face as it raised the club one final time, knowing that this time it wouldn’t miss.

The screams didn’t do much to distract the creature, perhaps his earlier taunts and attempts to draw its attention had been a little too successful and now the troll had eyes only for him. He watched the club pause at the zenith of its upswing and felt his breath hitch faintly wondering if he would even feel the impact.

The club froze, the troll looked puzzled and cast its eyes downwards, with Harry following its gaze.

Neville had launched itself at the troll’s knees and apparently after having attempted and failed to cast a spell, had decided to try and pummel the back of its legs in a last-ditch effort to make it focus on somewhere other than Harry.

Harry didn’t need to enter a trance this time as he watched in an adrenaline-fueled slow motion as the troll casually plucked Neville away from its massive two-toed leg and tossed him to the side like an ill-favored ragdoll.

His training had made his body react without requiring conscious directions and by the time Neville hit and crashed through one of the last few undamaged bathroom stalls, he was already on his feet. He was preparing to dodge again, and perhaps scream at the Hufflepuff and Slytherin to go get help, when a clatter of wood announced Neville’s discarded wand coming to rest beside him.

He snatched it up instinctively and entered a trance for the fourth-time.

The troll was not focused on him, its eyes were firmly on where Neville’s legs were sticking out of the wreckage of the stall that he’d been thrown into. The club was already starting to move up once more. Harry could dodge, but an unconscious, probably injured Neville most certainly could not.

He raised his wand, equal parts panicked, desperate and determined.

Unexpectedly, a sense of hostility flooded into him from the wand that he held, strong enough to nearly make him drop it. Wow, he thought, Neville had not been lying when he’d complained about his wand, not seeming to like him. With the wand still moving with near infinite slowness that he experienced when in a trance, Harry extended his senses around himself, trying to understand why the wand was so averse to being wielded even when the price of inaction could very well be its master’s demise.

The answer was immediate, the wand was made of ash and unicorn hair. A wand intensely loyal to its owner…which Neville, apparently, was not.

Harry's mind nearly short-circuited as the realization hit him, fueled and accelerated by the complex mix of sensations and emotions that flooded into him from the wand. It seemed to know Neville as someone close to its real master, but it would not allow itself to be wielded by any that the true owner did not explicitly hand it to. Its master had not laid hands on it for almost a decade, but it knew that he was out there somewhere and would wait as long as was needed, and only channel their magic…no one else’s.

Like a metaphorical shoe dropping, a vague memory of Neville opening up about his insecurities resurfaced like a forgotten fever dream. His friend had even told him that his gran had given him his father’s wand, but being distracted he hadn’t paid much attention to the revelation and then spent months procrastinating about helping him look into the problems he was facing. Oh Merlin, he was a terrible friend twice over!

Passing on a family member’s wand to honor them was an interesting idea, a part of him mused as the rest of him tried not to be overcome by the near insurmountable dread. Perhaps it would have worked for a different wand, but wands made of unicorn hair did not act that way, and thus Neville had struggled in every class that required him to channel his magic. And that is why, even in a situation of life and death, the wand stubbornly refused to aid either Neville or those attempting to aid him.

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to value the wand’s sense of loyalty and sentiments, if the alternative was Neville being seriously hurt, he would choose his friend’s safety every day of the week. Knowing that channeling through this particular focus would require every ounce of his mental strength and determination, he accessed the memory of his first, panicked bit of magic to save Dudley from an injury...and realized that his current desperate mindset was just as potent as the memory he had used as a crutch for all these years.

He could almost feel the magic build up deep within him and spread like wildfire through his veins, as he regarded the monster in front of him, hostile wand held forward in a slightly sweaty palm and glared at it.

Its skin was hard to get through with spells, yes. But spells that didn’t seek to damage its hide or penetrate it might not be as easily thwarted by its magic resistance, he surmised and prayed like hell that he was right.

The spell he chose was likely never intended to have offensive applications. It was a bit of a parlor trick to be honest. At best it could maybe make it easier to move objects around or rearrange some furniture. But in the right circumstance, and with the right motivation, anything and everything could become the pivot around which the tides of conflict may turn.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he yelled, swishing Neville’s wand through the air and flicking it at the troll.

A lot of things seemed to happen all at once.

The massive Mountain troll rocketed up into the air with so much force that its ugly head smashed into the stone ceiling of the bathroom…and the wand of Frank Longbottom exploded in Harry's hand.

Harry stood there breathing heavily in the sudden silence, dimly aware of the sounds of more approaching footsteps, blankly regarding the sudden, sharp pain in his right hand and the fascinating sight of a twelve-feet tall, giant creature, hanging immobile from the ceiling with its head embedded deep inside the surface above, before, almost without warning, his vision started to go dark, and he crumpled to the ground.

The last thing he saw, before falling unconscious, was Professor Snape, limping into the bathroom, wand drawn and his left trouser leg bloody and ragged as if he’d just been mauled by a dog of truly monstrous proportions.

Chapter Text

November 1991

Harry slowly came to, feeling extremely groggy and lying in an unfamiliar bed, and looked up with bleary eyes at a dark ceiling he did not recognize.

As his most recent memories struggled to reform, a very faint snore from somewhere on his right made him turn his head and he spotted the slumbering form of Neville laid out on what was unmistakably a hospital bed. He frowned, before a strange tightness in his right hand made him cast his eyes downwards and, curiously, he beheld some thick bandages wrapped tightly around his palm which rested on his own hospital sheets. Now what was all this about, again? Ah, right, troll.

He tried to push himself up on his elbows to look around the hospital wing to see if Susan and Blaise were here too but was greeted by the sight of empty and unoccupied rows of beds. But something must have happened when he struggled to sit up, because less than a minute later, the nurse’s door was swinging open, and Madam Pomfrey was striding towards him in a nightgown.

“I figured your sleeping draught might wear off sometime in the middle of the night, Mr. Potter,” she announced, marching up to him and pushing him back into the pillows. “So, I had an alarm set up to alert me in case you stirred and tried to do something ill-advised, like attempting to get out of bed!”

Harry tried to protest but was immediately shushed by the matron. He cast a helpless glance at Neville’s bed beside him, hoping that this didn’t disrupt the other boy’s rest.

“Don’t worry about your friend,” Madam Pomfrey assured, already in the middle of casting diagnostics over him. “There’s a sound dampening ward over each of the beds so that patients get some peace and quiet, along with some privacy. Mr. Longbottom had a few scrapes and bruises along with a bump to the back of his head, but all that has been taken care of and I’m only keeping him overnight for observation. He should be good to go by the morning.”

She paused in her studying of the various diagnostics to glare at him, “You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about,” she said ominously.

“What exactly do you remember?” she asked, resting her hands on her hips and surveying him intently. “Start from the evening, since apparently that’s when most of the school saw you last.”

“We, er, went down to Hogsmeade to see the Samhain rites with Hagrid,” Harry began hesitantly. “When we came back, the castle seemed to be deserted, so Neville and I started heading up to our towers while Susan and Blaise headed into the dungeons.” He stopped for a moment, his throat suddenly felt very parched, and Madam Pomfrey wordlessly handed him a glass of water from his bedside cabinet, while placing a couple of potion vials and an hourglass in its place.

After he’d sipped some water awkwardly, without rising too much from his pillow, he continued.

“We ran into Mr. Filch on the way who told us that a troll had found its way into the dungeons and told us to go to our common rooms and stay there, but since Susan and Blaise were down in the dungeons and didn’t know about the troll, we, er, we decided to go warn them instead.”

He paused, expecting a rebuke for disobeying orders, but none seemed to be forthcoming.

“Continue,” the nurse said shortly, seeming to reserve her judgment until the end of the story.

“We spotted the troll right as it entered a bathroom and immediately after, we heard someone scream. So, we rushed in hoping to distract the troll long enough for all of us to get away. I, er, didn’t have my wand on me, so when Neville got, um, thrown into a stall, I picked up his wand and tried to levitate the troll up into the air, I was hoping to send it high enough that it wouldn’t be able to keep trying to swing at us with its club, but I-I must have put too much magic into the spell, because, er, because the wand exploded I think and the troll shot into the ceiling,” he paused before adding. “I think I must have passed out just as Professor Snape arrived at the scene. Are Susan and Blaise alright? They aren’t hurt are they?”

“Relax, Mr. Potter,” the nurse admonished, stopping his questions in their tracks. “Both Mr. Zabini and Ms. Bones are fine. After all the excitement they endured, I gave them each a calming draught and sent them back to their dorms. They were completely fine physically and magically, but of course a little traumatized due to their experience. Their primary concern was your and Mr. Longbottom’s well-being; to that effect they have already shared their version of events with the professors so that neither of you faces any punishment for defying Mr. Filch’s orders. Mr. Longbottom, before I put him under, had also corroborated their story, and it seems to line up with what you have told me as well. So, you don’t seem to have a concussion or have suffered a blow to the head either.”

Harry nodded slowly, absorbing all of this and slowly filing it away. But some questions were more pressing at the moment than whether Mr. Filch would make him serve detention for not retreating to the common room as instructed.

“How does a troll sneak into a school?” he asked incredulously. “What exactly happened?”

Madam Pomfrey sighed and took a seat on one of the chairs beside his bed.

“I think the headmaster is still in the process of trying to figure that out,” she said. “All we know is that during the feast, Professor Quirrell ran into the Great Hall, shouting something about a troll being in the dungeon, and fainted. The students were immediately dismissed back to their common rooms, with most of the staff accompanying the Hufflepuff and Slytherin students, since their houses are based out of different parts of the dungeons. Once the students were safe, the staff formed search parties to try and scour the dungeons for the troll. We must have been at it for quite a while before hearing the sounds of what must have been you and your friends encountering the creature and rushing over to find the aftermath of your handiwork.”

Harry nodded once more, before a vaguely remembered detail pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. “Professor Snape, was the first to reach us,” he asked carefully, “was he in a different search party from the one you were in?”

“He must have been, I suppose,” the matron shrugged. “Although I can’t tell for certain which one he was a part of. By the time I arrived, he had already brought Mr. Longbottom back around and was in the process of debriefing all of you. Professor Quirrell and him were the first ones to arrive I think. And the troll was still out cold with its head rammed into the ceiling.”

“What happened after that?” Harry asked.

“Well…” Madam Pomfrey began, smoothing her gown and leaning back in her chair.

“What in the name of Merlin-?” Severus Snape began, surveying the strangest scene he’d likely ever come across in all his time teaching at Hogwarts.

His attention was quickly diverted however, as the Zabini boy and the Bones girl darted forward and rushed towards what seemed to be two unconscious first-years on the other side of the troll which was suspended from the crater in the ceiling by its head and was swinging gently like the world’s largest and most grotesque wind chime.

He strode forward, hearing the fool Quirinus’ footsteps creep forward hesitatingly, and began casting basic diagnostics at the two forms in front of him and quickly did a double take. The boy in the wreckage, Longbottom, seemed to be mostly fine aside from some scrapes and cuts, but Potter seemed to be nearly drained of magic. Restoring Longbottom to his senses would probably be a good thing, at least to allay the concerns of the other two kids, but he didn’t know enough about severe magical depletion to definitively tell whether or not it might be better to leave Potter unconscious until Poppy had taken a look.

“Rennervate!” he intoned quietly, pointing his wand at the unconscious Gryffindor as his eyes kept circling the scene and kept Quirrell in his field of view. He could have sworn he’d heard some kind of an explosion as he’d hobbled towards the sounds of commotion. Was that the troll’s skull crashing through the stones above? It hadn’t sounded like it. Damn Hagrid and his stupid monster mutt, he cursed. He’d have to see Poppy too about the bite, or at least to get something for the pain. He could have been here much faster if it hadn’t been for the wound slowing him down…that and keeping tabs on Quirrell of course.

As Longbottom sputtered awake to the relief of Bones, he quickly cast two more spells in quick succession. The first was a wordless illusion to hide his injury from the casual observer, and the other was a quick cast of his patronus, to fetch the other teachers. This done, he gently placed a hand on Zabini’s shoulder to stop the boy from trying to bring Potter around.

“What,” he began in the tone of voice he used when he wanted students to know that they were on wafer-thin ice, “exactly happened here Mr. Zabini?”

The dark Italian boy blinked up at him, seemingly furious for a moment before he quickly adopted a near perfect mask of a terrified student.

“We were on our way back from Samhain at Hogsmeade, sir” he began, his words clear but with just a hint of panic that only the keenest observer might guess may have been an affectation. “The hall was empty when we reached, so we decided to head back to the common room to figure out what was happening. We saw, well, we smelled the troll and heard the dragging of its club so quickly hid in here to get away from whatever was coming and thought it would be best to wait until someone came looking. But, uh, a few minutes later, the troll was the one to enter and we-we panicked. Then Harry and Neville came charging in and told us to run while they distracted it, and Neville got thrown through the stall and Harry…did something and then you arrived-.”

“Breathe.” Snape commanded, impressed in spite of himself at the boy’s skills at acting. That gradual rise in apparent panic had been masterful and practically perfect. Even he could scarcely have done better. “Longbottom is fine, and I’ve already sent a message to the other faculty members, so Madam Pomfrey should arrive shortly to ensure that Potter will be alright as well.”

As Zabini nodded, pretending to take deep breaths to calm himself, he turned his attention to Bones who was now helping Longbottom sit up straighter. This one’s behavior and mannerisms at least seemed to be genuine, so he decided to question her instead.

“Can you tell me what exactly happened that led to,” he gestured at the dangling troll, the destroyed bathroom and the still unconscious Ravenclaw, “this?”

Bones seemed to gather her thoughts before beginning to answer slowly and carefully. “I think Harry was trying to get it to focus its attention on him, so that the rest of us could get out,” she said. “It had already smashed through most of the stalls out here, so there was some water pooling on the floor. He kept yelling at it and it seemed to have eyes only for him, so me and Blaise had almost made it to the door when we saw him slip and fall prone. Nev-Neville tried to cast some spell at it, but-but it didn’t seem to work, so he leaped at it and started punching and kicking the back of its right leg. That-that led it to grab and hurl him here and his wand rolled over to Harry.”

He watched as she paused to calm herself a bit and wiped a genuine tear from the corner of her eyes before continuing.

“Harry picked up the wand and straightened up. It looked like the troll was going to try and smash Nev with its club, even though he was already down. We were yelling and trying to distract it and get it to turn, or-or something, but it wouldn’t look away, and Harry cast a spell,” she gulped. “I-I think I recognized the in-incantation; it was just the Levitation charm. But-but the troll just shot up like an arrow and-and-and I think Neville’s wand exploded in Harry’s hand!”

Interesting, he mused. Very interesting indeed. It was theoretically possible to overpower a spell to such a degree, that its effects were greatly augmented. So even something typically benign, like the Levitation charm could potentially cause an object to be massively accelerated to the point of damaging the target…but for the spell to work on a troll and its famously magic resistant nature? And what was more, for the volume of magic channeled to be so great as to have caused the focus to have disintegrated from the strain? Now that was certainly something you didn’t see every day.

He realized belatedly that Bones was now practically hyperventilating, and immediately conjured a paper bag for her to breathe into and ordered her to sit down next to Longbottom, who seemed to be frozen in place, whether also reeling from the group’s encounter with a Mountain troll, or because the boy was absurdly frightened of him was debatable.

“And how is it that you two came to be here, Longbottom?” he asked. He had appearances to maintain after all, and if there was a reason to dock points from a Gryffindor for being somewhere he shouldn’t have been, he’d be remiss not to avail himself of the opportunity. “The last time I checked, the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers aren’t located anywhere remotely close to the dungeons, are they?”

“W-we-we r-ran into M-Mr. Filch,” the boy stuttered, which at least answered the question of what scared him more, the troll or his Potions professor. Honestly, couldn't Minerva speak to the boy and help him grow a spine or something? To think that Frank's son was this frightened of a member of the staff was disappointing in the extreme. He realized that Longbottom had fallen silent and impatiently waved for him to continue. “H-he told us ab-about the t-troll in the d-dungeons and to g-get back to-to our common rooms. We realized that S-Susan and B-Blaise would not kn-know about it, so we rushed here to-to w-warn them.”

“Ten points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, each, for disobeying the caretaker’s instructions,” he snapped mechanically and out of sheer force of habit while his mind processed what would have been the most probable outcome had Longbottom and Potter not disobeyed Argus. More than likely, he would right now have to be pondering how to inform the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Contessa Zabini, why both their heirs had been turned into pulp by a rogue Mountain troll. He shuddered inwardly. Thank Morgana that the normally irreproachable caretaker had not decided to escort the two boys back to their dorms himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice right behind him.

“And twenty points to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, each, for showing extraordinary bravery to warn a friend of the danger they were in,” the headmaster said serenely, clearly having arrived in time to hear at least most of Longbottom’s explanation. How the man managed to move about so quietly was frankly beyond him, and not knowing honestly irked him a little.

He sighed and turned around, just in time to see the rest of the staff streaming through the door and ignored Albus’ piercing gaze dart towards his wounded leg, effortlessly penetrating the illusion he had placed on it. The old man could get a full explanation later…preferably after he had found a pain-reliever for himself and Quirrell had slinked away elsewhere.

He watched with only mild interest as the rest of the staff set about making sure the students were alright, with Poppy taking the lead on that front, discussed how it was possible for a Mountain troll to have appeared in their dungeons, and began to repair the rather extensive damage to the bathroom. His mind, however, kept wandering back to the wand that had seemingly exploded in Potter’s hand even as he had used it to cast the spell that had saved the lives of all four children.

“…after that we brought you all here, gave you another once over and decided that only you and Mr. Longbottom needed a little more time under observation, I let Ms. Bones and Mr. Zabini leave with Professor Sprout and Professor Snape. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall waited to make sure that neither of you were in any immediate danger and will be here first thing in the morning for an update and we’ll decide on whether either of you have any lasting injuries, or if there needs to be any continued treatment. Hopefully we’ll be able to let you both go instead of having you spend all of the weekend cooped up in here. Even your hand should patch up just fine, so I wouldn’t be too worried about the bandages…but I’ll check it once more in the morning just to see how it’s healing up. Wand explosions are basically an uncontrolled surge of magical energy, and sometimes have a tendency of leaving nasty scars if they aren’t treated quickly.”

“And…what about the troll? What happened to it?” Harry asked.

“I think I heard Professor Vector mention that they’d left Professor Quirrell to take care of the troll.”

There was silence.

“Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked, trying to figure out if the matron was kidding.

“Yes,” she responded, eyeing one of his diagnostics that she had recast while filling him in on what had happened while he was passed out.

“The same Professor Quirrell who supposedly fainted after running away from the troll initially?” Maybe there was something wrong with his hearing, Harry thought.

“Er…yes?” Madam Pomfrey said, sounding more than a little unsure herself now.

“Did I suffer brain damage from when I collapsed on the floor?” Harry asked carefully, his incredulity getting the better of tact since he was finding it difficult to believe what he was hearing. “Or did the professors of Hogwarts, all collectively lose their damn minds?”

“The troll must have caught him unawares the first time around,” the Matron said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. “He is the DADA professor after all, so I’m sure he can handle a troll.”

Harry gave her a flat stare, and she sighed. “Look, I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Potter. But I’m sure that the headmaster will make sure that the situation is dealt with.” She glanced at the small hourglass that she had placed on his table earlier and stood up. “Ok, that should be long enough, let’s see if the recovery rate is holding.”

“Huh?” Harry said with his usual eloquence in moments of confusion.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a small smile, “As much as I take my job of keeping precocious, accident-prone students in one piece, I don’t typically sit beside them in the middle of the night and catch them up on the latest gossip, Mr. Potter. I needed you awake for at least fifteen minutes to compare if the rate at which your magic is recovering is steady or erratic.”

Harry huffed as she began to cast another set of diagnostic spells. He didn’t think he was particularly precocious; clearly Madam Pomfrey had never had to deal with Padma. And it wasn’t like he actively sought out accidents either, he wasn’t Dudley after all.

“Well, you seem to be doing fine,” the matron eventually concluded. “You drained yourself almost completely, so it might be until the end of the long weekend until your core is completely recharged, but it doesn’t look like there has been any lasting damage.”

She returned the small hourglass to a pocket of her nightgown and continued to speak. “It hasn’t even been two months since your last checkup, and already you have managed to overexert your magic in exactly the manner I had forbidden. I know that in this case you didn’t have much of a choice, but just because you got lucky this time around, doesn’t mean that your luck will continue to hold. So, my earlier guidance still applies. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Potter?”

He nodded tiredly, and she seemed somewhat mollified. “Good, now drink these two,” she said, handing him the two vials of potion from earlier. “The first is a magic replenishing potion which should expedite the rate at which your core recharges, and the other is a sleeping draught to make sure that you can get a good night’s rest. Oh, and classes have been cancelled for tomorrow, so you don’t need to worry about waking up early.”

Harry drank both potions wordlessly and almost immediately felt his eyes start to grow heavy. By the time the matron had accepted the vials back and had begun to return to her quarters, he was already out like a light.

Professor Flitwick was the first to arrive the next morning, to see how he was doing. His head of the house was proud of him for having gone after his classmates and pleased that he had survived, but neither of those prevented him from giving Harry a stern lecture for his recklessness.

It also hadn’t escaped his notice that Harry and Neville had had an opportunity to alert the caretaker of the situation before he’d left to investigate the other distraction.

The Charms professor was interrupted in his admonishments by the arrival of two more visitors; Professor McGonagall and an old witch in a tartan cloak and a hat topped by a stuffed vulture, who Harry vaguely remembered seeing on the platform while boarding the Hogwarts Express.

“Good morning, Mr. Longbottom,” the deputy headmistress called as they approached Nev’s bed. “Your grandmother is here to see you.”

Neville, who had still been dozing stirred, cracked open his eyes and instantly paled as he caught sight of the two people standing at the foot of his bed.

“G-g-gran! W-what are y-you d-doing here?” he sputtered out pulling his sheets up as if intending to use it to hide from the piercing gaze with which the old woman was regarding him.

The woman sniffed, in a strikingly similar manner to Aunt Petunia when she had to deal with door-to-door salespeople and glared at Neville. “Clearly the standards at Hogwarts are slipping if a mere two months here have already robbed you of your manners!”

“S-sorry gran,” Neville corrected immediately, flushing as he did so. “M-merry meet grandmother. W-what, er, w-what brings you h-here?”

The old witch nodded, seeming satisfied for the moment, and ignoring the deputy headmistress, the matron who had also emerged from her office and Harry and Professor Flitwick at the next bed, proceeded to primly seat herself on the chair next to Neville’s bed.

“Merry meet indeed, Neville” she said, not seeming perturbed or hurried by the presence of the other folks, “I received a letter early this morning from your head of house indicating, among other things, that my grandson, the sole Heir to the Ancient and Noble house of Longbottom, was apparently laid up in the hospital after having sought out and attacked a Mountain troll with his bare hands and that his wand had exploded in the process. So, I simply had to clear my schedule and drop by the school to figure out if your professors had gone barmy or if my morning tea had been spiked with a liberal dose of Confusing Concoction!”

“Er-” Neville began, clearly with no clue regarding what he was supposed to say.

“Apparently you attacked a fully-grown mountain troll with your fists like some kind of tavern brawler?” she demanded. “Is this true?”

“Y-yes?” Neville said hopelessly, sounding close to tears. “I-I panicked! It was about to clobber Harry and I had to attract its attention somehow!”

“Bloody well done!” the elder Longbottom declared with a sudden manic grin to everyone’s confusion. Neville even forgot to sniffle for a second.

“Huh?” Harry felt himself saying involuntarily and could have sworn that Flitwick and McGonagall had muttered something similar.

But Lady Longbottom apparently was not done.

“I always knew you had it in you!” she practically crowed with a smile wide enough that it must have hurt her cheeks. “Your parents would be utterly proud, Neville, mark my words. Attacking a troll without so much as a weapon in hand, just to save a friend, as a first-year? That is the most recklessly brave thing I’ve heard of anyone doing in a very long time! Just wait till I tell everyone else, I bet they’d all be as impressed as I am right now! But honestly, I can’t say that I really should be surprised…it may have been a long time coming but your parents’ genes are finally starting to shine through in you, eh? Oh, and to think that a mere year and a half ago we weren’t even sure if you had magic enough to get a Hogwarts letter!”

“So, you’re not angry…?” Neville clarified slowly and incredulously with clear disbelief in his voice.

“Well,” Lady Longbottom sighed, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed about you blowing up your father’s wand. Your Uncle Algernon and I were both very hopeful that your excelling while using it would be a fitting way to honor his legacy, but no matter. Your safety is far more vital than the wand’s and you are a much more important reminder of everything that Frank stood for. I’m almost tempted to have you use Alice’s wand, but also just a little anxious in case that gets damaged as well. So, the other reason why I am here is to take you to Ollivander’s to get you a new wand…with your head of house’s permission of course.”

Neville seemed too overwhelmed to speak, so Professor McGonagall answered on his behalf. “That should not be an issue, Lady Longbottom. Provided of course, that Madam Pomfrey gives Mr. Longbottom the all-clear.”

“Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Minnie!” Lady Longbottom exclaimed, with what Harry thought was considerable hypocrisy, given her criticism of Neville’s lack of decorum just a minute ago. “We went to school together for Merlin’s sake! Call me Augusta!”

Professor Minnie McGonagall sniffed but chose not to comment as Madam Pomfrey with a poorly concealed smirk stepped forward to evaluate Neville’s condition. Harry did his best to maintain a polite expression and at the very least hoped to be doing a better job of it than Professor Flitwick.

“Ah, and you must be the other hero of last night’s story,” Lady Longbottom turned towards him after Flitwick’s snort (resulting in an ugly glare from the deputy headmistress) had drawn both of the old witches’ attention towards them. “Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”

She said it as a matter of fact, and without any trace of either awe or scorn, the two common impressions that he was most used to encountering when meeting any of the more excitable members of the Hogwarts student body for the first time.

“I’m rather pleased that you and my Neville are friends,” the old witch continued before Harry had a chance to respond. “Lily was Neville’s godmother and Alice was yours. They had been close ever since their school days, and when they were expecting the two of you, most of their other friends had already died in the war. You were born within a day of each other too if I remember correctly, and both your mother and my daughter-in-law took the requisite oaths shortly afterwards. And judging by the look on your face, I take it that this is not something you were aware of, hmm?”

Harry realized that his mouth was indeed hanging open, as it appeared was Neville’s, and they both regained their abilities to speak at roughly the same instant.

“Wait, Harry is my godbrother?!”

“Wait, I have a godmother and godbrother?!”

Madam Pomfrey cursed softly and began to re-run her diagnostic, since Neville’s unexpected spike of emotions had seemingly thrown off her readings. Even Flitwick and McGonagall were looking rather surprised at this revelation.

Lady Longbottom seemed to be enjoying their reactions and grinned again. “Back in those days, everyone’s focus was on the war and very few people who were closely involved in it went anywhere or did anything except in total secrecy,” she explained. “Even I only found out about all of this after I became Regent. So, it’s not surprising that no one would have known or told you either. I think folks were just afraid of formally declaring who they were close to in case it attracted the wrong manner of attention to them.”

She paused for a moment and sobered a little bit. “Of course, most of this doesn’t really matter anymore anyway. With Lily gone and Alice incapacitated, well, neither can really fulfill their duties towards either of you. So, aside from the two of you technically being godbrothers, I suppose this is just revisiting ancient history.”

Harry absorbed this slowly. He supposed that it made sense in times of war to keep bonds such as the godparents’ oaths a secret. Although in this case that had clearly backfired as far as Sirius was concerned. He also wondered whether the only reason the Longbottom Regent had learned about Neville’s godparents was via the Gringotts goblins.

“D-do I have a g-godfather too?” Neville asked hesitantly, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

“You did,” Augusta said sadly. “Manfred McKinnon. He was a friend of your father’s and a fellow auror. Both he and his wife Marlene died in the war. Murdered personally by You-Know-Who if the stories are true. I’m sorry, Neville.”

“Oh,” the blond boy said softly, seeming to sink further into his sheets as Madam Pomfrey wrapped up her diagnosis and turned to start summoning potions from her office.

“Alright,” she said, eventually handing Neville a set of three vials. “You seem to be completely fine, but I would still suggest taking it easy over the next few days. These potions are just mild sleeping draughts, and I’d recommend taking one just before bed until you run out. If you still have trouble sleeping afterwards, come see me and I shall see about a refill.”

“So, I’m free to go?” Neville asked hopefully.

“You’re not in a prison and I am not your jailer, Mr. Longbottom,” the nurse sniffed. “You’re free to be out and about looking for more trolls to pick a fight with, if you so wish.”

“Excellent!” Augusta announced, getting up and starting to head for the door. “I’ll be at the Great Hall grabbing breakfast. Neville, join me there once you’ve freshened up and we’ll take you shopping. It was nice meeting you, Harry Potter.”

“Um, it was nice meeting you too ma’am,” Harry called hesitantly as the door shut behind her.

“Guess Augusta hasn’t changed much over the years,” Professor McGonagall said with a sigh, before turning towards Neville. “I am glad you’re doing better Mr. Longbottom, and as your head of the house, I am incredibly proud of the bravery you displayed last night. But it is a matter of shame for me and all your other teachers that you were put into such a position to begin with. We will make sure we get to the bottom of how a troll managed to sneak into the castle at all and take any and all measures necessary to ensure that it never happens again.”

There wasn’t much to be said, so Harry and Neville both nodded at the solemn pronouncement, trying to ignore Madam Pomfrey who had moved over to Harry’s bedside and was casting spells at him. Harry wondered if it might be a good idea to learn at least some of the basic diagnostic charms from her…not that he had any intention of dragging himself or his friends to any more run-ins with trolls of course.

“How does he look, Poppy?” Professor McGonagall asked the nurse after a while, when Harry thought she had moved on from physical diagnostics to magical ones.

“Could be much worse,” the matron responded, concentrating. “His core seems to be recovering nicely enough. If I were to guess, I’d say that he should be fully recharged by lunch tomorrow if he takes another magic replenishing draught before bed tonight. Just as a precaution though, I’d recommend not using any sort of active magic until classes resume on Monday morning.”

“So, I can leave as well?” Harry asked, perking up immediately at the thought, and secretly pleased that his magic embargo wasn’t going to last for as long as he had feared it might have.

“I think so,” the nurse nodded, seemingly dissatisfied that she couldn’t keep him under watch for longer and thus prevent him from causing additional harm to himself. “I just need to see how your hand is healing first though.”

Harry had forgotten about the bandages on his right hand and grimaced as the matron waved her wand over it and the dressings promptly began to unravel themselves. It seemed to go on for several long seconds before they all eventually came undone.

Harry held his hand out, palm facing up, towards Madam Pomfrey for inspection but couldn’t entirely suppress a shudder at the brief glimpse he had of his hand before he could do so. There was a slightly jagged, raised line of dark, angry red, that seemed to be bifurcating the skin on his palm beginning at the base of his index finger and running diagonally down from there. He involuntarily flexed his hand ever so slightly and imagined more than felt some stiffness on the skin along the edges of the scar and willed himself to not betray his worry or fidget any more.

“Hmm,” the nurse said after spending some time casting silent diagnostics over his palm. “I’m afraid that being a magical injury, especially one caused by the explosion of a wand-core, it’s very unlikely for the mark to ever fully fade away, Mr. Potter. In all honesty, you’re lucky to retain your hand at all, let alone the full magical and physical functionalities of it. The intensity of the scar will diminish over time of course, but even with the best balms and salves that I know of, the inherent magic that caused the injury will prevent it from disappearing entirely. I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded quietly and turned his palm towards himself to inspect it more closely. It didn’t hurt, not exactly. There was just the faintest sense of stiff dry skin across the surface of his palm, kind of similar to how a mostly healed blister would feel, that he hoped would also fade with time. He didn’t honestly know how to feel about the mark itself but knew that it was a small price to pay for Neville’s safety. He forced himself to smile and resolutely letting his hand drop to his sheets, looked at the nurse who seemed to be waiting for a response.

“So…I’m free to leave as well then, aren’t I?”

The matron sighed, nodded and started to summon more vials from her office, and this time Harry instantly recognized both the sleeping draughts as well as the single vial of magic replenishing potions that she began to place on his table.

“Alright,” Professor McGonagall announced. “I’m glad that you are alright as well, Mr. Potter. I will not repeat the same thing that I just said to Mr. Longbottom, but you too have made your house and indeed everyone at Hogwarts incredibly proud not just through your bravery, but also through your magical prowess. I must also confess to having had to order the various house prefects to keep your friends from storming the infirmary, so it might be a good idea for you both to get dressed and head on down to breakfast before they start a full-fledged riot.”

She left them with that, and Harry, Neville and Professor Flitwick watched her depart in silence.

“Is it just me or was she almost smiling?” Harry asked once the door had shut behind her.

“Smiling? Minnie?” Flitwick deadpanned. “Seems unlikely. It’s more probable that it was just a momentary hallucination from the shock of having had a troll try its best to bludgeon you with its club, Mr. Potter. And if such a ludicrous delusion isn’t a strong enough reason to avoid such encounters, then I don’t know what is. But I am immensely proud of you both too. I’ll let your friends know that you are doing better and will see you both down at breakfast.”

“Er, Professor Flitwick?” Harry called as the tiny professor turned to leave, while Neville began to struggle out of the bed beside him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” He stopped and smiled at him kindly.

“Er, did anyone, um, send a letter to Aunt Petunia like they contacted Neville’s gran?” he asked hesitantly, not quite sure which answer he was dreading hearing more.

Flitwick nodded solemnly. “Since we still can’t seem to arrive at a conclusion as to who your official magical guardian is, I decided that I should let your aunt know of everything that had happened. I know you are probably worried about how they might react, but as your family, they have a right to know. I wrote to her last night, so…they would have received my owl this morning.”

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to imagine Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s reactions. Maybe it was a good thing that Aunt Petunia wasn’t his official magical guardian, he mused, since at least she couldn’t try to pull him out of school over this.

He thanked Flitwick for the confirmation and once the Charms professor had departed pulled himself out of bed and began to get dressed as well. Someone had been kind enough to clean and fold his clothes from last evening and leave them on one of the chairs near his bed.

As he donned his jacket in the companionable silence that had settled between him and Neville, both of them spoke up at the exact same time.

“I’m sorry Nev.”

“Thank you Harry.”

They both paused, seemingly confused by the other’s comment and turned to look at one another skeptically in the quiet of the hospital wing.

“I blew up your dad’s wand,” Harry said quietly. “I-I knew something bad could happen if I tried to force my magic through it, but there wasn’t enough time, and I didn’t know what else to do and-and I kind of panicked. I’m really sorry, Nev.”

Neville nodded, letting him finish without interrupting and regarded him steadily for what seemed to be a long time, before slowly walking around his own hospital bed and resting a hand on his shoulder and meeting his eyes.

“Harry,” he said softly, “You saved my life. You did magic that no one else in our year could have done that I can’t even explain, and you hurt yourself in the process. It’s like gran said, the wand wasn’t more important than any of our lives, and you saved mine doing what you did.”

“Only after you saved mine first,” Harry smiled. “If you hadn’t attacked it after I slipped, I doubt I could have rolled away from another swing of its club.”

Neville blushed slightly and muttered something about having been too scared to think straight.

“Call it even?” he eventually asked, smiling, once Harry had done up the zipper of his jacket and had put his potion vials into his pockets.

“Deal,” Harry grinned and extended his hand for the other boy to shake. He still winced slightly as they shook, still unused to the feeling of the rough ridges of his scar tissue on his palm.

“Oh! Sorry,” Neville noticed and immediately let go. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No,” Harry assured him. “It’ll take some getting used to, you know? It just…feels a tad bit strange.”

“Well, you do have some experience with scars,” Neville joked as they headed towards the infirmary doors. “I’m sure this one is gonna be par for the course.”

Harry laughed and followed the Gryffindor out, a part of him wondering when Neville had become comfortable making wisecracks, but undeniably pleased at his friend’s newfound confidence.

Maybe it had been the troll incident, or his gran’s approval or even the loss of the wand that despised being wielded by him…but the Neville Longbottom that strode beside Harry as they headed down to breakfast stood just a little bit taller than the boy that had walked the halls of the castle since term had begun two months ago.

The upcoming Sunday marked the start of the school’s annual Quidditch season. Gryffindor would be taking on Slytherin in the opening match, and thus even though the school was just recovering from a troll attack that had interrupted the Halloween feast, the majority of the students from at least two of the four houses were more focused on their teams and strategies than Neville and Harry as they sneaked into the Great Hall.

Bread and circuses, Harry mused as he found his way to his seat at the Ravenclaw table. It was a phrase that Mr. Chloros had been very fond of, and Harry was finally starting to see just how much it still applied to today’s world, as it had to people of millennia’s past.

He smiled at the various congratulatory messages and responded to the inevitable questions from his year mates and even several senior students about what exactly had happened the previous night. He did his best to make it sound like the exploding wand and the overpowered spell was more likely to have been caused by the wand’s desperation to save its owner than anything he himself had done and made sure that Neville’s bravery in attacking the mountain troll with his fists was not glossed over. By the time he was through his third retelling of the events, Susan had come over from the Hufflepuff table and began to help answer the many clarifying questions that followed.

Knowing that they’d be unlikely to find an opportunity for a word or two in private, Harry focused on scarfing down his breakfast as quickly as he could, his knife and fork still feeling a little odd in his scarred palm and proceeded to suggest that given the persistent fine weather outside, perhaps they ought to take a stroll out on the grounds after breakfast.

Padma, Susan and Tony all caught on immediately and the message was passed to their friends in the other houses, and half an hour later he and the rest began to trickle out in twos and threes and exit the still crowded Great Hall.

Once they had all gathered at the same spot beside the Black Lake where they had discussed their run in with the cerberus, the whole story was repeated yet again, this time primarily by Blaise and Susan, who were also able to fill the rest of them in on what had happened after Harry and Neville had passed out. The reactions were varied.

“Mate, that’s wicked!” Ron gushed with wide eyes.

“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt!” Hannah squeaked with tears in hers.

“I had no idea that the Levitation Charm could be used offensively!” Hermione said, clearly intrigued.

“But why did the wand explode? I’ve never heard of anything like it!” Tony mused with a frown.

“A troll? In a school? The board of governors needs to be notified at once! I’ll write to my father about this. He’ll make sure this never happens again!” Draco added, resolutely.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thank you Hannah, for the only humane reaction,” he said archly, glaring around at the rest of his friends. “But there’s one other thing that I had to tell you all before I forget,” he paused, making sure that there wasn’t anyone else close by to overhear, before leaning forward to whisper excitedly. “I think Ron may have been right!”

“I was?” Ron asked before catching himself. “I mean…er, of course I was. Um, just so we’re all on the same page though, what was I right about exactly?”

“When Professor Snape walked into the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of him before I fainted,” Harry said, still whispering urgently and causing the rest of the kids to lean in so as not to miss anything. “The left leg of his trousers was shredded and bloody and he was limping!”

He paused and leaned back triumphantly, before realizing that his bombshell revelation had mostly sailed over the heads of his audience.

“Er? Ok?” Pansy said diplomatically.

Harry sighed theatrically and leaned close again. “It was the kind of injury you get when a dog bites you! And a massive dog at that…now where in the castle would a professor run into a gigantic dog that might be guarding something, hmm? Any thoughts?” he finished trying to look mock thoughtful.

“Oh!” Hermione said, her eyes widening, as she was the first to grasp his implications. “You think he was attacked by the cerberus!”

Harry nodded as the others realized what he was suggesting. “I mean it’s still possible that he had just gone to the third floor to make sure if everything was ok with the monster, but the fact that while everyone else was searching the dungeons for a troll, he was several floors above, getting chewed on by a hellhound, does seem a little out of place.”

Susan was the first to interject.

“Harry? Are you even sure of what you saw?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “He was the first to arrive and stayed with us until all the professors had arrived and the whole place was examined. I-I didn’t see him limping or bleeding or anything. Are you sure you didn’t, well, imagine it before falling unconscious?”

Harry shook his head confidently. “I am certain of it. Maybe he hid it or mended his trousers before anyone else noticed? There must be spells to do something like that, right?”

The students in the group who had had a magical upbringing nodded and Harry smiled satisfied.

“Look, I’m not saying that he’s up to something shady necessarily,” he’d added, “but at the very least I think we can add him to the list of folks who know about the beast but not how to wrangle it.”

“I-I suppose so,” Tony agreed, sounding uneasy. “So far we haven’t spotted anyone else hanging around the corridor at all. No students, staff or even pets. So, it’s quite likely that whoever feeds and walks that dog does it after curfew is in place. So probably another professor. Maybe Kettleburn?”

“The Care of Magical Creatures, Professor?” Pansy asked, sounding amused. “It’s possible I guess, but seeing that he only has one-eye, one hand and one-leg left, I’d be surprised if he wanted to risk his remaining limbs by playing fetch with a cerberus.”

“It could be Hagrid,” Hannah observed. “He knows a lot about magical creatures and seems to care enough about safeguarding even the more dangerous ones in the forest. Doubt he’d let even a cerberus starve if he knew there was one cooped up in the castle.”

“If it is Hagrid,” Padma said slowly, processing this new idea, “and mind you, that is a big if, could we not just ask him about it? I mean, he likes us well enough not to immediately rat us out to someone else, right?”

“Maybe,” Harry said dubiously. “But I don’t know if I’d be sure enough of that to bet on it.”

“Well,” Blaise began in a thoughtful voice, “given that Hagrid was the one who was responsible for our wellbeing on Samhain night, and all four of us nearly ended up dying, I think it should be possible to guilt him into answering a few questions.”

He paused as he took stock of a sea of appalled expressions and hastened to add, “Only if you lot are ok with the idea of course.”

“It was not Hagrid’s fault that there was a damn troll in the school!” Susan announced hotly. “He has nothing to feel guilty about!”

“Oh, I know that,” Blaise said, holding up his hands to try and calm her down. “But Hagrid doesn’t. We could just casually mention to him how traumatic the whole experience was and pretend to be oh so thankful that there are no other monsters in the castle that we might nearly be slaughtered by. If my hunch is right, if Hagrid does know about the cerberus, he’ll probably try to make up some cock-and-bull story to ensure we always stay away from the third-floor. You know, something more compelling than renovations being in progress. And if he isn’t the one who’s feeding the dog, he’ll just focus on what has already happened, since he won’t be aware of any other dangers that the defenseless first-years could stumble into after he had failed to protect them once already.”

“That sounds very manipulative,” Hannah remarked, sounding unsure and was unexpectedly interrupted by Ron.

“I think that’s actually brilliant!” he said grinning. Harry frowned, wondering if this was the first time he’d seen the redhead directly address any of the Slytherins. “We can try it after tomorrow’s Quidditch match. Give him a bit of time for the gravity of what nearly happened to sink in!”

Pansy looked appraisingly at Ron while Hermione and Hannah still looked unsure. It was eventually Susan’s observations that finally brought them around. “When you put it like that…I suppose you aren’t actually guilting him. It’s more like we’re just giving him a chance to let us know if there’s anything else that could hurt us in the castle, yes? If he does know, but doesn’t tell us, now that would be negligent; but if he doesn’t know about the beast, then no harm done at all.”

It still felt kind of sketchy and underhanded to Harry, but he guessed it couldn’t hurt. His misgivings were cut short by a question unexpectedly thrown at him by Tony.

“By the way, Harry,” the blond boy had asked with an air of innocence that immediately made Harry suspicious, “why were you trying to cast spells with Nev’s wand instead of yours anyway? You didn’t do something abysmally stupid like, oh, I don’t know, leave your wand in the pocket of your robes before leaving the castle, did you?”

Several of the other students laughed good naturedly at the absurdity of the implication and then froze as they caught sight of Harry flushing scarlet in contrition.

“Oh Merlin!” Draco exclaimed, “You left your wand in your dorms?!”

Harry sighed, wishing that Nev’s gran could have taken him shopping as well while his friends began to point out the extent of his incompetence in excruciating detail. It was unfair, he thought, that even Ron, who often couldn’t remember where he had last seen his pet rat, had joined in on the roasting.

Quidditch was one of those things that apparently had the power to make Hogwarts students forget about everything else that might be happening around them, be they rampaging beasts, upcoming exams or suspected prodigies among their ranks. It was a phenomenon that Harry was immensely grateful for.

Even though the actual teams consisted of only seven players and a handful of reserves from each house, the rest of the students got involved in the rivalries with the kind of scary fanaticism that Uncle Vernon would likely attribute to the Merseyside Derby. It honestly felt less like a sport and more like a religion at times and being the supporter of a team felt more akin to joining a cult than being a fan.

In the weeks leading up to the various matches, players would frequently end up getting hexed in the back when walking along corridors, have their gear go missing or be sabotaged and even be outright bullied by the less creative members of the opposing house. For Harry and any other students who had never encountered anything like it before, it was as fascinating as it was frightening to behold.

“Seriously?” Harry asked, nonplussed, as their progress down towards the Great Hall ahead of Sunday’s match was suddenly interrupted by the Gryffindor Quidditch team who were being escorted there by at least half of their housemates in something resembling a presidential motorcade. “What do they think is going to ambush them around a castle corridor in broad daylight?”

“Well, let’s see-” Tony began to answer before Harry shut him up with a well-placed elbow as they waited for the security detail to pass.

Even after they’d arrived at breakfast, the Quidditch fever continued to disrupt their usual routine; this time in the form of Elliot Marsh, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain.

“Potter! Hooch!” he barked over the excited background chatter emanating mostly from the red and gold clad Gryffindors and the green and silver wearing Slytherins at their respective tables. “Madam Hooch says that you two are good fliers and that you’re both going to be trying out for the house teams next year. So, I want you to sit with the current team and reserves during the matches this season so we can at least start drilling tactics into you.” He glared at the confused first-years before adding, “Same goes for anyone else who thinks they can make the cut.”

As the heavy-set sixth-year stomped off to where the rest of the team were probably sitting, Harry looked at Amanda. “I didn’t know I was trying out for the house team next year. Did you?”

She grinned back in response, seemingly unperturbed by the situation. “It’s Quidditch, Harry. You gotta learn to expect the unexpected sometimes.”

A quick consult with the rest of his year mates confirmed that none of the other first-year students had given any thought to trying out for the Quidditch team, so once they’d finished with their meal (which was only interrupted twice by the resounding cheers that marked the departure of one of today’s competing teams as they headed down to the pitch) Harry informed Padma and Tony that he’d catch up with them after the match and followed Amanda towards the group that seemed to be this year’s Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

Marsh looked up as they arrived and gruffly introduced them to the rest of the team as possible new additions to their rank next year and ordered the group to their feet so they could get good seats before the stands all filled up. Harry exchanged a resigned look with Amanda and began to follow the team; and after a while, one of the younger members from the group of around a dozen dropped back to walk beside them.

“Amanda wasn’t it?” she asked cheerfully. “I’m Cho, the new seeker. Madam Hooch spoke very highly of your and Harry’s flying skills. Are you guys excited for the match?”

Amanda responded eagerly and Harry grumbled in the background. Eventually Cho noticed and called him out on his seeming disgruntlement.

“You don’t seem too enthused back there, Harry,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, “Not a Quidditch fan then, are we?”

“It’s a game!” Harry wailed. “And somehow it drives people insane to the point where they’re hexing their opposition! I don’t think even the rules really make sense! If one player can score fifteen times the points that it normally takes three players to score in each play, how is it even fair?!”

“Well, the snitch points don’t usually matter all that much in tournament or championship level games, you see,” Cho explained. “At school level, sure. We use much slower snitches, games are held in the middle of the day when visibility is generally at its highest and seekers usually just hang around and circle the game until they can dive after their quarry. But in league games not only are they a lot more involved in either disrupting opposition tactics or calling out warnings and the like, the hundred-and-fifty points boost from the snitch catch is rarely enough to change the results of the game. A game that lasts even a couple of hours, barring an exceptional keeper performance or a remarkably even chaser balance, usually develops a margin that cannot be made up by catching the snitch.”

She continued after tucking a strand of shiny black hair behind her ear as they entered the stadium and began to walk towards what seemed to be the Ravenclaw section of the surrounding stands. “Most professional seekers spend almost the entirety of the game running interference against the opposition plays and only settle down to hunt for the snitch once the points have tallied up in their favor nicely, so that losing the extra support won’t cause them to suddenly fall behind too far. That’s not to say that early snitch catches don’t happen, it’s just that they are rare and honestly, not something that anyone really enjoys.”

“How come?” Harry asked, frowning. “Wouldn’t an early catch make the team more likely to win?”

“Fans, sponsors or businesses enjoy a long, hard-fought match a lot more than a quick end to proceedings,” the Ravenclaw seeker replied with a wink. “Finishing fast isn’t always a good thing, didn’t you know?”

Harry colored slightly and looked away to cast his gaze around the Quidditch pitch and the high stands that surrounded it. As he made his way to the viewing gallery, he was struck by the sheer size and grandeur of the pitch. The stadium was an enormous oval, with towering stands surrounding the lush green field. Each stand was adorned with banners and house colors, scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, green and silver for Slytherin, yellow and black for Hufflepuff and blue and bronze for Ravenclaw. The stands were filled with a sea of excited spectators, their cheers and shouts echoing in the crisp air.

The pitch itself was meticulously maintained, the grass perfectly trimmed and vibrant. Three tall goalposts stood at either end, each with a set of golden hoops at varying heights. The pitch was marked with white lines, outlining the boundaries and center circle, where the action would soon unfold.

Above the stands, enchanted flags and pennants fluttered in the breeze, adding splashes of color to the sky. Magical scoreboards hovered at either end of the pitch, ready to display the points as the match progressed. The atmosphere was electric, a palpable buzz of anticipation and excitement that seemed to charge the air.

As Harry followed Cho and Amanda, who had started to climb up into the stands, he couldn’t help but notice a myriad of magical enhancements that made the viewing experience unique. Some spectators seemed to be carrying enchanted binoculars, allowing them to zoom in on the action, while a few senior students had charmed their seats for better comfort or an enhanced view. The smell of popcorn and other snacks wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fresh grass.

He looked around curiously as they paused to make way for a group of students who were busy unfolding some kind of giant banner, wondering where the popcorn was being sold, and realized that several concession stands had sprung up at the base of the spectator’s stands. They seemed to be staffed by adult witches and wizards, and now that he noticed, it seemed that an entire portion of the stands had also been dedicated to a large number of spectators, both young and old, who were most definitely not Hogwarts students.

Cho preempted his question as they resumed climbing (seriously, how high up were the seats that Marsh wanted?), “Hogwarts has a proud history of producing some of the best Quidditch players in the British Isles. So, the matches, and in some cases even pre-season friendlies or practice sessions are open for the public to attend. A lot of the folks here are from Hogsmeade, the local hamlet. They get a fair bit of business from the various stalls they set up and from the shopping that visitors do when they’re passing through the village; but folks come to see these matches from all over the country. There are the family members of the players who come to cheer them on, scouts looking for new talent among the senior students and representatives of broom companies monitoring performances of their products and identifying potential candidates for future brand deals. Ah, here we are. Best seats in the house to keep an eye on the whole game.”

They had climbed to the very top of the Ravenclaw stands and were looking down at the empty field from an almost dizzying height. They were practically level with the lowest of the goalposts and from up here, he imagined he would be able to make out every detail of the game that was about to start. He settled down in a seat between Cho and Amanda as he watched Marsh shoo away a couple of fellow Ravenclaws from their area, muttering something about needing to keep the teams’ strategies and observations a secret.

The noise of the crowd was a constant roar, with pockets of singing and chanting breaking out sporadically. Each house even seemed to have its own cheer squad, waving flags and leading chants to rally their teams. The energy was infectious, and in spite of himself, he felt his heart beat a little faster in anticipation.

There seemed to be four evenly sized sections of the stands, each dedicated to one of the houses and placed on either side of the pitch. A fifth much smaller section was located behind one of the sets of goalposts that looked to be occupied by the teaching staff, while at its opposite end was the much larger visitors stand. A single elevated structure at the very center of the teachers’ section appeared to be a commentator’s box, which, once the stands seemed to have filled up completely, became the source of a booming voice that echoed through the stadium loudly enough to drown out the cheering and the chatter.

“Welcome one and all to the first game of the Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Season!” the commentator’s voice reverberated across the grounds startling them all for a moment. “In today’s exciting matchup we have the brave Lions of Gryffindor taking on the slimy Snakes of Slytherin, and we all know who we are rooting for!”

Even Marsh, seated a couple of rows in front of Harry and engaged in deep conversation with one of the chasers, stopped and cocked his head to the side.

“Did I really just hear that?” Cho asked softly in the stunned silence that followed. Just seconds before the Gryffindor section erupted into loud, raucous laughter and cheering.

“Who is the commentator this year?” Serena, the sixth-year prefect and apparently a member of the team, asked Marsh quietly.

“Some third-year kid,” Marsh said. “Jordan or something I reckon. Well, no prizes for guessing where his loyalties lie. Do you think he’ll be sacked before the end of the match, or will someone fire him before it even starts?”

There seemed to be some sort of commotion in the teacher’s stands as Professor McGonagall rushed towards the commentator’s box and barged in unceremoniously.

After a prolonged pause that seemed to go on for several minutes, Jordan’s voice was audible across the stadium once more. “I’m terribly sorry about that, ladies and gents, apparently someone, and I strongly suspect that I know who, had slipped a babbling beverage into my morning tea. Please feel free to disregard anything offensive I may have said whilst under its influence. Now, without further ado, allow me to introduce the teams. First up, it’s the defending champions! Please put your hands together for the Slytherin team!”

A group of seven figures emerged from their changing room on the right of the pitch from Harry’s vantage point to loud cheers from their own housemates, jeers from the Gryffindors and polite applause from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, the faculty and the visiting spectators.

“Taking up the captain’s mantle this year, we have Marcus Flint, part of the chaser trio alongside the returning Adrian Pucey and the new recruit Graham Montague. They’re followed by the veteran keeper Bletchley and the beater duo of Woods and Hawkins. And last but not least, playing seeker this morning, we have Terence Higgs!”

More applause followed as each name was announced and the players raised their hands to acknowledge the support from the watching crowds, while Jordan continued his commentary.

“I asked the Gryffindor captain if he and Woods were related, given the similarity in their last names,” he declared cheerfully, “and whether it might cause him to take it easy on her…and I think my black-eye is going to heal any day now. But enough about that! Please, show some love for the Gryffindor Quidditch team!”

Far below and off to Harry’s left a group of seven red and gold robed players emerged onto the sun dappled pitch and began to march towards the center where their green and silver-attired counterparts stood waiting.

“The returning keeper Oliver Wood is the captain of the team this year, and he is by far the biggest Quidditch nut in the whole school! What? That is a known fact! Behind him are the chasers, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell! Both Johnson and Spinnet return to the team after strong seasons last year while Bell is a new addition. Behind them are the beaters known far and wide as the terror twins, Fred and George Weasley, returning for their second year on the team! And finally, the Gryffindor seeker, who if rumors are to be believed is only there on the team after last year’s disastrous performance, because no one else showed up to the Gryffindor trails to vie for the spot this year...it's Fletcher Ball!”

As the crowd reacted with very mixed emotions to Jordan’s introduction of the Gryffindor team, Harry heard Marsh sigh and say to Serena, “No, I take it back. The kid isn’t biased so much as he’s just a colossal knob head.”

Serena was smirking softly as the teams had been announced and shrugged at the captain’s comments. “Good fun for the neutrals I suspect. Bound to be more interesting commentary than just announcing scores.”

Once Madam Hooch, who according to Cho was the designated referee for all Hogwarts Quidditch matches had made the captains shake each other’s hands, released the snitch and the bludgers and gotten the game underway with a sharp blast of her whistle, the game was well and truly underway. And despite all of Harry’s previous cynicism, he was fascinated by the show that the players put on.

Marsh’s observations, Jordan’s breathless commentary and even liberally dipping in and out of his trance weren’t quite enough to allow Harry to keep track of everything that was happening simultaneously in the game. True to Cho’s comments, Ball and Higgs were both circling the pitch from dozens of feet above the rest of the players and searching for the snitch, pausing only to dodge the occasional bludger that the beaters send in their direction, but the rest of the teams were a frantic, synchronized whirl of adrenaline inducing activity that was both scary and awe inspiring.

He ‘ooh’-ed and ‘aah’-ed with the rest of the viewers as Pucey seemed to jump off of his broom and temporarily balanced on just one of his hands, with the quaffle clutched in his other arm, letting the bludger that George Weasley had belted towards him harmlessly sail through the air between his body and his broomstick. He held his breath as the Gryffindor chasers rocketed up the pitch in a triangular formation that Jordan called the ‘Hawkshead’, the quaffle being passed between them too fast for him to tell who had possession of it. He cheered both when Wood pulled off a spectacular save with his fingertips and also when Bletchley hurled the quaffle nearly half the length of the pitch, picking out Flint with unerring precision.

As entertaining as the game was for the neutral observer, the scoreboard was gradually starting to show a widening gap. After an hour of play at breakneck speeds, Gryffindor was leading by a hundred and seventy points to a hundred and twenty.

“It’s Montague,” Marsh commented drily after Gryffindor seized possession of the quaffle and scored on Slytherin after a fumble by the rookie chaser. “Bell, the new girl on the Gryffindor team, seems to have slotted in with Spinnet and Johnson perfectly, but Montague is still not up to Flint or Pucey’s standards. Every play that involves him is being targeted by the Weasleys and as a result the snakes are winding up losing the quaffle half the time. The Gryffindors might be in with a genuine chance this year if they keep playing like this and don’t have any major injuries.”

As if to underscore his words, Madam Hooch blew her whistle awarding a penalty to Gryffindor, and for a moment Harry was unsure what had happened. Then he caught sight of Bell bleeding profusely from her nose while Woods loudly pleaded her innocence, having just clobbered the opposing chaser with her beater’s bat.

Before too long the game was back underway, and it was starting to get ugly. The Slytherin beaters in particular seemed to have stopped caring if their increasingly wilder swings made contact with bludger or opponent, and more and more of Gryffindor’s plays were being disrupted. It was either that or be clubbed off their brooms while a hundred feet up in the air.

But the speed of the game would not relent, and Jordan’s commentary was Harry’s only way of keeping track of what was happening.

“Bell to Spinnet! Body blocked by Hawkins! How is that not a foul?! Quaffle drops, it’s seized by Pucey! Dodges a bludger from Weasley, I can’t tell which! Feints right towards Flint! Passes to Montague! Montague shoots-but it’s expertly held by Wood! He launches it up the field and picks out Johnson. Johnson is beelining towards Bletchley-wait, was that the snitch?!”

For a moment it seemed like the whole ground had frozen, players and spectators alike and the only two people moving in the sea of stillness were a green clad Higgins and a red clad Ball falling out of their layer high above the ground like a pair of meteors racing each other towards the ground.

And as soon as the race had begun, it was over. Higgins was rising into the air to the ecstasy and jubilation of his team and his house, fist held high overhead with a glint of gold within, while Ball was trying to desperately pull out of his dive before he crashed into the turf.

“Final score, Gryffindor one hundred and ninety; Slytherin two hundred and eighty! Slytherin win the opening match of the Hogwarts ninety-one ninety-two Quidditch season after a gallant show from Gryffindor’s chasers that was ultimately thwarted by Terence Higgs’ magnificent capture of the snitch! What a fantastic performance by both sets of players, please give everyone a warm round of applause folks! But especially, let's hear you raise the roof for today’s undisputed victors, SLYTHERIN!”

The onlooking spectators erupted again, except for the subdued Gryffindor section of the crowd. Harry applauded the winners along with the rest of the Ravenclaws near them and then turned to see Amanda giving him a cocky smile. “Now tell me, Potter. You still don’t want to be a part of that?”

Chapter Text

November 1991

By the time Harry climbed down from the stands, the majority of the crowd of spectators had cleared. A few groups of people, most likely friends or family of the players, had descended from the visitors stands and were mingling with the students they’d come to root for. As he looked around, hoping to spot Blaise, Susan and Neville, he caught a whiff of kebabs from a nearby stand that was being packed up, and for a moment was sorely tempted to buy some.

No - the part they were supposed to play today was one of scared, or at least concerned, schoolchildren. So, arriving at Hagrid’s hut munching on a gyro was probably not the best course of action. Maybe during the next match though, he decided. It would give him an additional reason to look forward to the Quidditch fixtures.

Eventually, he spotted Blaise, who seemed to have had some difficulty extricating himself from the celebratory Slytherins at the stadium and was now making his way towards him looking grumpy at having been dragged into the exuberance of his house mates. He was accompanied by Susan, who looked altogether far too amused at Blaise’s annoyance.

“Took you guys long enough,” Harry announced by way of greeting as they got close. “Has anyone seen Neville though?”

Blaise shook his head, still scowling. “Not me. Was busy getting swept away by a mob of children who had lost their minds because their house had won one measly Quidditch match. Maybe he got sick of the celebrations, being a Gryffindor and all, and decided to meet us outside the stadium?”

“Maybe,” Harry conceded, frowning. “I didn’t realize Nev cared about Quidditch that much. Well, fine let’s see if we can spot him outside I suppose.”

The three of them began to make their way towards the exit, walking past the occasional group of people still milling about on the pitch and keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of their wayward Gryffindor. But it wasn’t until they’d left the stadium that they finally spotted him, standing off to one side of the path that led back towards the castle, and seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey Nev!” Susan hailed him as they approached. “Why’d you leave without us?”

Neville seemed to start as he turned towards them, blinking rapidly as his eyes focused on Susan. “Oh, I just couldn’t take Ron griping about the match anymore. Figured I’d come wait out here, since I didn’t know how long Blaise would want to celebrate the win. After all, this was probably the highlight of his year just like it’s a low point for Ron.”

Blaise flipped the blond boy off with a glare as Harry and Susan chuckled.

“Are we doing this, or what?” Harry asked, steeling himself as he looked around at the others who nodded resolutely. “Great, let’s go. Hagrid should be at his hut, seeing as the presence of all these guests means he needs to keep a constant eye on the school gates.”

They set off down the now familiar path towards the groundskeeper’s quarters. By general consensus, they had decided yesterday that today’s group was best kept restricted to the survivors of the Halloween incident. The presence of the other Slytherins might make it more difficult to get Hagrid to open up, and they didn’t really trust Hannah not to give the game away if Hagrid looked like he was beating himself up with self-imposed guilt.

Ron had initially been keen on coming with them but had ultimately decided that celebrating or commiserating with his housemates, depending on the outcome of the Quidditch match, was more important than trying to trick Hagrid into giving up information.

“By the way, Nev,” Harry asked as they walked. “I forgot to ask yesterday, but what’s the new wand you’ve got?”

“Oh, it’s ten inches long and made of Walnut and Unicorn Hair,” Neville responded while reaching into the pocket of his robes and pulling out his new wand. “Apparently, it’s a good wand for defensive magic, at least according to Mr. Ollivander. I honestly have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but at least this one doesn’t make me feel like it hates me. Oh, that reminds me! I, er, I kind of got you something,” he added, blushing slightly as he reached into his robes again. “It’s kind of like a thank you present for, you know, saving my neck and all. Gran suggested that you might find it useful. Er, here you go.”

He was holding out a slim paper package about a foot long that Harry took cautiously.

“Nev,” he chided. “I thought we agreed that we were even! You really didn’t need to get me anything.”

“I know, I know,” the other boy waved away his protest. “But I think you might actually like this. Go on, open it up!”

Intrigued, Harry carefully began to unwrap the package and pretended not to notice Blaise’s ill-concealed impatience. Given how the usually composed boy had practically shredded the wrappings off of his own birthday present, he clearly had a very definite idea of how gifts were meant to be opened. Eventually though, the packaging had been undone, and Harry was holding what seemed to be two connected and adjustable leather hoops, each with a much tinier loop of the same material attached to them.

“Er,” Harry began, not entirely sure what it was that he was holding. “Thanks, Nev, I love it!” he said, trying to frantically figure out what he was supposed to do with this strange contraption.

Neville snorted, not falling for the charade for an instant. “It’s a wand holster, Harry,” he explained. “You strap it to your forearm and slide the wand through the tiny hoops. This one is enchanted, so that instead of having to pull your wand free when you need it, you just, um, make some kind of motion with your wrist, and it drops into your palm.”

“Oh wow!” Harry exclaimed, his eyes going wide with excitement. “I’ve been meaning to get something like this ever since I arrived at Hogwarts! Honestly, it’s just so damned difficult to get your wand out of your robes when you’re in a hurry, isn’t it? Thank you so much Nev, I really love it! Please pass on my thanks to your gran as well!”

Neville nodded, indicating that he’d do so, before cheekily adding, “And now that you have this, hopefully you’ll be a tad less likely to go traipsing around the school with your wand forgotten up in your dorm.”

“Oh, give it a rest already!” Harry sighed, rolling up the right sleeve of his robes to don the holster while the other two started laughing.

When they arrived at Hagrid’s hut, they found the big man sitting outside on a huge wooden deck chair, peeling spuds in a massive basin. Next to him, Fang, the normally excitable boarhound, especially when Neville was nearby, lay slumped on the ground. Both dog and master seemed to be practically oozing an aura of despondency, and it wasn’t until they were practically on top of them did either of them notice the new arrivals.

“Who’s there?” Hagrid started, nearly overturning the chair he had been sitting on as he jumped up before abruptly freezing as he recognized his guests.

“Hey Hagrid,” Harry said, trying not to feel too guilty. “You, er, haven’t been coming around to meals at the Great Hall. We wanted to stop by and make sure you were ok.”

“Yeh-you all nearly died! An’ it was all me fault!” the giant man nearly wailed as he threw himself forward and gathered all four children in a single bone-crushing hug. “I didn’ know how ter show me face ‘round the school after I’d heard!”

“Hagrid, geroff!” Neville managed to squeal out, sounding choked and the man cautiously let them go and backed away wiping golf ball sized tears on a gigantic pink handkerchief.

Harry surreptitiously tried to make sure that none of his ribs were broken as he wheezed at the groundskeeper. “Hagrid, it wasn’t your fault. There was no way you could have known. In fact, of all the people in the castle, you were the least to blame for anything.”

Blaise spoke up, right on cue. “He’s right, Hagrid. We really don’t hold any ill will against you. We know you’d never have let us go back to the castle alone if you had any idea that there was a dangerous creature inside. And besides, it’s some kind of a freak accident anyway, right?  The threat has passed, and the school is safe again!”

Susan pitched in kindly, “We know you’d never willingly let us head into danger without warning us Hagrid. Please don’t feel guilty about what happened.”

“Er, right. Course not,” Hagrid mumbled, still sniffling. “I’d never let any o’ yeh get into trouble like that. It’s just that trolls are almost impossible ter reason with. I dunno how Professor Quirrell manages ter control ’em.”

“Quirrell can control trolls?” Harry asked skeptically. “Didn’t he run away from this one when he first encountered it?”

“It must’ve surprised ‘im or summat,” Hagrid maintained, blowing his nose and drying his eyes. “We spoke at the start o’ the term, an’ he mentioned how he had a bit o’ a gift when it came ter trolls. He was curious ‘bout Fluffy too, but o’ course Dumbledore wouldn’ let us discuss how ter handle Fluffy or how Professor Quirrell manages trolls.”

“What’s a Fluffy, Hagrid?” Harry asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Far, far too late, Hagrid realized that he might have let slip something that he wasn’t supposed to. He instantly froze in his spot and desperately glanced around for some kind of reprieve.

“Ah, it’s nuthin’,” he stammered very unconvincingly. “Er, forget I said that. It’s really not summat I should be talkin’ about or needs ter concern yeh. Why don’t yeh all come in, an’ we can have a nice cup o’ tea-”

“Hagrid,” Harry said slowly. “Did you name the cerberus ‘Fluffy’?”

If Hagrid had been uncomfortable before, he was positively hyperventilating now.

“How d’yeh all know ‘bout him?” he hissed, sounding horrified, his eyes bulging in shock. “We can’t talk ‘bout that! No one’s supposed ter know. Dumbledore’s orders!”

“We ran into it by accident,” Harry said. “Hagrid, what on earth is going on? What other monster is being stored at Hogwarts? At this rate it’s just a matter of time before one of these creatures ends up seriously hurting someone!”

Hagrid looked increasingly conflicted for a few seconds before shaking his head and seeming to come to some sort of decision.

“Inside, all o’ yeh,” he said, picking up the basin full of potatoes in one hand and gesturing towards his cabin with the other. “We can’t talk ‘bout this out here where anyone might overhear. I dunno how much I can tell yeh, but hopefully it’ll be enough fer yeh ter keep yerselves outta trouble.”

The four of them exchanged a brief glance before nodding and filing into the hut, and after a few seconds Hagrid walked in behind them and having placed the basin on the table, shut the door behind him.

He sighed, bustling around the place and putting a kettle on the fire while muttering to himself.

“I thought yer father an’ his friends had a knack fer findin’ trouble an’ pokin’ about where they shouldn’t. But it hasn’t even been two months o’ school an’ already yeh lot are puttin’ ’em to shame. Before I tell yeh what I can, how exactly did yeh come across Fluffy?”

Harry looked at Blaise and Susan briefly, seeking confirmation, and receiving a small nod from each, decided to stick to the truth…or at least most of it.

“We were out after curfew and ran into Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch’s cat. We tried to run away, so we weren’t really paying attention to where we were going. We barged into the room with the cerberus without meaning to.”

“That’s impossible,” Hagrid exclaimed. “Both the doors leadin’ ter Fluffy are kept locked ‘round the clock. They’re only supposed ter open fer me when I got ter feed ‘im. Yeh all should never have been able ter get in there in the first place!”

“The door to the corridor was ajar, and the other one closed but not locked,” Susan said, backing Harry up. “We practically ran in there before barely managing to get out.”

“I’ll-I’ll have ter have Professor Dumbledore check that out,” Hagrid muttered, sounding troubled and immediately raised a hand at the children’s protest to try and reassure them that he wouldn’t be ratting them all out. “I won’t tell ‘im ‘bout yeh all. I’ll just say that I saw the door already open when I arrived ter feed Fluffy or summat.”

“Hagrid, what is going on?” Harry asked again. “What exactly is the cerberus supposed to be guarding? We saw that it was standing on some kind of trapdoor, so what is it that is buried beneath?”

Hagrid had finally finished brewing the tea, which he poured into five large mugs and set out a plate of cakes before taking a seat at the table and with a deep resigned sigh, focused his gaze on Harry.

“I can’t tell yeh that, Harry,” he said, shaking his head. “What I can say, an’ that no one else must know, is that Hogwarts is currently guardin’ summat that a lot o’ the staff an’ the headmaster have done their best ter protect an’ keep secret.”

He paused for a moment, before proceeding. “Me own contribution was Fluffy. His kind are immensely good at guardin’ things an’ are near impossible ter get past if yeh don’t know how. An’ only Professor Dumbledore an’ I know that secret.”

He waited to see if there were any follow-up questions, and seeing there were none, he continued. “I can’t tell yeh what the other professors did, or even who specifically was involved. But none o’ those protections are a risk ter the students o’ the castle. Fer instance, Fluffy knows never ter leave the room he’s in, an’ similarly, the other defenses are also stationary an’ safe fer anyone who doesn’t actively try ter breach ’em. So, as long as none o’ yeh go stumblin’ in there, everythin’ should be fine. An’ once I’ve had the headmaster fix the problem with the locks, no one else should accidentally run into Fluffy anymore either.”

“And the troll is an entirely unrelated incident?” Neville asked, sounding unconvinced.

“As far as I know, yeah,” Hagrid answered. “I’ve never heard o’ summat like that ever happenin’ in the past, but…well, there are all manners o’ creatures in the forest. It-it is theoretically possible that a troll just waltzed in.”

Except it had been a mountain troll, and not a forest troll, Harry thought, and decided not to voice his doubts about Hagrid’s theory.

“Why is your something being guarded here?” Susan demanded. “Surely there are better places to hide something dangerous than a school!”

“It’s not dangerous!” Hagrid said placatingly. “It’s just-just rare. An’ Dumbledore thinks that there might be folks tryin’ ter steal it. An’ Hogwarts is one o’ the safest places there is.”

“Really? Even safer than a high-security vault at Gringotts? Rumor has it that some of their most secure lockers are guarded by literal dragons.” Blaise remarked evenly, sipping his tea with an air of nonchalance.

“Absolutely! It was nearly stolen from its Gringotts vault. We were lucky that the attempt had been just a few days after I had already brought it here-” Hagrid trailed off abruptly as realization hit him and he squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. “I really shouldn’t ‘ave said that either. Could yeh please forget I said anythin’?”

For the rest of their visit the groundskeeper steadfastly refused to answer any more questions that the four of them posed to him. But regardless, when Harry and his companions trudged back to the castle later to reconvene with the rest of the group and share what they had learned, it was all they could do to not start to wildly speculate about what mysterious item was currently being hidden away at Hogwarts.

Between Ron still sulking with the rest of the Gryffindors, Draco and Pansy celebrating with the Slytherins in their common rooms and Hannah realizing with most of the remaining student body at Hogwarts that the Halloween troll attack coupled with the Quidditch fever had kept a lot of students from completing assignments that were due the next morning, they were unable to convene an all-hands meet that afternoon or evening.

Consequently, discussions surrounding what the next stage of their plans were going to be had to be shelved until later in the week. Yet despite everything that had happened in the last few days, they had to somehow force themselves back into the normal schedule of classes, assignments and pretending to care about ‘house points’.

Harry had dutifully reported to the hospital wing on Sunday evening to get the ‘all clear’ from Madam Pomfrey and had been pronounced fit to resume casting spells. Or, as the acerbic nurse had phrased it, she was no longer able to keep him from messing himself up again.

So, by the time he strolled into Transfiguration, first thing Monday morning, he had started to put the Samhain incident behind him and was looking forward to resuming his magical journey.

They had progressed past trying to transfigure toothpicks or matchsticks into needles and pins; and were now experimenting with inanimate transformations of small objects that did not resemble the target state in shape. This was a more challenging exercise, but Harry, Hermione and Padma had already achieved the required results and were expecting, just like in their previous lesson, to be instructed to help their classmates who were still struggling.

As they had predicted, once the three of them had succeeded in changing their glass paperweights into wooden chopsticks, collected the five points apiece and been treated to a rare approving nearly-a-smile from Professor McGonagall; they were asked to assist the rest of the class. Harry left Tony in Padma’s care, saw that Hermione was already helping both Ron and Parvati, and decided to move towards Neville to see how he was getting along with his new wand.

Neville seemed to be hesitating and looked up with a fair bit of doubt clearly evident in his eyes as he heard him approach.

“Everything ok there Nev?” Harry asked him, concerned at his friend’s demeanor.

The blond boy looked around for a moment before lowering his voice.

“I-I can’t explain it,” he said hesitatingly, “but I get this strange sense of warning from my wand when I try to get ready to perform the spell.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he beamed.

“Nev, that’s exactly what I felt during our first lesson!” He rushed to explain when Neville looked confused at his reaction. “I had gotten so used to doing magic wandlessly, that I was about to channel far more of it than was required when casting through a focus. I reckon you’ve been forced to do the same thing since your da-your old wand wasn’t compatible with you. So, just try and, er, tone down how much magic you’re trying to access, and it should work perfectly.”

Neville nodded, his eyes widening at Harry’s explanation and gripped his wand more tightly, looking determined once more. Harry watched, as his friend took a deep steadying breath and focused anew on the paperweight on the desk in front of him.

“Mutatio,” he said clearly, tapping the object with his new wand.

The paperweight changed into a pair of wooden chopsticks.

Harry cheered, heedless of the fact that he was still in class, and warmly clapped Neville on the shoulders, grinning broadly. “That was perfect Nev! And you got it on your first try too!”

Neville was still staring at the transfigured chopsticks with disbelief, and at Harry’s proclamation slowly raised his gaze towards him.

“I-I…thank you, Harry!” he said, sounding overwhelmed with emotions. “That’s the first time a spell has worked for me on the first attempt. I don’t think I would have been able to do it without you.”

“Nonsense,” Harry chided. “You’re the one who cast the spell Nev. All I did was advise you not to overdo it.”

“That is exactly right, Mr. Longbottom,” the voice of Professor McGonagall interrupted from right behind them. “Since we have plenty of time left in the lesson, would you mind trying to un-transfigure the chopsticks as well?”

Neville nodded resolutely, and Harry stepped slightly to the side as the blond boy raised his wand once more. “Reverti,” he intoned, carefully tapping the wooden chopsticks with his Walnut and Unicorn Hair wand.

Instantly, the chopsticks reverted to their previous form and a glass paperweight sat stock still on Neville’s desk.

“It would appear that the only thing holding you back in my class was the lack of a compatible wand, Mr. Longbottom,” McGonagall said, directing another of her rare smiles at the boy. “I look forward to watching what you accomplish now that we seem to have fixed the problem. Five points to Gryffindor.”

Neville gaped at her, even as Harry felt himself swell with pride at the praise his friend had just received from his normally reserved head of house. She seemed amused for a moment before returning to her typical professional manner, “Since you have both achieved the transfiguration, feel free to assist the other students as well.”

As she moved on to Dean and Seamus to see if they needed any guidance, Neville turned to Harry once more. “I don’t think I’ve ever won points before…outside of Herbology that is,” he said, sounding almost awestruck. “Or been asked to help others with their spells.”

“Well, it’s about time you started pitching in,” Harry returned cheerfully. “I could certainly use a bit of help in that regard.”

He started to move away towards Amanda, Lisa and Sue who were working at the table beside Terry and Mike before pausing to give Neville another warm pat on the back. “That was really nicely done Nev. You’ve got it well in hand!”

As the blond boy grinned widely in response and began to head towards Kevin and Roger’s desk, his posture confident and his steps sure, Harry was briefly forced to dwell once more on how true Ollivander’s words had been when he had said that it was the wand that chooses the wizard.

Once the class ended, the Ravenclaws parted company with the Gryffindors and headed off to the sixth-floor corridor where the ‘History of Magic’ classrooms were located.

Over the last two months they’d gathered more information about the subject, or more accurately why it was taught the way it was at Hogwarts, and it had been an interesting experience. It had turned out that Professor Binns’ obsession with the Goblin Rebellions was not altogether born out of dogma and prejudice. The ghost was in fact a victim of the Wizard-Goblin conflict of 1890, at least part of which seemed to have taken place in and around Hogwarts.

An important contributory cause of the friction between Magical Britain and the goblins who lived in the British Isles stemmed from disputes concerning ownership of objects and artifacts that were of goblin make. While the British Ministry of Magic, and by extension witches and wizards, believed that movable property changed hands upon the completion of a purchase, goblins firmly held that this manner of transaction was solely a lease to the specific individual making the deal, for the duration of the individual’s natural lifespan.

As a result, the ownership of say, a goblin forged shield, upon the death of the knight who had commissioned and wielded it, would automatically revert to the smith who had crafted it instead of being passed down to the deceased’s family. If the original creator of the artifact had themselves perished prior to the passing of the lease holder, the claim of the descendants of the creator would take precedence over the claims of the people who survived the renter of the item, once they had ceased to exist. In fact, goblin kind adhered to this concept of ownership even when it came to property disputes among their own people.

Historically, even though goblins had always gone to great lengths to ensure that this understanding was made abundantly clear to a prospective lessee at the time of a bargain being struck, they had found that such agreements were rarely if ever honored by their human signatories. Perhaps it was a result of people not honoring deals made by folks who were no longer around, or perhaps it was because goblin wrought artifacts were far too precious for most people to not greedily covet; but regardless, this had always been a massive bone of contention between the races.

It had to be said there were, however, a few exceptions to this rule. In very rare cases, the goblin smith instead of selling or leasing an item of their making, would bequeath it to a witch or wizard (generally in exchange for a great service rendered to them). In these instances, the ownership would transfer entirely over to the receiver for them to do with as they saw fit, during their lives and even beyond. Apparently, the staff of Merlin was one such artifact, which though lost to time had originally been of goblin make but had never been demanded back by the descendants of its creator.

The other chief cause of friction between the Magical populace of Britain and its goblin denizens, was the question of the right to bear wands.

The first major conflict between Magical Britain and the Goblin nation had been caused, primarily, due to escalating disagreements over the goblin’s demands to have their artifacts restored to their people. It had started in 1612 and had gone on for a very long time, before finally being quelled. In its aftermath, the then Ministry of Magic, in what was thought at the time to be a political masterstroke, passed the legislation known as the ‘Code of Wand Use’ in the year 1631.

While the majority of the clauses were fairly benign and primarily sought to prevent misuse of magical foci, one of its clauses (clause three, to be exact) stipulated that ‘No creature of non-human kind was permitted to bear or make use of a wand, staff, or any manner of magical instrument capable of augmenting one’s mystical abilities’.

This had been immediately recognized as what it was meant to be, a way to permanently cripple the magical abilities of the goblins in Britain. And as a result, dozens more conflicts had followed, and the relationship between the Ministry and the Goblin nation had soured further, and never completely recovered.

The conflict of 1890, had apparently been sparked by magical breakthroughs by goblin researchers that would potentially allow any magical creature to harness and channel greater amounts of raw magic without requiring a focus; and had eventually boiled over and resulted in Hogwarts and its neighborhoods becoming a battleground when the ministry had urged the then Headmaster of Hogwarts, Phineas Nigellus Black, that young witches and wizards needed to be trained with a much larger focus on combat oriented spells so that they were better prepared to battle the growing threat. The goblins had promptly responded by identifying the school as a military target.

It was almost a footnote to the wider issues surrounding the conflict, that during the skirmishes that had followed, Cuthbert Binns, the then History Professor at the school had become a casualty of the war, while attempting to defend his students from a goblin warband.

A seventh-year Ravenclaw by the name of Lenny Pindlebrook, during a slow evening in their common room had happened to chance upon Harry, Tony and Padma’s excited conversation as they had discovered this bit of history in an old book in their private library and had helped fill in the gap of what had happened afterwards.

Spirits it seemed, tended to lose most if not all of their ability to adapt after their demise. Even in highly magical environments, such as Hogwarts, ghosts could only reliably recall details pertaining to the most recent few years of their post-vital existence, and as a result tended to be extremely set in their ways and habits. They retained all of the knowledge pertaining to their lives up to and including the events of their deaths, but the majority of what they learned afterwards was difficult for them to retain for any meaningful length of time.

This was apparently why, even after nearly a thousand years of haunting the castle, the Bloody-Baron still continued to rattle his ghostly chains and wailed his way through the Slytherin dungeons. Or why Professor Binns’ curriculum, his classes and even his schedule were exactly what he had grown accustomed to in the late nineteenth century. In short, while the spirits endured, they didn’t really live, learn or grow anymore.

The school and its governors had sometimes discussed whether a new History Professor should be appointed so as to allow students to benefit from an actual education instead of a routine haunting, but the consensus had mostly been that History was one subject where almost all of the necessary knowledge could be gleaned through self-study. The unspoken agreement had also been to continue to honor Binns’ courageous sacrifice in life, by not running him out of his alma-mater in death.

And so, the History curriculum at Hogwarts was still (quite literally) stuck in the 1890s.

It wasn’t ideal, but the additional context had helped them come to terms with the situation.

So, as they trudged to History after their Monday morning Transfiguration, Harry knew that this was going to be an opportunity to get a head-start on their various assignments for most of the Ravenclaws, and a pre-lunch nap for the rest.

As had become their habit for this particular period, he gravitated to one of the benches at the back of the class along with Tony and Padma and saved a seat for Susan and Hannah. Among their year group, they had a round-robin system going on regarding who would be responsible for staying alert and taking notes during this class, and this week it was Terry’s turn. So, without bothering to even pretend anymore, Harry pulled out his Transfiguration notes and got started on the essay that McGonagall had set them all just a few minutes prior.

He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t even notice the Hufflepuffs arriving (who were late as had also become normal, since after all, Professor Binns barely took notice). It was only when Susan rapped on their desk in a bid to draw their attention, that Harry looked up with a start and saw both of the girls waiting impatiently for something.

“What?” he asked, confused. “I thought we were waiting for everyone to be available before discussing everything Hagrid said?”

“Not that,” Susan said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve heard back from Auntie Amelia about the thing I had written to her about.”

It took a moment for Harry’s brain to refocus from transfigured chopsticks, but when it did, he sat up straight with excitement.

“What did she say?” he asked, leaning forwards eagerly, after a quick glance around them had reassured him that there wasn’t anyone else listening in. Both Draco and Pansy’s missives to their parents had failed to provide any Wizengamot exclusive insights into the rumored Gringotts heist, and Hannah’s latest communication from her mother had focused more on her distrust of the Zabinis than any information regarding this that might have been withheld from the Public. Harry had almost written off this particular line of enquiry as an unsubstantiated rumor prior to Hagrid’s slip the previous day.

“Very little,” Susan whispered, before lowering her voice even further so that all of them had to strain their ears to hear. “But not nothing. Gringotts is sovereign territory, since it’s an embassy of the Goblin nation on British soil. So, they aren’t really required by law to report crimes. However, in this instance, they filed a complaint directly with the Minister himself! Well, it was less of a complaint more of a warning they gave him, which Fudge ranted about to auntie and some other folks since he felt hard done by. But apparently, someone had indeed tried to rob a high-security Gringotts vault! The goblins had been unable to apprehend the perpetrator but knew that it was a male wizard who had incapacitated several of their staff and succeeded in gaining access to the vault they were after. Luckily, the vault had been emptied just a few weeks prior, so they weren’t able to actually steal anything. But because of the fact that the type of magic used against the Gringotts staff requires a wand to be cast, they’re using this to once again try and push for the relaxation of the laws that prevent goblins from using wands themselves. The Minister apparently thought that the whole thing was made up nonsense designed to further their political goals and didn’t really take them seriously, but based on what else we learned, I think it was all true. Oh! That wasn’t the only thing though.”

Harry motioned her to go on, not wanting to interrupt her flow.

“When Fudge accused the Gringotts representative of fabricating a break-in to push their agenda, the goblins apparently left with some kind of veiled threat. Auntie doesn’t know the exact words, since she only heard it second-hand, but apparently it was something along the lines of even the Minister’s seat not being safe from the wrath of immortal alchemists, if these discriminatory regulations had led to the heist having succeeded.”

She paused to look at them, before continuing in a more normal voice. “I don’t think anyone at the ministry is taking the whole thing seriously, and I didn’t want to tip auntie off just yet like we discussed. But I think based on this, it’s probably safe to say that it is all connected. Now, do any of you know what that ‘immortal alchemist’ threat might have been about?”

Harry distractedly ran a hand through his hair, making it messier than ever. “Not a clue I’m afraid. The only thing I know of Alchemy is that it was centered around trying to turn stuff, usually lead, into gold, and that it’s kind of a hybrid discipline requiring detailed knowledge of several subjects, including, at the very least, Potions, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Hannah said slowly, looking confused. “We change things all the time in Transfiguration. Maybe in the muggle-er, mundane world turning lead into gold might have counted as a viable line of research…but isn’t it pretty commonplace in magical society?”

“But most of the things we transfigure aren’t altered permanently,” Padma explained. “Sure, if you use transfiguration to change the shape of a block of wood into something wooden, that is not gonna snap back into its original dimensions by itself. But if magic has been used to change the material itself, or conjure it, it’s only going to maintain the new form for a limited time before reverting.”

“Oh, ok,” Hannah said, as understanding dawned. “So how long does the change last?”

“Depends on the complexity of the change, the extent of the transformation and the amount of magic poured into it I think,” Harry said. “Apparently conjured objects deteriorate the fastest. You know, where you have used magic to create objects or animals out of nothing? Simple and minor transfigurations last the longest. Like turning sand into glass, or something. It’s still not permanent of course, but it would stay in its new form for longer, since the initial and final materials are very closely related.”

“Huh,” Hannah said. “So, I take it Alchemy is a way of changing things into gold in a manner which makes the change permanent?”

They all turned to look at Padma, who nodded but looked a little bit unsure.

“I think so?” she said hesitantly. “I don’t think it’s a subject that is in vogue anywhere else. It was really popular in the Middle Ages, but somehow it stopped being a thing. So, maybe people gave up on it or realized that it was a very narrow field of study?”

“Or, someone succeeded, and the goblins silenced them lest they ruin the economy,” Tony said with a snort. “Hey, maybe that’s what was being stored in secret at the Gringotts vault that was targeted. Alch-Alchemised, er, Alchemitized gold! Is that the correct word for it? Never mind, if it wasn’t before…I’m coining it now.”

Harry smirked, even as Padma and Hannah groaned at the attempted pun. “It’s as good a theory as any I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “But what is the thing about immortality though? Even assuming someone, er, succeeded at Alchemy at some point, how does being able to permanently transfigure things into gold make one immortal?”

They all looked blank, and Susan sighed. “Guess, there’s more research to be done. Maybe this line of investigation will turn out to yield better results than our digging into lore about cerberuses.”

“Maybe we can ask a few upper year students for help?” Hannah asked timidly. “We don’t have to tell them about…you know, but some of them are really very nice and helpful. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind helping us understand more about famous alchemists or something if we asked.”

“Too risky,” both Susan and Padma said at the same time. Padma continued after sharing a nod with the Hufflepuff. “If we don’t tell them everything, chances are that they would take the whole thing lightly and mention it in passing to other people, who may follow the trail back to us. And we don’t want to tell anyone everything until we’re sure about what’s happening, since we don’t know how they would react, running the same risk. Besides, who would we even ask? The only folks senior enough to know enough to help are the fifth through seventh years, and most of them are focused on preparing for their OWLs and NEWTs.”

“I was thinking about someone like Sarah,” Hannah said. “She’s in her sixth year so she might have some free time, and she’s really nice. But I get it, best not to get anyone else involved” she finished with a sigh.

“Um, speaking of Sarah,” Harry said, suddenly reminded of another thing that he’d failed to follow up on for a while. “Would either of you happen to know if it might be possible for me to speak to her sometime? Preferably in private?”

A lot of strange looks that were being leveled towards him made him realize that his question may have been misinterpreted.

He rolled his eyes and clarified sufferingly, “No, I don’t have a crush on her or something. I just, um, vaguely remember her from when I was a kid. I think her dad works at the same company as my uncle and they’d come over for dinner once when I was around seven. I wanted to talk to her and confirm if that was really her back then.”

“Sure, I can ask her if she can find some time for you I suppose.” Susan said with a shrug and a cheeky grin. “You don’t really need to come up with such an elaborate cover-up, you know. After all, what are friends for?”

Harry glared at her, while Hannah chuckled. Before he had a chance to turn back to his assignment, Padma was getting in on the act as well.

“Parvati is gonna be really heartbroken, Harry” she deadpanned. “I don’t think she was expecting to have to compete with older women for your attention.”

Harry flipped them both off and returned to his essay while his supposed friends dissolved into peals of laughter, while in the background an oblivious Binns droned on.

By the time they were done with lunch and were heading down to potions, they’d managed to get word across to all the members of their clique that their new discoveries and breakthroughs were ready to be discussed collectively. So, they were expecting a full attendance later that evening at the library.

In all the recent excitement and new discoveries, one of the things that had entirely slipped Harry’s mind was the continued hostilities with Runcorn and Yaxley. Their group of three had continued trying to be a nuisance and still glared and sneered at him every chance they got, but now that he knew to specifically watch for it, he could spot how uncomfortable all of these interactions made Nott, even though the boy hid it very well. Unfortunately, he had no clue how to improve the situation in any way, so for the time being he let it go and focused on how he reacted to these incidents.

As a result, when Runcorn’s barely whispered ‘half-blood freak’ reached his ears, just a few seconds before the door to the first-year Potions classroom swung open, he simply took a deep breath and entered a trance to make sure he didn’t react.

But it definitely caught him off-guard, enough to knock him clean out of his meditative state, when an unfamiliar voice retorted.

“Are you seriously trying to insult the lineage of someone who is the heir to a family seat on the Wizengamot?”

Harry looked up sharply to see several sets of equally startled gazes trained on Nott, who seemed to have surprised himself with his remark.

Runcorn in particular seemed to be gaping at the boy as if he’d slapped her in the face with a trout.

Further comments were prevented by the classroom door choosing that moment to open.

Harry pondered what had just happened as he walked towards his now customary solitary desk at the front of their class. Was this Nott’s way of attempting to publicly distance himself from his adoptive sister and Yaxley’s continued feud with him? Or had that been a momentary lapse that the skinny boy himself regretted and would probably be forced to atone for later? He put his bag down and realized that Runcorn had occupied a table with Yaxley, instead of Nott like she usually did, and consequently, he was having to share a workstation with Sally-Anne Perks, who had hitherto been working with the other boy.

His attention soon had to be shifted away from the trouble brewing in Slytherin, since Potions was not a subject that could be managed without someone’s undivided focus. Their class had moved past the absolute basic potions meant for complete novices and were starting to work on things that while still relatively simple (especially given Harry’s prior practice with Dudley and Aunt Petunia), were a bit more challenging and had more widespread practical applications. And today’s target was the ‘Wiggenweld Potion’.

Once Professor Snape had given out his instructions, waved his wand and caused the directions to appear on the board, they set about gathering the ingredients and getting ready to begin the brewing process. Harry waited a few seconds, starting his habitual pre-brewing ritual of sterilizing his workstation and getting his equipment arranged while waiting for the initial rush to die down, and then headed over to collect what he needed from the shelves.

And as he did so, he realized that there was something slightly off about today’s lesson.

Professor Snape wasn’t prowling around the classroom as he normally tended to do.

He filed that information away as another piece of evidence confirming what he knew he had seen on Samhain night, before taking a closer look at the details on the board.

Wiggenweld Potion (water-based)

Ingredients:

     Distilled water (2 cups)

     Flobberworm mucus (2 tablespoons)

     Dried billywig stings (5)

     Wiggentree bark (1 strip)

     Salamander blood (1 drop)

Brewing Steps:

     Preparation: Ensure all ingredients are fresh and clean. Sterilize your cauldron before use.

     Step 1: Add 2 cups of distilled water to the cauldron and bring to a low simmer.

     Step 2: Add 2 tablespoons of Flobberworm mucus and stir (direction does not matter) until fully dissolved.

     Step 3: Crush the dried billywig stings into a fine powder and sprinkle into the cauldron, stirring counterclockwise/widdershins in a gentle manner.

     Step 4: Add the strip of Wiggentree bark and let it steep for 10 minutes.

     Step 5: Add 1 drop of salamander blood and stir counterclockwise/widdershins vigorously until the potion turns a light blue.

     Step 6: Remove from heat and let cool. The potion is now ready for use.

Bottle a sample, label it with your name, year and house and present it at my desk for grading.

This too was a potion he was quite familiar with, and one that as per the observations in his mom’s book could be improved upon somewhat by taking special care with regards to a few of the steps. Since none of the potential enhancements required any additional components, he gathered up the listed ingredients and returned to his desk to begin the procedure.

He donned his protective gloves, and dutifully crushed the billywig stings using his mortar and pestle after hitting them with another quick ‘Scourgify’ on the grounds that it couldn’t hurt. Once done, he started to work on carefully scoring the Wiggentree bark with his knife in a practiced crisscrossing pattern that left deep grooves on the bark without piercing it all the way through.

While the standard instructions merely called for the strip to be steeped, Lily’s notes had indicated that it helped if the piece of bark being used was scored to increase the surface area that would be in direct contact with the rest of the brew. Apparently, due to various numerological and potioneering reasons, it would be a bad idea to simply chop or grind the bark up and add it to the potion in that form, but so long as he took other steps to maximize the amount of the bark that would be in directly touching the rest of the mixture, the potency of the brew would be significantly enhanced.

Once his bark was prepared, he carefully made sure that all of his ingredients and equipment were laid out within reach, before retrieving his wand once more from his holster (he really was enjoying flicking his wrist and having it slide into his palm) and preparing to light the kindling.

He remembered what he had forgotten and stopped just in time.

Since their professor wasn’t walking around the class and making everyone nervous today, he’d almost forgotten to run his alterations to the standard steps by him, before implementing them.

He looked up at the teacher’s desk and froze as he met Snape’s eyes, who seemed to have been looking at him.

He wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but a ghost of a smile seemed to flit across the man’s lips as without getting up, he waved his hand as if to indicate that Harry should carry on.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry channeled a small trickle of magic and pointing his wand at the kindling beneath his cauldron, murmured “Ardere”.

Muscle memory took over as he started to blend the ingredients together. For this potion, once again as per his mom’s notes, the best results were obtained when the potion’s temperature was kept as steady as possible throughout the brewing process, ideally just at a low simmer. While at home at Privet Drive this was easier to monitor with the use of cooking thermometers and adjustable stoves, out here he had to rely more on feeling and guesswork.

Even so, he raised the temperature of the water being heated in the cauldron as slowly as possible by elevating the bottom of the pot until it was only just barely being licked by the flames. As soon as the water began to simmer, he raised it just a fraction higher to hopefully keep the temperature stable and proceeded to the next step.

The other thing to be mindful of, and which wasn’t called out explicitly in the standard set of instructions, was what needed to be ensured between steps two and three. You had to allow the potion to come to a complete rest from all the stirring done in step two (especially if you had been stirring clockwise or deosil, which is what came more naturally to most right-handed potioneers) before you began to gently sprinkle in the powdered billywig stings. You also had to be extremely careful that while stirring in the crushed stings, you did not inadvertently create any eddies or turbulence on the potion’s surface, so a very even pace was crucial if one were trying to obtain the best possible results.

The rest of the process was fairly straightforward and soon, he was carefully fishing out the scored and steeped Wiggentree bark, exactly ten minutes after it had been introduced to the potion and adding in the single drop of salamander blood.

A few more minutes later, a vial of the potion, whose color matched the exact shade of blue that their textbooks defined, was being bottled in preparation for grading. Before he could start to clean up his station, a presence at his shoulder made him look up into the impassive countenance of the Potions Master, who seemed to have moved to his desk in complete silence.

“Leave the remainder of your brew in the cauldron, Mr. Potter,” he said quietly, ignoring Harry’s start of surprise at finding him there. “The hospital wing requires a fresh batch from time to time, and this will be quite adequate for Madam Pomfrey’s purposes.”

Harry beamed in spite of himself.

Coming from Snape, that was practically the equivalent of a standing ovation. Harry might still be on the fence about whether the Potions Master was involved with the gigantic hellhound, but he’d accept his appreciation, however subtle, any day. He nodded to the professor, acknowledging his instruction and quickly assumed a normal expression although the corners of his mouth kept trying to twitch upwards despite his best efforts and started to wipe down the rest of his brewing station in quick practiced motions. He was done in short order, and being careful not to spill a single drop, brought both his cauldron as well as the vial to be graded over to the teacher’s desk, where the man had retreated.

“The idea of the Wiggenweld bark being in a single piece,” he said unprompted, just as Harry placed the vial on his desk, “is because this is a potion that endeavors to restore a person to a state of wholeness. The Arithmancy considerations are, of course, significantly more complex than that massive understatement, but that, in essence, is the primary underlying principle. If the bark is broken or disintegrates into multiple bits, the resulting draught is bereft of any of the magical benefits that one would seek to gain from its consumption. Five points to Ravenclaw for a good brew. You may leave if you wish.”

Harry nodded, still fighting to keep the smile off his face, and headed back to his desk and started to put his things away. Before he was done though, someone else was on their way to Snape’s desk to submit a sample of their work for grading.

“You seem to have completed your brew faster than you normally do, Mr. Nott,” Snape’s silky drawl betrayed no overt hint of surprise, but he seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from the Slytherin, nonetheless.

Nott hesitated and almost appeared to visibly straighten up and square his shoulders.

“It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a capable partner who helps in the process instead of slowing you down, sir.”

His voice was soft and cultured, with none of the venom that usually dripped from every syllable uttered by Runcorn and Yaxley, but the stir it caused was palpable. The previous remark from out in the hall may have been a slip, but this time there could be no mistaking the fact that Nott was choosing to make a statement.

Harry had frozen in his packing up as he waited to see how Snape would respond. The Potions Master seemed to be regarding the boy in front of him with his dark eyes as if he’d never seen him before.

“Then I hope that you continue to work with people who allow you to harness your full potential,” he said eventually with a nod. “This is an acceptable brew. Feel free to leave early, both of you.”

“Thank you sir,” Nott returned still with the careful politeness and turned on his heels and marched back to his desk and began to help Sally-Anne with the cleanup, completely ignoring the desk where Runcorn and Yaxley were nearly apoplectic with rage, while their potion frothed and bubbled in the background, forgotten and clearly going wrong.

Harry hurriedly swung his backpack over his shoulder and left the classroom with a nod at Professor Snape, and once outside made a snap judgment the instant he stepped into the corridor.

It was true that he had never exchanged a single word with Nott, but the boy had gone against his family to try and do the right thing during the aborted duel. And now he was clearly putting himself out there and choosing to stick to his principles instead of going along with peer pressure. The least he could do was thank him. So, he leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the door he’s just exited from and decided to wait.

It didn’t take too long before the door opened again, and Nott and Sally-Anne emerged and immediately came to a halt as they caught sight of him.

Harry straightened up and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Um, hi,” he said, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. “I just, um, wanted to, er, say thanks, I guess.”

Nott’s face was an impassive mask, but Sally-Anne merely looked puzzled. “Thanks?” she asked, sounding confused. “Thanks for what?”

“Well, a couple of weeks ago, Nott, er, Theodore said something to Blaise which helped me out a great deal,” Harry clarified, part of him wondering if he should have requested to speak to Nott privately since he was unsure how this bit of information being made public might impact the Slytherin. He focused his gaze on Nott before continuing, “I know you didn’t have to do it, and actively chose to…so, I, er, wanted to tell you that I appreciate it. And, er, well, I’m sorry for being the cause of all this friction with your sister.”

Sally was looking between the two of them, still at a loss as to what most of this was even about and eventually made up her mind to leave the two of them to it.

“Well, that’s super non-cryptic,” she announced, rolling her eyes, and shrugging before beginning to stride away deeper into the dungeons. “I’m going to go ahead and drop off my stuff in our dorms before I head down to tea. Catch you later Theo!”

“Merry part, Ms. Perks,” Nott responded levelly, his eyes never leaving Harry.

Harry was starting to feel a little unnerved by the other boy’s mannerisms and decided to go for broke. “Look, it’s not a big deal,” he tried. “I just felt like I owed you one, so the least I could do was express my gratitude in person.”

“I accept your gratitude, Heir Potter,” the boy said abruptly. “Although, I must say that I didn’t do what I did in an attempt to curry favor with you.”

“Er, ok…” Harry said, now completely at a loss as to where to go from here.

“I did what my own conscience deemed right,” Nott clarified. “I do not believe that my sister’s or Heir Yaxley’s vendetta against you is warranted or justified. And I have reached the limits of my own patience with their antics. If your reaction to the incident outside Professor Johnston’s classroom was anything to go by, you seem to have exhausted the limits of your tolerance towards them as well. Which means that continuing down this path of ceaseless antagonism will only cause an escalation of the conflict. And that is something I want no part of.”

He paused for a second, still standing stock still, and Harry wondered if the boy had even blinked since he had stepped out of the class. Honestly, he really couldn’t get a read on this guy no matter how hard he tried. But before he could spend too much time pondering the idiosyncrasies of the inscrutable Slytherin further, Nott was continuing.

“I have made several attempts to persuade both Heir Yaxley and Sophie that you are not responsible for the fate of their parents, but my entreaties have fallen on ears deafened by deep rooted prejudices. Thus, I have decided that I will distance myself from their crusade. This is not to say that I like you, Heir Potter. After all I barely know you at all, and I am acutely aware of the distrust that some of your closest comrades regard me with. I just wish to spend my time at Hogwarts, focusing on my magical education instead of being consumed by nonsensical feuds and squabbles.”

Harry nodded, understanding. That sounded…pragmatic, he supposed. Although the dispassionate way in which Nott had detailed his viewpoint and described what effectively amounted to him cutting ties with someone he basically grew up with made him wonder if the boy was a sociopath.

“I think I understand,” he nodded slowly. “Still, thank you. And I promise that I bear you no ill will about anything that has happened, or whatever they might choose to do from here on out.”

Nott nodded and for a moment looked like he was about to say something but had reconsidered. He also made no move to walk away, and the silence stretched on uncomfortably.

“Look,” Harry said, in a bid to just interrupt the prolonged quiet, “Some of us study together in the library from time to time. You’re, er, free to join us if you like.”

Nott stared at him, and Harry rushed on, digging himself deeper, “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But if you, er, ever feel like, er, I don’t know, working on assignments with us or something…um, the offer stands.”

“I will keep that in mind, Heir Potter,” the boy responded in his disconcertingly quiet manner.

Far, far too late, Harry realized what it was that Nott might have been waiting for. This was the scion of a staunchly traditional house. He was virtually the epitome of perfect social etiquette and customs, and he was in the presence of someone he deemed to be a social superior. The boy was waiting to see if the Heir he was speaking to had anything more to say or to be dismissed by him, since it would be considered rude to leave in an abrupt manner. It didn’t matter to Nott that they were both kids of the same age, or even that he personally didn’t know or like Harry…social norms that were apparently as deeply ingrained in him as the hate was in his sister, simply dictated that there was a correct way to handle yourself and he would stick to it no matter what.

“Well, that was all,” Harry said, wanting to simultaneously kick himself and facepalm at the same time, “Merry part.”

Right on cue, Nott nodded and turned on his heels and began to walk away with a solemn, “Merry part, Heir Potter.”

“Susan is going to be absolutely livid that I invited another person she doesn’t trust into the group…all because I wanted to break an awkward silence,” Harry sighed dejectedly to himself as he turned as well and began to head out of the dungeons.

It took almost an hour to share all of the latest updates with the rest of the group, and to answer their many clarifying questions along the way.

Harry surveyed the eleven other people around the large library table they had commandeered and tried to guess what each of them were thinking. Unfortunately, unlike how it had been with Theo Nott, it was all too easy to tell exactly what was on Susan’s mind.

Harry flinched inwardly and thanked his lucky stars that she had the restraint necessary to not make a big deal out of it in the presence of the other Slytherin students but resigned himself to getting an earful from her later. He focused on the other folks present and with a cheerfulness he did not actually feel, asked the question that had been on his mind.

“So, is there any chance that one of you, or your family libraries have details about alchemists who happen to be immortal?”

“Wait, before you get to that!” Parvati interrupted. “Can I get an acknowledgement that I was bloody right? You compared my hunch to one of Ron’s crackpot conspiracy theories! I demand an apology before we discuss anything further!”

“Yes, yes,” Padma sighed, rubbing her sister’s back placatingly. “You’re super smart and insightful and we’re all very sorry that we compared you to Ronald.”

“Hey!”

“Thank you,” Parvati said primly, ignoring Ron’s indignant yelp. “Now that that is out of the way, we may proceed. Go on, Haz.”

“Thank-wait. ‘Haz’?”

“I’m just trying something new, don’t worry about it.”

“Er, yeah, right,” Harry said, gathering his thoughts again. “So, what about it, folks? Anyone got any insights about immortal alchemists?”

Eleven shakes of heads were his only response. But Harry refused to be deterred.

“Not to worry, we were expecting that this would require additional research anyway,” he said jovially. “Any thoughts about where we should start?”

“We can start right here, can’t we?” Hermione piped up, sounding eager at the prospect. “We are in the library after all, I’m sure there are books on Alchemy or famous alchemists.”

The rest of the table grunted in agreement with varying degrees of enthusiasm or lack thereof, and Hermione pushed her chair back to go browse the shelves immediately.

Harry watched her go, amused, before recalling the other thing he wanted to mention. “Oh, and by the way, did anyone notice anything different about Professor Snape today?”

“Um, he let not just you, but two other students leave early?” Tony grumbled. “I swear he’s just so blatant in his favoritism, it’s not even funny-ow!”

Harry retrieved his foot from where it had accidentally trod on Tony’s and continued on to answer his own question. “He always paces the classroom and keeps looking into what everyone is doing. Today, however, he barely walked about at all! It’s almost as if he might be recovering from a nasty injury to his leg!”

The others considered this carefully, and it was Susan who eventually responded, “Still circumstantial, but definitely an anomaly, I suppose. But even if it does turn out that Professor Snape has been snooping around whatever ‘Fluffy’ is guarding, is that really enough to prove…anything?”

Before Ron could respond with his take on why this new evidence conclusively proved that the Potions Master was responsible for every single adversity that mankind had faced from the bubonic plague to the slow economy, Hermione was slamming a book onto the table and causing the rest of them to cough from the emerging cloud of dust.

Once the dust had settled, and before the rest of them had found a chance to do much more than catch their breath, she was excitedly reading from the book in a stage whisper: “The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with enabling permanent and stable transfigurations (most notably of lead to gold), usually via an artificial catalyst dubbed as the Philosopher’s Stone, a substance theoretically capable of possessing additional astonishing powers. The Stone is supposedly capable of transforming any metal into pure gold permanently. It is also supposed to be able to produce the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker functionally immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone proven to be currently in existence belongs to the legendary French alchemist Nicolas Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday recently. Monsieur Flamel enjoys a quiet life in Marseilles with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight at the time of this publication).”

She looked around at the stunned group with eyes wide with excitement. “It’s literally in the preface of ‘A History of Alchemy’. Our immortal alchemist is the single most famous practitioner of his craft of all time!”

Chapter Text

December 1991

Winter transformed the castle and its grounds into a nearly unrecognizable scene from right out of a Dickensian novel or a children’s fairy tale.

The autumn hues of orange and gold were rapidly replaced by the dazzling white of fresh snow that made everything else look dreary and monochromatic in comparison. Hagrid’s patch of giant pumpkins was replaced by neat rows of Christmas trees, no doubt augmented by magic and consequently growing at a prodigious rate. And even the most unmotivated students were falling over themselves to master the ‘Warming Charms’ that Professor Flitwick had started to teach the first years.

The last Quidditch match of the year, held on the first Saturday of December, the day after they’d had a small celebration on the occasion of Tony’s birthday, had seen Ravenclaw trounce Hufflepuff by winning their match by a massive margin; three hundred and ten points to twenty. And even the most fanatical players and captains had finally relented and cancelled practice sessions until the start of the new term in January.

The approaching winter break also meant that sign-up sheets had been posted on the notice boards of every common room, seeking confirmation regarding which students would be spending the holidays at Hogwarts, and who would be traveling back home.

Harry hadn’t even had to think about it, he was not going to spend Christmas away from Dudley, or Aunt Petunia’s famous Sticky Toffee Pudding. And Uncle Vernon too, he supposed.

Among the rest of his immediate friends, it appeared that only Ron, and the Patil twins were going to spend Christmas at the castle.

Ron and his brothers, because their parents were going to use the time off of work to go visit their other sibling in Romania, who had started work on a dragon reserve earlier this year, and this would be his first time by himself outside the country. Their oldest brother would apparently join them from Egypt, where he worked as a curse-breaker. Percy was the next in command and had promptly refused to shoulder the responsibility of keeping Ron, the twins and their little sister in line in their parents’ absence. As a result, the four Weasley boys would be spending the holidays at Hogwarts, while their younger sister got to accompany their mom and dad to Romania.

And finally, the twins were spending the holiday season at the castle, because both their parents had traveled to India for the wedding of one of their cousins and would only return midway through the vacation. Apparently international portkeys were a very uncomfortable experience, and younger witches and wizards often found themselves completely knackered to the point of requiring several weeks to recuperate, after having used one.

After Draco had kindly explained to him what a portkey was, Harry found that he was more excited about trying one at some point, instead of being daunted at the prospect.

It was also worth mentioning that Blaise was going to be staying in England because he had begged his mother to allow him to experience an authentic English Christmas, and she had obliged. The rest of the group thought he was an idiot, and didn’t shy away from letting him know it, especially upon learning that his alternative plan would have been to accompany the Contessa to New York and witness New Years’ Eve at Times Square or returning to their estate in Tuscany and escaping the harsh and bleak British winter.

However, Blaise’s foibles aside, the question that was at the forefront of their minds, as the final weeks of term progressed, was whether or not to alert their guardians about the cerberus and what it might be protecting.

Opinion was decidedly divided on the subject, but by an unspoken agreement caused by the camaraderie that had developed between them over these last few months, they were trying to come to an understanding that everyone could get on board with.

They had been discussing it for weeks and had broken down the crux of their concerns into three main questions.

Was the presence of something like a cerberus in the school actually illegal or merely irregular? What would the most likely results of involving ministry personnel in the situation be? And what was the outcome they themselves would most like to achieve?

Harry had assumed that at least the question of legality would be easy to answer but had been surprised when Susan and Pansy had both indicated that when it came to Hogwarts, nothing was ever open and shut.

“The school itself is older than the Ministry and even the Wizengamot, Harry,” Susan had explained. “And therefore, beyond the reach of most subsequent legislations and regulations. As far as most things go, the headmaster’s word is law.”

Pansy had picked up the thread. “There have been a number of Educational Decrees that have been passed over the decades to grant the Ministry some nominal say in the affairs at Hogwarts, mostly through the installation of the board of governors, but the only way to override Dumbledore’s authority when it comes to just about any aspect of how the school is run or what happens within its walls, is through a unanimous decision by every member of the board.”

“Unless the headmaster is proved to be actively trying to harm the school, its students or its reputation, his authority is practically absolute,” Draco had summarized. “And just in case you’re wondering, outside of every member of the board of governors voting unanimously to dismiss the headmaster, the only way for him to be removed from his position is for him to be tried and convicted of maleficence.”

“I wasn’t wondering that,” Harry had said dazedly. “But, that kind of means that it’s legal to house a literal hellhound in a school full of children?”

“I mean, it still looks bad and is sure to hurt the headmaster’s reputation if you were to leak this to the press,” Pansy had observed, thoughtfully before catching the rest of their eyes and stopping short. “Just me then? Well, forget I said anything.”

That brought them to the second question; what would really happen if they involved their parents and by extension the Ministry?

“Draco’s dad could try to convince the other governors to put pressure on Dumbledore to get rid of the damn thing,” Hannah had offered. “Pansy or my parents are on the Wizengamot so either of them could bring it up for discussion during the next session and have them question the wisdom of keeping a monster like that in a school.”

“Auntie could start an investigation into whether children are being endangered or something I think,” Susan had added hesitantly. “I’m sure she’d try to do something if I told her, but I’m not entirely sure what the legal recourse here would be or what she’d deem to be most appropriate.”

She’d hesitated for a second and at Harry’s prompting had finished her thought.

“Also, I honestly don’t know if she’d let me come back to school if I told her.”

That immediately sobered them all up even further. Even Hannah and Pansy had been forced to admit that this most likely would apply to them as well, and potentially to all Hogwarts students if the news was made public to the guardians of every person currently attending the school.

“Maledire!” Blaise had cursed softly. “So basically, we don’t really know what is going to happen if we run to your parents with this. Do we at least know what we would want to happen?”

This was question three, which is where they were the farthest from a consensus.

Draco, Pansy and, surprisingly, Susan, firmly held that a creature as dangerous as a cerberus had absolutely no place anywhere near children, and neither did artifacts that attracted people bold or desperate enough to have broken into Gringotts.

Hermione, Neville and Hannah on the other hand believed that something this important was safest under the direct care of Dumbledore and didn’t want to do anything that might disrupt whatever the headmaster’s plans might be. Since none of them had been part of the group that had stumbled into Fluffy, they also didn’t seem to focus too much on how some of them had nearly been mauled by the monster after having run into it.

Tony, Blaise, Padma and Ron seemed to be inclined to agree with the fact that if something needed to be kept safe at all costs, the Chief Warlock was likely the most qualified person to help do so. But they firmly drew the line at risking the presence of a hellhound at school. It helped that between the unlocked doors they had spotted and Snape’s supposed snooping around, they understood that people might try to steal the Stone again, and therefore there was a risk of a cerberus being unleashed on the school during the potential heist.

Parvati was just wishful about potentially stealing the stone for themselves and gaining ludicrous amounts of wealth and also achieving immortality.

That left Harry, and all he really wanted was for someone to honestly explain why things were the way they were.

After Hermione’s discovery had led them to conclude that Nicolas Flamel was almost certainly the alchemist that the goblins had alluded to, Harry had eagerly shared with the rest of the group what he knew about the man, namely that he was likely responsible for the establishment of the Flamel scale. And Ron, owing to his years of enthusiastic collection of ‘Chocolate Frog’ cards, had shared that the alchemist was known to have collaborated with Dumbledore in the past.

While that allowed them to establish a clear connection as to why their headmaster had a direct interest in keeping his associate’s artifact safe from theft, they couldn’t puzzle out why the Stone was being protected by defenses implemented by the Hogwarts staff, instead of being locked up in the Supreme Mugwump’s private office.

Harry had also still been unable to get any answers with regards to the headmaster’s attempt to step in as his magical guardian, back at the start of the term. It’s not like he had any direct classes where he could have a conversation with Dumbledore, and his only direct link to the man, Hagrid, had failed to come through in this particular regard.

For now, as his reverie was interrupted by the gradually rising voices and tempers of his friends who had continued to debate the merits of their possible courses of action, for what seemed like the thousandth time, he needed to help them all come to some sort of conclusion before they all parted ways for the holidays.

“I think we need to keep this to ourselves,” he announced, without preamble over Pansy’s somewhat snide explanation of how Dumbledore was far from infallible. “Until we know for sure what the fallout is gonna be if the Wizengamot or the DMLE gets involved, I don’t think we should risk having the school be potentially shut down.”

“But Harry,” Susan interrupted. “People could get seriously hurt. And we have information that could help prevent it from happening.”

“I know, but it does seem to be at least relatively safe like what Hagrid had said,” Harry countered. “School has been in session for over three months now…and in all that time I reckon the four of us have been the only ones to have found out about Fluffy. So, whatever the teachers and Dumbledore are doing, seems to be working. Even the issue with the door being unlocked looks to have been fixed, so no one else should run into that room accidentally either.”

“It’s still a risk Harry-wait, how do you know if the door is no longer unlocked?” Susan asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at him.

“Uh-it’s not a big deal,” Harry tried to shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I, er, kind of just tried to push it open when one of the moving stairs deposited me next to it the other day.”

He immediately raised his hands up in surrender at the chorus of indignant cries that greeted him. “It was just the outer door! And I just wanted to make sure it was locked like it was supposed to be alright? I had no intention of going in even if it wasn’t. I’d have just informed Hagrid again and concluded that the safeguards on the place were shoddy and could not be trusted.”

“I still don’t think that something of this nature should be kept from the board of governors,” Draco mumbled stubbornly. “This just reeks of blatant abuse of authority and using the school’s resources for the headmaster’s personal ventures.”

“Maybe this is specifically being kept secret from certain members of the board?” Ron added with uncharacteristic mockery in his voice.

Before a bristling Draco could retort at the implied insult Harry stepped in. “Enough! That really doesn’t help us. The simple question is, do any of us feel comfortable risking either the school shutting down…or allowing the Gringotts burglars to find out the new location of the stone?”

One by one, they shook their heads, with Susan being the last, and thus it was decided.

“We can still keep tabs on who goes in or out or seems to be lurking around the place and the like,” he offered. “Plus, if we ever see the door wide open, we should definitely let someone know as soon as we can. That way we keep doing our bit to keep everyone from being mauled in their sleep, without accidentally derailing any of the professors’ plans. Does that sound alright?”

The professors, as it turned out, had more than one plan in the works. And for most of the first-year students, one of these plans was sprung as an extremely unwelcome surprise; an end-of-term review of everything they had learned thus far.

Harry felt reasonably confident that he’d be able to ace just about every subject that he’d be evaluated on, even History or Theory (assuming Johnston graded him fairly of course), but the added pressure he felt was mostly from a perspective of not wanting to bring home less than stellar results to show Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when he arrived for Christmas.

Their responses to Professor Flitwick alerting them about the incident with the troll had been, expectedly, explosive. He had done his best to play the situation down as much as possible and tried to make it sound like things had not been nearly as dire as they were, but he could still feel their concern and alarm practically jump out at him through their letters. He honestly half-expected them to try and not let him return to the school after the winter break, if they thought they could get away with it, and as such he needed every bit of ammunition to try and allay their fears about Hogwarts and the magical education he was enjoying so thoroughly. It wasn’t that he felt that good grades might make up for nearly being killed by a troll, but he hoped that his obvious enthusiasm regarding his classes helped his case just a tiny little bit.

Honestly, his one big concern was Johnston and how the highly antagonistic professor might grade his upcoming quiz. As a result, in an attempt to leave nothing to chance, in addition to committing almost all of the ministry-approved Magical Theory concepts to his memory palace, he had decided to make an in-depth study of Hermione’s notes so that his answers during the assessment would mimic hers as closely as possible. It probably wouldn’t really prevent someone from being vindictive if they had an axe to grind and didn’t care who knew it, but at the very least he hoped that he might be able to appeal a poor grade by citing that his answers were virtually the same as one of the top students in the class.

And so it was, on the last Friday before their assessments were due to be held, Harry found himself unexpectedly alone as he headed back towards the Ravenclaw common room after having spent yet more time in the library going over and discussing Hermione’s notes with her, until Madam Pince informed them that it was closing time.

As he trudged along the slightly chilly corridors, he was forced once more to dwell on some of the fascinating old charms that still permeated and sustained the castle. It was almost ten in the evening, and curfew would soon be upon him, and the temperatures out on the ground would surely have plummeted to sub-zero by now. But within the halls of Hogwarts, an abundance of magic ensured that the cold never became unbearable. He’d tried to look into how it was possible to cast spells that never seemed to run out, even after centuries had passed, and despite a rather complex answer from Eliza, which had involved a lecture on drawing and concentrating the ambient magic available at a location and something about Ley-Lines, that he hadn’t really been able to follow at any rate, he had no idea how it worked. Not for the first time, he had concluded that the things to be learned while at Hogwarts far, far exceeded what was covered during their daily lessons. He wondered how many more such secrets he would be able to uncover during his time here, and how few of them he’d be able to comprehend.

Perhaps it was because his distractions had caused his thoughts to veer away from trying to make it back to the common room and had settled on uncovering the many mysteries of the castle, but his steps led him to a corridor that he was sure he had never visited before.

By the time his mind caught up to his surroundings, he realized that he’d been standing stock still in front of an open door which seemingly led into some manner of dark storage room containing dozens upon dozens of furniture covered by dust sheets.

Remembering what he’d encountered the last time they had entered an unfamiliar door late at night, he instantly flicked his wrist and felt his wand slide into his hand. Since nothing seemed to be out to maul him just yet, he relaxed ever so slightly, and aware that very few things at Hogwarts ever happened solely by accident, cautiously raised his wand and whispered: “Lumos.”

The glow of his wand revealed that his initial assessment of the space beyond had been correct. There really did not seem to be anything in this place outside of the ordinary. Slightly disappointed, he began to turn around just as a glint of something, over in a far corner caught his eye.

He moved the wand slowly over his head, the tip still shedding light, and realized that there really was something in there that was probably shiny and certainly not covered up like everything else in here.

He hesitated, almost rocking back and forth in the balls of his feet as he chewed his lips, before coming to the conclusion that a quick peek could not hurt. He looked down the corridor to make sure that he was still alone, mentally double and triple checked that he was on the fifth floor and not the third, and stepped into the room, intending to head towards wherever the glimmer in the distance had come from.

He kept his wand lit, not wanting to stumble into something in the darkness in this room, and before too long found himself standing before a massive ornate mirror that was propped up against the corner, and whose polished golden frame was probably what had drawn his attention.

The smooth black surface of the glass reflected his form but with a strange fuzzy distortion around the edges that made it almost impossible to make out the details of his features. He raised his wand higher, vaguely curious why something this ornate was languishing in an out of the way storage space of the castle, and as he did so, he caught sight of the engraving along the top edge of the mirror.

Since the thing was easily seven feet tall, if not more, he couldn’t quite make out what it said, so he stepped forward to peer at it more closely.

“Erised tsepeed ruoy morf esira htob, shtgnerts tsetaerg ruoy dna sessenkaew tsetaerg ruoy,” he read, his voice echoing softly in the quiet space as he sounded out the strange syllables carefully. The letters certainly appeared to be in English, but none of these were words he recognized.

Intrigued at most likely having stumbled on another mystery, he quickly committed the words to memory and taking one last look around himself, decided to head back to the common room before it was too far past curfew. And as his gaze fell back onto the surface of the mirror that he had had to draw much closer to, he froze.

The surface was no longer dominated by his fuzzy indistinct outline, it was now as intricate a tapestry as any he had crafted for his memory palace, complete with dozens of moving people and vivid enough to make him wonder for a panicked moment whether all these folks had snuck up behind him.

Once a quick glance over his shoulder had assured him that he was still alone, he took a closer look at the image that now dominated the looking glass, and felt his heart skip a beat.

He himself still stood at the very center of the image, smiling back with an expression he knew wasn’t really on his face. He looked to be dressed in his Hogwarts robes, proudly bearing the Ravenclaw crest, but his arms were around Dudley who also sported robes that too were unmistakably that of a Hogwarts student. Immediately beside them were his friends from school. Parvati and Padma beamed back at him, as did Blaise and Hannah, Tony and Hermione. Ron and Draco stood side by side, laughing at a shared joke, no hint of animosity between them.

Behind the children were a row of adults. He recognized Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon instantly, both grinning back cheerfully. As he watched, Aunt Petunia extracted a wand from her sleeve and turned her husband’s bowtie purple, causing everyone to laugh.

But Harry’s eyes were transfixed on the image of the two people who stood next to his aunt and uncle. A smiling man with glasses and messy black hair and a woman with deep red hair who were holding hands and gazing back at him with a fond yet sad smile.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the two people he was unable and unwilling to tear his gaze away from, were his parents, Lily and James Potter.

He didn’t know how long he spent in that dark room or how he managed to find his way back to the common room. By the time he stumbled into bed, dawn was already fast approaching if the telltale glimmer on their windows was anything to go by.

He was extremely lucky that the next day was a Saturday and therefore there were no classes he had to get up in time for. Still in a persistent, near trancelike state, he mumbled something to Tony while waving the other boy away when he tried to wake him up for breakfast. But soon after he had gone, he found that sleep eluded him once more, and before too long he found himself making his way back to the room with the mirror and gazing hungrily at the image that surely depicted how perfect his life could have been.

At some point he picked up other details on the image. There seemed to be more people in the background, their features indistinct, likely because Harry didn’t quite know what they were supposed to look like in real life. There were also occasional flickers where members of the teaching staff would show up, smiling indulgently at the students in general and beaming proudly at Harry in particular. But time and time again, his eyes reverted to and stayed focused on his mom and dad.

Before he knew it Saturday was over and he was trudging back to bed, again at an hour so late that the common room he passed through was completely empty. He didn’t want to go through having to explain his absence to the others, so before he went to sleep he scribbled a quick note indicating that he’d lost track of time preparing for the upcoming assessments and left it on Tony’s bedside table. He also mentioned that he’d probably cram some more the next day and would probably have a lie in once more. He wasn’t ready to share this…discovery with anyone else just yet. What if they wanted to take a look too? He just wanted a little more time, and after that he’d definitely tell them, he tried to convince himself as sleep took him.

“Back again Harry?” A soft voice jolted him out of his reverie.

He whipped around, scrambling to his feet from where he had settled down cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror, and saw to his surprise Albus Dumbledore, standing a few feet away with a kindly smile on his lips.

“Sir! I-I, lost track of time-” he began, panicking. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more at that moment. Being caught outside the tower during curfew, or the worry that the headmaster would interrupt his time with the mirror.

“It’s quite alright Harry,” the old man said softly, his blue eyes gentle as he gestured to the boy to calm himself. Moving slowly, but with considerable grace for someone his age, the headmaster seated himself on the floor, next to where Harry himself had just been sitting and motioned for him to sit as well. “You aren’t the first, nor do I suspect you will be the last person to be entranced by the ‘Mirror of Erised’.”

He sighed, his own gaze caressing the surface of the mirror for a moment and continued. “No, my boy. Witches and wizards, far older and wiser than yourself have discovered, sometimes to their detriment, the risks arising out of pining for what we crave instead of working towards achieving it.”

Harry stood still for a moment, unsure what was happening or what he was supposed to say. Eventually, he gingerly lowered himself back onto the floor and waited for the headmaster to continue.

“I have been away from the school for a few days Harry,” Dumbledore said, conversationally, as if he was addressing an equal, and not an eleven-year-old caught breaking curfew. “I returned this evening and noticed you weren’t at dinner. Professor Flitwick informed me that you had also been missing from meals yesterday, and that he had spoken to young Anthony, your dorm mate about your absence and been informed that you had left a note stating that you were focusing on preparing for the end of term quizzes. I believe that Filius intends to speak to you about this before classes resume tomorrow morning. Tell me Harry, when was the last time you ate something?”

Harry frowned, giving this some thought. “I had dinner before meeting Hermione at the library,” he said, eventually.

“I believe that was on Friday night Harry. You weren’t seen in the Great Hall for all of Saturday or Sunday, and in fact,” he paused, taking out an ornate pocket watch and glancing at it, “it’s well past midnight on Monday right now.”

Harry’s eyes widened a bit. Had it really been that long? Surely he would have felt hungry or tired…or something, wouldn’t he?

“Have you figured out what exactly this mirror is, Harry? Or what it does?” Dumbledore asked after a pause, gesturing gently towards the mirror in front of them, whose surface remained dark.

“It-it shows us how things might have been…” Harry says, his voice hitching slightly. “A better life that we could have led.”

Dumbledore sighed ponderously and shook his head, his long silver hair and beard moving slowly as he did so. “Yes and no, Harry. The mirror is a window that reveals our deepest, most desperate desires. In some cases, the desires are achievable and in some cases, they truly are not.”

He took a deep breath and turned to look directly at Harry who tried not to look away or flinch from the piercing blue eyes that regarded him steadily over silver half-moon spectacles.

“I suspect Harry that you have a great deal of questions for me,” the headmaster said. “And indeed, I owe you an apology for putting off a conversation with you for so long. Could I perhaps interest you in a bargain, where, in exchange for doing something for me, I answer as many of your questions as I am able to, to the best of my abilities? On top of everything else, I’ll also throw in overlooking you being out of bed at such a late hour and even put in a good word for you with Filius.”

Harry was torn. A part of him still wanted nothing more than to gaze into the depths of the mirror, but the larger, more rational side of him, that seemed to be slowly waking up and reasserting itself, knew that this was likely to be his best chance at finally having some questions answered. His eyes flicked involuntarily towards the mirror for a heartbeat, whose surface was still darkened, and he resolutely forced himself to focus on the headmaster and gave him a small nod.

“Excellent!” the old man beamed, flashing him the kind of smile a doting grandfather might bestow on a favored grandchild. “Just give me a second to get to my feet, my bones aren’t as young as they once were.”

A few minutes later Harry was walking beside the headmaster as they exited the room together. He noticed that Dumbledore carefully shut the door behind them and tapped the doorknob with a finger after he did so.

Preempting the boy’s question, the headmaster chuckled and explained, “That’s to make sure that the mirror isn’t discovered by any more unwary visitors. Now, shall we proceed?”

Harry nodded once more, and together the two began to make their way down the corridor.

“I hear you’re a bit of a transfiguration prodigy Harry,” Dumbledore observed as they walked. “Professor McGonagall is ordinarily very guarded in her compliments, but she has been most impressed by your abilities.”

“Uh, thanks sir,” Harry said, modestly. Not sure how long the small talk would continue before he could ask about his magical guardianship, the letter he had been left, with or the mail ward. For that matter, he wished he’d asked Dumbledore to elaborate on what exactly he wanted from him before agreeing. And while he was at it, he didn’t even know where exactly they were heading to right now.

“I used to really enjoy transfiguration myself when I was younger,” Dumbledore continued, unhurriedly and oblivious to Harry’s thoughts. “I still do if I’m being honest. In fact, I even taught the subject back when my predecessor, Professor Armando Dippet, was still the headmaster.”

Harry nodded dutifully as they arrived at a staircase, which promptly moved as soon as they stepped onto it and was suddenly leading to the first-floor, instead of the fourth.

“Uh, sir, where are we going?” Harry asked as the staircase connected to its new destination.

“Well Harry, I’m sure you might have heard this already,” Dumbledore replied, striding forward, “but your father and his closest friends were amongst the most adventurous students to have ever graced these halls. And one of the places they had discovered during their first year in school were the kitchens. Since you haven’t found time for a meal in over two days, I thought we could continue our conversation over a bite to eat, while introducing you to the place that had contributed significantly to James and his friends’ popularity, at least within Gryffindor. After all, who doesn’t like the people who can somehow always find the supplies necessary for an impromptu party.”

“And the teachers knew about these goings on?” Harry asked, curiously.

Dumbledore chuckled. “In broad strokes, yes. Contrary to popular belief, the teaching staff isn’t as oblivious to what the student body gets up to as they let on. After all, most of them had once been students themselves.” He paused for a moment to exchange a pleasant greeting with a portrait of a man with a beard nearly as luxurious as his own, before continuing. “Different headmasters and headmistresses have had a different attitude towards this of course, but I have preferred to advise my staff to be as hands off as possible when it comes to enforcing rules so long as the actions of the pupils aren’t risking themselves or anyone else. The safety of the students is of paramount importance to me, not cracking down on late night parties in the common rooms.”

Harry digested that thoughtfully as he kept up with the strides of the headmaster, and soon they were descending down the marble staircase in the entrance hall. To his surprise, the professor marched right across the hall and began to descend further down via the stairs leading to the dungeons.

As they left the entrance hall behind, he vaguely picked out the echoes of a crashing suite of armor and the unmistakable cackle of a gleeful poltergeist from somewhere in the distance.

Dumbledore sighed, “That’s more work for Argus, I’m afraid.”

“Why is he allowed to keep doing these things sir?” Harry asked, his interest piqued. “Peeves, I mean, not Mr. Filch.”

“It is in his nature, Harry,” Dumbledore explained calmly, taking a turn that led them into a corridor that Harry had not seen before. “Unlike us, who still have the capacity to learn and grow, Peeves, as a Poltergeist, is constrained by his nature to act in a manner that elicits as much reaction as possible from any person who perceives him. There are various studies that have speculated on what makes different specters behave in specific manners, but the short answer is, he cannot help himself.”

“Is that why no one has tried to, er, exorcize him or anything?”

“That is certainly a part of it,” Dumbledore nodded. “The other reason is that Peeves, no matter how aggravating he can be sometimes, has been a part of the castle for centuries. And in darker times, where fear and concern have dominated the atmosphere of the nation, and when folks like our vibrant Weasley twins weren’t at hand, Peeves’ antics were among the only things that broke the monotony and oppressive atmosphere of the castle. He brought a little bit of unpredictability and chaos during times where we had almost all forgotten how to live or laugh. And that is why I choose not to purge the castle of Peeves’ occasionally annoying presence, and I rather suspect that several of my predecessors had held similar opinions when they had been in my position. Ah! Here we are.”

They had come to a stop in front of a portrait of a giant bowl of fruit. Harry looked at it quizzically.

Unfazed or unaware of his companion’s reaction, Dumbledore calmly reached out with his right index finger and tickled the pear, which giggled and turned into a doorknob! The headmaster, with the air of someone who had done this dozens of times before, turned it and pulled open the portrait, revealing a massive, well-lit space beyond that no one would have suspected of having existed.

Before Harry had a chance to stop gaping, a faint pop from right in front of them drew his eyes downwards and he beheld a strange creature the likes of which he had never encountered before.

The creature was about three feet tall, with large, bat-like ears that flopped slightly as it moved, and enormous, round eyes that took up a significant portion of its wrinkled face. The eyes were a bright, shining bronze, full of an innocent curiosity as they gazed up at him and the headmaster.

Even more curious was how the creature was attired. It seemed to be a tablecloth worn as if it was meant to be a tunic, with holes cut out for its arms and legs. The fabric was clean and looked freshly laundered, and the creature seemed to wear it with a kind of quiet dignity. Its long, spindly fingers were clasped together in front of it, and as Dumbledore stepped closer, the creature gave a low, respectful bow to the old wizard.

“Good evening, headmaster Dumbledore,” the creature said in a high-pitched voice that was both cordial and polite. “How may Oddment be of service today?”

“Good evening Oddment,” Dumbledore returned jovially. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced like this. But young Harry and I had a lot to discuss, and we were hoping to do so over a bite of something to eat, if you have anything to spare of course?”

The creature turned its eyes towards Harry and scowled. “This be the same young master Harry who has been absent from his meals for the last two days, yes? Even though Oddment and his elves be making the treacle tart he enjoys so much?”

“Er,” Harry said hesitating and unsure how to respond.

“Oddment is a house-elf Harry,” Dumbledore explained, not interceding on his behalf. “They’re responsible for all of the housekeeping and meals that we enjoy at the school. You’ll find that they can, justifiably, get a little prickly if you take their efforts at keeping you fed and clothed for granted.”

Oddment, which Harry bemusedly thought was an odd name, was still giving him an unimpressed glare, and he fidgeted nervously.

“I’m very sorry Mr. Oddment,” he said, carefully. “I-I was fascinated by something I had come across in the castle, and er, completely lost track of mealtimes the last couple of days.” His stomach grumbled loudly punctuating his statement, and the ‘house-elf’ relented with a disdainful sniff.

“Yous be seated over at that table by the fireplace,” the creature said, snapping its long fingers and causing a small round table and two chairs to materialize in the direction he had indicated. “And we be seeing what we can whip up. You be far, far too skinny to be skipping meals!”

Once they had been bustled into the freshly conjured furniture by several more house-elves who had started setting the table the instant it had materialized and had been served up a breadbasket and some tomato soup to start with, Harry turned his eyes back to Dumbledore, who seemed to be enjoying his predicament far too much.

“I think I’ve heard you mention Oddment before,” Harry said, ignoring the headmaster’s amusement as he nibbled on some excellent focaccia. “During the welcome feast.”

Dumbledore nodded, sipping his soup. “Very good Harry,” he nodded approvingly. “While most students, and I dare say a few of the newer members of the faculty, assume that my odd choice of opening words is a clear sign of senility or creeping dementia, it’s actually me announcing that the feast can now begin, to the four head elves in the kitchens below. Oddment is responsible for the meals prepared for Ravenclaw, while Nitwit, Blubber and Tweak respectively take care of the dietary needs of the students sorted into Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin.”

He looked up from his bowl to fix Harry with a searching gaze as he continued. “You must have a very sharp memory to remember that though Harry, even after several months. Tell me, have you ever considered taking up a study of the psychic arts?”

Something must have shown in Harry's expression, because the headmaster smiled and nodded to himself, before he’d had a chance to respond.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he nodded. “Not that I need to repeat it to a student who seems to embody the best traits of Ravenclaw of course, but knowledge is one of the greatest things we can pursue in our lives. And the ability to retain everything we learn is a fantastic gift in both our academic as well as our personal endeavors. Why, when you are my age Harry, you’ll find that being able to perfectly recall memories of warmth from days decades in the past is as important sometimes as being able to recall obscure bits of knowledge.”

Harry nodded, once again unsure of how to respond. Given how difficult it had been to obtain a copy of ‘The Organized Mind’, he had suspected that very few folks would even be aware of the discipline. He decided that the headmaster was far from being a representative of the average witch or wizard.

They finished their soup in silence and thanked Oddment when he came by with a large bowl of stew and some mashed potatoes for Harry, and a stuffed pepper for the headmaster. Harry figured it made sense, since Dumbledore must have already attended the dinner at the Great Hall earlier in the evening and was probably not starving like he was.

“I-I wanted to ask you about the letter you had left sir,” he said hesitantly, before digging into his meal. Dumbledore nodded, motioning for him to go on, and he took a deep breath.

“How did I survive, when my mom and dad did not?” His voice barely shook, but he felt his hands tremble slightly on the fork, and he hastily laid it down. Eyes fixed on the headmaster, who looked sad and put down his own cutlery.

“It is a little difficult to be absolutely certain, Harry,” he sighed, “since all we have to go on are theories and no small amount of guesswork…but I suspect that your mother’s heroic sacrifice played a part. Your father’s too of course, but the spell residue we analyzed indicated that he attempted to duel Voldemort when he arrived, attempting to buy time so that your mother could escape with you. He was, unfortunately, unsuccessful, but when your mother stood in Voldemort’s way and gave her life attempting to shield you, it created some manner of magical backlash when he turned his wand on you.”

Harry stared on, waiting for the headmaster to continue, which, after a moment, he did.

“My own suspicion is that your survival, and Voldemort’s destruction, was caused by the compounding of the protection granted by your mother’s sacrifice and a discharge of the accumulated family magic in the house, that was desperate to save the last living Potter.”

Harry nodded to himself. This was what he himself had suspected ever since the trip to Godric’s Hollow all those years ago. He felt his heart clench slightly at the memory but determinedly kept his head held high and his face impassive. It seemed that Professor Dumbledore truly intended to stand by his promise to answer his questions to the best of his knowledge.

Dumbledore, perhaps unaware of Harry’s inner musings, was continuing.

“I do not think that sacrificial protections, by themselves, would be enough to deflect a curse that is unblockable by design. A lot of good people have thrown themselves in the way of dark spells speeding towards their friends and family over the centuries, and while it helps, it does not provide perfect or absolute protection. It was only through a combination of all the gathered magic that augmented the defense, that I suspect you escaped unscathed. Well, mostly unscathed I should say. But like I said, this is mostly conjecture of course. We do not know of any other instance where all of the conditions pertaining to your survival have occurred and what the outcome in that situation was. Perhaps, that is a good thing,” he finished with a small sad smile.

“But why did he want to kill me at all?” Harry asked, his voice sounding soft in the large kitchen. This was something he had never found a satisfactory explanation for, ever since the question had struck him after reading all those articles. “I was a child!”

Dumbledore met his eyes and held his gaze for a long moment.

“Harry,” he said eventually, “I promised I would answer your questions to the best of my abilities. And while I believe that I have a plausible theory about this too, I do not feel comfortable burdening you with this knowledge just yet. May I request that this is one question we revisit when you are a little older and have made further progress towards mastering the psychic arts?”

Harry hesitated. That was surprisingly candid. Definitely far more so than he was expecting. Generally, at least in his limited experience, when people didn’t want to share something with him, they would try to be evasive or outright deceitful. Compared to that, the headmaster’s solemn request to ask him at a future date was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

Before he could make up his mind, Dumbledore spoke up again.

“I’m sure you have other questions too Harry,” he smiled gently. “I promise that I will be less guarded about answering those. Just this one subject, is something that I believe neither of us are quite ready to discuss just yet.”

He sighed, filing this away, and referred to the list of queries for the headmaster he’d subconsciously started maintaining at some point. Ah, there was another one he’d wondered about for years, he just had to be careful not to hint at Sirius’s possible innocence or his chat with Griphook.

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon mentioned several of my dad’s friends too,” he said carefully. “From some of the articles that she dug up, it seems like one of them…betrayed my parents and, er, killed another one? What-what happened to the other member of the group? Remus, I think he was called.”

Dumbledore sighed, looking somber. “I must commend the effort your aunt and uncle have put in to gather information pertaining to events that must have been painful for you all, Harry. You are right of course; Remus Lupin was indeed a close friend of your parents.”

He sighed, looking pensively into the fire for a moment, before focusing on Harry again.

“Are you sure this is something you wish to know about Harry?” he asked, gently before holding up his hands to ward off an incoming protest. “I’m not asking to go back on my word not to withhold more information from you. It’s just that things were complicated back then, and perhaps no one involved came out smelling of roses.”

Harry nodded with a confidence he didn’t really feel. “I think I would rather know than speculate, sir.”

Dumbledore returned his eyes to the fire. “We were at war, Harry,” he said softly. “At war with an enemy that struck from the shadows and often hid in plain sight. And it drew forces to its banner in droves from far and wide.”

He paused to sip the water that Harry hadn’t even seen had been refilled at some point and continued. “There is a vast amount of oversimplification of the accounts of the ideologies that ultimately erupted into conflict, but at its core it stemmed from dissatisfaction with the way things were. Folks leaning towards a conservative outlook within the wizarding world felt that things were changing too fast, while the progressive faction felt that things were too stagnant and entrenched, and radical, sweeping changes were the only path forward.”

“As is almost always the case in these matters,” after another pause, which made Harry feel as though he was almost intruding on the old wizard’s personal musings rather than listening to a well-rehearsed account, he resumed “the division gave rise to opportunities, that people chose to exploit for their own personal goals. And Lord Voldemort was a master at seizing the moment.”

“Long, long before he became the dreaded figure that wizarding Britain grew to fear, he was a charming, intelligent man. Powerfully magical, deeply insightful and highly driven. There were plenty of people willing to follow him because of his natural charisma…and then there were more that he drew to him by promising the change they so desperately craved.”

“Did he ever intend to truly deliver on some of his more shocking promises? Or was it all just a ploy to attract support from every corner he could reach? I’m afraid we do not know for sure. But we do know that part of his entourage included people from marginalized communities who, perhaps justifiably, felt hard done by how they were being treated by the establishment.”

“When things deteriorated beyond just ideological differences and into outright violence, it was time for all of us to make tough choices. And I…requested Remus to effectively go undercover, amongst some of the more dangerous elements of Lord Voldemort’s followers and keep the rest of us apprised of new developments.”

Dumbledore took a long slow breath and held it for a while before releasing it in a deep, sad sigh.

“The problem with spies,” he said quietly, “especially the good ones, is that in order to play their part well, they need to mask their true loyalties perfectly. So, very soon, other folks on our side started reporting rumors of Remus having defected. I defended him of course, told the people I trusted that he was doing what he was doing, solely due to my instructions...to bring back information to us. But I fear that his reputation was never the same afterwards. And your father, because of my actions, and what I had Remus do, never trusted one of his closest friends completely anymore.”

The headmaster looked at Harry tiredly and spoke clearly and deliberately. “Remus had never betrayed us. But between the years of stressful undercover work, his closest friends turning on each other and too many of his other allies mistrusting him instead of lauding his sacrifice or the risks he took for us all…he was a broken shadow of the man he had once been. Once the war was over and the dust had settled, he left the country. I think he just wanted to get away from it all at that point, Harry. I just wish I could have done right by him.”

Harry absorbed it slowly. He honestly didn’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, he could understand the hurt that Remus must have felt when his closest friends had become wary of him, but was leaving it all behind, really the right thing to do?

He realized that the headmaster was still looking for him, waiting for his response. He cleared his throat and croaked a soft, “I see.”

After a second, he asked “and the other friends…they-they really betrayed my parents?”

“I’m afraid that all the evidence indicates that Sirius Black did indeed betray the secret of your parent’s whereabouts, leading to their demise,” Dumbledore said gravely. “He was arrested a few days later, having blown up a street and caused the death of twelve innocent bystanders, along with Peter, another of your father’s friends. According to reports, when the aurors came to take him away…he just laughed and laughed. I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry considered this. It still seemed strange and almost surreal to him, that the whole world seemed convinced of Sirius Black’s guilt while the goblins and the text in Harry’s book on magical oaths indicated that he was more than likely innocent. But given that he might at least tangentially be connected to a jailbreak being planned, perhaps discussing this further with the ‘Chief Warlock’, would not be a wise move.

“In fact,” Dumbledore said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. “It was that incident that made me reconsider the protections that had been placed around your home in Surrey. Originally, the blood wards that your mother and I had cast over Petunia and Vernon’s dwelling were expected to be sufficient in terms of keeping anyone who lived there safe from harm, but if someone as close to your parents as Sirius had been, was capable of betraying them, I wanted to take more drastic measures to ensure your safety.”

“Oh?” Harry frowned, wondering if this is what had led to the annoying mail wards that he had seen.

Dumbledore nodded. “I added intent wards to the defenses, keying in you, your cousin and of course, Petunia and Vernon to them. I added a complete mail ward over the premises, so that no owl sent from someone not tied to the home would be able to find the place, and in case it all still proved insufficient, I added an alarm to warn me, the instant any other person capable of magic stepped onto the property.”

“I was fairly certain that very few in the wizarding world knew where you were,” he added. “But Sirius had been as close as a brother to James, and it was possible that he may have revealed the location of Privet Drive to his new allies. So, in case, they did show up uninvited, and somehow made it past the wards, they would have me to contend with momentarily.”

Harry filed it away, already asking the follow up question even as Dumbledore finished speaking.

“Is that what prevented owls from being able to contact anyone who lived outside our house as well? We tried to send Snark, er, that’s what we named the owl Aunt Petunia purchased after I first displayed magic, to try and contact you. You had mentioned in the letter to reach out if they needed assistance, so we couldn’t understand why the letters could never be delivered.”

Dumbledore had the good grace to look apologetic as he confirmed Harry’s suspicions.

“I’m afraid so, Harry,” he murmured. “When I had left you with your aunt and uncle, the incident with Sirius had still not happened. So, I had felt reasonably certain it was safe to communicate through owls. Well, at least from people who knew you or your relatives directly…I’d already set up a ward to redirect missives from unknown individuals, suspicious packages, fan mail and the like to a secure holding facility at Gringotts under my own name. But after Sirius’ arrest, I altered the ward so that no magical communication at all would find you. Since I knew of your address in the muggle world, I updated our register to include a note that your Hogwarts letter would need to be sent using the muggle post office instead of via Owl Post.”

“But why would you prevent outgoing owls? How would we be able to reach you?”

“It seemed I incorrectly assumed that Lily would have informed Petunia of the non-magical address that the families of muggle-born students use to reach out to the school,” Dumbledore said, sounding a little embarrassed. “Letters addressed to the headmaster of ‘Howards Institute for Gifted Young Scholars’, arrive at a P.O. Box in London, where one of our people forward it onto the school. It is something that we explain to the families of the students, to give them a way to contact us during the school year, and I mistakenly thought that your aunt would be aware of this.”

“As to why I felt that even outgoing owls would best be blocked,” Dumbledore continued, “it was because owl post can be intercepted, and the owls themselves tracked. After the incident with Sirius, and the attack on the Longbottoms, I didn’t want to risk anyone who meant you harm witnessing Remus or someone else receiving an owl from your aunt, becoming suspicious and following it back to its sender. The muggle post, though not a perfect channel of communication, just seemed to be objectively safer, mainly because the folks who would be more likely to wish you harm have always been highly dismissive of anything non-magical.”

Harry mulled this over, chewing on a piece of meat thoughtfully. He suspected that Aunt Petunia had not been in the room when his mother and grandparents had been informed of this method of communication. After all, back then his aunt had not been on great terms with his mom.

“How do post owls know where to go sir?” he asked, mechanically while still processing which other topic he had been meaning to discuss should be up next.

“An excellent question, Harry,” the headmaster nodded, approvingly. “Most folks, whether of muggle or magical descent go their entire lives without ever wondering how their most common means of communication actually works. You see, a magical post owl is genetically identical to an ordinary owl. The only difference is, they have a spell performed on them, before they have hatched, that imbues them with attributes not wholly dissimilar to that of a homing pigeon, but even more complex. As a result, a magical post owl can sense the vague location of the intended recipient of a letter it carries, unless their presence is hidden via wards and such, of course. And in general, these birds behave in a far more intelligent manner when compared to their non-magical counterparts.”

“Huh,” Harry remarked. “Are the eggs of a magical post owl, magical too?”

“They are not,” Dumbledore smiled. “The eggs laid by post owls need to be spelled before they hatch for a new post owl to emerge.”

The old wizard looked upwards for a moment, as if reminiscing about something, before he proceeded. “Wizardkind has experimented with other forms of communication over the years. For example, the Ministry uses enchanted memos to simply fly to recipients in other departments from the sender. ‘Floo’ is of course a useful tool for folks living in magical households. And then there are patronuses of course, which is a somewhat advanced bit of magic that I’m sure you’ll discover in coming years. In fact,” he said, eyes glinting, “my own brother, Aberforth, had done a significant amount of research into reducing our dependency on owls for communication, by experimenting on other creatures to see whether the same charms that grant post-owls their capabilities worked just as well. I think the Ministry shut down his work after he tried it on his pet goats,” he finished with a chuckle, which seemed to lighten the mood. “I was able to get him off with a reprimand, after proving that there had been no malicious intent to his actions.”

Harry snorted despite himself, imagining the Chief Warlock having to defend his brother in the Wizengamot for having attempted to charm his goats. That actually brought up another thing he’d been meaning to ask.

“You have a lot of responsibilities in the world outside sir,” he asked, hesitantly, not sure how to phrase his curiosity in a manner that didn’t cause offense.

Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement, patiently waiting for him to complete his question.

“I-I was just curious how you have the time, to, er, to do everything…” Harry let his voice trail off.

Dumbledore looked weary for a moment as he answered, “the short answer, I’m afraid, Harry, is that I honestly don’t.” He paused for a moment and cut into the éclair in front of him with a fork, making Harry realize that the dishes containing the remnants of their meal had been replaced by dessert, and a thick slab of treacle tart rested in front of him. But, before he had a chance to marvel once more at how efficient and unobtrusive Oddment and the elves were, the headmaster was continuing.

“Back in the forties,” he said, casually, “I had long since outgrown the ambitions of my youth and was content to teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts. I didn’t think there could be a more noble calling than being able to help shape a small part of our world’s magical future. I was appreciated by my peers, generally liked by my students, and I had all the free time I could possibly wish for. But then, the war happened.”

“Grindelwald?” Harry asked, softly. He’d read about this former dark lord who Dumbledore had supposedly defeated during the height of the Second World War.

“Yes, Gellert Grindelwald, the Black Plague from the Black Forest,” Dumbledore agreed, quietly, “the man who changed the landscape of the wizarding world.” After a pause, he continued. “You see Harry, Britain, while definitely impacted by Grindelwald’s war, wasn’t the chief staging ground for his crusade. No, the European mainland suffered the worst of the conflict, which spilled out and scorched the provinces of the various colonies of the warring nations far and wide. His agents fueled the muggle side of the conflict as well as the magical one, took lessons learned from observing the First World War into account and were responsible for deaths and atrocities the like the world had never seen before. And once he single-handedly dismantled the International Confederation of Wizards, slaying several of its leading members, other nations, who were on the fringe of the conflict until then, were left with no other choice but to act.”

“I’ll spare you the details, Harry,” he sighed, “but once the dust had settled, following my lucky, yes lucky, defeat of the dark lord, I found myself at the center of a lot of attention both within the nation and on the international circuit. Perhaps people wanted to trust in someone who had helped defeat their oppressor, or perhaps they wanted someone powerful enough to lead them who could not be wiped out in a single night like their previous leaders had been, but the long and short of it was I was suddenly being pressed to become the new Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, the new Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and even the new Grand Sorcerer. Not wanting anything to do with politics and desiring nothing more than to return to Hogwarts and resume my duties as an educator, I was ready to turn all of these down…until my brother, a far wiser man than I, goat incident aside, pointed out who the most likely alternative candidates for these roles were likely to be.”

“Some of them were probably good men and women,” he conceded, “with values that in some cases I agreed with. But every single one of them was a politician at heart, who ultimately would prioritize their ambitions over doing the right thing. Aberforth, who has never been my greatest fan, convinced me that the best candidate, the most suitable person to hold these offices, was the one who truly did not want them.” He smiled at Harry, and he thought he could make out how tired the smile suddenly looked. “And so, here I still am Harry, a politician on several fronts, who really wishes he wasn’t. A teacher at heart, who has to spend far too much time away from his school. I try to be mindful of my powers and attempt not to wield them too much or too often, lest I become the kind of tyrant that the world has already suffered too frequently from, but who knows how effective my efforts are.”

Harry listened with a slight frown to the headmaster’s account of how he came to hold so many positions of authority, and yet again, didn’t know whether he agreed with the perspective. This would be another thing to be analyzed more later, he decided and moved on to his next query.

“But, if you have so many things you have to focus on already,” he asked, already wincing at how blunt the question was going to be, “why did you want to be my Magical Guardian?”

“Ignorance on my part, Harry,” the headmaster said, easily. “I had no idea that Petunia was in fact a squib. I very much doubt that your mother herself was aware, and Minerva too did not know the implications of her being able to see the Leaky Cauldron, back when she took her and Lily to Diagon Alley. It’s only after your discussion with Poppy that I came to know that you did not require a member of the Hogwarts staff to act as your guardian in magical matters.”

“Wouldn’t Professor Flitwick have been mine usually? Since he is my head of house?” Harry asked, still curious and refusing to let it go.

“Ordinarily, he would.” Dumbledore clarified. “In your case however, since I was close to your parents and had already been involved in several of the decisions that led you to the childhood you experienced, I thought perhaps I owed it to you to take up the role of your guardian. No slight intended towards Filius, of course.”

They were both done with their desserts too by this time, and Harry realized that plates had been cleared once more, without him noticing a thing. Dumbledore must have noticed his bemusement, and chuckled.

“House-elf magic is strange and complicated, and often puzzles the understanding of witches and wizards,” he explained. “But they are gentle, hardworking folk whose kindness and dedication we must never take for granted. I fear too many people do just that, Harry.”

A familiar high-pitched voice surprised Harry and nearly made him fall out of his seat.

“Headmaster Dumbledore be too kind,” Oddment said, materializing at the professor’s elbow with a bow. “But it be getting really late, and students be having classes tomorrow. Should you not be sending young master Harry to rest?”

Dumbledore grimaced and pulled out his pocket watch and began to stand up. “You are right of course Oddment. I’m afraid I lost track of time while conversing with Harry. Thank you for the late dinner, we’ll take our leave now.”

As they left the kitchens and began to head towards the Ravenclaw tower, Dumbledore returned to making small talk about the various classes and how Harry was enjoying them. He even seemed pleasantly surprised that he was enjoying his potions lessons and avoided making a comment with regards to Harry’s carefully vague response regarding Magical Theory.

By the time they arrived at the common room and Dumbledore turned to take his leave, Harry’s exhaustion and sleep deprivation were finally starting to catch up to him and he was really looking forward to calling it a night.

“One last thing, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice sounded again just as he was about to use the eagle shaped door knocker.

Harry turned, his eyes heavy and waited for the professor to continue.

“The Mirror of Erised will be moved to a new location tonight, so that no one else is lured in by its visions. I must ask you not to seek it again.”

He waited for Harry’s slow nod of understanding and continued to observe silently until the boy had answered the riddle and was starting to stumble in through the door. Right at the last second before he crossed the threshold however, the boy, clearly bleary-eyed now, stopped and turned to face him once again.

“Um,” he began hesitantly, or perhaps trying to stifle a yawn, “you said you wanted me to do you a favor in return for answering my questions, sir. What do you have in mind?”

Dumbledore smiled, “I believe you’ve already delivered on what I would have requested you to do, Harry. Why, all I would have asked of you was to accompany me away from the mirror and perhaps have a full meal to make up for your absence from the Great Hall over the last couple of days. Also,” his eyes twinkled mischievously, “if during this time, the hold that the mirror had over you would gradually weaken and fade, since your mind would be focused on other matters, I would be far from averse to that outcome.”

He watched indulgently, as the slightly bemused boy mumbled a ‘good night’ and finally returned to his dorm before shaking his head and heading back to the room where he had found the young wizard earlier that night.

It was late, he too was tired, but an artifact as dangerous as the mirror could not be allowed to remain in a place where it could attract even more victims to torment.

Chapter Text

December 1991

Despite waking up feeling terribly groggy and then being told off by a thoroughly irate Tony, followed by an extremely unamused Padma, Harry managed to make his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast in time to help himself to an unusually large helping…or three.

None of his friends appeared to be surprised, seeing as they were aware of the meals he had missed, but his housemates did keep glancing at him curiously seeing how he was clearly much less put together than usual.

Before they could leave and make their way (or in Harry’s case sleepwalk) to Transfiguration for the first of their quizzes, a tiny vial of orange liquid appeared next to his plate with a small flash.

Harry stared at it in confusion, his thoughts still moving sluggishly, until Tony pointed out the slip of parchment that was underneath the little bottle.

He carefully extracted the note and read it.

The vial contains a double dose of Pepper-Up, Mr. Potter.

While the most popular usage of this potion is to treat the common cold and its symptoms, a side effect of it is to temporarily make the drinker more alert and much less fatigued. This is not something that anyone should chug as an alternative to a cup of coffee, and the only reason that I’m giving this to you is due to the insistence of your head of house, the school nurse and the headmaster.

Taken immediately after breakfast, this should help you get through the day, but be warned, your body will almost certainly crash and require a full night’s rest, if not more, once the effects wear off.

Severus Snape.

It took him two tries to process what he was reading, which only served to further underscore how bad of a state he must be in, and he looked towards the staff table seeking some sort of confirmation.

Professor Snape was focused on the morning’s newspaper with his trademark expression of disdain, but Flitwick caught his eyes and gave him a small smile and a nod, at which point he grabbed the vial, removed its stopper and drained its contents in a single gulp.

Immediately he realized why the potion had been named ‘Pepper-Up’ as a massive coughing fit took over while a fiery sensation blossomed at the back of his throat and spread out through his chest. He could almost imagine steam coming out from his ears as his eyes began to water.

Eventually the coughing subsided, and the burning sensation disappeared with it, leaving behind a strange aftertaste he couldn’t quite place…and a sensation of his mind starting to slowly wake up from its previous bleary state.

“Whoa,” he whispered slowly to Padma and Tony who had both been watching him carefully, “that really did help! I have got to learn how to make that at some point.”

“Well, c’mon then,” Tony sniffed, sounding grumpy about something as he dropped the note from Professor Snape that he had been reading and stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “We’re going to be late for transfiguration if we don’t get going soon. Although given that you seem to be the pet of every teacher we have, perhaps McGonagall will just give you candy instead of detention.”

“It’s Professor McGonagall, Anthony!” Hermione’s annoyed huff sounded behind them and made everyone else chuckle as they headed off to class.

The end of term evaluations were a breeze as far as Harry was concerned. Even though none of the subjects involved a practical assessment, which was usually where he truly shined, he managed to do well on most of his papers.

He did slip up a little on both Herbology and History; getting a question on the identification of the most appropriate fertilizers for various magical plants wrong on Professor Sprout’s assessment and misattributing the wrong goblin leaders to the various uprisings on Binns’, but seeing as he still managed to snag an ‘E’ (which stood for Excellent - and not as the Weasley twins had convinced Ron, ‘Exceeded Expectations’) he wasn’t too disappointed.

He also failed to score an ‘O’ (or ‘Outstanding’) on Potions due to poor time management. He had been double and triple checking all of his answers, not wanting to give the acerbic professor any opportunity to give him less than a perfect score, and as a result, he ran out of time before being able to complete the final question. Unlike Herbology or History, the ‘E’ he scored here definitely stung.

Then there was Magical Theory, on which he’d scored the lowest out of all his subjects. He had gone over the entire answer sheet with Hermione (who’d, predictably, aced it) and neither of them had been able to find any material differences in the answers the two of them had provided. But while the Gryffindor’s paper had been graded efficiently and with apparent fairness, Harry’s was riddled with notes from Professor Johnston about how his answers were either derivative, lacked insight, required better phrasing or (in one case) should have been written on a fresh sheet of parchment instead of crammed into the bottom of the sheet.

That, however, had nearly caused Harry to rebel. Three-headed hellhounds he could put up with, but unfair grading was another thing entirely. The rest of the group, bar Ron, who was nonplussed that he was kicking up a stink over receiving an ‘A’ (which stood for ‘Acceptable’), had managed to talk him down, since after all none of Johnston’s remarks had been objectively wrong per se, and approaching either Flitwick or Johnston himself about this could potentially paint him as whiny (according to Tony) or petulant (as per Pansy).

The one upside to this was that Hermione had backed him up and finally agreed that Johnston really did have it out for Harry and that his grades really had been unfair. He had finally relented and accepted the situation and the small upside that came with it.

As the Hogwarts Express steamed towards London, Harry found himself staring listlessly out of the fogged-up windows, from the compartment he was sharing with Tony, Blaise, Hermione and Neville, trying not to worry about what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had in store for him in the light of his less than safe adventures during the course of the term.

They had bid adieu to Ron, Parvati and Padma at the castle, which they’d been surprised to learn would not be nearly as empty or bleak as they’d feared. The lion’s share of the fifth- and seventh-year students were staying back at the castle so as not to lose focus during their OWL and NEWT preparations respectively, and even the majority of the staff would be staying behind to help coach the folks who felt they would benefit from additional guidance.

Ron had also quietly promised to try and continue keeping an eye on the third-floor corridor over the holidays.

Soon after they had boarded the train, a few of their group, namely Draco, Pansy and, somewhat surprisingly, Hannah, had taken their leaves, mumbling something about having to meet their parents at the platform. Based on what Harry remembered from Susan’s recitation of her aunt’s dossiers, he suspected that they probably weren’t completely certain about how their parents would react to some of the friends they had ended up making and were trying to keep their worlds from colliding. He didn’t really hold it against them, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little upsetting.

Susan herself had departed with Hannah, stating that her aunt, who was a close personal friend of Hannah’s mother, would likely be with Lady Abbott so it would probably be best if she and Hannah were together.

And then it had just been the five of them.

As a way of passing the time, and also to get Tony and Hermione to stop discussing the exam results, Blaise had suggested that they play a few hands of Poker. The grin he’d flashed them all upon learning that none of the others knew how to play had been all teeth, and he’d graciously offered to teach them. In spite of his better judgement, Harry had agreed, and they had all spent the next hour being completely fleeced by the Italian boy.

Once they had wised up and threatened Blaise into giving back all his ill-gotten winnings, they’d fallen into a companionable silence. And since they had departed the castle after an especially heavy breakfast, they chose to snooze through the arrival and departure of the lunch trolley lady.

“Say Harry,” Blaise’s voice suddenly startled Harry out of his musings, “you don’t live too far from London proper do you?”

“A few hours’ drive, I reckon,” Harry responded. “Why do you ask?”

“You want to meet in Diagon Alley or something over the holidays?” Blaise asked, “maybe on Boxing Day or even New Years’ Eve? Mamma usually has far too many social gatherings to attend, and most are really stuffy boring affairs. I’d much rather spend the time with people my own age. Plus, I’ve heard there’s a lot of events that happen during the holiday season too! Street performers, Yule flash sales, exhibitions and the like. I reckon we could probably get a few more people to show up as well.”

“Oooh! That does sound like fun!” Hermione piped up, sounding eager. “The only time I’ve visited the alley was with Professor McGonagall, and we just went to the shops where the school equipment was being sold. If it’s just us we could explore a fair bit more!”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, the idea appealing to him too. “I bet I could convince Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to let me bring Dudley along too. He’s heard a lot about you all through my letters and I’m sure he’d love to meet you guys. What about you Nev? Will your gran let you come?”

Neville frowned, seeming unsure. “Depends on when it is. We usually have a lot of folks over at the manor for Yule, so gran might not be too keen on letting me spend Boxing Day out. But if we’re planning for New Years’ Eve, it might be fine. Oh! I might have a chaperone with me though.”

“Brill, an adult with us will likely mean less concerns from my uncle and aunt! You’re in too, right Tony?” Harry grinned, turning towards the final occupant of their compartment.

“I-I’m, not entirely sure,” Anthony returned, looking a little down. “I haven’t spent this long away from mom and dad before this, so I was really hoping to spend the entirety of the holidays at home with them, you know?” He looked around with conflicted eyes before swallowing heavily and ploughing on. “I mean, before we know it, the holidays will be over and we’ll be back at Hogwarts once more…so, I kind of just want to make the most of the break by spending every day with them.”

“Va bene,” Blaise said sympathetically, reaching across the seats to pat Tony on the shoulder. “I get it. Family comes first, of course. But if you need us to pick anything up for you, just let me know, ok?”

Tony nodded, accepting the offer with a small smile. “Who else do you think will be available? You think Hannah or Draco will be allowed?”

“Well, we won’t find out until we ask,” Harry said determinedly. “I’ll write to Hannah and Susan as soon as I get home, and Blaise, you can reach out to Draco and Pansy. Which reminds me, Blaise, do you want to talk about what Hannah’s mum’s deal with you might be yet?”

“No…maybe when we all meet over the holidays,” Blaise said exhaling and turning his head to stare out of the window. “I think we’re starting to slow down so we don’t really have time for that particular discussion anyway.”

He was right and the children quickly set about gathering up their belongings so as not to leave anything behind. Within a few minutes the Hogwarts Express was pulling into the station, where a crowd of people stood waiting to pick up their charges.

“Maybe we should give it a moment for the crowd to disperse a bit?” Neville said, chewing his lip. “You know, so that Harry doesn’t get mobbed or something?”

“Way ahead of you,” Harry grinned, straightening up from where he had been fidgeting with his T-100. “All it takes is a hat, and swapping out the glasses for some good old fashioned colored lenses and no one who doesn’t know me is gonna have a clue as to who I am.”

“Interessante,” Blaise whistled softly as Harry set about donning his disguise. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of these ‘colored lenses’ before. I know that there are a lot of vision related enchantments that folks tend to put on spectacles, artificial glass eyeballs and omnioculars and the like, which is why a lot of secure places makes you take them off or inspect them when they search you prior to entry, perhaps some of these spells could be applied to these lenses.”

“What kind of enchantments-uff, thanks Neville,” Hermione queried, struggling to get her trunk off of the overhead rack until Neville stepped up to lend a hand.

“Like recording and replay based enchantments perhaps…” Blaise mused distractedly, stroking his chin. “Or for what the wearer sees being shared to other people elsewhere. I’m sure there are potentially both useful and profitable applications out there so long as this muggle concept isn’t common knowledge that is.”

Harry considered this. “I know that the magical world isn’t very caught up on mundane innovations and all, but surely this isn’t that much of an unknown right? I mean all it takes is a close look, and you can see where the lenses cover your irises.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Blaise conceded. “But if someone patting you down doesn’t know to look for it specifically, they probably won’t be staring deeply into your emerald green-ah, sorry, midnight blue eyes, will they? I don’t know, just feels like there’s a business idea in there somewhere.”

Harry shrugged. Perhaps there was an innovation waiting to happen here, but truth be told, he had more pressing things on his mind right now. He looked around to make sure that everyone had gotten a hold of their trunks and slid open the compartment door.

Both he and Hermione had changed into ordinary clothes during the journey, but Tony, Neville and Blaise were still dressed in robes (although Blaise’s one did look a lot sleeker than their school uniforms). As they jostled their way slowly down the train and towards the exit, Harry found himself asking. “So, is there some special enchantment or something on your robes to make it seem unremarkable to the mundane people out there? Or is there just more than one way to arrive or depart from the platform?”

“There are designated ‘Apparition Points’ at both ends of the platform,” Neville answered, navigating around a sixth-year Ravenclaw whose shoulder bag seemed to have split and who was trying to stuff a bunch of spilled class notes into his trunk. “And of course there are a lot of ‘Floo’ connections spread along the entire length of the place. The usual stuff. I honestly think that the muggle entrance is way more interesting. But I guess you’d have to make yourself less conspicuous before you can use that.”

“Huh,” Harry muttered, vindicated that his earlier hypothesis had proved accurate. “By the way, I know that Nev has no idea what clothes aside from robes even look like, but I thought that you, Blaise, liked dressing normally when not at school?”

“‘Normal’, is a relative term mio amico,’ Blaise sighed theatrically. “Going for a long evening stroll over unknown terrain, of course I would be partial to trousers and hiking boots. Returning to mamma after a term at school, knowing that the next stop is the abode of one of her very traditional friends who are putting us up for the break, well, this is a more appropriate attire.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Harry laughed, starting to carry his trunk down the steps of the train before turning to help Hermione with hers. Somewhere off to their left, he imagined that the crowd was denser than anywhere else and caught a quick glimpse of Michael extricating himself from the throng with a bemused expression.

They’d barely made it ten paces from the train, when a voice from off to the side caused them to turn to see a tall, stately woman, in an elegant black robe and an expensive looking shawl cut effortlessly through the crowd and pull Blaise into an embrace.

“Ah! Ragazzo mio! Eccoti!”

“Mamma! Ti stavo cercando.” Blaise responded, smiling as he returned the hug. “Oh, these are my friends. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Tony, meet my mother.”

They waved awkwardly as the Contessa let go of Blaise and smiled at them.

“A pleasure to meet you all,” she said kindly in a very slightly accented English, surveying them with dark eyes. “My Blaise has spoken about you all extensively in his letters. Thank you so much for looking after him, especially the two of you, Harry and Neville. I was horrified to hear about what happened on Samhain and cannot thank you enough for so bravely coming to aid my little boy.”

“It-it was no problem ma’am,” Harry said, meekly. “Blaise would have done the same for us.”

“True,” the Contessa agreed, fondly ruffling her son’s hair, much to said son’s apparent annoyance. “It makes me very happy to finally meet your friends, Blaise. And hopefully with time I shall have the fortune of meeting the others of your group too.”

“Some of them had to stay back at the castle, mamma,” Blaise explained, attempting to push his mother’s hand away from his scalp. “And a few others split up to meet their parents.”

“Ah, well. There’s always next time I guess,” Contessa Zabini said, nodding, and leaving Blaise’s hair alone for the time being in favor of tugging her fur lined shawl more firmly around herself. “You know how the saying goes, ‘Gli amici sono come le stelle, non sempre visibili ma sempre presenti.’”

She turned to regard the other children once again, “I am afraid we must be on our way soon, but this is far too short a meeting. You must come visit us in Toscana when time permits. Perhaps over the summer break. I can make all the necessary arrangements and show you around the countryside. I’m happy to speak to your guardians if it makes it easier to secure permissions too of course. Our little villa stands far too quiet for most of the year, and it would be wonderful to have it filled with laughter and youth once again.”

They all nodded politely and thanked her for the invitation and watched the mother and son take their leaves with a final ‘arrivederci’.

“Well, I think I’d better be off too,” Tony announced, once the duo had vanished into the crowd. “I’m gonna ‘Floo’ home I reckon. So…see you all back here soon, I guess. Have a nice break you all!”

They quickly bid farewell to Anthony as well, who began to drag his trunk towards the nearest fireplaces and was also, soon lost from view. Harry frowned slightly as he watched him disappear.

“What?” Neville asked, as he spotted Harry’s expression. “Something on your mind?”

“Wha-? No,” Harry started. “Just wondering why Tony’s folks weren’t here to pick him up.”

“Dunno,” Neville said, shrugging as they reached a cluster of benches halfway towards the closer of the Apparition Points. “Maybe they had work or something. Ah, there’s gran!”

Harry, too, had caught sight of Lady Longbottom’s vulture topped hat approaching over the heads of the gathered people, and smiled up at the stern old woman as she arrived on scene and surveyed the trio of children.

“Well, Merry meet once more my little whippersnappers,” she grinned at Harry and Neville, who found themselves obediently responding in kind even as she turned towards Hermione. “You, I do not believe I have met before, have I, young lady?”

“Er…no ma’am,” Hermione squeaked, and after a moment of hesitation dropped a quick curtsy. “I do not think so. I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger. I’m in Neville’s year…in Gryffindor.”

“Granger?” Lady Longbottom repeated, her brow creasing. “The same one who Neville mentioned as being the smartest witch in the year? Tell me my dear, do you happen to know if you’re related to the Dagworth-Grangers by any chance?”

“I-I can’t say I’ve ever heard that name ma’am,” Hermione returned, sounding lost.

“Hmm, oh well. No matter,” the old woman continued. “Neville speaks very highly of you, Miss Granger. Says you have helped him out a lot with his classes and assignments. Thank you for taking him under your wing. If you ever feel that he isn’t applying himself as he should, do not hesitate to write to me, and I will make sure to set him straight!” She finished with a glint in her eye that Harry felt was halfway between evil and mischievous.

“Gran!” Neville moaned, embarrassed, which only caused his grandmother to cackle again.

“I’m only kidding, Neville,” she laughed. “From everything I’ve seen and heard, you have been doing much better these last few weeks than at the start of term. I am sure you don’t need any further straightening up. But enough about that. I was expecting to see a whole bunch of your friends and not just a few stragglers. I wasn’t so late that the rest all dispersed, was I?”

“Uh, no, gran,” Neville supplied. “Some of them are staying at the castle over the break…and you just missed a couple of the others.”

“Hmm,” Lady Augusta, hummed, sounding a bit miffed. “Oh well, I was hoping to invite the lot of you, along with families, guardians et all, to our family manor, Hearthmere Hollow, sometime over the break. Guess I am going to have to do that via owl now. Well, at least I can extend the invite in person to the two of you,” she continued, fixing Harry and Hermione with a stern gaze that made them feel like they were being interrogated rather than invited. “I know that my Neville can be a little reserved sometimes, but hearing about the friends he has made at school has made me and the rest of the old coots immensely happy and brought back many nostalgia ridden memories from our own time at the castle. We positively insist that you find the time to visit us before the break ends and allow us to get to know you all in person, and not merely through Neville’s letters. Do we have an understanding?”

Taking their hesitant nods as an assent, she grinned again and clapped Neville on the back. “Good! That settles it then. Well, we’d better be off, lots to do and all. Let me know which day works best for you and I’ll make all the necessary arrangements. Grab my elbow and hold on to your trunk tightly now, Neville. You got it? Alright then! See you later, children!”

Her last words were followed by a sharp ‘Crack!’ as she disappeared into thin air with Neville and his trunk in tow.

After a prolonged silence, Hermione was the first to regain her ability to speak.

“She’s really, er, something, isn’t she?” she said slowly, eyes still rooted to the spot where the two of them had vanished.

“If by something you mean ‘batshit insane’, then I’m inclined to agree with you,” Harry responded, nodding vigorously as he cautiously extended his hand forward through the space that Neville had occupied moments before. “She scares the bejesus out of me. You know what, if we have to visit her at Nev’s place, maybe we should do it together.”

“You’re just afraid of having to deal with her alone,” Hermione snorted, as she picked up the handle of her trunk and resumed dragging it towards the barrier separating it from the mundane section of the station. “But yeah, I suppose we could do that. But c’mon now, we’ve delayed long enough. Where are you supposed to meet your aunt?”

Harry began to follow her with his T-100, “She mentioned that she’d wait near the King’s Boulevard exit,” he returned. “We’re gonna be taking the train home to Surrey, since Dudley’s term also ends today, and Uncle Vernon had to go pick him up. Where will your parent be meeting you?”

“At the start of platform nine,” Hermione responded, confidently, waiting for the people ahead of them to disappear through the solid brick wall ahead of them. It said a lot about how rapidly the magical world was becoming commonplace to them, that both of them took this in stride and didn’t so much as gape at it anymore. “Do you want to say hi to them before you meet your aunt?”

Harry nodded as the two of them made their way through the barrier and emerged back into mundane London. Based on the amount of light flooding in from outside, it was still early afternoon. Which meant that their journey back to London had taken significantly less time than the train ride on September 1^st. It really helped that they had all been alerted to the expected arrival time of the train well in advance, or else he would have had no way of letting Aunt Petunia know when to expect him.

He'd asked Colton about the difference in duration of the journeys and, as usual, the older Ravenclaw had been able to fill him in. It appeared that the Hogwarts Express, as was the case with most things magical, was heavily enchanted and relied heavily on these spells and enchantments not just to mask its presence from the ordinary world, but also to drastically decrease its commute time. Whenever the circumstance permitted, the entire train jumped ahead to a more advanced place on its planned path, usually disappearing into one tunnel and emerging out of another several dozens of miles further ahead. Of course, the driver still had to make sure that they didn’t materialize right next to, or worse, on top of another locomotive, but the job of the conductor of the Hogwarts Express was less akin to that of a traditional engine driver and more like a high-stakes game of hopscotch.

Consequently, the steam engine powered train was able to massively outstrip the contemporary diesel locomotives and sometimes, especially during holiday season, arrive at its destination hours before it had any right to be there.

Harry had been forced to admit that this was undeniably cool.

After barely a few minutes of searching, he and Hermione were able to spot Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who, as expected, were waiting for her at the very start of platform nine. They spotted the two children as they dragged their trunks towards them and rushed forward eagerly to try and help and, more importantly, reunite with their daughter.

“Oh! there you are, Mi!” Mrs. Granger exclaimed as she pulled Hermione into a tight hug the instant she reached them. “Why don’t you have a jacket on, love? You’re going to catch a cold!”

“This must be one of your friends from school,” Mr. Granger observed, smiling politely at Harry as he waited his turn to greet his child. “Hello, my name is Daniel, but you can call me Dan.”

Dan Granger was a slim man with thick curly brown hair that was just beginning to go gray at the temples. He surveyed Harry through square spectacles and extended a hand in greeting while his wife finally let go of Hermione and took in the other arrival.

“Hello sir,” Harry returned cordially as he shook the other man’s hand. “I’m Harry. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“My, such lovely manners,” Mrs. Granger, who was just as slim but a head shorter than her husband and had her daughter’s dark eyes and brown hair in a loose ponytail, chuckled, “I hope you can be a good influence on our Mi. Brilliant as anything, but prone to putting facts over tact.” She grinned as she said this, and Hermione groaned loudly in response at the seemingly overused quip. “Oh, I’m Emma, by the way. Where are your folks, Harry? Do you need help looking for them? The station does get awful crowded around the holiday season.”

“Oh, no that’s quite alright ma’am,” Harry responded, shaking his head. “I’m meeting my aunt near the King’s Boulevard exit. I really shouldn’t be keeping you.”

“Oh nonsense,” both the elder Grangers responded in unison before Dan continued, “Our car is parked close to that exit, so we’re headed in that direction anyway. Besides, we would love to hear more about how our little Mi is doing at Howard’s, from an independent source. For instance, did you know that she once refused to eat for two days straight because she’d only scored a measly ninety-eight out of a hundred on her end of term Math paper? Has she done something like that yet?”

The group laughed and joked as they continued to make their way towards the exit, with Harry finding immense amusement at various anecdotes from Hermione’s childhood. Although, given the murderous glare that Hermione was routinely directing towards her parents, his own sense of self-preservation stopped him from sharing too many Hogwarts stories about her.

“Oh! I think I see Aunt Petunia now!” Harry exclaimed, inadvertently interrupting Hermione’s defense of one of her childhood tantrums, having finally spotted his aunt standing to one side of the exit and carefully scanning the crowd. All sense of propriety temporarily forgotten, he found himself yelling out over the crowd. “Aunt Petunia! I’m over here!”

Her sharp, hawk-like gaze swiveled in his direction as soon as he yelled out, and she broke out in a broad grin as soon as she caught sight of him. She schooled her features immediately into a more composed expression, realizing that Harry was not by himself, and began to make her way towards their group.

“Welcome back, Harry!” She beamed as she got close enough to speak without having to shout over the background din. “I was afraid we’d miss each other and go around in circles due to this holiday rush. And, please, introduce me to your friend, and presumably, her family!” She finished, politely looking at the Grangers after giving Harry a quick hug.

“This is Hermione, Aunt Petunia,” Harry explained, helpfully pointing her out, “and these are her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione, this is my Aunt Petunia.”

After the pleasantries had been exchanged and hasty introductions concluded, (“Please, call me Dan! My mother-in-law is the only one who still calls me Daniel.”), Hermione wasted no time in popping the question regarding the New Years’ Eve meetup that Blaise had suggested less than an hour ago, on the train.

“Please, mum? Can we go? It’ll be so much fun!” She pleaded with uncharacteristic childish glee, as compared to her usual mature self. “Professor McGonagall only took me to the shops that sold the school supplies, and we had absolutely no time to explore!”

“I don’t know dear,” Emma responded, sounding very unsure. “You had adult supervision last time. I’m not sure how I feel about letting just you kids venture into a place we can’t even see, let alone follow you into.”

“Oh! Neville will have someone with him to keep an eye on us.” Hermione clarified hastily.

“Actually, ma’am, I think either you or Mr. Granger might be able to enter as well.” Harry piped up at the exact same instant.

“Oh, that makes it a little better I suppose-wait what? What do you mean?” Mrs. Granger exclaimed, switching her focus from Hermione to Harry.

“Oh, um, we kind of discovered that before I went to Hogwarts,” Harry explained, not wanting to get into the exact timelines of when his aunt had taken him and Dudley shopping in Diagon Alley. “We realized that Aunt Petunia, and my cousin, Dudley, could both see and visit the alley. It’s-it’s something to do with latent magical heritage and the fact that most magical-”

“Perhaps,” said Aunt Petunia, loudly, cutting in to interject, “this explanation is meant for a less public setting?”

Harry blushed redder than the Hogwarts Express and hastily looked around to see if anyone had been listening. “Um, yeah. Right. Sorry.” He mumbled into his scarf and pulled his hat lower.

“Perhaps, you all would like to visit our place in Surrey sometime, when you have a moment,” Aunt Petunia continued. “If I remember correctly, from Harry’s letters, your Hermione is also keen on appearing for her GCSEs in addition to the other exams, so you could always make a weekend of it and my son could catch Harry and Hermione up on what he’s been learning at Smeltings and we could talk in detail about, well, the other stuff too.”

“Well, I suppose,” Dan said, sounding intrigued. “How does this coming weekend sound? That would still give us ample time to make up our minds about Mi’s plans with her friends.”

“I think that suits us just fine,” Aunt Petunia nodded, and soon, once numbers had been exchanged, address shared and the children had parted with a cheerful ‘see you soon’, Harry and his aunt were heading towards the train departing for their neck of the woods.

They passed the time taking turns talking animatedly, filling each other in on everything that had not made its way into their letters. To Harry’s immense relief Aunt Petunia, after her initial shock, seemed to have come to terms with the Halloween incident.

“I can’t say that it wasn’t an extremely jarring and unpleasant news, Harry,” she explained. “That letter from your Professor Flitwick terrified the daylights out of me and your uncle. For a few days afterwards we genuinely wondered how to get you back home safely before it was too late. But then, after about a week has passed, and I was doing the dishes one morning, I accidentally knocked over a teacup, one of the ones with the blue poppy pattern, and I was suddenly reminded of something I had heard Lily tell our mother many years ago.”

She paused to take a deep breath and let it out with an audible sigh. “I think it was during Christmas, the year she had turned seventeen. Mom had dropped a bowl of eggnog while bringing it out of the kitchen, and Lily had come out of the living room hearing the crash. She just…she just smiled, drew her wand and gave it a wave. And there was the bowl, undamaged and still filled to the brim, hovering in midair. Mom was thrilled, of course, I don’t think they even knew I was there…I had just been on my way down, so had barely reached the top of the stairs. Lily stowed the wand and plucked the bowl out of the air and flashed mom a quick grin and said, ‘Magic, it really is great when it comes to fixing just about anything in a flash.’”

Harry listened raptly as Aunt Petunia took a moment to gather her thoughts. He didn’t dare disturb her train of thought and really wanted to hear more about his mum. After several long seconds, she continued once more.

“That little memory made me pause and think. Once Vernon came back from work, I told him about the incident too and together we went through some of Lily’s stuff that you hadn’t taken with you. And what do you know, there were references to spells that could fix broken bones with a wave of a wand, spells that could regenerate lost limbs…undo concussions as if they had never happened.” She shook her head slowly, with a small smile. “None of these spells were listed in the books of course, since, I assume, they would be far too advanced for a school student, but it meant that at Hogwarts, practically anything that happened could in theory be fixed or patched up in a trice. So, we slowly came to the conclusion that although we really wish you would stay out of trouble as much as you can, perhaps you are still just as safe over there as you are out here where even a collision with a bike might lay you out for a long time.”

“All in all, we’d much rather you finish your magical education and learn how to fix just about anything, like how Lily herself had done.” She finished, smiling genially at Harry.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so instead he hugged his aunt tightly, trying desperately to not shed the tears that were stinging the corners of his eyes. He just pressed himself into Aunt Petunia’s side as she gently stroked his hair.

The tender moment was interrupted when their station was announced and the duo separated and made sure they had gathered all of Harry’s belongings before disembarking from the train, once it slowly rolled to a halt.

It would take them maybe fifteen or so minutes to reach Number Four, and with any luck they would arrive long before Uncle Vernon and Dudley, which would give Harry just enough time to set up a bit of a prank for his cousin. He just needed to enlist Aunt Petunia’s help, since otherwise it would not have any hope of working out. Thankfully for him, his aunt laughed when he pitched her the idea and was on board with evident enthusiasm.

Evening saw them all gathered around the kitchen table, eagerly catching each other up on everything new that had been going on. While Harry had been having a really good time at Hogwarts, and from the sounds of it, Dudley felt much the same about Smeltings. It was almost indescribably comforting to be back home. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon clearly felt the same way.

After the initial sputtering surprise that greeted Dudley when he opened the door to his bedroom, Harry’s cousin had been delighted by his early Christmas present; an enchanted set of Gobstones. Harry himself had been amused by the concept of this children’s game which squirted whatever liquid you loaded them up with, right into the loser’s face, and had been referred to the Weasley twins, Fred and George, by Ron when he’d expressed a desire to procure a set that had been charmed to act as a booby trap, without losing their primary function. The twins, who aside from their penchant of dialing up house rivalries to eleven, were fairly innovative and had a sharp sense of humor, had obliged and proceeded to help Harry make a sort of payback gift for what had gone down on Dudley’s seventh birthday.

Dudley, in turn, had shared with Harry the gift he had obtained for him, which turned out to be a completely mechanical timekeeper, that was powered by clockwork and springs and needed to be wound up every day to keep going. Harry had been touched by the present, which they had theorized would not be as affected by Hogwarts’s ambient magic on account of not having any electronic circuitry for it to mess up.

But no matter how many details of life at Smeltings were shared, or how many hilarious anecdotes from Grunnings Uncle Vernon regaled them with, it was Harry who was bombarded with the most questions about the last few months. Initially, he tried to be a little cautious with how he answered some of the queries posed to him, attempting to play down some of the more exciting goings on out of fear of sparking resentment or jealousy in his aunt or cousin, but their infectious and wholesome excitement to hear more eventually saw him lower his guard completely as he entertained them with stories ranging from accidental transfigurations to a morning trip to see unicorns.

It was hard to tell just how long they sat at the table poring over every detail of life at Hogwarts, but at some point, the name Merryweather came up, leading to Harry making the observation that had occurred to him in the Great Hall some weeks prior.

“I am positively certain that the Hufflepuff prefect, Sarah Merryweather, is the same one who came to visit us a few years earlier!” he proclaimed. “I honestly don’t recall too much of the visit, but I think Dudley and I had both noticed that she kept staring at me or something, which probably meant that she recognized me from my name or appearance. But at Hogwarts, it’s like she doesn’t remember me at all? That’s strange isn’t it?”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged a quick look that nevertheless was not quick enough to escape Harry’s notice.

“What?” he demanded immediately. “Do you know something about this? Did they say something when you stayed over at their place last month?”

“Well,” Uncle Vernon said slowly, gathering his thoughts, “it’s not that they said anything. It’s what we noticed, stashed away in the corner of the closet of their guest bedroom where they had put us up. Well, we couldn’t be absolutely sure of course, but we both thought it looked mighty familiar.”

“What was it?” Dudley interjected, interrupting his father who had most likely been about to explain anyway, and triggering a roll of the eyes in response.

“A collapsible cage, with a large door and mechanisms for flaps to hide what’s inside,” Aunt Petunia finished in her husband’s place, and immediately held up her hands to shush the excited ‘oohs’ from her son and nephew.

A moment later, Uncle Vernon picked up from where she had left off, “Yes, we thought the exact same thing. If we hadn’t had experience with Snark’s cage over the years, we probably would have assumed it was merely a cage to house a hamster or something. A bit of an odd one perhaps, but still, nothing completely out of the ordinary. But knowing what we know, it was hard to see it as anything but a cage for an owl.” He paused again and nodded at Harry, before continuing, “And now, based on what you have just said, it’s safe to assume that the Merryweather’s daughter is also magical. But if they had really recognized you back when they had visited, why wouldn’t they say something to us?”

“Maybe,” Harry said slowly, absent mindedly spinning an empty cocoa mug in his hands, “Mr. and Mrs. Merryweather don’t remember me either. You said that they clearly remember you, coming over for dinner and all the rest, yeah? Maybe it is just me that they forgot about. I, er, know of a spell that might cause an effect like that.”

“Is there any way to confirm if the Merryweathers are under the effect of a spell?” Aunt Petunia asked, sounding concerned.

“More importantly,” Uncle Vernon growled, “who would cast spells on them, and their little daughter? That sounds like a reckless thing to do, if not downright criminal!”

Harry nodded, “I have been meaning to speak to Sarah, you know, once I started suspecting that she might have visited us earlier. I can try to see what she remembers if anything. Perhaps Dumbledore might be able to help too…oh! I forgot to tell you guys! I managed to speak to the headmaster and ask him about all that stuff that never added up!”

He proceeded to summarize his conversation with the old wizard for their benefit, and by the time they were done, both Dudley and Aunt Petunia were nodding with understanding.

“I-I suppose it makes sense, in hindsight,” Aunt Petunia conceded. “I know for a fact that mum had sent the occasional letter to Lily while she was at school...but, back in those days, I am sorry to say that I was far too upset over the whole thing to pay close attention or even ask her how she did it. I’m sorry Harry, we could have reached out to him so much sooner if I had remembered.”

Harry patted her hand comfortingly, to show that he did not hold it against her as Dudley continued.

“So that was why, no one ever tried to make contact with us and check up on you. Either they had no idea where to look, or the ones who did know were, um, either dead, imprisoned or had left the country. But doesn’t Dumbledore have any idea that Sirius might not be guilty?”

“I don’t think he does,” Harry said, recalling what Augusta Longbottom had said about the utmost secrecy and paranoia that the war had brought out in people. “A friend of mine that I’ve mentioned, Neville, didn’t even know that mum was his godmother or that his own mum was mine. And it didn’t seem like his gran had known until after his parents had been attacked either. Folks had apparently kept their close associations really quiet because of the war and all.”

He paused to consider this some more and then added. “Plus, he is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which I reckon is kind of like a judge or a justice, so I doubt the goblins would have reached out to him with this information either since their backup plan had always been to break Sirius out of jail.”

He correctly interpreted the alarm in Dudley’s eyes and hastened to add that he hadn’t divulged anything regarding what he knew of the goblin’s plans to the headmaster either, before his cousin could voice the question.

“But at least, it’s good to know that it was mostly just a gap in communication, right Vernon?” Aunt Petunia asked her husband, who had been quietly digesting the new information and hadn’t said a single word in a while.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he responded, rubbing his chin and sounding very unconvinced. “It’s just that it bothers me that all of these decisions were made unilaterally, you know?” He gestured towards Harry before continuing. “If he had told us about what was going on and what he was planning, we could have helped. After all, our priority would also have been Harry’s safety and well-being, same as his. I vaguely get why it might have been safer for us not to have any contact with magical people, but being cut-off entirely with no way of knowing how to contact anyone even in case of an emergency? That seems like the kind of oversight that stems from one person trying to do everything and generally being convinced that they can handle everything better than anyone else.”

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia chided, gently. “Albus Dumbledore is a very prominent figure in the magical world. It’s hardly surprising if he is used to taking charge of things or operating based on his own wisdom. Besides, would we really have been able to contribute meaningfully to any of his plans?”

Uncle Vernon was shaking his head even before his wife had finished. “It’s not about whether we would have been able to help, Tuney. It’s about making decisions for others without involving or even informing them. I don’t doubt he had everyone’s best interests at heart, but it’s a little alarming when someone decides what’s best for you and expects you to follow along without so much as a discussion. Regardless,” he said holding up his hands to forestall any incoming protests, “we can continue this debate in the morning. It’s past two in the morning already, and we’ve all had a tiring day. So perhaps, sleeping on all we’ve learned and then dissecting it would be the best course of action, yeah?”

They left it at that, and in short order had cleared the kitchen table and were trudging up to bed. By the time Harry had freshened up and slipped into his pajamas, the long hours of travel had finally caught up to him and he was out like a light even before he had had a chance to say good night to Slinky who was curled up beside his pillow.

The next few days settled into a steady rhythm. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were eager to learn what little Harry could show or teach them from his classes. And Harry himself, with somewhat less enthusiasm, it had to be said, diligently pored over Dudley’s notes on more mundane subjects so as not to become completely out of touch with the regular school curriculum.

After lunch, he and Dudley would bring out their old fencing foils and gear and spar for a few rounds, trying to brush up on the skills they’d spent years mastering, and in the evenings, with Snark and Hedwig keeping watch to alert them of anyone approaching, they would attempt to brew up some potions from Lily’s old texts.

Aunt Petunia had been impressed by Harry’s own notes in the margins of his first-year potions textbook and had copied them all into a little notebook of her own. Harry had gone on to explain how his acerbic Potions Professor was firm, fair and intimidating. He’d also made no secret of the fact that this was the class where he felt he was learning the most, despite being miles ahead of the first-year course and did not dare bring anything but his best to the lessons.

They had also found time to catch up with their friends, most of whom were still attending the local school. Harry had borrowed liberally from Dudley’s stories, passing them off as his own experiences to mask his own lack of shareable anecdotes. Dudley had been highly amused with the need for the subterfuge but helped out whenever he saw Harry floundering.

Aside from everything else, the Grangers had called ahead to confirm their visit for the upcoming weekend, and Dudley was excited to meet another magical person apart from Harry. Aunt Petunia had also sat them down and explained that while it was definitely very likely that either Daniel or Emma might be a squib like her or Dudley, it was still a sensitive subject, as it could potentially make whoever among them did not have the heritage feel like an outsider going forward. Harry had realized that his excited rant on the platform might have been ill-advised and was hoping that the Grangers also turned out to be as chill about the whole thing as Uncle Vernon.

The only front where no discernible progress had been made was in terms of procuring the permission to visit Diagon Alley on New Years’ Eve. They had already received a follow-up owl from Blaise, trying to confirm their availability, and had in turn reached out to Neville asking him to confirm that he and whoever would accompany him were definitely going to be there, but none of these had eased Aunt Petunia’s concerns enough to allow the two of them to traipse off to London, unaccompanied by either her or Uncle Vernon.

Truth be told, Harry wasn’t averse to either of them tagging along and had immediately told his aunt so. But still, she had seemed hesitant about the outing and had hedged, saying that she’d talk it over with his uncle after the Grangers’ visit had been concluded.

The discussion had however, caused a different conversation to take place, about whether they ought to look into getting their fireplace added to the Floo network. And while Dudley had been all for it and Aunt Petunia had been on the fence, it had been Harry who had firmly stood against the notion.

“Not only would it require a massive remodeling and dismantling of the electric heating system,” he’d argued, “but for people to be able to use it as a transportation option, it would need to be huge and utterly out of place in an ordinary suburb. Not to mention the need to keep firewood and the like on hand. And all that for what? I mean, we do not even know for certain if you two would even be able to use it, and it would also mean that someone in some ministry agency will suddenly come to know where we live!”

Once that exchange had run its course, they hadn’t had any other major disagreements all week, and Saturday morning saw them all awake bright and early to await the arrival of Hermione and her parents. Uncle Vernon had been filled in by Aunt Petunia about why the Grangers were coming over, and even though he was normally reluctant to socialize much over the weekend, had taken it in stride and been supportive of Harry forming close enough friends at Hogwarts whom he would have a chance to vet.

It didn’t surprise Harry when the Grangers’ gray Jaguar XJS pulled up in front of Number Four at exactly half past eleven. Based on what he’d come to know of Hermione over the last few months, he had half expected that a lot of her habits had been picked up from her folks, and clearly an obsession with punctuality was one of them.

Soon, introductions had been made and the group had moved into the living room. Daniel Granger and Uncle Vernon had both turned out to be car enthusiasts and had immediately bonded over the Jaguar that the family had arrived in. Before too long, they were all settled in, and the conversation finally turned to what Harry had begun alluding to back at King’s Cross.

“You see, ma’am,” Harry began, eagerly once Emma had brought up the topic. “Back when I first learned about magic, Aunt Petunia had recalled that she herself had been able to enter Diagon Alley back when mom had received her Hogwarts letter. And afterwards, when we tried to get there ourselves to learn more about the magical world, both she and Dudley had been able to see past the illusions that mask the entrance from regular folks, and we’d all ventured in together. That, coupled with this book that I read, made me realize that more often than not magical folks have at least one parent with magical heritage.”

He held forward his copy of ‘The Mystical Origins of Magicka’, helpfully bookmarked at the excerpt that spoke about magical heritages. “It’s listed right here if you want to read it yourself.”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione interrupted, sounding slightly exasperated, “This is the same unsanctioned book that you were quoting from, that Professor Johnston said wasn’t ministry approved, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply. “However, everything I’ve read in it has lined up perfectly with our own observations, while Professor Johnston’s stance had more holes in it than Swiss cheese. All I’m saying is, please read it and make up your own mind.”

Hermione showed every sign of wanting to continue to argue, but when her mom reached out to take the book and flipped it open to the marked page, her innate curiosity seemed to get the better of her and she sidled up to her to read along.

Daniel, who was seated on the other side, smiled indulgently, “So in essence, since Mi is magical, it’s more likely than not that one of us has got to have some magical heritage too?”

Harry nodded his assent, and the older man looked thoughtful. “Well, it makes sense I suppose. That is, after all, how genetic traits function. They might lie low sometimes, but they’re passed on and eventually resurface. But why would this not be more common knowledge?”

Harry would probably have blamed any and all insular, narrow-minded Theory of Magic Professors as the most likely cause of this, but Aunt Petunia beat him to an answer.

“From everything I’ve managed to dig up about the magical world’s conflicts and political ideologies, I think it might boil down to politics,” she supplied. “The entirety of the war during the seventies seemed to pivot around blood puritanism and lineage obsessed bigotry. It wouldn’t surprise me if the approved curriculum at a school level was altered to reinforce the idea that magic wielders and all mundane folk were further apart rather than very closely linked. Treating mundane-born children as the odd exceptions rather than an unsurprising norm, would be part of that.”

She paused, taking a sip of her tea and gathering her thoughts, before continuing. “That, and from what I can tell, the majority of the magical community are far too quick to discard their children if they turn out to be squibs. It’s apparently a source of great shame to a pureblood family, to have given birth to a child who is incapable of ‘Active Magic’. Most of these children are often abandoned in the regular world and are soon lost track of. It wouldn’t surprise me if the descendants of a lot of these folks are later incorrectly hailed as mundane-born witches and wizards. In fact, based on what Harry found,” she motioned towards the book that the Granger ladies were still perusing, “I strongly suspect that this was the case with our mother’s own grandmother.”

This surprised both Harry and Dudley, who looked at her questioningly.

“Well, with you both out of the house, I have had a lot of free time these last few months, so I’ve been researching my side of the family at the local library,” she explained. “And what I found are announcements of the marriage of Marshall Evans to one Daisy, in the summer of Eighteen eighty-five. And while records existed of the Evans family celebrating Marshall’s birth some thirty years earlier, it was like Daisy had never existed…and even in the marriage announcement-there was no mention of her maiden name. I suspect that Daisy had originally been a squib who had been cast out of the magical world and had to make her way in the regular one, and had been the source of the latent magical ability that finally came to the forefront with Lily.”

“Fascinating,” Emma added, having read through the passage Harry had highlighted and emerging to catch the tail end of Aunt Petunia’s hypothesis. “I guess, the quickest way to prove or disprove the concept would be to simply take a stroll down to this ‘Diagon Alley’ of yours and see if either me or Dan can peer past the protective enchantments?”

Hermione seemed to be re-reading the passage, so Harry nodded quietly in her stead.

“What do you think Dan?” Emma asked her husband, accepting Harry’s response. “Surely it can’t hurt to check it out, right?”

Daniel inclined his head in agreement after a moment’s pause, and flashed everyone a bright smile. “You know, I am actually intrigued and excited by the idea. Ever since Mi was accepted into Hogwarts, we’ve kind of felt like outsiders looking into something that wasn’t for us to understand. Of course, we still want her to thrive and do well even if it’s in a field we cannot fathom…but this, assuming it pans out, might finally let us experience and comprehend just a little bit of the magical world and finally start understanding what it’s all about!”

Hermione had finally put the book down and was chewing her lip looking concerned. Her mother was the first to spot this and gently put an arm around her shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Mi?” she asked gently. “Is everything alright?”

“If-if, this is true,” Hermione said slowly, sounding both distracted and a little distraught, “then all of the things that we’re being taught at school are just wrong.”

Emma exchanged a quick, worried glance with her husband, before comfortingly patting Hermione’s arm. “Don’t think of it as necessarily being wrong, honey. Think of it as a beginner’s introduction to the concept before kids are ready for a more detailed dive into the subject. But that aside, don’t you think it would be fun if we, or at least one of us, could accompany you the next time you have to go shopping or something?”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, suddenly straightening up. “We could find out on New Years’ Eve! We could go to Diagon Alley together, and we would know immediately!”

“Well, I suppose there’s no reason to put it off,” her father smiled genially. Harry got the impression that this was a man, who much like his own aunt and uncle, could scarcely deny his child anything. “And you mentioned that Harry and several of your other friends were going to meet you there too, didn’t you? Perhaps we could plan to meet up and make it a group thing?”

“Well, I’m not sure-” Aunt Petunia began, but was suddenly cut off by Uncle Vernon.

“That sounds like fun,” he laughed. “If either of you draw the short straw and find yourself locked out of Narnia, I’ll be happy to keep you company in our regular humdrum London, which, say what you want about it, does have excellent beer.”

Harry grinned and exchanged a quick high five with his cousin, who was beaming just as broadly as him.

Chapter Text

25^th December 1991

It really, really, galled him that places he could once stride into and demand respect, he now had to skulk around like a common lowlife!

But regardless, it served no purpose to curse the tools he had been fortunate to find…at least not until something better was available. And he could hardly blame the denizens of this particular cesspit to view the world around them with the sole purpose of classifying it into predator or prey. After all, he himself had benefited from their mindset. Oh yes, how much he had learned in his days here, and how much of that knowledge he had internalized and eventually wielded to his advantage.

Ah good old Knockturn, he had almost missed it.

That twinge of nostalgia had evaporated the instant that thug had tried to pull a knife on him, before he’d taken even a dozen steps into the damn place!

He had wanted to cut that scum into little pieces and teach it its place in the pecking order, but such displays of power and dominance were far beyond his pitiful servant. A quick stunner, barely fast enough to avoid their assailant’s blade, and they’d hurried off into the murky depths of the alley.

He’d gazed back as they had left, seething at how insulting it had all been. A knife! Some drunken bottom feeder had pulled a knife on a wizard! And he could not spare two minutes to teach it a lesson they’d never forget!

And now his one remaining ally was keeping to the shadows, peering around corners hugging the walls so closely that his robes scraped against it, utterly terrified of attracting any attention. Oh, how far he truly had fallen.

‘This would be so much easier if you could extend your magic and feel the arcane weave around you,’ he thought harshly, only to immediately regret it as the stuttering apologies it evoked made him want to scream in impotent rage.

‘There! Go right through this gap over here! There should be a narrow gap between these two buildings,’ he instructed, as he finally recognized his surroundings. He was close now, and he could only hope that they hadn’t moved in the years since he had last been here.

There it was! He felt his excitement begin to rise in spite of himself as he quickly scanned his surroundings and instructed, ‘The faded green door. Make sure you stop as soon as you cross the threshold and do not touch anything!’

The one thing about Knockturn that he had always admired, it had to be said, was that everything was a commodity, and by extension, for the right price, everything was for sale. And tonight, hopefully, a highly unknown vendor would tell him what he needed to know in exchange for one of a number of highly unconventional things…that only a coven of literal hags could possibly find a use for.

The instant the door had clicked shut behind them, he sensed their presence. It was hard not to, while standing right in the middle of the hags’ own lair. For several long seconds, there was silence.

‘Taking care to move very, very slowly, reach into your cloak and extract the bag with our…offerings,’ he instructed once more, being cautious to ensure that there was no possible room for misunderstanding. They had been over this many times of course, but he didn’t like having to rely on anyone else. People tended to be incompetent more often than not, and he had suffered many setbacks due to others’ failings.

‘Now, say the words,’ he added, and waited, equal parts impatient and uncharacteristically nervous.

"I d-do not offer gold or s-silver. What I bring are unique artifacts that are far, far more valuable to the discerning connoisseur. I bring something d-dead that should never have died, cherished secrets of an innocent soul and a lo-lock of hair of a merfolk newborn. In return, I seek-I seek knowledge. One question f-for one bauble, one truth for one treasure. Do we have a bargain?"

As the words were swallowed up by the oppressive silence, he reflected that, all in all, it could have been much worse. Back in what felt like many lives earlier, and in a way it was, he had been lucky to learn a bit about how hag covens operated in general, and the kinds of things the one in Knockturn coveted for their incomprehensible, perplexing and unfathomable rituals.

Hags, and for that matter, goblins, house elves and just about every other species accessed and manipulated chaos in ways that were unique to their kind. He had looked into learning some of their ways and had realized that it just didn’t work. But that need not mean that the potential of the specific brands of magic accessible only to other types of creatures, could not be useful to him.

In the past, he had worked with goblins and benefited from the skills of some of their best warders, not to mention the protection accorded by some of the oldest family vaults at Gringotts, just as he had leveraged the unique magic of the elves, thanks in part to one of his followers who had been happy to lend him the use of one. But when it came to Hags, their biggest asset was their deep knowledge of arcane rites, long lost to the tides of time, but remembered and passed down from generation to generation, coven to coven through oral tradition. But it was hard, at least for him, to deal with them because of the layers and layers of wards they surrounded themselves with to prevent being sought out by things they deemed a threat.

A lot of their rituals dealt with spirits, shades and specters, that hags gleaned lost lore from, but in summoning them to do the coven’s bidding, or interrogate them about what they knew, they themselves risked retaliation from their vengeful summons. Once the door to these spirits were opened, it stayed open, in a manner of speaking. So, to prevent unannounced visits from angry poltergeists or furious shades, the covens mired their lairs in wards that were designed to keep the ethereal at bay. Which, of course, made them especially difficult for him in particular to approach.

Yes, though this association was far from ideal, at least he had a path forward when it came to exploring how he could return to his former stature, since somehow, all of his contingencies appeared to have failed.

Without warning, his musings were interrupted as the darkness was abruptly replaced by the flickering glow of multiple table lamps and the brightness of the hearth set in the far wall. The room that was revealed was really not what he had expected. The décor would not have felt out of place at the residence of retired octogenarians or the living room of a doting grandmother whose sense of style was at least five decades out of date.

There were crocheted doilies draped across the backs of every piece of furniture he could see, a shelf full of porcelain figurines gazed out through the glass and occasionally shuffled about to take turns at getting a better view of the new arrivals. The silence had been replaced by the loud ticking of the massive grandfather clock in the far corner…and the round table at the center of the room held a silver tea service and a small plate of macaroons.

There was even an over-decorated Christmas tree in the corner, with a beaming garden gnome at its apex, holding up a tiny fairy wand with a massive gold star affixed to its tip. It seemed to be cheerfully butchering the bars to ‘Tis the season to be jolly.’

Three elderly women, with wrinkled skin and hair that was nearly all gray, sat around the table looking at them with kindly smiles. The one on the left appeared to be knitting something red and green.

“We accept your offer to barter, dearies,” the taller one on the right said sweetly, adjusting her thick spectacles and motioning them closer. “Now come have a seat, a macaroon and tell us what it is that you seek.”

They remained rooted in place, entirely thrown by this unexpected development and not at all sure of how to proceed. None of the people he had spoken to, folks who had visited the Knockturn coven to barter for things, had ever mentioned this. The one in the middle carefully poured tea into a silver cup and slid it forward, closer to the only unoccupied chair at the table and held up a ceramic jar filled with sugar lumps raising an eyebrow at him enquiringly. The jar had a picture of a fluffy bunny on it, with the label ‘Mr. Sweetums.’

They cautiously stepped forward and took the chair, as the one on the left finished her knitting and pulled on the woolen Christmas hat. It had a white bobble on the end and an indecipherable brown monstrosity that was probably meant to be a reindeer on the front.

“Go on now dear, tell us what you seek,” she prodded with a smile.

As the questions of how a discorporate soul fragment could be strengthened and perhaps be given a new physical body began to be stammered out, he sighed inwardly. It appeared that leaving the castle for the evening, had not been enough to ensure that he managed to give the ‘Yuletide Spirit’ a wide enough berth.

Draco really liked balls, parties and any kind of fancy event.

It gave him a chance to watch his parents play gracious hosts, mingle with the guests and effortlessly network and politic their way through the assembled guests with a casual elegance that he sorely dreamed of one day emulating.

He sipped his drink and grimaced slightly at the taste.

Oh, and it also gave him an occasional chance to sneak some champagne, when no one was looking.

“Is young master not liking the drink I is getting for him?” a voice at knee height squeaked nervously, causing him to look down.

“It’s fine, Dobby.” he remarked, before the oddest little house elf they had ever encountered could throw one of its trademark fits.

The creature called Dobby was clad in a pillowcase and was nervously wringing its hands while its large bat-like ears quivered with anxiety.

They had asked Thimby about this, back when they had first acquired Dobby to replace Nogbit. Every elf was unique, and almost all had their own little eccentricities. Thimby, who was head of the elves that served the family, had informed them that one of Dobby’s quirks was that he was exceptionally attached to his pillowcase and was not comfortable swapping it out for one of the togas that most of the other elves preferred. They’d left it at that but had had to keep an eye on Dobby because of his other major character trait.

Trauma from the household whose service he was born into, which led him to frequently and loudly berate and physically hurt himself whenever he so much as imagined that his service had been less than satisfactory. The Nott family, even though they were his father’s political allies, were a bunch of twisted, sadistic pieces of work.

Well, maybe not Theodore, he supposed. At least what Blaise and later Harry had recounted had not been part of an elaborate ploy.

“Stop it, Dobby!” he chided, noticing that Dobby had begun to twist his ears. “I quite like the drink. I might even ask you to get me more later. But for now, please go and see if Thimby needs any help.”

Once the elf had disappeared, he toyed with the idea of using one of the nearby potted plants as a disposal place for the disgusting concoction. He didn’t understand how adults seemed to enjoy drinking this swill. He was interrupted before he could execute the plan by the casual drawl from behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Blaise intoned, amusedly, “Who would have pegged you for a young degenerate, Heir Malfoy? Why, I’m positively astounded! You don’t have enough to share by any chance, do you?”

“You can have mine, Blaise,” he responded, turning around to spot the grinning Italian. Further down the corridor, he could see Pansy making her way towards them as well. “I’d honestly much rather stick to juice.”

“Ah well, more for me, I guess,” Blaise said, accepting the glass and taking a swig, before half turning towards the approaching girl, “Pansy, you want some?”

She shook her head in the negative and focused on Draco, “You need to spend at least some time with Crabbe and Goyle while we’re at school, Draco. I just barely managed to stop them from revealing to everyone within earshot that we’ve spent most of the term spending more time with Weasley, Bones and Harry than with either of them.”

Draco winced. It wasn’t that his parents would be particularly surprised or annoyed by that bit of news. After all, he had been fairly candid with his parents about all the new friends he’d been making and had already answered their many and varied questions on the subject. But it would indubitably lead to a lecture on why old friendships should not be lightly discarded just because someone had met new folks. Additionally, he was compelled to agree that at least a handful of the guests tonight would strongly disapprove of such associations to the point of potentially causing a scene.

“Thanks,” he murmured his gratitude to Pansy, who nodded in acceptance, “maybe we should ask them to come hang out with us?” he looked questioningly at the other two.

Seeing no dissent from either, he summoned Dobby once more and requested the elf to guide both of their classmates to come join them on the balcony overlooking the main ballroom.

“They’d be less of a liability that way if nothing else,” he murmured under his breath as Dobby vanished. Apparently his remark hadn’t been made as softly as he’d have liked, because Pansy immediately smacked him upside the head.

“Behave!” she commanded sternly. “Vince and Greg might not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but they have both been your friends since you were a toddler. They do not deserve your snark.”

Draco rubbed the top of his head, feeling equal parts chastised and annoyed at his hair getting messed up, while Blaise, who had already drained his glass nodded in agreement with Pansy.

“She’s right, amico,” he said, casually placing the empty glass on the banister, from where it disappeared with a faint pop a moment later as one of the elves whisked it away. “Perhaps we should all see about helping them become more, er, socially adept. Maybe even help them with some of the coursework and all as well. I’m sure they, and their parents, would appreciate it.”

Draco looked dubious. He had had plenty of experience with Vince and Greg’s approach to being tutored while they grew up. To say that they tested the patience of the tutors who would come by was akin to saying that a Dementor was a bad choice of entertainment at a children’s party. Both statements were clearly true, but neither came close to doing justice to the sheer magnitude of just how much of an understatement they were.

Eventually, he sighed. “I suppose if we don’t try to help them, no one else will.” He looked up at them to see Pansy nod approvingly and Blaise look solemn. “They have very unique personalities, you know? The only thing in common might be their awkwardness and size, but when we were growing up, Vince was really adept at any kind of physical sport.”

“Like what?” Blaise enquired, sounding genuinely curious.

“Wiz-Wrestling, for a start,” Pansy piped up, remembering. “He consistently wiped the floor with all of you, didn’t he?”

Draco agreed, with a smile. “We, er, did mock him a fair bit for it though. Kept teasing him that the only muscle he didn’t have was the one in his head.”

“Of course you did,” Blaise sighed, rubbing his temples. “Heaven forbid that you support your friends and help them gain confidence! What about Greg? What was he into while growing up?”

“You’ll hardly believe this, but he was an even more massive bookworm than Granger!” Pansy laughed. “Not academic books mind you. No, whenever we came over to Draco’s, or even met at our place, he’d disappear into the libraries for hours and would have to be dragged down for meals. He’d get lost in old story books and works of fantasy, both wizarding and muggle! Hmm, I wonder when he stopped doing that,” she finished contemplatively.

“Perhaps, it was when the rest of you relentlessly mocked him for it?” Blaise asked testily, eyes narrowed at Draco, who held up his hands in protest.

“No, no,” he protested. “He was rarely around long enough to be mocked. This is definitely not on us. If I recall correctly, he stopped showing up almost a year ago, and when we met again, right before Hogwarts, he seemed even less verbose than what I remembered. I had assumed he’d find the Hogwarts library on day one of school and try to make a nest there, but frankly, I don’t think he’s ever even been inside once!”

“What is taking them so long?” Pansy muttered, stamping her foot impatiently. “Are you sure your elf didn’t misunderstand or something? He’s always been weird that one, hasn’t he?”

“He’s-he’s just had a tough upbringing,” Draco said, defensively. “Vince and Greg both tend to stick by their fathers when they come to these things these days. So, guess Dobby is just waiting for a polite moment to invite them up here.”

“So…your families have always been close, yeah? Did the four of you have a lot of play dates growing up?” Blaise asked casually. Draco leaned back against a nearby pillar as he began to explain.

“The Crabbes and Goyles have always been close to us since as far as I can recall,” he said, reminiscing. “After the Death Eater trials at the end of the war both their families had been hit with crippling fines. They might have had to resort to start selling their ancestral holdings or even declaring bankruptcy, had my father not stepped in to help pay their dues and settle some of their debts. So, I’ve had Vince and Greg both come over nearly every weekend even when we were toddlers.”

“I started coming over later,” Pansy picked up from where he left off. “My dad and Lord Malfoy had started to align on a lot of their political goals. For the most part, I think they both wanted to help repair the damage done to the reputation of the traditionalist faction during the war and wanted to adopt a more moderate stance instead of continuing to be hardliners like the Notts. So, I would come over from time to time with dad when they were meeting to discuss matters pertaining to the Wizengamot. It wasn’t just me either. The Greengrass sisters used to come by from time to time, as did Marcus and Chris Jr., who were a little older of course…even Yaxley has been by a few times.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “Daphne had always been a bit aloof though, so she never quite fit in with the rest of us. And Flint didn’t really care much for anything except Quidditch, so I suspect he felt bored whenever he was forced to hang out with us. Yaxley, well I think his uncle’s stance on Wizengamot affairs wasn’t as straightforward as my father’s. So, from that group it was only Pansy who kept coming by with any degree of regularity.”

“It helped that I loved feeding the peacocks,” Pansy grinned.

“Ah, there you are!” Draco exclaimed, finally spotting his two childhood playmates as they finished climbing the stairs to the balcony the rest of them were gathered on. “We figured you could do with a bit of a break from all the political talk.”

Greg mumbled a greeting while Vince shrugged. Neither of them had ever been exceptional conversationalists, so it seemed that someone else would have to do the heavy lifting in that area.

Draco tried again, refusing to default to his tendency of ignoring them whenever someone else was around. “Vince, remember Wiz-Wrestling back when we were kids? I was just telling Blaise all about the stuff we used to get up to back in the day! I think you were practically unbeaten weren’t you? Save for that one time when Flint managed to pin you?”

Vince grinned slowly at the memory. “He was, like, four years older than the rest of us,” he protested. “That bout doesn’t count.”

“You sulked all through the rest of the day,” Greg snickered unexpectedly, as he weighed in. “Thimby warned me not to mention the words ‘lost’, ‘tap’ or ‘wrestle’ when he came to get me for lunch.”

“Ah! That’s right!” Draco exclaimed, pretending to only have just remembered. “You used to spend every minute you were here, holed up in the library! You know, and I can’t believe that I haven’t asked up until now, but I don’t remember ever seeing you go to the one at Hogwarts. What changed?”

If he’d imagined that this would be a nice segue into the topic of, hopefully, helping them better manage their schoolwork and courseload, he could not have been more mistaken. Greg immediately froze up; the smile instantly disappearing from his face, and he could almost see the larger boy’s shoulder slump visibly as he responded with a very non-committal shrug.

“Uh, I dunno,” he grunted, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Draco exchanged a puzzled glance with Pansy, who seemed just as surprised. Given the way Vince had his head cocked to one side and was frowning at Greg, he too had found their friend’s reaction more than a tad strange.

“Greg, what in blazes-” he began, before abruptly losing his train of thought as Drumble materialized at his elbow with a faint pop.

“Begging your pardons, young masters and young missy,” the slightly rotund elf wheezed, sounding out of breath. “But dinner is being served, and all guests are being requested to gather in the main ballroom.”

“Oh-er, thanks Drumble. We’ll be along in a jiffy,” he promised, before turning his attention back towards Goyle, who was continuing to look miserable. He still wanted to demand an explanation for the weird behavior but seeing him so morose made him sigh. After all, it was Christmas.

“Oh alright, let’s head down I guess,” he said, straightening his robes and starting to lead the group towards the staircase. “But rest assured, we’re gonna talk afterwards. Ok, Greg?”

He said the last part while laying a companionable hand on the other boy’s shoulder but only received a vague grunt in response.

As they descended, he watched as Vince too became noticeably more guarded and stiffer in his posture and mannerisms the moment that they all reentered the ballroom. Something stirred within him, a mixture of guilt and determination, and he swore to understand exactly what it was his friends were struggling with and at the very least, try to help them once again become the happy, carefree children who had grown up alongside him. It might have still been a few days too early for a New Years’ resolution…but he figured it was in keeping with the spirit of Yule.

It had been a day that was both exhausting and exhilarating.

Fresh snow on Christmas morning was basically an invitation from the heavens to become a child again, if only until you were panting from the exertions associated with sledding, attempting to build animated snowmen or enchanting snowballs to aid in vicious pitched battles. Or at least, that was what every other student seemed to think.

Percy surveyed the scene near the Gryffindor hearth where his three younger brothers were loudly, and incorrectly, describing the tradition of Mari Lwyd to the Patil twins, having finished spinning a tall tale about the Forbidden Forest’s history. He still couldn’t believe that they had managed to talk not only him, but even Professor McGonagall, into allowing the Ravenclaw girl to spend the night with her Gryffindor sister, but something about Christmas being a time for family was a hard argument for even the most rigid teachers to dismiss.

The food had been excellent, and even he had overindulged just a tiny bit. Opening the presents was always a fun thing to do, even though for the other Weasley boys the activity lasted mere minutes and left a trail of shredded wrapping paper in its wake. And now, after dinner, the small group of people who were spending the holidays in the castle were relaxing, and occasionally singing carols in front of the fire, while sporting ugly Christmas jumpers as tradition dictated.

He turned his attention back to the book he was perusing. It had been one of the gifts he had received in the morning, courtesy of Harry. He knew that his mother had sent the boy, and most of their group, a Weasley jumper and her home-made sweets, and Percy himself had sent him a Chrono-Candle Timer for Christmas. But he was forced to admit that the gift he had received in turn was especially touching and thoughtful. It was a slim leatherbound volume, a sort of primer for folks looking to pursue a career at the Ministry of Magic, titled, ‘Rules, Rulings and Reason: A History of Magical Governance in Great Britain’, and on the inner jacket the young Ravenclaw had inscribed a message that read: “The government could do with more people who stop to help even those they have never met.”

He suspected it was a reference to their first encounter, back on the Hogwarts Express in September, and the memory brought a small smile to his lips.

A shadow falling across his table made him look up. The other Patil twin had come over to his desk and was standing beside the chair opposite, holding a book of her own. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Percy shook his head, amused. “They can get a little too loud, can’t they?” he enquired, nodding in the direction of his brothers who were now wrestling each other on the floor, no doubt having been unable to agree upon the details of the tradition they had been trying to narrate.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” the girl explained as she took the seat. “Parvati is exactly the same whenever we have some of our cousins or friends over. In fact, by Gryffindor standards, they’re the ones who could be described as…normal.”

He laughed. He supposed that was true, but unlike how this same remark was usually thrown at him, which is to say, as an insult, here, coming from a Ravenclaw, it was clearly meant as something approaching a compliment.

“Why, thank you Miss Patil,” he mock bowed in her direction, “I always strive to stand apart.”

It was surprising how easy it was to tell the two sisters apart; he mused as they both turned back to their respective books. Even without the assistance provided by the differently colored ties and monograms that were a part of their usual uniform, they had very different personalities even while looking alike as peas in a pod. Parvati was a restless bundle of energy perpetually seeking excitement or entertainment, and Padma was calm, serene and only too eager to dive behind the cover of a book.

He wished the same applied to Fred and George. Their personalities, unfortunately, were nearly as identical as the freckles on their faces, and somehow that perpetually kept driving them both to new heights of tomfoolery. They were like devils on each other’s shoulders, ever daring and egging one another on to outdo themselves and their chaotic antics.

To be fair, he knew them well enough, not necessarily by choice, he thought grumpily, to know that they were their own people and had individual strengths, weaknesses and personality quirks. George, for example, was much better at Potions than Fred, who in turn, was the more skilled of the two when it came to Charms. Fred had a more subtle sense of humor in the pranks he designed, while George was a lot more…flashy, in his approach. Percy smiled a bit, as yet another difference occurred to him. George, he was almost certain, had a bit of a crush on Angelina, one of the Gryffindor chasers, and even Fred might not have picked up on it yet.

They may occasionally mock him for his far more subdued demeanor, he thought, but being the silent, alert observer sometimes lets you pick up on these things far quicker than most.

“What are you grinning at?”

The unexpected question from so close nearly made him jump out of his chair in alarm before he managed to compose himself.

“Ahem! I, uh, I just remembered something,” he hedged, straightening his glasses and not meeting the first-year girl’s eyes. “The book is excellent, but it doesn’t really have a lot of jokes in it.” He finished lamely, brandishing the gift in an attempt to change the subject.

Padma peered at the title and then nodded. “Is that the one Harry got you? I helped him figure out how Owl-Order services work and may have sneaked a peek at his Christmas shopping list.” She looked thoroughly unrepentant as she continued, “I just wanted to make sure he had done it right.”

“I’m sure,” Percy commented drily, not buying the blatant lie for a second. Clearly there was much more to the young woman than being a quiet bookworm. “It is a very kind gift,” he said. “I’ll be sure to send him a note with my thanks.”

After a moment, he spoke again, almost to himself. “He is also a very good influence on Ron. I was worried how he would fare here. About whether the twins would pick on him like they sometimes do at home, how well he would cope with the pressure of following in Bill and Charlie’s footsteps…but your little group seems to have helped him settle in very well.”

Before Padma had a chance to respond, Ron, possibly somehow realizing that someone was talking about him; turned, spotted the two of them at their table and hollered out an invite to come join them.

“Perce! It’s Christmas for Merlin’s sake! Put down the book and come have some fun!”

Percy sighed, as the twins picked up the call and began a chorus hailing ‘Perfect Prefect Percy’ and the supposed stick up his rear.

There went the rest of his peaceful evening he supposed. It was probably for the best that he had rounds to make anyway. With most of the sixth-year prefects away for the holidays, the remaining ones had to pick up some of the slack.

He pulled on his robe, which had been hanging off the back of his chair, over his mauve jumper and pocketing his book, began to stride towards the portrait hole after waving goodbye to the kids.

He wasn’t sure who was supposed to accompany him on his rounds this evening, but seeing as Aimee Gallagher, the fifth-year female prefect from Gryffindor had done her rounds yesterday, it would be someone from another house.

He headed down towards the entrance hall, which was where the rounds were expected to start from and having arrived a little earlier than his shift was due to begin, settled down on the stone steps to resume his reading.

He didn’t have to wait long, before footsteps at the top of the stairway made him turn.

“Evening Percy, cute jumper you’ve got there!” Penelope Clearwater, greeted as he got up clumsily, his legs a little cramped from having been sitting on the stones. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Percy responded, embarrassed. “It’s something Harry got me for Christmas. A sort of primer for folks looking to apply for positions at the ministry.”

“Hmm, is that what you’re planning on doing once school ends?” Penelope enquired, stepping closer to him and peering at the title. Percy held it up to make it easier for her to read, subconsciously noting the faint floral perfume she had on.

“You know, I too have considered a ministry career,” she remarked absentmindedly, accepting the book from Percy and flipping through its pages. “My mum, she’s not magical or anything, works in our local County Council, and I have always admired what they do. There’s so much we take for granted, from road maintenance, social services, town planning…you name it, which hardly anyone ever acknowledges except to complain when something goes awry. They are the men and women who really keep the country running and keep its infrastructure from collapsing.”

“I-I have always felt the same way too,” Percy agreed, clearing his throat and suddenly feeling unaccountably awkward. “My dad is in the ministry as well,” he supplied after a moment as the silence stretched on, with Penelope turning another page and scanning its contents. “It’s a small department, but the work they do is vital.”

The Ravenclaw prefect looked up at him and smiled while handing him back the book. “I wouldn’t mind borrowing it when you are done with it, Percy. Or we could even study it together, if you have some time to spare…”

“I, uh, I can find some time, I’m sure,” Percy said, sounding a little breathless even to his own ears. Had her hair always been this golden? Or her smile so…distracting?

“Sounds like a plan,” the girl exclaimed, sounding pleased. “C’mon then, let’s get the patrol over with,” she said, starting to head back up the stairs and looking back at Percy with a cheeky grin as she beckoned for him to follow. “We have troublemakers and curfew breakers to catch, and all that.”

Percy shook himself out of his brain fog and hurried to catch up while trying not to look directly at the other prefect.

Later that night, after he had parted company with Penelope and was heading back up to Gryffindor tower by himself, for the first time in a long time, ‘Perfect Prefect Percy’ was far too distracted to spare a single thought for his many responsibilities, his brothers or any of his supposed ambitions.

Neville had always liked the greenhouses.

Even as a child he had seized every available opportunity to spend as much time within them as he possibly could. Something about the idea of slowly nurturing plants, magical or mundane, and caring for them as they gradually grew, soothed him in a way almost nothing else did.

It was very unfortunate that he couldn’t go and hide in them today, he thought sadly as he gazed out of the tall window and over the grounds where the nearest greenhouse stood silently glittering in the mid-morning sunlight.

He turned his attention back towards the two other occupants of the room he was in, Susan and Hannah…both of whom were trying to eavesdrop on the discussion that their guardians were having in the adjacent chamber.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he repeated dejectedly, knowing that they were about as likely to heed his warning just as a Devil’s Snare was likely to crawl towards a bonfire.

Susan, predictably, shushed him, not even bothering to look back from the keyhole against which she currently had her ear planted. Hannah, the nicer of the two, gave him a small, kind smile.

“Don’t worry Nev,” she reassured him, or at least tried to. “We just want to find out what was so important that they dismissed all of us to talk in private.”

Neville wanted to groan in despair. It wasn’t that he was a stickler for rules or propriety…it was just that he trusted his gran and the other adults in the next room. If they felt the need to hold a private discussion, he accepted that and was happy to give them the space they needed. Was that really so inherently wrong? Did everyone have to be so damned curious about every single thing?

“They’re probably discussing Wizengamot stuff,” he tried again. “Things like cauldron bottom legislations or import duties on mooncalf droppings! Do we really need to know any of that?”

Susan did turn around to glare at him this time.

“They could also,” she whispered, bitingly, “be discussing what Lady Abbott knows about the Zabinis that made her order Hannah to stay away from Blaise!” She turned her ear and attention back to the closed door and resolutely resumed ignoring them.

Neville looked at Hannah, surprise etched onto his features. The girl was looking a bit embarrassed.

She beckoned Neville to the other side of the room they were in, away from Susan so as not to incur her ire any further with their chatter and sat down on a plush leather armchair.

“Remember the trip to Diagon Alley that Blaise suggested?” she asked, quietly. “Well, I was fairly certain that if I asked mum permission to tag along, she would just ask who else would be there and deny my request. But it’s not like I wanted to lie to her either, in case she asked me specifically! So, Susan suggested that I at least try to use this opportunity to find out more about what is going on.”

She paused, making sure that Neville was following her explanation, before resuming. “We reasoned that whatever the deal was, it was something only my mum knew and not Susan’s aunt or your grandmother, because…well, let’s face it, usually they are the paranoid ones while my mother is the trusting sort. Which is why I only asked her the question while on the way over.”

Neville still looked blank. Not following what that would achieve.

Hannah sighed. “I wanted to make sure that this was fresh in her memory, and try to, well, maximize the likelihood of her bringing this up with the other folks. She asked me the expected counter question, I confirmed that Blaise would be there since it had been his idea, she shut me down immediately and here we are. Less than half an hour since we arrived, and already they’re in a huddle discussing Merlin knows what.”

“That’s-that’s pretty devious,” Neville remarked, impressed and a little scared. “Assuming that is what they are all discussing, and mind you, that isn’t a given, how did you predict that she would bring it up with gran or Lady Bones?”

Hannah shrugged, straightening her dress. “She’s loyal to her friends, same as me. She had asked me who all were going to Samhain with Blaise too. I figured if whatever it was that made her not give me permission to attend was serious enough, she’d want to make sure that people close to her also had the same information. Maybe it’s just a Hufflepuff thing.”

This did nothing to lessen Neville’s awe or apprehension. If anything it sounded like his friend, sweet and patient Hannah had masterfully manipulated her own mother. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Maybe this was exactly the kind of Slytherin influence that Lady Abbott had been trying to keep her precious child away from, by asking her to steer clear of Blaise.

Their attentions were diverted moments later as Susan scrambled away from the door and quickly closed the distance to the two of them, putting on an air of innocence. Seconds afterwards, the door she had been eavesdropping at swung open on well-oiled hinges.

“Ah! There you all are,” Augusta Longbottom announced imperiously as she caught sight of the three children. “Sorry for the delay, my little chickpeas, I think our conversation sort of got away from us a bit there. But now that it’s all settled, we can head over to the dining hall for a spot of lunch, eh?”

Seeing no disagreement, she strode to the other exit from the room and began to lead the way towards the hall where lunch would be served. The other ladies following in her wake once they had made sure that their charges were also trailing behind.

Lady Augusta was calling out instructions and firing off questions as she walked.

“Did Algie send word when he would arrive, Brilda?” she was enquiring of the head-elf of the Hearthmere Hollow, a stern no-nonsense character who was always peering judgmentally at the other elves in the household through the tiny spectacles perched on her crooked nose.

At the little elf’s shake of her head, Lady Longbottom sighed, “He’s going to be late then. He was peeved off that we were delaying the traditional Yule feast in favor of holding it on Christmas day, so I guess this is his way of being petulant about it.” She half turned towards Lady Abbott and Amelia, before continuing. “Old people, I tell you! They’re as petty and just as immature children sometimes! Brilda, what about Shacklebolt? This would be the first time he’s coming over to the manor, do you have someone on hand to receive him?”

“Yes mistress,” Brilda answered, crisply. “Peeka be monitoring the Floo and be arriving as soon as she be hearing anyone coming through. Your Mr. Shacklebolt be led straight to you.”

“Lord Shacklebolt, Brilda,” the old woman corrected. “Even though I’ve never known him to stand on ceremony or set any store by titles, let us make sure we do not accidentally slight him on his first visit to our home, aye?”

“Of course, mistress.” Brilda agreed before snapping her fingers and asking the apparently thin air to her left. “You be making note of that, right Peeka?”

Seeming satisfied, even though Neville couldn’t see or hear any meaningful response, Brilda focused back on his gran. “Droffle, be done locking up the greenhouses that be containing the more exotic plants, mistress. Once lunch be concluded, the little masters and misses can play on the lawn if they like. The table also be set and the food be ready too. We can start serving as soon as you be giving us the wo-” she abruptly stopped mid-sentence and cocked her head to the side. “Oh! I do be begging your pardon mistress, but your guests be starting to arrive. I believe it be Mr. Belby, the old potion master. By your leave, I shall be escorting him to the dining hall, yes?”

At Lady Augusta’s nod and wave of dismissal, the elf gave their group a quick curtsy, straightened the glasses that had slipped ever so slightly down her nose and disappeared with a faint pop.

They soon arrived at the dining hall which, as Brilda had stated, had already been prepared for the meal. The children, having been to enough of these dos, knew what was expected of them and found their seats at the far end of the table and huddled close for a quick debrief as the adults made small talk over smaller aperitifs with the guests who had begun trickling in.

“Your doors are just too damn thick, Neville!” Susan groused, crossing her arms and glaring at the cutlery. “I barely caught any meaningful snippets at all.”

Neville bit back a sarcastic retort, as Hannah patted Susan’s arm soothingly. “Did you manage to catch anything at all?” She asked her fellow Hufflepuff.

“Just one exchange stood out clearly,” Susan stated. “It was your mum, sounding incensed and exclaiming something about how seven times could possibly be a coincidence. To which Auntie Amelia shushed her and promised that she would look into it.”

“We-we don’t even know if that relates to Blaise,” Neville commented, feeling dejected at the lack of information, even though he hadn’t been onboard with the plan.

“No, I think it did,” Susan interjected, before he could continue. “The last thing I managed to pick up, before I heard footsteps approaching the door and had to dart back, was your gran chuckling about something probably not being unusual among Italians. I reckon I only caught that bit because she must have been facing and approaching the door when she said it…but I reckon that the whole thing was about Blaise after all.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone tapping their wine glass with a fork, and the three of them looked up to see that most of the table was now occupied and Lady Longbottom, seated at the head of the table, was standing up to make an announcement and open the feast.

“Esteemed friends, family, and honored guests…welcome once again to Hearthmere Hollow, and a warm and blessed Yule to each of you.

“Amelia, dear friend and steadfast ally, your presence as ever brings strength and good sense to the table. Lady Abbott, you’re positively radiant, and I’m delighted you could join us this year. Lord Shacklebolt, we’re most pleased to host you for your first Longbottom Christmas, and Lady Shacklebolt, I do hope the manor’s cold stone has not dampened your warmth.

“Damocles, our celebrated potion master and Order of Merlin recipient, I expect you to refrain from identifying ingredients in the roast. And Margaret, please do keep him honest.

“Algernon, my dear brother-in-law, and his long-suffering wife, Hilde, are, as ever, running a touch behind; he does enjoy making an entrance. But I see his son, Benedict and dear Clarisse, his clever wife, have already made themselves quite at home.

“To our younger guests, Neville, Hannah, Susan: remember, good manners are seasonal, but second helpings are eternal.

“To all others present, Mr. and Mrs. Ellery, the Crawfords, Healer Sandwell and my ever patient and cheerful cousin Maud, I thank you for gracing this home with your company.

“Let us celebrate the ties that bind us, the legacy we uphold and the promise of a fruitful new year ahead.

“Brilda, if you please, begin the service.”

At her word, he dishes in front of them promptly filled up with the first course.

Neville reached out and helped himself to a Brioche Roll, the Preserved Chokecherry Butter politely spreading itself on the bread once he picked it up from the nearby basket and looked around at the assembled guests.

Aside from the two empty seats to his Gran’s right, reserved for Uncle Algie and Aunt Hilde, every other place seemed to be occupied. He had met nearly all of these folks during various formal luncheons and dinners throughout his childhood and found most of them nice, if a little intimidating. Damocles Belby, for instance, had become a family friend when gran had sought out the famed Potioneer as someone who might be able to treat his parents. Healer Walter Sandwell had been the Longbottom family healer since forever and had given Neville his vaccines when he had been younger. The Shacklebolts however, were a brand-new addition.

He observed the dark-skinned man while Hannah tasted some of Susan’s Spiced Parsnip and Apple Soup and tried to recall what he knew of him.

He was a Lord of the Wizengamot, but folks mostly knew of him as one of the ministry’s most respected aurors. Amelia Bones, if memory served him right, had backed his promotion to the rank of ‘Auror Commander – Central London’, a few years back and he had been an instant hit in the papers as well as among the general populace. Neville didn’t know if Lord Shacklebolt reported directly to Lady Bones, or if there were other ranks between theirs in terms of the DMLE hierarchy, but as he observed the man at the table, he was impressed by his quiet but strong presence. There was no abundance of fake smiles, or fawning attempts at currying favor with the other guests, Shacklebolt sat relaxed but watchful, listening attentively to anything directed at him and responding with calm politeness only when required.

Without warning, the man’s eyes swiveled towards him and Neville was caught staring! He flushed and immediately attempted to pretend that he hadn’t been gazing at the man for the last few minutes but felt caught in the man’s gaze like a stunned pixie and was unable to look away.

It didn’t last long, Shacklebolt gave him the tiniest of smiles that nonetheless crinkled the corners of his eyes before deliberately shifting his attention back towards the other dinner guests.

Hmm, Neville thought, firmly keeping his eyes on his plates and snagging an Herb-Crusted Goat Cheese Tartlet as the plate passed in front of him, guess one didn’t get to become an Auror Commander without being extremely alert all the time, he mused.

He forced himself to tune back into Susan and Hannah’s discussion, which now seemed to be about some recently proposed changes to the tariffs imposed on some potion ingredient or other, wondering when the day would end, and he and gran would be heading to St. Mungo’s after having seen all their guests off.

“Alright, I think it’s just about done,” Katherine Goldstein announced, taking a critical whiff of the gravy she had been stirring with the wooden ladle. “Have a taste and tell me if it needs more salt, would you, love?”

Tony looked up from the kitchen counter where he had been diligently chopping up chives meant to be sprinkled atop the mashed potatoes. Seeing his mum holding the ladle out towards him, he stepped up and tried the gravy after carefully blowing on it, and scrunched up his face, trying to judge if it needed anything more.

“Maybe just a touch,” he decided after a few seconds, and watched his mother nod and add a dash more salt. “Should I get the roast out of the oven?”

“Nope, I’ll get it,” a voice behind them interrupted, as Joseph Goldstein entered the kitchen and began hanging up his coat on the peg by the door. “You finish up with the potatoes, and I’ll set the plates, alright? You were right honey, the Wilikins were quite surprised to see me stop by and drop off Chester’s wages a few days early.” He continued as he finished taking off his woolen scarf and gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek. “It really should have occurred to me but thank heavens that you thought of them first.”

Chester Wilikin was one of the waiters at their little family restaurant, Tony recalled. The young boy, probably just in his early twenties, had incurred a fair bit of debt through medical expenses in the last few months, while nursing his younger sister back to health after a bout of Dragon Pox.

“Well, so long as they’re sorted for the time being,” his mum commented, sounding satisfied while Tony turned his attention back to the chives and smiled ruefully.

He was his parents’ only child and he loved them both to bits. He enjoyed watching them interact, he liked helping them at the ‘Golden Spoon’ when his studies permitted, and he cherished every moment that he got to spend with them.

And he was acutely aware that his time with them was running out at a much faster rate than what most people would imagine.

Katherine Goldstein née Jacobson had always been a talented cook. As a muggleborn daughter of the sous chef at an upscale Birmingham restaurant, she had always intended to follow in her father’s footsteps and go into the world of fine dining herself…until the arrival of her Hogwarts letter changed things.

Her parents had been loving and supportive of this unexpected change in trajectory, but by the time her time at Hogwarts came to an end, the war had ratcheted up to such an extent that she no longer felt safe living in Britain. Thankfully, her father had come up with a solution by accepting an offer to become the head chef at a restaurant in Kiev, all the way away in the Soviet Union.

Just how he had managed to get an opportunity that took them through the iron curtain was a bit of a mystery, with the family speculating that a chance encounter with an Eastern sounding gentleman, whose dinner party Mr. Jacobson had catered to had taken a shine to him. But having decided to take the leap of faith and relocate to Kiev, or as the local populace spelled it, Kyiv, the Jacobsons had managed to escape the war unscathed.

Katherine herself had connected to the local magical populace and still reeling from the unexpected upending of her post-Hogwarts career goals had somehow wound up working at her father’s restaurant before deciding to open up a small eatery of her own…a store that prepared meals that were magical, and not just in a manner of speaking.

It had been the manifestation of many semi-serious conversations that she had had with her parents over the years. Mr. Jacobson had always been curious to learn about the magical world from his daughter, and had been especially interested in knowing what different cuisines and ingredients the other half of the population went in for. Katherine had asked around among her peers and had brought back stories of Diricrawls being served up as the surprise course in high-end restaurants, a preparation notoriously difficult to cook perfectly since the bird’s flesh only appeared once it had cooled from the oven or pan. Or about the smoky and naturally spicy Fire Crab meat, usually served in its own distinctive shell. There had also been mentions of Graphorn steaks, a somewhat controversial preparation that needed magic to tenderize the otherwise enchanted flesh of the near mythical beast.

There in a foreign land, less heavily regulated than the old, foggy British Isles, her two worlds had finally melded to allow her to create something truly unique. Word of Katherine’s little hole in the wall takeaway restaurant had spread like wildfire in the slightly dreary new land they had found themselves in, and life, for a while, had been grand.

In due course, she had gotten married, a friend of her parents from their time in Birmingham had been visiting the continent and she had hit it off with Joseph, their son…bonding over the two fledgling restaurants they were each trying to grow in their respective places. Joseph had been surprised but excited to learn about magic and eventually Tony had been born.

Near the end of eighty-one, when the war had ended, Katherine had begun to feel confident enough to travel between Birmingham in the UK and Kiev to support each business as required. Tony spent more time with his father in England since Katherine rather wanted him to wind up going to Hogwarts like she herself had. Besides, she loved helping out at Joseph’s little diner-style joint that he had dubbed the ‘Golden Spoon’. It was an entirely muggle enterprise and it allowed her to take a break from the challenges that she had to encounter in Kiev when managing ‘Їдальня Часу Відьом’ or the ‘Witching Hour Canteen’. It also allowed her to remain close to her father, whose own culinary skills had caused him to become a bit of a local celebrity.

Things had been absolutely fantastic until near the end of April, Nineteen-Eighty-Six. A routine trip to the small town of Pripyat, about a day’s journey North from Kiev to forage for Jarveys in the surrounding forests had caused Katherine to witness something that had changed their lives forever.

Unaware of the ramifications of what she was seeing when the power plant near the town had caught fire, kindhearted Katherine had attempted to approach the disaster site to see if she could offer assistance. The heavy muggle military presence and the panic that she had encountered among ordinarily stiff-lipped party officials had caused her to back off, but by then it was too late.

They hadn’t realized it at first of course. In the months following the disaster at Chernobyl, the occasional bouts of nausea or skin redness had not been taken too seriously…not in light of the rumors of some of the more horrific reports that managed to trickle out despite the official government position. It wasn’t until almost three years later that a persistent and unshakable cough caused Joseph to compel Katherine to visit a muggle doctor, once it had become clear that the healers and their potions were unable to provide a lasting cure.

It was thyroid cancer, the most common type of radiation induced cancer among survivors of the Chernobyl disaster. And it was non-operable.

Tony had not understood the significance of the diagnosis but had mutely observed the shock and fear in his father’s expression. His mom, due to her exposure to the magical world, had still remained confident that there could be a solution to be found among her own people. But that hope had been dashed as well.

It seemed that muggle science and technologies had created poisons that even magic couldn’t cure.

They had been given a timeline…and chemotherapy was, of course, underway. But the doctors had been clear that complete remission was an unlikely scenario. They knew that they had a limited amount of time left.

Tony had not wanted to go to Hogwarts. Given a choice between forsaking the magical world or living in perpetual fear of terrible news arriving on the wings of an owl, he would gladly have chosen the former every single day of the week. All he desired had been to spend as much time with his family as he could, before the option was no longer available to him. But his parents had sat him down and through a series of long, emotional conversations, had prevailed upon him to seek to be the best version of himself that he could.

“Perhaps,” his mother had said kindly, stroking his hair the night before he was due to board the Hogwarts Express, “what you learn will help you find a cure for me and everyone else like me.”

As they settled down to have their small, but cozy Christmas meal, Tony found himself swearing once more to any Gods or magical forces that might be paying attention, that he would make his mother proud, no matter what it took.

He just hoped that she would be around to see it.

The Granger household wasn’t particularly religious.

Of course, they enjoyed the holiday season as much as the next folks, but seeing as Dan and Emma were both atheists, they tended to prioritize the food and the eggnog over the carols and the tree.

Hermione stretched leisurely on the couch, where she had plonked herself down after the meal and set aside the book that she had been reading for the last few hours.

Between the merrily crackling logs in the fireplace and the faint taste of cinnamon from the mug of coffee her dad had brewed a little while ago, she felt utterly at peace and content. The book she was devouring presently had been just one of over a dozen that she had received in the morning. Her friends from school had clearly identified her for the unrepentant bookworm that she was and had risen to the occasion. Even Ron had sent her a book, and she smiled at his effort…even though his book had been about Quidditch.

It had been three days since they had returned from their trip to Surrey, and even that had been a fun little getaway that she had immensely enjoyed. Given that she hadn’t ever been quick to make friends while growing up and been worse at keeping them, the camaraderie that she seemed to be sharing with her peers at Hogwarts was something she cherished deeply and wanted to preserve.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had kept her mom and dad entertained during their visit, no doubt swapping tales of what raising a magical child entailed, and it had given her ample time to spend with Harry and his cousin.

True, their vague plans of brushing up on what the mundane school curriculum had been covering had been an absolute bust, but the completely carefree time that they spent playing silly games on Dudley’s gaming console or telling him stories from Hogwarts with Harry had almost made her wish that she had a sibling of her own.

She got up from the couch, carefully placing a bookmark in the novel to mark her progress (she deeply loathed the practice of dog-earing pages) and slipped her feet into her carpet slippers before padding her way into the kitchen, just in time to see her mother cover a tray of potatoes with foil and place it into the oven to bake.

“Hey mum, need a hand?” she asked in way of greeting.

Emma turned around, a bit startled, not having heard her come in. “Oh, that’s alright sweetie,” she smiled down at her. “I think I’m all set here…just need to make sure we hear the ‘Ding!’ so we know when to get those out. I thought you were settled in with one of your new books. Please don’t tell me that you finished it already?”

Hermione shook her head, in lieu of responding verbally. “Where’s dad?” she enquired instead, surprised at not finding him helping out.

“Ah,” Emma hedged, sounding a bit sheepish as she began to wash her hands. “You know that charity football match that they hold every Christmas down at the local park? We got a call that one of the players had, um, suffered a bit of an injury. Multiple avulsed teeth from the sound of it. They needed a dentist quickly, and well, since most places are closed, and our clinic is close by…”

“He had to go into work on Christmas?” Hermione whined in exasperation.

“Hush dear,” her mom scolded gently, drying her hands on her apron. “With knocked out teeth, there’s a chance of reimplanting them in the immediate aftermath of the accident. That window lasts for just about an hour. So, with any luck, the poor man will hopefully be able to keep his teeth instead of suffering from a lifelong issue. As doctors, it is our responsibility to help whenever we can. We even swear oaths to that effect. And besides, I’m sure Dan will be back before the potatoes are done anyway, so we can all enjoy a nice Christmas dinner together, yes?”

Hermione sighed, still feeling a little dejected. She loved and adored her parents and strongly suspected that she had inherited some of their work ethics in addition to their genes. They were genuinely passionate about the work that they did and were frequently extending the hours at their clinic to take care of urgent issues for patients who often turned up without a prior appointment.

But regardless of the rigors or long hours that their day job entailed, they always made it a point to be there for her. They would sometimes have to take it in turns to ensure that at least one of them were present for her big occasions while the other took care of business, but they had never let her down.

She admired their dedication, she really did. It filled her with pride to know that they were so caring about what they did that they rushed to help people even when the call to arms came at highly inconvenient hours. But not being able to spend time with them on Christmas, grated on her nerves just a little bit.

True to Emma’s prediction, her dad arrived home before the highly anticipated ‘Ding!’ echoed across the kitchen, and before Hermione had a chance to berate him for disappearing on a day meant to be spent with family, he excitedly announced that fresh snow had just started to fall and practically dragged the two of them outside to experience it.

Something about the soft white snowflakes floating down from the dull gray skies had always made her feel awed in a way that was difficult to explain. As the world was rendered black and white, with the only noticeable sound being the faint echoes of carol singers from a couple of blocks over, she looked upwards with a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips and consciously set aside her brief annoyance at her parents. It didn’t matter that they occasionally put the needs of strangers above the demands of the family…they always made sure to be there for the moments that counted.

Much, much later, after the trio, exhausted from their antics in the snow, had stomped back indoors to the smell of burnt potatoes and were laughing and joking around the dinner table, Hermione decided that all things considered, she couldn’t have possibly asked for much more.

Chapter Text

31^st December 1991

Even though several of the folks had indicated that they would not be able to make it, both Harry and Dudley were still excited about the excursion.

They’d woken up early, for once not requiring a lot of prodding from the adults or the owls to do so. It had made Uncle Vernon chuckle and mumble something about how boarding schools made men out of boys and taught them discipline. Consequently, they had hit the road by eight, with the intention of rendezvousing with the Grangers after arriving at Leadenhall.

Blaise and Neville would be the only others who would be joining them, since Draco had regretfully informed them that his parents had already made prior plans for the family to take a trip to the ‘Schloss Dunkelstein’ located in the Austrian Alps, an exclusive resort that apparently hosted magical winter sports.

Pansy had begged off too, citing a prior engagement but offering no details. Harry assumed that this was another instance of Pansy only associating with the rest of them because of Draco, and he didn’t quite know how he felt about it.

Susan and Hannah had sent replies indicating that they had been unable to secure permission from their guardians. Which, remembering Halloween, wasn’t much of a surprise when it came to Hannah, but was a new development as far as Susan was concerned. Perhaps the allergy to Blaise was catching, he speculated, or, perhaps Susan’s aunt just wanted her niece close for the vacations after the whole troll incident. Either way, he had no way of knowing for certain until he saw them again when they were back at Hogwarts.

“Mum, do you know what sort of events and stuff happen in the alley during the hols?” Dudley piped up as they entered London proper. The journey had been largely uneventful, with Harry and his cousin engrossed in a lively conversation about what stores they wanted to check out. It hadn’t occurred to Harry that since his aunt had visited the alley many times more than him, she might have some insight as to what to expect.

“No, honey,” Aunt Petunia responded, half turning from the passenger seat to glance back at the boys, “I, er, tried to avoid having my visits coincide with any day where the place might be crowded. So…I can’t speak to what we can expect today.”

“But you are the authority on how things go down on Wednesday mornings,” Uncle Vernon chuckled. “Harry, your other friend, Neville, are he and his guardian meeting us in the real world? Or will you catch up with them once you’re inside?”

“I got the feeling that Nev has never been in the mundane world at all,” Harry responded. “So, perhaps neither is the person who’s supposed to keep an eye on him. He had sent an owl saying that they’d meet us inside the Leaky Cauldron. Same as Blaise; he’s apparently flooing over from where he and his mum are staying for the holidays.”

“Hmm, I see,” his uncle responded. “You two stay close to Tuney until she’s had a chance of meeting your friends and has finished discussing when and where you all will meet back up and the like. Don’t go haring off into your little Narnia, until she’s had a chance to confirm that the bloke expected to keep an eye on you isn’t just three goblins in a trench coat or something.”

They chuckled good naturedly at the mental image. Neville hadn’t gone into specifics of who exactly his aunt was sending to accompany them, but Harry assumed it was probably one of his relatives.

“Once all that’s sorted,” Aunt Petunia added, “We’ll all head to Gringotts, get some currency changed and then you all can explore on your own until lunch. I’ll show the Grangers around a bit and join Vernon at the ‘While You Wait’, before returning to the Leaky at around one. We can discuss what happens next after that.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry responded, donning his now familiar ‘disguise’ of a hat and dark glasses.

“Yes, mum,” Dudley said, rolling his eyes.

“If you need anything, or feel tired…or, or even just want to check in, don’t hesitate to come out early. And try to stay together, otherwise your friend’s guardian won’t be able to keep track of everyone.”

“Mum, relax.”

“It’ll be fine, Aunt Petunia.”

Uncle Vernon patted his wife’s hand. “Don’t worry pet, I’m sure everything will be alright. It might take some getting used to for us, but it’s no different than spending a day at the mall.”

Petunia didn’t look entirely convinced but subsided for the moment, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

It was straightforward to meet up with Hermione and her parents.

The Grangers, who had lived in London for years had suggested that they met outside ‘The Lamb Tavern’, apparently some sort of local landmark that would be easy to find, and their prediction proved true when folks on the street easily directed Harry and his family towards the establishment.

“Good to see you all!” Dan Granger welcomed cordially, rising from the curbside bench where he had been sitting with his wife and daughter and adjusting his spectacles. “Hope the traffic getting into the city wasn’t too bad?”

“Nah,” Uncle Vernon returned, shaking the other man’s hand. “Praise be to the majestic M25. We haven’t kept you folks waiting too long have we?”

“Oh no, we’d only just arrived,” Emma smiled, also on her feet and fussing with Hermione’s pink scarf. “Mi says that it’s only a short walk from here. Should we be off then?”

Seeing as there was no reason to tarry, the group set off. Petunia and Emma leading the way, with Vernon and Dan bringing up the rear and ensuring that none of their charges got separated in the holiday rush that was slowly starting to pick up.

“You know,” Dan remarked conversationally, as they walked, “I am honestly a little bit excited and nervous. We, um, discussed our last conversation at length, Emma and I, and we would both love to be able to play a bigger role in being a part of Mi’s new world…and neither of us are looking forward to, potentially, being the only one left out of it.”

“Ah yes, I know what you mean,” Vernon nodded, sounding serious, as he dragged Dudley out of the way of a group of German tourists heading the other way. “But in the end, I tell myself that at least it’s better than Harry having to do all of this alone. And hey, if one of you does end up drawing the short straw, at least I can provide some company in my support group of one.”

Dan laughed, causing Hermione to glance back curiously, from where she was having an animated conversation with Harry and Dudley.

Harry felt an off sense of déjà vu, when Aunt Petunia finally slowed down and turned around to face the group, and fixed Hermione’s mum and dad with an expectant look.

“Alright, we’re here,” she declared without much of a preamble, but leaning closer and lowering her voice. “Now, look across the street and tell me, do you see anything…unusual between the Oxford University Press bookstore and the ‘While You Wait’ tavern?”

The elder Grangers turned dutifully to peer across the road, brows furrowed, trying to see over the throng of people in the way.

“Um, define, ‘unus-’” Emma began, before being cut-off by her husband.

“Oh, my goodness!” Dan exclaimed softly, absentmindedly taking off his glasses and wiping them before replacing them on the bridge of his nose. “It’s like something right out of a medieval story!”

Harry looked on, feeling uncomfortable and a little guilty, as Emma Granger’s face crumpled in realization and disappointment while Hermione and, after a moment, her father, attempted to reassure and console her.

Their group had taken up a large booth at the tavern next door to the hidden building.

Blaise and Neville were expected to arrive at ten-thirty, so that gave them about half an hour to talk about their plans.

Emma was clearly still upset over not being able to see the Leaky, and Hermione was holding on to her hand as the group settled in.

Dan cleared his throat, “Maybe I can also stay out here and keep you and Mr. Dursley company, Ems. I’m sure Mi and the boys will be fine without me hovering over them.”

“No, no,” his wife responded, smiling a tad ruefully, “we knew this was the most likely outcome. And I’m glad that at least one of us can accompany Mi for her shopping and the like from now on.” She sipped some water and sounded more convincing as she continued. “Besides, this means that somewhere among your ancestors there must have been a, uh, bearer of the M gene. So, this is kind of your heritage as well.”

Dan didn’t look entirely swayed by the argument, but before he could say anything, Emma extricated her hand from Hermione’s and gently patted her husband’s arm. “It’s really alright, I promise.”

Daniel nodded slowly, and the couple let the matter drop for now. Harry and the Dursleys, who had been listening, relaxed, not having felt comfortable intruding on the elder Grangers’ conversation.

“You know,” Vernon commented, scanning the selection of lagers available, “Since you mentioned genes and with the two of you being doctors and all, maybe you could look into exactly why this, um, phenomenon, has a different effect on some of us. Is there a biological difference? Or is it a genetic mutation or something that modern science is yet to identify? I mean what would happen if someone, let’s say I, were to receive something like a blood transfusion from Dan? Would I then be able to see things? I mean, I would love to know, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, the same thought had occurred to us, when Mi’s letter had arrived,” Emma grinned. “But we didn’t want to make her feel like we were studying her or something.” She turned her gaze towards Dan and continued affably, “But now, now that I have access to a different test subject…”

She left her words and the implication hanging sinisterly in the air as Dan stared at her dumbfounded before the table collectively burst into laughter.

“I-I feel like I’m in danger,” Dan muttered, pretending to shudder and edge away from Emma.

“Don’t worry darling,” Emma said, grabbing his hand and dragging him back closer to herself. “I won’t be too rough on my little sqiubby-doo!”

Diagon Alley was more alive than Harry had ever seen it.

The entire street was already wide awake, the cobblestones underfoot slick with a gentle sheen of magically preserved frost that crunched pleasingly beneath boots and spell-dried hems. A soft snow, more for atmosphere than weather, drifted down in perfectly slow, lazy flakes, vanishing a moment before touching anyone's head.

Though the main throng of revelers would probably not arrive until later in the day, the alley had the brisk, purposeful energy of holiday shoppers and early birds. Cloaked witches exchanged cheerful greetings as they passed one another with charmed, floating shopping bags, and small clusters of families strolled past warmly decorated storefronts, occasionally pausing to peer into glowing display windows or sample warm treats from street carts.

Festive decorations still abounded, a cheerful blend of Yule traditions and wizarding Christmas flair. Garlands of pine, ivy, and glimmering red berries snaked along the shopfronts, occasionally twitching as if in response to footsteps or nearby conversation. Tiny, enchanted robins flitted through wreaths hung above doorways, chirping softly from atop gilded bells that chimed in polite, wintry tones.

From their vantage point, just past the hidden arch that served as the entrance into the alley proper, Harry could see a couple of familiar stores from his last visit a few months ago.

Madam Malkin’s windows featured mannequins dressed in silver-accented robes that shed snowflakes in slow motion, while Flourish and Blotts displayed a rotating pyramid of magical diaries with ‘1992’ glittering on their covers, each one enchanted to chronicle the upcoming year in verse.

Several early morning performers had already claimed corners and alcoves: a trio of witches seemingly in their early twenties performed quiet chamber music using self-playing violins and floating flutes outside Ollivander’s, while a squat wizard with a crimson nose juggled charmed snowballs in front of Scribbulus, making them burst into tiny snowmen midair, and having them revert into balls before they tumbled down to his hands.

A lot of the stores seemed to be running end-of-year sales, with interesting signs gleaming and sparkling on their windows. Harry was nudged by Dudley, who pointed out the massive ice-cream parlor, that displayed the message ‘Try our Brand New ‘Butterbeer Fudge’ Flavor - Fortescue’s Winter Special!’ and instantly agreed that they would have to try it before the day came to a close.

Not far from them, a small communal cauldron bubbled merrily with spiced cider, free for passersby and ladled out by a smiling elf in a red tartan scarf. Children pulled parents toward the fire-charmed snow globe stand, where for a knut they could watch miniature versions of magical landmarks dancing through the snow.

Though the great countdown and merriment of the evening were still hours away, the mood was unmistakably festive, a quiet undercurrent of anticipation felt like it had been woven through the persistent warming charm that hung in the air and the shared smiles of witches and wizards preparing to welcome the new year together.

Harry’s reverie came to an abrupt end when a grinning and excited Blaise thumped him gently in the back of the head.

“We’re blocking the alley entrance, tizio!” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the background din. “Let’s quickly wrap up the trip to the bank and start exploring, eh?”

Harry nodded, rubbing the back of his head but matching the Italian boy’s grin. Their little group began to slowly make their way deeper into the alley, using the looming white marble tower in the distance that was Gringotts, as a beacon.

Dudley, Hermione and Blaise seemed by far the most excited by everything happening around them and had to be reminded to keep moving several times by Dan, Aunt Petunia or Neville’s minder, who had turned out to be a slim blond wizard called Lucas Ulkberg.

They’d met Lucas and Neville in the Leaky as soon as they had walked in. Blaise had arrived a little late, citing the presence of additional guests at the home of the family they were residing with, and it had given the rest of them sufficient time to make the required introductions.

Dudley and Harry had been a little apprehensive about whether Petunia would be comfortable allowing them to explore the alley under the supervision of a stranger, but Lucas had held up to her and Daniel’s scrutiny well enough.

Neville had explained that Lucas was one of the estate managers for the Longbottom family, originally brought in by his father and had been with them since before he was born.

Lucas himself seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties at the most and was charming and comfortable enough to put the two concerned adults at ease.

Perhaps it was because the younger man was dressed casually in a dark gray sweater unlike the throng of people sporting robes all around them, but Dan had asked if he would be comfortable joining them for lunch in the mundane world, at the tavern next door.

“Of course, Dr. Granger,” he had responded. “My work requires me to spend significant time with non-magical folks, so I’m quite comfortable in both worlds. I can also help Neville blend in by altering his robes to something that would stand out a little less.”

With that settled, and Blaise having finally deigned to make his appearance, the group had moved out. For the first time, they had not needed Tom’s assistance in getting to the alley, since Lucas could perform the requisite brick tapping. Since this was all utterly new and exciting for Dan, both Aunt Petunia and Hermione kept close to him and helped answer whatever questions he had to the best of their ability. The rest of them pitched in too when they could.

Harry had tried to convince Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia while on the way over that he still had most of his annual allowance from the Potter trust vault left, even after all the Christmas shopping for all his friends. He was confident that he could easily bear both Dudley’s and his own expenses during their excursion and had advocated against converting any regular money into galleons. He hadn’t been able to convince them, with both adults insisting that his trust vault and what lay within was meant to provide for his future, and holiday season splurges were something that was their privilege to facilitate.

Harry knew that they were quite comfortably off, given Uncle Vernon’s job, but he still felt touched by their generosity.

While Lucas waited outside with Blaise and Neville, not needing to convert anything for the day’s trip. Harry entered the bank with Dudley, Aunt Petunia, Hermione and her dad in tow. It didn’t take too long for them to exchange several banknotes for a handful of galleons, sickles and knuts…despite Dan’s curiosity regarding how the exchange rate was decided by the bank and what factors played a role in its change. All of them, even Dudley, listened attentively as the goblin teller helping the Grangers patiently spoke about the value of the British Pound in the muggle economy, the guidelines of something called the LBMA, the ‘Wizarding World Economic Stability Index’ and GIMP (which apparently stood for ‘Gringotts’ Internal Metal Policy’).

But despite this small detour, which at least Harry had found to be highly informative, they were back out in the pale wintry sunshine less than ten minutes after having entered the bank.

“Ok then,” Aunt Petunia announced, handing over two identical pouches to Harry and Dudley each. “Don’t get into any trouble, now. Try and avoid large crowds if you can and stick together. And please obey Mr. Ulkberg’s instructions. Alright? The two of us are going to take a turn around the alley and afterwards head back out to ‘While You Wait’. We’ll see you there at around one, for lunch.”

Perhaps sensing Aunt Petunia’s nervousness, Lucas spoke up. “Don’t worry Mrs. Dursley,” he remarked with a reassuring smile. “I will make sure that none of the children leave my sight.”

Whether this had been sufficient in putting his aunt at ease, Harry didn’t know, but after dithering for a few more minutes, she and Dan had finally run out of excuses to stick around and had reluctantly ambled off, leaving the five of them and Lucas behind.

“Right!” Blaise said, clapping his hands the instant the two adults had left earshot. “Let’s leave the shopping for later, coz else we’ll have to carry around a bunch of junk. How about we explore first? I’ve always wanted to visit Knockturn Alley!”

“Yeah, no,” Lucas laughed, immediately bursting Blaise’s bubble. “If you know about Knockturn, you also know that it isn’t the best place for eleven-year-olds to be wandering around in. Besides, Lady Longbottom will tan my hide, if I Iet Neville enter that place and get nibbled on by a werewolf or something. Pick again.”

Blaise looked put out, but before he could come up with an alternative suggestion, Neville was speaking up. “I have heard they have a Botanical Garden somewhere in Natcher Alley. Could we check that out?”

“Ooh! Do they have magical plants?” Dudley asked excitedly. “I’d love to see that!”

“Done!” Lucas said, smiling. “Next stop, ‘Everbloom Garden’, unless they’ve changed the name since I was last in the neighborhood. And while we head in that direction, feel free to think about what you would like to do next.”

As they began to head towards the entrance to Natcher Alley, which was one of the side streets that intersected with Diagon, they excitedly discussed what other places they wanted to make sure they visited before the day ended. Predictably, Hermione wanted to see if there were any libraries or book emporiums that they could stop by, wanting to browse tomes and texts that were not primarily focused on prescribed reading at schools. Blaise, having had his initial plan thwarted, spoke of a place called ‘Drawn Wands’, a store that catered to the sport of competitive dueling and even had a training facility, where certified instructors helped aspiring duelists hone their skills. And Dudley, in turn, was curious to know if there was a magical zoo they could check out, which didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest, knowing his cousin’s obsession with magical creatures and beasts.

Natcher Alley felt different the moment they stepped through the narrow, vine-covered arch off Diagon. The air was cooler, heavier with the rich scent of damp soil, crushed leaves, and strange, unidentifiable aromas. Every shop brimmed with greenery; roots spilling from window boxes, vines curling along awnings, and trees growing straight through broken rooftops. Bright signs swung lazily overhead, advertising potion ingredients, rare seeds, carnivorous plants. Bees the size of walnuts buzzed past lazily, and tiny saplings shuffled in crates as though impatient to be bought. It wasn’t bustling like Diagon Alley; it breathed, slow and alive, and they all stared, wide-eyed.

Lucas hurried them along, grinning at their excitement, but reminding them that all the time they wasted gawking, would likely eat into the time that they could spend actually doing things. So, they moved deeper into the street, gazing wondrously at the many natural and magical flora they passed.

‘Everbloom Garden’, turned out to be a simple gray building that served as the dead-end of the alley. An ornate green door, that Lucas helpfully identified as ‘Living Wood’, opened before them like a hidden world into which they filed in. Harry slowed to a halt as he stepped past the ivy-woven threshold, the noise of the Alley fading into a soft hum of rustling leaves and whispering magic.

The air was thick with the heady scent of strange blooms; golden light filtered through towering silverleaf trees, illuminating beds of flowers that shimmered or sighed when brushed by the breeze. Tiny sprites darted overhead, weaving lazy patterns in the sky, and vines heavy with jewel-bright fruit curled lazily along the winding cobblestone paths.

Neville looked like he'd walked straight into a dream, darting from bed to bed to admire rare plants he’d heard of but had never encountered. Hermione, clutching a small notebook, muttered excitedly under her breath about half a dozen different species that Harry had only read about in some of his more advanced texts, and only remembered because of his experiments with occlumency. Blaise raised a skeptical eyebrow at a bush that had just politely bowed to him, while Dudley lagged behind, cautiously eyeing anything that moved and seeming equal parts overwhelmed and excited.

At the heart of the garden, which had to be several times larger on the inside than it was on the outside, they found a massive glass enclosure, misted over and humming faintly with protective wards that Harry instinctively sensed. Behind it, twisting vines of Devil’s Snare coiled lazily in the shadows, and deeper in, stranger things moved. There were plants with gleaming fangs, pulsing stalks, and hypnotic, flickering lights that made him nervous just to behold them.

Harry lagged behind with Lucas as the rest of his friends continued the tour.

“It’s amazing,” he said honestly. “Is it basically like a museum, or an exhibition hall? Who maintains this place?”

Lucas ran his hand through his hair as he kept walking, making sure that he didn’t lose sight of the other children, as he answered. “No, they sell saplings, seeds and even miniature versions of the various plants they have. What you’re seeing here is kind of their display rack. They have counters which actually sell things to interested buyers, which is how they stay in business. I have heard that the owners own extensive greenhouses and fields somewhere in the midlands where most of their plants are grown.”

Far too soon, at least if one were to go by Neville’s plaintiff protestations, Lucas was reminding them that they should probably get a move on so that the others could also get a chance to see something they liked. And after a rushed consultation among themselves, they decided to try and tick Dudley’s wish off the checklist next and look for a zoo. So, it surprised them when after a moment of thought, Lucas suggested checking out ‘Fair’.

By the time they made it out of ‘Natcher Alley’ and found the easy to miss exit off Diagon for their new destination however, the shoe, finally, dropped for Harry. He had been staring at the crooked sun-bleached arch they had arrived at, along with the sign that gently swung beneath it in the crisp winter air for a long time before he realized something with dawning horror.

“Hold on!” he exclaimed, loudly enough to cause the rest of them to turn and face him in alarm. “Are they all just puns?”

Lucas smirked, looking infuriatingly cheerful at his outraged expression.

“Yep!” he said, popping the ‘P’. “They’re all like that, everywhere you go. Australia has ‘Horizont Alley’, South Africa has ‘Peripher Alley’ and in America they have ‘Vertic Alley’. And those are just some of the ones I remember off the top of my head.”

Harry groaned, while next to him Hermione caught on as well.

“So that means, ‘Fair’,” she said slowly, and with a growing sense of irritated despair, “is supposed to be ‘Fer Alley’? Ferally? My goodness that is lame!”

Lucas chuckled, looking wistful for a second. “Ah, that really takes me back. I think I was about your age when me and my brother had figured it out. We had a very similar reaction too.”

They entered ‘Fair Alley’ once the pun-based naming convention had been explained to everyone, thereby souring all their moods, but they were soon distracted by the new sights and sounds that awaited them.

The moment they stepped through, the light seemed to change. The stone underfoot turned to packed earth, and the air was thick with the rich, musky scent of fur, leather, and animal musk. Rows of colorful awnings stretched out like a bazaar, with storefronts built low and wide, displaying enchanted pelts that shimmered with old magic, snake skins that rippled like living silk, and gleaming horns and claws hanging from twine like prizes at a fair.

Vendors in flowing robes called out their wares. People were hawking phoenix feathers, augurey down, moke-skin purses that wriggled faintly when touched. Tethered near one stall was a creature that looked suspiciously like a winged goat, nibbling on a rope enchanted to keep it from wandering.

Dudley could hardly contain himself, practically dragging the others by the sleeves as he pointed toward a towering wrought-iron gate near the back of the alley, crowned with the words: ‘Faunae Fantastica - Wonders of the Wild’.

They all lined up at the small ticket counter as Lucas spoke to the witch inside, and soon they were all striding into the gates that had opened automatically.

The inside of the zoo smelled of straw, hay, and something sweet and slightly spicy Harry couldn’t quite name. Wide gravel paths wound between enormous open pens and towering aviaries, each teeming with creatures straight from Dudley’s wildest daydreams, or other people’s nightmares.

In a pen of glittering stone, a trio of crystal-scaled crups barked happily at passing visitors, their forked tails wagging. Harry dimly noted that these were an extremely rare sub-species of the common crup which were usually not found outside of the arctic circle. Before he had a chance to wonder how the creatures were dealing with the weather here, Dudley was dragging him onwards. Beyond them, giant fire-bellied salamanders sizzled lazily in shallow magma pools, occasionally flicking a tail and sending a shower of sparks into the air. A nearby pond rippled as a kelpie slipped under the surface, its shaggy mane gleaming green beneath the water.

Dudley rushed from pen to pen, face flushed with excitement, pressing his nose almost against the enchanted barriers as he marveled at a mooncalf performing slow, graceful flips beneath an enchanted, artificial moon in low gravity fields and nifflers scrabbling gleefully for gold coins that their leprechaun caretaker was scattering among them.

At the heart of the zoo was a large circular arena where visitors could, for a few extra Sickles, feed tame baby hippogriffs under the careful lookout of several stern and watchful keepers. Neville looked hesitant while Hermione and Blaise hung back, surveying everything with cautious curiosity…but Dudley simply laughed, eyes wide with wonder, and dug into his pouch for coins before rushing to join the queue of people waiting in line.

It took a long time before they were done at the zoo, Harry and Blaise having worked up the courage to interact with some of the creatures around following Dudley’s peals of laughter when an onyx-winged hippogriff, barely a couple of feet high nuzzled into his arms. As they left and began to make their way back towards Diagon proper, they realized that they were all starting to feel a little bit tired from all the excitement.

Seeing as they still had easily a couple of hours left before one o’clock, Lucas suggested that they head over to Fortescue’s for a bit of a breather and some ice-cream before proceeding to their next stop, ‘Merlin’s Memoirs’ a tiny little library that specialized in general magical knowledge.

The little bell above the door chimed as they stepped into a crowded Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, and Harry felt as if they had stumbled into a diabetic’s dream. Warm golden light spilled over walls lined with jars of candied fruit, enchanted fudge that danced, and great silver vats of gleaming, colorful ice cream. The air was thick with the scent of vanilla, strawberries, and toasted nuts. And the man himself, Florean Fortescue, supervised and called out orders to a dozen assistants as they catered to the clientele. Dudley stared, wide-eyed, at a sundae piled high with an obscene number of flavors, while Hermione, raised by dentists, looked a little alarmed.

Despite the large number of people inside the parlor, they were all soon sporting their own towering sundaes. Harry and Dudley, unable to decide, had gone with what their server had recommended; ‘The All Aboard Affogato’. And Hermione had cautiously sought out a banana split.

Because of the crowd, it proved to be impossible to secure a booth where they could enjoy their ice-creams, so they resigned themselves to leisurely strolling towards the library as they enjoyed them. Lucas regaled the group with interesting anecdotes about the alley in general and how some of its offshoots came to be. He did, however, sound a little somber when Blaise, and for some inexplicable reason, Dudley, pressed him for more information about Knockturn.

“Knockturn, is a very different beast when compared to Diagon and the rest,” he said with a sigh, after trying and failing to dissuade Blaise’s line of enquiry. “Diagon was always meant to be a slice of the wizarding world in the heart of the capital, where most things that everyday mages require might be found. It’s meant to be commercial in nature, hence all the stores and shops, but almost little to no personal residences.”

After a brief interlude, where Harry, focused on the older man’s words, accidentally stumbled into an excitable wizard in wine-colored robes and a matching top hat, spilled a bit of melted ice-cream on his trousers-which Lucas helpfully vanished with a flick of his wand, he continued.

“Knockturn however, while it does have stores too,” he said, slowly, “is more of a refuge for people who have nowhere else to go.”

Dudley’s brow furrowed in confusion. “As in folks who don’t have homes elsewhere?”

Lucas sighed and elaborated, “Folks from marginalized communities. Folks who might not be welcome anywhere else because of how they are perceived. People who have contracted diseases that there isn’t a cure to; like lycanthropy or vampirism…things that make them a danger to those around them.” He paused for several long seconds, before eventually adding, “And folks who need to hide from the law.”

“It’s a ghetto?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening in realization.

“More or less,” Lucas confirmed. “It’s almost become synonymous with the Underground of Wizarding Britain. It’s the place where you go when you want yourself and your business to go unnoticed. Most people, and beings, who call it home tend to live in poverty and have a far more agnostic view of the law.”

“Why, er, why doesn’t the ministry do something about it?” Neville asked, curiously.

“How do you mean? Would you prefer them to raze the whole place to the ground and arrest everyone who has been forced to live there? Or by ‘doing something’, you mean helping the people who have been forced to survive in Knockturn and provide them an alternative?”

“Um…helping the people,” Neville said, uneasily.

Lucas snorted. “The ministry and the Wizengamot have been at an impasse, divided between those two points of view for nearly as long as I have known. Knockturn’s reputation is not undeserved, you see. And every criminal act committed by a denizen of the place further strengthens the argument in favor of more frequent crackdowns and an even more heavy-handed approach to dealing with its lawlessness. More compassionate people, tend to want to dive into the root of the problems that Knockturn faces and causes, and try to solve the systemic issues that lie at their heart.”

Before anyone could comment, he went on. “Neither approach, I think, are valid. Stamping out the problem by raining down fire atop an already marginalized community is obviously just callous and cruel. But assuming that everyone in Knockturn deserves a second chance or can be redeemed is also naïve and driven by hubris. There are drug rackets that run rampant in the shadows of the alley, prostitution rings that have led to the doom of many innocent people, and even more sinister enterprises run by people who operate on greed instead of need.”

He collected himself and gave them all an apologetic smile, having realized that he had gone off on a tangent and started to rant. “Ahem, I probably should have phrased all that in a manner more suitable for your age…but well, that is of course, neither here nor there. But the long and short of it is, I am not taking you lot into Knockturn.”

The group stood around awkwardly shuffling their feet. They had arrived at their next destination during the conversation and were waiting for the ice-creams to be over before heading inside. But following Lucas’ little tirade, no one seemed quite sure of what to say.

Blaise broke the silence eventually. “So…is it even larger than Diagon?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Lucas nodded. “But it’s hard to be certain just how big these places are in a purely physical sense. You see, there’s a concept called ‘Wizardspace’ that you’ll learn about in later years. It’s involved in everything from expansion charms to much larger applications like out here. Effectively, it’s a space that only exists in theory which the use of certain charms and spells allow access to.”

He chuckled at himself at their confused looks. “I’m butchering the explanation, but hey, transfiguration theory was never my strong suit. But imagine a sack. You can only access the space inside of it if you reach in through the opening, yeah? Trying to access the contents of the sack when the opening is closed, or from one of the sides means you can’t get to it at all. Now imagine if that opening is the archway behind the Leaky Cauldron, and all these alleys are in one giant sack. The whole place, Diagon, Knockturn, Natcher, you name it; they all exist in Wizardspace and do not infringe on the muggle world outside. So, folks have been expanding these alleys from the inside for decades till the point where we aren’t entirely sure just how big any of it is.”

“Because, it doesn’t matter,” Harry said slowly, “since it’s not space in a real sense at all.”

“Five points to Ravenclaw,” Lucas said smiling. “If you think about it, it’s a better approach than the alternative. Else we’d always have to deal with muggles scaling the walls and getting in, keep memory charming city planning officials to keep them oblivious to a swathe of mysterious land with unknown usage in the middle of the city…or Morgana forbid, get found out when a muggle aircraft flies overhead and sees the chaos that these alleys embody. It even turned out to be a massive boon during the air raids and bombings during the last major muggle war.”

“What happens if you throw something at the barrier around Wizardspace?” Hermione spoke up, realized she had unconsciously raised her hand in the air prior to asking the question, blushed and hastily lowered it again. “I mean, like throwing something at the body of the sack.”

“It instantaneously disappears and materializes in the space that is on the opposite side of the point where it makes contact with the barrier where the pocket of Wizardspace begins, traveling in the exact same trajectory and velocity as when it had vanished.” He paused again, seemingly trying to remember something and then resumed. “If I remember this correctly, that applies to not just material objects, but even energy. So, even the effect of an explosion, at least a small or moderate one, that occurs just beyond the edge of our magic sack, would be felt outside its opposite edge as if there had been nothing between the two points at all…irrespective of how much unreal estate had been crammed in the Wizardspace that lay in between.”

“So, it’s a perfectly safe space where you’re protected from everything outside?” Blaise asked, sounding awed at the notion.

“No, unfortunately not,” Lucas clarified. “If we keep with the sack analogy, the same edge cases for when it fails to protect its contents still apply. If you apply sufficient force to the boundaries of Wizardspace, the structure crumbles. Some of the largest muggle bombs, powerful spells concentrated to focus on a single point; all of these could collapse the pocket of Wizardspace being targeted. Hardly anything is a perfect defense, I’m afraid. And Wizardspace is no exception.”

He finally put up his hands, forestalling more incoming questions from Dudley, Harry and Hermione this time. “Guys, I’m already struggling here with trying to recall the technical details of a subject that I really loathed in school and haven’t spent any significant time on in over a decade. I just know that a whole bunch of arithmantic calculations go into setting up any pocket of Wizardspace, cause if not…everything goes to shit really fast. But any more specific info about Wizardspace, or its myriad hows and whys, you’d best ask McGonagall.”

They nodded; their curiosity was still stoked by everything they had heard.

“Ok, enough of the impromptu lectures,” Lucas said, clapping his hands once to shake them out of their musings. “Your sundaes are over, so let’s get cracking. Time’s a wasting and we still have at least one more place to visit after this, don’t we?”

They obediently crossed the street and pushed open the carved oak doors to the library, which swung inwards, and a polite chime sounded somewhere in the depths of the establishment.

Harry felt like he had stepped into a world that was practically built out of old parchments, smelled faintly of beeswax polish, and was dowsed in a layer of silence that drowned out the noise outside and yet did not feel oppressive. The shop was dim and cozy, lit by floating orbs that bobbed lazily between shelves stacked with scrolls, tomes, and ancient journals bound in cracked leather. A low hum filled the air of books seemingly whispering to each other in languages Harry didn’t recognize.

An elderly wizard behind the counter glanced up from a massive ledger, nodding at their group with an inscrutable look before returning to his quillwork. Sections were marked by floating inked signs: Enchanted Histories, Theories of Spellcraft, Wandlore, and one curtained-off alcove ominously labeled For the Cautious and Prepared.

They wandered among the stacks, and Harry found himself brushing his fingers over spines that pulsed with gentle magic. It was quiet, reverent…and a little oddly peaceful.

Hermione loved this place, Neville and Dudley too, but compared to the riot of life at Everbloom Garden in Natcher Alley or the wide-eyed wonder of Fair Alley’s Faunae Fantastica, this felt more like schoolwork than adventure. Still, when a book on dueling techniques opened itself invitingly, he couldn’t help but sit down and browse its contents.

He wasn’t sure how long he had spent going through the chapter of past dueling champions and passages dedicated to their achievements, exploits and techniques. He felt a pang of pride when he spotted his head of house’s name among the pages but was less excited to come across other names that he recognized vaguely. It seemed that Bellatrix Black was a two-time European champion, and Harry knew, thanks to Susan, that she had later married into the Lestrange family before joining Voldemort and then torturing Neville’s parents into insanity. In fact, the Blacks seemed to have had a bit of a family legacy as far as competitive dueling was concerned. Arcturus, Cassiopeia, Cygnus and a second Arcturus were all listed as former champions at the European or the world level in decades and even centuries past. And even in more recent times, others such as Regulus Black showed up as an under-seventeen European champion a few years after Bellatrix.

Harry’s search for a Potter among the fabled duelists of the past was interrupted when Neville and Dudley came looking for him. Lucas had already escorted Blaise and Hermione outside and they needed to get going in order to visit ‘Drawn Wands’ before it was time for lunch.

The dueling store cum training center was barely a dozen paces away from the library. The front of shop was sleek and dark, with silver-lettered signage that shimmered subtly, as if freshly inscribed by magic. Stepping inside, Harry was met with an atmosphere very different from the whimsy of most Diagon shops; this place felt sharp, focused. Along the left wall, glass cases displayed finely crafted wand grips and handles with dueling specifications, each annotated with notes about balance and reactivity. Some even floated gently in mid-air, demonstrating their agility in controlled, wandless movements.

The opposite wall was lined with enchanted mannequins locked in defensive postures, frozen mid-duel to showcase the effects of various shielding charms and hexes. Blaise lingered at a case featuring ‘championship-legal’ holsters and glove rigs, while Hermione examined a shelf containing tactical guides and biographies of famous duelists.

A curtained arch at the back, presumably leading to the training facility, bore a polite sign: ‘Closed for Yuletide Recess - Coaching Resumes January 4th’. Dudley parted the curtains slightly and peeked through the gap only to whistle at the sight of several practice dummies scorched from spellfire.

At the very center of the shop, a dueling circle made of gleaming charmed stone lay waiting expectantly. Even at rest, the space thrummed with restrained energy as if eager to see some action.

But in spite of it all, Harry felt let down. Nothing seemed to be happening and after having read so much about duels and duelists just a few minutes ago, he had been hoping for…more.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” an unexpected voice announced. A wizard had just stepped out of the curtained area and was regarding the group with an expression of surprise. “I’m afraid you have arrived a little ahead of time for the exhibition. It begins at three-thirty this afternoon.”

“Unless you’re here to make a purchase, that is.” he amended, noting the confusion on their faces.

Harry, Dudley and Blaise all spoke at the same time, each uttering some variation of the query “Exhibition? There is a dueling exhibition happening here today?”

The man, presumably the proprietor of the store relaxed, “Indeed. We have a very special exhibition match lined up today as part of the year end celebrations. We have a former world champion dueling last year’s runner up on the European circuit. A contest between the past and the present. Age vs youth! Experience vs vigor! And you are all welcome to attend the grand spectacle. There will even be a play-by-play walkthrough of each bout once it concludes, which should prove to be highly informative to anyone who is interested in the noble sport of dueling. Ticket prices are just three sickles per person, but we’re almost sold out.”

They practically fell over themselves to purchase tickets for the match, with Lucas standing back and looking amused at their unbridled excitement. Once they were done, seeing as they were coming back to the shop after lunch anyway, they elected to leave for now and perhaps watch some of the street-performers until it was time to head to lunch.

There were fire-eaters, but unlike the mundane ones that Harry and Dudley had sometimes seen on TV, these ones then channeled the fire from their fingers and palms, shaping them into mesmerizing creatures of dancing orange flames. There were story tellers, regaling groups of people with some fantastic tale of three brothers who had met and thwarted Death itself, and as she told her story illusory images of the scenes she described materialized all around her, bringing her audience into the very saga she recounted. And of course, there was music. Some corners had carol singers, singing both familiar and strange, distorted, perhaps wizarding versions of the carols Harry knew while in more central areas, small groups of buskers burst out catchy, popular tunes to which the nearby crowd swayed.

Harry had no idea how long they spent checking out the various performances in progress, but before he knew it, Mr. Ulkberg was suddenly leading them back into the Leaky Cauldron. After a quick moment to ensure that none of the children had anything overtly magical on display and quickly transfiguring Neville’s robes into a maroon Christmas jumper with a tap of his wand, he led them out into the regular world where the elder Grangers were likely waiting with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, so that they could all have lunch.

“You know,” Dudley said thoughtfully, as he and Harry waited in line to use the loo at the ‘While You Wait’, “If you had brought that gift of yours, I reckon we could have given Mr. Ulkberg the slip and taken a quick peek at this Knockturn Alley too.”

Harry quickly looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to overhear before whispering back. “I’m not sure that would have been a good idea. You heard what some of the people there are supposedly like, I don’t think it even has anything that would be fun to explore!”

“Mmm, perhaps,” Dudley returned, clearly unconvinced. “But we’re never gonna know if we don’t go. Plus, wouldn’t it be interesting to meet an actual werewolf or vampire?”

“Also dangerous, like Lucas said,” Harry pointed out, not feeling as eager as his cousin.

“Nah,” Dudley scoffed. “Werewolves are only dangerous during a full moon. The rest of the time they’re just normal people, suffering from something. Vampires…ok yes, I suppose vampires are potentially unsafe to run into, but they can’t venture out into the sunlight, so it would have been fine to visit during the day.”

“If you say so,” Harry sighed, deferring to Dudley’s superior knowledge derived from Fantastic Beasts. “But that’s why you wanted to go? So that you could meet a werewolf and a vampire?”

“It’s something that’s been bugging me for a while now,” Dudley conceded. “People suffering from lycanthropy are just that…people! And yet, even people like Newt Scamander, who seems to be so empathetic towards every manner of creature, has simply no qualms branding them as beasts! To a certain degree, the same kind of thing applies to centaurs, merpeople, and so many others.”

He paused to take a deep breath before proceeding. “So, I guess I just want to meet one of these people for myself to see what I’m missing. If they are people, who think and feel the same as regular folks, then it just seems cruel to dismiss them entirely and making them out to be little more than an animal. And since I have no earthly idea where to meet a centaur or merman, I wanted to meet a vampire or werewolf when I heard that some of them might be nearby.”

“Oh, I see,” Harry said softly, understanding finally dawning on him. This line of thought had never occurred to him before, and he didn’t have an explanation to offer Dudley as to why things were the way they were. It could be a form of societal bias, he mused, one so deeply entrenched that hardly anyone ever questioned it. But there was no way to know more without meeting these creatures, er, people in person and asking them about their experience. Or he could ask Professor Kettleburn, their ‘Care of Magical Creatures’ teacher, he supposed.

But regardless, he wasn’t keen on making use of the most unexpected of his Christmas presents though. Less than a week ago, while he and Dudley had been unwrapping their gifts and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had watched indulgently as enchanted music boxes played soft tunes and color changing ink shimmered on the parchments they’d been tested on using peacock feather quills, a package had yielded something equal parts wondrous and mystifying; a cloak of invisibility.

As Dudley, and even his parents marveled over the existence of such an improbably absurd item, Harry had quietly perused the brief note that had accompanied the shimmering silver garment.

Dear Harry,

Merry Christmas and a Happy Yule to you and your lovely family.

A long time ago, your father had entrusted this to me before he went into hiding. Based on our previous conversation, I am sure you can see how such an object was invaluable in our collective endeavors at the time.

Unfortunately, I never got an opportunity to return it to him, and then afterwards I questioned whether an item like this would cause far too much of a stir in a non-magical household.

Having met and learned a little more about the fine young man you are growing up to be, I no longer harbor such concerns. So, I am pleased to return to you what is rightfully yours, knowing with complete certainty that you will use it well.

Albus Dumbledore.

P.S. Please do not think of this as a gift or a present. As the headmaster of Hogwarts, it simply would not do for me to give the appearance of bias or partiality. This is merely something that I know your parents would want you to have, and I am merely the humble person who has been afforded the privilege of seeing their desire fulfilled.

When they got back to their booth, the remnants of a rather satisfying lunch had already been cleared away, and Lucas was once again patiently answering the many questions that he had been constantly bombarded with by Emma Granger.

Both her and Uncle Vernon had seized the opportunity of interviewing a fully qualified wizard and had peppered him with numerous queries all through lunch. For his part, the younger man had answered all he could, with patience and poise.

While he didn’t know the answer to Emma’s earlier query about what would happen in a wizard or a squib donated blood to a regular person, he had been able to shed a lot of light on why only squibs and magical folks were able to see the Leaky Cauldron.

“It’s the nature of the enchantment placed on the building,” he had clarified. “It’s design to, ahem, repel muggles. The charm itself is called the ‘Muggle Repelling’ charm, you see. And by design and definition, it has no effect on anyone who isn’t a muggle. Even animals can see past the enchantment, since it doesn’t target them.” After sipping his glass of beer and wiping the frothy moustache from his upper lip on a napkin, he had elaborated further. “In fact, all the enchantment does is mask the establishment from view. If you were to close your eyes and allow a witch or a wizard to lead you in by the hand, I daresay you would be able to enter it yourself. Although, I would strongly advise against trying such a thing.”

“Why is that?” Uncle Vernon had asked, immediately curious to know why such a straightforward solution was being discouraged.

“Well, while I’m not entirely sure if it’s against the law to do so, it’s bound to be in some kind of a gray area and therefore be frowned upon. I mean, would it count as trespass to venture into a place that specifically bars someone? How would your perception of the building be affected once you make it inside, since the charm itself is on the building and not merely its exterior. Would you just feel like you’ve gone blind?” Lucas had paused and shaken his head. “It’s just…not worth the hassle if you ask me, especially since, at least personally, I find the muggle world and it’s advancements much more exciting than the middle-aged lifestyle that the wizarding world is still entrenched in.”

Emma had chuckled ruefully. “Well chalk it up to wanting what we cannot have. Grass being greener and all that rot. Maybe next time, Mi, could you bring a camcorder or something? At least that way we could get to see what the place looks like? Wait, unless the magic prevents that kind of mundane surveillance as well, or its effect persists even when viewing the recording.”

Unfortunately, Lucas, who had a shaky grasp of video recordings and almost no idea of the technicalities concerning the potential transmission of charms via mundane devices, did not know enough to comment on that.

On the whole, the adults did not seem entirely surprised by the children begging to stay for a while longer and seemed ok to indulge the request. Aunt Petunia and Dan appeared to have had their fill of the magical world for the day and after briefly consulting with Lucas, with regards to how long the dueling exhibition was likely to take, decided to hang back at the ‘While You Wait’ for the children to return. So, a short while after everyone was done with their desserts, Lucas accompanied the five kids back into the Leaky, so as not to be late for the upcoming event.

Harry noticed, with a degree of surprise, that Neville’s transfigured jumper morphed back into his robes almost as soon as they walked in. He glanced at Lucas, whose own clothes had also resumed their original appearance, and noted that he had not drawn his wand or even broken stride.

“Mr. Ulgbert?” he asked as they made their way through the crowded tavern towards the archway to Diagon Alley. “How did you revert Neville’s clothes back without a wand or incantation?”

“More transfiguration questions, huh?” Lucas responded, smiling. “I would have been a lot more qualified answering things about defense. But in this case, it just comes down to a continuous versus one-time spell effect. Probably something on the third-year curriculum, although it’s a fairly easy enough concept to grasp.”

They had reached the wall where the arch was hidden, so after a quick check to make sure that everyone was present and accounted for, Lucas drew his wand and tapped the proper stone and proceeded to elaborate. “The most basic form of charms and transfigurations applies an effect or alters an object the instant the spell is cast. And the effect persists as long as the amount of magic used lasts. So, eventually, a cheering charm will fade, a transfigured quill will revert etc. In some cases, it is possible to overpower these spells to increase the magnitude or the duration of the effect, or both. So, a Lumos charm could be made to be dazzlingly bright, and a transfigured cushion could remain as an ottoman for longer than the average timespan. But there is also an alternate way of performing these spells; namely by tying in the magic required to the caster’s own magical reserves, thereby granting a far greater and continued control over simultaneously modulating the output and the length of time for which the effect or alteration persists.”

“So, Neville and your robes were transfigured like this?” Hermione asked, intrigued. “And you just ended the continuing spell effect at will?”

“Exactly,” Lucas nodded. “The spells were simple enough in nature since cloth was being transfigured to cloth. As a result, the magical drain was insignificant enough to keep maintaining until it was no longer needed. More complex spells, like the Patronus charm for instance, work exclusively in this manner and require much greater amounts of magic, can lead to magical exhaustion or blackouts if sustained beyond the caster’s limits. The distance or presence of obstacles, magical or non-magical, between caster and target also increases the amount of magic required to sustain an enchantment on a person or object.”

Harry listened, fascinated. For all his years of poring over texts and theories far beyond his current school curriculum, it was amazing how much more lucidly witches and wizards versed in the theory and practical of the subject could explain the way things worked. He wondered if Lucas was just another average wizard, or the exception who could probably have taken up a teaching position at Hogwarts had he found a different calling in life. He made a quick mental note to ask Neville later.

Hermione clearly had more questions she wanted to ask, but Lucas interrupted her with a raised hand. “You all will have plenty of time to learn this yourself at Hogwarts. For now, there’s something much more exciting than Transfiguration concepts for you to focus on. We are here!”

And indeed, they were. They had arrived back outside ‘Drawn Wands’, and a sizeable crowd had started to gather inside the store. They pushed their way in, Lucas leading the way, and after a bit of jostling managed to make it to the edge of the arena at the center of the store.

“I wonder who the participants are,” Harry asked no one in particular, wondering if one of the folks whose names he had come across might be on stage in a bit.

“I only know of one famous duelist,” Blaise responded. “Alessandro Accardi. He was the Italian champion a few years back and had visited our place in Toscana for one of mamma’s soirées.”

They didn’t have to wait long to find out. A loud gong reverberated through the room bringing the many excited conversations to a halt and an unseen voice began the opening announcements.

“Witches, wizards and wixen! Welcome, welcome, welcome to the annual end-of-year exhibition at the home of dueling and the cradle of champions! We at ‘Drawn Wands’ are excited, nay thrilled, to bring before you two of the finest duelists to ever have graced the circle! Who will triumph in our little friendly sparring match? Will it be the master of the craft, returning once more to the ring? Or will it be our new rising star whose ambition and drive are a joy to behold? Ha-ha-ha-ha, I guess we’ll know soon, won’t we? Without further ado, let me present to you the gladiators who will grace the arena this afternoon! First up, his dominant display in the 1960 World Championship is still whispered in dueling halls to this very day. They say he got bored with how easy it was and refused to defend his title the following year…only to come back and wipe the floor with any who dared challenge him in 1962! Please give it up, for the man, the myth, the legend, Professor Filius Flitwick!”

A loud roar of approval greeted the reveal of the first of the combatants as Harry, jaw gaping watched his tiny Charms professor and head of the house, stride into the ring.

“He used to be a world champion!” He shouted at Dudley over the applause. “And he’s my head of the house at Hogwarts!”

When the crowd had quieted a bit, and Professor Flitwick had basked in the adoration of the spectators with a confident smile, the unseen announcer was heard again.

“But facing an undisputed hero of the past, is a young, supremely talented duelist of the present. Barely twenty, and he’s already made it to the finals of the European competition! The championship trophy last year eluded him by a single point, and he has vowed to return to the ring and claim the title for the glory of himself and all of Britain! I give you, the man they call the ‘Cobra of Cardiff’, the one and only, Gareth Greenway!”

The applause was just as loud as last time, and Harry and his friends watched a slender, scowling young red-headed man step into the circle.

Flitwick was applauding his opponent who, unlike him, was disregarding the ovation he was receiving. He stood at the opposite side of the ring from the diminutive professor and seemed to be exuding an air of hostility. Harry, thanks to Dudley, had watched enough WWF to question if this persona was meant to be part of the spectacle, instead of Gareth’s actual personality.

“There’s probably going to be three bouts, and the winner will be the one who first wins two,” Lucas said to them, barely audible over the buzz of the crowd. “Ordinarily there’s a panel of judges to decide who a particular round goes to, but for an exhibition match I guess they’ll just wait for a clear disarming or incapacitation.”

“’Cobra of Cardiff’? Can they elect to take a stage name or something under which to perform?” Blaise asked, sounding amused.

Lucas snorted, and was about to say something but it was Harry who responded, “That’s a moniker his fans have come with I think, but yes, duelists can choose to compete under an alias if they so choose.”

Lucas gave him a look, “That is…correct. I’m surprised you know that.”

Harry grinned. “I read about it in the book I’d picked up at ‘Merlin’s Memoirs’. It had a lot of details about past champions and the like.”

“Ah, I see,” Lucas said, half-listening to the announcer explain the rules to the spectators. “Competing under a pseudonym hardly even matters…except maybe for deciding what name is engraved on the trophy should they win. In fact, most duelists prefer to use their own names because their triumphs bring further glory to their family.” He said the last part with a faint sneer.

Before Harry had a chance to unpack what that was about, the announcer had called the combatants to draw their wands, and his attention immediately snapped back to the ring.

“Contestants! Bow to your opponent!” The voice boomed again and both Flitwick and Gareth inclined their heads slightly. Harry noticed they had very different stances that they had adopted. Gareth had his wand by his side; his arm extended straight beside him at an angle away from his body while he stared at Flitwick head on. The professor on the other hand was standing with his right profile facing Gareth, his own wand held in front of him, point directed upwards.

“Aaaaaand…begin!”

Chapter Text

January 1992

“They were moving so fast that we could barely even see their wands! And somehow not only were they able to perfectly follow each other’s every move, they were even swatting aside each other’s hexes and finding time to counter with their own!” Harry drew a breath, and Blaise smoothly took over with the same exuberance.

“I’m telling you amici, even at his age Flitwick is un mostro! Granted, he lost the final bout and Gareth won two-to-one, but Flitwick would absolutely have, how do you English say it, kicked his arse back in the day. We should really push him to start the dueling lessons that the headmaster spoke about at the start of term feast.”

Draco, Pansy, Hannah and Susan listened to the two of them with expressions ranging from bemused to interested. Tony sat off to the side, scribbling away on a parchment. He had apparently forgotten that Professor Snape had assigned them two separate essays to be completed over the term and was trying to complete the one he had missed.

Neville was nodding along in mute agreement, squashed to one side in their cramped compartment, and Hermione had been hijacked by Lavender and spirited away elsewhere shortly after the train had left King’s Cross.

It was probably for the best, Harry figured. There really wasn’t even enough space for the rest of them.

“I think Professor Snape would still be able to best him,” Draco said loyally. “Dumbledore did designate him as the other person who could supervise informal dueling groups.”

“What? No way!” Harry exclaimed. “Look I have nothing against Professor Snape…but Flitwick was a world champion! The only way anyone on Hogwarts can best him in a duel, is if…if they ambush him in the loo!”

“I’m telling you Harry,” Draco repeated doggedly, “Professor Snape really knows his stuff. I heard from my father that he was involved in the war. Besides, he has youth on his side. Flitwick is what, twenty-thirty years older than him? If they were to square off, I know who my money would be on.”

“What about Dumbledore?” Hannah asked unexpectedly. “He’s a legendary duelist too, isn’t he? You know, the defeater of Grindelwald and everything? They even awarded him an Order of Merlin, First Class for that. And they only give one of those out once a decade or something. Even his other accomplishments, like the research on the uses of dragon’s blood, only earned him a Second Class. So, his battle with Grindelwald must have been a tale for the ages.”

“Doesn’t count,” Draco shook his head. “Dumbledore is…well, Dumbledore. He probably has secret, centuries-old spells or something to give himself an advantage. We’re talking about regular wizards going up against each other based on skill and ingenuity alone.”

“Or witches,” Pansy muttered drily, causing Draco to cough and hastily amend himself.

“Regardless,” the Slytherin girl continued, standing up and smoothing out her robes. “As charming as this power scaling is Draco, you said you would spend more time with Vince and Greg, remember? Might be a good idea to start now…especially since we’re squashing Longbottom into the wall.”

Neville good naturedly protested that he was fine, although his slightly muffled voice belied the assertion. Draco sighed, and got up as well, but before either he or Pansy could open the compartment door, it slid open on its own to reveal the sixth-year Hufflepuff prefect, Sarah Merryweather, quirking an amused eyebrow at them.

“You know there’s only supposed to be six people to a compartment, right?” she asked, grinning. “You can try to flatten Longbottom against the wall all you like, but he still counts.”

“We were just leaving,” Pansy declared, and began to move out of the compartment, pausing to give a quick wave towards the rest of them. Draco followed, mumbling something about meeting up at the platform later.

Sarah counted the heads one more time and nodded, seeming satisfied and was about to close the door, when Harry spoke up.

“Um, Miss Merryweather, could I speak to you for a moment?” he said quickly, not sure when he’d get another opportunity to have the long overdue conversation with the older girl.

“Sure,” Sarah responded, sounding surprised. “What’s up Potter?”

Harry quickly hopped off his seat and exited the compartment, carefully shutting the door behind him and ignoring Hannah’s sniggering. Sarah was still looking at him curiously, so he decided to plough onwards with it.

“Um, my uncle works at Grunnings,” he said, noting that Sarah’s eyebrows immediately rose up at the mention of the firm’s name. “He and my aunt went on a work trip a couple of months back and said that they stayed with some of his colleagues who are also called Merryweathers. Was that, er, was that your folks by any chance?”

“Your aunt and uncle are the Dursleys?” Sarah exclaimed, smiling. “Huh, I never knew that. You’re right, mom had written to me about the conference that was coming up and how Mr. and Mrs. Dursley would be staying over. I even visited their place some years ago, on another of dad’s Grunnings trips. I’m guessing you were probably not at their place then, cause I definitely would have remembered running into you.”

“Er, yeah, right,” Harry said unnerved, trying to force a smile on his face. It was disturbing to hear how oblivious Sarah was to having met him before, and he wasn’t sure what to do with the information. “I just, er, figured I’d ask, you know? But yeah, um, I shouldn’t keep you.” He finished lamely, pulling open the door to their compartment again.

Once he’d settled himself again, Blaise, whose relationship with tact was one of convenience rather than necessity, noted his demeanor and spoke up with all of his sagacious twelve-year-old wisdom. “That’s why you don’t ask out older ladies, mio amico. She probably just sees you as a little kid.”

Harry jerked up, scowled and tried to kick the Italian boy in the shins. He ended up missing as Blaise dodged, smirking, and stubbed his toe on the seat…adding a throbbing toe to his worries.

“Her dad works at the same company as my uncle,” he offered by way of explanation. Not wanting to get into the memory charm he suspected. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“But speaking of something that does concern us,” Susan, who had been quiet for the most part, suddenly commented, “Blaise, could you please tell us why on earth Lady Abbott has it out for you? Whatever it is, she’s even managed to rope Auntie Amelia into it!”

Blaise, who had still been grinning abruptly stiffened, the smile draining from his face. “Ah, right,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I suppose I did say I’d tell you later.”

He sighed deeply, for once not looking like he was playacting and stared out of the window for several seconds. Even Tony had stopped fussing over his unfinished homework and was paying attention.

“It’s…it’s to do with mamma,” he finally said softly. “She has, er, a reputation back in Italy. And I’m guessing that Lady Abbott has heard, and most likely, subscribed to the rumors.”

The rest of them waited patiently for Blaise to continue even as the boy lapsed into silence once more, eyes never leaving the foggy landscape outside.

Eventually, he tore his gaze away from the window and looked solemnly at each of them in turn. “It’s a long story, which I suppose we have time for. It begins with the circumstances preceding my birth.”

“Did any of you ever wonder how I was even eligible to attend Hogwarts, despite spending most of my youth in Italia?” he continued, leaning back and settling into his seat as he continued. “Well, the reason for that is that my father was from England…and I was born here. Hence my occasional desire to get to know the country and its customs better, I suppose.”

“Well, this all begins back in 1977, during the height of your war. Mamma had traveled to London for some reason or other and had met and fallen in love with a wizard she encountered here. The Zabinis could trace their ancestry back for a dozen generations of aristocrats, so she didn’t feel threatened or concerned about settling down in Inghilterra, regardless of the societal issues and political turmoil. Also, the man she had met was, in addition to being an heir to a family seat and a Lordship on the Wizengamot, of high enough rank in the ministry to provide additional security that shielded her from the brunt of the conflict.

“Everything was going fine for her…until I was born.” He paused and drew a deep breath, visibly steeling himself for the next part. “I don’t have a year-round tan. My nonna, er, grandma was from Uganda. Grandpa had met her while on a field trip to Uagadou and they’d married and had mamma. It absolutely flew in the face of the social outlook of the time, but my family were the Zabinis; they could do what they wished.”

“While mamma had inherited nonno’s complexion, grandma’s heritage showed up in me. Mamma, of course, didn’t care…but the same could not be said of mio padre.

“He had political ambitions, my father. He wished to rise higher in the ministry, maybe even vie to become the ‘Minister of Magic’ one day, so having a mongrel child, so clearly of mixed race, wasn’t something that sat well with him. They fought, him and mamma, or so I have been told, but there really wasn’t much that could be done about the color of my skin.

“Ironically, the folks who had a bigger issue with race, at least during that time, were not the traditionalists or the pure bloods. It was the mug-er, mundane born folks who were more likely to narrow their eyes at people who looked different than their pasty white ‘quintessentially’ British selves. Mamma reckons that they were merely bringing in their own prejudices from the regular world into ours and were inadvertently adding even more divisiveness than the magical world already had.

“Anyway, my father tried to smother me in my crib.” Blaise said dispassionately, as if commenting on the weather, and failed to react at the collective grasp that went up around him. He continued relentlessly, ignoring Hannah’s exclamation or Tony’s agitated cursing. “The operative word being ‘tried’. Mamma had returned home early and sensing something was amiss had hastened to the nursery. She…made it in time, my father did not make it at all.”

“An inquest was performed, but the results were kept private and locked away from the prying eyes of the press and the public. It helped that one of father’s rivals within the ministry was in charge of the investigation. He was quite happy to be short of the competition. And once the dust had settled, mamma took me and returned to Italia.

“She got married again a few years later, to a long-time friend of the family. Grandpa’s health was failing, and he wanted to see her happy and settled before he passed. It didn’t work out. Or the time after that, or the time after that. Part of the issue, mamma claims, lay with her. She could no longer trust any of the men she married with my safety. She feared constantly that they would see me as an obstacle to their own children one day inheriting our lands and deeds. And so, she could scarcely sleep at night for fear of my wellbeing.

“The scars of the past, they say sometimes never heal, and perhaps that was true for her as well. But after three more failed marriages, all ending in divorces shortly afterwards, she stopped trying. Eventually grandpa passed, and she stopped being pressured to meet suitors.

“She did eventually get married one final time. This time to the scion of another old family. I think she had felt that someone with enough assets of their own would be unlikely to harm a child out of greed. But this proved to be a mistake. Marito numero quattro, proved not to be greedy, but jealous instead. Insanely, murderously, jealous.

“We heard rumors of strange, suspicious accidents befalling her ex-husbands…all invariably fatal to them. It took her a while to piece together what was happening, but eventually, the evidence was laid bare for us to see. My new ‘father figure’ was hunting down all of mamma’s former amanti, unable to stand the thought of the men who had supposedly defiled her, walking around and still drawing breath. He was, in short, a homicidal psychopath with his family wealth helping cover his tracks.

“We fled. Fled from our own country, and for a while lived in France under the guise of spending time with one of mamma’s childhood friends from school, Madame Delacour and her husband, who worked in the publishing industry. Through him, slowly, mamma leaked all of the evidence she had gathered to the press, and played the part of a horrified, helpless wife as her husband’s crimes came to light. Once he was safely in custody, with no chance of an early release, she secured her divorce and vowed to never marry again.

“We heard that he died in prison a short while after…in a violent altercation with a fellow inmate who had made some comment with regards to mamma’s honor. I don’t think either of us were sad.”

Blaise finally fell silent, and for a while the only sound in the compartment was the steady rhythm of the carriage’s wheels.

“Blaise,” Harry said slowly. “I’m…I am so sorry.”

The Italian boy waved his hand dismissively. “It is what it is. But now you know what some of the rumors surrounding mamma are. I think the tabloids that got a part of the story further embellished the tale…increasing the number of dead husbands and former paramours and the like. And it is not something that we choose to engage with. We’ve already had to deal with more than our fair share of blood and grief, so now, we just wish for the past to remain firmly in the past.”

“So, mother must have picked up on these same rumors too,” Hannah said softly in a small voice.

Blaise smiled humorlessly, “Ah, there is one more little detail that might explain how Lady Abbott immediately knew my name and was willing to believe all the vile things she had heard. My ‘birth father’ was named Marvin Abbott. He was your uncle, and Lady Margery Abbott’s older brother.”

Stunned silence followed this revelation; no one was sure what to say. Hannah gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, and even normally stoic Susan looked gob smacked for a moment before frowning and looking away.

“Maybe Lady Abbott immediately felt suspicious when her brother died, although back then her father should have been on the Wizengamot and therefore been privy to the actual details of the case. The truth was only kept from the public, to prevent harm to the ministry’s, the Abbott family’s and mamma’s reputations. But I suppose that the late Lord Abbott, my other grandpa, kept the matter to himself. But what with the Italian press eventually dubbing mamma the ‘Black Widow of Tuscany’, perhaps Lady Abbott was finally convinced that her brother was simply the first of mamma’s many victims.”

Blaise shook his head. “You shouldn’t necessarily believe my version of events, by the way. I’m sure that even though the records were sealed and not made public, those files can be accessed by Lady Bones to corroborate the circumstances of what happened. But regardless of whether or not you choose to share that information among yourselves, I would request not spreading it around any further.” He paused again before adding, “Like I said, mamma and I really want to be done with the past. And I am not sure how Lady Abbott would take the new information about her brother.”

Hannah still seemed too distraught to comment, but Susan nodded, absently. Clearly already having thought of verifying what Blaise had recounted. Harry observed silently, wondering if even the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would have access to the particulars of an incident that had taken place in Italy. Or whether, the cynical side of him added, even the results of the decade old investigation in England were reliable, given what Blaise had mentioned about the ‘helpful’ rival of the late Marvin Abbott and his part in the inquiry.

‘Trust but verify’, he mused as the heavy silence stretched on. It was something that Uncle Vernon was very fond of saying, and it more or less applied here. He wanted to trust Blaise and believe his account of what he said had happened, but it couldn’t hurt to double check…and if he knew Susan at all, he was certain that an owl urging her aunt to look into and share the details about the Zabini and Abbott incident would be flying back South before the night was over.

“So,” Neville said, speaking up for the first time in ages. “Exploding Snap anyone?”

It was just after sunset that they found themselves disembarking at Hogsmeade. Unlike the last time that Harry had made this trip, the first-year students were not separated from their seniors and led away to the boats. Instead, once they had all gathered, they walked to the end of the platform where the path leading into the village began and boarded the carriages that stood waiting for them.

Based on their conversations with Hagrid, Harry knew that the carriages, though appearing to have nothing to draw them, were in fact pulled by the Thestrals that inhabited the forest. He paused near an empty carriage as their group, now augmented by Vince and Greg, split up and began to board the coaches and cast a curious look at the milling students, wondering if anyone could see the creatures that were hitched to the shafts. As far as he could tell, none of the people he could see seemed to be sparing a second glance at the ‘empty’ space at the front of the carriages, so he assumed that no one could see the winged skeletal horses, at least as per the illustration in his book.

He caught a glimpse of Sarah, trailing behind the throng. Being one of the few prefects who had been on the train, he supposed it had been her responsibility to ensure no one was left behind. He found himself pondering what happened to someone whose memories of witnessing a death had been obliviated. Would they stop being able to see thestrals even though they had been able to perceive them in the past? Or would they still be able to see the creatures and wonder why or how they were able to see the creatures.

The second outcome would suggest that perhaps even obliviated memories were retained by individuals, perhaps deep in their subconscious. Maybe Hagrid would know more.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re ogling Merryweather again!” Blaise groaned loudly from the carriage he had boarded, bringing Harry back to reality with a grimace. He hastily boarded the vehicle and found himself in the company of Draco, Pansy, Vince and Greg, in addition to the idiot Italian. Hannah, Susan, Neville, Tony, Hermione and, he’d noticed, Lavender had boarded a separate carriage, which was already rolling away into the fog. The moment he sat down, the door closed behind him, seemingly of its own accord, and their coach began to move as well.

Not wanting to dwell on Sarah, he smiled politely at the hulking figures of Vince and Greg.

“Hey guys,” he said cordially. “Have a good break?”

“Was ok,” Vincent grunted in response. Apparently not a big believer in holding up his end of a conversation. Greg was a little better though, following up with a vague, “You?” once his counterpart had said his piece.

“Not too bad,” Harry returned. “We headed into Diagon Alley on New Years’ Eve and had a blast. The highlight of the trip was an epic exhibition duel between Professor Flitwick and Gareth Greenway! It was awesome! I want to ask the professor if he can teach us dueling, since, you know…Quirrell is clearly not up to the task.”

“Gareth who?” Greg asked, unfamiliar with the name. But before Harry or Blaise could respond, Vince was already speaking.

“Greenway,” he clarified. “’The Cobra of Cardiff’. He placed second in last year’s European championship…lost in the finals by a whisker.”

Five sets of eyes swiveled towards him, regarding him with varying degrees of surprise. “What?” he added defensively, uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny.

“I didn’t know you followed dueling,” Harry said, pleasantly surprised.

“Chris won’t shut up about it,” the other boy returned in his trademark mumble. “That’s er, that’s my older brother. He wants to go pro, but our da isn’t keen on the idea. He has been hounding us both to grow out of childish hobbies and focus more on helping manage family matters.”

It was the most that Harry had ever heard the large boy speak at a time. As he absorbed Vince’s words, Draco jumped in.

“Oh! That’s right!” he exclaimed. “Chris was even the captain of the dueling club at Hogwarts, wasn’t he? Why can’t he continue to hone his dueling skills while helping out your dad?”

Vince shrugged, not really having an answer to this. Blaise, however, had a different question for him.

“So, what does Chris think about Greenway? Does he have a shot of winning this year?”

Vince seemed to think for a second and then shook his head. “Chris says his spell selection is very limited. Most of Greenway’s wins have resulted from his casting speed and accuracy, but to truly be a contender at the world stage, that wouldn’t be enough.” He paused a moment before asking, “I’m assuming he managed to beat Flitwick though, yeah? Flitwick used to be the real deal, but he has been retired since forever.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “But hey, since you clearly know more about dueling than us, help us settle something, would you? Who do you think wins in a one-on-one match between Professor Snape and Flitwick? Blaise and I think that Flitwick wins easily, but Draco feels otherwise.”

“Oh Merlin, not this again!” Pansy groaned as the carriage was filled with raised voices, loudly debating which of their professors could kick the other’s arse.

The feast at the Great Hall to welcome back the students who had gone home for the break wasn’t nearly as grand an affair as the one at the start of the school year or the Halloween occasion. This meant that instead of twenty different things to choose from, there was a measly ten. Harry found himself wondering just how many young witches and wizards graduated from Hogwarts with a case of diabetes or elevated cholesterol, in addition to their NEWTs.

Padma, Parvati and Ron had met them in the entrance hall before the feast had begun, and they’d had a chance of catching up. Ron and Parvati both agreed that Flitwick would be the clear victor, while Padma had shared an exasperated look with Pansy.

In the middle of hearing about how Christmas in the castle had been, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Tony had barely had a bite of his food and was listlessly pushing it around his plate.

“You ok?” he asked. Maybe the other boy was worried about the quality of the essay he’d barely managed to finish before their train journey had ended. He couldn’t fault him…Professor Snape was notorious for deducting points for the flimsiest of reasons, so the shaky handwriting caused by the movement of the train, in itself could be sufficient reason for Tony’s essay being marked harshly.

“Yeah, just…just missing home I guess,” Tony replied quietly.

“Ah,” Harry nodded, sympathy welling up inside him for the other boy. He knew how that felt. Dudley had left for Smeltings just the day before, and he’d found himself wandering the house listlessly, already missing his cousin and feeling gloomy at his absence. “I know what you mean,” he agreed kindly. “I mean, I just saw them all this morning, well, except for Dudley, and it already feels like it has been an age.”

Tony looked up from the piece of chicken, which had completed fifty laps of his plate and met Harry’s eyes. He seemed tired and lonely in a way that seemed much more pronounced than what Harry himself had been feeling. “No, Harry,” he sighed, so quietly that Harry wasn’t sure if anyone else could hear him. “I don’t think you do.”

He dropped his fork with a clatter and rubbed his face a few times, looking frustrated before continuing without giving Harry a chance to respond.

“I’m sure I’ll feel better come morning and once I have classes to focus on. So…don’t worry about it I guess. Why do you think Quirrell is missing the feast though? You reckon the defense curse got to him already?”

“If only we were that lucky,” Harry commented drily before his ears caught up to what Tony had suggested. “Wait, you’re not telling me that the ‘Defense Curse’ is real, are you? I mean I read about it in some old newspaper articles, but I just assumed it was, you know, sensationalist claptrap masquerading as journalism! I mean why would anyone agree to teach defense if there was a real, honest to God, curse on the position?”

“It’s kind of an urban myth,” Padma chimed in, having caught at least the tail end of Harry’s rant. “I’ve asked around, and apparently no one can remember a single instance of a defense professor lasting more than a year in their role. Some left to pursue different challenges elsewhere, others just didn’t find the calling fulfilling enough…and in a few rare cases accidents ranging from classroom incidents to Peeves’ pranks made them quit.”

She paused, considering. “So, in a way, evidence would suggest that there might be more to the whole ‘Defense Curse’ rumor than idle gossip.”

“And nobody has ever tried investigating it further?” Harry pressed, intrigued. “Sounds like something the headmaster should immediately prioritize, no? It cannot be good for students, especially the ones getting ready for their OWLs or NEWTs to go through a constant change of instructors and teaching styles.”

They both nodded. Ravenclaws as a whole had a no-nonsense approach when it came to matters of quality of education. It had to be great, and that was that. Anything else was indicative of the world going to hell in a handbasket.

“Is it even possible to curse a post?” Kevin asked from across the table where he and Roger had interrupted their discussion about the winter break with Morag and Mandy. “I thought curses needed a specific, well, object or creature as a target?”

Roger responded thoughtfully from beside him, gnawing on a celery stick as he did so. “I think there might be dark rituals that could affect something not traditionally tangible. There’s definitely tales of maledictions used to curse entire families and bloodlines. So maybe the DADA professorship is affected by something similar?”

“I think every spell has certain requirements that need to be met for it to be effective,” Padma weighed in. “So, unless we know exactly what the nature of the curse or hex on the post, I doubt we can guess what it needs to sustain itself. Besides, I’d rather not focus on fixing the situation until we have a professor that is actually decent.” She smiled at them all before adding in a softer voice. “Maybe that is part of why the rest of the faculty haven’t done anything about it yet.”

Harry laughed along with the rest of the students within earshot and the conversation moved on to other topics soon. Before too long the feast had come to an end and the students were instructed to retire to their common rooms for the night.

The children who had stayed at the castle for the winter break were far less knackered than the ones who had just returned to Hogwarts. So, once they had let their feet guide them to the Ravenclaw common room, Harry elected to call it a night early while Padma offered to review Tony’s essay.

He made his way up the tower to their dormitory with Terry and Michael, chatting about how everyone’s holidays had been, and felt a sense of calm that had eluded him ever since he had bid adieu to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia that morning when they finally entered the familiar space.

He smiled as he set about undressing and getting ready for bed. While it wasn’t quite the same as being back home in Privet Drive…he felt like he was finally starting to understand what Colton and some of the older students had meant, when they had said that Hogwarts was their home away from home. It was the way the place seemed to have molded itself subtly to accommodate each of their unique personalities that made him feel cared for; like this was where he belonged.

The little owl flap, so reminiscent of the one Uncle Vernon had made years ago, that had appeared on the window closest to him so that Hedwig had easy access. The hook that had magically showed up beside his wardrobe, when Tony had been trying to decide where to place the framed picture of his family. The backup bell, on Roger’s bedside cabinet, that had been around since their second night in the dorm and had helped rouse the deep sleeper who had struggled on his first day.

All of the ambient, unchanneled magic that thrummed through the walls and halls of the castle did a lot more that just move the staircases around or try to get people lost in the dungeons. Most of it tried to make the people calling it home feel as comfortable as possible. So, at the end of the day, the children spending their formative years within the confines felt taken care of in the same way that they did at home with their loved ones.

Despite the low, persistent thrum of despondency that never truly faded away when he was away from his family, Harry was soon able to fall asleep with a smile on his face…knowing that Hogwarts was watching over them all.

Life resumed its normal Hogwarts routine the following morning. Classes, assignments, their own study sessions in the library and the occasional frolic outside when a fresh batch of snow arrived. Harry was convinced that Hogwarts and its staff were actively working to ensure that there would be a gentle snowstorm every Saturday morning. After all, the sorting had confirmed that the faculty performed weather magic to allow for their astronomy lessons to occur…so why would they not keep replenishing the snow to give the students a fun and harmless way to let off some steam at the start of the weekend?

All in all, Harry was having the best winter he could remember. And it seemed to be a sentiment that nearly the whole student body echoed. The only people not enjoying the season were the folks who were unfortunate enough to be on the Quidditch teams and were being dragged out of bed every other day to practice in the freezing weather outside. Gobstones and Chess had never looked so appealing to Harry.

The Patil twins and Ron had also filled the rest of them in on their observations during break. They had not clocked anyone besides Hagrid frequenting the third-floor corridor. And while Snape and Quirrell had both stayed at the castle over the break, Quirrell had been missing from a lot of the meals at the Great Hall, most notably during Christmas. The official reason for his recurring absence was the Black Cat Flu. Quirrell wasn’t popular enough for anyone to be bothered by or question it.

Classes were progressing as well as could be hoped. Most of their professors were satisfied with how he had performed in the end of term assessments, although Professor Snape did curtly advise him to better manage his time in the future. He didn’t know which part of that bugged him more, getting a less than perfect score despite his years of practice, or Hermione’s smug grin when they had compared their results.

Johnston was still as much of a pain to deal with as ever. Now that the scales had finally fallen from Hermione’s eyes, and she had read some of the material that had significantly changed her parents’ lives, she was able to see why Harry had been seeking to clarify why the information in their textbooks failed to align with their own observations.

She had hesitantly raised her hand in class, the first week that they were back, requesting Professor Johnston to suggest some supplemental reading material in addition to their text. The professor had dismissed the request, claiming that they didn’t need any more material besides the notes from his lectures and the book that had been specifically approved for them by the ministry. He had then proceeded to snidely point at Harry and warned Hermione of the dangers of reading unnecessary and inaccurate information and getting a big head.

She had held her tongue after that, seemingly torn between her desire to respect authority and having her questions answered satisfactorily. Harry had noticed that following this interaction with the professor, Hermione had become a lot quieter and more subdued in this particular class.

They had also found time to corner Professor Flitwick after one of their lessons with him and begged him to teach them to duel. The blushing professor had been surprised by the request, not having spotted any of them among the spectators during the exhibition, but had eventually acquiesced to their requests and had promised that he would bring the matter up with the headmaster at the next staff meeting, since by now it was obvious that Quirrell was unlikely to formally reinstate the club.

Pansy, Tony, Padma and Hermione had all declined to participate, assuming the headmaster granted Flitwick permission to teach students how to duel at all, variously citing dueling as an ‘uncivilized and unladylike’ pursuit (Pansy), not really their thing (Tony and Padma) and out of worry that it would eat into their study time (Hermione). Harry and Blaise had been disappointed with their friends’ shortsightedness, since it was obvious to them that dueling was an absolutely awesome skill that every self-respecting witch and wizard should want to learn. Their impassioned pleas, meant to help the others see the light, had been met with rolled eyes and a thrown carrot (Pansy).

The comment that throwing food wasn’t particularly ladylike either had been immediately followed by a thrown chicken leg.

There were a few changes in their study group too. Draco had been consciously spending more time with Vince and Greg, and consequently not attending as many of their study sessions in the library. While this allowed Ron to stop by more often, Harry occasionally found himself wondering what had happened over the break to warrant the change in the blond Slytherin’s demeanor. He hadn’t wanted to pry until Draco, or Pansy, were ready to speak about it…but he hoped that eventually the other two boys would also become comfortable enough to join their group.

He had also refrained from asking Susan or Hannah if either of them had written to their guardians, or more importantly, heard back from them either corroborating or dismissing Blaise’s version of the story of his life. He trusted Susan, at least, to come forward with what her aunt filled her in on once she knew anything more on the matter.

Hannah for her part seemed to be making a brave face of it all, but Harry had noticed her, perhaps subconsciously, preferring to occupy the seats that placed her as far away from Blaise as possible. He was certain that if he had spotted this pattern, Blaise almost certainly had as well…but had no idea what if anything he could do about it. For his part, he relied heavily on his occlumency to monitor his own actions in a conscious effort to identify inherent biases and try to counter them.

And speaking of occlumency, the holidays had allowed him to spend a highly productive afternoon with Uncle Vernon, who had helped him come up with a timetable that allowed him to stay on top of his many and varied interests. As a result, Harry was now spending an hour in meditation every Monday, Wednesday and Friday before his dormmates were up and about. He had already found that this more disciplined approach to continuing his pursuit of the mental arts afforded him sufficient time to catalog his recent learnings and be more cognizant of his own mental and emotional state.

Similarly, he was spending an hour every Tuesday and Thursday morning, working out. He had initially toyed with the idea of going for an early morning run around the Black Lake, but the post dawn chill had made him want to explore indoor options, if any, before approaching the professors or Hagrid to vet the idea. Once again, he had followed Uncle Vernon’s suggestion; asking one of the older students, preferably one of the more athletically inclined ones, if Hogwarts had some form of gymnasium for the students to use.

This had led to a conversation with Marsh, where the older Ravenclaw, sounding ecstatic that Harry was looking to get in shape had directed him to the little-known room right off of the entrance hall, available to any student who knew where to look.

The Hogwarts’s student gym had turned out to be a modest stone chamber enchanted for strength and agility training. It held padded floors, levitating weights, enchanted resistance bands, and balance charms. Animated portraits of famous athletes and Wiz-Wrestlers hung on the walls and offered helpful tips and encouragement. Magical clocks helped pace anyone working out, while lanterns glowed with energizing warmth.

Harry had been quick to pass on information of this space to Vince, who after a bit of cajoling had also started frequenting the gym. As far as he had been able to tell, aside from the two of them, this place was only accessed by the more fanatical Quidditch player, that too only when the school pitch had been reserved for training by a rival team.

He was surprised that Parvati hadn’t started showing up yet, if only to ogle Oliver Wood while he pumped weights tirelessly, all the while cursing Slytherin for getting in the way of training his team.

As January neared its end and February loomed on the horizon, the only areas where Harry found himself stumped and frustrated were the subjects of what he could do about Sarah’s possible obliviation and their lack of any consensus about the hellhound in the hallway.

Well, that and the lack of any updates on what Griphook and Bloodletter were getting up to regarding breaking Sirius Black out of jail. But that was not a concern he could discuss with anyone.

He knew, mostly from Padma’s keen perusal of the less exciting sections of the Daily Prophet, that due to various higher priority items on the Wizengamot agenda, the body had yet to discuss and vote on granting the goblins the contract that would let them manage and maintain the wards on Azkaban, among other locations deemed vital to magical Britain. But all signs indicated that the upcoming Imbolc session would be when the matter would finally be addressed and a decision made. So, for now, there was nothing he could do but wait.

To add to the burr in his saddle, Hagrid seemed to have become just as scarce at the staff table as Quirrell. The large man, who was hard to miss, was rarely seen at breakfast or lunch, and would sometimes wander in while the rest of the school was already halfway through their dinner. It wasn’t that Harry or Neville had made too many trips down to his hut since school had resumed, mostly owing to the harsh weather that the enchanted castle walls sheltered them from facing, but on the one occasion where they had found the time to try and catch up with Hagrid, the gamekeeper had been absent. They had waited around for nearly an hour in the freezing temperature, repeatedly casting warming charms on themselves, before finally calling it a day and heading back.

To add to their annoyance, they had run into Yaxley and Runcorn while reentering the castle, the pair being seen more and more frequently without the company of Nott, who had promptly attempted to get a rise out of them by peppering them with jibes.

This time around, owing to the greater control of his emotions thanks to regular occlumency practice, Harry had ignored the bile the duo seemed intent on spitting and had moved past them with cool indifference. Neville, who these days was somewhat less prone to timidity and more likely to dish out as good as he got, had bristled in indignation for half a moment before following him.

He found himself curious about Nott’s situation, specifically how the other boy was dealing with his difference of opinion with his adoptive sister and was planning to ask Draco and Pansy about it later when they had a moment.

So, on the last Saturday of January, Harry found himself tossing and turning in his four-poster, unable to fall asleep. The day had been largely uneventful, and in the absence of anything pressing to ponder, he had found himself dwelling obsessively on the Sirius Black situation…something that had not proved to be conducive to a good night’s rest.

He glanced at the Christmas present from Dudley, the watch that he religiously kept wound, for what seemed like the millionth time before throwing off his sheets in frustration and giving up on sleep for the time being.

He drew back his curtains, careful not to be so loud as to wake anyone else up and rubbed his eyes. Wondering if a glass of water would help him settle down. Unlike their first few nights in the dorm, the nightly symphony of snores was no longer audible; Hogwarts having apparently soundproofed their curtains to a degree. It somehow didn’t impact their ability to hear the chiming of the bell in the morning, but it managed to dampen the sounds of Roger or Terry snoring. He had made a note of looking into how some enchantments could work so selectively as to eliminate certain sounds while allowing others to remain unaffected.

Perhaps a midnight workout would manage to tire him out sufficiently to allow him to sleep, he wondered, frustrated at having his thoughts run amok again. Of course, it was almost certain to be well past curfew by now, so being caught out of bed would probably not end well. Unless….

Deciding to throw caution to the winds and be impulsive just this once, he got out of bed and made his way over to his T-100. He opened the lid, moving as silently as he could, and after a brief rummage within, drew out what he had been looking for. The simmering silvery silky bundle that had once belonged to his father, James Potter.

He quickly donned the cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders, and forcing himself to keep moving, lest he lose his nerve, began to head towards the door.

He remembered just before he turned the handle, the massive, momentous mistake he had made on Halloween and stopped to turn back and grab his wand.

He slipped out and quietly shut the door behind him. Making sure that the cloak covered him completely, he started to head down the stairs, feeling a bit of a thrill at his own boldness and daring.

The common room, surprisingly, was not empty despite the late hour. A handful of NEWT students, including Head Girl Eliza Oswald were still hard at work, poring over pages and pages of notes. Harry gave the group a wide berth and cautiously exited via the arched door. Pausing a moment to make sure no one had noticed anything and were preparing to investigate, he finally breathed a little easier and began to make his way to the lower levels.

As had almost become second nature to them all by now, he let his steps guide him instead of the other way around, and before too long was heading past the deserted sixth-floor History of Magic corridor, when the sudden and unexpected sound of a door creaking open behind him made him freeze on the spot.

He tried not to move a single muscle or breathe too loudly as he waited for whoever it was to do something. Thankfully, he had not been striding down the center of the hallway, so if his fellow curfew breaker wanted to head in the same direction, they’d most likely not run into him.

Seconds passed, but nothing happened.

Eventually, gathering his courage and taking care to move excruciatingly slowly, revolved on the spot to look at the place where the sound had come from.

He was half expecting to see Mrs. Norris or Mr. Filch, maybe even Peeves in the middle of one of his shenanigans…he was not expecting the Weasley twins standing at the doorway to the unused seventh-year History classroom, one of them frowning at a piece of parchment he was holding while the other looked down the corridor in his direction looking puzzled.

“It-it has never been wrong before,” the one holding the parchment said, looking up at his twin.

The twin being addressed, Harry had no earthly idea how to tell them apart, looked thoughtful for a moment before drawing his wand and holding it high above his head. And before Harry had a chance to react, proceeded to bark an incantation Harry had never heard before, while spinning the tip of the wand in a circular motion.

“Folium Tempestas!”

Nothing seemed to happen immediately, but by the time Harry’s subconscious had finished translating the incantation, a soft susurration had reached his ears, an instant before a small, localized storm of dried leaves swept through the corridor.

The leafy gale stopped almost as abruptly as it had started, but the damage was done. And Harry knew he was busted, without having to look about himself for a confirmation. The entire hallway was now covered in the conjured leaves, save for the little spot where he huddled under his cloak.

The twin who had cast the spell put away his wand, grinning in a self-satisfied manner while the other one tucked the parchment out of sight, and looked directly at where he stood. “Well, good evening Harrikins. Fancied a covert little nighttime jaunt through the castle, did we?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He was willing to concede that the spell to create a storm of leaves had been a smart way to detect someone hidden in plain sight, but how on earth had they figured out it was him?

He briefly considered making a run for it, not confirming their suspicions, assuming it even was a suspicion and not something they knew for certain…but his curiosity as to how he’d given himself away won over. Besides, the twins, being notorious for their own disregard for rules were probably unlikely to snitch on him for such a minor thing, at least by their standards, as breaching curfew.

He whipped the cloak off his head and before the two Weasleys had a chance of saying anything, demanded to know how they had known. “How the hell did you know? Even if you two had heard me sneaking around there is now way you should have been able to tell who it was!”

“Is that an Invisibility Cloak?” Parchment twin said, sounding surprised and awed, while his counterpart chuckled at Harry’s outburst.

“I think, George, that first, we should get our lost little lamb out of the corridor and into our classroom of solitude, before we have our little heart-to-heart.”

George nodded and moved back into the empty class while Fred held open the door to allow a disgruntled Harry to stomp in, bundling up the cloak as he went.

“What are you two even doing in here?” he asked, casting his gaze around all the discarded furniture lining the walls of the room, the merrily bubbling cauldrons right in the center next to what looked like a large and complex distillation set that was right out of a mad-scientist’s fever dream. “I thought this classroom was unused.”

“Unused in the conventional sense,” George said sitting down on a bench near the cauldrons and waving a dismissive hand, “vis-à-vis, the boring, unimaginative pursuit of better grades. So, charitable and generous young mavericks that we are, we decided to…anoint this forgotten lecture hall with a higher purpose. Innovation.”

Fred, who had shut the door behind them, walked over as well, “Welcome, to our laboratory, the incubation chamber of our numerous groundbreaking ideas. The womb of our ambitious endeavors. Welcome to the creative beating heart of ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’!”

They both looked at Harry expectantly, and he rolled his eyes at the pair’s theatrics. “And what exactly is a ‘wheeze’ supposed to be?”

They looked pained for a moment before swiveling to face each other.

“Told you that wouldn’t work. Alliteration isn’t always the answer!”

“What if we go with ‘wonders’? That way we could still keep the logo.”

“Far too similar to ‘Wizarding Wonders Travel Co.’. They’d try to sue us into oblivion before we even begin.”

“Wankers,” Harry interrupted uncharitably. “Weasleys: the Wizarding Wankers.”

“No,” George shook his head morosely, not taking offense. “Mum would disown us.”

“Not that she might not anyway,” Fred muttered, prompting George to nod in agreement.

“But Percy would then proceed to give us a lecture on profanity and how it reflects poorly on us all,” George shuddered with feigned apprehension. “A most cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Verily,” Fred agreed. “A fate worse than death.”

“Much like this conversation I’m having to endure?” Harry prompted, causing both twins to sigh.

“Ah, children,” George wailed in mock disappointment, his hand placed on his heart. “So eager to be ever on the move, no time to spare to appreciate the marvels of what only a privileged few are even aware of. Not a single moment to-”

“Yeah, you might want to get a move on there, Georgie,” Fred interjected. “This one is turning pink already. We’ll probably have to clear out in about fifteen minutes.”

“Aw fuck!” George hurried over to the cauldron Fred had indicated and quickly began stirring it while slowly sprinkling some kind of gray powder into the simmering liquid. Harry, who prided himself on his own potion skills, took the opportunity to take a closer look at all three concoctions being brewed and was surprised at being unable to identify a single one of them.

“But we didn’t waylay you to talk about our challenges with branding Harry,” Fred said, bringing his attention back to him. “When we realized that you were flouncing past our wee little enterprise here, we figured we’d sneak up behind you and give you a bit of a scare.”

“Role models that we are, we can hardly allow such, such delinquency to go unremarked upon.” George added, not turning from his cauldron.

“But imagine our surprise when we opened yonder door and were faced with an improbability! An empty corridor, where we knew you stood.”

“Probably scared and shivering, alone and in dire need of guidance.”

“I admit I was expecting it to be the result of a Disillusionment Charm. Although it is advanced magic, far beyond our own humble abilities, perhaps a veritable prodigy such as yourself had mastered what many adult witches and wizards find themselves struggling with.”

“But the truth, it seems, is even more intriguing than that.” George finally turned away from the potion to add. “Invisibility Cloaks are extremely rare, Harry. And a restricted item to be found in possession of. Might we enquire, as your esteemed seniors in the fine art of mischief making, how you came to be in possession of one?”

Harry chewed his tongue. He had not told anyone at Hogwarts about the cloak. Aside from Dumbledore, it was just Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia who were aware of it being in his possession. But he was dying to know how Fred and George had been aware of his presence in the corridor outside even before they’d opened the door.

“Answer for an answer?” he asked, meeting both of the older boys’ eyes in turn.

The twins shared a quick glance before nodding in unison and motioning for him to continue.

“It belonged to my dad. I, er, received it this Christmas from the person who had kept it since, well, you know.” He said softly.

The twins looked suitably somber at this revelation.

“Ah, that would explain it,” Fred said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “They are very hard to come by though, so please take good care of it. And since it’s a family heirloom and, well, your inheritance of sorts, that actually makes it, you know, legal for you to have.”

Harry nodded and after a moment heard George grumble. “I think we were both rather hoping that perhaps you might have stumbled upon a cache of hidden treasures, which the cloak had been a part of. Now that we know better, I suspect that the secret you’re gonna force us to spill might far outstrip your own in terms of value.”

“How did you know?” Harry asked immediately. “Based on what you said, you knew I was out there even before you’d left your lab, or whatever. How?”

Fred exhaled and nudged George to focus on the potion again, which was now belching smoke. “We too have an artifact that is incredibly useful when it comes to our post-curfew endeavors. It allows us to track the location and movement of every single person within the castle or the grounds. We already knew it showed the positions of people and animals, but now we know, thanks to you, that it isn’t fooled even by an Invisibility Cloak.”

“Whoa,” Harry said despite himself. “That sounds awesome,” he admitted.

“It is,” Fred continued. George was cursing under his breath trying to fix something that had gone awry it the brewing process. “We stumbled upon it in our first-year, after a daring adventure involving an irate caretaker, a timely bag of dungbombs and staunch and steadfast denial even in the face of capital punishment in the form of a month’s worth of detentions! Took us months to get it working, but the reward for our trials and tribulations was well and truly worth it.”

“Since then, *cough*, since then, we have put it to its intended noble use. We have learned more of the castle than any other student in generations. We have rescued lovers whose amorous adventures were in danger of being interrupted by Filch and his cat. We have ferried party supplies to every occasion that was at risk of running low…we feel that in a small, trivial way, we have made the creators of our artifact, *cough* proud of our actions. Oh Merlin *cough*, I need some air-”

Fred who had drawn his wand again when Harry hadn’t been looking casually slashed his wand through the air twice in quick succession, murmuring “Ventus!” as he did so, and a quick gust of wind cleared the smoke away from George and his cauldron.

“In some ways,” Fred mused, pocketing his wand again. “The object is what inspired us to strive to create something new instead of continuing to blindly emulate what the rest of our peers were doing. We suspect that the creators of our little aid to mischief were students once as well. And if they had been able to create something so, utterly, deviously, grand…surely we could at least try to follow in their vaunted footsteps. Which is mostly what eventually led to all of this.”

“Ok, I’m done,” George declared. “You can put it under stasis now, Fred.”

Fred obligingly approached, drew his wand for the third time and with a flat flick directly over the cauldron, firmly spoke the incantation that was familiar to Harry as well; “Habitus!”

“Alright,” George said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Let’s call it a night and resume tomorrow yeah? I’m knackered and I reckon we still have some more things to explain to our little sleepwalker here.”

Fred nodded, and with a few more waves of his wand, summoned and rearranged the piles of furniture from the corners of the room to form a barricade around the potions workshop in the center, effectively obscuring it all from a casual observer who might peek in.

“So, little Harry,” George said once he was satisfied with his brother’s handiwork. “You are now privy to one of our most jealously guarded secrets, just as we have been blessed to learn one of yours. So…you keep word of our escapades to yourself, and we return the favor? Sounds fair I hope?”

Harry nodded, not having to think about it much. He genuinely wasn’t keen on the cloak becoming common knowledge, and this brief unexpected encounter with the twins and their extra-curricular activities had intrigued him to no end.

“It’s a deal,” he agreed. “I’m not sure what exactly it is you are trying to do…but it looked interesting enough. You know, if you ever wanted an extra pair of hands. Or for someone to tell you that the names you have come up with are daft.”

“Oh, I say!” George said brightly, “Freddie my dear brother, do we dare assume that this night’s misadventures have led us to a potential partner in crime? A protégé in pranking? A kindred spirit as opposed to the usual blasted annoying spirits we have to put up with?”

Fred rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is true that while both me and my ugly twin are in possession of startling intellect and entrepreneurial spirit, there are specific and distinct areas we truly shine in. Georgie is a genius at potions, while I myself am a humble savant at charms. Our third, and even less academically inclined partner has the gift of the gab and is amazing at sales. What value do you think you’ll be able to add to our already formidable skillset young Harry? Hmm?”

Harry gave the two a flat look. “I have an Invisibility Cloak.”

“The young mite makes a compelling argument, does he not brother mine?” George grinned while Fred nodded. “The ayes have it then! I hereby welcome you, young Harry, as the newest member of our enterprise, name to be finalized later. May you learn many great and useful things under our wise tutelage. And may we too benefit from your youthful exuberance!”

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Fred said in a choked voice, wiping a tear from his eye.

Harry maturely flipped him off and the trio exited the room together.

“Where were you off to at such a late hour, Harry?” George asked as they exited the corridor together.

“Couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d go work out for a bit.” Harry conceded, earning a groan from the twins. “But I think I’ll probably head back and crash now.”

“Oliver has been trying to get us to go down to the gym with him ever since we got on to the team,” Fred revealed. “Poor thing, he genuinely thinks he might be able to talk us around some day.”

After a pause, during which they continued walking in a companionable silence, they reached the junction where Harry’s feet indicated that he needed to head right while the twins took a left and paused. “I guess this is where we part ways Harry,” George declared. “You to navigate back to the eagle’s nest with your sneaky contraband and we to hightail it to the lion’s den using ours. But rest assured, we shall see you soon and continue to work on our grand plans. Stay strong our young apprentice, do not fret at this temporary separation from your venerable mentors, for soon-. Yeah he's gone isn’t he?”

Harry had pulled on the cloak and had bolted, not willing to subject himself to another of the twins’ dramatic monologues. Even if their attempts at inventing new things came to naught, he mused, they would probably be able to find a career on stage.