Chapter Text
The Sorting Hat had enjoyed self-awareness for hundreds of years now. If there is something that time gives, other than a certain polish to leather, is perspective. Thus, it wouldn’t say that this was unheard of. The Sorting Hat had seen pretty much everything. But it would say that this year stood out, nevertheless, if only for the sheer number of oddities.
First there was the Ravenclaw girl who somehow had a Gryffindor spirit under all that thirst for knowledge. Here was a girl who wouldn’t be afraid to uncover secrets and so the Sorting Hat sent her to Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat was good at unravelling these kinds of puzzles when a child had so many traits. But still, it was an interesting combination this one.
Then there was the boy who shyly requested Hufflepuff. Nothing wrong with the house, of course, and the lad looked comfortable with work. But there was something about him (starting with the fact that he made a request instead of waiting quietly like everyone else) that made the Sorting Hat wonder if he wouldn’t be better in Gryffindor where he could let that spark grow in to a fire.
And the boy said no, no, Hufflepuff please.
The boy actually fought his decision and refused to see how that, precisely, was a very Gryffindor trait.
Again, nothing the Sorting Hat hasn’t seen before. But remarkable, nevertheless. Two oddities in one year.
Then, the usual. The turmoil of Slytherin minds, always veering left, always looking for a different path, and that compulsion to poke at things and look underneath. The taste of ether in Ravenclaw minds and a faint smell of ozone. The solid warmth of Hufflepuffs, made of iron and wood. A couple more Gryffindors, one sparky and smelling of gunpowder and blood and feet planted solidly between the people running away and the ones that came forward. The other had a mind so open you could fill it with a hundred worlds and still have room for a thousand more. The mind had a border of solid steel that would protect it from any attempt to make it small.
And now came The Boy. Even though the Sorting Hat spent the whole year quietly sleeping on a shelf in the Headmaster’s office, it knew that name when he was called to the stool.
Galloping Gargoyles, that poor kid’s mind!
There was that silver circle of funny ideas that screamed Slytherin loud and clear. Inside, something soft and earth-like told of a kindness often seen in Hufflepuff. Again, not the first time. But very rare combination.
“Can I be excused?”
“I am sorry, what?”
“I don’t want to be here. Can’t you just send me back? Please.”
All right. ALL right. Aaaall right. This was also not new for the Sorting Hat. Kids wishing to go back. Usually muggle kids and usually during stormy periods of time. But the Sorting Hat had seen it before.
Perhaps not a Hufflepuff core with a Slytherin ring asking to go back, no. But the isolated parts, that it had seen.
So of course the Sorting Hat took a closer look. It saw that the soft earth used to be warm, used to be protected by something like a fire. The Sorting Hat could see the shadows of the flames, and it could see that it has been doused off recently. Killed.
Perhaps Hufflepuff would be a good choice. Somewhere soft and welcoming.
“Just say that I am not a wizard. I promise I won’t make any magic. Please.”
“My dear boy. What would you even do?”
Oh.
Oh, it saw it now.
The fire was gone. Extinguished. But something remained. A tiny nest of embers inside the earth. And in its core, a diamond, sharp and hard and unbreakable. A tiny thing, the size of a tear, inside some embers and ashes that were about to blow out, in the soft mound of earth surrounded by a lone and limp Slytherin silver ring. The embers would vanish but the diamond would remain.
“Gryffindor” the Sorting Hat said.
***
The stupid hat was stupid and refused to help Harry. The whole school and its division in houses was stupid too, and the teachers.
Harry had been so sure that someone would see it was all a mistake and he would be sent back. That was stupid, too.
He hated it all.
It would have been easier if people just left him alone. But they kept coming to him. Harry was losing his name. He was not Harry anymore, he was Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived or Harry Potter the Boy Who Was Lost and Now Found. He had lost all semblance of personal space as people kept taking his hand to shake and the adults brushed his hair away to look at the scar.
Harry had seen a video in school about adults invading personal space and what not. If things got too bad, you were supposed to scream “Help! Help! He is not my dad!” and kick the stranger in the ankles and run. He had done all that, but all he had got was a lecture and more patronizing comments about his supposed confusion.
Everyone seemed to know better than him.
“No” said Harry. “Because I didn’t want to come here.” “I just didn’t.” “No, I don’t think being a wizard is that great.” “And how would you know?” “Well, that’s stupid.” “No, I didn’t say you are stupid but I could say it now.” “No, that’s not true.” “No.” “No.” “No. Remus never did that.” “I don’t care what the newspaper says. This is what I say.” “That’s made up.” “It was not like that at all.”
Harry would never be as tired and lonely in his life as he was right now, in the Great Hall surrounded by hundredths of people.
With exhaustion came anger.
“Shut up.” “What do you know?” “Don’t say that.” “You know nothing, don’t call him that.” “No!” “No, I am not!” “No, he was not.” “I don’t care what you read, I don’t care what your stupid mum says.” “I said don’t call him that.”
“Don’t. Call. Him. That.”
***
Madam Pomfrey wetted some more cotton with alcohol to dab at another cut. The fight seemed to had become a full brawl that took all over the bedroom, the stairs and the common room and inflicted numerous collateral damages.
Minerva was looking at the boys. Potter didn’t seem sorry and Madam Pomfrey didn’t know what to think because the other fighting boy was Ronald Weasley. They had all been so happy with the Weasley kids. William, of course, had been a darling, and so was Charles with his sweet nature, and she had no complaints at all about Percival. The two eldest had been prefects, of course, and Percy had just become one, too.
Then the twins had arrived, and well. They were not like their brothers, were they?
Minerva was towering over the boys, furious, proclaiming she had never seen behaviour quite like this, which was mostly true if only because of the early date of the transgression.
“… never! In all my years! Where is the house spirit, I wonder? Such fighting and with a fellow Gryffindor! …”
The lecture went on for quite a while. Considering Pomfrey had had to attend to the three other first year students because they had been injured while trying to pull the fighters apart, she could understand. It had taken the sixth and seventh year male prefects to finally break the fight and by then it involved over a dozen people.
***
Harry wasn’t paying any attention to the woman, Minerva, professor McGonagall, whatever. He knew she was noticing and that it was making her angrier, but really, he didn’t care. He wished they expelled him for this. He wished he could just go back.
“Now, tell me, what in Merlin’s name would prompt you to act like this?”
There was a pause. Perhaps she needed some air or perhaps this wasn’t a rhetorical question any more. It was hard to say.
“Id was my fauld, bobessor” said Ron through the cotton stuffing his bleeding nose.
What now? Okay. So Harry didn’t regret it and in fact would do it all over again. But he knew, he knew, he had been the first one to strike. And he was fed up with people speaking for him.
“Shut up, you… um, moron!” he said, although he found now that the fires of his righteous fury had died. He was just tired, so tired. To McGonagall he said “I hit first.”
“I broboked him” Ron added instantly pointing at his chest for emphasis and perhaps clarification. “Twit” he said, looking at Harry.
***
They were both sent to their rooms, with thirty points less for Gryffindor (“Well done, Ronald!” said some red-haired older students. “The term hasn’t started and the house is already in negative points!”) and detention starting the very next day.
Harry refused to apologize, because he wasn’t sorry. But later he did admit that Ron had been quite brave, blaming himself, and Ron in turn said maybe he should have shut up the first time Harry told him to and that he didn’t think that Remus was a beast, not any more.
By the time they went to detention the next day, they were already good friends.
***
For some reason, they honestly believed that once Harry saw the wet mossy walls of Hogwarts, he would be instantly charmed and forget everything and stop being angry.
That snotty prefect with the voice had told Harry that the kind of behaviour he exhibited on his first night would get him expelled, as if that were a bad thing.
Yeah, Harry didn’t understand it either.
To be perfectly fair, he was only trying to get expelled half of the time. The other half he was just communicating his thoughts in a very emphatic manner while at the same time finding some sort of meditative inner calm through violence.
At least the students in Hogwarts were more responsive than the adults, and they soon learned not to mention Remus in Harry’s presence. Ernie McMillan’s nose could give testimony of it. And that third year Ravenclaw who thought she knew everything about werewolves. And the fat Hufflepuff kid who repeated again and again that his father worked in the Ministry as if that made him an instant expert.
Harry fought all of them and his mood improved enormously.
Of course he risked alienating everyone in the school and creating more enemies than he could safely handle. Not everybody took a broken nose with the same grace as Ron Weasley.
But Harry didn’t care. He was carefree, which was the closest he could get at the moment to being free.
And also, despite attempting to fight every single person that crossed him, Harry remained a good kid. There was soft earth inside him, kind and nurturing.
Which is why when Draco Malfoy took Neville’s remeberall, not only did Harry retrieve it, he also tackled Draco to the floor and almost made him swallow the damned ball. And because Harry had grown up with Olivia and hence had a very particular sense of gender equality, the next time he overheard Pansy Parkinson making fun of Angelina Johnson’s hair, he kicked her right in the ass when they were coming from Herbology and she landed on her ass in a muddy puddle.
“You” McGonagall said as she dragged Harry back to the tower from the neck of his robes “are singlehandedly responsible for most of the lost points from Gryffindor.”
There was a gasp, loud and long. Fred Weasley stared at Harry, one hand in the air and the other clutching some imaginary pearls. He looked deeply offended.
“How could you?” exclaimed Fred lengthening his “u”s and eyes still locked with Harry’s before suddenly and dramatically turning his attention to McGonagall. “How could you say something like that, Professor?”
“I am deeply wounded” added George, his gaze lost in the middle distance. His right hand over his forehead in the classic I-am-swooning posture.
“Clearly we have to step up our game, George.”
“Right you are Fred.”
“We should start at once. Lee!”
“I have a hammer” said Lee Jordan. The most ominous words uttered in the halls of Hogwarts.
“Come back here this instant” cried McGonagall to the three quickly retreating boys, her hand still clutching Harry’s robes tightly.
***
Perhaps Severus was paranoid and saw shadows everywhere. Perhaps the pang on his arm this summer was nothing more than a cramp.
But Severus just couldn’t risk it. Some things he did not know, it was true, and most were just suspicions and vague guesses. But some things were undeniable, like the fact that the Ministry could not have broken the barriers in the cottage without external help.
That was a fact.
They had come in a full moon night. Very few people knew about Remus’ lycanthropy.
That was a coincidence.
Severus spied a glimmer on the collar of Harry’s school robes. He had had his eyes on him since he arrived at the school, of course. His robes were just like any other school robes under the light of the sun or the multiple white candles used thorough he castle. But the dungeons had their own light, indirect and tempered. In that soft light Severus saw something that was not in other clothes.
They had put Harry under a surveillance charm, to hear if he planned an escape or to learn something else of his previous life.
That was a guess.
A Slytherin guess. So he couldn’t afford not to listen.
***
It was a problem. Not just Potter’s unexpected violence. In fact, Minerva understood that, even if she did not approve. The case could have been handled much better and if they violently broke in the boy’s house, of course he was going to react like that.
The additional problem was that Harry had fought enough people to get detention until the end of the academic year. According to Minerva’s calculations only two detention-free days remained, and that accounted for weekends. It was a problem because Potter didn’t seem like he was going to calm down anytime soon and obviously the threat of lost points and detentions had no effect.
Minerva did what she had to. She did not like it and she wasn’t proud. Part of the Gryffindor bravery is making the decisions nobody likes for the greater good.
“Where is your wand, Potter?”
“Oh, I forgot to bring it, professor.”
Of course he did. Against all reason, Potter had no interest whatsoever in magic. The urgent problem was his tendency towards fighting, but she could see this could get out of hand too. He kept losing his wand. He was distracted. His work was appallingly poor and he only bothered with homework about half of the time.
How could he lose his wand? In all her years Minerva had never seen anything like that. Not even Longbottom, who was a fat clumsy tragedy all by his own, managed to misplace his wand. And Longbottom acted properly ashamed whereas Potter never apologized, never said he was sorry. In fact, the look in his eyes said quite clearly he was not sorry at all even when half of the time it seemed it wasn’t a deliberate act of defiance on his part but actual absent-mindness. He forgot his wand because that’s what he did and he did not lament it.
“This is the third time this week, Potter.”
“I wouldn’t know; I can’t say that I have been keeping track.”
“Minus five points from Gryffindor” said Minerva. And thank Godric for the well behaved fifth year, that she would be able to give some points back that same day. Now she had to give Potter a corridor pass so he could go fetch his wand, and he would return late, not that it would make any difference in his transformation works since he could not do it at all. And that was supposing he returned to class and didn’t pick another fight in the way.
He came back twenty minutes before the end of the class, wand in hand, accompanied by a ruffled Percival Weasley who said Harry had indeed managed to fight someone again.
“Thank you, Weasley, you may retire.”
Percival left, head straight and shoulders back, carrying the satisfaction of a good performance. Minerva didn’t even bother to ask what it had been this time.
(“Oh! There goes Wild Potter” said in a singsong voice by a fourth year Ravenclaw. “You know, I hear he has the rabies from the half-breed monster that kept him in the cellar.” They never punished them for saying those things).
“Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter” said Minerva, feeling something like a clump of black tea leaves stuck in her throat. “And detention.”
Potter nodded, as he always did. He was not a very talkative boy.
“Weasley, you will have to go to detention in Potter’s place, since he is amassing so many punishments.”
“What?” exclaimed Ron who had only been paying half attention.
“No!” cried Harry, quick as if he had burned.
“Two hours on Saturday.”
“You can’t do that! That is not FAIR!!”
“Minus five points for speaking back and out of place, Potter. Longbottom, detention.”
Minerva had to take fifty points out of Gryffindor total by the end of the class, and Weasley got another detention all by himself. But it worked. By the end of the week, all the first year Gryffindor boys had detention and Potter had stopped fighting everyone.
***
Harry stopped everything. It’s not like he actually wanted to hit people, but it stopped them from saying those horrible things about Remus. Now he couldn’t even do that.
He stopped talking again. Ron noticed immediately and by dinner time he and the twins had gotten Harry out of his black mood. But outside of that, he didn’t talk. To the teachers that insisted that he did the assigned work, and the students who slowly came back with their taunts. Silence, white and blue like the walls of a hospital.
He was unable to focus in class. Even if he sat in the front row and away from the window his mind wandered away, thinking of Remus and where he was and of Olivia and what she would say when Harry didn’t show up to the secondary school and generally anything else but whatever the teacher was explaining. It was just easier if he didn’t pay attention and he just let his mind wander away.
***
It was such a delicate job.
First Severus had to reduce the recipe of all-reveal potion to its most basic components. Then he had to find a recipe similar enough so that when students prepared it in class, for a few minutes they had all-reveal in their cauldrons before turning it to something else. After that Severus would have to non-verbally and with a minimum amount of wand movement send the smoke of the cauldron to Harry’s collar at the precise moment so that it would condense over the clothes and reveal whether Severus’ suspicions were right or not.
And he would have to content himself with this method rather than casting Curiosum Revelio, because if he did the latter then whoever was listening on the other side would notice. Even if Severus were to do it non verbally, they would notice. If they had put an inquisitor, they were sure to had put a tampering alarm with it.
Sending the smoke… that was incredibly precise magic. The kind it took years to master to get the most delicate work right.
Or he could just stand behind Longbottom to make sure he didn´t create a poison again and make the boy so nervous that he ended up overturning his cauldron and spilling the all-reveal everywhere (it wasn’t even supposed to be ready at this stage, the boy added the mother of pearl before time. Why. Why would he do that).
A flick of his wand and the whole bench was drenched in the solution, including Harry.
***
“Harry, you have something like a lose thread in your robe” said Granger. “Here, by the collar.”
***
In October Harry was informed that he was now part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was handed a broom and the schedule of the training sessions and told to report to Oliver Wood.
Both Hooch and Minerva had seen some natural talent in him. Minerva also hoped that he enjoyed the sport as much as his father did, because she had noticed how quiet and withdrawn he had become and that was almost as bad as the unchecked rage.
***
Flying was wonderful.
There was no other way to describe it. The moment Harry was in the air everything went on hold. All the sadness and the anguish stayed on the floor.
Also, the team. The team was great. The twins were there, and they were funny and kind in a surreptitious way. Oliver only cared about Quidditch and didn’t give a flying foul about Harry’s history. The girls, Katie, Angelina and Alicia didn’t exactly like Harry but they didn’t hate him either. They were still undecided about him kicking Pansy Parkinson in the ass, deserved as it had been.
And now Harry had access to a broom.
Friday night he sneaked out of the Gryffindor tower after curfew. He had so many detentions that the prefects had no idea when he was supposed to go to them. The castle’s main doors were too big. Even if there was no one around, the draft would be felt and they would hear the noise. Fortunately, Harry had already discovered two other more discreet doors and he left through one of them in the west wing, near the Hufflepuff basement they weren’t supposed to know was there.
He got to the shed where they kept the brooms. The shed was locked after hours but Harry was short for his age and fit through the window he had left open the day before.
He got on the broom.
Harry was always thinking of Remus, his dad to all effects. But when he was on the floor his thoughts were gloomy and bitter, there was only the worry about what had happened to him. He hadn’t seen him since they were captured. He wasn’t allowed to talk to him. He had sent letters as soon as he got his hands on an owl. Hedwig always returned without them, so she was delivering them somewhere. But Harry hadn’t received any answer so he didn’t know if Remus got to read them.
In the air, however, there was hope and good memories. There was Remus teaching him about a thousand dangerous creatures and how to deal with them. Not beat them, not necessarily, but to survive them.
The broom went up, up, up. Harry ascended zigzagging softly, carefully, making sure to stay away from the light.
He went pass the bleachers and the goal posts, to the top of the brightly coloured towers with the private viewing boxes.
The broom started to vibrate. Harry’s hands and thighs tingled at first and then went numb as the vibration increased with the altitude.
He kept climbing until he was well above the Quidditch field, although dishearteningly, he saw that some of the towers of the castle still rose above him. Harry ascended until the vibration of the broom became so much that he started to have trouble keeping his balance and a few bristles came loose and fell. Then he leaned over the broom, his body almost parallel to the floor, and he pushed forward and away from the castle.
He went at full speed. The air ringing in his hear and his eyes half closed against it. He had to hold fast to the broom that almost wanted to push him off. He went as fast as he could over the top of the trees in the Forbidden Forest.
And then, little by little the broom started to lose speed and power until it just hovered in the sky and refused to go forward no matter what Harry tried.
He would have tried. Having been in the air for so long, Harry would have attempted to descend to the forest and cross it walking to the other side. He was not scared of any creature that called it their home.
But he couldn’t. The broom started to go back to the castle, slowly turning around all by itself.
Harry descended back to the Quidditch pit blinking away tears from his eyes. In that moment, he wanted to die. As he came closer he saw there was a figure standing there, arm and wand extended and pointing at him.
Maybe they would take his flying privileges too. Harry just hoped they didn’t punish any other Gryffindor for this.
“Hogwarts is the safest wizarding building in Britain” said Dumbledore, pocketing his wand. “There are wards all over the place that prevent anyone from coming uninvited.”
He spoke like a lecture, an oddly cheery lecture in the middle of the night. He did not sound angry and that was a first with the teachers in the school. They were all angry at Harry for some reason or another.
“Had you kept flying at that speed, I am afraid you would have found yourself slamming against a barrier a few yards in.” Dumbledore explained. “It is part of the protective charms to stop muggles or bad wizards from flying through here.”
Harry stared at him. Now that he was back on land he felt as if his knees had turned to jelly and all his blood was rushing through his legs and arms. He sensed that he had, perhaps, attempted something insanely dangerous. He hadn’t even packed a sandwich with him or his cloak. Severus always insisted on warm clothes.
“That was some flying you did just now” Dumbledore said, still without any trace of anger.
The night was quiet. It wasn’t very cold yet, autumn being kind and late this year. Harry felt like he should say something.
“I do like flying” he said, not knowing if he would regret later giving up this much.
“So did your father, if I remember correctly” Dumbledore smiled. He meant, of course, James. Remus said he had always been too tall to have any proper balance in a broom. He mentioned riding a flying motorcycle, once. “He was a Chaser.”
The silence fell again between them. Harry found difficult talking to people. Ron and the twins and Dean and Neville and Seamus, they were fine. But with others it was just hard. Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind however; he didn’t cluck his tongue impatiently as Harry gathered his thoughts from wherever they had wandered to.
“Now, however, I believe it is time for you to go back to your bed. I will walk you, we don’t want someone else to find you and think you were out during curfew.”
Well, that was actually nice.
“Umh, thank you, professor.”
“Oh, not at all, not at all” murmured Dumbledore. He waited whistling softly while Harry put the broom back in its place and then walked with him all the way to the Gryffindor tower. It was a long walk and they had to go slowly because, as Dumbledore explained, with old age you are never in a hurry (unless you need a toilet) and your knees complain often. He chatted amiably the whole way, not minding much when Harry took a while to answer. He asked about how much Harry liked flying and about his classes and his friends and even if he liked the food in the school, and he offered commentary too, oddly honest and funny. He too thought that the kitchens provided way too many beet based dishes.
He seemed… he was almost and ally, Dumbledore. Very eccentric, of course. But also very understanding and he acknowledged that Harry was going through a tumultuous time. Harry was so tired of being ignored, this was very welcome.
***
Lemon blossom in a potion would slow down its effects, and oxeye daisy in large quantities annulled the effect or nightshadow. But Harry didn’t say any of this when Snape asked him in class the very first day. He said nothing because lemon blossom’s meant silence and oxeye daisies were waiting, and so Harry waited.
At last, Severus asked him about aconite and balsamine and Harry knew it would be today.
(Aconite was misanthropy, which was a negative, but also wolf’s bane. Balsamine was also called impatiens. Together, they meant the end of waiting).
Harry botched the Healing Potion and managed to get immediate detention cleaning the cauldrons. He waited with his heart beating hard and fast in his chest for the classroom to empty and then, at last, got the hug he had desperately needed for the last ten weeks.
They didn´t have much time, Severus said, as he threw a handful of flywings (not the same as actual wings from flies) in to the flame of a candle. There was a black smoke with a terrible smell, the price for five minutes of absolute magic-proof privacy.
They wasted a full minute in a hug.
“Can you take me away?” asked Harry, although he knew the answer already. Just as he had soon gathered that it would be best not to mention Severus (not that anyone listened) to the people that had taken him. All his protestations of Remus’ innocence only served to convince them even more of his guilt, so he wasn’t about to give Severus away. After all, Remus didn’t have any choice about being a werewolf and yet everybody spoke of him as if he spent his free time devouring old little ladies. Harry couldn’t imagine what they would say of Severus the deatheater.
He understood. But it didn’t mean he hadn’t been hoping that maybe Severus would take his hand, just as he did when they took walks through the country or the parks, when Harry was little and Severus taught him all about plants. He would hold his hand and take him away and they would go find Remus and everything would be fine again.
Harry had hoped for that. He knew it wouldn’t be because he wasn’t blind, but still he had hoped.
And he knew it was silly because he had seen how many wizards were surrounding him at all times. And he had seen them come to his house so Harry knew, and this was the worst part, that he wouldn’t be able to return. And he didn’t mind, it was all right, he could stay here forever if that’s what they wanted but please, just, please, let Remus –Let him go, he didn’t say, because the stupid tears were choking him again despite how angry it made him that these people made him cry. He would trade himself for Remus gladly. Let him go and he would stay in the stupid school.
“Harry, listen to me” Severus said crouching so they would be face to face. “You have the help of the Head of Slytherin, and that is one very powerful thing.”
Harry looked at him doubtfully because in this moment something very powerful looked like a flamethrower and a helicopter.
And then Severus proceeded to give him proof of Slytherin cunning.
“Do you remember Polyphemus?”
Of course he did. He had read a children version of The Odissey that didn’t have any pictures when he was around ten.
Oh!
That’s how you get away from the giant keeping you on a cave. You wait and you trick him.
“And remember Penelope?”
Harry nodded. Penelope was kind of a cool in a very subtle way. Olivia thought it was a pity she didn’t just poison all her suitors, but the veil trick was good.
“You will have to be both, Harry. Be patient and be meek until you find or make your opportunity. I will help you as much as I can.”
That was… Harry smiled the first honest smile in almost fifty days.
Harry left the dungeons carrying the biggest treasure. The knowledge that he wasn’t alone and that someone would still listen and tell him the truth. And also, hope. Hope that this wouldn’t be forever. Hope that Severus would help him get back to Remus and disappear once more.
“Do try not to permanently blind anyone” Severus said as his parting words, while he waved his wand and evanesco the cauldrons. He touched his left and frowned. “And remember that Shere Khan is always on the prowl. Don’t leave the cave when the tiger is nearby.”
***
It was just one troll. One.
Singular.
There was no reason to react like this for a mere simple troll. One troll. Three students. Two of which could do magic pretty well.
Obviously no one else saw it like that. But they didn’t lose that many points and Harry and Ron made a friend, so there is that.
***
Christmas was a roller coaster of emotions.
Harry woke up feeling sad already. This would be his first Christmas away from home. He hadn’t gotten out of bed and it felt like a punch already.
Then there was the discovery that the Weasleys had included him in their family celebrations and Harry received his very own Weasley sweater. For a while he found himself unable to swallow or speak and he would be forever grateful for the twins’ jokes that took the attention away from him until he could speak again.
Fred announced Harry was practically a Weasley now, and attempted to dye Harry’s hair red. Failing that, they wrestled him to the ground to paint some freckles on his cheeks and they all had a good laugh about it.
Melancholy hit again sometime around mid-morning, when Harry discovered a box of chocolate wands discretely tucked in his backpack. The gift was good. The chocolate brought a warm feeling to Harry. But the fact that it had to be delivered in secret, that Severus couldn’t openly show him any affection… it had a toll.
By lunch time Harry had gone through more emotions than an eleven-year-old was ready to handle. He had also turned the cushions in the common room blue, then black, then green and then yellow. He kicked them under a couch hoping no one would notice before they went back to deep Gryffindor red.
After lunch McGonagall came to him and Harry had no idea what it was about this time, but he knew he wasn’t apologizing not until he had some idea of what it was going to be and maybe not even after that. Just in case, he told Ron to leg it. McGonagall didn’t hand as many detentions to the others if they weren’t around for Harry to see their faces. When he was alone she just increased the number of desks and cauldrons he was supposed to clean.
But for once, she was not giving him detention and instead indicated that Dumbledore wanted to see him in the Headmaster office, which could be good or very bad, who knew. Maybe they had finally decided to expel Harry. That would be wonderful.
***
“I wanted to give you this personally” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes twinkled behind the gold half-moon glasses.
Harry took the package from his hands. It was something soft and light, wrapped in green and yellow paper.
“It belonged to your father, you know” said Dumbledore as Harry unwrapped it carefully and revealed… something grey. “I though you should have it, though” Dumbledore went on. “It is rightfully yours.”
It was a piece of grey cloth. Not even a particularly nice shade of grey. It looked like the sky on a typical cloudy day, undecided on whether it would rain or not in the evening.
But when Harry lifted it up and put a hand behind, he saw.
He looked back at Dumbledore, eyes open wide.
“A most rare and unique item” Dumbledore said, warmly. “The legacy of your family. Your history.”
“This is…” Harry hesitated, it was hard to speak unprompted. He needed time to get his thoughts in order. “Wow. Thank you, professor.”
“No problem at all, no problem.” Dumbledore smiled. “I was just keeping custody of it until I could hand it to you.”
Harry wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the weird fabric, making his feet appear and disappear from view.
“I should remind you to be prudent, of course. I have heard you have a certain disregard for rules.”
“Of course, professor, yes sir.”
“I do mean it for your safety, Harry” now Dumbledore sounded a tad more serious. “I wouldn’t want you to run into any risky situations as with your… flying training.”
He understood. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of Hogwarts (had tried already the very first weekend but the gates wouldn’t budge) but he could move around the grounds with freedom and that was a wonderful thing. Even if Dumbledore insisted that the cloak was his, he had given him a magnificent gift.
“There is something else” Dumbledore went on and Harry looked at him with trepidation. His voice had changed. “I thought you deserved to receive the news personally and in private. Owl post can be so cold, after all.”
***
Harry went to the top of the Astronomy tower, deserted at this time. He sat on the floor, his back to the cold stones, and he threw the cloak over himself and wished he could die, that he could dissolve in a cloud of mist like the little mermaid did in that story, that he could melt like the brave tin soldier.
There had been a trial for Remus. With no lawyer to defend him and no witnesses, certainly not Harry.
There had been a trial and Harry now clutched the official parchment that informed him that Remus had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, wherever that was, with no possibility of appeal.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there. Only that the sun was low when he heard steps and saw Severus’ grumpy face emerge from the stairs.
“Harry?” he called. Softly.
Harry said nothing.
Severus did something with his wand, pointing around the room. Harry saw his lips move and counted seven breaths before Severus stepped fully on the room.
Harry had dunked all his school robes in boiling water a few weeks back. They had lost their black lustre and the prefects had been pissed. The robes were as threadbare as Ron’s now. He had picked nine wiry strings from the bottom of the bat, wet and blackened and curled against themselves.
Hermione had been the one to come with the idea, and her expression, when she saw, had thunder and the smell of ozone in it. Harry was glad, oh so glad, to have her on his side. Hermione, he thought, and not him, was the kind of person who could defeat a dark lord.
Having been found, it was unlikely that the Ministry, or whoever had done this, would try again. The wires would show up clearly on the robes, for one thing. Nevertheless, Harry was still very careful not to voice certain things.
Or most things.
Severus thought that Harry was wire-free now (inquisitor secreto he called them, although wire was a much better name really). He had overhead McGonagall discussing it with Dumbledore because she had seen, too, after the robes were boiled and she had not approved of it. Words like “insane” and “bloody disgraceful” had been used. Severus still used four silencing charms, but that was a huge step over having to use the expensive and difficult to obtain flywings whenever they wanted to talk.
Now, he explained to Harry that the charm hominum revelio showed the caster the silhouette of all hidden humans, even when under the cloak. He said he knew to cast it because he had heard the castle’s stones humming “With or Without you” and he followed the song to the top of the tower.
Harry was sure that last part was completely made up, but he didn’t have the energy to refute it. Severus sat by his side and put his arm over his shoulders and dragged him close, cloak an all. Harry leaned his head on him and felt like he would not be able to move in a hundredth years.
Severus didn’t know what had upset Harry. He had come, as he claimed, following the song. Harry showed him the Ministry letter, wrinkled and a bit wet, and Severus’s body tensed. He was silent for a very, very, long time and they both sat there, Severus’ left arm over Harry’s shoulders and his chin resting on top of Harry’s head.
***
Ron explained a bit about Azkaban, but Harry noticed he wasn’t saying something. The twins too were unusually vague about it. Hermione had gone back to her family for the holidays, so Harry found Percy and asked him instead, said he had found the word in a book and that he was working really hard on his late homework. And Percy explained.
Harry wasn’t angry with Ron and the twins for lying. It wasn’t lying, really, it was just keeping away a big piece of truth that they knew Harry wouldn’t like to hear. And he hadn’t liked it. It was all he could do not to break down in front of the blissfully oblivious Percy. But nevertheless Harry thought it was better to know.
***
In January Harry climbed up to the aviary. There was a low window there, and you could go over the windowsill and sit on the roof of one of the halls below. Feel the sun and the air on your face.
It was nice.
Dangerous, too, because you were in fact sitting on the roof of a medieval castle, but mostly nice. Besides, Harry had very good balance. At times, it seemed like it was the only thing he was good at.
Hedwig came from her perch to sit next to him. Harry petted her head softly. She had only returned a day and half ago.
Azkaban’s inmates were not allowed to receive any letters. Hedwig didn’t even get to the island before she was sent back with a tersely written official notification. The yellowish paper told Harry it was a pre-dictated answer and he didn’t know how to feel about that. That many others before him had tried to contact people in Azkaban, for years, enough for the Ministry to have this printed decades ago.
“You can fly anywhere” Harry told Hedwig. The owl pecked at his fingers playfully and scooted closer. The wind was picking up and Harry offered convenient refuge.
“I don’t want you to live in a cage.”
Hedwig understood. She rubbed her head against Harry’s side and elbow and after a while she opened her snow white wings and took flight. Harry saw her glide over the Forbidden Forest and kept her on his sight for a long while, until she descended to the trees and he couldn’t see her any more.
She didn’t return. Harry thought he may have caught a glimpse of her a couple of times during the next week but after that, nothing. She had been a very good pet and he missed her, but the sight of her empty open cage meant something. Something in the vicinity of good.
He didn’t plan on writing any letters to anyone, so it seemed only fair.
***
He was not sleeping well.
At first, during those nightmarish weeks he just couldn’t fall asleep. Everything was strange around him and he was just unable to relax. Whenever he was about to fall asleep and he could feel his brain finally disconnecting, something inside jolted and he was shaken awake.
They had come at night. Harry didn’t feel safe when he was asleep.
He slept, eventually, and as the weeks passed it became easier. He wasn’t going anywhere and all the flying training let him so exhausted that he could push his thoughts away, fill his brain with white and fall asleep.
With the new year had come the nightmares. Visions of a forest of thorns around a castle where they kept Remus under a silver net. Wizards arresting Severus, Hermione, Ron.
A flash of green that took everything with it.
Some nightmares Harry knew he could come down from them. He could lay face up in bed, breathing deeply and grasping the sheets tightly and eventually his heart rate would go down and he could fall back asleep.
Others, he knew there would be no way he could sleep again and staying in bed unmoving and silent made it worse. On those nights he took the cloak and wandered around the castle. The building was a good distraction. The stairs moved, some corridors randomly opened and closed, and there were plenty of secret rooms and passages. Harry learned about them and it brought him peace to know the castle.
***
Harry hadn’t paid much attention to professor Quirrell, but he did notice that he seemed to have an inordinate interest in him. Enough that Harry was of a half mind to report him, like they had been told to do in that safety talk at school a lifetime ago. The only reason he didn’t was that Quirrell hadn’t actually tried anything. Didn’t offer to buy anything for Harry nor did he try to touch him when they were alone. Harry didn’t have anything concrete and seeing how wizarding society tended to overreact he did not want to be responsible for anyone else going to Azkaban.
It didn’t matter. Hermione had been keeping an eye on him too and she came to some troubling conclusions. So they went after him. If they were wrong and they got caught they could always say that it had all been Harry’s idea and she and Ron and only been trying to stop him. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be punished and maybe Harry would finally be kicked out from Hogwarts.
***
When Quirrell, or Voldemort, whoever, (one gave the order but the other was holding the wand it was all very confusing), when he tried to kill Harry, when he laughed, Harry fell over him with all the pent up rage he had accumulated since October. Honestly, Harry wasn’t surprised when the man’s face caught on fire. He felt on fire too.
But the flames burned too hot and too high and took all the oxygen and Harry passed out.
***
Harry awoke in the infirmary with the smell of cranberries and pomegranate faint but still present around him. Severus had been there, had been close enough to leave a small trace of himself on Harry’s pillow. When he opened his eyes, however, the beatific face of Dumbledore greeted him.
So he had apparently defeated (lord) Voldemort and saved Nicolas Flamel’s philosopher stone and, most importantly, neither Hermione nor Ron had been punished for it although they had both gotten a piece of McGonagall’s mind.
Harry had not been sleeping well this year and the image of Voldemort’s face embedded on Quirrell’s skull was not going to be of help. It was all he could see when he closed his eyes.
“He is dead, isn’t it?” asked Harry at last, focusing on the pattern of the blanket. It was better than looking Dumbledore in the eye.
“Professor Quirrell, I’m afraid he is” Dumbledore answered in a soft voice. “His body could not take Voldemort’s departure. But Voldemort himself is another matter.”
Harry took three deep breaths to force down the bile that was rising up his throat.
So far, Dumbledore had been pretty nice.
He dared ask.
“Did I… Did I kill him?”
“Oh, no, Harry. Voldemort did. You see, your mother’s sacrifice gave you a powerful protection. Something that the Dark Lord himself can’t conquer. The power of her love is in you.”
His mother’s love manifested in fire and explosions. As far as he could tell from what Remus and Severus had told him, it was perfectly fitting. But Dumbledore said that in order for the protection to remain over him, Harry had to go back to the Dursleys’, his last maternal relatives.
Aunt Petunia didn’t seem like she could defend anything. Aunt Petunia was like a wet piece of celery. Harry tried to impress this point on Dumbledore, because the week he had spent in there had been horrible and what little he remembered from his first years in that house came with pain and hunger and paralyzing fear.
“I wish it could be another way, I really do, Harry. But the Ministry was quite insistent. And you have seen that Voldemort can not be killed and he will come back, one way or another. We must ensure your safety above all, Harry.”
Harry looked down again. He could survive this. He could. Just like Penelope. He would survive summer with the Dursleys and then he would survive Hogwarts, somehow, just as he had done this year. And sometime in between he would find his way back to Remus and he would not have to go back to either place ever again.
Breathing was hard. He didn’t dare look at the windows because he knew the glass would be glazing and turning black.
“I heard that accommodations last year were… deficient, so to speak” Dumbledore was refilling the glass of water in the bedside table. “Rest assured I will have a conversation with your aunt and uncle before your return this year.”
Harry exhaled and accepted gratefully the glass that Dumbledore handed him. The windows’ panes cleared before Dumbledore could see them as he rose to leave. This wasn’t good, but it was getting better.
“Professor, can I ask something else?”
Dumbledore turned around. Oh, how his glasses shone. How beautiful was that shade of gold.
“Why is he- Why does he hate me so? Voldemort, I mean. Why, why would he go after me when I was only one year old?”
For a moment there was something in Dumbledore’s gaze. It was so quick Harry couldn’t read it. Perhaps it was tiredness, or regret, or calculation. He couldn’t say. Only that it had been there.
“Oh, Harry, do not fret. There is no need to burden you further. And Madam Pomfrey will be very angry if I don’t let you rest.”
“I guess… but will you tell me? One day?”
“Of course, Harry. I promise. When you are ready, I will tell you everything.”
***
How relaxing is the sound of a moving train.
The rhythmic thumps of the wheels over the rails. A pattern that keeps repeating again and again at exactly the same time. Travelling in a train is like being inside a music sheet, sitting in the background score to the main melody. Harry closed his eyes and let himself be engulfed by the soft repetitive sound of the train and Hermione and Ron’s voices arguing without heat about something, probably Ron’s candy intake.
They had won the House Cup at the last minute. Harry was glad for Neville, because the poor boy deserved good things happening to him. Also, maybe this would get all the prefects off Harry’s back. Although he was doubtful that they would remember for next year.
Next year… Next year was actually a little over a couple of months away and yet it seemed like ages. Next year was on the other side of summer.
But Dumbledore had promised that he would talk to the Dursleys.
No, not promised. Harry couldn’t help but keep a mental score of promises and vows made by adults. He didn’t know why. It was just something his brain had started doing, and Harry never had much control of his train of thoughts to begin with, definitely not since he came to Hogwarts. The best he could do was try to push some order to all the bouncing ideas in his head and see what he came with.
Dumbledore said he would talk to them. That was affirmative. It was action. He had promised that one day he would explain things to Harry. Promises were supposed to be more solid but Harry had come to the conclusion that they were just things people said to appease you. Not even intentions, more like a vague wish.
So maybe at some undisclosed point in the future, Dumbledore perhaps would explain.
The thing is Harry had known Severus used to be a deatheater since before age seven. He recalled clearly the unbearable heat of that summer and spotting some traces of ink on Severus’ forearm, as he had finally had to roll up his sleeves and unbutton the neck of his shirt. For a long while Harry thought Severus used to be in a biker gang. He had caught some scenes of Mad Max on the TV when he was a bit older, and that’s pretty much what he imagined. He thought it was incredibly cool, that Severus used to be a bad boy who now protected Harry and taught him baking and how to detect poisons. Remus said that that was pretty much it.
When Harry was ten, said deatheater told him about a prophecy he overheard. Harry knew Voldemort had come after him because he was scared of what Harry could become. Harry had recently seen The Prince of Egypt and pictured himself with robes, but no beard, parting not only the waters but a mountain too and Voldemort (who looked a bit like Emperor Palpatine) cowering in fear and promising to be good from there on. Then there would be cake, because Harry’s imagination used to be a kind place in which bad people didn’t die, they converted or they fell to their deaths like Gaston.
Harry now thought of a different film. He thought of how Frollo told Quasimodo that only he would care for him, only he could protect him from the crowd, but in the end everybody loved Quasimodo and he made a lot of friends even if he didn’t get Esmeralda. Frollo was a liar. He had a nice deep voice and Harry liked his songs, but he was a liar.
Funny how Harry’s brain came with this kind of connections.