Ascension: The Silver Spears - Define_Anachronistic - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: A Rejection, An Expulsion, and A Rescission

Chapter Text

Harry awoke slowly, his dreams falling through his fingers like water.

A woman's desperate screams, a flash of blinding green light, and a scorching branding sensation on his forehead.Now doesn't that sound familiar,he thought, his usual irritation slipping into his mind where the memories of his recurring nightmare had recently escaped.

From outside his safe haven, he could hear the sound of the television in the kitchen. Dudley's excited gasps and laughter at whatever inane children's programming had his attention this morning, and Vernon telling Petunia the same work story he had told the previous evening at dinner. Now a little worried, Harry reached above his head for his stolen digital watch. The time from the lit-up screen told him it was almost half past seven. He relaxed. He hadn't overslept.

In his mind's eye, he could see them in the kitchen, exactly as they were. Dudley, fat, grey-eyed, and looking older than his eleven years, would be spooning whatever had been put in front of him into his mouth as he sat too close to the television with no concern for his eyesight. His blonde hair would already have been neatly combed by his mother and he'd be wearing a green blazer and red tie despite the oppressive July heat. Cherry Grove Academy made no exceptions, not even for the boy who had everything.

Petunia would have finished preparing breakfast and would be craning her long neck as she tried to get a glimpse into the goings-on in their neighbour's homes, especially Mrs Brooks in Number Six, who was simultaneously her best friend and worst enemy. Despite the early hour, she would be wearing a dress and heels, blonde hair and makeup done to perfection, not willing to let the neighbours see her as less than flawless on the school run.

Vernon would be at the head of the kitchen table with his newspaper open, but he would be far too busy telling hisfascinatingwork story to read it. Like the other inhabitants of Number Four Privet Drive, Harry had learned to tune out Vernon's voice when he began to drone on. If the man noticed, he never let on. Vernon had dark brown hair streaked with grey, a well-trimmed walrus moustache, and the muscles he had once been so proud of had now faded like the memories of his rugby days at university, leaving only a portly man in its place. As the Director of Grunnings, a drill-making company, Vernon didn't have to wear a suit and suffer like his employees, but much like his wife, appearances meant everything to him.

Harry sat up and pulled the cord by the door. A dim naked light bulb flickered to life above his head. He climbed out of bed- making sure he didn't bang his head on the low ceiling- and knelt on the floor, reaching for the boxes underneath his bed. His boxes were clear plastic containers; the first held all his clothes, the second was the largest and held all his reading books and school stationery, while the third, which was the smallest, contained everything else. Harry liked to keep things orderly, and it wasn't very hard. He didn't own much.

Removing his school uniform from the first box, and his towel and toiletry bag from the third, Harry opened the door and stepped out of the cupboard under the stairs. Harry had known for years that sleeping in a cupboard was not normal, but the Dursleys' fear of contamination had overcome their burning need for the mundane.

Harry knew he slept in a cupboard for the same reason Petunia had presented him with his boxes, towel and toiletry bag, as well as his own plates, bowls, and cutlery. The Dursleys were afraid of catching whatever it was that made Harry so different, and Harry was painfully aware of just how different he was.

Switching off the light and closing the door behind him, Harry began to make his way upstairs. He could hear Vernon more clearly now as he was laughing. "…and he has no idea! I think I might even sack him with my office door still open. Remind the others I'm in charge!"

Petunia replied distractedly, "That's right dear, you're in charge." Dudley was now singing along to the theme song of another children's show, and Harry was wondering how he had even slept through such a racket.

Along the hallway and up the stairs there were framed photographs lovingly placed on the walls. Most portrayed Dudley at various milestones, such as his first birthday, his first steps or his first day at school. Other pictures were more varied, but the one thing that they all had in common was that each one contained a member of the Dursley family. Vernon, his deceased parents, his unfortunatelyundeceasedsister Marge, and a picture of him and Petunia on their wedding day.

Not a single photograph portrayed a member of Petunia's side of the family. Not her parents, not her sister, not even a famous distant cousin.

Harry's earliest memory was the questions he had asked Petunia about his parents. Petunia's jaw had tightened, as it always did when Harry didn't remain unseen and unheard as he was often told, but he had been too young then to consider the consequences of misbehaving. "You're my sister's son. No, I never met your father. They died in a car crash. A friend of theirs gave you to us. Stop asking questions!", she snapped when Harry moved to speak again, "That's all I know!"

Unthinkingly, Harry had opened his mouth to pepper her with more questions and was rewarded for his curiosity with a sharp slap to his face. He tried to speak again, defiant, but Petunia slapped him twice more for good measure. Tears stinging his eyes he kept his lips firmly pressed together and pretended not to notice his aunt washing her hands thoroughly, as though his skin was diseased.

His aunt. His uncle. His cousin.

Harry knew that he was related to the Dursleys, but he tried to never acknowledge that. Even within the privacy of his mind, he referred to them individually by their given names and (on the rare occasions when someone spoke directly to him) collectively as the Dursleys. When pressed, he reluctantly clarified, "They're my relatives".

He preferred that. Relatives sounded distant, like people he was forced to see once or twice a year at family events. Not the only three people in the world that would notice if he ran away as he had often considered when he was younger. They would probably celebrate if the day ever came, but at least they would notice he was gone. He hadn't run away though. You couldn't run from a place if no one wanted you there in the first place.

Shaking his head at the grim (but not unusual) trajectory his thoughts had taken, Harry stepped onto the upstairs landing and made his way into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Number Four was a large house, afforded only by Vernon's large salary (as he was so fond of mentioning), with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The master bedroom, Dudley's bedroom, Dudley's playroom, and the guest bedroom. The largest room- Vernon and Petunia's- had its own bathroom, which left the second to Dudley, Harry, and Marge when she visited.

Feeling refreshed after his morning ablutions, Harry stepped onto the stepping stool in front of the mirror, toothbrush in hand and with his towel around his waist. Not for the first time, he wondered how he could look so different to everyone else in the house.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a cupboard, but he was pale, thin, and long-limbed, like a plant grown in darkness, desperately trying to reach the sun. His frame was like Petunia's, in how he appeared taller than he was, but where she carried herself with grace and dressed to the nines, Harry was, and always had been, an awkward-looking child, especially with his knobbly knees and pointy elbows. He shared the same almond-shaped eyes as his so-called aunt, but where hers were a pale grey, his were bright green. Everything else, from his sharp, angular face to his thick, curling jet-black hair, was entirely his own. But if there was one thing that he truly disliked about his appearance, it was the strange lightning bolt scar above his right eyebrow. His hair was always a little too long for his relatives' liking, but Harry preferred it that way. It was better to hide the odd scar.

Once he was dried and dressed, he began to clean the bathroom after his use. Perhaps it was because Petunia instilled this behaviour in him when he had been too young to remember, or perhaps he was simply a neat person, but Harry always made sure to clean up after himself, even if the Dursleys weren't around. Despite this, whenever Dudley faked a sudden illness to get out of going to school, Vernon and Petunia would always send him suspicious looks, as though he had infected their precious son. Which was an absurd notion in Harry's mind, as he had never even been sick himself.

He went downstairs to find the Dursleys already departed, Vernon to work in London, and Petunia and Dudley to Cherry Grove Academy. Ducking into his cupboard to retrieve his school bag (already packed) as well as his shoes and watch, Harry entered the kitchen, switched the television back on, and began preparing his breakfast.

Sitting down in Vernon's seat, he glanced at his watch again. It was five minutes to eight. He had plenty of time. Feeling as though he deserved a treat, (itwasthe second to last day of the school year) he switched the television from news and weather to the children's channel (it was only inane when Dudley watched it). It had been a difficult term, but he had worked hard so he could afford to relax a little. Sitting back at the head of the table, Harry began mindlessly spooning Dudley's sugary cereal into his mouth.

Once the cartoon had ended and his breakfast was finished, Harry made his way out of the house through the backdoor. He walked along the winding garden path, avoiding the well-kept grass and carefully maintained flowers that Petunia spent a fortune on, tying his blue school jumper around his waist as he went. It was too hot to wear it, but Headmistress Roemmele would take any excuse to make his life more difficult. She had never liked him after the wig incident.

In the tiny space between the garden shed and the back fence there was a tarp and underneath that was Harry's pride and joy, Hugo, his red junior racing bicycle. Why did he call his bike Hugo? For the same reason he once owned a teddy bear named Eugene. He was sorely lacking in real friends, so he had to make some up.

Hugo had initially belonged to Dudley, given to him on his eighth birthday, but he had somehow bent the brakes rendering the front wheel immovable (Harry suspected that little Reggie Gates' broken leg had something to do with it). He had discarded it, correctly assuming that if he asked, he would simply receive another one for Christmas. Harry had saved the bike when it had been thrown away and fixed it in secret, hiding it away behind the shed where Dudley and Vernon were too large to fit, and Petunia would never tread for fear of dirtying her clothes. Proud of his achievement, Harry had carefully maintained the bike for almost three years. Even though he was beginning to outgrow it, he didn't want to get rid of his most prized possession.

The bike was not the only thing of Dudley's that Harry had taken. His new watch had been given to Dudley at Christmas and was in Harry's possession by Easter. As were the sketch pad and watercolour set some deluded parent of a classmate had given him for his birthday two weeks ago. Dudley had tossed that aside and hadn't noticed when Harry had taken it from his playroom that very same night. He wore Dudley's hand-me-down clothes, so why wouldn't he assume he was entitled to hand-me-down toys? At least that's how he justified it to himself.

Where Harry knew that he crossed the line was the resale. Whatever Harry didn't want (or was too obtrusive to hide from the Dursleys) he sold. He sold comics and sweets to kids at school and more expensive items like computer games (and even an entire gaming console once) to pawnbrokers. Books, toys, clothes, even a couple of Vernon's expensive tools, he repaired them the best he could and sold them on. There were three pawnbrokers and two thrift shops in Little Whinging and Harry knew their staff all by name. He didn't mind the risk; Vernon and Dudley never shopped for themselves, and Petunia wouldn't be caught dead in such places.

Harry knew he had to sell Hugo soon (it would be one of his largest sales), but he could afford to wait until back-to-school shopping at the end of summer. He had enough money hidden away under a loose floorboard in his cupboard. That would pay for school supplies and once he was older it would support him until he found a part-time job. Hopefully.

Wheeling his bike through the back gate and onto the footpath behind the house, Harry closed and locked the gate behind him, climbed onto Hugo, and took off. The footpath was enclosed with trees from above and shrubbery and fences on the side, so when he zoomed out of the footpath and onto the road, his eyes were stung by the sudden sunlight, but he didn't mind. It was a clear and warm day with a lazy summer on the horizon.

Harry grinned as he stood atop the pedals and zipped down the empty road.Today is going to be a great day,he thought happily.

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Today was a horrible day,Harry thought as he tried to drift off to sleep.

It began to go downhill as soon as he rode his bike into the teacher's car park at St. Gregory's Primary School. His stomach dropped when he spotted Headmistress Roemmele standing on the stone steps with her arms folded. She looked as though she had expected him.

"Potter! I believe I've already warned you against entering the teacher's car park!" Roemmele's voice echoed across the tarmac as he promptly got off Hugo and wheeled it towards her.

You told me off once for it three years ago, Harry thought but he knew better than to say it out loud. He could feel his cheeks burning, not because he was being told off, not even because he knew that everyone could hear him being told off. No, what embarrassed him was his carelessness. Normally he was a little less blatant when he broke a school rule, but his pleasant post-exam mood had made him sloppy. This was the third time this week he had taken this shortcut through the teacher's car park, so of course Roemmele had caught him!

"I'm sorry miss. That was silly of me. Would you like me to go around?" Harry put on a contrite expression he did not truly feel. With any other teacher, he would have tried for a joke or a plea about the end of the school year, but Roemmele had hated him since he had turned her wig blue when he was six. Harry would never do such a thing intentionally (in part because the effort for such an endeavour would not be worth the feeble payoff). She was a cancer survivor whose hair had just started to grow again, and he would never sink so low.

He had been in trouble for fighting again. His uniform in those days had been second-hand, frayed, and "large enough for you to grow into." When you added in his orphan status, unusual scar, and severe lack of friends, he made a desirable target. Except, even back then, Harry had too much pride to take any kind of insult lying down, which lead to a lot of fights. This meant he was a regular in the Headmistress' office.

Roemmele had been patient with him at first, but her goodwill slowly eroded with each incident, and during his fifth visit to her office in a single term, she finally snapped at him. After a stern telling off, she sent him away with a muttered remark about his lack of parents causing him to turn feral.

Harry had been used to kids making fun of his orphanhood, but no adult, not even the Dursleys, had ever brought up his parents to his face. He knew that he hadn't meant to hear it, that he merely possessed sharp ears, but logic didn't stop his rising anger. Something in his stomach had twisted and the next thing he heard was the sharp gasp from Aaron, whose cheek was starting to bruise from where Harry had repeatedly slammed a lunch tray into it. The boy was staring over Harry's head at Roemmele and her now blue wig.

"Yes, Potter. I'd like you to go around," Roemmele said, jogging him back to the present. "I'd also like it if you would clean the classrooms after school today. I'd like things to be orderly for September and I know you're the right man for the job." The Headmistress finished sweetly.

Harry repressed a groan. He had done this punishment before, and no matter how good of a job he did, she would find something to criticise and ask him to do it all over again. What made it worse was that tomorrow was the end-of-year party, and every class would eat their fill of sweets, chocolate, and crisps while playing party games instead of lessons. If she truly wanted the classrooms to be orderly for September, she was probably going to ask him to clean that up as well.

"Of course, Ms Roemmele." Harry smiled pleasantly, knowing she would come down on him even harder if he gave her any excuse. He wheeled Hugo around and towards the gate that he had just come through.

"Do hurry! The bell rings in five minutes!" Roemmele called after him. Muttering a foul insult under his breath, Harry jumped on Hugo the second he was outside the gate and peddled as fast as he could. Going around the school only took a minute or two on a bike, but the real problem was that once he came through the student's gate he had to climb off Hugo and wheel him across the playground to the bike shed. Which just so happened to be right beside the teacher's car park.

Locking Hugo with his bike chain, Harry sprinted across the playground where some of the other students were already lining up. Joining his classmates, he smiled to himself, which was a mistake. Roemmele looked annoyed as she approached, school bell in hand, and his smile seemed to be the cause.

"Do you think breaking school rules is funny, Potter?" Harry blinked, wondering what she was going on about now. "You're not wearing the full uniform," she clarified.

Harry took a deliberate glance around him. Most of the other students hadn't lined up yet and the ones that had were chatting amongst themselves. He could see most weren't wearing their school jumpers either, as some had them tied around waists like him or hidden in bags or even left at home. But as usual, Roemmele had decided to only come after him.

Harry went to pull his jumper on, but she stopped him. "Oh, don't bother now." It was Roemmele's turn to smile. She seemed to sense just how desperate he was not to get in trouble today. "All students must wear their school jumpers on trips. What would happen if you were separated from your class and your teacher couldn't find you?" She sighed dramatically. "If you can't be trusted to wear a simple jumper then you'll have to stay behind." Harry was about to protest this before a reassuring hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Headmistress! What seems to be the problem?" Mr Lupin asked jovially. Roemmele's expression soured.

"Mr Lupin, your student isn't wearing his full uniform. That's the second rule he's broken, and the school day hasn't even begun yet," Roemmele said, eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps that's because you haven't rung the bell yet? You should get to that. Year Six is already five minutes behind schedule," Lupin informed her pleasantly. Harry suppressed a smile. Lupin never bothered with a schedule. He was just too disorganised.

Roemmele held his gaze for a moment and Harry wondered if they were going to argue again. He hoped not. Roemmele got along well with her Deputy Headmaster most of the time, except for when Harry was involved, as neither could agree with how the other treated him. Finally, Roemmele swiftly turned on her heel and began ringing the school bell calling, "Line up! Line up!"

As the last stragglers ran to line up, Lupin let out an amused huff and let go of his shoulder. With a smile, he left to stand at the head of the line, walking slower than he usually did. Harry stared after him worriedly.

Lupin was a thin man, thin in the way that showed he was once muscular, with tawny brown hair that was prematurely threaded with silver. He often wore crumpled tweed suits and had a thin moustache, which altogether made him appear ancient to Harry. "It's a timeless look," Lupin replied when he mentioned it to him once. He appeared sicklier today than Harry had ever seen him, and if it weren't for his bright brown eyes and the friendly smile that seemed permanently fixed on his face, he would have had the look of a dying man.

Lupin wasn't just Harry's favourite teacher; he was his neighbour too. He lived on Mongolia Crescent, the house opposite the Dursley's home, since before he could remember. His health had also been quite poor for as long as Harry could remember too, so he hoped his surprise would take his mind off it, even momentarily.

In no time at all the students were ushered into the school in a semi-orderly fashion, the youngest students in Reception first and the oldest students, the Year Six classes, last. As students were taking their seats, Lupin called out, "We'll be leaving in 20 minutes! Anyone that needs the bathroom had better go now!" There was a scramble for the door and some of the boys were laughing. "Can't you hold it for an hour? You're such a baby!"

Amid the chaos, Harry made his way to the teacher's desk. "Mr Lupin? May I speak with you?" Harry asked quietly. Lupin glanced up from the class register, a wary expression on his face.

He cleared his throat. "Can it wait until the end of the day?" Harry was beginning to feel nervous. If it were good news, Lupin wouldn't have waited to tell him. Harry merely shook his head, both as an answer to Lupin's question and to remove the possibility of failure from his mind. Lupin sighed. "My office then." He stood and led the way out of the room.

On his way to the door, a girl rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly, Harry. Can't you stay out of trouble for more than five minutes?" Harry didn't glance at her; he didn't even break his stride.

"Why? So, I can be as boring as you?"

"I'm not boring!"

"I don't even know who you are." She opened her mouth probably to remind him who she was, but he cut her off, "And I don't care." He stepped out into the corridor and hurried after Lupin to his office next door.

Lupin's office was a cluttered mess. Four large bookcases had somehow been squeezed into the small room, and each of them was so filled with a wide variety of subjects that Lupin had been forced to stack what wouldn't fit in haphazard piles on the floor. Book avalanches were not uncommon in Harry's experience. There was a comfortable armchair that he often made use of when it grew too cold or wet outside. He had spent a hundred break times enjoying a good book, with the sound of pouring rain in his ears as it hammered the window. On the walls, in the small gaps between the bookcases, there were framed teaching certifications and posters of old-school jazz and rock musicians. There was just enough space in the corner left for a vintage record player and a stand underneath filled to the brim with vinyl records that always seemed to be playing in the background. But there was no music being played today.

Another bad sign.

"I didn't get in, did I?" Harry asked, despite knowing the answer.

"It wasn't because of your S.A.Ts results. They made a point to mention what an excellent candidate you are." Lupin hurried to finish before Harry could interrupt. "It's because of your financial background."

Harry couldn't understand. "I only applied for the scholarship because I can't afford their tuition. Why would they reject me for that?"

Lupin was shaking his head even before Harry was done talking. "You have to think about it from their perspective. You're from a good home with a good income. This scholarship is meant to give kids from lower-income houses a chance."

Harry clenched his jaw. "That's the Dursleys' money. They wouldn't give Smeltings a penny for my sake." He couldn't believe how naive he'd been. He had thought that by applying through St. Gregory's (and with Lupin's help), he could avoid disclosing his guardians' financial history. Nine out of ten Smelting students went on to the top universities in the country. If he had been accepted, his life would have been as firmly set as a railway; all he would have had to do was follow the tracks. Vernon would never have pulled him out as to do so would have meant losing face with his alma mater. He could have even dealt with going to school with Dudley for the first time.

Of course, the school carried out background checks. I was stupid to think they wouldn't.

Realising that he was beginning to spiral, Harry asked Lupin quickly, "What about Highsmith's?"

Lupin, who had been observing Harry with concern, smiled and passed along an open envelope. "You passed the 11+ with flying colours." Harry took the envelope with shaking figures and laughed when he confirmed it was true. It wasn't that he didn't believe Lupin, but he'd believed his acceptance into Smeltings was a certainty and that had been proven false.

"Highsmith's might not be a fancy boarding school but their exam results are almost as good!"

"Then why are you so disappointed about Smeltings?"

Harry shrugged. "Highsmith's is local. I just wanted to get out of Privet Drive."

Lupin nodded slowly. While Harry was too proud to admit what went on at Privet Drive, he often felt that Lupin knew more than he let on. For as long as Harry could remember, Lupin had offered him a comforting ear, a place to read and do his homework in peace when things at Number Four became too much, and he always took Harry's side against Ms Roemmele. He appreciated his support more than he could admit.

That reminds me.Harry reached into his bag. "I've got something for you." He handed over a package wrapped in brown paper.

Lupin seemed to regress thirty years as he reached over the desk, eyes wide with excitement. "Excellent. I love presents. Give it here." The sudden silly behaviour from his usually well-mannered teacher shocked a laugh out of him. From the little smile that danced momentarily around Lupin's lips, Harry guessed that was the idea.

Lupin opened the package and pulled out a mug withWorld's Best Teacherwritten on one side and a shiny red apple painted on the other. A homemade card with designs off books, vinyl records, and steaming goblets (Harry had walked into his office with him drinking from such a goblet on more than one occasion and joked that Lupin had a medieval-style drinking problem) on the front, and inside were the words,Sorry for giving you so much griefandThanks for everything!

Lupin said nothing for a long moment, and Harry began to feel worried. "There's a gift card inside," he said hastily. "Well, it's not arealgift card. I just promised Mr Danvers that I'd pay for your next book. Just one mind you, I'm not made of money–"

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble," Lupin said quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes. Lupin had taught him how to tie his shoelaces, paid for his school trips, and encouraged his love of reading (even though he disapproved of Harry's fondness for adventure books). He had even told him when his birthday was and made sure to get him a new book and a cake every year. He hadn't even scolded him when he stole Dudley's bike but instead helped him learn how to ride it. "I've never ridden a bike before," Lupin had admitted as they wheeled the newly christened Hugo to the park, "but I'm sure we'll figure it out together." And they had.

After all that, Harry wasn't going to let him make a fuss over a simple gift. "It's just a mug, no reason to cry over it." If the world were a fairer place, Lupin would have been his uncle instead of Vernon.If the world were a fairer place, Mum and Dad would still be alive. Stop whining,Harry scolded himself. The world had been unfair to him for longer than he could remember, there was no reason to expect it to change now.

Lupin, however, looked genuinely upset. No, more than that. He looked guilty. "Harry, a lot of things are about to change for you." Harry had never seen him so serious.

Harry nodded, straight-faced. "Yeah, I know. Grammar school is no joke, and I won't be the big fish in the little pond anymore. But you don't have to be worried about me. I'll remember everything you've ever taught me."

Lupin looked awkward now. "I'm glad, but that's not what I meant-" there was a knock on the door before it promptly swung open. It was the girl from earlier and she looked annoyed.

"Mr Lupin, it's almost time to get on the coach and we haven't even taken the register yet!"

Lupin stood up gathering his things for the trip. "Right you are, Sara! I'll be there in a moment."

Sara left the office but not before giving Harry a lofty look. "That girl has the most forgettable face in the world," Harry noted dryly. "I've already forgotten her name."

"You just heard me say it. It's Sara."

"It's strange how you say that. Like I care remember."

"You know, you're not half as cool as you seem to think you are."

Harry grinned cheekily. "That's still twice cooler than you." Lupin was about to retort but Harry ducked out of the office and ran down the corridor, wanting to get the last word for once.

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The morning hadn't been all that bad. Sure, he'd somehow managed to get detention before the school day had even begun, and he'd been rejected by his first choice for secondary school, but he still got into Highsmith's. That alone was enough reason to celebrate.

Harry boarded the coach with the rest of his class and chose a seat at the very back where he wouldn't be bothered. There were barely sixty students in his year group that were split between two coaches: Class 6A with Lupin and Class 6B with Ms Hills. This meant he got the entire back row to himself. He took the opportunity to put his feet up and listen to Dudley's old Walkman, all too eager to drown out his noisy classmates and watch the world go by outside the window as the coach barrelled its way toward London.

He hadn't gotten around to selling the Walkman yet and was reluctant to do so. Harry didn't know all that much about music, but he could tell that the youngest Dursley had surprisingly good taste.

An hour later, the coach came to a stop in the London Zoo car park, and Harry was in an even better mood than he'd been in when he left Privet Drive this morning. Putting his Walkman away, he practically swaggered off the coach and over to Lupin who was doing a headcount. He should have known then and there that he was practically asking for trouble.

Lupin paused for a moment, and the only sound in the car park was Ms Hills' distant voice telling off two boys for making fart noises while she was speaking. Lupin caught his eye and smirked. "With Philip off "sick" today-" there were snickers amongst the students as Philip was infamous for always feigning one illness or another- "there are only thirty-one of you. I'm going to need one group of three."

Harry knew where he was going with this and thrust his hand into the air, speaking without being called on. "It's fine. I'll just work on my own."

"Oh no, I couldn't make you do that! Why don't you work with Sara and Jade today? That way you don't have to be alone. You'll be togetherall day." There were snickers from the other boys, but it wasn't the fact that he was being grouped with girls that bothered Harry. It was that he was being grouped with Sara. He couldn't blame Lupin for his little joke because Harry had never told him about his real problem with her.

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September 1990

"What are you doing?”

Harry whirled around. He knew from the voice that it hadn't been a teacher, but a student. If it were the wrong student, he could be in a lot of trouble.

The girl behind him was unfamiliar. Despite sometimes joking with Lupin that he was terrible with names and faces, Harry had an excellent memory. The unfamiliar girl wasn't wearing the school uniform, so she must be new.

"Are you new?" Harry asked with as much authority as he could muster. "Do you need directions?"

"Err... yes?" She sounded confused and framed her answer like a question.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked with a frown and scrunched eyebrows, exactly the way Roemmele looked at him even when he was telling the truth. "You don'tsoundvery sure."

"Iam sure!My parents came to register me, we just moved here you see, and I went to the loo and now I'm lost!" All of this came out in a single hurried breath.

"Oh, is that all?" Harry was enjoying himself now. "Why should I believe your story?"

"It's not a story!" She snapped. "My parents are waiting for me, and I've been gone ages- wait, what are you doing here?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "All the other kids are playing outside."

So, she isn't completely stupid, Harry thought amusedly. "Keep a lookout, will you? I'll only be a minute." He turned back to the door.

The still unfamiliar girl gasped. "That's the Headmistress' office!"

"You can read. Well done."

"You can't go in there."

"Watch me."

Harry stood by the doorknob, blocking her view of it with his body. Closing his eyes and slowing his breathing, he pictured the lock, the mechanism, the entire door in his mind's eye. It wanted what he wanted. To do what it was designed to do. To open. Open! OPEN!

The door creaked open. That was a new trick he learned over the summer. It had left him exhausted and dizzy before, but now he could manage it just fine in under a minute.

"How did you do that?" Harry started. He had focused so intensely on the door that he hadn't heard the girl appear by his shoulder.

"How do you keep sneaking up on me?" Harry retorted, wishing to distract her.

"My mum makes me take ballet. It makes me light on my feet. I sneak up on my sister all the time," she said, smiling proudly.

"I didn't know ballet could do that." Harry pretended to sound impressed as he entered the office. If Roemmele's clock was accurate, he only had four minutes until break time was over. Fortune was on his side as his prize was right on the shelf. A lovely, illustrated copy ofThe Iliad.

Harry picked it up and tucked the book underarm. As he exited the office, he was surprised to find the still unfamiliar girl keeping watch, just like he'd asked. Closing the door, but not bothering to lock it, Harry made his way past her and down the corridor towards the staircase.

"Wait!" She hissed, hurrying after him. "Show me to the reception!" Harry ignored her. "I kept a lookout for you. You owe me."

Harry kept walking and didn't even bother to glance back at her. "No one showed up. I would have been fine without you."

The unfamiliar girl struggled to keep up with his pace, her long blonde hair bouncing behind her. "I still did it. Besides, I could just tell someone what I saw."

Harry pretended to be scandalised as they hurried down the stairs. "You would snitch? On your first day? That's a great way to make new friends." Despite his words, he knew that the snitches get stitches rule didn't extend to kids no one liked. Any kid in this school would have turned him in if it were convenient for them, or even just for a laugh.

"What would you know about it? If you had friends, they would have kept a lookout for you instead of someone whose name you don't yet know." Harry didn't acknowledge her deliberate use of the word "yet" as they reached the first-floor landing and turned the corner, walking down another staircase.

"Look, just show me the reception and I'll never-" Harry cut her off.

"It's right there," Harry said, pointing at the bottom of the staircase and then jerking it to his left. "I don't know how you ended up on the second floor." He took off to the right where the doors would lead him behind the school canteen, and he could circle round to the playground with Roemmele none the wiser.

"Thanks!" The girl called after him. He ignored her. "What's your name anyway? I'm Sara."

"I'm not going to remember it anyway," he replied, ignoring her question. She started to say something but stopped as he turned a corner.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Your name is Harry Potter."

Harry glanced up from his book. Sara Bridger had returned. She had been introduced this morning to the class by Lupin. Harry had ignored her, and she had enough sense to do the same. But not for long, apparently.

"How did you find me here?" He asked, irritated. The spot by the river was his hideaway. He was surprised she found it on her first day, especially as it was not technically on school grounds. He had to go through a bush and climb a fence to get here.

"I followed you." She said smugly. Harry groaned.

"I need to put a bell around your neck or something," he muttered.Sara chuckled as she made herself comfortable on the grass beside him.

"Isn't that the same book you stole yesterday?"

"I didn't steal it! It belongs to Mr Lupin! He lent it to me."

"Then why was it confiscated?" Harry sighed, closing the book. He wasn't going to get any reading done this break.

"Aaron in 6B heard from someone that it had naked pictures. It doesn't," he added hastily, "but he and his mates nicked it out of my bag when I was in P.E., one of them blabbed, and Roemmele confiscated it. You know the rest."

"What I know is that he and his friends got suspended for your theft." That made Harry smirk, though he was surprised she heard about that already. "But why would he think it has naked pictures in the first place?" Harry hesitated before he cracked open the book and turned the pages until he found the right one.

"Here. That's what all the fuss was about. Helen of Troy, isn't she pretty?" Harry put on an amused expression, hoping that the shade of the tree they were sitting under was hiding his blush.

"That's nothing." He looked at her, shocked. "What? She's hiding all her bits! My brother has a lot worse in his room and he doesn't even bother to hide it."

Harry burst out laughing. It seemed that sneaking up on him wasn't the only way Sara Bridger could surprise him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

October 1990

"You still haven't told me how you unlocked Roemmele's door."

It had been almost two months since Sara had first followed Harry to his spot down by the river, and every day since she followed him again. Every time class was dismissed, he overheard one of the girls inviting Sara to play with them, and every day she declined their offer. This was despite Harry never explicitly inviting her to join him. He never even waited for her to walk with him. But he had long since stopped telling her to go away.

Sara was good company. She was bright and liked to read as well. Not as much as he did, as she had "other interests", but no one was perfect. She would give him recommendations of what she enjoyed reading and Harry did so in return. He didn't even mind when she steered their conversations in a different direction, just happy to enjoy her presence.

Harry glanced up from his new book,The Quest for the Golden Fleece. Like the others that Lupin had lent him, the myth ofPerseus and the Gorgon, the tale ofOrpheus and Eurydice, theTwelve Labours of Hercules, the perils ofTheseus and the Minotaur, and his absolute favourite,The Odyssey,Jason and the Argonauts' perilous quest was beautifully illustrated. Sometimes it even seemed as if the pictures were moving in the corner of his eye. Despite searching the books back to front he could not find any details of the illustrator or the publisher. It seemed as if these copies of the ancient myths were handmade and one of a kind.

"Don't ignore me."

This idea made Harry treat these books with extra care even when copying the illustrations late at night in his cupboard. But while Harry enjoyed drawing, he had little talent for it. Lupin recommended it to him years ago, as a method to control his 'impulses' and Harry had taken to it quickly. It gave him a sense of control over a life he had no control over.

While Harry was looking forward to the myths Lupin had promised him, Roman, Egyptian, and Norse, he would miss these tales of intuitive Greek Heroes who thought on their feet. Perhaps that was what Lupin was trying to teach him; that he was a wise mentor like Chiron and Harry was a hero-in-training like Perseus before his quest-

"Ow!" Harry snapped his head towards Sara. "Did you just punch me?" Sara lowered her fist now that she had his attention.

"You still haven't told me how you unlocked Roemmele's door," she said calmly, ignoring his question entirely.

"What are you talking about? You were there. I picked the lock."

Sara was unimpressed. "I was standing right over your shoulder. You just put your hand on the doorknob and a minute later it popped open!"

Harry sighed, "Alright! Alright! I stole an electromagnet from Mr Lupin's desk, you know how he gets about science stuff. I used it to open the lock." Harry hoped she didn't ask questions, as he wasn't sure if that's how electromagnets even worked. He wasn't even sure what an electromagnet was. He just hoped if he threw out a familiar-sounding science word, she would buy it.

Sara didn't buy it.

She got to her feet. "I saw the door open by itself, without you even turning the knob. The knob may have moved but your hand didn't. The door might have moved, but you didn't push it. I’ve waited ages for you to tell me, but even after I kept your secret, you still don't trust me." She started to walk back to school in a huff.

"Wait!"

Sara paused. Even Harry paused. Clearly, neither of them had expected him to sound so desperate. But he was. At some point, when he hadn't even been paying attention, he had found a friend. Every day when the girls asked her to play, he waited for her to agree and leave him alone again. But when she refused them each time, he felt a small measure of relief, that someone his own age could enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed theirs…well it was an idea that he had long given up on.

Pushing his doubts deep down, he beckoned her closer until she knelt across from him. Then he slowly raised his right hand, palm side up, left hand gripping his wrist. "Promise me you won't get scared and run away," Harry said firmly. Sara looked him in the eyes, and her brown ones were so wide that he could see his own reflection in them. She nodded solemnly.

With a deep breath, Harry began to focus on a series of images within his mind. The incense candles Petunia often lit. The electric fireplace in the living room. The blue flames from the stove. With each image, a familiar warm feeling in his chest grew. He thought of the flames, warm but not hot, harmless even. He pushed the warm feeling from his chest, through his shoulder, and down his right arm. This was what he wanted. For the flames to ignite on his palm. Ignite on his palm. Ignite! IGNITE!

A sharp gasp was what broke his concentration. Sara was staring down at his hand. Emerald flames were dancing merrily on the palm of his right hand. Harry had chosen the colour specifically for her. He had noticed her bag, pencil case, and even the clips she used to tie her hair back were all various shades of green. He hoped that by connecting to something she liked, she would transfer that goodwill to his powers.

He was wrong. After waving her hand above his palm and underneath his hands (as though she thought he'd somehow connected invisible gas pipes to his skin) she slowly drew her fingers closer and closer to the dancing green fire. The moment a lick of flame touched her hand she began to hiss in pain, but then she stopped.

"It doesn't feel like anything," she breathed.

"I removed the heat," Harry explained. He couldn't keep the pride from his voice. It had taken months to teach himself this particular trick and he had been dying to share his experiments with someone for years. "I know you need fuel, oxygen, and heat to create fire, so I don't think this isa realfire, just what I imagine it to be without heat."

She was staring at him again "You made this?" Much too late, Harry noticed how pale she had become. He closed his right hand and the flames died, leaving them in the gloom of the tree's shadow. "What are you?"

Harry took a slow breath. He felt like he had been waiting his entire life for someone to ask him that question. His years of intensive research had led to only one conclusion.

"I'm a mutant," Harry said stoically. Sara only stared. Expecting a more awed reaction, he barreled on. "I think my power has something to do with telekinesis. It all makes sense that way. The wide range of my powers. How I've never been sick-"

"When you say mutant, are we talking X-Men or Ninja Turtles?"

Harry was annoyed that his big moment was interrupted. "Do I look like a giant talking turtle to you?"

"X-Men makes more sense to you then?"

Harry nodded eagerly. He was too glad that she was finally getting it to recognise her sarcasm. "It's what all my research points to."

"Research?"

"I've read all of X-Men. Well, Claremont's run anyway." Sara was looking increasingly doubtful. "Alright, I've only read some of it! There must be ten different titles and I'm not made of money-!"

"Are you an actual idiot?!"

Harry was surprised by the question. Sara seemed to be searching for something in his face. When she didn't find it, she leaned away from him the same way the Dursleys did, as though she were afraid of catching his disease. "You really are that stupid." Somewhere inside his chest, he felt something beginning to fracture.

He needed to fix this. "I can show you some other stuff-" he was cut off by the sound of a distant bell. Lunchtime was over. Sara shot to her feet and ran away from him like a bat out of hell. Once again, Roemmele had found a way to make him miserable, but this time she had done it unknowingly. After a long moment, Harry slowly got to his feet and made his way back to school.

When lessons were done for the day, Harry collected his things much more slowly than he usually did. Sara had asked him to walk home with her every day for weeks. Her family had just moved to Wisteria Walk which was right by Privet Drive. Harry had complained and pretended that she was being bothersome, but after the second day, he had stopped bringing Hugo to school and began knocking on her door in the mornings so they could walk together.

Today, however, Sara left the classroom without a glance in his direction. Whatever it was that had fractured in him earlier, had now completely shattered.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Is there a problem, Harry?" Lupin's voice snapped him out of it. Harry glanced around and saw most of the class (that wasn't chatting amongst themselves) were staring at him. He glanced at Sara, to see her with her arms folded looking away from him resolutely. It was that more than anything that got him to agree. He wasn't going to run away from her. He nodded firmly and saw Sara do the same.

"Jade?" Lupin asked. Jade was looking worriedly between Harry and Sara. Their falling out was old gossip amongst their classmates.

"Err…can I have a different group?"

"No."

Jade let out a little groan and wrung her hands as Lupin began putting students into pairs. Harry felt bad about making her worry. Everybody liked Jade, as she was the nicest person in school, so he felt bad that today was probably going to be a nightmare for her. Not bad enough to stop and behave, but still pretty bad.

As Lupin handed out individual worksheets attached to clipboards to the class, (where had he pulled those out from?) he warned, "Any group with an incomplete worksheet will have to help Ms Underwood organise the library tomorrow while the rest of us are having fun. Understood? Good. Your clipboards have maps of the zoo, but if you're lost, just ask the nearest member of staff for directions, or follow the signs for the head office. Alright? Now go have fun!"

This wasn't the first time he had been forced to work with Sara in the past year, but it was the first time without adult supervision. He half expected an argument to break out the second Lupin was out of sight, but cooler heads prevailed. Namely, Jade's. She had placed herself squarely between them and began shepherding them from enclosure to enclosure, but only after ensuring that they had completed the relevant section of the worksheet and were having "the appropriate level of fun".

Harry didn't know which school Jade was going to after tomorrow, but he hoped she stayed the same. Sara caught his eye, grinning, and Harry returned it before remembering that they were fighting, and he quickly turned his head away to observe the penguins.

Once they were done there, Jade reached over and checked Harry's watch. "I think it's time for lunch. We should head over to the restaurant and join the others."

Harry protested. "The restaurant is probably packed by now. We're not even the only school here," he nodded in the direction of two burly teenage boys in scruffy uniforms. "Let's just complete the worksheet and go to the restaurant after. We have until three." He just didn't want to share an awkward meal with his former friend at the same table. Later, there would be more room so he wouldn't have to deal with her.

Jade bit her lip and glanced at Sara who just shrugged. "Let's just get this over with."

Harry snorted. "That's the spirit!" She scoffed while Jade merely sighed, "Come on then."

They made their way through the rest of the zoo in a little over an hour, but Harry was beginning to regret his earlier decision to power through. Breakfast seemed so long ago, and with every step, he became hungrier and more irritable. The scorching midday sun wasn't helping either. When the final enclosure, the Reptile House, came into view, Harry felt a wave of relief. Sara looked just as bad as he felt but, despite being the one to suggest a break in the first place, Jade looked as fresh as she had when she stepped off the coach, with nary a glossy brown hair out of place.

Sara heaved a sigh. "OK, let's get this over wi- Harry, get back here!" Harry ignored her and continued towards the bench against the walls. He collapsed onto it, wishing for nothing more than a cool, refreshing drink. Even Jade looked annoyed with his behaviour. "Harry, it was your idea to power through! We're almost done."

"We'll be done in ten minutes once those lot leave."

From behind the girls, a stampede of Reception kids came charging through the doors, being chased by two harried-looking teachers. Following behind were a group of more relaxed mums and dads. They were casually chatting amongst themselves as their children ran all over the place, pressing their noses against the enclosures, making noises of awe and disgust, while others were slapping hands against the glass trying to wake the reptiles up.

Sara looked appalled. "Yeah, we had better wait." She practically crash-landed beside Harry on the bench.

Jade, the true hero that she was, remained undeterred. "Give me your worksheets and I'll complete them."

Harry shrugged. "Better you than me." He removed the worksheet from his clipboard and handed it over.

Sara gave him a filthy look, before turning back to Jade with a much more pleasant expression. "It isn't fair to ask you to do our work for us."

Jade attached Harry's worksheet to her clipboard. "No one asked me to do anything. I volunteered. Besides this is nothing. I've got four younger brothers and sisters and six cousins who come around on the weekends. I spend two days a week trapped in a house with those little monsters, so ten minutes with these angels is child's play." She walked off looking determined.

Harry smiled after her. "No wonder she's so patient with us." He turned his head to see that Sara had slid closer to him when he hadn't been looking and was now staring right at him. "I haven't missed you sneaking up on me," he muttered, clutching his heart after his embarrassing jump.

Sara smiled briefly before a more serious expression slid onto her face. "Did you sense them coming with your powers?"

Harry scowled. "I don't need powers to hear thirty screaming brats charging in our direction."

Sara raised her hands defensively. "Just making sure."

"Making sure of what? That I don'tcontaminateanyone?" Harry got to his feet and stomped over to the other side of the enclosure, ignoring Sara's spluttered response. Even the Reception kids seemed to discern that he was not to be messed around with at that moment, and they hurried to get out of his way. One boy, who was carrying a large pink milkshake, was so intimidated he turned on his heel and ran away, dropping his drink in the process.

Harry found himself by the boa constrictor tank. He placed both hands on the railing and sighed, annoyed with both himself and Sara. Harry stared into the enclosure and- despite his dark mood- was impressed with how well the boa could blend into its surroundings. While the snake was trapped in a box and had people staring at it all day, it wasn't intelligent enough to recognise how terrible its life was. Harry wondered if he would be happier if he too were as stupid as Dudley.

After a moment of self-pity, he shook his head. "Is this my life now? Being jealous of animals?" Harry tutted.

Suddenly, the snake seemed to rise and look directly at him, as though it had heard Harry speak through the thick glass.

Harry reared back, shocked, before getting control over himself. This was not the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. Actually, that was a lie; it was definitely the most bizarre thing to ever happen to him, but it also wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Glancing around surreptitiously, Harry leaned slightly towards the glass and asked, "Can you understand me?"

The snake nodded once. Harry grinned, not wanting to refer to it as snake or boa constrictor, he asked, "Do you have a name?" This time the boa constrictor shook its head and jabbed its tail at the sign:Bred in captivity.

"You as well? I don't where I'm from either. We should start a club for lost mutants and genius snakes." The boa constrictor co*cked its head quizzically. Of course, not even genius snakes could appreciate his sense of humour. "I'm going to call you Gregg, after my school. Is that alright with you?" Gregg the boa constrictor agreed with a bob of his head.

"Are you talking to that snake?" Sara had suddenly appeared by his shoulder, scaring him half to death.

"Stop sneaking up on me!" Harry hissed harshly. Gregg seemed to sense his agitation because he began to coil himself upward as though he were preparing himself to strike her. Harry quickly waved him down before anyone saw him.

"I'm only looking out for you. You're here hissing at it where anyone can see you." Sara explained this with an air of forced patience.

Harry raised his eyebrows. Turning back to Gregg, he asked, "Was I hissing?" and again Gregg nodded.

"I thought you were just messing with me, but you're actually talking to it, aren't you?" Sara sounded unsettled.

Harry regarded her coldly. "Are you still here?"

Sara huffed. "Why are you so mean these days? You used to be nice."

"I'm nice to people who keep their promises."

"What?"

"You promised you wouldn't get scared and run away."

Sara appeared shocked. "That'swhy you've been ignoring me all year? For a stupid promise?" Growing weary, Harry ignored her and stared resolutely at Gregg. "I ran away because I was scared an idiot like you can control fire and unlock doors. You said you had other powers. I thought that you were going to..." she trailed off.

"Hurt somebody?" He guessed.

Sara nodded rapidly. "Can you blame me? You were breaking into the Headmistress' office, playing with fire, talking about research and all I could think was, "Oh God, this idiot is going to blow up the school." That's why I avoided you for a while.I was scared." She said all of this quickly, as though she was anxious for Harry to understand.

Harry nodded, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Or rather, he wouldn'tlethimself care. Sara wasn't the first temporary friendship he had formed, and she wouldn't be the last. Even when he couldn't afford to pay for his own school uniform, he had always been Mr Popular during P.E. where his surprising speed and dexterity were highly valued. Or during group projects, when camaraderie was formed in the face of a pointless assigned task, but as soon as P.E. came to an end or the group project was handed in, the status quo was restored with Harry firmly on the outside.

Harry had grown used to that and even when he was young and naive, an hour or two wasn't enough time to get attached to someone. Notreally.

What happened with Sara was different. Nearly two months were spent almost entirely in each other's company, walking to and from school, working together in class, sharing lunches, and spending every break together, and all of it while talking, sharing, and laughing. Harry had deluded himself into thinking he had finally found an actual friend.

It wasn't the fact that she broke her promise that bothered him. It wasn't even the fact that he felt tricked. It was the fact that he had been desperate enough to give his secret away. That she, in just a couple of months, had managed to do what the Dursleys hadn't in almost ten years. She had made him shed what little pride he possessed. The only thing he had that wasn't a hand me down, or stolen, or scavenged or lent to him out of pity. He had been surprised by how hurt he felt when she had stopped being his friend and he had only known her for a relatively short amount of time. He had sworn to himself then that he would never let anyone have so much power over him again. He didn't need anyone. Even Lupin was a temporary figure in his life. He would change schools and, eventually, move far away from Little Whinging. Sara would be forgotten much sooner than that.

A sudden, firm grip on Harry's shoulder forced him out of his thoughts and spun him around. One of the mums from the Reception group was glowering down at him. "Did you knock my son's milkshake out of his hands?"

Harry scowled at her. "What?" He saw that behind the rude woman was the boy who had dropped his drink earlier. He was crying, red-faced, and clutching the back of her long shirt. The boy's mother must have seen his eyes light up in recognition because her grip on his shoulder tightened further.

"What school are you from?" Her eyes flickered over him and came to rest on the jumper tied around his waist. She began to reach for it, but Harry smacked her hand off his shoulder and stepped out of her reach.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Don't speak to me like that! I need to know what school you're from to report this to your teacher," she levelled a finger at Harry's face, "and just so you know you'll be buying my son another milkshake."

Harry scoffed, drawing himself up, and tried to answer as Lupin would. "I will do no such thing," he said with as much gravitas as he could muster. It wasn't much. Which wasn't good for him, as he could see that the other mums and dads were paying close attention to them. Two of the dads stood out to him as athletic looking and were watching him carefully, probably to stop him from getting past them if tried to run for it. They probably wouldn't slap a ten-year-old around in front of CCTV and witnesses, but Harry's luck had been so bad today, he wasn't willing to risk it.

Just as he had decided to calm down and reason with the boy's mother, Jade reappeared and to Harry's dismay, she was wearing her blue school jumper, with their school's name and crest written clear as day over her heart.

"What's going on?" Jade asked.

"Harry's causing trouble again." Sara's voice was muffled. She was so embarrassed to be associated with him that she was hiding her face in her hands.

The mum's eyes lit up when they fell upon Jade's jumper. "What's going on is that your friend here made my son cry, but at least now I've now got your school's name. St. Gregory's!" She called out to the parents behind her. One of the athletic dads nodded once and ran right out of the Reptile House and towards the head office. He did so with enough speed that Harry felt justified in his earlier decision to not make a run for the exit.

Jade, the nicest person in school, a girl he had known since they were two years old at the local daycare, turned to him and said, "Harry! You beat up a five-year-old?!"

Harry put his head in his hands and groaned in frustration. Distantly, he could hear a repeated thudding sound and Sara's warnings to calm down. But it was too late. All Harry heard next was the sound of shattering glass.

Then came the screams.

By the time Harry became conscious of his surroundings, he found himself lying face down in the corner of the Reptile House. Dazed, he dragged himself to the nearest wall and propped himself up against it.

The lights were off, and the only illumination came through the large double doors and the bright summer sun outside. However, the sunlight left the inside in deeper darkness, so it took a minute for his eyes to adjust.

Perhaps it was a sign of a concussion or shock, but Harry noticed five things in quick succession, and they were in the reverse order of immediate relevance. The first was that on the other side of the building, he could see the broken glass in front of Gregg's now-empty display. It was almost as if he had broken out.

The second was that he was now alone. The Reptile House had held almost a hundred people before, but now it was empty. Whatever had happened, Sara, Jade, and the adults who had been harassing him had all just disappeared. Or they had left him behind.

The third was the strangest. He could not remember taking a single step, but somehow, he was on the opposite side of the Reptile House. It was as if he were standing in front of Gregg's display case one second and then here, alone in the darkness the next. It was bizarre, even by his standards.

The fourth, but the most expected thing, was his lack of energy and sudden hunger. Every time Harry tested his powers and pushed his limits, he grew increasingly tired and hungry. However, what surprised him was the intensity. He had never experienced such crippling hunger or bone-deep exhaustion before. He could barely keep his eyes focused. Which was probably a bad thing when you considered the fifth and final thing he noticed.

Gregg the boa constrictor was coiled before him like an obedient pet. Once he saw Harry's eyes try to focus on him, Gregg lifted his head to maintain eye contact. "You are awake." Harry didn't even have the energy to question how a talking snake worked.

"You stayed with me?" He breathed.

Gregg nodded. "Yes. Fleeing two legs would crush Speaker. Speaker freed Gregg. Gregg protects Speaker until he wakes."

Harry swallowed, disturbed by how close he came to being trampled. He had been saved only by the goodwill of a snake. People were the worst. Despite that, he had to know. "Were any of the people- any of the two legs- were they hurt?"

Gregg seemed confused. "No. Fleeing two legs fled," he repeated himself slowly as though Harry was a simpleton. He wouldn't have thought it possible for an animal to sound so condescending.

"Thank you."

Gregg hesitated, before lowering his head submissively to Harry. "Speaker, I ask that you place a blessing of protection over me. It is a long way home."

Harry smiled weakly. He hated being in debt to anyone, even a snake. While Harry had given Gregg freedom, it had been accidental, but this would be intentional. "At least one of us should find our way home."

Harry raised his right hand and placed it against the smooth skin of Greggs' head. Harry would only wonder later how he knew what to do and what to say, but at that moment, he was light-headed, hungry, and disoriented, so he didn't think twice about it. "Protect this creature until he finds sanctuary amongst his kind. Protect this creature from man and beast alike. Protect this creature from the elements and show him the way home."

As Harry was finishing the blessing, he could dimly see flashing blue lights and hear the growing sound of sirens. Once he finished the blessing, he felt a wave of dread wash over him. He somehow knew, even in his delirious state, that he had just done something incredibly stupid.

He could feel his intense hunger and exhaustion increase even further, spiking into outright pain. His brain struggled for a moment trying to stay awake in an unfamiliar and dangerous place, but he quickly lost that fight, and he fell unconscious. The last thing he saw was three firefighters running in through the open doors, pausing to survey the scene, and Gregg winding his way through their legs, snapping playfully at their ankles, but going entirely unnoticed.

When Harry's vision went dark, the last thing that he heard was the boa's hissing voice calling out, "Brazil here I come! Thanks, amigo!"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"You were in a coma."

These were the first words Lupin said to him after he'd woken up in a hospital bed and asked for water.

"What?!" Harry yelped, then winced. His throat felt drier than he would have thought possible.

Lupin hastened to explain as he handed him a plastic cup. "It was only for eight hours!" Harry stared at him for a moment before chugging the cool water. Nothing had ever tasted more refreshing.

"That is not a coma," Harry said with forced calm in his voice, "that is a good night's sleep." Harry's voice was still hoarse, and his throat felt disgusting; half-moist, half-dry. "What happened?"

As Lupin passed Harry a refilled cup, he explained what he had missed. Apparently, there had been an electrical malfunction in the Reptile House. All the lights and cameras had been knocked out for five minutes and wouldn't turn back on, regardless of what the staff had tried to do. What was really concerning was the now-missing boa constrictor.

Gregg, Harry almost corrected Lupin, but he held himself back at the last second. "What about it?" Harry asked, drinking from his fourth cup of water. His mouth and throat almost felt back to normal.

"Well, everyone in the Reptile House gave confusing statements to the Police. They couldn't quite agree on what had happened before the blackout. But the one thing they could all agree on was that it was you who freed the boa constrictor." Harry began to protest. Even though it was the truth,theydidn't know that! It seemed unfair to him that they would all unanimously agree to pin the blame on the only unconscious person present.

"Of course, cooler heads prevailed. Namely my own." Lupin smiled. "It seemed obvious to me that the broken glass was on theoutsideand thus could not have been shattered by you."

Harry did not relax. "Did the Police believe it too?" He asked. Harry truly hoped they did. He was in no way prepared for prison.

"It was obvious once the CCTV system came back on. In the recording, you had your back to the boa's display and didn't even seem to notice as it was battering its head against the glass." Lupin leaned back in his chair and sighed. For the first time since he had woken up, Harry noticed how awful Lupin looked, which was somehow even worse than this morning.

Lupin continued, unaware of Harry's sudden worry. "I managed to speak to all the witnesses individually. Outside of their group mentality, they all seemed far less certain that you were responsible. When the recording came to light, they couldn't apologise fast enough."

Harry finally relaxed against his pillow before tensing again. "You saidallthe witnesses agreed that I was responsible. Does that include Jade and Sara?" He tried to be casual in how he said Sara's name, not wanting to tip Lupin off, just in case he already suspected she might know more than the other witnesses. Did she finally snitch on him?

Lupin looked as tense as Harry felt. "Both girls seemed angry with you at first, but Jade apologised when realised she was wrong about something to do with a boy and his milkshake?" Lupin shrugged, pausing briefly before continuing. "However, Sara seemed adamant that you were responsible. She even told me a wild tale of locked doors and green fire. She even said she heard youtalkingto the snake."

Harry shook his head ruefully. "You know that the two of us don't get along. That's why you put us in the same group," he carefully reminded him. He hoped Lupin would feel guilty about that just enough to doubt Sara's story.

However, Lupin was not to be distracted. He leaned forward in his seat and spoke gently. "I know that I'm neither your parent nor your guardian, but I've always considered you to be more than just a student or a neighbour. I've had the privilege to watch you grow from a shy little boy into the bright young man I see before me today. There is absolutelynothingyou could have done that would make me think any less of you."

Harry didn't consider himself vulnerable to the feelings of others, especially in how those feelings regarded him. But he believed Lupin, or at least he did until that last sentence. It sounded like something teachers say when fooling students into admitting their wrongdoing. Harry was no one's fool.

"Doyou have something you need to tell me?" He countered. "You said that you spoke to the witnesses individually and managed to change their minds. How? And why would the police even let you?

Lupin leaned back and took a lengthy pause. He seemed to be considering what to say next. Just as he seemed to come to a resolution, there was a brisk knock on the door and a doctor bustled into the room.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" The doctor asked with the air of someone who knew they were interrupting. She was a young woman with shoulder-length, pin-straight, black hair and bright rosy cheeks. Despite Harry being her patient, she directed her question at Lupin.

Lupin's left hand, hidden from the doctor's line of sight but visible in Harry's peripheral, clenched tightly. "Not at all." He said casually.

The air was thick with tension and Harry had no patience for it. "Do you two know each other?"

They both turned to him in surprise, and Lupin recovered the quickest. "This is Hestia Jones. We know each other from school."

Hestia Jones smiled at Harry and said, "You can call me Hestia." It was only much later Harry would realise that neither Lupin nor Hestia had ever referred to her as a doctor.

Harry looked at Lupin with his greying hair and back at Hestia who looked like she could fit in at a university campus.

"Were you her teacher as well?" Harry asked innocently. Hestia laughed, and Lupin might have scowled but Harry noticed his fist unclenched.

"I just wanted to come in and check on you now that you're awake," Hestia explained. She began examining him with her hands squeezing and prodding his limbs with her fingers. Harry had never been to see a doctor before, but he still thought this was very strange.

Harry frowned. "I didn't notice Mr Lupin signalling anyone." Hestia froze momentarily, but Lupin stepped in.

"I signalled her when I noticed you begin to move." Harry was about to ask what took her so long then, but Hestia cut him off.

"You just exhausted yourself. A good night's rest and a full meal and you should feel right as rain," Hestia said cheerfully.

Harry was shocked. In the Reptile House, he could feel himself slipping away and now after a nap and a few glasses of water, he was fine? That was crazy! He said as much to Hestia.

Fortunately, she didn't take any offence. In fact, she seemed pleased with Harry's shock, as though he was praising her skill as a physician. "I gave you a few different kinds of medicine while you were asleep." Harry levelled an unimpressed look at Lupin when she said asleep and notcoma. Lupin twiddled his thumbs innocently. "It helps that you're in such good shape of course. Not too much junk food and plenty of exercise, I take it?"

Harry nodded. "I eat a lot of fruit and vegetables at home, and I ride Hu-err… my bike everywhere."It's not as if the Dursleys leave me with much choice.

Hestia began gathering the equipment from the bedside table, the same equipment that Harry had initially assumed belonged to the hospital. She placed the empty vials and strange instruments into her carry bag and zipped it all up. "It's a good thing that this happened to you so young. It's so much easier to bounce back from because you're still developing. The number of pros I've healed that don't know the meaning of the words "personal maintenance" would shock you."

"Pros?"

Lupin cut in. "Hestia works with professional footballers. I called her to help you as a favour to me," he added, correctly guessing Harry's next question.

Harry didn't ask any more questions even though he wanted to. He recognised Lupin's closed-off expression. He wouldn't get answers, no matter how hard he pressed.

"Remus, you've seen he's alright now. Isn't it time you get going?" Hestia said sharply, glancing at the clock. It took Harry an embarrassingly long time to remember who Remus was. Perhaps hewasbad with names.

Lupin shot to his feet, startling Harry with his unusual abruptness. "We're leaving already?"

Lupin shook his head, "No.I'mleaving."

Harry frowned. "How am I supposed to get home then? I don't even know where I am." He hated how whiny he sounded.

Lupin headed towards the door without looking at Harry even once. He paused with his hand on the door handle. "Hestia will handle it. Oh, and you've been expelled by the way. Today was the last excuse Roemmele needed."

When Harry appeared unconcerned with that bit of news, he added quickly before darting out the door, "She contacted Highsmith's as well. Your place was rescinded. The letter is on the table." Harry turned to see if the said letter was really there, before turning back to the door, but it was already swinging closed.

Harry snatched up the letter written on Highsmith's familiar letterhead. Hestia was saying something, but Harry could not hear her as he read the same five dreaded words over and over:

We regret to inform you.

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Despite Hestia's recommendation that he spend the night, Harry had to get back to his safe haven. He was nearing the end of his tether. As he dressed, he wondered how he even got to this point; left with a stranger in a hospital, with no idea how he had even got there, expelled from school and rejected by two more for reasons outside of his control. How had Lupin even signed him in? He had seen enough hospital dramas to know you needed a parent or guardian for that. Was being his teacher enough? If he had the energy he would ask, but as it was, he barely could summon the willpower to dress and put one foot in front of the other.

As they made their way toward the exit, he noticed that none of the hospital staff so much as glanced at them as they passed. In fact, a few almost bumped into him, but Hestia's guiding hand on his shoulder helped him avoid any accidents. They reached the exit and stepped out into the cool evening, only to find a black cab waiting for them in a spot clearly markedAmbulances Only. Hestia grinned and greeted the driver like an old friend. "Alright, Dedalus?"

The driver, Dedalus apparently, climbed out and beamed up at Hestia. "Hello, Hestia! Oh, it's been an age! And this must be the young Potter! What an honour to finally meet you!" Dedalus was a tiny man, hardly a few inches taller than Harry was, who wore a blinding purple tailcoat and had a shock of white hair that peeked out under his (also blindingly purple) top hat.Well, at least his outfit matches.

"How do you know who I am?" He asked the excitable man, warily.

"The two of us and Remus meet for drinks every once in a while." Hestia explained smoothly, and then continued as though she could not hear Dedalus chuckle at "every once in a while". "Remus has told us all about his favourite student."

"Now, then Dedalus will drive you straight home. Won't he?" She added warningly. Dedalus raised his hands in a placating manner.

"Not a single detour, I promised," he said.Not promise, Harry caught, butpromised.But to who? Lupin?

Hestia reached down and clasped both of Harry's hands with her own. "Dedalus was right. It is an honour to finally meet you." Before he could ask why it was such an honour, he felt her slip something off his left wrist. He caught sight of a brown leather band with a series of black symbols etched onto it. When was that put on him? Why hadn't he noticed earlier?

Before he could ask, she shepherded both him and Dedalus into the black cab, shoved Harry's school bag into his arms and closed the door for him.Seriously, how could I not notice that she was carrying my bag? Maybe, Ishouldstay overnight just to be safe.But before he could verbalise this thought Dedalus took off. Harry hadn't even told him his address. Hestia had probably done it. She had handled everything else this evening.

As he drove out of the hospital grounds, Dedalus turned the radio to a conversational station and turned the volume up. If he were any more subtle, Harry might not have picked up on the fact that didn't want to talk to him. That was fine. Harry didn't think he was capable of having a conversation with a strange taxi driver right now.

Harry began sifting through his bag to ensure everything was there. Of course, it was. What reason would anyone have to steal his scraps from him? But what would he even do if somethingweremissing? Turn around back to the hospital and accuse Hestia? What would that solve? Everything bad that had happened to him today happened because of his own stupidity. No wonder Lupin had fled from him. Harry would have gladly fled from himself if he could. Because he couldn't control his impulses. He couldn't control his emotions. He certainly couldn't control his powers and he had been deluding himself to think that he ever could.

I was scared.That was what Sara had said earlier. Harry hadn't understood why until now.

He slipped his headphones on to drown out both the radio and his thoughts. The city lights zoomed past the window and blended together in a bright orange and yellow blur. Soon that blur dimmed and faded as they left London behind for the less densely populated Surrey, and in no time at all, they were in Little Whinging. Dedalus seemed to know where he was going, but Harry called out to him anyway.

"Can you drop me off at St. Gregory's? I need to pick up my bike."

Dedalus made a noise of assent and changed his indicator from right to left. Once the cab made a stop outside the school, Harry stepped out onto the pavement, and he realised his error.

"I don't have enough money to pay you, but-" Dedalus cut him off with a wink and a wave. "It's already been covered."

"Oh. Okay then."

Dedalus' smile slipped off his face, as he finally seemed to pick up on Harry's dark mood. "You've had a bad day, boyo. It's happened to all of us around your age. It's going to get better, so you just hold on. Alright?" Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to take this advice from a near stranger, so instead, he simply nodded and watched the cab's glowing red taillights disappear into the night.

Harry slipped his bag onto his shoulders and walked to the school gate. According to his watch, it was almost ten at night. No school in the world would have its gates open at this hour, so it was a good thing locks didn't matter to him. After a minute of intense focus, the gate gently swung open. Harry strode through the teacher's car park, to the bike shed. Sometimes, after a long, lonely, day at school, he would playfully greet his bike as though it were a person, such as "Hello Hugo!" or "Did you miss me, Hugo? I hope so because I missed you!"

Now he said nothing. It was just a stupid bike.

Unlocking the chain, he swung the bike around towards the gate. He stopped walking once he reached the street. Normally, he would have left the gate open, either uncaring of the consequences or hoping it would be the catalyst for something amusing, like when Aaron and his gang got suspended last autumn. But because he hadn't considered the consequences of his actions today, almost everything that could have backfired on him did so. The only thing that hadn't fallen apart today was anything Dursley-related.

With any luck that house of cards will collapse in on me too.With that cheerful thought, Harry turned to the gate to lock it, using the same incredible power of imagination and desire that turned his very will into reality. The same power he used for disgustingly mundane tasks like locking the Dursley's back gate every morning.What a waste of this gift.

After a minute, the gate snapped shut and Harry heard the metallic locks clicking into place. With that done, he climbed on his bike and rode back to Privet Drive.

Along the way, he considered his next metamorphosis. His first change occurred when he was too young to realise the reality of what he was doing. He vaguely remembered the desperate need to change from whatever happy little boy his parents had been raising, into a child who was neither seen nor heard, if only to escape the shouting, sharp slaps, and lonely hours spent in the cupboard, hungry. He had learned then because he had wanted to feel safe.

Then that wasn't enough for him. He had been six years old when he first noticed that the strange events that happened around him coincided with his feelings and desires. It had taken a long time for him to learn to activate it deliberately and longer still for him to make it useful. He had wanted to feel unafraid of consequences for a change and to have fun like everyone else, not to just be happy with remaining unharmed. So, again, he had learned.

The third change would be the most important. If he had failed the first two times, only his body and spirit would have been harmed, but not permanently. The Dursleys were neglectful, if not outright abusive, but they wouldn't have killed him. Today his powers almost had. Which would have been bad enough, but Harry could have killed those Reception kids today. Or Jade. OrSara.

The darkest thought came to him then.What if I killed someone else's mum or dad? What if I made someone else an orphan?Any one of those parents could have died today and Harry would have made someone else feel what he felt every day. There were times when his apathy and anger were enough to disturb even him, but never, not even in his darkest, loneliest moments, would he ever wish orphanhood on someone else. Not even when Dudley had shoved him headfirst down the stairs. Not even when Aaron had called his dead mother a slew of foul names, to the laughter of the entire school canteen. Not ever.

Sara was right to be afraid of him. He was dangerous. He owed her an apology.

He picked up speed. He was almost there. Almost to his safe haven. He drove his bike through the dimly lit footpath and stopped at Number Four's back gate. Unlocking the gate he crept into the garden, storing his bike behind the shed, and made his way to the back door. As he entered the house, he saw the light in the living room was on. Of course, it was. They would be watching the News at Ten.

"Who's that?!" Vernon came charging into the kitchen, dressed for bed, but with his fists raised as though ready to tussle with a home intruder. He stopped when he saw it was only Harry. "I thought you were here already," he muttered, and slowly lowered his hands. He looked almost disappointed that he wasn't getting a fight and wandered back into the living room. Petunia came out from wherever she was hiding and jabbed her finger at him.

"You are not dragging that filth into my house!" She gestured at his still dirty clothes, which had been given back to him when he had decided to depart from the hospital. They looked as though they had been dragged through dirty chalk, but it was just the dust from the Reptile House floor.

"I'll clean it after I wash up. School ended today so I can afford to stay up late." He wasn't sure why he bothered finishing his lie, as she had walked away as soon as she heard "I'll clean it." He wasn't even sure why he had bothered making such a racket when he entered the house. No, that wasn't true. He knew exactly why. It was the same reason why he had followed them into the living room.

"I'm back so late because I was at the hospital. The school took us to London Zoo today and there was an accident."

"Oh? I think I saw that on the news." Vernon said distractedly, his eyes focused on the regional weather report. Emboldened by an actual response, Harry continued.

"I was told I was in a coma. Avery shortcoma. But I'm alright now." The words came out in a rush, afraid that their unusual interest in him would wane quickly. Still, there was something about coming home and telling someone even a little about the day he had left him feeling warm.

That feeling quickly died when Petunia spoke. "Make sure you vacuum the carpet after yourself. We're having Mr and Mrs Brooks over for dinner tomorrow and I'll be out all day so I can't do it."

Harry nodded slowly. Petunia hadn't told him about dinner because he was invited. She told him because it would be awkward for her to explain if either of the Brooks' spotted their poor orphan nephew entering or exiting his cupboard. Whenever the Dursleys had company, Harry was to hide away in the attic like a character in one of Lupin's gothic novels.

He hated it up there and Petunia must have known why because she never went into the attic herself. It was a poorly insulated room, too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. The attic was windowless, dusty, and filled with spiders of varying sizes. The less said about the mice the better.

Harry left the room hoping his expression remained bland. He heard Vernon ask, "What's for dinner tomorrow?"

"What would you like, dear? I'll be doing the shopping tomorrow so I can get it then."

They were speaking to each other as if the last two minutes hadn't happened. He began silently scolding himself as he climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom.Soft, he thought harshly, as he stepped into the shower. The previous warmth in his chest replaced itself with self-loathing.You're too damn soft. He turned up the heat of the water, hoping to burn these dark, but terribly familiar feelings away.

After a long hot shower, he changed into his pyjamas and used the last of his powers to clean up after himself instead of using the vacuum cleaner (Vernon had taught him the hard way to never wake him). Whatever energy gave him his power had run out for today, even after Hestia's brief care had given him a boost.

Before bed, he took a brief detour outside, as he needed to throw his dirty uniform into the bin. He would never wear it again. He knew he should eat something, and get his energy back up, but his appetite was non-existent.

Finally returning to his safe haven at midnight, he climbed into bed, locking the cupboard door behind him the normal way. He tried to drift off, but memories of the day entered his mind unbidden. It took a long time for his body to relax and longer still for sleep to find him.

Chapter 2: The Tale of Two Heroes

Chapter Text

Harry awoke to complete silence.

He felt the ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach long before the memories of the previous day had even resurfaced. Yesterday, he had awoken to his recurring childhood nightmare, but today he couldn't remember dreaming at all. Maybe that was a sign? Perhapsnotdreaming was a good omen?

Today might not be so-Harry killed that thought before it could fully form. It wasn't because he was afraid of jinxing himself. He wasn't even sure he believed in omens or that dreams could affect his reality, but after the fiasco that was yesterday, hedidbelieve that overconfidence led to disaster. He had been confident in omitting the truth in his application to Smeltings and he had been rejected. He had been confident in blatantly breaking school rules for years and made an enemy of Roemmele, who in turn got him out of Highsmith's. He had placed all his confidence in his powers and had nearly killed himself and almost hurt dozens of others in the process.

He needed to be more cautious and less impulsive, as his powers couldn't save him from himself. Besides, he was not like Dudley or any other child he had ever known. They all had parachutes in the form of their parents. If they ever fell, their families would ensure a soft, safe landing and lift them back up again when they were ready. Harry was an orphan and his only living relatives were unreliable at best. If he ever fell, all he could do was crash and burn.

The silence coming from outside the cupboard was starting to worry him. Reaching for the shelf behind his headrest, he picked up his watch and checked the time. It was almost eleven in the morning. No wonder the house was so quiet. He was alone.

Even though he had never slept in so late before, he still felt tired, as though all the repercussions of yesterday's power usage were just now catching up to him. Hestia's medicine must have worn off. But if the house was silent and his body was still tired, why had he woken up?

A dull ache in his stomach answered that question. He was hungry.

Climbing out of bed, he made his way into the kitchen, enjoying the freedom of not having to check if anyone was there before entering. He still lacked an appetite, but Hestia's medical advice was ringing in his ears. Nibbling on a slice of buttered toast, he distracted himself from his queasy stomach with a mid-morning talk show.

Even though he had showered twice yesterday, he made his way to the bathroom with his towel and a fresh change of clothes. With the house empty, it was a rare opportunity to have a long bath which, at that moment, was the only thing Harry desired.

With the water almost scalding (just the way he liked it) and the bubble bath solution (courtesy of Dudley) doing its job, Harry got in the bath and almost immediately felt his body begin to relax. He half-heartedly went through the motions of cleaning himself but gave up midway through and just lay back. His thoughts drifted without direction, and he found himself in a comfortable state, halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness, his mind relaxing alongside his body.

His skin was pruned when he eventually climbed out and he felt better than he had since...well, he wasn't sure when. That had never happened to him before, but perhaps it was some kind of side effect from the medicines he had taken yesterday. Feeling too relaxed to think about it, he made his way back to the cupboard and dressed for the day.

Switching the television back on, Harry found a show about people buying homes in the country. He wasn't interested in watching it, but he enjoyed the background noise; it made him feel as though he had company. He busied himself in the kitchen, his appetite returning in full force. As he made himself a large breakfast of eggs and sausages, he began to plan both the rest of his day and his summer.

Settling down in front of the larger television in the living room, he ate his meal with gusto, but it was finished all too quickly. Feeling as though his stomach was bottomless, he returned to the kitchen for a large bowl of cereal and a mug of sugary tea but even that was not enough. He gave up and raided Petunia's not-so-secret stash of ice cream and chocolates. Hopefully, she would get drunk with Mrs Brooks again tonight and assume she ate it all. It wouldn't be the first time. It was only when he had eaten all of it, that his hunger finally felt sated.

The real estate show was so boring, and his stomach was so warm and full, that he ended up nodding off on the sofa. When he awoke it was a little after three in the afternoon. Hestia's advice rang true; a good night's sleep and a full meal and he felt better than he could ever remember. Feeling more hopeful than he probably should, he cleaned up after himself, making sure to leave the house in the same condition he found it in and he made his way outside through his usual route, taking his bike with him.

Once he was on the footpath, he simply let himself into Lupin's back garden through the gate. Lupin's home was smaller than the Dursley's, but still much too large for one person in Harry's opinion. He often wondered why his teacher needed so much space. Wouldn't it have made more sense for a single adult to live where other single adults lived? Why had he moved to a street where he was the only person not married or raising a family? Harry had asked him these questions (quite rudely) a long time ago and Lupin had simply smiled at him and said, "Harry, there's nowhere else I'm meant to be." He never elaborated on that, no matter how much Harry pestered him.

Knocking on Lupin's kitchen door, he waited for a response, but none came. Frowning, he knocked again, but when there was still no response, he simply let himself in. Harry knew it was very rude to let yourself into someone's home without permission, but Lupin would have to forgive him as he forgave all of Harry's misbehaviour.

There was something different about the kitchen, but Harry didn't pay it any mind, too focused on locating his wayward teacher. He made his way to the living room, stomping loudly. Lupin hated it when he stomped indoors, so Harry hoped he would come out from wherever he was hiding to tell him off. He didn't. Harry only stopped when he crossed the threshold of the living room, too shocked to keep acting like a brat.

Have the walls always been so white? He wondered. Perhaps Lupin's clutter had simply obstructed it from Harry's eyes? Well, it wasn't obstructing it anymore.

The living room which had always been strewn with books and a strange assortment of knick-knacks for as long as he could remember was now empty. The walls and floor were bare and not a single thing remained. Hurrying back to the kitchen, he paid attention to what his subconscious had noticed before. Lupin was an excellent cook and took pride in his various pots, pans and cooking utensils, but where they had usually been on display before, on hooks and racks, they were now gone.

Harry quickly made his way around the house, checking the study, the downstairs bathroom and even all the rooms upstairs (which Lupin had made him swear to never go into, but desperate times and all that) and found them all to be empty. If Harry hadn't known the man who had lived here, he could never have guessed that this had been someone's home just yesterday. What had happened? Where in the world was Remus Lupin?

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Later that evening, Harry pedalled his bike down the road at a leisurely pace. There was no need to hurry, as he had plenty of time. He had pushed Lupin's disappearance to the back of his mind hours ago. If he wanted to leave abruptly and without saying goodbye, that was his prerogative. After all, it wasn't as if Harry had ever actually needed him.

Making a sharp left turn at the corner, Harry brought himself to a stop. He climbed off his bike and wheeled it towardsThe Authoritative Pawnbrokers. Hopefully, he could find what he was looking for here.

When he entered the dingy shop, the owner- a scruffy, long-nosed, grey-haired man called Simon- walked out of the backroom to greet him. When he spotted Harry wheeling in his bike, a slow smile stretched out across his face.

"One of these days, I'm gonna have to meet your parents, kid. How do they keep letting you get away with selling all the nice toys they buy you?"

Even though he had always thought Simon was more than a bit creepy, he was the only buyer Harry knew that never tried to lowball him because of his age. Simon only ever tried to lowball him because he was stingy. Harry could respect that.

He smiled back at him and- channelling Dudley's spoiled nature- he said, "They don't care what I do with the things they buy me, as long as I'm happy. I think they're even a little proud that I'm making money for myself. Now, how much can you give me for this beauty?"

Since leaving Lupin's abandoned home, Harry had returned briefly to clean his bike before Petunia and Dudley could return from the school run and had been to every buyer in town. They had all offered him lower than he had hoped for and now Simon was his only hope for a solid profit.

Simon began examining the bike in silence and after a couple of minutes, he made his offer. "I won't go higher than one thirty. The brand is good, but I'll have to replace the tires for the resale. They're just too worn."

It was even better than he had hoped for, but he knew from experience to never accept the first offer; these people could sniff out desperation. "It's worth two hundred. Anything less and my parents wasted their money." So began the haggling. It went on for a couple of minutes, with Simon even threatening to take his original offer off the table, but finally, they had agreed on one fifty.

"Pleasure doing business with you, kid," Simon said as he handed over the money. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Who says business is done?" Harry reached into his bag and pulled out his bike lock. Simon frowned as he slowly figured out what was up and tried to keep his offers low with each new item Harry revealed. He wasn't the first buyer in town who had tried to do that today.

Harry had realised how careless he had grown with Dudley's old possessions. He had been treating Dudley's playroom as though it were a holding area for his sales. Once every few weeks, he would fix up something broken or discover a toy Dudley had grown bored with and sell it on. Often, afraid that Dudley might regain interest in a particular item, he hid them around the house in various hiding places just in case he needed to "find it" for his cousin.

All it would have taken was a little bad luck and he would have the worst of Vernon's and Petunia's attention fixed squarely on him. Yesterday was a wake-up call. His powers didn't make him infallible, and he needed to make caution his ally.

This afternoon he had sold a few items in every shop he had been to. Harry's pockets had learned the hard way not to dump all his goods in one place, it was another sign of desperation they could discern.

Eventually, Harry left the shop with a smile on his face and his pockets laden with more money than he had ever carried before. He made his way back towards Privet Drive at a leisurely pace. There was no need to rush after all. Between a late evening stroll and a stuffy attic, there was only one clear choice.

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For the next few weeks, Harry's mind remained on a single goal; to make as much money as possible before September. Stonewall High School had already accepted his late application and Harry planned to spend his entire summer preparing himself for it. Not academically of course. Dudley could be considered a good student at Stonewall. No, Harry needed to prepare financially.

Perhaps it was because he had been raised in such an affluent area, but Harry had noticed that most kids his age didn't seem to think about how much school cost. School dinners, trips, equipment, uniforms,P.E.Uniforms, and stationery. It all cost a small fortune in Harry's eyes and that was just the things that were necessary for lessons.

To fit in with his peers he needed money to afford the latest fads, just enough to fit in anyway. It felt stupid to even think about it, but many students from St. Gregory's would be attending Stonewall and Harry didn't want his reputation as the school weirdo to follow him. He didn't mind not having close friends, (he had learned through Sara how that could backfire) but as long as he wasn't completely on the outside anymore, he would be content.

So, while Dudley spent the rest of July playing computer games and beating up younger kids with his gang of moronic hooligans, Harry went around to the neighbours offering his services. He helped out wherever his services were accepted. He washed cars, walked dogs, and helped pensioners with everyday tasks while they told him about how their grandkids didn't have his manners. Each job didn't pay that much, but after a couple of weeks, it began to accumulate into a tidy sum.

It took Harry longer than he was proud of to realise that the neighbours didn't need his help. Not when they took the time to compliment his work and tell him he was growing up the right way. It was only when sweet old Mrs Marsh of Number Twelve said, "You're such a thoughtful boy. I bet your parents would have been proud of you," did it finally click. They were giving him so many jobs because they saw him as a poor little orphan, and it made them feel better about themselves to hire him. The reason Vernon and Petunia had let it go on for so long was that it made them look good to raise a helpful boy.

After that Harry stopped asking for odd jobs. He might be a poor orphan, but he had more pride than to use that fact to gain work.

Not enough to give back the money though. He was proud but he wasn't stupid.

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One morning, a week before his birthday, Harry awoke to the most awful stench wafting through the house. Fearing there may be some kind of gas leak or electrical fire (he had never smelt either before, but maybe it was something like this?) and that the Dursleys had left him to die, Harry rolled out of bed and fell out through the cupboard door. Scrambling to his feet, he poked his head into the kitchen.

He hadn’t overreacted. Vernon's breakfast was half eaten on his plate and the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Dudley's favourite cartoon was playing but he wasn't around either, but Petunia was by the kitchen sink, and while she was wearing a mask over her mouth and nose, he didn’t think it could be all that dangerous if she remained. She seemed to be stirring something in the sink.

"What is that smell?"

Petunia stopped her stirring and turned to pinch her face at him, as she always did when he made himself noticed. "I'm purchasing Dudley's uniform today so I thought I might as well get yours done. I'm dyeing Dudley's old Cherry Grove uniform for you."

Harry took a peek at the sink's contents and wished he hadn't. Apparently, in Petunia's mind at least, he would be going to school wearing sagging elephant skin. He needed to fix this, fast.

"Didn't the school send the letter about the Student Reform Programme?"

"What?"

"Stonewall is aware of their reputation around town. So, they're taking their worst-behaved students and making sure they have everything they need to succeed so they have no excuses for failure. I used to get in so much trouble at St. Gregory's they already know about me." It had been a couple of years since Headmistress Roemmele had caught him doing anything bad enough to warrant a call home (keyword being caught), but hopefully, it would be prominent enough in Petunia's memory for her to buy his story.

In this case, it was fortunate that she was always prepared to believe the worst of him. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" She demanded.

Harry shrugged, unconcerned with her labour. "They said they were going to send a letter."

There was a clattering sound by the front door. "I'll get the post, shall I?" He said jauntily, leaving her staring frustrated at the sink. He made a note to purchase his school things earlier than he normally would have to keep up the lie.

There were only three letters today: An electric bill, a postcard from Marge Dursley and a stamp-less letter for Harry. He blinked.Wait, what-?

Mr H Potter

The Cupboard Under The Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

He blinked again. Hang on, did that sayCupboard Under The Stairs?

On his way back to the kitchen, he tossed the letter onto his bed as he passed. Leaving the post in front of Vernon's chair he made his way back to his room and closed the door firmly behind him.

Harry examined his letter. He had never seen anything like it or at least not outside of a television screen. The letter was made of thick parchment, the ink was acidic green, and the fat red seal was split into four, like the chambers of a heart. Each one had a different animal, a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. Slowly, he opened the letter and read its contents. He felt angrier and less confused the further down he went.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Lord Albus Dumbledore

(46thMagister of the International Confederation of Wizards, Sage of the Six Esoteric Arts)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. First Year students will be required to report to the Entrance Courtyard upon arrival.

Please find an enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment. The term begins September 1st. We await your owl no later than 31stJuly.

In order to avoid detection by Muggles, students are asked to use the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters located in King's Cross Station, London. The ticket for the train is also enclosed.

Yours Sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

(Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, Master of Transfiguration)

Very slowly, Harry lowered the letter, trying very hard not to crumple it in his fists. In his mind, there was only one person who could be behind this, and she lived just a street away.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry tore his way down Privet Drive and onto Wisteria Walk, making a beeline for Number Sixteen. There was only one person in the world that knew of Harry's powers and the last he heard she’d tried to get the police to arrest him. Granted hewasa danger to society, but still. That didn't mean he had to take this joke lying down.

Walking down the front path he knocked on their front door, perhaps a little harder than was strictly necessary. A few moments later it was opened by a blonde teenage boy in pyjamas. He looked at Harry through bleary eyes.

"What?" He asked.

"Is Sara in?" Harry was glad the boy gave him the excuse to skip the chit-chat and get to the point. At least until he shut the door in his face. Harry was stunned for a moment and was about to knock even more firmly this time, but the door was quickly opened again, and a flustered Sara appeared in front of him.

"Harry!" She said happily. "I was just about to eat breakfast. Join me." She snatched his arm and before he could even open his mouth, he found himself being led into the kitchen. He had breakfast at Sara's house plenty of times before, back when they had still been friends, but it had always been a lively affair with her older siblings and parents hurrying around the house getting ready for the day. Now it was just the two of them in the kitchen.

"Don't mind Scott, he's just grumpy because Taylor dumped him last night." She said this as she was fixing the two of them plates. Harry knew her parents and older sister all worked busy jobs, so she was probably eager for company. Was that why she had sent the letter? To engineer this situation?

Harry could feel himself becoming increasingly paranoid, so before he could lose his temper, he asked, "Did you send me this letter?" He waved the parchment letter he held in his hand.

Sara looked genuinely confused. "What? No, I didn't send you a letter. Why would I? You live two minutes away."

Harry scowled. "You're the only person who knows about me. It literally couldn't be anyone else." He was keeping his voice low in case sound travelled in this house as it did at the Dursleys'.

Sara returned his scowl. "I seriously have no idea what you're talking about. What am I supposed to know?" She paused as if searching her memory. "Is this about your crush on Ms Hills? I think she already knows. You're not very subtle."

Harry was caught off guard. "What?! No! How'd you even-?" He spluttered, as his cheeks began to grow warm. "No, this isn't about that! This is about my powers."

Giggling, Sara asked, "What powers? Of obviousness?" Harry breathed through his nose trying to calm himself down.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. That green fireball? The snake? Roemmele's door? Is any of this ringing a bell?"

Perhaps it was because he was being so serious, but Sara finally got control of herself. "Seriously, I've got no idea what you're going on about." She looked genuinely confused. Harry had known Sara long enough to understand that while she wasn't a bad liar, she had a terrible habit of avoiding eyes when she fibbed. She was looking into his eyes right now.

Harry felt his anger begin to slip away and felt genuine worry begin to take its place. "You can't remember any of it?" He stepped forward and put both hands on her shoulders. "Can you tell me why we even stopped being friends in the first place?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Is that what this was about? You lost the book I lent you. But I told you it was fine ages ago! We're okay again." She sighed. "Honestly Harry, you take these things much too seriously."

Harry was the confused one now. "What book did you lend me?" Sara seemed to search her memory and came up empty.

"I don't even remember, so it obviously can't even be that important. I think I must have borrowed the book from my dad. That's why I was so upset, probably afraid he'll punish me for it." The words sounded awkward to Harry's ears, rehearsed almost.

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Is someone making you say this? Did they threaten you or something? Was it the police?" Harry's mind went in a dark direction. "Was it Lupin?" It would have made sense with his hasty departure from the hospital, his overnight move and the way he had spoken to all the witnesses of the Reptile House incident but had only singled out Sara's report of the events as strange.

Actually, it didn't make any sense, but he had a feeling Lupin was involved somehow. He was just missing a few key pieces of the puzzle.

Sara looked confused again, but not nervous in any way. She brushed off Harry's hands and stepped out of his reach. "No one is making me say anything, and what does Mr Lupin have to do with it? You're being even weirder than usual today." She had said all of this while maintaining steady eye contact.

It had been so long since Harry had felt truly afraid that it took him a moment to recognise the feeling. Slowly making his way to the door, he ignored Sara until he was on the doorstep. Without turning his head, he said, "You might not remember, but I do. I'm sorry for making it seem like you were making a big deal out of nothing. You clearly weren't. Iamdangerous."

Harry ignored her questions as he walked away, the letter still clutched in his fist.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry spent the rest of the morning out of the house. He spent some time in the library to distract himself but left when he couldn't concentrate on any of the books he picked out. He wandered around the park, lost in thought, and only made the way back to Privet Drive late in the afternoon when his growling stomach became too hard to ignore.

Harry was so distracted that he didn't even make fun of Dudley's new uniform like he had intended to. He made himself a large sandwich for a late lunch (or a very early dinner) and began to make his way to his cupboard, the letter still in hand.

Perhaps unsettled by Harry's lack of an opinion on his ridiculous uniform (straw hat and a maroon tailcoat? Really? The less said of the orange knickerbockers the better. Harry was almost glad Smeltings had rejected him.) Dudley confronted him in the hallway outside the cupboard. Harry, on a reflex born from growing up in the same house as his greedy cousin, moved his body to shield his sandwich from his grubby hands.

Unfortunately, this left his other hand within the larger boy's reach. The hand that contained the strange letter. Dudley's watery grey eyes fixed on it and, with speed unexpected from a boy his size, snatched it out of Harry's grasp. "What's this?" He asked.

"It's a letter," Harry said dryly. "It's what people have used to contact each other for centuries. Didn't they teach you anything at Cherry Grove?" He hoped his lack of visible concern would make Dudley drop the letter. It might have even worked if he didn't glance at the address.

Dudley's expression tightened. One of the few rules that both boys had to follow was about the Cupboard Under the Stairs. Vernon and Petunia had sat them both down when they had been little and explained that no one except for Marge was allowed to know about the cupboard. Harry had been threatened to keep quiet. Dudley had been bribed.

Harry knew what was about to happen and might have even stopped him if it didn't mean dropping his sandwich. In his defence, he hadn't eaten all day. Besides, whatever Vernon and Petunia had to say about it was the least of his concerns. However, the Dursleys’ reaction surprised him.

When Dudley ran into the living room and gave his mother the letter, both she and her husband paled drastically. What happened next was even more shocking. Vernon grabbed Dudley by the scruff of his neck and threw him out into the hallway and slammed the door behind him, all without uttering a word. Petunia didn't even protest the poor treatment of Dudley's brand-new uniform.

While Dudley busied himself with trying to eavesdrop at the door, Harry made himself comfortable on the staircase and ate his sandwich. It made no difference, despite the Dursley parents trying to keep their voices low, Harry could hear them clear as day. Sound tended to carry in this house and Harry had sharp ears.

"Look at the address", Petunia was saying, "they know where he sleeps!"

Vernon let out a shaky breath at this. "How? Do you think that they've been watching him?"

"Watching him. Watching us. You don't know these people. Not like I do. They have no decency, no morals, no line they won't cross!" Petunia sounded increasingly upset with each word she said, and Vernon was making quiet soothing sounds as though he was comforting her. Harry and Dudley exchanged an awkward look, feeling as though they were intruding on a private moment.

Finally, she seemed to regain some control of herself and said, "He hasn't had an incident in years. I thought he was becoming normal. But he's just likeher."

"You told me this day was always going to come. I didn't think he could be changed." Vernon almost sounded accusing.

Petunia's voice was still thick as she said, "I just hoped that...", she trailed off, and after a few moments said, "If they're watching the house, we have to move him tonight. Dudley's playroom." She added to Vernon's unasked question.

Dudley, who had been looking increasingly confused, suddenly gasped and charged back into the living room. "No! It's mine! I NEED IT!"

And so began the biggest tantrum Number Four Privet Drive had seen since the pogo incident of '88.

Harry, stomach full and hunger sated, made his way to the cupboard. He knew he wasn't going to get any answers from his relatives right now. What worried him at that moment was his imminent move from the cupboard to an upstairs room. If they were serious, he had a loose floorboard to empty of cash.

He heard Vernon leave the house in a hurry to buy furniture before the shops closed and Petunia went upstairs to clean out the playroom, all the while Dudley was screaming in the background, "I DON'T WANT HIM IN THERE!" Apparently, they needed it to look like he had always lived there. This only served to make Harry feel nervous. Who was going to be inspecting his new room?

Later that evening, Petunia rapped on the cupboard door and asked Harry to come out. "You're getting a little too big for your old room, so we're moving you to Dudley's old playroom."

"That's nice of you," Harry said, as though he hadn't heard Dudley's screams. "Shall I pack my things?"

She ignored his question and demanded to know, "Have you ever told anyone about the cupboard? Have you ever spoken to someone strange?"

"Aside from you? No." Petunia scowled and stalked back into the living room.

Harry packed his boxes and made his way to his new room. Petunia had completely cleaned out the room and Vernon had purchased a new bed, desk and wardrobe. Harry closed the door behind him and shut the curtains. He crawled under his new bed and with his old Swiss army knife, loosened one of the floorboards. Once done, he stuffed his money inside.

Now that he had created a new stash spot for himself, Harry stood and examined his new room. It was jarring to have a bedroom he could stand straight in. It was the smallest room in the house, but he wasn't even sure if he could sleep with this much space around him. Tonight would be an adventure all on its own. Harry unpacked his things, and while it didn't take very long, he did make sure it was all neat and orderly, just as he liked it.

While Dudley was being consoled by Petunia with heavy amounts of ice cream, he placed the box that contained all his books up against the wall. They weren't very many in comparison to Lupin's library, just a little over thirty, but compared to the Dursleys’ non-existent book collection, it was practically an archive of knowledge. He would have to buy a bookshelf if he wanted to display his collection as proudly as Lupin had.

The thought of his old teacher made him pause. The Dursley's unusual (and amusing) behaviour had distracted him from his real problems. The disturbing letter, Sara's lost memories and Lupin's abrupt departure. All of it was connected in some way. Harry tried to avoid the real issue now, just as he had all day, but he felt safer tackling his problem directly. Safer than he did accepting something he had always wished for anyway.

What if this was some kind of prank? What if someone had figured him out and were playing mind games with him? Despite what he had told Sara, she might not be the only person who knows (orknew) what he was capable of. It wouldn't be especially difficult to discover as he had never been very subtle when using his powers, as Sara's initial discovery had shown. At least she had asked him directly to discover the truth, rather than spying on him (as he probably would have done).

Anytime he moved something through sheer force of will, set something on fire or made something disappear, he might have attracted someone's attention. It wouldn't have been hard to realise who was behind it as he appeared exhausted after every use, sometimes even falling asleep back in the early days. These thoughts stayed with Harry as he got ready for bed, despite the early evening sun peeking through the closed curtains.

But what if it's real?The thought drifted to the front of his mind despite his best efforts.Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I might be a wizard. My powers might be magical. A whole school to teach me how to use magic properly.

Harry gave up trying to distract himself from the hope that was building in his chest. It took surprisingly little time to fall asleep, as even his subconscious seemed excited to dream of the possibilities, with one shining brighter than the rest:

A school for kids like me.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry's good mood followed him through the next couple of days. Even the Dursley's increasingly erratic behaviour couldn't dampen his mood. Dudley was still upset with losing his playroom, Petunia seemed to grow tenser with each passing hour and Vernon was forced to take time off work to take care of her.

However, Harry wasn’t satisfied with just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had taken matters into his own hands. While he didn't remember the letter word for word, he did remember six words clear as day.

We await your response by owl.

He had no idea where he was supposed to find an owl or what they expected him to do with it once he found it, but he decided to take a risk and send his letter through the post as he would to any other school. With a sheet of plain paper, and in his neatest handwriting, he wrote:

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I write to inform you that I would like to accept my place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As my guardians seem unable to explain what they know of Hogwarts, I ask if you could please send further information about the school, along with another copy of the shopping list, (as my relatives seem to have misplaced my original).

I hope to see you in September.

Kind Regards,

Harry Potter

There, that should work. It was both polite and to the point. Also, by blaming the Dursleys for his missing shopping list he had avoided making a poor impression on a teacher at a school he had never even attended. He paused. Unless she thought that hehadlost the shopping list and was trying to be sneaky by blaming his relatives for it. Then she would hate him already. Harry hesitated for a moment, torn by indecision, before shaking his head and quickly sliding the letter into the envelope. He sealed it before he could overthink it and rewrite the entire letter.

WritingHogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardryon the front of the envelope and sticking on a stamp he'd nicked from Vernon, Harry left the house and made his way to the red letterbox on the street corner. Afraid he would chicken out, Harry slid the letter in without hesitation.

He released a slow breath. It was out of his hands now.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next morning, Harry rose before the sun, too excited to sleep. While there was still a small fear that he was setting himself up for disappointment, he was far too gone to help himself. Whatever happened will happen.

The sky was just turning a deep blue and the house was still quiet. Dudley never woke up before ten during the holidays, so Harry had free reign over their shared bathroom. Ever since the day after the Reptile House incident, Harry had been enjoying early morning baths. Something about it was soothing to both his mind and body and while he would have preferred to do it during evenings before bed, Dudley had a bad habit of complaining to use the bathroom whenever Harry was using it. He would knock on the door repeatedly until Petunia got involved. Not exactly a soothing environment.

After a long soak in the hot water, Harry dressed for the day and made his way into the kitchen. Now that Vernon had taken some time off work, he and Petunia had joined Dudley in his late mornings, which left the house to Harry. A lazy morning of eggs, sausages, tea and cartoons lay ahead of him as he settled comfortably in front of the living room television.

A few hours later, with his breakfast eaten and mindless entertainment playing on the television, Harry felt as relaxed as he had ever been as he lounged on the sofa. At least he did until there was a thunderous knock on the front door.

Leaping up, he turned off the television and hurried his dishes to the kitchen sink. It wasn't worth the ensuing argument if Vernon or Petunia caught him enjoying himself in their home.

While he was washing his dishes, he heard the rest of the household wake up and Vernon stomping down the stairs. "Alright, I'm coming, hold your horses." Harry wasn't paying it any mind, at least until he heard Vernon's gasp of horror.

A deep voice spoke with a thick west country accent. "Morning! Little Harry wouldn't happen to be in, would he?" Harry was more than a little surprised by this as he had never had a visitor before, especially one that referred to him aslittle Harry.

Drying his hands, he made his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway, where he saw Vernon shaking in front of a giant overcoat-laden torso. He heard a whimpering sound from his left and saw Petunia cowering on the staircase, holding a confused Dudley in her arms.

"Aren't you going to invite me in? We've got a long day ahead of us and I'd like to get started." The stranger's voice sounded a little concerned about Vernon’s lack of response, but it was this request for invitation into his home that seemed to startle him into action.

"I demand you leave at once! This is my home, and I don't want you here!" Vernon squeaked out pathetically, "You are not welcome here!" With this, he made a silly sort of shooing gesture at the stranger, as though he were banishing a mystical evil.

The stranger, rather pointedly, ignored this. "Where's Harry? I came because we got his letter. He wants an explanation, cause you lot made a piss poor job of it." With this new information, both Vernon and Petunia turned to look at Harry, not with anger but with betrayal. He would have asked why if it wasn't for what happened next.

The giant stranger bent his head low and peeked into the house through the small space Vernon's wide frame left. He stared at Dudley on the staircase for a long moment before asking tentatively, "Harry is that you? You're…err…a littledifferentthan what I expected." It was this more than anything that stirred Harry into action. Being mistaken for Dudley was an insult as far as he was concerned.

Stepping forward and into the giant's line of sight, Harry said firmly, "I'mHarry."

The giant had smiled at him in recognition before he had even spoken. "Of course, you are. You look just like your dad." Harry was surprised for the second time in as many minutes.

"You knew my dad?"

"Course I did. Now, you wouldn't mind inviting me in, would you? Like I said, we've a long day ahead of us."

Harry, finally remembering his manners, said, "Please come in Mr-?"

"Professor Rubeus Hagrid. But you can just me Hagrid outside of class."

It was that more than the mention of his letter that had made Harry realise that Hogwarts was in fact real and had responded to his letter with incredible speed. Somehow, Hagrid managed to squeeze through the doorway (it almost looked as if it had expanded for him) and Harry led him into the living room where he took a seat on the sofa, taking it all up by himself. It creaked dangerously under his weight, but by some miracle, it managed to hold. While he was marvelling internally at Hagrid's height (nine feet at least!) a juvenile excitement seemed to take over him. He had never entertained a guest before, and he wanted to see what the Dursleys made such a fuss about.

"Would you like anything to drink? Tea? Water?" He asked as politely as he could. Hagrid smiled and, with the air of a man who had travelled many miles, he let out an enormous sigh.

"I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea. Milk please, and three sugars."

Harry made his way into the kitchen, ignoring his shivering (and still confused in Dudley's case) relatives. He quickly fixed Hagrid a cup in the largest mug he could find and made his way back into the living room. By the time he got there, Vernon had regained his courage and was confronting his guest.

"I demand you leave our home! The boy will not be leaving with you, so go before I call the police!" Vernon was speaking with a stronger voice than he had before, but his legs were still shaking. He was genuinely terrified. This might have given Harry pause if he weren't so annoyed with being called“boy”in front of his new teacher.

"Theboycan decide that for himself, thank you very much," Harry said coldly. He could feel his cheeks beginning to heat up. He couldn't believe that his relatives were going out of their way to embarrass him. Actually, he could. They always had to ruin everything. Harry handed Hagrid his tea and took a seat by the window, where he could observe the entire room. From there he could see Petunia lurking by the door.

Hagrid turned to face Harry taking a sip from his mug. "Cheers, Harry. You wrote you lost your shopping list, didn't you? Professor McGonagall wrote up another one for you this morning." He reached into the many pockets of his heavy brown overcoat and handed Harry the letter he pulled out. A letter identical to the one from yesterday with one key difference; it now saidSmallest Bedroominstead ofCupboard Under the Stairs.

Harry shook his head with wonder. "Professor McGonagall uses witchcraft to know exactly where people sleep?" It was definitely creepy but in a cool sort of way. Hagrid choked into his mug.

"Don't ever say that to her. She's nice if you behave yourself but she doesn't tolerate cheek, even from other teachers," he chuckled. "Anyway, it's not her who knows where students are. It's the Book of Admittance. As soon as a kid's name is first written by the Quill of Acceptance on its pages it can locate them anywhere in the world when their letter is due." Harry was intrigued by this process, but before he could ask any questions about it, Petunia cut in.

"We've already told you he won't be going! That was the deal we made with the old man! We take him in, and we're protected. Nothing about the boy going to that school!" Harry became increasingly unsettled by every word that came from Petunia's mouth. Protected from what?

"Dumbledore promised you that he would never remove Harry from your care, yes. However-" Hagrid, who had seemed so friendly a second ago, now wore a devious smirk beneath his bushy beard-"Idon't recall making you any promises that night."

Petunia, already pale, now turned as white as a sheet. It was only this that made Harry bite his tongue. She looked as though she might faint at the smallest provocation. So instead, he turned to Hagrid and repeated the question that had been rattling around in his brain for the last few minutes.

"You knew my dad?" He asked eagerly. Hagrid turned away from Petunia and towards Harry, his friendly smile returning to his face.

"Of course, I did! I was his Care of Magical Creatures Professor, wasn't I? And your mum’s of course. James and Lily were both excellent students," he said reminiscing, "but they were better friends."

James and Lily. Just the sound of their names brought back blurry memories, memories of memories really, of a tall bespectacled man who laughed a lot and a warm woman who smiled down at him, her long, dark red hair falling over her face like a curtain. Slowly, he remembered that Hagrid had said something else.

"Hang on, did you just say Care ofMagicalCreatures? As in dragons and unicorns and stuff?" He asked hurriedly, eyes wide. "Are they real? And you said that Hogwarts teaches it? And my parents went to Hogwarts? They were like me? A witch and a wizard?" Harry had only meant to ask one question but found the rest falling out of his mouth, one after the other. He had only stopped to take a breath and would have continued his verbal bombardment if Hagrid hadn't raised a hand to forestall him and turned to face the Dursleys.

"Dumbledore told me it was a possibility that he might not know everything. That maybe you were making some misguided attempt to protect him from the truth. But this is worse! He doesn't knowANYTHING!" Hagrid's volume had increased with each word until he shouted the last, taking Harry and Vernon by surprise, and tried to stand up. What surprised them even more, however, was Petunia's response.

"Of course, we didn't tell him!" She shouted her face now blotched red with anger, completely unrecognisable from the pale, terrified woman from a moment ago. "Your kind took my family! My parents! Who didn't see the risk in raising awitch! And when your kind killed themrightin front of me, for spawning the little bitch, where did she go? Right back to that school of hers and forgot all about them. Left me behind to pick up the pieces. Left me with her son too when she went and got herself killed!" Petunia shouted, not so much at Hagrid but at the world at large. It seemed as if she had been waiting years to get this off her chest, as she began to breathe deeply and raggedly when she was finished.

Hagrid looked just as shocked as Harry did, having promptly sat back down when Petunia began her tirade and now even looked a little apologetic.

After a moment of tense silence, Vernon moved to comfort her, but she shook him off. She glared at Hagrid through narrow eyes. "He won't be going. I won't allow it." For a moment, Harry was touched, thinking she didn't want him to get hurt. The moment was ruined, however, when she said, "The old man told me the protection wouldn't work if he leaves here." Harry felt like an idiot. Of course, she was concerned about herself and her family, and not him.Neverhim.

It was only after he thought that, did her words finally click for him. "That's the second time she's mentioned protection. Is that protection from your kind? Is that what happened to my parents? To my grandparents?" Hagrid turned between the Dursleys and Harry repeatedly, looking unsure for a moment, before sighing.

"I came here expecting to teach you about Hogwarts, not..." he trailed off seeming unsure. "Everyoneknows,” he said finally. “You can't go to school not knowing your own family's story. It's just not right." Harry waited while Hagrid stared into the unlit electric fireplace collecting his thoughts. After a minute he finally spoke.

"You said "your kind". That's not right. It'sourkind. Witches and wizards. There are people like us all over the world, Harry. We’re in every country and culture, hiding in plain sight of Muggles, and in places they can never reach. Once, a long time ago, we used to live together, wizards and Muggles, but it was never in harmony. The two sides always divided themselves up and fought each other out of fear and ignorance. Centuries ago, it got so bad that we had to separate ourselves from them as completely as we could and when that wasn't enough, we placed the Veil over the world, an illusion so powerful only small children and the most open-minded of Muggles can see through it." He glanced at the Dursleys. "Or those given permission."

"However, this wasn't enough for some people. Some witches and wizards thought our powers made us superior to Muggles. They thought it was our "natural destiny" to subjugate them." Vernon and Petunia looked torn between anger and fear at this. "Every so often a group of them will try to turn this opinion into a reality, but every time we managed to beat them back." Hagrid paused again, as though working himself up to something, before continuing.

"More recently though this idea of magical supremacy was being led by an immensely powerful wizard and there was a war between those who wanted to subjugate Muggles and those that wanted to protect them. No one is sure when the war started. Most think it was when the enemy leader outright declared it in front of the whole world back in 1970. Dumbledore reckons it started as far back as 1951 when an entire Auror squadron was killed in Germany without a single trace of evidence left behind. All I know is that we spent eleven terrible years fighting the Sixth Great Wizarding War."

Harry swallowed. This was crazy. A magical war? Six of them? And his parents had gotten mixed up in the last one? Were they crazy too? "Their leader, the powerful wizard who kicked it all off, what was his name?" Hagrid grimaced.

"We don't like to say his name, you see. He commanded his soldiers and supporters to never speak it, so anyone who did was an enemy in his eyes. He placed a Taboo on his own name so that anyone who dared speak it would be found and killed immediately as a message to everyone else." Hagrid shook his head, lost in bad memories. "That's how it always was with the Death Eaters. They could never fight head-on, and they always seemed to attack when we were at our most vulnerable. The ones we caught were proud to explain how their leader had taught them all about guerrilla tactics at their trials." Hagrid made a noise of disgust which made clear his opinion on that idea. "They hardly ever fought capable fighters deliberately, always going after the weakest of us instead."

"Death Eaters?" Harry asked.

Hagrid shrugged. "It's what we called them. I never liked it, but we weren't going to use the namehegave them:The Knights of Walpurgis." Hagrid scoffed.

Harry leaned forward, not one to be distracted (most of the time). "You still haven't told me his name." Hagrid looked sheepish, as though he had been hoping that Harry would forget.

"You mustn't repeat it," Hagrid warned him rather unnecessarily. It wasn't as if he was gonna call magical murderers to his doorstep. He waited for Hagrid to produce a pen and paper (hopefully with magic) to write it down, but then he just came out and said it.

"It's Lord Voldemort."

Harry leapt out of his chair, and looked out the window, half expecting to see a gang of evil wizards marching up the street. "You just said to never say the name out loud! What if they come here?"

Hagrid looked apologetic. "Sorry, I probably should have said something sooner, but the war has been over for years. The name is no longer under a Taboo."

Harry frowned, feeling uncertain. Just as felt he was beginning to understand, something else came up. "I don't understand. If the war is over, then why do the Dursleys need protection?"

Hagrid looked at him sadly, with the air of a man about to impart grave news. In the years to come, Harry would regard the next few minutes as some of the most important in his life. Where the first of many truths were revealed to him, and he finally became the slightest bit aware of the path he had been set on since the day he was born. However, at that moment he simply took his seat again, blissfully unaware of how his paradigm was about to be shifted.

"It's not the Dursleys that need protection," Hagrid said gruffly. "It's you."

"What?"

Hagrid took a slow breath and said, "You see, your mum and dad were the embodiment of everything Death Eaters hated. They were two people of different backgrounds who found happiness together. A person born from Muggles, marrying apure-blood-" Hagrid sneered at the word pure- "and having a child together. It was everything the Death Eaters wanted to destroy. To hear them speak of it, you would think the existence of half-bloods would lead directly to Muggles subjugatingus. It was ridiculous, but it was something a lot of people honestly believed, and some of those damned fools were willing to kill over it."

"Your parents weren't going to take this lying down of course. Like a lot of young witches and wizards, they left behind their education at the Magisterium. However, instead of going into hiding as most did, they became Aurors; Dark Wizard Hunters." Harry had never heard of anything cooler than a Dark Wizard Hunter. To think he had thought he was a mutant. Being a wizard was definitely better.

"Your parents even went up against You-Know-Who a few times. They were getting more and more famous as the war went on because not many people had fought him head-on and lived to tell the tale. It was giving people hope, that these two enemies of the Death Eaters were living and thriving in defiance. Well, You-Know-Who couldn't let that stand, could he?" Hagrid's voice had turned soft now, as though he didn't want Harry to hear what happened next.

"It all ended on Halloween, ten years ago."

Harry's stomach clenched. Of course, that's where it ended. He had allowed himself to get wrapped up in the tale of two heroes, so much so, that he had forgotten where their story ended.With their orphaned son having to learn about them from a complete stranger.

Hagrid continued. "Your parents had been on the run with you for over a year, living in safe houses and Auror Citadels all around the world. We found out later that one of their allies was a spy for the other side and was constantly giving away their location. But they eventually settled down for a few months in a village called Godric's Hollow and the attacks ceased. We thought they were safe then. We know now that the Death Eaters were just busy planning for Halloween. They launched massive attacks on Ministries all over the world. Four of his Acolytes even led an assault on the capital city of the Confederacy: Memphis."

"But it was all a diversion for his real target. Your family." Hagrid said. Harry swallowed, feeling his anxiety building up. "He found the cottage you were staying in and there must have been a hell of a fight because once the Aurors arrived all that was left of it was rubble. Dumbledore was still Magister at the time and ordered the first responders to a temporary vow of silence. He called me and made me take you to a Healer he trusted, before bringing you here." He finished.

Harry waited, but when it became clear that Hagrid would not continue, he prompted, "What about my parents? And what happened to Voldemort?" Hagrid flinched.

"Don't say his name!" He hissed before continuing. "No one knows what happened to You-Know-Who. His body was never found. But those who he bewitched to do his bidding suddenly woke up and turned themselves in. Some of his followers claimed he must be dead and surrendered. But most of his Death Eaters either ran or fought until they were killed or captured."

"Your parents were found near you in the rubble. You were completely unharmed except for that scar on your head. Whatever James and Lily did that night in Godric's Hollow protected you and ended the war. They're still remembered as heroes. You should feel proud of them Harry." Hagrid smiled a teary smile. "Your mum and dad saved the world."

At that moment, Harry felt too numb to be proud. So, he simply repeated his earlier question to distract himself. "If the war is over, why do the Dursleys need protection?"

Hagrid looked more awkward now than ever. "It's not just the Dursleys that need protection. They're only targets because they're related to you. When You-Know-Who killed your parents he tried to kill you too. What made him so terrifying in the first place was his complete mastery of the Dark Arts. He invented three spells so vile they're known as unforgivable. One of them was called the Killing Curse. If it touches you, it means a painful and near-instant death. For everyone except for you."

"You survived the unsurvivable curse with nothing more than a scar. You're the son of the two heroes who ended the last war. You'rethesurvivor. The Boy-Who-Lived."

"Your parents gave the Confederacy hope, and your survival keeps that hope alive. If any of You-Know-Who's followers managed to kill you, that hope would have died with you. Dumbledore said you would only find safety with your last remaining blood relatives, so while you live here, anyone who has the intention to harm you can't even approach the vicinity of your home. This whole town was made safe just for you. But only until you come of age. Before then you have to learn how to protect yourself, which means you have to come to Hogwarts."

Harry started. He had forgotten why Hagrid was even here. Now this entire thing-the tale of his parents’ murder- seemed like one big pitch to get him to go to a stupid school. He scowled and rose to his feet. "Doesthislook like I need protection?" He extended both hands and twin blue fireballs erupted on his palms. At the same time, everything in the room that wasn't pinned down (but the sofa as Hagrid was much too heavy) levitated three feet in the air. After a few seconds, Harry lowered everything gently to the floor and extinguished the blue fireballs before sitting down with as much dignity as he could muster. He didn’t want to give away how much that little display had cost him. He had done all those separately before, but never all at once.

Hagrid looked surprised, then impressed for about a moment, before he turned to Harry with a knowing smile. "That was dead impressive! To think you managed to teach yourself all that without even knowing about magic! But I'm guessing it cost you, didn't it? Feeling a little tired, are we?" Hagrid asked teasingly.

Harry remained stubborn for a moment, sitting upright in his chair, but he gave up and slumped against the back and began breathing in deeply, too winded to respond. Hagrid chuckled. "I've met some students who were able to get a good grasp on their powers before school, but I've never met one that was Muggle raised. I think you're gonna do just fine at Hogwarts, Harry."

Harry didn't feel the scowl he wore this time, because he was genuinely curious as to why Hagrid was so certain of his future success. "Why? Because I'm asurvivor?" He asked mockingly.

Hagrid shook his head amused. "Nah, it's because magic is much less costly when it's done with a wand," he said simply.

Harry froze, then smiled slowly. Hagrid knew he had him with that and Harry didn't even care. The idea of not feeling like he ran ten miles every time he tapped into his powers (magic, he corrected himself) was an attractive one. Much too attractive to pass up.

Petunia didn't feel the same. Removing herself from Vernon's grasp (who was still hiding in the corner after Harry's earlier display) she said, "He won't be going to that school! I've already decided!" Hagrid looked exasperated.

"Harry, do you mind giving us the room for a minute? I need to speak with your aunt and uncle." Harry looked between Hagrid and Petunia, and while he was amused by the idea of having two people fight over him, it wasn't enough to want to stick around to watch. Still, he wanted something from Hagrid, and this seemed like a good time to ask.

"I'll go if you promise to help me with my school shopping. I haven't got a clue where to buy wizard supplies." Hagrid winked at him.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Harry smiled at him and happily left the room. In the hallway, he spotted Dudley's tail end as he fled upstairs, slamming his bedroom door closed behind him.Clearly, someone is in awe of my earlier display, Harry thought. Still smiling, he went to the kitchen and helped himself to a large glass of orange juice and some leftover sausages to get his energy back up, before making his way to his room.

Closing his door behind him and sitting at his new desk, Harry opened his Hogwarts letter and began to read it properly, with his mind clear for the first time, and examined his school list closely.

First-year students will require:

Three sets of the school uniform (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for ceremonial wear

One pair of protective gloves (Dragon-hide or similar)

One pair of Mermish Crystal goggles

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Spellman's Syllabary by Rosana Amorim

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Journey through the Wizarding Worldby Conrad Paxton

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Numerology and Grammatica by Una Twain

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

Secrets of the Known Universe by Calypso Amon

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Beginner's Healing by Jason Aegle

ARTIFICES

One wand

One bronze Ouroboros

One cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

One WOMBAT Level Potions Kit

One brass telescope

One set of brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

London wasn't exactly his backyard, but Harry had been there enough times to know that he would be unlikely to find any of this stuff in the capital.

Capital, Harry remembered. Hadn't Hagrid mentioned something about a wizard capital? Memphis? Before he could think about this any further, he heard a voice calling him from downstairs. Climbing down the steps he was disappointed to see Hagrid by the door.

"Are you leaving already?" Harry asked sadly.

Hagrid raised his eyebrows. "I told you I was here to take you shopping, didn't I?" He had not, only saying that he would help him, and Harry had assumed that meant giving him directions. "Go grab a jacket or something. It looks like it might rain." Hagrid said, peeking out the open front door.

Grinning, (he couldn't remember smiling so much in one morning) Harry did so. Pulling on a green windbreaker, he reached under his bed for the loose floorboard and took his entire bundle of cash (meticulously kept in a large envelope and tied together with a rubber band) and stuffed it in his bag. After a moment's consideration, he removed the Walkman and his books as he wouldn't be needing them. He was going on a magical trip, so there was no way he could get bored today.

With that done, he went downstairs just in time to see the living room door slam close. Harry glanced at Hagrid. "What did you say to them exactly?"

Hagrid looked unaffected by the morning's events. "Nothing that wasn't the truth." He shrugged and looked Harry over. "Now, are you ready? We've got a long day ahead of us."

Harry scowled. "I don't need the bathroom if that's what you're suggesting."

Hagrid chuckled. "Just checking."

Harry let his scowl slip and looked his new teacher up and down in a critical fashion. "You know, I'm really glad Hogwarts sent you to help me, Hagrid."

Hagrid smiled. "Yeah? And why's that?"

Harry smiled back cheekily and said, "You look like you're good at carrying things and this school list islong." With that he opened the door and led the way outside, leaving a half-offended, half-amused friendly giant to follow behind him.

Chapter 3: A New Identity

Chapter Text

As the two made their way on foot towards Little Whinging Railway Station, Harry turned to Hagrid and asked, "How did you arrive here so early? I'm surprised you even got my letter so quickly. I only sent it out yesterday."

Mr Watts of Number Nine had been passing them by, hobbling along on his cane, and Hagrid had stepped off the pavement and into the road to make room for him. When Harry asked his question, Mr Watts stopped and glanced around, before giving Harry a strange look.

Hagrid nodded before frowning in an attempt to look stern. "Yeah, I meant to talk to you about that. We have a law called the Statute of Secrecy. That means we're supposed to keep the existence of magic from Muggles. Sending a letter by Muggle post was okay just this once because you didn't know, but in the future, upholding the statute will be your responsibility too." Hagrid looked both ways before he crossed the street, strangely cautious for a man of his size. It wasn't as if any driver could miss him.

Harry grimaced. "Did one of the postal workers see the address? Did I break the law?" The idea of getting into trouble for reasons he couldn't foresee had always bothered him. If he was about to do something stupid, he liked to be fully aware beforehand.

Hagrid chuckled. "Nah, luckily for you. The Confederacy has spies in Muggle institutions. Sometimes they're wizards, other times they're one of the rare few Muggles that are naturally immune to the Veil. They even give jobs to Muggle-born parents who need them. We like to keep the secret as closely guarded as possible."

Harry spotted the station up ahead. It was late in the morning, rush hour long gone, so there were only a few adults headed into the station, as well as a group of teenagers making the most of their summer by going to the capital for the day.

"So how did you get here so fast? Is Hogwarts nearby? Did you arrive by train?" He would assume so; he would be irritated they didn't just take his car.

"I just apparated," Hagrid said simply. Harry blinked. He felt he knew what that word meant but wanted to make sure just in case.

"You…teleported?" He asked unsurely. Hagrid raised his eyebrows at him as they both finally entered the station.

"Is that what Muggles call it? Appearing from thin air?" Harry nodded as he waited for Hagrid to approach the ticket office. When he did not, he glanced up at him confused.

"I'd be happy to pay for the tickets," Harry offered, "but I don't know where we're going." Hagrid looked amused, but Harry couldn’t see why.

"I was just following you to the station," he explained. "We're headed for London. But there's no need for tickets." Harry blinked before he realised the ticket officer was staring at him. Just as Mr Watts had. He sighed and made his way out of the station. Mercifully, the street was empty right now, so Harry didn't feel self-conscious about speaking to thin air.

"The Muggles can't see you, can they?" Harry tried not to sound sour. "It's that Veil thing at work. People keep looking at me like I'm talking aloud to myself." Hagrid belly laughed, as though he had played a great joke on Harry.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice!" He wiped a tear out of his eye. Harry rolled his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"It's notthatfunny," he grumbled. "Anyway, I can't keep talking to you, especially on the train. If people see a crazy ten-year-old talking to himself, some do-gooder will probably try and help." Hagrid slowly gained control over himself.

"Did you think I hadn't thought of that? Here, put this on the opposite of your dominant hand." He offered Harry a familiar-looking brown leather bracelet. "It'll put you behind the Veil, so the Muggles can't see or hear you." Hagrid lifted his sleeve and Harry saw a silver cuff on his left wrist with a clasp that looked like a snake devouring its tail.

Not being able to be seen or heard by anyone in the world other than an overcoat-wearing hairy giant sounded like the concept of a strange horror movie in Harry's mind, but he accepted the bracelet anyway. He closed the clasp around his left wrist, brushing his finger against the still strangely familiar symbols. "We're both wizards. Shouldn't the Veil automatically keep us hidden since we're both magical?" He asked, following Hagrid back into the station.

"That would be a little inconvenient for the parents of Muggle-borns though, wouldn't it?" Hagrid drew a long length of polished wood from the holster at his hip and waved it carelessly over the barriers before walking through them as though they were as insubstantial as mist. Tentatively, Harry did the same. He felt a jolt of emotion in his chest, but before he could identify it, it had faded.

"Besides the Veil can only give a plausible explanation if something magical is going on. You've learned about the Great Fire of London? It started when a bloke lost control of the Welsh Green Dragon he was keeping in his basem*nt."

Harry was momentarily distracted. "A Welsh Green Dragon?" He repeated. "That's specific. How many kinds of dragon are there?" Hagrid looked like he’d just been asked about his favourite topic.

"There are ten breeds still around, two more have gone extinct. But there are tens of thousands in reserves all around the world. No one knows how many are in the wild. Yeah," he added, looking amused when Harry realised loose dragons were flying around, "Starting to see why we need the Veil now?" He sighed wistfully, "I'd love to keep a wild dragon. Or any dragon, to be honest."

Harry decided not to entertain this train of thought.

As promised, the bracelet around Harry's wrist kept the people on the platform from looking at him as he spoke. "I think I saw a bracelet like this once. I was in the hospital a few weeks ago with Remus Lupin and Hestia Jones. Do you know them?"

Hagrid was studying the train route rather intently as he replied. "Our world isn't small enough for all witches and wizards to know each other, you know?" He then added, "But yeah, I know those two."

Harry could see the train headed towards them in the distance but paid it no mind. "Lupin was my teacher for years," he said, forcibly keeping his tone even as he wasn't sure if there was any point in getting angry at Hagrid. "My neighbour too. I never knew he was a wizard."

The train was coming into the station, slowing down in front of them. Hagrid had raised his voice to make himself heard over the noise. "Dumbledore wanted it that way. He thought your family would have told you the truth and if you knew another wizard was living in the area, you'd ask him for early lessons or something."

The train had stopped completely and opened its doors. Hardly anyone got out and once the two boarded (with the doorway magically enlarging itself to fit Hagrid) it was clear why. The entire carriage was empty, and Harry wasn't even sure why he was surprised. After all, it was eleven on a Friday. Hagrid took full advantage of this by waving his wand at an entire row of seats and they quickly grew to fit him.

Harry wouldn't let this continuous stream of magic distract him. "Why was Lupin even living here in the first place? And why did he suddenly leave?"

Hagrid inspected his work before taking his seat just as the train departed. "Well, he was your bodyguard, wasn't he? Did you think Dumbledore was just going to leave your protection to Muggles? What about when your family took you on holiday? Or school trips? Visiting family?"

Harry ignored all of that, especially the part with the Dursleys taking him with them on holidays. He’d thought the morning's events made his home life clear to all, but apparently, they weren't to Hagrid. He had only seen overprotective guardians when dealing with Vernon and Petunia. Instead, he asked, "Who is Dumbledore, anyway?" Harry thought he recognised his name from his Hogwarts letter, but more importantly, his name had popped up in his parents’ story.

"LordDumbledore," Hagrid corrected, his stern face coming to him much more easily this time. Harry opened his mouth to ask but Hagrid cut him off. "When a witch or wizard gains a Mastery from each of the six Guilds of the Magisterium, they become a Sage. All Sages are called Lord or Lady as a gesture of respect. It's damn hard getting even just one Mastery. Took me four years to get mine from the Beast Guild and I've been around magical creatures since before I attended Pendle's!"

"Does that mean Voldemort studied at the Magisterium? You called him a lord earlier." Hagrid jumped slightly but before he could say anything Harry cut in, "Yeah, yeah, I know, don't say his name." Harry rolled his eyes.

Hagrid tutted at his lack of concern. "The wrong sort of people will get upset if you say his name. His worst soldiers might have been arrested or killed but that doesn't mean all his supporters are known to us. Best to keep saying You-Know-Who until you've learnt to defend yourself at least." He took a breath to settle his nerves and continued. "Anyway, we don't know if You-Know-Who studied at the Magisterium. We don't even know what school of magic he went to. Even if you’ve never been to a country before, with Translation Charms you can speak their language like a native, accent and all." Harry made a note of that, as it sounded dead useful. "And You-Know-Who could speak all languages flawlessly."

Harry was a little unnerved by what he was hearing. "Did he wear a mask or something?" Hagrid shook his head.

"Nah, but his followers did. You-Know-Who on the other hand was difficult to miss. He had a face like a snake, red eyes and slits for nostrils. His entire body was completely bald and his skin was pale grey, almost white. I remember I could see his veins pumping through his skin." He shuddered.

Harry leaned forward in his seat. "You've seen him? I thought you said hardly anyone survived if he was there." He was impressed, but Hagrid merely looked embarrassed.

"He attacked Hogwarts about twenty years ago. We couldn't let him get to the students, could we? Thankfully, we didn't lose anyone before the Aurors arrived, but a lot of people died in Hogsmeade that day." Hagrid looked sad as though remembering someone he’d lost, but before Harry could figure out something comforting to say, he continued.

"Anyway, nobody knows where he came from. He called himself a lord and he killed anyone who questioned it publicly. After a while, it became hard to deny it was true." He looked resentful and his voice was begrudging. "See, there are two ways to become a Sage. The first is going to the Magisterium and mastering everything the six Guilds have to teach and passing a series of tests for each Mastery. The second is inventing something new for each Esoteric Art that no one has ever done before. After eight thousand years of wizarding history and knowledge, you can imagine how difficult that is. But You-Know-Who did that publicly, several times, early on in the war. We think he wanted everyone to know what he was capable of and how bad it could be for us to oppose him." Hagrid looked in such a bad mood that Harry regretted even asking about Voldemort in the first place.

"So,LordDumbledore is a Sage and you're a Master? Didn't you call him something else before? A Magister?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject from dark wizards.

"Hmm? Oh, he's your headmaster now, so you should call him that or Professor. I was just warning you before someone told you off," Hagrid said, looking completely unaware that hehadjust told him off for it. "Anyway, you normally call masters of their craft just that: Masters. Unless, of course, they permit you to do otherwise," he added with a wink. "You can normally tell by their Ouroboros," he explained, showing Harry his silver cuff again. "Onyx for Aurors, silver for Masters, gold for Sages and bronze for everyone else." He paused and then added, "The Magister, the leader of the Wizarding World, goes without. He has the Eye of Thoth for that. It has mastery over illusions, including the Veil."

Harry nodded and was about to circle back to his line of questioning about Lupin, when the doors opened, and more passengers boarded. This close to London, there were plenty of them despite the hour, but Harry was about to continue regardless, at least until an elderly woman tried to sit in his lap.

Harry leapt out of the way, shocked, and turned accusingly at Hagrid who was shaking with laughter. His guide remained seated as all the passengers gave his enlarged seat a wide berth but didn't even glance in his direction. He glanced around making sure that no one was looking before he hissed at the not-so-friendly giant. "I thought you said this bracelet keeps people from seeing me!"

Hagrid didn't even bother hiding his chuckles. "It does hide you from their senses, but that's just a temporary bracelet. It can’t be enchanted to have them avoid you, like mine,” he explained. “When we get to Diagon Alley we'll buy you one that's enchanted just for you, don't worry."

Harry remembered something. "But you avoided Mr Watts earlier. The old man with the cane," he clarified at Hagrid's empty look. "You stepped off the pavement for him."

Hagrid shrugged. "If I didn't, my Ouroboros would have made him step off for me. Didn't seem very nice to do that to a man his age." Hagrid paused to listen to the announcement over the speakers. "This is our change, Harry." He stood, returned his seat to its normal size and went to the doors. As he moved, people stepped out of the way, even pressing against the walls of the train, as Hagrid went past. Those nearest to his newly unoccupied seat looked surprised at the sight of it, as though it had appeared from thin air. Harry supposed for them, it had.

The train slowly came to a stop, and when the doors opened, the passengers waiting on the platform politely waited until Hagrid and Harry exited. Now Harry had only been on public transport in London a few times, but that might be the strangest thing he had seen all day.

The two made the way down the stairs towards the London Underground, as Hagrid explained, "We're headed for Charing Cross Road. Now normally, I just apparate to wherever I'm going, but I thought it's for the best if you knew the Muggle way. Professor McGonagall helped me memorise the route, but this is my first time on the Underground, so bear with me."

Harry nodded sympathetically. With his brown overcoat, long wild hair and great bushy beard, Hagrid looked like a man who belonged in the great outdoors, not stuck on the Tube with a bunch of rude Londoners.

To avoid bumping into anyone who couldn't see him, Harry made sure to walk a half-step behind Hagrid, almost as though he were using the man as a shield against commuters. The station was packed with tourists, families and teenagers, all looking for a fun day out in the city. They were climbing downstairs towards the underground platform when they suddenly felt the whipping of air currents and the vibrations through their feet, signalling an arriving train.

Hagrid made to hurry, but Harry tugged on the back of his coat. "What's the rush? They'll be another one in four minutes." Harry informed him, having caught the arrival board from the corner of his eye.

Hagrid looked impressed. "Will it? These Muggles know how to make things convenient for themselves, don’t they?"That's a little condescending, Harry thought, but before he could decide whether to question him on it or not, they had arrived on the enclosed underground platform and Harry saw the wordsCharing Crosson the Tube route. His brain, over-logged with questions and new knowledge, finally caught up.

"Hagrid, did you say Charing Cross Road? Isn't it that dangerous? Putting two kinds of people who constantly fight when they meet, right next together?"

Hagrid waved his concerns away. "People are just afraid of what they don't understand, Muggles especially. But just because you're taking the mundane route doesn't mean everyone else is." Before Harry could ask how the other students would be travelling (and did it have anything to do with the Platform Nine and Three Quarters that was mentioned in his acceptance letter?) Hagrid continued. "Besides, most wizards live their entire lives separated from Muggles. They never even set foot on Muggle land." Upon Harry's surprise, he clarified, "We have our own government, our own schools, towns, farms, shops and entertainment. We even have our own sports." Hagrid's eyes lit up as if he realised something. "Just wait until we get you on a broom! You'll never look twice at football!"

While Harry was debating whether it was worth asking if Hagrid meant aflyingbroomstick (probably not, he reasoned. They wouldn't lean into the stereotypesthathard) and not some kind of wizard slang for something else, the wind picked up on the enclosed platform and the train burst out of the dark tunnel with a roar before eventually coming to a screeching stop in front of them.

"I didn't expect this of them. I mean it came so quickly!" Hagrid said happily, even though the train was eight minutes late.

The rest of the journey was spent in companionable silence. Hagrid, seemingly relieved that Harry's never-ending torrent of questions was over, busied himself with some half-finished knitting that he’d produced from another one of his many pockets. As they came up to Charing Cross Road with minimal fuss (it only took a few minutes to convince Hagrid that the escalators didn't operate on magic. "I need to brush up on my Muggle studies," he muttered as the moving stairs took them up into the station) Harry took a deep breath of the not-so-fresh city air and appreciated their luck as they seemed to have missed a brief shower. The cool July day was made only better when the sun peeked out from behind the dark grey clouds, its light reflecting off the shallow puddles, bathing the street in a warm golden shimmer.

However, Hagrid just looked relieved not to be stuck underground anymore. "Come on! This way," he said briskly as he led Harry up the road, leaving his charge to scramble to catch up. Harry had been leading the way until now, but Hagrid finally seemed to recognise where they were without the aid of maps and signs.

"It's just up ahead. You can't miss it," he advised Harry.

As it turned out, youcouldmiss it.

Harry had been expecting some grandiose gateway into a secret magical society; a gateway only the initiated could see. Instead, what he got was a small dingy pub, tucked in between a bookshop and a record store. Harry looked up at Hagrid, unimpressed. "Listen, I know it was a bit of a journey, but isn’t it a bit early for a drink? It's only..." he trailed off, as he realised his digital watch had stopped working.

Hagrid took no offence. "Is that bracelet faulty? I swear you can never trust the temporary ones. Try and look closer." Hesitantly accepting the idea that he was missing something plain to see, Harry focused hard on the unappealing pub, ignoring the impulse to avert his eyes. After a moment, between blinks, the dingy pub seemed to shimmer and fade away, revealing what lay behind the Veil.

What appeared before his eyes was a medieval, but very well-maintained, tavern. The building seemed to be Tudor in style, with several floors and each upper room having its own wooden balcony overlooking the city. Its walls and the pavement in front seemed togleam,as they were just that clean, and along the edges of the building, the balconies and the wooden beams, there was minute black script, like a thin frame on a painting. It was similar to the black symbols etched onto his bracelet.

Through the crystal clear and intricately styled casem*nt windows, Harry could see a well-lit open area with booths, tables and stools by a well-stocked bar. The last thing he noticed was a wooden hanging sign, painted black, with a brown cauldron containing bubbling, deep gold liquid. Above that, there were three words, written in white:

The Leaky Cauldron.

Hagrid could tell the moment Harry saw what was truly there, as he did nothing but put a large, gentle hand on his shoulder and moved to lead him into the tavern and the Wizarding World that lay beyond.

The door opened soundlessly, but everyone looked up as all the noise of a busy London road followed them inside, only stopping completely when the door closed. A wooden door couldn't possibly hold back the sounds of an entire city, but that is precisely what it did.

The barkeep, a bald man with large, warm eyes and a wide smile, greeted Hagrid with familiarity. "Good afternoon, Professor Hagrid. Would you like the usual today?" Hagrid shook his head and gave Harry a little push forward.

"I can't today, Tom. I'm on Hogwarts business. Need to get this young man his school things." Tom stared at Harry uncomprehendingly for a moment before he sucked in a sharp breath.

"It can't be? Not Harry Potter?" The tavern, which had returned to its normal volume, now became silent again as everyone stared at Harry. His first instinct was to turn around and leave, but he forced himself to stand still, keep his face impassive and his mouth firmly shut. This was his parents' world. This was hisworld. He shouldn’t have to run from it.

Tom came around the bar and hurried towards him. Harry almost broke his stoic facade and hid behind Hagrid but stopped himself when he saw the barkeep was only extending his hand. Tom shook his hand firmly and said, "It's good to have you back Mr Potter. We never forgot." As soon as Tom uttered that, there was a sudden mad dash towards him and a queue was formed, rather forcibly, by Hagrid. "Line up orderly! One at a time!" He called out.

Every one of his well-wishers told him how happy they were that he was safe (he had never even realised he was in danger) and how honoured they were to meet him (he hadn't done anything for them to feel so honoured). Eventually, near the end of the queue, he came across someone he recognised.

"Dedalus Diggle!" Harry exclaimed. It was one thing for Hagrid to say he knew Lupin and Hestia, but it was quite another to see his now lime green three-piece suit-wearing taxi driver in a magical pub.

The pretty woman beside Dedalus made a sudden noise of surprise when Harry said his name. She watched, seemingly amazed, as he waltzed up to Harry as if they were old chums. "Harry! Good to see you again!" Harry was startled at the volume of his voice.I'm standing right in front of you, he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue.

"It's good to see you too, Dedalus," he said instead, politely shaking hands.

Dedalus smiled at him warmly and continued in a low voice so only Harry could hear. "Thanks, Harry. Irene wasn't giving me time of day before, but you just made me look good." With that, he walked away with the pretty woman (Irene apparently, who was much too young for him). She was looking at him as though he were a wonder.

"You know Harry Potter?" She asked as they walked away.

Dedalus looked as cool as a cucumber as he responded. "I can't discuss it. Dumbledore business. You understand." She looked awed.

Harry had the feeling he had just been used, but Hagrid called out to someone before he could figure out how. "Professor Quirrell! I didn't know you were back!"

As Harry shook hands and accepted the well-wishes of the last few stragglers, a pale man left his crowded table and swaggered over to them with his hands deep in his pockets.

Harry couldn't help but notice that the group he had just left were the only ones to not come and greet him. He chided himself for that thought.Two minutes as a celebrity, and suddenly I'm annoyed when people don't fawn over me. I need to get overmyself.

Still, Harry knew that wasn't what had bothered him. What did, was that the group were all staring at him, unblinkingly, but not making any move towards him. Except for the one Hagrid had called out to.

"I just got back in this morning. I came to the alley to purchase new furnishings for my quarters. I might have stopped for a drink in my favourite pub, and then one drink might have turned into three." Quirrell spoke with an easy-going smile. Harry noticed the intense eye contact he was making with Hagrid, and his failure to mention anything about his creepy friends.

"Don't let Rosmerta hear you say that. She might not be so sweet on you anymore." The two men shared a laugh and shook hands warmly. Harry wondered how two people who looked so different could have such similar demeanours.

While Hagrid was extremely tall, wide and hairy, Quirrell was almost the opposite. He was a small man, unusually slim and his white blonde hair was short and neatly combed. Even his skin was pale and smooth, as though he never went outdoors, whereas Hagrid's was weather-beaten, with a light summer tan.

"Let me introduce you to one of our new first years. Quirinus, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Professor Quirinus Quirrell. He used to teach Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, but now he's returning to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."Muggle Studies. That explains the clothes. Everyone else in the pub seemed to have a unique style, but with his jeans and collarless black shirt, Quirrell looked as though he could blend in seamlessly on any street in London.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," Harry said, and for the first time since entering The Leaky Cauldron, he meant it. If all his teachers were as easygoing as Hagrid and Quirrell, Hogwarts was going to be a breeze.

"The pleasure is all mine! To meet the young hero himself! This is truly a lucky day for me. Hagrid, can you believe that I was considering asking the headmaster for an extension on my sabbatical? Now that I realise that I have thehonourof teaching the Boy Who Lived-" he paused dramatically, and covered his eyes with a hand, his voice thick with emotion- "it's every teacher's dream."

Harry was afraid he might have misjudged this guy and began to lament the idea of being taught by him, at least until Hagrid shook his head with an air of exasperated fondness. He looked back at Quirrell, only to see him peeking at Harry through the gaps in his fingers.

"Was that too much? I think I may have laid it on a bit thick at the end there." Quirrell grinned at Harry. "I promise not to make a fuss over you, especially in class. I know just how cruel children can be. How's that sound to you?"

Harry was relieved and smiled back. "After the morning I've had, that sounds terrific." Quirrell nodded at him and turned to Hagrid.

"I noticed that you both came through the Muggle entrance." It was a statement, but it was posed like a question.

Hagrid nodded. "No point in keeping it a secret now, is there?" He shrugged to himself. "Young Harry here was raised by his mother's sister." Quirrell turned to Harry, looking serious for the first time.

"Oh? Was that a pleasant experience for you?" He asked, meeting Harry's eyes. The question seemed to jog dark memories of days spent in silence, sitting for hours on end in his cupboard with nothing to do, and his very existence being questioned as no one would acknowledge his presence. Harry forced a polite smile on his face.

"It was a life as nice as anyone's, I suppose," he said with an easy smile. Hagrid didn't seem to notice anything was amiss, but Quirrell's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Shouldn't we start shopping?" Harry asked quickly, as Hagrid looked about to continue his conversation with Quirrell. "It's just, I don't know how long it will take, and I do have a curfew." He smiled to let them know he was just joking, but something about the interaction with Quirrell had deeply unsettled him. He felt like he did back in Sara's house; he was missing essential pieces of a puzzle.

Hagrid sighed but nodded. "Right you are, Harry. We've got a lot to get done today." Not wanting to appear rude, (the man was to be his teacher, after all) Harry extended his hand as they departed and Quirrell shook it firmly.

"I hope to see you safe and well in September, Mr Potter. If you need help or someone to talk to, I'm only an owl away." He added the last part just so Harry could hear it. Harry was getting sick of people whispering in his ear.

Harry followed Hagrid through the small door at the back of the tavern, which led to a dead end with three brick walls on every side, and the only feature was an empty rubbish bin. Hagrid turned to Harry with a small frown.

"That was rude," he chided. "Professor Quirrell was only being nice."

Embarrassed at being called out, Harry snapped back, "No, what's rude is pushing me forward like that and introducing me to a crowd of strangers without any warning."

Harry glared at him, and Hagrid held his frown. At least for a moment. Then he looked at Harry with a startlingly familiar expression; the same expression Lupin always wore whenever he broke a rule. As though he would forgive any kind of misbehaviour from Harry, without condition. It was a look that had always made him ashamed of himself.

"Let's not let this ruin our day, alright?" Harry nodded silently, feeling humbled. Hagrid smiled at him. "I'm sorry for surprising you like that. I just thought it was best you get used to it. You're going to be getting a lot of it at Hogwarts."

"Oh, joy," Harry muttered. Hagrid chuckled, their brief disagreement already forgotten.

"Now look closely," Hagrid said as he drew his wand again. "Three up and two across from the bin." He tapped said brick with his wand three times and the wall seemed to melt away, revealing a whole new world. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said, watching Harry's eyes widen with a pleased smile.

Diagon Alley was less of an alley and more of a long, winding cobblestone street. It was packed in on each side with buildings made in various architectural styles from different historical periods. Most of these buildings were leaning over the street or were crooked towards one side as if they could collapse at any given moment. Like The Leaky Cauldron, the exterior of each building seemed to have minute black script etched along its edges, so Harry guessed that magic was holding them up. It seemed to be doing a good job of it too, as the many shoppers in the alley weren't panicking as Harry would have but were simply going about their day in their orderly disordered fashion.

The people themselves looked as if they came from all walks of life, with different clothing and hairstyles ranging from the ordinary to the truly bizarre. Some wore clothes as casual as Quirrell’s, while others had on costumes, dresses, suits and clothes from all corners of the world that were even more extravagant than Dedalus’. Some outright wore sweeping robes of every colour with pointed hats to go along with them. Harry even saw one man exit a shop with a massive, colour-changing afro, and he walked down the street without anyone blinking an eye.

Harry smiled. The Dursleys would havehatedthis place.

As Hagrid walked into the alley and Harry hurried after him, the sounds and smells that had been blocked off to him before now almost overwhelmed his senses. He saw street vendors selling various types of food, some he recognised and some from countries he couldn't even point to on a map. It all smelled good though, and breakfast suddenly felt like a long time ago.

The sound of the alley was almost as loud as the city that lay beyond it, even without a single vehicle in sight. People were calling out to friends they recognised, street vendors were selling magical trinkets and a group of children younger than Harry was running around with toy wands. With each wave, it either transformed into something silly like a rubber duck or produced a spurt of water that would soak one of the others. All the while, a harried-looking mother was hurrying after them, fixing whatever damage they caused, apologising quickly and calling after her children in terse tones that made Harry think they would be in serious trouble when they got home. Harry managed to dodge a torrent of water, but Hagrid wasn't so lucky. However, the giant man just laughed and waved off the witch's apologies as easily as he waved his wand to dry himself.

Every shop they passed seemed distinctive in its own way; the apothecary looked like an ordinary (if a little anachronistic) Victorian-style shop but had an intense stench emanating from the door. With a wave of his wand, Hagrid created a small breeze just for the two of them, and all Harry could smell from then were flowers. Judging by the unbothered behaviour of the other witches and wizards moving past, this was a commonly used spell. A woman was just leaving the apothecary as they passed, muttering to herself, "Sixteen Sickles for an ounce of dragon's blood? The world's gone mad."

There was an owl emporium to his left, which had tinted windows to protect the inside of the shop from the sunny day outside. It was proudly displaying the types of owls they had with a wooden sign out front, and Harry remembered again that hestilldidn't know what wizards did with them. Did they eat them? Did owls taste like chicken?

They passed a skinny little wand shop that was tucked in between two larger buildings and another that promised to tailor clothes for all occasions, but what caught his attention was the shop that had a strangely shaped but highly polished broomstick on display. There were a group of kids around Harry's age crowding around the window looking at it in wonder. "The Nimbus 2000," one boy was saying, "it's the fastest broom ever."

"Isn't it the one the Japanese team rode at the World Cup last year?" A girl asked, not taking her eyes off the broom.

"Yeah, and Hogwarts has gone and ordered twenty-eight of them for their school Quidditch teams," a second boy said, before adding, "lucky sods". A chorus of disgusted agreement came from the rest of the group.

However, all the shops they passed paled in comparison to a majestic marble building, with columns so grand they looked like they belonged on Mount Olympus. The building towered, both over them and the surrounding shops, and it must have been particularly important, as it lay directly ahead, the entire alley having to divert into two separate streets around it. "What is that place?" Harry asked as they began to approach it.

"That is Gringotts Bank."

Harry was irritated but tried not to show it. "Do you have an appointment there or something?" He hoped not, as he wanted to start purchasing his magical items.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Hagrid said, much to Harry's disappointment. As they approached the bank, he noticed that at the top of a small set of marble steps, there were two noticeably short guards posted on either side of the large, burnished bronze doors. They were wearing full plate red and gold armour, helm and all, and carrying round shields and sharp spears. On their shields there was an emblem of a gold coin and written on the edges of it were three words:Fortius Quo Fidelius.

Strength through loyalty, Harry translated silently. For the first time, he was glad Lupin had insisted on teaching him a little of the dead language.

They climbed the steps and entered through the bronze doors into a small entrance hall, where they were greeted by an equally large- but closed- set of silver doors. Hagrid stopped and seemed to read the engraving on these doors, and after a confused moment, Harry did the same.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

The doors opened by themselves, but only after they had both read the grim warning. "That was ominous," Harry muttered.

Hagrid tutted as they approached the now open doorway. "Every time someone enters, they force them to read the whole thing. Never mind if you've been here a thousand times and have the damn thing memorised. As if anyone would be mad enough to steal from goblins." Harry snapped his head towards him.

"Goblins?" He hissed as they entered the bank. He was lucky that the vast marble hall was filled with the sounds of echoing voices, stamps being pressed, coins jangling and a dissonant bell; otherwise, his voice would have carried to everyone in the room.

"Didn't you notice them outside?" Hagrid asked, looking confused. Harry had, but he had assumed they had just been guards who happened to be on the shorter side. He was starting to understand he couldn't assume anything in this new world.

As they crossed the hall, he took the time to examine the bank's interior and found it to be just as impressive as its exterior. Harry noticed that the same emblem the guards had on their shields outside was emblazoned beautifully on the bank's floor, underneath a high ceiling, from which hung three elaborate crystal chandeliers all along the length of exceptionally long the hall.

On his right-hand side, there were a dozen doors from which many small men and women, dressed in smart red and gold uniforms, were entering and exiting. On the left-hand side, there were over a hundred high counters with equally well-dressed individuals, which must have been the bank tellers, as most were speaking to customers.

When they approached an available teller, Harry finally got his first good look at a goblin. It was hard to tell with him standing behind the counter, but Harry guessed he was around three feet tall. The teller had very fair skin, long stiff pointed ears and a large, dome-shaped head. He watched them approach, looking bored.

"This is Harry Potter. He'd like to enter his vault." Hagrid said without any preamble. Harry raised his eyebrows.Vault? He was about to ask Hagrid what he was talking about, but the teller spoke before he could.

"Is he prepared to take the risk?" The goblin asked, lazily. Harry remained silent, too confused to speak.

"There won't be any risk involved," Hagrid said confidently. As the teller made an unconvinced noise, (which didn't exactly instil any of Hagrid's confidence in Harry) Hagrid withdrew a letter from a pocket and added, "I'd also like to remove the item from Vault 713." He handed the letter to the teller, who hadn't lost his bored expression before, but now perked up, interested.

"Oh?" He asked, tearing open the letter and reading it quickly. When he was done, he pressed a button on his desk, calling sharply, "Griphook!" At first, Harry thought this was a bizarre insult, but the teller corrected that notion.

"This is Griphook,” he said, indicating the approaching goblin. He was younger than his colleague, with a face free of wrinkles and a head of oily, black hair. Instead of a teller's red and gold uniform, he wore a simple grey shirt and suspenders, and he carried a lantern before him. He looked more like a coal miner than a banker. "If you follow him, he will take you down to your vaults."

Griphook (what an odd name) turned and led them towards the very end of the hall, through another pair of large double doors (this time gold) and down a long series of wide stone steps until they emerged into a small, dimly lit, cavern. There they waited in a small queue behind a young family and an elderly couple, all of whom were escorted by similarly attired goblins, and were waiting in front of railway tracks.

Just as soon as Harry began to wonder what they were waiting for, a large, furbished miner's cart came barrelling from the darkness to their right. The elderly couple climbed aboard, with their escort in the front, and immediately took off towards the darkness to their left.

Soon, another cart came to take the small family, and then it was their turn. As soon as the cart took off, (and they had some semblance of privacy) Harry turned to Hagrid and asked, "I have a vault?" Hagrid, looking upset by the cart's high speeds, kept his eyes firmly closed.

"Huh? Course you have a vault. You didn't think your family left you with nothing, did you?" That was exactly what Harry had thought. "How'd you think you were gonna pay for school otherwise? Hogwarts tuition isn't cheap." Harry merely hummed, and he decided not to mention the thick bundle of cash he was carrying in his bag.

Considering how long they travelled down the tracks, they must have been miles under the city by now, passing hundreds of locked vaults, entering dark tunnels and zooming through giant caverns, all the while going deeper and deeper underground. They never slowed down, not even at a tight corner over a sheer drop that made Hagrid whimper.

Eventually, after the fourth time that Harry felt sure they couldn't travel any deeper, the cart began to slow down as they entered a wide tunnel and came to a complete stop in front of a giant circular door.

Harry stepped off onto the platform once Griphook did and, when Hagrid finally joined them on shaky legs, they made their way to the vault door. Griphook jerked his head at it and ordered, "Press your hand against the door and turn the key." While Harry couldn't see a key in the lock, he didn't want to make it seem like he was too stupid to follow a simple instruction, so he stepped forward and pressed the palm of his right hand against the burnished steel.

Harry let out a hiss as he felt a sharp pain in his palm. Removing it quickly, he couldn't see any mark on his skin. He turned to glare at Griphook anyway. "What was that?" Griphook smiled for the first time and Harry noticed he had a very sharp set of teeth.

"Thatwas security. We needed to make sure you are who you say you are."

Harry frowned. "And if I wasn't?"

"Then the door would have transported you to one of our holding cells, where the guards would have...questionedyou." Harry swallowed thickly. "Now turn your key."

Harry looked back at the lock and saw a large, ornate, golden key that hadn't been there before. Reluctantly, he reached out and turned it, hoping this wouldn't lead to any more surprises. It did lead to a surprise, but this was a very pleasant one.

The vault door swung open easily and silently, as though it were weightless and recently oiled. Its interior was as spacious as the Dursley's house, which in and of itself was already large. The first thing Harry noticed was the mountain of gold coins not ten feet from the door. It was taller than Harry and wider than Hagrid, and he could not believe that this fortune could all be his.

"Your key can be used for larger purchases, but it's always good to have a bit of coin on you just in case. Twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a silver Sickle and seventeen Sickles make up a gold Galleon," Hagrid explained, now looking a little less green.

Harry had to know. "And how many Galleons make up a pound?" Griphook rolled his eyes. He could not have looked more bored with his job.

"Twenty-five Pounds is worth one Galleon. You can make the exchange with a teller at the surface." Harry was stunned. He knew a pile of gold coins had to mean something, but that exchange rate meant...well he wasn't sure, as he was unable to process it just yet, but it had to be good for him.

Hagrid removed a bag from one of his many pockets and indicated Harry should hold out his hands. Once he shook out its contents, looking careful not to touch it with his skin, a small black pouch fell onto Harry's open palms. "Mokeskin. You can fit a lot in there, and now that you've touched it, only you can open it." Hagrid looked so pleased with Harry's grateful smile, that the last of his nausea seemed to melt away. "Those are dead rare, but you can think of it as ten birthdays and Christmases worth of presents."

Harry was touched, but before he could thank him, Hagrid gave him a gentle nudge towards the vault. "We'll be waiting in the cart when you're done." Griphook followed, but only after Hagrid frowned at him.

Harry was a little confused. After all, how long could it take to collect some coins? He only saw what Hagrid meant when he actually stepped into the vault.

It wasn't just money inside. It was as if someone had raided a house, a library and a museum and placed all the contents in this vault. To his right, stone shelves were jutting out the wall, and thousandsof crystal flasks of varying sizes were packed neatly atop them. Each had a different coloured liquid inside, with clear labels written in different handwriting, such asDrink of DespairorFelix Felicis.

To his right, there were wooden bookcases with hundreds of tomes. Some were little more than scrolls that looked so ancient, they would crumble to dust if he dared to unfurl them. Others were great leather-bound works that were much more modern, with titles such asMost Macabre MonstrositiesandA Sorcerer's Field Guide of Western Europe. However, it was a book titledAn Auror's Enchiridion that grabbed Harry’s attention.

After hesitating, he slid all three of those books into his bag.Everything in this vault is mine, right? He thought, even though it still felt a little like stealing. But he ignored that feeling, as he only wanted them to learn about his parents' world and their profession. There was nothing wrong with that.

He noted that there were a lot of different weapons scattered here and there. Swords, daggers, axes, throwing knives, bows, even pieces of armour, and all had engravings. However, these weren't the same as the etched symbols back in Diagon Alley or even the different script that was on the vault door or on Gringotts' exterior. These were etchings of animals, initials, dates and words of love:All I ever needorWhatever our souls are made of, and such.

Harry headed towards the back and noticed that the dimly lit vault was even larger than he had first realised. The entire back of the vault was taken up by the contents of a house. Various styles of men's and women's clothing were packed in several trunks and there was furniture piled high up against the walls, including a large mahogany desk that looked like it belonged in a scholar's study, and a few boxes filled with women's jewellery atop it.

What caught his attention was the cherry wood lockbox placed on a red armchair, no larger than a thick hardcover book. It had his full name written in neat gold cursive above the gilded lock:Henry James Potter.

Harry grimaced.Nobodycalled him Henry anymore. Some of his day-care and nursery teachers had called him that, but it had stopped when he first went to St. Gregory's as the other teachers followed Lupin's example and called him Harry.

A sudden jolt went through him. His parents had named him and who else could have placed the box in the vault for him? He quickly reached to check if it was unlocked, but the moment his fingers brushed against the wood, the lock clicked open. He lifted the lid.

Harry wasn't sure what he’d expected, but two letters, a sheathed dagger, a tiny bronze Ouroboros and a length of shimmering, silver fabric were not it.

Picking up one of the letters, he tried to break the seal, but it would not budge. He tried the other but had the same result. After a moment's frustration, he drew the long dagger from its sheath and tried to cut the seal to no avail. Both letters had,For Harrywritten on the front, so why wouldn't they open for him? After a minute, he gave up and put the letters back in the box. He was about to do the same with the dagger when he noticed something.

The dagger he was holding had an inscription too. Along one side were the wordsQuod in te est, promeand on the other there was an engraving of a stag's antlers with lilies on them. Above that, engraved in English, were the wordsUntil the very end. He honestly wouldn't have thought much of it if he hadn't learnt earlier today that his mother's name was Lily. Harry slowly sheathed the dagger and returned it to the box.

He put the Ouroboros in his pocket before removing the final item, the length of shimmering fabric, but as he did, it unfurled, becoming much longer than he had expected. It was so light, almost insubstantial, and it flowed smoothly through his fingers like water. It was only when he noticed the hood did he realise he was holding a cloak.

Harry threw the cloak over his shoulders and fixed the large, triangle-shaped clasp over his right shoulder. He didn't think this thin cloak would ever keep him warm but as he examined himself in an antique dressing mirror, he thought he would blend in better back in the alley. It was only when he lifted the hood over his head did he realise his parents hadn't just left him a fashion statement. His entire body seemed to disappear, even the parts that weren't covered by the cloak. He was invisible!

After amusing himself for a few minutes, he returned the cloak to his lockbox and placed the entire thing in his mokeskin pouch for later use. Continuing his examination much more enthusiastically now, he searched the vault from top to bottom but found nothing else that interested him, at least until he saw, behind a precarious stack of intricately carved chairs, the tapestry hanging on the wall.

After he had carefully moved the chairs without causing an avalanche, Harry moved forward to study his discovery and the first thing he noticed was his full name again, almost glowing with golden threads against the deep red backdrop at the very bottom of the tapestry. Seeing his parents' names above and connected to his own through two black threads, he understood what he was looking at. A family tree.

At the very top were the wordsDomus Potterand underneath that were the same words from the dagger:

Quod in te est, prome.Bring forth what is within you.

Maybe Lupin had a point in teaching him Latin.

The earliest name on the tree was Linfred the 'potterer' over eight centuries ago, and it all flowed down from him, with black threads connecting eldest sons and their children, only diverting when the eldest son died without begetting an heir.

Many different names were written there from Hardwin, Iolanthe, Ralston, and even a great-grandfather called Henry, who must have been Harry’s namesake. But the thing he found most interesting was the dates at the bottom. Everyone in the family who was born after 1871 died on the same day. The day of his birth. July 31st, 1980.

James and Lily had survived whatever tragedy had occurred, only to die fifteen months later.

Lily Marie Potter

30 January 1955-31 October 1981

James Fleamont Potter

27 March 1955-31 October 1981

His grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins had all died on the same day. It wasn't hard to imagine why.Your parents had been on the run with you for over a year, Hagrid had said. Harry knew why his name was the only one in gold. He was the only one left alive. Eight hundred years of history and this was all that remained? A clueless orphan boy and a vault filled with hollow wealth?

Harry wanted to turn and leave immediately, he had wasted enough of Hagrid's time, but he kept staring up at the tapestry until the names of those who had died on the day of his birth were seared into his mind.Henry, Wendy, Charlus, Dorea, Roland, Stephanie, Olivia, Fleamont, Euphemia.

Slowly, he walked away from the tapestry, stopping only to fill his mokeskin pouch with Galleons, and closed the vault door. He could hear the door lock itself behind him, as clearly as he could see Hagrid watching him approach the cart with concern. "You were in there for a long time." He said quietly, as Harry climbed aboard and Griphook promptly took off toward Vault 713.

"Was I? I couldn't tell. My watch stopped working." Harry said, wishing he had glanced in the mirror before he left the vault. There must have been clear distress on his face for a person he had only met today to be able to pick up on it. "Look what I found!" Harry reached into the pouch and quickly removed the dagger from the box. He didn't want to show the Invisibility Cloak to a teacher, as something like that was unlikely to be allowed at school, and he wanted to distract Hagrid from his current turmoil. He couldn't think of a better way to do that than the sight of a kid with a dangerous weapon.

"My parents left it for me in a lockbox with my name on it," Harry explained to a surprisingly unstartled Hagrid. "I don't know why they would leave me a dagger though. Isn't that a bit irresponsible?"

"Kindjal," Griphook grunted.

Harry grimaced. "Bless you." He hoped none of Griphook's snot flew back in his face.

"No! That's what the weapon is called!" Griphook snapped at him and muttered something derogatory about humans that Harry couldn't quite catch over the sound of the cart zooming through the tunnels.

Harry glanced at Hagrid to see if this was normal goblin behaviour, and judging by the half-nauseous, half-exasperated look on his face, it was. "Goblins treat all things made in a forge with reverence, especially when it's of their creation." He added, "Goblin Silver," at Harry's curious look.

"It's not strange they would leave you a weapon though," Hagrid explained as Harry stored his kindjal away. "When witches and wizards propose to each other, the one doing the proposing has to present a gift that would be useful to their firstborn. It's just symbolic. Most Aurors present weapons because it's a way to promise they'll teach their kids how to defend themselves." Hagrid stopped speaking when they made a short and steep climb to avoid another cart before they took a sudden drop to get back to their original level. The entire time the cart maintained the same insane speed. After a long moment where he looked like he might vomit, Hagrid powered through.

"You must have seen other engagement weapons when you were in there. The Potters were a varied bunch, but they had plenty of Aurors and Professional Duellists among them." Harry nodded.

"You know most Muggles just give a ring when proposing." The cart was slowing down now as they saw a light up ahead.

"Really?" Then what do they do when they get married?" Harry shrugged, a little unsurely.

"They give each other another ring." Hagrid shook his head and muttered something like "strange Muggles," as the cart came to a stop. They approached the vault door slowly as Hagrid appeared to be walking on sea legs. Griphook’s impatience was clear and he looked like he was about a minute away from throwing his lantern at them. However, he remained professional and simply ground his teeth loudly instead.

When Hagrid finally reached the vault, he reached out and placed his palm against it, not flinching as Harry had (the show-off) and the door slowly opened. Inside was a tiny room, that was empty except for a fist-sized package. Harry wondered what all the fuss was about, but before he could ask about it, Hagrid snatched it up and stuffed it into one of his many pockets.

"Alright, time to go! And Griphook? Could youpleaseslow down the cart this time?" Hagrid pleaded.

"I already told you. I'm new. I'm still figuring out how to drive one of these things. I don't know anything about deceleration yet!" Their escort claimed, but Harry could have sworn he spotted him grinning deviously in the corner of his eye.Probably just my imagination, he thought as they walked back to the cart.

It wasn't my imagination, he thought two minutes later, as the cart zoomed at previously unknown speeds in a hectic race against no one. Hagrid looked as though he had accepted his mortality, with his hands pressed against his face and his body going limp. Harry, on the other hand, quite enjoyed the experience. At least until the moment when they passed the same sheer drop that they had on their way down. This time only two wheels were left on the track as they made the tight corner, and Harry was certain that they were going to tip over as the upper half of his body hung precariously over the side of the cart towards the deep chasm below.

He screamed.

Griphook laughed.

Hagrid slithered from his seat and flopped like a giant fish.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry and Hagrid left the bank in much worse condition than they had entered. Griphook had left them in the exit cavern without a word and drove the cart into the darkness, cackling all the while. Together, they hobbled out into the sunny mid-afternoon and Harry felt as if he needed a break. Hagrid seemed to have read his mind.

"I'm just going to The Leaky Cauldron to get a quick drink. You know, to settle my nerves," Hagrid said awkwardly. "Will you be alright on your own?"

"I could use a drink myself, after that experience." He joked, but Hagrid seemed to be slightly annoyed. His jokes weren't great, but they weren'tthatbad. Hagrid leaned closer to Harry.

"I'm not going to get a drink. I just need to get this package to the headmaster." Harry understood and nodded silently, not wanting to tip off the spies Hagrid thought were listening. He watched his guide walk off into the crowd, and felt ever so slightly abandoned.

Drawing his shopping list from his bag, he decided to purchase his luggage first. That should make it easier to do his shopping and he couldn't quite picture the Dursleys letting him borrow a suitcase. With that decided he went searching for a magical luggage store.

Harry asked for directions from an elderly witch and found himself atScribbulus' Writing Instruments. Despite the name, the kindly witch assured him he would find what he was looking for in this shop. As Harry entered the sparsely populated shop, a ringing sound echoed throughout the front room, even though there was no bell above the door.

A man with a name tag that readDaveapproached with a smile so fixed that only those who worked in retail could achieve it. "Can I help you, young man?" Harry nodded and held up his school shopping list.

"I was told I could purchase a trunk for school here. Is that correct?" Dave nodded looking uninterested. At least until he spotted the letter in Harry's hands. Then his smile turned hungry.

"Hogwarts?" At Harry's nod, Dave quickly led him to a cosy section near the back of the shop that had comfortable seating. As they went, Dave moved his own body as though he were shielding Harry from the gazes' of his co-workers.

"Can I get you anything? Cherry soda? Butterbeer?" Harry was impressed with this level of service. Did all magical shops treat their customers so nicely? He had already planned on returning to Diagon Alley in the future of course, but this just made him look forward to his next trip.

It was only much later would learn what commission meant.

For now, he made himself comfortable in his cushy seat and accepted a chilled glass of cherry soda, straight out of the bottle, and a plate of wiggling biscuits called ginger newts that only stopped moving once he bit into them.

"Please tell me what kind of trunk you are looking for and I'll find one that best suits you." After a moment's thought Harry realised that with a pocket full of gold and the products of a magical store, the sky might be the limit.

"I have a lot of books and I'd like to purchase a lot more, but I also need a lot of space for my school things. Do you have anything that would make it easy to carry all of that?" Dave smiled as though Harry had just made his day.

Hardly any time later, he left the store with an oak and iron band trunk that was almost as large as he was. It had been enchanted to be five times larger on the inside than it should have been, leaving plenty of room for all of Harry's things.

This was good because Dave had managed to convince him that he was better off buying a year's worth of stationary right now, rather than getting it from Hogsmeade or by owl-order as the year went along (apparently wizards sent their post by owls. He really should have guessed after reading his Hogwarts letter). According to Dave, the prices of the Hogwarts school shop did not bear thinking about.

When Harry had asked why Dave had only shrugged awkwardly. "It's just something I heard. Never actually been."

With an enchanted trunk that was carrying a year's supply of quill and inkpot writing sets, leather-bound notebooks and rolls of vellum floating along behind him, Harry continued his shopping trip in a more pleasant mood than he had started with.

He stopped atSlug and Jigger's Apothecaryto purchase the potions kit, cauldron and scales that had been specified on the shopping list. He made a hasty escape once he’d done so, as he didn’t have Hagrid to make the smell disappear this time. He promised himself he wouldn’t open the airtight kit until he learned that particularly useful spell.

Harry exitedWiseacre's Wizarding Equipmentwith a brass telescope that was able to observe the night sky through dense clouds and magnify enough to observe celestial bodies at the very edges of the Solar System. He promised himself that he would return to examine the equipment and trinkets thatWiseacre'ssold at a later date, as he didn't yet understand what would be useful and what was junk.

Also, the attendant told him not to return until he knew enough magic to not get himself killed. Harry thought this was unfair, but he didn’t say it aloud. She had quickly lost her polite demeanour when she stopped him from poking a spooky black orb with his finger, and he didn’t want to get shouted at again.

Harry only leftFlourish and Blottsafter he had picked out all the required books, a few more history texts and added a few more that caught his interest, such asKnown Spells That Fool Muggles, Jinxes for the Jinxed, Hexes for the VexedandA Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Curses. When the attendant began to look at him suspiciously, Harry innocently addedEasy Household Charmsand the entire set ofThe Adventures of Captain Armstrong, before bidding a hasty retreat.

Harry was pleased with how quickly this was all going as he didn't have the best memories of shopping. When he had been too young for Petunia to leave home alone and she didn't trust him to behave himself with the same neighbours that were babysitting Dudley, she had dragged him shopping with her, forcing him to watch her spend her money on things she didn't need, while he was forced sit in silent boredom.

He remained in a good mood as he enteredMadame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. A similar ringing sound emanated from the door that had in all the shops he had been to today, as a friendly-looking middle-aged witch approached him with a natural smile. She either actually enjoyed her job or was a better actor than most of the employees he had interacted with today.

"Hello, dear. I am Madame Malkin." She spoke with the smooth, confident voice of an experienced salesperson. "How may I help you today?" Harry lifted the school shopping list he still clutched in his hand, as he had found that by doing so attendants were quick to help him find what he was looking for, sometimes even ignoring other customers. Harry felt a little bad about that, especially when they would turn to glare at him, but not bad enough to stop. There was a reason he had gotten most of his shopping done in little more than an hour.

Madame Malkin was no different, as her eyes immediately zeroed in on his letter. She quickly shepherded him past the other customers and her assistants (his trunk following him loyally), into a cosy back room where only one other person was reclining comfortably reading a magazine.

"It was lucky you caught me while I was passing. The enchantments on Hogwarts uniforms require a more personal touch and my assistants just aren't ready yet." Malkin's smooth voice had now turned almost buttery, as she directed him to stand on a small circular platform that was surrounded on three sides by mirrors and withdrew a tape measure to size him up. "I was just helping this young lady here with her uniform, so I’ll be able to have both your packages tailored and enchanted at the same time."

As she spoke, the tape measure whizzed around his body, measuring his arms, waist, legs and even his neck as a floating quill made notes of his measurements on a roll of parchment. Harry had never had clothes tailored for him before, but he was certain it was not usually done like this. He was so dazzled by the tape measure and quill, that he almost missed the fact that the girl in the room was being made to wait longer because of him.

Harry glanced half-apologetically, half-embarrassedly (as the tape was now at his inseam) at her in the mirror, only to find her observing him curiously over the top of her magazine. He guessed she was around his age. She was wearing a neat blue cardigan and had sleek red hair that was done up in pretty braids. He guessed that she was a little taller than him, but it was difficult to tell while she was sitting down.

Madame Malkin asked him to step off the platform and led him to the seating area before she disappeared back into the main shop, her floating items following her obediently. Harry, hoping she wouldn't take too long (the quick and efficient service of the other shops had already spoiled him) began to peruse the magazines left on the coffee table. He helped himself to another cherry soda when an array of beverage options appeared beside his seat on a floating tray. Harry picked out an issue ofQuidditch Monthlyfor himself, before almost dropping it when the woman on the front cover winked at him.

"Let me guess, this is your first day in the Wizarding World?" The red-haired girl asked. He glanced up to find her staring amusedly at him from across the coffee table.

"So what if it is?" Harry asked gruffly. He remembered what Hagrid had said, that some witches and wizards hated anything to do with Muggles. Hagrid had probably meant it as a warning to keep his head down, but Harry didn't want to bend to people like that.

The girl raised her hands, non-confrontationally. "I didn't mean anything by it! I've just never seen anyone look so surprised at a magazine before." She said this while repressing a smile, but Harry could not fault her for it. He must be like a strange tourist to her.

"In the Muggle world, pictures don't move and they certainly don't wink at people!" The girl shook her head in wonder.

"We learned about that at Pendle's, but honestly I've never believed it. What's the point in a picture that doesn't move?"

Harry could have replied with,What's the point of a picture that does move?Or even explain videos to her, but instead, he simply asked, "What's Pendle's?"

"The Forest of Pendle Institute." She explained, shaking the questions about Muggle pictures from her mind. "It's a school wizard children go to for four years, before going to a school of magic when they turn eleven."

Harry's stomach dropped. "I'm going to befour yearsbehind everyone else?" He couldn't believe he was starting his magical education at such a disadvantage. Why didn't they let him attend Pendle's when he was seven? He would have happily left the Dursleys behind.

The girl was quick to reassure him. "Not where it matters. They don't teach magic at Pendle's, only mundane subjects like Literature, Arithmetic, and Dead Languages, but also Muggle Studies to let us know how the other half lives." She smiled at him, conspiratorially. "Madame Malkin said you're going to Hogwarts?" She asked, waiting for his nod. "Then you have nothing to worry about. Hogwarts is one of the twelve premier schools of magic. It only accepts the best, which meansyou'reamong the best, especially if you're Muggle-born. You'll catch up in no time because if you were incapable of doing so, you'd have been invited to Rosewood's instead, or-” she paused to wrinkle her nose- "Wendell's," she said disdainfully.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He wondered if that had anything to do with the way shop attendants had been treating him all day. Before he could ask, Madame Malkin returned carrying two large packages in her arms. "Here you are, dears." She removed carefully folded clothes from each and drew her wand. "One last thing. The school requires name tags on all your uniforms." Harry wondered what that had to do with her. His future classmate, however, seemed to catch on quickly.

"Susan Bones," she said. Malkin waved her wand over Susan's pile, before returning the clothes to their packaging and handing it over to her. Then she looked at Harry expectantly.

"Harry Potter."

"Oh!" Madame Malkin had been in her element since Harry had entered the shop, but for the first time, she looked like she was on the back foot. But only for a moment, as she regained her professional air after an awkward moment and handed over his package with a wide smile as soon as she attached his name tags.

Harry glanced over at Susan, a little embarrassed, but was startled to see her scowling at him. He would have asked what her problem was if Malkin didn't divert his attention.

"If you would just place your keys at the end of these receipts," she directed. Susan went first, quickly slapping her Gringotts key down at the end of a short length of parchment that had the Gringotts emblem on the top. Beneath that there was a list of items, their prices and overall tax written in red ink that quickly turned black once the key had touched it. Once the charges were verified, Susan snatched her key back and left the room without saying a word.

Harry looked at Madame Malkin, but she appeared just as confused as he did. "Thank you," he said once he had paid. As soon as he placed the package inside his trunk, he left the shop. He immediately spotted Susan's vibrant copper hair up the street. She still looked irritated as the same elderly witch who had given him directions toScribbulus' tried to talk to her, looking both confused and concerned. Her grandmother, perhaps? He was still wondering what had even set Susan off in the first place when an enormous mass stepped into his line of sight.

"Harry! Glad I finally found you. I thought you might have gotten lost." Hagrid said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not an idiot. I have a list and I'm capable of asking for directions. What about you? Did you complete your top-secret mission?"

"Yes," Hagrid said, either ignoring or failing to detect Harry's sarcasm. "How much have you got left to buy?"

"Just a wand, an Ouroboros and an owl."

"We can buy the first two at Ollivander's, but it'll take ages. Let's get the owl now." Harry figured that Hagrid was more knowledgeable about this, so he followed him toEeylops Owl Emporiumwithout complaint. On the way, he told Hagrid about the strange interaction he had with Susan Bones.

"She just ran out. Were her parents on the other side of the war? Is that her problem?" Hagrid looked confused.

"I told you before, not all witches and wizards know each other. I'm not sure about her parents, and I've never even heard of her, but I do know that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is Amelia Bones, and you don't get as anti-Death Eater than that. Maybe it's more personal? A family grudge?" That didn't sound at all reassuring to Harry. He didn't like the idea of inheriting enemies; if someone was going to hate him, they should do it for something he had done.

However, he kept his mouth shut as he entered the dimly lit emporium, not wanting to upset the birds. Harry thought it was both intimidating and cool how the shop was so deathly quiet. Perhaps owls were like this naturally or maybe they were being kept silent with magic. All he knew was that having a hundred owls stare at him from all sides made him feel like a field mouse.

While Hagrid approached the shop attendant, who seemed to recognise Hagrid and was watching him draw near with an apprehensive expression, Harry set about exploring the shop itself. He just wanted to pick an owl that matched his temperament. He turned down the attendant's suggestion of an eagle owl because he thought it was a little too aggressive with how it snapped and screeched silently at his barn owl neighbour, and he walked away disappointed from a snowy owl Hagrid suggested after she wouldn't even turn her head to face him. He was just about to give up and get a cat from theMagical Menagerieup the street when he spotted a bright pair of golden eyes watching him from the shadows.

Harry felt ridiculous for his initial thrill of fear when got closer and saw it was a handsome burrowing owl with brown feathers flecked with white. Harry held out his arm and the bird obediently hopped onto it. It was rather small compared to most of the others, maybe ten inches long, but its aloof air had Harry reaching for his mokeskin pouch.

"I'll take him."

Harry and Hagrid left the shop a few minutes later, with owl treats and a new perch in his following trunk. Harry looked up at Hagrid with uncertainty. "Are you sure about this?"

Hagrid grunted. "What good is an owl if it doesn't know where to go?"

Harry took a breath. He didn't want to lose his first pet as soon as he got him, but he knew he was going to have to take this risk eventually. "Could you please wait for me in my bedroom? I live at-" the owl took off before Harry could even finish speaking. It flew away so quickly that it was out of sight before he could even lift his head to the sky.

Harry looked at Hagrid helplessly. "I'm sure it's going to be waiting for you when you get home," Hagrid said encouragingly, though he couldn’t hide his doubt. Harry couldn't blame him, as he hadn't even told the owl where he lived.

Feeling morose, he followed Hagrid as he led the way toOllivander's Wand Shop, trying to focus on getting his magic wand instead of his missing owl. When they arrived at the shop, it was already occupied, but not for long.

A stocky blonde boy stormed out of the shop, wand in hand and tears in his eyes. Harry jumped out of the way before he could knock him over and watched as the boy was chased down the street by his parents and older brother, who were calling out after him.

"Michael!"

"Michael!Stop!"

Harry whirled around to face Hagrid, fearing that crying when getting his wand- like almost dying when going to the bank- was just routine for wizards. Judging by the baffled look on the giant's face, it was not. "Getting your wand is supposed to be one of the best moments of your life," Hagrid told him when he asked. Well, it looked like that poor kid was going to remember this moment for all the wrong reasons.

Harry shook himself out of it. He was a wizard, and he wouldn't be leaving here without a wand. With his mind made up, he briskly climbed up the three steps to the door and entered the shop.

Standing behind the counter was a lanky old man with long, unkempt white hair and grey eyes so pale they gleamed like moons in the gloom of the shop. When Harry and Hagrid entered, he had been staring remorsefully into space, as though asking the motes of dust in the air for forgiveness.

When the bell rang, he jumped and turned his head slightly to face them. "Professor Hagrid. I normally don't see you in my shop. Doesn't Professor McGonagall usually initiate Muggle-born students?" Hagrid chuckled.

"Normally, yes. But I wanted to initiate this particular student myself." The old man looked at Harry and his eyebrows rose sharply in recognition.

"Harry Potter. You look just like your father, you know, but you have your mother's eyes. It seems like only yesterday they were here to get their wands."

As the old man, who eventually introduced himself as Garrick Ollivander, spoke about Harry's parents, and how his mother favoured a willow wand that was good for Charms, his father chose a mahogany wand that had more power, and how wizards didn'tactuallychoose their wands ("The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter!") he began walking around the back of the shop, pulling boxes from the shelves at random, before placing them all on the counter.

"No two wands are the same, Mr Potter, just as no two people are the same. Now, why don't you try and wave this?" He handed Harry a cherry and unicorn tail hair wand. It didn't work. Neither did the walnut and dragon heartstring. Or even the cypress and thunderbird feather. No matter what wand Ollivander handed him, it failed to create the reaction the Wandmaker was looking for. It failed to create any reaction at all.

Harry could feel his anxiety rising. He didn't like this. There was a reason why he kept things neat and orderly. It was because he hated having things out of his control, and the act of picking a wand seemed to be completely out of his hands. Harry might have let it get to him if it weren't for Hagrid. He looked utterly unconcerned, reclining in his conjured chair as he worked on his knitting. For his part, Ollivander seemed to be getting more and more excited with each failed wand.

"Maybe...? No, he's too young. Perhaps...? No, no, that's too temperamental." After a veritable mountain of wands were piled on the counter, Ollivander finally paused, and brought a black wand box towards Harry, with a curious expression on his face.

"This is an inadvisable combination in my opinion. But this wand was crafted almost two centuries ago by my grandfather, so I inherited the difficult job of finding a suitable partner for it.” Ollivander lifted the lid. “Blackthorn and phoenix feather. Thirteen inches." He offered it to Harry. "Unyielding."

For all the Wandmaker's apprehension, the blackthorn wand looked less impressive than all the others he’d tried. Some of those wands had gorgeous handles that were carved in the shape of majestic animals, while others had precious stones fixed on the end. One even had glowing golden symbols etched brilliantly onto the wood. However, the one thing they all had in common was that they each looked like actual magic wands.

The blackthorn wand did not. It was dark and polished, but unassuming. The minute black runes that had been carved along its length had been smoothed over and blended into the darkness of the surrounding wood. There was a handle, but it was only there to serve its utilitarian purpose; to make it easier for its wielder to grip. Slowly, sensing Ollivander's growing apprehension, Harry reached into the box and gripped the wand.

The instant his skin touched the wood, he knew this wand belonged to him.

Never in his life had he sensed magic outside of his own body, but that's what he felt the moment he gripped the blackthorn wand. Ollivander's earlier mutterings of the wand choosing the wizard suddenly made sense to him now when they hadn't before. He could feel the wand reaching out to him cautiously, tentatively, before a warm, pleasant sensation flowed up his right arm and across his body. It wasn't a physical phenomenon, but something much deeper. Harry had a silly history of getting attached to inanimate objects, but this time it truly felt as though a fragile but mutual bond was being formed.

Harry raised the wand as high as his arm could stretch and made a wide circular motion around his head. A lasso of purple sparks trailed from the tip of the wand and fell around him, circling him, before exploding upwards and outwards once it touched the floor at his feet. The shop was overtaken by the glow emitted by the mauveine sparks as they rebounded off the walls and shelves. Hagrid and Ollivander burst into applause.

"Well done, Mr Potter! Well done indeed!" Ollivander said happily. "I was afraid that I had guessed wrong and the wand might have rejected you, but that was a better connection than I could have hoped for!"

Harry was curious. "Why were you afraid of this particular wand rejecting me? The others didn't accept me." He nodded at the massive pile of wands on the counter.

Ollivander looked sheepish. "Well, you see, blackthorn wands are most particular about their wielders. They prefer a militant sorcerer and even when they find them, they won't obey them completely until they have proven themselves in combat. If it had rejected you, it might have been quite... err..." Harry frowned as the Wandmaker trailed off awkwardly.

"You said this was an inadvisable combination." Harry reminded him.

Ollivander grimaced as he began to busy himself with a rectangular piece of bronze. "I craft and sell wands with cores from all manner of magical creatures, but I tend to use unicorns, dragons and thunderbirds the most. I find that they are the most reliable in their results. Phoenixes, however, are the most detached creatures in the world, and to my knowledge, only one has ever been truly domesticated. It was that phoenix which provided my grandfather with two feathers."

"Have you sold the other one yet?" Harry asked. Ollivander nodded without glancing up from whatever he was etching on the bronze.

"Yes, a long time ago. Hornbeam, thirteen inches, very rigid. Surprisingly for someone with such an unusual wand, nothing ever came of him. He died decades before you were even born." Harry had been hoping for reassurance; he wanted to hear that the only other wielder of a phoenix wand was thriving, not that he had died before he had amounted to anything.

Ollivander tried to reassure him. "There are other phoenix wands in the world, you know. Other wandmakers steal feathers from the nests of wild phoenixes and they have proven to be a very powerful, very coveted core. Phoenix feathers have an excellent range of magic and tend to think for themselves, so it takes a determined, strong-minded wizard to control it. If you couple that with an aggressive wood, and unyielding flexibility..." he trailed off again.

"It won't work for me as well as it should?" Harry guessed, unhappily.

Ollivander smiled at him, finally finished with the rectangular piece of bronze. "The blackthorn bush tends to produce the sweetest berries after the coldest frost. I am certain that once you manage to make your wand obey your commands, you will be a force to be reckoned with." Harry nodded slowly even though he didn't truly believe it.

He purchased his wand for seven Galleons and spent three more on a similar hip holster that Hagrid had. The Wandmaker handed him the bronze card and Harry was surprised to see his wand materials, full name, date of birth, and likeness etched into the bronze.

"A licence for my wand?"

"The Confederacy keeps a catalogue of all wands to discourage crime. Everyone has one." A glance in Hagrid's direction confirmed the truth of it, as he drew his wand licence from one of his many pockets to show Harry. It was silver, just like his Ouroboros. "Should you ever be stopped by an Auror or a Custodian, hand over your wand and licence as requested." The old Wandmaker advised before he brought forward a bronze Ouroboros and gave Harry a startling request.

"Now, I need to spill your blood onto this." He brandished a small silver knife. Harry jumped backwards and hastily retrieved the small Ouroboros from his pocket.

"That's okay! I've already got one of those!" He showed the Wandmaker the baby-sized Ouroboros that had once belonged to him. Ollivander looked disappointed that he wouldn't be able to drain Harry of his blood and he lowered the knife to the counter.

"Well, I suppose I can resize it for you," he muttered, with the air of a small child who had been denied a treat. Harry quickly paid him another Galleon once he had finished and exchanged his leather bracelet for his refitted bronze Ouroboros, before hastily retreating from the shop.

Hagrid followed him, looking undisturbed at the fact that a strange old man had just tried to cut his young charge. "Well, that's that then, isn't it? You want me to take you home, or get something to eat first?"

At the mention of food, Harry felt his stomach pang with sudden hunger. It was now late in the afternoon and all he'd had since breakfast was a handful of ginger newts. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a unicorn." Hagrid looked at him oddly. "That's not even an expression, is it?" Hagrid shook his head. "So where are we eating?" He asked, trying to move on from his gaffe.

He led Harry down the street, past Gringotts where the foot traffic seemed less dense and the shops were spread out more horizontally than vertically, and they came to stop at a cafe calledRosa's Teabag.

Once they had entered and taken seats at a table by the window (and Hagrid adjusted the seat for himself), a young waitress approached and asked for their orders. While Harry looked for a third cherry soda on the menu, Hagrid asked for two large pineapple sodas instead.

"Pineapple?" He asked as the waitress walked away. Hagrid smiled.

"I remember when I was looking after you while Dumbledore was setting up the protections around Little Whinging. I took my eyes off you for a second and found you sitting on my kitchen floor, drinking from a bottle of pineapple soda you'd snagged from the cool box." Hagrid reminisced. "I think it must have been accidental magic. How would you have even managed to find the cool box without it? But you made such a mess of the kitchen, it was like you’d searched for it with your own two hands. Eggs and milk wereeverywhere. You were so high on sugar that I just let you play with the Crup puppies in the enclosure until you fell asleep."

Harry had remembered Hagrid saying something about being there when he had been placed with the Dursleys, but this made it so much more real. No one had ever told an embarrassing childhood story about him before. There was so much more that he wanted to know, and Hagrid could have all the answers.

As their meals were levitated over to their table (that was quick!), Harry asked him, "What were my mum and dad like?" Hagrid paused before biting into his burger.

"They were excellent students: Head Boy and Girl, two-thirds of the Triumvirate, Auror Cadets," Hagrid listed through a full mouth. "They both excelled at everything the school had to offer. It's a tragedy that they couldn't reach their prime. Your mum and dad had more to contribute to the world than just fighting, you know."

Harry nodded slowly. A moment ago, the burger that he'd bitten into tasted like the best he'd ever had, but now it was like ash in his mouth. His parents sounded like great people, heroes even, so why was he so worried? Hagrid seemed to pick up on his mood and asked him what was wrong.

Harry did his best to articulate what he was thinking. "I'm a good student. I mean I do my homework and get good marks, but I'm not as good when it comes to making the right decisions. I'm worried about having one of my stupid moments and hurting someone." He glanced up from his meal to get an idea of what Hagrid must be thinking. His giant guide, however, looked as unfazed as he had all day.

"Let me guess. You lost control of yourself once or twice and your magic lashed out and hurt someone?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "It happens to everyone. Every witch or wizard you meet will have a few stories about how they threw a tantrum at the wrong time or place, and someone was either hurt or scared by it." Hagrid shrugged. "It isn't anything to worry about. It's a lot worse for Muggle-borns because of the confusion. You've got no idea what's going on. But now that you've got your wand, you'll have control over it, and soon you'll be amazed that there was ever a time you hadn't."

"So, my parents struggled with controlling themselves too?" Harry was feeling better once he heard that. For some reason though, Hagrid began to laugh.

"I'm not sure about accidental magic. I first met them when they already had their wands you see, but they weren't exactly the best at controlling themselves, no." In the face of Harry's rising apprehension, he quickly explained. "Lily wasn’t the type to suffer fools gladly and she could get a little cheeky with the teachers sometimes, but she was a good girl really. Now James on the other hand always seemed to go out of his way to find trouble, and when he couldn't find it," Hagrid chuckled, "he went out of his way to cause it."

Harry was smiling now. "So, there isn't anything wrong with me? Even though I get into trouble a lot?" Hagrid shook his giant head.

"Nah, of course not. You're still a kid, aren't you? It's up to the grown-ups around you to tell you when you're doing something wrong and then teach you how to be better. In a few years, you'll look back at this and wonder why you were so hard on yourself. You're a good lad, Harry. Be patient with yourself."

"How can you be so sure? We just met today. I could just be on my best behaviour."

"I'm sure because an actual bad person wouldn't have even thought to worry about this in the first place."

Feeling much better now, Harry began to devour his meal with gusto, quickly finding that Hagrid was right to order the pineapple soda; it was delicious. They spent the rest of the meal exchanging stories about accidental magic, which only led to a belly ache because he had laughed so hard. Harry couldn't quite imagine Hagrid being young enough to have a teddy bear, but the idea of him accidentally turning it into a tiny dragon and making it chase his father around the house was the funniest thing in the world at that moment.

As the day drew to a close and Hagrid escorted him home, Harry wondered what the rising emotion in his chest was. It had started when he had first entered Diagon Alley and it had only increased significantly when Hagrid told him about his parents. Maybe it was a sense of belonging? Hehadbeen born into this world, but it didn't feel like it. It all felt brand new and wonderful in the best way imaginable.

Harry had always felt out of place, but it all made sense to him now. He was not slipping into a new identity, but simply reclaiming one that had always belonged to him:

Harry Potter. Son of James and Lily. Wizard.

Chapter 4: Interlude

Chapter Text

As a child, his mother had taught him to never be wasteful.

Having grown in excess, his father had only scoffed at this and tried to encourage a similar mentality within his only child. But he always made sure to listen to his mother. No one else knew her as he did. No one else knew how cunning and ruthless she could be. No one else knew that she was far more than just a woman who had married above her station.

She was the smartest person he knew.

While his father was unstable at the best of times, and dimly confused when he wasn't, his mother was sharp as a blade and hid it behind a docile facade. "Don't ever let people know what you want, my sweet," she had whispered to him one evening when he returned from playing. Some local boys had stolen the conkers that he had painstakingly collected for days, only to throw them in the river in front of his eyes. "Don't let them know until they can do nothing to stop you."

Looking back at one of the worst nights of his life, he still couldn’t see a single flaw in his attack. While he had always abhorred recklessness, he found it forgivable, even necessary, when the benefits significantly outweighed the risks. After all, a lack of decisive action could prove costlier in the long run. He was certain that- with all the information he possessed at the time- he’d made the right choice.

It had only been a miracle that had saved the boy.

Watching the young Potter now, as he stiffly accepted the adoration of his well-wishers, he saw little of his parents in him. He had neither his father’s charisma nor his mother’s righteousness. Granted, he had only known them as adults- and in the midst of combat, at that- but he doubted they had ever appeared as aloof as their son did now. It wasn't what he had expected of their boy.

He silently indicated for his companions to remain in their seats when the hairy brute called his name. Approaching them now and making painful chit-chat with the half-breed, he relied on the lessons that his mother had taught him in an attempt to appeal to the boy. It had worked. The cool, unaffected look the child had disappeared for a moment in exchange for a smile.

It didn't last. His curiosity at the child's upbringing had done it. The images of an isolated child appeared clearly in his mind's eye, as though the boy had verbally described them to him. But Potter sensed his presence somehow and withdrew into himself quickly before smoothly exiting with the half-breed in tow.

Good instincts.

He watched the boy leave with the beginnings of an idea entering his mind. More of an opportunity truly. An opportunity he could hardly believe Lord Dumbledore allowed to fall into his lap with such ease.

As he finished his drink and led his faithful companions into Knockturn Alley for their meeting, he couldn't help but think about his mother's first lesson:

Never be wasteful, Tom.

Chapter 5: Start Line

Chapter Text

Harry spent the rest of his summer preparing for school.

He had always made sure to prepare himself thoroughly for even the most minor of changes in his life, so why wouldn't he do the same for the biggest? Unfortunately, that meant starting with something he normally wouldn't have patience for:

Handwriting practice.

It sounded silly, even within his own mind, but he couldn't show up at Hogwarts without knowing how to write with a quill. He wanted to leave an impression in the minds of his classmates and teachers that he was a cut above the rest. Hogwarts was an elite school, at least according to Susan Bones, which meant he was going to be competing with the best.

Perhaps it was a juvenile idea, but he wanted to live up to his parent's reputations. If he couldn't get to know them, get to earn their pride, then he could at least force the people who had known them to admit that he was just as good as they had been at his age. In a roundabout way, it would continue to make him feel as though he were a part of something larger than himself.

So, as Lupin had often reminded him, it was best to start with the fundamentals and work your way up. That began with learning to write with a quill.

The writing sets themselves were quite fascinating. The entire thing was enchanted; the rosewood box to be lighter and slimmer on the outside than it should be, the inkpot to change colours to whatever he verbally requested and the eagle feather quill- with just a tap of its tip against the closed lid of the inkpot- would somehow transfer the ink from the pot to the quill tip without any mess. The inkpot itself was so large he couldn't imagine emptying it even if he wrote a thousand pages.

Pages. Yes, he had tried to avoid writing on the rolls of vellum he had purchased, wanting to save it for school, but the quill kept puncturing all the different kinds of paper that Privet Drive had to offer. So, with regret, he began to practice with his expensive parchment and sent his owl to purchase more for him fromScribbulus Writing Instruments. By the end of summer, he was determined to recreate his normal neat handwriting on parchment.

Harry didn't spend all his time scribbling. He also read, more eagerly than he ever had, the books he had taken from his vault and purchased fromFlourish and Blotts. The history books were especially fascinating to him as they read more like the mythopoetic stories of a fantasy world- likeThe Silmarillion- than an academic text required for school. Wars against magical beings, Dark Wizards, and even the creation and impact newly invented Artifices had on the world. It was all unbelievable, but it was presented to him as though they were mundane facts.

The best parts were when the name Potter turned up. It only appeared a handful of times over several different textbooks, but whenever it did he got a small thrill out of it. Linfred had invented a handful of potions that were still being used to this very day, and his descendant Ralston was one of the first supporters of the Statute of Secrecy. Ralston’s younger brother, Abraham, was amongst the first twelve Aurors in the Confederacy, and Henry Potter- Harry’s namesake- had been a member of the British Wizengamont, but torpedoed his political career in his support of Muggles during the First World War. Even his grandmother, Euphemia, had been a well-known Muggle rights activist and had served as the Advocate of Education during the reigns of both Magisters Engstrom and Dumbledore.

Of course, his parents were mentioned several times, both inThe Rise and Fall of the Dark ArtsandGreat Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. There were mentions of the battles and skirmishes they had taken part in and estimates of the number of people they had saved. This made him both nervous and excited, as he had never had any expectations to live up to before, but it was all he wanted to do now.

Strangest of all was when Harry saw his name written down in the history books. His survival of the Killing Curse seemed like a topic of interest for the Masters of the Dark Arts guild. Reading between the lines, it seemed that it was only the word of the Magister of the time- Lord Albus Dumbledore- that prevented Harry from growing up in the Magisterium, being experimented on by researchers. Harry wondered why someone so powerful would return to his origins as a schoolteacher, especially as he seemed to be at the height of his power and popularity at the end of the war, according toModern Magical History.

Harry didn't spend all of his time indoors. After finding his owl waiting for him on his windowsill when he returned from Diagon Alley, he made sure to spend a part of each day bonding with the aloof bird. It would obey his commands, but it didn't seem interested in being near him.

Despite being on another continent from its natural habitat, the owl spent most of its time outdoors, rarely staying on the perch Harry had set up for it in his room. Harry spent a lot of time in the first few days looking for it, only to find it busy burrowing a hole in the local park or people's gardens at all hours, living up to its name. It only ever returned to Privet Drive intermittently to sleep.

It was only when Harry got lost in his books and hadn't searched for him for two days in a row did the burrowing owl return to glare at him from its perch. As it turned out, his new pet liked being in charge and making his owner come to him, and Harry was annoyed it had taken him days to figure that out. Slowly, by ignoring his bad behaviour and rewarding the good with owl treats and attention, did the owl learn to bear his presence.

Harry named the burrowing owl Argos, after the dog of Odysseus, who had waited loyally for his master for twenty years. He hoped Argos would live up to his namesake, just as he wished to emulate his favourite mythical hero. Odysseus had known when to be brave and when to be clever, and Harry admired him for it. Now that he was returning to the world he was born into after ten years away, he felt he finally had something in common with the lost hero. Perhaps courage and cleverness will come to him in time as well.

Surprisingly, when he had first returned from Diagon Alley, the Dursleys didn't even protest the presence of an owl. They didn't even acknowledge him or his magical school things. Petunia and Vernon had returned to their usual cold behaviour towards him, completely ignoring his existence unless he deliberately sought their attention. Dudley had attempted to do the same, but it was harder for him to pretend that Harry wasn’t a threat as he hadn’t even known his cousin was magic in the first place. Perhaps it was wrong, but Harry had grown to enjoy the sight of Dudley turning pale every time he entered a room and fleeing from him, whether his (baffled) friends were around or not.

Not wanting Dudley’s hand-me-downs to be the only clothes he had outside of his new uniform, Harry took his remaining Muggle money and splurged on new clothes that would last him for the whole school year. He even found a sports apparel store that was willing to sell him some of their remaining winter clothes, boots and fleeces as he didn't know if he could purchase clothes through owl order at school.

One morning, as July drew to a close, Harry awoke to the smell of freshly baked treacle cake. Opening his eyes, he saw the window he had closed last night was now wide open and there, on his desk, was a wrapped gift and a large sticky ginger and treacle birthday cake. Climbing out of bed, he searched his room from top to bottom but couldn't find a single sign that anyone had been in his room aside from the cake.

Approaching his desk, he saw the wordsHappy Birthdaywritten in icing atop the cake. Harry sighed. There was only one person who ever made him birthday cakes and that person was also aware that sticky ginger and treacle cake was his favourite treat.

Lupin. He had been using Argos' bad behaviour as an excuse not to write to him, but just last night his owl had obediently returned from Hogwarts with a reply from Hagrid. There were no more excuses left to be made now.

Dear Mr Lupin,he wrote,

I have recently become aware of your significant deception-

Harry cut himself off there. There was no point in writing a letter if it wasn't going to lead to a productive outcome. Wishing he knew a spell to remove ink, he disposed of the (terribly expensive) sheet of parchment and began with another.

Dear Mr Lupin,

Thank you for your gift and the cake. It was very thoughtful of you.

I think you should know that a representative of a unique school recently visited me. This person shared an enlightening bit of information about you. I'm not sure how to think about it. If you have any explanation about this, I would like to hear it.

Kind Regards,

Harry Potter

There, that should do it. Straightforward and polite, while also giving Lupin the chance to explain his side of things properly. Attaching his letter to Argos, he asked his owl to deliver it to Remus Lupin, but to not bother waiting around if he had another owl to deliver for him. Hagrid disliked making the trek to the Hogwarts Owlery apparently, so he had asked Argos to stick around for him.

It was only when Argos departed did Harry even remember to unwrap Lupin's gift. He slowly undid the careful wrappings to find a well-worn copy ofThe Once and Future King. Harry scrunched his eyebrows together, confused. Lupin had suggested he borrow the book from him years ago, and Harry had done so, happy for more to read. He had very much enjoyed the first part,The Sword in the Stone, as he saw a lot of himself in young Wart, but the remaining three books had left a bad taste in his mouth. Who wanted to read a story with such a bleak ending? He had asked as much when he returned the books to Lupin.

"I thought you liked fantasy books?" Lupin had asked him innocently. Harry merely huffed in response, able to know when he was being made fun of, and Lupin kindly decided to explain himself, but only in his usual vague manner. "There are always lessons to be learned from good books, sometimes even the bad ones," he smiled down at him, "if you're willing to look deeper than just the surface that is."

No matter how many times Harry asked him to explain what that meant, Lupin refused to elaborate, merely suggesting that he read the books again.

"You're not a very good teacher, you know."

Lupin quoted. "Education is experience, and the essence of experience is self-reliance."

Harry sighed. "I hate you." Lupin just laughed.

Harry had refused to read the books again, for reasons even he wasn't certain of. He had read and enjoyed other tales with tragic endings, but something about Wart's failures hit a little too close to home. He wasn't sure what he was expected to learn from these stories, but he convinced himself to give them another try. It must be important if his old teacher and secret bodyguard went out of his way to send them to him on his birthday.

Lupin's gift wasn't the only surprise on his birthday either. After spending his morning reading and eating half his birthday cake, Harry decided to go on a midday walk. However, he bumped into Sara and Jade just as they were approaching Privet Drive. "Hello," he greeted them awkwardly, remembering the last time he saw both of them together.

"Harry! We were just coming to find you!" Jade exclaimed, before surprising him with a hug.

"Err…why?"

"It's your birthday, isn't it?" Sara looked as awkward as he felt, and thankfully, she chose not to hug him.

"We wanted to hang out with you. We brought gifts!" Jade thrust the bag he had only just noticed she was carrying at him. Sara did the same.

"It's just some art supplies. Sara said you liked to draw?"

It was obvious that Jade was trying to make up for thinking the worst of him in the Reptile House, while Sara was still trying to mend bridges. She’d told him when her birthday was back when they’d still been friends, but he’d refused to do the same, still pretending he didn't care about her. Somehow, maybe by asking Lupin or the school, she had found out anyway.

Harry's shock wore away, only to be replaced by embarrassment. The girls were expecting some sort of party or get-together at his house, and for him to invite them in and celebrate with his family. The way the Dursleys ignored his birthday was normal to him, but he knew it would only get him pity from his former classmates. Quickly, he snatched the gifts from them and backed away slowly to Number Four.

"Thanks! I'm not allowed inside until later, for some kind of surprise, I think. A private thing. Just family. But if I put these in my room, we can go somewhere else. Cinema, maybe?" He said all of this in one breath and the girls were startled by his behaviour.

"Err… yeah. Okay,” Sara answered carefully. “I just need to get some money from my house. Meet us at the park in… ten minutes?" Harry agreed, relieved.

Once they met up again, they made their way through the park and to the high street, where the town's only cinema was. After watching a hilariously cheesy action movie that Jade thought was silly but the other two enjoyed, they ate at a burger place and played games at the local arcade before making their way home.

Along the way, they caught up with each other's summers and exchanged their plans for the upcoming school year. Sara and Jade were both headed to different schools. Sara was going to Ladbroke Academy, a local comprehensive school just outside of Little Whinging and Jade was headed to Highsmith's. When they asked him where he was going, he wasn't sure what to say.

"Hogwarts. It's a small school in Scotland my parents went to." He decided to stick to the truth and simply omit the magic part. Jade seemed excited for him and started asking questions about his new school, but Sara seemed a little annoyed.

"So, we're not going to see each other this year? I thought we could hang out together now that we're friends again." Harry wasn't sure when exactly they had become friends again, but he didn't want her to expect anything from him. Something magical had made her memories of his strange gifts disappear, and it was all Harry's fault. What else would happen to her if they remained friendly?

"I'll be hundreds of miles away. You should focus on making new friends at your new school. Right, Jade?" Said girl looked a little confused as to how she wound up in the middle of a brewing argument but agreed with him anyway. Seeing that she was outnumbered on this, Sara let it go as they got back to her place.

After saying his goodbyes and thank yous, Harry returned to Privet Drive in a pleasant mood. He was glad to be leaving Little Whinging behind, but it was also strangely heart-warming to know that at least three people had thought of him on his birthday.

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The remainder of the holiday passed by like a dream. Spending time preparing for school, bonding with Argos and writing to Hagrid became his favourite way to pass the days. Time moved by so fast that August drew to a close before he even knew it.

The only negative thing about his summer was that Lupin never replied to his letter. It made it clear that Harry had only been an assignment to Lupin, but now that his mission was over he would be moving on with his life. Harry was a little let down by this, but he chose to focus on his bright future rather than his still murky past. Who needed Lupin anyway?

On the last evening of August, before he left for school, he popped into the dining room while the Dursleys were having their dinner. Dudley paled but remained seated. He’d finally realised that Harry wasn't going to set him on fire a couple of weeks ago, and calmed down significantly since then. Petunia ignored him altogether as he got Vernon's attention.

"Vernon? Could you give me a lift to King's Cross Station tomorrow morning?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point.

Vernon glanced at his wife, but when she continued speaking to the still-pale Dudley as though Harry had never entered the room, he turned back and nodded jerkily at him.

"Thanks. I need to be there by eleven." Harry turned on his heel and made his way back up to his room for an early night. He was glad he was leaving tomorrow. He was sick of the people he lived with pretending he didn't exist. He was glad that tomorrow would be the last time he would see them for ten months.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry had never suffered a more awkward car ride than the one he had with Vernon the next morning, and for him, that's saying something. Too excited to sleep, he woke up a little after five, was washed and dressed by six, and he’d eaten a full breakfast and triple-checked his trunk by seven. Vernon had agreed to drive him, but it went unsaid that he would be leaving at his usual time and would merely be dropping Harry off on his way to work. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious as he heard Vernon only get out of bed at half past seven.

While Vernon got ready upstairs, Harry tried to distract himself by watching early morning cartoons. It didn’t work. He wished Argos were there with him as he could use the company. However, his owl had seen fit to fly straight to Hogwarts. At least Harry hoped he had. It would be a bit awkward to go to his first Care of Magical Creatures class and tell Hagrid that he couldn't keep track of a single bird.

Finally, Vernon came downstairs for breakfast. He paused at the doorway. Harry wasn't sure what confused him more; the fact that Petunia wasn't there to greet him with breakfast as she did every morning, or that Harry was brazenly watching his television right in front of him. It was obvious Petunia didn't want to see Harry before he left, and Harry didn’t care about getting into trouble with the Dursleys any more.

Eventually, Vernon came in and began bumbling around the kitchen, making himself a simple breakfast of burnt toast and soggy cereal. Once he was finished, he left the house without a word, leaving Harry to hurry after him with his floating trunk following closely behind. Vernon averted his eyes from the levitating luggage as though it deeply offended him, but again, he said nothing.

He got into the driver's seat and waited only as long as it took for Harry to load his trunk into the boot. He took off before Harry could even properly close the backseat door behind him.

Harry put on his seatbelt a little nervously, afraid of an imminent accident. Vernon seemed even more on edge than usual.

The next ninety minutes was where most of the awkwardness took place. Harry couldn't believe that on the day his magical journey began, he would be forced to start it with one of the Dursleys, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice. After he’d splurged his Muggle money on a year's worth of clothes, books that he’d always coveted but the library never seemed to have, and half a summer's worth of arcade games, movie tickets and junk food, he didn't have enough left for a taxi ride from Little Whinging to London. But as he sat in the backseat in tense silence, while cars were honking around them in standstill traffic, he realised he should have just paid the driver with gold Galleons. Sure, it would have gotten him into trouble before he even got to school, but any kind of punishment was better than this.

Once they hadfinallyreached King's Cross Station, Harry unloaded his trunk as quickly as he could and turned to the driver's window awkwardly. "Well, goodbye then," he said. Vernon opened his mouth to say something, and for a moment Harry thought he looked almost guilty. But then he simply grunted and drove off back into traffic.

It was only much later that Harry would remember that moment and wonder if Vernon had been trying to tell him the truth, even then.

However, at that moment, he thought nothing of it. It was just typical Dursley behaviour. For a family that had always prided themselves on being normal, they could be very strange.

Harry found himself a trolley and loaded his trunk onto it. He’d read that the Veil didn't work on all Muggles- about one in a thousand were immune- so it was safest to hide all magic (and all floating luggage in particular) when travelling through mundane areas.

When he entered the station, he noted that it was barely half past nine. That was good. The Hogwarts Express didn't leave until eleven. Not sure what to do with all this spare time, he wandered through the station until he found an indoor cafe. Harry spent the next hour reading a discarded newspaper, drinking tea and spending what few Muggle coins he had left on sausage rolls.

Stuffed now that he had eaten two breakfasts in one morning, he collected his trolley and made his way towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Hagrid had told him how to enter the platform, but this was someone who had already played a practical joke on him. Twice. It was better to be careful and wait for someone else to run into a brick wall first.

But waiting for another student to arrive was taking a while. Sitting on a nearby bench, Harry watched anxiously as the clock's long hand went from six to seven to eight. What if he read the letter wrong, and it said ten o'clock instead of eleven? Or maybe Hagrid was messing with him and there was another way to access Platform Nine and Three Quarters?

Before his thoughts began to spiral out of control, a friendly voice behind him said, "Hello. Are you a First Year?" Harry turned around. A thin teenage boy with neatly combed brown hair and a welcoming expression on his face had been the one to greet him. He was wearing the full Hogwarts uniform in broad daylight, pointed wizards' hat and all, with sapphire lining the black of his robes and a bronze eagle crest over his heart. Before he could think of anything to say the boy spoke again.

"Are you for Hogwarts? You must be with a trunk like that and the way you're staring at the barrier. Otherwise, you're the strangest Muggle I've ever met." He smiled and Harry knew then that this boy was just being reassuring and not a bully trying to pick out a new victim. As if to confirm Harry's thoughts, the older boy added, "My name’s Robert Hillard. I'm a Prefect. I'm supposed to help Muggle-born First Years find the Express." As he said this, he flashed his blue and bronze prefect badge with deliberate ridiculousness, as though he were a police officer. He was trying to set Harry at ease.

It worked. Harry smiled and nodded in relief. The idea of having to go back to Privet Drive with his tail between his legs was too mortifying to contemplate. Robert glanced around. "Are your parents looking for the platform?" He asked.

Harry shook his head and spoke for the first time since Vernon left. "No, I'm here on my own." Hillard looked concerned, but only for a moment. He shrugged and led the way to the platform.

"You've got your ticket, haven't you?" He asked and nodded briskly when Harry pulled it from his pocket. "The ticket is what lets us pass through the barrier, otherwise any old Muggle could get through and have the shock of their lives." As Robert said this, he pulled out his own ticket and walked confidently towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Even though Hagrid had told him what to expect, he still winced when Robert walked right into the brick wall. But then Robert walked rightintothe brick wall.

It was as if the barrier was not even there. Or it was there, but the tickets they held somehow made them intangible to it. Realising that the answers to his questions and the methods on how to create something similar himself would be taught to him on the other side, Harry quickly followed. He tried not to close his eyes, to be as confident as Robert had been, but he squeezed them shut at the last second and only stopped walking when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"You'll walk right into another wall if you keep your eyes shut like that, and the next one will hurt." Robert laughed. "Besides, the train is this way." He turned Harry around to face an entirely new train platform. They had been transported somewhere else entirely.

It was a gleaming train station far smaller than King's Cross as it only had one train platform and was made entirely of white marble. It had a high domed glass ceiling and several bridges that were made of crystal and golden arches that crisscrossed each other in the air. These bridges carried the students who appeared out of roaring green fireplaces along the far wall, providing them with direct paths to the gleaming emerald and silver steam engine train on the tracks. It was a magnificent beast, eleven carriages long, and had the wordsHogwarts Expresspainted in bold silver lettering on the front.

"I'll never get tired of seeing that expression." Robert smiled as he led Harry to the side, towards a dozen doorways on the wall opposite the fireplaces that had the wordsChanging Roomswritten above. He helped him store his trunk neatly on one of the racks in the luggage carriage, after patiently waiting for Harry to change into his uniform. Harry felt a little silly wearing the hat, but seeing that everyone else was wearing them, he buried his embarrassment.

"The carriage at the end is reserved for Slytherin House- they won the House Cup last year- and the Prefect carriage is closer to the front of the train. You can pass through, or you can stop to ask for help, but you can't sit there." He explained. "Anywhere else is free, but I recommend you go to the very first carriage. All the First Years sit there every year. You might make friends." With a reassuring pat on Harry's shoulder (he didn't lookthatnervous, did he?) Robert Hillard jumped back off the train and towards the barrier to look for more wayward first years.

Harry made his way through the reserved carriage, which was quickly filling with students with green lining their school uniforms. He noted that the entire compartment was designed more like a giant room than part of a train. It had black leather sofas, an excess of cushions, afireplace(how did that even work?), unfamiliar music playing from a levitating radio and a dining area on an upper level, with strange floating metal creatures organising food and drink to hand out to the lounging students. It looked like the strangest and most interesting party ever was about to take place in this room and he was curious to see it play out. However, judging by the irritated looks he was receiving, First Years weren't welcome.

As he stepped out of the party carriage and onto the rest of the train, he was a little relieved- but mostly disappointed- to see it much more similar to what he had expected. Of course, the train itself looked as though it had come right from the Victorian era with its excess of wood panelling, carpeted floors and heavy curtains at the windows. However, it was at least three times wider than it should be, giving students enough room to walk comfortably without squeezing past each other while they searched for seats. Still, compared to the mind-boggling dimensions of the carriage he’d just existed, this seemed more natural to his senses.

Allowing the older students to move past him, he joined the steady flow of kids his age in the opposite direction. There was safety in numbers after all. Compartment after compartment, carriage after carriage, their large herd lost numbers as individuals and groups peeled off to find friends already waiting for them or an empty compartment that they could call their own. They passed through the Prefect carriage, which was half full of friendly older students like Robert, who encouraged the youngest students onwards and firmly told the few older kids that remained to turn back and find seating in the five carriages that were available to them.

Once Harry had passed through the Prefect carriage, he was much more at ease. How could he not be? With dozens of tall and bulky teenagers looming over him in such an enclosed space he’d felt a little intimidated. Now, he was amongst students of a similar age, wearing robes without any special colour trim on their uniforms, and kids about a year older who didn't seem threatening at all.

Considering that they were probably the last before the stragglers arrived, it wasn't surprising that he couldn't find a compartment of First Years that wasn't full until he reached the very first carriage as Robert had recommended. Finally reaching a compartment that only had two First Years in it, Harry didn't overthink his next action as he normally would have in any given social interaction, too relieved to have finally found available seating. He simply knocked, opened the door and asked, "Is it alright if I join you?", just as the train let out a whistle and began to leave the station.

The two First Year boys looked up at him, curious. They sat opposite each other, one on his right splayed out across the cushioned bench as though he were at home and the other on his left sitting properly as if to purposefully contrast himself from his companion. After a brief but confused moment- as the two boys had been so enraptured by their conversation that they seemed to have forgotten there were other people on the train- the proper boy managed to collect himself and replied politely, "We don't mind at all. Please." He added gesturing a hand to the bench beside him.

Nodding his thanks, Harry sat by the window on the side of the polite boy, carefully avoiding the relaxed boy's legs. "I don't recognise you," the relaxed boy said, eyebrow raised. "I'm bad with faces but I'm sure we've never met. Are you a Muggle-born?" The polite boy made a noise of disgust, but not at the word Muggle-born, at his companion's rudeness.

"Terry! You can't just ask a stranger questions about their heritage!" He scolded him in the way all older brothers do; with authority that their younger siblings did not respect. "Besides, not everyone goes to Pendle's."

"Not anyone who gets to go to Hogwarts. So, he must be Muggle-born," Terry said, matter-of-factly. The still unnamed boy was about to reply sharply- both clearly forgetting that he was still in the compartment- when Harry interrupted.

"Are you two brothers?" He asked and felt immediately stupid for asking such a question. While the two reminded him of the squabbling siblings that he had known in Little Whinging, they could not have looked more different.

Terry was a small East Asian boy, with short spiky black hair, arched eyebrows and a clever smile on his face that gave him a mischievous air. He looked like the kind of kid who would keep his fingers crossed behind his back while making promises to a teacher.

In contrast, the other boy was tall and thin like Harry. He had tawny brown skin and meticulously trimmed black hair. His face was fine-featured and had appeared friendly and open a moment ago but at Harry's question, he seemed to withdraw in on himself.

Seeing this, Terry sat up and answered quickly. "Anthony and I grew up in the same house. Our dads were best friends." He said this as if it was a completely normal living situation, but Harry had already caught on to his blunder when he had heard the wordwere. He quickly tried to remedy it.

"I grew up with my relatives after You-Know-Who killed my parents," Harry said, perhaps a little too suddenly. He was aware that he wasn't the only orphan of the war, but he still found it unusual to meet someone like him. He had never met another orphan before, so perhaps he was a little eager in trying to find common ground.

"Shouldn't I know you from Pendle's then?" Terry asked, as rudely as he had before, but this time it was for a purpose. This seemed to snap Anthony out of his brief funk as he groaned, "Terry!" and said boy leaned back into his seat, clearly pleased with himself.

Anthony turned to Harry, smile back on his face and hand outstretched to introduce himself politely. "Anthony Goldstein." They shook hands firmly and he gestured to Terry, "This is my brother, Terry Boot." Terry merely gave a lazy wave, looking too relaxed for a handshake.

Harry nodded back at him and said, "Harry Potter."

Anthony's eyebrows shot up. Terry gasped, sitting up as he began to pepper Harry with questions. “Is it true that you have a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning? Do you remember what You-Know-Who looked like? How did it feel to be hit with the Killing Curse? Did it hurt? I bet it did. Have you really been with Muggles this whole time? Do they actually fly across the sky in giant metal-?" Anthony finally cut him off by jumping on top of him and covering his mouth with his hand.

"I'm sorry about him.” Anthony apologised. “His parents are planning to have him checked by a Mind Healer. Sometimes people ask me about my parents too,but it must be a thousand times worse for you." He stressed this last part while looking at Harry, but in a tone of voice that was directed at his brother.

Terry, who had looked annoyed at being forcefully silenced a moment ago, now looked remorseful. Pulling Anthony's hand from his mouth he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, Harry, that was rude of me. I'll let you kick me if it makes you feel better?" Harry leaned away from him, confused by this bizarre offer, and Anthony did his best to explain as he reclaimed his seat.

"It's what the two of us do whenever one of us, mostly Terry, does something that needs making up for." Harry blinked and felt strangely touched that these two were willing to include him in their odd traditions. Still, he refused, as kicking someone he had only just met seemed like a bad way to make friends.

"I've heard of Pendle's before," he said, changing the subject. "Is it true that they don't teach magic there?"

Anthony nodded slowly and smiled. "You really did grow up with Muggles, didn't you? They don't trust kids younger than eleven with wands; learning actual magic is considered the first step towards adulthood. They don't trust teenagers all that much either because, until we're eighteen, our teachers and parents will be held partly responsible for anything bad we do with our magic."

"Does that mean that you don't know any spells yet?" Harry was relieved by this but also the tiniest bit disappointed. He had been hoping to ask other First Years for tips. Terry grinned, as though he had been just waiting for someone to ask, and he drew his wand with a flourish.

"I learned a spell from this Wendell's kid I met in Diagon this summer. I could show you if you like?" Harry glanced at Anthony, half expecting him to stop the smaller boy, but he merely looked amused. "Alright then, go ahead," he shrugged.

Terry drew a stack of glossy purple cards from his pocket and, removing one, he placed it on the bench beside him and pointed his wand at it. His grin faded slightly as he began to concentrate, and Anthony caught Harry's eye and winked. After a moment Terry's eyes seemed to snap into focus as he flicked his wand down at the card and sharply said, "Colovaria!"

To Harry's surprise, the card wasn't affected at all, but Terry was. His previously black hair had turned green with pink polka dots. Anthony's shoulders were shaking in silent laughter, but Terry didn't seem to notice as he was holding his card up towards the sunlight, trying to see if it had changed colours even slightly. His shoulders slumped when he accepted that it hadn't.

"Don't forget the General Counter-Spell, Terry. You know it's a good habit to get into." Anthony managed to say with a straight face.

"Yeah, yeah," Terry muttered and waved his wand, "Finite Incantatem!" With that, his hair had turned to normal. Harry had wanted to compliment him on successfully removing the spell from his hair, but Anthony's small shake of the head warned him not to ruin the joke.

The next couple of hours were spent exchanging what spells all three boys knew (it wasn't many), spells they had seen their parents and teachers do (Harry only spoke about the ones he had seen Hagrid use) and all of the different kinds of accidental magic they had done. Harry was only just finishing his retelling of the time he brought all the toys in the local nursery’s playroom to life (and the ensuing terror it inspired in the other toddlers) when there was a knock on the compartment door.

It slid open to reveal a kindly-faced elderly witch, pushing a trolley bursting with snacks and drinks. She poked her head in the compartment and asked, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Terry leapt up and raced to the trolley as if to beat the other two with Anthony following at a more sedentary pace. Harry reached into his mokeskin pouch for a single gold Galleon and approached only when the other two sat back down. He wasn't sure what to buy so he just purchased "One of everything, please." It said a lot about the worth of a Galleon that he still had three bronze Knuts left over in change.

"How are you going to eat all of that?" Anthony asked, laughing as Harry required three trips from the trolley to his seat, to transport all of his goods. Harry shrugged as he closed the door after the trolley witch went to the next compartment.

"I've never had magic snacks before. I want to know what I like and don't like. You're both free to help me decide, of course. I've got more than enough to share." Anthony refused politely, but Terry chuckled.

"I like you already, Harry! Pass the beans." Anthony sighed, but he didn’t make a fuss when Harry handed overBertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans to Terry.

They lost track of time as they devoured their treats. Terry and Anthony were happy to make recommendations to Harry, advising him on which sweets he would hate and which he needed to try first. More than once it devolved into an argument over whether jelly slugs or jelly snakes tasted better (Harry couldn't tell the difference) or whether pumpkin pasties tasted better than chocolate frogs (surprisingly it was the pasties, although he would never tell Terry that). Harry was enjoying himself so much, that he was annoyed when there was another knock on the compartment door.

It opened to reveal a boy with white-blonde hair, framed on either side by two hulking figures (Why are those two wearing First Year uniforms?Harry thought.They look old enough to shave!). Terry took one look at the open doorway and said in a deadpan voice, "Oh great. It'sDraco."

The white-haired boy, Draco apparently, spared Terry a glare while Anthony snickered in the background, before turning to face Harry with a pained look on his face. It took Harry a moment to realise that this was meant to be a friendly smile.

He spoke politely as though mimicking an adult's formal behaviour. "You must be Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Draco Malfoy." His face pinched as Terry joined in on Anthony's redoubled snickers, before continuing as though he hadn't heard anything. "These are my companions, Crabbe and Goyle." Each boy grunted when their names were mentioned but they were so similar Harry immediately forgot which was which.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Normally he was given a chance to introduce himself, but having a stranger start a conversation with a "you must be" had left him on the back foot. It didn't help that Anthony had buried his face in his hands in a poor attempt to hide his giggles. Thankfully, Malfoy didn't seem to expect anything from him.

"I only just came to introduce myself to you before school formally begins. It may not be my place to say it, but I would recommend you choose better companions once we arrive at Hogwarts. Having the wrong friends can drag you down." Anthony finally gained some control over himself, lifting his head out of his hands to glare at Malfoy through watery eyes.

"I'm more than capable of choosing for myself. But cheers anyway." Harry was annoyed, partly because he didn't understand what Anthony found so funny, but mostly because Malfoy reminded him of all the fair-weather friends he had back at St. Gregory's.

Malfoy scowled and looked as though he were about to say something rude before Terry interrupted. "Are you still here? You make a habit of hanging around where you're not welcome, don't you?"

With one last filthy look at Terry and Anthony, Malfoy quickly turned and left. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered after him.

"What was all that about?" Harry asked when Terry closed the compartment door. "And what was so funny?"

Terry sighed, leaning back in his seat as he began to explain. "Draco Malfoy and his goons. We went to Pendle's with them. His dad got away with serving You-Know-Who because he was playing both sides with information and gold. When his victims came forward after the war ended, he claimed that he was bewitched. Doesn't seem to feel any guilt for all the people he tortured and killed though.Dracoseemed to think that made him untouchable too."

Anthony made a noise of disgust, his humour completely gone now as he listened as Terry continued.

"There was an election for school representatives in our final year. You know, someone to help organise students for outings and get special privileges? The representative even got to go to the Ministry or Board of Governors to be the face of the school and help the headteacher explain why funding is so important, or whatever." Terry's lips flickered into a smirk. "During elections, he kept annoying everyone by interrupting lunch and playtime with his stupid speeches. He even kept us behind every day when our parents picked us up."

"I'm still not seeing the joke."

"I'm getting there." Terry waved his impatience aside. "For years, he was always getting on Anthony's nerves about his parents, and healwaysran to his dad whenever things didn't go his way. So, before another one of his silly little speeches, I slipped him a Babbling Beverage I bought fromGambol and Japes, but I added my own twist to it. He was stuck saying "I'm Draco Malfoy!"and "My father will hear about this!"over and over until our teacher got fed up with him and sent the prat home."

"He used to say it so often that she didn't even realise anything was wrong with him for almost half an hour!" Anthony was laughing hard at the memory. "They had to take him to St. Mungo's!" He wheezed. "He was out all week!"

Terry smiled proudly. "Most peaceful week of school we ever had. And he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut around us after that, too."

While Harry found the story amusing, he didn't think it was funny enough to deserve the tears coming out of Anthony's eyes, but he figured it was one of those you-just-needed-to-be-there type of things. But there were two points in the story that interested him, and he decided to ask about the more serious of them first.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," he said to Anthony, "but your parents are they-?" Anthony cut him off.

"My mum was killed when I was a baby," he said simply and without emotion, as though it were just a cold fact. "My dad was an Auror, but now he's on the third floor of St. Mungo's Hospital. They fed him a variant of the Draught of Living Death after making him watch what happened to mum. For the crime of marrying a Muggle." Harry was furious.

"And that guy, Malfoy, made fun of them? Even though his dad was a Death Eater?" Anthony just nodded while Terry scowled.

"I wanted toreallyget him back, but Anthony didn't want us to get in too much trouble. The Malfoys have almost as much sway as my parents do," Terry said looking chagrined. "Dad says the world values gold more than it does its soldiers."

Anthony agreed. "It's the only reason brain-dead, magicless morons like Crabbe and Goyle can even get into Hogwarts. Their parents donate to the school and suddenly one or two names get added to the Book of Admittance." The mood had taken such a nosedive that Harry wished he had never asked to begin with. Wishing to change the subject, he asked his second, more light-hearted question.

"I thought you said Pendle's didn't teach magic. How'd you manage to “add your own twist” to a potion?"

"Because I'm a genius," Terry said proudly. Anthony scoffed.

"At potions andonlypotions. He's pants at everything else." Anthony smirked. "Compared to me anyway."

"You don't have to keep telling people that!"

"Andyoudon't have to keep telling people that you're a genius!"

As Harry watched the boys argue, he felt the tiniest drop of jealousy enter his mind. Like Harry, Anthony had been orphaned by the Sixth Great Wizarding War and was placed into another family’s care. But while Harry had ended up with the Dursleys and suffered all that came with that, his new friend had gone to the Boots and became a part of their family. He tried to imagine a world where he and Dudley squabbled like brothers but came to each other's defence as fiercely as Terry had for Anthony. He couldn't even picture it.

It wasn’t long before the sun began its descent as the train made its way through the Scottish Highlands, and the conductor's voice came over invisible speakers.

"The train will arrive at Hogsmeade Station in ten minutes. Your luggage will be brought to you at the school. Please follow the Prefects’ directions and exit in an orderly fashion once the train has made a complete stop."

The three boys got up and stuffed their pockets with what few sweets remained after their afternoon binge. They exited the compartment only to find the corridor jam-packed with restless First Years eager to get off the train. Despite the conductor's instructions, the students were neither waiting for the train to make a complete stop nor making their exits in an orderly fashion. Harry tried to feel bad at the overwhelmed expressions on the Prefects' faces, but as Terry pushed both he and Anthony into the jostling crowd, he gave up and started pushing and laughing along with everyone else.

Once the train finally came to a complete stop- and the Prefects were loudly promising to tell the four Heads of Houses about their newest students' misconduct- Harry and his friends jumped off the train and onto the platform, stretching gratefully and taking deep breaths as though they had been through a strenuous ordeal.

Hogsmeade Station was lit by the flickering glow of a dozen lanterns and it contrasted heavily with the deep blue sky. It was a beautiful sight, but it was nothing compared to the valley below. Hogsmeade, Harry had learned fromA Sorcerer's Field Guide of Western Europe,was the only magical town in Britain and was populated by over twenty thousand witches and wizards. It was one thing to read that number, but it was another to see it.

The town below seemed to be divided into different sections; to the west where the mountains hid the last rays of a setting sun, was a residential area. Hundreds of homes with winding streets, and a large park with a wide river that seemed to go around half the town. He could see, even from this distance, small children running back to their parents after a long day splashing and playing in the late summer sun.

To the east, there was an incredibly large and dense forest which the wide river seemed to connect to a lake that separated the forest in two. Between the forest and the park, there was a commercial area. A high street in the very centre of town was filled with shops that were still open despite the late hour, and townsfolk making the trek to the local taverns after a hard day's work. In the centre of town, there was a large stone bridge which connected the town's centre to the residential area, which had been intersected by the river.

With Hogsmeade Station to the south and there- so far north he couldn’t make it out under the rapidly darkening sky- was Hogwarts, its silhouette vaguely recognisable from the photographs in Hogwarts: A History. Even without the setting sun making it clear where the cardinal directions were, he would have been able to tell by the statues.

To the north, east, south and west, there were four, one hundred foot tall, marble statues. Gryffindor to the north, Hufflepuff to the east, Ravenclaw to the south and Slytherin to the west. They were the four founders of Hogwarts and the town that neighboured it.

Harry looked up at the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. It had been enchanted to always face forward, no matter who or how many people were looking at it from various angles. When Harry first read that, he’d assumed the Founders didn't want people to remember them by their giant marble buttocks. However, now that he was looking up at Ravenclaw's regal and composed face, he felt as though he was safe under the protection of the Founding Four. He dimly wondered if that was the whole point.

Harry was jostled out of his thoughts by Anthony's hand clamping onto his arm. He was annoyed for a second until he saw that he had done the same to Terry. Said boy hadn't been as enraptured in the sight of Hogsmeade as Harry had been but had been trying to sneak something slimy and green into the pocket of a black-haired girl he seemed to know. As Anthony led them down the platform like lost little lambs, he muttered, "Great. Now I have to watch two of them." Harry and Terry exchanged amused looks.

"First Years! First Years over here!" Called a familiar voice. There, at the end of the platform and away from the older students who were headed for the horseless carriages by the station's iron archway exit, was Hagrid. Harry grinned and hurried to him, dragging along the still-attached Anthony and Terry.

"Alright,ProfessorHagrid?" Harry asked as soon as he was within earshot. Hagrid looked down at him and winked.

"Been keeping out of trouble, Harry?" Harry smiled back at him, surprised at just how much he had missed someone he had only known a day.

Eventually, all the First Years seemed to crowd together, as the last stragglers hurried once the older students had departed on their carriages. Harry glanced around, surprised to see that there were so few of them. At a normal comprehensive school like Stonewall, there were about two or three hundred kids per year. With only three schools of magic in the country, Harry had expected even more in Hogwarts, but there weren't even fifty First Year students.

"You seem surprised," a cool voice spoke quietly to his right. Harry turned to face the same stocky blonde boy who had run out of Ollivander's. He seemed much more composed now, with his hands in his pockets and his uniform scruffyjustenough to let everyone know he thought he was the cool kid.

Harry shrugged. "I just expected more students. I thought Hogwarts was the best school." The blonde boy snorted.

"Hogwarts can only maintain that reputation by being exclusive. The Board of Governors would rather have no students in a year group than have one filled with subpar sorcerers. The last war left Hogwarts with slim pickings for our generation." The boy gestured to the small crowd and seemed amused by Harry's naivety. "It's happened before, you know. I think it was in 1879?"

"It was in 1889, Michael." Anthony sighed, immediately popping the boy's condescending air. "It's annoying how you don't pay any attention in class. I hope you don't continue that behaviour at Hogwarts. They won't be as lenient as Pendle's." The boy, Michael, scowled at this chiding and stalked off to the back.

"Don't mind him," Terry said, watching the other boy push his way to the back to be as far away from them as possible. "That one's got a chip on his shoulder, but he's nice when he forgets to pretend not to be." Before Harry could even begin to decode that statement, Hagrid called out to the crowd.

"Alright then, is that everyone? Good! Follow me." He led them through the exit of the station, but instead of following the carriage's route through the town, Hagrid led them towards the dark forest.

At the opening, Harry spotted a well-maintained cobblestone path that was lit by lanterns identical to the ones at the station. The First Years walked in a tight pack once they reached the dense forest as the trees enclosed them on all sides, leaving little room for them to spread out and Hagrid had to glance back every so often to make sure he hadn't lost anyone to the surrounding gloom. Night had fallen completely during their walk, so when the path ended and they emerged from the forest, Harry almost missed the dozen small boats waiting for them at the shore of the dark lake.

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid called out, which began a mad scramble, as most wanted to find a boat just for their friends. Harry, Terry and Anthony were not exempt from this silliness, as they hurried to claim a boat that could fit all three of them. They climbed onto the nearest available boat together and after a minute they were joined by a reluctant Michael. Harry had the impression that they were the best in a series of bad options for him.

"Is that everyone? Brilliant. No fighting while we're on the boats, alright? I can't even believe I have to tell you that, but the one year I didn't a lad fell overboard and was nearly eaten by the Giant Squid." Hagrid tutted, as though this student deserved to be eaten for his stupidity.

Harry blinked. "Hang on, did he just sayGiant Squid?"

"FORWARD!" For the briefest of moments, Harry thought this meant that Hagrid wanted them to row themselves to the school and he began to search for oars. Then the boats began moving by themselves and he felt like an idiot.

Even though there might be an actual Kraken lurking in the dark waters beneath them, Harry was too distracted by the breathtaking sight before him to care. The lake was so still it reflected the stars and half-moon above them like polished glass, but their boats cut through it like sharp knives, slicing the mirror image into ribbons. He thought that was an impressive sight, at least until they left the forest behind them as they turned a corner and he saw Hogwarts with his own eyes for the first time.

Harry had never seen a building like it. He thought he knew what to expect when he had seen the pictures in his textbooks, but it was nothing compared to the sight of the castle in person. Seven towers protruded from the castle, each of a different height and size, and not all of them were completely visible from this angle. He couldn't quite tell how many floors there were, he thought maybe seven when counted once, but his eyes must have been playing tricks on him as he counted five the second time and nine the third. Every window was emitting a light that shone brightly through the night and the smooth stone walls seemed to thrum with indefinable energy. The entire school was a beacon in the dark world the students were leaving behind.

They circled the school and grounds, only coming to a stop when they reached the large stone boathouse on the shore. Once their boats had docked and they had all disembarked, the First Years followed Hagrid out of the boathouse, up the school's sweeping open lawn, towards a wide-open door. Through the door, they climbed up a steep flight of stone stairs, which in turn opened up to a large courtyard in front of two of the largest doors he has ever seen in his life. Hagrid approached said door, leaving the students huffing and puffing after him, and knocked on it thrice.

After a minute, both doors swung open revealing a witch wearing neat emerald robes and a pointed hat, who looked down at them impassively. Aside from her glasses and tight bun of black and silver hair, she looked nothing like Roemmele, but her intimidating presence was identical to Harry’s old headteacher. This was not someone he wanted to cross.

"The First Years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid made a gesture as if he were presenting them to her for inspection. Professor McGonagall examined them all for a long moment, her eyes flickering to each student, as though checking if they were to her liking. Finally, she nodded once and said, "You may join the feast now, Professor Hagrid." Hagrid nodded and moved past her into the castle.

Professor McGonagall stared at them for another minute, making some kids fidget in nervousness. Harry had been in trouble enough times to know that this was a favourite tactic teachers used to make students confess to wrongdoing. He couldn't imagine what McGonagall wanted them to confess to. Perhaps she was just naturally intimidating?

McGonagall finally spoke and what she said and the way she said it was just further evidence that she was an effortlessly intimidating individual.

"In a moment you will be led to the Great Hall where you will be sorted in front of your peers and teachers. The four Houses you will be sorted into, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin, are all noble houses with long and rich histories. Tonight, you will become part of that history. Any proud triumphs or shameful behaviour will reflect not only on you but your entire house. How you act from this moment forward will reflect upon you for the rest of your lives."

She paused after this dramatic speech as if to give them a moment to understand the impact their conduct tonight could have on their entire lives. She wasn't wrong to do so. Harry could feel the familiar anxiety building in his stomach and he could tell from the way some students seemed to have stopped breathing that he was not the only one who was silently freaking out. Seemingly satisfied that they had understood her message, McGonagall gave them one last piece of advice.

"Do clean yourselves up. You will want to put your best foot forward." With that she turned and walked back into the castle, the doors closing themselves behind her, leaving fifty terrified eleven-year-olds in a dark and empty courtyard.

After she left, there were a few moments of nervous silence, before there was a sudden scramble amongst all of them to straighten their uniforms, fix their hair and wipe the remains of lunch from their faces and robes. Harry helped Anthony straighten his uniform, while he helped Harry in return with fixing his hat. Terry and Michael were amongst the very few who seemed unconcerned. Anthony began to point out that first impressions mattered even if you thought you were too cool for them, but McGonagal returned before he could finish.

"We are ready for you now."

The First Years lined up behind her in a single file without instruction. They marched into an entrance hall that was larger than the Dursleys' entire house, through another pair of giant doors that seemed to open by themselves into a hall that was bigger than all of the houses on Privet Drive.

The Great Hall.

It was just asHogwarts: A Historydescribed and so much more. From the four long, polished tables that ran the length of the entire hall, the four massive House banners that hung from the left wall to the giant fireplace along the right-hand side that was so big even Hagrid could stand comfortably in it. Even the invisible ceiling was better than he had expected, with the way it opened up seamlessly into the sky and illuminated the hall with moon and starlight better than the dim floating candles or the fireplace did. Everything about this room just screamed magic to him. It was all so impressive.

At least it was until Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the raised platform where the teachers’ table stood parallel to the doors. It only got worse when she placed a raggedy old hat atop it. Just as Harry began to wonder if she wanted them to do something with it (pull a rabbit out, maybe?) the hat began to sing a song about the four houses out of a tear near its brim. When it finished, it received a half-hearted applause from the teachers and seated students, with only the old man sitting on the gilded throne looking impressed with what he had just heard.

As the applause began to die down, Harry caught the man's eye accidentally, as he was incredulous that anyone could applaud the hat's song without a hint of irony. For a moment, the old man seemed just as surprised that they were making eye contact all of a sudden before he winked at Harry and turned his attention back to McGonagall. Harry's eyes couldn't help but remain on him a moment longer, as he was the strangest person Harry had ever seen. He was an ancient man, with a long and crooked nose, half-moon spectacles and a pin-straight hair and beard set that was both whiter than the moon above them and long enough to tuck into his belt. The craziest thing about him was the deep blue and black robes he wore that seemed to have moving constellations on them.

Where do you even buy clothes like that?Harry wondered.

It was only McGonagall's voice that finally stopped Harry from staring. "When I call your name, you will step forward and place the Sorting Hat onto your head. When sorted please join your new House table."But what if I'm not sorted? Harry wanted to ask. He wished he had been given some warning, especially as judging from the lack of reaction from his year mates, they had all been told about this beforehand. Why hadn't Hagrid mentioned this? A warning wouldn't have helped though. There was no way to prepare for this test.The Hat was going to see into his mind no matter what. Harry tried and failed not to be panicked by that realisation.

One by one the students were called upon in alphabetical order and, not for the first time in his life, Harry was glad to have a last name that was in the middle of the alphabet. Good Lord, imagine going first.Poor Hannah Abbot,Harry felt sympathy for the round-cheeked, pig tail-wearing girl as she approached the stool on shaky legs, but not enough to want to take her place.Better you than me,he reasoned. A few moments later, the table to his right- where all the students wore black robes with yellow trim- began applauding as the Sorting Hat announced to the entire hall, "HUFFLEPUFF!" A relieved Hannah joined their ranks.

Slowly, the number of First Years began to thin as they joined their older peers along the house tables. The first amongst the students he knew was "Bones, Susan", who after half a minute of deliberation ended up in Hufflepuff. Then came, "Boot, Trevor", who went to Ravenclaw. Michael and then Anthony joined him there. "Malfoy, Draco" joined Crabbe and Goyle in Slytherin. Soon, after "Patil, Padma" and "Patil, Parvati" was called it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Henry."

It was only because he had spent the last twenty minutes composing himself, that he didn't react to the sudden burst of whispers that came from the house tables. Was it his imagination or did some of the teachers lean forward as well? He sat on the stool calmly, removed his own pointed hat and replaced it with the raggedy Sorting Hat.

Courage without honour,a voice suddenly whispered in his mind.Shrewdness without ambition. Determination, but with hollow loyalties. Intelligence, but lacking wisdom. Where should I put you? You have great potential, that cannot be denied, but you will chafe and struggle no matter where you are placed.

Harry was insulted but managed to keep his cool. After all, hundreds of eyes were on him now.I don't mind being called dishonourable, unambitious or even disloyal,he thought as hard as he could while keeping his face impassive. He hoped the hat could hear him.But I resent being called unwise. Wisdom is about having good judgement, isn't it? Someone recently told me it's the responsibility of the adults around me to teach me that. Place me in the House where I would learn wisdom and watch me grow.

It was obvious what he was doing. He knew it and the Sorting Hat knew it too. But Harry had guessed by the sorting of Crabbe and Goyle (who were, apparently, "brain-dead magicless morons") into the House of the Cunning, that it was the student's choice that really mattered. Either that or desire played a part in the sorting. And Harry wanted to join Ravenclaw. Hogwarts was a school, and what better House was there to be in during school than one which valued intelligence, wisdom and creativity?

The Sorting Hat let out an amused huff in his mind.You catch on fast. I suppose wisdom is something you need to learn first. The rest will all come from that. RAVENCLAW!

The Hat had shouted out this last word for the entire hall to hear. The Ravenclaw table began applauding just as Harry removed the Sorting Hat and handed it back to McGonagall. He put his own hat back on and made his way to the House of the Wise.

Harry was vaguely aware that he was receiving more applause than anyone who had preceded him, but he wouldn't think about that until much later. Just as he had struggled to not let his nerves show during the sorting process, he was now trying to hide his relief. He made his way to the front of the table that was closest to the teachers where the seven other Ravenclaw First Years were sitting. He was surprised that there were so few of them. The other tables had reached double digits in their First Years, and Hufflepuff had twice their number.

Harry sat in the wide space between Padma Patil and Michael, across from Terry and Anthony, as the other House members nearby made sure to introduce themselves to him. Harry did his best in trying to remember all their names, but only succeeded in memorising his year mates and the closest Prefects; Isobel McDougal, a very tall girl who greeted him with a solemn nod, Padma Patil, who had a long plait down her back and a confident smile on her face, Su Li, an inquisitive girl who peppered him with whispered questions as the sorting began again and Amanda Brocklehurst, a pale girl who had to be introduced by Su as she was so shy.

Soon, just before the sorting was finished, the same energetic black-haired girl that Terry had targeted on the platform was sorted into Ravenclaw. She squeezed herself in between Harry and Padma, where she immediately began a whispering, giggling conversation with the other girl. It was only once the Prefects reminded her to introduce herself, did she raise her head, say "Lisa Turpin'' and returned to her secret discussion.

The two Fifth Year Prefects introduced themselves as Penelope Clearwater, a short blonde-haired girl, who made sure to tell all the First Years to come to her for anything, and an impossibly tall and muscular lad called Christopher Watkins, who didn't seem all that interested in them. It was only when Penelope kicked him under the table that he even bothered to introduce himself.

Once the sorting had been completed, the strange old man rose from his gilded throne and walked through the table as though the solid wood was merely an intangible illusion. He approached the tall wooden podium that had images of flying boars carved onto it. As he got closer, Harry noted that his robes looked even crazier than before, as shooting stars shot across them.

"To those of you who are new to these hallowed halls, I say welcome! To those of you who have managed to return, I say welcome back! To all who do not know me, I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school. While I prefer to keep all speeches short and sweet, there are some things too important to wait until you are all fed and watered."

"First, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to any students who are not accompanied by or have the express permission of a member of staff. This is done only with your safety in mind, as many Dark Creatures lurk behind the forest boundary." He seemed to be speaking to a certain group, as his eyes flickered to specific students around the hall.

"Secondly, the use of spells in the corridors is strictly prohibited. As fun as it may be in the moment to hex a classmate's toenails to rapidly grow, it won't be near as fun in Saturday Detention, believe me." He was definitely speaking to specific students now, as several older students in Harry's line of sight adopted sheepish looks.

"Thirdly, it gives me great pleasure to formally announce this year's Hogwarts Triumvirate! Nymphadora Tonks! Charles Weasley! Silas Rosier! Please stand!"

At his request, a slim blue-haired girl stood from the Hufflepuff table, a stocky redheaded boy rose from amongst the Gryffindors and a short, melancholy boy from the Slytherin table slowly got to his feet. "These will be our representative team for the Triwizard Tournament! Let's give them a big round of applause!" The students and teachers did so, but while every other House was enthusiastic in their appreciation (Gryffindor in particular, as they stamped their feet and practically dog-piled a laughing Charles Weasley) Ravenclaw was muted in their congratulations. It wasn't difficult to see why. They were the only house without a representative in the Triumvirate.

Dumbledore finally brought the applause to an end by raising his hand for silence. "The entire world will be watching the three of you." He spoke solemnly now, directly to the Triumvirate. "How you perform will reflect on this school for the next three years. I wish you all the luck in the world." The Triumvirate slowly took their seats, now looking tense. Harry couldn't blame them, as it almost sounded as though Dumbledore was threatening them.

"The final thing you all should know is that the dungeons beyond the portrait of Headmistress Burke are forbidden to all students. Any trespassing would lead to expulsion if you are lucky and a violent, painful death if you are not." Despite his grim warning, he had a wide smile on his face. "Now, let's tuck in!"

With that disturbing warning, he clapped his hands and a feast appeared on every table. Harry would have asked questions about that “violent, painful death”business, but he was distracted by his growling stomach. He wasn't the only one, as instead of asking any questions, everyone began to tuck in. There was a lot to tuck into, every kind of food he was in the mood for. Roast beef and potatoes, lamb chops, peas, carrots and sprouts were all cooked to perfection and ended up on his plate. Harry stopped eating after his second helping when he thought he was full and he languidly sipped pumpkin juice from a golden goblet. However, he found his appetite wasn’t quite sated when the golden dishes were cleared and dessert appeared.

He would have been embarrassed about his bottomless stomach if he wasn’t sitting next to Michael. It was a good thing that the dishes magically refilled themselves when cleared, as Michael had a bigger appetite than Dudley.

Just as he had finished his third slice of treacle tart, the dishes cleared themselves away. Dumbledore rose to his feast and called out, "I hope you all enjoyed such a pleasant meal. You will need the energy for tomorrow's classes. Prefects, please lead our First Years to their brand-new homes!" There was a great rumble, as hundreds of students got to their feet, and began to exit the Great Hall. He understood now why the eldest students sat by the doors. It was for a quick escape. It took almost five minutes for the Ravenclaw First Years to reach the Entrance Hall and twice that long to make their way to Ravenclaw Tower.

Once they finally reached the top of a long and winding staircase (No wonder Hagrid had never heard of an escalator, Harry thought. Ifwizards knew about it, they would have put it in this castle already) they found a bronze eagle head knocker guarding a heavy wooden door. Penelope, scowling at a yawning Christopher, had to reach around his massive form to knock the eagle's head thrice.

The head opened its beak and spoke in a deep, soothing voice. "I always run but never walk. I always murmur but never talk. I have a bed but never sleep. I have a mouth but never eat. What am I?"

Penelope looked back at them, probably to ask them to solve it as a test, but it had been a long day for Harry. With his stomach full, a long walk through the castle and the prospect of a bed just on the other side of that door, he was drowsier than he could ever remember being. That meant he didn't have any patience for the usual student-teacher back and forth. "You're a river," he yawned.

"Correct," said the door knocker.

Penelope sighed. "Are you good with riddles then?" She asked as they entered the common room. She looked put out that he had ruined her moment.

"No, I've just heard that one before." This seemed to annoy her for some reason.

The Ravenclaw common room was large, circular and divided into two sections. On the left side of the entrance, there were neatly organised tables and chairs, clearly meant for studying, or tutoring. On the right, was a cosy sitting room area, with comfortable sofas and armchairs, enough for the entire house, and a roaring fireplace. The walls were a deep sapphire and the ceiling seemed to be enchanted like the Great Hall's, peering through floors above like they weren't even there and revealing the moon and starlit sky to their eyes. Coupled with the large, wide windows, this gave an open-air feeling to the room, and Harry was glad that he wasn't afraid of heights. Parallel to the entrance was a familiar statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, but instead of being one hundred feet tall, it was only ten. On either side of her were doorways that saidGirlson the left andBoyson the right.

As Christopher began to lead the four boys through the labelled doorway, there was a sudden screech behind them.

Lisa had finally put her hands in her pockets and had found the green slime Terry had snuck in there earlier. Her hand began to transform into a reptilian claw, but she didn't seem worried about it, only angry. She seemed to know where to target that anger, as her head snapped up to the now fleeing First Year boys.

"Terry! You little-" Whatever she was about to say next was cut off as Anthony firmly closed the door behind them. Terry was laughing to himself as they followed the still-disinterested Christopher.

The silent Prefect led the upanotherstone staircase (Harry felt sure he was going to die of exhaustion before the year was out) to the very top floor, where there were four closed doors, two on either side, with their names on the front with bronze plaques.

"Bad luck, brats. You'll be on the seventh floor." Christopher spoke to them for the first time looking vaguely amused. "You'll be stuck walking up and down all those steps for the next seven years." With that, the not-so-helpful Prefect walked down the stairs, chuckling to himself.

"He's a real sweetheart, isn't he?" Harry murmured, swaying sleepily on his feet.

Harry didn't wait for the others to respond. Walking through the door that had his name on it, he closed the door behind him, located the bed and- once he had taken off his robes and shoes- slipped underneath the covers.

He did not think. He did not dream.

Chapter 6: Baby Steps

Chapter Text

Harry awoke slowly the next day, confusion slowly seeping into his waking thoughts.

He was lying on a bed softer than any he had slept on before and his surroundings felt oddly silent. Even in the earliest hours of the morning, there was alwayssomekind of noise at Privet Drive: a dog barking, the rumble of a car driving past or even an insomniac’s television playing too loudly. However, right now, there was silence. He opened his eyes.

His surroundings were unfamiliar too, but they had enough clues to let him know where he was, and with that, he was able to remember the events of the previous day. The blue curtains that hung from his luxurious four-poster bed helped him recall his sorting into Ravenclaw, and the uniform that hung neatly from his open wardrobe door reminded him of how he had left it strewn across the floor in his exhaustion.

It was the latter that made him sit up in bed. He had no recollection of unpacking his trunk, but his books were organised neatly on the shelves, his clothes were all on hangers or folded tidily in the wardrobe and his desk was neatly set up with his writing set and school bag waiting for him to start his first day.

Harry jumped out of bed and began looking through his trunk and searching his new room, but found nothing missing, and everything he couldn't see when he had awoken was safe in the drawers by his bed. Who could have come to his room while he slept and unpacked all his things without waking him? How had they even gotten into his trunk? Dave, fromScribbulus Writing Instruments,had assured him that no living thing could open his trunk without his express permission. Was that just a lie? Harry groaned at the idea that he had been ripped off.

The ray of sunlight peeking through the curtains stopped his train of thought. Drawing them back to see a view of the sun's earliest light hitting the mountains, he found his new manual wind watch and saw that it was a little past six in the morning. Deciding that he wasn't going to get any answers here, he made his way into the bathroom that was connected to his room.

Harry had been wary that by the positioning of the bathroom, he was going to have to share it with his next-door neighbour, Michael. Mercifully, there was only one door to the bathroom and that was from his dorm. He took note of the toilet by the far wall, the large bathtub to his left and the basin, mirror and clothes hamper to his right. His towel and toiletries had already been laid out for him. Despite this continuing invasion of his privacy, he couldn't help but smile. He still wasn't sure what it was about baths that relaxed him so much, but he was grateful for it.

It was only when an hour had gone by that he finally left his dorm and headed down to the common room. He had put yesterday's underwear in the hamper, only to have it disappear. He hoped it hadn't been destroyed or anything because those were his lucky pair. His new uniform seemed to have changed also, with blue trim on the robes and a bronze eagle on a sapphire shield appearing over his heart. It must have been the enchantments Madam Malkin spoke of. Leaving behind the ceremonial hat, and with his hair and uniform as neat as possible, he stepped into the empty common room, ready for his first day.

The common room seemed smaller last night. Now that it was empty, it was much larger in his eyes, almost serene as the pink early morning clouds drifted past the invisible ceiling and rays of sunlight streamed through the large windows. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a beautiful painting. He’d only just taken a deep breath and begun to enjoy the sensation when the common room door opened, and a small man hurried in.

The man was tiny, barely up to Harry's chest, with a great tuft of white fluffy hair, an aquiline nose and a giant handlebar moustache that was half his size. He wore smart robes that looked like they belonged to a Victorian school teacher, but they were flying by him chaotically as he entered the room in a near sprint only to come to a complete stop when he caught sight of Harry.

"Oh, Mr Potter! You're awake! What luck!" The tiny man said, relieved. "Come now, the Headmaster would like to see you immediately." He turned, leaving Harry- whose mouth had fallen open- to stare after his back. Gathering his wits, he hurried after him.

"Why would the Headmaster want to see me on the first day? I haven't broken any school rules. I think," he added unsurely. All summer, he had tried to remind himself that he would be entering a whole new world, one with unique history, culture and beliefs separate from the world he had been raised. He told himself to not react to any strange behaviours he might see as they might be considered normal there. Perhaps that was why he was being called to see the Headmaster; he must have broken a rule he didn't know about yet. Perhaps wizards weren't supposed to bathe on certain days?

"I have no idea!" The tiny man remarked happily, unknowingly destroying Harry's newfound certainty of the situation. The two had reached the bottom of the winding staircase and were half-running down the corridor. Paintings- actual moving and talking paintings- were warning them to slow down as they passed. "I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? I am Professor Filius Flitwick. I am the Head of Ravenclaw House and the Charms Professor of Hogwarts School." As he offered an awkward mid-run handshake, his silver Ouroboros caught Harry's eye.

"Are all teachers Masters of their craft?" Harry asked interested. "I only ask as I saw Professor Hagrid wearing a silver Ouroboros too." Flitwick smiled, seeming glad that Harry had asked the question. Whether it was because he wished to flaunt his achievements or he was happy a member of his House was showing intellectual curiosity, Harry wasn't sure.

"All Professors must have a Mastery in the craft they wish to teach here. Hogwarts has no shortage of applicants and as such the Headmaster has his pick of the absolute best." Flitwick said this with a slight tinge of pride in his voice, and why shouldn't he be proud? Harry's new Head of house was a part of theabsolute best.

They finally came to a stop in front of a tall griffin statue and Harry took a moment to catch his breath and glance at Flitwick with slight incredulity. Despite his Head of House's small stature, he’d found it difficult to keep up with him and even now the Charms Professor didn't look the slightest bit winded. Flitwick glanced up at him and asked, "Are you ready?" Harry, embarrassed his unfitness was holding them up, straightened his back and fixed his uniform of imaginary creases before nodding.

"Jelly Slugs,"Flitwick told the griffin statue. Harry glanced at him again, this time with uncertainty. Was that some kind of wizarding curse word? Before he could verbalise his question, the griffin began to rotate upwards, revealing a set of stairs that were also rising upwards underneath it. The sight of it left Harry annoyed. Why was the Headmaster the only one with a magical escalator? With so many floors from the Great Hall to the Ravenclaw common room, Harry wished that they were all over the castle.

Together, Harry and Flitwick stepped on and allowed themselves to be carried upwards towards a large door with a bronze griffin knocker. Knocking twice, there was an immediate response. "Come in!"

The door opened to a large circular room, about half the size of the Ravenclaw common room, stuffed to the brim with an amount of clutter that would put Lupin to shame. Shelves upon shelves of books of all sizes, some of them appearing Muggle in origin, and walls that had dozens of paintings of former Headmasters and Headmistress upon them. To his right, there was a fireplace with a cosy seating area and to his left, a large desk by the sunny window. In the middle of all of this was a pacing Dumbledore- today wearing a set of electric blue robes and a matching fez- who stopped only once he caught sight of Harry.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I'm glad it was you who arrived first. Please have a seat." The Headmaster indicated one of the squishy armchairs by the fireplace, while he took the one opposite it. As Harry took his assigned seat, Professor Flitwick came to stand by his side, almost protectively.

"You dragged my student out of bed before timetables could even be handed out, Headmaster." The diminutive Professor spoke in a surprisingly strong voice. Harry didn't remember being dragged out of bed, but he had the feeling Flitwick was just trying to make a point. "He deserves an explanation. Why have you called him here?"

Dumbledore, clearly nervous before, looked decidedly uncomfortable now. "I expected this to happen, but not until Harry had settled in. Lord Akingbade has forced my hand."

Flitwick was stunned by this. He sat down immediately upon hearing the name, as though his legs were about to give out. "The Magister? Why on earth-?"

Dumbledore cut him off, as he leaned forward to stare into the eyes of an increasingly confused Harry. "Harry, whatever happens, you must-" He was stopped by three thunderous knocks on the door before it swung wide open.

Through the open door, silhouetted by the bright light of the entrance foyer, was a tall imposing man wearing a long, majestic, scarlet cloak. He carried an intricately carved, ivory staff in his right hand and wore both a bronze amulet in the shape of an eye around his neck and a simple golden circlet upon his brow that was unadorned by jewels. As he stepped both into the room and the sunlight streaming from the window, his snow-white hair and well-trimmed beard came into view, contrasting with his wrinkled dark brown skin. Harry had lived a sheltered existence at Privet Drive, but he knew immediately that there were few in the world who could ever exude power and authority as this man did with his every step. He knew exactly who this was, as his picture was inGreat Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century:

Lord Babajide Akingbade. The 47th Magister of the International Confederation of Wizards.

Dumbledore and Flitwick both jumped to their feet, and after a moment, so did Harry. "Lord Akingbade. An honour as always." The Headmaster and Flitwick bowed their heads in a sign of respect which led to Harry doing the same.

"Lord Dumbledore. Master Flitwick," Lord Akingbade nodded at each in turn before he turned to Harry. His previously stern expression softened when he locked eyes with him. "Mr Potter, it is a pleasure." His English was flawless, without a hint of an accent.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lord Akingbade." Harry hoped he didn't appear as intimidated as he felt. Having a former Magister in the room was bad enough, but the current one as well? He must be in worse trouble than he thought.

"If you had let me know that you were coming, I would have sent Professor Hagrid to greet you at the gates," Dumbledore said. His tone was friendly but it came off as chiding. Akingbade paid it no mind as took a seat in front of the fire between Harry and the Headmaster. Flitwick remained standing at Harry’s side.

Akingbade smiled as he fiddled with an ornate golden ring on his index finger as his staff hovered unmoving from where his hand had left it. "You know better than most that no doors are closed to the Magister." There was a definite edge to his smile when he said this, but it faded as he turned back to Harry. "You recognised me when I first came into the room. How? You were raised amongst Muggles, and you certainly haven't had time for a History lesson." Harry hadn’t woken up expecting to be interrogated, but it was clear such a thing would be happening now.

"I made sure to read a few wizarding history textbooks over the summer to prepare for school.Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Centurywas among them and in it was a picture of your coronation." Harry was pleased with himself for keeping his voice level while Akingbade's dark eyes searched him for any trace of deception. He must not have hidden his nerves as well as he had thought, or perhaps Akingbade was simply perceptive, because he was quick to put Harry at ease.

The Magister smiled at him reassuringly. "Calm yourself, Harry. I realise that this must be a strange time for you, but I can assure you that you are in no trouble. I have merely come from Memphis to ask you a question. What was it like for you, to be raised amongst Muggles?" Coming from the wrong person, this question might have sounded quite offensive, almost anti-Muggle, but Akingbade asked in a tone that made it clear it was just an honest question. So, Harry did his best to answer honestly in return.

"It wasn't perfect, but if I could go back and change anything I wouldn't." He was surprised at his own answer, but he knew as soon as the words left his lips that it was the truth. While Harry had always envied Dudley and children like him for the protection and support their parents had provided them with, he’d always carried himself with a certain level of pride because he’d been able to thrive without any of it.

At his response, Akingbade turned to Dumbledore with a look so intense that the very air around him seemed to turn red. "Which of my Advocates warned you? Which of them told you I was on my way? You've clearly had him prepped before my arrival. Or do you normally meet with First Year students before lessons can even begin?" The Headmaster smiled innocently, and it was only then that Harry realised that it was not he who was under interrogation, but Dumbledore.

"I don't understand," Harry said and was surprised by how weak his voice sounded. Perhaps it was just nerves, but he felt like he was trying to speak while underwater.

Akingbade turned back to Harry and explained, "After your parents' defeat of Lord Voldemort-" Flitwick twitched at the sound of his name but the other two men ignored him "-your upbringing and security were left to the Confederation to decide, as you had no immediate wizard family members. The Magister of the time, your Headmaster, decided it would be best for you to grow in isolation, both to protect you and to ensure you didn't grow up to have a…" he glanced at Dumbledore. "How did you put it?A big head?" Akingbade asked. Dumbledore appeared unabashed, as he simply gave the Magister a single nod. Looking scornful, Akingbade turned back to Harry.

"He refused to share your location after he resigned from his position. He claimed your current security was perfectly capable of continuing with their assigned mission."

Dumbledore was quick to respond, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, a shimmer of cool blue seemed to emanate from his robes. "As you can see, they were. It all happened during my reign, Babajide, so the boy's safety wasmyresponsibility to oversee. To move him at such a young age would have only confused him."

Akingbade shot back. "Your time had passed, Albus. If anything had happened to the child it would have been duringmyreign, which makes itmyresponsibility! If your security had been compromised, if his accidental magic broke the Statute of Secrecy, if evenoneMuggle pierced through the Veil and saw him for what he truly was, it would have been onmyhead, not yours! You had no right to hide him from me!"

"I had every right! Nowhere in the world would he have been safer-!" Dumbledore began to respond before Flitwick interrupted them both with a shout.

"Gentlemen! There is a child present!" Harry wasn't sure why his Head of House was making such a fuss; he had seen a lot worse than two old men having a petty row. Then he realised where the problem lay.

He had stopped breathing.

The colours that he had thought he was imagining or were a trick of the light were really there. Translucent coats of energy seemed to surround each Sage as they glared at each other; a cool blue for Dumbledore, a fiery red for Akingbade. The entire office was filled with two foreign and oppressive energies, clashing so intensely against one another, that Harry's body had forgotten how to breathe. It was only when Flitwick called out that the two realised what had happened and, with some visible effort, managed to reign their energies in.

As their coats of energy faded and dissipated into the air, Harry choked and coughed for a moment, before taking in deep gulps of air, eyes wide, as both men turned to him regretfully.

"I am sorry. I seem to have forgotten myself," Akingbade said this to both Harry and Flitwick who, when Harry glanced at him, seemed a little pale and jittery, but fine otherwise. This was in comparison to Harry, who felt as if his heart might explode.

"I think it's for the best if we put this behind us, old friend," Dumbledore said, hands wide. "As you can see Mr Potter is healthy and happy. You have my word that I will not interfere with the Confederacy's watch over him. He, like the rest of us, is under your protection." He gave a sweeping bow, which in the wrong context, might be considered mocking.

Akingbade shook his head warningly. "Don't youold friendme, Albus." He sighed. "I think we've kept Harry long enough. It is, after all, only his first day." Harry, grateful for the dismissal, stood and headed for the door as quickly as he could, leaving Flitwick to deal with parting niceties.

Stumbling out into the corridor, Harry collapsed into the first window alcove he could find, curled his legs up onto the sill with him and pressed his still-burning forehead against the cool glass. He tried to steady his still erratic breathing but couldn't manage it before Flitwick found him.

"Here," came his Professor's voice, "this should make you feel better."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Flitwick wave his wand over him and he did, almost immediately, feel better. His temperature, breathing and heartbeat all returned to normal and the disgusting layer of sweat disappeared from both his skin and his clothes. He felt as fresh as he had when he stepped out of his dorm earlier. Even so, it took him a minute before he felt comfortable enough to speak.

"What was that?" Harry asked, not even upset at how frightened he sounded. "I felt like I was about to die, but neither of them had even moved from their seats. They didn't even move afinger!"

Professor Flitwick did his best to explain. "That was something no WOMBAT student should ever be exposed to." He sighed, twirling one end of his moustache in some kind of nervous tic. "When a powerful sorcerer, often a Sage, loses control, their excess Mana begins to leak from their bodies. This can be used offensively, but it more often happens accidentally, as you just witnessed."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Does this happen regularly? Sages losing control?" Flitwick grimaced.

"The human body can only hold so much Mana naturally. It's why accidental magic is so common in children, as they have no other outlet for it." Flitwick did his best to explain. "Sages, however, spend years, decades even, training to expand their natural Mana Reserves so that no spell or technique is beyond them. This means that they must keep a tight rein over themselves at all times, or more vulnerable people- people like yourself- can get hurt."

Harry's rising anxiety must have been clear to see, as Flitwick hurried to reassure him. "Emotional discipline is a necessary quality for sorcerers of any level, as you cannot succeed without it, so no, it truly doesn't happen all that often." This failed to comfort him.

When he was ready, Harry stood and followed his Charms Professor back to the common room, but as he did there was a question he couldn't shake from his mind. Before they could climb the winding staircase, he asked, "Voldemort was just as powerful as that, wasn't he? And my parentstook down a monster like that?" Flitwick, who had jumped at the sound of Voldemort's name, turned to Harry and said only one word:

"Yes."

That one word kept him lost in thought as they climbed the stairs and entered the now blue-skied common room. It was only the sound of his name being repeatedly called that snapped him out of it. Terry was sitting amongst the other First Year Ravenclaw boys and was frantically waving him over.

Harry walked over and asked, "Where's the fire?" Terry finally stopped moving his arms like a madman as Harry took the seat next to him on the sofa.

"No fire. I just needed you to save me from these two. Anthony is reading yesterday's paper like a weirdo and Michael isn't even speaking to me. They'reliterallykilling me with boredom." Anthony rolled his eyes at him over a copy ofEvening Wizarding World News.

"I know you only use the word literally when you mean figuratively just to annoy me. It's not working." The forced calm in his voice was plain to hear; he was very clearly lying.

Terry grinned, as he was finally given the response he was hoping for. "You started it! With your early morning, "I'm pretending I'm a hundred years old" bit!" Terry snatched the paper from him and mimicked Anthony's supposed behaviour, wrinkling his face like an old man as he turned a page. Anthony looked like he was about to kick him when Harry spoke.

"You're kind of a lot to deal with in the morning, you know that?" Anthony smiled and Michael, still pretending he wasn't listening, snorted. Terry adopted a hurt expression.

"I thought I finally found someone who would take my side. I'll never forgive you for this betrayal, Harry. Never!" Harry rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable against the back of the chair.

"Never is a long time," he replied simply.

"Where were you?" Michael asked suddenly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Were you worried about me? I'm touched."

Michael ignored him as if he hadn't responded. "It's the first day and you came in with Professor Flitwick. Where were you?"

Terry perked up. "Did you get in trouble for exploring before curfew was lifted? I wanted to go too but Anthony wouldn't let me."

Anthony spared Terry a reprimanding frown, before turning to Harry. "I knocked on your door earlier, but you didn't answer. I thought you might be a heavy sleeper, but I couldn't open your door. As it turns out, only Prefects and members of staff can enter someone else's room without permission."

Terry smirked. "He had to learn that one the hard way." He mimed someone being electrocuted.

Anthony rolled his eyes. "It was just a little spark." He did look a little embarrassed though.

Harry normally would have kept something like this to himself, but it was such a strange experience that he felt the rare need to ask for the opinion of a peer. Or in this case, three. So, he told them of the meeting in Dumbledore's office.

"The Magister was here? Lord Akingbade?" Michael asked awed. For the first time since Harry had met him, he wore an expression that wasn't annoyance or cool amusem*nt.

Harry raised an amused eyebrow. "You a fan, then?"

Michael nodded, unabashed. "He's killed more Dark Wizards than anyone alive."

This sounded like the wizarding equivalent of what a kid would say about their hero. "He's scored more goals than anyone!" was something Harry had heard a lot of on the playground. As such- aside from the glorification of murder- he didn't place much importance on Michael's words. At least until he saw Anthony and Terry exchange strange, pitying looks. Michael saw it too, and he immediately withdrew into himself.

"Did you get his autograph?" Terry asked, clearly trying to move past the awkward moment. "I've never had a famous person's autograph before." He perked up as he seemed to remember who he was sitting next to. "Harry, can I have your autograph?"

"No," Harry said. Terry slumped. "How weird is it that the Magister came to see me himself?"

"Extremely weird," said Anthony. His retrieved newspaper was now discarded atop the other publications on the coffee table. "It'd be like if the Muggle Queen or Prime Minister came to see a specific student. I've never heard of it being done." Anthony shook his head slowly before asking, "What were they like? Lords Akingbade and Dumbledore?" Harry only had one word:

"Intense."

Before he could say anything else, Professor Flitwick came down from the girl's staircase, where the recently roused First Year girls followed him, still in their pyjamas. When Lisa Turpin sat on Harry's other side, Terry shrank in his seat, clearly hoping she wouldn't see him. Harry did not appreciate being used as a human shield.

Once the girls had joined the boys in front of the fireplace, their Head of House began to speak.

"Now I know it's a little early as classes don't begin until nine. However, as it is your first day, you will need more time to get adjusted to the school and to your timetable. Going to class late is acceptable during your first week, but that does not give you the excuse to go back to sleep once I have finished speaking." He said this with a warning look to Su Li, who looked like she was about to nod off in her seat. Flitwick flicked his wand and a stack of books appeared from thin air.

"These are your student handbooks. In it, you will find a map of the school, your timetables and a list of all school rules." The stack separated as each handbook floated to a student. Harry caught one and examined it. Its leatherback was dyed blue, with a bronze eagle emblazoned proudly on the front and his full name,Henry James Potter,written in neat cursive in the same shade as the house mascot. There was a bronze, keyhole-less lock, which kept it firmly closed.

"Like your dormitories, these handbooks can only be opened by yourselves, a Prefect or a member of staff. Whenever one of your teachers assigns homework, it will appear on the assigned page of your handbook, as will any detentions or points you have earned throughout the school year. The House Point system is important as it ensures that the winner gets first pick on the following year's Quidditch training schedule, has control over the social calendar and has the reserved carriage for themselves for every journey on the Hogwarts Express."

"As you might have been able to tell from the colours of the train yesterday, Slytherin were the winners of last year's House Cup. Gryffindor for two years running before that and Hufflepuff the year before that. It has been a long time since our House held the Cup. It has beentwelve yearssince Ravenclaw's last victory, and we have the lowest number of wins in the history of this school."

"That is not to say that we are inferior to other houses," Flitwick was quick to get that idea out of their heads, "only that the students who are lucky enough to find themselves in the House of the Wise are curious by nature and seek knowledge and wisdom for its own sake. This is in contrast to the other Houses. Their students seek out these qualities to help them with their ambitions or future glories. I wish to teach you that it is possible to do both."

Anthony spoke now, an eager expression on his face. "You should know that better than most, sir. Was it three or four times that you won the Duelling World Cup?"

Flitwick, already dynamic in his speech, seemed to perk up at this. "It wasfivetimes I'll have you know. But no one ever seems to count the Doubles Championship," he sighed dramatically and there were chuckles amongst some of the students. Harry wasn't one of them. He’d never heard of the Duelling World Cup before, but he did know that duelling was how wizards showed off their power. To win even once, much less five times against the best the world had to offer, must have made Professor Flitwick incredibly powerful. First Dumbledore, now Flitwick. It was enough to make Harry wonder if all his new teachers were deceptively powerful.

After they had settled down, Amanda raised her hand, tentatively. "Sir? Why do we have so many free lessons?" She quickly lowered her hand, her cheeks turning pink when everyone turned to her their attention. Harry flicked the pages of his handbook until he reached the timetable and saw that she was right. They seemed to have each subject for an hour per week, which left half of their schedule conspicuously blank.

"I'm glad you asked Miss Brocklehurst," Flitwick smiled at the still embarrassed girl. "Unlike Pendle's or any Muggle school you may have been to, we try to encourage self-study at Hogwarts. Our school library is one of the largest collections of magical knowledge outside of the Magisterium. If there is anything you don't understand when it comes to your schoolwork, the Fifth Year Prefects, Miss Clearwater and Mr Watkins, are more than capable of helping you. If you feel you still do not understand, you can find the relevant teacher's office on your school maps as well as their office hours in your handbooks. If you would be more comfortable with a peer tutor, you just have to ask me and one will be assigned to you."

"We are a competitive school, and as such exam results have the utmost importance to us. WOMBATs will take place at the end of your second year and any student who does not achieve a minimum of five Exceeds Expectations will not be welcomed back for their third year. This may seem harsh, especially to those of Muggle backgrounds, but we wish to focus our attention and effort on the students who put in the required effort to succeed in their courses. Each of you has the potential for a certain level of talent, your names will not have appeared in the Book of Admittance otherwise. As such, I expect you to live up to that potential, no matter what obstacles may present themselves to you." Flitwick's smile now had a bit of an edge to it, as though he were throwing a gauntlet down and challenging them.

"Good luck."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Looking back on it, nothing surprised Harry more than how quickly he adjusted to his new life at Hogwarts. Meals in the Great Hall weren't as grand as they had been during the Start of Term Feast, but every day he found himself having seconds, sometimes thirds at every meal. Penny didn't have to remind the First Years to eat their fill, as Harry was far from the only First Year to undertake a newfound quest for gluttony.

Despite a lifetime of cleaning up after himself, he almost immediately began to use the Automaton services like everyone else. The first time he saw one of the floating metal creatures in his dorm, it was in the middle of the night just as he was getting up for a glass of water. His bathroom door had opened and a three-foot tall, square-headed, faceless metallic creature floated silently out of his bathroom, with his laundry hamper in hand. Harry would have done the natural thing and run out of the room, but the creature had beaten him to it, leaving him staring at his closed door, afraid that it would come back.

"It was an Automaton," Anthony informed him the next morning when Harry explained why he looked so tired. He had been too afraid to go back to sleep.

"Muggles have Automatons," Harry said doubtfully. "I've seen some on school trips. They don't look anything like that."

"A lot ofIngenieurstake inspiration from our more mundane brothers and sisters," Anthony said admiringly. He had not kept secret his hope to one day become a Master Enchanter. "We use Automatons for rough work."

"Aren't there spells for that sort of thing?" Harry hadn't gotten around to reading it just yet, but he was certain he had purchased a book for household spells fromFlourish and Blotts.

Anthony shrugged. "It's easy to not think about that sort of thing at all. You just buy one Automaton and it'll take care of your housework and meals for about a decade, then you take it for refurbishment." Harry was disgusted by this at first (a whole world where no one took care of themselves?), but then he saw how much time he was saving by not cleaning up after himself or cooking his own meals, so he quickly got off his high horse.

It was fortunate he had all this spare time, as he needed it due to his heavy coursework. It wasn't that the assigned work overwhelmed him, as it was a lot lighter than he had expected after Flitwick's warning, but it was his need to catch up that stressed him.

It started with their first lesson: Transfiguration with the Gryffindors. After giving them a sharp warning about the WOMBATs and how they were less than two years away, Professor McGonagall swished her wand and transformed her desk into a lion and her blackboard into an eagle, and made the two carry out a fight that seemed more like an elegant dance. She returned the two creatures to their original states with a round of enthusiastic applause from the class.

"Transfiguration is the most dangerous Esoteric Art you will ever learn at this school. As such, you will treat it delicately until, if you have proven yourself talented enough, join my OWL class in your third year." She paused for a moment to let them understand that they were dealing with something that should not be messed around with. " At a certain level, Transfiguration is more of an art form than an exact science, but we will start small. This year you will focus on transfigurations of similar sizes and shapes, but what matters more is that you comprehend the most basic theories and laws of Transfiguration before the year is out."

With that, she began to explain the first Laws of Transfiguration and told them to memorise them by the following week, before handing each of them a matchstick and asking them to turn it into a needle. Harry thought that he had prepared himself well for this class in particular (Hagrid had told him in a letter that one of his father's three masteries was in this subject) but while the theory seemed easy enough to understand, the practical portion of the class was much more difficult. By the end of the lesson, he had only managed to turn his match silver, which he would have been pleased by if others hadn't done so much better.

Before he had even managed to affect his match at all, Anthony (who seemed to have even a better grasp on the theory than he did) transfigured his match completely. Michael seemed to have taken Anthony's warning to heart, as he had paid attention to the lecture and managed a full transfiguration by the time the bell rang. Terry's work had annoyed him the most as he hadn't put any effort into it all. Instead of focusing on the lecture, he cracked jokes with a couple of Gryffindor boys he knew from Pendle's and cost Ravenclaw five House points. Then, as soon as McGonagall assigned them their task, he got to work and managed the full transfiguration before anyone else, even Anthony.

Terry was right before,Harry thought, he is a genius. This realisation did little to soothe him.

Padma, Lisa and two Gryffindor kids managed to turn their matches into needles by the end of the lesson. Harry, who had always sat comfortably at the top of every class, now felt irritated that sevenpeople were so clearly better than him at a subject. He might have learned to bare it, had it only been one class, but his lacklustre performance wasn't limited to just Transfiguration.

In Charms, Harry had failed to make his wand tip glow with the Wand-Lighting Charm. He felt a swell of anger in his gut when Susan Bones shot him a superior smirk as her wand lit up the entire room. His stomach dropped when he entered Professor Slughorn's classroom a little late and saw that the only available seat was next to her at the front of the class.

"Don't even think about it!" She hissed. Harry ignored her and sat down. Professor Slughorn, a short, balding, portly man with a walrus moustache, took the register and stopped at Harry's name before smiling at him like they were old chums. From the corner of his eye, he could see Susan glaring at him, but she’d already turned back to the front when he glanced at her.

Their first Potions class prioritised safety. They were told to always wear safety equipment (Dragon-hide gloves and Mermish Crystal goggles), ensure that their cauldrons and vials were clean, and check that they had all the necessary ingredients on hand, all before beginning their brew. Harry was certain that this was the class he would thrive in. He came from a long line of Potions Masters, and his motherhad a Potions Mastery amongst her many qualifications, so surely that had to count for something.

As it turned out, it didn't count for anything at all. He shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't inherited his mother's talent for Charms either.

Slughorn had assigned them something to "get their feet wet"; a simple Burping Beverage. There were chuckles from around the room, and from what Harry managed to gather, this was more of a tool for childhood pranks than it was an actual potion. It took only fifteen minutes to make. Despite the simplicity of it, Harry still struggled. Whether it was because he added the crushed beetles too late or stirred it anti-clockwise one too many times, his potion was more of a toasted brown colour than the bright gold the board advised they should have.

It didn't help the way Slughorn peered into his cauldron with a hopeful look, only to walk away disappointed. Susan was starting to get on his nerves, as she was shaking with silent laughter at his failure. If Harry had been the worst in the class after putting in no effort, he would have been able to brush the whole thing off. However, it was the fact that even after he had tried his best, he was only a mediocre brewer.Thatwas what grated on him.

"You should give yourself time to adjust," Terry later suggested as they walked to dinner. Harry found his insight surprising. Terry had picked up on what was upsetting him without a word. "You've only known about magic for…what? A month? You'll be running circles around the rest of us by the end of the year, I guarantee it." Harry didn't believe that but was grateful that he tried anyway.

Divination was something of a joke. Professor Trelawney taught at the very top of the North Tower, in a small circular room that smelled of heavy incense, which didn't help them take their bug-eyed teacher any more seriously when she spoke of omens and oncoming death. They had all decided to follow Michael's lead by pretending to pay attention to her stuttering lectures and making up fortunes on their homework.

Hagrid's class was a reprieve as they left the castle to go work in the creature sanctuary on the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Spending a morning chasing Bowtruckles- adorable little stick creatures- around a wooded paddock was enough to lift Harry's mood. He left the class with a broad smile on his face, especially after Hagrid told him he was welcome to come over for tea anytime.

Herbology with the Slytherins was just as interesting as the small and stout Professor Sprout spent their first lesson guiding them through the seven giant greenhouses, examining the different magical plants and learning about their various utilitarian and recreational uses.

Astronomy was fun, even for Harry who had never held much interest in the stars. They learned about the importance of celestial movements and the impact they could have on all six Esoteric Arts. Also, wandering back from the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning and trying to not get lost in the dark castle with his sleepy classmates was a bit of an adventure.

History of Magic with Professor Archibald sounded boring on paper, but it was a truly fascinating lesson. Their frail teacher began their journey in the subject with a lecture on the murky origins of wizardkind. "No one is entirely sure how the first wizards came to be. Were they born with their magic? Or was it an outside source of energy that they discovered and then learned to harness internally? Historians have argued about this subject for millennia.

"What we do know is that the first sorcerer of recorded history was the Great Sage Thoth. He was born eight thousand years ago in a village that would one day become Memphis, the first nome of Lower Egypt. He discovered the power of symbols, Runes, and took the time and effort to carefully pass down his knowledge to subsequent generations. Thoth's power and longevity were so great, that for thousands of years after his death, Muggles worshipped him as a deity. To honour him, the First Magister named the capital of the Confederation after his place of birth."

Archibald's delivery was dry, but the subject matter was terrific. It motivated him to stay behind after the lesson was over to ask for more recommended reading. It hadn't escaped his attention that Muggle-raised students had an extra free lesson, while their wizard-raised counterparts had Muggle Studies. History of Magic was his best bet in understanding his new world.

Arithmancy was taught by a young Professor by the name of Vector. She managed to keep a certain half of the class focused on the basics of Numerology, but it wasn't because the topic was so interesting. She was much younger than the other teachers and very pretty. Harry was interested in using Numerology for spell-crafting but pushed that out of his mind for now. He couldn't even keep up with his coursework, so why would he think adding a difficult side project would help? Also, after eight thousand years, you could pretty much find any spell you needed from a teacher or a book, according to an uninterested Terry. When compared to Anthony, who was enraptured by both the subject and its teacher, Terry seemed distinctly unimpressed with Arithmancy.

Runes had left him hungry for more. Professor Babbling stood tall at the front of the class as she taught them a spell capable of carving shapes into any non-fauna surface:Tenmo. "There are hundreds of Runes, and each carries a different meaning. To achieve complex results, Artifices must have a certain combination of Runes placed upon them." She drew back her sleeve, revealing a silver Ouroboros, and asked them to do the same. Harry saw what he had noticed before, runes that blended seamlessly into the bronze.

"As anyIngenieurcould tell you, placing one Rune on an Artifice is quite easy. Placing several, dozens, or even hundreds in a specific combination takes both skill and discipline. You can only imagine how difficult it must be toinventan original Runic Complex."

Babbling continued. "As you may well know, the first Runes were discovered by Thoth.Discovered,not created. The brightest minds of the Magisterium believe that the power behind these symbols already exists and are simply waiting for us to discover them and their combinations. However, trying to carve any old shape with theTenmoCharm could lead to nothing but a destroyed Artifice if you are lucky and mortal injury if you are not." On that happy note, she led them in their first attempts to draw a rune.

The biggest shock of the week came when he entered the Healing classroom for the first time. Hestia Jones sat at the teacher's desk, patiently waiting for them to all take their seats. She explained, once the lesson began, that their only goal before their WOMBATs was to be able to cast a wide range of diagnostic charms and be able to heal minor wounds. Hestia (Professor Jones, Harry reminded himself) wowed them by casting a diagnostic charm on a Hufflepuff in the front row. A colourful three-dimensional mirror image of the boy hovered in front of the class, and she was able to tell exactly what he had eaten in the last three days and that his left elbow had a small bruise on it.

Once class was over, Harry approached her and she greeted him warmly. "I couldn't tell you who I was. Sorry," she said, despite not looking sorry at all. "It was Dumbledore's orders." Harry left a little while later without asking about Lupin. He was angrier at him than ever as he still hadn't written back.

Much to his joy, the one class he excelled in was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell looked awkward wearing smart teaching clothes instead of the casual wear Harry had first met him in, but he taught like he was born to do so. Not only was Harry the first person to cast the Verdimillious Charm, which earned Ravenclaw ten House points, but no one else even come close to emitting as many green sparks as he did. Quirrell had even given him another ten points for finding all the Dark Artifices hidden within the room. In retrospect, Harry should have guessed that this would be the class he excelled in. After all, wasn't his wand meant for a militant wizard?

That success lit a fire under him, and he spent that evening in his dorm instead of hanging out in the common room with his new friends like he had all week. At his desk, he flicked through his Transfiguration book and began to write different topics that were covered in Transfiguration, from now to the WOMBATs and wrote at least three spells underneath each. For example, transfiguring objects of a similar size and shape, then similar size but different shape, then similar shape but different size and then objects of different sizes and shapes.

His idea was to master at least three spells from each topic during his own time, so hopefully, he would get used to the method and be able to translate that to any spell McGonagall or the examiners could ask of him. If he failed to show improvement after using this method, he would swallow his pride and ask Penny for help. Not Christopher, he was a prat.

Harry began to do the same for Charms, Potions, Runes, Healing and after some thought, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Just because he was excelling now didn't mean that would continue next week. He wanted to keep what slight advantage he had over his classmates.

The last class of the week was Flying. Harry had little interest in trusting a piece of wood to keep him from falling out of the sky but wisely kept his mouth shut. The rest of his year, especially Michael, was excited for a chance to show off their aerial skills or fly for the first time and he didn't want to stand out unnecessarily.

The Flying instructor, Professor Hooch, was a tall, hawkish woman. She snapped at the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to line up next to a broom as soon as they had entered the Quidditch pitch and to summon them to the hands with the word "Up!" They all did so.

"Whoa!" He would probably later regret letting the stupid sound slip from his lips, but at that moment he was too shocked to care. The broom had jumped into his hand the instant he called for it, startling him. He wasn't the only one to succeed on the first try. Next to him, Michael was holding his broom, looking at Harry warily.

"Didn't you tell Anthony you've never flown before?" He asked, with surprising sharpness.

"Yeah." Harry would have told him off for eavesdropping on conversations he claimed he wasn't part of, but he was distracted by smirking victoriously at Susan. She had failed to make her broom even twitch. Her glare made his success even sweeter.

Hooch taught them how to mount and grip their brooms (he wasincrediblygrateful for the Cushioning Charm that had been placed on the seat; that was not an area he wanted to place his whole body weight on.) and to hover in place. Harry enjoyed the way theCleansweep Tenreacted to his every movement. Hooch then told them to separate by House (there was no need as they hadn't intermingled at all) and tasked them with flying a simple lap around the pitch.

As soon as she blew her whistle, Michael took off like a bullet, and with a competitive grin, Harry shot after him. It was close, but Michael's head start had given him the advantage, or at least that was what Harry claimed when he lost.

Before Michael could retort, Hooch cut in, looking interested in the First Years for the first time. "Then why don't the two of you race? We have time," she said over the Hufflepuff's protests, "as your housemates aren't done yet." It was true, while Anthony had just finished, the girls were moving at a sedentary pace (not caring about racing at all, apparently) and Terry appeared to finally be struggling with a class. He flew at a snail's pace on a wobbling broom, hardly five feet off the ground.

Without a word, both boys mounted their brooms and waited for Hooch to give the starting signal.

"GO!"

They took off like cannonballs. Making sure to stay on the outside of the white line that marked the edge of the Quidditch pitch, they zoomed through the air, neck and neck. Harry glanced at the other boy from the corner of his eyes and mimicked his grip on the broom. It was a gamble, as it was different from the one Hooch recommended, but it paid off as his speed increased and he overtook him. Being the heavier of the two seemed to work against Michael in a test of pure speed. Harry didn't have anything against the other boy, but after the bragging that he had done earlier, he couldn't allow himself to lose.

Three-quarters through the lap, he saw something about to collide with the tail-end of his broom in his peripheral. On instinct, Harry forced his broom into a sudden and steep dive and, looking up, he saw Michael fly through the space where he had just been at a sharp angle. He had cut through the pitch and in front of the hoops instead of behind like they were supposed to, and the cheat made his way towards the rest of the class at top speed, as though he were still racing. By the time Harry landed, Michael was already being told off by Hooch.

"You could have knocked him off his broom!" She was shouting, but the boy appeared defiant.

"It's allowed in Quidditch."

"This wasn't a match! It was just a race!" Seeing that he was unapologetic she calmed down and coldly said, "Saturday Detention."

Michael's eyes widened. "What? That's not fair!"

"Noble of you to admit it.TwoSaturdays, then. Would you think three would be fairer? Or perhaps four?" Hooch asked. Michael wisely kept his mouth shut and stomped to the back of the group to be on his own. On his way there he glared at Harry, who rolled his eyes back at him with contempt.

"I thought you said he was nice," Harry asked Terry, as the three of them lounged on the grass while the Hufflepuffs took their turn around the pitch.

Terry appeared confused. "I said he was nice when he forgets not to be. Didn't I say that?" He asked his brother for confirmation, who was cloud-watching with his hands behind his head. Anthony merely shrugged. "Besides, he's always a prat when it comes to Quidditch, which is why we always got along. I never play the stupid game, so he hasn't got anything against me." Harry sighed and made a mental note to never go to Terry if he wanted accurate information.

Hooch held Harry back after the class was dismissed. "Ravenclaw tryouts are on Sunday," she said simply. Upon Harry's blank expression, she clarified, "Quidditch tryouts." He still said nothing. "You have the speed of a real Seeker, you know." When he continued to show a lack of interest, she slyly added, "Your father was an excellent player when he was in school. Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup four times while he was on the team." Harry wanted to call her out on using the memory of his dad like that, but he liked the idea of having something in common with his father too much to care.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

When Saturday rolled around, Harry was prepared to spend the entire day locked in his dorm, repeatedly attempting the first three spells of what would hopefully grow into a full Transfiguration repertoire. After a hearty breakfast, he returned to his room and sat at his desk with his notes and books laid out carefully before him along with a small twig he wanted to turn into a needle (he was too embarrassed with his failure to ask Professor McGonagall for a matchstick). However, before he could even get started, there was a sudden burst of rapid knocks on his dormitory door. He contemplated ignoring it, but the knocking wasn't stopping. With a frustrated huff, he got to his feet and opened the door.

"What?" He asked Terry shortly. Of course, it was him. Who else could be so annoying on a peaceful Saturday morning?

Terry was well aware of how annoying he was being, but judging by his smile, he didn't care. "Anthony's gone off to Chess Club," he said, as though that explained his behaviour. All it did was leave Harry with more questions.

"There's a Chess Club?"

Terry looked even more amused by his ignorance. "Didn't you see the club signup sheets? They're on the notice board." Harry stepped out of his room, forcing Terry to shuffle backwards, and made sure to close the door firmly behind him. If even half of the anecdotes Anthony had about his brother were true, then he didn't want to leave Terry amongst his belongings unsupervised.

"Show me," he asked, partly because he was genuinely interested, but mostly because he didn't want the other boy to see the books on his desk. It was one thing to be bad in class, but it was another to work hard andstillbe bad in class. Despite whatever trite Flitwick spewed about teachers respecting a student's efforts, there was nothing more pathetic than hard work that went unrewarded in Harry's mind.

Terry, seemingly happy just to have company, led the way down to the common room, all the way to the large notice board by the entrance. "They just put that up," Harry said, frowning at Terry. "It wasn't there after breakfast."

Terry chuckled. "You caught me. Professor Flitwick just came and put it up. I just wanted to see if you wanted to join a club or something." Harry was grateful for his thoughtfulness, at least until he added, "Anthony left me for Chess Club and I'mnotjoining a club on my own."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Being alone isn’t the worst thing in the world, Terry." He moved to examine the board and all the various extracurricular clubs that Hogwarts offered. Some obvious ones like Quidditch or clubs that were supplementary classes like Charms Club stood out to him. Others were more mundane such as art, languages and choir, while a few had words he didn't even recognise such as Gobstones or Quodpot.

Harry took the quill that was floating by the notice board and signed himself up for the Languages and Charms Clubs which met after dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, respectively. Terry groaned.

"I only got you down here to join the Potions Club with me." Harry raised an eyebrow. He had considered joining Potions Club as well but with two clubs and Quidditch (depending on tomorrow's tryouts) on his schedule, it might be too much. Despite this, he saw an opportunity.

"I'll join Potions Club with you if you join Charms Club with me. I like to have company too." He gave Terry his friendliest smile, which seemed to work as he snatched the quill from Harry and scrawled his name on the Charms Club signup sheet. He passed the quill back to Harry who paused before writing his name. "I'm not sure I like Potions very much, so if I join, you'll have to help me, okay?" Terry was just as good in Charms as he was in Transfiguration, but he was a force to be reckoned with in Potions. Professor Slughorn had sung his praises, after he had added certain ingredients to make his Burping Beverage both tasteless and colourless, calling him an "intuitive young talent". Harry was hoping some of that talent would rub off on him.

Terry smiled and waved him off. "Of course, I'll help you! What are friends for?" That made Harry feel bad for using him, but he made sure his face didn't have a trace of guilt on it after he had turned back around when he finished writing his name on the Potions Club signup sheet. He wasn't doing anything wrong, just asking a friend for a favour.

Harry told himself it had nothing to do with guilt when he asked, "Want to explore the castle? I overheard some Gryffindor kids talking about a secret passageway behind a tapestry on the fourth floor." Even though he would rather get back to work in his dorm, it put him at ease to see Terry rush out of the common room ahead of him with a joyous whoop.I keep him company and he helps me study,Harry thought,there's nothing wrong with a fair transaction.

The two boys spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon running around the castle, making notes in their maps of any secret passageways they found (two), trick steps (three), rude paintings (eleven), helpful paintings (all of them except eleven), walls pretending to be doorways (four) and doorways pretending to be walls (only one). Harry's nagging guilt faded, and he found himself having as much fun as he had on the Hogwarts Express. He’d been in a bad mood all week and some goofing off was just what the doctor (healer?) ordered.

When Harry and Terry reached the end of another secret passageway (one that had led them from the fifth floor to the third in what seemed like only half a dozen steps) they emerged from behind a tapestry in front of a very odd sight. The grouchy caretaker, Argus Filch, was standing at the other end of the corridor in front of a rather graphic piece of graffiti which depicted him doing something that was both disgusting and physically impossible. That wasn't even the strangest part. Floating ten feet above his head was a small, orange-eyed, court jester, who was laughing silently.

Harry was shocked out of his confusion when Terry burst out laughing. Filch whirled on them and barked, "Stop right there!" even though no one was running away. When he got close enough for Harry to see his nose hairs, (poor Terry had the better angle from his height) he asked them in a menacing tone, "Do you two know anything about this?" Terry still laughing, simply shook his head.

Harry shrugged innocently. "I don't know anything about this, but I think it'll be easy to find the perpetrator." The jester narrowed his eyes and even Terry gave him a wary look. Apparently, the no snitching rule extended to wizards, so Harry quickly changed tack. "You just have to ask yourself, "How many people know I'mthatflexible?" It obviously won't be a long list."

Filch didn't even seem to comprehend the joke before the jester burst out into demented cackles. The caretaker ignored Terry's resumed laughter as he took off chasing the now-flying court jester around the corner, shouting "PEEVES! GET BACK HERE!"

"What on earth was that thing?" Harry asked once Terry had regained control over himself. They had resumed their exploration, in the opposite direction of Filch, and were making their way to the second floor.

"Peeves the Poltergeist," Terry explained through a slight hiccough, "He's been here causing chaos since the castle was built and no one can get rid of him."

"I must've readHogwarts: A Historyfive times this summer and I think I would've remembered something about a poltergeist."

Terry snorted. "That'll be great advertising, wouldn't it? "Come to Hogwarts! There's a poltergeist who will pelt you books and chase you out the loo with a toilet brush!" Harry gave him a strange look. "It happened to my mum once." He explained. "Everyone who grows up in the Wizarding World knows about poltergeists in schools. Yes, there’s more of them," he added before Harry could ask. "They seem to be created by an environment of humour and malice, and who's better at that than kids? Anyway, Muggle-borns aren't told about ghosts and stuff before coming here because their Muggle parents are a superstitious bunch," he said, tarring all Muggles with the same brush. It reminded Harry of the casual condescension Hagrid had regarding Muggles and the London Underground. It made Harry feel awkward. Should he correct him? He hadn't wanted to correct a teacher, even one as friendly as Hagrid, but Terry was a peer, a friend even.

Before he could decide, they came across a set of wide-open double doors. Inside there were three levels, filled to the brim with shelves and glass cabinets packed with trophies, plaques and medals. Harry wasn't interested, but Terry's eyes lit up as he began searching for something amongst the displays. Harry was about to ask him what he was after, but his eye caught sight of two words that made his stomach flip:

Head Girls.

Moving over to the right-side wall, there was a long list of names and school years written in black on a giant, polished wooden plaque that spanned almost the entirety of the wall. On the very top were the wordsHead Boys and Head Girls.He found who he was looking for almost immediately:

1972/73

James Potter and Lily Evans

It was hard to believe that it had only been eighteen years since his mum and dad had been students at this school. He couldn’t imagine the larger-than-life characters from his hazy memories as children. Had they ever struggled with their spellcasting? Did they ever feel uncomfortable around their peers? Was there ever a time when they doubted they could succeed? These questions and more rattled around in his mind, to go forever unanswered by the two people he wished to ask. He felt rooted to that spot, staring helplessly up at their names, and it took a considerable amount of effort for him to forcibly turn away from the wall and walk over to Terry, who was searching for something.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked quietly.

"More of my parent's trophies. I've already found six. Here's another." Terry pointed at a plaque which read:

Wizarding Schools Potions Championship 1965

1st Place

Robert Boot

For the first time since Harry had met him, Terry looked a little sad. He had gathered, from morsels of information thrown out here and there by Anthony and Terry, that Mr and Mrs Boot were high-ranking officers within the Auror Corps. Aside from a repressed surge of dark and petty jealousy that Terry's parents had made it through the war unscathed while his had not, Harry had not given it much thought. It was clear to see now, just by the look on his face, that maybe having your parents around didn't mean everything in your life was perfect.

"Your dad's name is Bobby Boot? Your grandparents should be ashamed of themselves. That's awful." He wasn't sure what made him say that. If anyone had said something similar about his dad, they’d be walking away with a fat lip, but Terry was far more easygoing than him. He reacted as though Harry had shocked the laughter right out of him.

"Don't say that where anyone could hear you," he chuckled.

Harry grinned. "Imagine one of his Aurors saluting him. "What are your orders, Bobby Boot?" Terry gave a guilty groan as he descended into giggles. "Did you know my dad's middle name was Fleamont? After my grandfather. I think it takes a very cold person to give a baby a name they're going to get bullied for. Bobby Boot isn'tquiteas funny, but your dad must hate it."

Terry nodded, smiling wide, as he caught his breath. "I think it's why he insists on everyone refer to him by his full name or title: Commander."

Harry nodded, starting to get a clearer picture of Terry's dad. "You know, I have some idea of what it's like to have parents you want to live up to." Terry looked up at him sharply, ears tinged with red. "I only just learned about my parents a month ago and the pressure is already starting to drive me up the wall."

Terry nodded slowly, still looking a little embarrassed. "It's not like they put any expectations on me or anything," he said quickly, as though afraid Harry would get the wrong idea, "but sometimes, when I'm with them, people seem to expect a more…" he paused and looked around as if searching the air for the perfect word, "impressiveson. They're both war heroes and I'm just..." he trailed off, his words abandoning him.

"Normal?" Harry guessed. Terry nodded. "I know exactly what you mean." He didn't add any words of reassurance, as he knew that they would come off as hollow. Even though his parents were still alive, Terry seemed to mirror exactly how Harry felt about his own parents; a mixture of pride and insecurity.

They made their way out of the trophy room and tried to find the route to the Great Hall. Even though it was almost two in the afternoon, they hoped lunch was still being served. It was only when they passed the graphic graffiti of Filch did Harry remember his previous dilemma.

"Terry, do you remember what you said before? About Muggles being a superstitious bunch?" Harry asked with little hesitation. After their conversation in the Trophy Room, he felt braver. Perhaps it was because Terry shared his parental insecurity, but Harry felt he had a better grasp on who his new friend was.

"Yeah, what about it?" Terry replied, as they found the main staircase and began to climb down to the Entrance Hall.

"Not all Muggles are superstitious, you know. Muggles aren't all anything. There's lots of them, billions in fact, and they're all different." Terry gave him a strange look.

"I know, we've learned about them in Muggle Studies," Terry said, quizzically.

"I know, it's just I heard Professor Hagrid say something similar and Professor Quirrell asked me what it was like growing up among them. It was like he immediately assumed the worst." Harry wasn't sure if he was getting his point across, but Terry didn't seem to take any offence.

"A lot of people think that Muggles are animals, but my family is not like that," he said calmly, as though he sensed how strongly Harry felt about this. "Mugglesaredifferent from wizards though. But different doesn't necessarily mean bad. Different could be a good thing." He glanced at Harry with a smile. "Maybe you can teach me some stuff about Muggles?"

Harry smiled back, relieved Terry had taken it in stride. "Only if you teach me stuff about wizards," he retorted, feeling much more comfortable asking for a favour now. Terry happily agreed to that request just as they entered the Great Hall.

Both boys stopped and groaned when they saw the Hall barren of both people, and more importantly, food.

They dragged themselves back up to the common room, feeling much more tired now that there wasn't the promise of immediate sustenance. It felt like forever before they reached the bronze eagle knocker.

My life can be measured in hours. I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick, fat, I am slow, wind is my foe. What am I?

Terry groaned dramatically, back to his usual self. "I can never get these stupid things right."

"You are a candle," Harry said, before turning to Terry as they crossed the threshold. "First thing you should learn about Muggles: they sell books of riddles in stores."

Terry snorted. "That is so useless, except for this exact scenario." Harry silently agreed.

They made their way over to Anthony, who was sitting by a window, taking advantage of his solitude by completing his homework in peace. Harry noticed the short stack of records on the windowsill beside him, the small black earbuds he had in each ear, and the way he was nodding along as though he were somehow listening to the music without wires. He looked up as they crashed onto the chairs around him and Terry propped his feet onto the table, uncomfortably close to Anthony's open inkpot.

"There you two are. I was worried you had gotten yourselves into trouble." Anthony said smiling, removing the Wireless from his ears, before shoving Terry's legs off the table. He reached over with his wand and tapped one of the vinyl jackets with his wand. The tinny music that was still playing from his Wireless switched off.

"It wasn't as easy as you claimed, babysitting this one." Harry nodded his head at Terry. "I'll have to charge you double." Anthony snickered and Terry scowled at him before turning to Anthony.

"How boring was Chess Club then?"

Anthony rolled his eyes, "It wasn't boring at all. There are some really capable players in this school. I'm looking forward to playing against all of them." Terry rolled his eyes right back at him. Anthony ignored this. "You should think about joining a club yourselves," he said to both of them.

"Already have. We're both doing Charms and Potions Club and I'm doing Languages. Professor Hagrid told me something about Translation Charms?" Harry posed the statement like a question.

Anthony nodded. "Yeah, Language Club is mostly for Muggle-borns. Everyone else went through the Translation Charm process back at Pendle's."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Process? How many languages can you speak?"

"Twenty-four," Terry said, proudly.

"Twenty-five," Anthony said, smirking at his brother, who returned the look with a rude hand gesture.

"Why would anyone need to know so many languages?" Harry asked, a little stunned.

"We're more interconnected than the Muggle world. The language barrier used to be a big problem in the early days of the Confederacy, but a Mind Arts Master invented the Translation Charm to get around that. We have more in common with each other, despite our nationalities or native languages, than we do with the Muggles who share our homelands." Anthony explained.

Harry nodded slowly. It made sense to him now, why Terry had easily decided to keep him company in Charms Club but never even offered for Languages. As if to agree with this thought, Terry said, "They'll take you through some of the most spoken languages in the world first, you know, like Mandarin and Spanish, so that even if you have only two or three languages under your belt, you can still find a common language with a sorcerer from a different country."

"Is it that common to meet witches and wizards from other countries?" From the way the two were making it sound, he would be bumping into people of other nationalities every other week. "It's just, I don't even think I've met anyone who hasn't had English as a first language before."

Anthony smiled. "My mum was from South Africa. My dad met her while he was stationed at the Auror Citadel in Johannesburg."

Terry nodded. "Yeah, most of my family still lives and works at the Shanghai Citadel. My grandmother only came to Britain to command the London Citadel when the war with Grindelwald was heating up."

Harry wasn't too surprised by this, but before he could ask any of the questions about travel and cultural barriers that were at the forefront of his mind, his stomach rumbled loudly enough for the other boys to hear. This seemed to remind Terry of his own hunger as he grabbed his belly and groaned as though he had been shot.

Anthony looked unaffected by this display as if he had seen it a million times before. "Didn't you two eat in the Great Hall? The Automatons even served us lunch at Chess Club."

Ignoring Terry's grumble of "lucky you", Harry explained about their day of exploring and even brought out his map to show Anthony all that they had discovered. Harry was distracted when spotted a tiny but familiar figure through the window. As he turned to watch, the figure climbed down from the mountains and opened the western gate to the school.

He got to his feet. "I think I've solved our food crisis. Give me a minute." He heard Terry cheer behind him and Anthony mutter something along the lines of, "Food crisis? Dinner is in four hours", while he hurried up to his dorm. Just as he’d hoped, Argos was there waiting for him at his window.

"Whatever it is I pay you, it isn't enough," he said as he opened the window and ushered his owl inside. Feeding him an owl treat, Harry turned to his long-abandoned desk and began to write a short note on a torn piece of parchment.

Hagrid,

Is it still alright if I come over for tea? Just write back no if you're busy.

Thanks,

Harry

P.S. Is it alright if I invite two of my friends?

Harry grimaced. Inviting himself over was rude enough, but inviting other people? Still, hewasreally hungry. Promising Argos another treat upon his return, Harry gave him the letter and watched him fly off. He watched from his window as Hagrid stopped as a tiny dot landed next to him. There was some movement, then he continued walking as the tiny dot flew back to Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry fed Argos his promised treat, and read Hagrid's reply, a simpleyesscrawled on the back of his original note. Grinning, he left his window halfway open in case Argos wanted to leave, before making his way back to the common room.

"Come on," Harry said, not stopping as he passed his friends. "We're going to Professor Hagrid's for tea."

Terry leapt up looking delighted with the prospect of food, while Anthony calmly packed away his things before following after them. "I thought you had already eaten." Despite his statement, he looked glad his brother was joining them.

"It would be rude to turn down an invitation, especially from a Professor." He paused, before turning to Harry in worry. "We were invited, weren't we?Allof us?"

"Of course! What do you take me for?" Harry decided it was for the best that Anthony didn't see his note. "Professor Hagrid is a friend, we've been writing back and forth all summer, and he told me I can bring two friends over for tea. Aren't you lucky? You made the cut," he added teasingly.

Anthony scoffed. "Who else are you going to invite? All the other First Years are terrified of you!"

"No, they're not!"

Terry laughed. "You look like you're about to hex anyone who breathes in your direction after class."

Anthony added. "It doesn't help that you have an-" he paused as if searching for a polite word- "aloofair about you."

"What he means to say is that our year mates are scared of you because you walk around the castle as if it belongs to you. Even Second Years get out of your way between lessons. It's dead convenient for getting to class on time, though." Terry added thoughtfully.

Harry groaned, thinking about his poor reputation amongst his peers, as the three stepped out of the Entrance Hall and made their way to the stairs that led to the grassy lawns. "I've been trying to be nice! I didn't even notice people didn't like me."

"We didn't say they didn't like you. They're just terrified of you."

"Intimidated." Anthony corrected Terry quickly. "Anyway, we know you haven't noticed. You're off in your own world most of the time, aren't you? Butweknow better. You're not scary at all!" Anthony mimicked knocking on a door, his dark eyes wide and innocent. "Excuse me? Can I please share this compartment with you? I promise I won't cause you any trouble." He said this in a high-pitched docile voice. "Honestly after that performance, it was hard for us to take you seriously." Terry snickered, while Harry punched Anthony on the arm.

The three boys walked around the school, away from the lake and the mountains, across the sweeping lawns towards the edge of the forest. It wasn't his first time seeing Hagrid's house, as the Care of Magical Creatures class met there before Hagrid escorted them to the creature sanctuary, but the sight of the building still gave him pause. It was a humongous, three-story, wooden structure, with a porch going all the way around the house and built for a man of Hagrid's proportions. That meant that everything, even the stairs leading to his front porch, was sized for him as the boys discovered when they struggled to climb the five giant steps.

Reaching the huge door, Harry raised his fist and knocked firmly, and was immediately answered with booming barks. He saw the other two give the door wary looks, which turned scared when Hagrid's voice said, "Back, Fang! Back!", from behind the door.

Harry knew that Fang was only a friendly boarhound from Hagrid's letters, but he saw an excellent opportunity to get back at Anthony.

Turning to face the others, he said, "I forgot to mention, Hagrid breeds magical creatures as a side job. He keeps most of them in the enclosure, but often nurses the sick ones in his house. Fang is some kind of Crup-Fire Crab breed he's doing for Gringotts. Whatever you do,don't look it in the eye."

"Why? What happens if-?" Anthony stopped talking, as there was a sound of claws scratching frantically against the door and Hagrid struggling with something. When the door finally opened and a large black boarhound came bounding out, Anthony and Terry both let out high-pitched yelps as they scrambled back. Hagrid looked astonished by their over-the-top reactions.

"Don't worry he doesn't bite!" He tried to reassure them but stopped when he saw that Harry was laughing. "What did you say to them?" Harry quickly explained. "Well, I do breed animals, but I never keep the dangerous ones in my own house." Anthony and Terry slowly calmed down and Fang grew bored with the strangers that refused to greet him, so he hurried to Harry who didn't even need to bend to scratch his ears, he was so big.

"That wasnotfunny, Harry." Anthony tried to be upset with him, but he mostly looked embarrassed.

Harry grinned. "Regret not taking me seriously, yet?"

"You need to learn how to take a joke," Terry said, clutching his heart, as Hagrid ushered them into his home and led them to the sitting room. Anthony and Terry made themselves comfortable on the sofa while Harry sat down in a giant armchair that was half the size of his four-poster bed. Fang nestled his head in Harry's lap while Hagrid went into the kitchen only to return a minute later, his wand focused on the cups, saucers, plates of rock cakes, and sandwiches that came levitating into the room beside him. He set it all down at the coffee table in the middle of the room.

Harry made introductions. "Thanks for having us over on such short notice, Hagrid. These are my housemates, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot."

"It's no problem, the more the merrier." Hagrid smiled at him before turning to the others. "I remember your dads, you know. Joined at the hip they were." Anthony perked up at this as they helped themselves to the food.

"What were they like when they were our age?" He asked eagerly.

"They were good kids for the most part, but there was this one time-," Hagrid began to tell him a story involving a young Robert Boot and Andrew Goldstein, forty Cornish Pixies and a ruined Care of Magical Creatures OWL exam. By the end of the tale, all of them were laughing, but none harder than Terry.

"I don't think my dad would have wanted us to hear that story." Terry got out through his chuckles. "The way he acts, he was born perfect."

"Ah, all kids make dumb decisions now and again. The real question is whether or not you can learn from them," Hagrid said wisely.

Harry had liked the story, but he was more invested in the rock cakes. "Hagrid, these are delicious. Did you make them yourself?" Hagrid looked pleased.

"Yes, I did," he said proudly, "and it took me ages to get the recipe right too. Would you like some more?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Harry replied, the last of his good manners thrown out the window. Hagrid returned to the kitchen and while he was gone, Harry glanced around the room with interest. It was a simple sitting room, warm and cosy, not at all what he had expected from a rough outdoorsman type like Hagrid. There were squishy armchairs, footstools and a sofa in the centre of the room that was bigger than his bedroom at Privet Drive. Some pieces of furniture looked as though they had been handmade such as the bureau in the corner of the room, which had a large cage sitting upon it.

Harry stood upon seeing movement inside the cage, carefully dislodging Fang's head from his lap- though the dog still whined- and crossed the room to examine it. At the very bottom of the cage was a tiny, serpentine creature with shiny teal scales, a bird-like head and feathered wings. When Harry's shadow loomed over it, it craned its tiny head to look up at him and asked in a young child's voice, "Food?"

"I see you've found the Occamy," Hagrid said, as he came back to the room and placed the plate of rock cakes on the table in front of Harry's seat.

"I'm not the only one who's a little hungry." Harry smiled, as he reached a finger into the cage to stroke its smooth scales. "I think the baby wants food." Hagrid gave him a strange look as he made his way over.

"Baby? No, Occamy's can change their size as needed, this one's just being stubborn." Harry shook his head, sure of what he had heard.

"It definitely spoke in a child's voice." Harry turned back to the cage and asked, "Hungry?Food?" Hagrid took a sharp breath as the Occamy used its wings to bring itself to Harry's eye level. "Yes! Yes! Food! Hungry! Food!"Harry turned back to Hagrid, still smiling, only to find the giant staring at him in surprise. It was only then he realised that the conversation that Terry and Anthony were having about their dad's boyhood misdeeds had stopped, and they were staring at him too.

"You're a Parselmouth?" Anthony asked.

"A what?"

"Someone who can speak with snakes."

Harry glanced at the Occamy. "It's only happened once before. Does this thing count as a snake? It has wings."

"That's a rare talent around these parts," Hagrid said, ignoring Harry's observation about wings. He was moving now to feed the apparent flying snake. "You said it was a baby? I just thought it was being stubborn and refusing to change size."

"Slytherin was a Parselmouth, you know. You-Know-Who claimed to be descended from him when he proved he could speak to snakes. Gave a lot of people a grudge against Parselmouths." Terry said, before adding almost guilty, "I wouldn't do it in front of Michael if I were you."

"Why not?"

"He hates anything related to the Dark Arts," Anthony said, after sharing an awkward look with Terry. Harry had gathered that much after his comment about Lord Akingbade.

While Harry hated the idea of having something in common with Voldemort, he was more worried about how others would feel about it and, more importantly, how it would affect his life. "Some people? Not most?"

Anthony seemed to understand. "There are too many Parselmouths around the world for them all to be either good or bad." He assured him. "Most people know that. It's just the self-righteous idiots you've got to look out for."

"Give us a hand, would you?" Hagrid asked. He jerked his head at a stack of old newspapers on the floor by the bureau, while he was cupping the Occamy in his hands. Harry handed him an old copy of theDaily Prophetafter he put the flying serpent down on the shelf. There, now at the top of the stack, was an issue from over a month ago.GRINGOTTS BREAK IN!

"Hagrid? This says that Gringotts was broken into on the same day we were there. "The targeted vault had been emptied earlier that day." That sounds like-" Hagrid cut him off.

"I told you. It's Dumbledore's business. Alright?" His voice was unusually stern. Harry saw that his eyes were pinched with worry.

Harry raised his hands in a gesture of peace as he made his way back to his seat. Hagrid was right, it had nothing to do with him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next day was bright and sunny, a clear blue sky above the heads of all the Ravenclaw Quidditch hopefuls as they stepped out onto the pitch. Harry followed Michael from a distance, as he had all morning. He did this as the other boy was the only person who he was sure was trying out for the team.

Remembering Terry's offhand remark about the gruff, Quidditch-loving boy, Harry made sure to mimic his behaviour. Harry had waited for him in the Great Hall, only eating when and what he ate, going to the changing rooms when he did and checking and putting on his equipment the same way he did. While Harry had tried to obscure his imitation by reading at the Ravenclaw table and only following from a distance, Michael should have noticed him by now, and Harry had prepared himself for a row. The other boy had made it clear that he held Harry responsible for his two Saturday Detentions when he had glared at him throughout dinner on Friday. Now, however, Michael didn't seem to notice him at all. He didn't notice anyone. He was too focused.

Harry tried to calm his nerves. During the rest of his time at Hagrid's, he had quizzed his friends on everything they knew about Quidditch. Anthony wasn't much of a fan and Terry didn't care for the sport at all, but Hagrid was a treasure trove of information. Now he felt reasonably confident that he at least knew the basic rules of the sport.

A familiar face stepped in front of the small crowd of boys and girls. Robert Hillard wore his Quidditch gear as neatly as he wore his school uniform. Beside him, there was another Sixth Year boy and two Third Years, a boy and a girl, and they all wore the same tight, form-fitting blue and bronze uniforms, goggles around their necks or on their foreheads, withNimbus 2000sheld tight in their grips.

"Separate yourselves into two groups," Robert was not wasting any time. "Chasers to my left and Seekers to my right." The group was quick to listen, but Harry was momentarily indecisive as Michael had moved to join the Chasers group. Professor Hooch had said something about being a Seeker, but Harry had only done so well during the Flying lesson because he had mimicked everything Michael had done. He had hoped to continue that today.

After a moment, Harry moved to the Seeker group, but only because it was the smaller group. The three players around Hillard separated themselves and headed towards different groups. The Third-Year boy swaggered up to the Seeker group, and his flyaway red hair and cheeky grin made Harry immediately label him as a troublemaker.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Eddie Carmichael." As he said this there were exasperated groans from all around Harry. The other Seeker hopefuls knew who he was, so his introduction must have been for Harry's benefit. "I'm a Beater, but I'm going to lead you fragile little Seekers through a warmup. Try not to break any bones or whatever."

Despite his silly warning, he led them through a simple series of stretches and warmups. Why they needed this for flying on a broomstick, Harry wasn't quite sure, but he saw the other two players leading the Chaser hopefuls through identical exercises while Robert observed both groups from a distance. Only once they were deemed sufficiently warmed up, were they told to race around the pitch in their groups.

The Seekers went first, and Harry was a little surprised at how easy it was. He had assumed yesterday that all Quidditch players were as fast as Michael, but none of the other hopefuls came close to him. Even the Second-Year girl who kept up with him during the first stretch, slowed down as she took the first turn, while Harry managed to maintain his speed. He was pleased with the impressed looks the Quidditch team members were giving him as he landed.

The Chaser's race was equally interesting, but only because Michael left all the others in his dust. When he landed long before his rivals, he gave Harry a strangely familiar superior look, as though the two of them had been competing against one another all along.

Hillard began to lead the Chasers to one side of the pitch with the Keeper in tow, leaving the Seekers with the Third Years. "This is my partner in crime and fellow Beater, Maria Acardi." She was a dark-haired, olive-skinned girl who seemed equally as mischievous as Eddie.

"Don't worry, you lot are in safe hands." The way she said that- smiling at Harry and the Second-Year girl but ignoring the older students- made him feel as though they were planning something. Robert must have agreed, because he called out, "I've changed my mind! I'll test them myself once I'm done with the Chasers!Don'tmove!" The Beaters slumped as they now had to babysit them instead of playing whatever trick they had planned.

The Chasers' tryout was a joke. Only Michael stood out, both in speed and accuracy. A brown-haired, Fourth Year girl was the only one who could keep up with him, and together they managed to get past the Keeper several times. By the time the Chaser tryout had ended, it was clear who was and wasn't going to make the cut, as some upset players just left the pitch entirely.

Once the Seeker tryouts started, Robert simply held up a small golden Snitch between his thumb and index finger. "It's pretty simple. I'm going to release the Snitch. You need to catch it, quickly as you can." He ignored the protests from some of the older students, that his chosen method was only one style of Seeking. Instead of responding, he simply released the Snitch, leading the Seeker group to mount their brooms and launch themselves into the sky.

Harry knew it was only luck that had let him catch the Snitch the first time around. He had flown high, hoping that gold would glint off the sun, when the Snitch buzzed by his ear. He had caught it before anyone could even see him begin to chase it. The second time his original idea of glinting gold had worked, and the third time the other Seeker hopefuls had decided to tail him. That had been a critical mistake on their part as Harry had already proven himself to be much faster than they were. There was not a fourth try as Robert called it to an end.

Robert called them down. "Harry Potter is our new Seeker," he said simply. Most had left the pitch immediately, but a Seventh Year boy had decided to try and argue his case for a fourth try. While that was happening, Harry got himself acquainted with the rest of the team as Maria was kind enough to demonstrate cool-down stretches for him to mimic.

"Marcus Belby." The dark and gloomy-looking Keeper introduced himself to Harry without looking at him. His arms were crossed, and he was glaring at the guy who was arguing with Robert. "I'm going to go help Robert."

"I don't think he needs any-andhe's already gone," Maria said, as Marcus stomped his way over to defend his Captain.

"Fiona Wood." The new Chaser introduced herself to Harry. Her voice was quiet but carried a thick Scottish accent. "You're a really good flyer." Harry returned her smile.

"So are you, and your aim is something else." Fiona was one of those people who couldn't take compliments very well as her freckled face turned red and she fell silent. Before Harry could figure out something to say that would make her more comfortable, Robert and Marcus came back.

"We're a young team," Robert began. "Hufflepuff and Slytherin have got mostly NEWT students with the occasional talented OWL player in the mix. I didn't bring it up last year and I think we paid the price for it." Maria and Eddie looked uncomfortable for the first time today. "But that's why we're going to focus a lot on speed, tricks and manoeuvrability during practices. We're going to win the Quidditch Cup this season, I'm sure of it."

"Of course, you're sure. You have me, don't you?" Michael said arrogantly. Harry was stunned that a new player would say something so brash to the captain, and he wasn't the only one. Only Marcus looked unsurprised when Robert only chuckled.

"Alright, you're dismissed. The first practice of the year will be posted on the notice board." As the team walked back to the changing room, Harry noticed Michael and Robert hanging back. He was surprised that instead of telling him off, the older boy grabbed the younger in a headlock and they began play-fighting.

After showering and changing, Harry made his way back to the castle, surprisingly tired after tryouts. All he had done was fly a broom, but his body was aching in strange places, as he had used muscles that he normally wouldn't to control his broom. He couldn't wait to have a warm soak in his bathtub once he got back to his dormitory.

As he followed the route to Ravenclaw Tower, he felt as if he were being watched. Glancing around, he saw only a large landscape painting and two suits of armour. Resuming his walk at a slower pace, he kept his ears sharp. Something was wrong.

He was right.

"Petrificus Totalus!" A voice shouted from behind. It was the reflection on the polished suit of armour that saved him. A jet of white-blue light was about to hit his back at high speeds.

Throwing himself to the side, the jet of light (was that what a Martial Spell looked like?) moved through the spot where his torso had been a moment earlier. It hit the suit of armour but dissipated with no effect.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry took off running so fast that he would have been impressed with himself if he weren't, you know,running away. Just as he neared the turn, two other spells flashed behind him, multiple voices calling out their incantations. He managed to dodge the first one and duck under the second, but the first voice, the one that had almost struck him from behind unawares, shouted a third. "Flipendo!" just as he was rounding the corner.

To his horror, the orange jet of light caught him in the side. It lifted him off his feet, spun him into a sideways somersault, once, twice, then thrice and sent him careening into the suit of armour that he had seen the reflection of the first spell at the beginning of the attack. Harry was slightly dazed but managed to pick himself up from the now scattered pieces of armour by the time one of his assailants grabbed him by his shirt front and slammed him against the wall. In the back of his mind, Harry was more than a little disappointed with himself. He hadn't even managed to get out of the corridor.

There were two of them. They were both rather large boys, but even if they were small for their age, Harry wouldn't have liked his odds. They were at least Fifth Years, Slytherin, and as they had just displayed, had him beat when it came to spellcasting. "What the hell are you idiots thinking?!" Harry said loudly. He wanted someone to hear, preferably a member of staff but was too proud to explicitly call for help.

One of the boys, the tall one to his left, seemed to understand what he was doing. "Silencio!"Harry opened his mouth, to swear at him loudly (in his experience, nothing brought teachers running faster than a kid uttering curse words), but no sound came out. That was bad for him.

The dawning fear he felt must have been apparent on his face as the muscular boy holding him to the wall began to laugh. "I've been wanting to do this all week, but you never go anywhere alone, do you?" He asked as he adjusted his grip to hold Harry against the wall with one hand and levelled his wand at him with the other. "Everyone has been talking about you since the Sorting. Like you’re something special. Something to be respected. The son of those twobutchers. It makes me sick." He pointed the tip of his wand at Harry's face.

Butchers?Harry wondered before suppressing his curiosity. His inquisitiveness often got the better of him and led him into trouble. This was not one of those times.

While the boy began his wand movement, Harry reared his leg back as far as it would go against the wall and kneed him between the legs as hard as he could. Tearing himself from his weakened grip, he turned to the other boy, sucking phlegm from his nose to his mouth as he went. Just as the boy parted his lips for an incantation, Harry spat the gathered ball right into his open mouth. He had been aiming for his face, but that was even better. The boy let out a shrill scream of disgust before spitting on the ground, and Harry took off running as fast as he could.

Only a complete idiot would fight fair in this situation.

Round the corner, jumping down a short flight of stairs, he didn't slow down, not when he could hear his assailants giving chase. He could not call for help, so he made sure to make as much noise as he could, knocking over suits of armour and marble busts as he went. He was fast, but his stamina wasn't all that great, and he was already tired after tryouts. The older boys were gaining on him. But just as he was planning to stand his ground and attack them as they rounded the next corner, his salvation arrived. Or rather, he ran headlong into it.

"What the-?! Mr Potter! Running is not allowed in the corridors!" Professor Quirrell began to berate him but stopped when Harry began to frantically gesture towards his mouth. The Defence Professor didn't seem to understand until the Slytherin boys came charging around the corner. Only then did his face light up in comprehension and then darken in fury.

"Myrose! Fredricks! Did you attack a First Year?!" Harry slumped against the wall, trying to catch his breath, listening to Myrose and Fredrick get verbally eviscerated by Quirrell. After he was done shouting, he handed out their punishments. "One hundred points from Slytherin.Each. And Saturday detentions until the end of term." Over the sounds of their protests, he added coldly, "Another word and I'll ensure your suspensions." That shut them up. As they turned back the way they came, the shorter one, Myrose, gave him a filthy look, but Harry ignored him. He was too busy trying to mime at Quirrell.

"Stop waving your arms like that, you look like a demented duck.Finite Incantatem!"Just like that, Harry could speak again. The second he could, he explained everything that had happened in a rush, not because he wanted the two punished- as that had already been taken care of- but because he was now jittery with adrenaline and was unable to control himself as much as he normally could. He led Quirrell down the path he had come from, and the man listened patiently, waving his wand and repairing all the damage Harry had done along the way. When he was finished, they were back where the attack began, on the route to Ravenclaw Tower.

"He said something about my parents. He called them butchers." He remembered. Quirrell sighed.

"The last few years of the war were the bloodiest. There were increasing attacks, so Aurors began using the Dark Arts less cautiously, and your mother and father were on the very front lines." He paused as if considering something. "That might be why Myrose attacked you now that I think about it. His parents are law-abiding citizens, but his older brother was a proven Death Eater. Your mother managed to capture him, but only after severing his legs."

Harry looked up at him in shock. He couldn't imagine anyone so closely related to Petunia Dursley getting their hands dirty like that. "It's not like he needs them. They don't exactly let inmates out for exercise in Azkaban."

"Myrose's brother was that bad then?" Azkaban, Harry had read, was the Confederacy's maximum-security prison. Unlike other wizard prisons around the world, it was only meant for the most heinous of criminals, and it was so secure that only the highest-ranking Aurors and Coalition officials were permitted to know its location. It was an environment meant to simulate hell on earth, so if his mother had permanently maimed a man who had been sent there, he had it coming.

"Oh yes. His predilection for the most vulnerable of Muggles was made known at his trial. A truly vile man."

Harry was a little worried. "Professor? Is Myrose the only one in the castle with a grudge against my parents? Or are there others?" Quirrell's grimace was all the answer he needed. "Do you think you could teach me a few defensive spells? Just enough to escape, and get help? I don't want to think what would have happened to me if you weren't here today."

Quirrell had appeared unsure until Harry had said that last part. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to teach you a thing or two. It's not like you wouldn't have learned them eventually."

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed, pleased that Quirrell got it. "I'll just be learning these spells when I need them instead of learning them for an exam." Quirrell's lips quivered as though Harry had said something amusing, but when he looked at him properly, his face was serene.

They stopped in front of the winding staircase. "It would be my honour to teach you, Harry Potter." Harry thought that he was joking, just like he was back inThe Leaky Cauldron, but his face was deadly serious. Before Harry could respond, Quirrell turned and walked away.

Much later, Harry would look back on that moment with both regret and resignation.

Chapter 7: Interlude II

Chapter Text

The two men watched Filius hurry after the boy. Only when the door closed after the Master Enchanter, did Lord Dumbledore speak. "Well? Are you satisfied?"

Lord Akingbade smiled ruefully. "Was I so obvious?"

Albus chuckled. "I doubt our young Mr Potter would have been able to notice, but I'll be shocked if Filius doesn't return to my office later today, asking why your "out of control" Mana Cloak parted the boy's hairexactlyat his scar." His smile drooped, as he observed his old friend over his half-moon spectacles. "You went through all this trouble to get a good look at it, so tell me, what do you think?"

Babajide slowly leaned back in his seat, looking lost in thought. "My youngest grandchild is now older than they were when they died." His apparent non sequitur did not faze Albus. "I still can't tell which is which, though."

"I didn't just place the boy with any old Muggle, you know. It was Lily who made the second sacrifice- the one that was exchanged for Harry’s continued protection- so I left him to be raised by her sister."

Babajide nodded slowly. "He found shelter with his kin? Good, good." His eyes focused on Albus. "You want my thoughts? You can never tell their son the truth." Albus made a protest, but Babajide raised his hand. "I don't say this out of any kind of malice or mistrust of the boy, but you are not a father Albus. I am certain James would prefer it if his son never knew the price he and his wife paid for his survival." Babajide's expression darkened. "Especially as he can never help them. None of us can. James and Lily are beyond our reach."

"It's only a matter of time before he finds out. We are not the only ones capable of putting the pieces together."

Babajide scoffed. "Between them, the Potters had the same number of masteries as a Sage. There are only, what? Twenty, or twenty-five Dark Arts Masters capable of recognising their work? Even then they would have to meet their boy in person and get a good look at his scar."

Albus tutted at his friend's infamous overconfidence. "There are still just as many Dark Wizards and Rogues, who are learned enough to recognise it for what it truly is! I would prefer it if he learned it from us, rather than-!"

Babajide cut him off. "When would they ever get within speaking distance of the boy? I've already decided, Albus. Let the child live in peace."

Albus regretted bringing the boy to his office. He regretted giving up on the obscuring charm he had tried to invent for Harry's scar. But most of all he regretted underestimating Babajide's lingering affection for his last apprentice. Of course, he would go out of his way to respect James' final wish. He still blamed himself for not being able to save his prized student.

Despite it all, he knew he could not circumvent a direct order from Lord Akingbade now. Not if he wanted to remain on good terms with the Magister.

Albus bowed his head. "As you wish, Lord Akingbade."

Chapter 8: The Spark of Ambition

Chapter Text

Harry dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way. The chair he had just been sitting in a moment ago was now wrapped in ropes. He rolled under a table and flipped it over, using it as a barrier between him and his attacker.

Drawing his wand, he decided to not play it cautiously this time around. Pointing his wand over his barrier he cast "Flipendo!"His spell sailed out of his sight, but judging from the lack of sound, he hadn't caught his adversary.

Just as he began to think of a backup plan, there was a gentle poke on the crown of his head. Looking up, he saw the now familiar pleasant smile of Professor Quirrell. "Got you," he said, with the air of an adult playing hide and seek with a toddler. It was accurate to their current standings, but it still felt like an insult in Harry's mind.

"I would prefer it if you just incapacitated me, instead of this humiliation," Harry sighed as he got to his feet. "I learn better that way."

Quirrell seemed to consider it. "You may be on to something. In our first two meetings, you were caught by my initial binding spell, but today you made sure to get out of the way."

Harry shrugged. "Even dogs learn from negative reinforcement."

Quirrell laughed at that. “Your words, not mine,” he said. Harry scowled.

It was only their third meeting, but Harry still felt annoyed that he hadn't yet gotten a good grasp on Quirrell's personality. This disturbed him, as he was generally quite good at determining a person's character. His new tutor, however, seemed like something of a contradiction. He spoke and treated Harry with care, as though he were made of glass, but, more than once, he had caught his Defence Professor looking at him from the corner of his eye with cold disappointment, as though he had expected more from the Boy Who Lived.

You're not the only one,Harry thought. He was still annoyed with his lacklustre performance in class. It was now the last day of September, and in all that time his improvement had only been marginal by his assessment. His teachers had seemed pleased that his classwork had improved to the near top of his year, but Harry knew that was only because he spent almost all his free time studying and practising ahead in the privacy of his dorm.

With his extracurriculars, he was barely managing to stay afloat. He swallowed a groan as he thought of all the clubs he had joined. They were just extra opportunities for him to embarrass himself. Potions and Charms were a given, but even the rest of the Language Club was leaving him behind. His mind was oddly resistant to Translation Charms, so while the other Muggle-raised and Muggle-born students were working on their second or even their third languages, Harry was still struggling with Mandarin.

What was going to happen come December, during the end-of-term exams? Students like Anthony and Terry, who seemed to spend all their time on recreational matters, would get serious about studying and leave him behind again.

"You just haven't experienced it yet." Harry was shaken out of his thoughts by Quirrell's voice. The man was leaning against the teacher's desk in the abandoned classroom they had now met three times in, arms folded, looking cool in a way that Harry could only dream of.

"Experienced what?"

Quirrell was still smiling, but now it was unfocused, his eyes staring right past Harry, lost in memory. "Every witch or wizard worth their magic has experienced a moment where they finally discover where their talents lie. It might be in any of the Esoteric Arts, a sub-field so niche that most might consider it useless, but when that moment arrives you won't care because, for maybe the first time in your life, you know exactly what it is you want to do. What you'remeantto do."

If this was meant to make Harry feel better, it was not working. "What if my moment never comes?"

Quirrell shrugged. "Then you never had any talent to begin with." Even though Harry was certain his face had remained impassive, Quirrell seemed to sense his sudden distress. "You're not even a month into your education. Most people haven't even figured themselves out by the time they graduate. You'refine." He moved his hand back and forth as if to wave away Harry's concerns.

"Now, have you practised your Basic Three as I asked?" Harry nodded, a little unsurely. He had practised "every duellist's bread and butter" all week, but just like almost every other spell he had cast, it had proven difficult. The Disarming Charm, Stunning Spell and Shield Charm, were all basic duelling spells. Unlike schoolyard hexes, they were used in almost every professional duel and by Aurors in the field. At least, according to Quirrell.

Harry turned to face the targets on the wall and raised his wand, but his heart wasn't really in it. Myrose and Fredricks hadn't attacked him since the first week of school. They hadn't even looked his way. They were too busy being hated by their entire house, who blamed them for their current fourth place standing for the House Cup.

Without this looming threat, Harry's interest in Martial Magic was waning. Maybe his "moment" would come, but he doubted it would ever be in this field.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

September had been a busy month. Harry had gone to the Hospital Wing during his second week, along with the rest of the Muggle-raised First Years. According to Flitwick, it was necessary to receive their vaccinations. "Wizards cannot be affected by mundane diseases, but believe me, you are not invulnerable. This is more than necessary. You don't want a case of Dragon Pox or, Great Sage forbid, Spattergroit. That'll ruin youryear."

With this warning ringing in his ears, Harry followed the others without complaint to the Hospital Wing. However, when he was sitting in Madam Pomfrey's office- alone as Doctor-Patient confidentiality was universal apparently- he learned he needn't have come at all.

"Your file says that you received the vaccination only two months ago, and the diagnostic charm only confirms it. Are you sure you don't remember?" Harry only knew of one time when that could have happened; the few hours he had been unconscious under Professor Jones' care.

He didn't let on how much this unsettled him, waving away Pomfrey's concerns with a smile. “I must have forgotten,” he said, embarrassed. As he made his way back to Divination, he tried to put it from his mind. It was just a vaccination. Hestia was probably trying to help out a Muggle-raised kid. Still, he made a mental note to master the diagnostic charms that monitored vaccinations. He wanted to be sure that he could trust his own body.

"You're as pale as a ghost," Anthony said, as Harry sat at his and Terry's table.

Harry forced a smile. "You wouldn't believe the size of the needle Pomfrey jabbed me with."

"Why would she jab you with a needle?" Terry asked, looking relieved that something was distracting him from Trelawny's nonsense. Harry explained what a needle was and saw polar reactions from the brothers: interest from Terry, and horror in Anthony.

"I thought it was bad enough that Muggle Healers cut their patients open, but to stab little kids? That's just awful." Harry thought this was more than a little dramatic, and judging by Terry's eye roll, he wasn't the only one.

"You must excuse him. He's a wimp when it comes to Healer stuff." Anthony protested, but Trelawney shushed them.

Harry couldn't blame Anthony for his aversion when he thought about it. Hospitals must be an incredibly difficult environment for him to deal with.

The third week marked the preliminary rounds of the Triwizard Tournament, but it was over for Hogwarts as soon as it began. When he’d awoken on his third Saturday after a rare lie-in, he found the entire common room to be uncomfortably quiet and tense. It was worse than it was on Wednesday evening whensomeoneset off half a dozen dungbombs on the Seventh Year study group (everybody knew it was Eddie and Maria, but the Prefects couldn't prove it, and no one wanted to snitch).

Harry approached his friends at their usual corner by the windows. "What's up with everyone?" He asked, after thanking Anthony for asking an Automaton to bring him a breakfast tray (technically not against school rules, but frowned upon, at least according to Penelope as she passed by).

Anthony glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "The Triwizard preliminaries are in their final rounds."

Harry nodded. It had been going on all week and he’d enjoyed watching the beautiful opening ceremony along with the rest of the House. The preliminaries themselves were incredibly intense and fraught with danger, leaving Harry to wonder what kind of person would put themselves through that. Still, none of that explained the dour mood in the room. Unless-

“The Hogwarts team,” he guessed. “Are they hurt?”

“No.” Terry was scowling at theOdeonat the centre of the sitting side of the room. "Our Triumvirate just got humiliated. They couldn't even crack the Top 8."

Harry turned to look at theOdeon. It was a cloud of mist, with a floating silvery disc underneath that could change size as directed. It was similar to a television, as it often played Quidditch games, musical performances, and shows and movies of every genre (even a few Muggle ones) but the visuals were so much clearer, the colours, the sharpness of the images, all of it. From whatever angle you were sitting at, it felt like it was perfectly placed for your eyes. The image wasn't distorted at all.

Right now, theOdeonwas playing on mute, which was quite unusual in Harry's limited experience. There were often fights about what to watch, but no one had ever asked to turn off the sound before. Harry might have if he had known it was an option.

Across the intangible screen, were words and statistics that Harry couldn't make heads or tails of. "Explain it to me as though I’m a newcomer to the Wizarding World." Anthony snorted but Terry didn't even crack a smile. It was even worse than he’d first thought.

"All the Wizarding schools compete every three years to prove that they're the best institution in the world.Every school. Even the tiny little day schools. Most kids in the world learn magic from their families or community covens or even their local Auror Citadels, so of course they're permitted as well. As long as you can put three students and a trainer forward, your team qualifies for the competition. Almost seven hundred teams compete every time. That's about two thousand competitors." Harry still didn't get it.

"So, Hogwarts got to the Top 16? In the whole world? That's dead impressive!" Harry's voice must have gotten a little too loud, as both of the other boys shushed him hastily, as though he were about to be killed for spilling state secrets. They both looked around to see if anyone else had heard him, but no one was paying them even the slightest bit of attention. Not the slightest bit of attention tohim. Which was so unusual, it only made it more clear how much this affected the school.

Terry tutted. "You don't get it. Elite schools like Hogwarts are rare. There are only twelve of them in the whole world, and they only accept the best from their regions. Hogwarts is the second oldest school on record- that’s still standing anyway. We should be Top 8 on our worst day. But we haven't even qualified for the quarter-final duels since…” Terry paused and glanced warily at Harry, “since your parents were a part of the Triumvirate."

Harry remembered Hagrid saying something about that but had forgotten about it until now. "Did they win?"

Anthony looked a little awkward. "Err… no. Hogwarts hasn’t had a Triwizard Champion in fifty years. Your parents were runners-up." He was surprised at Harry's relieved smile. Terry seemed to get it though as he chuckled at Harry's expression. It was just nice to know his parents weren't wholly perfect.

When the Hogwarts Triumvirate returned to school, they were treated rather coldly. The entire school had fallen into a dark mood, embarrassed by their performance, and even Dumbledore seemed to have it out for them.

On the night of their return, they had somehow managed to slip into the Great Hall without anyone noticing, but it was all ruined for them when the Headmaster stood and demanded everyone welcome them with a round of applause. He was the only one who clapped properly, but even as the other teachers joined in, half-hearted in their praise, it was Dumbledore's enthusiastic applause that came off as mocking. Hardly any of the students clapped at all and Harry noticed the Triumvirate looked as if they wanted to die on the spot. Harry felt like sinking into the ground just from being in the same room as them. It was painful to watch.

He did note that many on the Ravenclaw table seemed a little smug. Of course, none of the fallen heroes hailed from the House of the Wise.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

For a sport that was played in the sky with hard leather balls rocketing at high speeds with the sole intention of knocking players out of the air, Quidditch was surprisingly mundane. No, that wasn't right. Quidditchpracticewas mundane.

Twice a week, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team met in the changing room to go over strategy and practice tactics. Harry quickly learned that he didn’t need to pay much attention to that part. He flew his broom as his teammates showed him, practised flying in front of Chasers to aid in their offensive manoeuvres and hunted and caught the Snitch only when he was told to. It was relatively straightforward.

Harry was just eager to learn and improve his game, which seemed to please Robert. He was diligent during practice, never messing around when he was in the air, which made Marcus happy. He was more than eager to trade jokes and mess around with Eddie and Maria before and after practice, and he often goaded them to try and hit him when he was in the air. They had come close several times, scaring the life out of him in the process, but Harry was too proud to back down from his initial challenge. He got along well with Fiona, as they were both members of the Charms Club and they spoke at length on the subject often. Like Anthony, Fiona wanted to be anIngenieurwhen she graduated ("But only if I can't go pro," she added, clutching her broom tightly) and Harry liked to ask her questions about it. It was a good thing she was so patient with him, as anyone else would have told him to get lost by now.

The only person he didn't get along with was his fellow First Year. No matter how many times Harry tried to initiate a conversation, Michael always rebuffed him. It didn't help that he seemed to get more and more irritable with him as time went on.

Every time Harry did an impressive manoeuvre in the air, or was praised by his teammates or, worst of all, asked to stay behind by Robert so they could go over Seeker tactics together, Michael's ire seemed to increase. At the beginning of the month, he was only a little irritated with Harry, but as October neared it seemed to evolve into genuine dislike. Harry knew he wasn't alone in noticing anymore. How could he be? The blonde boy's head looked like it was about to explode whenever Harry was around.

"Seriously, what is his problem?" Harry asked Robert as Michael stomped off the pitch.

Robert grimaced. "Be patient with him. My brother can be an immature little git, but he's just…" he shrugged as though to say something both positive but indefinable. Harry was focused, not on guessing what his shrug could mean, but on what he had just said.

"He's your brother?"

Robert was amused. "You didn't know?"

"Of course not! You have different surnames!"

For a brief moment, Robert looked as though he were about to explain why this was, but then a quick sly expression came and went from his face. "If you want to know, you're going to have to ask him."

That was how Harry found himself stalking Michael down a corridor on the second floor, long after midnight. Harry was hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak, but his teammate was walking, brazen, down the corridor, wand tip lit, practically asking for another detention.

It had been a coincidence that Harry had spotted him. After an evening of Exploding Snap with his friends, Harry had decided to stay up and study Anthony's Runes notes- which were numerous- and his friend had been happy to lend them to him.

Sitting in a darkened spot of the study area, he spotted a familiar blonde head waltz fearlessly through the common room, towards the exit. Wanting to follow, Harry wished he had his Invisibility Cloak as he quickly packed away Anthony's notes into his bag. His breath caught as his fingers brushed against the familiar material. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his Cloak, which was strange as he was certain he’d left it locked away in the lockbox.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth (right now at least) Harry swung the cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head, running to catch up to Michael.

Harry followed the other boy through a nondescript doorway and into a long-abandoned classroom that looked like it had been slowly turned into a storage room. Tables were piled along the walls and chairs were stacked precariously enough for Harry to be wary of imminent collapse. Michael wasn't afraid though. Or rather he had been here so many times he knew the safest path to his goal.

The goal turned out to be a mirror. It was unusual, tall and ornate, with lettering written along the top. It was beautiful, yes, but Harry couldn't see what had Michael so enraptured. The other boy sat down in front of the mirror, cross-legged, and was simply staring, transfixed, at his reflection. Harry had not considered him to be the vain sort, at least in the traditional sense, but after a closer examination of both the mirror and the room at large, he couldn't see any other explanation for Michael's behaviour. Quickly growing bored, Harry made his way back to his dorm, leaving the other boy to his strange nocturnal pastime.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Nothing else of interest had happened during his first month. For a school of magic, Hogwarts had a surprisingly mundane routine. Classes, meals, extracurriculars, homework and brief windows for socialisation; it was just like any other school in the world, albeit one which taught its students to master the world around them through their innate arcane powers.

When October dawned, autumn followed. The leaves began to change colours, and a brisk chill arrived, chasing away the lingering summer heat. Clear skies were replaced by mist and fog, which only made the castle appear even more mystical than it had before.

The lingering animosity towards the Triumvirate seemed to finally fade away as the months changed, and Harry saw that the three Seventh Years looked much happier in the corridors now than they had been when they had returned. With all these changes came another new fact about Hogwarts for Harry to learn.

"What are Sentinels?" Harry asked, as he, Anthony and Terry joined the steady flow of students out of the castle and towards the Quidditch Stadium.

"The Sentinels are the strongest twenty-four students in the school," Anthony explained, as they strolled down the lawn. "If Hogwarts students are supposed to be the best, then the Sentinels are the best of the best."

"School rules don't apply to them. Not really. Skipping class and not doing homework doesn't matter when you've already proven yourself good with a wand." Terry looked jealous of this carte blanche. "Exam results still matter of course, but you can get almost any job you want if you claim a Sentinel rank and hold onto it all the way to graduation."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hold onto it?"

Anthony smiled. "That's the beauty of it.Anyonecan become a Sentinel, as long as they manage to defeat one in an official duel, that is."

They arrived at the Quidditch Stadium, but instead of taking his usual route to the changing rooms, Harry followed his friends up the stairs to the stands. Their small statures came in useful, as they were able to squeeze their way to the very front, by the railings. Harry couldn't hold back his surprise at what he now saw.

"I was only here yesterday! What the hell did they do to it?" The grassy pitch had been torn away to reveal the hard muddy earth beneath. There were rocks here and there, some larger than Hagrid, and a body of water off to one side. Other than that, the entire pitch was barren.

"The teachers will replace it," an upset voice said from his left. Michael was sitting beside him, and Harry had not even noticed his arrival. He was glaring at the teachers who were sitting in a tight group almost directly opposite them. Harry had the impression that he would make them regret it if they did not return the Quidditch pitch to its original state.

"Nice of you to join us, Mickey!" Terry said, happily. Michael turned his glare away from the teachers and onto Terry, making Harry regret his place in between them.

Before Michael could reply, Harry got up and moved to sit on Anthony's right-hand side, and a polite, brown-haired Hufflepuff Fourth Year made room for him. Neither Michael nor Terry seemed to notice as they descended into their regular semi-antagonistic back and forth. However, Anthony did and he smirked at Harry.

"What do the Sentinels even do anyway?" Harry asked, completely skipping over his cowardly flight.

Anthony shrugged. "Well, officially they’re meant to help teachers with security. You know, guarding secure areas in the castle like the potions storeroom or the medicine cupboard in the Hospital Wing and patrol corridors after curfew. But they mostly just duel each other to get higher rankings."

Harry frowned, thoughtfully. "The Triumvirate. They're the Top 3?"

Anthony nodded. "Only a Sentinel is even allowed to try out for the Triwizard Tournament, and you've got to get yourself into the Triumvirate the year before to qualify."

"Today's just a challenge. The next Tournament is years away," the Fourth Year next to him interrupted. His grey eyes were fixed on one of the changing room exits. He started suddenly, as though just realising he’d interrupted a private conversation. "Sorry," he said, gruffly.

"That's alright," Harry said, lightly. He recognised the boy, as Robert had pointed him out weeks ago. Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker. His eyes flickered down when he distantly registered the lack of bronze on Cedric’s wrist and, for the first time, he saw an onyx Ouroboros. He was an Auror Cadet.

Just as he was turning back to Anthony, both changing room doors opened at the same moment- as though it was predetermined - and two vastly different individuals stepped into the duelling pit.

To his left was a slim, dark-haired Seventh Year boy. He strode onto the pitch with confidence, an easy smile on his handsome face. Judging by the crowd's sudden cheers of "DANNY! DANNY!" he was rather popular. He wore a scarlet armband and even from this distance Harry could see the Roman NumeralsXXIVwritten in bold black against the deep red.

To his right was a blonde, compact Fourth Year girl. She walked onto the barren pitch, her hair pulled back from her face in a tight ponytail. Unlike her opponent, she looked incredibly focused, almost on edge, with her jaw clenched tightly and her wand already drawn. She wore a form-fitting black uniform that had light leather armour over her joints and torso. It would have been identical to Danny’s but it lacked an armband and had green trim instead of red. Her wrist bracers were so tight that her Ouroboros had to be worn on the outside of her uniform.

Onyx, Harry’s eyes focused on the sight of a black Ouroboros. Another Auror Cadet.

It was only because of Cedric's sudden cheer of "GO ON, ELIZA!" did Harry recognise her. Eliza Hawthorn. Christopher Watkins (who all the First Year Ravenclaws agreed was the worst Prefect in their House by a mile) had made a couple of crass comments about her to his friends when he was supposed to be tutoring them on Arithmancy. He thought she was more than a bit stuck up, apparently.

Harry almost jumped when a sudden voice boomed out across the stadium. "Today we have a challenger for the rank of the 24th Sentinel! Elizabeth Hawthorn of Slytherin has challenged Daniel Gregson of Gryffindor!" Harry glanced across the stadium towards the teachers' seats, where he spotted a deadlocked boy holding something that resembled a wireless microphone. It was Lee Jordan, a Third Year Gryffindor who was part of the same group of troublemakers that Eddie and Maria hung out with.

"Hawthorn has passed all the requirements, so Gregson had no choice but to accept her challenge. Tough luck, Danny!" Harry reassessed his initial opinion of Danny Gregson. Judging by the sudden laughter and jeers that swept the crowd, he was not as well-liked as Harry had initially assumed. A small number of Gryffindors were cheering his name enthusiastically, but most of his own house had turned up to see him humiliated.

"Despite only being a Fourth Year, Hawthorn has bravely decided to test her mettle against Gregson. Do us all a favour and humble the git, alright Eliza?" The crowd started laughing as Professor McGonagall began to tell Lee off. "But I'm not favouring Gryffindor! I thought that was what you wanted!" Danny looked annoyed by this biased commentary, glaring up at Lee, but Eliza was unaffected. She was yet to remove her eyes from her opponent. Her gaze was fixed on him, as though she were a predator and he, her prey. Harry doubted she was even blinking.

Professor Hooch made her way onto the pitch and waved both duellists forward so that she could speak to them. "Hogwarts doesn't do "to the death" battles,unfortunately-“ they could all hear McGonagall's faint scolding in the background, but Lee continued undeterred- "but drawn blood is allowed. The duel will only end when one of the fighters can no longer continue without outside assistance." Harry's eyebrows shot up. That seemed a little brutal, didn't it? But looking around, no one in his immediate line of sight- not even the prim and proper Anthony- seemed fazed by this.

"We're not as fragile as Muggles,” Cedric said abruptly. He had been the only one to notice Harry’s sudden distress. “We can heal our injuries a lot faster and easier than they can." He smiled a little. "You remind me of Eliza. She couldn't believe it when she first saw a duel either." He spoke her name with a fondness that Harry rarely heard.

Hooch now directed each duellist back to their initial positions, a white marking appearing near the edges of the pitch once the Flying Instructor (and apparent Duelling Referee) flicked her wand.

Once Eliza and Danny settled into their positions, the crowd quieted and the air grew tense. Everyone was waiting for Hooch to exit the pitch. When she finally did, she raised her wand slowly, first pointing at the ground before lifting it far above her head. As she did this, formerly unseen runes glowed bright gold for a moment before disappearing and the air seemed to shimmer around the pitch. There was now an invisible force field surrounding the duelling arena. It didn't take a genius to figure out this was done to protect the crowd from any errant spells.

Everyone awaited silently as Hooch climbed a short number of steps to a wooden platform on the edge of the pitch, where she could survey the barren, level field from a short height. Stepping in front of a floating microphone, she raised her wand into the air before dropping it quickly. A flash of gold light went off as she shouted “BEGIN!” into the microphone.

The duel began explosively. Despite his relaxed demeanour, Danny was just as quick in casting his first spell as Eliza was. Both spells launched across the pitch at incredible speeds and collided in the centre with a devastating impact. The ground itself took most of the damage as a cloud of dirt and dust rose from the ruined ground and obscured each duellist from the other's vision.

This was clearly what Eliza had intended because while Danny hesitated, she launched herself with alarming swiftness into the cloud of dust and conjured some kind of translucent bubble around her head as she went.She's using it as a smokescreen,Harry realised and was surprised at how engaged he was.

Before Danny could decide on his next move, three large wolves launched themselves out of the smokescreen and attacked him.

To his credit, Danny didn't hesitate again. He reared his wand back and brought it down like a sword. Harry couldn't see if another jet of light had emerged from his wand, but he definitely couldn't miss the effects. The wolf that had attacked him from the front was cut in half, right down the middle from head to tail, as Danny jumped backwards with surprising athleticism, avoiding the other two that had tried to attack him from either side.

He repeated the brutal cutting spell, slicing one and then the other. The crowd groaned as the ground around him seeped with the wolves' blood and innards, but this groan turned into gasps of shock as the air behind him seemed to shimmer. Cedric hissed and it was clear why. Eliza had used some kind of illusion spell to make herself nearly invisible, but it had worn off as she levelled her wand at Danny's back.

Danny seemed to realise he was in danger due to the crowd's reaction. The dust in front of him had begun to settle, and it was finally clear to him that his opponent was not in front of him, but behind. He began to turn, wand side first, ready to cast a defensive spell, but it was already too late. Eliza's Stunning Spell caught him in the side as he began to turn, and Daniel Gregson fell to the ground in an undignified heap.

Professor Hooch brought her wand down again in a second flash of golden light and called out, "WINNER: HAWTHORN!", and Harry finally caught his breath. The entire duel had lasted less than a minute.

Neither duellist had moved their lips for a single incantation. Their aim had been impeccable, they had both moved with impressive speed and dexterity, and had shown fine control over the spells they had cast. Despite this, neither one of them was even close to being the absolute best in the school. That was the Triumvirate, who in turn had recently suffered a humiliating defeat at the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had finally begun to realise just how far the distance was between himself and the best of his generation.

He felt something spark to life in his chest.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Later that evening, the entire school was still buzzing about the duel. From what Harry could gather, challenges for the 24th rank were numerous and typically went forward with poor attendance from the rest of the school. However, today was the first (official) duel of the school year and, for reasons still unknown to him, Danny Gregson was as unpopular as they came. Despite being the best in her year, Eliza hadn't been expected to win. OWL students rarely challenged the Sentinels, as they were primarily NEWT students and were generally accepted to be more learned and powerful, but today, she obliterated all preconceptions.

Harry could see her now, sitting alone at the Slytherin table. Well, she wasn'tentirely alone. Eliza was hounded on all sides by well-wishers and fair-weather friends. He watched her for a moment, ignoring all of them as she resolutely ate her dinner, not giving any of them the attention they so desperately wanted from her.

"You're staring at her again," Anthony said, removing the Wireless from his ears again to tease him. Harry tried not to feel embarrassed. This was the second time Anthony had caught him looking at her.

"I'm notstaring, I'm observing. It's completely different."

Anthony grinned. "Call it whatever you want, it's still creepy." Harry knew he had failed this time, as he could feel his face grow warm. Looking for something to distract his much too observant friend, he turned to Terry.

"Where did Michael go? Did you chase him off with yourreasonablecriticisms of Quidditch again?" Terry, who had been disturbingly focused on his second helping of shepherd's pie, looked up at him. He made to speak with his mouth full, but at Anthony's warning look, he wisely swallowed his mouthful of ground beef before talking.

"Quidditch is dumb, and I stand by that fact." Terry didn't bother to keep his voice down, and Maria, who was speaking to a girl in her year next to Harry, turned to Terry with a frown.

"Don't bother. He's prepared to die on that hill." Harry warned her. For a second, Maria looked like she was about to tell Terry off anyway, but she shrugged like she couldn't be bothered and returned to her conversation.

Anthony shot Harry a grateful look, before asking, "Michael?" Terry shrugged and returned his attention to his plate.

"I don't know. He left a while ago, didn't he? He didn't say where, obviously." Anthony wasn't bothered by this, but Harry frowned.

"Have you two noticed him acting strangely? Going off on his own? Not speaking to others?"

Anthony gave him a wry look. "That’s just Michael being his typical self. You get used to it. Eventually." Harry considered telling him about the mirror that Michael had been enraptured by but thought better of it. It wasn't any of his business.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry dodged the initial binding spell like it was second nature. He flipped the table over like last time, using it as a barrier between himself and Quirrell. But instead of hunkering down and waiting for his opponent to come to him, he decided to act first.

"Fumos!"The smokescreen spell he’d practised all week in his dorm (much to Argos' displeasure) worked even better now than it had during his practice. A torrent of dark grey smoke shot out the end of his wand, directly in the face of the incoming Quirrell.

Quirrell coughed and closed his eyes as the smoke filled the room. Unfortunately, this also obscured Harry's vision. "Stupefy!"The Professor was kind enough to telegraph his attack, but it still caught Harry off guard. He fell backwards, the spell flying over his head as he lost his balance and landed on his back, legs kicking in the air like an upended tortoise.

Panicking, Harry's leg shot out and kicked the flat of the table, sending it skidding across the floor. It made contact, metal legs first into Quirrell's shins. He could hear the Professor give a slight hiss of pain as Harry rolled quietly out of the way, trying to buy himself some breathing room.

Quickly getting to his feet, Harry tried to make his way around Quirrell. He kept one hand on the wall to feel the perimeter of the room, but he bumped into a table and gave his position away. “Incarcerous!” Quirrell’s voice rang out.

Later that evening, as he would review the duel over and over in his mind’s eye, Harry would feel pleased with himself as he didn't panic the second time around. When the conjured ropes came flying at him, Harry turned to face his opponent’s direction and raised his wand above his head. "Diffindo!"He brought his wand down as though it were a sword, slicing the thin cords in two.

Harry shot forward and the remains of the cords flew by on either side of him, carried onward by their momentum. He hoped that by getting close to Quirrell, he would be able to catch him off guard, at least once. "Flipendo!"

Harry wasn't entirely sure what had happened next. One second he was certain of his imminent triumph, the next he was waking up on the floor in pain. "Argh," he groaned. The back of his head had collided with the hard floor. "What happened?"

He sat up slowly. The room was still smoky, but Harry was certain he caught a glimpse of Quirrell cradling his head in pain. "Are you alright?" He asked, partly concerned, but mostly eager to know if he’d landed a proper attack on the Defence Professor (the table didn't count).

Quirrell vanished the smoke with ease. "I think I must have strained something; I was holding myself back so hard." He laughed at Harry's irritated scoff. "Here." With just a wave of his wand, the growing bump on the back of Harry's head disappeared along with the dull, throbbing, pain.

"My apologies, Harry. Your attack was so well done that I forgot I was dealing with a First Year. I reacted instinctively and my counter hit you much too hard. Are you sure you're alright?" Harry smiled and nodded. He decided to take the compliment at face value. "I couldn't help but notice how familiar your strategy was. Were you inspired by Saturday's duel?"

Harry felt as if Quirrell had seen right through him. "Was it that obvious?"

"Obscuring your enemy’s vision is a fundamental- and therefore popular- tactic in the world of Professional Duelling. I only guessed it was Saturday's duel that had inspired you as I am your only duelling teacher and the tournaments popular enough for theOdeonto air take place during the late spring and summer months."

Harry shrugged, as he tried to downplay his excitement. "I wouldn't go so far as to sayinspired,but it did give me some ideas."

Quirrell smiled, seeing right through him. "Clearly." He paused, as though he had realised something, before continuing. "Do you realise what your mistake was?"

Harry grimaced. He had realised his mistake as soon as he had done it. "My smokescreen. It obscured my vision as well as yours." Quirrell shook his head.

"My eyes might have been impaired, but that does not mean I couldn't see." Harry couldn't make heads or tails of this statement, but before he could ask for clarification, Quirrell continued.

"The Smokescreen Spell is essential for any wizard. You did well on mastering it so early as it will be on your Defence Against the Dark Arts WOMBAT." Quirrell walked over to the teacher's desk and gestured for Harry to take a seat in the front row. "However, it is intended to assist in an escape. Do you know why?"

"The defensive spells in the WOMBAT curriculum are intended for the use against Muggles." Harry continued only when Quirrell said nothing, clearly expecting more. "It was decreed an essential spell for students, especially Muggle-born students, to master by Magister Baltierra in the mid-sixteenth century. Witch-Hunters were at the height of their power in those days and many young witches and wizards were captured by the few Hunters who could see through the Veil." Still, Quirrell said nothing.

Harry continued. "There were eleven such spells. Jinxes, to incapacitate Hunters, spells to hide your tracks, cover your scent and blend into your surroundings. There is also theAnemoispell that sends your location to the nearest Auror Citadel, although it isn't as accurate in magical areas." Harry stopped, hoping Quirrell was pleased with that much because it was all he knew on the subject.

Fortunately, he was. "Looks like someone is getting an Outstanding on their end-of-term exam." He clapped his hands together once, happily. "Fumosis a good spell for your arsenal, but it was designed for escape, not for duels. You should remember that whenever you try to adapt what you learn in the classroom to a fight." With that, he got back to his feet. "Are you ready to continue?"

It chafed his pride, but Harry was forced to shake his head. "Covering the entire room in smoke took more out of me than I thought it would." He had been more than happy to sit when Quirrell had told him to.

The Defence professor grimaced. "Are the Basic Three still giving you trouble?" Harry shrugged, more than a little humiliated. Quirrell kept calling thembasic,but Harry could do nothing more than shoot out ineffective jets of light from his wand whenever he tried to cast them.

Quirrell sighed. "Do you know why I keep asking you to practice spells over and over again?" Harry looked up at him, not sure where he was going with this. "It's not to get you to master the spells. Well, that is part of it, obviously, but it's mostly to make you stronger."

Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't follow."

"Did you ever use magic willingly growing up?" Harry nodded, and Quirrell gave a pleased nod, as though he were impressed but would have been disappointed if he said no. "Did you notice it became easier as time went on?"

Harry set his jaw. He hoped Quirrell wasn't about to say what he thought he was about to say. "Was it because I was getting older?" He asked cautiously and was relieved when Quirrell shook his head.

"That's a common misconception, that power comes with age. It doesn't. Power comes through training and discipline." He explained what that meant before Harry could interrupt. "The Mana Reserves in your body are a blend between the mental, physical and spiritual energies you naturally exude. As your mind gains knowledge, you will develop proficiency. As your body grows stronger, you will gain power. And as you dedicate yourself to a philosophy, your magic will dedicate itself entirely to you."

A small part of Harry knew Quirrell was dumbing this down for him, giving him this important information in a way that would make sense to an unlearned eleven-year-old, but Harry didn't care. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, a clear path forward was presented to him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Even though his classes were still hard, Harry was no longer disheartened. While his slowly developing duelling skills had yet to translate over to his classwork, he now knew it was only a matter of time. It didn't take long for others to notice his new attitude.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Terry asked as they made their way to lunch after a particularly gruelling Transfiguration lesson.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Terry shrugged. "You're normally grumpy after class." Anthony kept his head facing forward, but Harry could see his eyes flitting over. He had noticed as well.

Harry didn't take offence. "I've decided to not let my failures get to me. I could go back to being a grouch if it bothers you, though." He smiled as they both hastily assured him that they liked the change. He honestly hadn't realised how awful he was to be around after class.

With this new attitude pushing him forward, October was much more pleasant than the month that had preceded it. The entire month passed by in a breeze and soon it was Halloween.

Halloween, as it turned out, was a big deal at Hogwarts. Not because it was a special holiday for wizards or anything, (not that he knew about at least), but because it was the beginning of the social calendar, which was a big deal to all the students.

Slytherin House won the House Cup last year, so they had the "honour" of organising the Halloween Masquerade Ball. Harry's stomach had dropped when he’d first heard about this. All he knew about Masquerade Balls were from the trashy romance novels Lupin kept hidden in his locked desk drawer. He wasn't sure if he was prepared to deal with the scandalous shenanigans that seemed to occur whenever masks were involved in a formal setting. Mercifully, it seemed he would be spared from such embarrassing events, at least for a couple more years.

"The Ball is only for OWL and NEWT students." Penelope was kind enough to keep her voice as low as Harry's when he had gone to her for advice on what to wear. "You WOMBAT kids have a less formal party in the Small Hall on the first floor." She paused. "You do know all of this is written on the notice board, right?" Harry had not known that.

The Slytherins outdid themselves when the big day finally arrived. Every window in the castle had been charmed to block sunlight and torch sconces were lit with flickering flames that slowly transitioned from green to red to blue throughout the day. There were floating Jack-O'-Lanterns hidden in dark passageways that warned students of the terrible fates that had befallen students who’d used their shortcuts in the past, and screeching bats that swooped low above the heads of students who were late for class.

Harry could deal with all of that, but it was the statues and suits of armour that unnerved him. He hadn’t realised how many of them lined the walls of the school until they were charmed to release ominous sounds whenever no one was looking at them directly. It took him longer than he was proud of to figure out the source of the creaking steps, squeaky doors and heavy footfalls that dogged his steps that day. He was just glad no one saw him whip around and draw his wand at thin air. He must have looked half-mad.

All of it set a certain atmosphere, and Harry was just as excited as everyone else was for classes to end. After all, if these were just the decorations, what was going to happen during the actual events?

After classes were done, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had a scheduled practice. No one was pleased by this, not even Robert.

"I know you don't want to be here.Idon't even want to be here. But if we skip practice today, we'll regret it next month." No one was buying this, and they continued to argue with him. Even Marcus, who always took the Captain's side, now joined in with the others.

Finally, Robert gave up. "Fine, you can go. Just don't blame me when we lose against Hufflepuff next month."

Despite this sombre send-off, everyone went back to the changing rooms with cheers. Harry went to his locker and pulled out his clothes. He had never celebrated Halloween before as he had no one to celebrate with. He had told himself it was childish, dressing up in costumes and playing pretend, but now he was looking forward to the party.

He felt disappointed when his friends informed him that Halloween costumes tended to lean towards the historical rather than the fantastical; dressing up as Vampires or Werewolves was considered distasteful when you knew such beings truly existed.

Instead, Harry changed into the smartest clothes he’d brought to school: a white collarless tunic, a black jacket, a pair of buckled boots that he’d borrowed from Anthony, and loose ankle-length hose that was similar to the kind he wore beneath his school robes. Harry had considered purchasing something a little fancier (he’d gotten a look at what Anthony was wearing; a black and gold surcoat) but First Years weren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade until January, and he didn't trust owl order when it came to clothes. Still, when he observed his reflection in the changing room mirror, he found himself pleased with the end result. It was a mishmash of magical and mundane clothing, and he thought it suited him nicely.

Glancing around, he saw that Michael was the only one left in the room. The older boys had deemed the changing room lockers unfit to hold their elaborate masquerade costumes and had left them in their dorms. He was surprised the other boy was wearing clothes even more casual than his; just a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He’d expected more from someone vain enough to stare at their reflection for hours on end.

It was only when Harry began to make his way to the party that he realised Michael wasn’t following him from a distance like he usually did after practice. He sighed as he finally realised why the other boy was dressed so informally.

Entering the room with the bronze ornate mirror, he asked, "Back again, Michael?" Harry was amused at how quickly his teammate leapt up from his assumed cross-legged position in front of the mirror and whirled to face him.

"What are you doing here? Did you follow me?" He asked both questions in a single breath, clearly flustered.

"Obviously. I wouldn't think you were vain enough to stare at your reflection for hours on end, but here we are Narcissus." Truthfully, Harry had never thought he was vain in the classic sense and believed it even less now that he looked at Michael properly. His curly blonde hair was unkempt, and his eyes had dark circles underneath them. He didn’t look like someone concerned with their appearance.

"I'm not looking at my reflection," he denied before his face lit up in sudden comprehension. "What do you see when you look in the mirror? Here," he moved to one side, "stand where I'm standing."

He didn’t look right, Harry was only just noticing that, noticing the way Michael’s eyes seemed to glitter. He’s not just tired or scruffy, he’s off somehow. Any reasonable person would have left the room to inform a member of staff about the cursed mirror, but no one had ever accused Harry of being reasonable.

He paused for a moment while his curiosity viciously killed his better judgement. When his good sense was dead and buried he stepped in front of the mirror, but whirled around the moment he did so. He and Michael were alone in the room, but the mirror’s image showed only his reflection and a group of adults standing behind him. Harry recognised the two standing closest to his reflection almost instinctively.

To the right of his reflection, there was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with thick, curling jet-black hair and warm hazel eyes behind his browline glasses. His face was all fine angles and sharp features that would have left him with the appearance of a stern man if it wasn’t for the indefinable air of mischief around him. The beaming smile he wore was only overshadowed by his wife's.

She stood to the left of his reflection, slender and small, hardly half a head taller than Harry was now. Her skin was as pale and clear as his own, but something about her oval-shaped face and the almond curve of her bright green eyes reminded him painfully of Petunia. But his Aunt had never looked at him the way this woman now did. Her long, dark red hair fell over her face like a curtain, which she pushed back, revealing a warm, loving smile; it perfectly mimicked the only clear memory he had of her.

It was that thought which snapped him out of it:mimicked.

Harry turned to Michael, furious. "What the hell is this?" His voice came out more choked than he would have liked, but the idea that his most precious memories had been intruded on,stolen from him, had left him too angry to care.

Michael wasn't intimidated in the slightest. He looked perfectly serene. Harry's furious response to the mirror had brought him back down to earth. "It's called the Mirror of Erised. Legend says that a powerful wizard gave it to a warmongering king in tribute. But what the king didn’t know was that one of his battles had killed the wizard’s son. The mirror had been cursed. The king was enraptured by the images he saw on the mirror’s surface, thinking it told him secrets of his future conquests. In his next battle, he tried to copy what he had seen in the mirror, adjusting his strategies against the advice of his generals. It led to the decimation of his army as well as his capture and eventual death. The wizard had ended the warmonger’s reign and conquest with a single Artifice.”

"That’s a nice fairytale, but it can't tell the future." Harry had to be certain of that much. The idea that his parents were alive, but had abandoned him for some inexplicable reason, was an old fear of his. It wasn’t a state of mind he could go back to. Not now when he had allowed himself to believe that they had loved him enough to die protecting him. To do so would be to irreparably damage him.

Michael smiled wryly. "No. It just drives us mad with our heart's desire." Despite his smile, he looked terribly sad. That more than anything cooled Harry’s anger.

"Did you see your parents too?" He wasn't sure what drove him to ask that, to reveal what his own heart's desire was. Perhaps the sudden emotional upheaval had left him unbalanced, but he knew he was right. It might be the one explanation for how Michael and Robert could be brothers but have different last names. Like Anthony, Michael must have been adopted into another family.

Michael's serenity cracked as his jaw clenched. "Not as they are. As theyshouldhave been." There was something strange about the way he said that. It was as though his anger was only a thin veil.

He’s being defensive, Harry realised. But about what?

"As theyare?" Harry shook his head. "Sorry. I thought you were an orphan too." Michael blinked and then his expression loosened.

"No,I'msorry. I forgot you grew up Muggle. Of course, you wouldn't know." He said nothing else, but he seemed to be breathing easier than he was a moment ago. Harry wanted to ask what he meant, but he sensed that this was the wrong moment to start digging for the truth.

"Come on. We should get to the party." Harry told him, putting emphasis on the word we.He may not like Michael, but that didn't mean he wanted him to waste away in front of a cursed mirror.

Michael nodded dully, as though the Small Hall was the last place he wanted to be. Even so, he swiftly led the way out of the room. Harry gave the ornate mirror one last, lingering look. He memorised the faces of his mother and father, the less clear images of his cousins, grandparents and other relatives, just as he had memorised all their names. Then he left the room after Michael.

The two boys walked in silence, side by side, with an awkward tension between them. It wasn't every day your heart's desire was revealed to a classmate. Harry knew he should say something to clear the air, or at least to threaten Michael into keeping his mouth shut, but before he could say anything, everything went to hell.

It all happened so fast, and Harry knew that the only thing that saved their lives was the two months he spent training with Quirrell.

A shadow loomed over the boys, rapidly growing smaller under the flickering light of the torches. The sudden breeze against the top of his head let Harry know that something was about to hit them, fast. It was instinct that made him shove Michael to one side and- using the slight momentum he gained from that- throw himself in the opposite direction.

A giant wooden club struck the stone floor, just where they had been a second ago. Perhaps it was the fragments of stone, the club's flying wood chips or even the force of Harry's initial shove, but Michael let out a loud, pained grunt which only served to gain him the sole attention of their attacker.

Later, Harry couldn't even explain to himself what made him do it, but at that moment he didn't think at all. Snatching a fist-sized stone fragment off the ground, he threw it right into their assailant's ear. It was only when it turned towards him that Harry got a good look at it under the flickering emerald light of the torch sconce.

It was humanoid, twelve feet tall, with an abnormally small head for its large body. Its skin was a disgusting, bumpy, mottled grey and its dark bug eyes fixed on Harry with a predator's cold cruelty. Even though he was probably about to die, Harry found himself strangely grateful the beast was at least wearing a loincloth.

Strange where your mind goes during a crisis.

The beast raised the remains of its club, ready to turn him into a grease spot, but Harry was already moving. Compared to Quirrell, or even the Bludgers Eddie and Maria loved to send his way, his attacker was incredibly slow. Scrambling to his feet and jumping out of the way, the club missed him by a country mile.

Michael had just only gotten to his feet and was now looking at the monster like it was the stuff of nightmares. Harry snapped him out of it, shouting, "Needle Spell!" He didn't have time to explain further, as the club was heading his way again. This time, he held his ground. Raising his wand in a movement that had become second nature to him, he brought it back down, roaring, "DIFFINDO!"

The club was split in two, right down the middle, and clattered onto the ground.I love that spell,Harry thought. Thankfully, while he was busy admiring the strength of his Severing Charm, Michael was busy following his order.

"Acusignis!” Michael’s voice sounded fearful, but he managed to keep it steady when he spoke the incantation. Each half of their attacker's club was at least six feet long and half that thick- much too large for any First Year to transfigure- but their tips turned sharp and metallic, and that was all Harry needed.

He had not even gotten the slightest reaction when he had attempted the Levitation Charm in this morning's Charms Class, so he decided it was best to fall back on an old reliable and hope for the best. "Flipendo! Flipendo!"

His Knockback Jinxes struck their targets, sending their improvised spears into rapid vertical spins directly at their attacker's too-small head. The first spear hit the beast on the forehead, wood side first, before harmlessly clattering to the ground. The second was about to miss the head completely, but the monster looked down at the piece of wood that had just struck him on the forehead as it fell to the ground, confused.

It was the last thing it ever saw.

The second spear entered the grey giant's eyeball, sharp metal tip first, with such force and speed that it was killed instantly. Their attacker crumpled to the ground, dead, a confused expression frozen on its mottled face.

There was a moment of silence, which was only broken when Michael began to swear. "What the actual-!"

As his fellow Ravenclaw began to turn the air around him blue, Harry stumbled over to the nearest windowsill and sat down before his shaking legs gave way. Now that the fight was over, the adrenaline that had kept him alive was turning him into a jittery mess. Or perhaps he was shaking because he had justkilled something. The fact that the blood pooling on the ground was cobalt blue instead of scarlet red did extraordinarily little to make him less afraid. Was he going to be arrested? Was he going to Azkaban?

Harry's inner turmoil must have been turning into outer turmoil because, when Michael had finally calmed down, he looked at Harry warily and asked, "Are you alright? You're shaking." Before he could answer, the sound of incoming footsteps became impossible to ignore.

McGonagall, Flitwick and Quirrell came running around the corner, only to come to a dead stop at the sight that greeted them. Harry could hardly blame them. It must have been quite the sight. Two blood-splattered eleven-year-olds lurking in a dark corridor with a dead whatever-that-thing-was isn't a sight you'd expect at a typical boarding school. But then again, Harry remembered as McGonagall swiftly regained her composure and began to speak, Hogwarts was not typical in any way.

"Are you both alright?" When they both said they were okay, she quickly asked, "What happened here?" From the way Michael clenched his jaw, Harry now knew he was about to get defensive. Before he could say something stupid that would get them both in trouble, Harry decided it would be better for all if he were their spokesperson.

"We were on our way back from Quidditch Practice and headed to the party when thatthingcame out of nowhere and attacked us." Harry quickly explained how they had defeated it and barrelled onwards with questions before the teachers could ask why they were on the second floor when the party was taking place on the first. "How did it even sneak up on us? How did it even get into the castle?" Quirrell was quick to answer both of his questions, cutting him off before a veritable stream of them could get out of his mouth.

"Trolls are silent predators, it's how they hunt in the wild. As for how it got into the castle…" he trailed off and gave his colleagues an awkward look. Now that he knew his students were safe, Flitwick began to shake in silent laughter while McGonagall turned to Quirrell, looking both furious and vindicated.

"Do you see now what could have happened? A handful of first-year jinxes and spells is all that saved us from two injured students, Quirinus!" As she continued with her tirade on the increasingly browbeaten Quirrell, Flitwick regained control of himself and approached the boys, carefully making his way around the dead Troll.

"Are you boys alright? No injuries?" Harry shook his head, but Michael began to complain.

"Harry shoved me headfirst into the wall. If he hadn't just saved my life, I would have thrown him out the window." Flitwick gave him a reproachful look. “What?” Michael demanded. “It hurt!” The Charms Professor did his best to remain stern, but Harry saw his lips twitch. With just a wave of his wand, Michael stopped complaining about the bump on his head that only he believed existed.

Harry had more pressing concerns. "Professor? That thing- that Troll, was it…you know, sapient?" Both Flitwick and Michael turned to stare at him, but Harry continued, undeterred. "It's just, it was smart enough to have a weapon and-" Flitwick stopped him right there.

"It was a Dark Beast. Do not mourn for it." His voice was sharp and chiding, as though Harry had suggested something taboo. Harry had never heard his kindly Head of House speak in such a way and was taken aback that this tone was being used against him.

Mercifully, Michael decided to save him. "He's Muggle-raised, Professor. Remember?" Flitwick looked abashed.

"Yes, yes, of course." He said, now awkward. "Why don't you two join the party? You wouldn't want to miss the opening." With that mysterious hint, he shooed them away from what Harry was still sure was a crime scene.

When the two boys walked around the corner and out of earshot, Harry spoke. "That's it? I killed someone and now I'm supposed to go to a party as if nothing happened?"

"Not someone,something. Trolls are Dark Creatures. Beasts. You can't treat them like you would a Being. They’re not from this realm."

“Realm,” Harry muttered as he recalled something he’d read in The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. “Dark Creatures are from Bedlam? The Infernal Realm?” He thought the author was just embellishing his explanation for the origin of Dark Creatures. Harry hadn’t thought he was being literal.

Michael snorted. “Shouldn’t you know that? I thought you were the Defence prodigy.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What would you know about the Dark Arts anyway? You never pay attention in Quirrell's class." It was true. While Michael had heeded Anthony's warning and paid attention in every class, Defence Against the Dark Arts was the only exception. He seemed almost hesitant towards the spells they learned, as though the harmless jinxes were going to devour him.

Michael looked annoyed. "You're lucky you just saved my life, otherwise I reallywouldthrow you out the window." Harry glared right back at him, refusing to be intimidated. While he had never cast such powerful spells before, he still felt like he had enough energy to hold his own against an underachiever like Michael. However, instead of turning this into a fight, Michael backed down first.

"Whatever. It's not like anyone else wouldn't tell you if you asked." Harry did not mention that Robert had, in fact, not told him anything when he’d asked. "My mother is a Death Eater," he said bluntly.

Harry's eyes widened, but Michael continued before he could say a word. "She was caught before your parents even ended the war. She's been in Azkaban my whole life and no, I don't remember her." He blurted this out quickly and without emotion, as though used to explaining himself.

There was something about his reaction that Harry wasn't getting. "I know that there are students in this school with Death Eaters for relatives," he said, thinking of Myrose and Malfoy. "Why is it a big deal that you do too? You avoid everyone like you expect people to attack you."

Michael's voice shook. "She wasn't just a Death Eater. She was one of You-Know-Who’s Twelve Acolytes."

"Oh." Harry's whispered response said everything. The Twelve Acolytes of Lord Voldemort had been the most fearsome warriors of The Knights of Walpurgis. They had been the lieutenants of the Dark Lord, the generals of his dark army and some of them had almost been as feared by the magical populace as Voldemort himself. The identity of Michael's mother was obvious to him now, and Harry felt like a fool for not making the simple connection earlier. "Elissa Corner was your mother?" Michael flinched at the mere mention of her name. It was as though Harry had just shouted Voldemort's name in his ear.

When he nodded, Harry had to forcibly stop himself from lurching away. Just as he could hardly believe that he was the son of two heroes, his mind could not connect Michael- petty and competitive Michael- to a witch as evil as Elissa Corner. Michael, with his blonde hair and stocky build, would have been a better fit at Privet Drive than Harry ever was. He could almost imagine Vernon teaching him to play rugby in the back garden just as he had with Dudley. How could a boy so ordinary be related to such a monster?

"My father isn’t a Death Eater. He was married to another woman when my mother doused him with a love potion. It was a scandal when she was finally arrested and the Aurors found me in her home. It was an even bigger one when they confirmed who my father was." Harry raised his eyebrows, and Michael proceeded to explain further. "Half of my father's side of the family are war heroes. Martyrs. I've even got a relative that's high up in the British Ministry." He answered Harry's unasked question. "I've never met them, but I've been told my very existence was enough to kill their chances at becoming Minister." Harry wondered who would go out of their way to tell him that.

It clicked in Harry's mind as they began to descend the staircase. "That's why you avoid everyone, isn't it? At Pendle's, other kids must have brought up your… err…" Harry trailed off, as he didn't have a polite way to say what he wanted to.

"My father's assault? My conception? Or the fact that I'm a bastard?" Michael's voice was cold.

"Do people even care if a kid is born out of wedlock anymore? That's so old-fashioned." Harry's voice was weak. He couldn’t care less, but he could tell it meant something to Michael.

"Muggles might not care, but wizards do." Michael kept his eyes focused on the path ahead of them. Harry was determined to make sense of this, to understand his self-isolation, for reasons he wasn't even aware of.

"You don't remember her. You have no connection to her but blood. No one has any right to treat you badly because of what she did." Harry was firm in that conviction, at least until Michael began to laugh humourlessly.

"Right, and I suppose everyone treats you like the Great Uniter reborn because of your prodigious talent?" Michael scoffed. "It has nothing to do with your parents? You of all people aren't allowed to tell me that blood doesn't matter."

There was something odd in his voice just then, something that forced Harry to remember what he’d said in front of the mirror:

Not as they are. As theyshouldhave been.

It was only because of the horrible assault on his father that Michael even existed. Did that mean that his heart's desire was a world where he had never been born?

That idea was so awful, that Harry knew he had to say something,anything,to make Michael see the value in his existence. He spoke then, words flowing steadily and with little thought from his lips. "I didn't know about any of this, magic, the war, even my mum and dad'snamesuntil about three months ago." He could see, in his peripheral, that Michael had turned to face him. "I never fit in at my old school and bullies, you know what they're like, they can smell insecurity and vulnerability from a mile away. The less said about the relatives I lived with, the better."

He turned his head to look Michael in the eye. "I saw you in Diagon Alley, you know. Running out of Ollivander's." Michael looked more than a little mortified that Harry had seen him in tears. "I saw how your family chased after you. I know that Robert worries about you. I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes, but I'm kind of jealous you have a family that cares so much about you."

Harry didn't regret for a moment opening up like that. If it backfired on him and the other boy began to laugh at his misfortune and poor upbringing, Harry could bear it, only because he’d always wished a peer would say something empathetic to him.

Michael didn't laugh. He didn't say anything as they walked through the large doors of the Small Hall.

The large crowd of eleven to thirteen-year-olds sat on rows of benches along the walls. Professors Sprout and Archibald, the chaperones, waved them in and told them to join the others before the show began. Harry spotted Anthony and Terry in the front row along the furthest wall and moved to join them. It was only at their surprised expressions that he noticed Michael had followed him. After an awkward moment, they made room for them both, sliding along the bench.

Lisa grunted as Terry squished her against Padma, creasing her lovely dress in the process. "Don't push me!"

"I wouldn't have to push if you left me any room!"

Padma cut in, sounding appalled, but her smirk let Harry know she was just stirring it up to start trouble. "Did you just call her fat? I think he just called you fat!" Lisa turned to Terry with a dark expression.

"I would never call Lisa fat!" Terry defended himself, before inexplicably deciding to dig himself deeper. "Big boned perhaps, but never fat!"

Deciding to leave Terry to his fate, Anthony turned away as Lisa began pummelling him. He raised his eyebrows at Harry as he and Michael squeezed in next to him. "You alright?" He asked, which made Harry check himself for any sign of Troll brains or blood that might have lingered on his clothes. Of course it wasn't there. Flitwick had gotten it all.

Anthony continued, looking bemused as Harry checked himself over for Troll viscera. "It's just that we don't usually see Michael hanging around with anyone unless he has to." He had spoken with a slightly raised voice so that the other boy could hear. Michael still said nothing, and before Harry could decide whether or not to tell Anthony that they had almost died ten minutes ago, there was a sudden shout.

"Oi! Ravenclaw just got two hundred points!" Wayne Hopkins of Hufflepuff shouted as he ran into the hall with his fly down. He failed to hear Sprout's carrying whisper to pull it up as he continued. "I just saw it when I was coming back from the loo!"

"We can all tell you've been to the loo, mate." Terry gasped out, still trapped in Lisa's headlock. "Pull your fly up." There were snickers as Wayne hastily did so, his ears red. Others were more focused on the news he had delivered.

"Two hundred points? For what?" Anthony's question mimicked others around the hall, but he grew suspicious when Harry remained silent. "Do you have something to do with this?"

Harry tried to play it cool. "Maybe."

Anthony looked interested. "What could be worth two hundred points? Did you kill a co*ckatrice?" He chuckled at his joke.

"Nothing so dangerous. It was only a twelve-foot-tall Troll with a giant wooden club." Harry said, airily.

Michael snorted, and when Harry and Anthony turned to look at him, he slowly started to laugh. It must have been infectious because Harry quickly joined in. Anthony's look of complete bafflement and the confused attention of the students around them only made them laugh harder. They tried to get their laughter under control when Professor Archibald came over to tell them off, hands pressed over their mouths or biting their fists to try and shut themselves up, but they failed miserably.

It was only when the torches were extinguished and a troop of glowing white skeletons began a synchronised dance at the centre of the hall that the two boys finally stopped laughing. Harry’s sides hurt and tears were stinging his eyes but he managed to remain silent. In contrast, Michael released frequent hiccoughs, continually breaking the sound of the orchestra. Harry determinedly avoided his gaze, knowing he would crack up again if their eyes met.

Michael whispered. "If I start up again, I'm gonna piss myself." Harry had to bite his lip to swallow his chuckles. Ignoring the complaints of the audience behind him, he forced Anthony to switch seats with him, because Archibald looked like he was ready to kick them out if they started laughing again.

Maybe it had happened in front of the Mirror of Erised or during their fight with the Troll, or even amid a much too serious conversation on the way to the party. Perhaps it was just in the silly moment where they guffawed at a silly joke that no one else understood, but at some point tonight, Harry and Michael had come to understand one another. Through that, they became the best of friends.

Chapter 9: Interlude III

Chapter Text

If this were a trap, it was so well done that he could not be blamed for falling into it.

The boy had been left even more vulnerable than he could have hoped. He was easy to recruit and had proven himself a joy to teach. He was inquisitive, had a fierce desire for self-improvement and could absorb knowledge like a sponge. He’d only seen one duel in person, and he already applied what little he had witnessed into his skillset. Of course, none of this would have mattered to him in the slightest if the child had proven himself a failure, but tonight he had triumphed over certain death.

Tom smiled. The child's first triumph had felt like his own. Almost as though his hands and the boy’s were one and the same.

Worry. Pride. Satisfaction.

Was this how his own master had felt? No wonder he had always ignored the warning signs. If he had acknowledged the path that Tom was taking then he would have been forced to fight him, destroy him even. To kill one's student would be like burning an oil painting after months of painstaking, detailed work. Once you have created a masterpiece, a part of you lives on inside it, and you must have an extraordinarily strong resolve to destroy a part of yourself.

Unknowingly, the boy had played his part to perfection. The detour with the Mirror of Erised was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Young Potter's mind was a focused one, and so afraid of his own emotions that he kept them under a tight rein. As a result, it was more difficult for him to peruse the child's thoughts than he would like, without being noticed at least. Images, sounds, scents, tastes and physical sensations the child had experienced were easy to come by, but his emotions were buried deep, and his thoughts lay far beyond his reach.

As such, any information he could gather about his fledgling apprentice was to be appreciated, especially when presented to him by situations he hadn’t even engineered. His family being his heart's desire could prove to be a problem for a multitude of reasons, but the fragile bond he had formed with the Corner boy was to be cherished, along with his friendships with Boot and Goldstein. He would ensure it. The more people young Harry cared for, the more tools of manipulation and motivation Tom had in his arsenal against him. Even his heroic instinct, the way he had saved the other boy before himself, could prove useful one day.

Harry's performance against the Troll was infinitely better than his flight from Myrose and Fredricks. He’d been afraid then, that his first test had proven the boy a coward, but no. It was better than he could have hoped for. The boy simply knew the difference between a fight he could and couldn’t win. Courage was necessary for what came next, but discernment was even more so. It was a lesson that was hard taught in his experience, and he did not relish the thought of guiding another through the process. He was glad that life had already taught the boy its most important lesson, as it had once taught him.

His brutal method for dealing with the Troll was exactly what Tom had been hoping for. Despite what Flitwick might claim, a Troll was sapient, at least enough that its death left a mark on the one who had killed it. The boy's initial reaction to his first kill was not concerning enough to warrant a new method either. When he had poked his head into the Small Hall, he saw that Harry had bounced back with almost alarming resiliency, laughing and mimicking the skeleton trope's dance movements with his friends.

His apprentice had passed the second test with flying colours. Now it was time to begin the next phase, and if the boy should baulk at what was asked of him, well… history would not repeat itself.

After all, it was the student's responsibility to learn from their teacher's mistakes and he would not repeat his master's failure.

Chapter 10: The Greatest Decoy

Chapter Text

"I'm starting to miss the days when you used to avoid us," Anthony told Michael, as he observed the chessboard before him in despair.

Harry glanced up from the third entry of his new favourite book series: Captain Armstrong and the Cult of Zankoku. He was unsure what had Anthony so worried. While he didn't know much about chess, he could tellthat Anthony was in the stronger position. Michael seemed to agree with this assessment.

"You just don't like it when someone makes you work for your victories."

Terry laughed. "You should have seen how he sulked after Gran beat him in backgammon last Christmas. Mum had to bribe him out of his room with cake."

Anthony scowled. "I did not sulk, and that happened three years ago, not last year!"

"Did it? Well, you still got your arse kicked by an old lady."

"I let her win! I didn't want to ruin her Christmas." He looked embarrassed now.

Harry decided to pile on. "It must be such a burden being so naturally talented,” he sighed, turning a page. “Being good at everything must make life so hard." Michael and Terry snickered at Anthony's flustered expression.

"I don't want to play anymore." He sat back in his seat, and his king piece toppled itself at his command.

"You are such a baby!" Terry was outright laughing now. "You just hate not being good at something."

"No! I'm just not used to it."

Michael shook his head smiling. "Do you even hear yourself?" Anthony was about to respond but saw that Harry was ready to reply to whatever he said. He looked at each of them in turn and finally seemed to realise they were just messing with him.

"Oh great, there's three of you now," he groaned and slumped further in his seat. He wasn’t truly annoyed; a smile tugged at the corner of his lips at their laughter.

Michael had slipped into their little group as though he had always been a part of it, and Harry was glad for a particularly selfish reason. Anthony and Terry had been more than welcoming to him, but there were times when he felt like an outsider amongst the two brothers. With Michael around, he at least had someone else when the other two were practically speaking in secret code.

And Michael was always around. His behaviour with Terry had hardly changed, going from antagonistic one second to sharing one silly mind the next. Harry had already learned what a bad idea it was to leave them alone together for too long when he and Anthony returned from the library to find them having a water fight with toy wands. This normally wouldn't be a problem, but the two had decided to have their battle on "neutral ground." They had somehow managed to convince the title holder of the Worst Prefect position, Christopher, to open Anthony's dorm for them after faking some kind of homework-related emergency. They were lucky that Anthony was such a good sport about it; Harry would have killed them if they had flooded his dorm.

It was a good thing Anthony had such an even temper, as Michael's peevish nature could be a bit much sometimes. He was far more patient with him than Harry was, and Michael seemed to rely on it. Even before Halloween, he always took Anthony's words to heart.

It wasn’t just his circle of friends that had been affected by Halloween. A few other changes happened as a consequence of the Troll attack. The biggest happened after copies of The Daily Prophet were delivered to Hogwarts the day after Halloween.

BOY-WHO-LIVED SLAYS TROLL

By Nelson Probe

"What?" Harry asked woodenly, and Anthony repeated what he had just read to him.

Harry knew something had happened as soon as he had entered the Great Hall, as everyone present, teachers included, watched as he and his friends as they took their usual seats near the front Ravenclaw table. Having last night's events on the front page of the biggest magical newspaper in the country wasn't what he had expected though.

"It's not just The Daily Prophet either. Wizarding World News reported it too." He turned the newspapers over to Harry as soon as they had been delivered to him. Both papers had identical pictures of the slain Troll. Mercifully, it had its head turned away, hiding its fatal wound. Harry began to read the Prophet first.

"What does The Oracle say?" Michael asked. Anthony made a noise of disgust.

"I don't read that rag. Only biased morons do."

“Oi!” Michael sounded offended. "My brother reads it!"

"If The Daily Prophet is considered good, I don't ever want to read The Oracle," Harry said, putting the newspaper aside. "It’s just pointed speculation disguised as reporting." He tutted. "Assassination attempt on a national treasure.” What rubbish."

"I don't get the Prophet for its quality in writing," Anthony explained as Harry pulled Wizarding World News towards himself. "Terry likes the daily crossword but he keeps spending all his pocket money on his special ingredients, so I get it for him." Anthony paid the delivery owl his four Knuts, before watching it take off.

Surprised, Michael looked at Terry. "What?” His voice was defensive. “The Prophet might not have the best crosswords, but all the other papers release them weekly. I can't wait that long."

"You being impatient tracks. But crosswords? Really?" Michael looked doubtful.

"I'm allowed to have hobbies!" Terry said, defensively.

“No one said you weren’t. But doing a daily crossword is an old man’s hobby,” Michael snorted.

Harry sighed, putting down Wizarding World News as he finally finished Leonard Torres' much more objective article. "At least they reported that it was just an accident," he said, relieved. After a decade spent under the protection of a bodyguard, he didn't want people to think he was in danger wherever he went. "How'd they even figure out it was us in the first place?"

"House points," Michael said, around a mouthful of cereal. He swallowed before elaborating. "Robert says there's a book in the trophy room that records all points lost and gained and the reasons for it. Keeps the points system honest."

"So, someone saw the points, who they were awarded to and why and then wrote to the media?" Terry pieced together, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. After a moment, his expression slipped back into his usual relaxed state, as though being upset was too difficult for him.

"Or someone caught a glimpse of the Troll before the teachers could clean it up, snapped a picture of it and wrote home about it." Anthony reasoned. "They might have even been suspicious of Ravenclaw's sudden lead and that led to them looking into it. I mean a one-hundred-and-ten-point gap is nothing to sneeze at."

It was true. Ravenclaw House had been in a jubilant mood all morning. As the now-confirmed Troll slayers, Harry and Michael spent November being treated like heroes by their entire House. They were given the most comfortable seats by the fireplace, treats from Hogsmeade were provided to them and their books were safely returned to the library for them. It was as if they were the Kings of Ravenclaw Tower. It had been a long time since Ravenclaw had won the House Cup, and it was clear what even the chance of victory meant to the older students.

A part of Harry was reluctant to enjoy it, too afraid of the repercussions. At least he was until Flitwick informed him that Magister Akingbade did not blame Headmaster Dumbledore or the Hogwarts staff for the incident.

"Why would he?" Flitwick looked amused at Harry's worry. "It was only a Troll." Harry was baffled by this laissez-faire attitude, at least until he remembered what Cedric Diggory had said during the first duel of the school year:

We're not as fragile as Muggles. We can heal our injuries a lot faster and easier than they can.

Harry was finding it difficult to grasp what was and wasn't dangerous by wizarding standards. Trips to the bank, buying a wand, flying sports, duelling and Trolls were all considered child's play or a part of everyday life. So, what is considered dangerous? What does an Aurors do? What did my parents do?

Harry planned to read The Auror's Enchiridion that very same night, both curious and scared to find out. For now, however, he got to the real reason he came to Flitwick's office.

“Sir? I've been studying detection and unlocking charms recently, an extra credit project for Professor Quirrell, and I noticed something odd.” Harry reached inside his mokeskin pouch and withdrew his sheathed kindjal. “I can tell that there’s some kind of enchantment placed upon this knife my parents left for me, but I can’t tell what.” That wasn’t precisely true. Harry knew it had something to do with unlocking charms, but he didn’t want to mention anything about his parent's letters. Those were private.

Flitwick took the blade from him gently and seemed to examine it with his hands. “Goblin Silver. Best for long-lasting Artifices.” He brought it to his ear as though listening to sounds that were far outside of Harry’s hearing range. “This is very well done, your mother's work if I am not mistaken.” He frowned, considering. “It will take some time for me to learn what its intended purpose is. At least if you do not mind me damaging it?” Harry shook his head rapidly. “I will let you know what I find.”

Harry's emotions must have been clear to see, as Flitwick smiled kindly at him. “I'll return it to you in the exact condition you gave it to me.” He promised. That made Harry feel a little better.

His ever-growing legend had not been where the changes ended. Where before Michael refused to speak to him after their first flying lesson, he now spent most of the day by his side: back and forth from Quidditch practice, classes, meals and extracurriculars. Harry, who had always been painfully lonely, quickly grew to enjoy this near-constant presence. He could recognise that Michael had grown up without friends too, and he was eager to establish firm bonds. However, even Harry’s childhood desire for companionship had its limits.

"You don't have to come, you know." He told him one day, as the four boys rushed to Charms Club. Harry had been late getting back, his private lesson with Quirrell running over its usual length, and his friends had been kind enough to wait for him. "You don't even like the Charms class, so why bother with the extra work?"

Michael looked flushed, but it wasn't because of their pace; he had the best stamina on the Quidditch team. "Flitwick has been hounding me about it. Says I should live up to my potential, or something." Harry smiled ruefully. Flitwick had been telling Michael that since September, the only difference now is that he wanted to spend as much time with his friends as he could. Harry supposed he couldn't fault him for that. Although, later, he had to put his foot down about Languages Club and his duelling lessons when Michael tried to follow him to them too. A boy needed some alone time.

Michael's seamless transition into their little band was not the only reason November was so much more pleasant than the months that had preceded it.

Harry's blackthorn wand had finally started to obey his will. He hadn't realised it until now, as he had only wandless, wordless magic to compare it to, but his wand had been fighting against him this entire time. He’d only come to realise this during his first session with Quirrell after the Troll attack.

"Protego!" A translucent shield was conjured from his wand, snapping into place in front of him, just in time to halt and dissipate Quirrell's Jelly-Legs-Jinx.

Harry froze. Quirrell froze too. Neither of them expected the Shield Charm to work. "What was that?!" Quirrell shouted, elated.

Harry stared at his wand as though he had never seen it before. This had been happening all day in classes. From Transfiguration to Charms, every spell he’d attempted today had gotten a solid reaction. Not a perfect reaction, not even a good reaction, but a reaction nonetheless, which was infinitely better than the empty results he had been getting before. It confused him at first, but he assumed that luck played its part; the two spells that had been asked of him were simply attuned to him naturally, like the Dark Magic detection spell, Verdimillious, which he’d successfully produced during his first week. But maybe-

Before he could continue that thought, Quirrell cut in. "Have you got the rest of the Basic Three down? Because I'd love to finally get around to teaching you the Auror's Basic Seven." He stressed the word seven, as though to emphasise how slow Harry's learning was. If it was meant to light a fire under him, it worked.

Raising his wand, he began to demonstrate his newfound mastery of the Basic Three. When he left the room hours later, he had four new spells that he had been tasked to master to complete the Seven.

When Harry had returned to his dorm, he was glad Argos was settled comfortably on his perch. The window was cracked open, but Harry didn't mind the brisk November chill if it meant his anti-social owl could come and go as he pleased, especially if he needed him at a moment's notice.

"I'm glad you're here. I need to write a letter to someone in London. If you're up to the journey that is?" Argos ruffled his feathers but didn't rise to the bait, showing more maturity than Harry possessed. Taking his seat at his desk, Harry wrote on a neat length of vellum.

Dear Master Ollivander,

I am sorry to trouble you, but I have found myself with a curious problem.

My blackthorn wand seems to be acting strangely. Where before it was a struggle to get any kind of response from it, now I can get a reaction with little effort. Is this cause for alarm? Should I expect further changes?

Perhaps “problem” isn't the right word for it, as it seems to have a positive impact on my schoolwork. However, I am worried enough to write to you now.

Please write back soon.

Kind Regards,

Harry Potter

Harry read and reread his letter a dozen times, hoping it sounded polite enough. Ollivander was practically a stranger to him, and therefore under no obligation to reply to his letter. Harry hoped good manners were enough to earn him the old Wandmaker's goodwill. It was probably better than writing to him complaining about the quality of his products.

Harry froze. Was that how his letter read? As though he were a complaining customer? Harry wanted to reread the letter another dozen times with a fresh perspective, but by that point, it was sealed in an envelope and tied to his owl's leg. Looking out the window, he couldn't even spot Argo's silhouette flying away in the early evening gloom. Sighing, Harry tried to put it out of his mind as he got ready for his usual evening bath. After hours of having jinxes thrown at him, he needed to destress.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The first Saturday of November brought along even better news. Gryffindor had bested Slytherin during the first Quidditch game of the year. Harry wasn't sure why this was good news when Robert informed them of this during the team meeting. He stated as much.

"It's because neither team caught the Snitch during the game," he said, seemingly put out that Harry didn't automatically understand.

In a swap of their initial roles, Michael was far more patient than his brother with Harry's lack of Quidditch literacy. "Gryffindor's Chasers proved better than Slytherin’s, but Robert thinks our team has an equal Chaser line-up than them."

Marcus nodded. His arms were folded so his large Keeper gloves poked out like the hands of a cartoon character. "I was worried about Slytherin’s Chasers, but if they can't get past Wood then I'm not going to let them get past me." They all turned to him, surprised. It was rare to see stoic Marcus so fired up. Maria even wolf-whistled, but he ignored her as he stared at Robert with intensity. For his part, Robert just looked embarrassed.

Harry glanced at Michael, who looked just as confused as the rest of them. Robert spoke again, avoiding Marcus' eye. "Harry, in our match against Hufflepuff, you shouldn't mess around." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you meant to say Harry and not Eddie?" Eddie didn't take any offence.

"The man makes a good point boss, but I think I understand the confusion. We're practically twins." The redhead tried to squish the side of his face against Harry's to compare their looks.

Maria scoffed. "You should be offended, Harry. I would be if someone confused me with a human carrot." Now Eddie was offended.

"Ginger jokes?! Really?!"

Robert, who’d been trying to get his point across the whole time but couldn't get a word in edgeways, finally snapped. "SHUT IT!" He roared. He slammed his fist into the locker, making poor Fiona jump. His face was now red with anger instead of whatever had embarrassed him before.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! We keep messing around during practice and our biggest game is in just two weeks!" Robert wasn't just angry, Harry realised, he was scared. This was his first year as Quidditch Captain, and from what he’d gathered, his reputation and record meant everything to him.

"Hufflepuff is our biggest obstacle. Gryffindor had to let Charlie Weasley go for the Triwizard, and now they’re stuck with a Seeker Harry can fly circles around. The Slytherin Seeker is skilled, but their Chasers aren't worth worrying about, at least when it comes to goal scoring." Robert's voice lowered now that they were all giving him their undivided attention. "Hufflepuff has the most even team. Great Chasers, solid Keeper, merciless Beaters and a fantastic Seeker." Robert was now looking right at Harry again.

"That's why I can't mess around in particular, isn't it?" Harry waited for Robert to nod before he smiled dangerously. "You don't have anything to worry about. Trust me, Robert. There's no way I'm going to lose to Cedric Diggory."

Once practice was over, Michael turned to him as they made the trek back up to Ravenclaw Tower. "What's your problem with Diggory? He didn't say anything to you, did he?" He frowned at the idea.

Harry had noticed that whenever someone was even slightly rude to him, Michael was quick to back him up. It had led to more than one aborted fight as Harry had to drag him away before he made a mountain out of a molehill. Harry was quick to nip it in the bud this time before his overprotective friend tracked down Cedric.

"I haven't got a problem with him. I just want to beat him." Harry explained simply. Michael looked at him blankly before his face lit up in comprehension.

"Is this about Friday's duel?" His question hit the nail right on the head. Harry nodded.

Just like Eliza Hawthorn before him, Cedric had challenged the 24th Sentinel, but it wasn't the blonde Slytherin girl he faced. No, she had climbed even higher over the last month, claiming the 23rd rank for herself. Cedric had faced the new 24th Sentinel and won, claiming a spot for himself even though he was just a Fourth Year.

Harry had attended every official duel that had taken place this year, even when many in the school had not. He did so partly to learn spells and techniques that he could add to his repertoire, but he did it mostly for the intense spark it lit in his chest every time he watched the Sentinels clash against one another. Was it ambition or a competitive spirit? Whatever it was, he was slowly becoming addicted to the sensation. It made him anxious to know what duelling himself would feel like.

Michael's voice shook him out of his thoughts. "So, you're not ready to beat Diggory or Hawthorn in a duel like you really want to, so you feel as though you have to settle for the Quidditch pitch?" Harry glanced at him with concern. He knew how seriously his new friend took Quidditch. Aside from his intense attitude on the pitch, every inch of his dorm was plastered with Falmouth Falcons memorabilia.

Fortunately, Michael did not seem concerned at all. Instead, he looked pleased. "When you tried out for the team, I was afraid you weren't going to take it seriously. I'm glad I was wrong, even if you’re going about it in a weird way." Harry returned his smile as they stepped into the common room.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

On game day, Harry followed Michael's routine as he had before tryouts. He ate what he ate, stretched when he stretched and even went for a walk around the empty stadium with him for a warmup. It was only when Harry began putting on his gear in the same way and pace as he did, that Michael finally snapped at him.

"Why do you always copy me?" He demanded. His loud voice echoed throughout the (mercifully) empty changing room. "You've been doing it since tryouts. It’s creepy!"

Harry shrugged. “I've been doing it since our first flying lesson,” he corrected. “I copied your grip so I could beat you in that race," he added when Michael’s face remained blank. "It was different from the one Hooch showed us, and I wanted to see if it was better. Anyway, I only copied you in that lesson, the first tryout and our first practice session."

Michael looked exasperated. "Why?"

"I always copy people who seem like they know what they're doing." Harry shrugged. It was the truth. The Dursleys had taught him startingly little, and Lupin hadn't always been around, so Harry had taught himself how to behave and succeed by mimicking the methods of the most capable individuals he came across. "I memorised your routine because you’re a good player. If I do what you do, that'll make me a good player too, won't it?" Michael looked confused, as though he couldn't decide if he should be flattered Harry was complimenting him or annoyed that he was being observed and mimicked so closely. Before he could figure it out, Robert and Marcus appeared, soon followed by a toast-munching Eddie.

Now that gameday had finally arrived, half the Ravenclaw team could not be more grateful. Robert, Michael, Marcus and Harry had fully devoted themselves to their training over the last fortnight, even cutting back on their extracurriculars. Robert had even managed to convince the Slytherin team to give them some of their practice time slots. "You want to see Gryffindor lose, don't you?" He had said to Flint- the trollish Slytherin Captain- playing on the old Gyrffindor-Slytherin rivalry. “Do you trust us to do it, or Hufflepuff?”

Flint grunted. “Hufflepuff.”

Marcus sighed, frustratedly. “Just give us the time slots, you idiot.” Normally, insulting someone was a poor way to get them to do you a favour, but Marcus was rather intimidating. Flint signed over the time slots without any fuss.

The other three team members hadn’t been so gung-ho about the extra practice. Maria hadn't been afraid of making her displeasure known even though she did all that was asked of her, too proud to be left behind. Eddie put in a solid effort, but he always ended up distracted by something, which wasn’t the best trait for a Beater to have.

What disturbed them all was when Fiona finally snapped at Robert. "I've got other things I have to do, you know! I can't practice all the time!" She shouted up at him, before stomping off the pitch. It was that more than anything else that made Robert shorten practices the last few days before the game. No one liked seeing Fiona mad.

Despite feeling like he was on the top of his own individual game, Harry feared this last-minute burst of team drama was going to lose them the match today.

The Ravenclaw Quidditch team exited their changing rooms and made their way to the centre of the pitch on foot. Harry was a little perturbed by the size of the crowd. Even during the opening duel of the school year, the stands hadn't even been half full. There weren’t this many students at Hogwarts, or even the Great Hall would feel crowded.

"Tickets get sold to family and friends of players," Michael explained, as they made their way to the centre. "Whatever's left gets sold off to the general public."

The Hufflepuff Captain, a behemoth called Richard Watkins, Christopher's older brother, shook Robert's hand a little too firmly, making the other boy wince.

On Professor Hooch's command, the Snitch and Bludgers were released into the air and a minute later the players were told to mount their brooms and hover. After a tense moment in which she stared intently at the players (She does the same thing during every school duel. How melodramatic can one person be? Harry wondered) she raised her wand high above her head, and a sound like a cannon went off.

The game began in chaos.

Eddie shot upwards towards a Bludger and batted it right at a Hufflepuff Chaser. One of their Beaters, Watkins, got in the way but he was too close to swing his bat. Making a split-second decision between protecting his teammate or himself, he chose to shield his Chaser with his own body.

The crowd groaned in sympathy as the Bludger struck his side, but those groans turned into shouts of outrage from the Hufflepuff stands, as Maria struck the rebounded Bludger right back at Watkins. She was so close that she managed to hit him in the same spot Eddie had before he could even regain a stable hold on his broomstick. He fell off his Nimbus 2000 and landed with a heavy thud on the grassy pitch, twenty feet below.

At the same moment, Fiona snatched the Quaffle and shot forward at top speed towards the opposing team's goals. This would normally be a bad idea, but with Ravenclaw’s Beaters keeping the Hufflepuff Captain and one of the Chasers busy, all she had to worry about was one Beater, who was too busy flying towards the other side of the pitch after the other Bludger.

As Fiona sped forward, Robert and Michael used their bodies as battering rams, barging into the two free Hufflepuff Chasers before they could get anywhere near their teammate.

When Fiona neared the Keeper, she made a feint towards the left hoop before throwing the Quaffle to the right. The Keeper was a sharp one and didn’t fall for the feint. He would have been able to block the Quaffle if it wasn't for the tight spin she put on it. Fiona had worked hard to improve her accuracy and Quaffle-handling skills over the last few months, and it paid off as the ball sailed right into the middle hoop. The crowd of blue and bronze began to chant her name. WOOD! WOOD! WOOD!

"An unbelievably aggressive start by Ravenclaw!" Lee Jordan was commentating again, and he sounded as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Harry could hardly believe it and he had been there when Robert had told them what to do. "But you can't argue with results! Watkins has been knocked off his broom and is out for the first half, and Ravenclaw leads 10-0 after a clean goal from newcomer Fiona Wood. You must be proud of her, Oliver! Or are you scared she'll score against you too?" Lee teased the Gryffindor Captain, who responded with a rude hand gesture.

Harry couldn't focus on any of this, because as soon as Hooch gave the signal for the match to begin, Cedric Diggory came barrelling right at him.

Harry, not expecting such an aggressive opening move from a Seeker previously called "soft" by Maria, was slow to dodge. The larger boy missed him by a hair but the slipstream he left behind was enough to knock him into the course of the second Beater as he passed by. The large boy clipped him in the shoulder as he shot towards the other Bludger, sending Harry into a spin.

Cedric didn't let up. He came at him again and again from different angles. By the time Fiona scored and had the crowd chanting her name, the other two Chasers had joined in on the attack, trying to pincer him in. In his peripheral, Harry saw the Beater leading the Bludger in his direction as the others tried to keep him pinned between them.

Harry knew why this was happening. At the school level, most Seekers were both fourth Chasers and third Beaters. They gave up the Snitch as a lost cause and helped their team by sowing discord amongst the opposition's Chaser lineup. They stopped goals and helped Beaters attack other players like Cedric was doing now. The Seeker was every team's wildcard and therefore they were every team's biggest target for attack.

The reason Harry was so surprised by Cedric's chosen tactic was that the other boy was a similar type of Seeker to himself; a Seeker who has proven themself capable of spotting, chasing and capturing the Golden Snitch.

Quidditch games were two forty-five-minute halves, and the Snitch was not only worth fifty points, but its capture ended the whole match early.

It was clear that Cedric was planning to knock Harry off his broom so he was free to search for the Snitch himself for the rest of the half. But why would he even bother with a rookie? All Harry had heard for months was how Cedric was his biggest threat, how he needed to train hard to even keep up with him-

Harry suddenly understood. He's afraid of me.

Maybe afraid wasn't the right word, but he was threatened by Harry, and why wouldn't he be? Seekers who hunted for the Golden Snitch were typically small and slight, as less air resistance and drag meant faster speeds when chasing the Snitch.

Perhaps Cedric had been both of those things last season, but he must’ve had a growth spurt somewhere down the line. Fifteen already, the Fourth-Year boy was tall and broad-shouldered, with muscles that could be seen even through his form-fitting yellow and black uniform. Harry on the other hand was a skinny eleven-year-old and the fastest flyer in Ravenclaw. Maybe even the fastest flyer in the whole of Hogwarts.

With a fresh burst of confidence, Harry smiled as dodged another barge from a Chaser and did a Sloth Grip Roll over Cedric's head as he dived for the grass.

I'll give you a reason to be afraid of me.

He levelled out five feet from the ground and led the way over to the Ravenclaw's hoops. Now that the Quaffle was about to be put back into play, the two Chasers abandoned Harry and returned to support their teammate. Harry maintained a perfect speed, just enough for Cedric to feel like he had to work to keep up with him.

Once the Quaffle had been put back into play, Harry took off like a rocket, heading right at the Hufflepuff Chaser line-up at the centre of the pitch.

It was the exact opposite of what Robert had told him to do, and with good reason. Harry's slight build might give him a speed advantage, but when it came to body contact, he would lose every time.

But Harry wasn't planning on touching them.

The slipstream Cedric had hit him with at the start of the game had given him the idea. He wasn't sure if it had been done deliberately, but Harry thought it might work quite well for him. Cedric had knocked him off balance with just twenty feet worth of build-up, so what would happen if Harry came in at his top speed from the goal line?

The answer was a lot. Harry wasn't sure if it was the slipstream or the sight of a demented eleven-year-old coming at them at over fifty miles an hour, but the Hufflepuff Chasers scattered like startled pigeons when he zoomed through the smallest gap in between them.

Robert and Fiona were just as startled, but Michael had either seen him coming or had read his mind. He caught the Quaffle Hooch had put back into play and carried it towards the goal as fast as he could.

Harry never slowed down. Shooting right past the now chaotic centre line, he flew right up to the Hufflepuff Keeper (not touching him as a non-Beater attacking him would be an illegal move) and kept swerving into whatever direction he turned his head. Michael practically flew through the left hoop as it was left so open.

"What was that?!" Lee shouted into his microphone, as the crowd sans Hufflepuff began roaring their adulations. "Potter turned it all around in a second! From having half the Hufflepuff team hounding him to then leading Ravenclaw to another goal… seriously, what was that? Fifteen seconds? I had my doubts about Ravenclaw’s line-up, but the three newcomers have already proven their worth! It's 20-0 Ravenclaw and we're just two minutes into the game. Can Hufflepuff turn it around?"

As it turned out, they could not.

At least at first. While Cedric had given up on hounding Harry and instead began searching for the Snitch, Eddie and Maria seemed to take Lee's comment about the new Ravenclaw line-up personally. They regularly left the Chasers abandoned to attack Cedric, who was forced to practically perform an aerial show with how many dives and spins they were forcing him to make.

Maria and Eddie only felt comfortable abandoning the Chasers when Harry intermittently gave up his search for the Snitch to hound Hufflepuff's Chasers and their remaining Beater.

This back-and-forth worked for a while, giving Ravenclaw a comfortable lead of 70-10, but there were only so many times Harry could fly into someone's face before they learned to stop flinching. Hufflepuff finally seemed to catch on that Harry would be risking injury if he collided with them, so they just began to ignore him.

Even with him blocking their vision and the Ravenclaw Beaters overwhelming their Seeker and remaining Beater, Hufflepuff admirably managed to get the score to 80-30 by half-time. Despite their team being down a man and having no new surprising players, Hufflepuff held their own. There was a reason Robert had called them this year's best team.

Harry followed his teammates into the changing rooms, collapsing into a chair and peeling off his gloves and goggles. You wouldn't think it from just looking, but Quidditch was quite the strenuous sport. Controlling the broom's direction with his arms, keeping his balance with his feet on the stirrups, using his thighs and hips for rolls, constantly sitting up to slow down and then putting himself flat along the broom to increase his speed and always, always being on the lookout for an attack, meant that his body's muscles were tensed from the moment they kicked off to the second they landed. It was fun for a while, then your body demanded to know why it was being punished.

Robert waved him up. "We need to stretch." He was out of breath, but led the team through their stretches, keeping their muscles loose for the second half.

Harry made sure to wiggle his fingers (he had been half afraid he wouldn't be able to catch the Snitch after gripping his broomstick tightly for so long) as Robert finally let them relax and hydrate.

"Good improvisation. I was half-afraid that they'd knock you out in the first minute." Marcus said to him.

"You and me both." Harry smiled before he noticed something strange. While the others were all talking to each other, Michael sat in silence, staring at the wall. Harry was about to go check on him when Fiona stopped him.

"Don't. He's trying to keep his focus. His body might have left the game, but his mind hasn't." Harry stared at her until she blushed. "My brother does it a lot. Says Quidditch is a mental game too."

Harry grinned. "Did you practice putting a spin on your throws because you want to score on him?" Fiona's blush deepened, but she didn't deny it.

"He thinks he's the only one in the family that can go pro. I want to prove him wrong." By the time she finished speaking, she looked determined, cool even. Before he could tell her that, Robert interrupted.

"We shouldn't focus on a future game in the middle of the one we're already playing." He chided her. "Let's keep our minds focused on the second half."

"What's there to focus on? We keep doing what we're doing, and we’ll win," Eddie said happily, lying across the bench with his hands behind his head.

"Don't be thick. Can't you see they're gaining on us?" Maria frowned at him. "The only thing worse than losing is losing after you had a solid lead."

Robert nodded. "She's right. We need to change our approach and push our advantage." He turned to Harry. "You did excellent work in the first half, but now I really do need you to find that Snitch."

Harry nodded. Nothing more needed to be said.

Once the fifteen-minute halftime was up, the teams lined up at the centre line, just as they had done before. Richard Watkins had finally gotten back from the medical tent, and as he stepped forward again to oppose Robert, he glared at the Ravenclaw Beaters. Maria blew him a mocking kiss and Eddie gave him a cheeky grin, shooting a finger gun.

"Back already, tough guy?" Richard growled at Eddie and probably would have shown him just how tough he was, regardless of Hooch's presence, if Marcus hadn't shaken his head.

"I wouldn't." His warning was quiet, but his voice was still clearly audible over the noise of the crowd. This gave Richard pause. While he was larger than the Ravenclaw Keeper, Marcus had a dark vibe to him. Harry didn't blame him at all for hesitating. More than once he had counted himself lucky that Marcus seemed to like him. He wasn't someone you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

"If you're all quite done." Hooch ground out, glaring at them all for wasting her time. Richard still looked torn between Eddie's mocking expression and Marcus’ they'll-never-find-your-body vibe, so Cedric had to step forward and pull him back to the rest of his team, sans handshake.

Hooch sighed. "Kids," she said disdainfully. While Harry agreed with her, he still thought that was a pretty wild attitude for a teacher to have. She flew into the air and waited for them to mount and hover before releasing the balls in their specific order and giving the signal for the second half to begin.

In a reversal from the first half, it was Harry who shot towards Cedric this time. Not because he was ignoring what Robert had said, but to get back at Cedric for the last kickoff before beginning his hunt for the Snitch. Was that petty? Yes, very much so. But it felt so good to see the opposing Seeker flail around in the air as he flew past.

He tuned out the game, focusing intensely on the hunt. It was a more difficult search than he was used to. Normally it was just his team here, and the only distraction was the Bludgers that Eddie and Maria would send his way. Now he had to be on the lookout for attacks while keeping an eye on Cedric's progress just in case he spotted the Snitch and ignore the crowd and the commentary.

Harry wasn’t sure how long he was searching before he spotted the Snitch, but there it was, clear as day, near the Slytherin stands. Harry didn't hesitate or play it casual. What would be the point? He and Cedric were of an equal distance to it, and he had already proven himself the faster flier.

Harry took off faster than he had all half. The Hufflepuff Chasers paused as they assumed he was back to his old tricks, and even Cedric didn't give chase. It was only when he passed them by a wide margin did they, the crowd and Lee Jordan finally realise what Harry had seen.

"It's the Snitch! Potter’s seen the Snitch!"

Harry didn’t allow himself to acknowledge the crowd's gasps. He tuned out the commentary and even ignored how Michael took advantage of the Hufflepuffs' hesitation to score another goal, making the score 110-70 Ravenclaw. He ignored all of it, as he chased the Snitch with single-minded determination.

Or he did until he fell off his broom.

Right when he was within spitting distance of the now fleeing Snitch, when he was close enough to see the terrified expressions on the faces of every Slytherin in the stands who all seemed to think he was about to crash into them, his broom froze in mid-air.

In retrospect, Harry had no idea how he pulled it off, especially without breaking his wrists, but his grip on his now spatially frozen broomstick remained strong. While his body was lifted off his invisible cushion charmed seat and began to hurtle forward at fifty miles an hour, Harry kept his grip and swung forward and then underneath his broom, only letting go, one hand at a time, so that his shoulders didn't pop out of their sockets. He readjusted his grip while he was still in motion, so one second, he was hurtling to his doom and the next he was hanging seventy feet off the ground.

There were screams and shouts of horror as Harry's broom began to buck and thrash, as though it were a rampaging horse that was trying to shake him off. Harry could feel his shoulders beginning to burn as he waited for a moment when he could mount his broom again.

He was so focused on his broom he didn't notice Hooch bring the game to a halt as the remaining thirteen players tried to approach him. Every time they did, the thrashing would only increase, and the broom would fly higher and higher.

Richard Watkins got fed up before anyone else and made a speedy attempt to get his broomstick underneath Harry's. The second he did so, the crowd screamed as Harry's broomstick bucked so wildly that one of his hands came free. Harry tightened the loose grip on his other hand, wondering how much longer he could hold on and how much a two-hundred-foot drop would hurt.

He needn't have worried. Not long after Richard's failed rescue attempt, Harry’s broom finally stopped trying to murder him. When it stopped moving erratically, he grabbed it with his free hand and, after a tentative moment to see if this was some kind of trick, he swung himself back into starting position.

"If you can land, then land now!" Hooch bellowed from far below.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Harry muttered, as he was already headed for the grass.

Touching down gently, his teammates landed beside him in a loud clamour of worried voices and angry accusations of who could be behind his cursed broomstick. Harry ignored whatever it was they were saying, choosing instead to watch the four Heads of Houses charge onto the pitch.

Without a word, McGonagall took the broomstick from him and began to wave her wand over it. Flitwick was asking Harry if he was okay to which he could only nod. He wasn't taking anything in, still disturbed that he had almost died on a broomstick that he had ridden a hundred times. He remained dimly aware of his surroundings when Quirrell arrived, with a guilty Myrose in tow.

"We know who did this," Quirrell said, pushing Myrose forward to his confused and then appalled Head of House.

"Why on earth-?" Slughorn cut himself off, as he seemed to realise exactly why. "How on earth did he do this? This level of Dark Magic is beyond him." He declared this both loudly and bluntly, uncaring who heard him dismiss his own student's academic prowess.

"I believe someone has been tutoring him," Quirrell said this in a way that made it clear who he thought that someone was.

Slughorn looked shocked at the accusation. "I would never! How dare you even suggest-!"

"I seem to remember you had a certain fondness for Myrose's brother. You favoured him did you not? Turned a blind eye to his misdeeds, no matter who he hurt-!" Quirrell looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. It was frightening.

"Gentlemen! You are in public!" Flitwick interrupted, sharply. "You can continue this once we’ve gotten the students back to the castle." Harry heard that and finally snapped out of his shock.

"Back to the castle? You do mean after the game?" He hadn’t almost died just to have the match cancelled, or worse, postponed to a later date. They had the advantage over Hufflepuff right now and their tricks wouldn't work a second time.

Flitwick looked astonished. “Mr Potter," he began in a strict tone before he seemed to reconsider. "Harry," he said, more gently, "no one would expect you to continue after all that."

Harry frowned. "I'm not doing this because of anyone's expectations. I'm doing this because I want to win." There was a smattering of laughter behind him. Some of the other players seemed to think his bullheadedness was amusing, while others just looked concerned. Harry glanced back and saw that Michael and Cedric were the only ones who seemed to understand where his mind was at, as they looked as determined as he felt.

"Your broom has been cursed and we don't have another Nimbus 2000 lying around."

Harry was undeterred. "I'll fly on one of the Cleansweep Tens then."

Hooch cut in. "That is exactly fair to your team-" she paused when Cedric came to stand at Harry's side against the teachers.

"It'll be fair if I ride a Cleansweep Ten too," he said, winking down at Harry.

"Cedric, you’re not the captain of our team. You can't make decisions unilaterally-" Sprout began to scold her student before she was interrupted.

"I'm completely fine with it," Richard said, smiling fondly at Cedric. "Besides, aren't we all about fair play and perseverance? If we gave up while we were losing, it would send a bad message, wouldn't it?" Harry felt bad for judging him on his appearance. Richard was far nicer than he looked. He regretted thinking that a moment later, as Richard's smile turned dark, and he jabbed Eddie on the back of the head with a giant finger. "Besides, I want to get back at this one."

"You need to learn how to let things go, Ricky," Eddie muttered, now looking a little unsettled.

Flitwick, Sprout and Hooch exchanged a series of looks, apparently knowing each other well enough to come to a silent agreement. Flitwick turned to Robert and asked, "Captain?"

Robert smiled. "If Hufflepuff wants to lose so badly, who am I to stop them?" There were chuckles and friendly joshing, as he continued in a more serious tone. "If Harry says he's alright to play, that's good enough for me."

Flitwick sighed, but he couldn’t hide his smile. "Go on then."

Hooch got them back into the air in no time at all. Riding the Cleansweep Ten after the Nimbus 2000 was like getting on a dingy scooter after riding the best mountain bike in the world. However, the roar of the crowd as they flew back into the air was enough to make Harry feel like a hero.

The match resumed 110-70 Ravenclaw, with twenty-one minutes remaining.

Harry appreciated Hufflepuffs’ excellent sportsmanship. It was noble of them to agree to resume the match while they were still behind. Even so, he wouldn’t allow that goodwill to stop him from hunting the Snitch. All it would take is a bit of bad luck, and Cedric would find it before him.

Not long after, Harry felt his stomach drop when he heard Hufflepuff score a second goal in as many minutes. Ravenclaw was now only leading by ten. Their Chasers were phenomenal, but the Beaters were no slouches either, as he was forced to learn the hard way when Richard sent a Bludger right at him. Despite Harry being over fifty feet away from where he had struck it, Richard’s aim was good enough that the Bludger still caught the tail end of his broom, sending Harry into a wild spin towards the grass.

Smelling blood in the water, both Hufflepuff Beaters came after him with a vengeance. It took all his skill to steady his out-of-control broom before it hit the ground, and even more to keep away from them. Perhaps asking to ride a notoriously slower broomstick had been a mistake, as his only advantage on the pitch, his speed, had been stripped away from him.

Harry’s experience on a broom was severely limited when compared to Richard or his fellow Beater. He found this out the hard way as every manoeuvre he pulled was countered by the Hufflepuff Beaters. If he tried to escape, they would cut him off. If he tried to lose them among other players, they would follow him with a single-minded determination, using their bats to ward off any obstacles. The one time he tried to lead them towards the Ravenclaw Beaters, they made him regret it.

Wincing, as his shoulder was still throbbing from where Richard had barged into him, Harry had to accept his now futile position. He had done all he could, but there was no escaping Hufflepuff’s constant attacks. He had tried all he could to get back into the game, but there was no avenue left to him.

At least until Maria came to his rescue.

The Hufflepuff Beaters were so focused on him, that they had left themselves open to a counterattack by their opposing Beaters. Maria got in close, having shepherded one of the Bludgers towards them, and when they weren’t looking, hit it right into Richard’s back.

Richard grunted and was forced flat onto his broomstick by the blow, but he did not fall like last time. Turning his head, he caught a glimpse of Maria and her winding arm. Clearly remembering her rebounding hit at the beginning of the game, Richard swerved out of the way, not wanting to hit the ground again. However, Maria hadn’t been aiming for him this time.

Her rebounded hit struck the other Hufflepuff Beater right in the elbow, causing the poor boy to scream out in pain. He let out a fragile whimper as Harry flew past him, examining his arm, which was now bent at a strange angle. For the second time in a single game, Hufflepuff was down a man.

All of this was quite good for Harry’s immediate health and safety, but there was a price to be paid for his rescue. The Hufflepuff Chasers had capitalised on Maria’s temporary absence, as two of them attacked Michael and Fiona, while Eddie and Robert gave chase to a third Chaser, who was barrelling his way to the Ravenclaw goals. They might have caught up to him if Cedric hadn’t flown in at the last second to play interference.

Harry let out a frustrated breath through his nose. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but Cedric was a better Seeker than him. Not only was he a fast flier (even on a Cleansweep Ten it was difficult to keep an eye on him) but his larger build meant that he was capable of head-on attacks against his opponents.

The crowd groaned in sympathy as Cedric flew directly into Robert from a sharp angle. Robert was so focused on catching up to the Hufflepuff Chaser, that he was caught completely unaware. The groans of sympathy turned into frightened screams from the Ravenclaw section as Robert fell off his broom and landed roughly on the ground forty feet below.

Eddie immediately dived to try and save Robert from a rough landing and failed. It was child’s play for the Hufflepuff Chaser to get a goal, as Marcus was so focused on the sight of Robert falling that he didn’t even try to stop the Quaffle from going through the hoop. Fiona froze in mid-air long enough for one of the Hufflepuff Chasers to send her into a spin that was even crazier than the one Harry had just experienced. Michael’s reaction was the worst, as he let out an enraged bellow and made to fly straight at Cedric, determined to get back at him.

Harry and Maria were the only two who were able to keep their heads, and they just about managed to stop him before he could get near the Hufflepuff Seeker. If any player attacked a Seeker while the Quaffle was out of play, it was grounds for a penalty, and now that the score was 110-100, they could not afford the risk.

Marcus seemed to crumble after Robert fell. It almost seemed like he wanted to fly down to the medical tent and check up on him. The rest of the team followed his lead and fell apart without their captain. Robert wasn’t the best player on the team, but he was the solid foundation on which the other six all stood. When he went down, the others might as well have fallen with him.

It was only Maria’s fierce attacks that kept a Hufflepuff victory at bay, and they only managed to score one other goal over the next five minutes. The score was now 110-110, and Harry had never felt more pressured.

With only six minutes remaining, he decided to push himself beyond anything he had practised and do something drastic. Now that Robert was down, someone had to take charge of their offence, and there was no time for a team discussion.

When the Quaffle was put back into play, and all the remaining Chasers and Beaters were at the centre line, Harry flew at them as fast as he could. It wasn't anywhere near the top speed of the Nimbus 2000 but the Cleansweep Ten wasn't slow by any stretch of the imagination. However, instead of flying at the Chasers, he flew right into Richard.

Not at Richard. Into.

Everyone was flabbergasted by that decision, but the way Harry saw it, if his grip was strong enough to keep him attached to a bucking broomstick, it was good enough to barrel into a burly eighteen-year-old.

He was right. Richard let out a hilariously high-pitched yelp (which he later made Harry promise to stop telling people about) as Harry struck him right in the side. It wasn't enough for him to fall off his broom, but he was thrown sideways, and he collided with the same Chaser he had protected at the beginning of the game.

Harry groaned as he experienced a sharp pain in his left wrist and his already throbbing shoulder now felt like it was on fire. As much as he wanted to take a beat and assess the damage he’d done to himself, he knew he had to exploit the Hufflepuffs’ temporary distraction otherwise his ridiculous tactic would have been for nothing.

He zoomed after Michael, who had been the first to snap out of it and had picked up the Quaffle before it could fall to the grass. Harry followed him to the Hufflepuff’s goals, but without his Nimbus 2000, he found it impossible to keep up with his friend. That was alright though because Michael had a trick up his sleeve.

As he would tell Harry later, the idea had occurred to him when he had seen Fiona's first feint. The entire match he had followed her lead and most of the goals the two had scored were done by feinting. While Fiona had done this because it had become one of her hard-won specialities, Michael was building up for a moment just like this one.

If I didn't need to use it, it would’ve been a waste of energy. I’d have been okay with that, he would later tell Harry. But just in case I needed a little something more, I built myself a weapon I could use.

The weapon was the expectations he had carefully built in the Hufflepuff Keeper's mind. Michael and Fiona are new players, the Keeper would think, they've mostly scored by feinting, so they've probably only practised feints. They will feint again.

But this time, it wasn't a feint.

With his left arm, Michael aimed for the left hoop, and rather comically, the Keeper flew towards the right hoop, following the expectation that Michael had built into his mind.

The blue and bronze crowd roared as the Quaffle sailed easily through the left hoop, while the Hufflepuff’s groaned at the ease of it. For his part, the poor Keeper looked confused, and at that moment, Harry was too.

You need to start thinking in layers, Michael would tell him later, looking quite full of himself. Not just what you're going to do next, but what doorways that next move could lead to.

Doorways? Harry would reply. I thought you wanted me to think in layers?

Oh, shut up.

At that moment though, Harry was just as confused as everyone else, but it didn’t stop him from celebrating. He and Michael flew past each other, high-fiving as they went. The score was now 120-110 Ravenclaw, with five minutes remaining.

When the Quaffle was back in the air, Harry continued his hunt for the Snitch. Now that Ravenclaw had a little breathing room, Harry could go all out. It was only much later he would realise what had happened to him in the blur of the final five minutes.

His senses were working so well together, it was as if his whole world had opened up. His ears picked up the sound of the commentary, so he knew who had the Quaffle and what they were doing with it. His skin could feel the incoming Bludgers and he was dodging them like they were mere nuisances. His eyesight had opened up, almost as if his peripheral vision had expanded and he could see the entire pitch. Nothing was hidden from him. He was in the zone.

Which was how he spotted the Snitch flickering by Cedric's ear.

Harry's head wasn’t facing Cedric’s position, so he had to force himself to not react. Better the Snitch disappear rather than Cedric realise it was right next to him. He continued his circuit of the pitch, and when he was naturally facing Cedric's direction and able to zero in on his target without giving its position away, he saw that the Snitch was still there as though it were mocking him.

Cedric turned his head at his approach and, maybe it was because Harry failed to keep his head on a swivel, or maybe because he finally heard the high pitch whine of the Snitch's buzzing wings, but Cedric finally realised he had the game practically in the palm of his hand.

No! Harry shot forward, as fast as the Cleansweep Ten could manage, mercifully spooking the Snitch and causing it to take off. Cedric cursed. He had a slower start, as he had been hovering at a standstill and observing the increasingly violent Quaffle-play. It was obvious that he had been deciding whether or not to cut his losses in the final minute and help his Chasers.

Well, all that was out the window now. The two Seekers were neck and neck as they flew after the Snitch. Harry wished his speed would come in useful here, but the Snitch was wily, twisting, turning and changing direction at a moment's notice. Cedric was an adept flyer, and his more practised control gave him the slight edge, but Harry wasn't one to give up.

The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath as the two Seekers chased the Golden Snitch across the sky, around the pitch, between players and through the hoops until it finally dived towards the grass in a last-ditch effort to escape them. Cedric hesitated, as flying towards the ground at top speed was reckless, but his sense of self-preservation was a weakness that Harry capitalised on. Harry dived without a moment’s hesitation and, after a half-moment’s deliberation, Cedric followed.

He could feel Cedric on his tail, but it was too late. Harry had the advantage now, and he was not going to let it slip away.

Thirty feet from the ground and he could see every detail of the Hogwarts Crest on the Snitch’s golden casing.

Twenty feet and it was just out of his arm's reach.

Ten feet, his arm was extended, and he could feel every metallic strand of the fluttering wings brushing against his fingertips. He was going to catch it! He was going to win-!

BOOM!

Hooch's cannon went off. Time was up. The game was over.

No! Harry thought, more upset with a game than he had ever thought was possible.

He landed roughly, empty-handed and a mouthful of frustrated swearwords teetering from his lips. Cedric touched down beside him, looking just as exhausted as he felt. He turned to Harry, a funny expression on his face, and opened his lips to say something. Before he could, Harry was besieged by the entire Ravenclaw team.

"WE WON! WE WON! HA! TAKE THAT DAD!" Eddie chanted as he wrapped Harry in a hug. Over his shoulder, he could see Michael being carried on a newly healed Robert's shoulders, as the brothers laughed jubilantly.

"Did your dad say we couldn't win?" Maria asked after she landed a kiss on Harry's cheek that turned his face red.

"Yeah, I might have sent some bad sources his way that said something about Ravenclaw's team being awful this year." Eddie snorted, as he let go of Harry only when a smiling Marcus swooped down and lifted him onto his shoulders. "I then bet the old sucker that Ravenclaw would win. Guess who just made TWENTY GALLEONS!" He roared as he threw his head back to the sky.

"You scammed your own father? That's cold-blooded," Maria said with fake disapproval before smiling. "I guess you’re paying for everyone’s drinks tonight, Eddie!"

"Nah, there on my dad, aren't they?" He chuckled before turning to Harry and Michael, as Maria walked arm-in-arm with a beaming Fiona to the girl's changing rooms. "Alright firsties, this is your first ever House party, so I don't want to see you in the Tower until everything is ready." He wagged his finger at them sternly.

"How long will that take?" Michael asked. He was clearly thinking about his stomach.

"A few hours!" Eddie called over his shoulder as he ran to the changing room.

"What?" Michael yelped. "I'm hungry now!"

"Tough," Robert said, flicking Michael's ear. "It's tradition, so I better not see you two until dinner time."

Michael looked like he was about to protest this, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder after indicating Marcus should put him down. "It's fine, I need to see Pomfrey anyway.” Harry made a gesture to his shoulder. “Besides, I know a place we can go for food." Michael settled down at the promise of food and he, Robert and Marcus began to guide an exhausted Harry to the changing rooms when a voice stopped them.

"Harry," Cedric said. Harry turned, surprised he was still there. “Mind if I have a word?” The two Sixth Years looked unbothered by this, but Michael was gearing up for a fight. Harry smiled at him.

“It’s fine. I’ll catch up.” Harry felt he owed Cedric a conversation after he had stood up to the teachers with him. Robert must have agreed, as he ushered a complaining Michael into the changing room.

"That was the craziest match I've ever played." Cedric’s tone sounded serious, and Harry couldn’t help but try to inject some humour into the situation.

"Really? Don't all Quidditch matches have attempted murder? I would never have agreed otherwise."

Cedric smiled briefly before his demeanour returned to its previous sobriety. "The scoreboard might say 120-110, but we both know you caught the Snitch."

Harry shook his head. "Not within the time limit I didn't."

"That wasn't what I meant. Without outside interference, you would've ended the game much earlier," he said as though it pained him to admit it. "Don't think I didn't notice you flying to the Slytherin stands before. You saw the Snitch there, didn't you?" He waited for Harry's nod of confirmation. "Then you beat me in this match. Next year, however," he said, as a challenging smile grew across his face, "will be a different story."

When Harry had first dreamt about beating Cedric Diggory and Eliza Hawthorn in this stadium, it was through duelling. Then, as he accepted that was a dream far beyond his reach, he settled for beating Cedric at Quidditch. Never did he imagine that failing to catch the Snitch could feel so satisfying. Hearing Cedric resolve himself to beat Harry next year felt like an ego boost. Even if it was just in Quidditch, he was now a threat to someone strong.

That makes me strong too, Harry thought, as he accepted Cedric's firm handshake.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"When you said you knew a place, I didn't think you meant a teacher's house," Michael said in a whisper as a still cheering Hagrid went to go get them some hard-earned snacks. He and Harry had made their way there after showering and changing into fresh clothes after a brief stop at the medical tent. Putting his tired muscles into Hagrid’s giant squishy armchair was just what the healer ordered. Literally, as Pomfrey ordered him to relax and take a break from strenuous activities for a couple of days.

"Hagrid isn't just a teacher, he’s our friend. Right?" Harry glanced at Terry and Anthony at this.

Anthony was examining the brand-new silver Occamy eggshells on the mantle, while Terry was playing with Fang on the floor.

"Hmm? Oh, yes!" Anthony said smiling at Michael. "He's very nice, although I was a little scared when we first came over."

Terry snorted. "A little?" He turned to Michael. "You should have seen it, one look at Fang and Mr Perfect was running for the hills." Anthony scowled.

"You were right there with me!"

"Yes, but I'm a coward at heart. Who expects any better from me?" Harry thought this comment was a little concerning, and judging by Anthony's suddenly pinched expression, he wasn't the only one.

The strange moment faded as Hagrid returned to the living room, with sticky treacle and ginger cake and bottles of pineapple soda.

Harry sighed appreciatively. "Hagrid, you’re an angel. Who told you about my favourite food?"

Hagrid chuckled. "You've only mentioned it to me a hundred times. You can rest easy. I know how to take a hint." Harry blushed as the others laughed at his expense.

"You two know each other from class of course, but you should know that Hagrid saw you that day in Diagon Alley as well," Harry said, diverting the attention from his embarrassment by throwing Michael under the bus.

Michael was startled and then he glared at Harry while Hagrid turned to him in concern. "That was you outside of Ollivander's? You alright?" He asked as if it had happened four minutes ago instead of four months ago.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. My brother was just mean to me, that's all." That didn't sound like Robert at all, which is how Harry knew he had put a foot in it.

Trying to fix it, he also said, "He helped me kill that Troll too." Michael perked up at this, having enjoyed the positive attention the articles had brought him, as people were quick to compliment him since then. In this matter, Hagrid was no different.

"Now that is impressive. Two First Years against a fully-grown Troll? I never would have bet on it. But here you two are, without a scratch!" Hagrid began to cut the cake. "Heroes of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team! Troll slayers! Your first term isn't even over yet. What are you gonna do next?" He asked them, jokingly, as he began to hand out slices.

Anthony seemed to take offence at this. "These guys have all had adventures. Even Terry got to pull a prank with Peeves. What about me?"

"Technically we only helped Peeves get away with a prank." Terry wilted as Anthony frowned at him. "But I see your point."

"We do have an adventure ahead of us you know," Harry said darkly. "A brutal task. Something that's going to need every ounce of magic and knowledge we've acquired to succeed."

His friends were engaged and even Hagrid looked concerned.

"What is it?" Anthony asked, eyes wide.

Harry kept his face straight. "End-of-term exams."

The ensuing groans made Harry crack up. "Now, I know it isn't glamorous,” he chuckled, “but it needed to be said. We've only got three weeks left."

As Michael and Terry began booing him and Anthony bemoaned their looming academic futures, Harry realised that his life had never been more perfect than it was at that very moment.

Looking back at this time, mere months from now, he should have known it couldn't last.

Chapter 11: The Silver Spears

Chapter Text

The party in the common room was every bit as spectacular as they had been promised. Food was everywhere, from snacks like pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs, all the way up to dinky sausage rolls and self-slicing cakes. Eddie had somehow purchased copious amounts of drinks, from butterbeer and gillywater to fire whiskey and lobe-blasters. Harry wasn't especially keen on trying alcohol, but he made a special note to avoid that last beverage.Lobe-blasterswas not an appealing name.

He seemed to be alone in this opinion, as many of the older students were taking repeated shots of the stuff. Its effects became obvious as people began to dance on tables, out of rhythm with the music and dootherthings in shadowy corners of the room.

Harry and his friends had found the party enjoyable up to that point, especially as he and Michael had been waited on, hand and foot, in reward for their efforts today. But the problem of having eleven-year-olds in the same school as students in their mid-to-late teens soon became apparent. Harry had seen a few things that night that he could not unsee, and he led the hasty retreat back to the dorms, leaving Anthony and Michael to drag a far too curious Terry behind them.

It was a good thing they had left the party so early. They found out the next day that Flitwick had arrived at almost two in the morning, and had seen something so bad that it made him give every student present Saturday Detention. Harry tried not to think what post-pubescent horrors their Head of House must have walked in on, but he couldn't ignore Terry's wild guesses over breakfast the next morning.

"Would youpleasestop talking!" Anthony finally said, looking just as mortified as Harry. Michael, however, seemed to think it was all very funny in the light of day. He kept giggling at Terry's suggestions, red-faced, as he tried to stifle his amusem*nt.

Luckily, the morning's post arrived before Terry could describe another one of his explicit theories. Harry didn't continue to feel so lucky when he glimpsed the front page of Anthony's copy ofThe Daily Prophet.

Boy-Who-Lived Survives Second Assassination Attempt!

"Hey!" Anthony protested when Harry snatched the paper from him. "I was planning on reading that!"

Harry ignored him as he made his way down the article, already putting some of the pieces together before he even finished.

"Is there anything written onWizarding World News?"The answer to that question would determine if he were right or just paranoid.

"No," Anthony frowned, checking over his usual second newspaper after Terry had snatched it from him and removed the Sunday crossword from the rest. He’d seen the front page of theProphetwhen Harry had turned the page to read more and had examinedWizarding World Newsfor a similar headline.

"That settles it then, doesn't it?" Harry said quietly, wary of being overheard.

The other three looked confused, so he handed theProphetfor their perusal. As they read, he began to explain his theory.

"For the second time in under a month, I've almost been killed," he began, and he felt more certain once he started voicing his thoughts. "Less than twenty-four hours later, said events are reported to the whole world. Bit weird, isn't it?"

Michael still looked confused. "Err… no, not really. You're famous, and half of Hogsmeade shows up to Hogwarts' Quidditch matches. It's part of how the school makes money, by selling tickets." He frowned. “Didn’t I already tell you that?”

Terry shushed him, as he removed the crossword fromThe Daily Prophetnow that everyone had stopped reading it. "Don't doubt him! Harry hasallthe answers." Harry was surprised, but pleased, by the enthusiastic support that at least one of his friends was showing him. At least until he saw Terry's face twitch, as though he were struggling not to smile. "Go on, Harry. I think you were leading us to a conspiracy where the entire world is out to get you." He lost the battle with his self-control and snorted into his scrambled eggs.

Refusing to acknowledge him, Harry turned to Anthony. "Last time it was overallthe papers, evenThe Oracle.This time it's only onThe Daily Prophet.What makes them so special?"

His head was still stubbornly turned away from Terry, so he could only see Anthony's immediate response to this. It wasn't very encouraging as he appeared confused. "What are you getting at?"

"Whoever gave the papers the story about the Troll sent it out to everyone. This time they only sent it to The Daily Prophet.I think it's because the sender got the article they wanted from them."

Anthony's eyes widened. "You think the sender wants people to think you’re being targeted?"

Michael chimed in now, engaged. "Do think it's connected? That someone is trying to tell everyone you're being hunted?"

Harry hadn't thought that at all. He said as much. "Err…no. I thought that whoever is leaking this information is just taking advantage of the situation to put Hogwarts in a bad light. Look," he said, picking the newspaper back up. "Lacklustre security. Faulty leadership. Suspicious faculty."He put it back down to see he had all their full attention. "Last time,TheDailyProphetwas the only newspaper that put a negative spin on it and now, they're not just the only paper to report on the incident, but they have another negative spin backed up with a mysterious source.Suspicious faculty,"he said again.

Michael's eyebrows rose. "Quirrell practically accused Slughorn in front of all of us, didn't he? Who else could have heard that?"

Terry spoke quickly, looking a little frustrated at being left out of the conversation after his silly joke. "You two told us at Hagrid's. Who's to say one of the other players didn't mention it to their friends?"

Anthony sighed. "So, we have no way of knowing who the source is."

Harry nodded, an idea already popping into his mind, but one he decided to keep to himself for now. "But we have an idea of what they want. To either discredit Hogwarts, discredit Slughorn, or both."

Michael huffed, frustratedly. "That’s if they even exist at all, and this isn't just a coincidence." He turned away, giving his full focus to his hearty breakfast, bringing the conversation to an end.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Some actual good news came about during that lazy Sunday. Along with half the school, the four boys were relaxing by the lake on the unseasonably pleasant November afternoon. Rows of students were lying on the soft lawn, bathing under the warmth of the sun while a few daring others had taken small vessels from the boathouse and were sailing out onto the lake.

Not feeling so adventurous, Harry instead sat beneath the beech tree closest to the lake. That was where his fellow Ravenclaws, Isobel, Su and Amanda, favoured him and his friends with their presence. He looked up from his book,The Cursebreaker’s Beginner Guide, as Su sat next to him on the grass with her back against the trunk. The last of the red and gold leaves were occasionally falling around them, and one landed in her shiny black hair as she leaned in close to Harry, as though she wanted to share a secret.

"Myrose has been suspended," she whispered in that carrying way Petunia often did, as though she wanted everyone to know that she was aware of all their secrets. "We just passed him in the Entrance Hall. His parents were here to pick him up, and his mother was ordering the Automatons to arrange his belongings."

"That's it? Suspension? He almost killed Harry!" Michael shouted this from the lakeshore. Su's whisper had carried even further than he’d thought.

"What did you expect? He's loaded and I think one of his cousins works for an Advocate or something," Isobel said sourly. She had joined Anthony and Michael down by the water.

Terry, who had grown bored with their search for the ever-elusive Giant Squid, now sat cross-legged on the ground, busy transfiguring blades of grass into daisies to make himself a crown. Harry didn’t know who had taught him to do either of these things. But what he did know was that Terry seemed uncomfortable in the direction Isobel had taken the conversation. He wasn't the only one to notice, as Anthony was quick to speak up.

"That doesn't make him bad, necessarily." Harry raised his eyebrows, and he quickly amended his statement. "Ofcourse,he's a bad guy! He tried to kill you! But maybe his family's standing isn't to blame for that?" They all looked at him strangely, but Terry seemed oddly grateful.

"You’re right. It's wrong to judge someone based on their family. It's none of their business," Amanda said firmly, only to wilt under their combined attention. "I j-just m-meant that…'' she couldn't hold her previous volume, so only Harry and Su- who were sitting with her beneath the beech tree- could hear her continuing whisper. "My family's Muggle, but I'm a witch. I'm not like them." While Harry thought this was a strange way to speak about your family, he also knew he was the last person who could judge her on it. Su reached over to squeeze her best friend's hand and Amanda smiled gratefully at her.

"Ta-da!" Terry saved her from the awkward mood by lifting his completed daisy chain crown into the air for their inspection. He delicately placed it on his brow as though crowning himself. "Who wants one?"

"I do! That's cute." Su let go of Amanda's hand and made her way over to him.

Terry extended his hand to her, palm side up. "I charge 5 Sickles per crown." Su turned on her heel and made her way back to her previous spot, as Terry desperately called increasingly lower offers at her back.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

That was the last fun weekend they had for a while. Now that Quidditch practice had gone back down to two sessions a week, Harry could devote himself entirely to his revision. There were, after all, only three weeks left until their end-of-term exams, and he kept repeating that fact to his friends.

"We get it!" Anthony snapped after Harry reiterated himself for the fifth time that day. The four were relaxing in Terry's room, as they’d decided to avoid hanging out in the common room after the questionable things they’d witnessed on Saturday night. "If we revise with you, will you stop bringing it up?"

Terry looked betrayed, glancing up from his meticulously arranged potion kit. "We? Why are you signing me up for this?"

"I could stand to revise a little," Michael admitted, ignoring Terry. "I think it'll please my mum, at least." For one wild moment, Harry thought Michael was talking about his Death Eater mother before he realised that was ridiculous. He was speaking about Mrs Hillard, his adoptive mother.

"Fantastic!" Harry clapped his hands together. "Three out of four votes. We've come to an agreement. Let's begin with Transfiguration, alright?"

Terry raised his voice at them as they left his room for the Library Tower. "Votes? Since when is this a democracy? You can't make me revise if I don't want to!"

They couldn't, but his father could. After Anthony uttered a single threat to write home, Terry got on board and didn’t even complain as they worked tirelessly for weeks.

Their revision of the various subjects and their theories ran surprisingly smoothly. More often than not, Harry found himself having to teach the others about things they hadn't written down or believed weren't necessary to remember. He even taught them things that had yet to come up in class, but he believed related neatly to the topics they were studying.

After they’d their fill of textbooks, Harry asked Professor Flitwick for a safe and quiet environment in which they could practice their spellwork. Going above and beyond his expectations, Flitwick introduced them to one of the many practice rooms that Hogwarts kept on hand for such occasions. It was just a simple, large barren room on the fourth floor, with windows to one side, and an Automaton on standby in the corner, just in case they accidentally set themselves on fire or something.

"Are these available to all students, at all times?" Harry asked Flitwick as he was about to leave.

"Why yes, of course." Flitwick seemed surprised he even had to ask. But then he quickly added, "Curfew still applies even if you're hard at work in this room, Harry. Also, you'll have to make room for senior students if the other rooms are in high demand. First Years have the lowest priority, I’m afraid."

Harry nodded distractedly as Flitwick left the room. If these practice rooms had always been here, then why did Quirrell insist on training him in an abandoned classroom?

It was just another question he was going to have to ask him during their next meeting.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when Michael let out a sharp yelp. He had somehow set fire to his shoe with the Verdimillious Charm and was now hopping on one foot with the other held aloft as it was consumed by green flames. The Automaton quickly flew forward and doused him, head to toe, with fire-extinguishing foam, subsequently turning him into a half-melted snowman. Anthony and Terry cracked up laughing, and Harry wasn't nearly lost enough in his ominous mood to not join in.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Practical work was where the difficulty lay. Harry could see that he was still struggling with the same spells his friends were casting with ease. It took much more focus and energy for him to achieve similar results as the rest of them, which only frustrated him, as he had worked ten times harder than any of them on his spellwork. His wand's obedience had improved after Halloween, but it had paused in its development, as though it expected something from Harry first.

That something became clear on the first day of December when Ollivander finally wrote back to him.

The sky above the Great Hall was a pale grey as it continued to unleash half the world's snow onto Hogwarts. Yesterday, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures had to be quickly changed, as the snow was coming down too quickly for paths to be made. Rather than asking their First Years to make a half-mile trek through five feet of deep snow, Hagrid and Sprout had been kind enough to hold lectures indoors, telling them theory was more important than practice right now.

This was why Harry was so concerned when Argos landed in front of him at the Ravenclaw Table, as it was no condition for him to be flying in.

"What were you doing out there? I bought you a perch for a reason." He scolded his half-frozen bird. For his part, Argos stared back at him, stubborn, before weakly giving Harry his leg. There was a letter there.

"You have a letter? Who's it from? You never get letters. Which is a little weird now that I think about it, cause you're so famous-" Terry was cut off by Anthony's elbow hitting his stomach.

Harry swallowed his biting reply and pocketed the letter. He settled Argos onto his arm and walked alone to the Owlery.

Once his owl was settled in a corner of the Owlery, far from the other birds, he opened his letter. He was pleased to see that Ollivander had written back, as after almost a month, he had given up on ever receiving a reply.

Dear Mr Potter,

I must apologise for the delay in my reply. I was following a remarkably strong unicorn in Sweden who has shown the particular vitality I seek in the donors of my wand cores. I had only just gotten back to my residence when your rather brilliant owl arrived to deliver my reply.

I am glad you sought my advice on this matter, as you are describing a truly fascinating reaction.

Among Wandmakers, it is a well-known fact that wands of blackthorn typically need to pass through hardship with their owners before they can become fully bonded. As it stands now, your blackthorn wand is still wary of you. Coupled with the aloof feather of the phoenix, it will require an incredible amount of effort on your part to survive whatever trials you must pass through to earn its complete obedience.

Blackthorn wands do not simply choose all militant sorcerers, as otherwise, all Aurors would wield one. They choose militant sorcerers who are versatile and resourceful but lack aspiration or a personal creed which leaves them aimless. Wands are symbiotic creatures, who grow in strength with their wielder. What magic you learn is magic that your wand learns as well.

As an especially unique amplifier, your wand has high standards for its owner, requiring you to not only work through toil but to learn from it as well. Once you have done so, your magic will become greater and denser than before and easier for you to summon. Your wand, eager for a powerful partner, will obey you completely and amplify your magic to its very limits. Until then, you can think of its hindrance as a sort of punishment. In its own way, your wand is trying to encourage you to gain strength.

I understand this advice may seem vague, but it is because only you hold the key to unlock this power. No one else can tell you how to move forward on this path. I can say that your wand is just as eager as you are to walk down it, as there are few things more powerful than a sorcerer who has dedicated himself entirely to a personal philosophy or who possesses a grand ambition.

There is a silver lining to all of this. The first Law of Magic, the Law of Equal Exchange, dictates that power cannot come from nothing. To cast any kind of magic, something must be sacrificed in turn.

Think of it as a well-carved wooden chair. To make the chair, you must first sacrifice the wood. Magic is the same. Normally, this is as simple as Mana being demanded when casting a spell or turning a stirring rod when brewing a potion. Other times it is our flesh, emotions and even our very life force that must be sacrificed for something of equal value.

What makes blackthorn wands so unique, is that once bonded completely they are of one mind with their wielder. Unlike other wands, you will have sacrificed your time and energy into earning your wand's loyalty, likely even risking your life. Potentially, no other wand wood will be able to give such powerful and accurate results as a wand made of blackthorn.

I sincerely hope you will not have to fight any more Trolls to earn your wands' complete obedience.

Wishing you all the best on this journey,

Garrick Ollivander

Master of Enchantments and Beasts

Harry lowered the letter after the third time reading it. He glanced at Argos, already asleep, touched that his smart owl had gone to seek out Ollivander's reply on his own.

His smile slipped as he remembered the letter's contents. It wasn't the idea of hardship or toil that worried him, he was old friends with both, but the idea of attaining a personal creed or grand ambition. What did that even mean? He wanted to become a great, learned wizard, a duellist even. Wasn’t that ambition enough? Or what about possessing a creed? If he didn’t have a set of rules to live by, did that mean he would always struggle with spells his peers found easy?

Shaking his head, he left the Owlery and headed for his first class of the day. He'd figure it out later. After all, the blackthorn wand was the only one that had responded to him, so it wasn't like he had much choice in the matter.

The length of wood, normally so light in its holster, now felt like a dense weight against his leg.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Their studies continued right up to exams, and not just in classes or in the library, but in their clubs too.

Terry eagerly led the way into Slughorn's dungeon classroom. The others followed but lacked his level of excitement, particularly Michael. Harry was glad he’d joined them for this club, as Michael was amongst the few in Potions Club who was even less of a natural potioneer than him. Probably not the way he should be thinking about a friend, but he couldn't help it.

As they piled into their seats, Slughorn entered the room, beaming, which was very odd. He’d been in a bad mood ever since the article about the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match was released. While he hadn't been named, it was made clear who the reporter had been accusing when they wroteHead of House particularly to blame,anda clear connection to his incarcerated brother.

Slughorn had lost his usual smiles and japes for his favourite students and had begun to look his age. His face seemed to sag more and more with each passing day.

Christopher,The Number One Worst Prefect, had bemoaned (quite loudly in the common room where everyone could hear him) about Slughorn's sudden depression putting his annual, and very exclusive, Christmas party at risk of being cancelled.

This dark mood seemed to have passed as he shot a wide smile at Harry and his friends as he hurried over to them.

"I'm glad you boys are here. So many students are dropping their extracurriculars in the run-up to exams," Slughorn said cheerfully, hands resting comfortably on his immense stomach. "Such hard work shouldn’t go unrewarded! I'm putting together a last-minute party for my most talented students on the final night of term. Of course, the four of you must attend."

Terry glanced incredulously at Michael, and Harry could understand his disbelief. For the second time in as many weeks, Michael had set his sleeve on fire while brewing a relatively harmless potion and Anthony was struggling to put him out. Michael was great at a lot of things, but potioneering was not one of them.

Fortunately, Anthony was there to explain, breathing deeply once Michael’s robe was extinguished. "It's because you're good at Quidditch. When he says, "talented students" he means well-connected or up and coming," he said in a low whisper. He needn’t have bothered; the sound dampened by the sound of two dozen students struggling with their various brews. "Is it really so surprising that he invited the four of us?"

Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that but ignored it for a more pressing matter. "Christopher said it's a fancy party and I don't have any nice clothes." He ignored Terry's hissing hasty instructions to Michael, whose potion seemed to be on the brink of destruction.

Anthony was quick to reassure him. "I've plenty of formal wear. You can borrow something from me if you would like?" Harry was pleased by the offer and accepted gratefully, but he couldn't help but ask:

"Why do you have so much formal wear?"

"The Boots hold the occasional party for Coalition bigwigs at the Citadel. Terry and I are often told to make an appearance." Anthony smiled self-deprecatingly before he seemed to remember something. "Speaking of parties, are you doing anything on Christmas Eve? Because the Commander and Joan invited you to their annual party."

Harry blinked. Eleven years with not a single party invitation, and then two in ten minutes? It was enough to rattle him. So much so that Anthony asked if he was alright.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I'll be happy to come. As long as you don't mind me hanging on to whatever you lend me for Slughorn's party?"

Anthony smiled and was about to reply before a great hissing sound was let out of Michael's cauldron. Somehow, even with Terry's help, he had managed to turn the formerly liquid potion into steam. Afraid of what even a half-made Forgetfulness Potion could do to them if they breathed it in, the entire club, even the upper years who were working on their own potions, fled into the corridor.

"Not to worry! We'll have this classroom safe and disinfected by tomorrow!" Slughorn raised his hands to quell the protests. "I realise that some of you were eager to get last-minute tips before exams, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I'll clear my schedule for tomorrow evening for anyone who would like to return."

They couldn't argue against that. Still, Michael hid behind Harry and Anthony- both of whom were taller than him- as the other club members passed them by. Most ignored him, but some jeered, and a few gave him dirty looks. It was the last group that seemed to upset him the most though.

"I said it was a bad idea to let you into this school, Corner." Susan Bones had stopped in front of the Ravenclaw boys, her crowd of Hufflepuff girls almost double their number. He noticed that the Hufflepuff loner, Megan Jones, had slipped out of the classroom, looking relieved to avoid Susan's attention for once. "But back then I just thought that you would be stealing the spot of a more worthy student. I didn't realise your presence would actively harm the learning of others." Harry wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Susan seemed to hate someone more than she hated him, or that the hot-headed Michael was now hiding meekly behind him. In his peripheral, he could see the blonde boy's shoulders tightening, as though he expected an attack.

Susan's next words revealed to Harry her awareness of Michael's insecurities. "I shouldn't be too surprised though. You can't help your nature. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, and all that." There was a smattering of cruel laughter from the girls around her. They didn’t seem to find the insult itself funny but were amazed that Susan even dared to go there.

Harry waited a moment for Michael to defend himself, or for Terry and Anthony to speak in his defence. But Michael looked like he wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole, and the other two just looked awkward. Harry decided to speak up then, fed up with her attitude.

"You're one to talk about apples not falling far from the tree," Harry said coldly. "The way you act…well it's just what I would expect fromyourbackground." Harry was taking a bit of a gamble here. He knew that Susan hated him as soon as she heard his name, either because she had a relative who was a Death Eater sympathiser or there was some kind of grudge between their families. At least he hoped it was one of those two. His rebuttal would be nonsensical otherwise.

Fortunately- or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it- there were sudden intakes of breath from all around him. The Hufflepuff girls looked gobsmacked, and his friends looked stunned at his daring. For her part, Susan's face had turned very white.

"Don't say anything about my father," she whispered. Her face was emotionless, but her eyes were glassy like she was about to start crying. He could tell she was on the edge. If he provoked her, she’d either attack him or begin weeping. He didn't care much care either way.

"I didn't say anything about your father," Harry said, innocently. He maintained eye contact with her, hoping she didn't notice his fingers inching towards his wand. The incantation for the Shield Charm was ready in his mind. "It was you who brought him up. Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"

Susan turned her wide eyes away from him and saw that the other nine First Years in the corridor were all staring at her, waiting for what she would say next. She seemed to realise how unbalanced she appeared, so she turned away from him and stormed off. The Hufflepuff girls followed slowly, unsure if their ringleader wanted their presence.

When they were gone, Terry let out a low, shaky laugh. "I can't believe you went there, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "I don't even know where I went. I just spouted out nonsense."

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? How could you bring up her family if you don't even know?"

Harry explained how he’d met Susan in Diagon Alley back in July and what her reaction was when she first heard his name. "I just assumed she's from a Death Eater family, or our parents hated each other or something."

Anthony shook his head. "She's not from a Death Eater family. Her mum's an Auror, but she retired after an injury or something. Her uncle was an Auror too, but he was killed along with his wife and children by a gang of initiate Death Eaters."

Harry felt his stomach drop, but before he could ask any questions, Michael finally spoke.

"Thanks," he said, hoarsely.

"Don't worry about it. What's her problem with you? Is it about your mum?"

Michael smiled, humourlessly. "You could say that. But no, she doesn't have a special grudge against all Death Eaters and their families. At least not as much as anyone else does." He spoke about her with a startling level of familiarity.

"Then why did she come after you like that?"

Michael shrugged. "She's my sister."

Harry waited for him to say, "Just kidding, here's the real reason", but those words never came. He looked at the other two, who both looked painfully uncomfortable but unsurprised.

"You're gonna have to explain that one to me, mate."

"Remember when I told you about my parents?" Harry nodded. It was a difficult story to forget. "I think I said something about my dad being married at the time. His wife fought my mother, who injured her with some kind of curse. She survived, but it was bad enough to force her into early retirement during her prime. Then, some time afterwards, my father was kidnapped, only to be rescued, weeks later, by some Aurors. He goes home with no memories of his imprisonment and months later has a baby girl, Susan, with his wife. It was a happy ending to a sad story, and something for the papers to spin into something good during a dark time." Michael swallowed. "At least until they found me."

Harry spoke slowly, as though afraid of spooking him. "None of that is your fault. Susan has no right to take it out on you."

Michael grimaced. "She didn't always hold it against me. She was nice to me when we started at Pendle's, we were even friends for a bit. But I think the rumours going around school about our parents must have gotten to her eventually because she started giving me the cold shoulder."

"I'm still not hearing a reason why-"

"I froze her," Michael said simply. "Literally, with accidental magic. She would have died if an older student didn't run to fetch a teacher. She's hated me ever since."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that. Before he could pull together a reasonable response, the bell chimed throughout the school, signalling the start of dinner.

The four slowly made their way to the Great Hall, an uncomfortable air around them. More than once, Terry opened his mouth to say something, only to think better of it. Anthony kept his gaze forward, but his eyes kept flickering towards Michael in concern. It was only when Michael went to peel away from them without a word, that Harry finally spoke.

"Kids can't help their accidental magic, you know," he said quickly, hoping his brain would give him appropriate words if he stopped thinking too hard and just spoke. "I once set a boa constrictor on a bunch of Muggle grown-ups because they were blaming me for something I didn't do. I blamed myself as well, but Hagrid told me that this sort of thing is common. That every witch and wizard has a story or two from their childhood."

“Yeah,” Anthony said quickly. "I once turned Terry's legs into the bottom half of a giant maggot once." At Harry and Michael's shock, he explained. "He left one of hisexperimentsin my room when we went on holiday. I come back three weeks later with my entire bed filled with maggots. When he came in and started laughing, I just snapped." Anthony looked embarrassed at this admission.

Terry, in contrast, looked relieved. "I thought Anthony was ruining my birthday on purpose when he broke one of my presents. So, I set his hair on fire." He smiled at his brother. "I would have felt bad about telling that story, but only because I'd forgotten about the whole maggot thing."

Anthony blinked. "How could you forget being turned into a giant maggot?"

Terry shrugged. "It was only my bottom half. A lot more interesting things have happened to me, you know."

"Like what?" Anthony snorted. "I've known you forever, and nothing interesting has ever happened to you."

"Yes, it has!" Terry argued.

Turning away from both the ensuing argument and the horror that was Anthony and Terry's accidental magic filled childhood, Harry faced Michael. "See? We all do stupid stuff, sometimes."

Michael looked doubtful. "Are you sure? Robert never did anything like that."

Harry waved him off. "Robert's perfect, isn't he? We can't all be held to his high standard."

"What about your parents?" Anthony asked. He had deliberately turned away from Terry and his farfetched recollections of his childhood. "Surely they must have said something."

Michael shook his head. "My dad's a Squib and my mum's a Muggle."

Terry stopped mid-way through an unbelievable tale of the time he hijacked a Muggle helicopter and turned to Michael with a betrayed look. "You were growing up in the Muggle world this entire time and you never told me?" Michael only looked confused at this sudden outburst. "The things I could have learned! The Muggle Artifices I could have had access to!"

Anthony looked alarmed. "Whatever he says, donotgive him any Muggle Artifices."

"It's for a good cause! I'll be contributing to the collective knowledge of wizardkind."

"It'sillegaland your parents are Aurors."

“But just think of what I could accomplish with gunpowder-!”

“Great Sage!” Anthony looked appalled at the mere thought. “The world would never be safe.”

The two continued their argument into the Great Hall, moving the discussion away from Michael's past. As they sat down at the Ravenclaw table, Harry could see Michael smile softly.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The evening before exams were due to begin, Harry was found in his usual abandoned classroom, duelling Quirrell once more.

"Impedimenta!"The desk that had been sailing through the air and towards his face stopped in mid-air. With an anti-clockwise turn of his wand, the table reversed its course in the air. Before it could land on the spot it had originated from, it collided with Quirrell's incoming Stunning Spell, just as Harry had planned.

Quirrell's Martial Spells were so powerful that they tended to damage inanimate objects, instead of harmlessly dissipating the way Harry's did. This meant that the desk being broken into half a dozen pieces by his Stunning Spell was practically guaranteed, and therefore, something Harry could plan around.

It wasn't as many pieces as Harry had hoped, but enough for his idea."Flipendo Maxima!"TheMaximasuffix was normally used for charms, not jinxes, which meant that he would've been better off with the Banishing Charm. But he didn’t know it and the Knockback Jinxwas his most reliable spell, even when adding suffixes to the incantation on the fly.

The remains of the desk chair stopped their stopped before they could hit the floor and instead flew right at Quirrell's face at high speeds.

To his credit, the Defence Professor didn't appear fazed in the slightest, but while he was busy vanishing the flying projectiles, Harry had already gotten close enough to cast a spell on the teacher's desk behind him.

"Locomotor!"Tugging his wand towards him as though he were reeling in a fish, Harry moved the desk towards him and, more importantly, Quirrell.

The man must have had eyes out of the back of his head because Harry saw him react faster than should have been possible. With an almost mocking amount of ease, he leaned back and allowed the moving desk to guide him into a graceful and effortless backwards roll. One second, Harry was assured of his victory as the desk was set to collide with his opponent's back, and the next the desk was hurtling towardshimand Quirrell was safely out of the way and on his feet, looking amused at Harry's efforts.

However, that wasn't Harry'sbesteffort. If there was one thing that he had learned from Quirrell (amongst a hundred other things) it was to not put all your eggs in one basket. Last-ditch efforts were his first instinct in duels when things went wrong, but his mind now knew better. You had to wear your opponent down.

So, while Quirrell was still in the middle of his backward roll, Harry was already moving again. "FLIPENDO!"The teacher's desk stopped its movement toward him and then flung itself at Quirrell.

Harry took great pleasure in seeing the Professor's eye widen. Why wouldn't he react like that? Unlike the flimsy student desks, the teacher's desk was huge, oak and very heavy. Quirrell seemed surprised that Harry could move it at all, much less send it flying at him with such rapid spins.

That didn't stop him from vanishing it, transfiguring the heavy desk into thin air with just the barest flicks of his wand, but at that point, Harry was already out of his immediate line of sight. Learning from Michael's last goal, he hoped Quirrell would instinctively assume that he had gone back to hiding behind one of the remaining student's desks as he always did and not realise that Harry had made his way behind him, to his right.

Harry didn't wait to see if his gambit paid off, but instead acted as though it already had. "Petrificus Totalus!"He whispered, hoping to keep the element of surprise.

He awoke, according to his watch, a minute later. He groaned at his defeat, even though he was secretly pleased with himself for lasting longer than he usually did. "You hit me with a Stunning Spell?" He guessed, remembering a red flash of light.

"Yes," Quirrell said simply, looking disappointed. His amused air told Harry it was just for show. "Didn't I ask you to try to useallBasic Seven spells this time around?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Even if I hit you with a Mouth Sealing Curse, it wouldn't stop you. You can cast spells silently, so you'd just let it hit you and I'd be leaving myself wide open to attack."

Quirrell sighed. "Go ahead and ruin all my fun, why don't you?" He examined the damaged room, with scorch marks, debris and two missing desks. "In September, I didn't even need to clean the classroom after our sessions. Now, I'm wondering how I'm supposed to get this done before the staff meeting. Another mark of your improvement I suppose."

This reminded Harry of a question he had wanted to ask. "Professor? Why don't we use the practice rooms on the fourth floor?"

Quirrell turned to face him. "For the same reason that I haven't told anyone about our lessons.Youhaven't told anyone, have you?" Harry shook his head, even as he wondered what the big deal was. He hadn't told anyone because he didn't want anyone to know that he required tutoring, but now he was beginning to wonder if he should have.

Quirrell explained. "You’re my first student, do you see? Once I've turned you into a success, I wish to show your progress to Dumbledore. It will be up to you to impress him."

Perhaps it was the now typical post-duel dizziness that was onsetting, but Harry wasn't following. "Why do you need to impress him? And why use me, a First Year, to do it?" He asked as he sat down in an available chair. His stamina was improving, but so many spells in quick succession left him exhausted.

"Hogwarts is one of the twelve premier schools of magic in the world. Despite this, our exam results are quite lacklustre." Quirrell sighed. "As a child, I was told that Hogwarts was the best school for magic in the world, and throughout all my seven years here I believed it. Then I went to the Magisterium."

Logically, Harry knew that Quirrell had to have gone to the Magisterium to teach at Hogwarts, but he didn’t even look a decade older than Harry was. He knew magic slowed down the natural ageing process, but he found it hard to believe his mentor had enough years to even gain one mastery.

Quirrell continued, not being privy to Harry's silly hang-up. "Almost every other premier school outstrips us in overall exam results, Auror Cadets and acceptances into the Magisterium. Hogwarts was once great, but now, those days are but a distant memory."

Harry was catching on. "You want every student to be taught the way you're teaching me."

Quirrell smiled slightly. "Not exactly. I want to pull back the restrictions that Headmasters Dippet and Dumbledore put into place."

Harry frowned. "What restrictions?"

Quirrell looked at him consideringly, as though deciding whether or not he could trust him. "Are you going to Professor Slughorn's party next week?"

Harry was surprised by the non sequitur. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Quirrell leaned close, as though he were afraid of being overheard even though they were in an empty room. "I think Slughorn may have encouraged, or at least turned a blind eye to Myrose. You can't trust him."

Harry frowned. "How can you be so sure? And what's this got to do with the restrictions?"

"Looking back on it, Slughorn's group of favourites- his Slug Club- had a suspicious number of future Death Eaters back when I was a student. While they were running around the school bullying Muggle-borns, and spreading You-Know-Who's dogma, Slughorn did nothing. Those who were generous might say he simply turned a blind eye, but anyone with a semblance of intelligence will know he did everything he could to protect them from the consequences of their actions."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "At the match, you said something about Myrose's brother. He bullied you, didn't he?" Quirrell looked slightly stunned, as though he hadn't expected Harry to catch that. "You seemed upset that history might be repeating itself."

Quirrell chuckled faintly. "You're sharper than I give you credit for." He shook his head. "But you're wrong. Myrose didn't bully me. I wish he had if it was an alternative."

"Then what-?"

"He murdered my entire family." Harry's mouth fell open. "Something about Wizards and Muggles building a family together seemed to offend him." Quirrell finished quietly. He looked haunted and Harry couldn't help but remember his description of Myrose's older brother:

His predilection for the most vulnerable of Muggles was made known at his trial. A truly vile man.

"The restrictions. Right." Quirrell shook his head and Harry waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

"During the Fifth Great Wizarding War, Headmaster Dippet used the fear caused by Grindlewald to restrict the teaching of the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Dumbledore continued this trend, even outright banning duelling for a short time during his first tenure as Headmaster." Quirrell chuckled. "He was hounded on all sides for that decision. By the Magister, the Ministry, and even the Auror Corps. They all harassed him until he changed it back."

"This coddling of our students has only led to embarrassment for Britain on the world stage. When the Triwizard Tournament rolls around every three years, it’s made clear to the world that one of the oldest schools of magic has been surpassed by mere covens and Citadel day schools."

Harry nodded. He had heard something similar from his friends. "What's this got to do with Slughorn?"

Quirrell's expression turned deadly serious. "I think Slughorn may already be teaching the Dark Arts to students. Or at the very least he may be enabling them."

Harry frowned. "But isn't that exactly what you want to do?"

"There's a vast difference between teaching Dark Magic in a safe classroom environment with a fully trained Master in the field and a gang of teenagers casting spells on each other without care."

Quirrell pulled out his own chair now, dragging it until it was directly opposite Harry's own. "I need you to do something for me. I feel, after all these months, that I have a good sense of your character. Which is how I know that you are not only capable of what I'm about to ask, but trustworthy enough to keep it a secret."

Harry felt tense. "How I respond will depend on what you ask."

"Smart boy." Quirrell's lips pulled upward for a smile, but only for a moment. "I need you to infiltrate this group of students, and report everything you see back to me."

"No." Harry didn't even need to think about it. Infiltrating a group just to betray them was dangerous enough, but a gang of teenagers dabbling with Dark Magic? Forget about it. Quirrell quickly tried to reassure him.

"There are three reasons why I think you would agree. First, all the students who are a part of the club go to great lengths to protect their identities."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "If you've never been to these group meetings, how do you know about that?"Is this an elaborate trap?Harry wondered.What would be the point?

Quirrell smiled. "That's because of the second reason. I already have someone on the inside. You would be joining this task just in case their intel proves…unreliable."

"So, you've already got a student spying for you, but you don't trust them so you're asking for my help. What happens if you don't trust me either?"

"Neither of you will know the other's identity." Quirrell nodded once he saw that Harry understood where he was going with this. "That's right. You will both look out for one another on the inside but report back to me at different times and places. That way I know my first spy is giving me accurate and complete intel of the goings on in the club."

And you also know if I choose to hold anything back,Harry thought but didn’t say aloud.This was all so very strange. Harry had already resolved to walk away from this, as he didn't need Quirrell anymore. Not really. He’d already learned what did and didn’t work when it came to spellcasting, and for the few spells that were out of his reach? Well, Flitwick did say that his door was always open.

However, as though sensing Harry's building resolve, Quirrell added slyly. "Did you know both your father was Masters of the Dark Arts?" Harry narrowed his eyes, and Quirrell's smile slowly grew. "Yes, and he was great from the moment he set foot in the Magisterium. I only attended a few years after him, but some of my instructors still brought his name up. Your father left Hogwarts as a prodigy in the Dark Arts, and I could never quite measure up. The Masters of the Magestrium had wondered if he was a natural talent, or had Hogwarts secretly started teaching the Dark Arts in full force again?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "This is the third reason, isn't it? You think my father was a member of this Dark Arts Club."

Quirrell simply smiled and Harry clenched his fists. They both knew that Harry was now going to join.

“What’s this club called?” He asked finally.

“Slughorn seems to have named his club after a secret duelling society from the eighteenth century. They were notorious for only allowing membership to warriors who wielded wands made of aspen.” Quirrell explained. “They call themselves The Silver Spears.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry tried his best to get that conversation out of his mind, but he spent all night thinking about it. He spent all of breakfast thinking about it too. He could hear his friends distantly try to get his attention before eventually leaving him to his thoughts. They sounded amused, as though they thought he was focused on today's exams.

Exams. He had been so lost in thought, that he’d forgotten what was taking place today. He snapped out of it only as he took his seat in Professor McGonagall's classroom. Harry felt a sudden swell of panic rise in his chest. He hadn't done any revision last night. He hadn't even gone over his notes this morning. He hadn't even gotten a good night's sleep-!

“You may begin,” McGonagall said from the front of the room. “You have sixty minutes to complete this exam.”

Swallowing thickly, Harry opened his exam paper and quickly read the first question. He raised his eyebrows and read the next question and then the question after that. Thumbing through the pages, he read all thirty questions as a smile slowly grew on his face. There wasn’t a single question he didn’t know how to answer. What on earth had he been so worried about? This was-

“-soeasy!" Harry said happily as he and his friends walked through the chilly courtyard. It was their free period before their Charms exam, and they were each holding a small handful of bluebell flames to keep warm. "I expected it to be much harder than that!"

"That's because it was only theoretical! The practical portion isn't even tested until June!" Michael hadn't been nearly as happy with this news as Harry had been. "I shouldn't have wasted so much time on my spell work." He groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand.

Terry laughed at his despair. "I told you revising was a waste of time." Michael glared at him, but Terry wasn't the least bit affected.

Anthony frowned at him for a moment, before turning to Michael. "Think of it this way; more revision now, means less revision later."

Michael looked considering, so Harry chimed in. "Yeah! Quidditch finals are in May, less revision means more time you can practice."

Michael nodded. "I do like the sound of that." Terry sighed, clearly disappointed Michael had stopped his meltdown.

"Let's just get these stupid exams over with so we can get to Christmas already," Terry grumbled, childishly.

The rest of the exams passed by in a breeze. Magical theory wasn't exactly Harry's forte, but at this level, it was far easier than actually doing the magic it was explaining. Once exams were over, Flitwick informed the First Years that he would release exam results on the last day of term and send them home as well. Harry enjoyed the thought of a magical owl telling Vernon and Petunia how superior he was to their offspring.

Before he knew it, it was the second to last night of term. The night he would be initiated into TheSilver Spears.

Harry had been bewildered when Quirrell had told him they met twice a week in the Small Hall. "Surely someone would have noticed by now,” he’d rightfully said. The Small Hall was an unofficial inter-House common room, with tables and chairs for studying, and sofas and armchairs for relaxing. The school even kept games on hand to entertain the students. It was always busy, too busy for a secret society of Dark Wizards to meet. He told Quirrell all of this.

"First of all, these are students, not Dark Wizards. They are innocent children, who are being misled by a trusted faculty member. Our job is to help them before they do any permanent damage to themselves or others." Quirrell reminded him, looking uncharacteristically stern. "Secondly, if students of all ages and Houses are going to meet, you need to do it in a place that won't attract attention. At least, that’s what Slughorn has told my spy." Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Right, yourspy. I want to meet them." He spoke over Quirrell's refusal. "I don't care if you don't trust them, but I need to know for certain that I won't be entering that place alone."

"How am I supposed to know the two of you won't collude together? That you won't change the information you have received?"

Harry's smile didn't contain a trace of humour. "I suspect that you’ll continue to use the Mind Arts as you’ve been doing." For the first time since Harry had met him, Quirrell looked truly shocked, which told him his guess had been correct.

"How did you-?"

"It was just a shot in the dark, but from the look on your face I can see it was the right one." Harry had been keeping his eyes averted since the discovery. His research into Quirrell's background had come up empty as he had shown no inclination in studying the Mind Arts at the Magisterium. While the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor lacked an official mastery in the field, his uncanny ability to guess what Harry was thinking of at any given moment led him to only one conclusion.

It took Quirrell a moment to gather himself before his usual easy smile fell into its usual place. "Your fellow infiltrator will be the one with a thin band of gold along the top of their boots. You will be wearing purple on yours." Harry opened his mouth to explain that he didn't trust his Colour-Changing Charm to last that long, but Quirrell spoke over him. "It will come with the uniform my spy has already provided for you."

"The Silver Spears wear special uniforms?"

"As well as hoods to hide their identities."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to get into the Small Hall without anyone noticing?"

Quirrell looked very amused with Harry's mounting concerns. "That is for you to figure out. It is, after all, the first step of your initiation." Harry knew the only way he was going to make it was with his Invisibility Cloak. Judging by the widening smile on Quirrell's face, he knew it too.Damn Legilimency,Harry thought.

That was how Harry found himself walking towards the Small Hall after dinner, hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. The uniform Quirrell had provided him with was not dissimilar from the duelling gear Hogwarts provided for its Sentinels and their challengers. However, the uniform was entirely silver instead of black and the armour over his torso and joints was white, except for the thin ring of imperial purple around the top of his long, buckled boots. The only addition was the low hood that left his face in deep shadow.

Harry was running a little late as he had spent too long fiddling with his bronze Ouroboros as it was the first time that he had removed it for anything other than bathing in months. It was only a little change but walking down the corridor with the metal bracelet on the outside of his wrist bracer left him feeling a little exposed. He had grown used to the feel of it against his skin.

Thanks to that he was now running a little late. The meeting began at eight, leaving him with only ten minutes. This normally wouldn't be a problem, but he had no idea how to join the club once he arrived at the Hall.

His fears weren’t unfounded. When he entered the Hall, it was crowded, mostly with OWL and NEWT students who enjoyed a later curfew. Glancing around he could not see anyone dressed as he was, or even acting suspiciously. Sighing, he stood in a corner that was out of the way so no one would bump into him but was also atop the highest row of the benches that lined the walls so he could see over everyone's heads.

It was only when the Clock Tower struck eight in the distance that the wall furthest from the door began to shimmer. Harry had been at Hogwarts long enough to notice a basic illusion, as it was a necessary skill to learn when so many doors and walls pretended to be things they weren't. The First Year Ravenclaw boys had made a habit of exploring the castle during their free hours and had found plenty of such illusions around the school. However, this was the first time he had ever seen an illusion of this calibre. No one but he (and he suspected a few other invisible students) seemed to notice. Was it the uniforms? Were they protecting them from this illusion? Harry didn't know much about Enchanting or the Mind Arts, but he knew that no student could have done this. There was more to Slughorn than Harry had thought.

Walking towards the wall, he passed by the students who seemed to be moving away from it, as though compelled to stay far away. Even though no one could see him, he still glanced around before stepping through the wall. He felt nothing but the barest of whispers against his skin as he moved through the illusion, as though the wall was as insubstantial as mist.

The entrance had reminded him of the barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and he was glad that he’d learned not to keep his eyes closed since then. If he had, he would have tumbled down a steep flight of stairs.

It was difficult to make out in the gloom, but a few students were making their way down the stairs, now completely visible. Hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, Harry pressed himself against the wall just as a thin boy made himself visible and began to climb down the stairs. Harry tried to move his hand back through the wall only to find it solid. He was stuck here.

There’s no going back now, he thought.So I might as well see this through.

Harry followed the others down the stairs as quietly as he could. The staircase was not only steep but long and he was already dreading the climb to the top. The further down they went, the walls became rougher and rockier, and the stairway became darker. Finally, in the distance, he could see light at the bottom of the staircase.

The last few steps opened into a wide, well-lit, underground hall. It was similar to the training hall on the sixth floor that Auror Cadets used to train during the week. Harry and his friends had caught a glimpse of it once, before being chased off by a harried-looking Auror Captain. There was a wide, circular pit in the middle of the hall that likely served as a duelling arena, targets that lined the walls and Automatons that floated in the corners of the room, toy wands in hand, ready to spar. There was even a sturdy bookcase along one wall filled with- what he assumed at least- Dark Magic.

When Quirrell had first told him about The Silver Spears,Harry had assumed that there were only around ten members or so, enough for Slughorn to mentor personally. Now, he could see as many as thirty students of varying ages and sizes, both boys and girls, and at the very front was the same thin boy who had almost bumped into him at the top of the stairs, standing alongside a maskless Slughorn.

While the students began to divide themselves up into groups or pairings to begin their various, illicit activities, Harry began to search for the spy with the thin gold ring along the top of their boots. He had already promised himself to find an exit if he couldn’t spot them, but much to his disappointment, he found them almost immediately standing by the stairs, waiting for him.

Pausing to only send his Invisibility Cloak away to his lockbox, Harry steeled himself and stepped out of the shadows of the staircase. He made his way to his fellow spy, who seemed impatient judging by her body language.

It was almost certainly a “her” as the form-fitting duelling gear couldn’t hide that much for most of the members. Her face was hidden in the shadow of her low hood, and Harry was positive that he’d never heard her voice before when she spoke in an uninterested tone.

"Nice boots," she said, moving her head as though she were looking at him up and down.

"Not nearly as nice as yours," Harry replied with the phrase Quirrell had told him to say.

Before he could figure out what to say now that he was without instruction, Slughorn had arrived in front of him.

"This must be our latest initiate!" Slughorn said, in his usual too-loud exclamation. Harry glanced around, afraid that this loud introduction would make the other members take notice of the fresh meat within their midst, but no one even glanced in their direction. They were too busy casting spells at targets or leafing through Dark Arts texts. "I normally only accept new members at the start of every year, but I was convinced to make an exception for you." Slughorn gave an amused look at Harry's new companion. "No matter, you managed to find your way here undetected, and due to recent events, we have an opening in our group."

At this, Harry's fellow infiltrator began to make her way to the only other exit on the other side of the hall. While trying to subtly disguise his voice, Harry raspily asked, "An opening?”

Even though his disguised voice sounded natural to his ears, Slughorn smiled, as though he knew that Harry was trying to hide his identity. "Do you truly think I would allow a student to join my Spears without first knowing who they are? You mustn't worry, lad. I might know, but no one else will. You can trust me." He winked at Harry in the same way he did all his favourite students, as though he was still the same harmless teacher he pretended to be. Harry repressed a shudder.

Slughorn put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him disturbingly close to his vast belly. "You’ve managed to pass the first two stages of initiation into our illustrious society. The first is being talented enough to even receive a recommendation from a member, followed by my approval. The second is arriving here without detection, thereby proving your talent. Now, all that is left is the third and final stage." Slughorn indicated for Harry to follow, as he led the way to the centre of the hall. As they passed, members stopped their target practices and readings, watching and following as they walked by.

It was only when they reached the duelling pit did Slughorn finally stop. Harry was almost relieved at the idea of a duel being the last step, even if it was against an older, Dark Magic-wielding student. Of course, nothing could ever be so easy.

The girl with the gold-ringed boots had returned, levitating a large, restrained boy behind her. It was only when the boy was unceremoniously dumped into the pit that Harry finally recognised him.

It was Myrose.

Flitwick had taken Harry aside last week to inform him that Myrose would return early from his suspension to take his end-of-term exams. He had assured Harry that the older boy would be kept in isolation by his Head of House, but to come and speak with him if he felt threatened in any way.While Harry hadn’t been concerned about Myrose’s return in the least, he’d felt touched that Flitwick had been thoughtful enough to warn him and to offer support if he was worried.

Harry had felt lucky to have been sorted into Ravenclaw then, glad to have a Head of House that was both hands-off but willing to offer support if asked. Now, looking at the bound and gagged Myrose, he knew that Slughorn was a different breed of teacher.

He was glad to have not ended up in Slytherin.

"As you all are aware, Mr Myrose threatened our group's exposure when he acted out of selfish desire." Harry knew that this was for his benefit so that he wouldn't blame the entire group for one person's actions. "As such, he needs to be punished before his exclusion by our newest Spear." Slughorn gestured for Harry to enter the pit.

Resenting the fact that this would make him an easy target for the crowd circling the pit, Harry walked down the sloping side until he was on level ground again. Slughorn nodded down at his bound and gagged student. "Wake him," he instructed.

Harry drew his wand from his hip holster and brought it down at Myrose. "Renervate!"The boy opened his eyes, looking bleary and confused. When he spotted Harry in his silver gear and white armour, face hidden within the unnatural shadows of his low hood, he began to worm backwards in fear.

"Stop him." Slughorn's voice was cold. Harry was glad the hood hid his face, as he couldn’t repress a grimace. "Petrificus Totalus!"Myrose's already bound form became stiff as he slumped to the side unmoving.

"Now, hurt him," Slughorn demanded. Harry paused. How had he gotten to this point? He liked to think he was smarter than most people, but he’d somehow put himself in a position where he was surrounded by a couple of dozen older students whose identities were hidden and his only option to leave unmolested was to hurt another person.Why was he here?To be included?Was he so desperate to be part of this group? To follow in his parent’s footsteps?

Slughorn seemed to sense his reluctance, as he joined Harry in the pit, huffing and puffing as he worked his way down the sloping side. He bent so his mouth was by Harry’s ear, his voice low so no one else could hear. "He’s attacked you twice now, hasn't he? Who knows what he would have done the first time if Quirrell hadn't been there? The second time? He was ready to kill you in front of half the Wizarding Britain. He's more than earned a little punishment wouldn't you say?"

Harry swallowed.If I don't do it, someone else will. At least this way I get to stay in the club. He had forgotten why that was so important to him, but he was afraid that he might end up in Myrose's position if he chickened out.

To make sure he didn't miss, Harry stepped closer to the bound boy. He focused on the feelings of frustration and fear Myrose had inspired in him by ambushing him during the first week of school. He remembered how he’d resented being attacked by the enemies he’d inherited for reasons he didn’t understand and the anger he’d felt at his own weakness.

Gathering these dark feelings into a dense ball of hatred in his chest, he pointed his wand at Myrose's cheek. Firmly as he could manage, he muttered "Diffindo!"

Unfortunately, Harry had been so focused on his feelings and keeping his voice steady that he’d forgotten to carefully aim his wand. The cut was longer, thicker and deeper than he had intended, going from Myrose's forehead, over his left eye, across his cheek, to the bottom of his jaw. Blood flowed freely from the bleeding gash, much to the audible pleasure of the watching crowd, oozing sideways across Myrose's mouth, nose and right eye. While he couldn't move, Harry could hear his muffled screams and see his one good eye moving wildly in his head.

The hatred in him quickly evaporated when faced with the grisly sight and Harry stumbled back, bumping into Slughorn. The Potions Master tried to put a proud hand on his shoulder, but Harry quickly stepped out of his reach, breathing deeply. Perhaps sensing that Harry was just as liable to attack him at that moment as he was Myrose, Slughorn opened up his student's punishment to everyone.

"Everyone gets their pound of flesh tonight! One spell each, but it must be easily reversible!" As the crowd lined up eagerly, Harry headed for the stairs. Before he could make it, his arm was caught.

"Pull yourself together!" His fellow infiltrator hissed. "You did good, now you just have to wait it out." Harry did so, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes averted from the flashes of light that were striking the bound Myrose.

Finally, once everyone had got their licks in, Slughorn asked the thin boy from earlier to deliver Myrose back to his office. The boy lazily flicked his white, aspen wand and directed Myrose back the way he first came. Knowing it wouldn’t lead to anything good, Harry tried not to look at him as he passed, but he couldn't help himself. He had to repress a gag at what he saw.

Myrose now resembled a battered crustacean more than he did a human being. So many curses and transfigurations had been cast on him that Harry couldn't begin to guess how Slughorn was going to reverse it all before term ended. His one good eye was streaming tears and Harry could hear his choked cries that were muffled by both the gag and the Body-Bind Curse he had cast.

For a split second, their eyes met and Myrose’s desperate agony was clear to see. Harry had to look away. He had never felt more ashamed of himself.

Slughorn clapped his hands once, and the laughter and chatter from the assembled group quieted. "The initiation is now complete! Tonight's meeting is now over. Make sure you’re not caught out of bounds, as you will receive no help from me if you are caught." Harry now knew why the girl had stopped him. Tonight's meeting was for his initiation, and it would have looked odd if he had fled before it was over. As the other students passed him, he received nods, pats on the back and a few welcomes. A couple of kids looked like they wanted to say more, but his companion told them to get lost.

"You're going to need a much firmer stomach than that if you wish to remain," Slughorn said as he approached when only the three of them remained in the hall. "You’re a legacy member through your parents, but that isn’t enough to ensure youremaina member. Your mother and father both had the killer instinct that every great duellist needs. I had hoped you would possess the same.” With that awful remark, Slughorn walked away, exiting through the back entrance.

Once they were alone, the girl led him to a shadowy corner, dimming the lights in the hall as she went. She waved her wand around them, to no effect that Harry could see, but when she finished, she lowered her hood without fear of being seen by any invisible students.

"Now we can speak freely." Eliza Hawthorn said.

Harry stared at her, not moving to lower his own hood. "You're an Auror Cadet," he said dully, eyes flickering to her Ouroboros. It was bronze instead of onyx. Had she charmed it? Was that even allowed?

Eliza frowned. "So? This isn't illegal." Her voice was defensive.

"We just attacked a defenceless student! Of course, it's illegal!" Harry was so upset, that he wasn't even embarrassed at how loud his voice became.

"Only if someone finds out, which won't happen as Myrose will have his memories wiped by morning."

A Memory Charm. It was one of the first things Harry had researched in the library, desperately wanting to know what had happened to Sara. "How did you get recruited by Quirrell?"

"He held me back after class one day in September and told me he knew I was a Silver Spear. He asked me to tell him what Slughorn was teaching us." Eliza shrugged. "If it's a choice between me and everyone else in this group, I'll choose myself every time."

“I can’t tell if you’re being pragmatic or if you’re just a typical Slytherin.”

“There’s nothing wrong with saving your own skin.” She smirked a little. “Especially with the pricks in this club.”

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand the plan here. If he wants Slughorn sacked, why not just tell Dumbledore what's going on? It'll be easy to catch us in the middle of a meeting."

Eliza rolled her eyes. "Who you know is even more important here than it is in the Muggle world." Harry remembered Cedric saying she was Muggle-born. "Few are better connected than Slughorn. So many old students owe him favours, or simply just like the man. If Quirrell wants him out, then he needs to come up with insurmountable evidence of wrongdoing."

Harry sighed. "Let me guess. That's where we come in?"

Eliza only smiled grimly in response.

Harry made his way down the corridor, his dark mood following him as closely as the back of his flapping Invisibility Cloak. He made no effort to quiet his footsteps and he saw paintings look confused as he passed by unseen. Stopping in front of Quirrell's office, Harry knocked firmly.

It wasn't even ten o'clock, and curfew had only come around for OWL students forty minutes ago, so there was no chance Quirrell was already in bed. Therewasa chance he’d gone down to Hogsmeade for a drink, but Harry didn't think so. Not on the night one of his spies entered a secret society on his orders.

Just as he had thought, Quirrell opened the door promptly. He looked confused when he saw no one was there, but he didn't jump when Harry's voice seemingly came from nowhere.

"I'm out. I won't be returning." The fact that he was speaking about both The Silver Spears meetings and Quirrell's private lessons went unsaid. Just as he was turning around, heading for Ravenclaw Tower, Quirrell opened his door wider.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly. "Are you hurt?"

Not wanting to keep his voice down, Harry entered the office, so he could speak at a proper volume. He noted distantly that the room was bare of anything but a desk and stacks of books. "I don't want to hurt people," Harry said plainly. Quirrell looked confused as to what he was talking about and asked him to explain.

"Do you see now why it's so important you do this?" Quirrell asked once Harry had told him of the evening's events. "We can't let him get away with this!"

Harry scowled. "I won't go back!"

"This has been going on for years! At least since your parents were students!" Harry flinched at the reminder that his mother and father had been willing members. Quirrell was too annoyed that Harry wasn't comprehending the stakes to notice. "Think of all the students who must have been hurt because of this. Think of all the Death Eaters that found their taste for the Dark Arts in that club. You can stop all of that!"

Harry felt his repressed nausea begin to make its way back. Taking a seat in front of Quirrell's desk, Harry tried to get control of himself before replying. "I hurt him. He was defenceless, but I made him bleed. I blinded him in one eye. That's not right!"

Quirrell sighed. "This is exactly why I knew I could trust you with this. Because you would take no pleasure in it. But I also thought that you would have the spine to see things through." Harry's head snapped to face him, furious that he would insult him now, but Quirrell continued before he could say anything. "I thought you could see the bigger picture. Ineedyou to see the bigger picture. Otherwise, this is just going to keep on happening."

When Harry still looked stubborn, Quirrell sighed. "Just one more meeting, alright? If you still want to leave after then, I won't say a word."

"Would Slughorn just let me leave?"

It was Quirrell's turn to smile grimly. "I'll make sure of it."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

After making his way through the common room and into his dorm, (still hidden underneath the Invisibility Cloak so no one would see his uniform), Harry tried to relax with a bath, but his mind was too unsettled for even that to work. Before climbing into bed, he removed his lockbox from his drawers and placed it on his lap as he sat up against his pillows.

There were two people that he’d wanted to speak to for months now. He’d wanted to speak to them his entire life. His mother and father. Ever since Quirrell had told him that his father had almost certainly been a member of The Silver Spears, and Slughorn had confirmed thatbothhis parents had been members, Harry's mind had been filled with more questions than ever. While he’d been aware that one of his father's three masteries had been in the Dark Arts, and of his mother's infamous brutality on the battlefield, he couldn’t relate the two legendary Aurors with the shadowy society he’d just been initiated into.

Since stepping foot in Hogwarts, Harry had repeatedly tried to open the letters his parents had left for him. Unlocking and Severing Charms had proven themselves useless, and Harry had been forced to take a break from his attempts when Quidditch practice and exam revision had taken precedence. But right now, he didn't just want to speak to his parents, heneededto, and their letters were the closest he was ever going to get.

Now he tried, for the tenth time, a series of spells he had learned fromThe Cursebreaker’s Beginner Guide. "Alohom*ora!"No reaction. "Arbeto!"Nothing. "Liberare!"Again nothing. "Emancipare!"Still nothing. "Open Sesame!Oh, come on!"The letter remained stubbornly sealed, even though Harry had used each of these spells to great effect on various kinds of locked items over the last three months. Frustrated, Harry threw both letters back into the lockbox and into the drawer.

Whatever those letters contained, his parents either didn’t want him to read them until he was older, or they had simply chosen a method that was beyond him at the moment. Whichever it was, it meant that he didn’t have their wordsright nowwhen he needed them the most.

For most of his life, Harry carried an incredible amount of confidence, both in his mind and his abilities. Even when he made a mess of things, he quickly decided how to fix it and continue onwards, stronger than ever. He’d proven to himself, over and over again, that he was more than capable of making his own decisions with little self-doubt, but, for the first time in a long time, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

He slumped back against his pillow, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster bed. He needed guidance, but there was no one here to provide it. There never was.

Chapter 12: Interlude IV

Chapter Text

He'd honestly expected a better result.

The only reason Tom had chosen Myrose to attack the boy, twice, was to establish a clear antagonistic threat he needed to overcome. He thought it would have been as easy as breathing for the boy to seek revenge. But somehow, he had misjudged him.

Standing invisible in the corner of the hall, he watched as Slughorn approached the hesitating boy, encouraging him to do what was necessary. While the owner of the body he was possessing felt horrified at the sight of a student being brutalised, Tom felt nothing but disappointment when he saw Harry step back after only one attack. What was this? Pity? Empathy?

He resolved to engineer a meeting between the two of them before the holidays began so he could discern what the issue was. It was only luck that had the boy seek him out of his own volition that very same night.

That was when he learned what had gone wrong. The boy's emotions were still out of his control, so even with him avoiding eye contact, Tom had a clearer look into his mind than ever before.

It was anger.Or rather, a lack thereof.

The boy had lived a lonely existence, yes, but he didn't have the unending rage that Tom possessed at his age. His parents had been killed, but he loved only the idea of them. He was unable to truly miss what he couldn't remember. Even the attacks by Myrose weren't personal enough for him to feel any lasting anger over. His rage came and went like a brief flare rather than the enduring inferno Tom had been so certain he possessed.

After convincing the child to attend one more meeting, he began to plot when he was left alone in his office.

He would ask Hawthorn to stay by Harry's side during the meetings. His admiration of her was obvious enough, and it should make him feel warmer towards the meetings themselves. At the very least, he would want to work hard to impress the older girl. Slughorn would have to keep his distance as the boy found his behaviour unsettling. But that still wouldn't be enough.

Instilling potent rage in Harry would be difficult, but not impossible. He needed to see that the Dark Arts were a necessary tool, a force for good even. Tom had thought that linking Dark Magic to the parents the boy had all but deified within his mind would have been enough, but that had only served to drag the Potters down from the pedestals Harry had put them on.

Tom's lips twitched. The idea of the boy losing faith in the parents that had sacrificed so much for his survival amused him.

That momentary delight was enough to clear his worries so he could think clearly. If he wanted Harry to learn how useful the Dark Arts were, then he first needed to learn how truly weak he was without them. It would hurt him, but that was inevitable. After all, a little suffering was good for the soul.

Who should I sacrifice for the sake of this lesson?Tom wondered.Boot, Corner or Goldstein?

Chapter 13: Three Christmas Parties, Two Shady Conversations and One Secret Kiss

Chapter Text

Harry was a bit of a drag on his friends the next day.

Classes were over for the term, and everyone was spending time with their friends before they went their separate ways for the two-week holiday. However, instead of spending his day off exploring the castle and grounds as he usually would, Harry sat in his favourite armchair by the fireplace with a sketchpad and pencil in hand.

His friends, concerned with his morose air, had tried wheedling out his troubles. When he wouldn't tell them, they simply joined him in the common room all day, playing games, eating snacks and just chatting while he drew, forgoing whatever trouble they had been planning without any fuss. Harry knew he should feel bad about ruining their day, but he was just grateful for their company.

"You know, you're actually quite good." Anthony sounded surprised, as he peeked over Harry's shoulder. "I've never seen you draw anything before. Aside from runes, of course," he added, “but I don’t think that counts.”

"It doesn’t count,” Harry said. After a moment, he asked, “You think this is good?” He’d never shown anyone his drawings before, and he hadn't touched the art supplies Sara and Jade had given him. In fact, he hadn't drawn anything since he had come to Hogwarts. Years ago, Lupin had seen him aimlessly doodling in one of his notebooks and had promptly enrolled him into a children’s art class, paying for it out of his own pocket. He had encouraged the hobby as a way for Harry to understand his feelings on matters, and to distract his impulses, but he hadn't needed to for months. Not until last night.

"Yeah. I mean it's not exactly accurate, Hogwarts has seven towers, not nine, but I think I get what you're going for. This school can be a scary place sometimes." Anthony said this all very smoothly, as though he wasn't cutting to the heart of the problem. Harry had known his friend was intelligent almost immediately upon meeting him, but he didn't give him enough credit sometimes.

Harry's sketch of Hogwarts castle was loose, with more shapes than actual details, but his lines were thick, jagged and dark, with copious shading, and all of it was drawn from a low angle, as though it were looming over the viewer. Harry had taken some liberties with the actual school, adding more floors and towers to make it even more imposing. He supposed, for someone as sharp and empathetic as Anthony, it was a flashing neon sign asking for help.

"Don't tell Terry, but I think the stress from all the revision we did is finally starting to catch up with me."

Anthony smiled. "So even Mr Outstanding has his limits.”

"Mr Outstanding?”

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "You haven't seen the notice board yet?"

Leaving Terry and Michael to their oddly serious discussion, Anthony showed him the latest addition to the notice board. The grades of each student were posted, as well as their rankings amongst their year mates. Harry wasn't all that surprised to see twelve Outstanding grades next to his name, but he was surprised to see his name at the very top of the list of First Years.

"I'm first?” He asked quietly. His shoulders began to shake ever so slightly.

"I'm surprised you didn't see it. You were here when I woke up, so I thought you didn't care-"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!” Harry pumped his fist as if he had just won another Quidditch match. “I’m the best! I’m number one!” He crowed. Delighted laughter washed away all the worries The Silver Spears had left him with.

"Oh, calm down. It was only theoretical-"

"What was that number two?” Harry asked mockingly, as he cupped a hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you over the sound of my greatness. My academic superiority is untouchable! No one else can-”

Anthony punched him on the arm. “Oh, shut up!” He grimaced. "You're a really unpleasant victor, you know that? I can't believe I thought you were being humble earlier."

Harry's standing as the absolute greatest of all the First Years ("Don’t be ridiculous!” Anthony sourly protested.) had cheered him up significantly. So much so that when evening drew near, he didn't pretend to feel sick like he’d planned, and instead followed his friends up to their dorms to get ready for Slughorn's Christmas party.

Anthony had been kind enough to lend him some formal clothes for the evening. A long black jacket- almost militaristic in style- with its closed buttons, all the way to the high collar at his throat, had its solemn air undermined by the beautiful minute golden threaded designs that were all along the front and back, leaving his arms and wide sleeves plain. The ankle-length hose was simple and black, and the jacket fell to his knees, with splits down the sides when it reached his waist. The high, buckled boots that Anthony had lent to him on Halloween now completed the look.

Harry thought he looked a bit silly, as no kid his age should ever look so fancy, but when he left his dorm he saw that both Terry and Michael were wearing something similar in red and blue, respectively. As soon as he stepped out, both boys stopped talking abruptly.

Not taking this personally, as he guessed the two were planning some kind of trouble, Harry merely asked. "Did Anthony already go?"

Terry snorted from where he was leaning against the wall. "Nah. He just takes forever to get ready for stuff like this." He was fiddling with his already loosened collar. In contrast to his relaxed air, Michael looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"You alright?" Harry asked.

Michael nodded. "Yeah, but it's Robert's old suit, isn't it? It's a bit too tight for me."

Terry chuckled. "You eat more than anyone I've ever met. Be grateful it fits you at all." Michael's cheeks reddened, and he approached Terry with his fist raised, but before he could hit him, Anthony's door opened.

"Everyone ready?" Anthony asked. His suit was similar to theirs, but it was a deep purple with gold lining, and his hair was trimmed as if he had just given himself a fresh cut.

"We were just waiting for you," Harry said.

Anthony examined him critically. "The suit fits you, but maybe you should comb your hair?"

Harry was offended. "I did comb my hair."

Anthony blinked. "But it looks the same as it always does."

"Because I comb it every day!”

Anthony looked appalled. "That's how your hair looks when you take care of it?!" Harry's embarrassment wasn't helped by the other two snickerings, but before he could say anything, Anthony had already turned his attention to them.

"Terry, fix your collar and wipe your chin. You've got ink on it." Harry was surprised at how frantic Terry was when he began to wipe the dark green ink off his chin. "Michael, you look like you're about to burst from the seams. You should hope Robert hasn't left for the party yet. He needs to resize it for you. Otherwise, your hose might split.” It was Harry's turn to laugh.

The four made their way to the common room, but before they could even get to the Sixth Years floor, Michael's trousers had already given up, as they all heard an incredibly loud tearing sound from behind them. The other three turned to see Michael already running back up the stairs while covering his backside. Harry and Terry immediately fell into hysterics, but Anthony continued and got Robert by himself. The older boy arrived in no time and he frowned at them as he passed them on the staircase.

"It's not that funny." He chided as he passed.

"Yes, it is!” Harry gasped out, which only made Terry laugh harder. Robert tried to appear stern, but Harry saw his mouth twitch as he passed.

A few minutes later, both brothers appeared back on the staircase. Michael was red-faced and Robert was smirking. Harry and Terry had regained control over themselves by this point, but their laughter resumed when they caught sight of Michael's mortified expression. This time even Robert and Anthony joined in.

"I hate all of you," Michael muttered as he trudged past.

Robert went back to his dorm, and the First Year Ravenclaw boys made their way to the party. Along the way, Terry made various ripping sounds with his mouth, trying to mimic the sound Michael's trousers had made as they tore apart, while Harry and Anthony judged him on his accuracy. Michael had tried to ignore them at first, but eventually, even he joined in.

Harry was in such a good mood that by the time they had arrived at the Small Hall he wasn't even thinking about last night's events. Which was good, as he didn’t want his first sight of the wondrous party to be ruined by bad memories. When they stepped through the wide-open doors and into the Hall, Harry didn’t see any remnants of the Small Hall. How could he? They had somehow been transported into a winter wonderland.

Hogwarts had already gone all out with its decorations, but the Small Hall outdid the rest of the school by a mile. The entire room had been expanded and the walls appeared to be made of ice as snow gently fell from the ceiling before slowly vanishing when it came into contact with a surface. There was a large, decorated Christmas tree in the corner with gift bags underneath and mistletoe hanging from a corner that had too many giggling teenagers lined up. It was all so amazing, but even this wondrous sight couldn't keep him happy forever.

"Boys!" Called the dreaded voice. Slughorn was making his way to them, using his vast bulk to shove students out of the way when they weren't fast enough to move. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come." Slughorn slapped a meaty hand down on Harry’s shoulder. "Come, I want to introduce you to a few friends of mine." Despite his words, it was clear he meant only Harry. Before he could be pulled away, Harry shot Michael a desperate look and, mercifully, his friend chose not to abandon him, even though Harry had just teased him mercilessly for the last half hour. Grabbing Terry and Anthony by the arms, he followed Harry and Slughorn closely.

"This is Arsenius Jigger. You must already know him from his work, surely!" Slughorn said, as he presented Harry to an impossibly old and, as the four boys quickly learned, very boring old man. The following, rambling, conversation felt like an hour, but according to his watch, it only lasted ten minutes. Unfortunately, it was not the last. One by one, Slughorn introduced them to one boring old person after another, and they only just managed to reign in their collective impatience when Anthony quietly reminded them that these people were every bit as important as they were dull.

The only bright spot was when they met Gwenog Jones, but only because of Michael's reaction to her. While neither Anthony nor Terry cared for Quidditch, and Harry's knowledge of the Professional Leagues couldn't fill the back of a stamp, Michael lived for sport and from what Harry gathered, Gwenog Jones was a living legend. Or at least, that was how Michael treated her.

"You made a complete fool of yourself." Terry snickered, once Gwenog was kind enough to lead Slughorn away, throwing an amused look back at Michael. "I wonder what she would say if your hose had ripped here instead of the tower."

"You didn't make a fool out of yourself," Harry said, firmly. "I think she was quite charmed by you.” He thought no such thing, but after he had helped him before, Harry wasn't going to let Michael be the butt of the joke for another half hour.

"What?! She didn't-" Terry cut himself off with a yelp after Harry stepped on his foot.

Anthony was back from wherever he disappeared to. "I got us a table,” he said in a rush. "Hurry up before one of these centenarians steals it.” They followed him quickly, happily crashing down at a table near the doors.

The four hadn't eaten dinner, waiting for the meal Slughorn had promised them. While Harry and Michael stared down at their empty plates in confusion, Terry and Anthony simply picked up their menus and began to peruse for their meals.

"You just have to tell your plate what you want, and the Automatons in the kitchen send it up," Terry explained, apparently holding no grudges about his aching toes. "Seared scallops," he said and the requested food promptly appeared on his plate. Harry and Michael followed his lead.

The meal was a pleasant one, and with their stomachs full and their heads feeling light from sugary drinks and laughter, it was shaping up to be an excellent party, no matter how poorly it began. In Terry and Michael's minds, it could only get better.

"I finally finished it,” Terry announced triumphantly. "My Scale Solution."

Anthony rolled his eyes. "I still think it’s a dumb name. It can't be a solution if it's not solving a problem."

Michael snickered. "That's what I said."

Harry was confused. "What's this again?"

Terry smiled. "Something I've been working on since I was at Pendle's. My Scale Solution."

Harry remembered something. "The green slime you put in Lisa's pocket on our first night here?"

Terry smiled. “One and the same. Now listen." He waved them all closer. "Michael is going to make a distraction while I slip it into a few people's drinks."

Anthony's eyes widened. "That's what you two idiots were planning earlier?" He frowned at Michael. "I expected something this moronic from Terry, but you? There are trained duellists here!" He hissed this last part.

Michael looked unconcerned. "It's Christmas, and after spending nearly a month revising-” he said this while giving Harry a dirty look- "I feel like doing something fun."

Anthony looked increasingly annoyed. "What's the payoff? All you're going to do is ruin Slughorn's party-”

"Give it here," Harry said. He’d heard enough. If this would ruin Slughorn's party, then he was all for it. "I can do it myself without a distraction."

"Harry!" Anthony hissed, looking betrayed. Harry knew why. On the occasions that Michael joined Terry in his pursuit of mischief, Harry remained vocally on Anthony's side. Not because he thought whatever it was that they were up to wasn't fun, but because he was wary of the consequences. Not tonight, though. He couldn't hurt Slughorn directly, he wasn't nearly strong enough, but he could embarrass him, and for a man as self-important as Slughorn, that might be worse.

"Don't worry, no one can link it back to us," Harry said to Anthony, before turning to Terry. "Can they?"

"The only people who know about my potion wouldn't grass us up to teachers. Not even Lisa." Terry assured him, as he subtly handed over the vial and dropper to him underneath the table. "How are you going to get it into people's drinks without a distraction?"

"That's for me to worry about." Harry winked. Terry shrugged.

"If you say so. Three drops per drink, no more." He warned. "It's potent stuff." Harry decided not to ask how he had tested it.

"You sure you don't need a hand?" Michael asked, looking a bit worried.

Harry smiled. "Nah. You just sit back and enjoy the show."

With that, Harry stood up, vial in hand, and exited the Hall. Once outside, he made his way to the nearest boy's lavatory and locked himself in a stall. Harry held his hand out and concentrated. In just a moment, his Invisibility Cloak appeared with a shimmer in his hand. He grinned.

After the night he first followed Michael to the Mirror of Erised, Harry had learned that he could summon his Invisibility Cloak to him with just a thought and send it back to his lockbox with just as little effort. At first, he had wondered why his parents hadn't just used this to hide from Voldemort, at least until he remembered that he only became invisible while the hood was up. Which meant it could only hide one person at a time. Not exactly useful for hiding a small family.

He didn't bother waiting around for the bathroom to empty, as the only other occupants were two Hufflepuff Fifth Years that were too busy complaining about their dates to notice the door open by itself. Harry began his return to the Small Hall, but before he was even halfway there, he felt himself move through some kind of invisible boundary.

Before he could figure out what had just happened, two shadowy figures at the end of the corridor began to storm in his direction. He had not been paying them any attention before as he had assumed that they were mere students who had grown too impatient to look for a more discreet corner to kiss in. Now, he saw that they were two adults, and they were both hurrying towards him with their wands drawn.

Silently, he pressed himself against the wall as the two men neared. It was only when they passed a crystal Christmas tree, filled with glowing fairies, did Harry recognise one of the men. It was Quirrell.

His companion was as different from him as could be. He was a thin, sallow-skinned man, with a long hook nose and shoulder-length black hair that was so greasy it glistened under the fairy light. It was parted in the middle, framing his face in curtains, and he wore black, flowing robes that made him look like a bat. All in all, Harry considered him to be a rather intimidating person, which made it all the stranger when he looked at Quirrell as though he were the frightening one.

"Problem?" The stranger asked, warily.

Quirrell nodded slowly. "We'll have to see, won't we?" With that, he raised his wand and snapped out, "Homenum Revelio!” Harry knew enough Latin to feel a thrill of fear when he heard that incantation, but nothing happened.

"It must have been Filch's cat," the stranger said. Quirrell nodded slowly.

"Perhaps." He said distantly, but from both his tone of voice, Harry knew he was thinking about other possibilities. Finally, he shook his head and returned his attention to his companion.

"It will happen soon, Severus," Quirrell said softly. "The time must come for you to choose a side."

"I have already chosen-!"

"Do not lie to me!" Quirrell hissed suddenly. Harry had never seen him lose his temper like this. He had never seen him lose his temper at all. He pressed the man, Severus, against the wall with just a wave of his hand. Severus didn't even raise his drawn wand to defend himself.

"I have gathered my most trusted friends to complete our task. It will be up to you to keep him distracted."

After a long, tense moment, Severus said carefully, "What you ask for, it cannot be done." He swallowed. "Perhaps if I can speak to him-"

"You don't understand, do you?" Quirrell sounded amused. "This is an act of repentance on your part. You're too useful not to keep, but he wants you to earn his forgiveness. Risking all that you have built is only the first part."

"Why?" The sallow man sounded desperate, and Quirrell sneered at his blatant fragility.

"Because it was your information that steered him wrong in the first place." With that, Quirrell dropped the man onto the ground in an undignified heap and stalked in the direction of his office.

After a few moments spent regaining control over himself, the sallow man, Severus, headed in the direction of the bathroom, presumably to straighten his robes before joining the party.

Only then did Harry feel safe to breathe normally again. Neither one of those men was the type you wanted to bump into in a dark corridor. Making his way back to the party, he tried to decode the argument he had just heard but couldn't make heads or tails of it. It sounded like an old friend of theirs had caught wind of some deception that Severus guy had made a while ago. Why Quirrell was so upset about it was just another part of the mystery.

Mystery, Harry scoffed. Why make a big deal of something that doesn't even concern me?

Harry entered the Small Hall, putting the strange argument out of his mind. While under the cover of his Cloak, he put three drops into the cups of students (avoiding the ones he liked, such as Robert and Marcus, who were having a whispered discussion in a corner) Professors Vector, (who was the only one to give out homework over Christmas) Slughorn (for obvious reasons) and all the boring people they had been introduced to earlier.

Harry had tried to be as quick as possible, but by the time he was putting the last of the vial in his target's drinks, the first few people had begun to transform into large, humanoid reptiles. The sight of it was both fascinating and mildly disgusting, and it only became funny once people began to panic. Perhaps it was wrong to enjoy it, but the ensuing chaos was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

People were screaming, falling over themselves to get away from the sudden giant bipedal reptiles. Tables and chairs were either falling over or flying as people began to make their escape. A few chairs even broke because they could not handle the sudden strange shapes of the people sitting on them. Some of them grew tails, which seemed to affect their balance as they fell over while others made strange hissing screams as their hair and ears fell out and their eyeballs shifted to either side of their skulls.

Harry had no idea how Terry had pulled this off with just a potion and with so little instruction. His claims must have been true; he was a genius. Terry seemed to agree with that sentiment, as he climbed atop their table, and began to dance, all the while chanting, "I'm a genius! I'm a genius!" until Anthony yanked him off.

Grinning, Harry made his way out of the Hall and waited for his friends around the corner. Vanishing the Cloak, he hid in a shadowy alcove and waited until his friends were about to pass him by. Only then did he abruptly burst out, shouting, “BOO!” He cracked up when he saw how high they all jumped.

Terry recovered the fastest. "I didn't even see you do it. I didn't see you at all!" He sounded impressed. "You took so long I thought you chickened out."

Harry smirked. "You can either get a job done quickly, or you can get it done right."

Anthony looked intrigued. "Seriously, how did you-? " He was cut off as Michael called out his brother's name, warning Anthony that they weren't alone in the corridor anymore.

"Robert! Are all Hogwarts parties like that?" Michael asked his brother, as an annoyed-looking Marcus followed in the background.

"No, of course not, and I'll appreciate it if you never tell mum about this either," Robert replied, looking weary.

"Got any idea of what that was?" Anthony asked, innocently. The other three looked at him in amazement. It wasn't like him to tweak the nose of an authority figure.

"No, but if I get my hands on them before the teachers do, I'll make them regret ever being born," Marcus said, darkly.

The First-Year boys felt simultaneous waves of dread. No one wanted to be on Marcus' bad side. "Why?” Michael asked weakly.

Marcus shrugged. "Just looking forward to tonight, that's all." The four said nothing, avoiding each other's eyes, afraid of giving the game away.

The two Sixth Years escorted them to Ravenclaw Tower, peeling off in the common room as they joined their year mates. Harry and his friends continued up the boy's staircase, all the way to their floor. In silent agreement, they all filed into Terry's room, closing the door firmly behind them.

It was only then that they felt safe enough to start laughing, which was just as well, as Harry could not hold it in any longer. "We have to take this to our graves. Otherwise, I think Marcus might put us in them early." Harry gasped out.

"Did you see Slughorn?" Anthony asked, eyes filled with mirth. He flopped onto Terry's bed and mimed someone helplessly rolling over.

"It wasn't as funny as that Slytherin who didn't notice what was going on until his girlfriend's hair ended up in his dessert." Michael laughed.

"I'm going to become a potioneering legend!" Terry cheered, jumping up and down on his bed. This seemed to sap the humour out of Anthony, fast.

"You can't tell anyone!" He protested. "Think about how much trouble you'd be in. How much trouble Harry would be in. The Commander might even cancel Christmas this time.”

Terry rolled his eyes, as he stopped jumping. "He always threatens that when December rolls around. He never follows through."

"You've never done anything this bad before." Anthony seemed to reconsider his statement for a moment, before adding, "Not deliberately, anyway."

Terry smiled, condescendingly. "You worry too much. Seriously, how much trouble could we be in?"

Apparently, a lot.

The next day at breakfast, just a few hours from The Hogwarts Express’ departure, Dumbledore announced from his podium that an internal investigation was going to be held to catch the perpetrator.

"Many important members of our community were assaulted last night. We will not stop until the perpetrator is caught and expelled." At this, whispers broke out amongst the students, spreading throughout the Great Hall like wildfire.

"They suspend Myrose for barely a month, but this they’re willing to expel over?” Terry sounded annoyed, but Harry could detect a hint of worry In his tone.

Michael snorted. "What did you expect? Some of the people there last night were school donors. The Board of Governors must be forcing Lord Dumbledore's hand on this."

"Or Lord Dumbledore might be doing this of his own volition. The donations might be a big reason Professors get paid so much. So, teachers' salaries might be threatened." Anthony pointed.

Harry hadn't considered the consequences of his actions. As usual. "Whoever did this, I hope they get caught," Harry said, without raising his voice one iota. Terry looked startled by his statement, even a little hurt, but Anthony and Michael quickly caught on.

"Me too." Anthony agreed.

"They deserve what's coming to them." Michael nodded.

Terry finally seemed to understand. "I hope they never do anything as reckless, ever again."

The four maintained eye contact with each other and came to an unspoken agreement. They had nothing to do with what had happened last night, and they would endeavour to never speak of it again.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry was surprised at how empty the school felt once the holiday began. Most of the school's inhabitants had left for home, leaving only Dumbledore, the four Heads of Houses, and a dozen or so students. With over five hundred students usually inhabiting the castle, the sudden emptiness was a startling change.

Deep down, Harry knew the real reason why the school felt so empty. For the first time since August, he was without friends. He was shocked at how attached he had become to them in just a few months, but he couldn't deny how comfortable he was in their company. He’d grown used to waiting for them to rise in the morning as he read in the common room and enjoyed playing games with them in the evening. He missed exploring the school and grounds together and resented having to eat meals alone in the Great Hall. Without them, time seemed to drag on endlessly.

Get a grip. Harry chided himself. It’s only been two days.

He wasn’t the only First Year left in Ravenclaw Tower. Amanda had stayed behind too, but even with the common room being almost empty, she remained in her dormitory. Harry tried to talk to her during meals, and maybe set up plans for the day, but she only gave short non-committal answers. They had taken extracurriculars together, hung out in the same wider friend group, and had even been in the same tutoring groups for exams, so Harry didn't understand why she was still shy around him.

So, he was forced to spend his free time doing all the things that seemed to make his days move faster. Painting with the watercolour set Sara and Jade had given him months ago, repeated spellcasting training in the practice rooms, flying in the Quidditch pitch, and even studying ahead for his classes.

In contrast to how he'd flown through the other Captain Armstrong books, he took his time reading the sixth instalment, Captain Armstrong and the Ruins of Atlantis, as it had only been released in July and he didn't want the story to end. But end it did and he was left feeling even worse afterwards. The only thing that seemed to cure his loneliness was good company. As such, he visited Hagrid.

However, with his third visit in just as many days, Hagrid seemed to grow concerned. "No one's giving you any trouble up in Ravenclaw Tower are they?" He asked, looking angry at the very idea.

"What? No, of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "What gave you that idea?"

Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows. "It's just that you're here a lot of the time, aren't you?" Hagrid sighed. "I like having you around, but you're not exactly leaving me with enough time to sort out your Christmas present, are you?"

Harry felt his stomach drop. Hagrid chuckled as he watched Harry make a hasty retreat back to the castle, seemingly thinking that he didn't want to ruin the surprise of his gift, but it was the opposite. Christmas means giving people presents. Normally, as a friendless orphan, this wasn't anything for Harry to worry about, but now that he did have friends it was definitely something to worry about.

Amanda was so confused by his request that she forgot to flee from the common room as soon as he started speaking to her like she normally did. “An owl order catalogue? But there’s only three days left until Christmas.”

"Then I should get a move on, shouldn't I?" Harry smiled. “Didn’t Su mention letting you borrow one? For your family?” He thought he saw her flinch at the word family, but it was gone before he could be sure. Amanda shrugged and went to go fetch him a catalogue.

Harry began his search haphazardly, having no idea what his friends would even want for Christmas.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Christmas Eve had arrived, and with it, the Boot's annual party. Harry had arrived in Flitwick's office, dressed again in Anthony’s suit. He was much more comfortable in it the second time around.

“Gifts?” His Head of House asked, nodding his head at the wrapped presents Harry had tucked under his arm.

“Yes. It seemed silly to give it to my owl when I was going to see them tonight anyway.” Flitwick smiled, but before he could reply with further painful small talk, the Portkey activated.

When Anthony had told him that a Portkey would be necessary to get to the London Citadel from Hogwarts, Harry hadn’t thought much of it. He expected an incongruous item, just like Journey Through the Wizarding World said, but what he got instead was a round silver badge, the size of his palm. Its crest depicted a rising sun with ancient Greek letters written along the edges. He only knew what it said as it was translated on the very first page of the Auror's Enchiridion:

Either carrying your shield, or on it.

What really surprised him was what happened once it activated. Harry felt an uncomfortable tugging sensation from behind his navel, which was the only warning he received before he was pulled into the space the badge had just occupied. It all happened too quickly for him to see, but he was certain that the badge had opened up something, a path that had not been there a moment ago and was now pulling him through it. It was like the badge had created space for itself as it moved through this new path, and the surroundings it had pushed out of the way as they travelled past at an impossible speed- which he only glimpsed as quick images of light, colour and sounds that flashed by as he moved- was trying to close in on him and reclaim the space they had previously occupied.

Just as Harry began to make sense of this, at least enough sense to conclude that he was about to be crushed, it was over. He landed on his feet, the same position he had left Flitwick's office in, but instead of a wall to lean against, he met only air. Before he could stumble back, gentle hands steadied him.

“Portkeys are never much fun, but the first time is always the worst,” a kind voice said.

Harry turned to face the person who had caught him. She was a small, striking woman with chin-length black hair, arched eyebrows and curved cheekbones. If her looks weren’t enough to remind him of Terry, her mischievous, crooked smile certainly was. She wore a beautiful pale silver gown, which clashed with the onyx Ouroboros on her wrist.

“You should have seen Terry, his first time. He ruined my favourite pair of shoes.”

Harry nodded to himself; she was definitely Terry's mum then. “Mrs Boot?”

Now that she wasn’t embarrassing her son, her smile turned warm. “Call me Joan, please.” She extended her hand, palm up, and for one silly moment, Harry thought she wanted a low five. Then he remembered he was still holding the Portkey. He gave it to her.

“My Auror badge,” she explained. “I normally don’t send it through owl post, but you need one of these to Portkey directly into Citadel grounds, and we couldn’t take any chances with your security.”

As she spoke, she led the way through the massive hedge maze that Harry had Portkeyed into. He could guess that this was another layer of security, as he could hear the breathing of several large animals somewhere beyond the glow of the lanterns.

“Am I the only guest who is taking this path?”

Joan nodded. “Aurors only. But you’re both a legacy and a friend of the Commander's children.” She smiled down at him. “I don’t think anyone would mind if we made an exception for you.” Harry smiled back. He normally didn’t like strangers, especially ones he met in dark places. Maybe it was because she remained him so much of her son, but he already felt at ease with her. He was still thinking about this when they reached the hedge maze opening, and he was treated to his first sight of an Auror Citadel.

It was a palace. Like Hogwarts, the stones were smooth and seemed to emanate light, as though it was alive with some kind of energy. But while the stones that made Hogwarts were golden brown, the Citadel was pale grey, almost silver. All the windows were beautifully crafted and showed the light within, but only the ground floor had stained glass windows, large enough that even Harry could see from a distance that they were telling the brave deeds of Aurors past. The Citadel was several stories tall, and had four spires, in the same style as a cathedral and they were all facing a cardinal direction. It was only when he glimpsed movements within did Harry realise they were watch towers.

“It's beautiful,” Harry said, awed. He couldn’t believe such a place existed in the heart of London.

“Thank you,” Joan said, proudly, and it was only then that Harry remembered that this was her home. Harry couldn’t believe his friends had grown up in such a place.

Joan led him down the path, around the Citadel, until they reached the large double-door entrance. There was a long queue of guests lining up to be checked by security; three wizards and a witch were still on duty despite the holiday and were checking the guests for any contraband or unregistered wands before letting them through. The four Sentries were all wearing their smart, high-collared, black and silver trimmed Auror uniforms, and their circular badges were visible above their collarbones, used as clasps for their cloaks.

Harry felt rather important as Joan led him right past security without a word. The entrance hall was large, with stairs leading away to their left, a corridor to their right and a second set of double doors straight ahead. Along the walls, were a series of beautiful tapestries depicting the ascension of the first Magister, Yusef Hoca, The Great Uniter, who had founded the Magisterium, the Auror Corps, the International Confederation of Wizards and the capital, Memphis.

They had hardly made it through the doors when they were set upon by an excited Terry.

“Harry! You’re finally here! It's been ages!” Terry said, practically bouncing where he stood.

“It hasn’t even been a week!” Harry laughed, though he was glad that he wasn’t the only one to miss his friends. Terry began to tug Harry through the entranceway, leading him towards the party.

Anthony hurried up to them. “Sorry about him. Took my eyes off him for a second and he got into the butterbeer.”

Joan chuckled. “Anthony, it's Christmas! Relax. Have fun tonight.”

Terry perked up. “Can I have fun too?” He asked, smiling sweetly.

Joan matched his smile. “You're always having fun, and often at another's expense. Behave,” she added warningly, bopping him on the nose as she ushered them into the party proper, before turning back. “Show Harry to our table, alright boys?” She told her sons, before returning to the entrance to greet her guests.

It was a large hall, filled with guests already despite the long queue outside. Circular tables were lining the edges of the hall, making room for the occupied dance floor in the centre. They were dancing to music provided by an orchestra who were playing a tune he had never heard of and some with instruments he didn’t even recognise. It was a lot simpler than Slughorn's party, with minimal Christmas decorations, but he had a feeling that this crowd would have found such a display ostentatious.

Despite his nice, borrowed suit, Harry felt underdressed. Almost as though he didn’t belong.

“What’s that?” Anthony asked, finally noticing the presents Harry had tucked underneath his arm.

“Your presents. I thought I should give them to you in person.” He hoped they liked them. It had taken him a while to pick out the rosewood chess set for Anthony and the book One Thousand and One Riddles for Terry.

“Thanks!” Terry made to dive for his gift but was stopped by a large hand wearing an onyx Ouroboros that rivalled Hagrid’s in thickness.

“No presents until morning,” said the owner of the hand. “After sunrise,” he added hastily, as Terry made to open his mouth.

The man turned to greet Harry with a smile, ignoring his son’s groans. He was fairly tall, but very wide-set and muscular. He kept his black hair as short as Terry’s, but instead of spikes, his was neatly combed. Despite the friendly smile on his face, Harry immediately knew that this was a stern and serious individual, not one to be messed around with.

“Commander Boot?”

The Commander smiled. “You’re not one of my Aurors. You can call me Robert if you would like.” Harry nodded, even though he knew another Robert already, so he was probably going to get confused.

Terry caught Harry's eye. “Can't he call you Bobby, Dad?”

Anthony and the Commander looked confused, but Harry had to stop himself from smiling.

“What?”

“Never mind. If I can't open my present now, can you take them from Harry please?”

With a wave of his wand, the Commander had vanished the presents leaving Harry empty-handed. As he led the three boys to an already occupied table, Harry remembered asking Hagrid yesterday about what to bring to the party. None of the Dursley’s guests had ever shown up empty-handed, and Harry had learned from observation that a good guest brought something nice for his host.

Hagrid had simply given him a strange look, before saying, “You’re a kid. Don’t worry about it.” Harry had taken that advice, relieved he didn’t have to make any special effort, but now he felt like he should have brought the Boots something for being so welcoming to him.

The table they joined had a few other people, all of whom were Terry's extended family, and introduced themselves to him. There was Stephen Huang, Joan’s brother, a slim and serious man who headed the Department of Magical Transportation. His wife, Claudia, was a warm and round-faced woman and a Master of Transfiguration. She tutored Muggle-born children in foreign lands that relied on their local Citadels for magical education. Callum was their son, a powerfully built teenager who recently graduated Hogwarts and was now an apprentice of the Beast Guild at the Magisterium. Finally, there was Gemma, the Commander’s mother, a tiny grey-haired woman who had been the Commander of the London Citadel herself before retiring decades ago.

Harry now knew why Terry felt so pressured. It wasn’t just his parents that were so successful; his entire family were either doing well in their careers or were up-and-comers like Callum.

At first, Harry dreaded having to make small talk with so many strangers at once, but they didn’t focus all their attention on him. Aside from being an event to raise money for the Citadel through donations, the annual Christmas party seemed to be a chance for their family to catch up with each other.

Harry listened as they caught each other up on the goings on in their lives, laughed at each other’s jokes and asked questions about things they had missed. They were so happy and open with each other that Harry felt even more jealous of Terry and Anthony than he had been before but was in too good of a mood to dwell on it. He didn’t even clamp up when they included him in questions they directed at Anthony and Terry about Hogwarts as he usually would have. With good food and drink, and even better company, Harry was disappointed when the dishes cleared, and the Commander dismissed them.

“Alright, I think we've held them long enough.” The Commander smiled at the boys. “You've put in your time lads, but you’re dismissed now.”

Harry didn’t understand what he meant by that, but his friends clearly did. They leapt up from the table and- leaving him with barely enough time to get out his goodbyes- they led him away from the table and out of the hall.

“Glad that’s over with,” Terry said, loosening his collar.

“You’re telling me.” Anthony agreed, leading the way up the stairs.

Harry was confused. “What are you talking about? That was fun.”

The two boys looked at him, incredulous. “Being interrogated by old people?” Terry asked.

Anthony led them along the first floor, heading for the west wing. “I thought you would have hated it,” he told Harry, looking more than a little surprised. “You get annoyed whenever someone at school asks you too many questions.”

Harry shrugged, realising that he was much too annoyed by this conversation. “If you want an uncomfortable family dinner, you should come round to the Dursleys’ sometime.”

Terry frowned. “The who?”

Harry blinked. He realised he had never even mentioned the Dursleys by name to his friends before. “My relatives,” he explained, shortly. The mood, which had been light when they had left the hall, had now grown awkward. Trying to salvage it, Harry asked, “So what have you two been up to in the last week?” Things quickly went back to normal as they caught him up on their misdeeds.

After his friends had informed him of the afternoon that they had spent in Hyde Park amongst Muggles (a boring anecdote in Harry’s opinion, but it had clearly been something of an adventure for them) they finally arrived at the normal, varnished wooden door at the end of a short corridor. Harry didn’t see what was so special about it as they had passed a dozen like it on the way here, but both boys began to hurry toward it.

“Home, sweet home.” Anthony smiled, opening the door.

It was quite jarring, stepping into a house when he’d expected to walk into a simple room. They were standing in an entrance foyer of a large, but normal townhouse. A stairway leading to floors above was directly ahead of them, to his left there was an open sitting room and to his right was a study well-stocked with books.

“Home?” Harry asked. “I thought the entire Citadel was your home.”

Terry snorted. “Nah. That's mum and dad’s job, isn’t it? You can’t have kids running around a Citadel.” Terry shook his head at the idea. “But this is all ours. The Commander gets the largest quarters.”

Anthony led them past the stairs, into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink?” Harry asked for a pineapple soda and followed his friends into the sitting room.

“I'm going to get changed,” Anthony said, as soon as he had made sure Harry had settled himself in an armchair by the fireplace.

Terry leapt up. “Me too! I don’t want to wear this thing for another year!” He ran for the stairs.

Anthony snorted. “It's a good thing you’ve accepted that you’re never going to grow out of it.”

“Oi!” Harry heard Terry shout from the landing.

“What about me?” Harry asked, putting on a moody look. “You two get to be comfortable, but I have to suffer?”

Anthony smirked. “Pretty much, yeah.” Harry gave him a rude hand gesture, as he made for the stairs.

Once the two returned, they began to play several lively games of Exploding Snap, and once they grew bored with that, they tried to build a house of cards. Their sixth attempt was the largest, combining three different card decks, and the boys had to stand up to add to it. They might have even made it too large to add upon without something to stand on, but the front door opened and closed hard enough to send the entire thing toppling before they could find out. The three boys dived for cover.

BANG!

Joan and the Commander ran into the smoky sitting room, wands drawn. It took only a moment for them to assess the situation. “Boys,” the Commander sighed. “Again?”

Anthony got to his feet first. “In our defence, we almost broke Joan’s record.”

Joan looked competitive. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” With a wave of her wand, the smoke cleared from the room and the cards rearranged themselves into neat piles. She knelt by the coffee table next to her sons.

The Commander sighed. “Joan-” he began, but then cut himself off as he thought better of it. “Harry, I can take you back to school now if you would like?”

Disappointed that the evening was over already, Harry nodded and stood up. “I’ll see you guys in the new year.”

“See you then.” Anthony nodded.

“Have fun at school, all by yourself!” Terry called as he walked out of the room. Harry rolled his eyes. That guy really knew how to get underneath people's skin.

Harry followed the Commander into his study. “Close the door, please.” Harry thought this was a strange request but did so anyway. “You know, I was quite pleased with Terry's exam results last week. Anthony's were a given, but my son can get easily distracted.” He smiled at Harry. “From what I hear, you had something to do with that.”

Harry shrugged. “Anthony is already a good influence on him. Terry just can’t say no when both of us want to study.”

The Commander nodded, and his smile seemed to droop slightly. “I've also heard that the three of you have been spending a lot of time in the company of someone else. Michael Corner?”

Harry's stomach dropped. He had suspected something when Michael wasn’t invited to this party, even though he had never brought it up or pretended to be unaware that the Boots were throwing one. He had hoped it was some kind of misunderstanding, that Michael's family was simply busy on Christmas Eve, but now that hope was quickly dying.

“Yes,” Harry said simply, not wanting to demonise Michael, but also wanting to avoid getting Anthony and Terry into trouble in case they weren’t allowed to spend time with him.

“Are you aware of his history? His parentage?” The Commander seemed to sense Harry's defensiveness and was keeping his tone light.

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said, shortly.

The Commander hummed. “Who you interact with and befriend may have an impact on how others perceive you. This in turn could affect your life once you leave school.” The Commander paused, waiting for Harry to say something, but Harry kept his mouth shut and his face impassive.

The Commander continued. “While no one with good sense believes the boy to have Death Eater sympathies, those with power and influence don’t always have good sense. They might lump you, and my sons, into the same group that they believe Michael Corner was born into.” He sighed. “It may not seem very important to you now, but it could impact the rest of your lives.”

It wasn’t easy, but Harry managed to keep his cool. Commander Boot was just worried about his sons’ futures. “I'm grateful that you’re advising me like this. But I’m not going to stop being friends with Michael because of what other people might think.” He tried to sound both firm and polite. “I can’t control Anthony or Terry, so whether or not they want to remain friends with us is their choice.” He emphasised the word us, to show that he and Michael were united in this matter.

The Commander sighed and then smiled. “All I can do is warn you,” he said, and he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his badge. “Please send this back to me by owl. I do need it for work.” Harry nodded, and as soon as he touched the Auror Commander's badge, he was whisked away back to Hogwarts.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next morning, Harry awoke to find a small pile of presents waiting for him at the bottom of his bed. Pleased, he quickly dressed and gathered them up in a bundle, hurrying out of the castle towards Hagrid's house. The two had agreed to open their presents together.

Knocking on Hagrid's door was difficult with his hands full, but he managed. He was greeted by Fang's familiar barks and the lovely smell of breakfast. Hagrid opened the door, wearing an apron and with his sleeves rolled up.

“Merry Christmas, Hagrid!” Harry smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Harry! Come in! Get out of the cold.” Harry did so, making his way to the sitting room. “Alright, breakfast or presents first?”

Harry couldn’t believe he wanted to wait any longer. “Presents, obviously!” Hagrid chuckled as he made himself comfortable on his favourite armchair.

They began to open their gifts, not going one at a time as Hagrid's pile was significantly larger than Harry's own.

Unwrapping them, Harry found that he had received a Junior Potions Kit from Terry, with a list of twenty-one potions Terry advised he should try to build up his skill (the most basic potions at the top to the harder ones at the bottom), a copy of Magical Families of the West Country from Anthony, with a note to read chapters seven to eleven, and a sleek pair of Quidditch gloves from Michael that were supposed to be better for Seekers than the standard ones the school provided.

The last present was his absolute favourite. Hagrid had given him a beautiful, leather-bound photo album with pictures of his parents filling every page. From the beginning, there were pictures from their Hogwarts years, their wedding, the time they spent at the Magisterium and even in their Auror uniforms. Towards the end, there were perhaps a dozen pictures of himself as an infant being held or playing with his mother and father.

“This is what you were working on?” Harry asked, his voice quiet.

“Yeah. I wrote to your parents’ schoolmates, people they knew in Memphis, and even the Citadels they were stationed at. When they heard who it was for, they couldn’t write back fast enough.” Hagrid chuckled.

“Thank you,” Harry said, sincerely. He’d never had proof that his parents were real before, and not just figments of his imagination. He hadn’t even realised how important it was to him until he was holding the photo album in his hands.

“It was nothing. Didn’t cost me a Knut.” Hagrid hefted the gift Harry had given him. “Unlike this! How much did this set you back?” He asked as he examined the dragon egg replica Harry had purchased for him.

Harry smiled nervously. “Don’t you worry. Just know that it was worth every Knut.” Hagrid beamed at him, which only made him feel more guilty. Harry hadn’t spent anything on it but decided it was for the best that Hagrid never knew how it came into his possession. He was a great friend, but he was still a teacher.

After breakfast and a morning of games, the two returned to the castle for Christmas dinner in the Great Hall. Although feast was a more accurate term. Fat roast turkeys, roast potatoes, and all the gravy a boy could want. Always in a better mood after he had eaten, Harry joined in on the competitive jesting between the remaining Quidditch players at the table. The meal was made even more perfect by Slughorn never showing up, as he had become ill over the holidays. When he could not eat another bite, Harry slowly made his way back to Ravenclaw Tower, and relaxed in front of the fireplace, going over the book Anthony had given him.

Harry could see now why his friend had labelled certain chapters; it depicted the origins of the Potter family and their lives. It went into far more detail than the brief mentions he had found here and there in his history books. Harry smiled as he got comfortable in his favourite armchair and eagerly prepared to learn about his family.

But before he could read a single word, Amanda appeared in front of him. “You didn’t have to give me anything, you know,” she said softly.

Harry made sure not to make any sudden movements. This was the first time she had initiated a conversation with him, and he didn’t want to spook her. “I wouldn’t have been able to give out any gifts at all if you hadn’t been here.” Harry shrugged. “Besides, it’s just sweets. Nothing special.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” she whispered in a painfully familiar way. Harry had suspected something was up as soon as she put her name down to stay over the holiday. Amanda was a Muggle-born, so wouldn’t her parents want to see her after her first term away? Wouldn’t they want to catch up with their daughter and learn about the new world she had entered? He had his suspicions since that day under the beech tree, but this only confirmed it.

“You could join me. That could be my present if you want.” Harry indicated the armchair near his own. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely lately.” When she hesitated, Harry added, “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want. We can just read.” He lifted his book for her to see, and she nodded.

“I’ll be back.” She hurried up the stairs to her dorm and returned with the large stack of Marvin the Mad Muggle comics that Su had lent her. She sat in the chair beside his and joined him in his silent reading. Harry smiled softly as he returned to his book.

It really was the best Christmas ever.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry felt much more at ease during the second half of the holidays than he did during the first. He spent his days doing much the same things: repetitive spellcasting to build up his Mana Reserves, watercolour painting, visiting Hagrid and, of course, studying. But now he was much more settled. The presents he’d received made him realise that his friends wouldn’t forget about him after a couple of weeks apart.

Now that he was in a better mood, however, Harry noticed that time seemed to move much more quickly. In no time at all, it was New Year's Eve and Michael had invited Harry weeks ago, to come and spend the night at the Hillards’.

Harry entered Flitwick's office when he was given permission. His Head of House was sitting at his desk and looked up as he came in. “Someone is very popular this holiday,” the Charms Professor said, teasingly.

Harry smiled, self-consciously. “I hope that popularity lasts into the new year.”

Flitwick chuckled as he came around his desk. “You'll be going into a Muggle residential area, so when departing tomorrow, make sure you activate your Portkey when none can see. Robert has assured me that when you arrive no Muggles will be there to see you.”

Harry nodded to show he understood. While the Veil would most likely convince any Muggle who saw him that his sudden arrival was something mundane like a trick of the light, the Statute of Secrecy ordered all citizens to act as if every Muggle possessed the ability to see through the Veil and not just one in a thousand. It was just safer that way.

Harry was ready for the Portkey this time around, and when he landed, he did not need anyone to steady him.

“Nice landing,” said Robert. “Most people fall on their face and puke their first time. Not necessarily in that order.”

Harry smiled, looking up to find himself in an ordinary Muggle back garden. He could hear all the distant busy sounds of an ordinary Muggle town. “When have I been anything but exceptional?” Harry asked, co*ckily, omitting the fact that this was his second time with a Portkey.

Robert snorted, as he led him towards the semi-detached house. “Nice holiday?” He asked.

“The best I’ve ever had,” Harry replied with unabashed honesty. “You?”

Robert's expression darkened slightly. “I’ve had better.” Before Harry could ask about whatever was bothering him, Michael opened the back door.

“I wanted to greet him!” Michael scowled at his brother, ignoring Harry entirely.

Robert rolled his eyes. “And I promised Professor Flitwick that I would be around, just in case any Muggles spotted him.” Michael looked like he was about to respond but was interrupted by a voice behind him.

“You mean aside from myself, of course.” The speaker was a kind-faced woman, brown-haired like Robert, but with streaks of grey, who was wearing a nice simple dress. Harry immediately noticed that she was the first person he’d seen in months that wasn’t wearing an Ouroboros. It was strange, especially as he hadn’t realised it until now, but a person’s Ouroboros, their academic standing, was now the first thing he looked for in a person.

Looking at her, he was afraid he might have underdressed for the evening’s activities, but Michael and Robert looked just as casual as he did. The woman turned to Harry with a smile. “This is the Seeker?”

Harry blinked. No one had ever identified him by his Quidditch position before. “Yes. I'm Harry Potter.” He made sure to introduce himself by name in case her Quidditch-obsessed sons had forgotten to do so.

“I know who you are, dear. I'm just teasing these two,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “Please come in! You’ll catch your death out there.” Harry gratefully accepted her invitation inside, as he hadn’t bothered to wear a coat over his sweatshirt. “I'm Francine, and this,” she added as a man entered the kitchen, “is my husband, Maurice.”

The portly, bookish man was busy fixing his cuffs, and Harry noticed that he too lacked an Ouroboros. Maurice quickly looked up when he heard his name and smiled at Harry as soon as he saw him. “Ah ha! This must be the Seeker!” Harry side-eyed Michael and Robert. They at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

“It's very nice to meet you both, Mr and Mrs Hillard.” Harry knew from Michael that they were a librarian and a schoolteacher, respectively, and they both looked the part. They were both ordinary enough to fit in at Privet Drive.

“It's very nice to meet you, as well,” he smiled. “Now I’m sorry we couldn’t have more time to talk, but we are late for our party.” Mrs Hillard went to get her coat.

“Please, don’t let me keep you,” Harry said. He now understood why they were dressed so nicely.

“He's so polite,” Mrs Hillard said, buttoning her coat. “Why can’t you be polite, Michael?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Bedlam. You've only been here two minutes and she already likes you better.”

“Language!” Mr Hillard chided as he went to the door. “Now you boys know the rules. No one else in the house, and no magic!” The last warning was said with amusing normality, said in the way that a normal parent would ask their kid not to eat too many sweets before bed.

Harry glanced at Michael. “Don't ask,” he muttered.

The three boys waved off the Hillards as they drove away. Closing the door, Robert turned to them. “You two can do whatever you want, just don’t bother me.” He climbed up the stairs and Harry heard his bedroom door close.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What's up with him?”

“I don’t know.” Michael shrugged. “He's been like that since term ended. Mum thinks it's girl troubles.” He looked utterly unconcerned. “Anyway, never mind him. Dad left us pizza money!”

Harry normally spent New Year's Eve the same way he spent Christmas: in the attic, waiting for the Dursley’s celebrations to end. Compared to that, lounging on the sofa, watching a series of cheesy comedy movies and eating more pizza than anyone should, was an absolute dream.

There was a slight problem though. A nagging in the back of his mind was telling him to let Michael know about the conversation he had with Commander Boot last week. Michael had a right to know, certainly, but what if Terry and Anthony thought he was bad-mouthing their dad? Ultimately, he decided to keep it to himself. If it somehow ever came to light, Harry would merely point out that he’d ignored the advice and continued being friends with Michael, business as usual.

It was a little after one in the morning when Michael nodded off in front of the television, half-eaten pizza crust in hand. Harry was sleepy too, but after three cans of cola, he needed to visit the loo first.

As he was making his way back to the stairs, he heard a disturbing groan coming from Robert's room. Unsettled, Harry knocked on his door. “Robert? Are you all right?” There was no response. Harry was about to leave it when he heard a sharp thud against the wall.

Harry drew his wand. “Alohom*ora!” The door unlocked and Harry pushed it open.

It took a moment for him to understand what he was seeing. Two familiar figures were locked in a tight embrace on the bed, kissing furiously. They didn’t notice him until the light from the doorway hit their faces.

Marcus and Robert.

They both tore away from each other and stared at him, stunned. Harry remained frozen in the doorway, wand half-raised and ready for a fight. For a few seconds, no one moved. Harry was too mortified to even think.

Robert reacted first. “Get out! Get out!” He shouted.

Harry stumbled back into the hall, his back colliding with the wall opposite the door. Robert swiftly followed, straightening his clothes before closing the door on Marcus.

“I'm sorry!” Harry said, quickly. He had never seen Robert angry before, not seriously anyway. “I heard a noise and I asked if you were okay, but you didn’t respond, and I was about to leave but then I heard-!”

Robert who had been looking around the hall to make sure that Harry was the only witness, cut him off. “Don't tell anyone!” He hissed furiously. “Especially Michael!” With that, he stormed back into his room, leaving Harry alone on the landing.

Chapter 14: Interlude V

Chapter Text

Slughorn's health was beginning to concern him.

If given enough time, Masters of the Mind Arts were known to resist his Imperius Curse. A disciplined mind was half of what was required to break the curse, after all. Slughorn had been under his control for over a month now, and while his mind remained in a constant battle with the curse, his body was suffering the repercussions.

Mana required energy, normally through food, drink and rest, or through the far more convenient rituals that any sensible wizard would place upon themselves. Slughorn was not sensible and there was no way for even him to eat the amount that was required for an around-the-clock attack on his mind. As such, his Mana was being drained from all the fat and muscles his body contained.

That was not good.

The entire point of bewitching his old Head of House was to have a scapegoat when all was said and done. If he stepped into the Great Hall like this, in front of Dumbledore like this, it would be obvious that he was under another's control. And there was only one spell that could subjugate a Master of the Mind Arts and only one sorcerer who could cast it.

He might as well put a front-page advertisem*nt on the next edition of Wizarding World News:

THE DARK LORD HAS RETURNED!

Tom shook his head. Keeping Slughorn trapped in his house was the only thing to do. Sending a note to McGonagall that he was feeling under the weather, and wished to go home for the holidays, was the only thing he could do.

The only thing.

Tom's arms- folded as he leaned against the wall while observing the work of his wayward servant- tightened and his fingernails dug into his upper arms. He hated having his options limited.

He had summoned Snape to come and restore Slughorn to his former incandescent glory. He had come immediately, afraid of earning the wrath of his master. Or at least, that was the facade he had put on.

Snape had always been a tricky one. Recruited while he was still in Hogwarts, he had come to him already proficient in the Mind Arts. Tom hadn’t liked that, as he preferred to teach his servants Occlumency and learn who they were and what their darkest secrets were in the process. It was always a risk to recruit users of the Mind Arts, as they might always be performing for the rest of the world. He hated surprises, especially from his servants. Snape had been too useful to turn away or kill, but he had always made Tom wary, and that made him angry as he was the one who was supposed to be in control, of both his servants and himself.

Tom resisted the urge to pinch his nose, not wanting to show any kind of vulnerability before those in the room. He might just be projecting. After all, he had studied the Mind Arts before graduating from Hogwarts as well, and he had used it to play one role after another, whatever was required of him for any given situation.

Still, it was Snape’s information that sent him after the Potters. Perhaps it had all been a ploy by Magister Dumbledore? An elaborate trap to finally destroy him?

Tom spoke now, knowing that if he didn’t, he would spend hours examining every step that had led to his downfall, as he had a thousand times before. “Well? What is your prognosis?” He still found it a little disconcerting to speak with another man's voice.

Snape tensed at his voice but did not speak. Torrington approached from his place by the door, drawing his wand and jabbing it sharply into Snape's side. “Answer him when he speaks to you, filth!”

Tom repressed a smile. There was nothing quite like generational loyalty.

Snape looked briefly insulted at the fact that he was being threatened by a man over a decade his junior before he remembered his place. “I will recommend a strict potion regimen for our Lord to give him, General.” He spoke respectfully, clearly remembering their last meeting at Slughorn's party. “However, Slughorn is not a young man. The regimen will hide the effects of the curse, but it will take its toll on him. He might not live to see another Christmas.”

Tom relaxed. That was fine as far as he was concerned. His plan would be onto a completely different stage by then. “You may return to the Magisterium.”

Snape bid a hasty retreat out of the room, while Torrington watched him go with the air of a hungry man denied a delicious meal.

“Easy, Elijah,” Tom warned, with Quirrell's smooth voice. “Our Lord will exact his punishment, not us.”

Torrington still looked anxious for activity, so Tom gave him some. "I need you and Agarwal to go hunting for me. The Forbidden Forest has a colony of Acromantula. Kill the adults and capture the eggs. I require their offspring. When you are done, head to the Shattered Dawn and see if any Rogues have a lead on Hags. I am in need of one. Unharmed." Torrington blinked at this request, but it was a sign of his loyalty that he did not even think to question it. Quirrell was the Dark Lord's newest lieutenant after all, which meant that his very words were The Dark Lord's will. He watched him go, glad to have diverted his energy into something productive, instead of brutalising Snape as he wished.

As much as Tom would like to see the traitor suffer, he was much more useful to him undamaged. That was the problem with people like Snape. He couldn’t seriously hurt him or use the Imperius Curse on him for long periods, as he only grew more and more useful with time.

Grow more useful with time.

He found his thoughts drifting, as they always did since that Halloween night, to Harry Potter. He must be more patient with him next term. After all, he was just a child, still growing and yearning desperately for a father figure. Like Snape, the young Potter would only grow more useful to him in time, so there was no reason to rush him, and every reason to try and convert him.

Tom left the room and walked towards Slughorn's study. He needed to stop thinking of time the way everyone else did, as though it were something finite. It wasn’t. Not for him. He was an immortal now.

Time was meaningless to him.

Chapter 15: Fragile Virtues

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Michael asked at breakfast one morning. He was looking at him over the copy of Flying with the Falcons that Harry had given him for Christmas. “You’ve been acting weird.”

Harry wasn’t surprised that he’d noticed. In the fortnight since the new term began, Harry had felt increasingly guilty about all the secrets he’d been keeping from Michael. Every time he saw the boy, he remembered Commander Robert Boot telling him to be careful of who he associated with in public and whenever he locked eyes with Robert Hillard, he recalled the Prefect marking out his brother as someone he should specifically not tell his secret to.

Normally, keeping secrets wasn’t much of a problem for him, as after being reared in a town as stringently normal as Little Whinging, he had become rather adept at it. What bothered him was the fact that he was keeping secrets that involved Michael from him. If Harry were in his position, he would want someone to tell him. But it could hurt Robert, Terry and Anthony if he did so. It was all so confusing.

I need to stop talking to people named Robert, Harry thought. It’s brought me nothing but a stomachache from all the guilt.

“Winter blues.” Harry shrugged off his friend's concern.

Michael didn’t believe his excuse. “Let me know if you want to talk about it,” he said, still concerned, but giving Harry his space.

Kick me while I'm already down, why don’t you? Harry thought morosely but nodded anyway. “Excited for next Saturday?” He asked the group at large. It couldn’t be more obvious that he was trying to change the subject.

As always, Terry made himself into an excellent distraction. “Yup! We've already been to Hogsmeade a million times, but this is the first time we get to go on our own.”

Anthony glanced up from today’s copy of Wizarding World News, his spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. “What are you planning?” He asked, suspiciously.

Terry tried and failed to look innocent. “Why do you always think I'm planning something?”

Anthony’s expression was stony. “I always think you’re planning something because you’re always planning something.”

Harry smiled. “You are being a bit suspicious, mate.”

Terry looked like he was about to deny any wrongdoing, but Michael rolled his eyes. “We’re gonna figure it out anyway, so just tell us.”

Terry looked at them, each in turn before sighing. “Alright, just remember we have our wands now, so we can look after ourselves.”

Anthony sighed heavily, putting his still-full spoon back into his bowl. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

Terry looked around, even though no one was paying any close attention to them. It was half past eight in the morning and the Great Hall was always packed right before classes began. “I've been contacted by,” he paused as if searching for the right word, “an old friend,” he finally said, very clearly lying. “They have some ingredients I've been looking for. Some things apothecaries don't sell to kids.”

“You do realise that I know everybody you know, right?” Anthony said, unimpressed with his brother’s cloak-and-dagger behaviour. “Who contacted you?”

Terry bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Anthony’s eyes widened. “You don’t even-!” His shout was cut off when Harry kicked him under the table. People were already beginning to look their way, so he forcibly lowered his voice. “You’re the son of the highest-ranking Auror in Britain and this is so obviously a trap. I can’t believe this even needs to be said, but here you go: You are not going!” Terry made to protest but Anthony quickly added, “One more word and I'll write to the Commander.” Terry shut his mouth, looking mutinous. Harry and Michael exchanged an awkward look.

The four finished their breakfast in tense silence.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Quidditch practice had become equally awkward. Robert avoided his eye whenever he spoke to the team and gave Harry his instructions quickly, without any of their usual banter. Worse, the usually unflappable Marcus looked like a kicked puppy whenever Harry saw him around these days. Whatever had occurred in that room after Robert had shouted at him mustn’t have been very good for him.

The Ravenclaw Quidditch team had a practice that evening and Robert took the time to inform them of the next match date and who their opponents would be.

“Gryffindor,” Robert said, arms folded as he stood in front of them. “A strong all-round team, equal to Hufflepuff. Their one weakness is their Seeker.” Robert glanced in Harry's vague direction. “Keep a close eye on the score. If we're behind by thirty, we’re not going to catch up. So just catch the Snitch.”

With that, their captain left the changing room abruptly, headed for the pitch. The team exchanged looks, used to this new behaviour after two weeks, but still confused by it.

“I wish he would tell me what's going on,” Michael muttered, looking in concern at the door his brother had just passed through.

Harry perked up. “Maybe you should just ask him.” There wasn’t anything wrong with that, was there? Harry couldn’t tell his secret, but Robert certainly could.

Unfortunately, Michael unknowingly killed that hope. “You think I haven’t tried that?” He snorted. “Nah. He’s just being extra grumpy for some reason.” He sighed and followed the rest of the team out onto the pitch.

Harry hung back, as he wished to speak to a still sulking Marcus. He approached the intimidating boy warily, afraid that speaking about something he was explicitly told not to would incur his wrath. “You should tell him his new attitude is making people suspicious,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. They were alone, so if he pissed Marcus off then the older boy would have the time to hide his body anywhere. He shook the silly thought from his mind. “If he truly doesn’t want anyone to know, then he’s going the wrong way about it.”

Marcus glared at him for a moment before he slumped, sighing. “He won’t talk to me. He blames me for sneaking in that night and not giving him enough time to put the usual privacy charms up.”

Harry nodded. He had wondered why Marcus hadn’t said hello, but it made sense if he wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place. “You’re in the same house and the same year. He can’t avoid you forever.” He pointed out. “Besides, he's your team captain and a Prefect. He has to make himself available to you, doesn’t he? Otherwise, he’s not doing his job.”

Marcus blinked, as though he had never considered that. He grinned and clapped Harry on the back, sending the younger boy staggering into the lockers. “Thanks, Harry!” He left for the pitch looking happier than Harry had ever seen him.

Harry shook his head as he watched him go. Teenagers were so weird.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

With the new year came the first private duelling lesson of the term. Despite their last meeting, Harry had been looking forward to it. There was only so much you could do alone in a practice room. Quirrell had seemed wary of Harry's mood when he first entered but seemed relieved when he showed how eager he was to duel.

“Anger can be a great source of power but mind it doesn’t cloud your judgement,” Quirrell warned as Harry sent a Severing Charm for his throat. Harry froze; he’d been aiming for his wand arm. Thankfully, Quirrell merely deflected it and it dissipated harmlessly against the wall.

Harry sighed in relief. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly. What else were you meant to say to someone you almost decapitated?

Quirrell was unimpressed. “That would never have hit me,” he said condescendingly, “not even if I were asleep.” Harry was about to argue that point before he realised he would be demanding to be seen as an attempted murderer. He quickly shut his mouth.

“Are you ready to go again?” Harry nodded, eager to show off his improvements over the last month. The exact moment he did so, Quirrell launched a Stunning Spell right at him. Instead of using a Shield Charm, Harry leapt out of the way and flicked his wand at the nearest chair. “Locomotor! Flipendo!”

The chair moved in front of Harry, blocking Quirrell’s Leg-Locker Curse, the force of it splintering the wood but not breaking it. Just as Harry had hoped. That was where the Knockback Jinx came in. The fractured chair launched itself at Quirrell, spinning rapidly, just in time to protect Harry from Quirrell's second Stunning Spell. This time the chair broke into a dozen pieces.

Harry smiled. Now was his time to shine. “Fumos! Acusignis! Depulso!” This was the rapid three-spell combination that Harry had spent the last month working on. The first two spells were known to be in his repertoire, but the third was a Second-Year charm he’d been saving until he mastered it completely. It should take Quirrell by surprise.

In quick succession, the room was blanketed by dark grey smoke, the dozen pieces of wood that remained from the chair had all turned into long, sharp needles and had launched themselves at Quirrell with great speed. Harry's vision was just as impaired as his opponent, so he couldn’t see if his attack had worked, all he could do was wait.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Harry heard Quirrell’s slow, mocking clap just before the smoke vanished, revealing the Defence Professor by the door. While Harry was proud of himself for forcing the man to move, (the needles had embedded themselves in the wall, just behind where he had been standing) but he was a little annoyed that Quirrell didn’t even bother with a counterattack. Was he mocking him?

“Good, very good!” Quirrell said happily, as he finally stopped clapping. “You can see now how a little anger can go a long way. It's a difficult balance, remaining angry while planning the best move to defeat your enemy.” He waved his wand and returned the classroom to the way it was when Harry had first entered. “Not enough anger and you pull your punches, leaving yourself vulnerable. Too much, and you make critical mistakes as you did earlier.” Quirrell mimed his throat being cut, looking ridiculous as he rolled his eyes and opened his mouth like a dying man. Harry snorted, despite himself.

Quirrell smiled, seemingly happy that whatever tension had been between them before Christmas had disappeared, but only for a moment, as his expression now became stern. “However, you keep making the same mistake. You put all your efforts into one big attack that you hinge everything on, and once it fails you flail around like a headless Hippogriff.”

Harry felt his face begin to heat up. “I do not flail.”

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. “That's your only concern with what I just said?”

Harry sighed. “Please explain that further.” He requested with faux politeness. “I'm afraid I'm far too dim to understand your sharp observations.”

Quirrell’s mouth twitched. “Your words,” he said, before elaborating. “You need to learn how to pivot as you duel.”

Harry frowned, now he was honestly confused. “Pivot?”

Quirrell nodded. “Just because one tactic doesn’t work, it doesn’t mean you’ve lost. You need to pivot into another, and then another until something finally works.”

Harry nodded, catching on to what he was saying. He had realised this weakness in himself months ago, as he tried to not put all his eggs in one proverbial basket while duelling, but it was a lot more difficult to do in the heat of the moment than one would think. Despite this, he felt the need to point something out. “I've never seen you pivot when we duel.”

For some reason that made Quirrell burst out laughing. “You could never push me that far!” He wheezed, as though the idea of Harry being a threat to him was the funniest thing that he’d heard all day. Finally getting control over himself (something about Harry's put-out expression made it difficult for him to remain serious) Quirrell said, “You need to duel someone closer to your level.”

Harry sighed again, finally realising where this was going. “I already agreed to return to The Silver Spears for a second meeting,” he said, annoyed. “You don’t need to try and convince me.”

Quirrell nodded. “I’m glad. It'll be good for you to test yourself against duellists closer to you in age and skill level.” He smiled reassuringly at him now. “Don’t let it get to you if it takes you a while to get the hang of pivoting. Like most things, it is a skill that can only be learnt but never truly mastered.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Later that week, Harry found himself back in the underground training hall with the other Silver Spears one night after curfew. Since term began, he’d agonised over this looming second meeting, going out of his way to avoid both Slughorn, and to a lesser extent, Eliza.

However, despite his fears, they both gave him his space. Slughorn didn't even acknowledge him in class like he usually did. Perhaps they had sensed his newfound fear of them and their cold, brutal natures. The idea that they had read his emotions, which he always tried to mask, did not comfort him.

He recognised Eliza by the thin golden ring around the top of her boots. Gathering his nerve, he approached her before Slughorn could arrive to start the meeting. He stood next to her, giving her a solemn nod before waiting along with everyone else.

Slughorn ambled into the room, looking as haggard as he usually did these days. He’d lost a little weight and what little remained of his hair was falling out, making his head look like a shiny egg that had been placed atop a much larger, rounder egg. He stepped into the centre of the hall, levitating over a dozen large boxes behind him, covered in dark sheets.

“Step forward! Hurry now!” He called out like this was a normal class, and not a secret society dedicated to the Dark Arts. “Today we will be doing something a little different, but just as important in your education.” He smiled at them, reminding Harry of the Potions Master he had met in September rather than the sinister cult leader he’d revealed himself to be in December. Despite his good judgement, Harry felt himself relaxing slightly, already preferring this new teaching method.

Once they had all gathered around him, Slughorn began to explain what they would be doing tonight. “Tonight, we will be learning the Confundus Charm.” There were excited murmurs all around before Slughorn raised his hand for silence. “For those unaware, the Confundus Charm was designed to confuse its target, either a person, creature or bewitched object. Depending on the skill of the caster, it can either confuse a person or a thing about a specific incident, make them see and hear things that aren’t there or even remember things that had never happened at all.”

The excited whispers of the gathered crowd took longer to silence this time. Harry could see everyone else was itching to learn this spell, but all he could think about was the consequences of giving such a versatile weapon to this particular group.

What Slughorn said next did not put him at ease. “As a rudimentary spell of the Mind Arts, the Confundus Charm should be easy to learn, relatively speaking. More complex Illusion and Cognitive Based Spells require a caster with more experience in the field. Think of this as your first step along this particular Esoteric Art.”

Once he had finished speaking, he vanished the dark sheets revealing the glass cages they had been covering. Each cage contained an impossibly large, and very hairy, spider. There were hisses all around and many students stumbled back. Slughorn nodded as though he approved of this reaction.

“Yes, baby Acromantula! An abandoned nest was found in the Forbidden Forest, with several damaged eggs.” Slughorn looked pale now, as he looked like he was struggling to remember something. “I was able to save them so that I could bring them to you now. Quickly now, in pairs, take a cage.”

Harry hung back, allowing Eliza to levitate a glass cage before following her to a corner of the hall. Once everyone had paired up and spaced out around the hall, Slughorn's instruction began.

“Confundo!” Eliza said, jabbing her wand at the cage for what had to be the hundredth time. The spider froze and shivered for a second before continuing its attack at the glass and Eliza let out another frustrated huff. Harry still hadn’t taken his turn, not exactly eager to follow Slughorn's commands and Eliza hadn’t asked him if he wanted a turn. That was fine with him, he was happy to run down the clock and never come back here.

“Confundo!” Once more, the spider froze for a brief instant before continuing its attack as though nothing had happened. Harry couldn’t see her face underneath her shadowy hood, but he could see by her clenched fists that she wasn’t exactly happy with this result.

The spell was an interesting one, Harry supposed, as it was similar to the Severing Charm in the way that it was both invisible and soundless. The only thing that stopped it from being completely undetectable was the intense shiver the spider made every time it was hit. Was that just for spiders? Or was that a reaction every target shared?

Before he could fall deeper into his wonderings, Slughorn appeared at his shoulder. Harry managed to stop himself from stiffening, but he still had to move away from the Potions Master to keep him fully within his line of sight, for his own comfort if nothing else.

“You haven’t tried it yet,” he said, revealing that he had been observing Harry the whole time.

“I was just waiting until my partner was finished.” Harry lied. Eliza turned her head towards him, and Harry just knew she was giving him a filthy look.

“I'm done for now.” She took a step back. “Why don't you give it a try?” It was Harry's turn to give her a filthy look.

Stepping towards the cage, Harry observed the baby Acromantula for a moment. It was a good thing Slughorn hadn’t brought in something adorable like Crup puppies, as Harry would never have been able to go through with it then. But this was as easy as it was going to get. After all, was there anything less sympathetic than an angry spider the size of a large house cat?

Harry took a brief moment to brace himself before he quickly raised his wand and pointed right at it. “Confundo!” The spider froze and shivered for a moment, just as it had with Eliza, before turning in Harry's direction and bashing its body repeatedly against the glass, trying to attack him. Eliza snorted and Harry glared at her.

“The Confundus Charm is a battle of wills. All creatures have desires, instincts, that they need to have fulfilled.” Slughorn explained, keeping his distance from Harry, but staring at him hard, willing him to understand. “That’s why it’s so hard to get any Cognitive Spells to work against humans; no other creature is filled with more desire.” He extended an open hand at the cage. “But this is just an animal, so its desires are simple and few. You simply need to reach out and-,” he closed his open hand quickly, making a tight fist, as though he were crushing the spider’s will.

Harry was surprised that he actually understood what Slughorn meant. Raising his wand, he jabbed it sharply at the Acromantula once more. “Confundo!” There, just as he cast the spell, at the moment the spider paused its incessant attack against the glass, Harry felt a connection briefly form. Before he could figure out what to do, it disappeared, and the spider resumed its attack.

No wonder I didn’t feel it before, Harry thought. It died so quickly.

Before either Slughorn or Eliza could say a word, Harry raised his wand once more. “Confundo!” The instant the connection was formed, Harry made his will known to the Beast. Calm down! He thought, as strongly as he could. All he wanted at that moment was for the spider to stop attacking the cage because, believe it or not, having a giant arachnid slam itself repeatedly against the fragile glass, trying its utmost to reach him, was very unsettling.

The spider froze, shivered, and stopped attacking the cage. It seemed confused, moving back and forth, as though it had lost track of what it had been doing. While the three of them watched, it seemed to relax as it bent its legs against the only rock in the cage and settled itself down to rest.

It had calmed down.

Harry was breathing deeply. Never before had a spell worked so well for him so quickly. He looked up from the cage to find that both Slughorn and Eliza were staring at him.

Slughorn’s expression was fixed. He looked neither happy nor unhappy. “Well done,” was all he said, before continuing to the next pair.

Eliza stared at him for a moment longer before turning back to the cage with new resolve, but with no new success. Harry, still confused by his achievement, tried to give her advice a couple of times, but she shushed him, wanting to succeed all on her own.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

His confusion stayed with him into the next day, throughout his classes. He only snapped out of it after Quidditch practice was over and he noticed that he and Robert were the only ones left in the changing room.

“Where's Michael?” Harry asked as he finished tying his laces. Normally, the two of them would walk back to Ravenclaw Tower together.

“I sent him on ahead,” Robert said. “I told him I wanted to talk to you.”

Harry raised his hands. “Look, I didn’t tell anyone alright?”

Robert looked abashed. “No that's not-” he paused, before blurting out, “I'm sorry for shouting at you. You didn’t deserve it.” His voice was stiff, but his face was bright red.

Harry stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “That's why you've been acting like a prat for ages? Because you’re sorry?” He hadn’t realised until now how angry and embarrassed he had been when Robert had shouted at him, slammed the door in his face and then ignored him for weeks. He had been too worried about keeping his secret from Michael to think about how mortified he’d been, standing in the dark hallway like an idiot, before making his way downstairs.

Robert grimaced. “I was afraid that you were going to tell someone. You’re just a kid, so I didn’t think you could keep your mouth shut,” he said, awkwardly. “I realised you hadn’t when Marcus spoke to me.”

Marcus. That was who had initiated this conversation. “You told me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t,” Harry said rapidly, failing to reign in his temper. “But Michael doesn’t deserve to be ignored by you for doing nothing wrong. Tell him the truth or don’t, it's your choice, but you really need to treat him better. He's your brother!”

Harry let it all out in a single breath, feeling better than he had in weeks. Where was the Commander? Harry wanted to shout at him next.

Robert sat down, having the decency to look ashamed of himself. “I know he deserves better.” He sighed. “Is he angry with me?”

Harry's anger began to fade when he saw how regretful he was. “Not angry, just worried.” This seemed to make him feel worse. “I don’t think he'd be angry with you if you tell him the truth either. For someone who acts like such a grumpy idiot, he can be very understanding.”

Robert didn’t smile. “He's the last person who can know.” Harry raised his eyebrows, not understanding this sentiment. “He’s my little brother. He's followed me around for as long as I can remember. The first time he picked up a broomstick, it was only because he wanted to keep following me. I want him to keep looking up to me.”

Harry was still confused. “You think he'll stop looking up to you because you’re gay?” Robert nodded, and now it was Harry's turn to sigh. “You’re really underestimating him. Besides,” Harry thought of their conversation on Halloween, “you have no idea how much you and your parents mean to him.”

Robert nodded slowly, and after almost a month of no answers, Harry couldn’t help but ask the question that had been rattling around his head. “The relatives I grew up with are Muggle, you know. They were really afraid of anything different.” Harry paused, hoping Robert would pick up on the hints he was dropping, but when he didn’t, Harry asked, “Is your mum similar?”

Harry was afraid that Robert might get angry, as all boys did when their mothers were spoken of in any way that might be construed as an insult, but he, surprisingly, just snorted. “Just my mum? You’re not worried about my dad?”

Harry blinked. “Your dad's a Squib, isn’t he? He grew up in the magical world, so he should know better.” Something about that statement made Robert laugh and Harry tried to defend his thought process. “Everyone in the Wizarding World is so proud of their individualism. I saw it the first time I went to Diagon Alley, the way everyone was dressed! It was so-” Harry stopped speaking when Robert’s laughter became too loud.

When he finally sat up from where he had slumped along the bench, wiping the tears from his eyes, Robert explained himself. “All of that is just superficial! It's just window dressing. Believe me, I've kept one foot in both worlds my entire life, and they’re each as bad as the other.” Harry began to protest, but Robert pointed out. “Sure, not everyone in the Wizarding World would hate me, just like in the Muggle world, but do you really think that a movement like the Knights of Walpurgis would have grown so powerful, almost taking over the whole world, if they didn’t have so much support?”

Michael’s words came back to him now. Muggles might not care, but wizards do. Harry didn’t want to believe that his new world, the world he had been born into, could be so similar to the one that he had left behind. Perhaps even worse.

Harry frowned. “Why are people's opinions so important to you?”

Robert smiled, humourlessly. “I want to become Minister of Magic.” Harry blinked. He had not expected him to say something like that. “I want a seat at the Coalition, and I want my life, my career, to have a real impact on the world.”

“That's why you keep your nose clean.” Harry realised. “Why you study so hard, practice Quidditch so hard. It’s all to build up a flawless record?”

Robert nodded. “It all starts at Hogwarts. I’ve even been interning at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement since I was a Third Year.” He looked Harry in the eye, looking more passionate than Harry had ever seen him. “I have it all planned. I just don't want anything to ruin it.”

Harry nodded, slowly. Clearly, Robert had thought on this matter for much longer than Harry had. Even if he hadn’t given it any thought, it was still his decision to whether or not to tell anyone.

“I can’t say if you’re going to be Minister one day, or how other people will react if you ever tell them the truth about yourself, but I can say that I still think of you the same way I did before,” Harry said slowly, unsure if this was something Robert even cared to hear.

Robert smiled. “Cheers.”

The two of them finally left the changing room and made their way back through the cold January air towards the warm castle. As they went, Harry once more fell victim to his curiosity.

“Hey, Robert?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is Marcus your boyfriend?”

Robert scrunched his eyebrows together. “Don’t tell me it took you this long to figure that out.”

Harry ignored his teasing. “Is that why he gets so annoyed whenever you mention Oliver Wood during practice? He was your old boyfriend, wasn’t he?”

Robert's face turned red, and not from the cold. “How do you-? How did you even-?” He sputtered.

Harry smothered his smile. “Marcus looks like he wants to punch a wall every time you mention Wood’s Keeper skills.” Harry tried to look innocent. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“What? No!”

It was Harry's turn to hum. “Funny thing is, they’re both Keepers. Do you have a type?” He couldn’t hold onto his innocent act, as Robert looked so embarrassed that Harry had to laugh.

Robert remained both red-faced and silent, all the way to Ravenclaw Tower, with Harry smirking all the while. When he knocked on the bronze eagle knocker, it asked:

I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?

Harry blinked. For the first time, the eagle-headed knocker had him stumped. “I haven’t got a clue.” He looked up at Robert and waggled his eyebrows. “You’re up, Keeper-Lover.”

“Oh, shut it.” Instead of answering the riddle, Robert went for his hip holster.

Harry protested. “That's cheating!”

Robert smiled. “Benefits of being a Prefect.” He tapped his aspen wand on the knocker, and the door swung open. “Are you coming?” He asked when he noticed that Harry was not following him.

Harry was so busy staring at his wand that he almost missed the question. “Yeah, yeah! I just forgot I have homework waiting for me. Don’t you hate it when that happens? You think you have a free night and then, BAM! You see a Transfiguration essay waiting for you on your desk.” Harry cut himself off as he realised he was beginning to ramble.

Robert stared at him for a long moment, and Harry was terrified that he understood what had just occurred to him. Then he spoke. “You’re even weirder than Michael, you know that?”

Harry smiled, trying to keep all the tension he felt off his face. “What's so wrong with being weird?”

Robert shook his head, smiling as they went their separate ways, he to Marcus and the other Sixth Years by the window, and Harry upstairs to his dorm. Glad he didn’t meet any of his friends on the landing, especially Michael, he closed his dormitory door behind him with a slam.

Harry leaned his back against the door, his breathing erratic. He had recognised Robert's distinctive white aspen wand as he had seen it a month earlier, at his first meeting with The Silver Spears.

Robert had been the one who floated Myrose's beaten body out of the training hall. Aspen wands weren’t common, but they weren’t exactly rare either. However, the boy had the same figure as Robert did in his Quidditch uniform. How many boys that size had an aspen wand? It had to be Robert.

Harry lost track of time during this latest meltdown, but he slowly managed to calm himself as he slowly found his resolve. So what if Robert was a part of the group? It didn’t make him bad. Quirrell had said that he, like the rest of the members, were victims, young people who were being manipulated by an authority figure. There was no way he could leave the group now, not when a friend might get into trouble. It was up to Harry and Eliza to stop Slughorn and save the other members from his influence.

Harry swore, then and there, that he would do so.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Saturday had arrived and with it the First Years' first trip into Hogsmeade. The First Year Ravenclaw boys were at the head of Filch's queue, armed with school-provided maps of the town, waiting impatiently for Hagrid to bring the horseless carriages.

They had all agreed to be in the Great Hall before breakfast was even served. They ignored the jostling behind them as they relished their place in the front. At least until some Slytherin’s elbow caught Terry in the back, pushing him into Michael's triple-decker breakfast sandwich.

“You do realise they’ll be serving food in Hogsmeade, right?” Terry asked as he tried to get copious amounts of egg, bacon, and ketchup off of his cloak. “You don’t need to bring half the castle's food with you.”

Michael looked mournfully down at the remains of his breakfast, which now littered the fresh snow of the courtyard. “I'm hungry now and I'll be hungry later.”

Anthony looked thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, I don't think I've heard the words “I'm full” ever leave your lips.”

Michael shrugged. “Those are the words of a quitter.”

Harry couldn’t do anything about the half-eaten sandwich on the ground, but he could do something about Terry's cloak. “Come here,” he told him, drawing his wand. Once Terry was in front of him, Harry waved his wand over the front of his cloak. “Scourgify!” The sandwich’s contents vanished, leaving nothing but a clean cloak and a fresh citrus scent in its place. It was difficult to tell from behind his thick scarf, but judging by the crinkling of his eyes, Terry was beaming at him.

Harry smiled back. “I knew household spells would come in handy.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “In the time it took you to learn that, an Automaton could have cleaned a thousand cloaks.” Harry scowled. He wasn’t wrong, which is exactly what made his comment so irritating. Before he could say anything, Michael spotted their ride.

“Hagrid! Over here!” Michael ignored Filch's glare, as he had shouted right in the old caretaker's ear. “Give us the first one! We’re your favourites!” How he wasn’t embarrassed shouting that in front of their entire year group, Harry didn’t know.

Harry elbowed him. “Don’t put him in that position.” He hissed. “He's a teacher. He's supposed to be impartial!” Just as he finished saying that Hagrid brought the first carriage over to the four of them with a wide smile and Michael smirked triumphantly at him. “Oh, shut up,” Harry muttered.

The four of them climbed into the carriage, and the second Hagrid closed the door behind them, it took off for the school gates. As the only Muggle-raised person present, Harry had to be the one to ask what any reasonable person should be thinking.

“So, are we really comfortable trusting a horseless carriage to take us into town?” The others stared at him, nonplussed. “I'm just saying, if we can't see a driver then are we really safe?” Anthony tsked and rolled his eyes and Harry made a mental note to never speak to him when he was sleep deprived. He was surprisingly grumpy.

Terry furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? Muggles have cars.”

Harry stared. “You do realise the car doesn’t drive itself? It needs someone to operate it.”

Terry looked fascinated now. “Really? I thought only The Knight Bus worked like that!”

“What's The Knight Bus?” Anthony groaned as Terry began to eagerly explain.

In no time at all (for Harry and Terry at least) the carriage had reached the top of the high street at Hogsmeade. Anthony couldn’t get out of the carriage fast enough, and even Michael seemed relieved to leave the magical and non-magical transportation discussion behind him. The moment Terry jumped out of the carriage and saw the wide-open street before him, he made a running start, shouting, “HONEYDUKES!”

It was barely nine on a Saturday morning, and the street was empty, so his voice echoed all around. The other three all shushed him. “Slow down! We have plenty of time.” Michael pointed out, grabbing him by the back of his cloak.

Terry shook his head rapidly, as though he were already on a sugar high. “Honeydukes and then Zonko’s. They’re the first to get filled up on weekends.” He hurried them along towards the famous sweet shop.

Anthony frowned. “How would you even know that?”

“I asked around.” Terry shrugged.

Anthony looked distinctly amused. “You did research? For a Hogsmeade trip? You?”

“Yes, yes. It's very funny. Now can we please hurry up? You know how bad I am with queues.” Something about this statement made Anthony’s eyes fill with apprehension, and he joined in Terry's hurrying.

When they entered Honeydukes, Harry immediately knew what all the fuss was about. Every kind of sweet and confectionery was present among the many shelves. A hundred different kinds of chocolate, toffee, nougat, never-melt ice cream, forever-flavour bubble gum, pastries and, of course, Anthony and Terry's favourite jelly slugs/snakes. This shop was every kid's dream and every dentist’s worst nightmare.

The four boys looked at each other, grinning, before charging forwards towards the stacked baskets. Twenty minutes later, they left the sweet shop carrying bags full of treats, just as it had begun to fill with slower Hogwarts students, leaving a dazed teenage salesperson behind them.

That was how the rest of the morning went. They went from shop to shop, exploring the high street as they bought whatever caught their fancy. From Zonko’s, where they purchased enough joke items to wage war against Peeves, to Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment store, where the others merely perused while Harry purchased an antique globe which glowed to represent all the magical hotspots in the world in real-time.

They went to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop to refill their writing sets and order lengths of parchment before Terry led them to Dogweed and Deathcap Apothecary, where he asked the owners for potion ingredients that Harry had never heard of. Michael made a stop at The Two Bludgers, a Quidditch Equipment store, to pick up some more broomstick wax and Anthony dragged them into Dominic Maestro’s Music Shop to pick up the new Siren Call album. While there, Harry made sure to discreetly purchase two recently realised Wireless models and several albums to go with them. One pair was for himself of course, but the other was for Anthony, as his birthday was just around the corner.

Harry made them go into Tomes and Scrolls, as he wanted to pick up the intermediate copies of his Charms, Transfiguration, Defence and Healing books. While he wasn’t quite there yet, he hoped to be by June, and having these stacked on his bookshelf would be the extra motivation he needed. He didn’t bother purchasing the intermediate Arithmancy, Runes and Potions books. As much as he would like to need them right now, he simply counted himself lucky that he was doing better than most of his classmates in those subjects.

It was almost noon when they began to wander down the street, followed by the bags they had charmed to float behind them. Pausing only to make kissy faces at Eddie and his date through the window of Madame Puddifoot's Teashop, they made their way to The Three Broomsticks for lunch.

Unfortunately, by the time they got there, it was already packed out and not Hogwarts students either. It looked like half of Hogsmeade was stuffed into the tavern.

Michael groaned. “I forgot. It's Cannons vs Wasps on the Odeon today.” He grimaced. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Harry looked at him in surprise. “There’s a Quidditch game on and you don't want to watch?” Harry never would have expected to see the day.

Michael looked offended, wrinkling his nose at him. “The Canons suck, and the Wasps are the scum of the earth.” A couple of fans wearing black and yellow heard him and scowled in their direction. Unafraid, Michael gave them both a rude hand gesture. The two wizards- both of whom looked old enough to be their fathers- left their drinks at the bar (their stools immediately being stolen) and began to make their way over.

Before things could escalate, Harry, Anthony and, surprisingly, Terry grabbed a scowling Michael and bid a hasty retreat. When they felt they had run far enough, they let a still struggling Michael go.

“What did you do that for?” He demanded, as though they were the ones in the wrong. “Now those Wasp bastards are gonna say Falcon fans are cowards!”

“How will they even know you’re a Falmouth fan?” Anthony pointed out, trying to reason with him using logic. “You’re not even wearing any memorabilia.”

Michael scoffed. The logical approach did not seem to work with Quidditch fans. “Look at me. How could they think I'm anything but?”

Harry nodded, thoughtfully. “So, sports fans are ridiculous in either world. It’s reassuring to know that some things are universal.”

Michael looked like he was about to retort, but Anthony cut him off. “I'm still hungry. Where do you guys want to go now?”

Surprisingly, it was Terry who came up with a decision. But that wasn’t the surprising part. The surprise was the fact that the suggestion was a sensible one. “The Howling Tavern is supposed to be good,” Terry suggested, looking far too innocent.

Judging by Anthony’s narrowed eyes, Harry wasn’t the only one who found this suspicious. “Yeah, it is.”

Terry smiled. “Great, let's go!”

Following their maps, they headed back north, towards the school and the Shrieking Shack, (“I still want to see that before we leave!” Michael exclaimed. “I bet it's not half as scary as Robert said.”) giving The Three Broomsticks a wide berth just in case the two Wasps fans spotted them through the windows.

The Howling Tavern was not on the High Street, but it was still close enough to get decent foot traffic. It was a clean, stone tavern, smaller than The Three Broomsticks, but every bit as warm and welcoming. Harry had never heard a bad thing about this place (unlike the dirty Hogs Head, which was filled with all kinds of shady people or The Heretic's Inn, which is where you went for a drink if you were looking to get cursed) but he couldn’t help but notice a few witches and wizards giving the place a wide berth as they passed.

When they stepped inside from the cold, they were greeted with a warm open room, the scent of delicious food wafting in from the kitchen and the sound of the Quidditch game playing in the corner (Michael groaned at that). The barmaid stared at them in surprise for a moment, and it was clear why. They were the only students on the premises. “Feel free to sit anywhere, dears,” she told them when she got over it. “I'll be with you in a moment!”

The boys took her invitation gratefully, happy to get off their feet after a whole morning of shopping. Anthony and Michael squabbled over their seats for a moment, as the latter wanted to turn his back to the game in some strange, silent protest.

Before they could upset the few other patrons, Harry got up from his seat. “You are such a child,” he tutted, as he allowed Michael to switch seats with him.

The barmaid, Pam according to her name tag, got to their table in no time at all. “What would you like, dears?” She smiled down at them kindly, her face looking strangely young despite her grey hair. She wrote down their meal and drink orders before heading toward the back where the kitchen was.

Harry relaxed, leaning back against his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd had a late night going over all the Portuguese he had learned in Languages Club, and today’s early start was only just getting to him. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew his plate of fish and chips was being placed in front of him.

Harry opened his eyes to see Pam walking away and turned hastily to his friends. The few times he’d nodded off in the common room, Anthony and Michael had to stop Terry from doing something embarrassing to him.

However, they were just tucking into their meals. Terry was behaving himself but Anthony was still regarding him with suspicion, but Harry was too busy checking his reflection in his spoon to pay it any mind. Relieved that nothing had been drawn on his face during his brief nap, Harry began to eat his meal.

It really was lovely. Just as good as the Automatons made back up at the school. The Butterbeer was served hot in a foaming tankard, and just one sip made Harry regret avoiding it for so long. It was sweet enough for his tastes and filled his body with warmth, leaving him feeling toasty and comfortable. Coupled with his full stomach, Harry was on the verge of falling asleep again, his body desiring nothing more than another, much longer, nap.

Anthony's sharp question snapped him out of his pleasant mood. “Why are you taking so long?” Harry’s bleary eyes followed his gaze towards Terry's plate. Terry was barely halfway through his shepherd's pie.

Michael was practically salivating as he looked at the other boy's plate. “If you’re full, I'll be happy to finish that for you.” His own plate was clean of all the remains of his steak and kidney pie.

Terry's eyes widened. “No! I’m still hungry,” he said defensively, as he pulled his shepherd’s pie closer to him. “Why don't you just order a second plate?”

Michael sighed. “I would if I could, but I spent a month's pocket money in Honeydukes and Zonko’s.”

“It's on me.” Terry offered.

“You’re probably going to regret that,” Michael said, but he ordered another pie anyway.

If they were going to be here until Michael was full, or Terry ran out of money (whichever came first) then Harry probably had enough time for a proper nap. However, before he could even close his eyes, Anthony spoke again.

“Just tell me.”

Terry raised his eyebrows. “Tell you what?”

“Whatever it is your stalling for.” Anthony's face was without humour. “You can tell me.”

Terry stood abruptly. “I'm going to the loo.”

Harry chuckled, sleepily. “Announce it to the entire room, why don't you?”

Terry ignored him, ignored all of them, as he left for the door marked Wizard’s. Both Anthony and Harry watched him go, while Michael began to devour his second steak and kidney pie the moment it arrived. It was only when Michael had finished did he seem to realise Terry wasn’t present anymore.

“Did he leave?” Michael asked, concerned. “Because I seriously don’t have the money to pay for this.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend’s one-track mind, before reaching into his mokeskin pouch for a Galleon. “I've got it.” Harry placed the Galleon next to the receipt Pam had brought, covering everyone’s meals. “Someone else get it next time.”

While Michael thanked him profusely, Anthony stood up without a word, making his way to the restroom. “Him too? I hope it wasn’t the food,” Harry said, teasing a slightly worried Michael. “They might not let you on a broomstick if it's food poisoning. Unless they wanted to fertilise the pitch.”

“That is so not funny-”

Michael stopped speaking as Anthony returned looking worried. “I can’t find Terry in the loo.” They both stared at him.

“Terry's a big boy, I'm sure he'll manage to relieve himself without you.”

Anthony glared at Michael. “The window was open! He must have snuck out to avoid us!”

Harry frowned, his full belly made his mind both sleepy and slow. “Why would he avoid us?”

“Because he was supposed to meet his shady pen pal today! Remember?”

Harry did remember, and his chest began to fill with worry. “He didn’t want us to know he was keeping the meeting,” he said, rising from the table. “That’s why he was stalling. Because you said you were gonna tell the Commander.”

“It’s not my fault!” Anthony said, furiously. “I wasn’t going to tell on him. I never tell on him, no matter what he does! Doesn’t he know that?”

Harry raised his hands pacifically, not wanting to be the target of his anger. “I think so. Maybe.”

Anthony’s expression was still angry, but his voice revealed how worried he was. “So then why isn’t he here? Did he think I wouldn’t notice him disappear?”

Harry shook his head as he stood up and waved a still-confused Michael up from his seat. “I don’t think it was part of his plan. I think you were right when you said it was all a trap.” Harry led the way out of The Howling Tavern and onto the street. He saw no sign of Terry.

Harry searched his pockets for his map of the town. “There,” he pointed to the small Auror outpost on the map. “Anthony, you go to the local Citadel and let them know what happened. Michael,” he pointed to a second labelled location, “go check out this Apparition Point. If you hurry, you might get a good look at whoever took Terry.”

Michael frowned. “That one is closer.” He pointed to a location Harry was trying to hide with his thumb.

“I'll take that one. You’re faster than me, so you’ll get to the other one much quicker than I can.” Harry lied, quickly. Michael easily accepted this reasoning.

They all agreed on his plan, but before they parted ways, Harry said, “Obviously, if you see a teacher or a Sentinel-”

“Tell them what’s going on.” Anthony understood. Harry nodded. As much as he would prefer to solve this issue without the help of an authority figure and risk getting into trouble for going out-of-bounds to The Howling Tavern, there was to be no messing around when Terry might be in real danger.

Harry took off down the side street, heading north towards the Shrieking Shack as fast as he could. There was a reason he wanted to be the one to go to the nearest Apparition Point, and it wasn’t the lie he’d told Michael. Of the three of them, he knew the most Martial Spells. Whoever took Terry was going to put up a fight, either to avoid being identified or to just kidnap another kid, and Harry stood the best chance against them.

Harry scoffed to himself. He couldn’t believe Michael had actually thought he was faster. If the lie wasn’t working to his advantage at this very moment, he would have been offended.

Harry left the outskirts of the town behind him, following the path through the dense thicket of trees, before coming to a stop just before he emerged into a clearing. Across from him, a hundred feet away, was the infamous Shrieking Shack. It wasn’t much, just a small two-story, dilapidated building behind a wooden post and barbed wire fence. The snow around the clearing had plenty of footsteps; First Years eager to see the most haunted building in Britain. However, the snow behind the fence and around the house was untouched.

Except for a single pair of footprints leading straight to the front door. Not away. To.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Why would they hole up in the Shrieking Shack instead of apparating away? It didn’t make any sense. Unless they were waiting for something. Or someone. Maybe that someone was another target. One who had enemies, who had security all of his life, and whose death, according to Hagrid, would lead to a loss of hope.

While this might be a trap to lure him in, Harry wasn’t just going to abandon Terry. It was just fortunate that his parents had left him a last line of defence. Summoning his Invisibility Cloak while he was still behind the tree line- just in case the kidnapper was watching from the boarded-up windows- Harry put it on before drawing his wand. “Anemoi!” He said quietly. A ball of white light erupted from the end of his wand, before launching into the sky towards the nearest Citadel.

The Anemoi spell was a useful one, but it was terribly inaccurate in magically dense areas as it was designed to call for help in Muggle territories. Still, it was better than nothing.

Harry made his way carefully to the shack, making sure to step only where the snow had already been disturbed. It would be smarter to simply wait for their arrival, but even a minute could make all the difference in Terry's rescue.

Climbing over the fence was surprisingly difficult while wearing a long, flowing cloak, but he somehow managed. Once he was in front of the door, he pointed his wand at the lock. “Alohom*ora!” The door did not open. He tried out the other unlocking spells he had learned, but all of them failed. Harry gritted his teeth, and just as he was resolving himself to try and blow up the door, an idea came to mind.

Reaching for his mokeskin pouch, Harry withdrew his kindjal. When Professor Flitwick had returned it to him just before last month's exams, Harry had been doubtful of his findings.

“Its purpose is to cut?” Harry asked, repeating the words Flitwick had just uttered. “I tried to cut a letter open with this before, but it didn’t work.”

“Were you channelling your Mana through it? As you would your wand?” Harry shook his head, and Flitwick smiled kindly up at him. “As far as I can tell, it was made with the purpose to cut anything in its path. This is not an unusual enchantment, as most weapons are made to hurt others. The enchantment on yours is far more complex. It can cut through anything that isn’t a human being. Which is good as I wouldn’t feel comfortable returning this to you if the blade were in any way capable of harming a person.”

Harry remembered feeling hopeful that evening, but he felt that hope die as the blade failed to cut open his parent’s letters. He had put the long dagger back into his mokeskin pouch and hadn’t taken it out since.

Harry did so now. Removing the kindjal from its sheath, he channelled his Mana from his own body to the blade as he would a wand. Immediately he felt how receptive it was. No, receptive was not the right word. It was not like his blackthorn wand, which seemed to have its own kind of power and sentience. It was more of a conductor, like a copper wire allowing electricity to pass through it.

Placing the sharp tip of the blade in the small crack between the door and its frame, Harry moved the kindjal up and down. He removed it after a few moments when he didn’t hear the familiar click that the Unlocking Charm always produced. However, the moment he did so the door moved backwards a little.

Slowly, Harry pushed the door open, holding his raised wand before. He couldn’t see anyone in the entrance foyer, but that did not mean they weren’t there. “Homenum Revelio!” He murmured. There was no reaction, meaning the room was truly empty.

Harry glanced back at the door for a moment, only to see the lock had been cut neatly in half. Suddenly feeling glad that it hadn’t worked on his letter, Harry began his examination of the house. He could not see any ghosts or ghouls, and all the furniture looked as though it had been ravaged by a wild animal. Not finding any sign of Terry on the ground floor, Harry began to climb the creaky stairs as quietly as he could.

There. In the first bedroom that he came across, he saw a bound, gagged and blindfolded Terry. He was in the clawed grip of a salivating- Was that a Hag?!

Harry almost regretted ever entering the shack. He had read that Hags had very minor magical powers- at least when compared to the potential witches and wizards possessed- but they were something of a nightmare for Aurors. They bred quicker than humans did and, despite their warts and the greenish hue of their skin, could blend in rather easily amongst Muggles, even the ones who could see through the Veil. All of this meant they had ready access to their favourite delicacy:

Human children.

Harry didn’t know how one had gotten into Hogsmeade, but he did know that if he didn’t do something right now, Terry was going to end up being this creature’s lunch.

Approaching as quietly as he could, Harry raised his wand. However, the second he did so, the Hag froze and sniffed the air. She knows I'm here, Harry realised, diving to his left on some crazy instinct. It was a good thing he did so, as the Hag leapt with impossible speed right where he had been standing, her sharp claws taking a swipe at the exact spot his throat had been a second ago. Unfortunately, he had forgotten something.

Hags used what little magic they did possess to slowly affect their lairs, turning the whole thing into elaborate lures and then cages for their victims and weapons and traps to use against any intruders, Aurors in particular.

The spot Harry had jumped onto was unusually soft, he could almost feel himself sinking into its surface, as he would a comfy bed. Glancing down, he saw that he hadn’t jumped onto a bed or a piece of furniture. It was the wooden floor that was sucking his invisible body in, like quicksand. He had only been standing there for a second, but he was already knee-deep and sinking fast.

His heart was racing, but Harry forced himself to remember all he had read from The Auror's Enchiridion, both to escape this and to avoid other critical mistakes. Avoid the traps completely, Harry remembered the words as though they were written in front of his eyes and, capture the Hag and force them to remove it.

Just as he recalled that piece of information, the Hag turned from where she had landed and looked at the spot Harry was standing on, confused. Harry couldn’t blame her as it probably wasn’t every day her evil lair was trespassed on by an invisible child.

Taking advantage of her pause, he aimed his wand carefully. “Confundo!” he whispered, but it wasn’t quite enough. The Hag's sharp ears twitched, and she looked like she was about to dive out of the way, but Harry's spell just barely caught her. If he had been visible, he never would have landed it.

But he was invisible, so when the Confundus Charm established a connection, Harry's desire to not be captured and eaten overwhelmed her desire for a meal. Stop the trap, he commanded. Release the children.

The Hag shuddered, froze and then, looking confused as to why she was doing so, waved her hands to undo the sinking trap. Before she could gather her wits, Harry jabbed his wand at her. “Stupefy!” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down that time, relishing the widening of her eyes before the Stunning Spell struck her dead centre. She slumped onto the ground with a dull thud.

Turning to his friend now, Harry waved his wand in his direction. “Relashio!” The bindings and blindfold came loose, and Terry tugged them off himself immediately.

“Who's there?!” Terry shouted the moment he removed his gag, looking at the spot Harry had been sinking in. Harry lowered his hood.

“It's alright! It's just me.” Harry tried to reassure him without taking his eyes off the Hag or the door. Just because there was only one set of footprints outside didn’t mean she didn’t have an accomplice. It wasn’t unusual for Hags to work in pairs.

“Harry! How-? You have an invisibility cloak? And you never told me?!” Terry sputtered as he finally got to his feet.

“You have some really weird priorities, you know that?” Harry waved his wand over the Hag. “Oscausi!” The Hag's mouth was sealed shut with her own skin, as though it had never been there. Even unconscious, Harry didn’t feel comfortable so close to her sharp teeth. “Mobilicorpus!” She was lifted a few inches off the ground and floated towards the door as Harry directed her. “Are you coming?” He asked over his shoulder. Terry didn’t seem to like the Shrieking Shack any more than he did, as he hurried past Harry and the Hag to the front door.

By the time Harry arrived outside, Anthony was already hugging Terry in relief, while Michael was talking to two uniformed Aurors, gesturing to the shack. “Our other friend is still in there!”

“It's just a building, kid.” The older of the two said, sounding exasperated. “The stories about it are played up for small children and tourists. He’s not in any danger in there.”

“Err...Lieutenant?” The much younger Auror tried to get his superior officer’s attention, once he’d caught sight of Harry. The silver-haired Lieutenant turned and his eyes almost fell out of their head when he saw the Hag that Harry was levitating.

Harry smiled. “Hello, officers. I'd like to report a crime.”

Chapter 16: The Invitation

Chapter Text

It went without saying, but everyone was overjoyed to see Terry alive and well after his ordeal.

For about five minutes.

Harry got to watch the cycle repeat itself a few times. First, Anthony wouldn't let go of his brother, telling him how relieved he was that Terry hadn't been hurt. Then he seemed to remember what led them here in the first place and became furious at him. "Iwarnedyou this was going to happen! Don't you ever think?!" He had shouted in his face. The Aurors had to tell him to calm down several times as they escorted the four of them to their outpost.

Then Terry's parents arrived just after the boys had completed their statements. Joan and Robert smothered Terry with hugs and kisses, enough to make Michael snicker. But their relief turned to anger when they heard how Terry had gotten himself captured in the first place. Even Joan was furious with him. "We taught you better than that!" She scolded her ashamed-looking son. The Commander had reverted to his previous professionalism as he asked to interrogate the Hag. Before he left, he thanked the other three for saving Terry, and Harry was pleased to see that he didn't shy away from thanking Michael.

What Harry hadn't expected was the school's reaction and, somehow, that was the worst one. Professor Flitwick, after making sure Terry was alright after a good night's rest, gave him detention every Saturday until Easter Holidays and banned him from Hogsmeade until September. That wasn't even the worst part. He also removed one hundred points from Ravenclaw. To say that this made him unpopular within the House of the Wise would be an understatement, and it would have made the other three unpopular by association if it wasn’t for the latest Daily Prophet article praising Harry and condemning the Hogwarts staff.

POTTER CAPTURES HAG IN HOGSMEADE!

“Terrific.” Harry groaned when Anthony showed him the article over breakfast. “Let me guess: boy hero is good, clueless teachers are bad?”

“Essentially.” Anthony’s eyebrows pinched together in concern as he finished the article. “They’re really going after Dumbledore and the staff, though. Nothing obvious, but enough for most people to pick up on a pattern of bad safety measures.” He smiled a little. “They can’t seem to get enough of you, though. Living up to parents’ legacy,” Anthony quoted.

“Really?” Even though he shouldn’t care about the opinion of a biased newspaper, those words hit a little too close to home for him to ignore. “Give it here.” Anthony handed the paper over to Harry, without any teasing. He seemed to realise what this meant for him. Harry took his time reading through it, trying to ignore the stares he felt as more and more students looked up from their newspapers toward him.

However, Harry’s ever-growing legend wasn’t enough to shield Terry. While the Ravenclaws acted as though Terry had committed some horrible crime, Hufflepuff, who had been in second place, treated him like their hero, but in a very mocking way. "Thanks for the lead, Boot!" Was often shouted at him in the corridor, or "You're an honorary 'Puff now!"

Susan Bones seemed to enjoy hissing the latter across the aisle at him during class. Terry didn't seem to think it was much of an honour.

Harry, Anthony and Michael did their best to support Terry, not letting him go anywhere alone in case the verbal attacks became something more, hanging out with him in their dormitories to avoid the common room and even trying to come up with activities, both Potion and Muggle related, to take his mind off things. But none of it worked, as Terry remained in a sombre mood even when the months changed to February.

Harry wouldn't have been all that worried if it weren't for Anthony's reaction to his brother's new mood. "I've never seen him like this," Anthony said, as the two made their way back from Potions Club. Michael had finally given up on the academic clubs when the new term began, and Terry had stopped leaving his dorm for anything but classes, even taking his meals in his room. "He sulks when he gets caught doing something wrong, obviously, but he always snaps back really quickly."

"Has he ever messed up this badly?"

"No." Anthony grimaced. "I suppose we'll just have to wait a little longer."

Harry nodded. "What did the Commander say about the Hag?"

Anthony sighed as they began the climb up the winding staircase. "He still has no idea how it managed to get through the Hogsmeade Barrier."

Harry hummed, thoughtfully. The Hogsmeade Barrier was almost as powerful as the one protecting Hogwarts. Layers upon layers of protective spells had been placed on the land and boundaries over the last fifteen centuries, done by countless generations of the most powerful and learned sorcerers who had ever taught at this school. This had left both the school and neighbouring town untouchable by anything except a handful of the most powerful Dark Sages to have ever lived. Therefore, it was already considered fact by the investigating Aurors that the Hag could not have crossed the town's boundary on its own. Whoever had sent the letter had wanted Terry to get eaten and they had gone to an extraordinary effort to do so.

Harry wished he could say that he shared Terry's dark mood, but he had found a new balance after the Hogsmeade incident. It made him feel like a bad friend, feeling so content while Terry was in clear turmoil, but their misadventure with the Hag had affected them both in different ways.

Harry had always been a bit of a worrier. For as long as he could remember he had always dreaded the familiar feelings of anxiety that would pool in his stomach. It was a heated and heavy sensation that would crawl up into his chest and slide into his throat whenever a new stressor entered his life. That was why he went out of his way to be so neat and orderly, kept himself to a strict schedule and always tried to plan so that he would have time to prepare for any new surprises that might occur. It wasn't because he enjoyed control, but because he loathed beingoutof control. It was only when he became used to new circ*mstances, that he allowed himself to grow comfortable and lax in both his attitude and preparations.

The Hogsmeade incident was different. By all accounts he should be feeling more anxious than ever; he and Terry had almost died after all. But there was something about the act of fighting that set his body and mind ablaze, not with fear or nerves, but with excitement. When he’d fought the Hag, Harry had only felt an incredible rush of adrenaline and a feeling of triumph when he’d won. It was the most fun he’d ever had, more than flying, messing around with his friends or even Quidditch. It was a thrill nothing else could match.

Unlike the incident with the Troll, there was no party immediately afterwards he could pour this new energy into. He had to sit through the aftermath of the Hag’s kidnapping attempt and allow this new sensation to stew within him. By the time they were allowed to return to school, he was no longer able to ignore it.

For that reason, Harry returned eagerly for the next Silver Spears meeting. He told himself it was to help Robert and the other students like him, but that wasn't the whole truth. The spell he had learned in this secret club had saved his life, so it was only natural that he would be eager to learn more. It was just as Quirrell had said, the magic itself wasn't the problem, it was the way it was being taught.

So, Harry would learn new and useful magic, help Eliza in her mission to gather evidence against Slughorn, and stop Robert and all the other vulnerable students from making a mistake they couldn't take back. It was a no-lose scenario for everyone involved. Well, except for Slughorn, of course.

"Are you going to practice, or just stand there like a fool?" Eliza asked, her body language enough to show her disdain for him.

Harry rolled his eyes under the shadow of his hood. "I was waiting for you to finish," he said politely. He wanted to snap at her, but she was his only ally down here and he didn't want to alienate her.

Eliza stepped to one side, giving Harry a clear view of the now dog-sized acromantula. "By all means, show me how a master works." Her tone was light, but her mocking words made it obvious she was still irritated by her failure to master the Confundus Charm.

Even though she couldn't see his face, Harry still repressed a smirk. Just because he was having better luck with his spell work now didn't mean he suddenly forgot the bitter sting of failure. With new confidence in his wand, he approached the glass cage and levelled his wand at the furious acromantula. "Carpe Noctem!"

The jet of pitch-black shadow that shot from the end of his wand moved through the glass as though it wasn't even there. Just like all other Illusion Spells, the Nightmare Hex only affected sentient beings. Harry's spell struck the acromantula, causing it to freeze in fear, but only for a moment. It soon turned that fear into more anger slamming itself against the unbreakable glass.

Eliza snorted. "Here, let me show you how it's done. Carpe Noctem!"When her spell hit the giant spider, it didn't just freeze. It tried to flee from a non-existent predator, skittering its many hairy legs against the glass, failing to find safety. Harry rolled his eyes as he could practically sense Eliza's smugness. He wanted to point out that he had only one attempt with the hex, while she had lost count of hers.

"Your spell work is flawless, my dear, but you may want to remove the hex. Death by excessive fear is a very real possibility." Slughorn told Eliza as he approached, and she immediately lowered her wand. He turned to Harry now. "Not bad for your first effort but do keep trying. Both here and in your own time. Remember, if a creature is capable of instinct, then it is vulnerable to fear." Harry nodded stiffly, wondering where he could find giant spiders to practice on in his own time.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Now that February had arrived, so had the fourth game of the Quidditch season: Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor. The entire team was on edge after the third game's results, and Robert made clear why during their next practice.

"Hufflepuff beat Slytherin, 160-110." Robert stood in front of his seated team looking grim. "If we don't beat Gryffindor, we'll just be fighting to defend third place when we play Slytherin in May."

Michael frowned. "What was it you said before? "Stay focused on the match you're already playing", or something? Instead of worrying about what's gonna happen in May, we should focus on beating Gryffindor next week."

Maria snorted. "Which one of you is captain again?" Now that Robert was back to his usual self, the team, or at least Eddie and Maria, felt comfortable teasing him again.

Robert ignored her. "You make a good point." He told Michael, smiling. Michael practically beamed in return. He had been in a good mood ever since Robert had apologised for being weird with him for so long. Harry thought it was nice seeing the brothers back to form.

"Gryffindor has a strong Keeper-" Harry smothered a grin when he saw how irritated Marcus looked- "and three great Chasers. Their Seeker didn't perform well in this season’s opening match, but it's been three months since then, so they may have improved. Our problem is the Weasley Twins."

Maria huffed and even Eddie looked sour. “Good aim, great strength, phenomenal coordination. If they both come after you at the same time, you’ve got a problem.”

Harry grimaced. "I don't like the way you looked at me when you said that last bit."

"Unlike with Hufflepuff, I'd say we were evenly matched with Gryffindor." The team, especially the Beaters, perked up at this. "The only way we outstrip them is that our Seeker has proven he can be a nuisance to the enemy team and spot a Snitch. Gryffindor knows that too after the last match, so it makes sense they'll try to knock you out of the game as soon as possible."

Harry sighed. "So, I should just catch the Snitch as fast as possible?"

Robert deliberated. "Depends on whether or not we can maintain a lead. Remember-"

"If we're thirty points behind, we won't catch up so just catch the Snitch?" Harry guessed.

Robert smiled. "Glad to know you pay attention."

When Robert led the way out of the changing room and towards the pitch, Maria and Eddie pulled Harry back to speak with him.

"They're not going to touch you," Maria said intensely. "Fred and George. We won't let them get near you." Eddie nodded at her side, looking just as serious.

Harry had never seen them so grim before. "You can't promise that. I know anything can happen during a game."

Eddie shook his head. "Not after last year. I'm not letting them beat us again."

"I thought you guys were friends?"

Maria pursed her lips. "Yeah, which is why we can't lose to them two years in a row. They aresoannoying."

Eddie nodded. "We'll keep them away, so you just better catch that Snitch." Harry could do nothing but nod.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The fortnight before the game, Harry cut back on his extracurriculars, or at least the ones he was officially signed up for. Both The Silver Spears meetings and the private lessons with Quirrell went ahead as planned, and the latter was even more interesting than usual.

Even though it had been weeks since Quirrell had first brought it up, Harry still hadn't figured out how to pivot in a duel. His initial duelling style of betting it all on one big gambit came so naturally to him that it was next to impossible to even think of a backup plan in the heat of the moment. Most duels, or at least the ones Harry had seen, were rather short, hardly lasting for more than one or two minutes. Harry's duels with Quirrell (although it would be generous to classify their uneven back and forth as such) rarely lasted for more than thirty seconds, and even then, it was only because Quirrell would be feeling magnanimous that day.

This particular evening, Harry had entered the abandoned classroom first, as he always did, and waited at the front row desk by the window, also as he always did. The only different thing was his resolve. No matter what happened, no matter how foolish or nervous he would feel at that moment, he would try to rapidly adapt during today's duel.

While he was still busy psyching himself up, Harry felt a disturbance in the air behind him. He shot to his feet, reaching behind with his left hand for his chair and forward with his right, grabbing hold of the table to his side. One after the other, the chair first, Harry shoved them both behind him, without even looking at his attacker.

A few weeks ago, after Quirrell had mocked him for his post-Christmas stagnation, Harry had made the mistake of blaming his repeated opening attack. In his defence, Harry had long grown used to Quirrell shooting some kind of binding spell at him as he entered the room. But while Harry would consider that a reasonable criticism, Quirrell had taken it personally.

This was now the fourth lesson that began with a random and unexpected attack, but it was the first invisible attack. Harry was eager to avoid capture, as Quirrell liked to give him lectures on Martial Magic while Harry was still bound. Last week, he had used a juvenile schoolyard hex, leaving Harry hanging from his ankle until his vision began to blur.

Today, he was ready. Harry didn't wait to see if the tossed furniture had struck his foe. He ran for the much sturdier teacher's desk, clumsily rolling over the top and landing in an undignified heap behind it, just in time for a Pus-Filled-Boil Curse to strike the chalkboard above his head. He didnotwant to be hit with that a second time.

Squinting his eyes to protect his vision from the falling dust, Harry pressed the tip of his wand against the desk. "Depulso!"The table went rocketing to the back of the classroom and Harry heard Quirrell scoff, as a Reductor Curse reduced the table to smithereens.

"How many times are you going to fall back on that old trick?" Unfortunately, his voice didn't reveal his location the way Harry had hoped. But that was okay because he was about to pivot.

Scrambling onto the teacher's chair, Harry flicked his wand underneath himself. "Locomotor!"A frightened yelp tore its way out of his throat as the chair rocketed to the back of the classroom with unexpected speed. However, it wasn't enough to stop Harry from attacking. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"As Harry flew down the length of the classroom, he shot Stunning Spells along the side of the room he had seen Quirrell's Reductor Curse emerge from.

Harry leapt to the side, just as the chair was about to collide with the back wall. Prepared for a counterattack (as the sound of a grown man's body hitting the ground had been conspicuously absent) Harry used his momentum to roll to the corner of the classroom, shielding himself underneath desks.

That wasn't his best idea.

"Oppugno!"Quirrell called out. Harry had no idea what that spell did, but it didn't take him long to figure it out. Feeling movement above his head, he glanced up only to see the table's rear onto its back legs, kicking its front two into the air like a rampaging horse.

Harry moved out of the way as quickly as he could, but it wasn't quick enough. Instead of striking him in the head, one of the metal legs caught him at the soft point between his left shoulder and collarbone. It must have struck a nerve or something because Harry felt a sharp pain shoot down his arm making his hand spasm and his fingers twitch in reflex.

Gritting his teeth, Harry did his best to ignore the pain and continued his retreat to the corner of the room. When he saw the table coming for a second attack in his peripheral, Harry flicked his wand at it. "Finite Incantatem!"The table froze before reverting to its natural state.

Angry now, Harry crouched in the corner, planning his next attack. "Protego! Locomotor!"Quirrell's Dangling Jinx was dissipated by his Shield Charm, and his Mouth-Sealing Curse was blocked by the remains of the teacher's chair, the curse reducing it to splinters. What little was left of the chair fell to the ground, adding to the pile of splinters that had already been left by the teacher's desk.

Another idea popped into Harry's mind as he struggled to defend himself. "Accio Desks!"Harry deliberately fell onto his backside, wincing a little as he landed on the hard stone floor, just in time for a second Pus-Filled-Boil Curse to barely miss his face. Raising both of his legs slightly, Harry braced himself against the flat surface of the two incoming desks with his feet, using their momentum to slide himself back across the floor until his back was pressed against the wall. The last thing he needed was Quirrell sneaking behind him while he was prepping his next attack.

"Fianto Duri! Fianto Duri!"Harry cast the Unbreakable Charm twice in rapid succession on each of the desks he was hiding behind. While he’d never cast the spell during a duel before, he needed it to protect him while he worked. Even if it just stopped one of Quirrell's spells from distracting him, it would have been worth it.

In the small crack between the desks, Harry aimed his wand at the large pile of splinters. "Acusignis! Depulso!"Quirrell's two Body-Bind Curses were enough to break both the protective spells and the desks underneath them. However, there was enough shelter left for Harry to hide his body behind as his tornado of sharp needles flew in every direction.

The split-second Harry heard the last of the needles strike the surface he was curled up behind, he peeked his head over and saw a few dozen needles hit the ground in the opposite corner of the room instead of embedding themselves into the door. Harry stood up quickly, snapping out, "Carpe Noctem!"taking his hard-earned chance when it presented itself.

Normally, Harry couldn't see Quirrell's finishing attack. His Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor preferred to finish things quickly to give him constructive criticism. But today, he saw the man's counter from a mile away andstillgot caught by it.

"Protego Horribilis!"

With just those two words, Quirrell returned Harry's most powerful spell as though he were returning a volley in a tennis game. Harry's eyes widened as the jet of malicious black light was sent back at him. Remembering himself, he jumped out of the Nightmare Hex's path, but right into Quirrell's Dangling Jinx.

"Levicorpus?Again? Really?!" Harry shouted in frustration, as he dangled six feet off the floor by his left ankle.

"Would you have preferred a harsher spell? A Nightmare Hex, perhaps?" Quirrell's tone was light, but something about him emanated rage at that moment.

Harry stopped trying to escape as he hastened to explain himself. "It's the only spell I know that the Shield Charm is useless against," he explained. "I wanted you to defend yourself with a conjuration." He left out his idea that the remains of his conjuration would have obscured his vision long enough for him to make his approach. "I didn't expect-! Wait, what was that spell you used?"

Quirrell seemed to cool down as he lowered Harry to the ground, none too gently. "Protego Horribilisis the Anti-Martial Shield Charm."

Harry grimaced, both from his rough landing and from the incorrect information he’d been fed. "I thought the Nightmare Hex couldn't be countered by a Shield Charm. Or at least that's what Slughorn said." Harry climbed to his feet and hobbled over to one of the few undamaged chairs. "I wouldn't have used it otherwise."

"The Shield Charm can't defend its caster against Illusion Spells, that much is true," Quirrell confirmed. "However, the Anti-Martial Charm was developed to counter that weakness. It defends its caster againstallDark Magic. That includes Cognitive and Illusion Spells."

"Just Dark Magic?"

Quirrell smiled grimly. "Caught onto that, did you?" He began to wave his wand over Harry, and the boy had to bite back his sigh of relief as all of his aches and pains slowly disappeared. He did not want to seem weak after all. "Like all things, there can never be a gain without a loss, never a strength without a weakness."

Harry recalled Ollivander writing something similar in his letter and Quirrell only confirmed it. "Something must always be sacrificed. The Shield Charm protects against most Martial Spells, yes, but only the ones that would damage your physical person. The Anti-Martial Shield Charm protects only against Dark Magic, but does nothing against physical forms of attack such as transfigurations or elemental spells for example."

Harry began to catch on. "So, no matter what kind of defence my opponent comes up with, I have to use a spell or technique that would bypass it."

Quirrell nodded. "Until one of you falters." He waved his arm as if to indicate the war-torn classroom. "As you just did." He smirked at Harry's defeated sigh, before saying, "I'm glad the Slughorn's lessons are at least teaching you a thing or two. Is there anything to report on that front?"

Harry shook his head. "He's still bringing in infant acromantula to cast our spells on, and he only ever provides instruction. Eliza pointed out that he never actually casts the spells himself." He reported. "Even Myrose looks completely unaffected, so the Memory Charm must be working perfectly. I'm starting to think you should just bring a couple of Aurors to our next meeting and catch him red-handed."

"That's not a good idea."

"Why not?" Harry asked, frustrated. "You said the students won't be blamed and their teacher would be held accountable. We should stop him now before he does any more damage!" Harry knew the sooner The Silver Spears were ended, the less effect it would have on the students’ futures. Although, he was really only thinking about Robert's professed political aspirations.

"An investigation into Britain's premier magical school would require a warrant from the Chief Warlock's office and the go-ahead from the British Auror Commander."

Harry shrugged. "So?"

Quirrell looked annoyed. "So, both Chief Warlock Maddox and Commander Boot are former favourites of Slughorn."

"You really think they'll let him know what's going on?" Harry asked doubtfully. The Commander had struck him as a straight-laced kind of man. Not exactly the sort to let a criminal off scot-free because they had once been his favourite teacher.

"If they don't, someone else in their offices will. That's the tricky thing about people like Slughorn. They go to all the effort of gathering favours from up and comers, and appealing to the already powerful, that they end up with all sorts of friends in high places." Quirrell still looked annoyed, either at how slow Harry was being or at Slughorn's modus operandi. "All it takes is one person hearing or seeing the wrong thing and Slughorn won't be anywhere near The Silver Spears when we try to catch him."

Harry breathed through his nose, frustrated. "So how are we supposed to catch him then?"

Quirrell spoke firmly now, leaving no room for contention. "You leave that to me."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Days before the game, Harry and Michael managed to drag Terry out of his dorm so that he could join them down at Hagrid's. "I don't want to go!" Terry hissed, trying to keep his protests quiet as the other two frog-marched him out of the common room. He needn't have bothered; heads turned as he passed, glaring at him.

"Don't blame me for this, okay? It was Harry's idea."

Harry glared at Michael, before turning back to Terry. "I didn't want to say anything in there," Harry jerked his head back the way they came, "but we're going to be planning Anthony's birthday while he's at Chess Club."

Terry's eyes widened in understanding. Over the last month, Christopher had been overzealous in his enforcement of school rules whenever Terry was involved. He’d taken the loss of points after the Hogsmeade incident as a personal insult and sought retribution by making Terry's life miserable, hounding him at every turn. If he heard about a surprise party they were throwing, he might take it upon himself to ruin it.

When they were passing the entrance to the Library Tower, they came across Draco Malfoy and his two goons. Harry groaned under his breath. Malfoy was an annoying suck-up most of the time, but like everyone else who disliked Terry before the Hogsmeade Incident, he’d smelled blood in the water after the one-hundred-point loss. They all knew the older Ravenclaw kids were less likely to defend him now, so Harry, Anthony and Michael had to make sure he never went anywhere alone.

"Boot! Finally crawled out of your hidey-hole?" Malfoy called as they approached. "I was beginning to think your parents withdrew you." Terry looked like he was about to retort but stopped himself. He was clearly thinking about further punishments he'd receive if things escalated.

Harry had no such concerns. "It's good of Crabbe and Goyle to take you to the library, Malfoy. How they have the patience to tutor such a dim student, I'll never know."

Harry had learned that Malfoy had a fragile pride and was easily provoked because of it. He proved that now as his cheeks pinkened as he retorted hotly, "These morons aren't my tutors!" He didn't seem to notice his cronies side eyeing him, clearly insulted.

Harry couldn't resist stirring the pot. "So even they couldn't get through your thick skull?" He sighed. "You're here waiting for your next tutor, are you?"

"I don't need tutoring! I'm arealwizard!"

"I don't think real wizards feel the need to announce that fact to the entire world."

Malfoy looked like he was about to say something, face now red, before he caught on that Harry was just messing with his head. Cutting to the chase, he said, "Grab the little one." He jerked his head at Terry, and Crabbe and Goyle moved to obey.

Whatever it was he had planned for Terry, Harry and Michael weren't going to let it happen. Michael stepped forward to meet Goyle (or was it Crabbe? Well, it was the stockier of the two) and in no time at all, they were grappling, each trying to grab the other in a headlock.

Harry watched this for a moment, incredulous that two wizards would choose to fight physically rather than magically, before noticing the taller of Malfoy's cronies was moving right past him to grab at Terry. Drawing his wand, Harry pointed it at Malfoy first. "Oscausi!"The blonde didn't expect an attack on his person, he hadn't even drawn his wand, but Harry already knew what he wanted to do with these three.

Turning now to Crabbe, who had abandoned Terry and was rapidly approaching him to defend Malfoy, Harry flicked his wand right in his face. "Confundo!"Crabbe had the same reaction all confounded individuals did: he froze, shuddered, and then he fell for the caster's trick.

Crabbe turned to Malfoy, furious. "What did you say?!" He demanded. Malfoy backed away, looking alarmed. He tried to say something, but with the Mouth-Sealing Curse still active it only came out as muffled grunts. Crabbe looked even more enraged when he heard them. "I am sick of you always calling me stupid!"He punched the silent boy once on the side of his face and the blow was strong enough to knock him off his feet.

Harry released the Confundus Charm at that point. Gathering Terry, who was staring at Crabbe in shock, and Michael who was looking at him strangely, Harry led his friends away before a Prefect or a member of staff could arrive. Goyle was looking concerned, not over Malfoy, but Crabbe.

"Are you alright, Vincent?" Harry heard him ask with surprising softness.

"Yeah, I think," Crabbe replied, dazed. "Greg? That feltreallygood." Harry didn't hear Goyle's response to this as they rounded the corner.

"What wasthat?" Terry asked, sounding more like his usual self than he had for a month.

"The Confundus Charm."

"Can you teach it to me?"

Harry’s heart almost stopped at the very idea. "No," he said hoarsely, horrified by the possible consequences of giving Terry such power.

Terry looked like he was about to argue, but Michael cut him off. "That was Dark Magic," he said quietly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Any spell that hurts another person, any Martial Spell, is classified as Dark Magic. It doesn't mean it's necessarily bad."

Michael frowned. "You bewitched him!"

Harry nodded. He wanted to shrug, but with what he knew about his friend's background, this wasn't something he could treat lightly in front of him. "Aurors use it on Muggles who find out about magic but haven't had their memories wiped yet. It's a simple spell, relatively speaking, that leaves no lasting damage on the person it was cast upon."

"You just got here six months ago." Michael hissed. "You can't know if it's safe just by reading some old books!"

"I used it on the Hag, just last month," Harry said honestly. "I put it in my statement and the Aurors said I used the correct spell for the situation."

Michael's mouth clicked close, but he still looked upset. Harry promised himself, then and there, to never let him know his brother was a member of a Dark Arts secret society. For his part, Terry just looked put out that no one would be teaching him the Confundus Charm.

They continued the walk down to Hagrid's in silence.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Things remained tense between them for a few days. Things were tense with the team too, now that even a chance at the Quidditch Cup was put on the table. In fact, things were tense everywhere Harry went, or at least it felt that way.

He needed a break, a way to blow off some steam and, hopefully, pull his group of friends closer together. So, as every other student was at the two Valentine’s Day parties being thrown by the Slytherins, he was busy presenting his idea to his friends while they did their Runes homework in Anthony's dorm.

"You want towhat?"

Harry had been prepared for Anthony's initial refusal, but he hadn't expected Michael to be the first to question his idea. "I want to mess with the Gryffindor Quidditch team," Harry repeated calmly. "Preferably, a few days before the game."

"You want to knock them out of the running." Harry wasn't sure if Michael was scowling because of his suggestion, or because his runic deconstruction was so obviously wrong.

Harry denied it quickly. "If I wanted them out of the running, I'd say we should prank them the morning of the match. But Iwantthem to play." He stressed that last part, not wanting his Quidditch obsessed friend to think he was playing around with the integrity of the sport he loved.

"So, what's the point then?" Anthony asked, lounging in his bed while the others were struggling with their homework on the floor. "Just to annoy them?"

"Yeah!" Harry was pleased someone was getting it. "The Gryffindor team have been walking around the castle like they've already won, just because they beat us last year."

Michael hummed. "They do need to be knocked down a peg or two. What were you thinking?"

Harry smiled. Half the reason he wanted to do this was to kill the tense atmosphere that remained between himself and Michael. "I have a few ideas. But we're gonna need our exceptionally talented friends to lend us a hand." Together they both turned to look at Anthony and Terry. For anyone who hadn't been paying attention over the last month, their differing reactions may have been surprising.

Before Terry could say a word, Anthony smiled, sitting up in his bed, looking excited. "Whatever the plan is, I'm in. Terry?" He was smiling cheerfully, but his eyes were watching his brother carefully. "How about you?"

"Are you joking?" Terry looked incredulous. "People already hate me for losing us first place for the House Cup and they hate you guys because you're my friends. Why make it worse?" His tone was a mix of sadness and anger. The other students’ attitudes had affected him even worse than Harry had guessed.

"Who cares what anyone else thinks?" Michael asked. "If what they thought matters, I'd be in Azkaban for the crime of being born!"

"You're my brother, you little idiot." Anthony snapped, cutting off whatever Terry had been about to say to Michael. "I want you back to normal. Watching you behave yourself is stressing me out."

Terry began to chuckle at that but cut himself off. He looked at Harry now. "You really want my help on this?"

Harry grinned. "To be honest with you, half the reason I planned this was to get you back to normal."

Terry gave a defeated sigh before he returned the smile. "Alright then. What do you need our help with?"

Harry reached for his bag, waving Anthony closer. "A few things, actually" he said, removing his blue Quidditch jersey from his bag, along with his sketchpad.

Together, the four boys began to plan.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

After days of planning and preparation, they were ready to act. In the early hours of Thursday morning, hours before even the earliest of early birds would rise, Harry left Ravenclaw Tower under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak. He carried with him a schoolbag filled with supplies, his Quidditch goggles- which Anthony had enchanted to help him see better in the dark- and his trusty kindjal.

Hours later, he returned to Ravenclaw Tower exhausted, and his bag was nearly empty. Harry made the climb back up to his dorm, bone tired and nearly drained of Mana.Just three hours until breakfast,he told himself, as he slumped face-first onto his bed. He was asleep in under a minute. He hadn't even taken the Invisibility Cloak off.

"You know, you shouldn't drink potions on an empty stomach," Terry said worriedly, as Harry chugged an Invigoration Draught as though it were a glass of water. Harry had answered the door still wearing the Cloak, as his friend's knocking had woken him moments earlier. Terry had brought him the potion as planned.

"I'm about to have breakfast." Harry shrugged. "Besides, if I fall asleep in my porridge, don't you think they'll realise who's behind everything."

"They'll already know it's a Ravenclaw," Terry argued as they descended the stairs.

Harry felt the rush of potion finally hit him, and he felt as though he'd just had the best night's sleep of his life. "But not a First Year." He saw Terry's worried expression as they entered the common room and Anthony and Michael stood to join them for breakfast. "If it makes you feel better, I'll promise to avoid drinking potions without a good meal first. Or at least, I'll try to avoid making a habit out of it."

Terry rolled his eyes. "I think that's the best I'm going to get, so I'll just take it."

"Smart man." Harry smiled, as the four made their way to breakfast. They were all eager to see everyone's reactions to the most immediately obvious of their labours.

As the four joined the usual march down the main staircase, they heard sounds of confusion, jeers, cheers and boos from the Entrance Hall. When it came into sight, there were a dozen or so OWL students from both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, hanging around the doors to the Great Hall, debating over the school's latest artwork, while bored or disinterested students walked around them.

"You wish!" One Fourth Year Gryffindor boy was at the centre of it all, in the face of a girl in the same year. "I don't care about any graffiti, Ravenclaw is gonna getdestroyedon Saturday!"

The Ravenclaw girl he was arguing with scoffed, and her friends responded with foul words. "We have the better team. Hillard and Fiona are solid, Belby is better than Wood any day of the week, and Potter and Corner are still wild cards! You don't know what those two will pull!"

The boy seemed to catch her omission. "And what about your Beaters, eh? Afraid they can't stack up to the Weasley twins?" The Gryffindors around him oohed.

The girl pursed her lips, clearly not wanting to bad-mouth her own House team, but also not comfortable telling such an obvious lie. Before she could decide what to say, however, McGonagall had arrived on the scene. Just before she did, all traces of art vanished as though it had never been there.

"What on earth is going on here?" McGonagall demanded. "Arguing about a Quidditch game? On a Thursday? If you feel your schedules are so free, I could provide something to occupy your time. Detention, perhaps?" The Fourth Years scattered as quickly as possible, foregoing breakfast. McGonagall tutted, and returned to her place at the staff table. As she left, the art returned.

Michael whistled. "You did all this in a night?" He kept his voice low, so the other students examining Harry's masterpiece wouldn't hear.

On either side of the Great Hall doors, two large, identical scenes were painted right onto the stone walls. It depicted seven noble eagles, all vaguely resembling a player on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and beneath them, there were seven fragile, cowardly lions, who each resembled a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. As they watched, the eagles flew over the lions' heads, showering them with droppings while the lions cried and comedically bumped into one another like fools.

"I said it before, but you're a really good artist," Anthony said, examining the walls.

Harry was embarrassed by that compliment, as the paintings had not come out as he had wished. He had hoped for a more intense scene, but his hands had a mind of their own last night, leading him to softer and rounder depictions of the animals rather than the sharp lines he’d intended. Still, it was just as dynamic as he had intended and painting with Pienteal- an illusionspell- was different to what he was used to, but much more fun.

"It's only because of your work that it hasn't been taken down yet." Harry still wasn't entirely sure how he had done it, but Anthony had found a Runic Complex that was close enough for him to tweak using Numerology and then taught Harry how to do it. His work is what kept all of last night's efforts a secret from Prefects and members of staff.

Terry cleared his throat. Harry sighed. "I'm sure your work will be equally as great. We just won't be likely to see it."

Michael cleared his throat. Terry huffed as they finally entered the Great Hall. "You didn't even do anything!"

"I was the assistant!"

Terry sighed. "I just told you that so you'd stop touching my cauldron. Believe it or not, I don’t actually need someone to hand me my ingredients." Harry hid his amusem*nt, but Anthony openly chuckled.

Michael was starting to look genuinely upset, so Harry stepped in. "Michael, your role is the most obvious and important of all. Win on Saturday. Otherwise, everything we did becomes the scared underhanded tactics of a desperate team, rather than the...err," Harry struggled to find the right words.

Anthony stepped in, trying to help. "Rather than thebraveunderhanded tactics of a desperate team." Harry stared at him, but Anthony seemed to be embarrassed enough without him needing to say anything. "Yeah, I know. That was nonsense," he sighed.

Michael was nodding, not having heard Anthony's fumble as he had been lost in his daydreams for the last minute. "Yeah," he said, happily, "I'm gonna thrash them on Saturday."

That feeling was mutual between the teams. Harry's idea of knocking the Gryffindors down a peg had only served to fire them up even more. No member of either team could walk down the corridor without someone threatening them. "The Weasleys say they're gonna knock you off your broom in under a minute, Potter!" was a common jeer he heard that week.

It probably wouldn't have gotten nearly this bad if it had just been the painting outside the Great Hall, but of course, it wasn't. Last night, Harry had entered Gryffindor Tower, using a password he had learned by following a group of Second Years to their common room while under his Cloak. Harry had used his kindjal to enter the dorms of each member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and doused all of their clothes with an aerosol version of the Perception Potion that Terry had given him. Until they washed their clothes, the wearer and only the wearer would see themselves wearing the blue and bronze Ravenclaw Quidditch uniform.

Harry's favourite was the final piece. All over the castle, suits of armour, statues and busts would all give commentary of the Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor as though it were currently taking place. "McLaggen was struck by two Bludgers in the opening seconds of the game. What a disappointing defence by the Gryffindor Beaters." This was the most common recording that was played, and it was done in Michael's best impression of Lee's voice (Michael was the only one of them whose voice was deep enough).

Ravenclaw house reacted to this with hilarity, appreciating the idea of the Gryffindors being on the back foot after their weeks of boasting. But that idea never came to fruition. The Gryffindor team remained stoic throughout all of this psychological warfare, not getting emotional as Harry had intended. If anything, they seemed more focused now than they did before.

Except for the Seeker. He still hadn't gotten used to wearing a red and gold uniform like his older teammates, and the continuing threat of future injury from inanimate objects seemed to be getting to him. So much so, that by the time Ravenclaw and Gryffindor met at the centre of the pitch on Saturday, Cormac McLaggen was a bit of a jumpy mess.

Hooch had to prompt Robert and Wood to shake each other's hands as they were both too busy regarding the other with a concerning amount of contempt. Once they had done so, she released the balls in their specific order and directed the players to mount their brooms and hover.

Harry kept his focus, his grip on his broom was tight as they all hovered at a standstill, twenty feet off the ground. He didn't allow anything, not the sounds of the crowd or the Weasley twins' identical malicious grins, to distract him from following the plan. He, like everyone else in the stadium, waited for Hooch to start the match.

The second she gave the signal, Harry shot off. Behind him, the six Chasers were scrambling for the thrown Quaffle, barging into each other as they chased the falling ball. The four Beaters had split up from their usual pairs, each against an opposing player as they hunted a Bludger to smash, just as the two Seekers began to search for the Snitch. Or rather,Harryhunted for the Snitch and Cormac tried to tail him.

Harry had to give credit where it was due. Cormac might not be a good Seeker, from what he’d heard at least, but he was an excellent flier. He was both fast enough to keep up with Harry, and skilled enough to avoid the Bludgers Maria and Eddie sent his way.

In fact, he was smart enough to keep his distancejustenough for Fred and George to have clear lines of attack. More than once, Harry was forced into an elaborate display of his aerial manoeuvrability, while the Ravenclaw Beaters battled for control over the Bludgers. Harry was in such a tight spot in fact, that he hadn't been able to keep a close eye on the score for the first ten minutes of the game. It was only during a short breather, while Eddie chased one Bludger and Maria was striking another at Cormac, that he was finally able to tune into the commentary.

"What started as a neck and neck game is slowly starting to lean into Gryffindor's favour. Oliver is a quick study, and he seems to have caught onto Fiona's tricks. Johnson and Bell managed to get another one past Belby, bringing the score to 50-30 Gryffindor."

Harry rolled his broom around, avoiding an incoming Bludger. He’d spent the entire game on the defensive, unable to help his Chasers as he would have liked, but Robert had ordered him not to get involved with the Quaffle play this time around. Leading the Weasley twins into the fray would not end well for the Ravenclaw team.

So instead, Harry did what he could to make things easier for Maria and Eddie. He flew high, in an erratic style, as though he were trying to shake off Cormac from his tail. But that was the last thing he wanted.

Once he had a bird's eye view of the pitch, Harry pretended to glance around anxiously, as though all he wanted was to end this game in Ravenclaw's favour, right before diving back down, as though he had just seen the Snitch.

It was clearly a feint, and not one he would try against a proven Seeker like Cedric, but he was hoping that Cormac's rumoured difficulty in spotting the Snitch had at least a shade of accuracy to it. He levelled out thirty feet from the grass, not far from a lurking Maria, and began to stretch his arm out as though he was trying to grab the Snitch.

"This game might be over before half-time! It looks like Potter’s seen the Snitch!" Lee's shout preceded the sudden cheers of encouragement from the Ravenclaws and fearful shouts of the Gryffindors.

That's good,Harry thought.The more of you who believe it, the easier it is for me to sell.

Harry couldn't see if Cormac were following him but judging by Maria's winding batting arm as he neared the Ravenclaw goalposts where she was lurking, he was willing to bet that he was. Just as Harry began to hear one of the twins shout a warning behind him, he dived, barely missing the Bludger Maria aimed for his centre mass.

Harry had been obscuring her from Cormac's vision up until now, and he dived just soon enough for her to get a clear shot at a close target, and she made the most of the opportunity. Harry heard a hardthudfrom above him, and as he turned his broom back towards the pitch, he saw Cormac plummet to earth from over thirty feet.

It wasn't a gentle landing.

"Ooh!That looked like it hurt! A dirty move there from Ravenclaw, but it can't be said that it wasn't effective. With their Seeker out for the half, can Gryffindor maintain their lead?"

Harry already began his search for the Snitch in earnest. As already agreed upon, Maria left him to go help their Chasers. Ideally, Eddie would be there too, but as Harry quickly found out, there was a price to be paid for their earlier strategy.

"And there he goes! Carmichael has been knocked off his broom! I don't know what Acardi was thinking about, abandoning her partner like that, but Ravenclaw has traded a Beater for a Seeker! Will they prove that it was worth it?"

Harry intended to. While Maria went to give the Chasers a little breathing room, he was left behind with the newly determined twins. They went back and forth, one after the other, hitting the Bludger at Harry over and over again. Harry wanted to say that he could take it, but after fifteen minutes of evading relentless attacks, he was at his wit's end.

Looping around the Gryffindor goalposts for a quick breather, (they wouldn't risk hitting their Keeper, but Harry couldn't stay in the goal zone for more than ten seconds without earning himself a foul) Harry tuned back into the commentary.

"Spinnet scores again! Fiona, Hillard and Acardi all gave Corner the space he needed to score, but it looks like they couldn't maintain their comeback. It's now 90-70 Gryffindor."

Harry was incredulous. 90-70 in Gryffindor's favouraftermaking a comeback? He hadn't even realised they had been in such dire straits. If he caught the Snitch now, they would be ending the game with a thirty-point lead.

Making up his mind, Harry flew straight for the Quaffle skirmish that was happening near the Gryffindor goalposts. While there was a chance that Ravenclaw could score, Harry was willing to sacrifice that for a chance to catch the Snitch.

Flying through the small gap between the Gryffindor Chasers, Harry did his best to lose the Weasley twins. Following their team's pre-planned tactic, Fiona and Robert moved to block Harry from their vision, risking injury by getting so close to the Gryffindor Beaters just so they couldn't swing their bats. This left the Quaffle free, but Harry was certain that Michael, Maria and Marcus weren't going to let anything become of it.

Harry flew high, putting distance between himself and all the other players. The original idea had been for Harry to resort to this tactic only when he spotted the Snitch, but when Robert had overestimated Harry's abilities when he came up with that plan. While he had been able to stay out of the Bludgers' reach, he hadn't had any time to search for the Snitch.

Right now, Harry was betting on himself. If he couldn't spot the Snitch soon, it would mean Gryffindor would be too far ahead in points for Ravenclaw to catch up. Harry was gambling everything on his ability, on his sight, on his-

There.

It was just a fluttering glint of gold from this height, but Harry dived for it like a hunting falcon. He remained distantly aware of the danger of incoming Bludgers, but he was too focused to care about dodging them anyway. He would later learn that, while Fred and George had shaken off two-thirds of the Ravenclaw Chasers, Maria had come at them with a vengeance. Robert and Fiona hurried to take her place with Marcus and Michael in defending Ravenclaw's goalposts while she defended Harry's back. As Eddie had already proven, two Beaters against one was not good odds, but Harry was too focused at that moment to even notice.

Left, down, hard right, climb, roll, climb, DIVE!Harry followed the Snitch everywhere it went, slowly gaining on it, but it was harder to chase than it usually was, almost as though it resented being hunted by only one Seeker. But it didn't matter because it was almost within arm's reach.I'malmost there- wait is that the grass?

Distantly, he heard the crowd gasp in horror as he almost slammed full speed into the pitch. Later, he would claim that he had been in complete control the entire time, but that was a complete lie, and no one was more frightened than he was at that moment.

Pulling up his broom less than three feet off the ground, the tips of his boots brushing against the grass, Harry now chased the Snitch along the ground in the direction of the Gryffindor goalposts. Above, he heard the crowd groan again as Maria fell from the sky. He was out of time and the twins would be after him soon. It was now or never.

While he had slowed down earlier, he had quickly caught back up to the Snitch. It almost got away from him, but after everything that had happened, after losing both Beaters, Harry wasn't going to let it slip out of his fingers. Extending his arm, feeling the flickering of the metallic wings against the tips of his fingers, Harry let out an exhausted, but victorious huff of air as he closed his hand against the Snitch.

Harry raised his arm in the air in triumph as he began to slow his broom down. It was a good thing too because falling off your broom at ten miles an hour was much better than doing it at fifty. The moment he raised his arm in the air, he felt a heavy object hit him right in the back. Not expecting it, the blow knocked him off his broom.

Harry was lucky to hit the ground rolling, his momentum keeping him going for a few moments and his Quidditch gear taking all the friction damage. As he stood up, feeling battered, he heard a sharp whistle, the sound of a confused crowd and shouting as the remaining members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team tried to dogpile one of the Gryffindor Beaters.

"Ravenclaw wins, 120-90, after a hectic chase by Potter! Unfortunately, it seems a last-second attack by George Weasley has led to a scuffle between the teams. Oh no." Lee sounded as though he were enjoying himself, and McGonagall wasn't there to reprimand him. She was hurrying onto the pitch with the other teachers, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor fans following.

"Err...I'm alright!" Harry called out, a little confused by the fuss they were making. While the Gryffindor Chasers looked just as nonplussed as he did, every other remaining player had entered the fray. Michael was shouting in the face of Fred Weasley who was shouting right back, and Robert was telling off George who was clenching his fists, red-faced. While this was going on, Fiona, shy and sweet Fiona, was jabbing her finger into her brother's chest as she screamed profanities at him, while Oliver was shouting right back at both her and Marcus.

Harry would never find out exactly what he said, but it was enough to make Marcus' eyes go wide before narrowing in rage. He drew back his arm and slammed his fist into the side of Oliver's face.

That was when all hell broke loose.

Both teams had taken that as an open invitation to start beating the living daylights out of each other. Punches, kicks, bites, scratches, and even spitting. It seemed as though, in their collective rage, they had all forgotten they were witches and wizards.

Harry, eyes wide, looked at the oncoming wave of teachers and supporters and decided it was better to just fly away now. It was a good thing too because some crazy Gryffindor Fifth Year decided it was a good idea to come at Marcus with a flying kick.

The last thing Harry saw before he closed the door to the Ravenclaw changing room was Marcus smacking the boy out of the air before proceeding to beat his face bloody.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"In retrospect, yesterday wasamazing,"Harry said, as they led a blindfolded Anthony down to Hagrid's house. "I never thought I'd live to see a flying kick outside of a movie before."

Terry cackled. "I still can't believe you thought it would be a good idea to get in the middle of all of that," he said to an annoyed Michael.

"Let us win. But if we cannot win, let us smash a few heads!" He stubbornly quoted the Falmouth Falcon's motto.

Terry laughed. "But youdidwin!"

Michael huffed. "Give it a rest, will you? I've already got nagged by Robert, the bloody hypocrite." The other three laughed. Robert had punched two Gryffindor Seventh Years in the throat, one after the other, right in front of a shouting McGonagall. It had already turned him into a legend amongst their housemates.

"Don't make me laugh when I'm wearing this stupid thing. I'll fall on my face." Anthony said, just as Michael pulled him out of the way of a protruding rock.

"Why are you wearing a blindfold anyway?" Harry asked.

"Because you told me to!"

“No, I didn’t."

Anthony yanked it off. "Terry!"

His brother snorted. "What? You weren't going to put it on if I told you to!"

"Exactly! What was the point of it anyway? The second you told me to put my cloak on, I knew we'd be going to Hagrid's."

Terry shrugged. "I just thought it'd be funny to make you look like an idiot." He laughed at his brother's scowl. As a side effect of the tricks they had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Terry was back to his usual self, or at least that was what Harry told himself. In reality, Terry had only gone back to normal after Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had almost been docked five points for every student who’d taken part in the brawl. The only reason no one was punished was because of this morning'sDaily Prophetexposé. No one cared about last month's drama anymore, so Terry was off the hook.

Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, and their professor opened it immediately as though he had been waiting on the other side.

"Morning all! Come in, come in." Harry stepped aside to let Anthony go first. He rolled his eyes and Harry could hardly blame him. They hadn't been very subtle with the fact that they’d been planning something for his birthday. However, they must've done a good job keepingwhatthey were planning a surprise because when Anthony stepped into Hagrid's sitting room, he was entirely caught off guard.

"SURPRISE!" Every corner of Hagrid's sitting room was filled with Anthony and Terry's family, the Chess Club and the other Ravenclaw First Years. There were balloons, streamers and a banner that readHappy Twelfth Birthday, Anthony!

"Okay, I wasn't expecting all ofthis!" Anthony said, laughing. Harry hadn't either. While the three boys had helped Hagrid set up earlier, he had a feeling one of the other adults- probably Claudia- had spruced it up with Transfiguration.

While Anthony went around greeting his family and his guests, Harry took the first opportunity he had to put his feet up and snag a sandwich from a passing Automaton. Hagrid, as a teacher, had gotten the services of the Automatons to take care of the food today. He had offered to cook for everyone, but they had felt he had done more than enough by offering to host.

"Tired, are you?" Callum asked as he approached. He sat down beside Harry and passed him a chilled bottle of butterbeer.

"You have no idea." Harry groaned melodramatically and Callum snorted. He wasn't lying though. After a hectic and exhausting match, it had taken ages for the teachers to separate all the students and then question and punish them. After that, Harry had gone to see Eddie and Maria in the Hospital Wing, both to get healed from the deep bruise the Bludger had given him and to inform them of the madness they had missed out on. As one of the only players who wasn't involved in the brawl, Harry had been questioned by both teachers and students until he faked being too tired to talk.

"I'll bet. Have you seen the paper this morning?"

Harry raised an amused eyebrow. "I think everyone in the school has read that article by now."

The Sunday edition ofThe Daily Prophethad readBRAWL AT HOGWARTS! STUDENTS SPIKED WITH ILLEGAL POTION!

"Funny thing, how the paper knew about it before the students who were affected did,” Harry said, more to himself than to Callum. It was another Daily Prophet article that made Hogwarts look bad. “A lot of parents are getting involved."

Callum nodded. "Dad's here for two reasons. One," he waved his hand to indicate the party and a beaming Stephen clapping Anthony firmly on the back, "and two, a lot of parents want to set up meetings with Dumbledore and the Board of Governors, so they need special access to Hogwarts' Floo Network. Uncle Robert and Aunt Joan are here to investigate too."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He would have thought something as humdrum as this was within the Custodians’ jurisdiction. There must be evidence of Dark Wizard involvement for the Aurors to start investigating. "Have you heard anything about the potion used?” He asked. “The Bloodlust Potion?"

Callum shook his head. "I only just got in from the Magisterium a couple of hours ago. All I know was in the paper." Harry's eyes widened at the mention of the Magisterium as he began to spew a series of incessant questions to a very patient Callum. All his teachers had attended of course, but it was a different thing to ask a peer and Callum was only eighteen.

"I'm surprised he didn't use a Mouth-Sealing Curse on you," Terry said later, as they strolled into a dark and empty common room. It was hours past curfew, but Hagrid had permitted them to stay out as long as they were with him. It was good to have friends in high places. "I would have if you kept nattering on at me."

“He didn’t mind.” Harry was too tired to feel embarrassed. "He would’ve kept answering my questions too if he didn’t have to leave for his early class tomorrow,” he added as they began the climb up to the top floor.

Michael snorted. "I'm sure that's the excuse he uses withallthe girls." Terry laughed, and Harry pretended to push them both back down the stairs.

"Thanks for the new Wireless set, Harry. I needed a new pair." Anthony said, distracting him.

"You're welcome. I bought a few albums, but I haven't got around to listening to them. I'd like your opinion." In fact, Harry had listened to them, but it was so different from the Muggle music he’d grown up with that he wanted to know whether the albums he’d chosen were what wizard kids actually listened to. He hoped he had simply picked out the wrong bands because it was quite bad.

"Sure." Anthony agreed as they reach their landing. "Just let me know when."

"Harry! Just because it didn't work out with my cousin doesn't mean you should start things up with my brother!" Terry said, sounding scandalised. Michael chortled as though it were the funniest thing he had ever heard. Harry just rolled his eyes as he entered his dorm.

The moment he did so, his blood ran cold. There, sitting atop his pillow, was a letter.

This shouldn't have been a cause for alarm, except for the fact that his window was closed, and Argos wasn't within sight.Someone had been in his room.Worse, someone had been in his room and wanted him to know about it.

Harry drew his wand. "Verdimillious!"A torrent of emerald sparks flew from his wand and covered the entirety of his room. As the sparks disappeared, they did not linger over the letter. So, it wasn't Dark Magic then. "Revelio!" Again, nothing. It wasn't Transfigured to turn into anything as soon as he touched it. "Specialis Revelio!"Still nothing. It hadn't been Enchanted in any way either.

Slowly, as he still felt like this was a trap, Harry reached for the letter. When he touched it and nothing happened, he felt finally safe enough to pick it up and open it. Ignoring the sudden rapid knocking on his door, Harry read the following:

Dear Mr Potter,

We, The Infamous Purveyors of Magical Mischief-Makers, have taken note of your recent activities and wholeheartedly approve.

You and your compatriots now have the most auspicious honour of being invited to join our illustrious band. Or, at the very least, the chance to join.

You will be hearing from us soon.

Yours in both mayhem and mischief,

The Marauders

As Harry was reading his letter, he went over to his door and opened it abruptly. Terry, who had still been knocking, fell face-first into his room. He leapt up as though nothing had happened and said, "See! I told you Harry got one too!"

Harry looked up from his letter to see his three friends holding identical ones. After a brief moment of silence, they all rapidly swapped, exchanging letters and examining them for any differences, but aside from the names they were addressed to, all the letters were identical.

Anthony and Michael were both wearing the same confused and worried expression that he could feel on his own face. The only one who seemed happy about this was Terry, who was already making wild guesses about who The Marauders could possibly be. At that moment, Harry was only thinking one thing:

How many secret societies can one school have?

Chapter 17: Interlude VI

Chapter Text

Even in late winter, Florence was a sight to behold.

The city seeped beauty, the kind his master had lusted over, artistic wealth that was inherited and inhabited by its populace, the remnants of the Renaissance. The Cathedral, the Gallery, the Gardens, all of it held fond memories for him. Despite having little love for art and culture, he still remembered his master's attempts to get him to slow down and enjoy the world around him more.

Those memories remained a fleeting bright spot in the darkness that his life had become.

He even considered the simpler beauty of the town, the rolling hills, the wide river and the cobblestones beneath his feet, to be a wonder in their own way. The clear sky and bright sun contrasted with the brisk air, but even that was attractive to him. Truly, it was a lovely day.

It was such a shame that it was going to end in torture.

He marched down the narrow street towards the safe house, flanked on either side by a loyal follower. Ahead of them, a small group of Muggle boys were playing football, when they clearly should be in school. Honestly, if you were going to skip class, at least change out of your school smock.

Tom repressed the urge to shake his head at that thought. He was growing far too comfortable with his role as a schoolteacher.

One of the boys kicked the ball too hard. It rebounded off the wall and almost struck Torrington in the head. The man, already on edge due to conducting business in the Muggle world, almost went for his wand.

Tom raised his hand, ever so slightly, and he froze. "Forgive me," he said, lowly, dropping his hands back to his sides. They continued walking, even as the young boy hurried past them to retrieve the football, completely unaware of the mortal danger he had just been in.

"It's just this way, General." Cushing led the way to the Muggle residence she and her lover had rented for their anniversary. There, hidden underneath Disillusionment Charms, he sensed two of his own, flanking the front door as they guarded their latest asset. He felt a sudden spike of anger at their incompetence but tempered it. Cushing was in charge of this mission, which included security, so it was not the fault of the foot soldiers, but their commanding officer.

He felt the guards observe him with idle curiosity, wondering who their Captain was leading into the safe house. Only his inner circle was permitted to know that the Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was secretly a Knight of Walpurgis, and even then, only when they had proven themselves. Which was why he was so angry at Cushing. He had expected more of her.

Once the door was closed behind them, he turned to Cushing. "Renata, do you know when the local Aurors conduct patrols of their jurisdictions?"

Cushing blinked. He could hardly blame her. He had not spoken a single word to her since they had reunited this morning, and his first words were a question about the enemies' patrol schedules. Still, she knew better than to leave a question unanswered. "I'm not sure, General."

Behind him, he could feel Torrington shaking with silent laughter. Tom nodded at him, and he immediately sobered and answered the question. "Outside of sanctioned missions and responses to reports that are given by trusted Muggle informants, Aurors conduct patrols in random areas at random times. They don't have the manpower to investigate every nook and cranny of the cities they protect, but they try their best to."

Tom could see that Cushing was only further confused. "Let me make it simple for you. If you leave two disillusioned sorcerers outside of a door in a Muggle area for days on end, someone is going to notice. Your people have been here for three days. It's a minor miracle Italy's Commander hasn't broken through the front door yet." He did not raise his voice, but he could see Cushing's face pale. She moved to the door, but Tom shook his head. "Torrington will deal with them. You will help me with our asset."

Relieved that she wasn't in more trouble, Cushing led the way to the basem*nt her soldiers had created underneath the house. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, but before they entered through the door, he stopped her.

Waving his wand over his face, he asked, "How do I look?"

Cushing, clearly trying to curry favour, spoke quickly. "Very handsome, sir!"

Tom remained patient. "I meant, do I look recognisable?"

She flushed, and with each passing moment, he became surer of what he had to do next. "No, sir. Not recognisable at all."

Tom nodded. "Good. Might I ask, what were you wearing last night?"

Now used to his non-sequiturs, she answered quickly. "This, sir. Between contacting and escorting you here, I haven't had time to change."

Tom smiled now. "Excellent." With that he flicked his wand at her, disarming her of her own, while simultaneously gagging and binding her with conjured ropes. Ignoring her look of sudden terror, he opened the door.

The moment the naked and bound man saw Tom levitating Cushing in front of him, he began screaming for her. "Renata! RENATA!"

Ignoring the man's screams, Tom closed the door behind him and conjured a chair for Cushing beside her lover. "Don't worry," he said speaking in the man’s native tongue. He did this not to make his captive more comfortable, but to hide his own identity. "She hasn't been harmed. Yet"

"Yet? Yet?!" The man began to shout obscenities at him in Russian, and Tom simply twirled his wand. The chains which kept him restrained quickly turned hot, low enough in temperature to keep his nerves intact, but far too high for him to ignore. He waited for the man's high screams to turn into sobs before he stopped.

Tom missed his Cruciatus Curse. There was no need for any back and forth when your prisoner felt every nerve ending on fire without any kind of physical damage done to the body. Everybody broke under his cruciatus eventually. Unfortunately, like his imperius, only one wizard was known to cast it, and he couldn't let the secret slip. He couldn't allow his followers to know that he was fallible and vulnerable.

And he especially couldn't let this Auror know, not when Tom's plan hinged on setting him free. "I know you, or at least I know your father." He saw Adrian Molotov's eyes flash and he had to repress a smirk. Whether it was admiration or resentment, you could normally count on the son of a successful man to have strong feelings towards their father, one way or another.

"The famous Commander Molotov. I was too young to be there, you know, at the Siege of Koldovstoretz. One of the Dark Lord's Acolytes, General Dolohov, had bombarded the school's defences for hours. His idea was to capture the sons and daughters of the wealthy and the influential and convince them to reconsider their disloyalty. Not a bad plan, simple, but not bad."

Tom began to circle them both, slowly, at his own pace. "But then, rising silently through the gateway under Lake Svetloyar, came your father, along with half the Auror Corps’ forces in Russia. To say it was a blood bath is putting it mildly and Dolohov, the coward, turned and fled. The Dark Lord punished him most severely that night, and he never managed to earn his trust again before the end."

Tom stopped now, right in front of him. "But that's not the entire story, is it? You see, I heard a most incredible tale about a young boy, trapped in a school under siege, who took his life into his own hands. He used a secret passageway that he had found, too narrow and dangerous to take others with him, but enough to make it to Kitezh undetected. Enough to contact his father, the Commander of the Moscow Citadel."

Adrian looked at him blearily, hungry, dehydrated and in pain. "Please let her go." He begged quietly.

Tom ignored him as he began his circling again. "How did your father react to your heroism? Did he tell the world of your heroics? Did he tell you he was proud of you?"

Adrian's voice was weak, but there were traces of undeniable anger in it. "Shut up."

Again, Tom ignored him. "No, he hid what you did. Too afraid that someone would accuse you of cowardice. A Second Year Auror Cadet running away from a battle. What a shame you must be to your family," he said, mockingly. "We both know he didn't care either way about the way people looked at you, he has your younger brothers to be proud of, after all. No, what he was afraid of was someone linking your cowardice to his family name. So afraid that he used his influence to station you at the end of the world."

Adrian swore in a frustrated voice. "Just let her go and I'll tell you anything you want to know about my father."

Tom raised his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised when he was smiling underneath. "You would betray your father, your comrades, for her?" He asked, even though he knew the answer already.

"Yes," Adrian said.

Tom was glad he was behind his captive now because he could just about stop his laughter, but he could not stop his smile.

"Because you love her?"

"Yes." Adrian breathed.

Tom shook his head. He never understood those who claimed that love was a strength. It was like leaving the most fragile, vulnerable parts of yourself out in the world, without protection. It turned the smartest, most capable individuals into wild, desperate fools. So easy to hurt, control and manipulate.

Tom stopped in front of him again. "Would you believe me if I told you that I don't want to know anything about your father?"

"What?" Adrian looked confused. "They why bring him up?"

Tom shrugged, finally conjuring a seat for himself in front of them. "I just wanted to build a rapport with you."

Adrian's eyes widened, finally realising that he was breaking the Auror's rules of engagement when it came to being held captive. Say nothing, try to escape, and if that's impossible, wait for a rescue that will never come.

Either carrying your shield, or on it,Tom remembered.And they call me evil.

He was going to struggle now, but that was good. While Tom would have preferred to get the information painlessly, he needed to shatter the asset's self-identity as an Auror, shatter it so thoroughly that he could be trusted to complete his task without someone holding a wand to his back.

Besides, a certain someone needed to learn that there was a high price to be paid when they weren't careful. Anyway, it was only Saturday. He had plenty of time to waste before going back to Hogwarts.

Adrian rose his head, defiantly, finally acting like a true son of the Molotov family. "When I am the anvil, I bear. When I am the hammer, I will strike!"He spat weakly, aiming at Tom, but it just dribbled pathetically down his chin.

Tom hummed. "Your family motto? Very dramatic. But what if you weren't the anvil or the hammer today? What if you were just here to watch?" Adrian, the dim lad, looked confused. At least until Tom trained his wand on Cushing.

That's when they both started screaming and thrashing in protest.

Tom didn't bother repressing his smile now. A year ago, after a long search, Cushing had finally identified a vulnerable Auror of the exact type they needed. Tom had told her to take her time in seducing him, it would not be hard at first, for she was a beautiful young woman, but such feelings were superficial. Tom needed the young man to love her. Enough to sacrifice everything for her.

Even his very soul.

With a tight corkscrew twirl of his wand, a long, thin strip of flesh was slowly peeled away from Cushing's arm. She screamed, and Adrian was already begging for his attention, promising to help him with anything he wanted.

Tom paused for a moment, as though considering, before taking another strip of flesh from Cushing, smiling in pleasure as they both screamed with different kinds of agony.

Some things he did for the cause. Others he did solely for himself.

Chapter 18: The Marauders of the Round Coffee Table

Chapter Text

"Are we sure about this?" Anthony asked nervously.

Over the last month, Harry felt annoyed whenever Anthony asked that question. After all, they had agreed to take the risk, so why continue to question it? But now he felt his friend might have a point. The Marauders were asking too much of them this time. This latest task was markedly different from the ones that had preceded it. This was asking them to risk expulsion with no guarantee that they would reach their goal on the other side. However, Harry felt that they’d come too far to stop now.

"We just need to be careful," he said calmly, hoping this would soothe Anthony’s nerves as well as his own. "Besides, I'll be the one taking the actual risk." Anthony’s eyebrows scrunched together; that add-on only seemed to increase his worry.

Terry saw this and quickly stepped in. "It'll just be like everything else we've done," he said confidently. "Completely reversible."

Anthony let out a long breath from his nose and nodded. "Alright then. Which teacher do we go after?" Behind him, Michael’s shoulders slumped. While he hadn't said anything, Harry knew that Michael had been hoping Anthony would be able to talk him and Terry out of it.

Harry only knew of one teacher who they could attack that would leave him free of guilt. "Professor Slughorn." The others stared at him, still unaware of the Potion Master's secret society. "If he catches me, he'll be a good sport about it. He wouldn't want to burn any bridges with The Boy-Who-Lived, now would he?" With shrugs and nods, the others accepted his reasoning, and they began to plan their next rule-breaking endeavour.

It had been like this for almost a month. The four had spent the end of February and most of March in the service of The Marauders. This was mostly running mysterious tasks on their behalf, but it also included days of research to solve the clues that had been left for them.

The first bit of correspondence they received since the initial notes were left in their dorms arrived on Leap Day while they were eating breakfast. A nondescript barn owl swooped low over their heads, dropping a letter between the four boys before flying off. On the front of the envelope, the letter was addressed to:

Henry, Anthony, Trevor, and Michael

"Trevor?" Terry looked baffled. "Only gran calls me Trevor."

"I don't think your grandmother would be writing to all four of us," Harry said as he poked the letter with his wand. Anthony leaned forward to block the sight of his examination from the teachers’ table. Like Harry, he had clocked on to who had sent it and didn’t want Professor Flitwick to start asking questions about why they were testing their post for traps.

"Yeah, she should only be writing to me!" Michael exclaimed.

"What?" Terry asked.

Michael sighed. "We didn't want you to find out like this." Terry caught on to what he was implying and swore at him. "Now is that any way to talk to your new grandfather?" Michael snickered, right until Terry elbowed him hard in the side.

Harry sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "Just like last time. None of my detection spells work."

"Maybe because they haven't put any spells on it." Anthony shrugged.

"What are you two talking about?" Michael asked through a groan. He was still rubbing his ribs where Terry had got him.

"The Marauders," Anthony said slowly, as though speaking to someone dim-witted.

Terry, who had still been scowling at Michael, now snapped his head in their direction. "How do you even know it's from them?"

“Who else would be writing to all four of us?” Harry asked as he began to open the letter. "Besides, it’s written in the same hand as last time."

"How can you recognise their handwriting?"

"How can you not?" Harry quickly read the letter. "We only got the last one a couple of days ago." Before either one of them could respond, he hastily passed the letter to Anthony as he went over what he had just read:

Complete a quest for the guardian of the lions’ den.

“The lions’ den,” Anthony read aloud. “Plural. Gryffindor Tower?”

Harry nodded. “Must be.” He didn’t want to think what it could have meant if “lion” had been singular. Professor McGonagall didn’t seem like the type of person to allow intrusions into her privacy.

"We're doing it right?" Terry was almost bouncing in his seat he was so excited. He wasn't the only one. They were all interested, albeit to varying degrees.

"Later." Harry stood, gathering his things. "After classes." Terry groaned but acquiesced.

That afternoon, after classes but before dinner, Harry showed his friends the way to the Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps The Marauders had expected them to struggle in finding the entrance, but Harry had already found it during their campaign against the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"The guardian of the lions’ den is probably the painting," Harry said while hiding with his friends in the nearest classroom to the Gryffindor common room. "I'll go under my Cloak and find out what this quest is supposed to be."

Michael sighed. "I wish the Cloak worked for us." Harry shrugged, although he was secretly pleased by this. For some reason, the Invisibility Cloak only revealed its true nature when Harry wore it. When he had given it to his friends so they could try (Terry was only allowed to do so in a locked dormitory with Anthony present) it remained a beautiful but unremarkable cloak.

Ducking out of the classroom, he strode down the long corridor towards an apparent dead end. There were several portraits, but the one that held his interest was a portrait that depicted a fat lady in a pink silk dress. Waiting until a few First Years made their way inside, Harry lowered his hood, making the Fat Lady jump.

She was quick to tell him off. "Don't just pop out of nowhere like that!" Harry nodded, even as he wondered why someone would enchant the guardian of the House of the Brave to be so jumpy.

"Sorry. I'm here to complete a quest for the guardian of the lions’ den." The Fat Lady's eyes widened in realisation.

"Oh, that's for you, is it?" She asked, but before she could explain, her portrait began to move forward. Harry quickly threw his hood back up, just as a pair of Fourth Year girls walked out chatting. Waiting until they’d disappeared around the corner, the Fat Lady began to speak again.

A few minutes later, Harry re-entered the classroom in a confused state and made himself visible once more. The moment he did so, his friends jumped up and started pestering him with questions.

Anthony went first. "Well? What did they want? Is it dangerous?"

"Did you see them? The Marauders?" Terry looked jealous at the possibility.

Michael got right to the point. "What's the quest?"

Harry shook his head, replying in the negative to all the questions but the last. When he relayed what the Fat Lady had asked of him, they all looked as confused as he did.

"I don't get it. What was the point?" Anthony asked an hour later. The four were trudging back up to Ravenclaw Tower, quest completed.

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. This might just be their brand of humour."

Terry smiled. "It was a nice thing to do, don't you think? The Fat Lady looked so happy."

Michael rolled his eyes. "She's just a painting, Terry. Who cares if she's happy?"

"I do!"

Harry remained silent. He had kept his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary while they completed the quest. Perhaps it was an ambush by Myrose or another child of Death Eaters? Or maybe someone just wanted to get them in trouble as they removed the Confundus Charm from a painting of a witch named Violet so that she and the Fat Lady could go out drinking tonight as they had planned.

Neither of those things came true. With some difficulty and a little experimenting, Harry managed to use a counter-charm to remove the Confundus and they escorted Violet back to Gryffindor Tower, where the Fat Lady thanked them for their help. They hung around for a minute but quickly left when no new information presented itself. The last thing they wanted was to be caught by a Gryffindor in this corridor.

When they reached their dormitory landing, Harry finally spoke. "I haven't got a clue what they're planning, but we have to follow their instructions for now."

Michael, who was the most upset about wasting time he could have spent training for the Quidditch finals, said what they were all thinking. "Why? This whole thing is just a joke on us."

Harry nodded. "You're probably right about that," he admitted, "but these aren't just any old troublemakers. They managed to get in and out of our dorms without anyone noticing. So, they either have a Cloak like mine that can get past protections or-"

"-they're a teacher or a Prefect," Anthony finished. He paused before adding, “Probably a Prefect. I can’t see a teacher running a secret club for troublemakers.” Harry said nothing.

Even Terry looked daunted at this idea. "So, if we ignore them, they'll make life difficult for us?"

In contrast to Terry's wariness, Michael looked enraged by this. "So what? We have the letters they sent! We'll just give it to Robert. He'll sort it out."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "The letters aren't signed by anyone. They have no magic that can be traced and lack any threats in written form."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "In written form?"

"Do you really think we found letters on each of our pillows-where we sleep- was just a coincidence? Today they sent us a letter by owl, so why couldn’t they do that the first time?"

"You seriously think they’re threatening us?" Anthony looked doubtful.

Harry nodded. "It's like saying "Look at where I can reach you" all without uttering a single word." He knew it needed to be said but seeing the now alarmed expressions on his friends’ faces made him wish he’d never uttered a word.

A letter arrived during breakfast the next day carrying another task for them to complete. As did another letter the day after that, and another the day after that. This continued for weeks, becoming a regular occurrence in their lives, but the tasks themselves varied so much that this was the only regular thing about them.

Some days the tasks were mundane, such as finding missing paintings, busts and statues that had been put in random places around the castle and restoring them to their proper homes before the faculty had even noticed they were gone. The first time they had been asked to do so had been the most nerve-wracking. For Anthony anyway.

“They’re joking,” Anthony said, aghast. “Someone tell me this is an illusion and they’re just taking the mickey out of us.”

Michael poked the base of the statue with his finger. “Nope. It’s definitely real,” he said innocently.

Anthony looked about a minute away from tearing his hair out. Either that or punching Michael. “This statue was a gift from the Greek Ministry of Magic after Headmistress Fawley stopped a rampaging harpy in Athens while on holiday. It’s almost two hundred years old!”

“So we’d better move it before someone realises it's missing,” Harry said as evenly as he could. He knew that laughing right now would only set Anthony off.

Terry didn’t seem to care. “We should just leave it,” he giggled. “Imagine some poor bloke coming in here, opening the stall and seeing that.” He pointed at the life-sized marble statue of Headmistress Fawley that had been balanced precariously atop a closed toilet lid.

“Help me with this, would you?” Harry asked quickly when Anthony took a dangerous step towards his brother. “I can levitate on my own, but there’s no way I can angle the base right to get it through the door.” Anthony took a deep breath before nodding. Michael and Terry exchanged smirks behind his back.

On other days, their assigned tasks were much too dangerous, such as the afternoon they were tasked with antagonising Peeves. The letter had specifically instructed them to do so on the first floor of the east wing of the castle, close to Professor McGonagall’s office, at exactly three o'clock. Being chased by a Poltergeist was no fun at the best of times, but some idiot had seen fit to give Peeves a fire hose.

The boys ended up being told off for provoking the demented jester by McGonagall while dripping water onto the stone floor. Mercifully, she seemed to think they had been punished enough and let them off with a warning. She neglected to dry them though, much to their collective chagrin, and they attracted plenty of amused and curious looks on their return to Ravenclaw Tower.

Considering how often they were asked to distract teachers or place mysterious packages in specific places at certain times, it was obvious that they were doing the grunt work of The Marauders' mischief-making. Harry wouldn’t mind this all too much, but it got to the point where the tasks themselves were too numerous for them to do as a group, so they began to split up the labour according to interests, abilities and availability.

"Alright, Michael and I need to get to practice, so which of you wants to "challenge the true north?”Harry asked, quickly going through the growing pile of Marauder quests.

"I'll do it!" Anthony said, eagerly. He looked enthused for the first time since the letters started coming in. Harry and Michael stared at him, while Terry rolled his eyes. "What? Joan used to read us theTales of Sir Cadogangrowing up." Harry was still staring, but Michael started to laugh.

"The "true north of Arthur's round table."Anthony elaborated when he saw Harry’s blank expression. "You haven't heard of him?" Behind his back, Terry looked embarrassed on his behalf, which only seemed to make Michael laugh harder.

"That's achildren’s story!" Anthony scrunched up his face at Michael, looking as though he were about to argue that statement, but Harry cut him off as he could feel a headache beginning to form.

"Just take it," he sighed, thrusting both the written task andThe Essential Guide to Hogwarts Portraitureinto Anthony's eager hands. “Now, about “discover how the sausage gets made-”

“Can I save that one for later?” Michael asked hopefully.

Harry frowned. “We have practice. Let Terry do it.”

“But what if it leads to the kitchens?” Michael looked hungry at the mere thought. “We can order whatever we want. We don’t have to stick to whatever’s being served in the Great Hall. We could have dessert for breakfast or-”

“I get it.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I doubt The Marauders would be so literal. The sausage in the clue isn’t a real sausage.”

“I bet you a Sickle it is.” Michael sounded certain. “I think you’re overestimating them.”

“Whatever.” Harry shrugged. “A Sickle then. Terry, let us know what it is after practice, alright?” He handed him the clue, ignoring Michael’s complaints as he dragged him off to practice.

Michael complained more that evening, as after Anthony’s retelling of his lengthy argument against a painting of Sir Cadogan in the North Tower, Terry reported that he’d been right. The Marauders were that literal.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It was a good thing that they had begun to divvy the tasks amongst themselves, as things were beginning to heat up amongst The Silver Spears. Duels at the end of every meeting had become commonplace, and it took all of Harry's cowardly skill to worm his way out of fighting while remaining close enough to observe.

One evening in the middle of March, circ*mstances made it clear that he’d made the right choice in doing so. Across the hall, someone approached Robert and loudly challenged him to a duel. Based on the challenger's Scottish accent and muscular build, Harry made an educated guess at his identity. When he heard a rumour the following day that Oliver Wood was in the Hospital Wing for duelling, he knew that he’d guessed right.

The duel itself had been a brutal one but no one, not even Slughorn, had stepped in when things began to get bloody. The Potions Master only brought the duel to an end when he seemed to remember that classes were tomorrow, and Oliver’s injuries could not be explained away. Looking down at the growing pool of blood around Oliver and how unaffected Robert appeared while staring down at him made Harry glad he hadn't stepped into the duelling pit.

"You should have seen it! It was awful. I could see my reflection in his blood, there was that much of it pooling on the floor. I could even see his bones sticking out." Harry paused his rant, as he remembered the awful sight. "I knew bones were white when cleaned, but I didn't expect it when sticking out of muscle and skin."

Quirrell was listening patiently, having paused his marking when Harry had entered his office. He spoke now, sounding concerned. "Are you alright?"

Harry frowned. "Weren't you listening? I said I haven't been taking part in the duels at all."

"I didn't mean your physical well-being." Quirrell sounded exasperated with him. "I can see with my own eyes that you're uninjured."

"Then what did you-"

"How do you feel?" Quirrell asked, cutting him off. "It can't have been very pleasant for you, witnessing a friend- an older student you admired- turn around and hurt someone like that."

Harry froze for a moment, before turning to Quirrell with a scowl. "I didn't say I had a friend down there," he said coldly.

Quirrell looked a little amused. "I can't help what I see." He claimed. "You normally have such a firm grasp over your emotions, but you were broadcasting your anxiety so loudly that I would be remiss if I didn't check to see if you were alright."

Harry continued his pacing, now annoyed. Occlumency was impossible to learn by oneself. He’d done plenty of research to find out if anyone had discovered a way, but if they had they kept it to themselves. Either that or such methods were too dangerous for even the Restricted Section and their texts weren’t permitted at Hogwarts. Occlumency training required a trusted teacher to have intimate access to their student's thoughts, memories and emotions and Harry trusted no one to such a degree. He’d been forced to carefully dodge Quirrell's repeated offers to teach him the defensive Mind Art, not wanting to alienate his mentor with blatant mistrust.

"I was worried at first, but Robert seemed like his usual self today," he said, trying to get back to the original topic. "The high I had after the fight with the Hag is starting to wear off though." He felt awkward admitting that, feeling like an adrenaline junkie, but it needed to be said. "When I see the other Spears go at each other with Dark Magic, it makes my stomach turn."

"You're still thinking-"

"-like a Muggle, I know," Harry finished, unable to hide the frustration in his voice. "But just because we're harder to injure and can heal our wounds faster, doesn't mean we can't feel as much pain as they do." Oliver had screamed when his limbs had been broken, an awful, wretched sound, and Harry had been unable to get it out of his mind since.

"Do you know why Aurors are allowed to use Dark Magic?" Harry, frowning at the non sequitur, shook his head, and Quirrell proceeded to explain. "It's because they're fighting a losing war."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"We’re fighting a never-ending war for our survival. Against Muggles, Creatures and Beasts." Harry thought this sounded a little dramatic and he did not shy away from saying as much.

"That's a little dramatic," he said, bluntly.

Quirrell ignored him. "Every day, more and more Dark Beasts cross over TheHollow, all the way fromBedlam. They're attracted by the growing population, you see. It's a siren's song that calls out to them from across entire worlds, the lure of billions of untainted spirits, the emotion, the flesh, the very soul of human life. They hunger for it all."

"Muggles grow in their numbers, far more rapidly than we do. Instead of trying to curb their growth, and reduce the incursion of Dark Beasts, the Magister and his predecessors have seen fit to protect them as fiercely as they would citizens of the Confederacy."

"It's only fair, isn't it? Because of us, because of the Veil, Muggles can't even see what's hunting them." Harry thought back to the Hogsmeade incident. "If a Muggle child gets kidnapped by a Hag, they need the Aurors to save them."

Quirrell nodded. "Which is why many witches and wizards, Aurors among them, call for the end of the Statute of Secrecy and the lowering of the Veil. They feel as though Muggles have a right to protect themselves, and we should focus on doing the same for our own."

"That's a horrible idea!"

"Really? You were raised amongst them. You should know that they are no longer hateful towards witchcraft as they once were."

"Only because they’re unaware it's even real!" Harry thought back on the Dursleys, how they hated him for being born different, even when he’d been blissfully ignorant. He thought about Sara, who had reacted with fear when she saw what he was capable of. "The system we have in place isn't perfect, but it works. It's worked for centuries."

"For centuries, yes!" Quirrell slapped his desk triumphantly, as though Harry had said something that supported his argument. "Magister Hoca created our current system in the fourteenth century! It worked for his time, but that doesn’t mean it should continue forever, does it?"

Harry was rocked by this, enough to stop his pacing. He heard nothing but high praises for Magisters Akingbade, Dumbledore, and all of their predecessors, but Hoca was a step above all. Aside from Thoth, no wizard was given higher praise than the First Magister. Criticising him seemed almost sacrilegious.

He finally sat at the chair in front of Quirrell's desk. "Wizards can live almost twice as long as Muggles," he said, too surprised to come up with a stronger rebuttal. "I just assumed it took longer for large-scale changes to occur."

Quirrell smiled slightly and did Harry the decency of ignoring his weak argument. "I'm not in any way saying that Lord Hoca was a poor leader. Just the opposite." A curious expression came across his face, and it was only when he continued speaking that Harry identified it as admiration. It was strange, but Harry realised it was the first time he’d seen this look on Quirrell’s face. Even when speaking about Sages such as Dumbledore or Akingbade, he wore the same easy, quietly amused expression he gave Harry. A patronising kind of fondness. "He was a penniless, uneducated Muggle-born. An orphan who lacked support from anyone other than his steadfast younger brother. But he grew up to become a sorcerer powerful enough to unite all the witches and wizards of the world under him."

While Harry had never seen him speak with such reverence before, he wasn't surprised by the story that had caused it. He too had been awestruck by Hoca's rapid ascension and his work for unification when he’d first read about it. "Did you know he changed his name?" Harry shook his head. "When Hoca was a little older than you are now, he and his brother learned what they truly were, and made their way to Hogwarts to be educated." Harry knew that the First Magister had attended Hogwarts but had never found out why. “Surnames weren’t all that common yet amongst Muggles, but wizarding families were already using the practice to identify themselves to each other. When registering himself and his brother for Hogwarts, he chose the surname Hoca.”

“If you ask Professor Archibald or any other historian, they’ll say he did so because Hoca means “wise man” or “leader”, but I like to think they’re missing the more obvious truth. Hoca was another name for Nasreddin, a legendary philosopher and trickster.” Quirrell smiled. “Stories are powerful things and names are even more so. I like to think Yusef already planned on changing the world when he chose that name. He must have already intended to be a legend himself,” he finished quieter now, almost to himself.

Harry eyed Quirrell strangely. The way he said Hoca’s first name, as though they were contemporaries, made him feel uneasy. "I read that he was born in the early Ottoman Empire," he said finally. "Why not go to a nearer school?"

"Most schools aren't eager to advertise their less than inclusive histories. Hogwarts was the only established school at the time that made a point to accept Muggle-borns and treated them as well as Purebloods. Probably because they were founded in part by two Muggle-borns." Quirrell shrugged, before continuing. "That was where Hoca's legend truly began. He saw an injustice in the world and sought to fix it, no matter what lines he had to cross to do so."

"What do you mean?"

Quirrell deliberated for a moment, before standing and making his way to his bookcase. He drew out a thin book before making his way back and handing it to Harry. The book was essentially a few dozen pages of parchment bound loosely by a fragile leather covering. It was so old that the letterings on the front had long since peeled away. "Feel free to read that in your own time. You'll want some semblance of proof of what I'm about to tell you."

Harry stared at him. "What is it?"

"An account of Hoca's true nature." Before Harry could ask exactly what he meant, Quirrell continued. "Not long after the First Great Wizarding War had ended, all established schools and newly made Citadels were forced to accept Muggle-born students among their ranks and provide them with both safety and a fair education."

None of this was unfamiliar to Harry. "That doesn't sound so bad."

Quirrell raised his hand. "I'm getting to it. With varying degrees of reluctance, all schools complied, except one. Durmstrang." He sighed. "They had a reputation for being unusually harsh with their students, even by the standards of the time, but they had only gotten worse under the headmaster of the day, Erik Backe. He defied the new Confederacy and refused to accept Muggle-borns as students. Worse, he had used the secrets Hoca had shared- the enchantments the Four Founders of Hogwarts had placed upon the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance- to find Muggle-born children and use them as servants to clean and maintain the school's stronghold."

Harry hissed before asking, "What did Hoca do?"

"What could he do? The Confederacy was still new and was only held together by the feelings his power inspired; loyalty from his followers and fear from his dissenters. If one sorcerer defied him, what was to stop another?"

Harry frowned. "Azkaban wasn’t built yet, so where did he put him?"

"Put him?" Quirrell laughed humourlessly. "He didn'tputhim anywhere. When he learned what Backe was doing, he apparated to the school, walked right through its defences with one of his War Trophies and executed Headmaster Backe in front of the entire school."

"What?!"

"Is that so hard for you to believe? He let the message get out at the time, and allowed the students to go home to their parents and tell them what he had done.This is what happens to those who break my laws."

Harry was enraptured by the story Quirrell was spinning, but he thought it was just that. A story. "Why have I never read anything about this before?"

"Because Lord Hoca won the war. Haven't you heard? History is written by the victors."

Harry remained silent for a moment, before dragging them back to their original argument. "Even if Hoca was a cold-blooded killer, even if the Confederacy was built on a foundation of bodies, that doesn't mean the world he built was a bad one. Itworks."

"I know it works, and I'm not saying its foundations are either right or wrong. I'm saying the system we have now could be better."

"How? By letting Muggles know about the Dark Beasts coming for them?"

Quirrell shrugged. "That could be a solution.Asolution. There can be more than one right path to take. One theory suggests that all magic originates fromBedlam, the Infernal Realm. Perhaps the way forward is to stop using magic altogether."

Harry had spent a lot of time quizzing Professor Archibald on the origins of magic and was not impressed by this theory. "Another theory claims that all magic comes fromHalcyon, the Celestial Realm, but I don't see any evidence for that either."

Quirrell smiled thinly. "What I'm trying to say is that we might need an out-of-the-box solution to this issue. After all, Hoca was considered mad when he began his campaign. Uniting the sorcerers of one nation was considered a stretch, but the entire world?" He shook his head. "If he’d lost the war, he would have been remembered as amudbloodwith delusions of grandeur, or even a Dark Sage. But he won, so we, centuries later, revere him as the visionary who united us and changed our world."

It took a few moments for Harry to speak. "Do you think Lord Hoca using Dark Magic, killing a man in cold blood, is justified because of the world he built afterwards?"

Quirrell raised a brow. "Weren't you arguing the very same a minute ago?"

Harry shrugged, unabashed. "Only because I hate to lose."

Quirrell shook his head, a rueful smile playing across his lips. "I don't expect you to do anything nearly as serious, of course," he said, still smiling. "If Slughorn asks you to do anything that would leave permanent damage on you or another student, I want you to leave immediately and come and find me."

"Anything that would leave permanent damage?" Harry repeated quietly. "So, anything aside from that is fair game?"

Quirrell nodded. "It's not as though such damage doesn't occur during school-sponsored duels, or even in your future career." Harry sucked in a sharp breath, and Quirrell grinned. "I didn't even need Legilimency for that one."

"Then how'd you know?" Harry had not shared his aspirations with a single soul.

"I saw a peek ofThe Auror's Enchiridionsticking out of your bag once or twice. I've known actual Auror Initiates who haven't bothered reading that thing."

Harry shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "It's interesting." In reality, Harry had read it back to front, all the way from the Three Auror Prohibitions, the Corps ranking system, to the on-duty dress code and even the correct way to send off a fallen comrade. It made for dry reading, but it kept him focused on his ultimate goal and somehow, Quirrell was able to guess that as well.

"You know, every child wishes the same at one time or another. After all, who wouldn't want to be a Dark Wizard Hunter?"

Harry didn't like his ambition being reduced to a juvenile daydream. "I'm dead serious about this. Iwillbecome an Auror," he swore, expressing his goal for the first time.

This only seemed to please Quirrell, who proceeded to give him career advice. "It's good you're training so hard. The Auror Corps only take on Cadets who get Outstandings across the board for their WOMBATs. If you manage to get a grip on your distaste for the Dark Arts, you'll be guaranteed a spot, I'm certain of it."

"Really?" Harry asked. "You're not just saying that?"

Quirrell laughed, catching him off guard. "I think you could give some current Cadets a run for their money. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about on that front."

Harry smiled at that and imagined himself, less than two years from now, wearing the black and silver uniform of an Auror, cloak around his shoulders, as he took his oath before the Magister. It was such a lovely image that it managed to stay lodged in his mind, chasing the remnants of Oliver’s wretched scream. It was still in his head the next morning and he kept zoning out, at least until Argos bit his finger at breakfast.

"Ow!" Harry sharply yanked his hand off the table, glaring at his owl. "What was that for?" He snapped, drawing his wand.

"Whoa! Easy, easy!" Michael practically dived in front of Argos as Anthony and Terry tried to restrain Harry's arms.

Harry struggled against them. "What are you idiots doing?"

"He's just delivering a letter!" Anthony said, desperately.

Terry sounded just as panicked. "Yeah! There's no reason to hurt him!"

"What?! I'm not going to hurt him! I'm going to heal my finger!" Harry continued struggling until they released him, slowly. "Honestly, what do you people think of me?"

Terry shrugged, sounding abysmally out of breath. "Well, we all know from experience how detrimental it can be to disturb you when you're lost in thought."

"Detrimental, deadly, same difference," Anthony muttered.

"Episkey!"Harry carefully watched the small wound heal itself, before responding to that. "I don't appreciate it when you guys exaggerate like this."

Michael snorted. "Exaggerate? You spilt ink all over my Arithmancy essay the last time I interrupted your train of thought. I had to start all over!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he opened the letter. "I spilt the ink when I jumped, and I only jumped because you startled me. So really, all that extra work was your own damned fault." Harry ignored his grumbling as he read the letter.

Harry,

After your lessons are over, come round my place. I've got something I need to show you.

Hagrid

"That's weird," Harry muttered.

"What is?" Terry asked. Harry handed him the letter, and after he read it, he said, "We all can't go. Someone needs to solve thatRoad to Happinessclue The Marauders gave us."

"Forget about them." Anthony groaned. "Those clues are never-ending. They're just having a laugh at our expense."

Terry retorted, quickly beginning another argument between the brothers. Normally, when they fought, he would exchange amused but exasperated expressions with Michael at their repetitive behaviour, but he was just as unenthusiastic as Anthony. McGonagall was cracking down hard after the last Quidditch game, seemingly annoyed at the lack of leads towards the Blood-Lust Potion brewer, and Michael was afraid a detention-happy deputy headmistress would ruin the end of his first Quidditch season if she caught them out of bounds and acting suspiciously.

Harry couldn't blame him. "One day off can't hurt, Terry." Anthony looked triumphant now that it was three against one, while Terry slumped. "Besides," he continued before Anthony’s smugness could ruin the delicate balance he was striking, "Hagrid's note sounds serious. He might need us all there." He couldn't imagine a reason why that might be true, but Terry liked Hagrid and would want to help.

"Oh, alright then," he sighed, defeated. “This had better be good.”

Hagrid greeted them, not with his usual cheer, but with a secretive air. After he’d ushered them into his home, he stuck his head out of the doorway and looked around, as though afraid that they might have been followed.

"Are you alright, Hagrid?" Harry asked warily, as they were led further into the house.

"Yeah, of course. It's just-" Harry didn't hear what he said next. None of them did, as they were too busy reacting to the rapid change in temperature when they stepped into the sitting room. It was as if they had entered a furnace, the hearth, which always had a small fire merrily crackling away, had now been enlarged, turning it into a massive roaring fire.

"Why's it so hot in here?" Terry asked, his voice raised to be heard over the roar.

Anthony looked incredulous. "That's your only concern?" He looked up at Hagrid. "Is that safe to have indoors?"

Hagrid nodded, as he hurried to the hooks on the wall. He put on oven mitts and a thick, heavy apron as he responded. "I put up all the protective charms, don't you worry." He picked up a heavy pair of tongs and moved to adjust a large piece of wood that was on the fire.

"But why do you even need this in the first place?" Michael glanced out of the fogged-up window. "It's not even that cold anymore."

Hagrid glanced back at them, catching Harry's eye. "That's what I wanted to show you. Don't you recognise this?" He gestured to the wood he’d been rotating.

Harry moved closer, feeling the intensity of the flames against his face. It was only through squinted eyes that he finally saw the piece of wood was shaped like an egg.

"Oh," he said, weakly.

"Yes.Oh." Hagrid agreed. "You know I don't want you to get into trouble, Harry, but I need to know where you bought it."

Harry raised his hands. "I didn't actually buy it, Hagrid. Ifoundit." Hagrid looked disbelieving, so Harry hurried to explain. "I was walking down this corridor, thinking about what I should get you, and then this door appeared, and it was sittingright there..." Harry trailed off as he realised how ridiculous it sounded. "I know it's hard to believe, but-"

"Was it a room somewhere high up in the castle? Did it have a lot of lost items?" Hagrid asked, looking thoughtful.

Harry was surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Hagrid smiled down at the egg. "I thought I recognised you. It's fine. I believe you." He waved him off. "Stranger things have happened at Hogwarts."

"I'm completely lost," Terry said, still lingering near the door along with the others. "What's happened? What did you find?"

Harry moved back to the door, where the heat was less intense, and he had an easier time breathing. Once there, he proceeded to explain the Christmas gift he’d given Hagrid. His friends were all interested in the strange tale, but for different reasons.

"You found a dragon egg and decided to give it as a gift?" Terry was laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. "That'ssoillegal! You were right. This was worth coming down here.”

"In my defence, I thought it was only a replica," Harry admitted. "I mean seriously, who just leaves a dragon egg lying around a…school..." he trailed off, glancing back at Hagrid for a moment before sighing.

"You said the room appeared out of nowhere, with exactly what you were looking for?" Harry nodded and Anthony looked intrigued.

"There's a whole room full of lost stuff in Hogwarts? Things like dragon eggs?" Michael seemed unusually interested in the idea.

"Yeah, and I think I saw some Quidditch stuff, but not anything safe."

Michael shook his head and, for the first time since Harry had met him, completely ignored something to do with his favourite sport. "If even half the stuff is as valuable as that egg, we're gonna be rich!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I haven't been able to find that room since, you know."

Michael was unconcerned. "You found it by accident the first time around. How hard can it be to find when we all look for it on purpose?" It was hard to argue against that logic.

Anthony had approached Hagrid. "So, what are you going to do with it?"

Hagrid looked confused. "What do you mean? I'm going to raise it of course!"

Harry was anxious now. "People are going to ask where you got a dragon from. What will you tell them?"

Hagrid drew himself up. "I'll tell them I'm a Master of the Beast Guild, and that they should mind their own business!" It was obvious he was talking about them. Harry raised his hands and backed off.

Later, as they made their way back to the castle for dinner, Harry asked what they all had to be thinking. "How much leeway does being a Beast Master give you?"

Anthony shrugged. "When it comes to raising a creature of magical origin? There's next to no restrictions."

Harry smiled. "That's good."

Anthony continued. "As long as you can show where the creature originated from." He glanced at Harry. "Hagrid doesn't have any documents for the dragon, so..." The rest didn't need to be said.

Harry set his jaw. "I'll figure something out. I still have time before it's born, don't I?" He looked to the others for confirmation, but all he got were shrugs in return. They knew as much about dragon rearing as he did.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry’s attention was diverted from his new dragon problem to the latest task from The Marauders. The prank on Slughorn.

Once they had all agreed on their target, the boys proceeded with their method of attack. It was more difficult than the last series of pranks on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, as Slughorn was a Magisterium-educated Sorcerer, a Potions Master, so they couldn't expect him to fall prey to the same tricks as a group of teenagers. It was so difficult in fact, that Anthony had to spend days learning an entirely new Runic Complex from an OWL textbook, as they couldn't find a suitable one within their own books.

As always, Harry was the one who took on the most risk. He wasn't unhappy with this either. His friends often got too nervous or too excited at the worst times, and there wasn't a worse time to lose your cool than when you were sneaking around a teacher's living quarters as they slept.

Getting in was easy. When it was almost half past eleven, hours after curfew, Terry knocked on Slughorn's door, shadowed by an invisible Harry. After a few moments, the door was opened revealing a purple pyjama-wearing Slughorn. At the sight of Terry, he blinked underneath his low sleeping cap.

"Mr Boot? What on earth are you doing here at this hour?" Slughorn's voice quickly lost its sleepy quality as he grew visibly irritated at being woken by a student, after hours.

Terry thrust out the crystal vial he’d been holding. "Could you double-check my Shrinking Solution?" Terry asked, skipping all preamble.

Slughorn sighed, clearly trying to rein in his temper when he was dealing with the son of the highest-ranked Auror in Britain. "Mr Boot, it's been a long day. Bring it back to me tomorrow." Terry began to protest, but Slughorn shut the door in his face. It was alright though, as Harry had already slipped inside.

Harry stood silently in the corner of the sitting room, watching as Slughorn locked his door, and went into his bedroom. Mercifully, he didn't decide to read or work before going back to bed. His excuse to Terry didn't seem to be an excuse at all as he truly looked drained.

Still, every minute felt like an hour, and Harry had to continually remind himself why he was even doing this. Eventually though, when he heard no sound coming from Slughorn's bedroom, Harry got to work.

"It better have been worth it," Harry said at breakfast, stifling a yawn. "Because it felt pointlessly stupid at the time."

"It'll work, trust me," Anthony promised. "We just have to wait for the perfect time to activate it."

"Now seems as good a time as any." Michael nodded at the teachers’ table. Slughorn was conversing with Professor Archibald as he buttered a slice of toast.

Harry shrugged, and Anthony smiled. "Seqour!"He whispered as he pointed his wand in Slughorn's direction from underneath the table.

Just as he was about to bite into his toast, it slipped from his fingers and struck Archibald right on the nose, smearing him in butter.

There were a few chuckles around from the students who had just so happened to be looking at the teachers’ table at the right moment. This was followed by a few more seconds later when they told their friends what they had just witnessed.

While Archibald was busy cleaning himself up, Anthony whispered,"Dissimulo!"under his breath, just as Slughorn was reaching for his fork. He was able to pick it up properly, but as he brought a speared sausage to his mouth, Anthony activated the Runic Complex once more.

Both the fork and the sausage went flying out of his grip and landed right in McGonagall's porridge. Anthony deactivated it while more students were laughing this time, as McGonagall proceeded to berate Slughorn.

"Alright, that's enough for now," Harry said, straight-faced amongst his friends. "We can keep it going for longer if we do it intermittently." The others agreed through their snickers.

Things continued in that same vein for a couple of days. They would activate and deactivate the Runic Complex intermittently so that whatever Slughorn was holding or reaching for would be torn out of his grip. A couple of times they did it in the Great Hall, and others while they were in lessons, just hoping he made a fool of himself while teaching a class that had The Marauders in it.

"This is weird," Harry said as he poured cereal into his bowl. "Every day they sent us something, but it's been days without a word."

"Maybe it's because we did it wrong." Michael glanced up from his eggs to find that they were all staring at him. He elaborated. "Maybe we completed every other task properly, but this is the first time we messed up. Maybe they wanted another teacher."

Terry suddenly looked worried. "Or maybe they're just upset we got caught." He obviously hadn't forgotten being Ravenclaw's pariah.

"We didn’t get caught." Anthony looked annoyed. "We would have known if we’d been caught, believe me. He probably just found the Runic Complex on the inside of his Ouroboros."

"So that's it? After almost a month, it's just over?" Harry didn't want to believe that their time had been wasted but it was looking like that was the case. At least it did until they went back to their dorms after classes.

Harry saw it the moment he entered. There, sitting innocently on his pillow, was a letter. Before he could decide whether he was happy that his time hadn't been wasted or annoyed that his privacy had been invaded again, Terry came running in through his still-open door, holding an identical letter.

"You got one too then?" Before Harry could stop him, Terry snatched the letter off Harry's pillow, with no concern for any possible traps. Tearing it open, he nodded after giving it a quick scan. "Yup! They're identical!" Anthony and Michael came in now, holding letters of their own.

"Another clue! What do you make of it?" Anthony asked him.

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Terry hasn't let me read my letter, yet." Looking sheepish, Terry handed him back his letter. The envelope had the words,Quick! Before dinner!and the letter itself read:

Upholstery that holds hope for the impossible and pity for the mad,

The futile melding of graceful art and ungraceful artists.

"ForHalcyon'ssake, what does that even mean?" Michael huffed. "I thought we were past the pointless tasks, but now they want us to find upholstery,before dinner?"

"We should go now," Harry said, smiling.

"Why do you look so happy about this?" Anthony asked.

"Because I think I'm beginning to understand their intentions. Sort of." Before they could ask, Harry added, "Anyway, I know what they're talking about. We all do."

"See?" Harry had led them to a nondescript spot on the seventh floor. "We must have passed this tapestry a hundred times over the last month." Harry gestured to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his crazy attempt to teach ballet to Trolls. "I'm starting to think the entire point was to force us to discover more about the castle."

"Well, that was a part of it." The four boys whirled around to find Marcus leaning against the frame of a large pair of burnished doors that hadn't been there a minute ago. "But we mostly do it because it's fun to watch Initiates run around like headless Hippogriffs." He smiled a rare friendly smile. "Come in. You've more than earned it." He ducked back inside the room, leaving them alone in the silent corridor.

The four boys looked at each other for a long moment and then, without a word, hurried through the door.

For a room that needed such large doors, the chamber they had followed Marcus into was a small one. The place they had stepped into was a circular hall, like the common room, with squishy seats and tables for studying. It was all perfectly innocent, except for the three open archways that ran along the walls. The first revealed a small library, the second a potions lab, and the third a duelling pit. None of this made any kind of geographical sense as each room had large windows that looked over the lake, even though some were facing opposite directions.

However, that wasn't the first thing Harry noticed. Including Marcus, ten students were waiting for them in the common area, lounging on top of soft pillows that were arranged around a large round coffee table that took up most of the room. Some of them Harry knew quite well.

"Seriously?! It was you guys?" Harry couldn't hide his irritation as they approached. "I came here half-expecting a fight!"

Maria raised her eyebrows and spoke up from where she was sitting amongst the other Third Year troublemakers. "Why would you want to fight us?"

"Didn't you hear him? We didn't know it was you lot." Anthony had been kept in perpetual worry over the last month and his annoyance was greater than Harry’s. He turned to Marcus with a scowl just as he was taking his seat. "Is Robert involved with this? Is that how you got in and out of our dorms?"

Marcus shook his head and was about to respond, but Eddie was already taking credit before he could utter a word. "Nah, that was me. My dorm is closest to yours."

Anthony blinked. "You're not a Prefect, so how'd you-" he was cut off by one of the present Seventh Years.

"Take a seat," said Nymphadora Tonks. She was sat on a pillow between Charlie Weasley and Richard Watkins. Even though the table had no clear head, it was obvious she was in charge.

As the four First Years sat on the only available pillows at the polished table, Harry took a closer look at everyone present. Marcus, Eddie, Maria, Lee, Fred, George, Charlie, Nymphadora, Richard and Cedric.There isn't a single Prefect present,Harry realised, and he said as much to the room at large.

"Why would we let a Prefect join us?" Fred sounded baffled at Harry's observation. "They stop rule-breaking. They don't take part in it."

"He's wondering how we got in and out of their dorms without a badge." George guessed knowingly.

Terry, who had remained uncharacteristically silent until now, perked up at this. "All you need is a Perfect badge?" The twins laughed at his eagerness.

Charlie chuckled. "No, that would make life too easy. The way we get in and out of restricted areas is with this." He stood from his seat and walked around the table to the First Years. In his hand, he held a neat, but folded, length of vellum. Placing it on the table in front of them, he tapped it with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Slowly, from the top of the parchment, words written in neat cursive began to appear:

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers,

Are proud to present:

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

Lupin's fondness for Latin came in handy once more, as Harry read the neat little inscriptions that were written along the edges of the Map, carefully around the etched minute Runes.To be a Marauder is to be daring.Something about that struck Harry as familiar, but before he could think about it, Michael spoke.

"You broke into our rooms with a bit of parchment?" He didn't sound overly impressed. He was glaring up at Charlie as though the other boy had insulted him. Harry wasn't all that surprised as Michael had carried a grudge against all Gryffindors since the brawl after their last match.

Fortunately, Charlie didn't take offence. "Take a closer look." Harry, sat in the middle of his friends, lifted the Map for closer inspection, the others crowding around him as he did so.

It was obvious what was so special about this bit of parchment from the second Harry unfolded it. It lived up to its classification as a navigational tool, as it more than surpassed the measly maps the school provided them with. With each fold came a different level of the school, from the deepest dungeon to the highest tower, and each containeddozensof carefully drawn secret passageways, far outstripping Harry's previous knowledge of the school.

But that wasn't even what was so remarkable about it.

On every fold, there was at least one set of drawn footprints, hundreds in total, and beside each one there was a neatly drawn label with the person's name.

"Is that really Dumbledore?" Harry asked in wonder. There, on the part of the Map that held the representation of the Headmaster's Tower, was a set of footprints with the nameAlbus Dumbledorefloating next to it. He seemed to be pacing in a circle, around a stationary set of footprints labelledSeverus Snape.

"Is he pacing again?" Richard snorted. "He does that a lot."

Harry's wonder was nothing in comparison to Anthony's, who gently tugged the Map out of his hands. "This is incredible! How’d you even make it?"

"We didn't make it," Nymphadora explained. "It was given to us."

Terry, who had been practically salivating at the mere possibilities of the Map, was incredulous. "That's crazy! Who would give this up?"

"You will," she replied simply. "One day. But today, it's our turn." She indicated herself, Richard and the now-seated Charlie.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "I don't follow."

Richard explained. "Each of us, at different times, was nominated by a previous Marauder to join the group. After the stunt you lot pulled at Slughorn's Christmas Party, we had you down to join."

The four boys froze. "What are you talking about?" Harry said calmly. "That wasn't us."

This seemed to set off the younger Marauders, as they all began laughing. "Pull the other one." George gasped. "We saw you four running away before everyone else."

"What do you-?"

A still chuckling Cedric cut Terry off. "On the Map. I was at the party, and I asked someone to check."

Harry frowned. "If you were the only one at the party, then how did you-?"

Richard interrupted, looking annoyed that his little speech had been cut off. "As I was saying," he paused to glare at the younger Marauders, "when Seventh Years near graduation, they start looking for replacements." He waved his hand magnanimously at the four assembled First Years, as though he expected them to fall to their knees and exclaim how grateful they were.

They weren't.

Anthony, who had been examining the Map this entire time, spoke up, hotly. "You had us running around the castle for a month as some kind of twisted favour? We thought you were threatening us!"

The Marauders all looked astonished. "Why on earth would you think that?" Nymphadora asked. Anthony looked like he was about to start explaining Harry's theory about pillows and owls, but in retrospect, it all felt a little ridiculous, so he quickly cut him off.

"If the graduating Seventh Years keep replacing themselves with newcomers, then who started the group?" Harry asked, ignoring Anthony's quizzical look. "Who are Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?"

"None of us know." Charlie shrugged, mercifully ignoring the whole "threatening" thing. "The Marauders go back ages, long before we got here, anyway."

"Those things we asked you to do? It's just a tradition, an initiation process we all had to go through." Marcus explained. "We give you similar clues and jobs to what we all got, jobs that take you around the school and the grounds so that you start to learn Hogwarts' secrets for yourself."

"Be grateful no one asked you to sail out onto the lake to find the Giant Squid," Charlie muttered, and Tonks seemed to shudder at the memory.

"Why?" Michael asked.

"In part to weed out those who aren't smart or resourceful enough, or who just don't have the nerve to break a few school rules. But it's mostly done to give you a solid knowledge of the school." Richard told them, looking amused with his fellow Seventh Years' memories of the squid.

"Why would we need that?" Terry didn't even look up from the Map that Anthony had passed to him as he spoke. "I mean, just look at this thing! This holds more knowledge about the school than we could learn on our own."

"But there's only one Marauders Map," Lee informed them. "No one has been able to recreate it."

"It shouldn't even exist in the first place." Anthony sounded impressed but in a jealous sort of way. "NoIngenieurhas ever been able to make an accurate map of an Unplottable location. It's why the school-provided maps are so basic, they don't even show the grounds."

"Yeah," Nymphadora said. "But every few years or so, a couple of us give it a try and it always ends…err-"

"-explosively," Maria finished for her, running a hand across her brow with a grimace. Harry remembered a brief period in September when she’d been without eyebrows. He’d been too nervous around her back then to ask why, but it was obvious now.

"So, you picked the four of us to take your place in the group because we've caused a bit of trouble," Harry said, making sure he had things straight. "But what do The Marauders even do?"

The Marauders exchanged nostalgic smiles, as though remembering a time when they had asked a similar question.

Chapter 19: Interlude VII

Chapter Text

Dumbledore was pacing in his office as he often did.

It was a common sight to the dozens of portraits that lined his walls. What wasn't a common sight, was that he was pacing in front of another person. He usually preferred to do it when he was alone. The portraits watched and listened carefully, all of them interested in the headmaster's unusual cognitive process.

The man that sat in front of his desk seemed just as curious, but not because he wished to know about Lord Dumbledore's intellectual methods. No, he was just unfortunate enough to be seated in the middle of the older man's circular path. He tried to keep his patience, truly he did, but after half an hour of this, he had to speak.

"Lord Dumbledore, might I ask what you plan to do with my information?" Severus Snape asked carefully. He was not ignorant of the fact that he remained outside of Azkaban and in the Magisterium on the former Magister's goodwill alone. He always worried that all that he’d worked for in the last decade could be taken from him on a mere whim, so he always remained respectful in Lord Dumbledore's presence.

In contrast to the great concern Severus held at being in his company, Dumbledore looked surprised at his presence. "Oh! Severus! Are you still here?" He peered at him curiously. "Most people take my silence as a dismissal." He said this in an infuriatingly vague sort of way, that left Severus wondering if he wanted him to leave or not. Slowly, he began to stand to leave but Dumbledore waved him back down before he started pacing again.

Severus swallowed a groan of despair.

After another hour, Dumbledore paused, and for one shining moment, it seemed he was finally going to speak his mind. However, he merely shook his head and began to pace again. Smothering a scream of frustration before it could escape his lips, Severus had to wonder if the old man was deliberately mocking him, but before he could decide whether that was true or not, Dumbledore finally spoke.

"You've seen the boy?"

Even though it was framed like a question, Severus knew that it was a statement. Dumbledore kept a close eye on the boy, especially when there was a Death Eater in the castle. Given where Quirrell's loyalties lay, this was at all times.

"Yes."

"What do you believe Quirrell wants with him?"

Severus had to admit his ignorance on the matter. "During our meetings, Quirrell has never once uttered Potter’s name." He felt as though he were missing something. "Why do you ask?"

Dumbledore hummed. "Since the very first week of his schooling, young Harry has been training under the youngest and newest of Voldemort's Acolytes."

Severus jumped, both at the Dark Lord's name and the information the Headmaster had just shared. "You are allowing him to train the boy in the Dark Arts?"

"I am not omniscient." Dumbledore shrugged, finally taking his seat. "Quirrell hid it well. Even with my surveillance of the child, I did not realise what was going on until Halloween when Harry slayed that Troll without injury to himself or his classmate.” It went unsaid that this was a feat beyond any ordinary First Year. “When I asked Quirrell to explain himself, he explained it away as a possible change to the curriculum." Severus' doubts must have shown on his face because the Headmaster chuckled. "He had come to me with such suggestions before his sabbatical, so it was not uncharacteristic. His practical style of teaching has more than proved its worth. During the last duel of theirs that I observed, I couldn’t believe I was watching a WOMBAT student."

Severus was breathing heavily through his nose, having to squash his anger with the tried-and-true method of Occlumency before he spoke. "Quirrell has not told me how, but he plans to return the Dark Lord to his former glory. If Potter trusts him then it would be all too easy to kidnap him and present him to his master when the time comes." Severus shook his head. "To return his power and deliver the one who took it from him? He will be rewarded above all others."

"What would you have me do?" Dumbledore asked. "My only proof of wrongdoing is the word of a proven Death Eater. The High Court would not take it seriously, especially when they compare Quirrell's tragic past to yours." Severus flinched at the reminder. "Besides, I need the boy to know I am on his side."

"So, go to him,” Severus urged. “Appeal to him. Warn him of his destiny. Tell him the truth of what happened to his parents."

"Is this a roundabout way for you to strike back at James Potter? To go against his dying wish to keep Harry in the dark?" Dumbledore asked knowingly. Severus fell silent. He would be lying if he said that wasn’t half the reason why. "You remember it was Lily’s dying wish as well, don’t you?” It was harder to remain silent the second time; Severus had to bite down on his tongue. Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I need the boy to see me as his best option, someone he can rely on."

Severus' silence finally failed. "You mean to let this all go ahead? To save him at the last minute?"

Dumbledore changed the subject, which told Severus everything he needed to know. "How is Horace?" The Potions Master sighed at the headmaster's obliqueness and he began to explain the details behind Slughorn's rapidly declining health.

Chapter 20: Midnight Run

Chapter Text

As it turned out, The Marauders did a lot.

The four Ravenclaw First Years were first introduced to the smuggling operation. The Marauder's Map didn’t just reveal secret passageways around the school, but ones that led outside the school too. This gave The Marauders a monopoly on the import and trade of unsanctioned goods within the castle.

“That’s just a fancy way of saying that you bring in potion ingredients and booze.” Harry snorted, as he and his friends followed Cedric and the Third Years down the wide and well-built secret passageway.

Lee grunted. “Forgot I was dealing with Ravenclaws.” Michael, having buried the hatchet with the Gryffindors, laughed along with the Weasley twins.

“Not all firsties are as easy to trick as Ron and his mates.” Fred chuckled.

“Would make our lives easier if they were.” George grinned.

“It’s not just potions and booze, you know,” Maria told Harry. She was walking closest to him, and when he glanced up at her, he couldn’t help but notice how their wand light reflected off her sleek, dark hair.

“It’s mostly potions and booze,” Eddie said, thoughtfully.

Maria ignored him. “We can get things, expensive things, quite cheaply through alumni. Both for ourselves and to sell on to students at higher rates.”

Anthony, who had been walking up front with Cedric, slowed his pace to walk beside them. “Alumni? You mean former Marauders?”

Cedric threw a grin over his shoulder. “You didn’t think Richard, Tonks and Charlie were just going to forget about us once they graduated, did you?” He chuckled. “Callum still keeps in touch.”

Terry’s voice came from the far back of the group. “Callum? My dinky little cousin, Callum? He’s a part of this?”

Michael looked confused. “The guy that was at Anthony’s party? He’s like twice your size.” Terry ignored this.

Cedric nodded, finally slowing his pace as they neared their destination. Harry couldn’t have been happier with this, as he had found it difficult to keep up with the older and more athletic boy. Michael and Anthony seemed fine, but at least Terry seemed to be struggling as much as he, if not more so. “Callum graduated just last year. It was him who told us to keep an eye on you, Terry.”

“He knows I’m full of potential.” Terry boasted, but Harry could hear in his voice how touched he was.

Maria leaned in so only Harry could hear. “He actually asked us to keep him out of trouble.” Harry nodded. That sounded more likely.

It was almost one in the morning on the last Saturday of March. As agreed, all the Ravenclaws present agreed to meet in the common room at midnight before heading to the giant mirrors on the fourth floor, using the Map to remain unseen. The others had met them there, having used the Disillusionment Charm to great effect.

Now, after walking for what must have been an hour, Cedric finally came to a stop. “This is it.”

Harry glanced around but saw no indication of an exit. “How can you tell?” He felt justified in voicing his doubt as the passageway continued out of sight.

“The Map never lies.” Cedric handed it to him. “See?”

He was right. Somehow, the Map knew where it was being carried to, and it followed them down the secret passageway. The drawing definitely wasn’t to scale as they had walked much further than was made clear on the parchment, but an incantation was written next to Harry’s label, the same incantation they had used to open a passage behind the mirrors in the first place.

“Whenever the incantation appears, you’ll know you’ve reached the entrance of any given passageway,” Cedric explained.

“It’s the same as the one we used to get in.” Harry was confused. “Aren’t they supposed to have different passwords? For security, I mean.” He was momentarily distracted when the Third Years drew obnoxiously close to them, and they ushered the other First Years to do the same.

Cedric jabbed the wand at the ground beneath them. “Ascendio!” The previously solid stone beneath their feet immediately turned into a platform, rising quickly into the darkness above.

“Whoa!” Harry normally would have felt mortified letting out such a silly sound around a group of cool older kids, but his friend’s reactions were far worse. Anthony made an odd yelping noise, Michael clutched onto Lee as though he were suddenly afraid of heights and Terry, who was still a little out of breath, let out a hoarse “AHH!”

It was only natural that the others would laugh openly at them.

“The incantation Dissendium only shows up on the Map. We’ve checked every curse-breaking book the library has to offer.” Cedric continued his explanation, the only one to politely ignore their silly reactions and not join in on the laughter. “We think the Marauders crafted it as a password that supersedes all the other ones in the school. Common rooms, kitchens, even the staff room.”

George let out a wistful sigh. “Those four. We owe them everything.”

Fred agreed. “They’ve saved us from hours of guesswork. Imagine how long it would have taken us to figure out those passwords on our own.”

Lee hummed. “Weeks at least,” he said, dryly.

Harry shook his head in wonder. He’d previously thought his Invisibility Cloak was the most powerful Artifice he would come across, but The Marauder’s Map was quickly catching up. Not only could it fill itself out for them if they discovered a room or passageway in the castle that The Original Marauders hadn’t, but it was also capable of tracking Harry even if he were wearing his Cloak. Its only limitation was that it could only keep track of the school and not the world outside.

The rising platform finally came to a stop. Harry peered over the side and into the darkness of the passageway below. They must have been at least a hundred feet up from where they had started, but it was impossible to tell in the gloom.

Maria must have sensed his nerves because she then flicked her wand at the edges. “Lumos Duo!” A ball of light floated from the end of her wand, furthering the illumination of the passageway. Eddie followed her lead without a word and cast the same spell, increasing the light even further. “I don’t know how to transfigure railings, so this will have to do. Sorry.”

Terry, who was the most afraid of heights, thanked her from the back, as Cedric pointed his wand at the stone wall in front of them. “Dissendium!” The wall was unaffected, but Cedric and the others walked towards it anyway. Harry was about to ask if there was something wrong, but the Hufflepuff Seeker walked right through the wall and the others quickly followed. It had been enchanted with the same Runic Complex as the entrances to Platform Nine and Three Quarters and The Silver Spears’ training hall.

“I seriously need to learn how to do that myself, one of these days,” Harry muttered to himself, as he and his friends followed.

The other side held only held the bottom of a wide, dark staircase that the others had already begun to climb. Following them, Harry saw an open entranceway at the top with a familiar face on the other side.

“It’s about time you got here,” said Pam the barmaid. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

Cedric sounded apologetic as the last of them finally emerged into a basem*nt. “Sorry, Pam. We would have gotten here sooner, but we had to take things slow for the new kids.”

Pam glanced around his wide build, her eyes lighting up in recognition when she saw Harry and his friends. “Hello again,” she said kindly, before turning back to Cedric. “They’re a bit little aren’t they?” She asked, reproachfully.

All the First Years were offended by this, but none more so than Michael. “Were only two years younger than these lot!” Eddie shushed him, glancing nervously up at the ceiling.

“Lee and the twins were the same age when we got to them.” Cedric pointed out.

Pam shrugged. “There was no saving those three.”

Fred smiled. “I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“I choose to take it as a challenge,” Terry muttered.

Anthony glanced at him warily. “Please don’t.”

Shaking her head, Pam led them towards the stairs, which presumably led to The Howling Tavern’s bar, but Harry noticed all the Third Years sans Eddie were hanging back. “Is there a problem?”

Lee shook his head. “You don’t need our help with this part.”

Before Harry could ask what that meant, Cedric called his name. With one last confused look over his shoulder, Harry followed the others up the stairs. Emerging into the kitchen, Cedric pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m going to disillusion and silence you. You guys are just here to observe. Okay?” Nodding along with the others, Harry watched carefully as Cedric cast a short series of spells on his friends, making sure to commit each of them to memory.

When he finally got to him, Cedric took hold of his wrist, to make sure he didn’t lose track of him. “Talpa!” Cedric rapped Harry on the top of his head, and a cool sensation emanated from that spot, all the way down his body. At first, it felt like someone had poured a glass of cool water into his hair, but then the sensation sank into his skin, continuing down his head, across his torso and then down his legs. Looking down, he saw that his body had become nearly invisible, the only tell-tale sign of his presence being a slight shimmer as he moved.

He opened his mouth to ask a question about its counter-spell, but Cedric was already waving his wand at his face. “Silencio!” Harry could feel his vocal cords vibrate, his tongue move and his mouth shaping the words of his question, but it all amounted to nothing. Even though everything was working as it should, no words passed his lips.

Having already experienced the Silencing Charm at the hands of Myrose and Fredricks, Harry could readily admit that he was not a fan.

Cedric finished his series while Eddie was waiting anxiously by the door. “Quietus!” He jabbed his wand at Harry’s shoes, silencing his footsteps, before waving his wand again over his whole body, “Falta de Perfume!”, and once more on the wrist he had never let go of. “Brachiabindo!” An invisible binding was created between Harry’s left arm and Anthony’s right.

Cedric clearly didn’t trust them not to wander off or bump into each other, and while Harry was still deciding if that should offend him or amuse him, Eddie walked through the door into the bar, an easy, confident grin plastered on his face. Cedric quickly followed, indicating that they do the same.

The bar itself was dimly lit, not by wands, but by candlelight. There, sitting at a table in the centre of the room, were three men. The two on either side looked comfortable, but the man in the middle looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. This didn’t stop Eddie. He walked right up to the table without a care in the world and addressed the uncomfortable man directly, ignoring his companions.

“Alright, Mundungus? How’s business treating you?” Eddie asked airily.

“Can’t complain,” the small, balding ginger man in the middle- Mundungus- replied. He looked a little constipated, as Eddie pulled a chair out for himself and took a seat at the table. Cedric stood behind him, as a bodyguard would, and Harry made to move closer before freezing. He was in the lead, so Anthony bumped into his back, but Harry made sure not to move another inch. The man on the right was closest to him and had snapped his head in Harry’s direction, as though he’d seen a shimmer of movement.

“Problem?” Asked the man on the left. He was a young, thickset, relatively short man with close-cropped blonde hair and pale eyes that were fixed on his companion.

The man on the right hummed. “No. I thought I saw something, but it was probably just a rat,” he drawled in impeccable English. He had the same accentless telltale that Magister Akingbade had; he’d learned the language through a Translation Charm. He had thick, black hair, rich brown skin and a few days’ worth of stubble across his jaw, just enough for Harry to know it was an aesthetic choice. He was a little older than his companion, and it was clear from their body language that he was in charge.

The man on the left snickered. “That’s what we get for conducting business in this doghouse.” This one had a thick accent; his words carried a Texan twang with them.

Pam, who had come over from the bar to refill their drinks, stiffened, before continuing as though she’d heard nothing. Harry was offended on her behalf. Her tavern was spotless. When she finished, Pam retreated to the kitchen and Harry envied her. He didn’t want to be in the same room as these two either.

Eddie seemed to share his dislike of the two strangers, as his smile drooped ever so slightly as he asked, “Who are your friends, ‘Dung?” Cedric sent Eddie a warning glance but said nothing.

Mundungus smiled weakly, his sweaty forehead glistening under the candlelight. “This is Elijah Torrington,” he first gestured to the American and then his companion- “and Kanishk Agarwal.” In Harry’s mind, he was right to be nervous. Despite how different their external appearances were, both men had the same shady vibe to them. Dangerous, almost.

Eddie, the First Years had learned earlier, was the Marauder’s charmer. He was able to get close to people who should, by all rights, never take him seriously (“How else does he get any girl to look twice at him with that ugly mug?” Maria pointed out, surprisingly, with Eddie’s agreement.) Not only did he get shady characters to see him as a viable business partner, but he also managed to haggle decent prices out of them for the group. His reputation did not fail him now that they were faced with unexpected company.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Eddie said politely. “If you’ll excuse us, Mundungus and I have a little business to conduct.”

Agarwal remained stone-faced. “As do we. With you.” Harry was surprised by this, and judging by Cedric’s expression, he was too.

To his credit, Eddie didn’t react at all. “Of course, you do. Why else would you be here?” Eddie nodded at Mundungus. “But I have a standing appointment with Mr Fletcher here. Once I know he has what I’ve ordered, I’ll be happy to start a new deal with you.” For a brief moment, Agarwal stared hard at Eddie as though he was trying to sense any deception from the boy. Harry wanted to warn Eddie about Legilimency and the dangers of direct eye contact, but he couldn’t think of a way to do so without revealing himself. Eventually, Agarwal nodded at Mundungus, who jumped up and led Cedric towards a small tower of trunks that had been placed on the table next to theirs.

One by one, Cedric examined each trunk, while Mundungus kept glancing at the door as though planning his escape. All the while, the three who remained at the table remained in an awkward stasis after Eddie attempted to start a conversation with them a couple of times only to fail in the face of their disinterest. Finally, Cedric closed the lid of the final trunk, before nodding at Eddie.

“Excellent. Cedric, please pay our friend.” Seemingly relaxed now that he had what he had come for, Eddie leaned back into his seat and opened his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Well then, how can I help you, gentlemen?”

Agarwal had leaned back in his seat, content to let his younger companion speak for them both. “We have some product that needs to make it into the hands of an inhabitant of your school. Can you manage it?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Torrington frowned, glancing at Mundungus. “We were told you don’t ask questions.”

“Ah yes, the “no-questions-asked” package. That’ll cost you extra. A lot extra.” Eddie grinned. “Do you have the product with you?”

“Not right now, no,” Torrington said, and Harry could see Cedric’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “We can get it to you in a month.”

Eddie nodded. “We’ll communicate through Mundungus. He’s privy to our normal channels of communication, as well as our prices.” Before Eddie had even finished speaking, Torrington had already thrown a red sack full of Galleons onto the table.

“There are two hundred and fifty Galleons in there. The second half will be given to you by the recipient. Is that enough for you?”

Even the normally unflappable Eddie was stunned by this high price. “Err…yeah.”

Now that business was done, Agarwal stood and walked right out of the bar and onto the street, leaving Torrington to follow. Once they were both gone, Eddie let out a great sigh of relief, but before he could say anything, Cedric raised his hand to silence him. “Homenum Revelio!” There was a golden shimmer emanating from both Eddie and Mundungus, and when Harry looked, he saw that he and his friends had an invisible outline around them too.

Mundungus jumped, but Cedric calmed him down. “It’s alright. Those four are with us.”

Mundungus glared at him. “Were you planning on ambushing me?”

“We could ask the same of you.” Eddie looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. Actually, Harry had never seen him angry, so this must be serious. “What was that, just now? Who were those guys?”

“I don’t know. Honest!” He added desperately when Eddie scoffed. “They’ve been working out of Knockturn Alley for about a year now, but no one they do business with wants to talk, and the ones that do disappear.”

Cedric looked concerned. “Do the Custodians know about this?”

Mundungus looked sheepish. “Well, you know me and law enforcement never got along.”

Cedric rolled his eyes. “The Custodians won’t care about you and your petty wares unless you flaunt it, ‘Dung.”

While Harry was wondering how a grown man would let anyone, much less a couple of kids, call him ‘Dung, the man seemed more offended by the insult to his products. “Petty? I’ll have you know that my goods are of the highest quality! I only steal from the best, I do.” Cedric made to say something, but Mundungus was already continuing. “Besides, I told Lord Dumbledore about it ages ago. He said to keep an eye on it and I did. At least until they caught me at it.”

“Will you be telling Lord Dumbledore about tonight?” Cedric asked, in a manner that plainly stated that he would if Mundungus did not.

“Of course! He’s my ticket out of Hollow Penitentiary.” He winked at Eddie. “Albus is the best lawyer I’ve ever had. Remember that, son.” Eddie looked offended, either at the suggestion that he would one day need a lawyer or because a man named ‘Dung had just called him “son”, Harry wasn’t sure.

Mundungus began to make his way to the door. “I’ll give you a mirror call when they need to move the product.”

“We haven’t agreed to this!” Cedric protested.

“They already paid half, haven’t they?” Mundungus shrugged. “Besides, these aren’t the kind of blokes you want to get on the bad side of.”

Later, when the ten of them were floating the trunks filled with illegal potions, restricted ingredients and various kinds of alcohol down the secret passageway towards the school, Eddie was trying to convince the others to take the job, but no one else was on board.

“Five hundred galleons just to deliver something,” Eddie said for the third time. “This is the easiest job in the world.”

“If our dad found out we were delivering something for two blokes from Knockturn Alley, he’d blow his lid.” George shuddered. “He doesn’t get angry as often as mum does, but holy Halcyon, when he does…” he trailed off, leaving the rest for them to imagine. Harry couldn’t summon the energy for even that, as he and the other First Years were struggling with levitating the heavy trunks back to the castle.

“Remind me again. Why can’t they be placed in a trunk that’s been enchanted to be bigger on the inside?” Harry asked, huffing, as he felt a single bead of sweat roll down his spine.

“Long periods inside an expanded Artifice make magical ingredients a bit wonky in their effects,” Terry muttered, looking more tired than Harry had ever seen him. Rightfully so, as it was now half past two in the morning.

“It’s why we use Muggle trunks in our potion lab,” Lee explained. “When we empty them out, we just give them back to ‘Dung so he can fill them up again.”

Eddie continued as though he hadn’t heard any of this. “I already took the money, and old ‘Dung is gonna tell Dumbledore anyway, so if it’s something dangerous then nothing will come of it.”

Cedric had heard enough. “Give it a rest, alright?” He snapped, the normally patient boy losing his polite composure. “We’ll take it to Marcus and the Seventh Years. Let them decide.”

Eddie fell silent, but when Harry glanced back at him, he couldn’t help but notice how mutinous he appeared.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The second of the Marauders’ endeavours that he and his friends were introduced to was the betting operation. There was a lot more work put into this one, as the First Years were introduced to the regular punters, the ones who made sure to bet on every Quidditch match and duel, both within the school and the in the professional leagues. They were tasked with drumming up customers from among their year group, but Harry had little interest in doing that.

“You don’t have to take part in any of this if you don’t want to, you know,” Tonks told him one rainy afternoon. They were working together on the third of the Marauders' revenue streams; repairing broken items to sell for a profit in the Muggle world. “You’re a part of the group now, no matter what. But any business you do with the group and using the Map is taxable.”

“Taxable?” Harry asked as he looked up from the chair he was repairing.

“We all agree that ten per cent of whatever we make, through smuggling, betting or repairing-” she gestured to the room at large- “has to go to the group’s coffers.”

Harry was amused. “What do we need coffers for?”

Tonks smiled. “This isn’t just a group of hoodlums, you know. We’re a business.” She twirled her wand at the chair Harry had failed to fix. “Reparo!” The chair mended itself, good as new, and Tonks smirked at Harry's sigh of frustration, before continuing. “We need to keep some money on hand to keep buying more ingredients, either to sell or to keep making more potions. Also, we need to pay for the scholarship.”

Harry smiled, still a little amused by their altruistic scheme. “The Marauder’s Scholarship” was a little gesture to offset the financial inequality of the Wizarding School system. This was just a smart way for Lee to explain that The Marauders paid for the school supplies of students who couldn’t afford them.

Textbooks, equipment, uniforms and, the most expensive of all, potion ingredients. Hogwarts had a fund for students who needed it, but that was only for penniless orphans. Hogwarts was an expensive school, especially compared to Rosewood's or Wendell’s, and the ones who had the worst of it were Muggle-borns.

Most Muggle parents weren’t willing to send their kids to a school they’ll never see, and probably weren’t even sure was real, if cheaper alternatives were available. There was a reason why there were only four Muggle-borns in Harry’s year when they made up almost fifteen per cent of the Wizarding World’s population.

It now made sense to Harry, why Michael would so eagerly join Lee and the Weasley twins in their betting racket. Harry was not ignorant of the fact that his friend was in the most financially precarious position of all of them. His birth mother’s wealth had been confiscated by the Confederacy, and his adoptive parents were spending a small fortune on tuition for both him and his brother. Harry and Anthony were the last surviving heirs of old families and had both inherited fortunes while all of Terry’s family had high-paying jobs even without their generational wealth. It was no wonder that Michael was the only one who’d shown any eagerness to make some money for himself.

“Where are we, anyway?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?” Tonks asked, looking between an old jewellery box and an ugly marble bust, deciding which one will go for more.

“I mean, this room was the Marauders' Clubhouse a few days ago, but now it’s gone back to how I first found it.” Harry waved his hand, indicating the vast room that had to be twice as large as the Quidditch Stadium, and should in no way fit inside the castle, which was filled to the brim with broken and lost items.

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Harry shook his head, and she shook her head ruefully. “I’ve got to tell Cedric and Marcus to work on the initiation process for next year.” She sighed, before explaining. “This is the Room of Requirement. It can turn into anything you want.”

“Anything?” Harry asked, quickly. He, Anthony and Michael had been at a loss for what to do for Terry’s birthday which was quickly approaching, but this could help. “No limits?”

“Of course, it has limits. All magic does.” Tonks was amused by his lack of knowledge. “I’ll explain how it works later, but for now, just help me with this would you?” Harry nodded, even though he knew that she didn’t need his help at all. She was just trying to teach him to use the Mending Charm before her revision for her NEWTs took precedence.

Harry genuinely appreciated that she was giving him any time at all. He’d learned, when he asked Cedric to teach him the series of spells that he’d used on the First Years, that older students had a lot more to deal with than he and his cohorts. Denser course loads, Cadet training, Quidditch Practice and Sentinel work, all of it piled up, leaving them with extraordinarily little free time.

What time they didn’t dedicate to the Marauders was spent trying to keep up their social lives with their friends and other companions. Harry had learned this hard way when he tracked down the Hufflepuff Seeker to the sixth floor of the Library Tower, only to walk in on him and Penelope Clearwater in a compromising position against a bookshelf.

Aside from a little visual trauma, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if he hadn’t asked Madame Pince if she’d seen Cedric. How was he supposed to know that she would follow him up there?

It hadn’t been all that funny in the moment, but he and his mates had a good laugh at Cedric and Penny’s expense later.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

April kicked off with a bang. Literally.

Not long after lessons began on April Fool’s Day, fireworks began to be let off along the corridors outside of every classroom that had a lesson taking place. While the Professors tried to deal with the disturbance, Harry could tell that it was only a token effort. As Marcus had told him yesterday, no one tries to get anything done on the first of April anymore. They hadn’t for many years. Lessons were cancelled when the fireworks began to multiply every time someone tried to vanish them, but that’s when the true chaos began.

The main staircase that led to the Entrance Hall had been turned into a giant waterslide, the Great Hall had become an ice-skating rink, and there was a storm brewing in all four common rooms that poured raindrops of every colour and changed the colour of everything that it touched. A few daring individuals opened their mouths to taste the falling concoction only to find themselves being turned into farm animals.

Most amusing of all, as Harry had only learned of it the next day, someone had turned the entirety of the dungeons into an invisible maze, leaving many Slytherins missing and Potions students lost for the rest of the day.

A week before, when he and his friends were hanging out in their new clubhouse, going over The Marauders’ Grimoire, Harry overheard what the older kids were planning for April Fool’s Day, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking the obvious. “Won’t the staff get pissed off at us? After the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw match, they were threatening everyone with detention, and this sounds so much worse.”

“They’re expecting us to do something,” Marcus explained. “We’ve been doing this for decades. They’ll be more nervous if we don’t do something.”

With that justification, Harry decided to go with the flow and just enjoy himself. Still, he’d been a little worried at the fallout, at least until he saw Dumbledore conjure skates for himself and glide flawlessly across the Great Hall. Grinning, Harry tried to do the same, only to fall flat on his face. His so-called friends all started laughing hysterically.

“I’ve never done this before,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his nose where it struck the ice. Nothing seemed to be broken.

“We’ll teach you.” Anthony offered as he and Michael got Harry back on his feet. And they did. By the end of the afternoon, Harry was skating as well as the rest of them, wondering why he had ever doubted The Marauders in the first place.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Unfortunately, he wasn’t as happy with his other secret society.

For several weeks now, Harry and Eliza had been duelling each other instead of the other members. This was not because she wanted to repeatedly humiliate an eleven-year-old (at least he hoped not) but because Harry was still too scared to fight any of the other students. While Eliza mocked him for his cowardice, Harry thought he was being quite reasonable. Not only did they have years more magical study under their belts, but they were all far more practised in the Dark Arts than he was.

Unfortunately, his reluctance to fight had been noticed. As he entered the underground hall, Harry was immediately set upon by Slughorn. “I’m not the only one who has noticed. Soon, there may be calls of favouritism.” He winked as if to say that Harry would always be a favourite of his. Sadly, due to his obvious exhaustion and poor health, Slughorn looked like he was having a stroke when he slowly closed and then opened one of his eyes.

That was how Harry found himself standing within the duelling pit in the centre of the hall. Ordinarily, this would have been bad enough, but his opponent turned out to be the worst possible person. Harry could almost feel Slughorn’s amusem*nt when he picked out Robert from the surrounding crowd. He must have thought it was funny, pitting two friends against each other, neither one having an idea of the other’s identity as they both sought to hurt each other.

Harry was looking forward to the day when Slughorn went to prison.

Robert stood across from him, impassive, relaxed almost. And why wouldn’t he be? He was the best duellist in the club and he was going up against a clear WOMBAT student. Harry on the other hand was an inexperienced duellist, going up against a Sixth Year, and he knew that even if one of his spells landed, he would just be hurting one of his friends.

Harry clenched and unclenched his fist. He was really going to enjoy it when Slughorn went to prison.

Slughorn’s wand let out a flash of light, and the duel began.

Harry and Robert both raised their wands at the same time. “Expelliarmus!” Harry bellowed. Perhaps it was because of the clear desperation in his voice, or maybe it was his choice of opening spell, but he dimly registered laughter amongst the crowd. At that moment, Harry couldn’t care less.

Robert cast his first spell silently, as all experienced duellists did. The jet of light that emerged from his wand was white-blue, which could be either good or bad. It didn’t matter either way, as both spells collided in the middle, and would cancel each other out.

Or at least, that’s what Harry thought.

To his shock, Robert’s spell was so powerful that it tore right through his Disarming Charm like it wasn’t even there. With instincts borne from months of training with Quirrell, Harry dropped and rolled out of the way, coming up on one knee and casting his next spell as though it was his plan all along. “Stupefy!” This time he whispered the spell so no one but he could hear, and when the red jet of light shot out of his wand the crowd around them remained silent, as they could not identify it.

Robert didn’t even move. Instead, he caught Harry’s Stunning Spell on the tip of his wand and sent it right back at him with twice the speed. Harry, who had been expecting him to block it with a Shield Charm, had tried to close the gap between them before the Stunning Spell could dissipate and leave his vision clear once more. Instead, before he was even halfway to his opponent, he had his own spell rocketing towards his face.

Harry panicked. “Protego!” The force of his Stunning Spell sent him skidding back towards his starting position. Robert hadn’t just sent his spell back at him at a greater speed, but he had added power to it as well. This left the spell much too powerful to block with his Shield Charm, as Harry figured out in the nick of time.

He dropped to the ground as the Stunning Spell broke through his shield and whizzed over his head, having just missed Harry by inches.

That would be lucky if it weren’t for what happened next.

Robert hadn’t just decided to use his own spell against him but his own tactic as well. While Harry’s vision had been impaired by the red Stunning Spell splashing on his Shield Charm, Robert had run up to him, closing the gap between them of his own volition, his speed far outstripping Harry’s.

When Harry’s vision was finally clear, he saw his opponent standing not three feet away from him. Harry was on the ground but he still tried to move, skitter backwards, cast a spell, anything, but it was already too late. “Defodio!” Later, Harry would remember the cold, lazy way Robert cast that spell, his first and only verbal one of their duel.

But it was more than enough to win.

Harry screamed as a chunk of his upper left arm was torn away, vanishing into thin air. The duelling uniform he’d been given didn’t protect him in the slightest. The last thing he saw before the pain and rapid blood loss made him pass out was the clean half-spherical chunk that had been torn from his upper left arm.

It looks like someone used an ice cream scooper on me, Harry thought stupidly, as he keeled over.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Crazy as it sounded, waking up in the Hospital Wing with a bandage wrapped tightly all along his left arm, with no memory of how he got there, was not his biggest worry in April.

Dealing with Dumbledore and Flitwick, who both thought that he had been attacked from behind as he was leaving the Small Hall, thanking Eliza for bringing him in and coming up with a cover story (even if he was sure that his identity was more or less revealed to the other Silver Spears) and convincing all his friends that he was fine was the easy part. Even ignoring The Daily Prophet, which was crowing about a third assassination attempt was easy in comparison to what awaited him days after his duel with Robert.

No, his biggest problem came in the form of a letter.

One morning, at breakfast, Harry was preparing to leave for the Hospital Wing to finally get his bandages removed before class, all the while carefully avoiding Robert’s eye as he had since the duel, when Argos landed in front of him.

“Got something for me?” Harry asked, feeding him a slice of bacon from the platter before removing his letter.

“Oi! Feed your owl off your plate,” Michael complained.

“The platter isn’t your plate, Michael,” Harry muttered, ignoring his grumbling as he read the two words written in familiar handwriting.

Come quickly.

“This doesn’t even have a signature,” Terry complained as he examined the short note as they hurried to Hagrid’s.

“It’s written in his handwriting,” Harry called over his shoulder.

“What is it with you and handwriting?” Terry asked, gasping for breath as Anthony knocked on Hagrid’s door. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor opened the door quickly, ushering them inside.

In recent weeks, Hagrid had appeared tired in classes, still teaching them the necessary topics for their coursework, but unusually unenthused in his favourite subject. Even when he’d visited Harry in the Hospital Wing, making noises about wringing the neck of the person who had attacked him, Hagrid had looked exhausted. It didn’t take much to figure out that the dragon-rearing process was more difficult than he had initially thought it would be.

Right now, however, Hagrid looked happier than he had in weeks. “You’re just in time.” He told them, practically bouncing as he led them to the sitting room. “It’s just about to hatch.”

Harry felt his stomach drop. “Already? I thought you said we had weeks left?” He’d been hoping for more time to come up with an idea to deal with the fallout of his plan.

“I don’t know what kind of stasis spell was put on it to keep it as an egg for so long, but it’s been waiting to hatch since I was not much older than you.” Hagrid led them closer to the inferno that was his fireplace, he and his friends removing layers of clothing as they went, it was that hot. “You can’t blame it for wanting to be born a little early.”

“Will it be in any trouble?” Michael asked. “It can’t be healthy to be born so early.”

“Who’d you think you’re talking to?” Hagrid asked with faux indignance, before smiling reassuringly at him. “Don’t forget, I’m a Beast Master. This isn’t my first time working with a premature dragon.” He said this with such confidence that they were all reassured that the dragon was in safe hands, at least until he added, “Though I haven’t done it since I left the Magisterium, and that was about forty years ago, so…” he trailed off with a shrug.

Harry would have said something then, maybe about his idea to get rid of the dragon before it could be born and Hagrid could get attached, but then, quite suddenly, there was a great cracking sound that shot through the room. All five knelt in front of the fireplace to observe the birth of the dragon. Harry glanced around, noticing that his wizard-raised friends seemed just as invested as he did.

“I get why I’m so interested. I’ve never seen a dragon being born before.” Harry pointed out. “What’s your excuse?”

Anthony glanced at him quizzically, before quickly turning back to the still-cracking egg. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Nesting dragons are protective of their eggs, so even Beast Masters like Hagrid rarely get to see one born. Why’d you think he called us down here?”

Terry tutted, mockingly. “Honestly Harry, you’re such a Muggle sometimes. OW!” Terry rubbed his arm where Michael had just punched him. “Hagrid, he hit me! Give him detention!” Hagrid just shushed him without even looking at him, and Terry looked like he was going to complain further until Anthony covered his mouth.

“Look,” Anthony whispered.

The moment the egg finally split open, the huge fire was extinguished, as though the shattered pieces of the egg had doused the flames. A long spindly creature the size of Hagrid’s palm burst out of the remains.

Its skin was black and leathery, and its wings were closed but Harry could see that they were huge in comparison to its tiny body. The pointy ridges running down its spine were pulsating with glowing orange energy, as though it had somehow absorbed the flames into itself.

“A Norwegian Ridgeback.” Hagrid breathed, as he approached the baby dragon slowly. “I thought it might have been a Hungarian Horntail, their eggs are so similar, but you can identify the two by the shape of the tails.”

“And by the huge ridges on its back,” Terry muttered.

“What are you going to do now that it’s born?” Anthony asked casually. Harry gave him a thumbs up from behind Hagrid’s back. He didn’t think he could have sounded so casual about this.

“I’m gonna raise it of course,” Hagrid said as though it were the simplest thing in the world. With his large hands covered by his oven mitts, Hagrid gently lifted the dragon from the cooling fireplace and placed it casually on the wooden coffee table. Harry was about to point out this critical error, but Michael beat him to it.

“Your house is made of wood,” Michael said bluntly. Harry slapped his forehead. That was not casual.

“I’ll only keep it here for a few weeks until it’s old enough to fly,” Hagrid said in the same condescending way adults sometimes spoke to children. As though they were correct simply because they had existed longer. “After that, I’ll build him a home in the forest.”

“Oh, well that’s okay then,” Michael said dryly. “It’s not as though a forest has anything flammable in it.” Hagrid ignored him.

“You know, I’m going to be a bit busy from now on,” Hagrid told them. “If I’m going to manage all of my classes I could use a hand.”

Harry swallowed a groan, as this would only make things harder in the long run. “Of course, we’ll help.” He ignored the glares his friends were shooting him.

Later, as they were making their way to their first lesson of the day, the others made their displeasure known.

“Why would you tell him that?” Anthony asked. “Now he’s gonna suspect us when Norbert,” he stressed the name Hagrid had given the Norwegian Ridgeback, “goes missing.”

“Yeah.” Terry agreed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought we were gonna ask Callum to get rid of it for us.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. Hagrid’s dragon situation was a brand-new stressor in his life that he didn’t need and his friends complaining wasn’t helping. “I’ll figure it out,” Harry muttered. “I’ve got a few weeks until it learns to fly.”

A small part of him, the part that remained from the time before his Hogwarts letter, wanted to leave Hagrid to it. He was a grown man, more than capable of making his own decisions, and if he wanted to risk going to the Hollow Penitentiary for unregistered dragon rearing, that was his prerogative.

But Harry wasn’t that boy anymore. He hadn’t been for quite some time. By watching Anthony and Terry defend and worry for each other, by stopping Michael from slapping the disrespect out of anyone who so much as looked at Harry the wrong way, he had learned to look out for his friends’ best interests, even if they didn’t want him to. From the day that he had met him, Hagrid had been nothing but a kind and supportive presence in his life, and Harry wasn’t about to let him throw his life away for a flying lizard.

“I’m not helping with that bloody dragon,” Michael muttered, defiantly. “If I get injured, I won’t be able to go to the Falcon’s Quidditch camp this summer.”

Harry groaned, feeling as he felt a headache begin to form. Maybe friends weren’t so great after all.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Now that April had arrived, so too did the Easter Holidays.

For two glorious weeks, the castle was to be a lesson-free zone. Plenty of students planned to take the Hogwarts Express home to spend the holiday with their families, but many more had decided to spend the break in the castle.

Harry wondered how different it was going to be compared to Christmas, now that he didn’t have the castle to himself. He wasn’t going to be lonely this time around, as Michael, Anthony and Terry had all decided to stay.

“Aren’t you going to celebrate Easter with your family?” Harry asked curiously. It was the first day of the year that it felt warm enough to go outside without a cloak, so he and his friends were taking a well-earned break from their week of end-of-term exams, lying flat on their backs on the soft grass by the lake, lounging under the warm sun.

“Our family isn’t religious.” Anthony yawned. “A lot of wizards aren’t.” He looked exhausted, and with good reason. He had been studying just as hard as Harry was, not wanting to suffer another bout of his boasting when the results are posted.

Harry glanced at Terry, half-expecting him to make some kind of joke at his expense, but he had fallen asleep on the soft bed of grass. With his eyes closed and his usual crooked grin gone, he looked deceptively innocent.

Harry turned to Michael instead, noting with some amusem*nt, that his eagerness to experience the warm weather had now come back to bite him. When they had left the castle, Michael had removed his jumper, before rolling up his sleeves as though he were sunbathing. But while it was a pleasant enough day, that was only in comparison to the long winter they had just escaped. There was a brisk breeze that made goosebumps appear on his bare arms, and Harry could see him shivering, but he was too proud to admit that he was cold.

“Your family is as non-magical as my own.” Harry pointed out. “Don’t your parents celebrate?”

Michael looked uncomfortable, and not just because of the temperature. “We used to. The four of us. But Robert stopped when he came back from his First Year at Hogwarts and when I started going to Pendle’s, he told me to do the same. I didn’t listen of course,” he shrugged, “but Dad seemed to understand where he was coming from. He was raised like a wizard before his parents got rid of him. Mum wasn’t all that upset at first either, at least until he told her he wasn’t celebrating Christmas too.”

Harry frowned. Telling Michael to not celebrate Muggle holidays sounded dodgy on Robert’s part. As usual, he and Anthony were on the same wavelength. “That’s ridiculous.” Anthony sat up. Now that he was invested in the conversation, his fatigue seemed to have temporarily disappeared. “Plenty of wizards hold religious beliefs.”

Michael closed his eyes, as though trying to escape the conversation. “Look, I don’t know what his problem is.” He admitted. “I just don’t like going home without him. Mum gets upset when her darling boy refuses to come home.”

Harry grimaced, remembering the bad mood Robert had been in at Christmas, and how quickly Michael had brushed the whole thing off. Glancing at Anthony, whose own worry seemed to match his own, Harry quickly tried to change the subject.

“I’m going to Hogsmeade on Saturday. I need to buy formal wear for the end-of-term dance.” Harry said, feeling a little nervous when he said it out loud. A few of the Second Years had asked each other out for the occasion and he didn’t like how some of the First Year girls had started giggling whenever he and his friends walked past. There was a reason why they hadn’t invited Padma, Lisa and the rest to enjoy the good weather with them as they normally would have done.

“Do you need any help?” Anthony asked slyly.

Harry tried to be mad, but he was only amused. Anthony had a certain effortless style that he did not, and Harry could use his expertise. “Yeah. I don’t want to buy the wrong thing.” This would be the first time he purchased clothes for himself with the intention of looking good, and he was quite nervous about it.

Anthony seemed to sense this. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to hold your hand the whole time.”

Harry had rolled his eyes when he had said that, but Anthony had come through for him. The cut of the suit fit him much better than his borrowed one had, and it seemed to flatter his thin frame rather than emphasise it. The materials were lighter on account of it being spring, leaving him with a sleek appearance. The high-collared, long jacket was emerald this time, with onyx designs running along the trim like runes. The pretty seamstress had told him it brought out his eyes.

“You are much too easy to flatter.” Anthony chuckled. He was already dressed, and he had come to Harry’s dorm to show him how to use his grandfather’s invention: Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. “All she had to do was smile at you and you would have bought anything she suggested. It was a good thing you brought me along, otherwise, you’d have spent half your inheritance on socks as she suggested.”

Harry tried to maintain his dignity on two fronts, as he worked the cosmetic potion into his thick hair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t.” Anthony snickered. “She was very pretty. Her smile must have knocked you for a loop.” He had been in a mood with Harry since exam results had been posted in the morning. Harry had taken first place once more, but Anthony had fallen to third (some Gryffindor girl outdid him) and he’d been making his displeasure known. Harry had been eating up his academic rival’s disappointment all day, but now that he needed his help, it was becoming a nuisance.

“I can’t focus while you’re distracting me.” Harry lied, as he worked the comb through his curls. When he was finished, he looked at himself in the mirror, aghast at his reflection. “My head is tiny!”

“No, you plum. Your hair is just really big.” Anthony stood from Harry’s desk and approached with the air of an expert. “Sit down. I’ll fix it for you.” As he began to teach Harry a Hair-Styling Charm, he asked, “When was the last time you asked an Automaton to cut your hair?”

Harry blinked. “We can ask the Automatons for that? I’ve been using a Severing Charm.” Something about that seemed to set Anthony off and he burst out laughing. He was still hiccoughing five minutes later, when they met up with the others in the common room.

“What’s so funny?” Terry asked as the four departed for the Small Hall. Anthony told them about Harry’s lacklustre grooming technique, and they all had a laugh at his expense. Harry didn’t mind, as he was too busy admiring his image in every reflective surface they passed.

Not only did the suit make him feel as comfortable as he’d ever been, but Anthony had styled his hair in a way that left him feeling confident in his appearance for the first time since…well he wasn’t sure when. All he knew was that he looked good.

Harry swaggered into the Small Hall, where the party had already begun. The dance was less about Easter than it was about the coming of spring and the room reflected that. At the request of the Slytherin Party Committee, Dumbledore had enchanted the ceiling to shine warmly with the evening sun. The stone floor had been transfigured into soft grass and flowers of every colour were blooming from vines on the walls, which in turn let out tiny specks of golden light from their anthers, illuminating the room with thousands of tiny stars. It all gave the feeling of a magical, garden party.

Once again, Harry had to hand it to the Slytherins. They had outdone themselves.

Michael tutted at Harry’s newfound confidence. “If you keep strutting around like that, someone will think you got a stick shoved up your-” Anthony quickly cut him off.

“Hello, Professor!” Anthony said loudly, warning them of Slughorn’s approach. Slughorn, who had been looking for someone, stopped and smiled at them weakly.

“Hello, boys.” Harry repressed the urge to draw his wand. After the duel a couple of weeks ago, Harry had taken care to avoid both him and Robert, while scheduling more lessons with Quirrell and asking Cedric to teach him some moves over the holidays. Maybe that would stop him from waking up in the middle of the night, clutching at the phantom pain in his left arm.

However, it was only now, when he bothered to even look at Slughorn directly for the first time in weeks, did Harry realise how bad he looked. He somehow looked even worse than the last time he’d seen him. His skin was shining with sweat and it had an unhealthy grey pallor to it, but Harry only grew concerned when Slughorn wandered off without another word.

“That was weird,” Terry muttered.

“I know, right?” Harry was relieved that someone else finally seemed to see it. “He looks like he might drop dead at any minute.”

Terry looked baffled. “I was talking about him ignoring me. He always says hello to his favourite student.” Harry rolled his eyes, before following Anthony and Michael in finding a table.

As they had arrived late, the only available seats they could find were with the other Ravenclaw First Years. At first, they had all been wary of sharing a table with them, afraid that they might become all giggly again, but they had finally returned to their normal selves.

While the sun was setting, they all enjoyed a meal in each other’s company, talking about school (Anthony wasn’t the only one upset that Harry had taken the top spot as Isobel quickly let him know), the latest gossip (Cedric and Penny library rendezvous was public knowledge by now), and last night’s opening ceremony to the British Duelling League (Harry made plans with his year mates to watch every duel the Odeon aired.)

It was only when the sun had set behind the mountains and the deep blue sky above them was lit only by the glow of the tiny golden embers did the girls make their move. Lisa, the boldest of them, was the first to stand. “Dance with me?” She asked, tugging on Harry’s hand.

Harry, who after a good meal and an hour of engaging conversation had been lulled into a false sense of security, now felt a little betrayed. Glancing at his friends, he could see the amusem*nt written all over their faces. Looking up at Lisa, Harry was about to deny her, when he felt her hand shake a bit.

She’s nervous, he realised.

The silly sense of betrayal left his body like an exhaled breath. While Terry and Lisa had an antagonistic relationship, she had been nothing but nice to Harry since he’d met her. He had no reason to embarrass her in front of her friends, and more importantly, Terry, who could not let go of ammunition once he found it.

“Alright.” Harry nodded, hoping his discomfort didn’t show on his face. He almost felt better when Lisa beamed at him, but Terry’s sudden burst of laughter made him want to die of embarrassment. Thankfully, Isobel quickly shut him up.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” she said, pulling Terry to his feet. “You’re with me.”

“Hey! I didn’t agree-” Was the last thing Harry heard from him, as Isobel whisked him out onto the dance floor, joining the few Second Year couples who were awkwardly slow dancing under the close supervision of Professor Babbling. It was an amusing sight: Tiny Terry being led in a chaotic dance by Isobel, the tallest person in their year. Glancing at Lisa, Harry could see her committing the sight to her memory.

“Come on,” Harry said, grinning. He felt much more confident now that Terry was in the spotlight. “You wanted to dance, didn’t you?” Lisa smiled and Harry noticed how pretty her eyes were. Her lovely dress made them look closer to silver than to grey.

She led him onto the dance floor, which was just a large patch of grass clear of tables and chairs. Wondering why Michael and Anthony were so silent, Harry glanced back to see that they had partners of their own. An unenthused Michael was being dragged along by Padma and Anthony had somehow found himself dancing with two partners: Su and her shy best friend Amanda.

“I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.” Lisa was saying. Harry turned back to her and realised that her hands, placed awkwardly on his shoulders as they rocked from one foot to the other out of time with the music, were still shaking a bit.

“Then why ask?”

Lisa smiled, sheepish. “Because Padma bet me 10 Sickles I couldn’t.”

Harry smiled back. “I’ll be expecting my cut.”

“How much?”

“Fifty per cent.”

Lisa gasped. “That’s daylight robbery! You didn’t even do anything.”

Harry shrugged. “It would have been cheaper if you clued me in earlier. We could have gotten a whole Galleon out of her.” Despite being in the same House, this was the first conversation the two had ever had alone together, but it was as easy as talking with Sara had been. Girls weren’t scary at all.

Lisa looked like she was planning something. “Maybe we can pull it off at the end-of-year party?” She asked lightly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You want to dance with me again? Am I that good?”

Lisa smiled. “No, you’re actually quite bad. Here.” She started to lead him for the first time, swaying in time to the music.

“Have you had training?” He asked. Sara had, and so did the heroines in the novels Lupin favoured, so he was surprised when Lisa laughed at the idea.

“What? No. My dad taught me this when I was little.”

“Well, your better than me, at least.”

“Terry is better than you.”

Harry glanced at his smallest friend and saw him spinning elegantly with Isobel. The Gryffindor boys who had been laughing at him before had now fallen silent. “That’s not fair. Terry’s good at everything except flying.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Lisa warned. “His ego will develop a gravitational pull.”

Harry agreed. “I know. Do you think this is my first day with him?” The song changed to a more upbeat tune, but they both kept slow dancing. “So, what are you going to spend the Galleon on? Once we scam Padma, I mean.”

Lisa seemed pleased with his roundabout acceptance of her invitation. “Drumsticks.”

Harry was confused. “The Automatons will give you some for free. You don’t need to buy them.”

Lisa slapped his shoulder. “No, stupid. Drumsticks for a drum kit.”

“Oh! That’s cool! Are you in a band?” Harry asked, eagerly. He’d never known anyone in a band before and after Anthony had introduced him to real wizard music (the first albums Harry had picked up were the equivalent of “golden oldies”) he was quickly becoming a fan.

“Almost. I’ve got Padma on keys, Isobel playing her cello and Su's learning guitar. All we need is Amanda to sing.”

Harry was surprised. “Wow. What are the odds you would all end up in the same House?”

Lisa shook her head. “Padma and I have been planning to play together for years. We just convinced Isobel and Su to join in when he heard Amanda singing her Muggle Christmas carols. She has the voice of a siren.”

“Let me guess. You needed Su because Amanda always follows her around and you didn’t want to leave Isobel out?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Lisa admitted.

“You’re diabolical,” Harry said, a little impressed. “And I mean that as a compliment.”

“You better,” Lisa smirked and was about to say something else when they were interrupted.

A hand came down on Harry’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you.” Harry turned to see Eddie, in casual wear.

“Third Years aren’t supposed to be here, Carmichael.” Lisa sounded annoyed. Eddie gave her a cursory glance, before deciding she wasn’t even worth a response.

“Outside. Bring the others.” Eddie left for the doors without another word.

“What a git,” Lisa muttered as she watch him go.

“I’m sorry.” Harry apologised, as he stepped out of her hold. He’d already begun to walk towards Anthony when Lisa called out to him, disbelieving.

“You’re not actually going, are you?” Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that without revealing The Marauders or telling an obvious lie, so he pretended to not hear her as he continued walking away.

Harry gathered Michael and Anthony from the table they had retreated to after the first dance, and he had to pull Terry away from Isobel because he was having so much fun whirling her around the dance floor. When he told him in a whisper who was waiting for them outside, Terry's face grew as serious as the rest of theirs.

Outside in the cool and dimly lit corridor, they found Eddie lurking near an alcove. Catching sight of them, he quickly waved them over, as though he was afraid of eavesdroppers. Exchanging wary looks, the First Years hurried over and ducked into the alcove after him, the five of them having to squeeze uncomfortably close together to fit.

Harry made to speak but Eddie silenced him, melodramatically. “Shush!” Harry reared back, first unbelieving, then annoyed that he had just been shushed by Eddie Carmichael of all people. Before he could say anything, he was jostled by the others.

“Ow! That’s my foot!” Anthony hissed.

“I wouldn’t have stepped on it if you kept it to yourself!” Michael snapped, his voice muffled from where he was squished against the wall.

“My feet are right under me where they belong. Unlike your great Kappa flippers.”

Before an offended Michael could retort, Eddie shushed them again, louder this time. Harry was at least a little mollified that he wasn’t the only one who was being treated so rudely. “Muffliato!” Eddie waved his wand towards the entrance of the alcove.

Recognising the Muffling Charm from The Marauder’s Grimoire, Harry knew that it was now safe to talk. “What’s all this about?” He asked, annoyed with Eddie’s abnormal behaviour.

“I need your help,” Eddie said, trying for his usual easy grin, but his stress was clear to see.

“With?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Mundungus’ job. I need help with the delivery.”

“You’re still going through with that?” Terry sounded impressed at his nerve. “Didn’t the other Marauders tell you to let it go?”

Eddie made to speak, but Anthony cut him off. “He’s doing this by himself. They haven’t got a clue that you haven’t given back the deposit, do they?” His voice was cold. “That’s why you didn’t just come and ask us in the common room. Too afraid of what Marcus and Maria might say.”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I would have given the deposit back, but I spent a chunk of it on Montrose Magpie season tickets for me and my dad.” He looked at them pleadingly. “I just need someone to help me move the goods to the rendezvous.”

Anthony had left the alcove before he could even finish speaking, not giving Eddie a second look. Michael followed, but only after giving him a long considering look, but Terry looked the most disappointed. “Trying to trick younger kids to do your dirty work for you? That’s a bastard move, Eddie.”

Harry made to follow them but paused before he left the alcove. “What’s so important that someone would pay five hundred Galleons to smuggle into a school, of all places?”

Sensing interest, Eddie was quick to try to sell Harry on it. “Nothing dangerous. I guarantee.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because of the recipient,” Eddie smirked. “Slughorn probably ordered some illegal ingredients he doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

Harry froze. “How do you know that?”

“Mundungus contacted me, didn’t he? Let me know to pick up a trunk from the usual time and place.” Eddie sounded confident now, explaining the simplicity of the operation, thinking he was luring in Harry. “If it’s just the two of us, we can split the profits evenly if- Hey!” He called out as Harry left the alcove without a glance in his direction.

Harry headed back to the party, not wanting to attract suspicion from his friends. There was someone he needed to speak to, but before then he had to confirm her trustworthiness.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry met up with Cedric in the Room of Requirement on the first day of the holidays. This meeting had been weeks in the making, as Cedric had promised to go over Obscuring Spells with him when he had time to spare, but Harry now had another reason to anticipate their meeting.

The two boys stood in the duelling area of the Marauders’ Clubhouse, both dressed quite differently. Harry had changed into the lightly armoured, duelling gear that the room had provided him with. It was almost identical to his Silver Spears uniform, though in black and sans hood. Cedric arrived a few minutes after he had done so, levitating a large sheet-covered cage in front of him, and dressed in casual Muggle clothes as though ready for a Saturday afternoon with his friends. Before his duel with Robert, Harry would have felt offended, as though Cedric’s lack of protective gear signalled his doubt in Harry’s abilities.

But that was before he had experienced the wide gap between himself and a NEWT student. Robert wasn’t even a Sentinel, but he had wiped the floor with Harry with minimal effort. It would be the height of arrogance to assume he was a worthy opponent for the 22^nd Sentinel. Yet, Harry added.

“The Scent-Removal-Charm is fairly simple to learn, and it's normally taught to Auror Cadets during their first few months of service.” Cedric paused his lecture, looking at Harry, considering. “Are you sure you want to learn this now? You could just wait for when you join the Auror Corps.”

Harry shook his head, wondering how Cedric had guessed at his career goal. “I don’t want to wait that long. These are useful spells and I want to learn them as soon as possible.”

Cedric shrugged, before continuing. “If you can manage all these spells in your Defence Against the Dark Arts WOMBAT, you’re guaranteed an Outstanding. They're the first spells taught to Auror Cadets by their Squad Captain, but that’s just to be sure they know it. No one is permitted to join a squad without Outstandings across the board.”

“See? I’m doing the smart thing by learning it now.”

Rolling his eyes, Cedric proceeded to demonstrate the spell and asked Harry to try it himself. “How will I be able to tell if it even works?”

Cedric smiled in such a way that Harry was left without a doubt as to why a pleasant boy like him was a part of a delinquent group. “That’s why I brought this along.” He removed the sheet from the cage, unveiling a regrettably familiar creature.

“A Gnome?” Harry was aghast. “I hate those things.” When they had worked with the creatures back in February, they had proven themselves to be energetic, quick, mischievous little buggers who hated being captured. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but Gnomes had very pointy teeth and they weren’t shy about using them.

“I heard.” Cedric cracked up. “Hagrid mentioned something about you running away from one?”

“I didn’t run! I backed away, there’s a difference.” Harry could feel the humiliation washing over him all over again. “Besides there were three of them and one had already bitten me.” He waited impatiently for Cedric to stop laughing, and when he finally did, he finally explained himself.

“As annoying as these things are, they do have one surprising purpose.” Cedric picked up the stubby, potato-shaped creature by the scruff of its neck and lifted it out of the cage. “Obscuro! Muffliato!” A thick, black blindfold was conjured from the tip of his wand and wrapped around the tiny Beast’s eyes. It had been struggling in Cedric’s grip from the moment he had lifted it out of the cage, but it began thrashing when it was deprived of two of its senses. “Gnomes have an excellent sense of smell.”

That was all he said before he threw the hard-headed creature right at Harry.

Caught off guard, Harry barely managed to duck out of the way before the rabid little demon could land on his face, but this didn’t buy him enough time to escape. Even without sight or hearing it managed to find Harry no matter where he fled in the room.

Hearing Cedric laugh at him only made Harry lose his temper. “Stupefy!” The red jet of light hit the Gnome right in its open maw and it fell forward onto its giant head.

“Careful!” Cedric snapped, hurrying forward to check on it. “A Stunning Spell on something so small might damage its heart.”

“We wouldn’t that,” Harry muttered darkly, ignoring Cedric’s reproachful look. “You’re just trying to get back at me for the whole Penny thing, aren’t you?”

Cedric tried to look serious, but he couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face. “Maybe,” he admitted, and when Harry huffed, he added, “Just give me a mirror call when you’re looking for me next time, yeah?” When Harry agreed to that stipulation (verbally as being a Marauder seemed to give Cedric a complex about silent promises and crossed fingers) he placed a charm on Harry. “Impervius! There, now it can’t bite or scratch you. Happy?”

He said this in a mocking tone, but Harry didn’t let it get to him. “Yes, extremely.” Rolling his eyes, Cedric woke the Gnome so they could try again.

That was how the next hour went. Harry cast the Scent-Removal Charm on himself and did his level best to avoid the Gnome while Cedric tried to keep his amusem*nt to a minimum while he shouted out pointers from his seat.

Harry would have given up much earlier, thinking this was some kind of prank on Cedric’s part, if it weren’t for his minute improvement. By the time he reached his limit and felt drained of Mana, Harry was able to, not lose the Gnome completely, but at least confuse it. Instead of chasing Harry around the room from the moment it was released, it paused sniffing the air carefully, before giving chase, clearly not as confident in its olfactory senses as it had been.

“That was pretty good,” Cedric said as he handed Harry a glass of water. “I didn’t expect you to get a reaction on the same day I taught it to you.” Harry paused. Aside from Quirrell, he’d avoided asking anyone for help with the practical side of magic, not wanting his peers and teachers, (especially Flitwick and McGonagall who had both taught his parents) to see him as anything other than a flawless spell caster.

He hadn’t considered it until now, but Cedric was the first person aside from Quirrell that he had sought out and asked to teach him. Perhaps it was because he thought he was just as trustworthy as the Defence Professor.

“Hey, Cedric? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You and Eliza are close, aren’t you?” By her standards anyway, Harry thought. “Why isn’t she a Marauder?”

Cedric grimaced. “Because she’s a Slytherin, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

He raised his eyebrows at Harry. “You don’t know about the one rule?”

“No, but it sounds very official,” Harry said, mockingly.

Cedric ignored his tone. “The original Marauders must have had a grudge against the whole House because a Slytherin has never been permitted to join.”

Harry frowned. “There are spells in the Grimoire that goes back to the 60s. The original Marauders must be a thousand years old by now, so who cares what they think.”

Cedric shrugged. “The Marauder’s Map cares.”

“What?”

“It was way before my time, but someone once tried to recruit a Slytherin pal of theirs, but the Map refused to work for them. When the Marauders of the day insisted on their initiation, it stopped working for the rest of the group too.” Cedric explained. “Things got worse when the Slytherin threatened to expose the group if they couldn’t join. Duels, memory charms, the whole thing was a giant mess.”

Harry whistled. “Got it. No Slytherins allowed.” He moved on to what he really wanted to know. “It’s a shame though, you doing all of this without your best friend.”

Cedric smiled. “She’s not my best friend. She’s my sister.”

Harry was caught off guard. “I’m guessing there’s a story behind that?”

“Yeah, but it’s not mine to tell.”

Harry had to take him at his word, as he couldn’t continue this line of questioning without arousing his suspicion.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The next day was going to be a long one, so Harry and his friends all went to bed early that evening.

The scheme was elaborate, and it began with plausible deniability. To get rid of Norbert without Hagrid suspecting their involvement, they had to have concrete alibis from a source that couldn’t be denied. Unfortunately, this meant that Harry had to ruin his perfect record.

“You’re being a bit dramatic.” Michael had little patience with Harry’s reluctance. “It’s just detention. It won’t ruin your life.”

“I know. I used to get detention every other week at my old school.” Harry sighed. “I just would have liked to keep the streak going on for longer.”

Anthony’s worries overshadowed his own. “Does this mean I won’t get to be Head Boy?” Anthony asked nervously.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Terry muttered. “How can you worry about something so far in the future?”

Anthony smirked. “I’m used to it. I wonder every day how I’m going to support my loser brother.”

Terry growled and levelled his wand at Anthony. Normally, Harry or Michael would have intervened, stopping the two from actually coming to blows, but the whole point of this exercise was to attract the attention of a teacher, and according to the Map, one was just coming around the corner.

“Locomotor Wibbly!” Terry bellowed. His Jelly-Legs Jinx hit Anthony from point-blank range just as Professor Archibald rounded the corner. Anthony, despite wobbling all over the place, quickly countered. “Locomotor Mortis!” Terry’s legs snapped together, and he immediately toppled over.

Archibald looked aghast, but before he could say anything, Harry and Michael began exchanging their own spells. “Furunculus!” Even though the plan called for each of them to be hit with a spell, Harry ducked the Pus-Filled-Boil Curse on instinct, not wanting to experience that again. Michael looked irritated but that turned to full-blown anger as Harry retaliated. “Levicorpus!” Michael yelped as he was lifted six feet off the ground by his left ankle.

“BOYS!” Archibald roared. Furious, he stormed down the corridor towards them. Harry had no idea their ancient, frail professor could look so intimidating, and as he neared them, breathing deeply through his nose, he had to wonder if this plan was as smart as he had initially thought.

“You were supposed to let me hit you with a spell!” Michael hissed an hour later as they sat in Archibald’s classroom. The Professor had taken them back to his office to write lines in silence. As it was the holidays, he technically couldn’t give them Saturday Detention or remove points, which Harry and Anthony had been relieved to learn.

“It was an instinct! What do you want me to say?” He sighed as the other boy continued to sulk. It was their first chance to speak as Archibald left the room to go deal with the distraction Lee and Maria were creating outside of his office, just on time. As the two spoke, Terry was spiking the old man’s tea with a combination of Dreamless Sleep Draught and Forgetfulness Potion of his own creation, while Anthony kept an eye on the door.

When he returned, it wasn’t long before Archibald nodded off at his desk, his cup completely drained. The boys immediately gathered their things and made for the door. “Shouldn’t we take the cup with us?” Michael asked as he set his watch. “What if he suspects something and tests the dregs?”

“There’s no point.” Terry shrugged as they hurried down the corridor. “All he’ll need to do is cast a diagnostic charm on himself and he’ll see what we poisoned him with.”

“Poisoned is such a strong word.” Anthony grimaced.

Terry scoffed. “Oh, don’t get a weak stomach now.”

Harry spotted a group of Fifth Years making their way towards them on the Map. “This way.” He led them up the stairs, taking the scenic route to their destination, none of the others complaining about the inconvenience. Eventually, they managed to make it outside without anyone catching sight of them, but they had to pause to examine the Map, not only to make sure that there was no one on the grounds they could bump into but that no one was standing by a window that faced Hagrid’s house.

It took almost fifteen minutes for such a window of opportunity to appear, all of them waiting with increasing nerves, but when it did appear they all sprinted for their destination. Once they reached the backdoor, Harry pointed his wand at the doorknob. “Alohom*ora!” The door’s lock clicked open, and they let themselves into their friend’s home.

Now that it was the school holidays, this was the only time of day when they could get to Norbert without Hagrid’s supervision. Normally, Hagrid took Fang with him to check on the magical creatures in his enclosures at this time of day, and he asked them to check in on Norbert for him. Later, they would tell him that they tried to do so but had gotten detention instead. This left them in the clear for what happened next.

“Please tell me you brought the bait.” Harry pleaded.

“You’re getting on my nerves today.” Michael huffed, as he brought out a single paper-wrapped steak. “Of course, I brought it! You only asked me to do one thing, so it’s not like I can forget.”

Rather than point out that he had only brought a single steak instead of several cuts of lamb like he had asked, Harry kept quiet to maintain the peace. Removing the tiny box from his pocket, Harry placed it on the ground. Despite over a month of practice, he still struggled with this particular charm, but it was now or never. “Engorgio!”

The tiny box grew rapidly and only stopped once it returned to its original size, a crate that was large enough for a baby dragon. Harry let out a deep breath, partly because that single spell took a lot out of him, but mostly because he was relieved that he did it right when it counted. “All right, go get Not-So-Little-Norbert and let’s get out of here.”

The others did as he asked, making their way to the sitting room (Harry still couldn’t believe that Hagrid had left an animal that breathed fire in a house that was basically kindling waiting to happen) and returned after a few minutes, leading the half-flying, half-jumping dragon into the kitchen by baiting it with strips of steak. Harry immediately noticed Michael’s error but kept silent as he didn’t want to spook Norbert. Anthony threw the last of the potion-tainted steak in front of the makeshift crate and the little Beast was quick to devour it.

The moment Terry’s blend of Dreamless Sleep Draught and Forgetfulness Potion had taken effect Harry turned to Michael. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” He asked, trying to bury his annoyance as the other two closed and locked the crate behind the snoring baby dragon.

Michael scowled at him. “I forgot. Besides, it’s not like I needed it.”

Terry scoffed. “I reckon it would have come in handy when the little monster bit you.”

“It didn’t bite me.” Michael quickly denied. “It hardly touched me.”

Anthony corrected him as he finished with the crate. “Yes, it did, and you’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Why would you put your hand so close to its mouth anyway?”

“Show me.” Harry’s voice was firm, leaving Michael with no room for argument. He reluctantly showed Harry his hand and right there, clear as day, he could see a bite mark on the back of his hand. Ordinarily, Harry would not think this worrisome, as the bite was a shallow one, hardly breaking skin, but the edges had already begun to turn green. “I haven’t got a clue how to deal with this,” Harry admitted. “Terry? Anthony?” Both boys shook their heads as they came over for a closer look. “Right then, you’re going to have to see Madam Pomfrey about this.”

“What?” Michael yelped, looking more nervous than Harry had ever seen him. “But what if she tells the teachers?”

“She won’t.” Harry made his way over to the crate. “Healer-Patient confidentiality is a real thing. Talpa!” The crate shimmered as it became invisible to the world around it.

Before Michael could complain further, Anthony moved the topic of conversation back to the ongoing plan. “Hagrid has already made his way through the Unicorns,” he said as he checked the Map. “We don’t have all that long left before he gets back. Are you sure about this, Harry?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “But it's the best idea I've got. Get over here while I still have some energy left.” One by one, Harry cast the Disillusionment Charm on each of his friends and once the other three had levitated the crate into the garden together, Harry warned them one last time. “Get ready to run.” He summoned his Cloak and levelled his wand at the kitchen wall. Sorry Hagrid, Harry thought. “Confringo!”

Despite almost three weeks of practice with the Blasting Curse, it was still quite shaky compared to what he’d witnessed in school duels, and after a large Engorgement Charm and four Disillusionments, the orange jet of light was feeble and hit the wall, not with the massive bang that he had intended, but with more of a weak thud.

“Get ready to run he says,” Terry repeated for the umpteenth time that day, snorting. He, Harry and Anthony were walking down the passageway towards The Howling Tavern and taking the still-sleeping dragon with them. After the Blasting Curse had created a scorched hole in Hagrid’s wall that was large enough for Norbert to squeeze into, the four boys had legged it back to the castle, storing the baby dragon in the secret passageway for later as they returned to detention.

Once Archibald woke up and dismissed them, they dropped Michael off at the Hospital Wing to get his bite healed and Harry was left to endure Terry’s teasing about his failed Blasting Curse. He only stopped when they bumped into Hagrid in the Entrance Hall. He informed them of the now missing Norbert and they had all found it hard to look at his teary eyes.

Harry tried to defend himself. “I’d like to see you use so many OWL and NEWT level spells in a row.” He tried to sound calm and collected, but his abilities being questioned always frustrated him.

Anthony seemed to recognise this quality in him as well. “You’re always so touchy about this sort of thing,” he teased, before clapping Harry on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We all know you’re still Mr Outstanding.”

“I refuse to recognise him as such.” Terry denied. “I seek the title for myself!”

As always, Anthony was quick to pounce on his brother when given the opportunity. “Sure. As soon as you get manage to pull your dismal grades up.” He snorted. “If it doesn’t require a wand or cauldron, you’re lucky to scrap an Acceptable.” Terry was about to retort when a voice up ahead cut him off.

“I’m surprised he’s even managed to last this long,” a familiar voice said, sounding amused. “I thought they would have kicked him out by now.” As they neared the secret entrance to The Hollowing Tavern, Harry glanced worriedly down at the Map, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Callum waiting for them.

“Wasn’t the plan to wait in the basem*nt? Or can you just not read simple instructions?” Terry asked.

“When it’s written in your chicken scratch? No.” Callum glanced at Harry and Anthony before checking the crate. “I thought it would be better if I take this off your hands as soon as possible.”

“Why? Are you in a hurry?” Anthony smirked. “What’s her name?”

“Her name is none of your business.”

Harry cut their banter short. “Remember. Next time you see Hagrid, just casually mention the Norwegian Ridgeback you found near Hogwarts, alright?”

“Understood.” He shrugged. “Though I’m not sure how I’m supposed to slip that into a conversation next time we go for drinks.” He gave them a rude hand gesture before taking the rising platform back up to the Tavern above their heads.

Harry sighed in relief. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with.” The last few weeks had been much too stressful for his taste. “Anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?” He asked as they made their way back to school.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He should have known that things weren’t that easy. When were they ever that easy?

Things began to go wrong when he decided to check in on Michael before heading back to Ravenclaw Tower. Splitting up from the other two, Harry made his way to the Hospital Wing in a good mood and entered the infirmary doors with an improper level of happiness for a place of healing.

His good mood died swiftly when he saw that the bed he’d last seen Michael in was empty. He quickly made his way over to the school matron’s office. “Madam Pomfrey? Was Michael released already?” Harry didn’t like the idea of all his mates giggling back in the common room because he wasted his time being nice.

Madam Pomfrey looked surprised at his question. “Michael Corner? He was released an hour ago.” She went back to her paperwork. “I thought you would have seen him by now.”

Harry left the Hospital Wing, annoyed, and checked the Map for proof of where Michael was. To his surprise, he could not find him in Ravenclaw Tower, nor was he anywhere near the Quidditch Stadium. Frowning now, Harry lay the Map flat on the nearest windowsill and tapped it with his wand. “Find me, Michael Corner.”

The Map began to turn rapidly, searching for the correct name, only stopping when it turned to the flap that detailed the grounds and the outskirts of the forest. There, headed towards the Forbidden Forest, were two names: Michael Corner and Edward Carmichael.

Michael, you are one tricky son of a bitch.

Removing the grey, compact mirror from his pocket, Harry flipped it open and began calling Michael’s full name, but the call went unanswered. Either he was ignoring him, or he had left the mirror in his dorm for the hundredth time. What was the point of having access to instantaneous communication if you never keep it with you?

I’ve always got one of you lot with me, don’t I? Michael had responded when Harry had asked him about it weeks ago. Now he didn’t have one of them with him, and he was walking right into a situation that he had no awareness for.

Harry began to search quickly for another name and when he found them leaving the library now that it was closing, he started running straight for them at top speed.

It was all so obvious to him now. Michael didn’t bother wearing gloves. He put his hand near the dragon’s mouth. He didn’t even put up a fight when they took him to the Hospital Wing. Eddie had offered them a cut of the profits and Michael was hurting for money. He was a fool for not seeing it before. What surprised him more than anything was the fact that Michael had proved to be so cunning. He had never seemed the type.

Harry turned the corner and jumped down the next flight of stairs, landing in a crouch at the feet of Eliza Hawthorn. Harry was secretly pleased to see the normally unflappable girl jump in fright. As he straightened up, she turned to shout at him, clutching her heart.

“Potter! What do you think-” she began to admonish, but Harry cut her off.

“Do you know any tracking spells?” Harry quickly asked. He wasn’t afraid of being overheard as he had checked the Map before storing it away. No one else was even in this part of the castle.

“What? Why do you-?”

“Slughorn’s headed to the forest. I saw it from my window,” he lied. “He’s roped in a couple of my housemates into something.”

Later, Harry would be impressed by how quickly her mood changed. Eliza’s back straightened and she dumped her bag full of books in the nearest broom cupboard before drawing her wand from its holster. “Come on then,” she told him, as she led the way down the stairs, towards the Entrance Hall.

Even though she was only half a head taller than him, Harry found it difficult to keep up with her. It wasn’t just her speed, but the stable, mechanical method of her movements that kept her breathing steady, while Harry was left huffing and puffing after her as she led the way through the quiet castle, across the darkening grounds and towards the dense forest. She was kind enough to wait for him just behind the tree line.

“Appare Vestigium!” A golden swirl of dust emerged from the end of her wand, coating the environment around them. Trees, bushes and grass were all covered in it, but the gold dust almost immediately disappeared, as though she had never conjured it in the first place. All except for two pairs of footprints.

“Don’t worry.” In the gloom of the forest, Eliza had mistaken his awe of seeing a tracking spell in action for the first time for fear for his friend’s safety. “The spell only shows magical activity. Slughorn properly made them cast Lumos for him.”

Because there are only two pairs of footsteps, and she thinks Slughorn is with them. Instead of correcting her, Harry instead asked. “Can’t you tell for sure? With the spell I mean.”

“It’s only a basic tracking spell.” It was too dark to be certain, but Harry was certain she was flushed from embarrassment. “But it’s a lot more difficult than it looks, alright?”

Harry winced at her sharp tone. “Sorry.” She stared at him expectantly, not moving a muscle. “What?”

“Do you want to come?”

Harry was aghast. “Of course. I’m the one that told you about this.”

“Then where’s your wand?” She demanded. It was only now he realised that she wasn’t just angry with his questioning of her spell work. “Don’t trust me to protect you. Don’t trust anyone to protect you. Your wand is your lifeline.” Her eyes were dancing under the glow of her wandlight, making her seem almost mad. But only for a moment, as she quickly looked away. “If things go wrong and I have to split my focus to protect you, then you’re putting me at risk too.”

Harry quietly drew his wand.

The two continued their run through the forest under wandlight, following the trail that Michael and Eddie had unknowingly left behind. Harry wished The Marauder’s Map showed the forest, but like the secret passageways, it just seemed to give up, as though the creators had little interest in the minute details of the place.

Eventually, when Harry’s only way to keep track of time was through his level of exhaustion, they came to a stop. Or rather Eliza came to a stop. Glancing around, Harry could not see any indication that they had arrived at either an obstacle or their destination. “Problem?” He asked through a wheeze.

Eliza nodded. “The Hogwarts Barrier.” She pointed at the ground, not five feet from where they were standing. “This is where the school’s property ends, along with its protections.”

Harry felt his stomach drop. While he was curious as to how she knew that (as there was no indication like a fence) he was more focused on the problem at hand. “Doesn’t that mean anyone could be waiting for us on the other side? Not just Slughorn?”

Jaw clenched, she nodded. “During peacetime, any wizard can apparate right into Hogsmeade.” She looked at Harry. “Do you still want to come?”

No, Harry thought. “Yes,” he said out loud.

As much as he would prefer to wash his hands of the entire situation, he felt responsible for Michael. If he had been honest with his friends about Slughorn, then they would have known not to meet him in a dark forest, outside of the school’s protection.

As Eliza ran across the invisible boundary, Harry couldn’t help but complain to himself. Why did it have to be at night? This place is creepy enough during the day!

They ran together, following the golden footsteps that were visible only to them, jumping over giant roots and weaving their way around enormous trees. Eventually, Eliza began to slow down up ahead and Harry took the opportunity to double over, his chest heaving. Looking up when he felt his heart begin to slow, he saw her crouched behind a thicket of bushes thirty feet away. Stumbling over, Harry fell to his knees beside her, grateful for the break. He leaned forward to see what made her stop in the first place.

Through a small gap in the leaves, Harry could see most of the clearing, and a familiar head of curly blonde hair. Michael. Normally, Harry would have stomped over and punched him on the arm for doing something so pointlessly reckless, but this was far from a normal situation.

"What the hell is going on?” Eliza asked the question that was running through Harry’s mind.

Michael and Eddie were not alone, far from it in fact. There were four other men in the clearing: Slughorn and three masked and hooded wizards. The one standing to Slughorn’s right was familiar to Harry due to his build and drawn aspen wand. Robert.

The other two were standing on the other side of the clearing, both obscuring their faces beneath the hoods of burnt orange cloaks. Standing in the middle, and looking completely out of their depth, were Michael and Eddie.

“The Fallen Sun.” Eliza breathed, and for the first time since Harry had met her, she looked genuinely scared.

“Who are they?”

“They’re the biggest guild of Rogues in the world.”

Harry frowned. “Isn’t the whole point of being a Rogue living free? Why would they join a guild?”

Eliza shrugged. “A lot of Rogues do it for organised mercenary work. My Squad Captain says it’s because they get lonely living away from other wizards.” Eliza shook her head. “Fallen Sun are different from other Rogue Guilds. They’re not just thieves and thugs. They’re as anti-Auror as it gets.” Harry nodded slowly. The name made a weird amount of sense then as Aurors were named after the sun. “We should leave-”

Eliza cut herself off when the trunk Eddie had brought was levitated forward. When Slughorn opened it with a wave of his wand, he, Eliza, Michael and Eddie were all surprised to find it empty. Eddie raised his hands. “I swear, Sluggy, I didn’t open it. No one did. They must have given it to me like this!”

Slughorn began to laugh as did the two wizards from across the clearing. “You didn’t tell him? Normally families are compensated for things like this.” The taller of the two Fallen Sun Rogues asked.

Slughorn shook his head, still chuckling. “Something that every schoolteacher knows, but no parent will ever acknowledge. Children are very replaceable,” he said coldly, the white light emitted from Robert’s wand putting his wrinkled face in harsh shadows. “These two more than most.” For a second, Harry thought he saw Robert twitch before he returned to complete stillness.

Michael was the first to realise what was about to happen, and he made a run for the trees but the shorter of the Fallen Sun wizards raised his wand. “I love it when they run,” he chuckled. “It always makes things a bit more exciting.”

Harry had seen enough. Ignoring Eliza’s hiss to wait, he stood and pointed his wand over the bush. “Fumos!” A thick blanket of black smoke descended upon the clearing, catching its habitants off guard. Before any of the adults could react, Harry had already started running at full speed to the spot he’d last seen Michael. Unfortunately, Michael was just as scared of the rapidly descending smoke as he was by the implications of the empty trunk, and he swiftly changed directions.

It was just bad luck that he ran right into Harry.

“ARGH!” Harry wasn’t sure which one of them made that sound, as all he was aware of was pain and embarrassment after the two had banged their heads together and fell to the ground. At least the smokescreen ensured that no one else saw that, Harry thought, checking himself for any injury. Of course, silver linings didn’t exist for him.

“That was hilarious!” The shorter of the Fallen Sun pair had vanished the smoke just in time to see the two boys bang their heads together. “I normally like a chase, but that was so much better!” He was doubled over with laughter, and Harry was mortified enough to wish that the Rogue would just get it over with and kill them. Eliza disagreed.

“Lumos Solem!” Harry was the only person who saw her emerge from behind the bushes, and therefore the only one who had enough time to squeeze his eyes shut when he heard the incantation. Even through his eyelids, Harry could see the blinding light that flashed through the clearing, brighter than the midday sun, and he could hear the other occupants of the clearing cry out in pain.

Opening his eyes when the light disappeared, Harry saw the four men rubbing their watery eyes and Eliza running right towards them with incredible speed. She pointed her wand at Slughorn and Robert, who were stumbling half-blind for cover, as she ran towards Eddie. “Stupefy!” The jet of red light caught Slughorn in the small of his back, throwing him face-first into the ground where he lay unmoving.

“Come on!” She hissed at Harry, dragging Eddie by the arm towards the way they had just come from. “Are you just going to sit there all day, or are going to make yourself useful?” She hurried past the two First Years, trading spells with the two Rogues, who were still blinking spots out of their eyes.

Stirred by her actions as much as he was by her words, Harry scrambled to his feet and pulled Michael to his. Keeping their heads low, the boys ran after Eliza, desperate for cover and with Harry barely keeping his friend from bumping into trees once they made it out of the clearing.

As they hurried, Michael turned to him, blinking at him in the near-pitch blackness. “Harry, is that you? How’d you find us out here?”

Harry was about to answer, ready to berate Michael for his trickery, when an ominous jet of purple light came screeching through the air towards them. Even with the visual and auditory warning, it came at them with such speed that it took all of Harry’s reflexes to push both himself and Michael out of the way in time.

The spell missed them by inches and struck a thick tree trunk twenty feet from where they had fallen, and even under the cover of night, Harry could see the bubbling acid dissolve the base of the tree in a second.

“Up! Move!” Harry knew what was about to happen, and he didn’t want them to be anywhere near when it did. Still, even on his best day, he couldn’t outrun a falling tree of this size. With an enormous crack, and the rustle of a thousand leaves and branches moving towards them, the tree fell on the ground with an enormous crash, blocking off their nearest escape route.

Quick as he could, Harry turned them left, hoping to find another route or maybe they could even circle back and return to the castle through one of the secret passageways in Hogsmeade.

A bellowing voice came from behind. “Careful! If you kill them too soon, then we don’t get paid!” The shorter and more enthusiastic of the Rogues was close enough for Harry to hear him grumble in reply to his partner’s warning. This was enough for Harry to stop moving, forcing Michael to do the same.

“What do we do?” Michael breathed. His face was pale enough for Harry to see it clearly in the gloom. Indicating for him to be silent, Harry carefully aimed at the Rogue’s back, whispering. “Carpe Noctem!”

The jet of black light shot out the end of his wand, faster than any spell he had ever cast before, as though his wand knew how desperate he was. As though sensing its trajectory, the Rogue whirled around, casting a silent Shield Charm in front of himself. But that wasn’t enough.

The Nightmare Hex flew through his protection as though it wasn’t even there, hitting the wizard dead on. Harry knew it was a risk to use an Illusion Spell against a fully grown wizard, but he was counting on the fact that his desire to escape was stronger than the Rogue’s desire to kill them. Harry felt triumphant as the Rogue began screaming, falling to the ground as his imaginary victims came back for revenge. Harry began running, leaving a silent Michael to follow.

They made their way around the fallen tree and did their best to follow the path that they had taken to get there. Harry thought that they were on the correct route, but he couldn’t be sure without wandlight. Finally, the boys managed to catch up to Eliza and Eddie, who were both waiting for them in a familiar clearing.

“Thanks,” Harry gasped as they came to a stop, “for waiting.”

Eliza frowned. “I wasn’t waiting for you,” she denied. “I just don’t know how we’re going to get back to school in one piece.”

Michael turned to Eddie. “What is she talking about? You said getting back into school would be easy.” Eddie was ashen-faced, and when he didn’t answer, Michael began shaking him. “There isn’t even a fence!”

“That’s so Centaurs can come and go without a physical barrier blocking their lands, but it works for every other species,” Harry explained, before turning to Eliza. “You’re a Sentinel. Surely you have a way in and out of the castle.”

“Yeah, through the gates,” Eliza said frustratedly. “I don’t think we can get past them without-” she cut herself off when an enormous torrent of flames came flying towards them from the darkness.

Eliza shoved Harry out of the way and shouted, “Aqua Erecto!” A heavy, condensed bullet of water the size of a desk erupted from the end of her wand, inserting itself in the middle of the firestorm before exploding outwards, extinguishing the flames immediately and blanketing the area with hot steam.

Without hesitation, Eliza shot forward to cross wands with the tall Rogue and Harry would have happily stood there in awe of her if it weren’t for the Body-Bind-Curse that hit Eddie. Turning in shock towards his falling friend, Harry was able to see a second spell headed right for Michael. Harry threw himself in front of him shouting, “Protego!” His Shield Charm held, but the force of the spell sent him careening backwards into Michael, knocking them both to the ground.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry bellowed as he scrambled back to his feet. With Slughorn stunned and the shorter Rogue suffering his worst nightmares, there was only one person left, and if he was willing to curse his younger brother, then none of them were safe.

“Robert, what the hell are you playing at?” Harry made sure to deliberately use his name so that Michael could get caught up.

The approaching hooded figure had lazily side-stepped Harry’s Disarming Charm, but froze at the sound of his name, just as Michael finally climbed to his feet. “What did you just say? Robert?” He sounded confused, but Harry didn’t take his eyes off his opponent to check.

The last time he and Robert fought, it had been as one-sided as a duel could be. Harry couldn’t allow the same to happen again. There was no one to call an end to the fight this time. If he lost, he would die. This would be a fight for survival where victory was the only option.

“Don’t you recognise his wand?” Harry asked. It was the only clue he had that left him in the clear. Under the multi-coloured, flashing lights of Eliza’s fierce duel, Michael’s eyes flickered to Robert’s wand and then his familiar figure, which he would know far better than Harry did. Harry could see, in his peripheral, the moment Michael finally recognised his brother, as his whole body stiffened. Robert was still frozen, his hidden face turned towards his little brother, seemingly unnerved that he had been identified.

That was when Harry struck.

Maybe he had been inspired by Eliza again, or maybe he was just sick of feeling scared every time he caught a glimpse of either Robert or Slughorn, but he felt a sudden rage surge through his body, a burning need to fight back against the ones who made him feel so weak.

“Confringo!” He bellowed. Robert reacted immediately, snapping a Shield Charm into place in front of himself. But Harry hadn’t been aiming for him.

The jet of blazing orange light struck the ground right at Robert’s feet. The ensuing fiery explosion wasn’t large enough, or powerful enough to force the Sixth Year backwards the way his simple Body-Bind-Curse had done to Harry, but it was enough to unsettle the ground in front of him, sending bits of dirt, twigs and grass into the air and obscuring his vision.

“Acusignis! Depulso!” In times of panic, Harry fell back on the spells and techniques he had practised the most. This move was well known to Quirrell, but it was brand new to Robert, at least when it came from a First Year. The twigs and blades of grass that were falling to the earth now turned into sharp needles, dozens of them, and they all shot themselves at Robert, ready to pierce him a hundredfold.

Of course, Robert wasn’t about to be caught by that. He froze the needles in mid-air and grouped them tightly together before transfiguring them into a bull. That was alright because Harry hadn’t expected his first gambit to work anyway. Moving quickly to avoid getting Michael and Eddie hurt and to give himself more space to work, Harry ran for the trees.

Robert sent the bull rampaging after him, but Harry made it behind the nearest tree with time to spare, ducking behind it before waiting in its shadow, lurking until the bull ran past him. Then he pointed his wand at its flank. “Confundo!” He hissed lowly. The bull shuddered as it fell under his control.

When Harry came running back around the other side of the tree, the bull was still chasing after him, and Robert seemed more than happy to let his creation work undeterred as Harry was about to be run down by a half-tonne bovine. He changed his tune when Harry dived out of the way, letting the bull slam its horns right into a startled Robert’s chest.

“No!” Michael screamed, somewhere in the distance, as his brother went flying. Harry wasn’t as upset with this outcome, but he scrambled to his feet anyway, wary of his all-too-easy victory. He was right to be doubtful. The duelling uniform Slughorn provided his Silver Spears with was an Artifice, enchanted to protect its wearer from the worst effects of minor spells and most physical damage. That left Harry at a disadvantage, as he was only wearing a pair of cords and an old sweatshirt.

With a groan, Robert climbed to his feet, and Harry wasted no time, rapidly casting, “Oppugno!” setting the bull to attack his opponent once more. Robert roared in anger, lashing out with his wand before the bull could hit him with its horns again, shredding the bull into bloody, meaty ribbons with an advanced Severing Curse. He then countered with an unknown spell, its shape and colour reminiscent of a crescent moon, but Harry was already diving for cover behind the nearest tree. The spell impacted a tree in the distance, reducing the thick trunk into a thousand strips of bark, and leaving the branches and leaves to topple down onto the barren roots.

Harry knew that he was scared, as he’d never faced someone stronger than himself in a real-world duel before, but he was also aware that he’d never fought like this before. Although he was barely hanging on by a thread, Harry had never felt more powerful than he did at that moment. The fact that his blackthorn wand had quickly warmed against his skin, thrumming with eager energy in his grip, only filled him with further confidence, so much so that he decided to use a spell he had never cast before against his opponent.

Harry firmly closed his eyes as he pointed his wand around the tree. “Lumos Solem!” The white flash of light was even brighter than Eliza’s; his wand was thrilled by the fight and, eager to help, amplified his spell rather than obstructing it. Harry grinned a little and ran back into the clearing, directly at Robert.

There he was, leaning against a tree, reaching a hand underneath his hood to rub at his eyes. Harry levelled his wand at him as he made his approach. “Stupefy!” Harry had kept his voice low, but the red jet of light was bright, and it was clear to see even by a half-blind Robert.

“Protego!” Robert shouted, calling out an incantation for the first time, and his voice sounded infuriated. “Attklyva!” He roared the second incantation, and the jet of blinding white light tore its way across the clearing, right towards Harry’s shoulder.

Recognising the very literal Disarming Curse from the Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter-Curses, Harry had absolutely no desire to be hit with it. Raising his wand in front of himself, Harry bellowed, “PROTEGO HORRIBILIS!”

Enhanced by his wand, a shield more powerful than any he had created in a calm, controlled environment sprang into existence in front of him, just in time to block the curse from severing his wand arm. However, the force behind Robert’s curse was extreme. It shattered his Anti-Martial Shield Charm, hit him in the right shoulder where it opened a deep cut, and sent him flying high into the air, only coming to a stop when he collided with the invisible Barrier that protected the school.

Harry felt his face burn, his skin rubbed raw as he skidded ten feet down the invisible boundary back towards the ground, feeling like an insect on a car windshield. His shoulder left a long smear of dark red blood hanging in the air, marking his descent back to earth. His remaining breath left his body when finally hit the ground, feeling as weak as a ragdoll.

He must have had a concussion, or maybe he was simply out of Mana after that last spell, but his vision was blurry and coupled with the darkness it took him far too long to realise that Robert was limping towards him. Harry willed his body to move, but only managed an exhausted twitch while his adversary pointed his wand at him.

Harry knew he would have died that night if Michael hadn’t jumped in.

Instead of using his wand, Michael jumped onto his brother’s back and began to tug on his low hood. The two struggled and as he watched, Harry remembered all the times when the two had wrestled just like this on the Quidditch pitch.

The only difference was Michael’s frightened face and Robert’s desperate movements, trying to shake his brother off. But Michael was determined and had the element of surprise on his side. Tugging the hood up, Michael fell to the ground, landing roughly on his back, and rolled to get a good look before the hood can go back on.

Robert had tried to pull it back up, but it was too late. Harry had gotten a clear view of his face and so had Michael.

“Robert?” Michael’s voice was horrified. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“That’s precisely what I was about to ask,” a familiar voice said from behind them.

It took all of Harry’s remaining energy to turn his head, but he was glad when he did. It wasn’t every day you saw a former Magister and an Auror Commander arrive on a scene.

Lord Dumbledore and Commander Boot had entered the fray.

Chapter 21: A Duplicitous Opportunity

Chapter Text

The night ended rather anti-climatically after that.

While Commander Boot hurried to check on Harry, Lord Dumbledore stepped right past him to deal with his students’ attackers personally. The vast, immense gap between himself and a Sage was made clear in how quickly the headmaster dealt with Robert.

Harry's adversary was standing tall one moment and then was crumpled on the ground, his limbs trapped by bindings made of sizzling electricity the next. Harry hadn’t even seen Dumbledore move, nor his spells fly through the air, he was just that fast.

As the headmaster moved to deal with the now fleeing Fallen Sun Rogue, Commander Boot finished his diagnostic charms over Harry and finally pointed his wand at Harry's wound, muttering, "Torpere!"Harry felt the hot, throbbing pain in his shoulder leave him, as his entire right arm became numb.

Commander Boot then began to feed him a disgusting liquid that he would only later learn was a Blood-Replenishing Potion from a small crystal flask that he kept on his belt. He then began to murmur a healing spell he had never heard of underneath his breath, over and over again, as though in prayer, "Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur!"

Harry could not see nor feel the effects of this spell, but the Commander seemed satisfied with its results, as he conjured bandages to wrap themselves tightly around his chest, shoulder and right arm. "Ferula!"he intoned, the white wrappings covering Harry's injured area. Harry whispered his thanks as he then moved to check on Michael and Eddie.

Harry's focus shifted as Dumbledore returned to the clearing with Slughorn and the two members of the Fallen Sun, also bound in lightning ropes, floating along silently and unconsciously behind him. Even in his concussed state, he could not help but be amused by the headmaster's demeanour. He appeared as though he was simply in the middle of a pleasant walk on a Sunday afternoon, he was just that relaxed. The pursuers that had given Harry and the others so much trouble were less than an irritant to him, like mice attempting to flee from the paws of a playful cat.

"Is everyone alright?" Dumbledore asked, lightly. "Mr Potter? Mr Corner?" He turned to the youngest of them first, waiting for them to nod before checking with Eddie. "Mr Carmichael? Can you move?" Eddie nodded, looking abashed, as though Dumbledore had screamed at him. The headmaster didn't seem to notice as he turned to Eliza with a proud smile. "Good work, Miss Hawthorn."

As jealous as Harry was that Eliza was the only one being praised, he couldn’t deny that she’d earned it. Not only did she save his life twice tonight, but she was also the only one of them to still be standing on her own two feet when reinforcements arrived.

With their four captured attackers in tow, the remaining six made their way back to the castle in silence. Harry was more than a little bit embarrassed to be the only one who required a floating stretcher to get back to the castle, but he was so tired he didn't even complain about it.

Several times, he tried to catch Michael's eye to try and get a feel for his mood, but the other First Year kept his eyes firmly ahead and the scowl that marred his face was not an unusual expression for him. Giving up for now, he turned his head to check on Eddie and Eliza. While the former was looking rightfully ashamed of himself, staring at the ground as he walked, Eliza looked happier than Harry had ever seen her; she was the only one among the six who was smiling.

As they entered the empty Hospital Wing, a harried Madame Pomfrey hurried out of her office, quickly assigning each student a bed, even though Harry was the only one who was injured. Thankfully, she did at least check in on him first before the others.

Once Commander Boot moved him steadily from the conjured stretcher and floated him gently onto the firm mattress, Pomfrey closed the curtains around the bed and vanished his torn sweatshirt without asking (It was his most comfortable piece of clothing!) and began to examine his half-healed wound.

She carefully removed the Numbing Charm and the bandages before treating his shoulder with a thick green sludge called Essence of Dittany, replacing the bandages with fresh ones once she was done. "Commander Boot did a good job with you," she admitted grudgingly. "That should be enough dittany to prevent scarring, but we'll have to see how you respond to it before we look at alternatives." She then waved her wand, instantaneously switching or transfiguring his remaining clothes into white hospital pyjamas. Before he could ask her if she just hated all of his garments, she opened the curtains and went to check on the others.

As each of the beds had curtains around them, Harry could not tell who was in which. Now that Lord Dumbledore and Commander Boot had left, taking the soon-to-be prisoners with them, Harry felt uncomfortably alone. He’d never been afraid of the dark before, but after tonight's misadventure, he wished the Hospital Wing were better lit at night if only to spare him from flinching at every tiny sound and movement that turned out to be something innocuous.

Finally, when all her patients were examined, Madam Pomfrey began to vanish the curtains but was stopped by the return of Dumbledore and the Commander. Despite the matron's protests, they proceeded to sequester themselves away behind the curtains to interview each student individually. Harry didn't have any time to process this, as he was the first one that they chose to question.

Once the curtains were shut firmly behind them, they began to ask their questions and Harry did his best to answer honestly, without throwing The Marauders or Quirrell under the bus. "When Madame Pomfrey told me that Michael had been discharged, I thought he would have gone back to the common room, so I just headed to the Library Tower instead."

"Alone?" Commander Boot’s tone was neutral; neither believing nor disbelieving. He kept his eyes on the floating length of parchment and read the self-writing transcript. "In the middle of your holiday?"

Harry shrugged. "I can barely get my friends to revise when exams are around the corner. It's impossible to get them to study during the holiday, so I've been going on my own." This was not a lie, and they could check with Madame Pince to make sure. Harry hoped they did, as it would give credibility to the falsehood that he was about to tell them. "I spotted Michael and Eddie on the grounds, headed to the forest from one of the windows." The Library Tower faced east, where the forest was relative to the school.

Dumbledore didn’t sound neutral at all; the doubt was clear in his voice. "You saw two students across the grounds at night? From a first-floor window?"

Harry nodded. "I'm a Seeker, and they're my teammates. I know what they look like from a distance." Harry hurried on before they could poke more holes in his story. "I bumped into Eliza Hawthorn as she was leaving the library and I asked for her help because she's a Sentinel." He then told the rest of the events as they happened, aside from a white lie about how he had first recognised Robert.

"I don't know many people with an aspen wand, and as I said, I can spot my teammates from a distance," Harry said, trying to move along before they can question him again. "Michael pulled back Robert’s hood during our duel. That's when you arrived," he finished, relieved.

Lord Dumbledore and Commander Boot looked at each other before thanking him for his cooperation and moving on to question the others. Harry let out a long, slow breath when they left and reached for the jug of cool water Madam Pomfrey had left on his bedside table to quench his parched throat.

One by one, each of the students was questioned in private and their curtains were only drawn back when they had finished giving their statements. While Eddie was being questioned and Michael waited for his turn, Eliza turned to Harry from the bed beside him.

"Well, tonight was fun," she said, grinning at him.

Harry gave her an incredulous look. "You and I must have different definitions of fun."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, come on. I saw you fighting Hillard back there. You were enjoying yourself too." She kept her voice low so the lingering Madame Pomfrey wouldn't hear.

"I wasn't having fun. I was too busy trying not to die."

"I didn't even know Hillard could fight like that," Eliza admitted. "I've always thought he was a bit of a wimp, always hiding behind Belby. But it just goes to show, you can never judge someone by the face they present to the world." Her voice, which had held its amusem*nt at the beginning of her response, had grown dark by the last word.

Before he could ask her about it, Dumbledore and the Commander had finished questioning Michael and were about to leave when Harry called out. "Headmaster Dumbledore? May I speak with you?" Dumbledore paused momentarily by the doors, before making his way back to Harry.

When the curtains were closed around his bed once more, Harry began asking his own questions. "Professor, what will happen to Robert and Slughorn?" Dumbledore looked surprised by his first question, but only for a moment. He settled himself down at the foot of Harry's bed and began to answer his question.

"Horace Slughorn will be held and interrogated by the London Citadel, under the purview of Commander Boot. When he is charged, he will be put on trial." Dumbledore explained as he helped himself to a glass of water. "Depending on the severity of his crimes, he may be judged by the High Court of the Coalition rather than our own Wizengamont."

"As for Mr Hillard," Dumbledore continued, "things are far less severe." At Harry's immediate scepticism, Dumbledore chuckled. "It is true. As a seventeen-year-old, Mr Hillard is still a minor and as such his name and face will be kept from the media and Slughorn's influence over him will be considered."

Harry nodded, remembering Anthony had said something similar to him once, that the school was partly responsible for any wrongdoing students may do with the magic they had been taught there. Harry now chose to ask the previously expected question. "How did you find us tonight?"

"Our mutual acquaintance warned me that an illicit exchange would be taking place in my school tonight." Dumbledore smiled at Harry's obvious shock. While he had known that Mundungus was an informant of Dumbledore’s, he hadn't known that the information traded included his knowledge of The Marauders.

The headmaster continued, as though he hadn't exposed his knowledge of a secret society of troublemakers in his school. "I must say, you did excellent work tonight, Harry. Had you not taken matters into your own hands, Commander Boot and I would have arrived much too late to help."

Harry nodded slowly. "I was wondering about that. Did Mundungus give you the wrong location?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am afraid he gave us the wrong time. After a good night's rest, I will visit him to ensure that this was merely a mistake on his part and not a deliberate misdirection." His voice was calm, but there was a definite edge to it. Harry almost pitied Mundungus Fletcher. Almost.

"Is that all?" Dumbledore asked in a way that made Harry feel bad for wasting his time. Still, there was one more thing he had to know.

"One more question. Hagrid told me it was you that extended the protection that my parents had placed on me so that I couldn't be hurt while in Little Whinging." He waited for the headmaster's nod of confirmation before continuing. "I've been meaning to ask; does it extend further? I know when spells are stretched beyond their limits they can act erratically, but-" he cut himself off as Dumbledore was already shaking his head.

"The protective barriers I placed around your home and Little Whinging as a whole were geographical in their design. It only worked because it is your permanent residence." Dumbledore explained. "Why do you ask?"

Harry was frowning. "I've sometimes noticed that people feel a little…" he struggled to find the right word, "kickbackwhen they try to hex me." He shrugged it off. "It was probably just accidental magic or something."

Dumbledore looked intrigued. "Do people try to hex you very often?"

Harry grinned. "It's the price I have to pay for having a personality as wonderful as my own. They're just jealous." Dumbledore chuckled.

When the headmaster took his leave, Harry allowed his smile to fall. Not everyone experienced a kickback when they hurt him. Just one.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The dark-haired boy was sleeping soundly in his bed, exhausted after a long stressful day of revision. His room was a mess of books, parchment and study notes, all of which were thrown haphazardly in every corner, illuminated by the pale light of the moon through the open window.

The door to his dormitory slowly creaked open and two dark figures crept their way inside, dressed in long black robes with hoods pulled up to hide their grotesque features. As they neared the bed, they drew long rusted blades from their wide sleeves, each coming to a stop on either side of the bed next to the boy's face.

Perhaps it was a long-buried survival instinct, or maybe it was the minute sound of the two intruders signalling each other, but the boy shifted and awoke from his sleep slowly. His dark eyes blinked open and then blinked again as he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. When he finally comprehended the fact that he was not alone anymore, Terry sat up in his bed and began screaming.

"Scream all you want, Boot, but tonight you breathe your last." The figure on the right cackled. His saggy grey skin and long pointed nose would be enough to terrify Terry, but his large bug eyes scared him even more as they were facing different directions and spinning wildly as they followed his movements.

The intruder to his right blocked his escape, swopping its head low so that its hood fell back revealing its green reptilian skin and sharp-toothed smile. "Run, boy!" It roared, taking a swipe at him with its knife and nicking his pyjamas, tearing the material. "I enjoy the hunt!"

Still screaming, Terry scrambled for the end of the bed, falling off the end before half-crawling, half-running for the exit. In a moment, he had opened the door and ran out of sight. The two intruders turned towards each other.

"Do you think we took things too far?" Anthony asked through his rows of sharp teeth.

Harry nodded his head absently, unable to stop himself from playing with his now loose grey skin. Tonks had been confused when they asked for her help but had come aboard when she heard it was for Terry. He had a special knack for getting under people's skin. "Probably. I mean, he even left his wand behind."

They both froze when they heard Terry's screams cut themselves off before both hurrying downstairs to see what had happened to him. Harry and Anthony made their way down to the Fifth Years floor and burst out laughing when they saw Christopher lying on the floor with a still shaking Terry clinging on to him, desperately.

Christopher was shouting at him, and the other Fifth Year boys were stepping out of their dorms to see what the commotion was about, but they all began screaming and retreating when they saw Harry and Anthony descend the stairs, laughing manically. The Fifth Years all ran back into their dorms, slamming the doors closed behind them. Christopher even threw Terry off of him and shut the door loudly in his face, leaving the shaking boy to his doom.

Terry tripped over his own feet as Harry and Anthony approached, landing on his backside, skittering backwards as they extended their hands out to him ominously. When his back hit the wall, they started cackling again, and Terry screamed once more.

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"I'm surprised you didn't wet yourself." Anthony snickered, hours later at breakfast. Padma, who was tucking into her porridge right next to him, shot him a filthy look, but he just ignored her.

"It wasn't funny!"Terry hissed for the fifth time that morning. He was still upset with them and had bags under his eyes; he hadn’t been able to go back to sleep.

"It was a little funny," Harry smirked. Terry glared at him, and Harry finally began to feel bad. "Besides that's not all we have planned for your big day, you know." Terry perked up, interested, but before he could ask, Dumbledore rose from his place at the staff table and stood at the podium to address the school.

"As many of you would have heard by now, we are in need of a brand-new Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House," Dumbledore said this simply, as though Slughorn's crimes hadn't been on the front cover of every magical newspaper a few days ago. "As such, I would like you all to congratulate Professor Vector on her new position as the Head of Slytherin House and to welcome Professor Severus Snape to our school." He gestured back towards the staff table and Harry recognised the newcomer as the same man Quirrell had spoken to so intensely at Slughorn's Christmas party.

While the students gave an awkward round of applause, Harry glanced up the table to where Michael was sitting alone. Ever since that night in the forest, he’d refused to speak one word to Harry. Harry hadn’t been angry about this, only guilty. It wasn’t his fault, but The Daily Prophet had put out another article, once again making him out to be some kind of hero and the Hogwarts staff as a group of bumbling fools. Eliza had been mentioned praisingly as well, though she’d seemed annoyed with the attention this brought her. However, when the punishments that had been handed out to Michael and Eddie were added to the fact that Robert was so conspicuously missing, it hadn’t been all that hard for the other students to be the pieces together.

When the entire school whispered and pointed wherever he went, Michael ignored them all as though they didn't even exist. Normally, Harry would approve of this newfound maturity from his friend, but Michael had decided on ignoring them too, as though he didn't want anything to do with them.

"So?" Terry asked, his mind still on his birthday celebration. "What are we doing today?"

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The sea spray stung Harry's eyes as he staggered across the sloping deck. The high, grey waves rose almost as high as the ship and if he’d been able to focus on it, he would’ve been afraid that the entire ship would capsize. However, he couldn't focus on that because his whole attention was fixed on his opponent.

The man was tall and dressed in an eighteenth-century British Navy Officer's uniform, and as he swung his blade, Harry could onlyjustdeflect the blow with his own cutlass, swinging wildly in retaliation.

His blow missed when Captain Terry began shouting by the wheel. "Fasten your breeches, you scallywags! We’re going to starboard!" He bellowed. Harry had no idea what that meant, and he had a feeling Terry didn't either. He lost his balance as Terry spun the wheel rapidly to left and Anthony screamed as he was thrown from the crow's nest into the ocean.

Maybe showing him what the Room of Requirement was capable of was a bad idea,Harry thought as he too fell overboard.

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Quidditch practice had become rather uncomfortable since the Forbidden Forest incident.

Now that their captain had been imprisoned and awaiting trial, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had been thrown into turmoil. Eddie had been suspended for two weeks and was banned from extracurriculars for the remainder of the year. While Michael had been given detention every Saturday until the summer holidays, he was still permitted to play. That didn’t mean he was happy though. He wasn't speaking to anyone, even to acknowledge team strategies. When you added how Marcus was snapping at anyone who even looked at him wrong, things looked dire.

More than once, Harry had considered speaking to Marcus, as he was the only one on the team to know the truth about the relationship he had with Robert, but honestly, he was too intimidated to do so. Mostly because Marcus was a bit of a grump at the best of times, but partly because he wasn't even sure if he could be trusted.

Ever since Robert had taken a chunk out of his shoulder (the first time) Harry had avoided them both. If Marcus was on the same side as his boyfriend, then Harry would just end up in the Hospital Wing for a third time this year.

Mercifully, Fiona had taken control of the team. Her desire for victory had overcome her need to go unnoticed. With Maria as her right hand, she organised an emergency try-out for a new Chaser and a new Beater, and Ravenclaw House answered the call magnificently. It seemed as though half the house had turned out to either try out or show their support on the last Saturday of the holidays. After a gruelling afternoon, they settled on their new teammates: Rodger Davies as Chaser and Andre Egwu as Beater.

Rodger was a Third Year with carefully styled brown hair and big doe eyes. Terry had quietly mocked him behind his back several times throughout the school year when they caught the boy checking his appearance with the small mirror that he seemed to keep on his person at all times. Harry had only joined in when he walked in on him checking himself out in the boy's lavatory, flexing his nonexistent muscles for his own viewing pleasure. He didn't like the idea of this ridiculous boy joining the team, but it was better than having an up-and-coming Dark Wizard like Robert, so Harry kept his mouth shut.

In contrast, Harry was more than happy to have Andre on the team. When he quietly spoke with Fiona and explained that he would have to schedule practice around his NEWT revision, he had to bend down significantly to reach her ear. Andre was the largest boy in school, dwarfing even Richard, and Harry was as shocked as everyone else was when Eddie'sNimbus 2000was even able to lift him in the air. He flew with reasonable speed and had good aim, but Fiona was interested in what his beefy form could offer the team in defence against the most aggressive team in the school. When he was told that he had made the cut, the serious boy smiled for the first time, his gleaming grin contrasting heavily against his dark skin.

While Harry was just as relieved as the rest of his House to have a full team before the final, he knew it wasn't going to matter. With only three weeks until the last match and neither Marcus nor Michael playing at their best, their victory was going to hinge on whether or not he could capture the Snitch within the time limit.

Fiona agreed with him.

"Listen, none of this going to matter if you don't catch that Snitch before we're fifty points behind." She informed him as the two walked back to the common room after their most recent practice. "Gathering our new team together isn't an effort in trying to score more goals than Slytherin, it's about outlasting them. We'll buy you as much time as possible to catch that Snitch, so I don't want you to focus on the Quaffle play at all this time around. All right?"

Harry nodded. "No arguments from me." He was being honest. While Fred and George were a fearsome Beater duo, they were still only two players. What made Slytherin so different from the other teams was their single-minded focus on offensive plays. Rather than leave it to their Beaters, the Chasers and Seeker got involved too. They even managed to incorporate the Keeper into a few of their plays. Some might wonder why the only undefeated team this season was even worrying about the only team who hadn't managed to win a single match, but that was before you considered their styles. While Slytherin was the strongest offensively, Ravenclaw was the weakest defensively. It was not a good matchup.

Harry had resolved himself to catching the Snitch as fast as possible, whether it was to win the match or simply put whatever Slytherin had left of his team out of their collective misery.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

When the new term began, the teachers collectively seemed to realise that final exams were only six weeks away and began to pile on assigned readings and essays onto their students. The Ravenclaw common room had become unpleasant, as the study area had grown overcrowded and students cramming for exams had spilt over to the sitting area. This meant that squabbles between irritable students were common, often about theOdeonplaying too loud or even playing at all. These fights were most often caused by the Second, Fifth and Seventh Years as they were the ones who were taking their important qualifications.

The Library Tower was somehow even worse. Despite Madame Pince’s best efforts, it was loud and overcrowded with stressed-out students fighting over the last copies of textbooks that they needed. Even though Pince had recruited the Prefects for help, it only made things worse, as they were often the ones who were most anxious about their grades.

Harry, Anthony and Terry sequestered themselves away from all of this. They spent days revising in their dormitories, and when they became too stuffy in the sudden spring heatwave, the Room of Requirement. Studying on a sunny beach beat out the common room even without the school's most recent change in atmosphere.

The only thing that would have made it better was Michael joining them, but even though it had been weeks since the Forbidden Forest incident, he still wasn’t speaking to them. Or rather, he wasn’t speaking to Harry, and the other two were included by default. Harry had tried cornering him to talk but he always remained stubbornly silent.

Anthony advised that they leave Michael be for now, as he was sure that he would come to them in his own time. Apparently, chasing him down and demanding he talk to them wasn't a good way to go about it. Still, Harry couldn’t help but feel like they had slipped back into the same dynamic they'd had back at the beginning of the year as he sometimes caught Michael glaring at him when he thought he wasn't paying attention.

He was doing so right now, sitting in Defence Against the Dark Arts, ignoring Susan Bones' taunting of Robert's looming imprisonment ("It's just bad blood, Corner. I don't know why they haven't locked you up too. It's only a matter of time before you show your true colours." Harry could hear her hiss at him when she thought no one else was listening.) and glaring at Harry as though he was somehow the root cause. Perhaps he was, but Michael didn't know anything about The Silver Spears so it seemed rather unfair for him to blame Harry for anything.

Professor Quirrell dismissed the class when the bell rang and Harry climbed to his feet, smiling at his friends. "Aren't you glad I made you revise over the holiday? Everyone else has homework this weekend but we don't." Anthony said nothing, but Terry grumbled predictably.

"Time I'm never gonna get back," he said under his breath. Harry was about to ask what he would have done with all that precious time when Quirrell called his name.

"Mr Potter? A word if you don't mind."

Susan smirked at him as she led her crowd of followers out of the room. "Uh oh,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Looks like someone’s in trouble." Harry ignored her as he made his way to the front desk after telling his friends not to wait for him.

Harry watched Quirrell unhappily as he waited for the last straggler to leave the room before shutting the door with his wand. This was the first time they had been alone in almost a month as Quirrell had been busy travelling over the holidays. Harry had felt rather abandoned, especially after his brutal last meeting with The Silver Spears. Still, the first words from Quirrell's mouth knocked him for a loop.

"Well done, Harry," Quirrell said smiling widely. "I’m proud of you."

Harry was caught off guard. He wasn't expecting to hear that today. He never expected to hear those words. No one had ever said they were proud of him before, not even Lupin. Harry felt something in his throat and found it difficult to look up at Quirrell, keeping his head facing towards the teacher's desk he stood in front of. Mercifully, Quirrell continued speaking, politely pretending he wasn't aware of how off-kilter Harry was at that moment.

"While I was away from school, I wasn't expecting you and Miss Hawthorn to complete the mission without my guidance, but you did." Quirrell shook his head, a smile still stretched across his face. "All those students who would have been influenced by Slughorn, both present and future, are now free thanks to you. Be proud of yourself, Harry."

Now under control, Harry looked up with an easy smile fixed on his face. "Don't you know me at all? I'malwaysproud of myself."

Rolling his eyes, Quirrell continued. "Well, considering you have such a high opinion of yourself, I suppose you won't be surprised to hear that I've chosen you as the WOMBAT representative for a special exam."

Harry leaned forward, intrigued. "What are you talking about?"

"I was planning on choosing a Second, Fifth and Seventh Year to complete a special extra credit practical exam," Quirrell explained. "You know, something to impress future employers, or in the Second Year's case, Auror Squad Captains." He nodded now that Harry seemed to understand. "Yes, it will be of use to you when you apply to join the London Citadel's Initiate Program. Are you interested?"

"Yes!" Harry could not pretend for even a second that he wasn't. A chance to take on a WOMBAT practical exam a full year early? How could he skip such an opportunity?

Quirrell chuckled at his eagerness. "All right then. Focus on your end-of-year exams for now and I'll let you know when I'll test you."

Harry left the room feeling better than he had since before Robert had scooped out half of his arm. Not even the most recent inclusion to the Hogwarts staff could impact his mood, although he seemed to give it his best try.

When the First Year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs entered the Potions classroom for their first lesson of the new term, they all attempted to change their assigned seating without a word. However, just as Harry was getting settled on the available seat beside Isobel, Snape made his displeasure known.

"Do not attempt to fool me," he said coldly, as he swept dramatically into the room. His long black robes were billowing after him, like the wings of a bat. "I am aware of where you were all seated as Slughorn had a chart written down in his office. Move back,now."

There was much grumbling as they all returned to their original tables. Harry avoided Susan's eye as Hannah Abbott got up from his seat to return to her own. When everyone was settled, Snape continued to berate them. "That will be five points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for each student who attempted to fool me. Be grateful that you can follow simple instructions, otherwise it would have been ten points each."

Harry had plenty of substitute teachers during his years at St. Greggs, so he was able to suss out which teachers were nice, which were strict, and which would make their time in the classroom as unpleasant as possible. Harry was still deciding if Snape was the second or the third when he began speaking again.

"I've had the displeasure of reading thorough Slughorn's lessons plans." His voice was so soft that even Harry, seated at the front row, had to lean forward to hear. "He was a soft teacher. He coddled you. Donot expectthe same from me. You will read ahead before every class. You will do prep before every class. Anyone with missing equipment, late homework or unprepared ingredients will immediately be given detention." His eyes swept over the room slowly, glaring at them one by one to let them know he was completely serious.

"Those who have given in their homework and succeeded in the practical work will be permitted to leave early. Those who are incapable of even meeting these low standards will be forced to attend remedial Potion classes I am enacting on Sundays, which will be taught by the prospective Potion Masters amongst the Seventh Years." He pointed his wand at the board and the recipe for the Sleeping Draught appeared. "Well? What are you all waiting for?"

Harry grimaced. It was clear that Snape was the fourth kind of substitute teacher. The type that didn't even like to teach.

Toward the end of the lesson, Snape left his desk to peruse the student's cauldrons and, unfortunately, Harry and Susan were first. Snape swooped in on Harry's cauldron as though he expected to find something to criticise, but he straightened up, disappointed, saying nothing. Harry withheld a relieved smile. While Potions wasn't his best subject, a year of hanging around Terry, Potion's Club and dedicated, repeated practice in his dorm were enough to counteract his lack of intuitive skill in the field.

Harry glanced up, still struggling to hold back his grin at the new Potion Master's tangible disappointment, but his desire to smile died when they made eye contact. Almost immediately, Harry felt the familiar touch of a Legilimency brush against his thoughts. He instantly averted his eyes back to his cauldron, trying not to let his sudden caginess show.

After Snape had examined Susan's cauldron, also finding nothing to criticise, Harry finally looked up from his Sleeping Draught. He turned to look at Snape, but he wasn't the only one, as the Potions Master was loudly berating Poppy Caxton at the next table for failing to prepare the Flobberworm mucus correctly. That wasn't a surprise as Poppy was rather terrible at Potions, but what was a surprise was how Susan reacted to this.

She was glaring at Snape with even more hatred than she usually directed at Harry and Michael. He doubted it was because of how he was treating Poppy, as Harry had seen Susan treat her friends far worse than Snape was currently doing, and he had never seen her act like anything but a teacher's pet to the staff, so what was her problem with him?

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For the remainder of April, Harry, Anthony and Terry made sure to visit Hagrid several times a week as he had slipped into a dark mood ever since Norbert "flew away". Feeling responsible for this, they tried to take care of him when he drank too much and stopped coming to meals. It was only his love of the other animals in his care, as well as the joy he took in sharing his appreciation for creatures of all shapes and sizes with students, that kept him waking up every morning.

Anthony was surprisingly unsympathetic to his plight. "I don't get it," he grumbled as they returned from Hagrid's house one evening before curfew came into effect. "I understand that he would miss it, but it's still just a Beast."

As Terry began to scold his brother in a strange reversal of their typical dynamic, Harry couldn't help but feel even more guilty. While the others may not know of Hagrid's lifelong desire to rear his own dragon, Harry certainly did. In fact, it was one of the first things Hagrid had told him about himself.

However, during their next visit on a sunny Saturday in early May, they found a surprise waiting for them when Hagrid opened his door. Instead of appearing like he had been forcefully dragged out of bed, as he had for the last couple of weeks, Hagrid looked back to his usual self, clean and dressed for the day. "Good morning, lads. Breakfast?" He asked, cheerful.

Harry was still reeling from what he was seeing as he answered. "Err…no thanks. We just had lunch."

Hagrid chuckled. "Is it that late already? Ah, I suppose that's what I get for staying up all night."

"What happened last night?" Terry asked as they were led to the sitting room.

"We found Norbert!" Hagrid cheered, crashing down onto his seat in front of the coffee table. There were bits of wood chips, a large knife and what looked like a flute scattered across its surface.

"Oh? Really?" Anthony did his best to look surprised, but Harry just thought it was a good thing that Hagrid had returned his focus to his whittling, otherwise, Anthony would have given the game away. "How? Where?" Even Terry looked embarrassed by his acting.

"I bumped into an old student of mine down at the Hog's Head. You might know him, Terry. Hector? He was mates with Callum back at school." Hagrid paused. "In fact, I think there both studying at the Magisterium together." He shook his head and continued. "He was visiting his girlfriend in Hogsmeade a few weeks ago, and they came across a baby Norwegian Ridgeback when they went for a hike up the mountains."

Terry gasped. "Really? Where's Norbert now then?"

"Hector called up Callum and they had Norbert transferred to the Magisterium." Hagrid beamed at them. "I've already been in touch with the Beast Guild, and they said I just need to sign up some documents before I can adopt him."

"That's really lucky Hagrid. I'm glad it all worked out." Harry smiled with all too real relief. He had been afraid that even Norbert's return wouldn't be enough to shake him out of his mood.

Hagrid chuckled again. "I just don't believe it. I was planning on doing all this myself, but Norbert goes and pulls it off all by himself!"

Harry froze. "What? Do what yourself?"

"You didn't think I was going to keep a dragon in my house without letting the Guild know, did you?" Hagrid shook his head. "No, I was gonna ask a favour from a few old students of mine to get it done properly, documents signed and everything. We were gonna pretend I never saw Norbert before adopting him, but it works out even better this way!"

Not long after, when Hagrid went to the kitchen to go get them some celebratory drinks, Anthony and Terry both turned to Harry. "I know! I know!" He could feel his face burning, as it had when they had both been trying to catch his eye while Hagrid had still been in the room. "There was never any point in us getting involved."

"I feel like such an idiot." Anthony groaned, tipping his head back against the chair's headrest to stare at the ceiling. "What a waste of time."

"I don't know about that." Terry shrugged. "How many kids get to call themselves dragon-smugglers? I thought it was quite fun." Before either of the other two could respond to that, Hagrid returned with their drinks. They had all come to a silent agreement to take this secret to their graves. No one wanted to make Hagrid angry, because aside from the fact that he was still their Professor, he was also nine feet tall and could crush them like bugs.

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On the second Saturday of May, the Hogwarts Quidditch final took place. The day was clear and sunny, with a pleasant breeze flowing through the stadium. It wouldn't be like the other matches Harry had played in. Those had taken place in winter, and it had taken a while for his body to warm up against the chilly wind. Today, under the bright sun and the cool warm air, Harry was confident that he was going to perform at his best today. Or at least he would have been if it weren't for the size of the crowd.

As the Ravenclaw Quidditch team stepped onto the pitch to meet their Slytherin counterparts in the middle of the stadium, Harry was disturbed to see the size of the crowd that had come out to watch the last game of the season. Every inch of the stands was packed with witches and wizards who all wanted to see the last Hogwarts match for five months, and they were already cheering and jeering as though the match was already in full swing.

Harry tried not to let his nerves get to him as he stopped at the centre line with the rest of the players. When the captains were made to shake hands, the trollish Seventh Year, Flint, attempted to crush Fiona's hand, but aside from her grip on her broom tightening, Harry didn't see her react in the least.

It was this that helped him find his focus by the time Professor Hooch asked them to mount their brooms and hover, twenty feet above the ground. His hands were sweaty within his gloves, but he remained impassive as the giant Slytherin players all glared menacingly at him.

When Hooch gave the signal to begin, Harry took off like a bat out of hell. As previously agreed, Maria and Andre covered his escape, not with Bludgers, by flying in front of the Slytherin players who made to slam into Harry the second the game started. Even the Keeper came after him instead of defending the hoops, which in turn gave Fiona, Rodger and Michael an easy first goal.

While the Slytherin Keeper finally flew towards the Slytherin goal line to take his place in front of the hoops, the Chasers and Beaters all returned to the centre line as Hooch returned the Quaffle into play, and Harry began his search for the Snitch being followed closely by his opposing Seeker, a Fifth Year named Terrance Higgs.

Higgs was unusually lean compared to his teammates, but he was in the same year as Myrose and Fredricks and an eager member of their gang, so Harry knew he was just as dangerous as the rest of his teammates. He proved this by how aggressive his style of play was.

While Harry was far faster than his opponent, Higgs was relentless in his pursuit of Harry. Instead of taking even a second to try and find the Snitch for himself, he devoted himself entirely to the effort of knocking Harry off his broomstick. This meant that Harry hardly had a few seconds every minute or so in which to search for the Snitch. He unknowingly fell into the pattern that the Slytherin team had designed for him.

While Harry was struggling with his search for the Snitch, he kept one ear on the commentary, wanting to remain aware of his team's standing and whether or not he should catch the Snitch (If he ever caught sight of the damn thing!). Lee's voice was coming through nicely, flowing strongly across the clear, open sky the players were flying in, but his words were dire.

"After an explosive start for the Ravenclaw team, the Slytherins have made a comeback, and they've done it quickly! Flint's aggressive tactics seem to be paying off for him for once this year as the newly appointed Fiona Wood just can't seem to pull her team together. Now that Corner is out of the running, how long can Ravenclaw last?"

Harry was horrified at the sound of this, and on his next turn through the pitch, he saw the score clearly in front of Lee's podium. 40-20 Slytherin, and from the sound of it, the score wasn't going to get any better. But what had happened to Michael? Even though it went against everything Fiona had warned him against, Harry knew he had to do something.

Signalling Maria as he flew past, Harry did another lap of the pitch, giving her time to prepare. When he came back around, slowing down enough to keep Higgs on his tail, Harry did his best to keep Maria hidden from Higgs’ perspective as she prepared to hit an incoming Bludger right at the Slytherin Seeker. Unfortunately, this was a trick that the Slytherin team was more than aware of, as they’d done something similar to the far more inexperienced Gryffindor Seeker.

Harry dived the exact moment Maria hit the Bludger at Higgs, but his opponent had already dropped ten feet, avoiding the Bludger entirely. Worse, the Slytherins seemed to have prepared a counter for this exact ploy. Flint had his Beater's bat at the ready so that when Higgs dodged the Bludger he was in the perfect position to hit it right at Harry's back. Perhaps it was the crowd's gasp, or even the dull sound the heavy leather Bludger made against the Beater's bat, but Harry rolled out of the way without looking, missing the Bludger by inches. This would have been good news if it hadn't clipped Maria right in the shoulder sending her into a spin.

Andre was busy defending the Chasers from Slytherin's other Beater, so Harry knew it was up to him to cover Maria's escape. Flying straight up, then upside down, and then back towards the grass, Harry completed a loop over Flint's head and as he turned to follow a presumed escaping Ravenclaw Seeker, he was surprised to find his prey flying right at him with great speed.

Harry had already been warned off trying to intimidate the Slytherin team, as they had the most aggressive style of play amongst all the school teams. Having a skinny little eleven-year-old flying past him would never make Flint flinch, but Harry didn't care about intimidating him. He’d caught Maria's eye as he was flying straight up a second ago, and he just knew they were on the same wavelength.

Steeling his nerve, Harry tensed as he deliberately collided with Flint's husky form at almost thirty miles an hour. Harry gritted his teeth as he felt a sharp pain down his right side at the moment of impact.

However, while he knew that the rest of the game was going to be a painful experience, he thought it might just be worth it as he heard Flint's breath leave his body, and it wasdefinitelyworth it to see Maria send a Bludger at the back of his head at near point-blank range as Harry kept him from fleeing. He felt a moment of savage triumph as Flint slipped off his broom and fell to the grassy pitch almost fifty feet below.

"Oh! That looked like it hurt! Flint and Higgs seemed to have caught onto Potter and Acardi's usual strategy of attacking the opposing Seeker first and planned accordingly, but the Ravenclaws made it work anyway. Higgs seems as surprised as anyone else to see his captain go down. Just goes to show that too much preparation can be a weakness. With the game being 50-20 Slytherin, and both teams being down a man, can Ravenclaw manage to even the score?"

Harry was planning to and, from the looks of things, so was Maria.

Slytherin seemed to be in disarray without their captain and main offensive force, and while Ravenclaw had only two Chasers, Fiona was flying better today than she ever had before. Her tackles and ability to steal the Quaffle had skyrocketed in this game compared to others and she was a force to be reckoned with.

Rodger, perhaps eager to prove himself a valuable member of the team, was cooperating beautifully with Fiona. Every pass, every tackle and every attempt at the goals was all done by working around her strengths and covering for her weaknesses. Harry suspected that he had been watching her carefully for a while now, either that or he was just an excellent adaptive player.

Harry had to take back all the uncharitable thoughts he had ever had about the Third Year. While he’d never said them out loud, he now felt bad for writing him off as just a pretty boy who skated by on his looks and popularity. It was clear that he wanted a permanent position on the team and was not unwilling to get roughed up and even lose a little personal glory in catering to Fiona's more sharpened skill.

Maria and Andre weren’t idle either. While Maria was flying a little slower than she normally did due to her injured shoulder, Andre was playing aggressively enough to cover for her and keep the Slytherins at a distance. When he had first joined the team, Harry had asked him why he would even bother trying out at the end of his last year at school.

"I spent seven years with my nose in a book and I ended up missing out on all the things I wanted to try when I first learned about magic," Andre said, in that tone of voice everyone used when they were using their own experience to advise someone younger from making the same mistakes. "I planned on playing Quidditch when I got here, and I'll be damned if I don't beat Slytherin now that I have the chance."

Harry smiled as they left the changing room for the pitch. "Got a grudge against someone?"

Andre snorted as they mounted their brooms. "I've had to share classes with Flint for seven years. He thinks me beating him in exam results is pointless, but I wonder if he'll keep talking down to Muggle-borns if I crush his dreams of going pro?” The wind drowned out Harry's laughter as they kicked off.

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw Andre force the remaining Slytherin Beater to flee from the Ravenclaw Chasers as he hit the Bludger right at his flank. Maria was hounding the three Slytherin Chasers to stop them from overwhelming Fiona and Rodger in the struggle for the Quaffle. In just a matter of minutes, the score inched closer as it turned 50-40 in favour of Slytherin. But while the rest of the Ravenclaw team seemed to be advancing, Harry was struggling.

Every time he paused or even slowed down enough to properly search for the Snitch, Higgs reminded him that he was on his tail. No matter what direction he flew in, no matter how long he took between pauses, Higgs was always there, relentlessly working to prevent Harry from looking for the Snitch.

Normally, Harry would fall back on his bag of practised tricks, but Higgs had already proven that his awareness of the wider game was better than both Cedric's and Cormac's. Any trick he pulled was just as likely to blow up in his face as his first trick with Maria almost had. But while Harry was so focused on trying to come up with a trick that Higgs would fall for, he forgot what House he was dealing with. Slytherins were even more underhanded and determined to win than he was on his worst day.

Harry hadn't realised that Higgs’ relentless chase was not just an attempt to stop him from capturing the Snitch, but it was a planned attack on the Slytherin's part, he just didn't realise it until it was too late. While his attention was divided between out-flying Higgs and keeping his eyes peeled for the Snitch, Harry hadn't noticed Slytherin's remaining Beater leave the Quaffle play. Not many people in the stadium did.

The Slytherin Chasers were playing rougher than ever, seemingly galvanised by the nearing half-time whistle, desperately trying to stop the Ravenclaw team from scoring and boosting their morale. Or at least that was what everyone thought. In actuality, they were just buying their remaining Beater enough time to get into position.

While Harry was taking another pause, hovering sixty feet in the air and keeping his head on a swivel for anything gold, Higgs made another desperate approach, flying in from above and forcing Harry to dive towards the grass. Far too late, Harry spotted the missing Beater flying up towards him from the ground, shepherding a Bludger upwards to meet him.

Eyes widening, Harry attempted to roll to the side, but Higgs predicted that. He was fast enough to catch up to Harry now that he had slowed down enough to roll out of the way, and Higgs came at him from the side and barged him back into the Bludger's path.

Harry saw a striking white light behind his closed eyes at the moment of impact, feeling the breath leave his body as the Bludger caught him in his chest, lifting him off his already diving broom, keeping him frozen in mid-air thirty feet off the ground for the briefest moments before it zoomed off, leaving him to fall back down to earth.

As the pitch grew nearer and nearer, Harry wondered if he was high up enough to black out at the moment of impact. In retrospect, he wished that he were.

Some instinct told him that landing directly on his face would be a bad idea for some reason, so he tried to hit the ground in a roll to soften his impact. This might have helped if his momentum was going to either side instead of directly downwards. When he hit the grass, he did so shoulder first, and could not stop himself from crying out in pain as he felt several things break all at once.

Looking back, he wasn't quite sure what happened next. One moment he was pressing his face against the soft grass, trying to distract himself with that small, pleasant sensation rather than focusing on the tidal wave of burning pain, and the next he was lying on a cot in the medical tent with Fiona sitting by his side.

The moment he comprehended what he was seeing, he sat up quickly, distantly noting the lack of pain his body should be in. "Tell me we didn't lose!" He asked her, unable to keep the panic from his voice. The idea of his last game of the season ending with him being knocked out and outwitted by a couple of moronic Quidditch players made him want to die of shame.

Fiona looked nonplussed. "What? No. You were only out of it for about five minutes,” she explained hurriedly. "It's only half-time. Are you good to play?" Harry rolled off of the cot, snatched up his broom and thanked Madame Pomfrey before heading for the exit. He ignored the school matron's dark mutters about children being both stupid and reckless as he turned his back to Fiona.

"You coming?" Shaking her head, but unable to hide her smile, Fiona hurried after him as they headed back to the Ravenclaw changing room.

"How did Michael get knocked out of the game?" Harry asked as they walked underneath the stands.

Fiona sighed. "He tried to take two of the Chasers on at the same time. Wedidget a goal out of it," she reasoned, "but I don't think it was worth losing one of our Chasers for almost an entire half." Harry caught her eye, but they both said nothing, even though they were alone. The entire team was treating Michael delicately after what had happened with Robert, but Harry suspected that sympathy would end if his newly returned bad attitude cost them a trophy.

After a brief break in the changing rooms, where Harry made sure to hydrate and stretch his newly healed but still tired body, his newfound good mood died as he caught a glimpse of the score as they headed for the centre line. 90-40 Slytherin. Harry gaped at the scoreboard for a moment before he turned to Marcus.

"What happened? I was only out for five minutes!"

Marcus glowered down at him. "I'm doing my best!" Harry flinched a little and Marcus seemed to remember himself. "Sorry," he muttered.

Harry awkwardly turned to face the incoming Slytherin team, pretending that his heart hadn’t leapt into his throat when Marcus snapped at him. Harry was still a little afraid that Marcus was as secretly evil as his boyfriend and had been avoiding him as a result. Marcus' deteriorating behaviour had done nothing to help his wariness, and even though they might not know that they had been in a relationship, everyone on the team knew that Robert and Marcus had been especially close, so they had been treating him just as delicately as Michael. As he looked again at the scoreboard, Harry wondered if Fiona regretted keeping them both on the team despite their poor performances. He certainly did.

When Hooch gave the signal for the second half to begin, Harry took off as fast as theNimbus 2000would allow. He didn't have the patience for any more tricks or clever team strategies. Not now when he was in the last half of the season. They had done their best to paper over the cracks in their new team's cooperation, and while it worked for a time, it wouldn't last. Truthfully, it had already blown up in Harry's face as he was taken out of the game for the first time all year. The Slytherin team was just too experienced at working together. They hadn't even replaced a single player in the last two years. What chance did the new, four-week-old Ravenclaw team have against that? It was like putting a baby eagle in a viper's nest; it was just going to get eaten.

All of this meant that Harry had to ignore the rest of the game, ignore the score, even ignore his teammates and catch the Snitch as quickly as possible. As such, Harry had to stop playing Higgs’ game and use his speed to his advantage. Harry pushed the broomstick to move at an intense speed, not his top speed, but just enough to keep Higgs at a distance as he kept his head on a swivel, flying through the pitch at varying heights, trying to catch even a glimpse of gold glinting off the sun.

Perhaps she knew what Harry had planned, or perhaps she was even more eager to win than he was, but Fiona had changed tact as she stopped taking the lead and instead did her best to support Michael in his offensive tackles and barges against the far larger Slytherin Chasers. She was either determined to keep the score from getting worse, or she just didn't want Michael to waste another half in the medic tent. Whichever it was, she was playing rougher than she had all year and the crowd seemed to notice as the Ravenclaw section cheered her on.

As for the two new players, they seemed to come into their own in the second half as they grew used to the rhythm of the game. Andre in particular, as he played a daring game of one-upmanship against Flint. The two seemed to be ignoring the game around them entirely as they traded a single Bludger back and forth, each trying to knock the other out of the sky. While Flint was both more practised and skilled as a Beater, Andre had both strength and determination on his side, as he returned each Bludger with enough force to make Flint falter. It was clear to those watching closely that there was bad blood between the two, as Flint seemed to visibly consider re-joining the wider match, but his desire to knock Andre off his broom won out.

Maria had her hands full, as the remaining Slytherin Beater seemed torn between helping his captain so that they could both return to the game and push back the Ravenclaw Chasers and stopping said Chasers from reaching the goal when they grabbed the Quaffle. Maria was flying back and forth after him, leaving the Chasers to their own devices so that she could press her opponent and keep him out of the Quaffle play.

Rodger seemed to have not just been watching Fiona's moves, but practising them for himself. More than once he took possession of the Quaffle that Michael and Fiona had won for him and flew them as quickly as he could to the Slytherin goals. However, he seemed to have watched her a littletooclosely, as he mimicked her feints twice in a row. While the first one nearly went in,justrebounding off the edge of the hoop, the second was easily caught by the Slytherin Keeper and quickly passed to his Chasers which Fiona and Michael had to chase down.

All of this meant that the score remained stubbornly at 90-40 Slytherin when Harry spotted the Snitch ten minutes into the second half.

The entire crowd seemed to hold its collective breath as Harry bolted upwards, after the Snitch that had flickered across his view of the sun for the briefest of moments. He flew upside down in three successive loop-de-loops as he followed his prey's path, eyes unmoving from its golden shell and fluttering wings as he focused on it with a single-minded determination. Somewhere in the distance, Higgs bellowed something, but Harry paid it no mind.

For Andre, Higgs' bellow couldn't have come at a better time. He was still unpractised when it came to repeatedly swinging a Beater's bat and his aim was suffering for it. He could see Flint's knowing smirk as his hits went wider and wider as Flint's remained steady. They both knew it was only a matter of time until Andre was forced to make a rough landing on the ground. Flint grew closer and closer, wanting to save his strength as he wore Andre down, but that was his folly.

When Higgs' bellowed, calling for help from his teammates, Flint, the good captain that he was, looked almost instinctively in his direction. Something jumped in Andre's chest, as he knew such a perfect opportunity would not present itself again. When Flint seemed to realise his mistake, he tried to evade it, but he was too late.

Andre swung from his hips, his batting arm almost fully extended as he put his whole upper body behind this single blow. With a great grunt, his bat hit the Bludger dead centre and it flew forward with more accuracy than he’d ever managed before, right into Flint's nose, just as he’d imagined doing for the last seven years. The only thing more satisfying than hearing the crunch of Flint’s nose breaking was the split second before when his eyes widened as his imminent loss registered in his mind. The sight of his foe falling out of the sky was just the cherry on top.

Taking a short moment to enjoy the sight of his hated bully hitting the ground with a painful thud, Andre quickly flew to join his fellow Beater in her defence of their team.

Maria spotted her opposing Beater fly to answer Higgs' desperate call but made no move to follow. Harry was more than capable of taking care of himself, or at least, he would have to be. If Ravenclaw didn't scoreright now, then they were in danger of a rematch against Hufflepuff for the Quidditch Cup. Playing against the best team in the whole school while their team was still such a hodgepodge was not a good idea for them. They needed to win all three matches this year to beat Hufflepuff's overall score.

Which meant scoring a goal before Harry could catch that damn Snitch.

As Maria flew towards them, Fiona knew that it was now or never. With both Beaters ganging up on their Slytherin Chasers and the remaining threats chasing her Seeker, they would never have a more golden opportunity than this moment right now. Michael led the charge against the Slytherins as he had all half, which had been good then, but now that they had their Beaters back, he was only getting in the way. This reaffirmed her decision to make the final run with Rodger instead. He didn't have Michael's natural talent for the game, or even the refined skill every Chaser should have, but he had shown he could work well with her and, more importantly, he could follow orders.

Giving Rodger the signal, Fiona snatched the Quaffle from the Chaser that was so distracted from a rampaging Michael and made her approach to the Slytherin goals at top speed, with Rodger following in her wake. The two Chasers that weren't occupied with Michael were being forcibly held back by Andre and Maria, neither of them wanting to leave the tiny advantage that they had found themselves with.

Fiona neared the hoops in an instant and she could see that the Slytherin Keeper had his eye on the Quaffle instead of her throwing form. Her reputation for favouring feints was preceding her and for once she was glad. When she first noticed Michael's change in behaviour, she told Rodger what to expect during practice and reiterated it during half-time. She approached the hoops from a slightly greater height than she normally did and got closer than she should.

Fiona was close enough to see the disbelieving smile grow on the Slytherin Keeper's face as she flew within arm's reach. He could, quite easily, take the Quaffle from her due to their difference in size, but she was more than aware of that. When he flew up to meet her, she dropped the Quaffle without even looking. From the look on the Keeper's face, he had thought that she had fumbled at the last hurdle, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Rodger had flown down when she had given him the signal, flying close to the grass, and flying upwards when he neared the hoops. All this took trust that they hadn't had time to build between each other, but they didn't have any other choice. Still, whether it was luck or simply good teamwork, Rodger had gotten into the right position to not only catch the Quaffle that she had purposely dropped but was far enough away from the Keeper to throw it right into the furthest hoop before he could even realise what had happened.

The score was 90-50 Slytherin, which was good, as Harry was nearing the Snitch.

For someone with a desperate Seeker and burly Beater on his tail, Harry was surprisingly calm. Neither one of them was fast enough to catch up to him and the Snitch had already been within Harry's reach twice during the chase. Each time, however, he had hesitated as he didn't want to be the reason Ravenclaw lost their best chance at the Quidditch Cup in years. So, it was something of a blessing when he heard Lee announce the new score.

90-50?Harry thought amazed, as he picked up his speed, now desperately trying to reach the Snitch.How'd they pull that one off?Unknowingly, Harry's lack of teamwork in his final hunt for the Snitch led to a chain of events that was the best teamwork the Ravenclaw team had done all year.

Harry didn't think about that now though, as he rapidly turned his broom in a one-eighty, trying to maintain as much speed as he could while he closed the gap between himself and the Snitch. Unfortunately, this put him in the path of both Higgs' and the remaining Beater.

Ducking under Higgs' attempt at a clothesline, Harry was temporarily blinded to the Bludger that had been sent his way. There was no time to dodge, only to grip his broom tighter than he ever had before and fold himself as flatly against it as he could.

The Bludger scraped against his back as it passed and even through his jersey, the leather left the burn of friction against his skin. Somehow, he remained steady on his broom. Which was fortunate, as the same moment he looked up was the same moment the Snitch ducked out of sight.

Eyes tracking every beat of its wings, Harry effortlessly spotted it heading straight down towards the grass and he dived after it, eager to finish this. No matter where it turned, Harry followed it doggedly, and he got closer to it with each passing second. As they flew towards the teacher's stands at nearly fifty miles an hour, neither Harry nor the Snitch slowed down.

At that moment, Harry was wholly absorbed in this game of chicken with an enchanted bit of metal. He didn’t care if he crashed into Professor Dumbledore in front of half of Wizarding Britain, as long as hecaught that damn Snitch.

Harry would be the first to say that he was too competitive, but only so he could brag that he had said it first.

Fortuitously, the Snitch seemed to have a better sense of self-preservation than he did, as it slowed down before it hit the teachers, probably so it could change directions, but Harry didn't give it the chance.

He extended his right arm and pulled the broom upwards with his left. Harry felt the fluttering wings and cool shell of the Snitch against his fingers at the same moment he heard the gasps and sounds of fright come from the teachers beneath him.

As flew out of the stadium, too fast to slow down before then, he couldn't help but fear that his little manoeuvre had turned some of the teachers against him. That would be a shame as final exams were only two weeks away, and he didn't want his place at the top of his year to be jeopardised.

Seriously, no one was more aware that Harry was too competitive than he was himself. No one.

Harry flew back down to the pitch, only to be greeted, mid-air, by his ecstatic teammates. Fiona, Maria, Rodger and even the usually calm and collected Andre were all screaming and crying like it was the best moment of their lives. Harry couldn't blame them, as he was feeling overwhelmed himself.

Ravenclaw House came out onto the pitch in droves, lifting their Quidditch heroes into the air as they chanted their names over and over. A beaming Professor Flitwick had to levitate the gleaming, silver Quidditch Cup towards them, and Harry, being the closest, caught it and lifted it over his head in triumph.

As the crowd roared, Harry took a deep breath and savoured his victory. After a lifetime of monotony and quiet disappointment in his tedious suburban existence, he knew that this surreal moment of success would stick with him forever.

He was on top of the world.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The party in Ravenclaw Tower that night was legendary.

Upbeat music played throughout the tower, and students were dancing all over the common room. The invisible ceiling, which revealed the darkening sky, was made only more magnificent by the fireworks that Maria let off, showering the students with harmless sparks and shading the room with all the colours of the rainbow. The wide windows had to be opened to clear out the smoke and the sounds from their party echoed out across the castle and its grounds all night long. Unlike last time, Professor Flitwick never came to reprimand them, as he was most likely too pleased with the idea of his house holding the Quidditch Cup for the first time in nine years.

Every Ravenclaw was ecstatic with the idea of victory being theirs. After years of being brushed aside as the House filled with socially deficient weirdos and absent-minded intellectuals, the House of the Wise was now a step closer to being considered an equal adversary to the other three.

Or at least that was how everyone else was acting, as Harry observed the wild shenanigans of his housemates from his seat of glory, the comfy armchair by the fireplace.

Harry was being treated as the hero of the hour. Everything he desired, from the most comfortable seats to be given to him and his friends, to his favourite food and drink being brought right to his hand, was done without him even needing to open his mouth. Best of all, and unlike the last party, Harry was not forced to speak with students he barely knew and recount the match that they had already seen, as the newest players, Andre and Rodger were more than happy to soak in the attention.

Harry could see Andre by the windows, retelling his triumph over Flint for the fifth time to uproarious laughter, and Rodger was ignoring one of Maria's friends by the drinks table, trying to get Fiona's attention. Harry covered his smirk with another sip of his pineapple and cherry syrup drink. He couldn't tell if Fiona had noticed or not, but Harry had an inkling that their newest Chaser had something other than Quaffles on his mind when he looked at her.

Honestly, the only thing that could have made this any better was if Michael had been here to enjoy it with them. However, his best friend was conspicuously absent, as Harry was surrounded by every other Ravenclaw First Year, all of them joining him by the fireplace to celebrate with him.

Even Terry, who had a still unexplained vendetta against flying, was suffering through the endless conversations about it without a single complaint, just as happy as everyone else was with Ravenclaw's win. Amanda hadn't shied away either, not hiding in her dormitory as she always did when the common room became too crowded. She had even made it a point to congratulate Harry personally instead of having Su do it for her. He could guess how hard it was for her, as her face looked as pale as the Grey Lady's, and he sincerely appreciated the effort.

Now, as he was finishing his second drink and Anthony was threatening to finally reveal why his brother loathed broomsticks, Harry felt greedy in wanting Michael here as well. But he was worried about him, as he hadn't seen him since the match concluded hours ago. Harry wasn’t certain if Michael had been with them on the pitch when they’d been celebrating, but he was certain that he hadn't been in the changing rooms when the celebration finally ended. No one had caught sight of him in the tower either- Harry had asked upon his return- and he had kept an eye on the door, waiting with increasing anxiety for Michael's return.

As the sky turned from dark blue to black, Harry feared that something horrible had happened again. he got to his feet. "I'll be right back," he told his friends, as he headed to the seats by the stairs where the Third Years were hanging out. Maria caught sight of his approach as he drew near and broke away from her friends to meet him halfway. She must have seen the serious expression on his face because she didn't even make a joke as she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Michael's not back yet, and no one's seen him since the match ended." Harry didn't waste any time. "I need The Map." He hoped she still had it, as she was the last person to make use of it. Something about snacks for a late-night study session with Lee.

It was a mark of how much Eddie's suspension had affected her, as she didn't even tease him about being a worrier as she would have a month ago. "Wait here." Maria darted up the stairs towards the girl's dormitories, leaving Harry to wait awkwardly by the door, knowing he couldn't follow without his Invisibility Cloak. Thankfully, she returned in no time at all, an already wiped Map in her hand.

"He's in the kitchens, I've already checked." Maria handed The Map over to him. "He's alone. Are you going to him?"

Harry nodded. "I know he's been in a mood with me since what went down in the forest, but it's past time we buried the hatchet." Maria nodded and headed back towards her friends. As he started for the exit, he could hear her friends asking what he wanted.

"Oh, just some Charms notes from First Year." Maria lied, her eye-roll practically audible. "You know how overzealous firsties can get."

Annoyed at both their chuckles and how believable the lie was, Harry left the common room in a bit of a huff. Outside, there were two older students at the top of the winding staircase, a couple who had probably been looking for privacy before promptly giving up. Grimacing, he averted his eyes and carefully made his way around as he was afraid of disturbing them. The only thing worse than walking in on a fornicating couple was attracting the attention of said fornicating couple. Having made his way onto the staircase without notice, Harry took a deep breath. Now he could scrub that memory clean from his mind without anyone giving him any awkward reminders.

Away from the tower and in the empty corridors of the school, Harry relished the feeling of cool air against his skin as he made his way down to the kitchens. He’d failed to realise it when he was in there, but all the dancing had made the common room unreasonably hot, and even though he’d removed and tied his flannel shirt around his waist, there was a thin layer of perspiration that had made even his thin t-shirt stick to him uncomfortably. But now that he was outside of the tower, the early summer air felt wondrous on his skin. He quickened his pace, wanting the Automatons to serve him a cool drink when he and Michael were finished making their peace.

Activating The Map, Harry was momentarily glad to see that Michael’s label still hadn't moved from the kitchens, until he saw that another label markedSusan Boneshad now joined his. Susan's label was restless, moving back and forth, while Michael's was sedentary, seemingly frozen in his favourite spot near the ovens where the smell of baking food was the strongest. Fearing the worst, Harry broke out into a run, headed for the school's basem*nts as quickly as he could.

A glance at his watch told him it was long past WOMBAT curfew, but all teachers were in their quarters, apparently coming to a unanimous agreement to give Ravenclaw their night of triumph. He had nothing to fear except for Filch and his cat, but they were busy patrolling the dungeons outside the Slytherin common room, perhaps wary of some kind of reprisal towards Ravenclaw. Either that or he was just hoping some moronic Slytherin player or supporter would be morose enough to sneak out for a midnight snack (or drink) on the night of their defeat. Whatever the reason, it left Harry free to run as fast as he could through the school with only paintings and ghosts to scold him as he sprinted past.

Since he and his friends had been initiated into The Marauders, Harry had grown familiar with the route to the kitchens, the wide staircase leading to the basem*nts, the broad stone corridor whose walls were all covered in art and, especially, the obnoxiously large painting of a bowl of fruit. Stopping in front of the said painting, Harry took a moment to catch his breath. He was already disgustingly sweaty, so he didn't want to show any other kind of vulnerability in front of Susan Bones either. She found ways to cut him down whenever he was anything other than optimal and he didn't want to give her free ammunition.

Breathing steadily again, Harry tickled the pear (which let out an absurd giggle) and turned the doorknob it turned into. Stepping through the opening, the first thing Harry noticed wasn't the giant room or the five tables perfectly mirroring the positions of the seating arrangement in the Great Hall directly above or even the dozens of Automatons working ceaselessly near the stoves and ovens against the far wall. No, the first thing he noticed was the sharp words Susan was directing at a frozen Michael's face.

"-I mean did Ravenclaw even need you? They certainly didn't need Hillard," Susan was saying. She was standing, pacing back and forth in front of her half-brother. Her back was turned to him so he couldn't see her expression, only Michael's, and he looked stubbornly stoic, but Harry could see his hands shake even from this distance and Susan seemed to have caught it too, as she stopped walking and doubled down on her last remark.

"What did he say to you? When you went to visit him? Oh, don't pretend," she laughed as Michael began to deny her statement, "my aunt told me you went with Hillard's parents. Did he tell you he was sorry? That he was under someone else's control? That's what all Dark Wizards say."

Michael spoke for the first time, hotly defending his brother. "Robert is not a Dark Wizard!"

Susan recoiled, seemingly surprised that Michael had finally snapped back at her. It took her a moment to gather herself, but before she could say anything else, Harry spoke up. "Oi! Bones!" Susan whirled around, only to find Harry's wand pointed at her face. "Oscausi!"Harry said lazily, flicking his wand carelessly at her. She gave a muffled screech as her lips were covered by a thin layer of skin and made to swipe at him. "I wouldn't if I were you." He warned her dangerously. "I've got a wand pointed right at you and I doubt someone ofyourclass ranking would be capable of silent casting."

Susan's blue eyes flashed, and for a moment Harry was sure that she was going to disregard her clear disadvantage and attack him anyway. However, her sense of self-preservation persevered, and she carefully made her way around him, walking backwards as though afraid he would attack her if she turned her back to him. He wouldn't of course. Not unless he was the one at a clear disadvantage. The moment the back of her foot hit the portrait hole, she quickly turned and made her escape. Judging by her haste, she was planning on returning with a Prefect or worse, her Head of House.

"Come on, we better make our escape," Harry told Michael. "We don't want to be here if she comes back with Sprout in tow." The Head of Hufflepuff was the sweetest teacher in school, but she wasnotoriously protective of her students. However, Michael seemed less concerned with the possibility of another Saturday Detention than he was with Harry's appearance in the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, as though the kitchens weren't restricted toallstudents.

"Looking for you," Harry said calmly, not wanting to begin their reconciliation by matching Michael's hostile tone. "I haven't seen you since the match ended, and I was getting worried."

"I don't need your help! I've never needed your help!" Rather than match Harry's serene attitude, Michael's voice only got louder. "You always keep putting your nose where it isn't needed, and you always end up making things worse!"

"What?!" Harry's cool façade was thrown out the window. "I saved you from that Troll. Eliza and I saved you and Eddie in the forest. When have I ever made things worse?"

"Robert was undercover!" Michael's face had turned red as he screamed at Harry. Both his fists were clenched, and Harry kept a close eye on them, wary of a physical attack. "He's been interning with the DMLE Prosecutor Office since he was a Third Year. He found out about Slughorn, about his debts, his secret Dark Arts club, and he told the Custodian Chief about it." His breathing was deep and erratic as he struggled to explain things through his rage. "The Chief was an old favourite of Slughorn's, so he just brushed it under the carpet, but a high-ranking Officer heard about it and asked him to go undercover."

Harry kept his doubt off of his face as he asked, "So why hasn't he been released yet?"

Michael threw his arms out wide. "The Officer denied any involvement. Robert thinks he wanted a career-defining case, but now that The Boy-Who-Lived came along and saved the day, all that's left is blame and he wants nothing to do with it. Not without the glory."

"Why doesn't Robert show any of the communication between them? That could exonerate him, couldn't it?"

"There isn't any. They met during Hogsmeade weekends for weekly reports." Harry opened his mouth to point out the obvious, but before he could say a word, Michael hastily continued. "And no one saw them meet up either. They were incredibly careful."

Harry doubted any of this was true. Not only because he’d been a spy in the same group and had made sure that nothing but Slughorn's word could connect him to The Silver Spears, but because he’d also had his Invisibility Cloak on hand for a hasty escape should they ever be caught mid-meeting. This was on top of the fact he and Eliza had agreed to corroborate their stories, just in case Quirrell tried to implicate either one of them. Two kids being pressured to join an illicit group by a teacher who had a vendetta against another made for a better story than two bright students not knowing that the unsanctioned practice of the Dark Arts was illegal.

The idea that someone as intelligent as Robert not considering a similarly cautious approach was unbelievable to Harry. However, what truly made this story so hard for him to believe was the fight in the forest. He’d only sent a Body-Bind-Curse at Michael, sure, but he’d almost killed Harry more than once that night. He was willing to forgive their duel in The Silver Spear's little arena, but he couldn't forgive everything that had happened in the Forbidden Forest. It was just too much.

Michael must have seen the doubt on his face because he raised his voice again. "Eddie and I would have been fine without you! Robert's contact, the Officer, was waiting to rescue us!"

"Do you hear yourself?" Harry didn't bother keeping the derision out of his voice. "You two idiots would have been dead in a trunk if it wasn't for me!"

"Everything you touch goes straight toBedlam! I would've avoided that Troll entirely if you'd just minded your own business and left me with the Mirror of Erised!" Michael was still shouting, but his voice seemed less hysterical now, as though he’d thought on this matter for a long time and was just now getting around to saying them. "Because you ruined Robert's plan, Eddie's dad is pressing charges against him. His solicitor thinks he'll onlyget six years because he's still a minor." His voice scoffed at the word "only". "You even hurt Hagrid when you stole his dragon! If you had just minded your own businesseverythingwould have been fine!"

"You didn't say anything before. How the hell was I supposed to know you thought it was a bad idea?" Harry said this without heat, as he was beginning to wonder why he even wanted to salvage his friendship with this whinging child.

"Because I didn't want to be left out!" Michael admitted, running his hands through his hair, frustrated. "You get these crazy ideas and the rest of us just get swept up in them. Haven’t you noticed? None of us can say no to you, not really. You always manage to talk Anthony into agreeing with you, even when he thinks it's a bad idea. And Terry would agree to anything as long as it isn't boring." His shoulders slumped as he continued in a quieter voice. "I just wanted to be included. For once in my life."

There was a long stretch of silence as each boy stood facing the other, but steadfastly avoiding eye contact. The Automatons- even though they had been enchanted to hear and comprehend human speech- continued with their labour as though they were politely giving the students arguing in their midst some semblance of privacy.

Harry wasn't sure how long they both would have stood there in their shared sullen silence, but the stillness was shattered by the opening of the portrait door. Michael whirled around, only to be faced with a furious Professor Sprout leading in a smug Susan Bones. Her malicious grin made it clear that her Head of House had freed her from Harry's curse and that she had just snitched on them.

Sprout laid down the law before she even had two feet in the room. "Michael Corner! I am absolutely disgusted with your behaviour! Out of bounds? Breaking curfew? Cursing another student?" She drew herself up to her full (but not all that substantial) height. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Michael's eyes were wide. "I didn't curse her! It was-" he turned to face Harry, only to be met with empty air.

Hidden underneath his trusty Invisibility Cloak, Harry walked out of the kitchens, but only after grabbing himself that cool drink he had wanted. As he slipped through the still-closing door, he saw Sprout turn to Susan. "Susan? Was it Michael who cursed you?"

Susan's eyes had been flitting all over the room since her arrival, trying to spot if Harry was still here, but as this chance to make Michael's life even harder presented itself, she made full use of it. "Yes, of course. You know about our shared history, Professor." The door closed before Harry could hear if Michael had responded to this, but Harry was willing to bet he hadn't. He was spineless when it came to his sister.

Normally, Harry would have gone out of his way to stop one of his friends from getting into trouble, especially if that trouble were caused by him. However, it was made painfully clear to him this evening that he and Michael were anything but friends.

Harry walked back to Ravenclaw Tower alone, leaving Michael to save himself. Just like he wanted.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Normally, the end of a friendship would dominate Harry's mind for much of the foreseeable future. It had only happened once before, but Harry remembered feeling sad for weeks after Sara Bridger had stopped speaking to him, while Michael's attitude had left a far lesser impact.

Perhaps it was because her hurtful rejection had left him feeling like more of an aberration than he already did in a town of aching dullness, while Michael's distance had only left him feeling cold disdain for the boy's attitude. This was despite their friendship far outlasting the one he had with Sara, and Michael's understandable defence of his older brother. Harry just couldn't sit back and let someone pin the blame on him, especially when the person being defended was so clearly in the wrong, and Robert couldn’t have made it more clear that he had been in the wrong.

Another reason, and a more pressing one in his mind, was the run-up to end-of-year exams. It was difficult to spend any energy thinking about Michael when he was spending it all on his revision. The lack of Quidditch training made things far easier too, as it freed up more time he could spend in clubs, soaking in the advice of teachers and older students for the upcoming tests.

Also, his recent victory over Slytherin came in handy, as he and his friends were given priority seating in the study area by older students still on a high over the Quidditch Cup gleaming brightly on the mantelpiece. This came in useful after curfew, as late-night study sessions became the norm for every First Year but Michael, who holed himself away in his dormitory whenever he wasn't in class.

In no time at all, the first Monday of June arrived, and with it, exam week. Nervous breakdowns became alarmingly mundane among the Second, Fifth and Seventh Years as exam week loomed, and students being taken to the Hospital Wing for a swig of Draught of Peace was now a common sight. While this worried most First Years about their distant academic futures, Terry was unsympathetic to their plight.

"So dramatic," he muttered as a Second Year boy had to be led away by Penny after throwing a tantrum in the common room. "If you ever see me freak out over an exam, just know that I've been replaced with an imposter."

"If I ever see you freak out about an exam, I'll know the apocalypse has arrived," Anthony replied, returning to his Astronomy notes.

Before the Easter Holiday, Harry would have been nervous over the practical portion of the exam, but his duel against Robert seemed to have changed things for him. His mastery over his blackthorn wand had improved significantly, finally closing the gap between him and his classmates. It would have been impossible to tell who had an easier time casting spells on the first try if Harry hadn't been paying such close attention to other students' spell work since the beginning of the year. Now, whenever they practised their spells, Harry could see that he far outstripped his peers in both power and accuracy. He tried not to feel too proud of himself, at least where other people could see him. It would be weird if someone saw him pat himself on the back.

In the forest, the only self-realisation Harry had about himself was that he enjoyed fighting, particularly in a real-life and death situation where he was putting everything on the line without holding back. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but his wand had thrummed ever-so-slightly when he made the silent resolution to stand his ground before burning with warmth when he followed through, almost as though it were encouraging him. The sensation had been intoxicating, causing him to grin mid-fight. Was it any wonder he had almost immediately lost when he allowed that feeling to get to his head?

Still, even now that he was aware of the kind of risk it could pose, he was excited by how much further his wand could take him. Now that he was nearing the level of acceptance that his friends had with their wands, he had to know how strong the connection between wand and caster could become. Ollivander had promised that blackthorn wands could reach heights other wands couldn’t and Harry couldn’t wait to explore that territory of power. It would be an excellent tool to have in his arsenal, one that he needed to reach the goal he had privately set for himself.

His newfound accuracy was shown in full effect during his first practical exam. Still running high off the confidence he felt at the ease of the theoretical portion, Harry had to stop himself from swaggering into the Transfiguration classroom when Professor McGonagall called his name. Stopping in front of her desk, Harry awaited her instruction, observing the caged white mouse in the meantime.

"Mr Potter, please turn this mouse into a snuffbox," McGonagall instructed, as she gestured to the caged little creature.

It was an ostensibly simple request, to change one object into another of a similar size but a different shape. They had been doing it since March after all, but this was different. This was not an object, but a living creature. They had only begun to work with live animals since the beginning of May and Harry had Quidditch on his mind at the time. If circ*mstances were a little different, Harry would have had to stop himself from glaring up at McGonagall as he struggled to do his best. But circ*mstancesweredifferent.

Certain of his ability, Harry pointed his wand right at its tiny white flank. "Venusto!"As he traced his wand along the creature's body, it began to turn into a solid walnut snuffbox, just like one that he had noticed several times atThe Authoritative Pawnbrokersas a child. Harry drew from that memory and was immensely pleased by the results. The wood was glossy and scratch-free and on the lid, there was an intricate design; a stag with lilies on the antlers with an inscription written underneath:

Quod in te est, prome.

Harry lowered his wand with a smile, satisfied with how well his wand worked for him now. There was virtually no struggle. While the transformation was not as quick as he would have hoped, there was more detail than could be expected of a First Year, and there was not a single trace of the mouse left in his finished transfiguration. Pleased, Harry glanced up at McGonagall, only to lean back at her uncharacteristic smile. If she noticed, she didn't let on.

"Well done, Mr Potter. This is excellent work." She praised him. Harry smiled back at her, happy to take a compliment when he felt it was deserved.

His other exams followed a similar fashion. True to Terry's prediction at the beginning of the year, Harry was now running circles around the rest of his classmates. Well, he didn't know that for sure but judging by the pleasant reactions all his teachers had, very few others could compare to him.

In Charms, Flitwick had asked him to make a pineapple dance, and Harry, remembering one of Sara's ballet practices he had been made to watch, enchanted his pineapple dance the parts he could remember. He thought a pineapple twirling like a ballerina without legs was an odd sight, but it was enough to make Flitwick break out in applause. He was still applauding when Harry opened the door to leave, making the students who were still waiting for their turn more nervous than they’d been before he’d entered.

As he passed a pale Lisa on her way into the classroom, Harry tried to bolster her confidence by giving her a reassuring pat on the arm. She must have been more worried than he thought because she jumped the second he touched her before hurrying into the room, slamming the door closed behind her. Harry stared a the closed door for a second, wondering what her problem was before shrugging. At least the action brought a little colour back to her face.

After that came Potions, which might have been difficult, especially with Snape so eager to make things harder than they had to be for his students. However, his dismissal of Slughorn's notes had backfired on him, as he tested them on the Forgetfulness Potion; the same potion Slughorn had tested them on at the end of their second term just over two months ago.

When Snape made the announcement, Harry could feel the atmosphere shift, as many were overjoyed and many more were cautious of this being some kind of trick. Harry did his best not to look around and give the game away, but judging by Snape's sudden stiffening, he had caught on to his error through the use of Legilimency. He remained frozen like that for a long moment, torn between admitting his mistake to the class or continuing as though he still held all the power. In the end, mercifully, his pride won out and he asked them to begin brewing.

Harry left the classroom as satisfied as the rest of his classmates, all of whom were certain that they had passed at least one exam now. Harry tried not to laugh at Snape as he left the room, but it was a near thing. The sight of the Potions Master looking frustrated as he peered into every student's vial of Forgetfulness Potion, each as flawless as the last, made for a funny sight.

The only one that was upset was Terry. "That was too easy the first time around, but the second? I could have done that in my sleep." He tutted. "I know Slughorn turned out to be a nutter, but at least he pushed us, you know?" They were all in too good a mood to correct him on that one.

In Herbology, they were asked to repot a Puffapod without losing control of its spores. This was especially difficult as Puffapods were sensitive to magic, so they had to complete this task by hand, with Professor Sprout watching their progress carefully. Its spores flowered almost instantaneously when they came into contact with solid objects, which made them good for the defence of one's home. But their real use was in antidotes, which made their spores so irritating to Potion Masters. As such, Herbologists such as Professor Sprout harvested them for a fee.

Harry let out a relieved breath when he completed the assigned task in good time without losing control of even a single spore. Sprout seemed to agree too, as she congratulated him before sending him on his way.

History of Magic had to be the easiest of all. Harry was certain he could have scraped an Acceptable before he’d even set foot in Hogwarts, given how much reading he had done last summer. They were questioned on the First Great Wizarding War, the founding of the International Confederation of Wizards and how that had led to the Second Great Wizarding War twenty years later.

Harry was momentarily torn, wondering if he would be rewarded or punished for including the context that he’d gleaned from the journal Quirrell had loaned him, before deciding he was better off just ignoring it for now. Professor Archibald was a by-the-book kind of teacher, and he would not appreciate Harry's deviation from the assigned texts unless he could cite his sources. A few pieces of ancient parchment weren't going to cut it with him, so Harry didn't bother.

In Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid assigned them a task, just as he would for any given lesson. However, this time, he didn’t give them any kind of instruction, only telling them to keep their individually assigned Diricrawls safe and alive by the end of the afternoon. From lunch until dinner, they had to keep their creatures alive, healthy and well-fed. This wouldn't be all that difficult if it weren't for the fact that Diricrawls could disappear and reappear somewhere else at will.

When his own Diricrawl vanished from his assigned enclosure, Harry swallowed his panic. Instead of worrying, he followed the simple instructions Hagrid had repeated often throughout the year, no matter what creature they were studying.Always lure them in with good food and a comfortable den.While Diricrawls had nests and not dens, the advice still worked.

Harry hurried to the food stores, returning quickly with as much fish as he could levitate. Dumping it all in the corner, he then did his best to make the barren, indoor enclosure as alluring as possible for a magical bird. Using Severing and Levitating Charms on the grass and branches outside, Harry created an adequate nest for the Diricrawl, but he didn't stop there.

"Tempestas Mutato!"While he tried his best, his Atmospheric Charm was nowhere near the level the NEWT students were capable of in Charms Club but considering that he’d only practised the spell a few times with Tonks for fun, he thought the result was pretty good.

When Hagrid slid the enclosure's door open four hours later, he found Harry sitting cross-legged on the ground with his Arithmancy notes spread out on his lap, while the Diricrawl slept soundly in its new nest. It was taking a pleasant nap after all the fish it had eaten, and the environment of the room reflected the warm, humid air of its natural habitat. Hagrid's proud smile was all he needed to see to know that he had passed another exam with flying colours, which made the scent of hot fish that had sunk into his skin so worth it.

Their Astronomy exam took place at midnight, at the top of the Astronomy Tower, with the roof open to observe the heavens above them. Professor Sinistra asked them to complete a detailed chart of that night's sky and to make comprehensive notes of which Esoteric Arts would be most affected on that particular night.

Harry carefully wrote down the effects a new moon could have on potion brewing, as elixirs that required a month to stew and mature were best started on the night of the new moon for heightened potency. Mars was visible in the night sky, which was good for anyone engaging in the Dark Arts, and Venus' appearance would only add to the impact love potions and the Mind Arts would have.

After pausing, Harry added a Divination spin, even though it quite pained him to do so. Both Venus and Mars being plainly visible on the same night was meant to be bring bad luck to couples, and wedding ceremonies tended to be avoided by the most superstitious of wizards and witches. Harry felt ashamed of himself for even writing that, but he wanted to be as thorough as possible. Sinistra had asked for the impact the celestial movements could have on all the Esoteric Arts and Divination was a branch of the Mind Arts, however fragile that branch may be.

Harry's shame continued the next day as he sat in the incense-heavy classroom at the very top of the North Tower, opposite Professor Trelawney as she asked him to predict his own future from the dregs of the bitter tea that she’d made him drink. While he knew enough from the textbook on how to get an Outstanding on the theory portion, he was wary of being marked for his practical work for the first time. Hiding his resentment at what an incredible waste of time this class was, Harry stared impassively at the sludge at the bottom of his teacup.

"I see a shadowy future," Harry began ominously, "betrayals and broken bonds." He continued to describe, as vaguely as possible of course, a grim future for himself. By the time he was finished, Trelawney seemed captivated by the story he was weaving. She sent him on his way, claiming that he possessed the gift. If she weren't such a clear fraud, Harry would be worried about the tragedy that was his predicted future.

For the Arithmancy exam, Professor Vector asked them to analyse the foundations of theoretical magic. Essentially, they had to use the predictive qualities of Numerology to determine if their chosen theoretical potion, spell or runic complex would succeed or fail.

Harry had chosen the theoretical Martial Spell, as Defence Against the Dark Arts was his best subject, and determined, almost immediately, that it wouldn't work. He did it so fast that he was almost afraid that he’d missed something obvious, but after carefully going over his work four times in a row and getting the same answer, Harry knew that he had not. After carefully showing his work, he handed in his exam and packed his things before leaving the examination room. He was the first to do so after Anthony. While Harry was no slouch with numbers, Anthony outstripped him in this particular subject.

He also outstripped him in Runes. While Harry was still carefully going over his carving, Anthony was already packing away his things. Harry quickly squashed his desire to compete, if only temporarily, just so he could give his work all his focus. He couldn't afford to make a mistake at this juncture.

Professor Babbling instructed them to design a simple (her words) seven-symbol Runic Complex Artifice. Harry had taken a padlock from the many items Babbling presented them with and began to design himself a lock that would repel the Dursleys from his bedroom.

After using theTenmoCharm to carve the necessary Runes, Harry proceeded to charge it with his own Mana. Professor Babbling quickly came over to watch, and even though this made Harry feel as though he had made some kind of mistake along the way, he continued without taking his eyes off the lock, afraid of the repercussions if he allowed himself to become distracted.

Harry let out a breath as he saw the Runes turn black, a sign that they were now operational. It was not a true Artifice, as those could run independently of their creator and did not require a tune-up, or repeated doses of Mana, but this was what WOMBAT students were taught. Harry thought he had done a good job and Babbling agreed as she took the lock from his hands and began examining it for herself. He was fascinated by the way she examined it with her fingers, eyes and even her ears, instead of using the detection spells that she had taught them. This was a technique that he had only ever observed Masters use.

"Well done," she said, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the other students. "This is safe for personal use if you would like to keep it?" For a moment, he feared a trap. Harry had enchanted it with a Muggle-Repelling Charm, and it was no secret that he lived with Muggles. Still, judging by Babbling's air of ambivalence, she truly didn't care what he used it for.

Harry smiled and he took it back gratefully. "Thanks Professor." He was smiling as he left the room, silently thanking teachers everywhere who were uninvested in what their students got up to outside of the classroom.

For the Healing exam, students needed to demonstrate their skill on the wounded animals that Professor Jones had once again borrowed from the nearest Muggle veterinarian. Spells and potions that heal cuts, scratches and deep bruising was all supposed to be a part of their repertoires by now, as well as knowing when to use a certain spell or potion over another.

Under Hestia's watchful eye, Harry cast a Cheering Charm on the fluffy bunny, unable to stop himself from running his hand through its soft white fur. After a quick Diagnostic Charm to confirm the issue, Harry began to heal all of its cuts, and after carefully returning it to its cage, began to brew a quick Bruise-Healing Ointment.

The brew began to thicken upon his last stir in the cauldron, and Harry pulled on his dragon-hide gloves before rubbing its contents deep into the bunny's fur, reaching the skin, and cast the Diagnostic Charm once more before watching as the bruises all over its body begin to fix themselves. When it was fully healed, Harry made sure to useTeregoon the dried remnants of the ointment, before removing the Cheering Charm and returning it to its cage.

Forcing himself to ignore how adorable the rabbit was when its nose twitched nervously, he turned back to Hestia, only to find her straight-faced. "Well?" Harry asked.

Surprisingly, Hestia rolled her eyes at him. "You are too much like your mother, you know that?" Harry had not known that, nor did he know that Hestia had known his mother. Before he could decide if he wanted to ask her about it or not, she continued. "The Diagnostic Charm isn't necessary until your WOMBAT, you know."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I like studying ahead." He shrugged, hiding the fact that he had only learnt it early to make sure she hadn't done anything to him other than give him his vaccines last June. She shooed him off with a smile before calling the next student in.

The final exam, Defence Against the Dark Arts, was by far his favourite. Quirrell simply had the students enter his classroom in alphabetical order and asked them to evade him as though he were pursuing them. Knowing that WOMBAT students were tested on their ability to evade Muggles and not wizards, Harry knew that they were really being tested on how well they could cast evasive spells.

Harry had no trouble showing off everything he’d learned over the past year, from martial spells that he’d learned from Quirrell, the cognitive charms he’d learned from The Silver Spears and the obscuring magic he’d learned from Cedric. It was quite fun and not just for Harry, but for all the students who were still waiting for their turn.

From the corridor, they could hear the sound of a large firework going off, followed by a couple of dozen loud clangs and bangs as though every desk and chair in the classroom was flung at the walls. A moment later, the door seemingly opened by itself and a cloud of dark grey smoke wafted out into the corridor and was quickly followed by the torrent of green sparks that had taken over the classroom within.

Ten seconds later, when most of the smoke and sparks had vanished, Quirrell came running out into the corridor, shouting, "Harry! This is out-of-bounds!" After a couple of seconds with no reply, the Defence Professor growled in frustration. “Which way did he go?”

The two suits of armour that were on either end of the corridor immediately pointed in opposite directions.

“Thank you,” Quirrell sighed exasperatedly as one of the students started giggling. “That’s very helpful.” Hesitating for only a moment, he chose left and took off running down the corridor and out of sight after his wayward protege.

A minute later, Harry casually walked out of the classroom, hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face. “Is he gone?”

“Yes!” Lisa had still been chuckling but it turned into full-blown laughter when she saw that he hadn’t left at all. Harry had seen her laugh plenty of times before, but there was something intriguing about being the one to set her off like that. “What did you do to the poor man?”

“I can show you,” Harry smiled. “If you like.”

“I wouldn’t dare to even think about doing something like that.” Her words were scolding, but she was still smiling. “I’d rather you just help me go over my wand movements.”

“I can do that too.”

Harry was rather pleased that it took almost fifteen minutes for Quirrell to find him. When he did so, he found that Harry had taken over his destroyed classroom and was coaching Lisa, Gordon Watkins, Zacharias Smith and Oliver Rivers (the only people in his class who had surnames that came after his in the alphabet) on which spells they needed to evade Muggles.

“You're supposed to figure out the true parameters of the exam on your own,” Quirrell sighed.

“It’s not cheating,” Harry said quickly. “All that matters is that they can cast the spells on their own.”

Quirrell couldn’t seem to find fault with that, so he instead attempted to reprimand him. "The test was supposed to be inside the classroom."

Harry smiled cheekily. “I only left the classroom once you did.”

When Quirrell looked doubtful, Lisa spoke in his defence. “It’s true, sir.” Gordon and Oliver were quick to back her up.

Even Zacharias, who was normally a suck-up, took his side. “He left the classroom about a minute after you did, Professor.”

Quirrell scanned the classroom, which looked like it had a bomb go off in it. Before he could say anything, Harry pointed out, “You’re the one who told me not to hold back.” In reality, Harry had used his Invisibility Cloak to hide from his tracking spells when all the smoke and sparks were blocking his vision. It wasn’t cheating, as Harry had successfully cast all the spells requested before that point, honestly earning his grade. He had just wanted to mess with Quirrell’s head a bit. It was funny seeing him off-kilter for once.

"Only because I never expected a First Year to do so much damage."

Harry smiled, smug. "That's what you get for underestimating me."

Quirrell hummed. "Believe me, I won't be doing it again."

Harry really should have taken that warning to heart.

Chapter 22: The Gauntlet

Chapter Text

It was the first relaxing afternoon they had enjoyed in weeks, maybe months.

Now that exams were finally over, Harry, Anthony and Terry had left the school behind them, abandoning their Defence Against the Dark Arts notes for the soft grass underneath the shade of the beech tree by the lake. With their school robes shed, shirts untucked with sleeves rolled, and their ties loosened (or completely discarded like Terry’s), they could finally enjoy the tranquil peace that the school grounds had to offer as they discussed their plans for the upcoming summer.

“I think we might go to Italy this year.” Terry was saying as he sat cross-legged on the grass. “One of my cousins is getting remarried.”

Harry, lying flat on his back, lazily pointed his wand at the green leaves high above them. “Avifors!” A single leaf broke away from its branch and began to fold itself into the shape of a swallow. As it fluttered from its previous home, it joined the dozen other leafbirds, forming a flock as they flew around the tree’s broad trunk.

“He’s got family every- would you knock that off?!” Anthony, who Harry had thought was dozing with his back to the trunk, demanded. “I keep thinking they’re going to hit me.” Harry was about to deny that and claim that his control over them was too great when a leafbird collided with the side of his head.

Harry winced. “Sorry.”

Terry grinned at his brother’s misfortune. “If you name a country, I can probably name a cousin or two who lives there.” When Harry didn’t take him up on his offer, Terry asked, “What are you doing this summer?”

Harry yawned. “I’m not sure. Probably hang around town and catch up with the Muggle world, you know.” After a jam-packed year, Harry was strangely looking forward to it. He usually spent his summers riding his bike around town, reading adventure books and watching the old television he secretly kept in the attic. Vernon tossed it out after purchasing a much larger one at Dudley’s request but Harry had just about managed to get it into the attic with copious amounts of magic, physical effort and sweat without anyone realising. The thing was so heavy that it had almost made him pass out, but he'd managed it.

Still, the endless hours he spent in front of it- sunrise to sunset during the summer holidays- had been some of the happiest memories of his childhood. Even in the sweltering heat of the stuffy, windowless attic, Harry felt like he was getting a glimpse of the outside world that even his books couldn’t provide him with. Places far away from Little Whinging. Places he still wished to see with his own eyes someday.

Harry was still smiling softly, lost in half-forgotten memories of nights spent watching badly produced horror movies on the small television, wrapped in his blanket for protection from the monsters onscreen when Anthony’s next question jogged him out of it.

“What do you think Michael is going to do this summer?” It was an abrupt question, but opening his eyes fully, Harry could see why it was asked. Michael was heading down from the castle, right in their direction. Despite himself, a small part of him was hopeful that he was coming to join them, but that small part died when Michael caught sight of them beneath the beech tree. He froze midstep before turning to face the sweeping lawn, then the lake shore and finally the sloping grassy hill, but they were all inhabited by other students enjoying the good weather and Michael clearly wanted to be alone. He proved this by turning on his heel and returning to the castle.

There was a long moment of silence where the boys looked at each other awkwardly, but it was broken by the arrival of the girls. Harry smiled tersely at Lisa- who had sat down next to him with a dramatic huff before launching into a story about being accosted by McGonagall over her strict uniform regulations- and did his best to carefully ignore the missing presence in their group.

It was hard. After all, there was only one missing Raveclaw First Year from the lakeside that sunny afternoon.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The summer term was due to end on the third Friday of June, and the last two weeks of the year got a little too out of control for Harry’s taste.

While classes were still in effect for everyone but the departing Seventh Years, this was just for formality's sake, as teachers assigned them homework and reading to complete over the holidays before leaving them to their own devices for the most part. If the students wished to complete their work over the summer, that was their prerogative, but it was clear that the staff was giving them the chance to complete their work before the school year officially ended.

Harry was amongst the few who made the most of this opportunity. After haranguing them for months about exams he knew that there was no way he could get Terry and Anthony to join him in his studies the very moment their tests were finally over. Harry enjoyed a good break as much as anyone, but two days of inactivity was enough to make him feel like he was wasting precious time. Time he could be using to progress even further.

So, while most of the school went out to enjoy themselves in Hogsmeade or relax in the sun on the grounds, Harry was amongst the handful that bunkered away inside the Library Tower. In no time at all, he’d managed to complete his summer homework as most of it was reading that he’d already completed months ago. This left him with almost two weeks to cram in as much information as possible from the library textbooks to his notes, as students weren’t allowed to remove borrowed books from the school grounds.

Harry was rather pleased with his progress. At the beginning of the year, he had doubted if he could even keep up with his classmates, and now he had mastered almost all the recommended Third Year Charms and was halfway through the Third Year curriculum for Transfiguration. He was so far ahead of his peers in Defence Against the Dark Arts that it did not bear thinking about. While he was on more even footing with the other First Years in every other subject, he felt it would suit him better to keep pushing himself in wand-based subjects and follow the standard curriculum for the others. At least until he felt he’d mastered everything Hogwarts had to offer, but he doubted that would happen for another couple of years at least.

To capitalise on his academic advantage, he would have to find somewhere quiet and secure to practice magic over the summer. While the Statute of Secrecy prohibited the use of magic in public as the capability of seeing through the Veil and perceiving reality as it truly was could appear randomly in any given Muggle, it did not prohibit the use of magic in non-magical areas.

As the only wizard in Little Whinging, Harry would be held responsible if any Muggle saw him using magic. A lot of adult witches and wizards worked around this by identifying which of their neighbours could see through the Veil and reporting them to the local Ministry so that they could be offered employment as a contact in the Muggle world. If said Muggle refused, the Ministry would keep them on a watchlist to make sure they didn’t spread their knowledge of the Wizarding World.

While Harry thought it would have been neater to simply use a Memory Charm, he read that Muggles who were invulnerable to the Veil were also invulnerable to all cognitive spells. Their minds were protected from magic.

Harry didn’t have the time to identify if any of the Muggles in Little Whinging could perceive him while he was wearing his Ouroboros, and he didn’t know how to report them to the Ministry even if they were. So, he was stuck finding a place where he couldn’t be seen or heard as he practised his magic over the summer, and it would have to be both safe and clean enough to store his potion ingredients, as he didn’t want to lug them to and from Privet Drive every day. Finally, it would also have to be big enough to practice his Martial Spells without suffering any blowback.

It was a tall order.

Towards the end of term, Harry tried to seek out his mentor, but Quirrell’s schedule seemed to become even busier. Despite his classes being virtually finished for the year, the Defence Professor kept strange hours, coming and going from his office constantly, and even leaving the castle at strange hours. When Harry finally managed to corner him with help of The Marauder’s Map, hoping to get some duelling practice in before the summer holidays, Quirrell brushed him off.

“I’m planning an expedition this summer,” Quirrell said, clearly in a hurry. “I need time to prepare.”

“Alright then.”

Harry had kept his face impassive, but his disappointment must have been obvious to a practised Legilimens, as Quirrell was quick to reassure him. “I haven’t forgotten about you. Remember, we still have an extra-credit exam to complete, and you are my WOMBAT representative.” He smiled kindly down at Harry. “It will be up to you to show Lord Dumbledore just how much you have learned this year through my teaching methods, so practice hard.”

Harry took his advice to heart, spending hours and hours practising hard in the Room of Requirement, both on his own and also with any other Marauder who he could convince to join him. Even with his busy schedule, Cedric made time to train with him, finally teaching him the Impervius Charm that he’d been bugging him about for weeks. Harry wasn’t even annoyed by the long wait, as Cedric’s advice was both useful and well thought out. It was enough for him to recognise that the two of them were on completely different levels.

Lee didn’t have as much of a spell repertoire, but he had excellent reflexes that had Harry at his mercy more times than he cared to remember. Fred and George had helped him once, but they were the only ones who he denied a second turn. They only wished to duel as a pair and Harry had been quickly overwhelmed by them. Maria had shown up the most, but she wasn’t exactly eager to duel. Harry suspected she was lonely without her best friend, even though she was the one giving Eddie the cold shoulder.

Harry was still mad at him too, so he was in no place to judge.

What surprised him most of all was Marcus’ offer to train with him. He had entered the duelling area of the Marauders' Clubhouse looking sheepish and dressed in athletic gear. “Want someone to spar with?” He asked, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“Err…yeah. Sure.” Harry greeted him with an aborted wave, feeling awkward himself. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the Quidditch final and, even though the two had never been particularly close, he’d still felt a little hurt by the older boy’s cold shoulder. Not too hurt, as he seemed to be ignoring everyone else as well, but this wasn’t the only reason why he was so surprised at Marcus’ offer.

“I didn’t know you duelled.”

Marcus looked like he was about to shrug off the inquiry, before reconsidering it. “You know, I think you’re the only person I can tell the truth to. I can’t even tell my friends or my parents.” Harry’s eyebrows rose, but before he could point out that the two of them weren’t all that close, he continued. “You’re the only person who knew about me and Robert.” He clarified. “So, you should know that I’m joining the Auror Corps.”

Harry was surprised, for a multitude of reasons. “Why?”

Michael clenched his jaw. “I went to visit him, you know? Before his trial.” Harry hadn’t even been aware that a trial had taken place, but he shouldn’t have been. Robert’s identity was still being kept under wraps by the media as he was still a minor.

However, Harry had to admit to himself that he probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it had been printed on the front page of Wizarding World News, as he had been so preoccupied with end-of-year exams. “I could tell he was lying to me when he told me he was innocent. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.” The frustration was clear in his voice. “But I’m not going to be fooled again.”

Harry didn’t think joining the Wizarding World’s military was going to solve his problems, but it wasn’t his place to tell Marcus what to do with his life. He did have one question though. “How can you join now? I thought Aurors only accept recruits as they enter their Third Year at Hogwarts.”

Marcus grunted. “That’s only the elite squads. The ones led and mentored by Captains. If Aurors only accepted Third Years from the twelve premier schools, then we’d only have a few hundred around the world.” He shook his head. “Nah, they accept anyone with five NEWTs, regardless if they went to a school or not.”

“So, you’ll be joining after next year then?” Harry asked, feeling excited. When Marcus nodded, Harry grinned up at him. “That’s great! I’ll be enlisting then too! We can train together. Have you ever read The Auror’s Enchiridion? I think a previous Marauder left behind a copy. You should memorise it over the summer, learn the conduct and procedures, and we’ll start training properly in September.”

Harry walked off to go find it, leaving his new sparring partner to gape at his back.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Two days from the end of term, Quirrell finally made good on his promise to test the most elite student of each level before the end of the year.

That morning, Harry was woken by the sound of an owl scratching at his window while Argos stared at it coldly. The owl was frantic in its attempts to deliver the letter, leading Harry to believe that it had been trying to get his attention for a while. He snorted as he rolled out of bed. “Thanks for telling me, buddy,” he muttered to his owl, who turned his head away from him stubbornly. Apparently, alerting Harry to delivery owls was not part of his job description.

Removing the owl of its burden, Harry watched, guiltily amused, as it flew back to the owlery in a sulk. Opening the letter, he found only a single message:

My office. Before breakfast.

Q

Harry- wondering what was so important and time-sensitive that he had to be there before he could even eat- went through his morning ablutions as quickly as he could, before leaving his dorm once he was dressed for the day.

Upon entering Quirrell’s office, Harry found that he was not the only student to have been invited to this impromptu meeting. Eliza and Tonks were both seated in front of Quirrell’s desk, and they turned to face him when he entered through the door.

Quirrell spoke first. “Well now that we are all here,” he gave Harry a very pointed look, “we can finally begin.”

Well excuse me for having a lie in, Harry thought sourly.

“I have spoken to you all individually, but now I wish to cement your involvement before we go ahead with tonight’s test,” Quirrell explained. “Are you all still interested in taking part? Tonight?” Harry and Eliza nodded eagerly, but Tonks hesitated. “Nymphadora?”

Tonks grimaced at the sound of her first name but was unable to reprimand a teacher like she could one of the Marauders. “Tonight? Err…” Her eyes flitted about the office, as though hoping an excuse would appear from thin air.

“It’s completely fine if you don’t wish to take part. It will have no impact on your prospects.” Quirrell reassured. “After all, you can’t commit to something if you don’t yet know what it is.” Tonks looked relieved, but that expression turned embarrassed when Quirrell continued. “Besides, isn’t Charlie Weasley throwing a huge bash in the forest, after hours?”

“What? He is? I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Tonks tried her best, but she wasn’t a great liar. Her facial control was okay, but the fact that her hair turned tomato-red gave her away.

Quirrell took mercy on her. “You can go.” Harry tried to hold his laughter in, but he had never seen a student flee a teacher’s presence so quickly. As the peal of laughter escaped his lips, Tonks shot him a sharp glare before exiting the room.

Quirrell turned his attention to the two of them. “What of the two of you? Will you test yourselves?” Harry wanted to ask more questions, but Eliza’s quick nod of assent was enough to make him quickly agree as well. He didn’t want to fall even further behind her. Quirrell presented each of them with an envelope, before warning them, “You won’t be able to open it until tonight. Eliza at nine, Harry at ten. That should give you enough time to prepare.”

“What about curfew?” Harry asked. Eliza snorted and he turned to glare at her. “We can’t all be Sentinels.” He snapped.

Quirrell shrugged. “If you can’t even figure out a way to move through the castle without getting caught then you don’t stand a chance in the test that I have designed for you.” Harry scowled at him, which only made him sigh before adding. “If you get caught it’s an immediate fail, but I will get you out of trouble, alright?” He said this in a tone that was meant to be reassuring, but it only made Harry feel patronised. Judging by Eliza’s poorly suppressed giggles, she felt the same.

“I’m in,” Harry muttered, darkly. He snatched his envelope before leaving the room without another word.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

While his friends were preoccupied with discussions of the end-of-year party that the Slytherins were organising for them in the Small Hall, Harry was preparing for tonight’s extra credit exam. He would be sad to miss the event, as the Second Years had equated it to something of a festival with music, food, games, and dancing. Still, he wanted to prove to Quirrell, Dumbledore and any Auror officiants who would be made privy to his results, that he wasn’t just capable of getting good marks, but that he was prepared to sacrifice his personal life for a chance at a successful career. If the other students were more worried about what they would be wearing and who would be asking them to party, then Harry had an even greater advantage over them than his grades would show.

After he changed out of his uniform and scarfed down a quick breakfast in the kitchens (as he wanted to avoid the teachers in the Great Hall) Harry made his way out of the castle through the secret passageway hidden on the third floor behind the statue of the legendary Healer, Gunhilda de Gorsemoor. It was the second to last day of term, and Harry would be breaking his perfect attendance record by skiving off lessons for the first time, but he thought it was worth it.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was missing out on anything, as the teachers had all but given up on teaching, and the students had grown too rowdy by the prospect of a long summer holiday.

After a long slide down into a tunnel, Harry followed the never-ending passageway that ran beneath the school and its grounds, until he finally reached the entranceway that led him into Honeydukes’ basem*nt. This might have been a problem if it wasn’t for his trusty Invisibility Cloak.

Harry slipped out of the shop, away from the busy High Street, towards the quieter, residential half of the town. When he came to a stop in the space between two crooked apartment buildings, Harry removed his Cloak. He was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt underneath and- before walking out onto the cobblestone street- he pulled the hood up to cover his hair in case anyone was watching from the windows. But he was sure that anyone who could afford to live in such a trendy neighbourhood in Hogsmeade would be at work on a Thursday morning.

Extending his wand into the street, just like Terry had described to him months ago, Harry didn’t have to wait too long before there was a loud BANG! and a triple-decker purple bus came careening down the street. Despite its incredible speed, it managed to come to a near-immediate stop directly in front of him.

Harry was still struggling to control his expression- wanting to make it seem like he was used to sights such as this- when the doors opened and a pimply-faced teenager wearing a conductor’s uniform popped his head out. After a moment in which they both simply stared at each other, the pimply boy (whose name was Stan, according to his name tag) huffed. “You coming in, or what?”

Startled, as he had expected more confusion as to why a boy his age was travelling alone, Harry quickly boarded the bus. “Children’s ticket is four Sickles,” Stan said, voice firm. Harry reached into his pocket, exact change at the ready. He didn’t want to be remembered by anyone he interacted with today, and few things were more memorable than a child throwing around gold.

Stan handed him a written receipt and allowed Harry onto the bus. Much like the Hogwarts Express, it was much larger on the inside than it had any right to be. It was very well furnished with armchairs for individual passengers and sofas for families. There was even a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.

Stan guided Harry to an available seat, which wasn’t normal in his experience as Muggle public transport couldn’t afford service so nice. Harry sat down, easily sinking into the soft lounger.

“So, where you headed?” Stan asked, leaning against a brass pole.

“The Leaky Cauldron.”

“Just another one for the Cauldron, Ern!” Stan called out to the driver. Harry couldn’t see him from this angle, but he heard him grunt as he began to drive the bus down the street. “Lucky you, Diagon Alley is our sixth stop.” The conductor told Harry, but before he could reply, the bus jumped.

It was eerily similar to the sensation he had felt when he had used a Portkey at Christmas, but different, as he was protected by The Knight Bus as it travelled through the same vibrant space that the Portkey had created. From outside the windows, Harry caught brief images of buildings, cars, lampposts and even people being pushed out of the way as the bus forcefully created a space in which to move directly to its destination.

Riding The Knight Bus was like riding inside a Portkey, which felt exactly as bizarre as it sounded.

Before Harry could tear his eyes away from the window, the colourful world outside of the bus’s windows flashed white and just like that they were cruising down a coastal road, just outside of a small, rustic town. “St. Andrews!” Stan called, and an elderly man hobbled down from an upper level and climbed off the bus. Once he had disembarked, the exit closed, and the bus took off again.

“This your first time on The Knight Bus?” Stan asked. Harry glanced at him, only to find the pimply boy looking at him in amusem*nt.

Harry had expected to be questioned, so he fell back on his prepared excuse. “Yeah, mum and dad normally take me by Floo, but they reckon I’m old enough to go out on my own.” The number of day school students in the British Wizarding Community was in the low thousands, and that didn’t even count those who were home-schooled, so he knew that he really wouldn’t stick out.

“What are you going to London on your own for?”

Harry touched the bag he was carrying. “Dad asked me to bring him some of his stuff.”

Stan scrunched his eyebrows. “Why didn’t he come and get it himself?” Harry gave him a rehearsed uncomfortable look, and the conductor grimaced. “Ah.” There was nothing quite like the awkward personal details of a stranger’s life to shut down public transport small talk.

When The Knight Bus arrived on Charring Cross Road and stopped in front of The Leaky Cauldron, a stream of passengers disembarked onto the pavement and marched right into the tavern. More than enough people were entering the tavern at the same time for Harry to be reasonably sure that the only person who might recognise him, Tom the barkeep, would be far too distracted to notice a single child exiting through the back door.

Opening the entrance to Diagon Alley, Harry lowered his hood and strode confidently down the alley, confident in his ability to blend in on such a busy street. When he arrived at Gringotts, he swept right past the guards on either side of the bronze doors and prepared his key while he read the inscription engraved on the silver doors. When he stepped into Gringotts proper, he quickly joined the shortest queue, eager to complete his business.

Harry couldn’t say why, but he was sure that today’s transaction was taking longer than it had when he had come here with Hagrid back in July. All he did know was that it took him nearly half an hour to get down to his vault. Opening the large door with his key, he asked the Goblin that had escorted him to wait for him in the cart.

Upon entering his vault, Harry made straight for the stone shelves to his right, precisely to the row of flasks that had identical labels of Felix Felicis. Smiling, Harry removed the one closest to him and placed it inside his cherry wood box. Even though he guessed by the runes engraved on the crystal that it had been placed inside an unbreakable flask, Harry didn’t want to take the risk, as he wrapped it tightly inside a clean pair of socks. It would be beyond foolish of him to break it, as even Potion Masters struggled to make Liquid Luck, and he only had five more flasks left among his shelves.

He knew it was cheating to use the definitive magical performance enhancer, as it was banned from every official exam and sporting event around the world, but this wasn’t official at all. Harry desperately wanted to leave a strong impression on those who would be judging his performance tonight, especially after this morning. He knew that he and Eliza weren’t in direct competition, but this was as close as he could get for now, and if he could leave a greater impression than she could then it would be a victory in his mind.

Pausing only to refill his mokeskin pouch with eight Sickles for the ride home and a handful of Galleons to exchange for Muggle money for the approaching holiday, he left his family’s vault, closing the door firmly behind him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Returning to the castle just before lunchtime, Harry spent the rest of the day in preparation. Under the cover of his Cloak, he made a quick trip to the Hospital Wing to nick two vials of Girding Potion and a single vial of Dreamless Sleep potion, while Madam Pomfrey was preoccupied with fixing a Gryffindor Fifth Year’s failed (and very embarrassing) self-transfiguration.

As he did so, he overheard a conversation between the school matron and Professor McGonagall who had first brought the boy in on a stretcher.

“Completely ridiculous.” McGonagall was muttering. “Will they ever learn?”

Pomfrey scoffed. “Oh, as if you don’t remember being that age. Always unhappy with your looks. Always wanting something to change. Every teenager goes through it, long before we were at this school and long after we leave it.”

“Of course, I remember.” McGonagall sighed. “But why today? As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.”

“Albus will return soon.” Pomfrey soothed.

“Yes, but while he’s gone every member of the Board of Governors thinks they can pull a fast one on me.” She shook her head. “As though I didn’t teach half of them!”

Harry didn’t hear any more as the Gryffindor boy chose that moment to begin crying in relief. The colossal swelling beneath his blanket began to rapidly shrink and Harry quickly exited the infirmary before the distraction ended. Pomfrey would soon realise that something had been stolen from her stores, as Harry’s kindjal left obvious evidence behind when it did its work, but he didn’t know any other way to break the enchantments on her lock and reach his prize.

After a large meal in the kitchens, Harry returned to his dormitory to sleep for the rest of the day, asking Argos to wake him when the Clock Tower chimed nine. He needed a better alarm clock than his owl, but he’d never owned one at Privet Drive, and he never needed to learn any alarm spells as he was an early riser and was steadfastly punctual. His precision may come back to bite him now that he needed to wake at an unusual hour.

Taking a swig of Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry climbed into bed and rested his head down on his pillow. He was asleep before he could even pull the covers over himself.

It felt like he had only just closed his eyes when there was a loud squawk in his ear. Sitting up abruptly, Harry looked around for the source of the disturbance, only to remember what he’d asked his owl to do. Sitting atop his headrest was Argos, looking as proud as a burrowing owl was capable. “Thanks,” Harry muttered, surveying his now-darkening room. It was the blue hour, and the end-of-year parties would be well underway, leaving the rest of the school to him.

Harry prepared himself with a scalding shower to erase his grogginess, before dressing in his Silver Spears duelling uniform and eating one of the sandwiches that he’d brought back with him from the kitchens earlier. When he was done with that he checked and double-checked his bag for all his equipment, everything he thought he might need, and made sure it was arranged in easy-to-reach spots. He was as ready as he was ever going to be. All he had to do now was wait.

The next half hour felt like torture. An uneventful, painless sort of torture, but torture, nonetheless. When the Clock Tower finally struck ten, Harry tore the envelope open and found that it only contained six words:

Beyond the portrait of Headmistress Burke.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry was glad that he’d thought to bring The Marauder’s Map with him. He wouldn’t have even been able to find the first door without it.

After Dumbledore’s warning at the Start-of-Year Feast, Harry had been wary of the protective magic that had been laid on the invisible threshold that was Headmistress Burke’s portrait and had taken care to avoid it. Safe beneath the protection of his Invisibility Cloak and wand at the ready, Harry carefully crossed the border and began to explore the dungeons carefully, wary of both attacks and traps. However, as the minutes dragged on and nothing presented itself to him, he began to worry that he might have misread Quirrell’s message. He would have checked it again, but it had burst into flames when he had finished reading the last word.

Harry had fastened his wind-up watch to the outside of his left bracer, just above his bronze Ouroboros, but he now regretted doing so as he could feel his nerves begin to rise when the long hand hit six. The mere thought of failing before he had even found the test was too embarrassing to consider, so he activated The Marauder’s Map and began to search the dungeons more systemically.

One by one, Harry searched each long, windowless, torchlit corridor, for any sign or clue that Quirrell might have left for him. He did not just rely on his eyes either. Throwing caution to the wind, Harry began to cast the Verdimillious Charm in every corridor that he stepped into, but aside from a few illegal items that had been poorly hidden or lost by the student populace, he found nothing of note.

The dungeons underneath the school seemed like an endless labyrinth, one he would have been lost in if it wasn’t for The Map, but it seemed more and more likely that he would simply run out of Mana before he found whatever he was meant to be looking for.

When his watched turned eleven, Harry noticed the stark absence of the Clock Tower’s familiar chimes. He was too far down to hear it. Something about this set him off, and he decided that it was time to give up and try to think of something else. But as he was just about to turn back, the luminous green sparks of his last Verdimillious Charm congregated on a nondescript door. Confused, Harry examined The Map again and confirmed that there shouldn’t even be a door there to begin with.

Harry began to approach the door carefully and examined it for any sign of magical tampering. Judging by the way the fading green sparks tried to get underneath the door, rather than pressing themselves against it, he suspected that the entranceway was not cursed, but whatever was behind it certainly was.

“Revelio!” There was no reaction, so the door was truly a door and not just a wall pretending to be one. “Specialis Revelio!” There was a reaction this time, as the knowledge of what magic had been cast on that door revealed itself in his mind. It was just an Unbreakable Charm and a simple Locking Charm. Fearing that this was all too easy, he pointed his wand at the door once more. “Homenum Revelio!” There was no one waiting for him beyond that door. A door that shouldn’t even exist according to The Marauders.

With trepidation, Harry raised his wand once more. “Alohom*ora!” The lock clicked open and Harry, ever so slowly, turned the knob and opened the door.

If he hadn’t been wearing his Invisibility Cloak, he would have died almost immediately.

It was a good thing he was, as it gave him a brief moment to look into the room beyond the door, except that it wasn’t a room at all. The doorway opened directly into a wooded area, shrouded in darkness, the night sky hardly visible through the thicket of trees.

While Harry spent a moment trying to understand how a forest could fit inside a dungeon room, he saw something flicker in his peripheral, reflecting the light of the torches behind him. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he understood just what he was looking at, Harry felt his heart jump into his throat. There, perhaps fifty feet away, was a Beast that he had only seen in The Auror’s Enchiridion.

The creature was bear-sized, bipedal, but sloping as though dragged down by the weight of its enormous arms. Its large, clenched fists were pressed to the ground, but atop each of its wrists were foot-long claws which curved outward like sickles. Perfect for disembowelling its preferred prey. Its fur was raggedy, thick, and silver, which was how Harry had been able to catch sight of it so quickly, as it reflected the light from the doorway.

With a deep, startled grunt, the animal quickly turned towards the doorway, staring at the seemingly empty space that Harry occupied. Its face was oddly hairless, and blacker than coal, but its eyes were an eerie shade of green with slit pupils, like a cat.

Harry could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears and he knew, by the narrowing of its strange eyes, that the creature did too.

The creature, terrifying before, became even more so when it shimmered and turned invisible. Harry couldn’t hear its movements but judging by the scattered twigs and leaves on the ground between them it was clear that it was charging right for him.

With a muffled scream, Harry stumbled backwards, falling onto his rear, and waved his wand at the door. “Colloportus!” The door swung closed and locked itself, just in time too, as he heard the Beast slam itself against it just a second later. As Harry scrambled backwards until he came into contact with the wall, he heard the creature’s slams against the door quickly cease, as though it knew from experience that it would not be able to break through.

Harry took a minute, just sitting there on the ground, waiting for his racing heart to slow. Was this the test? Did Quirrell mean for him to find that thing? Harry scoffed at himself. Of course he was meant to find that thing. Why else would a Hidebehind be locked in a school?

He wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew here. Quirrell had clearly overestimated his abilities as Hidebehinds were Class XXXX Beasts. Only Beast Masters or Aurors ranked Sentry and above were permitted to deal with them alone. As much as he would like to overcome this challenge, he also knew when to recognise when a task was beyond him and secede.

At least he usually did.

Removing his lockbox from his mokeskin pouch, Harry withdrew and uncorked the crystal flask that he’d brought along. If he wanted to get past the Hidebehind, he was going to need all the luck in the world.

Felix Felicis looked like molten gold but tasted, rather jarringly, like apple juice. Its effects were not instantaneous as it took a few minutes to kick in, leaving Harry slumped against the wall, impatient. He wondered if a potion could lose its potency after a couple of decades despite the stasis runes that had been placed on its flask.

It did come into effect eventually, and Harry was aware the very second it did. He had studied Liquid Luck extensively when he had come across the name in one of Terry’s advanced texts, as he had recognised it from one of the many crystal flasks that had been inside his vault. Harry had memorised its effects, as drinkable, concentrated good luck seemed too good to be true.

It was only too good to be true because it was.

There was no such thing as good luck, as any instrument capable of reworking the universe’s events to suit the personal needs of a single induvial would just be too powerful to exist, much less create with potion ingredients any wizarding student would have on hand.

No, Felix Felicis was a performance-enhancing potion, the best in the world. It lowered self-consciousness and doubt, instilling artificial confidence in the drinker as well as increasing memory, social acumen, and perceptiveness. When it had first been invented some researchers theorised that it instilled passive clairvoyance in the user which allowed them to find the best path forward. While this had never been disproven, there had been too many recorded incidents of users failing at endeavours that were beyond their normal abilities for it to be true.

As Harry finally climbed to his feet, he felt a swell of confidence grow in his chest. He had made a silent agreement with himself to trust his instincts under Felix’s influence, so if he felt the need to walk away from the door, he would do so. But he didn’t. In fact, Harry thought that overcoming the Hidebehind was simplicity itself.

His previous idea had been to sneak in underneath his Cloak and close the door behind him again before the Hidebehind could escape. Then he could examine the room for further clues while making sure to avoid the Beast's keen senses with his evasive spells.

Now though, he knew just what a suicidal idea that was. He could picture the Hidebehind in his mind’s eye at the exact moment the door was opened, with crystal clear clarity, as though it were frozen in front of him. The way its body stiffened, its hairs standing on end as though feeling the air around it, and the way its wide nostrils flared as it captured his scent. He especially remembered the way its eyes narrowed when it turned to face him, as though it could see him as clearly as if he were silhouetted by the light streaming through the doorway.

For a creature with senses as keen as the Hidebehind’s, he might as well have been. Not even the evasive spells he had learnt would help him here, as they had been made for mundane creatures, like the dogs Witch-Hunters had once trained.

Harry turned on his heel and walked away, examining The Map as he went. The plan was a simple one, so simple that he couldn’t believe it took Liquid Luck for him to see it. The path between himself and the kitchens was clear and when he entered the cavernous room, the Automatons were hard at work, washing and scrubbing the clothes that students had left in their hampers before bed, leaving them out to dry on heated racks, before ironing and folding them in neat piles.

Internally thanking Hogwarts’ vast resources, he called one over. Harry waited until the floating Artifice was hovering in front of him before requesting, “Raw pig intestines, please. I’m feeling peckish so be generous.” It began to float away, but Harry called after it. “Oh, and a whole bottle of Dreamless Sleep, if you don’t mind. Bad nightmares.”

All requests students made of the Automatons were automatically written down in their Student Handbooks, but Harry was certain that no Prefect or member of staff was going to check his journal on the last day, even though he’d skipped lessons the day before. Even authority figures needed a little break, or at least that was what Felix was telling him.

Asking the Automaton to tie off one end and pour the Dreamless Sleep down the other before tying it off as well, Harry levitated the now bloated pig intestines in front of him as he made his way back to the dungeons, checking Rhe Map as he went. He had a close encounter with Mrs Norris, but a quick Confundus Charm saved him there. He didn’t even slow down as he cast it, that confident in his aim.

Wanting to put a safe distance between himself and the Hidebehind, Harry remained around the corner, ready to flee as he pointed his wand at the door. “Alohom*ora! Arbeto!” The door unlocked and opened itself with a bang, sure to get the Beast's attention, and Harry flicked his wand twice more. “Depulso! Colloportus!” The still-floating intestines flung itself into the Underground Forest just before the door slammed shut and locked itself. Harry remained around the corner until the Hidebehind stopped attacking the door, but when it did, he went to take his previous place, sitting with his back against the wall right in front of the entranceway.

He waited for a while, carefully going over the plan in his mind for any mistakes. Felix was telling him that there wouldn’t be any and Harry just needed to kill some time. According to Most Macabre Monstrosities, Hidebehinds preferred human meat, intestines in particular, but Harry doubted that the population could sustain itself on that alone; the Aurors of North America (the Hidebehind’s natural habitat) were doing a terrible job if that were true. No, Harry knew that it had to enjoy the taste of animal meat too, as he doubted Quirrell was keeping this creature fed with human flesh.

When the ten-minute mark arrived, Harry got to his feet and approached the door, wishing he’d taken the time to learn the revealing spell for magical creatures. Unlocking the door once more, Harry opened it with a kick, the incantation for the Shield Charm ready on his lips. It wasn’t necessary.

There, directly in front of the door, was a dozing Hidebehind. Its face was slumped against the ground and one end of the intestine was hanging out of his mouth, as though the notion of sleep had taken it by surprise. For a good night’s sleep, only a single mouthful was recommended for children Harry’s age, and he’d given the creature an entire bottle full. It was much larger than an adult human, but he still suspected that he had given it far too much.

Silently hoping that he hadn’t accidentally killed it, Harry began to bind it as Cedric had taught him. “Brachiabindo!” Following the directions of his wand, the creature’s arms and legs were tied together by invisible bindings. “Locomotor!” The Hidebehind began to float to the thickest, sturdiest tree he could find and proceeded to wrap it to that as well.

When he finished, Harry examined his work for a moment. While physical, or even elemental bindings would have been more reliable- as the Brachiabindo Jinx was only as strong as the one who cast it- it was the only restraining spell that he had in his arsenal. Adding that to the already long list of things he needed to learn, Harry made his way around the forest, trying to find whatever it was that Quirrell had left for him.

“Lumos Duo!” Harry directed the hovering ball of light to hover several feet above his head, illuminating the space around him, and making it easier to examine both the area and The Map. Harry wasn’t concerned with the possibility of other creatures waiting for him in the room as Hidebehinds were solitary predators, the top of their food chain, and they tended to fight others of their kind for hunting territory. There were no markings of violence on the sleeping Beast, so felt safe focusing on The Marauder’s Map.

Not that it did him much good. The space Harry was occupying seemed to be blank, but most peculiar was the way the Map was correcting that. As he watched, the Map seemed to draw the room around him, including a far closer edge than he would have expected. Harry walked for about a minute, past dozens of trees, and bushes, before stopping when the Map told him he had reached the border. Seeing nothing but more trees in front of him, Harry carefully raised his wand, only to have the tip scrape against an invisible wall.

Harry was impressed. Touching it with his hands, it felt like the wall of any other room in the castle, the same smooth stone that had been used to build the school’s exterior. The image he was looking at was incredibly lifelike, but it was just as two-dimensional as a painting. The poor Hidebehind must have been confused with the lack of prey, the still air and the forest that was secretly a cage. But while all of this was impressive magic on Quirrell’s part, Harry didn’t see what he was meant to do next.

It really was a good thing he’d brought The Marauder’s Map along, as it was doing half of the work for him.

While he’d been occupied with the elaborate animal enclosure, Harry noticed that The Map had finished adding the Underground Forest to its folds and it marked down something interesting. A second door, opposite the first.

Following the directions that had been given to him, he carefully made his way to the hidden door, extinguishing the floating ball of light as he went. Logic would suggest that there was either a prize waiting for him on the other side- some kind of trophy he could present Quirrell with that would prove he had gotten past the Hidebehind- or an even deadlier Beast that would take greater power and skill to subdue.

When he found the door, half-hidden behind shrubbery he had to tear away with Severing Charms, Harry took amount to assess his condition. He was fine physically (aside from the fading, dull ache from where he had fallen onto his backside earlier) but he could already feel the strain of casting so many spells back-to-back. He could go on for a while longer, but if things continued like this, he would soon need to take a Girding Potion, which wasn’t good, as he wasn’t exactly sure how long this test would go on for. Maybe it was Felix just making connections that weren’t truly there, but Quirrell’s request for this exercise to begin after curfew suggested it would take all night. There was no way he could last that long.

Strangely, that thought made Harry smile ruefully. Even Felix Felicis can’t completely counter my natural pessimism.

Casting the usual chain of detection spells, Harry found that the door had the same protections as the first one (which is to say, almost none at all) and that a kind of Dark Magic was waiting for him on the other side. Be it a curse or a creature, Harry was unsure.

Cautiously, Harry unlocked and opened the door, only to be met with warm, humid air and complete darkness on the other side. Not letting his sudden apprehension stop him, Harry pointed his wand through the doorway. “Periculum!” A fiery ball of red light erupted out of the end of his wand, squealing as it rocketed into the dark room, illuminating it as it went before exploding into scarlet fireworks three seconds later.

Three seconds was more than enough time for Harry to slam the door shut when he caught a glimpse of what was waiting for him on the other side.

Malspores.

“Scourgify! Scourgify! Scourgify!” Frantic, Harry repeatedly cast the Scouring Charm over his entire body, not forgetting the bottom of his boots either. While it was unlikely that one of the spores had landed on him, he didn’t want to take the chance.

Finally, when he was sure that he was clean, he began to wonder how he would make it across that room. He would need to hang around long enough for The Marauder’s Map to find the exit and, judging by how long it had taken to fill in the gap that was the Underground Forest, it could take a few minutes.

Harry carefully ignored the possibility that the prize he was seeking was actually in the next room.

He retreated to a safe distance and levitated The Marauder’s Map in front of the door. Wincing, Harry opened the door and banished The Map inside before slamming it shut again. Hoping he didn’t just lose the crown jewel and legacy of Hogwarts’ greatest troublemakers, Harry began to prepare for his, hopefully brief, expedition into the next room.

Malspores were a plant that Harry knew little about. He had never read about it and likely would have forgotten its existence if it wasn’t for the Liquid Luck that was coursing through his system, struggling to keep him from drowning against the current of his own recklessness.

During the first week of school, all the way back in September, Professor Sprout had taken them for a tour through all seven greenhouses and she had pointed out one particular plant that she kept in a separate section of Greenhouse Seven. She had told them all about Malspores, how they were invented by the Dark Sage Ekrizidis, the Father of Dementors, to protect his home, the island of Azkaban, from marooned sailors.

What made them so terrible, was how they attacked Muggles and sorcerers in different ways. For a non-magical person, they simply incapacitated them by tightening their airways, leaving them alive, but only just, so that Ekrizidis could send his House-Elves to fetch his latest test subjects with ease.

However, for their magical counterparts, it was a different, more violating experience. The spores released by the moist, inky black mushrooms caused an intense sickness in its victims. Most did not survive, but those that did often wished that they hadn’t. Malspores were the only known method of turning a wizard into a Muggle.

Feeling crazy for even risking an infection, Harry stored his Invisibility Cloak away and began to take precautions for his run through the next room. “Impervius!” Harry cast this several times over himself, from his hair and bag to his clothes and boots. The only place he had not cast it on was his wand, but Harry didn’t know how to cast spells on the instrument he was casting with.

Knowing that light only made them release more spores into the air, Harry removed his first pair of Quidditch goggles from his bag. These were the same pair that Anthony had enchanted for him back in February to help him see better in the dark when he snuck into Gryffindor Tower. Harry had to get a replacement pair as Professor Hooch checked each player’s equipment for tampering, as well as testing them with diagnostic charms for performance-enhancing potions, before every match.

While Anthony had done a good job with it, the night vision feature had only been intended for single use. Harry had tested it out several times since then, and while it had worked just fine, Felix was telling him that they would likely stop working and that he should find an alternative method. While ignoring the instincts a potion named Liquid Luck instilled in you was a bad idea, Harry couldn’t see another way around.

Ignoring the idea of waking Anthony and asking him to fix up another pair, Harry slipped them on before opening the door, still standing at a safe distance. “Accio Map!” When the folded parchment sailed through the door, Harry cast another Locking Charm on the door, which deliberately killed the Summoning Charm halfway.

Grimacing in disgust, Harry could see from here that half of The Map was covered in oozing black slime. “Scourgify!” Perhaps it was the compulsive need for everything in his world to be clean and neat, or perhaps it was because he thought even non-magical mushrooms were kind of nasty, but Harry only felt comfortable approaching The Map when he cast the Scouring Charm three more times.

Picking it up, Harry saw that the room had indeed been filled out, but it was much worse than he could have imagined. Unlike the Underground Forest, which was the size and shape of the Small Hall, the Malspore Room was narrow and long. So bloody long.

Assuming the dimensions were at least roughly to scale, the distance from the door Harry was standing at to the other at the end of the long room had to be at least eight times the length of the Great Hall. That would mean an almost a half-mile run.

Harry wasn’t sure if anyone could hold their breath for that long while running. He certainly couldn’t.

Removing the pair of socks that he’d wrapped around the crystal flask that had contained the Felix Felicis earlier, Harry used a Severing Charm to cut them and a Sticking Charm to connect them so they were big enough for him to tie around his mouth and nose in an awkward, double-layered facemask. He still didn’t know how to transfigure clothes, and it made for a poor filter for spores, but it was the best he was going to do. Harry was just grateful it was a clean pair.

Taking a minute to take a dozen slow, deep breaths to oxygenate his blood, Harry lifted his makeshift mask over his airways and pointed his wand at the door. “Alohom*ora! Arbeto!” The second the door burst open Harry ran through, flicking his wand behind him. “Colloportus!” Even though that cost him some precious oxygen, Harry didn’t want the Hidebehind to get sick. It was just a dumb animal.

Harry sprinted through the room as quickly as he could. The soil beneath his feet was moist, spongy and covered in the same slime that The Map had been, which made it difficult to run at top speed. Through his goggles, Harry saw that the entire room was covered with a soft glow, as though everything in the room was emitting gentle light instead of the pitch blackness he’d glimpsed earlier.

He couldn’t see everything though, as anything further than twenty feet from his face was invisible to him. Despite this, he wasn’t worried about a sudden attack from a lurking Beast, as nothing could survive in this room and still be in the condition necessary to attack him. As such, he didn’t bother keeping his head on a swivel.

He really should have.

About a minute in, Harry felt his ankle catch on something, sending him flying forward, and his momentum carried him for a few feet. What little breath he had left forcefully left his body as he slammed into the spongy ground and slid forward, carried by the slime, before coming to a complete stop. While the fall tore The Map from his grasp, it was only the experience he’d gained by training with Quirrell and The Silver Spears that allowed him to keep a firm grip on his wand when he fell.

Your wand is your lifeline.

Eliza’s words came back to him now, and they had never been more apt. “Accio Map!” Harry caught The Map, uncaring about the slime for the moment, as the fact that his position was still legible was all that mattered to him. He could see the label Henry Potter not even halfway to the exit he desired. Repressing the cry of despair that welled up within him, he instead climbed to his feet and kept running, keeping his breaths as short and intermittent as possible, not wanting to make his position even worse than it was.

It must have been at least two minutes since he’d started running again, and Harry had all but given up on keeping his breaths short. He felt a splitting stitch on his side and his muscles were burning, but he increased his pace even more when he finally caught a glimpse of the door that he’d been running so hard for.

Uncaring about what was waiting for him on the other side, or what traps may have been placed on the door, Harry jabbed his wand forwards and bellowed hoarsely, “Alohom*ora! Arbeto!” The door flung itself open and Harry dived through, landing on the hard ground roughly, and closing the door while he rolled with a spat-out Locking Charm.

Momentarily forgetting where he was, Harry scurried backwards until he had his back to the wall, but he didn’t bother with checking his surroundings. No, instead he began to clean himself and his belongings as quickly as he could. “Scourgify! Scourgify! Scourgify!” Harry cast it over and over again, only stopping when his skin began to feel a little raw. When he could no longer see any traces of spores or slime, Harry began to try and heal himself.

According to Professor Jones, when coming into contact with a contaminated or poisonous substance it was always best to act as though you are in danger, even if it turned out you were not. After all, a Healer couldn’t help their patients if they became sick themselves. Harry closed his eyes for a moment to calm himself down, before beginning to work on himself.

Harry tipped his head back as far as he could manage and gently tapped his wand against his throat. “Anapneo!” His breathing, which had felt a little ragged after his half-mile run through hell, now felt easier as his throat felt both fresh and clear, as though he had just consumed a trolley’s worth of peppermints and ice lollies.

Not trusting his senses alone, Harry needed to check for himself. “Aura Incantatem!” Similar to the Verdimillious Charm, this charm released a shower of sparks, white instead of green, and it was used to detect magic that was affecting a living being. It was an incredibly useful little spell, one that was used in a variety of professions, but it didn’t work on everything. However, according to The Dark Arts Outsmarted if this ever happened to you, then you had bigger things to worry about than a failing spell.

The white sparks showered over him, tickling what little skin his duelling uniform left exposed, but they didn’t linger. Harry felt relieved when his mouth, nose, throat, and chest remained free of sparks. There were no lingering spores on his body, but that didn’t mean there was nothing within.

Thanking his own need to study ahead, Harry finally cast the Diagnostic Charm over himself. “Vides Corpori!” A colourful, three-dimensional image of his own body shimmered out of him and came to rest opposite him, sitting exactly as he was. Moving his wand, Harry controlled the image, turning the skin translucent so he could examine the internal organs, the lungs in particular.

After a few minutes, in which he searched his entire respiratory system for anything unusual, anything he hadn’t seen before, Harry finally began to accept that he was fine. He allowed the image to fade away with a muttered, “Finite Incantatem!” and climbed to his feet.

Tearing off the ridiculous makeshift scarf, Harry stuffed it into his bag, before checking that he hadn’t dropped anything inside the Malspore Room. No, of course he hadn’t. Otherwise, Harry would have words with Dave of Scribbulus’ Writing Instruments, and it wouldn’t be a fun conversation for anyone. Finally, Harry did then what he should have done the moment he entered the room and began to check his surroundings.

As it turned out, it wasn’t a room at all. It was an intersection.

Lifting his goggles for a moment, Harry allowed them to drop back down on his face before tightening them. The long narrow entranceway he was standing in was pitch black and so was the intersection up ahead. Harry cast the usual detection spells, but when nothing came through, he sat back down.

Feeling more comfortable now that he knew he wasn’t about to be attacked by something waiting for him in the darkness, Harry allowed himself to relax and took some time to recharge. He was in no hurry, as Quirrell hadn’t seen fit to set him a time limit. So, he simply reached into his bag and pulled out the two wrapped sandwiches he’d taken from the kitchens earlier and a bottle of pineapple soda. Harry stretched his legs out while he ate, wishing he knew a spell to make the rocky ground beneath him softer.

When he was done, Harry drank one of the Girding Potions to replenish his depleted Mana Reserves. It was an incredibly pungent and foul-tasting concoction, but it was incredibly useful in times like these. It helped extend what little Mana a person had, as well as turning what energy their body could provide, such as fat, into ready-to-use Mana almost instantaneously. However, the maximum dosage was two vials and no more for at least several weeks, to give the body enough time to recover and restore its natural process of turning sustenance into usable Mana.

Harry kept one vial in reserve, but he promised himself that he would only use it if necessary. He didn’t think the test could go on for much longer, or at least he hoped not. He hadn’t brought any more food.

Harry moved forward, not bothering to cast a Wand-Lighting Charm just in case he wasn’t alone. Stepping into the path that diverged into two separate directions, right or left, he spent a moment examining each wide, high-ceilinged path before concluding that he couldn’t tell the difference between either of them. Laying his wand along the flat of his gloved palm, Harry whispered, “Point me!”, but the wand span uselessly until he cancelled the charm.

Sighing in frustration, Harry was about to pick a path using the tried-and-true method of eeny, meeny, miny, moe, when he felt the tiniest of breezes against his cheek. Felix Felicis was working overtime as it helped him remember something that he had half-heard from an adventure movie Dudley had been watching on the television while he was reading in his cupboard years ago. The hero had found his way out of the tunnels the villain had trapped him in by sucking on his finger and following the direction the wind was coming from.

Instead of sucking on his finger, Harry just walked down the right path as he felt the breeze on his right cheek. Wary of any sudden attack, Harry held his wand out in front of him while he walked so that he was immediately ready for any kind of attack, but this grew painful after a few minutes, so he lowered it eventually, rubbing his sore arm.

The walk was a long one, so long in fact that he was now almost hoping that something would attack him, just to settle his nerves. The lack of any kind of obstacle was starting to frighten him as it left him unsure of whether or not he was still in the middle of a test. Had he stumbled onto the wrong path? Did the Malspore Room have another exit that The Map failed to show?

Just as he was about to turn back and risk an examination of the Malspore Room, Harry saw an ethereal, silvery light up ahead. An exhale of pure relief left his mouth as he hurried forward. “Quietus!” he whispered as he ran towards the light, not wanting to alert any possible predators waiting in the room up ahead with his loud movements.

He needn’t have worried, as the path didn’t open up into a room at all.

Harry skidded to a stop the second he emerged from the path, as the silvery light had almost blinded him to the wide chasm that was directly in front of the opening. Looking upwards, Harry saw damp, rocky walls that led straight to a distant fissure on the surface that was open to the night sky. The ethereal, silvery light that he’d seen was the glow of the full moon.

The mere sight of it had Harry in a sudden panic, snapping his head back to earth, turning and pointing his wand in every direction. Considering everything else that he’d experienced tonight, Harry was momentarily terrified that Quirrell had decided to use a Werewolf as another obstacle for Harry’s test.

After a few moments, he realised how ridiculous he was being and lowered his wand. There was no way that Quirrell could convince a Werewolf, a perfectly ordinary human being for most of the month, to be trapped underground when their instincts yearned for open air. Especially if it was for a mere test. How would it benefit them? Besides, there was no space for a Werewolf to lurk in wait for its prey, as the fissure continued from the surface, past Harry’s skinny little ledge, down into the darkness.

Fearing what he was going to illuminate after the Malspores, Harry crouched and pointed his wand over the edge. “Periculum!” The fiery, red ball hurtled from the end of his wand with a familiar squeal and shot into the blackness. After a few seconds it exploded, and much to Harry’s confusion, it only served to illuminate the same damp rocky walls that were above him, leaving the bottom in pitch blackness.

Harry stood back up, thinking hard. There was an opening across the chasm, directly across from the one he was standing on, but it was at least a hundred, maybe even a hundred and fifty feet away. Was this the obstacle? Finding his way safely across? Because, he had to admit to himself, even with Liquid Luck, he was struggling to see a path forward. Even if he did know how to rock climb, the walls above him were too sheer and wet to climb safely, and he had no idea how far down the chasm went so that was even less safe. Perhaps he would be able to transfigure a makeshift bridge with the help of Felix, but he had nothing to work with aside from a torn-up sock.

Admitting defeat, Harry turned back to the path he had come from. Maybe he would be able to find another way forward from the path that he had didn’t to walk down earlier. If not, he would have to call it quits.

Harry gave another sigh of frustration as he walked down the same painfully long path as earlier. It had been bad enough before, but now that he was going to walk right past the Malspore Room at the intersection, Harry felt like he was more likely to die from the monotonous trek than from any of the obstacles.

Harry glanced at his watch as he crossed the intersection and wasn’t surprised to see that it had just passed one o’clock in the morning. The preparations he had made to overcome each obstacle had been lengthy and time-consuming, but none more so than the simple act of walking.

Still, when Felix shot a jolt of adrenaline through his system, Harry was made aware that he should be on high alert as he was now in unfamiliar territory. As he walked, he refrained from holding his wand up again as he didn’t want to have another sore arm which might prevent him from defending himself.

However, this caution was all for naught as he continued walking for minutes on end with no sign of movement or natural impediment like the chasm in his sight. Harry’s vigilance was finally confirmed to be pointless as he reached a dead end, and with it his frustration peaked. He refrained from kicking the wall, as he didn’t want to injure himself, but that didn’t stop him from throwing his head back and swearing loudly at the ceiling above.

Harry quickly wished that he’d kept his mouth shut.

Harry turned on his heel- wand arm first- when he heard rumbling behind him. As though awoken by the sound of his clear exasperation, dozens of giant stone Golems began to melt from the rocky walls, before stepping onto the path in two single files. Each Golem was the size of Hagrid, wore thick armour and carried a spear or axe in one hand and hefted shields emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest in the other.

Harry was mostly frightened by his predicament, but a tiny part of him was annoyed that he was going to be attacked by animated Artifices wearing his own school’s crest. Like he was an invader, a trespasser or something.

The nearest Golem moved in with alarming swiftness, raising its axe high above its head, clearly aiming to split Harry right down the middle. Forcefully ignoring the pit of panic that was growing in his stomach, Harry raised his wand just in time to match it. “Expelliarmus!” He cried out, and the force of his Disarming Charm was powerful enough to rip the axe right from the Golem’s stone grip, sending it spinning backwards where it met- and destroyed- the second Golem that was approaching him.

Under normal circ*mstances, Harry would have tried for a Blasting Curse and transfigured the debris into weapons he could use, but Liquid Luck reared its head once more. Rather than set off an explosion deep underground, it would be much safer to simply steal the weapons that were attacking him for his arsenal.

The first Golem was still approaching him menacingly, even without its weapon, but it stopped dead when Harry cast, “Confundo!” The knowledge that the Confundus Charm could be used on enchanted objects had slipped his mind, but his new favourite performance enhancer had brought it right back to the forefront at the perfect moment. Better yet, Harry knew that it would be easier than it normally would be to take control of these animated guardians, as the spellwork had been split between dozens, maybe even hundreds of Golems. This was clearly the work of a Master of Transfiguration, but Harry was willing to bet that with their spell’s focus split among so many targets, his far more focused willpower could overcome theirs. At least for one or two of the Golems.

He was right. The Golem did not just freeze, it shuddered in the way all confounded victims seemed to and in that brief window, Harry made his will known. Protect me, he commanded desperately, you exist only to protect me.

The Golem turned swiftly on its heel, keeping its arm behind its back to protect Harry while it began to wrestle with the third Golem. Harry, quickly realising that his weapon-less protector was useless without a weapon, decided to trade it in for a better model. Aiming his wand at the small of the Golem’s back, Harry firmly said, “Depulso!” and watched it fly forward down the pathway, taking the third Golem with it.

Harry didn’t have time to breathe, because while the fourth and fifth Golems were tangled amongst the first and the third, several others were climbing over to get to him. “Confringo! Protego!” He bellowed, and the tangled heap of Golems was destroyed in a fiery explosion. The Shield Charm protected him from debris, but the entire tunnel shuddered, and Harry remembered what a stupid idea it was to blow something up when he was trapped underground with it.

Not lingering on that thought, Harry was ready to move on. “Deletrius!” Harry had only ever used the Eradication Spell to counter his Smokescreen Spells, but it worked well in clearing his limited air from the dust that rose from the explosion, as well as freeing his vision for the upcoming offensive.

“Confundo!” Harry cast that spell four times on the nearest undamaged Golems, before stepping forward and allowing them to form a defensive formation around his body. Silently commanding them to move forward, they proceeded back down the pathway, fighting all the Golems who got in their way.

While the two in the front pushed forward as quickly as possible, creating a path which the other three in their group could follow, the two in the back did their best to protect Harry from any Golems that were in a good enough shape to attack them while they passed. Meanwhile, Harry would use the Brachiabindo Jinx or Banishing Charm on any Golems that were quick enough to jab at him in the minuscule gaps his protectors had left in their formation.

It wasn’t an easy journey, far from it. There were many close calls, so many in fact that Harry began to wonder if his heart would simply find a new home for itself in his neck as it jumped into his throat so frequently during their trek.

Once, a Golem that only had its legs destroyed, but was still whole enough to attack, fell on its side while they moved past it. It must have seen an opportunity as it poked its sharp, stone spear through the gaps in the Golems’ legs and stabbed at Harry’s calf. If it weren’t for his Silver Spears uniform Harry would have been forced to kiss that leg goodbye. As it was, while the uniform had been enchanted to never cut or tear and to dull physical blows, it was still as pliable as any clothing fabric so the force behind the stab still tore Harry’s muscles to shreds.

Feeling as if he had just been shot in the leg, Harry screamed out in pain as he collapsed forward. It was a minor miracle that the Golems he’d confounded interpreted protect me as get me out of here instead of protect me only from physical harm because when he fell forward the Golem to his front left quickly knelt and allowed him to land on its back instead of the ground. Before he realised what was happening, the Golem stood again and continued marching forward with the others, leaving Harry to loop his arms around its neck to not fall off.

Harry watched for a moment, amazed that the four Golems were working so well together without detailed instructions from him, but he was forced to snap out of it quickly as another Golem sought to attack him while he was vulnerable. “Expelliarmus!”

While the spear that had been aiming directly for his face was flung out of the Golem’s grip, and his own ride started smashing it to pieces with both axe and fist, Harry realised that this new position left him exposed. Ignoring the uncomfortably hot, pulsating, pain that was emanating from his left calf, Harry pointed his wand at three more Golems in quick succession. “Confundo!”

Harry let out an annoyed grunt; while two more Golems fell under his control, three were beyond his limit of concentration. Still, six in total was better than four, and he took pleasure in binding the one who had resisted him in invisible ropes so his confounded guardians could destroy it.

It was an easier journey from that point. Not safe, just easier. Two Golems in the front and back and one on the right side while they kept their left close to the wall. Harry was still being given a piggyback ride by the Golem in the middle which left him safe from another low attack like last time.

It took several more minutes of the seven of them working as a unit, with Harry being forced to replace Golems with new ones when they were destroyed or were too damaged to be of any use to him, until the Malspore intersection came within sight. Harry felt a wave of relief when he noticed that there were no new Golems beyond that point.

Wanting to cut off reprisal attacks from the Golems that they hadn’t managed to destroy completely, Harry forced the one carrying him to break into a run while the others held off the ones they were still fighting. When he was almost at the intersection, Harry jabbed his wand over his shoulder, pointing it at the ceiling behind him, and shouted, “Confringo!”

The whole tunnel rumbled when the high ceiling caved in due to the fiery explosion. Most of the Golems behind them were either trapped behind the ensuing cave-in or crushed underneath a small mountain of rocks. There were only half a dozen more that had either escaped the cave-in or were up ahead, but with Confundus Charms at his disposal, he made quick work of them.

Instructing all but the Golem that was carrying him to smash each other into fragments, Harry had his sole remaining animated protector gently put him on the ground in front of the Malspore Room, pausing only to clear the air of the dust from the second underground explosion that he’d caused that night.

Harry winced as he stretched his injured leg. The Golem piggyback ride had not been as fun as it normally should have been, as he’d been intensely focused on keeping his leg immobile during their trek so he could avoid the pain. It had been a futile endeavour.

Harry gritted his teeth as he unbuckled his boot and gently pulled it off. This entire night has been a futile endeavour.

At first, when he first glimpsed the Hidebehind, Harry had been a little flattered that his favourite teacher thought so highly of his abilities, that he thought Harry, a mere First Year, could handle a Class XXXX creature on his own. Then came the Malspores, which he had thought were some kind of mistake on Quirrell’s part, but the Golems were what made him realise that he didn’t belong down here. Those animated Artifices had been aiming to kill, so either Harry and Eliza had accidentally swapped envelopes, or this was not the test that Quirrell had designed for him.

Still, it wasn’t like he had much choice but to continue forwards. With his leg injured and swelling, there was no way he was going to be able to run through the Malspore Room again. He needed to press on and hope that there was an exit at the end of this gauntlet.

Waving his wand over himself, he cast the Diagnostic Charm, “Vides Corpori!” Examining the mirror image of his calf, Harry could see that the muscles there had been torn to shreds and it was only going to get more swollen.

After rolling up the leg of his hose, Harry reached into his bag for the snuffbox he’d filled with the remnants of the Bruise-Healing Ointment that he had brewed during his Healing exam. Before using it, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind and fill himself with the easy confidence that Felix Felicis had instilled in him earlier. While he'd never cast the spell himself, he had seen Madam Pomfrey use it plenty of times after practice when he, or one of his teammates, had strained themselves on their broomsticks during practice. Pointing his wand at his calf, Harry whispered, “Momordi Recesus!” as he gently moved his wand back and forth over the affected area.

Harry let out a startled breath of relief went he felt the pain in his calf lessen, but not completely disappear like it did when Pomfrey did it. Still, feeling hopeful, he began to rub the swollen area with the Bruise-Healing Ointment and slumped with relief when the burning pain finally stopped.

Harry took off his bag and slumped to the side, using it as a pillow while he waited for the ointment to do its work. It was two in the morning by the time he felt strong enough to move on, but not before applying another layer of ointment and pulling out his socks-turned-mask from his bag.

“Engorgio!” Harry watched as the double-layered fabric grew long enough to wrap around his leg as a makeshift bandage. Tight to stop swelling, Harry remembered Hestia saying, but not too tight or it’ll just cause further swelling around the bandage. Harry was sure she had never intended for her students to use torn-up old socks as makeshift bandages, but while he knew the correct incantation for bandages, conjuration still was far beyond him.

Silently asking the still-confounded Golem to help him up, Harry tested his leg and was pleased to find that while it wasn’t entirely healed, all that remained from the sharp, white-hot pain was a dull throbbing ache. Testing his movements, he decided that while he would be able to walk on it, he should allow the ointment to complete its work and let the Golem continue to carry him.

After he’d put his boot back on, he climbed onto his silent protector’s back for a second time, and cast, “Locomotor!” on the largest pieces of the smashed Golems to make them follow him down the tunnel, towards the wide chasm.

When they reached the thin ledge from earlier, Harry had the Golem put him down. Waving his wand at the rubble he had floated along with him, Harry murmured, “Supellex!” and watched as they pulled themselves together before transfiguring into a sturdy wooden chair.

Harry grimaced. After learning this spell for the WOMBATs, he didn’t bother perfecting it as he usually did; comfortable seating was aplenty in the castle. That was probably going to come back and bite him now that he needed it to hold a much heavier recipient. Tapping the chair with his wand, he reinforced it with an Unbreakable Charm. “Fianto Duri!”

Ordering the Golem to sit in the chair, Harry held his breath the moment its stone backside made contact with the wood, but aside from some creaking, the chair held together. “Don’t move at all,” Harry instructed the Golem, before swishing his wand and pointing it over the chasm. “Locomotor!”

Even though Felix Felicis assured him that his idea would work, Harry was still both surprised and pleased when, instead of immediately falling into the darkness below, the Golem simply floated on towards the other ledge across the chasm. Harry could have simply floated the Golem across with the charm, but he needed to test if the chair would be able to carry heavy weight without the ground being inches away. After all, levitation was a lot harder the higher up you were.

Instructing the Golem to get off the chair and wait for him by the next door, Harry returned the chair to him with a less strenuous Summoning Charm. Examining the chair, Harry was forced to use a Mending Charm on it after discovering several cracks along the seat and its legs. When he had cast a second Unbreakable Charm on the chair, Harry sat on it backwards so that he could grip the backrest with his free hand.

For the second time in as many minutes, Harry swished his wand at the chair and pointed it across to the other ledge. “Locomotor!” Harry repressed a yelp as the chair took off much quicker than it had with the Golem, as though it sensed his reluctance to spend a second longer than he had to over the deep chasm.

This was rather unfortunate as Harry almost immediately slipped off, as his left hand was slick with sweat from his nerves. He didn’t have an especially prevalent fear of heights like Terry, as he never would have mounted a broomstick recreationally if he did, but there was a substantial difference between a state-of-the-art racing broom like the Nimbus 2000 and a mediocre transfigured chair that was hovering on a Locomotion Charm.

As though sensing his doubt, the chair dipped dramatically by a few feet and when Harry yelped it fell even further. Knowing that strict emotional control was necessary for maintaining even the mildest of spells, Harry immediately gave up on the Locomotion Charm, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get it back to the height he needed it to be in before he hit the rocky wall face first.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” The chair shot straight up with Harry still on it. As he was about to rocket past the ledge, a stone arm grabbed him and pulled him into the safety of its stone arms. Just in the nick of time too, as the chair continued its course directly upwards, scraping against the rocky wall above which broke the charm.

From the Golem’s arms, Harry watched with a racing heart as the chair fell past him into the dark abyss. The bottom was so far down, that even when listening carefully, he couldn’t hear the wooden chair finally hit it.

Harry glanced up at the Golem and repressed the urge to thank it. For the second time that night, it had reacted to Harry’s need for protection without being given a conscious order. As grateful as Harry was to have it around, he needed to remember that it wasn’t sapient. It was just another tool in his arsenal and, if necessary, he would have to sacrifice it to escape this gauntlet.

“Put me down.” The Golem immediately obeyed, and Harry turned away from it, searching for the next door.

He was no longer the lonely boy from Little Whinging that needed to personify inanimate objects for company. That version of himself was a memory. One that was already half-forgotten.

Approaching the door that was hidden in shadow away from the ledge, Harry cast his usual series of revealing spells and he only discovered the same information that he had from each door he’d already tried this on tonight: that nothing sinister had been cast on the doors, that either a curse or a Beast was waiting for him on the other side and that there were no other humans around.

With a few words, Harry opened the door and examined it briefly. He’d caught a glimpse of a large room, about the size of the Great Hall, with a door directly ahead. He closed it with haste because the sound of the door opening had roused the room’s sleeping inhabitants. The second they had caught sight of him, they began to roar.

Trolls. Two of them. Chained to the exit. Larger and more menacing than the one he’d slain on Halloween.

Gathering his courage, he prepared himself for another fight when he crossed the threshold. Glancing up towards the Golem, he told it, “I need you to charge into the room in front of me. Fight both Trolls and distract them from my approach until I manage to catch up to you.” The Golem seemed to understand his orders as it faced the door, bending its knees as though it were about to start sprinting, ready to charge the second he opened the door. It was a good thing that at least one of them was capable of running, as Harry needed some time to get to the other side with his injured leg.

“Arbeto!” The moment the door was flung open the Golem charged in, brandishing its axe over its head in an attempt to seem intimidating. Harry knew that if it possessed a voice, it would be screaming a war cry as it charged the Beasts. It needn’t have put in so much effort, as the two fifteen-foot Trolls were focused on it from the moment it stepped into the room.

Harry followed as quickly as he could manage, not wanting to leave the Golem to fight them alone. It was only around nine feet tall, and if left to fight two Beasts that were each almost twice its size, it wouldn’t stand a chance. Normally, when someone was forced to fight someone much larger than them, they made good use of their speed or environment, choosing to fight with their smarts instead of brute strength.

Unfortunately, inanimate objects could only be as smart as the one who controlled them allowed them to be, and Harry had not made any attempt to let the Golem fight with anything other than brute strength. As such, when it charged in to confront the trolls, it only lasted as long as it took Harry to reach the room’s halfway point.

He froze when the Golem’s head, the largest piece remaining, landed by his feet. As he watched the featureless face slowly spin to a stop, the Trolls roared out to him, as if throwing down a challenge. One of the monsters was chewing on one of the Golem’s severed arms like a teething infant.

Harry smiled savagely in return. He wasn’t the same fighter he’d been on Halloween.

He quickly pointed his wand at the chains that were binding the Troll on the left, the one with the stone arm between its teeth, and spat out, “Oppugno!” Following the direction of his intent, the chains pulled themselves taught, yanking the Troll off its feet and dragging it back towards the door it was meant to be guarding. Before it could stand back up, the now loose length of chain wrapped itself around the Troll’s neck and began to strangle it.

The second Troll dimly watched as its fellow guard was dragged back to the door and began to have the life choked out of it before it thought to do something. Not realising that the small human that had walked into its domain was responsible, it decided that bending down and roaring at the attacking chains was the best thing to do. The Troll that was being strangled seemed startled that its partner was screaming in its ear, and it let go of the chain with one hand to punch the roaring Troll in the face.

Shaking his head at the idea that one of these creatures had ever been a threat to him, Harry flicked his wand at the chains that were holding the second Troll to the wall. “Emancipare!” The lock that was holding it to the wall came loose, and Harry allowed it to charge at him, as his aim still wasn’t all that great, and he needed to hit it in the eyes with his next spell. The Troll’s skin was too resistant to magic of a certain level.

When he was close enough to see his reflection in its dark bug eyes, Harry cast “Carpe Noctem!” The jet-black spell left his wand faster than any other spell he had ever cast before, as though his blackthorn wand enjoyed his daring. The Nightmare Hex hit the Troll right in its eye, making it slow down just enough for Harry to jump out of the way of its stampeding path.

Harry got to his feet, wincing at a thrill of pain that emanated from his injured leg up his left side, just in time to watch the second troll’s dilemma. The Nightmare Hex forced it to experience its greatest fear, and for a creature that was at the top of its food chain like a Troll, that could only be an attack from a member of the same species. Trapped in an underground room with nowhere to flee, it had to fall back on the latter half of the flight or fight response, and there was only one other Troll in the room.

The first Troll had only just managed to snap the chain in half, it's rabid desperation managing to overcome whatever enchantments had been placed on it. Harry watched the Troll, rubbing its throat and weakly growling at the chains, just standing there with no idea of what was headed it's way. It soon did though, as a three-tonne monstrosity leapt onto its back and proceeded to savagely beat it to death.

Harry, who had been angry at his current circ*mstances, had juvenilely decided to take it out on the Trolls. But as he watched the second Troll tear apart the first in a manic fury, he regretted it almost immediately. Unfortunately, it was far too late to stop the events that he’d put into motion, as the first Troll had its arm torn off and was beaten to a violent, gory death with it not one minute later.

All he wanted to do was close his eyes and turn away, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the second Troll, afraid that it would attack him the second it was done with its partner. It was a good thing he realised that as the Troll finally stopped beating its partner’s corpse and rose, covered in the cobalt blue blood of its former partner, and began to look for another threat. When its eyes fell on Harry, he reacted quickly, taking no pleasure in the act this time.

“Oppugno! Oppugno!” Both the broken chains of its recently deceased companion and the intact set that had, until recently, been holding it to the wall, flew forward to wrap themselves around the Troll’s limbs and throat. The Troll fell, still in a panic because of the Nightmare Hex, but with its limbs bound, it was unable to loosen the chains around its throat. It was dead within minutes.

As Harry had to watch every second of its gasping death struggles, it felt much longer for him.

Harry fell onto his backside, breathing deeply, and not just out of exhaustion either. What was wrong with him? A few hours underneath the school and he was killing living creatures to work out his frustrations? Harry wished he could promise himself that he would never do something like that again, but aside from the visceral end, he’d enjoyed the process of fighting. In a sick, twisted way, it was the most fun he’d ever had. More fun than rule-breaking with The Marauders. Even more fun than hanging out with his friends.

Distantly, Harry was glad that he’d eaten the sandwiches hours ago now, as he wouldn’t have had the appetite for it after what he’d just witnessed. After what he’d just caused. He shouldn’t try to forget that he was wholly responsible for what had just occurred in this room.

Climbing to his feet, Harry began to make his way to the door, taking care to avoid the Troll remains that littered this side of the room, and pausing only to bring the broken remains of the Golem with him. Carefully checking the door and the next room as best as he could, Harry opened the door and groaned at what he saw waiting for him. It was not a creature, or a plant this time.

It was mist. Just cloudy grey mist.

Harry didn’t bother closing the door, doubting that the mist could enter the room. The doors weren’t airtight so whoever created this hellish labyrinth had enchanted the doorway to hold back the mist to prevent it from hurting the Trolls.

Not that it did them much good, Harry thought darkly.

Removing the wrapping paper he’d used on the sandwiches from his bag, Harry cast “Avifors!” over them, turning them both into paper crows. Harry moved his wand forwards, towards the Mist Room, and the paper crows soared inside. After a minute, Harry directed them back inside the Troll Room, and they flew back and landed in front of him.

Ignoring the sharp pain in his leg, Harry crouched down to examine them closely. He couldn’t find a shred of damage on either bird, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Some curses only affected flesh, and Harry was not willing to tear off one of his limbs to test if the mist was safe.

He glanced back at the two dead Trolls and sighed.

Harry levitated the severed Troll arm into the Mist Room using the Mobilicorpus Charm, and after a few minutes, he levitated it back out to examine it. Similar to the paper crows, there was no sign of damage on the arm. If the mist was poisonous then it was probably only deadly for humans. The same goes for any possible predator that was lurking in there too.

Too tired to bother with gathering his nerve this time around, Harry simply walked right into the Mist Room with his wand held high.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He was drowning.

The water around him was dark and freezing and the only illumination he had was the distant blue light, far, far above. Harry was not the strongest swimmer at the best of times. A suburban boy whose only experience in water was the weekly swimming lessons they had every summer term at St. Greggs, but now in the open water, being strangled by dozens of long, strong fingers, he didn’t stand a chance.

It was only his desperate need to survive that had stopped him from succumbing, but it was a vicious cycle. Every time the greyish-green, chimpanzee-sized creatures managed to claw enough of his skin and flesh off, tainting the water around them with his blood, Harry considered giving up, if only to spare himself more pain.

But then he would remember that old childhood fear- originating from his brief desire to be a pirate after Lupin had given him Treasure Island to read- was to drown in a large body of water. His body lost, without any kind of marking left on land that a boy called Harry Potter had once existed, and the guardians that were supposed to care about him would move on with their lives with ease, never even noticing he was gone.

And then he would begin to fight against the creatures once more, tooth and nail, desperate to survive. Desperate to prove his existence. Until the pain grew too great and he began to give up all over again.

It was a vicious cycle.

Deeper and deeper, he sank, his pain and fear overwhelming, never-ending, maddening- wait, why aren’t I dead yet?

That single moment of rationality snapped him out of it.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He opened his eyes, catching the briefest glimpse of a wide, wooded, mountainous environment before something dark and enormous pounced at him. It was only instinct borne from months of evading spells and Bludgers that made him drop and roll away.

The enormous shadow was quick. Not even giving Harry enough time to breathe, it landed, turned, and leapt at his new position, all in under two seconds. Not wasting precious time trying to get to his feet or evade, Harry instead cast “Protego!” and the impossibly fast creature slammed headfirst into his Shield Charm and ricocheted from it. Scrambling to his feet now that he was momentarily safe, Harry examined his enemy.

It was a panther. Or rather, something awfully close to it.

Its thick coat of fur was so black that it seemed to absorb the light around it. From its mouth came two large curving teeth, like a Sabre-Toothed Tiger, and it had six powerful legs, each ending in massive paws with long claws scraping at the ground. But its most interesting feature was its large, luminous green eyes. They were magnetic almost, pulling him in, demanding eye contact-

Harry forced himself to look at the creature’s legs instead of its eyes as the savagely strong Legilimency attack he felt battering into his mind helped him understand what he was facing.

A Wampus.

A horrifically powerful Beast, native to North America like the Hidebehind before it, the Wampus was incredibly fast, strong and, worst of all, capable of using Legilimency on its prey. It was terribly good at stunning its victims with visions of their worst fears, trapping them in a realm of their own creation, and swiftly killing them before their terror tainted the meat.

Harry now knew that he hadn’t even managed one step into the room before the Wampus had sunk its claws into his mind. There was no mist, as it was just an illusion conjured by the Beast to hide its presence in the room from him.

Harry could feel a building sensation of fear come up from his stomach, all the way up to his chest at the idea of fighting this creature. Only Aurors with a Mastery in the Mind Arts were permitted to do so alone, and Harry’s extent of knowledge in the field was limited to a couple of cognitive spells and the ability to know when someone was taking a peek in his mind, and even that wasn’t all that reliable.

Worst of all, the Wampus was an intelligent creature. Incapable of speech, yes, but it knew how to capture its prey, as it quickly proved by skittering around in every direction Harry faced, moving its head this way and that, trying to catch his eye.

Hating the idea of dying while experiencing his worst fear, Harry immediately went in for the kill. “Protego!” He shouted, reinforcing his Shield Charm before casting, “Accio Golem Rubble! Impedimenta!” The mound of rubble was still waiting by the open door, exactly where he had left it, and Harry summoned it over to himself before stopping it in mid-air in front of him. Before the Wampus could scatter the rubble away with a swipe of its paws, Harry spat out, “Acusignis! Depulso!”

The frozen rubble turned into a hundred, long, sharp needles and with the Banishing Charm, they flung themselves into every corner of the room, to catch the Wampus no matter where it fled. Unfortunately for the Beast, it had seemed to understand that Harry had weaponised the rubble against it, and had shot forward with its paw raised to scatter them away.

It ended up catching a faceful of needles, taking roughly half a dozen to each eye.

The Wampus ricocheted off his Shield Charm for the second time in as many minutes. It fell to the ground, roaring in agony as it was blinded by the sharp needles. Had Harry been in his right mind, he would have left it at that, taking his chances by running to the exit while the Wampus writhed in pain.

But he wasn’t in his right mind, the Wampus has seen to that, and he wanted the damn Beast to suffer for it.

“Oppugno!” He shouted, spit flying, and he didn’t cast it just once. Through the open door to the Troll Room, the chains and paper crows came soaring in. Harry directed the metallic bindings to wrap themselves around the Wampus’ limbs and throat, wanting to incapacitate it, while the paper crows were there to flutter around its ears, keeping it focused away from him while he lowered his Shield Charm and approached.

Harry got within point black range of its enormous flank and fired, “Confringo!” The spell struck the side, opening up its body and dousing the room with the scent of burning flesh, all while the Wampus let out a mournful roar. Harry struck again and again with the Blasting Curse, until the Wampus was not just dead, but very messily cut in half.

Harry sat down roughly on the rocky ground and reached for another Girding Potion with shaking hands. His gloved fingers were slick with the blood of Trolls and Wampus, just like the rest of him, so it took him a minute to get the flask to open. He chugged down the foul-smelling potion as though it were a bottle of pineapple juice and threw the empty container back into his bag when he was done.

Harry let out a little humourless chuckle which echoed in the wide-open area. He’d been fooling himself to ever think he would move past his life at Privet Drive. The Wampus had reminded him of that. If it hadn’t been for Felix Felicis, keeping him rational when he was at his most irrational, he would have been eaten while experiencing the same nightmare he’d dreaded having back when he used to sleep in a cupboard.

Harry had thought that he’d moved past it, but if an animal like the Wampus was capable of making him feel the dull agonising pressure of an empty, unloved existence, then what were the Masters of the Mind Arts capable of? All that time he’d spent in Quirrell’s presence without knowing what Legilimency even was must have given him enough time to examine Harry’s mind at his leisure. He’d never even offered to teach Harry Occlumency either. He would have refused the offer of course, as he didn’t trust anyone with unfettered access to his thoughts, but the fact that Quirrell didn’t even offer to teach him was suspect in and of itself.

Or maybe he was just looking for another thing to place on Quirrell’s shoulders because after tonight he was going to get back at Quirrell for putting him through this gauntlet in the first place.

Harry slowly climbed to his feet, not allowing himself to feel hope that the next obstacle would be the last. From his Arithmancy lessons, he knew that a gauntlet of three or seven obstacles would be the best protection for whatever the hell this place was protecting. Either that or a gauntlet of forty-nine obstacles, but even thinking of that possibility made Harry want to roll over and die.

The next one is the last, Harry told himself as he prepared to open the door. It has to be.

Throwing the door wide open, Harry entered the final room.

Chapter 23: Truth and Justice

Chapter Text

Harry stepped into the next room, careful of any kind of imminent attack, but he doubted it was coming. This would not be the ideal environment for it.

It was the biggest room Harry had ever seen, at least the size of ten cathedrals, and packed to the brim with miscellaneous items. It was just like the Room of Hidden Things that the Room of Requirement provided for The Marauders. There were rows and rows of precariously stacked goods, towers of furniture and cauldrons to spires of books, comics and discarded newspapers. There were stacks of broken broomsticks, piles of damaged paintings and schoolbags, heaps of stuffed animals, and cages that held the skeletons of long-deceased pets. Or experiments.

Harry guessed that this was the room that the Automatons used to store the school’s lost or damaged property. If the staff were even aware of the Room of Hidden Things (and Tonks had assured him that they weren't) the Automatons wouldn’t be able to access it as they were incapable of thought and desire. They didn'trequireanything, so the Room of Requirement was beyond their reach.

Harry walked down the short flight of stairs and into the room proper. He hadn't seen an exit from the short height the stairs had provided him, so he climbed down and activated The Map to find the final exit.

As he reached the last step, Harry was overcome with relief when he saw the exit clearly labelled on The Map, all the way on the other side of the room. It led into a passageway that would take him directly to one of the school's seven towers.

Giddy at the possibility of escape, he began to hurry as quickly as his stiff leg would allow. He’d already decided that he wouldn’t wear his Invisibility Cloak on his journey to the Hospital Wing. It had to be at least three in the morning by now, so it was unlikely for him to bump into anyone in the corridors, but Harry didn't care if he did. He would use the opportunity to tell them about Quirrell's little test and demand he be thrown in Azkaban, or Harry would threaten to find another school.

In reality, he would settle for the man simply being sacked, but Vernon had always said that you needed to start high when you sat at the negotiating table.

Harry began to walk through the room, following The Map to find the widest- not the quickest- path out of the room. If he had full mobility of his leg, he would have risked the narrow walkways that the room provided, ones that were small enough for an Automaton to slip through. He might have even climbed over a few of the more stable-looking piles instead of walking all the way around, but with his stiff leg, he was forced to hobble through the vast maze of lost and broken things, following The Map closely to keep his sense of direction.

It truly was fascinating, Harry pondered distantly, how many students this school must have housed and educated over the centuries, and how many of them had gotten into some kind of trouble with the Dark Arts. Why else would they feel it necessary to throw away a trunk filled with beautiful dresses that tried to strangle him as he walked past? Who else but a student would think it's a good idea to try and breed Bowtruckles and Gnomes and then cage the offspring until all that was left was a skeleton? He avoided even looking in the murky jars after he glimpsed a milky blue, human eye in one of them.

As he made his way through the maze, Harry felt like he was an observer of all of Hogwarts' worst mistakes, the students they should never have housed and taught. Much to his shame, he suspected that he might belong among their number.

Harry walked through the forgotten calamities of his predecessors in a grim mood.

When he reached the centre of the immense room, he came across an all too familiar object. The Mirror of Erised looked rather incongruous when it was surrounded by discarded school articles and juvenile Dark Artifices, but then again, it hadn't looked at home in that abandoned classroom either.

Despite his better sense, Harry found himself hobbling over towards it. He knew that it could offer him no knowledge or safety, but right now, he felt a sudden and overwhelming desire to see his parents' faces again. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he could simply go through the pictures Hagrid had given him, but it was drowned out by the unexpected and almost alien desire that had washed over him.

No,a voice seemed to whisper,you want this. You need this. It will make everything all right again.

That's right,Harry agreed with the voice. For almost a year, he’d desired to read the words that they had left for him in their letters, but he hadn't even attempted to open their letters since Christmas. Hagrid's thoughtful gift had been enough for him these past few months, as whenever he was feeling stressed or overwhelmed, or even when he just couldn't sleep, he would peruse the photo album that his giant friend had made for him. Looking at their faces had become a comforting technique for him, something he used to settle his nerves. He could use that now.

Harry stood directly in front of the Mirror of Erised, just like Michael had told him to, and looked hopefully upon his heart's desire, but it never materialised. Harry stared expectantly, waiting for the image to change, but all that remained was his own reflection. His bloody, bruised, dusty reflection. But not exactly as he was.

While Harry was tired and angry, his reflection was anything but. The Harry in the Mirror was smiling like he had just won the Quidditch Cup all over again and was looking quite pleased with himself. No wonder Anthony got so annoyed with him whenever grades were given out. If someone had looked at him with an expression that smug, he would have given them a smack for their efforts.

Before Harry could decide if he wanted to waste both his precious time and Mana examining the Mirror for any defects, his reflection gave him a co*cky wink before reaching into his hose pocket. As he watched, baffled, the reflection pulled a red stone out of its pocket and lifted it so that Harry could see it clearly, before putting it right back.

If this wasn't confusing enough, Harry felt a weight drop in his own pocket at that exact moment.

Nervously, he reached in and pulled out the same stone his reflection had been waving at him a second ago. Glancing up at him, he was startled to find that his bloody reflection had vanished, to be replaced by the same image he had seen on Halloween. Forcibly tearing his eyes away from his parents’ beaming faces, Harry examined the stone in detail.

It was an odd thing, about the size of a nectarine, and it looked and felt like a precious gem. It was scarlet, a darker shade around the edges, and it emitted a pulsating red light from its centre. Most concerning of all was the way it felt in his hand, warm and pumping, as though it were a human heart.

"Fascinating, isn't it?"

Harry jumped. Whirling around, he found Quirrell standing behind him, casually leaning against the far wall as though they were in the middle of one of their lessons. The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was smiling proudly, as though Harry's presence in this room was a triumph.

The mere sight of that smile filled Harry was a level of rage he hadn't felt in a long time, but before he could say anything, Quirrell continued speaking.

"Congratulations, Harry!" Quirrell swaggered over, hands in pockets, before stopping in front of him. "I'm honestly shocked you managed to make it this far on your own."

So, thiswashis test,Harry thought. The tiniest flicker of hope that had remained, the idea that he had merely stumbled into a gauntlet that had nothing to do with him, died in his chest. "Why the hell did you make this so hard?" He demanded. "This isn't meant for WOMBAT students! Do have any idea how many times I almost died?!" He felt justified speaking to a teacher so harshly because after tonight either Quirrell would be leaving the castle for good or Harry will.

Quirrell raised his hands. "I only hoped you would find the first door and identify the creature within." He explained smoothly. "The gauntlet as a whole was only meant for Miss Tonks."

Harry blinked. "So, Eliza had the same test?"

Quirrell nodded. "She found the first entrance much quicker than you did, but she faltered with the Wampus." He shrugged, before smiling again. "You've surpassed her, Harry. Do you see what just a year of my tutelage can do?" He was smiling down at him, as though Harry's triumph was his own, but Harry was too preoccupied to care. As he was now, he seriously doubted if he could outperform Eliza in any Esoteric Art, but the Wampus was a different kind of challenge. One that brute magical power couldn't overcome. He would have to check in on her before term ended to collaborate Quirrell's story, but right now he had a more pressing question that needed an answer.

"Were you watching me?" He asked, carefully. "The whole time?"

Quirrell nodded. "Of course. Excellent improvisation with the pig intestines, by the way. I never would have thought of it."

Harry felt his blood run cold. His Human-Presence-Revealing spell was flawless, he had practised it enough times with both The Silver Spears and The Marauders to know that for sure. Harry's spell wasn't as powerful as it could be, as he could only reveal the presence of individuals from a certain distance, but if Quirrell had been in the same room as him, he would have known for sure.

Harry took a step back. "What are you?" His voice was quiet, but surprisingly steady for just how scared he was.

Quirrell's eyebrows knit together, confused. "I don't understand."

Harry raised his wand."Homenum Revelio!"There was no reaction, just like there hadn’t been all night. "What are you?" He demanded, louder this time.

Quirrell froze, looking genuinely surprised, but only for a moment.

"Stupefy!"Harry's spell was swatted to one side so quickly, he hardly saw Quirrell move. When had he drawn his wand?

"Come now, Harry. We're good friends by now, aren't we?" Quirrell intoned softly, as he approached him with a hunter's caution. Slow, not because he feared his quarry, but because he was afraid of spooking him.

For every step Quirrell took towards him, Harry took another step back. "Friends? I don't even know what you are!"

"Of course you do! I'm your teacher." Quirrell opened his arms magnanimously. "I taught you how to protect yourself. I helped you becomestrong. I protected you from Myrose and Fredricks. I covered for you when you took your frustrations out on others."

"What?"

"You attacked Draco Malfoy a few months ago, did you not?" It took Harry a minute to remember, as it had felt like such a long time ago. "His father is on the Board of Governors. He tried to have you reprimanded, expelled, but I told them I saw the whole thing.You were only defending yourself, I told them. For your sake."

"Why would you do that?" Harry asked. "Why wouldn't you tell me about it?"

"Because I take care of my own." Quirrell reached for him, trying to place a paternal hand on his shoulder, but stepped back when Harry shot a Pus-Filled-Boil Curse at him. "You'remystudent."

Harry didn't appreciate the way he emphasised that. "Stop trying to distract me," he snapped. "The Human-Presence-Revealing spell shows all human souls present in the vicinity.Why doesn't it work on you?"

Quirrell gave him a flat look. "You're overestimating your own ability." He shook his head, looking a little disappointed. "You're a First Year student, Harry. An infant taking its first steps along the path of the Esoteric Arts. What sounds more plausible? That you failed to work a fairly advanced revealing spell? Or that I don't possess a soul?"

Much to Quirrell's surprise, Harry abruptly stopped moving backwards. "Do you know what the Mirror of Erised is?" His non sequitur made the Defence Professor pause.

"What?"

"It shows us what we want. Whatever we want most." Harry turned to face it. "I needed to see what you are." Quirrell seemed to realise that by following Harry's backward progress, he was now standing in front on the Mirror, exactly where Harry had been a minute ago.

After a long moment of silence, he began to laugh uncontrollably, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. "A Human-Presence-Revealing Spell and a glorified vanity piece?" He jabbed his wand at the Mirror of Erised, and his Reductor Curse reduced the ancient Artifice to a heap of dust. "Almost two years wearing this skin, and I was caught by a child with aRevelio?" He wiped a tear that had formed at the corner of his eye, looking entirely unthreatened by Harry's increasing alarm. "Oh, it's true what they say. You really can't plan for every little thing." His smile turned dark as he looked down at Harry. "I suppose it’s only right that we meet again without masks."

Harry blinked. "Meet again? Am I supposed to know who you are?"

Quirrell frowned, before turning back at the remains of the mirror. "You didn't see me?"

Harry shrugged. "I needed you to stop pretending to be a normal teacher, so no, I didn't see you." He smirked. "I can't believe you thought your secret could be my heart's desire. You think far too much of yourself."

Quirrell made a move as if to strike him but refrained at the last second. It was that, more than anything, that helped him finally put the pieces together.

Harry inhaled sharply. "Voldemort?"

Quirrell sighed. "A trick within a trick. People can't be allowed to know I was fooled by a child. You mustn't tell them, Harry." Harry merely stared at him, so he continued. "We don't have long. Lord Dumbledore will be returning from Memphis soon." He extended his hand, palm side up. "Give me the stone and we can continue this discussion once we leave school."

"Leave school?"

Quirrell smiled. "You don't think I'm going to leave you behind, do you? No, you won't be returning to the school that has failed to educate you, and you certainly won't be returning to the Muggles who do not appreciate you. You will be continuing your training under my observation." He smiled kindly down at Harry. "You and I are not to be separated."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Harry shouted. "Why would I go anywhere with you? You're-! You're Voldemort!" It was difficult to get the word out, but not due to fear. The idea that this man, thisthing,could have cheated death, while his parents' sacrifice was reduced to nothing, left him almost physically ill.

"Yes, I am." Quirrell-no,Voldemort said without any sense of shame. Harry wasn't sure what he expected, but for him to look so brazen while standing before the child of two people he’d murdered sent Harry off the deep end.

"Carpe Noctem! Accio! Confringo! Protego!"Harry's Nightmare Hex was blocked with contemptuous ease and the tower of furniture that he’d summoned towards his enemy's back was vanished in an instant. His Blasting Curse was redirected across the room and Harry heard the distant explosion just as Voldemort's Stunning Spell shattered his Shield Charm. While the shield had diluted enough of the spell that he wasn't stunned upon impact, he was still thrown backwards and landed roughly on his injured leg.

As Harry felt a flash of white-hot pain shoot up his left side, he saw Voldemort freeze and stiffen. Even through the pain, Harry's eyes narrowed, contemplating that.

"You murdered my parents! My entire family! Why the hell would you think I’d go anywhere with you?!" Harry got to his feet as quickly as he could, raising his wand to defend himself. He knew he didn't stand a chance, but he had no other options available to him. He ducked Voldemort's conjured ropes before countering with Attacking Charms, making the centuries' worth of discarded items do his fighting for him.

"Harry, this is no way to start our partnership." Voldemort sighed, as he vanished, redirected, and destroyed the objects that were attacking him.

"No, the wrong way to start apartnershipis by murdering the other person's family!" While his enemy's vision was impaired, Harry reached into his bag.

"If I knew then what I do now, I never would have raised my wand against your kin," Voldemort said, his voice dripping with sincerity. It was enough to make Harry pause, which was a mistake as a second set of conjured ropes had come around the nearest pile of trunks to capture him from behind.

Harry held in a yelp as he was lifted off the ground and into the air, zipping forward until he came to a stop directly in front of Voldemort. He struggled against the ropes for a few moments before giving up. "What do you mean?" He asked finally.

Voldemort sighed. "This, all of this, was set into motion by your grandmother and her bylaws." Harry's confusion must have been visible because he quickly fell back into his teaching persona to explain. "Your father's mother, Euphemia, was the Advocate of Education during Dumbledore's reign. During her tenure, she introduced several laws that made things easier for the parents of Muggle-borns, so that they could be more involved during their child's education. Many of my followers disagreed with this, abhorring the idea of Muggles having a voice in our world. As their leader, it was my responsibility to set things right."

Harry could tell that he was lying. Not because he was bad at it, but because he doubted a man like Voldemort could ever care about the opinions of others. He said as much. "A good leader respects the wishes of those he leads, Harry," he sighed. "But yes, this time I should have stayed my hand."

"Why just that time?" Harry demanded. "You've killed thousands with your own wand!Hundredsof thousands by your orders! What was so different about us?"

Voldemort looked distant. The ropes holding Harry up dipped slightly, but he didn't seem to notice. "I learned something from one of my spies. A prophecy, a warning that my actions that night had created an enemy, and that he could one day surmount me. Of course, I couldn't let such a thing stand."

Harry felt a rush of pride. "My dad."

Voldemort shook his head. "No, child. You."

Harry felt the pride leave his body as quickly as it had arrived. "What?"

"I had only one target that night. Your grandmother." Voldemort shook his head. "At the time, I couldn't understand why the rest didn't try to flee the house. No one made to move for a Portkey or an Apparition Point, and your father, an Auror, didn't even show his face to defend his own mother." The ropes lowered Harry slightly as Voldemort's concentration seemed to dip, lost in memory. "I only learned later that you were being born outside, hidden in your family's grounds as your father and his friends guarded your mother while she was in labour."

Harry swallowed his guilt. He didn’t have time for that now. "I don't understand. What's this got to do with a prophecy?"

"It has everything to do with the prophecy." Voldemort looked considering. "Come with me of your own volition, and I will tell you all of it."

"You're not making any sense." Harry's sense of self-preservation was telling him to stop talking, but his need for answers superseded it. "There's a prophecy that says I'm going to "surmount you" but you're acting like we're on the same side! Like you didn't kill my parents."

"I didn't kill your parents."

"What?!" Harry knew that this was another diversion, that Voldemort was avoiding the real issue by giving him some more tangentially related information that would only serve to distract him from the real issue, but damn it if this wasn't a good distraction.

"Do not misunderstand me. I certainly meant to kill your parents as they were preventing me from reaching you, but the protections that they had placed upon you had already meant their lives were forfeit."

"What do you mean?"

"You have studied the Law of Equal Exchange?" Harry nodded slowly. "Did you think magic great enough to stop even my Killing Curse wouldn't have had a high price?"

Harry's eyes widened. "They died for me?"

"Worse. Theysufferfor you."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. "They're still alive?"

"In a sense." Voldemort gave a careless shrug, and he again didn't notice Harry's ropes dip closer to the ground. "I didn't have time to examine the cottage that night, so I do not know what happened to your father. But I do know it was his sacrifice that protected you from my curse that night."

"How?"

"Because Dumbledore found shelter for you with your mother's kin. That protection extends far enough to work against possession and cognitive spells. Her watch over you is too vigilant."

"My mum?" Harry was hardly breathing, as his concentration was torn between what he was hearing and his secret work. "You say that like she's still around."

"My Killing Curse attacks the soul, causing it so much pain and agony in an infinitesimal amount of time, that it chooses to flee from its hold on the physical plain: the body."

Harry was impatient. "What's this got to do with-"

"It does not attack the physical form. So how can it have left a mark on your head?" Voldemort made a move to touch his scar but pulled back when Harry made to bite at his fingers. "No, that is not the mark of a failed curse, it is a much too deliberate shape for that. That is a Remnant."

"I don't know what that is."

"I should hope not. It is among the darkest of magic. In an attempt at immortality, powerful Dark Wizards would extend their lives by placing their soul into a body which carries their blood. Their children." Voldemort hummed at Harry's horrified expression. "Your mother did the same to you."

"My mother was not a Dark Witch."

"I never said that she was. Her soul never once tried to supersede your own- which is an incredible and endless struggle on her part- but it lingers in that scar your carry. Protecting you from those who would take your body for their own."

"Like you?" Harry asked quickly. "I know your body wasn't found that night. Did you try to possess me?"

"Yes, I did." Voldemort gave him a sly smile, as though Harry had caught him in minor wrongdoing.

"So, my dad is alive but missing somewhere and my mum's soul is living in my head," Harry concluded shortly. "Am I missing anything? Or do I have a secret twin with amnesia?"

"You jest, but time is of the essence."

"For you. IwantDumbledore to capture you."

"I meant for your parents," Voldemort said lightly, as though teasing him with the information. When Harry remained stubbornly silent, he continued. "Protections that parents place upon their children are powerful, but they grow weaker as the child ages. The closer you are to eighteen, the less chance we'll have to bring them back."

Harry didn't even know where to begin with that statement. "Bring them back?We?"

Voldemort looked at him with soft eyes, as though he knew exactly what was going on inside his head. "Yes, there is a chance they could be restored. I have an idea of where to find your father and creating a new body for your mother is within my power. Only one other in the world has studied the soul as extensively as I, so if she is to be extracted safely, we need to cooperate."

"You still haven't explained why you don't want to kill me anymore." Harry knew he was taking a gamble here, but after his conversation with Dumbledore and the lack of violent spells Voldemort had used to apprehend him, he was fairly sure he knew why he didn't want to kill him, but he needed to be absolute before he acted.

Voldemort stared at the wall, as though silently deciding to tell him what he’d already deduced. "Your mother's protection runs deep. While the initial sacrifice your father made protected you from me all those years ago, your mother's Remnant protects you even now. If I were to harm you, if I were to even touch you while wishing you harm, I would be the one who suffered. If I tried to kill you, I would find myself without physical form once more."

"That's why you can't use spells that hurt me without suffering even more yourself."

Voldemort smiled humourlessly. "So, youdidnotice."

"You're not as subtle as you seem to think," Harry said bluntly. "You haven't explained the long-term plan here. You train me, bring back my parents and then…?"

"By then I am sure you will come to see the world as I do. There will be no need for us to fight because we will be allies in the coming war."

"Liar. You just want to study me at your own leisure. Figure out a way to kill me without getting hurt yourself."

Voldemort nodded. "You are right. But if we were to work together, if you were to become one of my Acolytes, I wouldn't harm you." His expression darkened then. "However, if you choose to fight against me, I will be forced to be more inventive in how I punish you."

"I thought you were supposed to be a genius," Harry said mockingly. "You can't hurt me without it coming back at you twice fold."

"I wouldn't hurt you physically." His smile was dangerous. "You have so many friends, don't you? Goldstein, Boot, Corner and Hagrid. I could show them first-hand just how painful my Cruciatus Curse can be."

Harry tried to remain stone-faced, but he couldn't stop his jaw from clenching. The image that Voldemort described seemed all too real in his mind's eye.

"If that's not enough for you, I will simply wade through the school until I find an individual whose scream breaks your spirit." His eyes were dancing as though he were finally enjoying himself. "Or maybe I should head straight for Little Whinging? You must have had a friend or two there! Maybe you'll even be witness to the deaths of your last blood relatives. You can watch them screaming, thrashing as they're torn limb from limb."

"You can't touch them. They're protected." Harry might not like the Dursleys, but that didn't mean he wanted to bring his problems to their door.

"Perhaps." Voldemort smiled, as though he knew something Harry didn't. "But I can find them outside of Little Whinging, you little fool. Smeltings. Grunnings." He said these names as though relishing revealing all the knowledge he’d acquired. "How hard would it be for me to lure Petunia out of Little Whinging? A fake emergency for Dudley, or an offer from one of those boutiques she loves, and she'll come running right to me."

He continued. "I know how much you don't like him, but your cousin can't be held responsible for the actions of his parents, can he? Will his little irritants still matter to you when you hear him crying out for his mother? Will you still hate him when you see him biting off his own tongue?"

"Shut up," Harry hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm not the one who’s in control here. It's all up to you now." Voldemort waved his hands away from his body, as though absolving himself of any guilt. "You're no longer an infant, Harry. You’re more than capable of making your own decisions. Your parents didn't give you a choice in their fates, but you have one now."

"Shut up!"

"My silence won't keep your parents’ from suffering. Every minute we waste is another in which they’re held in torment. Every moment of joy and peace you experience is bought and paid for by their anguish!"

"I told you to shut up!" Harry roared. Even though his sense of reason was telling him this was all a lie, he couldn't handle the idea of his parents being in agony because of him. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

“Me?” The fact that Voldemort was wearing Quirrell's face like a mask had never been clearer to him than it was now, as he twisted his mouth to one side, giving Harry a sick, demented grin. "There's nothing wrong withme.I'm not the one who is abandoning his family."

At that moment, Harry felt such overwhelming hatred that it swallowed his rage, leaving his mind empty of all but a startling clarity. His senses sharpened as his entire being focused on Voldemort and what he’d resolved to do to him.

Voldemort continued his taunts, unaware of the cold act Harry had committed himself to. "How many more people have to suffer before you submit to me? How many more people have to die before you make things right?"

"Just one," Harry said coldly.

Before the last word could even fully leave his lips, Harry was already dropping to the ground. The ropes had been sliced with the kindjal that he’d slipped out of his bag seconds before getting caught. While Voldemort had busied himself with talking, Harry was busied himself with cutting the bindings. It had been difficult to do so surreptitiously while his enemy was three feet away and the angle of the blade was such an awkward one. But he managed it eventually.

He landed in a crouch, took a half step forward to get within reach of his target, and thrust his arm up as he straightened out, kindjal first, aiming directly for his enemy's throat. Voldemort looked surprised, either at Harry freeing himself or at how he was immediately going for the kill, but he reacted quickly with a Shield Charm.

Just as Harry had hoped.

Flitwick had told him that the blade could be used to cut anything but another human. However, as the Human-Presence-Revealing Spell had proved, Voldemort was no such thing.

Harry used all of his strength to drive the kindjal upwards, and he enjoyed the flicker of fear in Voldemort's eyes when the Shield Charm was shattered by the enchanted blade. Before he could react, the kindjal was already embedded in his throat. His arms came up to try to free himself of the weapon, but Harry was already twisting the blade's handle and tearing it to the side, removing it and taking half of Voldemort's throat with it.

They both fell to the ground at the same time; Voldemort because he was dying and Harry because he was shocked by the viscera that had splattered everywhere. He grimaced when he saw that his arms were coated in blood and bits that he couldn't even recognise. The blade was much sharper than he’d realised, as tearing out a man's throat shouldn’t have been so smooth.

Glancing up when he heard a choking sound, Harry saw a black mist begin to rise from Voldemort's chest. As it coalesced in the air, it took on the vague shape of a man's face, but before he could examine it further, it flew right towards him.

Falling flat on his back, Harry scrambled for his wand. He’d dropped it earlier when the ropes had caught him, and he barely avoided the black mist as it swooped over his head. As Harry's desperation for his wand peaked, his Ouroboros began to burn with enough heat for him to feel it through his duelling gear. Harry didn't need to wonder what it was for as his wand flew over to him as though it had been summoned.

The second the blackthorn wand slapped into his palm Harry jabbed it over his shoulder."Protego Horribilis!"Glancing behind him, he saw the mist had taken on the shape of Voldemort’s true face, and it was exactly as Hagrid described: completely bald and with slits for nostrils. It slammed itself repeatedly and angrily into the Anti-Martial Shield Charm. It wasn't stopping and Harry knew of no other spell that would protect him against a being without physical form.

Before he could figure out a way to get out of this, Harry heard the sound of a door opening in the distance. Voldemort must have heard it too, as he immediately fled.

Harry knelt there for a moment, listening to the sound of distant spellfire by the door as whoever had arrived was trying to stop Voldemort from fleeing, but was jogged out of it by the sound of movement next to him.

Looking up, Harry saw that Quirrell wasn't quite as dead as he’d imagined. His head was turned in Harry's direction, causing the blood that was drooling from his mouth and throat to pool on the dirty floor. Quickly crawling over, Harry prepared himself to try and help him, but he knew deep down that it was already too late.

Quirrell had already drowned in his own blood.

Before he could even cast a single spell, Quirrell's eyes had stopped moving, but not before they had met Harry's own.

There was nothing quite like watching the indefinable light behind someone’s eyes get extinguished. Of all the things he’d experienced tonight, it was by far the most chilling.

Hearing footsteps approaching, and the sound of a familiar voice ordering the others to search the room thoroughly, Harry scrambled to his feet. Summoning his Invisibility Cloak, he fled, but not before silencing his movements, erasing his scent and giving this particular pathway one more visual sweep. He’d done so to avoid leaving evidence of his presence, and to make sure he took everything with him, but his eyes lingered on Quirrell's corpse.

Forcing himself to turn away, Harry hurried to the back door as quickly as his stiff leg would allow, while the sound of two shocked voices calling Quirrell's name rang in his ears.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry followed The Map through the marked barren stone passageway. He began to feel disconcerted at how long the passageway was, and how there wasn't any sign of diverging paths, doorways, or staircase even though it was supposed to open up near the very top of the school. Knowing that he had no other choice, Harry hurried down the path as quickly as his injured leg would allow.

Finally, he spotted a door up ahead and ignored the sudden pain in his leg as he redoubled his pace. Lacking patience for his usual precaution, Harry pointed his wand towards it."Arbeto!"The door opened with a bang and Harry quickly entered the room beyond, wand raised, ready to stun whoever was waiting for him on the other side.

When he realised what room he was in, Harry was relieved that there wasn't anyone waiting for him. Even at his best, he wouldn’t last two seconds against Albus Dumbledore, and Harry was far from his best at the moment. Still, he was surprised that there wasn't anyone blocking the only exit the gauntlet had. Unless the Headmaster was so sure of his own power that he didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to try escaping through his tower.

Unfortunately for him, Harry was exactly that stupid.

Thanking his lucky stars that Dumbledore was currently on the other side of the world, Harry hobbled out of the room as quickly as he could, ignoring the confused cries of the paintings.

When he reached the bottom of the griffin escalator, he headed straight for the Hospital Wing, hoping to get in and out before the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses could alert even more members of the faculty to his nocturnal endeavours.

Through The Map, Harry could see that Mr Filch and his oddly intelligent cat, Mrs Norris, were patrolling the widest corridor on the seventh floor that most Ravenclaws and Gryffindors took to get downstairs from their towers.He's trying to catch the stragglers from Charlie's party,Harry realised. According to The Map, there were plenty of them, hiding away in their amorous pairings all over the castle, trying to get some alone time in before school let out for summer.

Normally, Harry would take the long way around to avoid the caretaker, or just wait until he moved on, but he didn't have time for that. Harry didn't slow his pace as he came around the corner, and while Filch couldn’t hear his silenced footsteps, Harry hadn’t mastered evasive spells enough to hide completely from the keen senses of animals.

Mrs Norris stiffened and hissed warningly, getting her master's attention. "What is it?" Filch asked, before looking in the direction she was facing, just in time to see the jet of red light that hit him in the face.

While the caretaker crumpled to the ground, Mrs Norris tried to swipe at the area Harry was standing in, trying to find the one who attacked her master. She was a loyal pet, but it only led to her being hit with a Stunning Spell of her own.

"Arbeto! Mobilicorpus!"Harry opened up the nearest door, which turned out to be a broom cupboard, and dumped both Filch and his cat inside before closing the door. He turned and continued to the Hospital Wing, not giving either of them another thought.

Double-checking to see if Madam Pomfrey was still in her living quarters, Harry opened the door to the Hospital Wing and headed straight for the storeroom where the school matron kept her supplies. Halfway there he passed an occupied bed with a familiar patient sleeping in it:

Eliza Hawthorn.

So, Voldemort had been telling the truth about her participation in the gauntlet. She had no visible injuries, which would collaborate with her being felled by the Wampus instead of the other obstacles. He wondered if she’d known about Quirrell's true identity.

Harry shook that thought out of his mind and continued to the storeroom. He won't get a straight answer to his questions, not one that he could trust anyway. Besides, just because Voldemort had been telling the truth about her, didn't mean he was telling the truth about his parents.

Harry needed to question a different source for that.

He entered the storeroom, making his way to the potions vials and pulling out one of the Muscle-Restorative Potions he had seen earlier. Before leaving, Harry snatched a vial of Dreamless Sleep and two more of the Wide-Eye Potion. The two Girding Potions he’d consumed should keep him awake for the time being, but he couldn't afford to sleep for the foreseeable future, as his pursuers would have a multitude of advantages over him. He needed to stay awake to buy more time to outrun them, at least for the next couple of days.

He knew that he shouldn't take too many potions at once, especially different kinds, but he'd rather die from potion toxicity than be sent to Azkaban for theft and murder. Harry had considered turning himself in and explaining the entire situation, but without Voldemort present in the here and now, it would simply look like he’d come up with a crazy story after killing his partner in crime. Whatever the red stone was, it must have been valuable to have Lord Dumbledore watch over it personally, and why Voldemort yearned for it.

Harry walked out of the Hospital Wing with even less caution than he’d entered with. He needed to get away from the castle as quickly as possible, but he needed to break into the Potion Master's storeroom and locker room before then.

After that, he needed to pay a visit to an old friend.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The sky began to turn the deepest shade of blue as sunrise neared, and Harry had a clear view of it from his favourite armchair in Hagrid's sitting room.

Harry watched as Hagrid came to with the help of the Reviving Spell. No one had been more surprised than he when it took five consecutive Stunning Spells to take the Care of Magical Creatures Professor down. He was less than pleased with Fang's barking, but a Body-Bind Curse had kept him from being a problem. Harry was just glad that Hagrid lived so far away from anyone else, but he couldn't take the chance as there might still be a few stragglers from Charlie's party.

Hagrid's eyes blinked open, just in time to take three successive Confundus Charms to the face. Harry would have preferred to hit him in the chest, but after the Stunning Spells, he wanted to disorient the giant Professor from the word go.

Harry gritted his teeth. He knew Hagrid was a stubborn man, but Harry had never felt such a reaction to his Confundus Charm. It felt like all of Hagrid was fighting against him, demanding to be set free. Swallowing thickly, Harry requested, "Drink your mead, Hagrid. It's Norbert's first birthday, after all. Let's celebrate."

Harry sighed in relief as Hagrid stopped fighting him, eager to fall into that particular fantasy. Harry knew he didn't have much time, so he began asking his questions as soon as Hagrid had taken a massive gulp of his drink.

"Do you remember what you promised me, Hagrid? You promised you were going to answer all my questions today."

Hagrid looked confused. "Really? I don't remember that."

Deciding to take that as a sign that the Veritaserum was working, Harry pressed on. "You were there when I was taken from my parents’ safe house. Were their bodies there as well?"

The confusion slipping from his face, Hagrid answered easily. "Your dad was nowhere to be found, but your mum was there."

Harry's stomach dropped. "What condition was she in?"

Hagrid's easy tone didn't waver as it normally would have when speaking about something so grim. "It was like she'd been kissed by a Dementor, but she didn't turn into one. Her body gave out a few days later. It was a slow death."

Harry felt sick. Why hadn't anyone told him about this? "How many people know about this?"

"Oh, just three," Hagrid said. "Dumbledore wasn't sure who he could trust, so he put the alert system on your safe house straight to himself instead of the nearest Citadel."

"There's you and Dumbledore, but who’s the third?"

"Nicolas Flamel."

Harry blinked. "The Alchemist?" He recognised the name from one of Terry's Chocolate Frog Cards.

"The very same!" Hagrid's tone was a little too giddy, enough that Harry worried he might’ve given him too much truth serum. TheAuror's Enchiridionrecommended just two drops for an informal interrogation, but Harry had given him five on account of his size and the fact that the potion would be diluted in the mead.I guess this is why Veritaserum isn't admissible in court.

Palming the antidote that he’d also nicked from Snape's potion storeroom, he asked, "How is he involved?"

"I told you the day we met, didn't I? Dumbledore asked me to take you to a Healer friend of his after we found you in the rubble."

Harry wasn't following the logic here. "There must be hundreds of fully qualified Healers in Britain. Why take me to France?"

"I never took you to France. I took you to his house." Hagrid said this vague statement as though its meaning were obvious.

Harry shook his head, remembering to ask specific questions. "Why take me to Nicolas Flamel and not another Healer?"

"Dumbledore needed him to examine you, to form a second opinion, and he trusts Lord Flamel. He used to be his apprentice back in the day."

Harry leaned forward, eagerly. "What did he need a second opinion on? And what conclusion did Flamel and Dumbledore come to?"

"He needed to confirm how you survived." Hagrid reached for another sip of his mead, but Harry silently compelled him to put it down. "They both agreed that James damned himself toBedlamas the price for your survival and that Lily turned herself into a Remnant- trapped in your scar- to protect your body from possession and your mind from external influence." The grim words sounded odd delivered in Hagrid's chipper tone, but Harry was too rocked to care.

He felt like his entire world had just imploded. His mother's soul was living in his forehead and his father was trapped in the Infernal Realm, the place where all Dark Creatures originated, and no wizard had ever returned from. For heaven's sake, that was where they used to send the worst kinds of Dark Wizards and criminals before Azkaban prison was invented.

They suffer for you.

That was what Voldemort had said. He had told him the truth, even offering to restore his parents, which was a hell of a lot more than what anyone else had ever done.

Harry needed to ask, just to be sure. "Has anyone tried to save my parents since that night?"

"No. I think Dumbledore called it a futile endeavour."

Harry slumped in his seat. His one chance at restoring his family and he’d refused to pay the price. What did Voldemort even want anyway? A promise from Harry to never kill him, and the stupid red stone that was still pulsating in his pocket?

Having a better idea of what he was dealing with, Harry drew it from his pocket and held it up for Hagrid to see. "This is what we took from Gringotts last July, isn't it? The Philosopher's Stone?"

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, and yes!"

Harry opened the antidote and put five drops in the second mug of mead before him, telling Hagrid to, "Drink up." As soon he had taken two big gulps, Harry hit him with another series of Stunning Spells, although this time only three were necessary.

With great difficulty, Harry levitated Hagrid to the sofa, lying him down gently. He placed another Confundus Charm on him so that if he remembered their conversation, he would simply think of it as an odd dream. He then tossed out the remainder of the oak-matured mead- from both the bottle and the mugs- out the window before placing the empty bottle in Hagrid's arms. Harry hoped that would explain the headache he would probably get from the eight Stunning Spells.

Harry then cleaned both mugs with a Scouring Charm, as well as the armchair he’d covered in sticky blood by sitting in it, before releasing Fang. Harry raised his wand before he could start barking, ready to give him a Confundus Charm of his own, but Fang surprised him.

The instant he was released from the Body-Bind Curse, he started whining and put his paws on Harry’s shoulders so he could lick his face. Somehow, he’d sensed Harry’s distress.

Unable to ignore the growing turmoil in his stomach any longer, Harry’s face crumbled. One second he was standing, and the next he was on his knees, wand on the floor and arms around Fang.

Sixty seconds, Harry told himself as his body was wracked with silent sobs. You’re allowed sixty seconds.

When his time was up, Harry lifted his head from Fang’s neck and smiled embarrassedly even though no one was there to see it. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry since he was four years old. “Thanks, Fang,” he muttered, wiping the tears from his face. “You’re the best dog in the world.” He grimaced at the mess he’d made of Fang’s dark fur and reached for his wand. “Hold still. Terego!” The tears and dried blood were cleared away in an instant, leaving a shiny coat of fur behind. He didn’t bother doing the same for himself. He didn’t deserve to be clean.

Pausing only to pick up theNimbus 2000he’d pilfered from the Ravenclaw changing room and to scratch the still-whining boarhound behind the ears, Harry left the house and made his way across the grounds under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak. He would have preferred to take a passageway that he was more familiar with, but he could see on The Map that the teachers were now on full alert, and while he had every confidence in his family's Cloak, he didn't want to be anywhere near them just in case.

Reaching the Whomping Willow, he levitated a fallen twig and sent it flying at the knot at its base. His aim wasn't the best, especially from this distance, but he didn't want to get within range of the violent tree's branches. Finally, after the fourth try, the tree froze and Harry, not knowing how long that would last, moved as quickly as he could to the tree's base where he found the opening, as promised.

When he was in the tunnel underneath the tree, Harry took a few minutes to work on his leg. He couldn't fly like this, at least not without waking up the whole of Hogsmeade by screaming over their homes as he soared past. Not knowing what the recommended dose of the Muscle-Restorative Potion was, Harry just took a sip, but not feeling any better after a minute he chugged a mouthful before storing the rest away for later. Wishing that Pomfrey kept bandages on hand instead of conjuring them, Harry cast the Muscle-Healing Charm again before putting another layer of Bruise-Healing Ointment on the affected area before wrapping it up again with his sock. The swelling had gone down since earlier, but not by much.

Harry needed to do this now because as soon as he left Hogsmeade, he would never be certain that he was in an area he could use magic in without Aurors tracking him from a distance. They kept their methods of tracking magic in the Muggle world a secret, so he was just going to have to refrain from using magic for the time being.

Harry moved through the tunnel quickly, glad he was short enough for the low ceiling to not be a problem, but he was warier of his destination than his current position though. While the other Marauders had assured him that the Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted, it would be just like them to pull a trick on an unsuspecting First Year. Harry hoped it wasn't, both because he didn't want to meet any demented spirits and because he didn't want to leave behind witnesses he couldn't silence. Harry wasn't sure if a Confundus Charm worked on spirits, but he doubted it. He just wasn't that lucky.

He was very much relieved when he climbed into the Shack and found an empty building. Perhaps it was because the sun was just rising and the tortured souls were resting until tomorrow night, or maybe there truly weren’t any spirits to begin with, but either way, he was happy that he was alone.

Exiting the building, Harry mounted his broom and checked his belongings one more time before he kicked off and soared into the early morning sky.

He didn't stop. He didn't look back.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It had been a most troubling day.

Albus made sure to keep his chaotic thoughts from his face. In times like these, subordinates needed to know that their leader was undaunted by the events that had them so worried. His face was carefully impassive, just enough to still seem engaged but not detached. He turned away from the window and the beautiful afternoon that lay beyond it and faced the assembled Heads of Houses and asked them for their reports.

"We've completed the headcount," Pomona was saying. "It was difficult because so many students had snuck out last night for the end-of-year celebrations, but there seems to be a student missing." She shifted in her seat, as though afraid of uttering her next words. "Harry Potter."

Albus felt his stomach drop. When he’d learned of last night's events, he had expected this outcome, but being aware of the possibility of another failure didn't make the reality any easier.

"There’s no sign of either of them in the castle," Filius said, the distress clear on his face. "All of Harry's things are in his dormitory and, to my knowledge, the only thing missing is his wand." He paused then. "And the enchanted dagger his parents left for him."

That gave Albus pause. He had never heard about such an Artifice being in Harry's possession. Before he could question him on it, Minerva spoke up, grimacing. "Professor Hooch informed me aNimbus 2000was missing from Ravenclaw’s changing room lockers, but with everything going on I didn't give it much thought."

"Can a racing broom hold two people?" Pomona asked, before blinking. "Why wouldn't Quirinus just apparate them to wherever he was taking the Stone?"

Decades of experience had taught Albus to react quickly and decisively at times like these, if only to keep those who looked to him for guidance and protection from worry. Or from asking too many probing questions. "Minerva, Filius. I need you both to gather the old crowd, particularly the ones Harry is already familiar with, Daedalus and Hestia, and have them search for him."

Minerva frowned. "Quirrell kidnapped the boy! Shouldn't we notify the Aurors?"

Albus said nothing and Filius narrowed his eyes. "You don't want the Magister to know that you’ve lost him."

It was part of a wider truth, so Albus did not attempt to deny it. After all, the best lies had an inkling of truth to them. "It is not only I who would be held accountable." He reminded the Head of Ravenclaw House, firmly. Filius said nothing more, but he looked resentful.

Albus continued. "We are on thin ice. The Advocate of Education has used the incident concerning Slughorn to paint us in a bad light. Last night, at the Coalition, a complete reworking of Hogwarts and its teaching methods was put on the table. It was denied of course," he added quickly, speaking over their protests, "but the fact that it was suggested even once means that it will happen again. We have no room left for error."

"So, we need to find Harry before the Magister can even know he's missing?" Filius asked for clarification.

Albus nodded. "On a more personal level, Lord Akingbade has always wanted Harry to be raised and trained under his protection. He may use this as an excuse to pull the boy from Hogwarts."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Filius asked. "We've already proven we can't keep him safe, and thousands of wizards would give up their Gringotts key for a chance to apprentice under a Magister."

Albus shook his head. "The boy will have no freedom of choice. Babajide will raise him as a soldier with no room for deviation. If nothing else, Hogwarts can provide Mr Potter with options. If he should ever become an Auror, it will be his choice and his alone."

"What of Remus?" Pomona piped up. "Harry knows him best."

"They have had a falling out," Albus said, oversimplifying matters. It would take too long to explain the truth of the matter. "I'm sure you have noticed they have not been in communication," he said to Filius who, as Harry’s Head of House, kept a close eye on his communications. Filius nodded stiffly.

Once he’d dismissed them, and they were filing out of the room, he saw the three uninjured Heads of Houses glance at Severus as they passed him. The new Potions Master was lurking by the door, clearly uncomfortable with sitting beside his former teachers. He wasn't the only one who was thinking about his school days, as the other teachers- Minerva in particular- were regarding him with suspicion.

Albus could not blame them. While Severus’ history as a Death Eater was known only to a few- as Albus had done all he could to squash the evidence that was given by his former comrades’ interrogations- the Heads of Houses clearly remembered his time as a student and who he held a notorious grudge against. It was quite suspicious that James Potter's son would go missing weeks after his old school rival was hired, especially as the man was one of the first at the scene.

Closing the door with a wave of his hand, Albus indicated the seat in front of him, silently ordering Severus to sit. "Why aren't you involving Lupin with this?" Albus quirked an eyebrow, so Severus continued. "He was devoted to Potter. No falling out will stop him from helping the man's son."

Albus sighed. Sometimes an enemy knew a man better than his own friends did. "I would rather not admit to him that I have misplaced his godson. Not when it took so long to convince him to keep his distance." Moving on to darker matters, Albus asked him, "Is it done?"

Severus nodded solemnly. "No one will find the body."

Albus hummed, deducing that the Quirinus’ corpse must have been dissolved in whatever toxic mixture his new Potions Master had on hand. He refrained from asking for details. He remembered what his father had taught him and his siblings, well over a century ago. The strict funeral rites that witches and wizards needed to undergo to find peace inHalcyonafter death. The idea that he had prevented Quirrell from finding that left him awash with guilt.

He brushed it aside. It wasn’t the first time he’d made such an order. It wouldn’t be the last.

Severus spoke again, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. "Why didn't you want the others to know the truth?"

Albus narrowed his eyes. "Why didn't you inform me that you had given Quirrell my schedule?" He fired back.

Severus paled, as though he thought Albus wouldn’t be able to trace it back to him. "I didn't realise it would have come to this."

Albus shook his head, disapprovingly. "I told you many years ago, Severus. I am the only hope you have for revenge. You must trust me."

His face was still pale, but Severus' voice now had an indignant tone to it. "You mean as you trust me?"

"I never claimed that it went both ways," Albus said lightly. "You need me, and I have little need of you." Ignoring the increasing outrage that was growing on the Potion Master's face, he asked, "Last night's events?" There hadn't been enough time to get the full report from his spy's lips, so he had acted on very limited information.

Severus gave his report swiftly, as though they were still at war. "Hawthorn was suffering from a brutal Legilimency attack, so Pomfrey summoned me for aid, and Vector, as she is the girl's Head of House. It reminded me of the effects a Wampus could have and, remembering the one Hagrid procured for you, I departed for the Philosopher's Stone with Vector in tow."

"Why did you feel it necessary to bring her along?"

"Because I couldn't leave so hastily without informing her why." The annoyance in Severus' tone was barely constrained. "We found Quirrell's corpse at the end of the gauntlet, with the Stone missing. Aside from Filch and his cat being attacked, there was no sign of the boy, but I didn't feel it necessary to check at the time. I had no idea he was even involved."

Albus sat back in his chair, glad that he hadn't attacked without the correct information. "It was necessary to make them forget about Quirrell's body. I don't want them to treat Harry any differently when he is found."

Severus’ eyebrows shot up. "Even though he's capable of murder?"

Albus paused. Normally, he would have protested and explained that the boy had been under extenuating circ*mstances, but his opinion had changed when he’d seen Hagrid earlier. The remnants of a presumed dream already fading from the Half-Giant’s mind was enough to make him acknowledge just how much of a threat Harry Potter could be.

"Now that he knows the truth, he’s capable of anything."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It was the last day at Hogwarts. Breakfast was served late, just hours before the Hogwarts Express departed Hogsmeade Station at eleven o'clock, and it couldn’t come soon enough for Michael. While he wasn't looking forward to seeing his distraught parents again, he would be glad to leave the castle and the oppressing environment that it had become far behind him.

Michael tried to keep his eyes focused on his bowl and not on Harry's usual spot at the table. Yesterday, he’d overheard Anthony ask their Head of House where Harry had gone off to, as no one had seen him in almost two days, but Flitwick’s response had been rather vague. He’d said something about him needing to go home early for a family emergency, as though Harry gave a damn about his Muggle relatives. Michael could tell that Terry and Anthony doubted Flitwick’s answer too, but he refrained from saying anything to them. He reminded himself that it was none of his business now.

Harry Potter was not his friend anymore.

As he poured himself a third bowl of cereal, he reflected on Harry and the impact he'd made on his life. The impact he had on a lot of people's lives. Michael knew that he wasn't the only one to be drawn into The Boy-Who-Lived's orbit, but he was the only one to try and leave it. The craziest thing was that Harry didn’t even seem to be aware of the impression he left on others, which only made it more daunting.

Now that he was on the outside again, things had returned to normal. Terry and Anthony had gone back to treating him like a distant friend, someone they only thought about when he was present, but forgot about when he left the room. Even after being friends for months, it was clear to him now that they had only tolerated him and he had stopped sending them hopeful looks that they would choose to sit with him, just once, instead of Harry. There was only so much disappointment a boy could take. They had only tolerated him for Harry's sake.

Everyone only tolerated him for Harry's sake.

While his brain was telling him that it coincided with Robert's imprisonment, it was easier and more straightforward for him to simply ignore his brother's downfall and blame the person who held the most responsibility for it. After all, it was less painful to believe that Harry had turned everyone against him rather than having the entire world judge him for his family. When students insulted him in corridors and asked him if he had managed to book a cell in Azkaban next to his mother, he found it easier to ignore it and focus his anger on someone else.

He couldn't fight the whole world, but he could fight one person.

He had missed the months of peace when no one in the school had dared to speak to him while he was at Harry’s side, and he grew to appreciate how his best friend would defend him so vehemently. Aside from Robert, no one had ever done that for him before. Now without his protection, Michael was left alone to fend off the glares and the hateful words.

Just as he was trying to redirect his thoughts away from Hogwarts and to this summer's Quidditch camp, his breakfast was rudely interrupted by a copy ofWizarding World Newsslapping the table in front of him, jostling his bowl and spilling the milk within. "What the hell do you-!" His furious words cut themselves off when he glanced up to find Terry's terrified expression. "Terry? What-?" He blinked when he saw that the small boy had dragged his brother by the arm.

"Read it," Terry demanded. Glancing at Anthony for an explanation, all he got in return was a hollow, vacant look.

Nervous, he ignored the increasing volume of the students around the Great Hall and their sudden stares in his direction, as he drew the newspaper over to himself and read the front page. The first thing he saw was his mother's face and four words written above in bold black letters:

MASS BREAKOUT OF AZKABAN!

Chapter 24: Epilogue

Chapter Text

Tom had hated possessing Quirrell’s body, but possessing Cushing was even worse. Not because of her Mana Reserves, as she had even more available to her than Quirrell did, but because he had to pretend to be in love with Warden Adrian Molotov.

“Please don’t do it,” Tom whispered desperately, clutching the front of Adrian’s uniform. “We can find another way.”

“There isn’t one,” Adrian said sadly. “This is the only way.” He gave Tom one last desperate kiss before letting go of his presumed fiancée and stepping back. Tom allowed himself to be restrained by his followers as he struggled in the way he would imagine someone in love might: foolishly.

Making a note to punish the Knight that struck his face, Tom watched raptly as Agarwal carefully guided Adrian to the ritual altar at the centre of the forest clearing. He didn’t want to let a little thing like that get in the way of watching the culmination of almost two years of work.

Agarwal ordered the disgraced Warden to strip himself naked, before lying down atop the stone altar, facing the clear and open night sky. As Agarwal began the chant, glowing blue symbols began to glow from the earth around the clearing, only seen in their entirety from a bird’s eye point of view. But Tom knew what they said, and what they meant, and he had taught Agarwal the same.

When Agarwal began to cut Adrian at his wrists, draining him of his blood, the runes began to glow red as the altar drained his life force into the very earth beneath their feet.

Tom nodded at Torrington who, despite being resentful of Cushing’s sudden rise within their ranks, obeyed and quietly ordered the Knights to release him. Despite their obvious confusion as to why they were releasing their prisoner, they obeyed without question.

Tom extended his wand arm, and Torrington slipped the Artifice- a rather unique gauntlet made of Goblin Silver- onto his arm. Flexing his fingers, he approached the altar. While Agarwal was more than capable of handling the next part by himself, Tom wanted to finish the final step of the plan with his own hand.

Standing behind Adrian’s head, Tom looked down at the dying man, making sure to catch his eye. Adrian looked up at the face of his beloved and smiled weakly as the blood was continuously pumped from his body. He looked almost happy at the thought that he would die looking up at the woman he loved.

The certainty he had in his affections filled Tom with scorn.

Moving faster than Adrian’s eyes could follow, Tom shoved the gauntleted fist into his chest.

The enchanted silver cut through skin and flesh like wet tissue paper. Closing his fingers around Adrian’s heart, he made sure to lean down so he could whisper into the thrashing man’s ears.

“You’ve truly lived up to your father’s expectations. You’re a shame upon your ancestors, boy.”

After taking a brief moment to enjoy the anguish and confused betrayal in the man’s eyes, Tom savagely tore out his heart. While he convulsed on the altar, Tom moved quickly, knowing he had to act while Adrian Molotov was still alive.

Murmuring the necessary words, he knelt on the grass before the largest symbol. When he finished the chant, he crushed the heart of Adrian Molotov, and with it, his soul.

Before Tom had even climbed to his feet, Torrington cried out triumphantly. “We have it!” He waved the interactive map they had brought along. “Azkaban! I can see where it is!”

Tom smiled. The most secure prison in the world and it had fallen due to nepotism and love. If Commander Molotov hadn’t used his influence to give his son a job he wasn’t qualified for, then this plan would have never worked. But if there was one thing you can count on, then it was the wealthy and influential harbouring positions of power for themselves.

“Then it’s time we rescued our brothers and sisters,” Tom said, making sure to carry Cushing soft voice. He smiled at Torrington. “That includes your father, Elijah.”

Torrington had been the most obvious with his disapproval of Cushing’s sudden rise through the ranks, but her knowledge of the Dark Lord’s plans and secret rituals had kept him silent. Now, with the prospect of seeing his father again for the first time in over a decade, he was all too eager to show his loyalty to her. Bowing so low his nose might skim the tall grass, he said frantically, “Thank you, General!”

Agarwal approached now, vanishing the blood from his person. His back was turned to Torrington so the younger man couldn’t see him roll his eyes. Agarwal had served with the senior Torrington during the last war and knew as well as Tom did that he was far outstripped by his son. It was clear to him that Cushing was only using his father as a way to control her most obvious dissenter. Still, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut about it.

His followers as a whole were a mix of the idealistic, misanthropic, and disenfranchised. Very few of them were the deranged brutes that the media presented them as. While some of his Knights held deep monstrous tendencies, they were few and far between and many more of his followers were as sharp and self-preserving as Agarwal.

“With Molotov’s soul destroyed, all the secrets he kept were destroyed with it. That includes the Fidelus Charm, but what of the other protections?” Agarwal was as practical as ever.

Tom smiled. “I will deal with the protections, but I need you to lead our Knights against the guards.” He explained. “They may be the dregs of the Auror Corps, but they are still Aurors. Be careful.” It was a sign of Agarwal’s loyalty that he didn’t even begin to question the idea of Cushing overcoming the second most powerful Barrier in the world.

They packed up their things in under a minute and made sure to remove any trace that they had ever been there. The last phase of his plan did not end as he had hoped, but even with that setback, he was still able to complete at least one of his primary objectives. With Cushing’s confident face, Tom led his followers to Azkaban Prison to free his missing Knights and surviving Acolytes.

The world did not yet know it, but the Seventh Great Wizarding War had now begun.