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Chapter Text

Harry Potter’s hands shook as he held the envelope bearing his name, the parchment heavy in his grip. It was real, it was happening. He hadn't really let himself believe it until now, despite the summers at the apothecary, even with the overwhelming evidence he'd seen of the wizarding world. The endless nights he’d spent, wondering with Jax about what it was going to be like, living surrounded by magic and learning among others with the same gifts. Reading his second hand copy of Hogwarts: A History over and over, until the words buried together.

Listening to Mr. Jacobi tell silly stories about moving staircases and talking portraits. About real ghosts that floated around and the giant squid that lived in the lake. About the vastness of the library and how you couldn't hope to read a tenth of it in your entire seven-year residence (though Mr. Jacobi seemed to have given it a good try.)

Even knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harry had magic, that he could and did use it, he had not dared to let himself hope.

Harry Potter was not a boy who was used to getting what he needed, much less what he wanted with every fiber of his tiny being.

No.

But here, in his trembling fingers: here was the answer. The proof of his worthiness.

“Boy! What is taking so long? Bring the post!” Uncle Vernon shouted from the kitchen, over the thump of Dudley whacking things with his Smelting stick.

Harry’s fingers clutched at the letter, wrinkling the parchment. The warm feeling that had started to suffuse his body turned suddenly icy. He shoved the letter into his shorts pocket, startling Jax. He'd have time to read it later when he was safely away from his family.

Harry gathered the rest of the mail up, bringing it to Uncle Vernon with a whispered apology and started on the breakfast cleanup. Uncle Vernon grunted, choosing to ignore him in favor of reading a postcard from his sister, but Aunt Petunia was eyeing him sharply.

“More tea, Aunt Petunia?” he offered while grabbing the dirty plates off the table, his mask of meek nephew firmly in place. He would not let her ruin this.

She eyed him a moment longer before sharply nodding and going back to fawning over her Diddums at how handsome he looked in his new uniform. Harry didn't let his guard down until he had finished all his chores and was safely out of the house and down the street.

They went to the park. It was a bright summer day and he could hear shrieking laughter from the direction of the jungle gym and swings. Harry steered them over to a secluded corner, settling down behind some bushes and letting Jax slither out of his pocket onto the warm earth before grabbing the slightly creased envelope out.

“Sorry for that,” Harry hissed softly, stroking down his familiar's smooth scales. The purple swirls stood out brightly in the sun. Jax bobbed his head with a dismissive hiss.

“It's fine. Is that it? It smells magical. Are we finally going?” Jax was nudging at the envelope excitedly with his snout, urging Harry to open it.

Still Harry hesitated; what if it was a rejection? A Sorry, Mr. Potter, but you don’t seem to be the right fit for this school. Harry turned the parchment over, running a finger over the familiar crest pressed into the wax seal.

No. He refused to believe that. Harry had magic. If Hogwarts didn’t want him, he’d find another school to take him in. Or buy the bloody books and teach himself.

Filed with a sudden determination, Harry broke the red wax holding the heavy envelope closed and opened the letter. There were two pieces of parchment, the first of which bore the Hogwarts seal in cheerful colors. Harry felt a grin overtaking his face as he scanned the missive.

“Well?” Jax asked, slithering into his human's lap to get a better look at the letter. Harry hugged the snake to him, crinkling the parchment further.

“We did it, Jax,” he whispered. He felt warm and floaty, like he could just drift off into the sky if his serpent weren’t there to ground him with affectionate licks to his nose and cheeks, the little forked tongue tickling. Jax didn’t mention the tears making tracks down his face.

They stayed like that, huddling under the bushes as the sounds of happy children playing surrounded them and the sun rose higher in the sky. They were going to Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~>

Jax had wanted to go straight to Diagon Alley and buy all the things listed on the second form, but Harry urged them to be cautious. They’d have to travel by Floo and Mrs. Figg wasn’t due her weekly shopping trip for a good few days. Aunt Petunia had also been watching Harry a lot closer this summer than previous ones. She hadn’t forbade him his walks or demanded he be back at a certain time, but she watched him all the same, peering through the windows as he worked the garden like she hadn’t done in years. Harry warned off any snakes that came visiting, not wanting them to be caught in any potential crossfire. He could tell it upset Jax, but his friend put on a brave face, a determined glint in his purple reptilian eyes.

Aunt Petunia had also started picking up the mail herself, her lips pursing every time the little door flap sounded. Harry worried that she would start rummaging through his cupboard soon, too. He just kept on like everything was normal: he did his chores without complaint, avoided his cousin and his new Smelting stick, and (unbeknownst to his family) went to the apothecary as usual. He didn’t tell Mr. Jacobi that he’d gotten his letter yet; he wanted to wait until after he’d bought his school things. He didn’t know why he was hesitating on telling the man, who asked eagerly both times Harry had been down there that week if he’d received it yet. Harry figured it was ‘cause he knew the man would want to see it, and Harry was not ready to reveal who he was just yet. Afraid of losing one of the only good things in his life.

So Harry carried on, knowing he had to tread lightly now more than ever. This was too important to rush and risk ruin.

~~~~~~~>

On the day he knew Mrs. Figg would be out, Harry had trouble keeping his calm facade in place. Even Jax was restless. Harry had to leave him in the cupboard as he went to make breakfast, as the snake was too agitated to stay still enough to remain undetected in Harry’s pocket, the one he was nearly too big for already.

Breakfast passed with little fuss, Dudley nearly knocking the orange juice jug to the floor with his stick and Uncle Vernon chuckling and calling him rambunctious. If it had been Harry, he knew it would have earned him a good whack. Normally, that would have made him seethe inside, but not today. Nothing could ruin today.

Harry cleaned up quickly before moving outside. He’d been extra meticulous with the pruning and general upkeep yesterday, so it took very little time to complete the outside chores. As he ducked back into the house he could hear his aunt running a vacuum upstairs and quickly dove for his cupboard.

He had already packed his sock of galleons, books, and the Hogwarts letter into one of Dudley’s old backpacks (it had one broken strap but still worked fine) in case he had to make fast retreat.

“Jax?” Harry called softly, and the snake poked his head out of the top of the pack.

“Is it time?” Harry grinned at his clever friend and grabbed the bag.

“Yes, let’s hurry before she comes downstairs.”

Jax disappeared back into the depths of the pack and Harry swung it over one shoulder. He could still hear the hum of the vacuum as he crept out of the house. It was still a good while before noon, so Harry was cautious as he approached his old sitter’s house. Luckily it looked like she had left already, so he let them inside with the spare key. He had to dodge a few curious and overly friendly cats on the way to the Floo, but it wasn’t too bad. Harry took a moment to pull on a slightly grungy newsboy cap he had rescued from the school’s lost and found, tugging it low over his forehead. He did not want to be recognized and had a feeling there would be a few eyes looking out for black haired eleven-year-olds buying Hogwarts supplies this year.

He hitched the pack that contained everything he cared about in this world higher on his shoulder and grabbed a pinch of gritty powder.

“Diagon Alley!”

Harry stepped into the flames.

~~~~~~~>

After being once more spit unceremoniously onto the floor of Flourish and Blotts (he managed to right himself without help this time,) Harry made his way quickly to the exit. He knew where to go first and headed up the busy street with determination.

Jax poked his head out of the top of the bag to look over Harry’s shoulder, purple tongue flicking furiously to try and taste all the different things in the air.

“Where are we going?” he asked, staring at the shiny trinkets hanging from a stall they passed.

“To get my wand,” Harry answered quietly, already seeing the little shop at the end of the row. A single slender wand rested on a pillow in the window and the sign hanging over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. in peeling gold leaf. Jax hissed approvingly, ducking back into the bag as they entered the dimly lit store. It was sort of shabby on the inside but Harry didn’t mind, staring around him at the rows and rows of little boxes stacked on the shelves.

He walked up to the counter. There wasn’t anybody there, but when he rang the small bell there was a muffled shout from the back. A moment later a tall, thin, older wizard with a shock of flyaway white hair and very wide eyes that seemed to bug out a little appeared. This was obviously Ollivander; Mr. Jacobi had told Harry about him when he’d asked about wands and how they worked.

“Ah, yes. Hogwarts is it, young man?” He had a low, raspy kind of voice. Harry nodded, looking up from under his cap and meeting the disconcerting gaze of the wandmaker.

“Yes, sir. I need to buy a wand.”

Mr. Ollivander stared down at him silently for a few moments, unblinking. It was a little unnerving, but not as much as what he said next.

“Of course, Mr. Potter, I was wondering when I’d see you in here.”

Harry took a nervous step back, “How--?”

Mr. Ollivander tapped at the corner of his eye, giving Harry a grin that he really rather wished the man hadn’t.

“The eyes, Mr. Potter, they’re just like your mothers. It seems like just yesterday she was in here buying her first wand: ten and a quarter inches, willow, nice and swishy.” He gestured around the room. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter.”

Harry wanted to take another step back; he did not think he liked Mr. Ollivander very much. Instead, he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. No amount of creepy eye bugging and raspy words were going to stand in the way of him getting what he needed here.

“I’d like to buy a wand, please,” he repeated. This time Mr. Ollivander just nodded and gestured for Harry to wait there before disappearing into the back once more.

“It smells really strange in here, like dusty magic but not stale,” Jax hissed from the bag. “Like the room is so filled with power that even the air is made up of it.” This was followed by a series of snakey sneezes. Harry didn’t have time to reply before Mr. Ollivander was back, arms loaded with a multitude of long, thin boxes that he dumped into a pile on the counter.

“Here we go, try this one.” Harry was handed a shortish, dark wand. “Hawthorn, six and quarter, dragon heartstring.”

Harry took it, feeling a kind of tickle run up his arm, but when he flicked it like he’d seen Mr. Jacobi do countless times, nothing happened.

“No matter, no matter. Here, try this: maple and unicorn, eight and three fourths.” That one was snatched out of his hand almost as soon as he’d touched it.

They went through the entire pile that way, some wands feeling a bit warm in his hand while others he wanted to drop as soon as he picked them up. With each failed attempt Harry grew more frustrated, but Mr. Ollivander seemed to get increasingly excited.

“Tricky customer, not to worry, Mr. Potter, we’ll find the right one for you. The wand chooses the wizard after--” He was interrupted by another round of sneezing from Harry’s bag. Mr. Ollivander eyed it curiously.

“Does your pack have a bit of a cold, Mr. Potter?” It was said in such a dry manner that Harry was unsure if the old wizard was joking or not. Either way he shook his head and slid the bag gently to the floor.

“It’s just Jax,” he said, letting the serpent slither up his arm to sit across his shoulders, needing the comfort after the frustration of trying to find a wand.

“Sorry,” his snake hissed, nuzzling at Harry’s temple and dislodging the hat a bit. “There’s too much magic floating around, I couldn’t hold it in.”

Harry stroked between his purple eyes, and muttered back, “It’s fine, not your fault. I’ll try to hurry up.”

Harry looked back to see Mr. Ollivander giving him a contemplative look.

“Curious, I wonder...” He stared a moment longer before nodding to himself. “Yes, I do believe that’s it.”

Harry watched him disappear once more into the back of the store and continued to pet Jax, hoping they could get out of there soon. He didn’t like how Mr. Ollivander looked at him like he could see into Harry’s soul.

The older wizard came back with a single box, setting it almost reverently on the overcrowded countertop. He tapped the lid with a bony finger.

“This is a very special wand, Mr. Potter. The phoenix that gave a feather for it gave one other, just one other.” He opened the box, revealing a wand with an almost honey colored wood, long and smooth. Harry itched to pick it up. “The wizard who owned this wand’s brother also had the gift of parseltongue. Here,” he said as he gently picked up the wand and held it out. “Eleven inches, holly, nice and supple.”

Harry knew, almost before his fingers touched the wood that this was his wand. It sent such a strong, warm zing up his arm that he nearly jumped. He gave it an experimental swish through the air and was immediately showered in green and purple sparks, like glittering rain.

Mr. Ollivander clapped loudly, once.

“Very nice, Mr. Potter, yes, I do believe this is the one.” Harry nodded, clutching it close to his chest, as if afraid it was going to be snatched back like the others. Jax leaned down and flicked his tongue out at it, bobbing his head approvingly, though the effect was slightly marred by another round of sneezing.

“Who owned the other one?” Harry asked as he bent down to fish his money sock out of the bag.

Mr. Ollivander paused in his effort to straighten up the pile of boxes on the counter. He looked like he might not answer for a moment before he finally said, “Why, that is what is most curious, Mr. Potter. Also why I expect to see great things from you. The one who owned the brother to your wand did great things; terrible yes, but great.” He pointed a bony finger at Harry's forehead, where Jax had dislodged his cap. “He was the one to give you that scar.”

Harry did step back then, feeling chilled. The Dark Lord, his parent's murderer. The one responsible for all the pain and misery in his life and so many others.

Harry did not like the idea of sharing anything with Lord Voldemort, but just the thought of giving up the wand in his hand sent his mind into a bit of a panic. No, it was his wand. Magic was magic. What mattered was what you did with it. Harry thought back to the first time he had met Mr. Jacobi, what he’d said about parseltongue and unthinking prejudice. Harry gripped his wand tighter. He would find a way to turn this into an advantage. He would not let any preconceived notions hinder his path. He did not share a wand core with the Dark Lord: the Dark Lord shared one with him.

“How much? I’ve a lot more things to get.”

Mr. Ollivander was looking at him like he could see right to Harry’s very center, but Harry could not tell what the old wizard thought of what he saw. Harry handed over seven galleons for the wand and declined the offer to box it up for him, pocketing it instead. He thanked Mr. Ollivander, righted his cap and shouldered his bag before leaving the dim and dusty shop for the bright and busy Alley.

Jax hissed his gratitude at being away from such densely packed magic and Harry patted his friend affectionately.

“Let’s go to Gringotts next, I don’t like having all our money where it can be so easily snatched.”

Jax readily agreed and they made their way back up the street, Harry fingering the wand in his pocket and not trying too hard to suppress his grin.

Chapter Text

Before going to the bank, Harry stopped at the post office and paid two knuts to send off his letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. He hadn’t been able to use Mr. Jacobi’s owl because it had been off delivering potions both times Harry had been to the apothecary. Jax didn't like the post office, it had too many owls with sharp beaks and unnerving bright eyes. The serpent spent the time it took Harry to pen out his missive huddled in the pack and hissing at him to hurry up.

Writing with a quill was strange, but Harry had been practicing at Mr. Jacobi’s for a while and hardly got any ink on his fingers as he wrote the reply. Harry tried to make it sound formal, expressing his sincere desire to attend the school and carefully signing his name in only slightly shaky cursive.

“I don't like owls,” Jax hissed, poking his little head out of the pack as soon as they were safely down the street. “You’re not going to get an owl, are you?”

Harry reached up and stoked Jax’s head, holding back a chuckle at his familiar's words.

“No, Jax, I don't need an owl. The only person I would really need to send letters to is Mr. Jacobi, and I could use a school owl for that,” Harry reassured the snake, rubbing a thumb over the splash of purple freckle-like scales across his snout. “Besides, the letter says I can only bring one animal.”

“Good,” Jax hissed, licking at Harry’s fingers. “You’re my human.”

He slipped back into the pack after one last scratch under the chin. Harry basked a bit in the fuzzy feeling of love he felt for his friend, the unconditional acceptance. They had been through so much these last couple of years, the whole of his serpent’s life. Harry made a vow once more, as he often did, that he would make a better life for them. That all the darkness and hardship they'd endured so far would be over soon.

Harry nodded to himself and continued down the street with renewed determination. The imposing facade of Gringotts was looming ahead of them and Harry hurried up the marble steps as quickly as his short legs would carry him.

The inside of the bank was just as imposing as the outside, with high ceilings and bright chandeliers hanging down at regular intervals along the length of the vast atrium. To either side were tall counters with angry looking goblins behind them, scribbling on parchment or measuring stacks of coins against precious stones.

It was busy, too; witches and wizards were lining up to be seen or else being led through one of the many doors that lined the back of the hall. Harry crept over to one of the lines of waiting people, trying to seem inconspicuous. It wasn't hard; his slight stature combined with everyone else's preoccupation let him blend in and observe while waiting his turn.

Most of the witches and wizards looked bored or frustrated at the wait. Everyone was wearing robes, some colorful and bright, others more somber looking. There was a tall man with long white blond hair tapping his cane on the marble floor at the head of the line. His robes looked to be made of a high quality and fashionable cut. Harry thought he looked sternly impressive, but the effect was slightly marred by the sneer he sent down his nose in the direction of the exchange desk. Harry followed the wizard’s gaze and saw what had to be a couple of muggles, judging by the nervous glances they kept sending around the room. There was a little girl with bushy hair standing between them, holding onto each of their hands and chatting in what seemed to Harry to be an endless stream of excited word vomit.

He wondered if she was going to Hogwarts too, but soon put it out of his mind as the line started moving again. When it was his turn, Harry had to strain a bit to see over the tall counter.

“How may I help you?” the goblin asked without looking up from the parchment he was writing on. His mouth was curled in a bit of a snarl at the corner, but Harry wasn't sure if it was because of him or if that was the goblin’s natural expression.

Harry glanced at the shiny brass nameplate before answering.

“I would like to open an account, Master Bloodclaw.” Harry strived to sound as respectful as possible. Mr. Jacobi had always emphasized that you should be polite to goblins, or suffer the consequences. Harry did not understand how other wizards could look down on non-humans, like they were somehow lesser, when the evidence of the power and influence of the goblins surrounded them here in such opulence.

“Name?” Bloodclaw continued to scribble away with his quill.

Harry looked around, uncomfortable at how many people were within earshot.

“Would it be possible to do this in a private room, sir?” That made the goblin look up finally, raising one bushy eyebrow.

Harry nudged his cap up far enough to bare his forehead to the glaring clerk. Bloodclaw’s sneer morphed into a slightly scary grin, showing off viciously pointed teeth.

“Of course,” the goblin said, snapping his clawed fingers, which summoned another goblin to his side. They had a rapid conversation in Gobbledygook as Harry tugged his cap back town and hitched his bag up his shoulder.

“This way please.” Bloodclaw had stepped down from behind the tall counter and motioned Harry to follow him through one of the doors at the end of the atrium. Harry shuffled after him silently. Bloodclaw was about a head shorter than Harry, which was a novel thing, though Harry took little comfort from it.

The heavy wooden door led into a long hallway lined with even more heavy wooden doors. Harry’s footsteps sounded too loud as they made their way down and he resisted the urge to scuff his ratty trainers to quiet the noise.

Bloodclaw stopped them about halfway down and gave Harry a little bow as he gestured him through into a large, neat office. Harry thanked him and settled into one of the stiff oaken chairs in front of a wide desk, settling his pack onto his lap. His feet didn’t even reach the ground. Bloodclaw closed the door firmly before sitting down on the other side of the desk, linking his claws together and staring at Harry in what felt a bit like a predatory manner.

“So, Mr. Potter. What can Gringotts do for you today?”

Harry gulped, but steeled himself and reached into his bag for his money sock, giving Jax a quick pat for courage.

“As I said before, Master Bloodclaw, I would like to open an account with the bank.” He set the heavy orange sock on the desk with a thump. It wasn't much, but he figured he'd have enough for basic school supplies, maybe even with some left over if he was thrifty with his purchases. “I do not feel that my assets will be safe with my muggle relatives while I’m away at school.”

“Naturally not, Mr. Potter.” Bloodclaw eyed the sock, but did not seem inclined to question why Harry had chosen it to transport his goods. “To clarify, though, you wish to open a separate vault from those already in your possession?”

Harry stared at the smirking goblin, momentarily stunned. “What? Other vaults? What do you...?” He trailed off, definitely feeling wrongfooted now.

Bloodclaw snapped again and a large file thumped down onto the desk. He rested a clawed hand over it. “Of course, the Potter family has been banking with Gringotts for centuries. There are a good number of vaults that will fall under your complete control once you come of age. And I believe your parents set up a generous trust for you to draw from for your coming school years.”

Harry stared some more. He knew he was gaping in a most undignified manner but could not seem to stop himself. Bloodclaw was grinning again, sharp.

Harry thought furiously. If he had vaults... If his parents had really left him money, he might not have to just scrape by on his school supplies. He might even have enough to separate himself from the Dursleys even earlier than he dared hope.

The Dursleys.

A cold chill filled his bones as a terrible thought occurred to him.

“Who else has access to the vaults?” Harry demanded, suddenly angry. He would rather burn everything to the ground than let the Dursleys touch one bronze knut of his family's money.

Bloodclaw chuckled lowly, as if he were following Harry’s thought process and agreed wholeheartedly with the promise of painful vengeance.

“Before I answer, we must of course follow protocol and establish that you are, in point of fact, Harry Potter.” Bloodclaw tapped on the file again with a sharp claw.

Harry nodded, straightening up in the stiff chair. “Yes, of course, how do we do that?” He was relieved that there was security in place.

“Usually, you would present your key as proof.” He eyed Harry, who shook his head. He didn't have a key. “Then a simple blood test is in order.” The goblin opened up a drawer of the desk, pulling out a slip of cream colored parchment and a sharp looking penknife. He slid the paper across to Harry along with the knife. “Three drops onto the parchment and it should tell us all we need to know.”

Harry hesitated only a moment before pricking his finger and holding it over the page. It hadn't hurt, he'd had much worse.

As the blood splattered down, it seemed to soak into the parchment quickly, leaving the page unblemished. Harry stuck his finger into his mouth to sooth the nick. He glanced up at Bloodclaw, wondering if he'd done it wrong, but the goblin just nodded back at the parchment.

Harry let out a small gasp as words suddenly seemed to ooze up onto the page.

Harry James Potter, heir of House Potter, identity confirmed. Access to trust vault granted.

Bloodclaw nodded and clicked his fingers, banishing the page. “That's settled then. Now, you had questions?”

Harry shook himself; he'd known intellectually that he was heir to a wizarding House, but to see it written out in such a manner had made it seem that much more real. “Yes, I would like to know who else has access to my vaults, and where this key I'm supposed to have is,” he asked, adding hastily, “If you would be so kind.”

Bloodclaw sneered, though Harry thought it an indulgent look this time. “Besides yourself, Mr. Potter, the only other person with any sort of legitimate claim would be a Mr. Sirius Black, current Lord of House Black. Who, being your godfather, does have the ability to stipend the amount of money you are allowed to take from your trust vault each year, but has no actual claim to the money himself. A clause put in place, I imagine, so that you would not spend it all before finishing your education. But given that the wizard in question is at this point indisposed, seeing as he is residing in Azkaban, he is in no position to make any such restrictions at this time.”

Harry reeled slightly at the fact that he had a godfather, recognizing the name Black as one of the Most Ancient and Noble houses. He vaguely remembered the name cropping up on his family tree; perhaps a Great Aunt had married into the family? Lord Black being in Azkaban would explain why Harry had never met him, and why he’d been sent to the Dursleys that fateful Halloween. He made a note to himself to look up what the man had done to land himself in the wizard prison. Mr. Jacobi had mentioned it once, as he was showing Harry a shipment of rare lethifold leather that he’d gotten in and explaining its connection to Dementors, who guarded the prison. Mr. Jacobi had shuddered and looked uncharacteristically grim as he spoke.

Harry thought about what Bloodclaw had said and what he hadn’t, reading between the lines. “And illegitimate access?”

Bloodclaw graced him with a vicious little smile that Harry took as approval. “To answer your second question, Mr. Potter,” Bloodclaw sniffed, as if he did not like what he was about to say, “Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts among a large variety of other things, has taken it upon himself to safeguard the key to your trust vault until such time as he sees fit to bestow it upon you, in absence of any other contact or guardian you might have in the wizarding world.”

Harry thought hard, not liking what he was hearing very much. “Does he do this for all orphans with such needs that go to Hogwarts?” he asked, feeling like he already knew the answer.

“No indeed, Mr. Potter, I believe you to be a special case.” Bloodclaw looked about as thrilled by the situation as Harry felt.

If Dumbledore was holding onto his vault key, why hadn’t he sent it along with the acceptance letter? Or sent someone to fetch Harry and explain everything to him? How did the man expect Harry to pay for his school things or even believe the letter when it came, without proof? Did he plan to hold it over Harry's head, manipulate him into thinking that he had Harry’s best interests at heart? Had he planned to reveal the existence of the vault in a way that made Harry think the man his savior and protector? A kindly old man handing over the key to everything Harry needed?

“How do I get the key back? I doubt he would appreciate an eleven-year-old marching up to him and making demands.”

Bloodclaw chuckled again. “Decidedly not, Mr. Potter. Albus Dumbledore is a very powerful wizard, both magically and politically. It would not do well to be on his bad side.”

“Then what?”

“I believe we have two options. First, you could have Gringotts send an official request to have the key returned, which would no doubt work with all haste, but perhaps tip your hand a bit too much.”

Harry thought about it, not liking how that sounded. He wanted to be underestimated and keep his head down. He did not want to go around making demands and giving away how much he knew.

“And the second?”

Bloodclaw smirked in an extra pointy fashion, “Why, we could just change the locks. For a modest fee, of course. You would then be issued a new key and have unrestricted access to your vault. Headmaster Dumbledore would be none the wiser and, I imagine, will take great pleasure in presenting you the key in his possession at whatever time he sees fit.”

Harry felt a smirk sliding onto his face too. Though he doubted it was as pointy as Bloodclaw’s, it felt no less vicious. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“Very good, Mr. Potter, very good.” He opened up the file on the desk and shuffled through the thick stack of parchments before selecting one and presenting it to him along with a form from another of the many drawers. “Some paperwork to finalize the agreement. Do you still wish to make a separate vault?”

Harry thought for a moment as he signed across dotted lines and initialed where the goblin indicated with a sharp claw. “Yes, I think so. Would I be able to transfer some of the funds from my trust into it?”

Bloodclaw nodded, “Naturally. Would you like this tied to the main Potter vaults or kept completely separate?”

“Separate, please.” Harry liked the idea of having a backup that only he knew about. He did not like how much his life had been dictated by others so far and was going to grab at any opportunity he could to gain some independence.

They spent another half hour going over paperwork and the finer details of what he would and would not have access to until Harry came of proper age. Then he and Jax got to take a thrilling ride in a minecart that left him dizzy and Jax asking to go again.

The serpent had slipped out of the bag and across Harry’s shoulders when the cart came to a stop and was hissing excitedly. “That was fun!” Harry nodded noncommittally, still trying to get his bearings and not throw up all over the rough stone floor of the cavern. The goblin they had ridden down with, Griphook, did not seem surprised by the sudden appearance of a snake from his bag. Harry figured he saw a lot of weird things working at the bank.

Harry quickly explained to Jax what had happened in the office as they followed Griphook up a slight slope to a large metal door with elaborate carvings all over it. “So we have money now?” Jax asked. He sometimes had trouble understanding the need for such things, being a snake. “Does that mean we can leave the cupboard?”

“I hope so. I need to see how much there is, first.”

They had reached the vault entrance by that point. Griphook raised one of his fingers and ran it in a line down the center, leaving behind a blazing red trail. “Your vault, Mr. Potter. Let me know if I can be of further assistance.”

Harry gave the goblin a polite, slightly awkward bow and thanked him before stepping past the now open doors.

~~~~~~~>

It was more than Harry could have possibly imagined, mounds of gold that rose high above him. Glittering piles of galleons and sickles, knuts strewn over the floor like a dull mosaic. His knees felt suddenly weak as he took in the sight and he had to sit down on the cold floor. He thought about the sock in his pack, about how much he had worked to save just that much. How worried he’d been that he would not be able to afford the things he would need for school, much less what he’d need to make that better life he craved for himself and his snake. He thought of all the nights he went to sleep in his tiny cupboard, hungry and afraid, when this had been here all along.

Harry felt the anger blazing through him again, at how much he’d suffered needlessly. It left as quickly as it came, leaving him galvanized with determination not to waste this gift.

“This sure looks like a lot,” Jax hissed, slithering down and across the floor to inspect the nearest pile of gleaming coins.

“It is, Jax. I think,” he paused, choking back the feeling of his heart in his throat, “I think we’re going to be just fine.”

“Oh, good,” his serpent hissed, licking curiously at a coin and shaking his dark little head furiously at the taste. He slithered back to Harry, who was still on the floor, and coiled up in his lap. Harry held the snake close and stood on shaky legs.

Griphook had stayed silent the whole time and didn’t mention Harry’s little sojourn on the floor, for which he was grateful. The goblin offered Harry a bag to use (for a modest fee) and explained the featherlight enchantment placed on it so that Harry could grab as much as he saw fit without having to worry about it weighing him down.

“It will also allow you to draw an additional one hundred galleons a month,” the goblin said as he led them back to the cart. “If you need more funds you will have to come to the bank proper or purchase a coin purse with a higher yield capacity. It also has the added feature only allowing you to take money out of it, for security purposes.”

Harry nodded, pocketing the bag before climbing back into the rickety cart. Jax coiled himself excitedly around and around the safety bar, bobbing his head in excitement.

“Go, go, go!”

Harry just closed his eyes, held onto his cap, and waited for the twisting and turning to end.

~~~~~~~>

They made a quick stop back at Bloodclaw’s office, to set up how much he wanted transferred over into his private vault. It was a good amount of galleons that Harry doubted even made a dent into what he had seen.

Bloodclaw presented him with a new key, one that was tiny and silver. Harry tucked it into his coin purse for safekeeping until he could find a better place for it. He thanked Bloodclaw for all his help, which made the goblin snort, before heading back out into the vast atrium and to the street beyond. It was well into noon and Harry’s stomach was letting him know. Instead of ignoring it, Harry made a beeline for the nearest cafe and ordered lunch. Now that he did not have to worry so much about saving every bronze knut, he would bloody well eat when he was hungry.

He ordered a savory pumpkin pasty just about as big as his head, with a steaming pile of chips on the side and iced pumpkin juice to wash it all down. He wasn't able to finish even half the meal, though Jax tried to help by snatching chips from his fingers, and ended up getting it boxed to go. He’d finish it later.

Next stop was to Twilfitt and Tatting's, to buy clothes that actually fit and weren’t all different shades of gray. The shop lady was a snooty kind of witch, who looked down her pointy nose at Harry until she realized he did, in fact, have quite a bit of money to spend and wanted an entire wardrobe. He spent nearly two hours getting measured by floating tapes and clucked at to stand still while different colored fabrics were laid across his shoulders.

He left the store in a fashionable but sturdy pair of dragonhide boots, black trousers paired with a deep purple button down and plain black tie, over which was pulled a light summer robe of dark gray trimmed in the same purple as his shirt. He’d even found a new cap made of a dark green fabric that reminded him of Jax’s scales; he’d bought a little silver snake charm to pin to the side of it.

The shop lady had offered to burn his old things for him, eyeing the pile of oversized muggle clothes with undisguised loathing, but Harry shook his head. He would need them for later.

The witch then neatly folded up the various shirts, trousers, casual robes, winter and summer cloaks, pants, socks, and other bits and pieces Harry had purchased into a neat package that she then shrunk for him and placed inside a new satchel.

“Pleasure doing business with you, young man, please come back again soon.” She gave him a smile as she handed over the satchel that said what she really wanted was for his money to come back, but Harry nodded all the same and thanked her. He packed his old clothes into the backpack with Jax and headed out the door.

Once there, Harry let Jax out to ride onto his shoulders and stuffed the worn out backpack into his new satchel. It had a modest expanding charm, which he thought Jax would definitely appreciate, and he figured would be great for carrying his school books and supplies in. He nudged Jax aside a bit so he could sling it over his shoulder before letting him settle back into place.

“I like the new clothes,” Jax hissed as they walked down the Alley. “They’re soft, but not like I’ll accidentally rip them if I wriggle too much.”

Harry agreed, nearly tripping in his new boots as he caught sight of himself in a shop window. He looked like a completely different person, with clothes that fit and weren’t falling apart at the seams. He was still too short and scrawny, but the robes worked well to hide that. Harry figured he would put on weight as soon as he started getting steady meals. The robes also made him feel grounded, like he was finally taking a step in the right direction towards embracing his heritage.

“Plus they’re pretty,” Jax added, nuzzling at the purple collar of his robe. Harry laughed, a sudden and unexpected sound. Jax gave a contented hiss and they continued on their way.

~~~~~~~>

After picking up quills, ink, and what felt like enough parchment to fill a small library, Harry figured he should probably get a trunk before his bag’s expansion charm was put to the test. He ended up getting one that not only had a featherlight charm, but also a feature that let him shrink and expand it with a word. The shrunken size was small enough to fit in his pocket, which Harry found very useful. It also had multiple compartments depending on which way you turned a brass dial on the front. Each compartment also had an expansion charm, so that the books section could fit hundreds of volumes at a glance. Its potions area was comprised of a honeycomb of cushioned pockets for delicate ingredients and equipment to be kept, along with a general preservation charm laid over it.

There was a wardrobe with rods for hanging his new clothes on one side and a row of drawers along the other. There was a general use section and finally a locked compartment that needed a special key and password to access.

Harry marveled at the complexity of the expansion charms, how they could make so much space out of so little. Magic was amazing.

The trunk cost an obscene amount of galleons, but Harry gave them up with little fight. This trunk was going to be holding his entire life for the next seven years; he would make sure it was the best he could get. He stuck the satchel into the general use compartment and shrunk the whole thing down with a keyword before sticking it in his pocket. The clerk had also offered to ward it against thieves and snooping for an added fee, and Harry gladly took him up on the offer.

Jax had slipped into the hood of Harry’s robe and sounded like he was taking a nap. Harry sort of wished he could join him. Shopping was hard work and not something he was accustomed to doing.

On a whim, Harry stepped into a magical optometrist office. The window had a drawing of a large pair of glasses covering cartoonish blue eyes, which winked at Harry as he walked in.

There were two people in line already, but the one in front was already being led to the back when Harry made it over. The lobby was lined in squishy looking armchairs, there was a merry fire burning in the corner, and tea was set out on a table with plates of ginger newts. It was so vastly different from the muggle office his Aunt Petunia had reluctantly taken him to after one of his teachers had complained, that it made Harry smile a little. The only similarities seemed to be a scattering of old magazines, newspapers, and the variety of spectacles that lined the walls.

Soon it was Harry’s turn. “Hello, sweetie,” said the witch behind the counter. She was wearing bright pink cateye glasses with rhinestones that sparkled different colors. “Do you have an appointment?”

Harry shook his head. She seemed nice enough, but he wished she wouldn’t talk down to him like he was a little kid. “No, ma’am, I’d like an exam.”

She pursed her lips a bit like Aunt Petunia at the ‘ma’am’, which made Harry smirk inside, but nodded and gestured at the cushy armchairs. “If you wanna wait over there, we should be ready in a moment. You do have money for this, right?” Harry nodded and went to sit, grabbing one of the ginger newts to nibble on as he waited.

The exam, when his turn came, was much quicker than the muggle one had been. A wizard in white robes waved his wand in front of Harry’s eyes and muttered an incantation. There was a bright light and a weird buzzing before he had Harry put his old glasses back on while he scribbled on a bit of parchment.

“Oh dear, you need quite the upgrade young man,” he tutted. “You really should have an exam every other year at least.”

Harry nodded and tried to look sorry. It wasn’t really his fault his aunt had never taken him back after that first time, but he wasn’t going to let this random wizard know anything about that.

“No matter, we’ll get you set to rights, no problem.” He gestured for Harry to hop down and follow him back out into the waiting room. “Why don’t you pick out some nice frames and we’ll get you all squared away.”

He left to go help the next patient while Harry looked over his options, though anything would be better than the taped together mess he had now. It took a few long moments, but Harry finally settled on a rectangular pair made of a black metal, the frames sturdy and not likely to break under a thrown fist. Harry thought they looked much nicer than his large circular ones had and gladly handed over five galleons for them.

When he put them on, after the eye wizard transfigured the lenses to his prescription, Harry felt like he was opening his eyes for the first time. Everything was so clear and crisp, he could read the covers of the magazines from all the way across the room and didn’t even have to squint.

“Much better, right?” the wizard said with a chuckle. Harry could only nod. He had no idea his eyes had been so bad before.

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely grateful and marveling that he could count the individual rhinestones on the glasses of the desk witch from so far away.

“Just don’t leave it so long next time, yeah?” He gave Harry one last smile and headed over to help a witch who seemed torn between a pair of tiny gold-framed glasses and big clunky red ones.

Harry went out into the afternoon light of the Alley and marveled anew at all the sights now open to him.

~~~~~~~>

Getting his school books was both the easiest and hardest part of the whole trip. He found the required texts quickly enough; there was a large display near the front of the store as Harry walked into Flourish and Blotts, to buy things this time and not just to use the public Floo. The display had a cheery banner over the piles of books that read HOGWARTS FIRST YEARS in a fancy script. There were more tables for other years scattered about, but the first and third year ones seemed to hold the largest variety. Harry quickly grabbed a basket and filled it with each book on his list, then gave in to the temptation to browse the rest of the stacks.

Soon his basket was piled high with potion theory texts, books on wizarding history, and volumes about more modern culture. He picked up a beginners guide to spellcraft because it looked interesting, though it was pretty advanced despite the name. He even grabbed some wizarding fiction books, in case he ever got bored of learning--though Harry did not see how that could happen. At one point he spotted the girl he’d seen at the bank; her basket seemed to be just as overstuffed as his was.

Jax woke up from his nap around the time Harry was flipping through a wizarding geography book that showed all the major magical hubs in the world. He slithered out of the hood enough to look over Harry’s shoulder and then around the busy store. A wizard who had been browsing a couple feet away eyed the snake and slowly sidled away.

Jax nudged at Harry’s new glasses curiously. “I can see better now,” he explained softly, sliding the book back onto the shelf.

“Oh good, that will make it easier to catch your prey.”

Harry snorted and patted his snake affectionately. “I think I have enough books for now,” he said, eyeing the heavy basket. He may have gone a touch overboard. “Only school robes left; we can get the potion things from Mr. Jacobi tomorrow.” Jax hissed his agreement and slipped back into Harry’s hood.

The clerk gave him an amused glance at the pile of books. “Aspiring Ravenclaw, lad?” he asked. At Harry’s shrug, the clerk just nodded to himself and rang up the books. Harry thanked him and took a moment to unshrink his trunk in the least crowded part of the store he could find and stash them in the library compartment. After pocketing it again, Harry made his way down to their last stop of the day: Madam Malkin's. The shop he had gotten his other clothes from did not sell Hogwarts uniforms, so he mentally prepared himself for another round of measuring and poking and prodding. It was getting late and Mrs. Figg was undoubtedly home by now, but Harry had seen an advertisement for something called the Knight Bus, that apparently shuttled wizards and witches to and fro for a few sickles a ride. Harry was used to riding the bus, so he figured he’d be fine.

“Hogwarts dear?” A plump witch asked as Harry walked into the robe shop. “Got another one being fitted just now too, why don’t you take off that robe like a good lad and hop up here and we’ll get started.”

Harry did as told, carefully laying his new robe on a spare chair in such a way that Jax had a nice nest to wait in and nobody would get startled by the sudden appearance of a snake. He stepped up on the little stool and waited for the witch to come back over.

“Hello,” a voice said. “Are you a first year too?”

Harry looked over to see another boy on a similar stool, being fitted with black fabric. He had gray eyes and white-blond hair that was slicked back in an unfortunate way.

“Yes,” Harry answered, not used to talking to other children. It was almost worse than talking to adults. “What house do you think you’ll be in?” he asked out of nervousness, as Madam Malkin came bustling back over to send a tape to measuring him with what had to be unnecessary thoroughness.

“Oh, Slytherin, oh course,” he said in a snooty sort of voice. “My whole family have been sorted there for ages.” He sounded very proud of that fact.

“I’d like Slytherin, too,” Harry said as fabric was draped over his shoulders. The boy raised an elegant eyebrow, seeming more interested.

“Really? Then perhaps we’ll be housemates. I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ah, thought Harry, a pureblood. That explained the snootiness.

He thought back on his etiquette book and decided on a respectful nod. “Well met, Heir Malfoy.” This seemed to please the boy immensely, so Harry figured he hadn’t bungled it too horribly. Harry listened as Malfoy chatted on about Hogwarts and Quidditch and his father. Harry got the feeling he would be hearing a lot about Malfoy’s father if they did end up in the same House.

Malfoy also seemed to love the sound of his own voice, so much so that he forgot to ask Harry his name and left with a friendly wave after he was finished getting fitted. Harry had barely spoken the whole time, though he didn’t mind too much. Malfoy was a bit full of himself, but Harry had dealt with much worse in his life.

After getting his uniform clothes packed away in his trunk, Harry gathered up Jax and his robe and headed to the designated Knight Bus stop. There was a group of people gathered already and as Harry walked up one of them held their wand straight up.

A few moments passed before the loud BANG! of a car backfiring sounded and a giant purple triple-decker bus came careening down the street to stop with a horrifying screech in front of them. Harry was starting to doubt the wisdom of his choice in transport before realizing he didn’t really have any other options left. A spotty teenager wearing a somewhat wrinkled uniform hopped down from the bus and gave a little speech that he read from a card before shuffling everyone aboard after inquiring about names and destinations.

Harry said his name was Evan and gave the address for the little park down the street from Number Four. He didn’t even want to imagine the disaster it would be to have this monstrosity of a bus appear out of nowhere to deposit Harry at Aunt Petunia’s feet.

The inside of the bus was filled with squishy armchairs and sofas that did not seem to be fastened down in any sane manner. The passengers already on the bus looked a bit green. Harry declined the offer of hot chocolate and settled into one of the armchairs, pulling his feet up under him and holding Jax securely in his lap. The snake looked around with interest and then excitement as the bus gave another loud bang and their armchair went sliding across the floor.

“Weeeee!” Jax hissed happily as they bounced around. Harry just held him closer and tried not to throw up his lunch all over the bus floor.

~~~~~~~>

It was just turning to dusk by the time Harry stumbled down the stairs of the Knight Bus, surprised that he did not immediately collapse onto the solid earth. He took a few moments to compose himself while Jax hissed his disappointment that the ride was over.

“Can we go again?” he asked, wiggling happily on the grassy ground. Harry wanted to say hell no, he was never getting back on that infernal bus again, but he knew deep down that he would. Because it made Jax so happy, and there were very little things he could give his snake that made him truly happy.

So Harry sighed and nodded vaguely and headed over to a bunch of bushes to change back into his awful muggle clothes. There was still a month and a half left of the summer, and even though Harry had money now, he didn’t know where he could find room and board, or if Mrs. Figg was really keeping tabs on him like he suspected. He couldn’t just disappear, not without causing undue fuss. Perhaps he would have a better idea of what to do next summer, but right now he needed to play it safe. Even if that meant putting on his cousin's hand-me-downs and the terrible, taped-together glasses that blurred the world in such a noticeable way now.

Harry slipped his shrunken trunk into one side pocket and Jax into the other and made his way back to Number Four. They had survived there for years, they could do a month and a half more. Harry fingered the wand in his front pocket. They could do this.

Chapter Text

The next day, after completing his outside chores under Aunt Petunia’s beady gaze from the window, Harry casually strolled out to start one of his ‘walks.’ He could feel his aunt watching him as he made his way around the house and down the sidewalk, but made sure to keep his pace slow, like he had nowhere to be and all the time to get there. Aunt Petunia didn't stop him. Harry got the feeling she was looking for signs of change but wasn't about to bring anything up in fear of exposing what she knew of her sister's world. As if by ignoring it she could somehow stop Harry from bringing any of the freakishness into her home.

So Harry strolled along towards the park, hands in his pockets, and didn't do anything out of the ordinary.

As soon as they reached the park though, he let Jax out of his side pocket to slither around in the warm dirt under some bushes while Harry resized his trunk. He gave a quick look around but they were pretty secluded behind the shrubbery, so he quickly went about changing into his proper clothes.

Since he was going to be working in the apothecary, Harry chose a tunic in dark blue and black denims that fit him and not an elephant. He tugged on his dragonhide boots and finished off with a simple black robe and his hat. Harry gladly tossed his muggle clothes into the trunk and gratefully slipped on his new glasses. The world came into sharp focus.

He closed up the trunk and spoke the command word for shrinking it. Jax slithered over as Harry was sticking it in his robe pocket.

“Are we going to the apothecary now?” he asked. “Can we take that big bus again?”

Harry's stomach wanted to say no, but the excited wriggling of his snake had him nodding. Besides, Harry was already dressed in his wizard outfit so they couldn't very well take muggle transit.

So, one harrowing bus ride later, Harry stepped out down the street from the apothecary and valiantly did not crash to the ground. Jax gave his excited thanks at Stan the spotty teenager who turned a bit pale and hastily shut the doors on the aggressively hissing serpent.

Harry had mostly regained his footing by the time they reached the shop. There was a low whistle from behind the counter when he pushed open the door. Mr. Jacobi was grinning at him from where he was leaning over and browsing The Prophet.

“Well look at you, Evan, dressed as a proper wizard.” He winked, closing the newspaper. “Got your letter then?”

Harry nodded, smiling a little but suddenly feeling guilty as he walked behind the counter to grab his apron. He hesitated before putting it on; the squirming guilty feeling was disconcerting. Harry wasn’t used to feeling it, he didn't care if he disappointed or lied to his relatives. They already hated him and that would never change.

Mr. Jacobi though, he had been nice to Harry. Had treated him like a person, instead of something to be tolerated at best, because they couldn’t quite figure out how to get rid of him. Harry had been lying to Mr. Jacobi for years and suddenly he couldn't bring himself to keep doing so. He doubted his identity would be kept secret for much longer at any rate, once he started school.

So, stomach filled with guilt worms and nervous butterflies, Harry set the apron back down and turned to face Mr. Jacobi.

“Can we, um, can we talk about something?” Harry asked nervously, wringing his hands a bit and struggling to meet the man's gaze. Jax, sensing his discomfort slithered out of Harry’s hood and across his shoulders in a snakey embrace.

“Sure, Evan, what's on your mind?” Mr. Jacobi was looking down at him with his normal smiling face, though his eyes seemed worried.

“That's, ah, that just it.” Harry paused, taking a deep breath. He'd just say it all at once to get it over with, like ripping off a plaster. “My name isn't really Evan, it’s Harry. Harry Potter.”

Mr. Jacobi was silent a moment before chuckling.

“Oh, Merlin, kid. I thought you were about to tell me something dire, like an unrelenting passion for Celestina Warbeck, or ask me to explain the birds and bees.” Mr. Jacobi shuddered, running a hand over the short bristles that covered his head.

Harry stared at him, eyes wide behind his new glasses. “You-- you knew?” He stroked Jax’s tail for comfort, too stunned to do anything else.

Mr. Jacobi pointed a finger at himself, raising a single eyebrow. “Ravenclaw. Why’d you think I had you wearing that handkerchief? Merlin knows it wasn't for the fashion.”

Harry could only stare some more. “Why didn't you say anything?” he finally asked, not really liking how small and vulnerable his voice sounded just then.

Mr. Jacobi sighed, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured you’d tell me in your own time. Merlin knows you’ve had enough hardship without everyone you meet bringing it up.”

Harry felt a wave of affection for the man. It washed away the guilt worms and left Harry feeling like he'd just stepped off the Knight Bus, unsteady and grasping for something to ground himself.

“Ah hell, kid, c'mere.” Mr. Jacobi pulled Harry into a gruff hug, startling and unexpected. Nobody had ever hugged him before and he didn't know what to do with his arms, so he just grasped at the front of the man's robes and tried not to burst into tears at the warmth and affection.

He was relieved when it ended, and Mr. Jacobi pretended not to see Harry wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his new robe.

“Now put on that apron, there's sweeping needs doing.” Mr. Jacobi grinned down at him like everything was normal and Harry wasn't about to combust from all the unfamiliar emotions that had been forced upon him that morning. So he nodded and did as he was told, replacing his cap with the green and silver kerchief.

Jax licked affectionately at his cheek and Harry patted his little head. “You okay?” he hissed quietly, nuzzling the hand on his head.

“Yeah, Jax. Everything's great.”

“Oh, good. I Didn't want to have to bite him ‘cause he gives me mice sometimes, but I would have for you.”

“Thanks, Jax. That means a lot.” Harry held in a chuckle, still feeling slightly unbalanced, but also relieved that he'd told the truth.

“Can you still call me Evan? When I'm here? I don't mind so much, being him.”

Mr. Jacobi nodded, an uncharacteristically serious look in his eyes. “I don't imagine you do,” he said, giving Harry a pat on the head, which he much prefered to the strangeness of a hug. “Sure thing, kid. Now, how about you start to sweepin’ and I'll order us up some vindaloo, extra spicy.”

Harry gave him a tiny grin and got to work.

~~~~~~~>

The rest of the summer went by in fit and starts, some days seeming to fly by while others dragged at a snail's pace. Aunt Petunia tightened her leash on him as August slowly marched towards its end. He was to be back earlier and earlier each day and was given more chores to occupy his time.

Mr. Jacobi let him practice a bit with his wand at the apothecary but warned him against trying anything at home, explaining about the trace put on all wands until one came of age. Harry thought it a bit unfair; it gave children in wizarding homes an advantage over those in muggle households. He vowed to work extra hard to make up for his less than desirable upbringing.

At least he would be ahead of the curve on potions, Harry thought, as he flipped through Magical Drafts and Potions. He'd helped Mr. Jacobi brew a few of them before and had improved his knife skills a lot from that first summer.

On his last visit to the apothecary before he was to head to Hogwarts, Mr. Jacobi presented Harry with a package wrapped in green and silver paper.

“What's this?” Harry asked, confused, as he held the box. Mr. Jacobi laughed and gestured for him to open it.

“A present of course.”

“But why?” Harry had never been given a gift before; he didn't know how to react.

“Why not?” The man motioned again, looking like he might open it soon if Harry didn't. “But if you need a reason, let's call it a congratulations. It's not every day you get to go to Hogwarts for the first time.”

Harry hesitated a moment more before carefully peeling up one corner of the paper. Mr. Jacobi was staring at him excitedly and Harry got the feeling he liked seeing people open gifts from him. Though he also looked like he wanted to help Harry by ripping the green and silver wrappings to shreds. It made Harry want to smile as he made slow progress on revealing the present.

“You're killin’ me, kid,” Mr. Jacobi groaned as Harry carefully peeled back a layer. He couldn't hold back a snicker, which made the man sigh in feigned exasperation.

Once the box was uncovered, Harry carefully opened the flaps to reveal a neatly rolled dragonhide bundle. He pulled it out and slowly unrolled it onto the counter.

“Oh, wow...” Harry whispered, eyes wide.

It was a potions toolkit, a very expensive one, too, by the looks of the well crafted handles on the various knives. They were of a dark wood, smooth to the touch, and looked perfectly shaped for his hands. There were various stirring rods: glass, steel, wood, silver, and even a slender golden one. There were measuring spoons with handles engraved to look like snake scales and even a small stone rolling pin.

Harry felt overwhelmed, reaching out with shaky fingers to touch a shining brass knife nestled next to a silver one. He felt like his heart was in his throat and a dangerous prickling at the corner of his eyes.

“This is too much,” Harry croaked out, trying to push the dragonhide bundle over to Mr. Jacobi, who held up his hands and stood back.

“It's a gift. You're not allowed to return it, that would be most unbecoming of a young wizard,” he teased. “Besides, it's engraved, so I wouldn't be able to do anything with it anyway.” He pointed at the corner of the dragonhide, where an elegant green script read Harry James Potter. “The knife handles, too.”

Harry carefully slipped a steel blade from its pocket; it felt just as good in his hand as he'd imagined. Turning it over Harry saw his initials deftly burned into the butt of the handle by an obviously skilled craftsman.

The dangerous prickling was threatening to overcome him as Harry slid the tool back in place. “Thank you. I--” He didn't know how to finish his sentence, but Mr. Jacobi seemed to understand all the same.

“You're a good little potioneer, Evan. This will help you be great,” the man said seriously, looking at Harry with kind eyes. It was not a look he was used to seeing in his life and Harry did not know what to do with the emotions it evoked. So he distracted himself by carefully rolling up the dragonhide and didn't complain when Mr. Jacobi patted his head affectionately.

He got up to stow the kit with the potion things he'd been purchasing before Mr. Jacobi had waylaid him with the present. He'd decided to wait until the last minute to buy his ingredients and other stuff, to make sure they were as fresh as possible. He spent an unnecessary amount of time organizing everything in his trunk, but by the time he finished his eyes were dry and he no longer felt like he was suffocating on disused emotions.

Mr. Jacobi let him.

They had curry for lunch, extra spicy, with garlic naan bread and Thai ice tea to drink. It was delicious and Harry hoped they'd have something like it at Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~>

There were two days left until the first of September. Aunt Petunia had him doing so many chores he didn't even have time for his usual walk around the neighborhood with Jax. She was constantly watching and Harry feared her lips might just disappear with how thin she pursed them constantly.

Harry kept his cool, did what she asked without complaint and avoided the rest of the family as much as possible. Dudley had taken to following him around with his Smelting stick, but Harry was good at dodging it, used to his cousin’s lumbering ways.

On the morning of the first, Harry awoke very early. It was still dark out when he pressed a hand to the cupboard and willed the latch open. Aunt Petunia had been locking it every night for the last two weeks, letting him out when it was time to make breakfast. She hadn't given a reason and Harry hadn't asked.

That morning he was dressed in Dudley’s hand-me-downs for what he hoped was the last time. Jax was in the pocket of his pullover and his trunk was safely shrunk down and pocketed as well. Harry crept on silent feet towards the front door. He could almost taste his freedom.

“Where do you think you're going, boy?”

Harry froze. The voice was coming from the kitchen and he turned to face the open doorway. Aunt Petunia was seated at the table in the dark, like she’d been waiting for him. She probably had been.

“Well?” Her voice was a harsh whisper, as if she were afraid of waking her husband.

Harry was suddenly so very tired of the subterfuge; he knew she knew and he was done playing her games. He’d gone along with it for years, feigning ignorance at the strangeness that happened around him and accepting her treatment of him over things beyond his control.

No longer.

Harry straightened up as much as his small stature would allow and looked his aunt right in her glaring, beady eyes.

“You know perfectly well where I’m going.” Harry kept his voice low also, as he would rather not have to confront his uncle as well.

Aunt Petunia grew pale except for an ugly flush high on her horsey face. “No. I forbid it.”

Harry let out a single laugh, low and harsh and filled with all the pained frustration he'd felt these past ten years. “I am going to school, I am going to learn magic, and you can’t stop me.”

She had flinched when he said the ‘m’ word, a disgusting slur in her mind, and stood up from the table in an attempt to loom over him. Harry was not afraid of her anymore though, no matter that his hands shook and he wanted to step back out of hitting range.

“You will not bring that filth into my home. I will not allow your freakishness to corrupt my son or our lives. I will not have it.”

“Why do you hate it so much?” Harry asked, thinking why do you hate me so much? Aunt Petunia gave a derisive laugh.

“You are unnatural, boy. You will bring nothing but pain and ruin to everything you touch.” She bent close to whisper coldly in his face. “It was the same with your mother. They took her, my sister, and filled her head with nonsense and lies. And it got her killed!”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Aunt Petunia never talked about his mother. He'd learned young that asking questions would sooner get him a smack around the head than answers.

“You knew about her, about magic, and you never told me.” Harry clenched his hands into tiny fists, furious at his aunt, at her willful disregard of her own sister and her heritage. He could feel Jax getting restless in his pocket and knew the serpent was nearing his threshold of non- interference. They had kept him secreted away for so long, but the snake knew freedom was just a few steps away and Harry doubted he would tolerate his aunt’s tone much longer.

“Of course not, idiot boy. Why would I risk you turning out just like her?”

Harry glared, “I'm going to Hogwarts.”

“If you step a single foot outside this house, don't even think about returning,” she told him, voice hard and cruel. “I will not have that in my home.” She straightened and moved as if to block Harry's path to the door.

Harry pulled his wand without a second thought and pointed it at her, hand still shaking but his own voice steady and clear.

“Don't. I’m leaving. This is not my home. It never has been, you've made quite sure of that.”

His aunt looked more furious than he had ever seen her before as she eyed his wand, as if she would like nothing better than to snap it and crush it underfoot.

“This is the thanks I get? For taking you in? Feeding you and clothing you and putting a roof over your ungrateful little head?” She looked ready to strangle him, but before either of them had a chance to do anything, Jax burst hissing out of his pocket and straight at Aunt Petunia.

She gave a silent shriek and fell back over a kitchen chair, crashing to the floor. Jax was still advancing, hissing dire threats and cursing like a sailor. Harry would blush at the language if he wasn't so afraid of his friend becoming a murderer. He managed to lunge and catch the end of the snake’s tail and pull him back just in time.

“No, Jax. It's not worth it,” he pleaded, gathering the struggling snake into his arms.

“I hate her!” he hissed, still wriggling. “She deserves to be bitten for the way she treats you.”

“No. I won't risk you getting in trouble over this, not for her. We’re leaving and we’re never coming back.”

Jax finally settled down, wrapping himself around Harry’s neck and shoulders and hissing at his aunt still on the floor, but he didn't move to attack again so Harry let him be.

“We're leaving, Aunt Petunia. Don't worry, I doubt you'll ever have to see me again.” With that, Harry marched out of Number Four for the last time. In a final act of defiance, he summoned the Knight Bus right there.

“Mornin’, Evan,” Stan said, eyeing the angry snake on his shoulder warily. “Same as usual?”

Harry shook his head as he climbed aboard. It was early enough that the beds were still out. “London please, I start Hogwarts today.”

Stan gave him a grin, “Oh ‘ey? Right on, mate, I jus’ finished up m’self last spring.” He chatted happily at Harry the whole ride into London, even giving him a complimentary hot chocolate that only got spilled a little as his bed slid back and forth.

Jax was still upset about the way they'd left the Dursleys and didn't seem to enjoy the ride with the usual amount of enthusiasm. He seemed to have calmed down by the time Ern dropped them off near Kings Cross, though.

“You feeling better?” Harry asked, stroking his snake’s head. “Where did you even learn those words?”

Jax ducked his head a little in embarrassment. “Monty watches a lot of action movies.”

Harry smiled at his serpent, though he wondered how the python could understand the films. Maybe he'd picked up English from his humans; he'd lived with them for a very long time. Harry didn't see why it wouldn't be possible for him to learn, even if he wouldn't be able to speak it. Harry also wondered if Jax would learn too, as he matured and spent more time around large amounts of people. It would be a pretty useful skill to have.

“It's early still, let's go get some breakfast.”

“Okay,” Jax readily agreed. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something weird.”

“What?” Harry asked as he helped Jax down into his pocket to hide from all the morning commuters.

“You’re aunt’s house stopped smelling like magic as we were leaving.”

“Huh, that is pretty weird, I wonder why?” Harry started up the street towards a muggle diner near the station, hands in his front pocket to pet at Jax. He’d wondered why the house had smelt so strongly of magic in the first place but had kind of assumed it was just residue of him living there for ten years. If it had all disappeared at once, maybe it meant something else.

No matter though, Harry was never going back, so the magical status of that house was a moot point.

At the diner he ordered a warm bowl of oatmeal and cold milk. He suspected the waitress thought he was a street kid, due to his ragged clothes and the rate at which he inhaled the food, because she brought him a plate of sausages on the house with a kind smile. Harry thanked her and slipped one down into his pocket for Jax to try. His snake was hit and miss with human food but was always curious to try things. The sausage seemed to be acceptable.

After breakfast they went back to the train station and Harry took a moment in one of the bathrooms to change into his Hogwarts uniform, minus the robe, and his dragonhide boots. He tossed Dudley’s clothes into a bin along with the taped up glasses and happily strolled away from them forever, valiantly resisting the urge to set the bin afire.

It was barely half seven, so Harry found an empty bench near platforms nine and ten and settled in to read one of his potion theory books. It was really complicated stuff that he didn’t quite have enough references to understand, but interesting nonetheless. He wondered if he’d be able to ask for clarifications on some of it from the Potions Master at school, or if the man really was as prickly as Mr. Jacobi had said. Harry did not think he would mind that so much. Overly friendly people made him sort of nervous, Mr. Jacobi being the obvious exception, and even that had taken years to happen.

By the time nine o’clock had rolled around, Harry figured he’d waited long enough and made his way to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Mr. Jacobi had explained how the magical platform was hidden from the muggles, but Harry still braced himself as he walked into what looked like solid wall.

It felt like nothing as he passed through into open air on the other side. Looking around, he could see a giant scarlet steam engine resting on the tracks and a few other people milling around; families dropping off their children and older students meeting with friends after a long summer apart. Harry grinned to himself as Jax wriggled his head out of the collar of his shirt. The pockets of his uniform trousers were too small for the serpent, so he’d been wrapped around Harry’s chest under the clothes.

“It’s so big,” he hissed, which was his reaction to a lot of things, but Harry had to agree.

“Should we find a compartment? It’s probably going to get really crowded out here soon.”

Jax bobbed his head and they climbed aboard, walking down the wood paneled hallway for a few sections before settling on an empty room with a good view of the bustling platform. Jax happily wriggled out of his shirt to explore the cabin, slithering under seats and over cushions, even winding his way up to the luggage rack above them. Harry let him and cracked the window so he could hear as well as see what was happening outside.

Mostly it was tearful goodbyes between parents and younger children, or rowdiness from groups of teenagers. The platform steadily filled as time passed and Harry got a bit bored of people watching. It hurt a little, to see all the open affection and know he’d never have something like that. So he settled back down with his potion text instead.

His reading was interrupted some time later by the compartment door sliding open.

“‘Scuse me? Can I sit with you? Everywhere else is full.”

Harry looked up to see a gangly redheaded boy in the doorway. He had a goofy sort of grin and more freckles than Harry had ever seen on one person in his life. There was also a smudge of dirt on his nose and a rat on his shoulder. Harry was about to nod when Jax gave a startled hiss from his coiled position in the seat next to him, where he’d been basking in the sun from the window.

“That rat smells weird, off. I don’t like it, make him go away.”

The boy had jumped and gone a bit pale at the sudden appearance of the serpent. Not wanting to cause a scene, Harry gathered Jax up and made his way to the door.

“Um, you can have it, sorry.” He sidled past the gaping boy, Jax hissing at the rat, who scurried to hide under the boy’s worn shirt.

Harry didn’t question Jax’s reaction, he’d learned to trust his friend’s senses. So he moved the snake up to his shoulders and went to find a new place to sit.

The boy hadn’t been lying when he said the train was full. Harry had walked what felt like the entire length of it before he found a compartment that held just a single person. It was a girl who looked like another first year. She was bigger than him, with an unfortunate sort of face, but nice dark hair cut in a short bob. She had a cat in her lap and was reading what looked like a novel. Harry figured he might as well try, so he slid the door open and knocked softly on the frame.

“Can I join you?” he asked when she looked up. The girl stared at him for a minute; she had a sort of squished nose and definitely looked capable of beating him up. But she just nodded and waved a hand at the empty seats across from her, so Harry shut the door and gratefully sat.

“I like your snake,” she said, looking at Jax. “It has handsome coloring.”

“He,” Harry corrected, then, “Your cat is, erm, nice.” Harry had little experience with cats and even less with other children, but the girl seemed to take it in stride and nodded, stroking the animal.

“What did she say?” Jax hissed, noticing the look she had given him.

“She said you’re pretty,” Harry answered automatically, which made Jax preen and the girl’s eyes widen.

“You’re a Parselmouth?” she asked. Harry shrugged, bracing himself to leave again. He’d hate to have to find a new compartment so soon, but he would if she made a fuss about him talking to snakes. She just gave him a little smile though and said, “It must be nice, I wish I could talk to Maximus.” She stroked her cat again, and Harry relaxed.

“I’m Millicent Bulstrode.” Another pureblood name, Harry seemed to have a knack for running into those.

“A pleasure, Lady Bulstrode.” He said with as smooth a bow as he could manage sitting down.

“You can call me Millicent.” She said, waving a hand at the formalities. Harry nodded, a bit relieved. Millicent stared at him for a few moments expectantly, which made Harry flush when he realized she was waiting for his name in return.

“Oh, sorry, I’m--” He paused, taking a steadying breath. This was it, no more hiding. “I’m Harry Potter.”

Millicent’s eyes widened again, then narrowed shrewdly, before she nodded and went back to reading her book. There was a moving picture of a tan and well-muscled man with flowing blond hair riding a unicorn on the cover. Harry relaxed back into his seat, stroking Jax. That had gone much better than he’d expected and Harry hoped the rest of his introduction to the wizarding world would go just as smoothly. Though he highly doubted he would be that lucky.

The train started moving shortly after that and Harry watched the countryside move along outside the window. He was glad Millicent didn’t seem like much of a talker; he felt awkward enough already without adding conversation to the mix.

Jax eventually got bored of sitting on his shoulders and started exploring the new cabin. Maximus the cat followed the movements with bright green eyes but didn’t seem inclined to pounce, so Harry figured Jax was safe enough and cracked open his potion book once again.

~~~~~~~>

A couple hours into the trip the door slid open again, this time revealing a black boy with a smarmy kind of smile and a handsome face that was nonetheless still clinging to a bit of baby fat in the cheeks. He had very white teeth.

“Ah, the ever lovely and compassionate Lady Bulstrode,” he said with an elegant bow to Millicent, who snorted and didn’t look up from her novel, apparently used to such behavior from the boy. Harry wondered if they were friends. “Might I intrude upon your gracious presence? I simply can not bear to spend another moment with the esteemed Mr. Malfoy and his, I’m sure completely true, accounting of great deeds he accomplished over the summer.”

The boy’s voice was so thick with sarcasm that Harry fought back a laugh. He remembered Heir Malfoy from the robe shop and could just imagine what this boy had been subjected to during the train ride so far. Millicent seemed to think the same because she snorted again and waved him in.

“Many thanks,” he said, then seemed to catch sight of Harry. “And who is your lovely companion?” Harry fought the urge to shrink into the background.

“Blaise Zabini,” Millicent introduced, gesturing between them, “Harry Potter.”

“Oh, how interesting,” Zabini said, settling into the seat next to Harry and offering a hand, which Harry shook warily. He was unsure about Zabini, he didn’t recognize the surname, but he seemed to be on friendly enough terms with Millicent.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, hoping his handshake was firm enough.

“Charmed,” Zabini replied with a smirk, though not a mean one. More like it was his default expression. He chatted with Harry for a few minutes and seemed nice enough. He didn’t even startle too much when Jax slithered out from his hiding place under the seats, which Harry gave points in his favor for.

Thankfully the boy did not want to talk the whole time and pulled out a book of his own to read. Harry couldn’t see the cover, but the pages looked to be written in Italian.

Another couple hours went by in relative silence, broken once by a chubby boy looking for a toad and again by a witch pushing a trolley full of sweets. Harry bought a couple pumpkin pasties and some licorice wands for himself and a few ice mice for Jax, who delighted in chasing them around the cabin. Maximus the cat watched with a haughty expression, but that didn’t stop him from batting at one of the white things when it came within reach of his perch on Millicent’s lap.

“These are cold!” Jax exclaimed, when he finally caught one.

“Do you like them?” Harry asked as he watched Jax gulp down the treat.

“I don’t know, it’s very strange.” Jax slithered up to coil in Harry’s lap, who rubbed at his head.

“I bought a few, you can try them again later if you want.” Jax nuzzled at his hand in agreement before settling down for a nap.

Zabini had looked up from his book at the hissing. “Interesting,” he said again, but didn’t press any further. Harry got the feeling that Zabini was the kind of person to step back and observe, reserving his judgment until he had all the facts. It was something Harry could identify with.

The rest of the train ride was uneventful. Millicent finished her novel and pulled out another one; the cover had another musclebound hero, though riding a fierce looking dragon this time. His hair still flowed artfully in a magnificent mane, which Harry thought unrealistic but did not want to question.

They all slipped into their robes as the train slowed down. Harry was hesitant to leave his trunk on board, but the others insisted that was how it was done, that it would be moved to his dormitory after they were sorted. He eventually conceded but refused to leave Jax behind. For one, he did not have a cage like Maximus (who looked thoroughly put out about being sent in.) For another, Jax wasn’t technically on the approved animal list. Since that one boy had had a weird smelling rat, and he’d seen another boy showing off his tarantula, he wasn’t too worried. He did have Jax slip into one of the roomy inner pockets of his robe, instead of the hood, though. Just in case.

As they exited the train they heard a shouting of, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over ‘ere!”

A giant of a man with a bushy black beard holding a huge lantern next to a gathering of small boats was calling and gesturing for all the first years to climb aboard. “Three ta a boat, ther’ ya go, no shovin’ now.”

Harry quickly followed Millicent into one furthest away from the man. He did not like how much bigger he was than Harry, it reminded him of his Uncle Vernon. Though this man seemed to be jovial enough, Harry did not want to get close enough to test it.

Zabini joined them in their boat and soon they were gliding across the dark lake, drawn by magic towards a castle looming in the distance. Harry looked up at the sky, marveling at the amount of twinkling stars he could see. There was a rippling ahead of them in the water and Harry swore he saw a tentacle break the surface for a second and remembered what Mr. Jacobi had said about a giant squid living in the lake. He’d thought the man had been joking, but apparently not.

They eventually made berth at the far shore and the large man started helping children out of the boats, even managing to find the missing toad, to the tearful thanks of the chubby boy from earlier. They were led up a well-trodden dirt path to a pair of great doors that towered above them. The castle was huge, with tall pointed spires and imposing stone gargoyles that glared down at them from the ramparts.

Harry didn’t have much of a chance to look around before they were shuffled inside and met by a tall, imposing witch wearing a frankly unnecessary amount of tartan.

“Welcome students, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I am Professor McGonagall. In a moment you will be sorted into your Houses, which will become your home away from home. I expect each and every one of you to show respect and to study hard in your time here. Good behaviour will earn you House points, while misdeeds and such will lose you points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup, a great honor.” She paused, eyeing the students sternly. “Now, I will be back in a moment to lead you into the Great Hall for the sorting. I would suggest you take this opportunity to freshen up.” McGonagall looked pointedly at the smudge that was still on the red-headed boy’s nose before disappearing through a pair of large doors, where lots of chattering could be heard before they closed behind the professor.

Harry tried in vain to flatten his hair. He’d left his cap in his trunk, anticipating the sorting. Mr. Jacobi had told him all about the singing hat that would read their minds. The thought of putting something that could see his every thought and emotion on his head unnerved him, but Mr. Jacobi had reassured him that the hat never divulged anything it saw. Millicent was running her wand up and down her robes in an equally unsuccessful attempt to remove all the cat hair from them. At least the hair was black, so sort of blended in. Harry told her so, and she graced him with a snort but seemed pleased all the same.

“Ah, there you are Blaise, you disappeared on the train.” Malfoy had walked over to join them. Zabini rolled his eyes a little at Harry before turning a sweet smile on the blond boy.

“Apologies, Draco darling, I came across Lady Bulstrode and we got to talking, I must have lost track of time.” Millicent didn’t contradict him and Harry got the feeling they had done similar things in the past.

“No matter.” The boy waved a gracious hand and turned to Harry. “Oh, I remember you from the shop. Sorry, but I never caught your name?” He was looking at Harry with curious gray eyes, like he already suspected who he was.

Harry gave him a slight bow, not nearly as elegant as Zabini would have managed, but passable all the same.

“Well met, Heir Malfoy, I am Harry Potter.” Malfoy grinned at him, drawing himself up in a pompous sort of manner before extending a manicured hand.

“Wonderful to meet you properly, Heir Potter.” It was so strange to hear out loud, and it didn’t help that Malfoy looked like he loved all the fuss of nobility and proper society. He took the hand nonetheless, determined to not make a fool of himself, even to a snooty kid like Malfoy. “I am pleased to see you already making friends with the right sort.”

Harry didn’t know how he felt about the emphasis placed on ‘right,’ but he liked Millicent and Zabini well enough, so he just nodded his head. He was thankfully saved from further conversation by the arrival of a bunch of ghosts, to the shrieks of some of the more easily startled children.

It wasn’t long after that the big doors were opened and Professor McGonagall had them lining up in two neat rows to lead into the hall. Harry looked up in wonder at the enchanted ceiling, remembering its description from Hogwarts: A History. A girl behind him was explaining it to the kids next to her, citing the same book. It made Harry smile a little.

They were led up to stand by the teacher’s table that gave a great view over the four long tables that took up the rest of the hall. The older students were all staring up at them and Harry fought the urge to shuffle his booted feet. He looked away from the mass of people and focused on a stool that was placed in front of them, followed by a ragged looking hat.

A rip along the brim suddenly moved and the hat started singing. It was a funny sort of song and explained the baser aspects of each House. Harry wondered if it sang the same one each year, or if it spent its downtime composing new ones. When it finished the tune, Professor McGonagall unrolled a large scroll and started calling out names.

“Abbot, Hannah!” A short girl with blonde pigtails nervously approached the stool and McGonagall dropped the hat on her head.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” it shouted a moment later, and the girl trotted off to a table full of cheering, yellow-clad students.

And so it went; some sortings took longer while others were almost instantaneous. Granger, the bushy-haired girl Harry remembered seeing in Diagon Alley, sat for nearly a full minute before the hat shouted “GRYFFINDOR!” It took barely a touch of brim to head before Malfoy was placed in Slytherin. Millicent was also put in Slytherin without much fuss, which made Harry happy; he hoped to follow her soon.

When his name was finally called, the hall erupted into whispers, with students leaning forward to get a better view of him or talking excitedly to their classmates. Harry determinedly ignored them all and marched up to the stool with more bravado than he actually felt. He was grateful that when the hat was dropped on his head it fell to cover his eyes so he didn’t have to look out over the sea of whispering students.

Ah, Mr. Potter. Let’s see where we can put you, a voice spoke directly into his mind, and Harry repressed a shiver. A lot of ambition here, yes, and oh look, such a rare gift you have.

Harry waited, thinking of all he needed to do to make a better life for himself, and for Jax. He wanted to not just muddle through, he needed to make it better.

Oh, yes. I know just where to put you, Mr. Potter. It will be interesting to see how this plays out. I doubt many will be expecting it. Yes, you will do very well in--

“SLYTHERIN!” was shouted out to the rest of the hall, and Harry took off the hat in relief, quickly making his way to an empty seat next to Millicent, who gave him a genuine, if small, smile.

He was so focused on reaching his place at the green and silver adorned table that he did not notice the absolute silence that had filled the hall. Harry looked up to see everyone was staring at him in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Until Malfoy, of all people, started clapping pointedly. Which seemed to jumpstart the rest of the hall into polite, if confused, applause.

The sorting continued, ending with Zabini joining them at the Slytherin table. He gave Harry a smirk from where he settled across from him. “This will be interesting, Potter, no doubt about that.”

Harry was saved from replying by the Headmaster standing to address the hall. He gave a brief speech about the forest being off limits and a forbidden corridor. Harry could hardly listen, remembering that this was the man who had stuck him with the Dursleys and found it appropriate to withhold his family’s money from him. Before he could build up a proper brooding mood the table in front of him suddenly filled with all manner of food and drink. Harry realized how hungry he was and piled his plate with roasted vegetables and chicken. He looked around, a bit disappointed by the lack of curry, but he wasn’t about to complain about an abundance of free food. He’d had little enough of it in his life already.

Jax wriggled his way out of the inside of Harry’s robe enough to snatch a bit of potato from his plate. The snake seemed to like potatoes. Harry rubbed at his dark head fondly, daring to feel like they had finally made it home.

Chapter Text

As Harry made his way through his second slice of treacle tart he looked around the hall, admiring the swarm of floating candles and wondering how wax wasn't constantly dripping all over everyone's heads and food. He could feel the stares of the other students as they looked over at him throughout the meal, but decided the best course of action was to just pretend like he didn't.

Glancing up at the teacher's table, he studied the row of professors. There was a tiny man gesturing excitedly to a sturdy looking witch who had some dirt on her robes. The giant man who had led them across the lake was letting out a booming laugh at one end of the table, slamming a big palm on the wood. Harry looked away quickly.

In the middle of the table sat Dumbledore, who was having a quiet conversation with the stern Professor McGonagall. She was nodding along but paused to shoot warning glances at the rowdy Gryffindor table every once in a while.

At the end closest to the Slytherin side sat a tall man with a curtain of black hair and a large aquiline nose. He was staring at Harry like he was a somewhat hostile puzzle. Harry looked away before he could meet the man's dark eyes.

“That's Professor Snape,” Zabini said, noticing where Harry's attention had been. “He's our Head of House.”

“And Potions Master, right?” Harry asked, though he already knew the answer. Zabini nodded, picking away at his strawberries and cream with a delicate looking fork.

“I like potions,” Harry continued, determined to have a conversation not mired in awkwardness, and brewing, at least, was something he could speak about with as much authority as an eleven year old could possess.

“That's good, I hear he's really exacting about the subject.” Zabini paused to give him a smug sort of look. “Though of course he also favors his House quite a lot.”

Harry glanced back at the table, where Snape was now glowering at the boisterous Gryffindor table as he stabbed a bit viciously at the bowl of cut fruit in front of him. Harry was suddenly very much relieved to have been sorted into Slytherin.

The man next to Professor Snape, who had a garish purple turban, leaned closer to say something to him, which only managed to transfer the glare to himself. The turbaned professor shrank back into his seat a little and suddenly looked very interested in the last few crumbs of cake on his plate.

Harry caught the corner of a smirk on Snape's face at the reaction as the man turned back to his fruit. Harry got the feeling Snape did not care too much for the wizard next to him.

The feast ended soon after and Dumbledore stood to make another short speech, though it sounded a bit inane and too whimsical for Harry’s taste. The Headmaster then led them in a discordant rendition of the school song, which ended with a pair of redheaded twins at the Gryffindor table bellowing it out in a slow dirge. After that, they were dismissed to their dormitories.

“Okay, first year Slytherins, follow me.” A girl with a shiny badge pinned to her robes came over to gather all the new Slytherins up. “My name is Gemma Farley, I'm one of the fifth year prefects, along with Jason Zang here.” She gestured at a dour looking boy next to her, who nodded but let Gemma do the talking. “The Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons, so follow me.” She organized them into what could hesitantly be called a line and led the way out of the hall and down some stairs.

It was a little dim in the corridors as they went further down and their footsteps echoed off the flagstone floors in an eerie manner. Jax poked his head out to look around as they made their twisting and turning way deeper into the depths of the castle.

“It smells like really old magic here,” the snake hissed quietly, purple tongue flicking out to taste the air. “Really old and really powerful.”

“That's good, right?” Harry murmured back, not wanting to draw too much attention to them. “It means we'll be well protected.”

Jax bobbed in agreement, though Harry could feel his apprehension. The usually curious snake was just as overwhelmed by their new situation as Harry was. It would take time to adjust to being around so many people and unfamiliar things.

Eventually they stopped at a stretch of blank wall marked by two sconces that hung closer together than needed. Harry glanced around and spotted a small carved serpent on one of the flagstones by their feet.

“This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room and dorms. The password is changed fortnightly and you are not permitted to bring students from other Houses inside,” Gemma said, eyeing them all to be sure they were paying attention before turning towards the wall.

“Herbaria.”

A moment after she spoke the password, the stone wall melted into a doorway intricately carved with snakes and vines. Gemma opened the door and gestured grandly for them to enter.

“Welcome to your home for the next seven years.”

The inside was brighter than the corridor, with a roaring fireplace that took up a good portion of one wall. There was a cluster of tasteful dark armchairs and sofas arranged in front of it. Harry could just imagine curling up in one with a book while Jax basked on the hearth, soaking up the heat.

Along the wall opposite the fire was a series of bookcases and small round tables to work at, all stained a dark color. There were also large windows on the far wall that looked into a blackness so deep that it took Harry a moment to realize it must be the lake at night; they were under the waterline. He bet the room would glow a soft green during the day, as light shone down through the water. Harry looked forward to stretching out on the cushioned seat that ran the length of the large windows and maybe seeing some fish swim by, or even the giant squid.

There were two corridors that branched from the common room and Harry figured they led to the sleeping quarters. He was just admiring the elegant silver chandelier that hung in the middle of the room, sparkling in the firelight, when a shadow detached itself from a corner and swept dramatically towards them.

Harry could not suppress a startled jump, stepping back and bumping into Millicent; thankfully she didn't seem to mind. He wasn't the only first year to have spooked.

“I am Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House,” the man, who was not a shadow, said, raising an imperious hand to silence the snickers from the older students lounging around the common room.

“Slytherin is a noble house; I expect each and every one of you to uphold that standard.” Snape swept a glare over all of them, pausing a moment on Harry before moving on. “While you are here, your housemates will be your family. You will stand by them, you will help them if they so require. You will not show discord outside of these rooms.” The professor’s voice was low and dark, words precise and cutting through the air to leave absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

“Slytherins stick together. You will face animosity from the other Houses, but you will persevere. If there is a dispute, then you will settle it here, behind closed doors. If you can not resolve your issues, bring them to a prefect, or if it is something you feel needs further address I will deal with it personally.” At this he gave them a warning look. “Though rest assured, I do not appreciate my time being wasted on trivial matters of stolen quills or stung pride. However, if you feel yourself or another student to be in danger, do not hesitate to come to me.”

“You will be expected to maintain both grades and the reputation of this House, and therefore I do insist on proper clean attire and grooming.” Snape glared pointedly at one of the large boys flanking Malfoy, who had food all down his front, before giving Harry’s messy locks a slight sneer, as if the man could intimidate his hair into laying flat and orderly. Harry knew that to be a losing battle.

“If any of you have troubles with another House, you are to bring the issue before a prefect. Remember, Slytherins do not charge ahead blindly at the first sign of conflict.” Harry noticed he didn’t say anything about not retaliating at all. It sounded like Snape just expected them to be smart enough not to be caught at doing it.

“Curfew for first and second years is nine o’clock sharp. I will not have any of you roaming about the halls causing mischief. You are expected to be in bed no later than midnight, barring classes or emergencies. Rest assured I will know if any of you take it upon yourselves to break any of these rules.”

It didn't sound so bad, all told, though Harry was hesitant to think of any of these other children as family; that word did not have many good connotations with him. Professor Snape seemed fair enough so far, if you didn't count the unachievable expectation of Harry actually getting his hair to lay flat. He did have a bit of flair for the dramatic though, with the way he had seemed to pour out from the shadows with his billowing robes and arms folded precisely in front of his chest. Staring down at them with black eyes over his aquiline nose like an imposing roman statue. His mouth a thin frown, but not pursed like Aunt Petunia’s got, which was a relief if nothing else.

“Schedules are to be handed out at breakfast, see to it that you are not late.” He nodded to them, long black hair falling on either side of his pale face. “Welcome to Slytherin. I trust you will all make us proud.”

The or else was implied, but Harry doubted any of them missed it, with the possible exception of the two thug types flanking Malfoy.

Harry nodded back, determined to do his best, even as Professor Snape gave him one last unreadable look before sweeping out of the room in a flap of robes. Harry imagined dramatic string music following the man around and found the thought of it more fitting than funny.

“Alright, firsties,” Gemma said into the silence that followed Snape's exit, “girls follow me, boys go with Jason, and we'll get you settled in.” Harry gave Millicent a little nod farewell, which she returned, and shuffled along with the other boys after Zang.

“You six will be sharing a single room,” Zang said as he led them down the right hand corridor. He had a quiet sort of voice but not as severe as Professor Snape's. He led them past a few doors before opening one with a silver plaque engraved with FIRST YEARS.

Inside the room were six large four poster beds, each with elegant green curtains and matching bedspreads. At least they seemed large to Harry, who had admittedly spent the last ten years squeezed onto a tiny cot in a cupboard under the stairs. He was looking forward to his first real bed. Though, judging by the look on Malfoy’s face, it did not measure up to his exacting standards.

Harry managed to snag one of the beds closest to the door, Zabini taking the one across from him. A dirty-blond haired boy, whose name Harry had not caught yet, occupied the one next to him.

“Theodore Nott, call me Theo,” said the boy, Theo apparently, holding out a hand with a wry sort of smile and forestalling any formalities Harry would have seen fit to display.

“Harry Potter, pleased to meet you.” They shook, Theo not saying anything like I know or obviously, which Harry appreciated.

Malfoy ended up next to Zabini, with his friends taking the last two beds at the far end of the long room. Malfoy was grumbling but they all mostly ignored it. After the bed assignments were settled there was a series of six pops, and their trunks all appeared at the ends of their chosen beds. Harry let out a relieved sigh, losing some of the tension he'd been carrying around since leaving the train.

“There is a bathroom straight across the hall for you to share. Breakfast starts at seven on weekdays, eight on weekends. Classes start at nine,” Zang continued to explain before they all got distracted by their things arriving. “There are house elves that come through each day to tidy up, but you are still expected to put your dirty clothes in the provided hampers and to keep this dorm in an orderly fashion.”

With that, Zang bid them a soft farewell and left, presumably for his own dorm. Harry looked around; along with the six beds, the room also held a wardrobe and nightstand on either side of each four poster. Both made of the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture he'd seen down here so far. There were circular windows high on the wall his bed was pressed against, like stone portholes, and three delicate looking silver lanterns hanging at even intervals across the long ceiling. They gave off a soft, comforting light, so different from the bare bulb of his cupboard, that Harry felt even more relaxed as he knelt down in front of his trunk to get his night things.

“Well, I suppose it could be worse,” Malfoy said as Harry unlocked his trunk, his voice haughty and a bit nasal. “The bed could be bigger, but I suppose this is enough to be getting on with for now. My father says the Head Boy and Girl get their own rooms, I am definitely going for that.”

Malfoy nattered on, with Zabini occasionally breaking in with a sweetly sarcastic comment that would in turn go straight over the blond's head. Theo shared a look with Harry after a particularly biting retort that had him holding back a snort. Harry busied himself with digging out his purple fleece pajamas to distract himself; they were trimmed in black and looked soft and warm. He'd not actually had a chance to try them out since he'd bought them that summer.

He gathered the folded clothes close, along with his toiletries kit, and made his way out to the aforementioned bathroom. It was an expansive room, with four sinks lining one mirror-covered wall. Three stalls along with three urinals took up another. There were four shower heads with black stone partitions separating them and folding bamboo doors for privacy opposite the sinks.

The floor looked like it was made of black marble tiles and the faucets were carved to resemble silver hissing snakes. Harry thought that was a bit dramatic, but it amused Jax when he wriggled out as Harry started to change quickly into his sleep clothes.

“It looks like they’re puking up water.” Jax gave a snakey snicker from the pile of clothing on the counter as Harry brushed his teeth.

“C’n ‘nakes even ‘uke?” he asked through a mouthful of brush and toothpaste. Jax gave a wriggling shudder.

“Yes and it's horrible.”

Harry thought about the last time he had puked; Dudley had punched him so hard in the gut that he'd upchucked all over the other boy's new shoes. It had sort of been worth the disgusted look on his cousin's face, but not really something he'd care to repeat.

Harry spit the last of the minty goop into the sink and rinsed his mouth out before letting Jax slither under his sleep top and wrap around his middle. He gathered his bundle of clothes and made his way back across the hall, passing Malfoy and Zabini on the way. They were still bickering. Zabini shot him a wink and Harry had to hold back another snort.

He nodded to Theo as he carefully checked the pockets of the clothes in his arms before putting them in one of the dark wicker hampers Zang had mentioned.

Harry was starting to feel exhausted from all the events of the day, marveling a bit at how much had actually happened. It seemed unreal. He climbed onto the expansive bed with its forest green blanket and silver sheets, pulling the curtains closed around him and cutting off the light from the room.

The bed was soft, almost too much so, and it felt strange to be able to stretch out completely and still not feel the edges of it. Though that might say more of his small stature than the workmanship of the bed.

Jax slithered his way out to settle, coiled up, on Harry’s chest. He cupped some light into his hand out of habit and stroked his snake’s smooth head. Jax gave a contented hiss and flicked at Harry’s wrist with his forked tongue.

He lay like that for a long while, just petting Jax in the dim conjured light and trying to process everything that had happened. He was tired, so tired, his eyes heavy and limbs sluggish, but unable to find rest with his mind so full.

Eventually he shifted his now peacefully sleeping snake to the side and slipped out to rummage in his trunk for his purple journal and a muggle bic, not wanting to spill ink all over his new bedding.

The other boys had also gone to bed and Harry could hear rumbling snores, only slightly muffled by heavy curtains, coming from the far end of the room. The silver lanterns had been mostly put out, but a dim glow still filled the room, enough to see by if one of them needed to use the loo in the night.

Harry climbed back into his bed and opened the journal, flipping to a clean page to write down all that had happened that day. It helped his brain settle to get it all down. By the time he'd scribbled a few final thoughts, Harry barely had enough energy to close the book and slip under the covers before sleep took him.

~~~~~~~>

Harry woke to a snake tongue in his ear.

It took a few moments to realize what the strange wet wriggling sensation had been, and a few more to disentangle himself from the death grip of his new sheets.

“You were having a nightmare,” Jax said by way of explanation, making Harry notice just how labored his breathing had become.

“Thanks, Jax,” he told the anxious serpent, using the now loosened sheet to mop his sweaty face. He couldn't even remember what the dream had been about, just a vague sense of being trapped and alone.

Jax wriggled his way up into Harry’s lap and butted his chin with his dark head. Harry drew him close and just held on for a long time. Jax was far too used to helping him with his nightmares. Harry was glad he had learned to stifle any sleep noises a long time ago, out of fear of waking his relatives. He'd rather not everyone in the dorm know how often he had bad dreams, or woke up crying silent tears or holding back screams. He doubted that would make him many friends.

Eventually Harry let Jax slip away and pulled back the curtains to glance at the softly illuminated clock face above the doorway. Half past five, not too bad. He'd slept nearly the whole night. A quick look around showed all the other boys still sleeping soundly, so Harry was extra quiet when unlocking his trunk and grabbing a fresh uniform and his towel.

He'd forgotten to buy soap and shampoo, but when he and Jax looked into an empty shower stall he saw a few bottles that he presumed were for general use. Setting his bundle on the black marble countertop, Harry stripped down quickly for a shower. Jax complained about the cold tile when Harry pulled the bamboo screen closed, so he bent down and touched the floor, willing it warm.

“There you go, you spoiled snake,” Harry teased as Jax wriggled happily on the heated tiles.

The water was hot when he turned it on, such a rare thing for him that Harry spent a few minutes just standing under the firm spray with his eyes closed and listening to Jax happily splash around at his feet. The snake loved water, if it was warm and not too deep.

The bottles, when Harry got around to investigating them, held a variety of hair and body potions. He sniffed at them for a while before deciding on a soap and shampoo set that smelled of sandalwood. Jax hissed a bit at the suds falling on him until Harry picked up the slippery snake and held him under the hot stream, which Harry suspected was what he'd wanted all along.

“This is much better than our old shower,” Jax said, slithering along Harry’s arms to lay astride his thin shoulders so he could properly rinse out his hair.

Harry agreed, but thought the one at Number Four would have been fine if he'd ever been allowed more than six minutes of lukewarm scrubbing. It was a moot point now, anyway.

After his luxurious twenty minute shower, Harry quickly dressed in his uniform, tried and failed to do anything useful with his hair, and helped Jax dry off by bundling him in the damp towel and rolling the serpent around, making him give out protesting hisses that sounded suspiciously like snakey giggles. By the time they made their way back into the dorm room, he'd completely gotten over the nightmare.

The other boys were still asleep, so Harry was careful about grabbing his new satchel out of his trunk along with a quill, ink and a few pieces of loose parchment to fill it with. He was unsure what books he would need that morning so he just picked out a few leather-bound notebooks and his potion theory text so he could read out in the common room. The notebooks were nice, filled with empty pages of parchment waiting to be filled and enchanted to expand up to a thousand more pages as needed.

He took everything out to the common room. Jax was coiled in the hood of his robes, but when they saw the room was empty he slithered out to settle into Harry’s lap as he sat in one of the armchairs by the fire.

The sun was just starting to rise, evidenced by a soft green glow that started to suffuse the room from the windows, the morning light making its way through the depths of the lake.

Harry spent a few moments testing out one of his new quills by scratching out the names of his upcoming courses onto the covers of the notebooks. He was still getting used to writing with them, but didn't mind the challenge. He'd bought a variety of colored quills from Diagon Alley, the one he was using now a deep purple. He also had some green ones, along with a few blues and grays.

He'd stuck with plain black ink though, doubting his teachers would appreciate having to struggle through reading a rainbow of ink.

By the time it was nearly seven, the common room had filled up some. Jax had retreated into the satchel. It had a partition down the middle, so as long as Harry didn't drop any books on his head the snake should be fine staying in there while Harry made his way around the castle.

“Let's see if we can find our way back to the Great Hall,” Harry hissed quietly at his bag. The room was filling with older students and it was making him feel somewhat uncomfortable and a bit trapped. The Great Hall was bound to have more people, but at least it was a wide open space.

Jax agreed. “Will there be eggs?” he asked hopefully. Harry shrugged, reaching a hand into the bag to stoke his serpent's head.

“Maybe, we'll see.” It was strange for Jax to eat so much; just yesterday he'd had the bits of sausage, Ice Mice, and a few chunks of roasted potato at the feast. Perhaps he was going through a growth spurt. He'd almost stopped growing completely about a year and a half ago, after he'd reach the size he was now. Harry figured it was because he was trapped in the cupboard with him and in constant danger of discovery, and so his magical nature may have halted his growth until they had more freedom of movement. Now that they were well shot of the Dursleys and at Hogwarts, maybe Jax was about to catch up on all his missed time. Harry made a mental note to check on the info the wizard at the Menagerie had given him; he seemed to remember something about possible fires.

The dungeon corridors were a bit of a maze and mostly empty at this time in the morning, but Harry figured if he just kept going up, eventually he’d find his way there. Jax helped by sticking his little head out of the satchel and tasting at the air.

“I smell food that way.” He pointed with his nose at a left hand fork and soon Harry could hear the bustle of the other early risers as he turned one last corner and found the dungeon entrance to the Great Hall that they had left from the night before.

“Good job, Jax.” Harry stroked the purple freckles on his snout after he settled down at one end of the long Slytherin table, his satchel next to him on the bench. There were only a handful of his older housemates sitting further up, but it was still more than the Gryffindor or Hufflepuff tables held. Ravenclaw was unsurprisingly bustling with blue-clad students trying to balance eating and drinking with reading, to somewhat limited success for the younger ones and practiced ease with the upper years. Harry gave a small grin into his cup of tea, imagining a young Mr. Jacobi missing his mouth with a spoonful of hash and getting it all over his cheek.

“Does that mean I get an egg?” Jax hissed excitedly, breaking Harry from his little daydream. He quickly looked around the table at the variety of breakfast foods laid out, spotting a small bowl of soft boiled eggs a bit further up. He willed it to float closer without a second thought before nearly fumbling it at the gasp that suddenly sounded from his right.

“You can do wandless magic?!” Harry looked up to see the bushy haired Gryffindor girl, G-something, Granger.

“Erm, no, not really,” he stuttered, startled by the somewhat manic gleam in her eye. “Just a bit of hovering, that’s it. I practiced when I found out I was a wizard.”

That seemed to appease the girl, but she still stuck around and asked what seemed an endless stream of questions in a bossy sort of voice and didn’t really give Harry a chance to get a word in edgewise. He was about to try and suggest she return to her own table when he was saved the effort by the arrival of Millicent, who was much bigger than Granger and could sport an intimidating glare.

“Beat it, Gryff,” she said, demonstrating said glare and looming a bit for good measure. Granger huffed and stomped off to the red and gold table.

“Thanks, Millicent,” he said, finally giving a grateful Jax his egg. He didn’t like bullying as a rule, but Granger had been starting to make him a bit sweaty and anxious and Millicent hadn’t even called her names or anything. Just told her to go away, which Harry was about to attempt, if in a less brash manner.

Millicent grunted and slid into the seat on his other side and started piling her plate with bacon, beans and toast. “You’re alright, Potter.” Harry would remind her that she could use his given name, but figured it wasn’t really Millicent’s style.

“This egg is weird,” Jax hissed from the bag.

“It’s soft boiled, they don’t keep the raw ones out on the table,” Harry explained softly as he spread marmalade on some toast.

“That’s dumb.”

“Maybe we can try and find the kitchens and get some raw ones for you,” Harry suggested. If anything, he could probably order some by owl. Jax agreed, always eager to explore when he wasn’t settling down to digest weird, soft boiled eggs.

The rest of Harry’s year slowly trickled into the Great Hall. Harry had long finished eating as much as his stomach could handle, which was depressingly little. Not as bad as it had been previously, though, after a summer of lunches at the apothecary and the occasional venture out to a muggle establishment with his galleons-turned-pounds. He still found himself stashing a couple oranges into his robe pocket, out of habit.

Zabini sat down across from him with a smirk, followed by a sleepy looking Malfoy, who did not look to be a morning person at all judging by the bleary way he poured his tea and scrounged for the bowl of cut fruit.

Harry nodded at them and was about to pull out his potion text to read when Professor Snape strolled by, handing out slips of parchment with their schedules. Harry smiled to see they had potions first thing that morning.

“Thank you, sir,” he said genuinely. Snape gave him another of his unreadable looks before nodding sharply and moving on.

“Thanks, Severus,” Malfoy said drowsily, seeming about ready to fall asleep in his tea. That is until he caught sight of the glare the professor was sending his way and flushed to the very roots of his blond hair. “I mean--sir, Professor, sorry...” He trailed off, looking as if he’d very much like the floor to eat him up. Snape raised an emphatic eyebrow before continuing down the table.

Zabini was snickering quietly into his coffee, which Harry did not think was healthy for an eleven year old to be drinking but wasn’t about to say anything.

“Snape is Malfoy’s godfather,” Nott explained, not looking up from perusing his schedule, but Harry could see that tiny wry smile at the corner of his mouth again.

Harry nodded in understanding as Malfoy glared at his bowl of fruit. Harry thought it was pretty impressive how Snape had said so much without uttering a word and wondered if it was something he could learn to do. Though maybe you’d first need to look intimidating, which Harry decidedly did not.

~~~~~~~>

Harry and Millicent arrived outside the potion classroom early; she’d decided to tag along when Harry had mentioned going back to the dorms get his books for the day. The others had waved them off, still working on breakfast. Malfoy was still looking flushed but was trying to mask it with arrogance, which Harry took as his cue to get out of there. Millicent seemed to agree.

So they ended up about fifteen minutes early to class, but still only managed to beat Granger there by a few moments. Harry was glad Millicent was with him, so the Gryffindor couldn’t start in on the interrogation again. They spent the remaining wait time reading their respective books, Harry his potion theory and Millicent her trashy novel. Other first years slowly started arriving, the corridor outside the classroom splitting visibly into green and scarlet.

Harry noticed the redheaded boy from the train glaring at him a bit. Harry figured he probably deserved it, for the way he had run off. He kind of wanted to reassure the boy that it hadn’t been him he was avoiding, just his weird rat, but Harry got the feeling the boy would take it the wrong way and everything would just get worse. So Harry just tried to give him a tentative kind of smile and ducked his head back into his book.

The mood in the corridor was getting a bit strained by the time Professor Snape swept up in his usual billow of black and let them in. Everyone quickly found seats, Slytherins on the left and Gryffindors to the right.

The classroom was made up of tables big enough for two people to brew on their own comfortably, or three to work on a single one together. The tables were scarred and pockmarked but very clean, as if they got scoured twice daily. Which was a good sign to Harry, as Mr. Jacobi had always insisted on a clean workspace. Potions were a volatile process at best and you needed the least amount of interference possible, which started with a clean workspace.

Harry ended up with Millicent beside him, though Malfoy had tried to motion him over to his table. Harry had pretended not to see, still unsure how he felt about the boy and not wanting to be distracted from the class. Millicent, he got the feeling, would be good for that.

Professor Snape stood at the front of the classroom, glaring out at all of them, though maybe a little harsher at the red and gold side of things.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” Snape stated, his voice a dangerous kind of quiet that grabbed the attention of everyone. He stalked back and forth in front of them, robes flaring. Harry imagined the dramatic string music again. The professor gave an impassioned speech about potion making as an art form, one that needed skill and dedication to achieve anything remotely noteworthy in. Harry wanted to show how much he understood what Snape was saying, how much he wanted to excel in this class.

Which he supposed was a good thing, because the man himself stopped suddenly before his and Millicent’s table and glared down at Harry. “Mr. Potter,” Snape said sharply, “tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“The Draught of Living Death,” Harry answered, remembering the commission Mr. Jacobi had gotten for it. He hadn’t been allowed to help brew it, too delicate a process for him just yet, but Mr. Jacobi had explained everything he was doing as Harry watched him work.

Harry could see Granger lowering her hand from where it had shot into the air. Professor Snape eyed him again, like Harry was some strange enigma that he could not quite puzzle out. “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

That took a moment before the answer came. Granger’s hand was waving in the air again but Snape wasn’t giving it the slightest bit of attention, just staring down at Harry with a slowly growing scowl.

“The stomach of a goat, sir,” he finally answered, relieved to have remembered. Snape nodded reluctantly; the scowl stayed but didn’t grow any worse.

“And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry blinked up at him before letting a tiny smirk of his own touch the corner of his mouth. “There isn’t one, sir.” He paused, then decided he might as well try and impress the man, show that he was serious about the subject. “It also goes by aconite.”

Professor Snape stared at him with his deep black eyes for an endless moment before nodding a final time. “Very good, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin for bothering to open a book before you came to class.” He turned back to the other students; Harry was relieved to have the attention off of him. “Well? Why aren’t any of you writing this down?”

There was a bit of a scramble around the room for quills and ink. Harry pulled out his newly christened potions notebook and jotted down his answers, adding that a bezoar was a cure for most poisons, just to be thorough. Millicent gave him a friendly nudge and he pushed back, thinking that it could have gone a lot worse than it did.

The rest of the class was spent with Snape lecturing them on proper cauldron and tool care. About the rules of the potion lab and why it would be a dire mistake to try and fool around in his classroom. This was addressed to the Gryffindor side of the room, much to the silent amusement of the Slytherins. They also went over the ingredients cabinet and what was stored within, another added threat to any child foolish enough to think they could get away with stealing from it.

Harry took diligent notes, a little sad that they wouldn’t be brewing that day. It was only a single class, so there was hardly time. Snape clarified that Mondays and Wednesdays would be lecture or prep days, and on Fridays they would brew during the double lesson. Harry thought Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

Snape dismissed them with a final, all-encompassing glare, as if just daring some fool student to break one of the ironclad rules he had just laid down.

He did not look at Harry, who didn’t know if he should feel relieved or disappointed.

~~~~~~~>

Next was Herbology with the Ravenclaws, who paid very close attention to the lecture Professor Sprout gave, but in general were a bit tentative about the actual plant work.

Harry held no such compunctions and dove right into replotting the whispering daisies into a fresh bed of dragon dung. Harry had been working in his Aunt’s garden since he was five; this was nothing new.

Well, the softly singing flowers were pretty new, but Harry thought that a bit of an improvement anyway. Professor Sprout even awarded him a point for being so quick about it. It was nice, though Harry got the feeling Herbology would never be his favorite subject. Although it might just be Jax’s, given the enthusiasm he had for wanting to explore every nook and cranny of the greenhouse and all its weird plants. Harry had given him a stern command to stay in the bag, he did not want Jax getting hurt by some unknown danger. Or even a known one, if the snake startled a student and they reacted badly with a sharp pair of shears.

It was pretty amusing watching Malfoy try and get the dragon dung out from under his manicure. One of the other Slytherin girls, Parkinson, Harry thought, was trying help him but seemed to just be making more of a mess of things. Harry quickened his pace back up to the castle so he didn’t start snickering.

~~~~~~~>

Lunch was just as generous a meal as breakfast had been and as Harry assembled a sandwich with all the things he would usually never be allowed, he shook his head a bit at the novelty of three consecutive full meals. He very rarely got more than a few bites as he cooked breakfast for the Dursleys. Lunch was nonexistent if he wasn't at the apothecary, unless he could sneak a cheese sandwich or some of Dudley’s crisps. He did usually get dinner, unless he was being punished, though the portion sizes tended to be noticeably smaller and he was never offered seconds.

He did pocket a banana to go with his stashed oranges, no need to take chances. Harry figured he could put them in the potion compartment of his truck; with the preservation enchantment it would make for a good place to have a backup meal option.

After lunch was Charms. It was just Slytherins this time. The class was taught by the tiny Professor Flitwick, who started by taking roll and fell off his stack of books when he came to Harry’s name.

Charms was harder than Harry expected. It relied on precise wand movements paired with clearly articulated words. Harry, used to doing things by instinct and sheer will, struggled with channeling all that through the wand. They were supposed to be mending tears in bits of fabric and Harry’s was just scrunching up on the desk or flopping about.

It didn't help that Millicent had seemed to pick things up right away and was raveling and unraveling her cloth over and over next to him, while Harry's stubbornly sat in a crumpled heap on the desk.

“Very good, Miss Bulstrode!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, approaching their table as Millicent once again remade the cloth. “Very neat spellwork, five points to Slytherin.” Millicent gave a satisfied sort of smile as Flitwick turned to Harry. “Let's see what you've managed so far, Mr. Potter.” He gestured excitedly and Harry took a deep breath before trying once more.

“Reparo.”

His cloth burst into flames.

“Oh dear me.” Professor Flitwick squeaked, smothering the fire quickly with a flick of his wand. “No matter, no matter.” He waved the incident aside as if he were used to his classroom constantly being set afire. “You’re sure to pick it up soon.” Flitwick looked like he wanted to pat Harry’s hand and he quickly removed it from the tabletop. “Your mother was one of my best students, after all.”

Before Harry could inquire further, the diminutive professor skipped off to Malfoy and Zabini’s table. Harry glowered at his now scorched cloth, hating the feeling of failure filling him. It was a hot and uncomfortable sensation.

“Try jabbing a bit less.” Millicent suggested, not really looking at him and sounding bored.

Harry tried. It didn't really help, but at least he hadn’t created another fire hazard. By the end of class he sort of managed the charm. The rip, instead of being cleanly joined, was more of a jagged scrunch like a loose thread had been pulled from the middle of the scrap.

It was progress, but Harry still felt a simmering unrest at his inability to master the charm as quickly as others in the class had, despite the fact that he knew how long it usually took to learn something new when he hadn't even had a wand. It had taken him months to perfect the warming charm and just as long if not more to reliably float things around without too much wobbling or dropping.

He'd just thought having a wand would make it so much easier to learn.

Harry lagged behind his housemates as they all tried to find the way to the transfiguration classroom. He wished he could talk to Jax about it, but he was still trying to keep him somewhat secret, not wanting a teacher to tell him he wasn't allowed to carry the snake around with him or even demand Harry get rid of his friend altogether.

Harry would not hesitate leaving the school if that happened. He would not abandon his only real family. Not even for this marvelous castle with its moving staircases and abundance of free food. He'd find a new school, or buy books and try to teach himself.

~~~~~~~>

Thankfully, Transfiguration turned out to be somewhat easier. Professor McGonagall started the class by turning into a cat and back, which was surprising and held all kinds of possibilities. Harry wondered if he could learn how to do that, if it had to be a cat or if you could choose what you wanted to be. Where did your clothes go when you changed? Did they ever not come back with you? A thousand different questions raced through his mind, successfully distracting him from the disaster Charms had been.

Professor McGonagall was a stern teacher, lecturing them in a no nonsense tone while she had one of the girls, Daphne Greengrass, pass out a single wooden match to each student. She gave Harry a pretty smile as she set one in front of him, which made Millicent snort and Harry shrink back awkwardly.

“Transfiguration is a complex and exacting art. You must concentrate completely on what you want to happen. Envision the results clearly and without hesitation and you should be able to turn this matchstick into a needle. Or a bit of rock into a drinking glass, or even--” She waved her wand at her desk and with a murmured word turned it into a startled looking pig and back.

“You must be very careful about using this branch of magic, it could have disastrous results if one does not pay attention to what they are doing. I will therefore tolerate no tomfoolery in this classroom.” Her voice was sharp and stern like Snape's, but louder rather than a deadly whisper. McGonagall flicked her wand at the blackboard and the incantation they were to use appeared in neat white letters, as if drawn in chalk by an invisible hand.

Harry found it much easier to work on the matchstick than the cloth from earlier. Transfiguration had a lot more to do with willing something to change, rather than complex wandwork. He managed to completely transfigure the match right before the end of class, though the tip was still a bit dull and it could have been shinier.

“Excellent, Mr. Potter. You seem to have your father's knack for the art,” McGonagall said briskly as she came around to collect the various results. “Three points to Slytherin.”

Harry flushed a little and ducked his head, unsure how to take the compliment and struggling with the constant reminders from his teachers about parents he never knew.

Millicent on his left had managed to make her match a bit pointy at the end, which she looked pleased about. Malfoy, who’d slipped into the seat on Harry’s right, had turned his a shiny silver but not much else, which had the blond pouting. Harry could sympathize, still a little upset about his scrunched up and burnt rag.

~~~~~~~>

Transfiguration was the last class of the day, which left Harry with a few hours to kill before dinner. He decided to explore the castle some more and try to get his bearings. Jax poked his head out of the corner of the satchel and chatted with him about classes as they wandered about, hiding if any students passed them.

Jax particularly liked the moving staircases and demanded they ride them as often as possible. There was also a portrait of a fierce looking cobra that they stopped and talked to; he seemed a bit aloof but willing enough to chat for a bit, the novelty of a Parselmouth enough to garner interest. Even if that Parselmouth was a tiny first year who didn't really know all that much about basket weaving, which the cobra was apparently very enthusiastic about.

Eventually they found their way to the library. It was just as grand as Mr. Jacobi had described, with stacks upon stacks of bookcases and cosy tables for studying at. A fair few of them were filled already with upper years looking mildly frantic, even though it was only the first day of classes. Perhaps the workload increased a lot as you progressed. Harry browsed the transfiguration section and took out a book on basic theory, before finding a little corner nook to settle into. It was secluded enough that he let Jax out of the bag to stretch his scales a bit and sniff around.

“This place has more books than that store with the swirly fire ride,” Jax said, flicking his tongue out to taste at the somewhat musty air and proceeding to sneeze.

“The Floo,” Harry corrected, smiling at the indignant look on Jax’s snakey face, the one he always wore after a bout of sneezing.

The transfiguration book was interesting, but not as much as potions, and Harry slid it back onto the shelf instead of bringing it up to be checked out by the intimidating librarian. She was tall and pointy and pursed her lips like Aunt Petunia. Besides, Harry wanted to work on the mending charm that night, so he would be ready for next class.

They managed to find their way to the Great Hall with only a little backtracking. Dinner seemed to be just starting, the tables about half empty, and Harry quickly found what he was coming to think of as his usual spot at the far end of the Slytherin one.

He piled his plate with mashed potatoes and roast this time, using steaming rolls to make tiny sandwiches. There was pumpkin juice to drink and a variety of different side dishes to choose from. There was even desert again and Harry happily ate a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie topped with clotted cream. Though he thought he might prefer the treacle tart from last night, Harry appreciated the option of having something different.

He wrapped up a few dinner rolls to stash away in his trunk and let himself give a little smile at how his first day had gone mostly well.

Chapter Text

Harry quickly grew into a routine of waking well before his dorm mates, either from his learned tendency to be an early riser, or being forced from slumber by nightmares. Harry prefered the mornings that didn't start out with panic and cold sweats, but did sometimes wish his aunt had not trained him quite so thoroughly to rise with the sun.

He did appreciate getting the whole bathroom to himself, not sure how comfortable he would be undressing in front of the others. He was definitely certain that he did not want to answer any questions about the variety of scars that littered his skin under the clothes, not wanting to hear the mocking or, Merlin forbid, pity.

No, Harry would take advantage of the early mornings and do his bathroom routine in private. Or as much privacy as one could have with an excitable serpent demanding to be held under the hot spray so he could wriggle around like a fiend.

It also gave Harry time to do extra reading or practice his wand work without anyone else seeing just how abysmal he was at Charms.

Along with the classes he'd had that first day, there was also History of Magic, which Harry had been looking forward to, but lost all hope of absorbing any kind of real information from about halfway through the first class. It was taught by a ghost, which sounded cool at first, but turned out to be just awful. Apparently the man had died in his sleep in the staffroom and gotten right back up the next day to teach, as if he wasn't floating and transparent.

It did not bode well for the relevance of the information that it came from a wizard that had died a century ago and never updated his notes. Harry did his best to write down the relevant information, but more often than not seemed to join his housemates in staring blankly out the window as Professor Binns droned on.

They had Astronomy on Thursday nights, up in the tallest tower. It was pretty interesting, looking up at the twinkling sky, charting all the planets and stars and learning about the constellations. Although it also had the effect of making Harry feel even smaller than usual, knowing there was so much else out there beyond their tiny blue-green orb.

Jax did not care for Astronomy. It was too cold up on the tower and Harry had to use his warming touch on the satchel so the snake didn't freeze.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was another class Harry had been looking forward to that turned out to be just as disappointing as History had been. Professor Quirrell, along with having terrible taste in headgear, also smelled strongly of garlic and sported a stutter that made him hard to understand. That would have been fine if he were a good teacher, Harry couldn't blame the man for having a few oddities. But for all his effort in trying to get his point across, Professor Quirrell did not really end up saying much of anything; dancing around subjects with such skill that Harry had doubts about the authenticity of his nervous manner. No one could be so utterly inept unless it was on purpose.

Harry had no clue what Quirrell’s deal was, but he mostly just wished the professor would get to the point every once in a while. And also not stare at him when he thought Harry wasn't looking. Harry knew what it felt like to have someone's attention on you so completely and he really did not like it when it was Quirrell. It made his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Jax didn't like those classes either. The overwhelming stench of garlic made him sneeze, which in turn made his classmates look around for the source of the noise, leading mostly to confused faces (or in Zabini’s case, a smirk sent to the satchel under Harry’s desk.)

No, Harry did not enjoy Defense.

At least there was double potions on Friday mornings, before having to go to a DADA class after lunch. Even if they had to share with the Gryffindors.

Harry did not really have anything against Gryffindor House as a whole, although Malfoy, he’d learned, could go on at length about their inherent failings and brash behaviour. Malfoy had even spent time explaining to Harry the intricacies of the rivalry between the two house and how it spanned back all the way to the founding of the school. Harry thought that an awful long time to hold a grudge, but he’d also learned that the magical community, for all its wonder and power, was slow to change. Or to admit to failings. Hence the multitude of goblin wars and general aesthetic of the society, with its robes and candles and quills.

So Harry did not hold any significant grudges against the other House, he just wished they were not so loud and excitable. There was a time and a place to fool around and brewing potions was most assuredly not either. Harry was silently grateful that the class had split itself down the middle so that his table at the very front was a good distance from the boisterous Gryffindors.

Harry was quietly excited about their first brewing session and spent time before breakfast carefully checking over his new kit. It reminded Harry that he'd wanted to send Mr. Jacobi a letter about his first week at Hogwarts. Harry had never sent a real letter before and was unsure what he was supposed to talk about or what would bore Mr. Jacobi. But the man had asked him to write, so Harry made a mental note to look for the owlery that weekend.

They were making a Cure for Boils, which was one of the more common requests at the apothecary, so Harry confidently went to gather the appropriate ingredients from the cabinet after Snape released them with a stern glare.

The professor spent most of the class stalking from table to table, giving murmured and severe instruction to the students’ techniques and stopping a few from making errors that would turn their potions to useless sludge. Harry noticed he was harsher about the corrections on the scarlet side of things, but he did not really see a problem when that half of the class was chatting happily with each other more than paying attention to what they were supposed to be doing.

Harry pushed all that away for the moment, concentrating on chopping his roots into precise little cubes. So focused was he on the process that he did not even notice the professor until his looming shadow obscured most of the table he shared with Millicent.

Harry carefully set his brass knife down before looking up, apprehensive about what might be wrong with his preparations. Snape scowled down at his neat bowls of shredded daisy stems, medium ground beetle carapace, and the valerian roots he had been so concentrated on. Harry waited for one of the scathing remarks he'd heard being handed out freely around the room, but Snape apparently found nothing to complain about because he eventually just gave Harry a sharp nod and swept away.

Harry held in his smirk but returned to his prep work with renewed determination.

Millicent was decidedly average at potions. Her roots were roughly chopped and her carapace pounded into more of a fine powder than what the recipe called for. Harry would offer to help, if he thought the bigger girl actually cared about the subject. Millicent just looked bored though, as she stirred with a steel rod instead of copper. So Harry just let her be, carefully circling his own simmering cauldron in an even and steady pace with his own copper rod.

He was careful to take it off the fire before adding the porcupine quills, giving a side eye to Millicent to make sure she did the same. She had.

Harry neatly dropped in precisely four quills and felt satisfied as the potion shifted from dull gray to a warm orange. Millicent’s was more red than orange but still better than whatever monstrosity was smoking in Goyle’s.

Snape was suddenly at their table again, peering down into their cauldrons. He gave Millicent’s a bit of a sneer but nodded. Harry’s he spent a long thirty seconds going over, his black eyes glinting and hair a bit greasy where it hung down either side of his pale face. Harry figured that must be why Mr. Jacobi kept his hair shaved so close to his head; it must be a lot of effort to negate all the potion fumes that tended to cling to one's hair. Especially a classroom full of them.

“Mr. Potter, did you perchance add four ounces of valerian root, instead of the stated three and a quarter?”

Harry thought about lying, unsure how the severe Potions Master would feel about deviation from the text. But Harry knew that four ounces was a more balanced amount for this potion. He'd made it so many times at the apothecary and Mr. Jacobi had let him experiment some on the less volatile brews. He'd spent a good three weeks fine tuning this one and he knew it was better than the book’s.

So he met the professor’s dark gaze and gave a firm nod.

“Yes, sir.” And because he might as well tell the whole truth, “I also used a brass knife instead of the recommended steel. It reacts better with the alkaline in the roots and gives the overall brew a longer shelf life.”

That was a trick Mr. Jacobi had taught him the first time he'd watched the man brew it, his blunt fingers confident as he made quick work of the roots.

Snape stared at him, as if his black eyes could bore all the way down to his very core, before giving Harry a slight, very slight, smile of approval. Though it was less a smile and more a tiny uptick in the corner of his normally frowning mouth. It lasted less than a second, but Harry had seen it and he did not really know what to do with the sudden warm feeling of pride that was slowly filling him.

“Five points to Slytherin, for ingenuity and forethought.”

It was almost a good thing that Longbottom’s cauldron took that moment to explode, because Harry was dangerously close to grinning like a loon at the approval. For something that he, Harry himself had done. Not the mythical Boy-Who-Lived.

The strange warmth of the pride was not a sensation that Harry felt he could deal with in any sort of calm manner if he were forced to handle it for any length of time. Yes, Mr. Jacobi had often complimented his ever improving work at the apothecary, with bright full grins and pats on his head. But that was when he was Evan, who felt as entirely separate from him as Harry Potter did.

This, this was honest praise given to him, just as he was. And Harry feared he could easily become addicted to the feeling of it.

So it was quite a relief when a loud bang followed by high pitched shrieks sounded from behind them on the Gryffindor side. Snape burst into action, waving his wand to banish the spilled brew and muttering a soothing sounding spell that still managed to get across his severe disappointment as he stopped the flow of red boils across Longbottom and his unfortunate tablemate.

“Mr. Weasley, you will escort Mr. Longbottom and Miss Brown to the hospital wing immediately.” The redhead nodded, helping his housemate to his feet. Brown seemed to have only caught a glancing blow and was able to follow on her own two feet, though Harry could hear the pained whimpers she was letting out as they passed his table on the way.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for lack of attention and endangering your fellow students.”

The scarlet side of the room winced or scowled at Snape, but Harry felt it justified. If Longbottom had bothered to read the instructions, he would not have tried to add the quills while the potion was still on the fire. It was a clear command in the text, with a warning and everything.

Malfoy was snickering at the table next to theirs, pantomiming the way Longbottom had been writhing on the floor, which Harry did not think fair. Taking points he could understand, that was a fair punishment; this mocking while the other boy wasn't even here was just cruel and unnecessary.

Snape spent the rest of the class lecturing them on properly reading instructions and glaring at the Gryffindors as everyone bottled up their finished potions.

Harry carefully brought his used tools to the cleaning station and started scrubbing, mindful to get any contaminants off the implements before drying them and tucking the tools back into their proper slots. Harry slid the rolled bundle into his satchel and gave Jax a quick pat before moving on to his cauldron with equal care.

By the time he placed it in his assigned cubbie along the far wall of the dungeon classroom, the rest of the students were moving to do the same. Harry was so used to cleaning up after helping Mr. Jacobi at the apothecary that he hadn't even thought about it before starting. Snape had apparently just issued the order, but spared Harry another nod and searching look.

Harry ducked his head, unsure of what he'd done to gain all these looks from the professor, but not quite ready to ask about them. He'd liked the approving reaction his potion had garnered and did not want to ruin the feeling with any sort of heavy conversation.

So Harry just went back to his table, where Millicent was busy clearing away her things, and gave the surface a good scrub before bringing his labeled vial to Snape's desk and setting it among the others already there.

Granger’s was nearly as orange as his, along with Malfoy’s and Zabini’s. The rest ran a spectrum of warm colors, though he noticed Crabbe and Goyle had both managed to produce a shade of brackish brown that was frankly quite impressive in its failure to look even remotely like the potion they had been set.

Snape dismissed them a few minutes later, his back to the classroom as he organized the vials on his desk. Harry thought about hanging back and asking about future lessons or the theories he'd been reading about or... Harry shook himself, gripping the strap of his bag and hurrying out of the room. He didn't know what he wanted to do, other than earn that feeling of warm pride again. Making a pest of himself would not accomplish anything, would in fact probably make it harder to achieve.

It had been instilled early in Harry's life not to ask questions, to be quiet and unseen or face the consequences.

He could get away with his curiosity around Mr. Jacobi, who encouraged the questions and provided him with answers as best he could, or lent him books if he didn't have all the information. But it had taken a long time for Harry to be comfortable asking all his questions, and even then it was Evan asking. Evan was allowed to be inquisitive. Harry… Harry was to shut up and go to his cupboard before he was made to.

Suddenly not feeling very hungry, Harry turned in the direction of the dorms. Zabini gave him a questioning look, but Harry just waved him off and quickened his pace a bit.

The common room held a scattering of older students, studying or enjoying a free period. Harry rushed past before any of them could be bothered to notice him. The dormitory was blessedly empty and Harry just about collapsed across his neatly made bed. Jax slithered out of the bag and wriggled up until he was coiled on Harry’s chest, dark head lifted up to look down at him, purple eyes questioning.

“What's the matter? Did something happen during all that loudness earlier?” he hissed, bobbing closer to see if Harry was hurt.

“No, Jax. I just--” Harry did not know what to say, because he did not have any frame of reference for what he was feeling. There was too much jumbled up emotion for him to untangle.

Uncertainty at what he was doing. Uneasiness at what he should and should not be doing. Confusion about which was which. Anger at the Dursleys for screwing up his head so much that he couldn't tell. A hollow sort of emptiness that was left behind after the glow of pride had left him. A deep longing to fill that emptiness but an inability to know how...

Jax hissed worriedly and licked at his cheek with a forked tongue. Harry hadn't even been aware that he'd been crying, but now that he was it seemed to make it about twenty times worse and he was soon curled up and sobbing. Unable to stop himself or understand why he was suddenly breaking down.

Was a tiny spark of approval really all it took to reduce him to a shivering and hiccuping mess? Jax slithered until he was coiled into the tiny space where Harry's knees curled to his chest and made soothing little hisses like when Harry woke up from his nightmares. It didn't really help, there was snot building up and plugging his nose, making his ears feel like they were under pressure and full of cotton and it hurt. It wasn't fair, he should be able to handle his emotions, no matter how tangled. He should be able to understand why everything suddenly felt like it was crashing down around him.

He should be able to breathe.

But he couldn't.

Harry's chest felt tight as he failed to gasp in enough air, too many little breaths too far apart and his head was feeling lighter now and there were sparks behind his squeezed shut eyelids.

“Harry!”

He needed--he couldn't--he--

“Harry!”

He--

“Harry, please!”

Jax?

What was wrong with his snake? Jax sounded hurt, he needed help. Harry needed to help him!

Suddenly it was much easier to breathe and Harry took in great gulping breaths. Struggling through the haze of his swollen head he pried his eyes open with what felt like herculean effort. The world was foggy and blurred and it took him more than a few moments to pull together enough wits to realize it was just his glasses that were that way.

Harry reached up to pull them off, his fingers feeling stiff and sticky from clenching them so hard for so long. There was blood where his fingernails had bit into the skin of his palms.

“Harry?” Jax’s voice was quieter now, as he butted his little head against Harry's chin. He gathered the serpent impossibly closer and just held on.

“I'm okay.” He wasn't really, but the worst of it had passed.

“You scared me.” Jax sounded so young and unsure as he twisted his body to wrap around Harry’s arms in a convoluted knot. As if he were trying to tie Harry up and keep him from exploding into another violent burst of emotion.

“I'm sorry.”

Jax butted up against his face with another quiet hiss.

Harry had no idea what had come over him. Or, maybe he did a little. It had been less than a week since he'd walked away from the Dursleys forever. He'd been thrust into this new world where everyone knew him but didn't really. Eyes followed him from class to class, whispers floated around him like moths. Everyone did freakish things out in the open without fear.

It was little wonder that he hadn't broken down earlier. It was a lot of new and old and frightening things happening all at once while he faced an uncertain future. Pushing it all down had led to an inevitable eruption and Harry was thankful he'd managed to make it to the dorm before it happened.

Harry sniffed, or tried to. His nose was too gunked up to do much. There was snot all over his face and bedding and his throat hurt like he'd been screaming.

Harry pulled himself up into a sitting position, Jax still coiled tightly around his arms, and looked bleary-eyed at the clock above the door. Lunch was nearly over; it hadn't felt like nearly that long and it scared him a little that he'd been so out of it.

“Come on, Jax. I need to clean up.”

He would much rather spend the rest of the day hiding in the dorm with his curtains pulled, but Harry was loath to skip any classes so early in the term. Not even Defense.

So he wearily pulled himself off the bed and coaxed Jax so that he was wrapped around only one arm. The bathroom was empty and Harry avoided looking in the mirror as he splashed cool water on his face. He blew his nose a few times and that seemed to help with the pressure in his ears and head. Looking down he sighed at the mess he had made of his uniform and wished he knew the charm for cleaning. Though, given how pants he was at Charms, it probably wouldn't have helped much.

So he went back into the room and gently persuaded his serpent to lie on the bed while he changed quickly into something less drippy. Then he sat down next to the snake and just stroked his warm scales for a few endless moments.

“Thank you, Jax.”

“For what?” His voice was still quiet and a little scared.

“For always being there for me. I don't know what I would do without you.”

Jax gave a confused sounding hiss and slipped up into his lap. “I'll always be here, you're my human.”

A warm buzzing of love for his friend filled Harry near to bursting and he clutched the serpent close again. They only had a few minutes before they needed to head out to Defense, but Harry did not mind so much anymore. He had Jax, who loved him just as much as he did in return. Together they could weather any amount of smelly classrooms and creepy professors.

The panicked feeling from earlier had almost completely faded and with it Harry felt strangely lighter, like a pressure valve had been released. He could do without the pounding head and swollen eyes, but he’d had much worse and would deal with it. For now, he stowed away his potion kit in his trunk since he was already here, and straightened out his fresh uniform before giving Jax a last, loving pat as the snake slithered into his side of the bag.

They had Defense to get to and Charms after that. Then it would be the weekend and Harry would be able to relax, maybe even explore the grounds so Jax could get some real exercise. Perhaps he’d find the owlery and send Mr. Jacobi a letter.

What he would not do was break down sobbing again, no matter how tangled up his emotions got. He would not let the Dursleys continue to ruin all the good things in his life, so few that they were.

So, with renewed determination, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the dungeons to rejoin his yearmates. He hoped his eyes were not too red, though he supposed he could blame it on allergies. Either way, the future was ahead of him, and uncertain though it was, the darkness of the past would not hinder Harry’s path toward it.

Chapter Text

The weekend arrived with little fuss and Harry waking at his usual unseemly hour. The other boys would undoubtedly sleep in, with no classes to attend and little homework to take up their free time. Harry still needed to finish a Charms essay that Flitwick had set them on Friday. He'd finally managed a solid reparo, though still not as good as Millicent’s. It had felt like an accomplishment and Harry had not wanted to ruin his sense of quiet triumph by spending the rest of his evening writing the foot and a half the professor had assigned them on the charm.

He'd instead gone out in search of the kitchens, but to no avail. Even with Jax’s sniffing out the scent of cooking, they only ended up wandering the dungeons in circles. Maybe the entrance was hidden, like with their common room. They didn't really have time to look for clues before curfew but filed the thought away for later.

Back in the common room, Zabini had waved him over and tried to teach him wizard chess. It was a lot more brutal than the muggle version and the pieces kept yelling bad advice at him. Harry was unsurprised to find himself just as terrible at it as the mundane one. Zabini just smirked at him though and talked Harry into a couple more rounds before he could escape to the dorm.

The next morning Harry tried and failed to sleep in like a proper eleven year old on a Saturday. He gave up after about twenty minutes of tossing and turning and annoyed hisses from Jax for disturbing the bed so much.

So he got up, gathered the things he'd need to do the Charms essay, and made his way down the corridor to the common room. It was unsurprisingly empty, but a roaring fire was lit and Jax happily slithered over to bask in the warmth.

The essay was easier to do than the charm itself had been and Harry finished before any of his housemates came wandering in. Checking the little clock on the mantle showed it to be only just six and Harry sighed a bit. He didn't know how early they were allowed to leave the dorms to go about the castle but he figured it would be better to ask forgiveness than permission in this case.

He gathered up a sleepy Jax from his place on the hearth and made his way back to the room. Harry quietly stowed the finished essay and grabbed some clothes to change into. It was the weekend and they technically did not have to wear their uniforms, so Harry grabbed a pair of dark fitted trousers, a dove gray tunic and a purple hoodie with a big front pocket for Jax to ride around in comfortably. He laced up his dragonhide boots and let Jax wriggle his way into the pocket before heading out once more.

The others hadn't stirred a bit as he'd gotten ready, though Harry didn't know if it was due to his quiet nature or their determination to sleep the day away. The common room was still empty, but the exit to the castle let him out with no trouble, so either it wasn't locked at night or he was allowed to leave. Harry would have to test it sometime.

The outside corridors were just as empty as the common room, but Harry was still careful to keep his steps light on the flagstones as they made their way up to the entrance of the Great Hall. There were probably other, quicker ways to get around the castle, but they'd yet to have the time to really explore, so Harry stuck with getting where he needed by way of the Great Hall.

“Do you think the library is open? Or should we look for the owlery?” he asked Jax as they traversed the empty Hall.

“Library,” Jax answered with an annoyed hiss. “I don't like owls.”

“I know, buddy.” Harry stuck a hand in his pocket and tickled the serpent.

As it turned out, the library was indeed open and occupied by a variety of industrious Ravenclaws and one bushy haired Gryffindor. Harry avoided the latter and made his way over to the potion section. He'd finished his theory book and had a lot of questions. It had been written with the assumption of more foreknowledge than Harry currently possessed for the subject, so he looked for a book that would explain the more basic concepts so that he could better understand what he'd read.

Finally settling on Potions: The Need-to-Knows, which sounded promising, he retreated to a secluded corner. Jax poked his head out to look around, sneezed, and retracted back into the pocket.

“It’s too musty in here,” he complained, wriggling in displeasure. Harry snorted, patting the pocket.

“Sorry, we’ll only stay for a little, then we can go outside until breakfast.”

“Do you think there are mice out there? Or toads? Do you think there are magic toads? Will they taste different?”

Harry snorted again, happy to have his inquisitive friend back, not liking how he’d scared the snake yesterday.

The book was dense and dry but helpful enough, so after twenty minutes he brought it to the front desk and had Madame Pince check it out. She eyed him and pursed her lips like Aunt Petunia but didn’t say anything, so Harry took his book and left at a quick trot.

A few flights of stairs later and they emerged into the weak morning sunlight. It was a little chilly, but Jax was eager for some exercise and did not complain as he slithered down to the damp earth. Harry pocketed the book and led the way down a path. He noticed a hut with a smoking chimney off to the left so he turned them right, not wanting anyone to see his snake. They meandered around the greenhouses, which Jax stretched up to peer into, endlessly curious about all the weird plants.

“Can we go inside?”

“No. We’re not allowed outside of classes.”

“But I wanna see what that dark wriggly one is, it looks like it’s made out of snakes, maybe you can talk to it!”

Harry chuckled, he highly doubted he spoke Dark Wriggly Plant. “Let’s go down the path there, I think it leads to the lake. There might be toads.”

Jax quickly abandoned the greenhouse at the mention of toads and they moved on, Jax happily slithering through the grass at the side of the path. Harry suddenly felt guilty about how cooped up his friend had been that week, only being able to come out and stretch for short periods. They had lived that way out of necessity at the Dursleys, but at least Jax had been able to roam around the back garden near daily. Harry promised himself that he would make more time to let Jax wander outside before it got too cold and he starting sleeping through most of the day.

As they crested a last little hill, the Black Lake came into full view. It was vast and dark, but the surface sparkled with morning light and it seemed peaceful enough.

“I smell food!” Jax hissed excitedly and darted off toward the edge of the lake.

“Be careful,” Harry called after him, a little worried about what kind of creatures lurked around magic lakes. He did not think the giant squid could come so close to shore, but there were probably other hazards that the little snake should look out for.

Jax gave him an affirmative hiss, so Harry settled down under a nearby tree to read more of his book. The sun had risen fully by the time Jax returned, looking suspiciously lumpy, and coiled up next to him with a contented sound. The light played off the purple swirls on his scales, making them stand out against the darkness of the green. Harry suddenly wished he had brought something to try and capture the moment with. Maybe he’d send for a wizard camera, one that would develop moving pictures. Merlin knew he was pants at sketching, but pointing a lens and clicking a button seemed easy enough. It would be nice to have pictures to look back on. He didn’t have any of his parents, but he could start making some of his new family.

“Magic toads are just as slow and stupid as regular ones,” Jax hissed, setting his head on Harry’s knee and flicking his forked tongue. Harry rubbed at the purple freckle-scales across his snout and got a lick for the trouble.

“Are you sure they were magical?”

Jax bobbed in a so-so way, like a snakey shrug. “They didn’t smell any different, but one can never be too sure.”

Harry smiled softly and stroked down Jax’s neck a few times. “Well, now that you’ve had your breakfast, it is probably late enough that I can get mine.” He stood up, brushing grass and dirt from his trousers. “We can come back outside after, I promise.”

Jax agreed, and even rode most of the way up to the castle in his pocket because he didn’t like moving around so much while he was digesting.

Breakfast was indeed on the tables, though they were once more sparsely manned, it still being early on a Saturday. Harry happily piled a plate with beans and toast and filled a bowl with cut fruit. He was never allowed fresh fruit at the Dursleys and found that he quite enjoyed it. He did pocket a couple bananas, to Jax’s grumbling as they invaded his space. After finishing they made a quick trip to the Slytherin dorms, so Harry could stow his book and produce and grab his cap. It looked like it was going to be a sunny day. The other boys were still snoozing, though it was already past their normal wake up time. Harry envied them a little.

The rest of the morning was spent outside, exploring the grounds. There was a lot to see. The Quidditch pitch was interesting; four tall stands in all the House colors and two sets of hoops on either side of a large playing field. There were a couple older students flying loops around the field and tossing a ball back and forth. It looked like fun and Harry wondered if they’d get to do anything like that this year. He knew his letter had said first years weren't allowed their own broomsticks, but maybe there were school brooms that could be lent out.

There was also a giant tree that swayed against the slight breeze more than a tree should, and he jumped when a heavy branch suddenly swung around to club a bird right out of the air.

“Holy crap!” Jax exclaimed from the ground by his feet, slithering to hide behind Harry’s legs.

“Yeah, let’s not go mess with the monster tree,” Harry agreed and they hastened away.

By lunchtime they had explored a good portion of the grounds, and Jax was sleepy from all the exercise and the spiders he’d snacked on as they passed a few webby bushes by the lake and near the tree line to the Forbidden Forest. Harry was hesitant to venture into the dark woods, given the name and the warning they'd received about it at the start of term, but walking the tree line seemed fine.

Lunch was sandwiches and pumpkin soup, which he sat next to Millicent for, watching in fascination just how much soup the girl could put away.

“I missed breakfast.” She grunted, Harry shrugged.

“It is good soup,” he said. “Though I wish they had more spicy dishes here. I miss curry.”

“I’ve never had curry, is it good?” she asked, and Harry realized this had to be the longest conversation they’d ever had. It was nice. So he told her all about the food he would eat during the summer, without actually telling her about how they were some of the only steady meals he got.

They chatted about favorite dishes for longer than Harry thought he’d be able to hold any sort of conversation. It made a little spark of contentment settle inside of him, like he was finally starting to make a friend.

Before he could do anything to bungle it up, Harry excused himself so that he could go write his letter to Mr. Jacobi. He didn’t tell Millicent that was what he was doing, but she didn’t seem inclined to inquire further and just waved him off. Harry fought back a grin and hurried away.

Having never really written a letter before, Harry struggled to put words to parchment. He started out with:

Dear, Mr. Jacobi,

This is Evan, I’m writing to you as you requested. I am pleased to say that I was indeed sorted into Slytherin.

But he trailed off after that, unsure what else to talk about. Would the man care about his opinions on his classes so far? Or the people he’d met? He thought about it for a few moments before jotting down a few lines about how Jax was doing and the disappointing lack of curry served at the House tables. After a minute he also told him about Professor Snape, and how their first brewing session went, since Mr. Jacobi had met the man before and potions seemed a safe topic. Which led to a tangent about something he’d read in his theory book that Harry had to stop himself from filling half the page with. He ended the letter with polite inquiries about Mr. Jacobi’s health and the shop, which seemed like the kind of things you did when writing letters, before signing:

Sincerely,
Evan

Harry stared down at his jumble of a letter and sighed. It would have to do. He waited for the ink to fully dry before carefully folding it up, slipping it into an envelope and sealing it with some spell-o tape. He addressed it to Mr. Jacobi, Jacobi’s Apothecary and stood.

“Are you off to the owlery too, Potter?” Harry turned to see Malfoy with a letter in one hand and a smirk on his face, though Malfoy almost always had a smirk on his face so Harry didn’t take it personally.

“Yes,” he answered shortly, then, “Shall we go together?” As much as he did not like Malfoy, it would save time if the other boy already knew the way.

“Let’s,” Malfoy said, gesturing toward the exit to the common room where Harry had been penning his mess of a letter.

On the way up the many flights of stairs and through the twisting corridors, Malfoy kept up a running commentary about their classmates, the homework he still needed to complete, his father, the fact that he had to leave his fancy racing broom at home, complaints that students weren’t allowed to use the school’s house elves for personal tasks, his father, their terrible Defense teacher, having to get up early for classes, and his father.

Harry mostly just nodded along or made little noises to show he was paying attention and not imagining pushing the chatty, snooty blond down the next moving staircase they came across.

Eventually they made it to the owlery and Harry gave his letter to one of the school’s stout barn owls, feeding the bird a treat and giving it a good pet before sending it on its way. Malfoy apparently had his own bird, a handsome eagle owl with glowing orange eyes and a sharp beak that he clacked in Harry’s direction, as if he could smell the snake in his pocket and thought Jax would make an excellent treat.

“Take this to Mother, Horus.” The owl nibbled at a few strands of Malfoy’s hair, displacing the neatly slicked back style and flew out the window, flapping in the opposite direction Harry’s had gone.

He could feel Jax shivering, the hoots of the owls unnerving the snake, so he stuck his hands into the pocket and stroked the serpent gently, making his way swiftly past Malfoy to the door.

“I don’t like it in there, why do they need so many owls? Why can’t they use nicer birds, like canaries? Or hummingbirds?” Jax demanded as they descended the spiral staircase.

“I don’t think those would be able to handle the heavy things, or carry stuff through bad weather like the owls can,” Harry answered, trying to soothe his snake. Maybe next time he needed to send a letter he would leave Jax in the dorm. That thought left him uneasy, though; he did not like being far from his friend, where anything could happen to him.

“Are you speaking Parseltongue?” a voice demanded from behind him. Harry cursed, he’d forgotten about Malfoy. He turned to face the other boy as they reached the landing. Malfoy was glaring at him, hands on his hips.

“Yes.” Harry did not see the point in lying. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Malfoy huffed, “Why are you speaking snake language if there isn't a snake here? Were you insulting me, knowing I wouldn’t understand?”

Harry almost laughed at how self-absorbed Malfoy was, but figured that would definitely be taken the wrong way. And no matter how much he disliked the other boy, Harry did not want to be on the bad side of one of the Noble Houses.

“Apologies, I meant no offence,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the still slightly shaky Jax, who gladly took the opportunity to slither up to Harry’s shoulders in a snakey hug. “I was speaking to my familiar, Jax. He doesn’t like owls and was wondering why wizards don’t use canaries instead.”

Malfoy gaped at him in a most unseemly fashion; paired with his mussed hair, it made the boy look almost like a normal kid, rather than one playing dress up and trying to act like an adult. It was a better look on him, though Harry doubted Malfoy would appreciate him saying so.

“Oh.” His voice was a quiet squeak and there was a slight flush high on his cheeks. “He’s beautiful.”

Harry very nearly gaped right back, Malfoy looked like he wanted to reach out and pet Jax, a look in his gray eyes that took Harry a long moment to place as envy. He’d never had anything for anyone to be jealous over, but if he had to choose, Jax was sure to be top of that list. Malfoy seemed to have forgotten all about his earlier upset and was looking at Jax like he was the best thing he’d seen all week.

It was strange and Harry did not really know how to handle the situation now.

“What’s the pointy human saying?” Jax asked, tongue tickling Harry’s ear.

“That’s Malfoy, he says you’re beautiful.” That made Jax preen and eye the blond with renewed interest.

“Can I--?” Malfoy raised one of his manicured hands in a questioning gesture.

Harry was feeling protective of his snake, unsure how he felt about other people touching him, but he asked Jax and the serpent bobbed his head after a moment of consideration.

“Jax says it’s okay, but not too hard,” Harry cautioned.

Malfoy’s eyes brightened and he stepped closer to run careful fingers over Jax’s head and neck.

“I always wanted a snake, growing up, but Father would never allow it,” Malfoy said quietly, stroking Jax over and over, which the serpent appreciated greatly. Harry was uncomfortable with how close the other boy was standing to him. “Which is frankly ridiculous, considering the amount of snake motif all around the Manor.”

Malfoy had grown up in a Manor, where he had probably been given all the things he asked for; except, apparently, a snake.

“All we have are Father’s prized albino peacocks, and those are vicious little bastards.”

“Er, right.” Harry said, finally taking a couple steps back. “Well, we need to get going now, Charms essay to finish,” Harry lied, but Malfoy seemed to take it at face value, eyes still on Jax like he wanted to trail after them and be his personal petter for the rest of the day. Harry did not think he could handle spending any more time listening to Malfoy twitter on about nothing, no matter how much he appreciated how special Jax was. So Harry quickly made his escape before Malfoy could offer to tag along.

“He seems nice,” Jax said, still basking in the aftermath of so many pets, “though his hands were a bit cold. Next time tell him to warm them up first.”

Harry snorted and promised to pass along the message.

~~~~~~~>

Time seemed to pass a little quicker after that first week, as Harry settled into the routine of going to classes and eating three full meals a day. Before he knew it, an entire month had passed. Currently he was in the dorm room listening to Jax complain about how itchy he was as he shed his skin on the bottom of the miscellaneous section of Harry’s trunk. He had put a layer of warm sand down to try and make the process more comfortable. He’d worried about finding the sand, not knowing the charm Mr. Jacobi had used to summon it for the boomslang. But as soon as he’d mentioned it to Malfoy, who had asked why Jax was hissing so irritably, the boy had run off and returned a minute later with a large sack of sand and a shrug at Harry’s look.

“I have my ways.”

Harry had rolled his eyes and carefully spread out the sand into the trunk, warming it with a touch before lowering the complaining snake into it.

“This is awful,” Jax hissed as he wriggled to find a good spot to start sloughing off his old skin. This had only happened a couple times after Jax had stopped growing at the Dursleys, but Harry got the feeling it was about to become a much more frequent affair.

“This is what you get for eating all those toads and potatoes,” Harry teased.

Jax cursed at him with phrases he must have learned from Monty and his action movies. Harry just smiled and watched as the skin finally started to peel away.

“Woah.” Gasped Malfoy, who was kneeling down next to him and staring in wonder as Jax slinked around the trunk, slowly revealing brighter purple scales like swirls of sparks. Harry didn’t mind the other boy so much when he was like this, quieter and not bragging or bullying the other students. Maybe he could get Malfoy to act like this more often, if he could figure out a way to get him to stop indulging his baser impulses.

Jax was still hissing curses and Harry had the urge to use the cleaning Charm they’d learned that week to rinse out his snakey mouth, but instead just raised up his new camera and snapped a couple shots. He’d ordered the camera by owl from one of the magazines he’d seen in the common room. It was a little bulky and clunky feeling but fit in his pocket in a pinch, though Harry mostly carried it around in his bag. He hadn’t had a chance to develop any of the pictures yet; the instructions that came with the camera said that he needed a special potion and a dark room. Harry thought he might just send them off to a company to do it for him, rather than risk messing it up himself.

When the last of the skin was finally off, Harry carefully picked it up and set it aside for storage in his potion compartment. Boomslangs and ashwinders were both used in various brews and Harry wanted to experiment with what he could create with Jax’s hybrid skin.

“Ah, that’s much better. Can I have one of those weird cold mice?” Jax asked, tone relieved. Harry snorted.

“I don’t know if you deserve it after all the cussing you were spouting,” Harry teased, already reaching for the box of Ice Mice he kept in his bedside drawer. Jax had developed a bit of an addiction to the things, which Malfoy fed shamelessly.

“Oh, let me,” the boy in question said, taking the box from Harry, who let him with a roll of his eyes. Malfoy fished out a squeaking white candy and dropped it into the trunk with a delighted air, clapping happily when Jax snapped it up and gulped it down with lightning speed.

“How often does he shed?” Malfoy asked, not taking his eyes off the contented serpent.

Harry shrugged, settling back down next to him and reaching in to stroke along Jax’s shiny new tail scales.

“I don’t know, he stopped growing for a while, but I think all the magic around the castle is making him start up again,” Harry answered, a half-truth.

“How big do you think he’ll get?”

Harry shrugged again, “No idea. He’s a special breed, so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Malfoy nodded and with a glance for permission, reached in to pet the snake also, careful to avoid the lump in his middle. Jax hissed contentedly at all the attention, which made Harry snort at the spoiled thing.

Eventually it was time to leave for dinner, so Harry pulled Jax up out of the trunk and switched it over to the potion side so he could store the skin.

“I think your trunk might be even better than mine,” Malfoy said with a snooty air, though Harry figured he meant it as a compliment so he thanked him. They made their way out to the common room, Jax safely stowed in one of his large inner robe pockets. There was a gathering of first years near the notice board, so they detoured over to see what all the fuss was about.

“Flying lessons,” Theo said, his voice sounding bored, but the little smile was present at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” Harry was suddenly excited; he’d forgotten to ask about the school brooms, caught up in classes and wandering the grounds and castle.

“On Wednesday,” Zabini confirmed, “with the Gryffindors.”

Malfoy scowled, but Harry ignored him, too excited about the prospect of flying to care who they had to share the sky with.

Though, he could do without the running commentary from Malfoy about what kind of brooms he’d flown and how he had his own pitch at the Manor and how it was simply sacrilege that first years weren’t allowed to play for the House team. So Harry spent a great deal of time over the next few days avoiding the blond. He hung around Millicent, who was also excited about flying but did not feel the need to talk endlessly or brag about almost hitting a low flying plane.

He even sent a note to Mr. Jacobi about the upcoming lessons. The man had received his first letter and written back promptly, despite the awkwardness of Harry’s first missive. He’d sent funny remarks about Harry’s impressions of everything and answered his rambling potion questions, though he also encouraged him to go to Snape with the inquiries, seeing as the man was the youngest Master in a century even if he rebuffed the advances of handsome, if slightly inebriated, Ravenclaws. Harry had rolled his eyes at that, missing working in the apothecary and looking forward to the summer. Mr. Jacobi had even included a little pot of chili paste for him to spice up his food with, which Harry greatly enjoyed, though he feared it would not last long.

For the second letter, Mr. Jacobi sent back encouragement for the flying, along with a few tips.

Soon it was the day of the lessons, and the two groups of first years excitedly made their way down to the front lawn of the castle, where a bunch of brooms lay in neat rows on the grass. The flying instructor, Madam Hooch, had steel gray hair cut close to her head and sharp amber eyes like a hawk. She spoke in a brisk, no nonsense tone as she had them line up next to the brooms.

Jax was not looking forward to flying lessons, despite his love of the Knight Bus and the wild cart rides at Gringotts. “At least those things aren’t up in the open air where anything could happen,” he’d hissed indignantly. “We could fall off! An owl could swoop down and snatch me! We could be struck by lightning!” Harry had just shaken his head and tried not to laugh at the snake's hysterics.

So Jax was safely snuggled into his warmed satchel on the ground among the other Slytherins’ bags, while Harry went to stand between Millicent and Zabini.

“Now, you are to hold your hand over the broom and say in a confident voice: UP,” Hooch instructed.

Harry did as told and was surprised at how quickly the handle had raced to meet his palm. He almost fumbled it in surprise but managed to hold on.

Looking around he saw Millicent’s and Zabini’s had risen as well; in fact, it looked like all the Slytherins had brooms in hand. Harry figured it was because they all came from magical households and had most likely flown before. The Gryffindor side of things was a little less successful. Weasley had managed to get his up with little fuss, as had a few others, but Granger’s was just rolling around on the grass as she scowled and commanded it in increasingly frustrated tones until it finally, reluctantly obeyed. Longbottom’s hadn’t moved at all, which Harry was a little grateful for. As absentminded as the boy was in potions, he did not feel quite comfortable sharing a sky with him.

Eventually, after much coaxing, everybody held a broom and Madam Hooch went on to explain proper grip and mounting techniques. Harry held back a smirk as she told Malfoy he had been doing it wrong for years.

“Alright class, on the count of three, you will gently push off the ground, hover for a few moments, and then gently descend.” Everyone nodded and she began the count, but Longbottom must have been nervous about being left behind because he pushed off too early and shot up into the air way too fast.

Harry watched in dawning horror as the clumsy Gryffindor slipped from the broom and fell to earth with a sickening crack and shriek of pain. Well, if he was screaming that meant he at least hadn’t died. Madam Hooch hurried over.

“Mr. Longbottom, hold still, let me see.” Longbottom whimpered as Hooch bent over him and examined his arm. “Oh dear, a nasty break. Up up, it’s to the hospital wing with you.”

She helped the boy to his feet and turned to the rest of class, glaring a warning, “If a single one of you lifts even an inch off the ground before I’m back from escorting Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch!” With that she swept away with the whimpering boy, leaving the class to its own devices. Harry didn’t understand why she hadn’t sent a student off with Longbottom, like Snape had, so they could continue the lesson. His thought was interrupted by a triumphant laugh from Malfoy. who was scooping up a glass ball from the grass.

“Look, it’s that stupid thing his Gran sent him at breakfast,” Malfoy cackled, mounting his broom. “Let’s leave it somewhere for him to find, maybe up a tree!”

“Give it here, Malfoy!” Weasley shouted, making a move to mount his own broom, his face flushed as red as his hair.

Harry hated bullying. He hated when Malfoy did it more than anyone else, because he’d seen how soft the other boy could be, when he wasn’t trying to assuage his hurt pride or feeding his need to feel superior to the other children due to his high birth and money.

But Harry did not want to be kicked out of Hogwarts for disobeying Madam Hooch’s commands, and Slytherins were supposed to stick together against the other Houses. Even if the Slytherin in question was being a giant prick at the moment. Harry had to be smart about this.

“Draco!” he said, voice loud but not shouting; it got the boy’s attention. He’d never called him by his first name before, but figured this was the time to do it, to really get his point across. He strolled over to the hovering boy, as if he had all the time in the world, and spoke to him in a quieter, but no less firm voice, trying to channel Professor Snape.

“You discredit your House by acting against Heir Longbottom in so obvious a manner.” He spoke as if he were bored and Malfoy was the cause of it, “Surely a member of one of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses can comport themselves in a more civilized manner while among those less so.”

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, gray eyes searching before he shrugged like it was no big deal and tossed the clear ball to him, ignoring the spluttering Weasley and the rest of the whispering class as he dismounted.

“Of course, Harry,” he said with an air of haughtiness and a smug sort of grin. “My apologies.”

Harry nodded, like it didn’t really matter and pocketed the ball. He wasn’t the one Malfoy should be apologizing to, but he wasn’t going to expect miracles right away. It was a good sign though, that he’d been able to talk the boy down without having to resort to any drastic measures.

Weasley still looked like he was spoiling for a fight, but before anything else could happen Madam Hooch showed back up to continue the lesson.

Flying was fun, even if they were only allowed to hover a few feet off the ground and putter around slowly. Harry looked forward to future lessons, where they would be allowed to do more. He might even buy a broom over the summer so he’d have one to use at Hogwarts next year.

Zabini caught up with him as they headed back towards the common room. “I knew it would be interesting having you around, Potter,” he said, matching Harry’s shorter stride, his smile very white against his darker skin. “It’s not many that can talk darling Draco down once he gets going.”

Harry shrugged, fingering the ball in his pocket. “I don’t like bullies, Zabini.”

He nodded like it was an obvious statement and held out his hand like he’d done on the train. “How about you call me Blaise, hmm? I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Harry eyed him, unsure if the other boy knew he was referencing a muggle film, but took the hand nonetheless. Zabini would make a good ally, he was level headed and always thought before he spoke. Harry could do worse for a potential friend.

~~~~~~~>

He found Longbottom after dinner. The boy hadn’t been in the Great Hall, so Harry figured he was still in the Hospital wing. His theory was proven correct when he entered the brightly lit room and saw the Gryffindor awkwardly trying to spoon soup into his mouth left handed. He was propped up on one of the many beds that lined the room, though the others were all empty. Harry hurried over.

“Well met, Heir Longbottom,” Harry said with a little bow, figuring he may as well be as polite as possible, given his Slytherin status.

Longbottom jumped, apparently not having noticed his approach, thankfully the soup did not go flying. Longbottom set it on the nightstand in any case before eyeing Harry suspiciously.

“There’s no need to be so formal, Potter, it’s a little weird.” The boy flushed, clapping his uninjured hand over his mouth. “Sorry, it’s the arm potion, it's kind of eroded my brain to mouth filter a bit.”

Harry waved a hand. “No worries, I just wanted to return this to you. You dropped it at the lesson today.” He held out the little clear ball and Longbottom’s face lit up.

“My Remembrall! I thought I’d lost it.” The boy grabbed the ball, which immediately turned a dark red. “Oh dear, what have I forgotten now?” Harry watched as he thought hard for a few moments before shrugging and setting it carefully on the nightstand by the bowl of soup. He turned back to Harry again, eyes wary. “Not that I’m complaining, mind, but why did you bring it back to me?”

Harry shrugged, but figured he might as well live up to the Slytherin way of always having ulterior motives. “I wanted to offer you help with potions. This seemed a good opportunity to bring it up.” That earned him two raised eyebrows and an even more suspicious look.

“Why?”

Harry shrugged again before answering, trying put the other boy at ease. “Frankly, you’re pants at potions and I’m tired of you melting cauldrons every other lesson and interrupting my favorite class with noxious fumes and fire hazards. It would be better for all involved if I just tutored you so that we can all stop fearing for our lives.”

That made Longbottom snort and cover his mouth again at the sound, but eventually he nodded. “Alright, Potter. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt about this not being some Slytherin trick, because I really am pants at potions. It couldn’t very well hurt to try.”

They shook on it, agreeing to meet Sundays and Tuesdays. Harry left the hospital wing a little hopeful that, if anything, he’d at least get the chance at a quieter potion class.

Chapter Text

Having a friend his own age, and decidedly human, was strange. Blaise, though he didn’t wake early enough to accompany him to breakfast, usually sat across from him at other meals. He would chat with Harry about the other students or their classes, but not in as acerbic a manner as Draco Malfoy would. Blaise would also study with Harry when he went to the library. Jax didn't mind so much when they sat at one of the more central tables, where the air wasn’t quite so musty.

Blaise didn’t fill the silences with useless chatter, which Harry appreciated, and he didn’t mind when Harry would rather nod or shrug instead of talk. Although, he did insist on far too many games of chess, apparently taking his lack of skill as a challenge.

Malfoy would sometimes lounge on the sidelines and give tips in a lazy drawl, using the games as an excuse to pet a smug Jax.

Millicent seemed to take the flying class incident as her cue to also start hanging around more often, like an intimidating shadow. Harry did not mind that so much either, because she would help him with his shoddy Charms work and scare off the droves of curious students that came to ogle at The Boy Who Lived.

Harry got the feeling Millicent was just shy and hid it behind a facade of somewhat brutish indifference. Harry could understand that, as slow to trust as he himself was.

Blaise did not like traipsing around the grounds and getting his fancy Italian clothes dirty, which Harry was a bit relieved about. He was unused to being constantly around other people and his afternoon walks with Jax become something of a way to decompress from classes and other people's company.

Millicent would very rarely join him for an hour or so, but generally did not enjoy the meandering walks, so she would break off to go sit by the lake and read one of her trashy wizarding novels. Harry got the feeling she only came out there to get away from her gossiping roommates and did not blame her one bit.

The tutoring with Longbottom was going smoother than expected. Although the Gryffindor really had no head for potions, he seemed eager enough to improve. Harry believed his main problem lay in his nervous nature. He would make a mistake, which would in turn make him antsy and more likely to fumble something else, which would start the whole cycle again until he either melted a cauldron or created some unholy monstrosity of chemical warfare that Harry would then carefully tip into the nearest drain so neither of them died horrible deaths.

It was no small wonder that Longbottom had trouble in class, with the way Snape tended to swoop about and loom menacingly, snapping out his disapproval at mediocre brews or incorrectly prepared ingredients. Longbottom did not seem to possess the ability to read between the lines of the Professor’s displeasure and just grew increasingly nervous until the inevitable happened.

So Harry would patiently walk the other boy through each and every step, explaining why they were doing it and how best to go about it. He would make Longbottom take a couple minutes to breathe if he did something wrong, and made sure he was calm before starting up again. It took a few tutoring sessions, but Longbottom finally managed to brew a Boil Cure that, while nowhere near Harry's usual quality, was perfectly acceptable.

“Well done,” he told the Gryffindor, who had a goofy smile taking over his chubby face as they looked down into the happily bubbling cauldron.

“I never could have done it without your help,” Longbottom said, an incredulous laugh springing forth.

“Nonsense, you've a perfectly fine mind,” Harry said. It was true, the boy wasn't stupid, only nervous and a bit forgetful. “You just need to concentrate and not let the process intimidate you so much.”

By process, he meant Professor Snape, but he figured Longbottom would get the point. What he had not anticipated was suddenly being squeezed into the second hug of his life. This one was even more awkward and off putting than the first because Harry had not seen it coming and so did not understand how to react. Was Longbottom upset? Was Harry supposed to hug back? Was this a thing people did after successful tutoring sessions? All Harry could do was stand there stiffly as the baffling Gryffindor squeezed his thin frame and wait for it to end.

Luckily, Longbottom did not hold on very long and pulled back after a few moments, his chubby cheeks now flushed a bit in embarrassment.

“Sorry, it’s just, you've been so nice and patient and nobody ever really pays attention to me unless I'm tripping down the stairs or blowing something up on accident,” Longbottom babbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Harry wished he could be anywhere but right there, listening to this boy pour his heart out and knowing absolutely no way of avoiding the torrent of emotion being shoved at him.

“You’re a good guy, Potter, and I want you to know that I don't care if you were sorted into Slytherin,” Longbottom said seriously, the flush fading from his cheeks to be replaced by a determined look. “I'm gonna tell all the naysayers how good you are, that you haven't turned evil or anything.”

“Er, thanks...” Harry said bewilderedly. He'd been unaware the other students thought he was evil, though that would explain a few of the weird looks he got in the corridors. He'd just been chalking them up to the usual fascination people seemed to have with him. He didn’t listen to all the whispers that followed him around, disliking the attention. Maybe he should start; if people thought he was somehow corrupted, they might try and take some sort of action against him. Harry was done being pushed around by people bigger than him and he would not put Jax at risk just because he'd been unaware of a potential threat.

“I, erm, I should get back to the Slytherin dorms, it'll be curfew soon,” Harry said, grasping at the excuse to extract himself from the presence of the overly familiar Gryffindor. “Don't forget to properly clean up, the first and last step in brewing is always to have an immaculate workspace and tools.”

He stepped a few paces away, just in case Longbottom was still feeling touchy. The other boy only nodded, though, and got to work clearing everything away. As clumsy and nervous as Longbottom tended to be, there was no doubt that he was a hard worker, never shirking away from the unpleasant tasks, scrubbing out his cauldron with a firm hand and admirable determination.

Harry left him to it, grabbing his satchel and heading out of the little used dungeon bathroom where he held their tutoring sessions, both for solitude and ease of disposal in case of imminent disaster by potion. Harry really needed to learn that banishing spell that Snape used in their class to disappear unsavoury or dangerous brews.

Jax poked his head out of the bag and gave a snakey yawn. The weather was turning colder as October slowly moved forward. Harry liked the fall well enough, with the trees changing color and the House tables filling with comforting soups and warm pies, but he would prefer if his friend could stay awake longer. He missed Jax when the serpent spent so much time sleeping. It wasn't so bad now, but Harry knew by the time November got well on its way that Jax would be snoozing the majority of the day away. Harry had thought that maybe because Hogwarts was so very magical that it would allow Jax to overcome the cold better, but not even the full might of the oldest magic school in Britain could hold back a Scottish winter.

It might not be so bad this year, Harry thought, tickling under Jax’s chin as the snake yawned again, earning him a purple glare and a flicking lick to the hand. They were at Hogwarts now, not stuffed into a dark cupboard. He had at least one, perhaps even two, friends that wanted to spend time with him. He had an entire castle to explore, with a seemingly endless library to pick from. He would not have to hide his books or listen carefully for footsteps above him, warning him to hide whatever text he'd managed to squirrel away.

There would be plenty of food for him to eat, maybe even Christmas biscuits or Halloween candy, things his cousin would scarf down in front of him by the boatload. Though Harry did not know how he felt about celebrating anything on the day of his parent's deaths, he did enjoy all the decorations that were popping up all over the castle. The Dursleys would never let Dudley carve a pumpkin or hang up cobwebs and paper bats, and Harry suspected the only reason they let his cousin dress up was because he would throw a screaming fit otherwise.

Harry shook his head, pushing the thoughts of Number Four away as he whispered the password to the wall and entered the common room. He was just in time to hear the end of Malfoy’s dramatic retelling of his baiting Weasley into a wizard's duel. Pansy Parkinson was shrieking with laughter in one of the squishy armchairs as Malfoy told how he planned to tip off Filch.

Harry felt a smirk trying to make its way onto his face and brutally suppressed it. Although he did not like how Malfoy was dishonoring the sanctity of duels, he could not help but feel that Weasley might just deserve the point loss or detention for falling for such an obvious ploy. Harry prefered this sort of pranking to the outright bullying that Malfoy would usually fall back on. Maybe it was a sign of improvement.

He settled on a sofa next to Blaise, letting Jax slither out onto his lap, the common room being mostly empty except for the younger years who had an earlier curfew.

“So how long has he been going on?” Harry asked.

“Are you suggesting that dear Draco is a braggart who doesn't know when to stop his boasting?” Blaise asked in a mock scandalized tone, fingers splayed across his chest, his dark brown eyes wide in faux surprise, “The answer, of course, was twenty minutes ago when he finished the story the first time.”

Harry did let the smirk out then and spent a few minutes quietly teasing Malfoy with Blaise as the blond strutted about like one of his father’s peacocks.

It was strange having a friend, but he did not mind so much the moments like this where he could just let himself be content with life as he listened to Blaise prod Malfoy into an even more dramatic and unnecessary rendition so that he could whisper silly criticisms of the boy’s acting abilities and lack of proper dramatic talent.

Harry may have even let out a quiet laugh or two as he stroked Jax and watched Malfoy prance about.

~~~~~~~>

As Halloween grew closer, Harry’s nightmares increased in both frequency and terror. Filled with shadows that clawed at him and shrieked that he was a freak and unclean and that he should have died with your useless parents, boy!. There were flashes of green light and high pitched laughter. Walls closing in around him while Jax screamed out for help but Harry couldn’t see anything! He couldn’t find the way out and the walls were crushing down and he couldn’t breathe and Jax needed him but Harry couldn't reach him--

He woke up gasping and sweaty and clutching Jax like a lifeline. The snake was hissing worriedly at him, coiling around his arms and not complaining about the tight grip Harry had around his middle. He felt immediately guilty and loosened the hold, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently hurt his friend.

“Sorry, Jax.”

“I’m fine, are you okay? Was it the cupboard again?” Jax asked worriedly, rising up to nudge at his damp cheeks, flicking away the tears with his forked tongue.

“Yeah, mostly,” Harry said quietly, holding his snake closer. “I couldn’t find you, you needed help and I couldn’t reach you.”

“I’m right here,” Jax hissed, his voice firm and matter of fact. “I’m right here.”

They laid there quietly for a few minutes while Harry waited for his heart to stop racing and his limbs to stop feeling so shaky. Eventually the gross clamminess of dried sweat got to be too much and Harry took them to the bathroom to clean up. It was way too early, even more so than usual, but Harry held no hopes of getting any more sleep that night. So he just got dressed and went to the common room to sit by the fire. The clock on the mantle read barely two and Harry was glad it was at least Tuesday and he might be able to catch a few moments rest in History of Magic after breakfast.

Now though, he felt restless and jittery. The normally comforting common room with its bookcases and roaring fire felt too confining. He paced the length of the room back and forth as Jax watched worriedly from the warm hearthstones. Harry feared he’d run holes in the elegant rugs covering the cold floor before the buzzing unease left his bones.

“You feel like doing some exploring?” Harry asked his drowsy snake, scooping him up.

“Wha--okay, sure, let's try and find the kitchens again,” Jax mumbled, yawning and slithering up to wriggle under Harry’s collar for warmth. Harry smiled a little at the low hiss of eggs as Jax settled across his shoulders under Harry’s uniform.

With that goal in mind, he made his way out of the common room and into the dimness of the super early morning dungeons. As he led them down a corridor, Harry figured since it was past midnight he was not breaking curfew by being out so late. Because he was, in point of fact, out early. It did not stop him from trying to be as stealthy as possible though, no need to get careless.

Soon they came to the corridor lined with portraits of food and feasts that he and Jax had narrowed down their search to. They were pretty sure the kitchens were either hidden behind one of the portraits (like Longbottom had let slip the Gryffindor dorms were) or one of them held a clue as to where to speak the password at a certain slip of wall. He and Jax had spent a good amount of time whispering at paintings or feeling along the walls over the last few weeks, but to no avail. Sometimes Millicent would join them, grunting at bowls of fruit or cracking her knuckles at partygoers, but still they found nothing.

It was a good distraction from his dreams at least, as Harry carefully felt along the edges of a painting of a horn of plenty that was currently spewing out various candies and sweets in deference to the upcoming holiday. So focused was he on his search that Harry did not hear the quiet swish of robes or feel the approach of another person until a dangerously low murmur sounded from right behind him.

“Out of bed so late, Mr. Potter. Do you feel the rules do not apply to you?”

Harry scrambled back with a muffled yelp, hand twitching for his wand before he stopped himself. Professor Snape was looming over him, a dark scowl marring his features and looking down at Harry like he could finally understand something he’d done. Like he’d been waiting for Harry to slip up and break the rules. As if he expected him to be nothing more than a troublemaker and finally had vindication. Harry didn’t like the look, he didn’t like the squirming guilt that was taking over his stomach, and he really didn’t like living up to people's disappointing expectations of him. He’d spent his entire childhood trying to pull away from unfair criticisms. He’d come to Hogwarts thinking it would be a fresh start, that he could prove his worth. And here he was, throwing it all away because he was too jittery after some stupid nightmares to just stay still and out of sight.

“No, sir, sorry sir,” he answered, ducking his head so he didn’t have to see the look of disappointment and scorn on the Potions Master's face. He thought he’d been gaining ground on earning respect from the man, with his unwavering dedication to brewing and well thought out essays. But he’d just thrown all that work right out the window as the man fumed above him.

“The rules exist for a reason, Mr. Potter, not to be broken at a whim. Not that I’d expect anything but disrespect for authority from any spawn of your father’s. I do not know why I thought better of you, it was clearly a mistake on my part.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly to the stone floor. The guilt was expanding from his stomach to his throat, choking away his voice. Harry could feel a dangerous prickling at the corner of his eyes but refused to let it grow into anything more. He knew what showing that kind of weakness to an authority figure meant, especially one that disparaged his father. Harry remembered all too well the rants his uncle would go on, usually ending in the belt or days locked away in the cupboard, sometimes both.

“I will escort you back to the Slytherin dorms, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, his voice still low with scorn.

The man raised an arm, probably only to hurry him along but Harry’s mind was still filled with visions of his uncle and the unease of his nightmares and he flinched back violently, tripping over his own feet and falling to the hard floor.

“I’m sorry!” he cried out, raising one arm protectively over his head and using the other to hold down Jax under his robe so that the serpent would not try anything stupid and get himself hurt. Harry braced himself for the incoming blow, curling up as much as possible to make a smaller target, waiting...

When nothing happened for a few long moments, Harry peeked cautiously from behind his raised arm.

Snape was no longer looming over him, or scowling. The man was knelt down to his level, a good arm's length away and staring at Harry with something like understanding mixed with confused anger. Harry could not tell who the anger was aimed at and hoped futilely that it was not him.

“Mr. Potter, why were you out of bed?” Snape’s voice was still low, but no longer dangerous, almost soft as if he were speaking to a frightened animal. Harry suddenly felt very stupid for his reaction. He also felt it pointless to try and lie to the Professor. He often got the impression the man could read minds, and Harry was simply too emotionally drained to hold up any kind of front.

“Nightmares,” he answered shortly, after a moment of silence, forcing himself to uncurl from his protective ball. He hated looking so weak in front of his favorite teacher and Head of House, and dreaded how much he’d ruined already by giving in to his urge to wander.

Snape only nodded, not moving to rise or touch Harry, which he appreciated, unsure how he’d react to such a thing now.

“How often do you have them?” It was asked clinically, as if Snape did not care one way or the other about the answer, which allowed Harry to force out a muttered sentence like he was talking about somebody else and not his own stupid brain.

“Few times a week, more now with Halloween getting closer...” He trailed off looking away from Snape’s gaze, unwilling to watch the pity fill it.

The silence stretched between them until Harry could not take it anymore and climbed back to his feet, legs only a little shaky. “I should return to the dorms, sir,” Harry reminded the professor, in the hopes that he could put this entire encounter behind him.

Snape had also risen with a quiet grace that Harry could never hope to achieve. He stood with his arms firmly folded behind his back and nodded down the corridor. “I shall escort you.” It was said in a completely different tone from before that made a shameful heat rise into his cheeks as Harry silently followed behind the Potions Master.

They took a different route than Harry was familiar with, the reason revealing itself as they halted outside a stretch of wall that Snape laid a hand upon with a murmured word. The stone glowed faintly under his palm before a plain door melted into existence before them.

“Wait here a moment.” Snape demanded before disappearing into the room. Harry did not even think to disobey. The professor returned after a few moments and they continued on to the entrance to Slytherin.

Before allowing Harry to escape into the common room, Snape held out what he'd retrieved from the mystery room. It was a small potion bottle containing a pale purple liquid.

“Dreamless Sleep. You are to take no more than one spoonful a night, no more than twice a week. Am I understood?” Snape looked down at him with a stern expression, waiting for Harry's affirmative before releasing the bottle into his care.

“Yes, sir.” Harry felt a pressure building up behind his eyes again and glared at the floor as if he could make it swallow him up by sheer force of will.

“And, Mr. Potter?” Harry risked a glance up and Snape spared him a smirk. “I'll expect you at my office at seven to serve detention for being out past curfew.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry could feel his shoulders slumping in relief. Punishment he could understand.

“Off to bed now, and remember: one spoonful.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, before making good his escape.

Once safely back in the dorm, Harry slipped off his boots and lay down fully clothed. Jax slinked out to coil on his chest and nuzzle at his face.

“What happened?” he hissed worriedly, and Harry felt even guiltier than he had before.

“I messed up, Jax.” He stroked the snake's head, probably taking more comfort than he gave. “Snape caught us out of bed and I reacted in a stupid way and now he probably thinks I'm weak and need coddling.”

Harry fingered the bottle of Dreamless Sleep, undecided about if he’d use it. Mr. Jacobi would sometimes get orders for it and the witches and wizards that came to collect them always looked haunted and worn around the edges. Harry wondered if that's how he looked, after a week full of nightmares.

Carefully he unstoppered the bottle and took a half dose; it was already near three and he did not want to oversleep. Harry stored the potion in his bedside table as the warming effects took hold, pulling him down into a deep slumber.

He was woken by a hissing Jax and a yelp from someone pulling back his curtains. “Oi, Potter, call off the snake. I only wanted to make sure you didn't miss breakfast.”

Harry sat up groggily, rubbing at one eye and giving Jax a calming stroke. “Apologies, Theo, thank you for waking me.”

The other boy gave him a sardonic smile and closed the curtain again.

Harry felt strangely refreshed, like he'd slept the whole day away peacefully. Which was odd, because Harry could not remember ever doing so once in his life. That Dreamless Sleep was really something and Harry could easily see how someone could become addicted. He vowed to follow Snape's instructions to the letter.

Harry did not bother changing into fresh clothes; he'd slept so deeply that he doubted he had moved an inch after he'd succumbed to the potion. He just grabbed his satchel and laced up his boots, head too full of what happened early that morning to deal with anything more complicated than following Theo out to breakfast.

~~~~~~~>

Severus Snape sat at his desk, contemplating what he'd learned, and inferred, from his encounter with Potter that morning. The boy had reacted in an alarming and all too familiar manner. Slytherin House drew a certain type of child: ambitious, sly, usually with the smarts to back it up. The circumstances that fostered that need to rise above oftentimes came from dark places, and Severus had an unfortunate amount of experience dealing with such things, as Head of Slytherin.

Never had he thought Potter would be one of those children.

Although, Severus should have realized something was off when the boy was sorted into his House. The fabled Boy-Who-Lived, in a den of snakes. He’d expected, like many, a brash child. One that would happily skip off to Gryffindor where he would no doubt act without thinking and most likely follow in the... mischievous ways of his father and godfather. No respect for authority or the education being provided him.

What Severus had not expected was the quiet, attentive child that listened intently to his lectures and not only brewed the best potions across all the first year students (Ravenclaws included,) but also wrote insightful essays and asked intelligent questions. Severus did not expect any spawn of James Potter to show any inkling of talent for the art, or willingness to put forth so much effort.

Severus had not expected Potter to flinch away so violently from him. To cry out as if he were about to beat the boy. Severus had gone from harsh vindication at finally seeing what he’d so expected--a rule breaker with no respect for the firm law Severus himself had set forth--to a sudden sickly chill as the realization of all the things he'd been so stoutly ignoring converged over him.

Potter was the smallest in his class, he shunned most company and Severus had yet to see him smile at anyone that wasn't the snake he thought Severus did not know about.

Potter was far more serious than a child his age should be. He ate at a rate as to leave Severus constantly surprised did not end in asphyxiation. He had first taken it as plain bad manners but now allowed himself to notice the way Potter eyed the other students around him, one arm on the table blocking his plate from any potential thieves. The bits he squirreled away when he thought no one was looking.

The signs were there. Severus had just refused to see them until faced with a cowering, pale faced child.

A knocking at the door interrupted his brooding and Severus called a quiet, “Enter.”

Potter shuffled in, shoulders tense and gaze shifted down enough to avoid eye contact but still maintain a certainty of Severus’ position and demeanor.

“Sit, Mr. Potter.” He gestured at the stiff, high backed wooden chair that rested on the opposite side of his desk.

He did so, quietly and without question, carefully setting his satchel on the floor by his feet.

Ah, yes. The snake. They would need to discuss that also, but foremost:

“Mr. Potter, do you understand why you are serving a detention tonight?” Severus was careful to keep his tone neutral, his hands folded clearly upon the desk.

“I broke curfew,” the boy answered promptly, still not looking up. Severus could practically feel the urge to swing feet that did not quite reach the flagstone floor rolling off the boy in waves. Agitation and nervousness held in check but straining to break free.

“Precisely,” Severus said, hesitating but a moment before allowing himself to clarify just a bit. “You were caught breaking curfew. First year students are not to leave the Slytherin dorms before six.”

“Yes, sir.” Potter risked a quick glance up and Severus knew he'd caught the meaning of his words. That he now understood that Severus was more disappointed about the boy getting himself caught than a bit of wandering around. His Slytherins were supposed to be subtle. Severus could well understand a need to walk off unpleasant dreams, but he expected a little more awareness out of his snakes if they insisted on breaking his rules.

It was how he would handle any other of the students under his care, and damn if Potter was going to be different one way or the other. Severus had done quite a bit of introspection that day, an unpleasant but necessary ordeal. He had come to the conclusion that he would not let this boy’s...unfortunate progenitor come between him and such obvious talent and eagerness to learn the art of Potions.

Potter may look like his father, but overwhelming evidence suggested he acted and thought nothing like the brash Gryffindor. Which could only lead to good things, in Severus’ not so humble opinion.

Severus could not quite bring himself to think of Lily. It would inundate him with a dark guilt over how her son came to be in the state that sat before him, shrunken back in the uncomfortable wooden chair awaiting the fall of unknown punishment. Severus held back a sigh; as unpleasant as speaking about such things could be, he had a duty as Head of House to investigate evidence of abuse and neglect shown in his students. And contrary to popular belief, Severus did, in fact, have a heart behind his ribs. It may be somewhat mangled as of late, but it was nevertheless still there.

“Mr. Potter, if you would be so willing, I would like to discuss why you reacted so forcibly this morning and what it may say about the state of your homelife.”

That got the boy’s attention. His thin shoulders rose even closer to his ears and Severus could see the restraint put forth not to glare as Potter finally looked him in the eyes.

“I would not,” he said, voice clear, although Severus could hear the shakiness that lay just below the surface. “Be willing, that is.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, it was not a request.” Severus had a regrettable amount of experience dealing with children unwilling to talk of the true unpleasantness in their lives.

Potter stared at him and said nothing. That was fine, Severus was well seasoned in contests of will, he could wait the boy out.

It took longer than expected, but after fifteen minutes of silent staring Potter finally broke away, eyes cutting to the bag on the floor.

“I see no point in discussing it, sir. I’m here now and not there, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters when it causes dreams so awful that you find you cannot stay where you are told.” Severus took a calming breath, he would not think of Lily and what she would do to him for letting her boy come to this condition of being. “You were placed with your Aunt Petunia, were you not?”

That got Potter to look up again, his indifferent mask slipping to allow a sneer to show through. It was an ugly expression for a child to make.

“Yes, sir.” Single syllable answers were still answers, and Severus had worked with less.

“I can only imagine how... unpleasantly, she may have reacted upon realizing you shared her sister’s gifts.”

The boy shrugged and glared at the desk. Severus could infer.

“You do realize that magic is not something to be scorned? That whatever nonsense she may have filled your head with was erroneous to the highest degree?”

“You sound like you’ve met her.” Potter was looking at him now, the sneer faded to be replaced by calculation. There was no doubt this boy belonged to his House, despite early misgivings.

Severus nodded to him, conceding the point. “I have had the dubious pleasure, yes,” he answered, and after a few moments of expectant looks from the boy, allowed himself to elaborate slightly. “Your mother and I were friends as children.” He would not think of Lily, he would not. “Her sister was an unfortunate tag along at times.”

Potter was looking at him now with a hunger in his eyes, buried beneath the calculations and assimilation of these new facts. Severus had the troublesome thought that Petunia, wretch that she was, had withheld knowledge of the boy’s mother from him. Spiteful woman. Severus held back another sigh, getting the awful feeling that he may in fact need to speak of Lily to her own son, a task too daunting to undertake without preparation.

“What are your dreams about, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked, steering them back to no less treacherous waters, but at least these he felt he could navigate without the need for copious amounts of firewhiskey.

“Nothing, they’re just bad dreams. Everybody has them,” Potter evaded, still meeting his eyes as if that would prove the truth of his words.

“Lying to me is not recommended, Mr. Potter,” he shot back, careful to keep his voice low and calm, without a hint of anger. “I wish to help. There is only so much the Dreamless Sleep can do; it is for managing the symptoms, not a cure for underlying issues.”

“Will you stop giving it to me, if I don’t talk?” Potter asked as if he already knew the answer and was preparing himself for the inevitable return of sleepless nights.

“Of course not,” Severus said, privately enjoying the shock that flashed across the boy’s face before he forced a mask of indifference back up. “As long as you follow the instructions I’ve given you, I see no reason to withhold a clearly needed medication.”

Potter now only looked baffled, and Severus could practically see the thoughts whizzing by behind his eyes, calculations and searches for hidden meanings, lures meant to trap him. Severus let him stew for a few moments before broaching the subject again.

“The dreams, Mr. Potter?”

Silence. Potter eyed him for a minute more before nodding slightly to himself, as if he’d come to a decision.

“Now, these last couple weeks, it’s mostly about them dying and me being left all alone in the dark.”

Severus nodded, an understandable development, if only a half-truth from the boy. There was obviously much more to the nightmares, but Severus would not spook the child away by demanding the whole story. He doubted it would do much good at any rate, and would more than likely destroy what little progress he’d made so far.

“Understandable, Mr. Potter. If you wish to speak more in depth about those dreams or any feelings of abandonment they may cause, my door is open. Or, if you would be more comfortable, Madam Pomfrey is trained in such matters and always available to talk.” It would be much easier to help the boy if he were to willingly open up, but Severus had his doubts about that happening any time soon. Sometimes small steps had to be taken. He would perhaps have to investigate Mr. Potter’s home life on his own time, to glean a better picture of what he was dealing with.

“Of course, sir,” Potter said easily enough that Severus knew he would never take the offer up without great duress. “May I serve my detention now?” They would also need to work on that subtlety.

“Not quite yet, Mr. Potter. We still have the matter of your illicit snake to discuss.” That garnered a look of almost convincing confusion from the boy, belied by the hardness in his eyes.

“What snake, sir?” Potter was now the picture of innocence, not making even the slightest motion toward his bag. Perhaps there was hope for that subtlety after all.

“The highly venomous one currently in your satchel, Mr. Potter.” He nodded at the item. “There is not much that does not reach my ears in this castle and snakes are not on the pre-approved pet list for Hogwarts, as I’m sure you know.”

The innocent act dropped instantly as Potter stood from the chair to glare at Snape defiantly from his insignificant height. It was not lost on Severus that the move put the boy between him and the bag.

“Jax is not a pet,” Potter said, voice hard and fierce for so tiny a person. There was a protective fire blazing in his green eyes, Lily’s eyes. “He’s my friend, my familiar, the only family that I have left, and I will not allow you or anyone else to take him from me. I would gladly leave first.”

It was quite the proclamation. Severus raised an eyebrow at the boy, which seemed to deflate him a bit. Likely he had been expecting more of a reaction, but Severus had been a Slytherin much longer than Potter and knew how to hold back.

Admittedly, when word of the serpent had found him, Severus had wanted to confront Potter about the blatant disregard for policy. What held him back was that the boy was also a Parselmouth. The fact of which was... unnerving. Potter did not flaunt his rule breaking, like that Gryffindor boy with the spider that Minerva refused to even reprimand him for. Severus doubted anyone outside of Slytherin House even knew about the serpent, which showed great restraint and care towards his desire to keep the snake with him at, what Severus suspected, was all times.

“I will not take your familiar, Mr. Potter,” Snape reassured him when he felt the boy had calmed sufficiently to listen. “I merely wish to establish his breed and make sure that the proper precautions are taken.”

Potter slumped a bit where he stood, looking properly confused now. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Severus repeated dryly. Potter flushed.

“I have antivenom.” The boy rummaged in his pocket before extracting two vials of a translucent, pale yellow liquid, setting them carefully on the desk. Severus picked one up to examine; the color was right, along with the watery consistency. He raised an eyebrow at the boy again.

“This is made from his own venom, not just general use?”

“Yes, sir, I had it specially brewed.” Good, the boy at least thought ahead. Severus nodded and returned the vials, gesturing at the satchel.

“If you would?”

Potter hesitated a moment, but eventually complied and knelt down to extract the serpent from the bag. Severus could hear the quiet hissing of Parseltongue and repressed a shudder at the sound. He did not give in to the urge to rub at his hidden Mark.

The snake that coiled itself around Potter’s arms was slender but long enough for Severus to wonder how comfortable it must be riding around in a bag all day. It was a very dark green with swirls and splashes of bright purple along its length. It also stared at Severus with wary purple eyes, like living amethyst. Severus held no illusions that the serpent would not strike at anything that threatened its master. Potter was stroking its head soothingly and hissing softly at the snake as they took the measure of one another.

“This is Jax. I’ve had him since I was eight.” Severus turned his gaze to Potter, showing what he felt was a great deal of faith that the serpent wouldn’t take the opportunity to strike.

“How did you come by it?”

“Him,” Potter said with no little irritation. Severus gave him a nod, conceding the point. “His mother found me in the back garden, she needed a wizard-made fire to give birth and asked for help.”

“I’m sure Petunia loved that,” Severus snorted, imagining her pinched horsey face when confronted by a hoard of unmistakably magical baby snakes.

“She never found out.” Potter said proudly, stroking his serpent again and not bothering to hide his smirk. It was much better than the sneer he’d born earlier.

“His breed? I would say he resembles a boomslang somewhat, but they are not birthed in flame.”

“He’s part, yeah,” Potter answered, seemingly quite willing to talk when it wasn’t about dreams or the suspected abuse by his...family. “Also ashwinder and a few other things. His mother escaped from an awful breeder and Jax decided to stay with me instead of leaving with the rest of his nestmates.” The snake was now resting across the boy’s shoulders and nuzzling at an ear, but still very much watching Severus.

The Potions Master in Severus thought about that for a few minutes, experiments and theories running through his head at what such a combination could do, but he pushed the thoughts back before they could overtake him.

“I trust that you have him well under control? That he is not a danger to the other students or staff?” Potter nodded confidently, the fire in his eyes a mere low-burning coal now, but still present.

“Then I see no reason not to grant you permission to keep him, as long as you carry the antivenom at all times and promise not to set him against the other children.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Potter still looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Severus just nodded as if the matter were closed.

“Then let us proceed to your detention.” He stood slowly from behind the desk and led them to the hidden passage that connected his office to the potions classroom. He had much to think on.

~~~~~~~>

Harry followed the professor through the cramped corridor; luckily it was a short one. It let out into the potions classroom and Harry saw a large barrel of dead scarabs next to three empty vessels and a cloth-lined bin. Harry made his way over at once, eager to escape any more attempts at inquisition.

“Eyes, wings, and carapace?” he asked, settling on a stool and picking up one of the delicate tools used for extracting insect parts intact.

“Indeed.” Snape was giving him that searching look again, and Harry bent to his task in an effort to avoid questions. It did not work as well as hoped.

“Where did you learn so much about potion making, Mr. Potter? No muggle-raised first year would have such knowledge as you’ve shown in class.”

Harry shrugged, carefully scooping out eyes into one of the bowls. “Granger seems to know enough,” he evaded, nearly allowing a smirk when the professor snorted.

“Book knowledge, not intuition nor forethought to take into account things like shelf life or any willingness to look beyond the book standard towards improvement.”

Harry huffed, caught out. He was grateful to Snape for the Dreamless Sleep and for letting him keep Jax; perhaps he expected Harry to give something in return. This was safer than speaking of Number Four directly, so Harry answered.

“I have a summer job at an apothecary.” Maybe this would help show how serious Harry was about potions.

Snape was quiet a long moment, except for the scratching of a quill as he presumably marked papers at his desk.

“You seem a bit young to be taking on a summer job.” His voice was bored, like he did not care one way or the other about the answer, but Harry knew this tactic from spending so much time around Blaise lately. He thought a moment before an idea struck him.

“How else was I to afford my school things? Aunt Petunia certainly wasn’t going to spare a single pence toward my freakishness.” He let the venom seep into that last word; if Snape had really known her as a child he no doubt understood the connotations.

“Indeed not,” the professor agreed, though there was a hidden something in his voice that Harry could not quite parse.

“What apothecary, if I might inquire? Surely not Slug and Jiggers.”

Harry wrinkled his nose as he carefully pulled delicate wings free, more at the thought of another store than the disassembly of the insects, which he was well used to doing.

“Jacobi’s Apothecary. I’ve worked there since I was nine.”

“Jacobi...” Snape mused, a hum in the words as he thought about the name. Harry risked a glance up; the professor was tapping at his chin with the end of an elegant black quill and staring into the middle distance. “Ezra Jacobi? An... acceptable brewer. If a bit boisterous and,” he paused, a little scowl appearing, “impertinent.”

Harry smirked down at his scarabs. that sounded like Mr. Jacobi, though Harry had never caught his first name in all the years he’d worked there. He figured it was probably fair as he’d gone by Evan the whole time.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, and feeling a bit impertinent himself, added, “He speaks very highly of you.”

Snape’s scowl deepened and Harry busied himself with dumping the useless bits of a beetle into the compost bin by his feet. Perhaps it was time to write Mr. Jacobi again, he would probably get a kick out of this. Being called acceptable by Severus Snape was probably high praise indeed.

The rest of the detention was spent in grateful silence, the only sounds being the scratch of quill on parchment and patter of insect parts into their respective receptacles. It was odd to know the Potions Master had been friends with his mother. Had they stayed friends when they reached Hogwarts? Or drifted apart because of being sorted into differing Houses? Harry would probably never know, not unless he asked. And he doubted Snape would give up that sort of personal information without expecting something equally personal in return. Harry could not risk the man finding out that he’d essentially run away from home, Merlin knew what would happen to him then. They might force him to go back, or foster him out to some wizarding family that would only be interested in taking care of him because he was Harry Potter.

No, he needed to keep his cards close to his chest. He would figure out what to do about the summer when the time came. For now he would process these beetles and work on repairing what damage he’d done to his reputation as a Slytherin for getting caught out of bed. Jax gave a snakey yawn next to his ear.

“How long do we have to be here? This is boring,” the serpent complained. Harry snorted quietly.

“That’s rather the point of detention, it’s not supposed to be fun. Do you want me to heat up the bag so you can nap?”

Jax gave a hissing affirmative and slithered down to the floor. Harry was happy that he no longer had to worry his friend would be taken away. Although he would not drop his guard completely just yet. He got back to work at the scarabs; it was simple and oddly calming, so Harry did not mind the detention so much.

~~~~~~~>

Halloween approached like an inevitable storm cloud rolling in from the sea. Harry’s nightmares did not abate, but he found some solace in the Dreamless Sleep, although he was careful to follow the dosage instructions. A couple great nights rest was preferable to none, or the stupor he would fall into if he deviated from the prescription.

There was plenty to distract him in any case. Longbottom was slowly but steadily improving, he hadn’t melted a cauldron in the last two brewing sessions and even managed to make a passable anti-itch solution in class. A feat that did not go unnoticed by the professor, who sent a suspicious eye towards Granger two tables away, as if she had somehow influenced the other boy’s process. Harry had smirked down at his perfectly light pink solution and felt content that they’d managed a whole double without disaster.

Blaise was also a good distraction from his brooding. The boy had set aside the chess for now and was instead trying to teach Harry Italian, which he picked up much better. Italian was a bit of a slippery language, it had a certain rhythm to it that appealed to Harry. It was different from Parseltongue in that Harry had to work at learning it. He had to think about syntax and vocabulary and correct pronunciation, instead of it just sounding like a hissy type of English.

Harry could only manage simple words and common phrases so far, but given time he felt he could probably gain a good fluency in the language. Plus, when he got something right, Blaise would give him a real smile instead of his usual smirk and that was nice. Harry did not have many simply nice things in his life, and he held the ones he found close to his heart.

Halloween dawned the same as any other day. There was green light dancing against the opposite wall when Harry pulled back his curtains, light refracting through the lake water and stone portholes. He felt refreshed, having taken a dose of Dreamless the night before, knowing it would be a bad one if he didn’t. The other boys were stirring, which was another strange thing about taking the potion; he slept the whole night and woke at a reasonable hour. Harry was quick to gather his shower things before anyone else woke fully, still uncomfortable disrobing in front of anyone that was not his snake.

It was a Thursday, which meant Defense first, not something Harry was looking forward to. But their Astronomy class was cancelled for the evening, which was something that Harry did appreciate.

Harry was back in the dorm and already lacing up his boots by the time anyone else dragged themselves out of bed. “Ciao, Harry,” Blaise mumbled on his way to his own shower. Harry just nodded, too distracted by his own maudlin thoughts to return the greeting.

Jax wriggled his way over to drape across Harry’s shoulders, something he did more often now that he didn’t have to hide so much. Harry figured the snake appreciated not being confined to a pocket or his bag as often (despite its expansion charm, books made terrible bedmates.)

He met Millicent as she was exiting the girl's corridor and they silently agreed to head to breakfast. At the Slytherin table there was an inordinate amount of sweets and spookily themed items. Harry did not feel much like eating but picked at a pumpkin-shaped pancake in any case. Jax sniffed at a bowl of chocolate bats that twitched like they wanted to flap away but some charm was keeping them in place.

“I doubt you’ll like those, they’re not real bats, just chocolate. Remember that chocolate frog Malfoy gave you?” Jax hissed at the bowl in disgust, quickly retreating back. Harry fed him a chunk of roasted potato in appeasement.

“I did not like that frog, it was vile,” he said after gulping down the bit of tuber.

“I know, buddy, and he promised never to give you another one, remember?” Malfoy had sulked dejectedly for hours after Jax had shunned him for the disgusting not-frog. Harry had finally taken pity on the blond and negotiated an apology out him that Jax reluctantly accepted under the condition that he never bring another of those things near him and spent the next hour gently petting him, after warming his hands first. Malfoy had gladly accepted the terms and Harry had spent an hour reading one of his potion books and trying not to smirk at how much his serpent had Malfoy wrapped around his tail. Jax could be quite devious when the occasion called.

Millicent, sitting next to him, thankfully did not mention his odd lack of appetite, nor try to make any sort of conversation. She was smart enough, and Slytherin enough, to know what was bothering him and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Harry was grateful the bigger girl had decided to stick around him, he found her stoic presence a comfort most days. The rest of their year trickled in gradually. Malfoy looked his usual bleary eyed self, but as always immaculately put together. Blaise looked refreshed from his shower and ready to start the day. Harry nodded at their greetings and went back to picking at the crumbled remains of his pancake.

Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something but Blaise elbowed him in the ribs, which earned a glare and the two started bickering as usual. Harry sat for a few more moments before the noise of the Great Hall just became too much and he pushed his plate away.

“I’m going to go to the library real quick before class,” he lied, standing from the table and heading out the big double doors that lead to the main hall. He turned to go out to the grounds instead of up the stairs.

The morning air was cold, but it was quiet and calm outside and Harry breathed in a few sharp breaths. Jax gave him a sleepy nuzzle before retreating back into Harry’s hood where it was warmer. The snake was almost getting too heavy for that to be comfortable and Harry made a note to look up featherlight charms. Maybe he could get Millicent to enchant his hoods so that Jax could sleep back there and not choke Harry at the same time.

He walked a meandering route down to the lake and back, wasting time before he had to go to class. The fresh air would be nice to have before subjecting himself to the awful stuffy garlic mess that was the Defense class. Eventually though, Harry had to return to the castle and join the rest of his yearmates. He was not ashamed to admit he hid a bit behind Millicent; it was a strategic maneuver. After Quirrell let them in with an extra stuttery welcome Harry made a beeline to the back of the room.

This class had been getting steadily worse as the term progressed. Not only did they learn next to nothing and leave with their robes reeking of garlic, but lately Harry had also been getting splitting headaches whenever he had to spend any amount of time there. He figured it was probably due to poor lighting and ventilation in the room, but even opening a window didn’t help, so Harry just resigned himself to dealing with it. Maybe he would brew a headache reliever on the weekend, it wasn’t too complicated a recipe. Though he might need to ask Snape for some of the ingredients that he didn’t have on hand.

“M-Mr. P-P-P-Potter?” Quirrell’s voice broke him from his musings and Harry looked up to meet the professor's gaze, pain stabbing at his forehead in its usual manner. He resisted the urge to rub at his scar.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked politely instead, counting the minutes until they were dismissed. History was next and Harry could use the soothing monotone of Binns to ease his head.

“R-r-r-read the p-p-passage on p-p-page 35, if y-you would b-be so k-k-kind?” Harry did as told, happy to look away. It was going to be a long day.

~~~~~~~>

That night Harry waved off his housemates as they made ready to go to the feast. He was in no mood to celebrate anything. Luckily everyone seemed to understand, even if Crabbe and Goyle left in bemusement that someone would miss out on so much food.

He sat for a while by the fire, trying to parse through one of the beginner Italian books Blaise had foisted on him, but he couldn’t concentrate enough and soon tossed it aside. Suddenly the common room felt much too confining. His skin itched from sitting still and he didn’t want to give in to the urge to brood.

“Let’s go take a walk, Jax,” he said, scooping up the snake from his favorite spot by the fire. Jax sleepily agreed and snuggled into Harry’s arms, forcing him to shoulder his way out of the door with his hands otherwise occupied.

The corridors were empty with everyone at the feast, and Harry took them along a twisting path that had no real destination other than away.

At one point Jax perked his head up, tasting the air and reeling back. “Something smells awful down that way,” he said, pointing at a fork in the corridor with his snout. “Let’s stay away from it, it smells like rot and death.”

Harry readily agreed and was about to turn them around when a shout startled him. “Potter! What the blazes are you doing down here?! All students are to return to the dorms!”

Snape was striding up the corridor with an angry look on his pale face. Harry was worried he’d somehow stayed out past curfew on accident, but it couldn’t be that late yet. As Snape got closer he saw that the professor was not just angry but worried as well. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and Harry was suddenly a bit scared.

“I was just taking a walk. I didn’t want to go to the feast,” he said as Snape reached him, his robes billowing in agitation as he looked all around the empty corridor, but he spared a nod and brief look of pained understanding.

“Very well, but we must make haste back to Slytherin now. There’s a troll loose in the dungeons.” Snape motioned for Harry to follow, but before he could make a move a high pitched scream rang from the corridor Jax had sniffed out.

Snape cursed and broke into a run, and Harry followed without thinking.

The screams continued to sound, growing louder as they flew up a shallow flight of steps and came out near a bathroom. There was indeed a troll trying its best to smash its way into the loo and presumably get at the shrieking girl inside.

“Sectumsempra!” Snape shouted, making vicious slicing motions with his wand. Deep cuts appeared on the hide of the troll, making it ooze thick red blood all over the stone floor.

It got the troll's attention at least, given that the hulking thing turned with a deafening roar towards Snape and raised its club for a killing blow. Harry suddenly very much regretted following after the professor and clutched Jax close to him. His legs felt like water and he could not force them to retreat.

Snape just stood there, tall and confident, sneering up at the troll in contempt. He flicked his wand and the club went flying down the corridor. The troll had barely enough time to look confused before Snape was shooting hex after hex at it, with neat, brutal swipes of his wand until the thing lay bleeding and unconscious on the stone floor. Harry would not be surprised if it was dead; there was a lot of blood.

Harry very much wished he had not followed the professor, but was equally glad he had not gone to the feast so that there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. With the way it was roiling now though, he doubted he would have much say in the matter in any case.

“Potter. Potter, look away.” There was a voice, but he was breathing too loudly to understand the words. “Harry.”

Suddenly there was a sea of black blocking away the sight of the bleeding and mangled troll. Snape was forcibly turning him away and Harry let him. The man knelt down in front of him, his large pale hands heavy on Harry’s shoulders and he could not look away from the black eyes before him.

“Harry, breathe, you need to calm down. It’s over, nothing can hurt you here. I would not allow it.”

Harry nodded, taking in a ragged breath. Jax was wound tight around his arms and shaking.

“Good. Deep breaths. I must check on the girl in the bathroom. You will stay here and breathe and not look behind you. Am I understood?” Harry nodded jerkily. Breathe, don’t turn around, he could do that.

Snape squeezed his shoulders with long fingered hands before releasing him. Harry did not turn around. He held Jax close and breathed slowly, in, out, in, out.

A few moments later he was joined by a shaky and tearful Granger who was clutching her soaked and dripping bookbag and also not looking behind them. The bag was dripping water, not blood, which Harry was thankful for.

“Miss Granger, are you injured?” Snape asked as he muttered a spell and a sliver of blue-white light shot from his wand and down the corridor.

Granger shook her bushy head. Her hair was even more frazzled than normal.

“What were you doing so far away from the feast? There are closer bathrooms to the Great Hall than this one.”

“I-I wasn’t at the feast, s-sir,” she stuttered, more tears leaking out of her already swollen eyes, like she’d been crying for much longer than the troll had been attacking.

“Why not?” Snape frowned down at her, not in disapproval like he’d do in class when she blurted out answers without being called upon, but inquiry.

“I was hiding from my housemates,” she said. Harry got the feeling she was too shocked and scared to lie about anything at the moment. “They all hate me!”

Snape sighed. He was kneeling before both of them again, and looked pained at the thought of giving advice to one not of his own House but resigned to his fate of comforting isolated children.

“Miss Granger, Gryffindors have a tendency to be brash, hardheaded little monsters who hold little regard to the feelings of those they think do not belong amongst them. You have set yourself apart by trying to prove you are the very brightest and smartest first year to ever grace these halls and making sure that everyone knows it.”

“I haven't--”

Snape held up a hand. “It may not have been your intention, but rest assured, it is what they see.”

Granger looked ready to burst into tears again, and Harry shuffled slightly away so that she did not think him an appropriate thing to cling to.

“To remedy this, I would suggest perhaps not rubbing all the excess knowledge you happen to possess in their faces and instead try to share it in a less abrasive manner. Offer to help struggling classmates with their work, do not just tell them that they are doing it wrong or show off how much better you are at it. Gryffindors have easily bruised egos and tend to not think before lashing out at hurt pride.”

Granger nodded, sniffing but looking less weepy.

“I would also suggest letting the other children answer a question in class every now and then. It is quite obvious that you know the material and it is not fair to the other students that you impede their educations by blurting out even when you are not called upon.”

Granger looked a bit sheepish now, and Harry got the feeling Snape was giving her this talk more for his own want of a peaceful classroom than to make the girl feel better. Or perhaps it was both; maybe Snape had been a bossy know-it-all when he was a student and realized the error too late. Harry could imagine a sneering younger Snape, handing out biting comments to his less academically inclined classmates.

Harry turned to Granger; now that she did not look so weepy he felt safe bringing attention to himself. “I’m sure Longbottom would welcome any help you could offer,” he suggested. Maybe if he could get them on friendly terms, Longbottom would no longer get the urge to accost Harry with over enthusiastic hugs.

Granger nodded and wiped at her eyes, “Yes, of course, he’s always going on about how wonderful you are about tutoring him in potions.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at him and Harry scowled at the floor. Before anything could be made of it, though, a gaggle of teachers arrived.

“Oh dear me,” Quirrell said at the sight of the troll and fainted dead away. McGonagall rolled her eyes and Flitwick casually conjured up a stretcher and floated the unconscious Professor onto it.

“I’ll take him to the hospital wing, shall I?”

Snape rose and waved a dismissive hand, not even sparing a sneer for the Defense teacher.

“Miss Granger, what on earth are you doing down here?” McGonagall demanded, hands on her hips. Granger looked down at the floor again, clutching her dripping bag like a lifeline.

“Sorry, Professor. I didn’t know about the troll.”

McGonagall huffed but didn’t inquire further. She waved her wand over the two of them in a complicated manner that Harry figured was probably some sort of diagnostic charm.

“And you Mr. Potter?” Harry glanced at Snape, unsure how to answer.

“I found Mr. Potter on my sweep of the dungeons. He had not been at the feast and therefore had no knowledge of the troll. Before we could retreat to Slytherin, we heard Miss Granger’s screams and I ran to investigate.”

McGonagall nodded again, looking sternly behind them at the mess of troll on the floor, her nose wrinkled unpleasantly.

“Well, it seems the matter is settled. I’ll escort Miss Granger to Gryffindor Tower and meet you at the staff room for debrief in say, twenty minutes?”

Snape nodded and laid a hand lightly on Harry’s back, leading them away from the troll and back to the common room. He did not mind the touch so much, it grounded him. With Snape there, he doubted anything could hurt him.

Chapter Text

The school was awash with excitement over the troll the next morning. Harry didn’t understand what was so amazing about almost being bludgeoned to death by a sixteen foot, rancid smelling monster, but he supposed that to someone who hadn’t been there it might sound like a grand adventure. The Gryffindors seemed especially exuberant, Harry could see Granger practically buried under a sea of scarlet at her table. She didn’t look like she was enjoying the attention overmuch, but also wasn't telling anyone to leave her be. Harry expected she was just finally relieved that the attention on her was not negative for once.

The Slytherins, on the other hand, were much more subtle about their inquisition, sending sly looks down the table at Harry that he returned with unimpressed stares and a blank face. He felt he'd gotten much better at his bland mask, what with all the practice he got from pretending to listen to Malfoy natter on.

Snape had held a brief House meeting when they'd finally returned to the common room. He'd explained in no uncertain terms what had happened and that the matter was dealt with. He’d glared down at them in a way that brooked no desire for further questions. Harry wished he could master that look as he waited outside the potions classroom with Millicent and Blaise on either side of him. There was a clump of Gryffindors in front of them, all bombarding him with questions and demands for a retelling. Harry could feel his palms starting to get sweaty and stuffed his hands in his robe pockets to hide the trembling.

“Go on, Potter,” Weasley said, the excited flush on his cheeks highlighting the overabundance of freckles there. “Tell us what really happened? We heard you fought off a full grown mountain troll all by yourself!”

“What--?” Harry was so completely flabbergasted by the notion that he could only gape in what was surely a very foolish way. How had that rumor even gotten started? Did McGonagall not explain to her House what had happened? He could see Granger at the back of the group with a palm covering her face as she shook her bushy head. At least he knew it wasn't her spreading anything.

Blaise had let out a disbelieving laugh next to him and Harry turned to see one of his friend's more condescending smirks pointed at the Gryffindors. “Are all lions this gullible? Or just the first years do you think, Harry?” Blaise asked him in a bored voice.

Weasley's face flushed even darker and he scowled as the Slytherins snickered behind them. Before anything could escalate, though, Snape arrived in his usual sweeping fashion. He glared the Gryffindors into silence with practiced ease.

“In. There will be no gossiping in this class. I will not hesitate to take points.” He aimed the statement at the Gryffindors shuffling by.

Harry gave the professor a thankful glance. Snape nodded sharply and gestured for the rest of them to find their seats.

They were making simplified calming draughts, which were not as effective as their more complex relatives, but easier to make. They worked well enough for a bout of nerves or restlessness, though not so much for panic attacks or more manic behaviours.

Harry quickly got to work slicing his banana slug into thin strips and thoroughly ignored the whispers that soon filled the room despite Snape's warning. The Gryffindors took a steep toll on their points by the end of class and Harry had to hold back a smirk at the grumbling faces. As if they all hadn't brought it on themselves.

“Mr. Potter, a word,” Snape called as Harry was about to shoulder his bag. Millicent and Blaise hesitated to leave but Harry waved them off. Perhaps he'd be able to avoid any lurking Gryffindors.

~~~~~~~>

Severus Snape took a moment to organize the samples on his desk while the rest of the students filed out.

“Sir?” Potter asked when they were finally alone.

Severus contemplated the boy for a moment. Potter had dark circles under his eyes and clutched at the strap of his satchel with pale fingers to no doubt hide a tremor.

“Did you sleep last night?”

Potter shrugged, shaking his head as if it were not important. Severus scowled.

“Rest is necessary, Mr. Potter, if you wish to keep your mind sharp.” He paused, holding back a sigh. “Though I suppose extenuating circumstances may interrupt such things from time to time. If you wish to speak about what you saw last night, my offer of an open door is still valid.”

“No.” Potter said at once, eyes cutting to the floor, “Thank you, sir, but no. I'll be fine.” The boy looked up, disinterested mask firmly back in place. “Was that all?”

Severus folded his arms across his chest in an effort not to shake some sense into the boy. “No, Mr. Potter.” He paused, taking a moment to rein in his temper. “I have something of yours that the Headmaster seemed to have forgotten to give you before start of term.”

Severus fished the tiny key from his pocket and held it out.

“I am sure it was a completely innocent lapse on his part.” Severus very nearly snorted at his own words. As if anything Albus did was accidental.

Severus had spoken to the Headmaster about Potter’s apparent lack of access to or knowledge of his trust. Albus had twinkled at him and accused Severus of taking personal interest in the welfare of the child. Which Severus snorted at, pleading Head of House duties but knowing he didn’t fool the old man for a second.

Severus did not so much care for Potter’s well being above others under his care. He more felt the need to assuage the guilt that had weighed him down since that early morning encounter and the unpleasant truths it revealed.

Albus, with the look of moving pawns about a board, had handed Severus the key and bade him give it to the boy with his apologies for the delay. Severus had left the office with the uncomfortable feeling of being used for unknown purposes, an unfortunately frequent occurrence when dealing with the Headmaster.

“This is a key to a vault at Gringotts. One that holds a trust your mother left you,” he told Potter. An ugly flash of scorn passed over the boy’s face before he could quite cover it up.

“He forgot.” Potter’s voice was flat, but Severus could hear a shadow of anger underneath it. “Of course.”

Potter took the key, inspecting it briefly before turning his burning green eyes on Severus. He looked so much like Lily in that instant that Severus had to stop himself from clenching at the sudden pain of loss in his chest.

“Did you know about the Headmaster having this?”

“Yes. Although I was unaware he had not relinquished it when sending out your letter.”

The boy eyed him for a moment before evidently deciding to believe him. Severus very nearly rolled his own eyes, but felt it might undermine his efforts. It was good that Potter didn’t take things at face value in any case; that was a terrible habit reserved for overly trusting Hufflepuffs and headstrong Gryffindors that acted well before thinking.

“This fund is for your education,” Severus told him sternly. “I will not have you squandering your mother's good will on frivolities.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Severus nodded, uncomfortable with all the emotions he'd been forced to endure these past few minutes. He had given the boy his means and would rather not have to undergo any further discussion on the matter. No child should be forced to find employment to pay for essentials and Severus felt free to wash his hands of that particular guilt, at least.

“You may leave now, Mr. Potter. I believe lunch should still be well underway.” The boy was too skinny by far and Severus would not have him missing any meals, despite knowledge of Potter’s habit of squirreling away bits and pieces. Whatever the boy may have amassed, a hot meal was always preferable. Perhaps Severus would also assign Potter a regime of nutritional potions. Although two full months of steady meals had made it so the boy did not look quite so skeletal, the thought of what had brought Potter to such a state in the first place was something that weighed heavily in the back of Severus’ mind.

Further inquiry would have to wait until winter holidays, when Severus would have ample time to deal with whatever may arise.

For now, he watched as Potter hurried from the room, a hand in his bag, no doubt petting that snake of his. Severus would make a complaint about bringing animals into his lab that were not destined for a cauldron, but the serpent stayed peacefully in Potter’s satchel. Severus would rather avoid the inevitable impassioned conflict and just let things be for now. If something changed and the snake became a hindrance, then Severus would take measures.

For now, he had potion samples to evaluate and a stack of fifth year essays to thoroughly cover in scathing red ink.

~~~~~~~>

The excitement from the troll was thankfully soon displaced by an announcement of the upcoming Quidditch match. It was the first of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Everybody seemed to suddenly be taken over by some strange malady that forced one to spout out player statistics and long done rosters of past years. Malfoy became even more insufferable about not being allowed his own broom and a place on the team.

“I mean honestly, what's the bloody point of not allowing first years to play if they have the talent?” Malfoy was simultaneously ranting and picking through a package from his mother. She sent them weekly, and the blond seemed to enjoy distributing the fancy sweets to whomever he saw fit and smugly holding back from those he did not.

Harry accepted an elegant dark chocolate shaped masterfully into the form of a sleeping dragon. It tasted a bit of oranges, which was nice. Although Harry doubted the diatribe he was being subjected to at the moment was worth it.

“So you think you have the talent to do just that?” Blaise drawled from his place lounging on Malfoy’s bed. He reached over to pick through the chocolates but Malfoy slapped his hand away with a scowl.

“Of course, I've been flying since I was four.”

“Oh, so it wasn't you who nearly crashed into the treeline because you got startled by a swallow this summer?”

Malfoy flushed and stuck his tongue out at Blaise in a very unsophisticated fashion. Blaise smirked and made a play for the chocolates again, which earned him a face full of pillow from the blond.

Theo was snickering on his bed, nose buried in a book, but Harry could tell it was just pretense. Jax was snoozing next to Harry in a convoluted knot. Harry fished the camera from his bag and first took a shot of the sleeping serpent, then managed to catch one of a very undignified Draco who had just taken a pillow to his own face.

He tucked the camera away before the other boy could notice it. Theo gave him a wink and one of his sardonic grins. Harry allowed a small smile in return.

It took him a moment, but Harry finally realized the odd sensation he'd been feeling was contentment. Sure, life at Hogwarts might include terrifying encounters with mountain trolls and overly nosey classmates, but there was also a steady food supply, endless books, potions to brew, and moments like this, filled with indignant Malfoys and laughing Blaises.

He fingered the tiny key in his pocket, useless now, but for the circumstances he'd come by it. What had Dumbledore gained by having Snape give it over? Why did the Headmaster feel the need to play games at all? Snape had obviously been of the same opinion that Dumbledore had not forgotten about the key, just delayed its return for his own purposes.

Did the man want him to feel grateful to the Potions Master? To trust the man? Harry already respected Snape for his abilities and was curious about the connection to his mother. He strived to prove himself in class and appreciated the Dreamless Sleep provided him, but did not see himself ever confiding the full nature of his nightmares or their origin.

Harry’s future was uncertain, and he would rather not add even more variables to it. He would keep the truth of his upbringing by, and departure from, the Dursleys quiet for as long as he could.

Harry laid a hand on Jax’s tangled coils and watched the pillow fight in front of him devolve into a wrestling match, fancy chocolates sent flying. Blaise may have taken a somewhat rough tactic, but at least it had made Malfoy shut up about brooms for the moment.

Theo floated over a few of the wayward sweets with a smirk and started to actually read his book again. Harry pulled out a text of his own and set to ignoring the scuffle, which ended as soon as Crabbe and Goyle arrived to crack their knuckles at Blaise. Though Harry suspected they were more put out at missing the chocolates than for any affront on Malfoy’s behalf.

~~~~~~~>

The match was exciting. Marcus Flint, a snaggle-toothed fifth year, was the Slytherin captain. He had a meanly calculating look about him and Harry was very glad he was not the one playing against him. The Gryffindor captain seemed willing enough to take up the challenge though. From his spot in the stands it looked to Harry like they were both trying their best to crush each other's fingers when Madam Hooch had them shake.

Quidditch was much more exciting in person than listening on the wireless at Mr. Jacobi's. The players flew around at breakneck speeds, weaving in and out of each other to score points or dodge the heavy bludgers.

The Gryffindors seemed to have a particularly vicious pair of Beaters (both with hair so red they had to be Weasleys,) but the Slytherins were not afraid to take advantage of any openings and soon his House had pulled ahead.

“Look at their Seeker!” Malfoy shouted in his ear over the noise of the crowd, pointing at a gangly second year that was not searching for the snitch but instead trailing along behind the Chasers, gesturing wildly and shouting.

“What is he doing?”

The answer came from the commentator, who had spent most of the match disparaging the Slytherin players to the exasperated admonishment of McGonagall.

“LOOKS LIKE GRYFFINDOR’S NEW SEEKER, SECOND YEAR CORMAC MCLAGGEN, IS TRYING TO COACH THE CHASERS ON PROPER QUAFFLE GRIP! HE SHOULD REALLY BE LOOKING FOR--” The voice was cut off as all the Slytherins cheered. Flint had taken advantage of the distracted Chasers and scored two goals. Oliver Wood had been busy yelling at his Seeker and barely managed to block the third shot.

“What a joke,” Malfoy said smugly in between clapping and cheering. “Slytherin has the Cup this year for sure.”

Harry nodded in agreement. If the other teams were anything like as discordant, then Slytherin would take it easy. Wood called a timeout to shout at McLaggen, but Slytherin was too far ahead.

Jax poked his head out of the vee of Harry’s clasped cloak and watched the players dart around with something close to snakey disdain. “Why are so many humans so excited about watching other humans flap about like featherless birds?”

Harry rolled his eyes, stoking Jax’s head. “They aren't flapping about. It's a game.”

If snakes could snort, Harry was sure his would have done so with gusto. Instead, Jax hissed with so much derision that Harry was surprised he hadn't spit venom onto the third year girl below them in the stands. “It's a stupid game. Why not play something on the ground, like sensible creatures?”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose this is more thrilling.”

Jax didn't get a chance to reply, or Harry didn't hear it, because the Slytherin Seeker had just darted off at high speed straight down. The crowd around him was cheering loudly, and Millicent had her fingers to her lips and was giving a piercing whistle that worked magnificently to deaden all hearing in Harry’s left ear.

He could see a glint of gold hovering just above the grass, and McLaggen was much too far afield to do anything. Harry couldn't help but hold his breath as the Slytherin seeker plummeted, barely leaving himself time to snatch the golden ball before leveling out.

Harry joined in the frantic cheering, not even minding when Malfoy grabbed his arm in excitement and shook him with his jumping.

“Did you see that!?” Draco shouted. “I hear Higgs has been tapped for the Falcons when he leaves Hogwarts this year.”

Harry nodded along as Malfoy continued into another of his Quidditch tangents, thinking to himself that he really should get a broom over the summer. Despite Jax’s evident disdain for leaving the ground, Harry thought it would be quite fun to try out some of those fancy moves. All they'd been allowed to do in class was hover maybe three feet above the grass and glide gently from one end of the front lawn to the other. Longbottom seemed relieved about it, but Harry itched to go higher and faster.

As they made their way down the stands, Harry felt a sudden tugging at one of his heels, and would surely have tripped down the many flights to his death if Millicent hadn't caught the back of his cloak.

“Whoa there, Potter,” she chided, pulling him upright.

Harry could only nod his thanks as she let go. He felt a dark swelling of dread rising up in him. He had not tripped. Someone had tripped him. Tried to hex him into falling down the countless flights that led from the high stands to the ground.

Before he could take a surreptitious look around, Harry was hurried along with the flow of the crowd. He kept to the wall though, one hand tightly gripping the railing until he was once more on solid earth.

Harry stepped to the side and feigned need to tie his boots. Nobody exiting after them looked particularly murderous, just happy and discussing the match and the victory party that was apparently happening that night. Ranks of Slytherin students filed past, none of them giving Harry more than a passing glance. Snape swept by without even that, probably trying to escape the garlicky, stuttering mess that was Quirrell right behind him.

Unable to keep up the charade any longer, Harry stood and joined Blaise and Millicent in the walk back to the castle. Malfoy had apparently headed on without them, which Harry did not mind in the least. He had no patience left for the chatty blond after his brush with death.

The match had ended just in time for dinner, which Harry was also not in the mood for. He ate a small bowl of pumpkin soup anyway, unwilling to miss a meal despite it all.

Who would want to hurt him?

Well, Harry supposed he may have enemies in Slytherin House. Old families that had followed the Dark Lord and could blame Harry for his demise. No matter that he had been a baby himself when it had happened.

Harry resolved to keep a closer eye on his Housemates. He doubted it was anyone in his own year, but had not interacted with many older students beyond asking someone to pass the salt at the table.

Harry picked at his soup, dipping bits of warm, fresh bread into the bowl and nibbling at them.

Blaise distracted him from his brooding thoughts by having him name the different foods on the table in Italian. Harry allowed it, knowing Blaise had noticed his dark mood.

~~~~~~~>

November made its slow way through the castle. It grew increasingly colder until one night, in the last week of the month, brought a pile of snow that nearly reached Harry’s knees. Jax hissed unhappily at the mounds of fluff from his warm spot nestled across Harry’s shoulders under his cloak. His little wedge of a head butted Harry on the chin so he would know just how displeased the serpent was that winter had truly arrived.

“I hate the snow, it makes me sleepy and there are never any toads.”

“I know, buddy. Let's go back inside, you can nap by the fire in the common room.”

Jax grumpily agreed and they turned right around and went back inside. He could hear shrieks of laughter from some students having a snowball fight out on the lawn, but Harry would rather not get involved in that. Dudley liked to pack rocks into his and Harry did not want to know what magical children could come up with.

Malfoy was scribbling out a letter on one of the dark wooden desks when they arrived, probably to his mother. He seemed to write her frequently. The rest of the room was sparsely manned with a scattering of fifth and seventh years. Everyone else seemed to be out enjoying the first snowfall.

Harry settled on a free chair and let Jax wriggle out and over to his favorite spot on the warm hearthstones. Harry watched his friend coil up for sleep, the firelight dancing off his scales. Jax looked noticeably thicker than he'd been when they'd arrived; he would probably need to shed again soon.

Harry wondered how big the snake would get. He was already too heavy to comfortably ride in Harry’s hood. Millicent hadn't managed the featherlight charm, much to her chagrin. Harry had found it in a fifth year text, though, so he wasn't that surprised. Jax still fit well into the big pocket of Harry’s purple hoodie, but not the ones in his robes. At least not without his head and neck poking out and his weight dragging that side of the garment uncomfortably.

Harry would have to look into going to a magical tailor over the summer. Hopefully Jax would slow his growth before he reached an unreasonable size. Harry could not conceivably carry around a giant boa sized snake in his bag. Expansion charms notwithstanding, it would be unfair to Jax.

It was no use worrying about it now, so Harry pushed the problem to the back of his mind and instead set about working on his History essay. The professors had apparently seen the upcoming holidays as a challenge to assign as much work as possible before the break.

Millicent shuffled out of the girls’ corridor a few minutes later, still in her black sleep pants and shirt, Maximus the cat at her heels. She slumped face first onto a free couch with a groan and a sniffle followed rapidly by a series of sneezes that would put Jax to shame.

“Urgh...” She grunted into the couch. Harry figured that was Sick for “Kill me now.”

“Tea?” He suggested instead.

Harry was unaccustomed to dealing with sick people. Whenever Dudley would catch anything, Aunt Petunia would fawn incessantly over him and glower at Harry, as if she thought he should be the one with a nose like a fountain and all feverish. Harry doubted he'd get a fraction of the attention from her if he was. More likely she’d stuff him in his cupboard until either the sneezing stopped or he melted from the fever.

Harry was glad he apparently had a strong immune system. Though it might have just been his magic holding the more mundane diseases at bay, which would not protect him from whatever bug Millicent had caught. Harry was suddenly worried that he'd catch some strange wizarding sickness. Did wizards have vaccines? Did he need to get them? Surely his parents had taken care of that before they'd died. Harry had been a year and a half old, they must have...

He was pulled out of his tangled, slightly panicky thoughts by Millicent grunting her affirmative for the tea. Maximus had jumped up to sit imperiously on her back, but Millicent was either too out of it to care or was just used to being treated like a personal seat-slash-heater. Harry could relate to that at least.

He made his way over to the tea station in the corner. It held an elegant service of delicate fine china and silver pots and spoons. Harry had been afraid to use it for the entire first month, sure he’d fumble and break something. Aunt Petunia would never even allow him near the good dishes she used for Uncle Vernon's business dinners. Harry set about making a strong cup for Millicent, the ritual doing wonders for distracting him from unpleasant thoughts.

By the time he returned to the couch, she was more or less upright and Harry could see just how red and stuffy she looked. He handed over the little cup with its jade colored snakes circling its delicate form. Maximus had moved to the hearth and was eyeing the sleeping Jax like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to share the warm floor stones with the snake or flounce off to some dark corner to ambush unsuspecting students. Harry had seen the cat do just that on a number of occasions, swiping at ankles or pouncing from the top of the bookcases onto the heads of the first and second years before darting off like some sort of feline assassin. Eventually he apparently decided Jax was acceptable company and curled up next to him by the fire.

Harry fished out his camera and snapped a picture while Millicent guzzled her tea at a frankly alarming speed, considering its temperature.

It was a Sunday, and Harry doubted Millicent wanted to spend it sneezing and dripping all over the place. “Do you want me to go get you some Pepper-Up from the hospital wing?”

Millicent grunted again but managed a thankful grimace. Harry nodded and went to collect Jax. Maximus had migrated from lying near the serpent to laying across him. Harry shook his head and gently lifted the black cat off his friend.

“Be back shortly,” he said, depositing Maximus in her lap and heading for the door, Jax once more over his shoulders.

The dungeons were sharply cold and Harry was quick to cast his warming spell on his clothes. Jax wriggled his way under the newly toasty garments with a contented hiss. The halls were empty as Harry hurried them up the stairs to the infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey was a bit of an intimidating witch. Her happily plump stature belied the iron fist she held over the hospital wing. She handed over the Pepper-Up easily enough, but eyed Harry like she wanted to force a full exam on him as well. He beat a hasty retreat before it came to that.

It was near the top of the grand staircase that he once more felt a tug at his ankle, only this time there was no Millicent to grab him. Harry let out an involuntary cry as he started to fall. One hand went protectively to where Jax was slung along his shoulders but Harry doubted he'd be able to do much of anything against the hard sharpness of the stone steps.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to brace in the split second he had before the world tilted.

There was no impact.

Harry’s eyes shot open in shock. He was floating upside-down over the stairs, unharmed but very confused. He looked around sharply, but only really managed to turn himself in a slow pirouette as he was pulled down to the ground floor. Jax poked his head out and gave a sleepy and confused hiss. Harry stroked his head, just as bewildered.

“Mr. Potter, is it too much to ask that you be able to navigate a simple staircase without breaking your neck?”

It was Snape on the other end of the floating spell and Harry did not know whether to be more embarrassed at having to be saved or worried that it might have been the professor that had endangered him in the first place.

No, the tripping jinx had come from behind him, at the top of the stairs. Snape must have been walking by at just the right moment to catch him. It seemed suspicious that the man would just happen to be there at that exact moment, but then again, it was nearing midday and Snape could have been on his way to the Great Hall.

Either way, Harry was still dangling upside-down in front of the Potions Master and beginning to get a bit light headed and flushed. The second more from the amused smirk the professor was sending him than the blood rushing to his head.

“Erm, thank you, sir,” he said, forcing down the embarrassment and trying to sound as dignified as one could while so indisposed. “Could you let me down?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, somehow still as effective when viewed from an inverted angle. Harry got the distinct impression that the man was laughing at him, which made Harry scowl. He was not in the mood to be poked fun at when somebody in this castle was trying to kill him.

Snape righted him with a flick of his wand and Harry was somewhat mollified by the gentle landing, Snape could easily have just dropped him on his head.

“Can we walk down next time?” Jax hissed grumpily. Harry patted his head again.

“I hope so,” he answered, straightening out his clothes. He did not look back up the staircase; whoever had jinxed him would be long gone.

Snape was still smirking at him, but Harry could see it was not really malicious now that he was once more on his own two feet.

“Thank you,” he said again and Snape nodded, gesturing for them to continue to the Great Hall.

Harry fingered the bottle of Pepper-Up in his pocket, glad he'd not dropped it while dangling. He did not fancy having to return for another just then.

~~~~~~>

As winter break quickly approached, there were a few more incidents that could be chalked up to accidents, but that Harry knew were nothing of the sort. A falling axe from a suit of armor that just barely missed him. Another attempt at tripping, though Harry had gotten into the habit of always holding the handrail. One time, during their flying lessons, his broom had started behaving strangely, like it wanted to dart up higher into the air and buck him off. Harry had quickly returned to the ground and feigned an upset stomach to sit out the rest of the lesson.

He also got into the habit of never walking around alone. He started spending more time with Blaise, learning Italian or playing the occasional game of chess. They would study in the library or the common room. Harry would wait until Millicent was ready before going to breakfast. He cut back on his outside time. With the heavy snowfall and dropping temperatures, there wasn’t much point to it anyway.

Harry was quick to arrive at his tutoring sessions with Longbottom. Since they were held in the dungeons, there weren’t many stairs to trip him down or suits of armor to lose their grips on weapons.

Longbottom was steadily improving. He would never be a great brewer, but Harry was now confident that the other boy would no longer kill them all.

“Are you staying at Hogwarts over the holidays?” Longbottom asked as they were cleaning up.

“Yes,” Harry answered. He'd not hesitated in scratching his name down on the sheet as it was passed around the common room. He was looking forward to the free time, even with a mysterious person out to get him. Harry doubted much would happen over the break if they wanted to keep hidden, as their chosen methods had so far suggested. The pool of possible suspects would shrink considerably as most of the students headed home.

“I wish I could stay too, but Gran insists on tradition.” Longbottom rolled his eyes, scrubbing at a cauldron. Harry wondered what it would be like, growing up in an all wizarding home. One with long traditions and multiple generations coming together to celebrate.

Longbottom chatted happily as they packed things away. Harry let him; it was an exercise in futility to expect the Gryffindor to want to work in nice, companionable silence. Apparently Granger had taken Snape's suggestion and started up a study group among the other Gryffindor first years and Longbottom was doing much better in his other classes as a result.

“I still wish I had my own wand, but Gran wants me to use my Dad's.”

“I thought wands chose the wizard? Wouldn't going to get your own make things much easier?” Harry couldn't help but chime in, curious.

“That's what I told Gran! But she's really stubborn about some things.” Longbottom sighed. “I'll just have to keep trying to convince her, I guess.” Harry was thankful that he'd been able to buy his own things, at least, even if he didn't have any magical family left.

“Well, have a happy Christmas, Potter,” Longbottom said with a wide smile. It was their last session before break.

“You as well,” he replied, busying himself with his bag so that Longbottom did not get any ideas about hugging him.

Back in the dorm room, Malfoy was once more going on about the extravagant ball his parents hosted every year, which only the very elite of wizarding society attended. “It's a tremendous honor to even get an invitation,” Malfoy drawled from his spot lounging on his bed. He had been nattering on for an hour about fancy foods and elf made wine. About all the influential people he got to rub elbows with, as if any adult cared what an eleven-year-old child had to say about the current political climate. Even if that child's name was Malfoy.

Blaise made it somewhat bearable by whispering quips about peacocks and how Draco’s dress robes were sure to sparkle magnificently. Harry had trouble holding in his snorts at the image.

Harry was going to be the only first year staying over the break. In fact, he would be one of the few Slytherins at all, aside from a scattering of studious fifth and seventh years. Harry would welcome the alone time after the last few weeks. Perhaps Snape would even let him do some brewing with supplies from the student stores. He had that snake skin, and it seemed like Jax was close to shedding again. Malfoy would be disappointed he missed it but Harry was looking forward to a quieter dorm.

He just wished he could go a whole month without something trying to kill him.

Chapter Text

The dorm was empty when Harry awoke gasping. The other boys had gone home on the Hogwarts Express that afternoon, leaving him in peaceful privacy for the first time in months.

Harry should have expected something to mess that up.

The dream had been disjointed and vague, filled with high laughter and darkness only broken by an occasional flash of green light. Then it had morphed into a scene of the Dursleys all sneering down at him, too tall and crowding him down to the floor. They shouted “Freak!” “Unnatural filth” “Should have drowned you as a baby!”

Then they melted away to reveal Jax coiled on the cold stone floor, sleeping. But as Harry crept closer he saw the snake wasn't moving. He dove for his friend with a cry, but the serpent was cold and floppy. Dead.

That was what finally woke him. Harry reached with frantic, sweaty hands under the covers in search of the snake. Finding Jax warm and healthy after a panicked moment, he drew him close.

“Wha--?” the snake hissed, confused.

“Nightmare. You were dead. I couldn't save you.” There were hot tears escaping and Harry clutched Jax closer.

“It was just a dream, I'm right here.” The snake coiled himself around Harry’s arms and licked at his face, hissing softly.

Slowly the shaking stopped and Harry’s heart rate returned to normal. He felt clammy with cold sweat and did not like how this boded for the rest of his break.

After a shower, Harry checked the time to see that it was nearly five. So at least he'd had most of a night’s rest. He dug some supplies out of his stash and used the tea cart in the common room to make some hot chocolate. It did a lot towards calming his nerves, no matter the disgusted look Jax sent the cup.

Harry tossed the snake a treat from his dwindling box of Ice Mice to appease him. Jax wasted no time in snatching the wriggling thing up, showing more energy than usual this far into winter.

“S’cold!” Jax hissed, rolling around on the stone floor.

Harry shook his head at the serpent, smiling a little. Jax complained every time but never failed to ask for more of the candy.

“When do you think you'll shed?”

“Hmm, maybe tomorrow. I'm itchy but not quite ready yet.”

Harry leaned down to stroke the snake; Jax’s normally sleek scales felt dry and papery. Harry was glad humans didn't have to slough off their whole body at once, it sounded horrible.

Jax yawned and coiled up for a nap. Harry carefully picked him up and set him down in front of the fire in the common room. He set to work on his holiday assignments, determined to finish them quickly so he'd have more free time.

~~~~~~~>

The castle was quieter than Harry had ever seen it during the daytime. Even with his tendency to reach the Great Hall early most days, the tables were exceptionally empty. Although, again, Ravenclaw was the most populated with a smattering of older studious pupils. Harry quickly ate a bowl of warm oatmeal before heading up to the library. There were a few books he wanted to look into.

The library was just as empty as the rest of the castle, save for the intimidating Madam Pince at the front desk. Harry hurried past, heading for the potion section. He wanted a book on snakes and their uses in brewing, to get a better understanding of what he could do with Jax’s sheddings.

As he passed the magical creature section, Harry saw that the library was, in fact, not empty. The huge groundskeeper was perusing the shelves in a somewhat shifty manner, looking around before pulling down a book. Harry did not manage to hide before he was spotted.

“Oh, er ‘ello there,” the giant man said nervously, voice probably too loud for the library. “Little ‘Arry Potter innit?” The man beamed down at him from behind a bushy beard and Harry took an involuntary step back.

“Hello,” he managed to squeak out when it looked like the groundskeeper was just going to loom over him all morning.

“You look jus’ like yer dad,” the man chuckled, “but ya got yer mums eyes.”

Harry was used to hearing this by now, it seemed that every adult he met had known them and felt the need to point out the exact same thing to him. So he just nodded and tried to sidle away.

“I was friends of your parents, afore they passed,” the groundskeeper said, either not noticing or not caring that Harry was trying to escape. “Great people they were, Gryffindors through an’ through.” He eyed Harry’s emerald lined robes with uneasiness. “Dunno what they'd think o’ you being in Slytherin, though I ‘spose ain't nothing can be done about it.”

Harry very nearly scowled up (and up and up) at the man, but held back with effort. “Quite. Well, I need to go study now,” he told the groundskeeper stiffly. “Enjoy your dragon handling book.”

That made the man shuffle his big feet and try to hide the text, despite Harry having obviously already seen it. Harry took the opportunity to make good his escape and disappeared deeper into the library.

He was too angry to actually study and instead wandered the stacks and tried to rein in his temper. He had no idea why what the giant groundskeeper had said irritated him so much. He never knew his parents, so why should he care what they may or may not have thought about his sorting.

There was nothing wrong with being in Slytherin. Yet he was being constantly reminded at all corners that his parents were Gryffindors and he should have been following them. Never mind that he'd never even had a chance to know them, let alone be influenced by them. Merlin, he'd spent a good chunk of his childhood under the impression that his father was a drunken layabout that had gotten both himself and Harry’s mother killed in a car crash.

Being sorted into Slytherin didn’t make him suddenly not their son, or evil like Longbottom had told him many of the other students believed. Who was to say that they would even care? If Snape was to be believed, he'd been friends with Harry’s mother despite their separate Houses. So she probably wouldn’t have been disappointed in him out of hand. At least, Harry thought not. He had no idea about his father. All he knew about the man was that they shared the same unmanageable hair and need for glasses. That James Potter was practically a prodigy in transfiguration and that he'd been sorted into Gryffindor.

Harry knew the Potter family tree, but no real details about its members. He was the last of his line and his mother had been muggleborn. The facts were cold, things he'd read out of books or had told to him by others, like he should understand the significance of such things without context. It left Harry frustrated and annoyed.

It was like they were this great looming shadow that he had to try and live up to, but like a shadow, the expectations were vague and imprecise. Harry didn’t know how to fulfill any of them, or even if he wanted too.

All he knew was that he needed to do well in school and make connections among his classmates, if possible, to try and build a better future for himself and Jax. Those were his goals, and Harry didn’t appreciate the ghosts of his parents constantly being shoved at him.

He spent a frustrating couple of hours in the library, and even though he found a book on snakes and their uses, Harry did not leave any happier.

That night in the dorm he lay in bed, tossing and turning. Harry didn’t want to use any of his dwindling supply of Dreamless Sleep, unsure when he’d be able to acquire more. Snape had made an announcement to the few Slytherins that stayed over break that he would be unavailable for the next couple of days.

“Hey, Jax? Do you want to try and find the kitchens again?”

The snake perked up at that; he’d been coiled next to Harry, awake for once. So Harry scooped him up, slipped into his boots and grabbed his purple hoodie. Harry did not know if Snape was unavailable because he was out of the castle or just busy with his own business, but the fact that the professor had made an announcement made Harry think he would not be patrolling the corridors for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t stop Harry from creeping about as silently as possible, though. There could still be other people about to try and catch students out of bed.

As he came to the corner that turned into the corridor lined in food paintings, Harry heard giggling voices. He peeked cautiously around the corner to see a couple of redheads with identical faces and mischievous grins: the Gryffindor Beaters. Harry wondered if their presence meant that all the Weasleys were staying over the break.

The twins stopped in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit, tickling a pear. The portrait swung open and Harry could see a warm glow and hear the bustle of what sounded like a large workforce.

“After you, Gred,” one of the twins said, giving the other a sweeping bow.

“Oh no, Forge, I insist.”

Harry held in a snort as the Gryffindors disappeared into the secret passage. Jax poked his head out and tasted the air.

“Did we find it?”

“I think so, but we should wait for the twins to come back out.”

It didn't take long. The Weasleys reappeared a few moments later with bulging bags and matching grins. They skipped off towards the dungeon's exit with their spoils and Harry paused a couple of extra minutes to make sure they were truly gone before walking up to the painting.

“They tickled a pear,” Harry explained to Jax as he reached up. The fruit was just within reach of his short legs. He took a step back as the portrait once more swung open.

“It smells like food!” Jax exclaimed, winding his way out of the pocket to stretch up on Harry’s shoulders, purple tongue flicking out excitedly.

Harry led them down the warmly glowing passage. It was short and brightly lit, opening up into a bustling kitchen filled with what had to be hundreds of house elves. Four long tables ran the length of the room, a mirror of the Great Hall above. Jax raised up to get a better look.

“Eggs! I see them over there!” the serpent hissed excitedly in Harry’s ear, his little wedge of a head straining forward.

Harry didn’t get a chance to reply before a house elf in a neat tea towel with the Hogwarts crest rushed up to him. “What can Fitzy be getting Master Harry Potter, sirs?” The elf's voice was high pitched and squeaky, but Harry got the impression he was male.

Jax was still reaching towards the basket of eggs that was on one of the long prep counters, hissing eagerly. To his credit, Fitzy did not flinch away, though the elf was eyeing Jax warily.

“Eggs please, uncooked,” Harry said, putting a calming hand on his snake.

“Anything else wes can gets you, Master Harry Potter?” Fitzy looked up at him with large imploring eyes, as if he wished for nothing else but to serve Harry. It made him uncomfortable. Harry had little experience with house elves. They sometimes came into the shop to pick up or drop off orders, but Mr. Jacobi always dealt with them.

The thought of Mr. Jacobi gave him an idea. “Can you make spicy curry?”

Fitzy nodded emphatically, his floppy ears flapping like a distressed bat, and skipped off. Another elf came trotting up with a large basket filled with eggs. Harry managed to grab it before Jax lunged for one, so the poor elf wasn't caught in the crossfire. The second elf bowed as an excuse to back up, which Harry didn’t blame them for.

“Eggs!” Jax hissed happily after he gulped one down. Harry rolled his eyes a little.

“Feel better?” he asked, stroking Jax on his speckled snout. His snake gave a satisfied hiss and slithered down to coil up in the basket, like a dragon guarding its hoard.

“It's been so long since I had a proper egg.” Harry felt a little stab of guilt, but knew Jax didn’t mean to cause it, the snake was just being honest.

“Well, this lot should last a while. And we know how to get into the kitchens now, so we can always get more.”

Jax gave a contented sort of hiss, just as Fitzy returned carrying a large tray over his head. The smell of exotic spices made Harry’s stomach growl.

“Here yous go, Master Harry Potter. Fitzy is making this personally.”

“Thank you, this looks great,” Harry said, setting down Jax’s basket and taking the tray, “Do you mind if I eat it here?” He did not like his chances of remaining stealthy with a large tray of strongly scented food.

“No, sit, sit. Fitzy is getting sirs a drink as well.” The elf ran off again before Harry could say anything else, probably uncomfortable with Jax now being on his level.

Harry set the tray down on the nearest table, the Ravenclaw one, he believed, then picked the basket up and set it there also. Jax watched the elves run to and fro around the kitchen with curious purple eyes.

“There are so many of them.”

“It probably takes a lot of effort to keep a school this big in working order,” Harry said, taking the lid off of the ceramic bowl on his tray.

The scent of pumpkin and about a thousand different spices rose up, making his mouth water. There was also a mound of rice to the side and Fitzy returned with a glass of cold milk.

“Thank you,” Harry said again. The elf bobbed a little bow and scampered off.

The curry was good, warm and spicy, if not quite as good as the ones he would have at Mr. Jacobi’s. It was still a sight better than not having any at all. Harry wondered if he could talk the elves into serving it regularly up top, at least on his usual end of the Slytherin table.

Jax eventually fell asleep again, despite the entertainment of watching the house elves. It was warm in the kitchens, and he'd just eaten. Combined with the lethargy winter brought, Harry was surprised the serpent had lasted as long as he did.

Harry fished the camera from his pocket and took a shot of Jax coiled up in the basket over the eggs, like a slumbering dragon. He'd need to get the pictures developed at some point, and an album to put them in.

For now though, there was curry to eat and Harry happily dug in.

~~~~~~~>

Severus Snape pulled his transfigured coat further closed against the chill breeze that was sweeping through the streets of Little Whinging. He was dressed smartly in muggle clothing, dark colors that made him stick out against the whiteness of newly fallen snow.

He'd just finished having tea with the squib Albus had put in place to observe Potter: Arabella Figg, an old woman with a bit of a kneazle infestation. She had revealed quite a few disturbing things.

Tales of the boy working for hours in the hot sun without rest. The way he was always dressed in his cousin's hand-me-downs. That fact that the Dursleys would dump him with her whenever they went out to do anything remotely resembling amusement.

“Of course I was never allowed to treat the poor dear very nicely, or they might have stopped sending him over,” Figg stated, pouring another cup of weak tea into her own cup. Severus had declined a refill. “Would have liked to feed him up a bit, dreadfully skinny that one. Not like the other boy, he could have used a fair fewer sweets, if I do say so myself.”

“You reported all this to Dumbledore, I trust?”

“Yes, yes, monthly missives as requested. Not that he ever came down to verify, not even when the poor dear broke his arm.”

She said it in a fashion that suggested someone had done the breaking for Potter. Snape had stood at that point, intent on moving his investigation to Number Four proper. He thanked Mrs. Figg stiffly for the tea before leaving, clearing the cat hair from his clothes with a stern flick of his wand.

Now, as he approached Number Four with its tastefully decorated facade, Severus took great pains in burying the simmering anger deeper within. Fairy lights twinkled along the roof edging, giving off an innocent impression that did little to hide the fact that a great injustice had occurred there.

As he climbed the few shallow steps to the front door, Severus took a moment to feel for any of the protective magics that were supposed to surround the house. Why else would Albus leave the boy in such dire straits? But there was nothing, no buzz of wards or tingle of hidden defenses. The only thing Severus could detect was a minuscule flicker of magical residue, as if there were once powerful forces in place that were now scattered beyond all hope of mending.

The anger tried to assert itself again, but Severus viciously shoved it away. There was no use losing his temper at this point, he needed answers. He would not get them by blasting his way through the cookie cutter muggle street.

Severus knocked on the door, loudly, without further hesitation.

“Yes? Who is it? We don’t want any--” Petunia Dursley opened the door with a faint sneer on her horsey face. One that quickly morphed into a full blown furious scowl when she realized just who had come calling. “You!”

“Me,” Severus replied, with a sneer of his own. “So lovely to see you again, Tuney.”

That made her already flushed face turn even darker, and the woman would no doubt have slammed the door in his face had Severus not casually pulled his wand from his pocket and shook his head slowly.

“I won’t have any of your kind here! That freak of a boy made his choice and he’ll burn with it.” Petunia’s voice was harsh and so filled with vitriol, Severus was mildly surprised she did not spit venom.

“What did you do to her child, Petunia?” His voice was quiet in contrast, but it made the blood drain from her horsey face in a satisfying manner.

“Nothing the ungrateful little brat didn’t deserve. We fed and clothed him, and what do we get in return? He brings that filth into this house, my house. I won’t have it. I should never--”

“Petunia, dear? Who’s at the door? Tell them we don’t want whatever rubbish they’re selling.” A loud voice interrupted her rant, an exceedingly large muggle man coming up behind Petunia to glare at Severus with piggy little eyes. Must be the uncle.

“Who are you then?” Dursley demanded in a pompous tone.

“Severus Snape,” he replied, looking down his nose at the man. “Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, here to inquire as to why one of my students seems to have arrived in a less than ideal condition.”

Dursley’s face turned an unpleasant purple color and he started sputtering angrily, apparently too overwhelmed by the mere mention of magic to form any coherent response. Petunia though, she was glaring even more harshly, sneer returned to full strength.

“Slytherin? I knew that little freak was rotten the moment I saw him. Good riddance to him, I’ll not be taking him back and he knows it.”

Ah, so that was why the wards broke. Potter must have caused quite the scene when he left, to assure such mutual animosity.

“I highly doubt he would want any such thing, Tuney,” Severus said, using the childhood nickname just to see the flash of annoyance. “I am not here to make you take him back, I am here to assess the amount of damage inflicted on a child in your care. Her child.” He gestured towards the interior of the house. “So you will let me pass, you will explain what has transpired these past ten years, and you will not lie to me. You know I have ways of ferreting out the truth.”

Dursley puffed up his considerable bulk and looked ready to throw a meaty fist, but Petunia held up one of her bony hands.

“Can you send Diddums up to his room, dear? This will only take a moment,” she said in a simpering tone to the man, who deflated immediately in confusion.

“But sweety--”

“Vernon. Do as I say, then join us in the kitchen for tea.” Her voice was stern and her beady eyes brokered no argument. The muggle waddled off like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Petunia gestured sharply at him to enter and Severus did so with a smirk.

“I see who wears the pants in this relationship.”

She glared at him but did not respond otherwise, leading them along a short hallway to a fastidiously clean kitchen, one with counters and floor so bright they could blind unsuspecting visitors. Everything was precisely placed and organized. It felt cold and sterile and Severus had no doubt the rest of the house would be exactly the same.

“Sit.” Petunia pointed at the table in the center of the room. There was a plate of Christmas biscuits set at the very middle and arranged so perfectly that Severus would almost suspect the use of glue.

He did so, if only to show how little he cared about the command. She had probably expected him to protest. Petunia predictably huffed and turned to angrily make tea.

They waited in silence for Dursley to join them. Severus held no desire to repeat his questions, which the self-important muggle would no doubt have him do. The man appeared a minute later, meekness gone and face once more darkening to what must be a very unhealthy shade of purple.

“Now just who do you think you are--!”

“Vernon,” Petunia snapped, setting a cup of tea firmly on the table in front of the man. He deflated again and sat. She placed a cup before Severus as well before seating herself with the last.

Nobody drank.

“Why did Potter arrive at school looking severely underfed?” Severus started, staring Petunia in the eye and ignoring Dursley completely.

The woman scoffed. “What a load of rubbish. So he missed a few meals out of punishment, it’s nothing that would kill the boy.”

“You withheld food as punishment?” Severus’ voice was a quiet sort of dangerous, although apparently Dursley was too thick to pick up on such things.

“Served the boy right, not that I was shy with the belt either. We tried our best to beat the freakishness out of him, fat lot of good it did us. Run off hasn’t he? After all that money we wasted to feed his ungrateful self.”

Severus nodded, as if he were not seconds away from blasting the muggle though the scrubbed wall. “Undoubtedly Potter deserved it,” he replied instead. Dursley seemed the type to spill all his secrets if he thought someone agreed with him.

“Right you are, should have locked the shit in his cupboard more often. Maybe that would have got the message through.”

“His cupboard?” Severus asked in a soft tone, eyes cutting to a seething Petunia.

“Dudley needed that second bedroom, the boy was well enough in there,” she said in a haughty voice that did nothing to hide the fact that she knew what a monstrous thing it was to do to a child and that she did not care.

Severus had heard enough. It was no wonder Harry suffered so badly from nightmares and flinched away from all contact, if this was how he had spent his childhood. If one could call what had happened here anything resembling such a thing. He stood smoothly from the table and walked the few steps to the kitchen door.

“This cupboard here? The one under the stairs?” Petunia looked ready to deny it but Dursley was already nodding.

Severus flicked his wand and the little door flew open, banging against the stairwell and no doubt leaving a dent.

“Now see here!” Dursley seemed to have remembered that he hated Severus and struggled to get his bulk up from the table.

Severus flicked his wand again, a silent petrificus totalus making the muggle crash quite spectacularly to the floor. Petunia shrieked at him but did not move to halt his progress, kneeling by her lump of a husband with a white face.

Inside the cupboard was dark. Severus pulled the chain dangling from the ceiling and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was a very small space, made smaller by the crib mattress shoved inside and the pile of rags that could perhaps pass for clothes if one were desperate and also the size of a small gorilla. There were stubs of crayons and a couple broken toy soldiers lined atop a box. It stank of despair and loneliness, the air musty. There was a darkness to the space that had nothing to do with shadows. It was a hateful place.

As a child, Severus would often seek out dark corners to hide from his bastard of a father, but this... this was something else entirely. He had to once more put an effort into reining in his temper, or the house itself might not survive his wrath. Instead, he turned back to the glaring Petunia, who was still fretting over her husband on the floor.

“Did you hate your sister so much that you needed to do this to an innocent child?”

“You did this!” she shouted at him, rising to her feet with righteous fury. “You! And that freak world you come from! You took her away and got her killed. I never asked to lose my sister or to be burdened with that bastard Potter’s brat.”

Severus sneered at her. Petunia was just as hateful, just as filled with jealousy and spite as she’d been when they were children. Severus knew spite, he'd been ready to hate Potter’s brat before the boy had thrown them all for such a loop. But this... this perpetual malevolence was beyond the pale.

“You were the one who pushed her away, Petunia. There is no one to blame but yourself.”

“Ha! As if you hadn't done the exact same thing,” she shot back. “I remember that summer she came home crying over that name you called her. How you never came round again. I hear you even joined Him. You as good as killed her yourself, Sev.”

“Enough,” Severus spat. He could hear the clink of dishes rattling in the cabinets. He was dangerously close to losing control like he hadn't in years.

“Harry will not be returning here, rest assured. I will, however, be seeking recompense for the abuse and neglect show him. No matter your twisted reasons, what you have done here will be dealt with, mark my words.”

With a flick of his wand he canceled the spell on Dursley before turning on his heel and disapparating on the spot to the nearest magical pub to get thoroughly shitfaced.

~~~~~~~>

A couple of days before Christmas, Harry received a summons to Snape’s office. He briefly considered that the man had heard about his excursion to the kitchens after hours, but dismissed the idea. He would have known sooner if it were truly a problem.

Jax was slung across his shoulders as Harry walked swiftly through the cold corridors. He did not want to keep the Potions Master waiting. The snake was a bit livelier today, having finally shed his old skin (with much foul language.)

“They should keep it warmer down here,” Jax complained, bobbing his head in time with Harry’s steps.

“Yeah, but it would probably take a good deal of power to keep up,” Harry reasoned, though he privately agreed with the serpent and cast the warming spell on his robes to make them both happy.

Harry knocked more confidently than he felt on Snape’s office door when they arrived and wished he knew what to expect.

“Enter.”

Professor Snape was sitting at his desk scribbling on some parchment, but set it aside as Harry stepped in. The man looked paler than usual, with dark rings under his eyes and worry lines tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sit, Mr. Potter. There are important matters that we must discuss.”

Harry did so, his feeling of dread slowly growing.

Snape folded his hands together on top of the desk and looked down at him with serious eyes. “I have been to your aunt and uncle’s residence.” A cold shot of fear slid up Harry’s spine and he struggled to maintain his neutral expression. “What I found there was most unsatisfactory.”

Was Snape upset he had run away? “I won't go back,” Harry stated, voice firm despite the sudden rush of adrenaline to his system. “You can’t make me.”

Snape held up a long fingered hand. “Whether or not I could indeed do so, it is not my intention. I am not angry at you escaping an abusive environment; I am vexed that such a circumstance existed in the first place.”

He paused, as if expecting Harry to interrupt, but he was too stunned to do more than stare up at the professor.

“I will be ordering a full medical exam to establish any lingering physical issues you may be having. I would also highly recommend that you find someone to talk through any mental concerns with. I will not force the second part, but the medical exam is non-negotiable.”

Harry was too confused to even scowl at that, although he supposed there wasn't really a point in trying to avoid it anymore. If Snape knew about him leaving Privet Drive, then...

“Who else have you told?” The last thing Harry needed was more attention.

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow but showed no other affront to Harry’s brisk tone. The man had been speaking calmly, as if they were discussing Harry’s latest essay and not his disaster of a childhood.

“No one, Mr. Potter. Rest assured that beyond the required medical personnel, in this case Madam Pomfrey, and the correct authorities, I will not bandy about what I have learned.”

Correct authorities? “The Headmaster?” Harry asked with barely disguised scorn; he did not want the man interfering with his life anymore.

Snape nodded. “Indeed, though you may not wish it. The matter is concerning the safety of a student in his care and he must be informed. Also, you will need to make a statement to an Auror in order to press charges against your erstwhile guardians.”

Harry's head was spinning. Charges? He had been so utterly focused on just getting him and Jax away that the thought of pursuing such a thing had never even crossed his mind.

“I can do that?”

Snape’s mouth ticked up in the corner, a sly kind of smirk that said he would love nothing more than to see the matter pursued. It was an odd thing, and Harry did not know if it was because, for some unfathomable reason, the man might care for Harry. Or, more likely, Snape just really hated his aunt from their childhood. It stood to reason that if Snape had known his mother, he’d known Aunt Petunia as well, and Harry would not blame the Potions Master one bit if he sought to upheave her life in any way.

“Indeed so, Mr. Potter. I judge by the fact that you departed in so spectacular a fashion as to completely obliterate some of the strongest wards known to wizardkind, that you are aware that what happened to you was abuse. The magical community at large does not condone the treatment you have suffered, especially as it came at the hands of muggles. Most especially that the victim in this particular case is The Boy Who Lived.” Snape said that last part with a hint of sneer that Harry felt the need to match. “Rest assured there will be no end of volunteers to see this matter to its conclusion.”

Harry did not want to make any sort of fuss about this. “I don’t want everybody and their mum knowing what I grew up with, it’s bad enough already.” He reached up to stroke Jax, drawing comfort from what felt like the only steady thing around him.

Snape nodded once more, his long hair swinging forward a bit with the motion. It was messier than Harry had ever seen it, greasy and uncombed, like the man had not had time to see to it for a good while. Harry wondered how long it had taken him to visit his relatives, if the experience was what had left the man so disheveled or if it was a separate issue entirely.

“I should think not, Mr. Potter,” Snape agreed. “This issue, and the matter of your future residence, are to be kept at the highest level of discretion. I know of a very skilled barrister that will no doubt be thrilled to take on your case, one that understands the need for prudence. The Aurors, of course, are under strict oath not to share the intimacies of their assignments.”

Harry was stuck by the first half of that sentence and barely heard the rest. They were going to try and place him somewhere, of course they would. It might be the wizarding equivalent of an orphanage, or perhaps some enterprising family might see it as a feather in their cap to take in the poor, abused little saviour. Harry would not be used for political gain, he would not be passed about like some prized cow.

“I can take care of myself,” he told Snape in a voice that did not shake, despite the squirming unease that filled him.

The man stared at him with black eyes, his expression one that Harry could not parse beyond stern and tired.

“Of that I have no doubt. You seem quite the industrious individual, Mr. Potter. That does not change the fact that you are eleven years old. A minor by any standards. Add the... unfortunate fact of who you happen to be, and there’s not a snowball's chance in hell that you will be allowed to just wander out of these gates at the end of term to fend for yourself.”

“I have money, I could pay for room and board,” Harry argued, offended that Snape was trying to control his life so completely. The man had gone to Harry’s relatives and snooped about in business that did not concern him. Harry had been taking care of himself since he was big enough to toddle about on his own, and no man was going to stop him from maintaining the freedom he’d won for himself and his snake. Not even Severus Snape.

“It is not a question of money, Mr. Potter,” the man sighed, looking as if he’d like nothing better than to run a hand through his already messy hair. “It is the simple fact that you are a minor. One quite famous for a deed that not all would thank you for. You need protection from those that would seek you harm beyond even what your relatives visited upon you. There are unpleasant people out there, ones that have quite likely renewed their interest in such things now that you are once more in the public eye.”

Harry’s anger deflated a bit. He knew that much to be true already, what with the amount of close calls he’d suffered these past weeks. Like it or not, he did have enemies. If he wanted to protect himself and Jax, he’d need help. This was bigger than his aunt withholding food, or his uncle bringing out the belt. People would be out to kill him, to hurt him for something he had no memory of doing.

“Will I get any say in where I go?” he asked, with a deliberate motion towards his snake, who was dozing off again despite the tension in the room.

Snape studied him a few moments before answering, eyes flicking to the serpent and away. “The Headmaster will undoubtedly have plans already in place, though I am sure accommodations can be made for your familiar.”

“The Headmaster? Why would he have any say in where I go? I won’t be at the school, he shouldn’t have reach beyond that.” And just like that, the anger was back, but Snape just raised an eyebrow again.

“You will come to find, Mr. Potter, that the Headmaster has an uncommonly long reach, despite what the rest of us would no doubt wish. In this particular instance, he was the one to place you with the muggles. With your worthless godfather having run off and a war still on, he took it upon himself to do so.”

This was news to Harry. He’d known the man had somehow gained control of his vault key, but to find out it was his fault Harry had suffered all these years? The anger was building to dangerous levels now, and he would fear for the integrity of all the delicate glass jars lining the shelves if there were any room left inside of him to do so. Snape casually waved a hand and the rattling stopped; it was so startling that Harry blinked and felt some of the hot anger flow away.

“Control, Mr. Potter. You are Slytherin, it does not become you to show emotion so clearly.” It was a soft admonishment, one that Harry clung to as a focus to get the rest of himself under control.

“Yes, sir.”

Snape nodded, then took his wand out and conjured up a plainly elegant tea service between them, complete with little dishes of cream, sugar, and honey, along with a number of delicate thin biscuits piled on a saucer.

“Now, I believe we could both use a cuppa. There is still much to discuss and I’ll not do so with a dry throat.”

It was a blatant maneuver to try and calm him, but Harry could not bring himself to care overmuch. Tea sounded like just the thing to soothe the shock to his system. He hadn’t expected his world to be turned quite so viciously on its side when he’d received the summons earlier. The tea would no doubt work wonders to clear his head and help him focus. He needed to win back some of the control he’d just lost.

Chapter Text

Severus Snape carefully did not crease the scroll in his hands as he read its (far too lengthy) contents. He did not give into the urge to set fire to the nearest flammable surface, nor did he blast anything to tiny bits.

What he did do was raise his Occlumency shields up to their full strength and push all of his negative emotions and uncomfortable feelings deep down behind them, leaving his mind a calm and rational pond, rather than the raging sea it had evolved to as he read the medical report Poppy delivered to him in person. She had borne down on him with steel in her eyes and a righteous fury he had not seen in the mediwitch for quite a few years.

“You will handle this, Severus.” It was a statement, and although Severus would usually balk at such a demanding tone being aimed at his person, he could not help but nod in acquiescence.

“Rest assured, Poppy, I have already started the process.”

“Minerva always said they were the worst kind of muggles, but I never imagined...” She huffed, shaking her head. “I should have demanded an exam the moment I set eyes on the little dear.”

Severus held back an inappropriate snort. “I doubt Mr. Potter would have appreciated such a thing.”

“Bah! What do I care for a bit of bruised pride, when this,” she waved the thick roll of parchment under Severus’ nose, “is the results.”

Severus had relieved her of the scroll before she decided to beat him around the head with it. He would not put it past Poppy, in the state she was in. “Indeed not, Madam. Would you care for a nightcap, before you retire?” Not his most subtle of hints, but Poppy accepted the (hearty) nip of firewhiskey all the same before taking her leave. Leaving Severus to peruse the long scroll of misdeeds done to one of his snakes.

Forgoing a nightcap of his own, though he dearly wished he could indulge, Severus set about what was sure to be a long evening.

Now, with his shields raised against a tumultuous tide of unpleasant emotions, Severus made his way quickly to the Headmaster’s office. It was not nearly so late as to think Albus would already be abed. Even during the holidays the man worked long hours.

“Acid Pops,” he sneered at the gargoyle guarding the entrance. It leapt aside with a glare of its own. Not wanting to wait for the stairs, Severus took long strides up the moving steps. He barely waited to hear the soft enter after his firm knock before sweeping into the circular office.

“Severus, dear boy, to what do I owe this late night pleasure?” Albus asked good naturedly from his place behind his expansive desk. “Lemon drop?”

Severus did not grind his teeth at the epithet and refused the sweet. Instead he held up the thick scroll. “Poppy has just given Potter a full exam.”

Albus raised a bushy eyebrow but Severus continued before the man could interrupt.

“The results are... less than satisfactory.”

“Surely they could not be so dreadful as that,” Albus twinkled at him, but there was a hardness underneath, a knowledge that it indeed was.

Severus thanked Merlin he had already shoved all his volatile emotions down a mental sinkhole, or he may very well have reacted in a very un-Slytherin manner. “The evidence shows habitual abuse, malnutrition, a criminal lack of medical care in the case of broken bones, and much else besides. Potter will be removed from these people and charges pressed.”

The Headmaster sighed wearily, looking at Severus over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. The infernal twinkle was thankfully absent. “Harry is safest from Voldemort and his followers under his mother's protection, despite the unfortunate missteps the Dursleys may have made in caring for the boy.”

“Unfortunate missteps? Albus, far be it from me to try and untangle the web you are building, but this is the life of a child. A child that has been starved and beaten and Merlin knows what else. I will not have one of my House forced into such circumstances.” Severus was not yelling, he spoke calmly and with an authority he'd honed over years of dealing with snot nosed brats.

“Severus.” Albus spoke with a heavy voice, as if burdened by what he was about to say. “We both know Harry is different, that what hardships he may suffer now will not matter in the long term. He must be protected from a greater evil, so that he may do a greater good.”

Severus put both of his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, enunciating each word clearly.

“The wards have failed. There is no protection over that house.” If the Headmaster would not be swayed by his heart, Severus would act toward his head.

It was an effective strategy. A shadow graced the old man's face as if he'd never suspected such a thing possible. “We must work at once to reinstate them.”

“No.” Severus cut the air with a sharp gesture. “They are obliterated beyond all reason and no amount of threats or manipulations will bring them back.”

“You've been to the house.” It was a statement, Albus eyeing him knowingly.

“Yes. I spoke with Petunia, I felt the remnants of the wards. There is no salvaging the situation.”

“Hmm, this bears thinking on. We will need to find suitable shelter for the boy. I fear things may get worse from here.”

“They kept him in a cupboard,” he told the Headmaster, who did not flinch, but seemed to age before his eyes.

With that, Severus took his leave. There was a bottle of Ogden’s Best waiting for him that he sorely wished to meet.

~~~~~~~>

Christmas dawned just like any other day, although Harry had taken a dose of Dreamless Sleep as a treat to himself, so at least he was well rested. Jax was coiled up on his chest under the blanket and still sleeping, like a lazy, living knot.

Harry smiled down at his friend and stroked him softly. It had only been a few moments since he'd woken, but it was already shaping up to be the best Christmas he'd ever had.

Then Harry dropped the blankets back down and saw the pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

“What--?”

Dislodging his serpent in his haste, Harry scribbled to the edge of his bed. Jax grumbled at being woken up and slithered out from the covers to join Harry staring.

“What's all this? Did you order stuff?”

“No,” Harry breathed. “I think they're presents...”

Jax stretched forward curiously, tongue flicking out in a flash of purple to taste the air. “Presents? For us? Should we open them?”

Harry nodded, reaching with numb fingers for the first package. It was neatly wrapped in elegant silver paper and tied with a shimmering green bow. There was a tag made of thick, expensive-looking cardstock attached.

To: Harry James Potter
Most Sincerely From: Draco Lucius Malfoy

Harry snorted at the poncey script the other boy had written in, as if he were sending a gift to the Minister for Magic himself. It did a lot towards cleansing the shock from his system. He carefully untied the fancy bow and peeled back the silvery paper to expose a plain black box, which Harry opened to reveal a frankly unnecessarily large box of Ice Mice.

“I think this one's for you, buddy,” he said with an eye roll, pulling the box of sweets out and setting them before the serpent. Jax hissed happily and coiled around it, nudging at a corner with his blunt nose.

Harry was about to set the remnants aside when he saw something else had been included, a smaller black box almost hidden in the shadows of the container. He picked it up curiously. It was small enough to fit in his hand and reminded Harry of the little velvet jewelry boxes his aunt would get from his uncle. Although this one was made of a darkly varnished wood instead.

Harry opened it curiously to reveal a pair of elegant silver cufflinks shaped like coiled snakes. They probably cost more than anything Uncle Vernon had ever given Aunt Petunia. Harry did not know quite how to react to such an obviously expensive gift from somebody he did not even like all that much. Coupled with the fact that he hadn't been expecting any presents at all, Harry felt quite wrongfooted once more.

He'd sent Malfoy a gift, of course, as he'd sent one to all his year mates, not wanting to offend anyone in his House, and also for the novelty of spending money on others. He'd never had excess income, or anybody to spend it on before. But these fancy cufflinks were far and beyond the imported German chocolates he'd sent the blond. Perhaps Malfoy was used to throwing money around and would not hold the discrepancy against him.

It would bear thinking about. For now, Harry carefully placed the little box on his bedside table and reached for the next package.

This one was just as handsomely wrapped, though it was addressed to him in Italian. Which made Harry smile a bit: Blaise then. Inside was a large container of Italian pastries under a preservation charm and another little jewelry box. Maybe it was a pureblood tradition? One that Harry had missed in all those books he'd read.

This one was made of a dark brown wood, instead of black, and held a tie pin. It was also shaped like a snake, but with tiny little amethysts for eyes. It must have been a custom order and Harry felt a warmth for Blaise at the thoughtfulness.

“Look, it's you.” Harry showed the tie pin to Jax, who had been investigating the inside of Malfoy’s box, though Harry suspected he was just looking for a new place to nap.

The snake popped his head up to see, nudging the little wooden box with his nose. “Not a very good likeness,” he sniffed. “It’s not even close to my coloring.”

Harry rolled his eyes and booped the snake softly on the snout. “That's because it's made of silver. The eyes are just right.”

Jax gave a snakey huff, as if that hardly impressed him, but Harry could tell he was pleased all the same.

After placing the little box next to the other one on the nightstand, Harry went about opening the rest of the modest pile of gifts.

Although nowhere near the mountain that Dudley received each year, there were far more than Harry had ever expected to get. Given that he had not expected any, it was a vast improvement.

Theo had sent him a book on unusual potions, which Harry was looking forward to reading. Crabbe and Goyle had both sent boxes of sweets, which seemed to be a theme from the girls in his year as well. Except Parkinson, who had sent an enchanted hairbrush that was supposed to tame his unruly locks. It didn't work, but Harry hadn't held much hope for it to.

Millicent’s present was a bit messily wrapped, which Harry kind of liked more than the professional looking jobs of the others. Inside was a selection of rocks and a note explaining they were for Jax’s compartment in the trunk and were charmed to be ever-warm. Jax loved them and demanded they be added at once. Harry did so, and his serpent coiled up on one of them and promptly fell asleep. Harry dug out his camera and took a picture.

There was a gift from Mr. Jacobi, who had never sent one before, another pot of chili paste and a beanie in Slytherin colors.

Even Longbottom had sent him a tin of homemade biscuits, which made Harry feel a twist of guilt; he hadn't gotten the Gryffindor anything in return. Harry made a mental note to order something to give the other boy when he came back from break.

The last package was a plain brown bundle held together with twine. There was no note or markings to give away who it was from. Harry, not willing to trust unmarked gifts while someone was obviously out to get him, woke Jax up to have the snake sniff out any magic that might be inside the innocuous bundle.

Jax immediately sneezed seven times in a row. Harry pushed the package away and gathered up his snake.

“What was it?” he asked. Jax glared at the brown bundle, annoyed.

“It smells really old and really powerful.”

“Is it Dark? Can you tell?”

The serpent flicked out to taste the air again, before giving a snakey shrug.

“I don’t know, it doesn't smell bad like that lethifold leather. But it doesn't smell bright either.” Jax gave a frustrated hiss. “It's too old and powerful to tell, I'm sorry.”

Harry stroked him soothingly, “It's fine, we can take it to Snape. Maybe he can check it over for us.”

It was still a bit early, just past seven, so Harry carefully wrapped the package in a spare pillowcase to take to the Potions Master after breakfast. For now, he cleared away the debris from his presents and let himself enjoy the novelty of a relatively normal Christmas morning.

~~~~~~~>

Snape was not at breakfast, so Harry ate quickly before heading back down to his office. It only occurred to him that the man might be sleeping in as Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Enter.”

Well that answered that, Harry did as bade.

“Mr. Potter, what can I do for you so early this Christmas morning?”

Snape was at his desk, sipping a cup of steaming tea and scratching on his ever present stack of parchments. Harry had not seen the man since he'd escorted Harry to the hospital wing two days previous. The Potions Master hadn't stayed to watch the examination, which Harry was grateful for.

“That's part of the reason, sir,” Harry said, stepping fully into the room.

Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry flushed a bit, realizing how it sounded.

“I mean, I received an anonymous package and was wondering if you could check it over for me?” He dug the pillowcase out of his satchel and held it up awkwardly.

“Certainly, Mr. Potter,” Snape replied, clearing a section of his desk and summoning the improvised bag.

Harry took a seat on one of the stiff chairs and watched as Snape waved his wand in a complicated pattern that made the pillowcase glow a faint blue. That seemed to mean it was safe to handle because Snape grabbed it out of the air and carefully tipped the mystery present out.

“There was no note?”

“No, sir. But it made Jax sneeze more than the time he accidentally got into a jar of ground pepper.”

This made Snape look up from his inspection, his black eyes focusing sharply on the sleeping serpent across Harry’s shoulders. “Your familiar can smell out magic?” he inquired, voice curious.

“Yes, but he's not very good at differentiating things yet, and powerful stuff can overwhelm his senses. If something is really Dark, Jax could tell, but he has trouble with more subtle things.”

“Naturally.” Snape went back to looking over the plainly wrapped package. He did the complicated wave again, getting another blue glow.

With a flick, the twine undid itself and the brown paper fell away to reveal a neatly folded bundle of silvery gray fabric that gleamed a bit in the candlelight.

“What is it?” Harry leaned a little closer, looking from Snape’s stunned face to the mysterious bundle and back.

“A very powerful artifact, Mr. Potter.” He did the charm again, but no blue light appeared. Harry scooted back.

Snape hmmed, a crease forming between his eyebrows, and flicked his wand in the motion for levitating. Nothing happened once more. “Very powerful, indeed,” the man murmured before running through a series of quick charms, some verbal, others not. The results were the same every time. The silvery fabric continued to sit innocently amid its bed of plain brown paper.

“Is it cursed?”

“No. I do not believe so,” Snape answered, still examining gift. “Just uncommonly resistant to other magics.” He then gently picked up the bundle, unfolding it to reveal a flowing cloak. A piece of paper fluttered down from the folds to land on the desk. Harry didn’t grab it, but did lean forward enough to read the note.

Your father left this in my possession before he died.
It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to you.

The note was written in a looping script that seemed vaguely familiar to Harry, but he could not quite place it. “What is it?” he asked again, instead. “And do you know who sent it?” Harry pointed to the note.

Snape glanced down and scowled a bit at the sight of it, obviously recognizing the handwriting. “If it was your father’s, that would explain quite a few things.” The scowl deepened before smoothing out into a more neutral frown. “This is an invisibility cloak, Mr. Potter, and a very well crafted one at that.”

“Invisibility cloak? Why would somebody send it to me now? If it was my father’s, it should be in the vaults with the rest of my family’s things. Or given to me after they passed.” Harry could feel the anger smoldering again. Why was everything about his past only now coming to light? He’d spent three years searching for any sort of connection to this world, and people had been withholding his birthrights as if they had any power in the matter.

“Indeed. I am sure the sender felt as if he had reasons for doing so,” Snape said in a diplomatic tone that left his true feeling on the matter apparent, which appeased Harry somewhat.

The professor then swirled the silvery cloak around his shoulders and vanished completely from view.

Harry could not help but let out a soft gasp, eyes darting all around where the man had just been. The air was not warped and there were no shadows to indicate anything was occupying the space, but Harry could still sense that there was a presence sitting across the desk. Maybe it was from years of listening for threats around every corner, or the fact that his brain knew something was there just moments before. Either way, he doubted many would be able to tell Harry was not alone in the room if they were to walk in now.

Snape pulled the cloak away, reappearing before him. The man carefully folded up the fabric but did not hand it over; instead, he set it back on the desk and rested his linked hands atop it, catching Harry’s eyes with a serious expression.

“Mr. Potter. Before I give this to you, I must insist on a few rules.”

Harry wanted to glare up at the professor but nodded and said nothing.

“Firstly, you are not to use this to sneak into any restricted areas. There are dangerous things in this school that are locked away for a reason. Secondly, it would be prudent to keep the existence of this cloak a close secret. It is a very old and very powerful artifact that could be disastrous if fallen into the wrong hands. Lastly, I would appreciate it if you were to not use this to traipse around the school after curfew. I understand, more clearly than you or I perhaps wish, your tendency towards unpleasant dreams and the need to walk such things off. I would ask that you try and restrain such things to a bare minimum. There is a reason for curfews; this castle is old and can be hazardous to those unaccustomed to such things or otherwise distracted.”

Harry nodded, the requests seemed reasonable enough. Snape wasn’t even outright forbidding him from wandering, just asking that Harry be careful whilst doing so. It was a strange thing, to have an adult care for him above what he might be doing.

“Yes, sir.”

Snape’s black eyes seemed to bore into him for a few seconds before the man also nodded and handed over the cloak. The fabric was cool to the touch and slippery. Harry settled it in his lap. It had belonged to his father. Harry did not own anything of his parents, not a single picture or book besides what was locked away in the family vaults, which he would not have access to until his seventeenth birthday. This felt like both a gift and curse. He was happy to have something of his father’s, but at the same time it just brought into sharp focus just how little else he had in this world.

“Who sent this?” Harry demanded, finally looking up from the bundle in his lap.

Snape sighed, one hand twitching as if it wanted to run through his hair or rub at his eyes, but the man answered a moment later in any case. “Headmaster Dumbledore. Although why he did not simply place the note atop the package, I am sure I don’t know. It was wise of you to bring this to me; although this instance turned out to be benign, the next may not.”

Harry barely heard the last part of the professor’s statement, his heart suddenly pounding loudly in his ears and the anger that had been simmering since the appearance of the note now boiling over into a hot torrent.

Dumbledore had withheld this from him? For years? Did the man not understand how many beatings he could have avoided with this cloak? How much easier it would have been to find steady meals? What gave him the right to mess around so drastically in Harry’s life? First the key, then sticking him with the Dursleys, and now he finds out Dumbledore had been keeping his father’s things from him. This was unacceptable. The amount of power and sway the man held over Harry’s life could not be tolerated. He would not allow it any longer.

“Thank you for checking this, sir,” Harry managed, pushing down his anger. He needed to be smart about this. He could not go off half-cocked, that wouldn’t do anything but make a bigger mess.

“Of course. Was there anything else you required?” Snape was contemplating him as if he could see the angry scheming behind Harry’s eyes. He cast about for a distraction.

“Yes, sir, there was another thing.”

The man gestured for him to continue and Harry put on an air of academic intrigue, one that was mostly real if a bit exaggerated.

“I was wondering if I could use the student stores to brew a few potions over the break. Jax recently shed and I wanted to see what I could make with the skin.” He had been reading the snake book and was eager to see what effects Jax’s mixed breeding would have on some of the potions. “I would be willing to share some of the shedding.”

Snape gave him an amused smirk, seeing through the distraction but apparently appeased by the effort nonetheless. Which had the desired effect of changing the subject in any case, so Harry was going to call it a win.

“An intriguing offer, Mr. Potter. I find myself equally curious in the matter. Very well, you may brew in the classroom during break, under the condition that I be present to prevent any mishaps, or to offer assistance should you require such. Experimenting with unknowns can be a volatile experience and I’ll not have you blowing yourself up.”

“Of course, sir.” That was better than nothing. “When can we start?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Do you not have plans for Christmas?”

Harry flushed a little; he had forgotten what day it was already, distracted by the cloak and now thinking about potions.

“Ah, not really, sir. Apologies if I’m interrupting yours.”

Snape waved away the words. “I find myself also lacking any pressing commitments. If you wish to brew today, go and collect your necessities and I will meet you in the classroom.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” Harry gathered up his new cloak and bag, making for the door before anything else could be said.

Even with the news of further interference from the Headmaster, this was still shaping up to be the best Christmas he could remember having.

~~~~~~~>

That night Harry found it difficult to fall asleep. He'd spent most of the day brewing, both him and Professor Snape losing track of time in their pursuits. They had paused only briefly for a lunch of sandwiches and warm soup brought by the house elves, Harry's accompanied by the nutritional potion Madam Pomfrey had prescribed he take once a day. It tasted a bit like oats and grass, but went down easily enough.

Harry had been trying to improve on Pepper-Up. Ashwinder eggs were used in many medicinal potions, and boomslang skin was added to a few different mood changing brews. He wanted to see if he could do away with the smoking ears side effect, and perhaps boost the energetic feelings. He was ultimately unsuccessful, though Snape did praise him for the effort, in a stilted manner that suggested the man was not used to blatantly giving out compliments.

Harry felt a warm swelling of pride all the same as he wrote down his results and ideas for improvements he could implement next time. If there was a next time. Harry had been too unsure to ask.

Jax had spent the time either watching Harry chop and grind various things, or napping on the worktable next to his. Harry had brought along one of the flatter rocks Millicent had sent them, so the snake would have a warm place to sleep. Jax appreciated being out of the bag and spent some time exploring the classroom, under Snape's watchful gaze. He soon returned to the rock though, complaining about cold floors.

Now though, Harry lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to find any sort of rest. He didn't want to take another dose of Dreamless Sleep, having already done so the night before.

Harry felt restless and nervous. He was to meet with an Auror in the morning, to discuss what had happened at Number Four during his ten years removed from the wizarding world. It was not something Harry was looking forward to talking about, but if the end result was anything resembling justice, he would do so.

After rustling about for another ten minutes, Harry finally threw back the blankets and slipped out of bed. He needed to walk off some of this excess energy and this seemed the perfect opportunity to try out his new cloak.

Quickly dressing in some warm clothes and lacing up his boots, Harry woke Jax and told him the plan. The serpent sleepily nodded his head and allowed Harry to place him in his hoodie pocket.

Lastly, Harry swirled the silvery cloak around his shoulders and looked down to see that his body had vanished. It was an odd sensation, knowing he was there but unable to see. It nearly caused him to trip over his own feet the first couple of steps, but he got the hang of things by the time they made it to the common room exit.

The castle was different at night, even with the fairy lights still twinkling in the Great Hall. The house tables had been restored from their disappearance that evening. Everyone had sat at one long table. Harry had ended up between the youngest Weasley and a professor he had not met yet. She probably taught one of the upper year classes.

Weasley had thankfully been too preoccupied with seeing just how much Christmas pudding he could stuff into his mouth at once to make too much conversation. He had insisted on pulling a cracker with Harry though, which exploded with an alarmingly loud bang and dense cloud of blue smoke which cleared away to reveal a pageboy cap in a frankly unnecessary shade of orange. Harry let Weasley have it gladly, taking the chess set instead; perhaps he could practice for when Blaise got back.

“Cheers, Potter,” Weasley said, putting on the cap. It clashed horribly with his hair but the other boy seemed ecstatic with the find, so Harry just nodded and went back to his slice of treacle tart.

At the moment, though, the Great Hall was dark except for the twinkling trees lining the walls. Harry made sure to step softly so that his feet did not echo through the empty hall; the cloak did nothing to muffle sound. He had never ventured out this far after curfew and did not want to be caught quite so quickly.

Harry did steer clear of the forbidden third floor corridor, not wanting to stretch the good will shown him by Snape too far by being found breaking two of his rules at once.

It was freeing, to walk up the center of a staircase without fear he was going to fall down it. Harry was getting tired of looking over his shoulder every second of the day and this cloak would do wonders for giving him some time to himself.

It was in a disused classroom that he found the mirror. The room’s door had been cracked open, as if tempting passersby to peer inside. The mirror was very tall, even given Harry’s less than generous stature, nearly brushing the ceiling. It was framed in an ornate gold pattern with two clawed feet. Stepping closer, Harry could make out an inscription along the top.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

It didn't sound like any Latin Harry had heard or read, and it took a moment for him to figure out that it was a word puzzle like in the back pages of the paper. Harry used to like doing those, when he could rescue the unwanted pages from the bin after his uncle tossed them.

Harry stared at the words, mouthing them to himself before the answer hit him.

“I show not your face but your heart's desire.”

Intrigued, Harry pulled off his cloak and stepped in front of the mirror. It did not talk to him, like the one in that muggle animated film they'd shown one day in primary school. His aunt had not been happy when Dudley had come home babbling about witches and poison apples. She’d glared at Harry as if it had been his doing that the teacher had shown them the film. He understood her ire now, but back then he'd just been confused why he'd been sent to his cupboard for the night. It had been before Jax had come into his life, before he'd given up on trying to gain even an ounce of affection from his relatives.

Pushing away the dark thoughts, Harry looked properly into the mirror. It showed him and Jax. In the mirror, Jax was laying across his shoulders and much bigger than his current size, at least as thick as his arm and long enough to wrap his tail a few times around mirror-Harry’s arm while still comfortably astride the length of his shoulders. Mirror-Harry was also bigger, taller, his frame filled out to that of someone at least seventeen, if not older. Mirror-Harry was laughing freely at something mirror-Jax hissed in his ear. They both looked so happy, as if they had not a single care in the world. Mirror-Harry did not have any dark bags under his eyes; he was standing straight upright and not shrinking back or trying to diminish his presence at all. Mirror-Jax looked healthy, if bigger than Harry had anticipated him getting, the purple in his scales gleaming brightly against the dark green of the rest of him.

A cold dread of such an image never coming to pass warred with a grim determination to make it so. Harry clenched his hands into fists, one crumpling the slippery fabric of his cloak and the other’s fingers doing their utmost to bite into his palm.

“Ah, I see you've found the Mirror of Erised, an artifact many a witch and wizard have long sought,” a soft voice spoke from behind him. Harry took three quick steps to the side before whirling around, wand in hand and raised defensively.

It was the Headmaster, eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles and staring at Harry with a sort of condescending geniality, as if Harry was a pet that had done an amusing trick. The man held up a wrinkled hand. His robes were a blinding shade of fuchsia trimmed in lime green, bright even in the darkness of the classroom.

“Peace, my boy. I did not mean to frighten you nearly so much. You'll forgive an old man his dramatics?”

Harry slowly lowered his wand, more to hurry the situation along than compliance. He did not want to be alone with the Headmaster any longer than necessary. Before he could make good his escape though, the man spoke again.

“Do you know what this mirror does, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore gestured at the ornate object. Harry did not shift his gaze.

“It shows your heart's truest desire.”

Dumbledore clapped once, loudly, a large smile appearing like Harry had done another trick. “Very good, Mr. Potter. Yes indeed, it does show what one wants most deeply in the world. A dangerous knowledge for those unprepared to face such truths about themselves.” Dumbledore gave the mirror a sad sort of smile, “Many men and women have wasted away, sitting in front of this mirror, not knowing if what they see is truth or prophecy. Many others have been driven quite mad by what they see.”

The man's gaze flicked to Harry again, eyes bright and face a gentle mask that Harry was sure was meant to be reassuring but just felt off somehow. Like Dumbledore was trying to be mysterious and funny, as if Harry were six years old and he'd just pulled a coin from behind Harry’s ear and expected awed praise.

“I wonder, what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

Well that was an extremely invasive question that Harry absolutely did not want to answer. Although he doubted he'd get away with staying silent. So instead, Harry looked back at the mirror, like he needed a reminder or as if he were drawn to what was shown there. Harry did not like his chances of lying to the Headmaster’s face, and so took the opportunity to look away.

“My parents,” he blurted out, thinking it the most likely answer to get him out of the room. Dumbledore would expect something like that, and perhaps in another life it would have been true. But Harry had someone alive, here and now, that depended on him and that he loved more than anything else, dead or living. He would not put anything above Jax, who had been there for him when nobody else had. And no amount of praise for his parents and comments about how he looked just like them, or empty platitudes about what a tragedy it was to lose them in such a way, would change that.

“Ah, yes. That is quite understandable, my boy.”

“What do you see?” Harry asked before Dumbledore could try and comfort him. He was getting annoyed at being referred to as boy.

“Oh, a nice pair of socks. One can never have enough socks.” An obvious lie, but Harry didn’t really have a leg to stand on in the matter and so did not push.

Instead, he faked a yawn and made motions toward the door. “I better get back to the dorms, sir, I've a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, the Auror visit, best get some rest then,” Dumbledore said, eyeing Harry with a carefully guarded seriousness behind his twinkling gaze. “I do hope that everything works out for the best.”

Best for who? Harry thought, but did not dare voice. He was nearly to the door when Dumbledore spoke up again.

“The mirror will be moved to a new location tomorrow, I urge you not to go looking for it.”

“Of course, sir.” Harry had not been planning to do any such thing. He'd seen what he wanted most and did not need reaffirmation, just the will and means to make it so.

Harry bid the Headmaster a good night before disappearing out the door and under his cloak at last. He did head straight for the common room, though, no longer feeling the urge to explore. Harry was glad Jax had slept through the entire exchange, because although Snape had given his permission for the serpent to stay, that was not the same thing as blatantly displaying him in front of the Headmaster.

Harry stuck a hand into his pocket to stroke his snake’s warm scales, drawing comfort for his frayed nerves. Harry doubted he would be getting any sleep that night.

~~~~~~~>

The meeting was held after breakfast in Professor Snape's office, at Harry’s request. The office was familiar ground, or as familiar as one could find after only residing in a place a few months. It was also small enough to ensure Harry could keep an eye on all in attendance without making it obvious that he was doing so. Besides, Harry suspected the space to be one of the most secure against any prying eyes or ears, given that Snape was head of Slytherin House and seemed an exceptionally private person.

All this did not stop a sense of unease from settling in his stomach and making it nearly impossible to finish his bowl of cut fruit.

Harry was early to the meeting, but still not the first to arrive. Snape was already present, along with the Headmaster and a tall black man in dark red robes. The unknown man had a bald head but a warm demeanor that belied his intimidating stature. When he smiled at Harry, with very white teeth, it reached his eyes in a way that spoke of true happiness to see him. It was not an expression Harry was used to seeing outside of his summer job.

“Mr. Potter, this is Auror Shacklebolt,” Professor Snape introduced, gesturing to the man, who gave Harry another smile and a small bow.

“A pleasure, Mr. Potter, though I very much wish we had met under different circumstances.” Auror Shacklebolt had a deep voice with an accent Harry could not place, though it was nice to hear. “You may call me Kingsley, or Auror Shacklebolt, whichever you prefer.”

“Well met, Auror Shacklebolt,” Harry managed through his dry throat, giving a bow in return. He was happy the man had not offered to shake his hand, as Harry was in no fit state for physical contact.

His eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who was humming to himself and pretending not to pay attention to the exchange, but doing so in a manner that made it very clear he was watching the proceedings closely. Harry did not like that the Headmaster was present, but was unable to think of a way to voice such a thing without sounding petulant.

Shacklebolt saved him the trouble. “Headmaster, I believe that we are ready to start this meeting, if you would be so kind.” He gestured at the door with a broad hand, making his intentions clear.

Dumbledore, to his dubious credit, just nodded and complied without even a token protest. Which told Harry he already knew what was to be said, or that he believed he could reliably find out. He laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder briefly as he left, giving him what Harry assumed was supposed to be a reassuring look.

Harry had trouble suppressing a shudder at the touch and was relieved once more when the Headmaster was finally gone.

“Now, Mr. Potter, would you prefer Professor Snape to remain or would you be more comfortable if we conducted this interview in private?”

Harry glanced at the Potions Master, who was standing behind his desk and looked prepared to both stay or go at a word. Harry did not particularly want the man to know more details than he already did or suspected, but at the same time Auror Shacklebolt was an unknown. Harry did not like dealing with unknowns, especially those of an adult variety, and one that could very well have influence on what would happen to him after this day.

“Professor Snape can stay if he wishes,” Harry murmured, sticking his hands in his front pocket and stroking Jax. Snape had looked relieved for a split second before hiding the emotion behind a wall of neutrality that Harry wished he could emulate half as well.

“Then I suggest we all sit,” Auror Shacklebolt said, doing just that. He made the stiff backed chairs look as if they were the most comfortable thing he'd ever sat upon, gesturing at the remaining chair with another warm smile that again easily reached his eyes.

Harry and Snape sat, though Harry was unsure who was the more uncomfortable.

“Now, the good professor was kind enough to provide me with an overview of what he has discovered of your homelife. Still, I would prefer to hear from you firsthand what a typical day would be like.” Shacklebolt spoke in a low voice, words slow but precise in their structure. He did not talk down to Harry as if he were a small child who didn’t understand what the grownups were talking about. Harry appreciated the forthrightness, though he still didn’t trust the man enough to just spout out all his darkest secrets.

“You are under vow to not spread any of this around?” Harry asked, meeting the Auror’s brown eyes and holding the gaze. It was much harder to lie to someone looking straight into your eyes.

“You are correct,” he answered, not scoffing at the question or waving away the concern outright. “The details of your case will be viewed only by me and Head Auror Scrimgeour. If I find that action needs to be taken, it will also be passed to the head of Magical Child Services, who will take the case on personally under the same binding vow of secrecy.”

Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair and spread his hands wide in a disarming manner, as if to show he had nothing up his sleeves. “I would be willing to say as much under Veritaserum, if it will ease you.”

Veritas, truth in Latin. That would certainly work to calm Harry’s nerves.

“Yes, I would prefer that.” Offering and following through with such were two very different things. Harry could see an uptick at the corner of Snape's mouth out of his peripheral, like the Potions Master approved. Auror Shacklebolt did not even hesitate in nodding his consent, which Harry had not expected but got the feeling he probably should have.

“Professor Snape, if you would be so kind?”

Snape rose with a nod and went over to a warded cabinet, laying one long fingered hand upon the glass front and murmuring a phrase too low for either of them to hear. There was a fizzle of energy in the air that made Jax wake up and nuzzle Harry’s hand. Harry stroked the little wedge shaped head with small movements as Snape retrieved two little bottles before resetting what Harry assumed to be heavy wards on the cabinet.

The Potions Master returned, handing the bottle of crystal clear liquid to Auror Shacklebolt and setting the pink tinged one on the desk.

“And the antidote as well? Many thanks, my friend.”

Snape sneered at the epithet, but it was a small thing and quickly smoothed away. “Three drops.”

Auror Shacklebolt did as bid and Harry could see an instant change in the man's demeanor. His posture slumped in the chair and his warm smile grew vague. The brown eyes that had shone with a strong will now drifted around the room in lazy sweeps.

“Auror Shacklebolt,” Snape said in a stern voice, commanding the other man's attention.

“Yes, that's me.”

“What happened the night of April 15th, 1985?”

“I spilt a drink on that horrid dress of Narcissa’s for insulting a friend of mine that did not happen to be present at her needlessly extravagant ball,” Shacklebolt answered with a vaguely amused smile. Snape nodded to Harry, a shadow of a smirk on his face.

“The potion is working, Auror Shacklebolt would never admit to such a thing under normal circumstances.”

Harry nodded back before addressing the man himself.

“Is it true that you will not tell anyone except who you listed before about anything of what I say here.”

“Oh, yes. That would be terribly crass and also impossible under my Auror vows,” Shacklebolt said, voice bored and eyes still wandering around the room. “There are a lot of creepy things in jars here.”

Snape snorted but did not speak up in defense of his decor.

“Why were you assigned my case?” If he found that Dumbledore was interfering in this, Harry would scrap the whole thing and find his own way to get back at the Dursleys.

“Oh, I imagine it's because I’m the best at these types of cases, children find me very calming. It may also be because I have a reputation of doing a very thorough job at weeding truth from fiction.” Shacklebolt leaned in and put a broad hand to his mouth like he was whispering a secret, though his voice did not lower in volume at all. “I was actually very happy to be given this assignment, I dearly wished to thank you and to see whatever help I could lend.”

Harry had become used to random people thanking him for something he could not even remember doing, despite how awkward it made him feel, but it was somehow even more unnerving hearing it from this vacant eyed man. Useful though it was, Harry found he did not like seeing the effect Veritaserum had on someone, as if they had lost all control of their words. Harry doubted Auror Shacklebolt would have admitted so much under normal circumstances.

“You look very like your father, has anyone told you that?”

Harry blinked away the urge to wince, glancing over at Snape, who was politely pretending not to listen. “That's enough, Professor.”

“You have a very distinct nose, Severus, I've always admired it,” Shacklebolt said, tapping his own.

Snape raised a dubious eyebrow, handing the little bottle of pink antidote over. “Drink.”

The Auror did so without comment, downing the entire thing in one smooth motion. He shook his bald head as if knocking cobwebs free. A few seconds passed before Harry could tell the potion had taken hold. Shacklebolt straightened in his seat and his eyes came back into sharp focus. He gave them both another of his warm smiles, this one a little wry at the edges.

“Apologies, I do tend to babble under Veritaserum.”

Snape gave the man a dismissive wave of his hand, gathering the bottle to return it to its proper place.

“Thank you for being honest,” Harry told Shacklebolt, meaning it sincerely. He had not realized the power he would hold over the man. Harry could have asked literally anything and Auror Shacklebolt would have answered gladly, no matter what he truly felt about doing so. Harry had spent his entire life trying to escape being forced under such control. He very much prefered manipulating the truth out of people rather than this base stripping of autonomy. At least then, whoever he was trying to get information from had a choice in the matter.

That Auror Shacklebolt had allowed Harry such license showed he was serious about his job. Harry could respect that even if he didn’t trust the man completely.

So Harry told him about living with the Dursleys. About the way his aunt would wake him to make breakfast for the family but not allow him to eat with them, or at all if Harry didn't sneak bites as he cooked. He talked about the endless list of chores and his punishments for not completing them to their exacting standards. He talked about his hand-me-downs and the way his cousin would gather the neighborhood children for Harry Hunting. How he needed to nearly fail all of his classes so that he didn’t receive better marks than Dudley.

He told Auror Shacklebolt about his cupboard.

Harry spoke in a monotone, stating facts and experiences as if they were something he'd seen in a film, not his life. It was the only way he could force the words out past the lump in his throat.

Shacklebolt listened to it all with a serious expression, asking a few questions but mostly letting Harry talk. He didn’t try to comfort him in any sort of physical way, which Harry appreciated greatly; he didn’t know how he would react to such a thing. Shacklebolt did summon some tea though, which helped to hide the tremble in Harry’s fingers as he gripped the cup with white knuckles.

Shacklebolt also did not flinch when Jax decided he would prefer to drape along Harry’s shoulders and slithered out from his pocket. Harry suspected Snape may have warned the Auror beforehand, because the man also did not do more than blink when Harry hissed a greeting to the serpent.

Jax eyed Shacklebolt but seemed to deem him acceptable, “Although his head does look like a giant egg; shiny, too. Do you think there are eggs that big in the world?”

“I don't know, maybe dragon eggs, but I don't think you'd be able to fit one in your mouth.” Harry had to hold back a smile, Jax always knew how to cheer him up.

“I'm still growing, it could happen.”

His snake nuzzled behind Harry’s ear, knocking his glasses a bit askew before settling down to stare at Shacklebolt’s shiny head with a contemplative gleam in his purple eyes. The Auror seemed to take the interest in stride and politely requested that Harry continue.

He didn’t know how long the meeting lasted but by the end he was feeling drained, both emotionally from having to bare so much of his soul, and physically from his lack of sleep the night before.

Shacklebolt had a hardness behind the persistent warmth of his brown eyes by the end of it. He thanked Harry and promised to keep him thoroughly updated on the next steps of the process.

“Usually, a child would be removed immediately while the investigation took place, but since you’re already residing at Hogwarts we can avoid that part. I’ll send you an owl within the next few days with any news I may have.” He met Harry’s eyes, emphasizing how seriously he was taking the matter. “I will see justice done here, Mr. Potter, you can trust in that.”

Harry was sceptical, not about Auror Shacklebolt’s determination, but more that the Dursleys would squirm their way out of this. Just like they had any time a well meaning teacher would enquire about Harry’s lack of new clothes. Or when the school nurse had questions about a bruise Harry hadn’t managed to hide quite well enough. Something always seemed to waylay any investigations before they even got started, and Harry was always punished harshly for drawing attention.

He was beyond the Dursley’s reach now, though, and they could not hurt him any longer. So he would try once more, but Harry wasn’t going to put any hope in it working any better than before.

Shacklebolt excused himself with another bow which Harry returned stiffly. Even Jax bobbed his head a little.

“I like him, he smells nice and I like how his voice rumbles.” Harry snorted weakly, stroking the snake across the snout, which earned him a lick.

“And his egg-head?”

“Well that was implied,” Jax hissed haughtily, raising his head in an obvious ploy for chin scritches. Harry complied, thinking his serpent was spending too much time getting spoiled by Malfoy, but not really caring. If only one of them was to be happy, Harry would gladly choose Jax over himself.

“Mr. Potter.” Harry looked up to find Snape holding out another cup of tea.

Harry accepted it but did not drink, instead just using it to warm his hands. Snape didn’t push the matter. He had spent the entire meeting sitting behind the desk and growing progressively paler.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of them drinking.

“If.” Snape started, speaking at his teacup. “If I had known. I would have done something.”

The sentence seemed to have cost the man a great deal to utter, but Harry was more confused than grateful for what felt like an empty platitude.

“Why do you care?” he asked, too tired to try being subtle. “Is it because of my mother?”

The Potions Master looked pained and did not answer for a long moment. When he did, Snape looked up to meet Harry’s eyes for the first time in hours.

“Yes. It would be a blatant untruth to say otherwise. Though it is also true that I would not wish any of what you have experienced to happen to any child, no matter their parentage.” Snape looked back down at the tea clenched in his white knuckled hands, the dark curtains of his hair swinging forward to obscure his features. “No child should be so abused.”

Harry got the feeling they were no longer talking about him. It made him feel uneasy and like he was intruding on a private thing he had no business knowing.

“Yes, sir.” He managed, throat dry. He took a sip of tea. It was cold.

They sat like that for another minute before Snape stood from the desk, abandoning his still full cup. “Come, Mr. Potter, I shall escort you to the dorms. You look in need of a good rest.”

Harry nodded, leaving his own cup behind as well Jax had been taking tiny sips of the cold drink, but did not seem to mind moving on.

They walked in heavy silence the whole way.

Snape stopped him outside the common room entrance before Harry could disappear inside. “A dose of Dreamless Sleep, I think. If you are still feeling unwell by dinner, I will provide an alternative.”

Harry nodded, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet. Snape was not looking at him, which was convenient because Harry was staring at the floor.

“If you wish to brew again over the holiday, I am free tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry didn’t care if the offer was made out of some sense of misplaced obligation, he would take advantage of it. He had learned quite a bit from Christmas and would not turn away the opportunity to do more. As long as Snape didn’t try and use the time to make him talk about his feelings, Harry felt it would do much in the way of calming his nerves.

“I will see you then, Mr. Potter.” He spoke the password for the common room and gestured Harry to go inside before sweeping away in a flutter of robes.

Chapter Text

The rest of the holiday passed in fits and bursts. Some days seemed to fly by with an unnecessary swiftness, namely the ones he spent in the potions classroom with Snape, while others dragged on as if Harry were struggling through molasses. Those usually coincided with a bad night of sleep and the resulting restlessness.

Harry did receive a letter from Auror Shacklebolt much swifter than he had expected, the next morning in fact. It had arrived attached to a medium sized owl with beautiful dusk red coloring. Jax hissed petulantly at the owl as Harry untied the tightly furled scroll, but slithered quickly down into Harry’s lap when the owl clicked its beak at him. Harry rolled his eyes and fed the bird a strip of bacon. It hooted in thanks and took off with a smug flap of wings.

Harry stroked the snake in his lap. “You can come back up now.”

Jax grumbled and wriggled his way back across Harry’s shoulders. “Did you see that? That monster was going to eat me!”

Harry carefully did not laugh, and instead just rubbed a comforting hand down Jax’s tail.

“Perhaps if you had not hissed at it...”

Jax butted his head against Harry’s ear in a snaky huff. “I was startled, that killer came out of nowhere.”

Harry rolled his eyes again, turning his attention back to the scroll. It was sealed in red wax, bearing the mark of the Ministry. A quick glance around showed there was no one in his general vicinity, so Harry broke the seal and read the missive.

It was from Auror Shacklebolt. He explained that he had paid a visit to Harry’s former residence, found a wealth of evidence to support the claims leveled against his relatives, and promptly arrested the muggles on the spot. Harry felt his eyebrows raise at the swiftness of the action, besides the fact that anything had happened at all. He had been sure that his aunt and uncle would find a way to weasel out of even a preliminary inquiry.

They were apparently being held in a ministry cell until the rest of the investigation could take place and a trial set. The letter did not say what had happened to his cousin, though Harry found he did not care to know. Perhaps the experience would knock some of the spoiled brat out of the other boy, or perhaps not. Either way, Harry doubted he’d ever be seeing Dudley again.

Auror Shacklebolt also advised that Harry find himself a discreet magical lawyer, for the upcoming proceedings. He remembered Snape mentioning knowing such a person and made a note to bring it up before they started brewing that day.

Harry was unsure how he felt about things moving along so quickly. On the one hand, it was great that he could get it over with swiftly. On the other, it was suspicious that things were going so smoothly when it had been so hard before to even try and seek help. Harry decided he would just let things go as they were, not expecting success nor failure. Just waiting to see what would happen either way.

It was amusing to think what his aunt must be feeling, trapped in a magical cell and surrounded by irrefutable evidence of everything she hated most in this world. Harry wondered if her mouth had disappeared entirely with the amount of pursing she must be doing. Uncle Vernon had to have run the entire range of reds and purples in outrage that he could not bluster his way out of the situation.

If anything, the fact that they had to go through this little ordeal at all left a warm sense of retribution in his bones. It was not nearly enough to pay for all the pain and suffering they had put him through, but Harry believed it to be a good start.

The meeting with the barrister went much quicker than the one with Auror Shacklebolt; also it did not leave Harry an emotional wreck. He didn’t have to explain much beyond the general issues, as both Snape and Shacklebolt had provided details of the case. He liked the witch that the Potions Master had suggested. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, but Harry could see a cunning tenacity in her eyes that told him she would do her utmost to rain terror and vengeance down upon his relatives.

“Thank you for agreeing to the case, Miss Reid,” Harry said at the end of the meeting, giving the witch a respectful nod. She returned the gesture with all seriousness, a resolute gleam in her dark eyes.

“Of course, Mr. Potter, the pleasure is all mine.” She had a clear and commanding voice; coupled with her tall stature and well tailored clothes, Harry would be intimidated trying to face against her in any situation, not just a courtroom. She had dark skin, with sleek hair cropped short in a pixie cut that did nothing to diminish the aura of power she carried around with her, despite the apparent youthfulness of the style.

Snape said she had been in Slytherin and Harry could easily believe it. If nothing else, it would be amusing to see his aunt try and face off against this woman and be eviscerated in the process. Harry suspected Snape was looking forward to such an occurrence himself, if the vicious little smirk he shared with Miss Reid as he bade her farewell was any indication.

Harry spent a few enjoyable days wandering around under his invisibility cloak, watching everyone going about their days and exploring the castle. Though he learned to be a bit more cautious about investigating empty classrooms when he accidentally found one of the Weasleys (the pointy one that liked to scold everyone about rules) in a very compromising position with what looked to be the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. It was not something he had ever wanted to see and Harry made sure to listen carefully at doors before opening them from then on.

He did end up finding a shortcut from the dungeons to the third floor behind a picture of a sleeping hydra. Harry had tried talking to the multi-headed sea serpent, but either the hydra didn’t fall under the Parseltongue purview or they just didn’t feel very talkative. The portrait did click and swing open a couple inches though, so maybe the hydra appreciated the effort in any case.

Harry had also been invited by the Weasley twins to a snowball fight, but declined, feigning sick. He did not want to spend an afternoon getting pummeled by balls of frozen water and whatever else the other children decided to shove into them. Although it was amusing to see the twins enchant a couple snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell around and bombard the back of his turban.

It was when there were only a couple days of break left that Harry received a letter summoning him to a court date in mid January. Auror Shacklebolt assured him that it would be a closed hearing, no press or unauthorized personnel allowed.

When he brought the letter to Snape, the Potions Master agreed to escort Harry to the Ministry and back. Harry had argued that he could make his own way there, but Snape had just raised an imperious eyebrow and Harry had conceded.

Harry found himself glad when the rest of the student body returned, the castle had felt far too empty despite Harry’s usual avoidance of crowds. He’d also been anxious to begin classes again; the holidays had brought with them an overabundance of revelations and Harry could do with a good distraction.

He met Blaise and Millicent in the entry hall as they arrived, thanking them sincerely for the gifts. Jax also insisted on riding on Millicent’s shoulders down to the common room, hissing at her about how much he loved the rocks (with Harry translating.)

Blaise was wearing the dark gray cashmere jumper that Harry had sent him. He was happy to see that it fit so well.

“Have you been practicing your Italian, Harry?” the other boy asked with a friendly smirk.

“I've been a bit busy, but I did get a chess set and played a few games.”

“Oh? Who with?”

“Just the opposing pieces, there weren't really many other students that stayed over the break.” Well, there had been a whole boogle of Weasleys, but Harry hadn't really wanted to spend time around a bunch of rambunctious Gryffindors.

Blaise nudged him softly with his shoulder and flashed one of his real smiles. “We'll have a match before dinner then.”

Harry rolled his eyes a little but agreed. He was glad his friends were back, it had been getting lonely in the dorms. Which was an odd thing, since Harry had spent so much of his life alone (except for Jax.) It shouldn’t be affecting him so much, being separated from them for so short a time.

Was this what it was like to have people you cared about? Or was it just the novelty of being around children his own age that did not automatically hate him? Was it a good thing to be forming these attachments? What would happen when Blaise decided he wasn’t worth the effort of befriending? Or when Millicent got bored of him?

Harry pushed the thoughts away. It would do no good to wallow in self-doubt just then. There were far too many other things to worry about, what with the upcoming trial, the start of the new term, and the unknown being still somewhere in the castle trying to kill him.

Harry wondered briefly if he should tell Blaise and Millicent about the situation with his relatives. Would they be sympathetic? Or not care at all? Harry didn’t think he could stand it if they started pitying him.

In the end, he decided to stay silent on the matter, and that of his mystery assailant. Harry didn’t want to put them in any sort of danger; he could handle whatever happened. Harry had been doing so for as long as he could remember and did not see any reason to deviate now.

So, he lost spectacularly to Blaise while Millicent lounged in front of the fire next to them, one of the series of trashy novels Harry had sent her for the holiday in hand. Jax and Maximus the cat were both snoozing on the warm hearthstones, in a weird mesh of fur and scales.

A warm feeling of contentment seemed to fill Harry slowly from the tips of his toes to the ends of his messy hair. And as strange a sensation as it was, Harry did not try overhard to fight it.

Not even Malfoy, flouncing into the common room and bragging about how he'd spent his holiday, could ruin the feeling.

~~~~~~~>

The next day was a Sunday, which meant a tutoring session with Longbottom. Since it was the first one after a long break, Harry thought it best if they skipped the brewing and just concentrated on a review of basic concepts and perhaps a lookover of the essay on Shrinking Solutions they were set to finish during said break.

Before getting to work though, Harry presented Longbottom with a book on rare magical plants from around the world and a formal apology for neglecting to send it at Christmas. Longbottom waved away his stilted words and fawned over the book like it was his beloved roving toad. Harry allowed himself a relieved sigh, glad to have not offended the other boy. Although he didn’t think Longbottom had a single resentful bone in his body, Harry had been worried nonetheless. He even let Longbottom hug him briefly, figuring he owed the Gryffindor that much at least for the unmeaning slight.

Longbottom seemed to have finally achieved a solid grasp on the basics they had covered in class, which Harry was thankful for. It was much harder to explain why they did things a certain way and to have someone retain that knowledge without some kind of base understanding. Longbottom’s essay was also well thought out and articulate, if not very imaginative; Snape should find no glaring fault with it at least. Harry said as much as he handed the parchment back. Longbottom fairly beamed at him, the apples of his cheeks flushed with pride and Harry feared another embrace was incoming.

Thankfully, Longbottom restrained himself and instead thanked Harry profusely for all the help he had been giving him. It made Harry a bit uncomfortable, to be on the receiving end of such honest gratitude. Being thanked was not an experience he had much familiarity with. Sure, at the apothecary it happened often enough, but that wasn’t really Harry getting the praise, it was Evan. Whenever Harry got thanked like that, it was always for something he had been an infant for, that he had no memory of.

This, this was just Harry.

“I think,” he coughed a bit, trying to clear the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat, “ah, I think that’s enough for today. It’s about time to feed Jax, so I should get back to Slytherin.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but the Gryffindor was still nervous enough around the snake to take the excuse at face value.

“Alright, Potter. Thanks again for the brilliant book, I can’t wait to read it.” Longbottom grinned at him again and Harry tried to return the smile a little, hoping it did not encourage the other boy to give in to his touchy-feely nature.

Harry was able to make good his escape before anything that dire happened, though.

~~~~~~~>

The next couple of weeks passed without much incident, aside from the persistent headaches he got during Defense. Harry had nearly forgotten about them until the next class rolled around and the pounding started up. He wondered if any of the other children were affected so, or if he should ask Snape for a potion. He was reluctant to ask for more from the man though, with how much he had done for Harry already. He didn’t want to go to Madam Pomfrey either, because he got the feeling she would take the information straight to his Head of House, defeating the purpose. He would consider trying to brew some of his own, but it was a complicated potion with a lot of ingredients that he didn’t have access to now that the holidays, and therefore his sessions with Snape, had ended. Harry decided to just try and power through them; they never lasted long outside of the classroom in any case.

There were no accidents so far, but Harry was not letting his guard down. He showed Blaise and Millicent the hidden passage he'd found, which prompted a search for more. Jax, when he was awake, was helpful in that regard, able as he was to sense differing airflows or weird pockets of magic. They found two more hidden routes: one that led from the dungeons to right around the corner from the library, and another by the Astronomy Tower that took them all the way down near the Great Hall.

Blaise got a special kind of smirk on his face when they beat Malfoy to their lesson that Thursday, smugly not giving away how they'd done it no matter how the blond wheedled. Harry had to hold back a snort at the pout Malfoy sported, definitely not used to being denied anything he asked for.

On the day of the trial, Snape stopped by him on the way to the teacher’s table.

“Potter, you’re to meet me at my office in one hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied with a nod that Snape returned sharply before continuing on his way.

“What was that about?” Blaise asked, eyeing the retreating professor over the rim of his coffee cup.

Harry shrugged, sneaking a chunk of roasted potato to Jax, who was back to his usual place in Harry’s satchel now that the school was filled again. “I suppose I'll find out in an hour.”

Blaise snorted like he didn't believe him, but didn't push, which Harry appreciated. Millicent just stabbed at her sausages with a grim determination and ignored the whole proceeding. A glance over showed Malfoy all but snoring into his plate of eggs. Harry was grateful the nosy blond had missed the exchange, because he was not in the mood to play twenty questions.

It was a Tuesday, so at least he would be missing out on a Defense migraine. Though Harry might just be exchanging one type of headache for another, depending on how the day went.

He knocked on Snape’s office door with a good few minutes to spare. It was thankfully devoid of any other people besides the Potions Master. Snape was organizing a stack of parchments and waved Harry at a seat.

“The trial is set to commence at ten,” he explained, not looking up from his task. “I don’t expect it to last overlong, we should be back at the castle well before dinner.”

“How will we be getting to London? The Knight Bus?” Jax would enjoy that, but Harry didn’ot think his stomach would be able to handle the upheaval on top of everything else.

Snape snorted derisively, “That infernal contraption? We'd be better served hijacking a pair of thestrals. No, we will Apparate, Side-Along in this case.”

Harry briefly wondered what a thestral was before putting it out of his mind. Apparition sounded interesting, he'd seen customers at the apothecary do it from time to time, appearing with a crack outside the doors and disappearing the same way after finishing their business. Mr. Jacobi had warned about how uncomfortable it was to travel like that, but it couldn't be any worse than the dizzying Floo or nausea-inducing Knight Bus.

Snape finished cleaning up his desk and finally gave Harry his full attention, dark eyes sweeping him from head to foot.

“Do you own any formal robes?”

“Yes.” Harry resisted the urge to tug at his uniform sleeve.

“Very well, we will make a stop at the dorms so that you may change.” Snape scowled a bit, eyeing Harry’s head. “Perhaps a bit of effort to tame that mop would also not go amiss.”

Harry flushed a little, knowing any such effort would be in vain.

Snape led the way out of his office and to the common room, following Harry inside. There was a smattering of upper years spread around the room that all seemed to suddenly find themselves busy when the Potions Master appeared. Snape snorted again and glared around the space.

“Try and be quick about it, Potter,” he murmured, low enough not to be caught by any snooping students. Harry nodded and ducked away to his dorm.

A hasty riffle through his trunk produced a serious looking dark robe, accented in deep purple with a line of polished silver buttons running up the middle to close high at his throat. Harry also traded in his dragonhide boots for a pair of Oxfords and tried his best to tame the unruliness atop his head, with limited success.

He grabbed his satchel and winter cloak before hurrying back to the common room. Snape was conversing with a worried looking fifth year who had ink smudged on her cheek and far too many books piled in her arms.

“--just that I missed two questions on the practice exam and the real thing is only five months away and how am I supposed to be ready in so little time?!”

The professor held up a hand, face stern. “Calm yourself, Miss Varse. Running yourself ragged over a simple mistake can often lead to greater failings.” This did not seem to reassure the girl, who now looked close to tears.

“But--”

“Miss Varse, I do not say this lightly, so pay attention.” Harry saw Varse visibly pause and try to steady herself. “You are the top of your year and consistently turn in excellent work. You are in no danger of failing your O.W.L.s, unless of course you continue to fret needlessly about a couple of mistakes instead of working to correct them in a calm and rational manner.”

The advice was sternly given, not a hint of compassion in Snape's voice, but Harry could see a whisper of exasperated fondness in his eyes, under the glare. As if the man were used to waylaying such grievances from the girl. It seemed to do the trick in any case; Varse took a calming breath and drew herself up.

“Yes, of course, thank you, Professor.” With that she steadied the pile of books in her arms and marched off with a determined air.

Snape turned to Harry and gave him another sweeping glance. It hadn't occurred to him how similar his clothes were to Snape’s teaching robes until confronted with them. Harry fought off another flush but the Potions Master just nodded once, sharply.

“Acceptable. Come.”

Snape led the way out of the dungeons and through the castle. Classes were in session by that point, so they passed few students. Those they did shot Harry curious glances but the sight of the brooding professor stopped them from asking any questions.

Harry threw his heavy cloak around his shoulders as they exited the castle. Snape had also acquired a cloak, though Harry had missed where it came from. The trek down to the gates was silent except for the crunch of snow underfoot. Harry wished he'd kept his boots on as the cold seeped in through the thinner material of his Oxfords. He paused a moment to touch a warming charm to the shoes, then had to jog a little to catch up to Snape's much longer strides.

The professor murmured a passphrase at the gates, which were wrought iron and crested with a pair of winged boars, and they swung open. Passing through them, Harry felt a wavering in the air, like he'd walked through a thick fog into a dry landscape. Probably the wards surrounding the castle and grounds. It must take a lot of magic to hide a school this size.

Snape turned to him, holding out an elbow stiffly. “Grasp my arm tightly, unless you wish to be relieved of any extraneous limbs.” He eyed Harry’s bag. “Am I correct in assuming your serpent to be present?”

“Yes, will he need to hold on too?” Harry did not want Jax scattered across the highlands.

“Just so. Please inform him of such.”

Harry opened his satchel and poked at Jax. “Wake up, lazy scales, it's time to go to London.”

Jax wriggled away from Harry’s cold fingers, hissing irritably. “M’sleeping...”

“You need to get up for a minute, then you can go back to sleep.”

Jax sighed and huffed, but slithered out of the bag after a moment, glaring his purple eyes at the surrounding snow. “It's cold out here,” he complained, licking at Harry’s ear in protest. “Are we taking the bus? I like the bus.”

“No, Snape is going to Apparate us.” His snake slumped down even further at the news, hissing at the professor sulkily. Snape raised an eyebrow.

“He's disappointed we're not taking the Knight Bus,” Harry explained. “He likes it.”

“Indeed?” The idea seemed to amuse the Potions Master, who motioned at his still extended elbow. “Convey my sincere apologies then, and let us depart.”

“Snape says we need to hold on to him or it won't work,” Harry told Jax, grabbing the professor's arm. “Also that he's sorry we're not taking the bus, but I think he was being sarcastic. Not in a mean way, though,” Harry added. Jax pouted and slithered across the bridge of their arms to wrap around Snape's neck like a green and purple scarf.

Harry held in a snort at the uncomfortable look that came over the man's face.

“This may be unpleasant. If you feel the need, I would appreciate you not upheaving on my person,” Snape requested, though he sounded a little strained. Jax wriggled a bit, winking down a Harry.

Before he could respond, the Potions Master turned them a step to the right and Harry suddenly felt like he was being squeezed through the world's smallest straw. It only lasted a second, but Harry came out the other end shaky and with the urge to puke up all the oatmeal he'd eaten an hour ago. By some miracle he managed to keep everything down, taking deep breaths and trying to regain some equilibrium.

“Potter.”

Harry looked up to see Snape standing stiffly, his face turning a bit flushed. Jax had coiled tight around the man's neck in surprise and Snape looked close to losing his calm demeanor along with his breath.

“Jax!” Harry hissed at his snake, not wanting either of them to get hurt. Jax loosened his grip with an apologetic hiss, slithering back down to Harry’s shoulders.

“I'm sorry, it felt like I was getting squeezed to death.” Jax said guiltily, nudging at the side of Harry’s head and avoiding looking at the Potions Master.

Harry stroked him comfortingly. “Jax is sorry, he didn't mean to,” he told Snape, who was rubbing at his throat.

The man nodded after a moment. “Understandable. Though perhaps for the return trip, my arm would suffice?”

Harry nodded emphatically, surprised the man had not yelled at them, or threatened Jax. Not wanting to chance any further reprisal, Harry looked around for a change of subject. They were no longer standing on a snowy road outside the school gates, but in a dingy alley with a bustling street a few feet away.

“Where are we, sir?”

“Whitehall. We are to meet Miss Reid in the Ministry Atrium. This way.” Snape brushed down his robes and led the way out of the alley to a row of public phone booths. He waved Harry inside one. It was a little cramped with the both of them and Harry hoped there was a reason for stuffing themselves into it. Snape picked up the receiver and dialed a number that was too long for emergency services but too short for a muggle phone number before setting it back on the cradle.

“I suggest returning your familiar to his bag, so as not to unduly startle the public,” he told Harry with a smirk that spoke of just what he thought of said public.

Just as Harry reached up to coax Jax down from his shoulders, the booth rattled and shot straight down at a speed no phone box had any business going. Harry braced himself on the phone cradle and tried to hold in a surprised shout. Jax let out an excited hiss, apparently recovered from being squeezed half to death and almost asphyxiating a man.

“Weeeeeeeee!”

Snape just stood impassively, as if he were used to phone booths pretending at being rocket powered elevators.

At the speed they were going Harry expected the landing to be rough, but they came to a gentle halt with a soft ding. The folding door of the box opened smoothly and a pleasant voice announced their arrival at the Ministry of Magic Atrium.

“That was great! Let's go again,” Jax demanded, wriggling happily in Harry’s arms.

“Maybe later. You need to hide now.” Jax pouted a little, but slid into the satchel easily enough, used to having to be out of sight.

“This way, Mr. Potter.” Snape strode off across the darkly varnished floor.

The Atrium was a wide open space, opulently decorated with sweeping stone pillars and bright lights shining down from a vaulted ceiling. There was a line of fireplaces spewing out witches and wizards in green bursts at a steady pace along one wall, and queues of people waiting to leave through others on the right.

Harry followed closely behind Snape, not wanting to be swept away in the bustling crowd of workers.

He could see Miss Reid off to the side, dressed in a pair of intimidatingly sharp robes and carrying an elegant dragonhide briefcase. Her shoes were pointy enough to be used as deadly weapons, which Harry figured was probably the idea. He was glad she was on his side.

“Ah, there you are. Perfect.” She greeted them with a smile just as sharp as her outfit. “I've everything ready. The trial will be as private as possible, need-to-knows only. No press. No superfluous witnesses. The details to be sealed until you come of age.”

Harry would prefer they remain under lock and key forever, but knew the folly of that hope. This was better than nothing.

“Thank you, Miss Reid, I appreciate all the work you've put in for me.” Harry gave her a little bow, wanting to show his gratitude, though it probably came off a little stiff.

“Not at all, Mr. Potter. It was my pleasure, I assure you. Now let's go eviscerate some muggles.”

It was probably not something one should say in the Ministry while surrounded by red robed Aurors, but Harry figured Miss Reid could handle herself well enough if anyone wanted to make something of it. Snape seemed to agree with the sentiment in any case, as he led the way once more with quick strides of his long legs.

They stopped at a security booth where Harry had to hand over his wand to be registered. He was reluctant to be parted with it, but did as he was bade. The bored looking witch behind the counter set it on a scale which spit out a slip of parchment a few moments later.

“Eleven inches, phoenix feather core, been in use four and a half months?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded.

The witch handed him the wand back and impaled the slip in a spike to her left before repeating the process with Snape and Miss Reid.

Harry was interested to hear that Snape’s had a dual core of augurey feather and demiguise hair, he’d been unaware that wands could have more than one core. He wanted to ask about it, but Harry figured it might be a private thing and doubted Snape would be up to sharing.

After getting past the security desk, they took another elevator ride down even further. At least this one was not faking at being anything else. It stopped at a bunch of floors along the way, letting in and out harried looking workers and gently gliding paper airplanes that circled everybody's heads.

At one point a wizard with somewhat shabby robes and thinning red hair came in muttering about toasters and sporks with his nose buried in a messy file.

“Excuse me, sorry, didn't see you there,” he apologized to Snape after bumping into him. “Oh, Severus! Whatever are you doing here? No trouble at the school I hope?”

“Arthur,” Snape answered with a neutral tone. “No trouble, just some urgent business. The Headmaster has generously offered to cover my classes for the day while I am indisposed.”

Harry shrank back into the corner, not wanting to be noticed. Miss Reid provided excellent cover.

“And how is Ron doing? Not letting the twins drag him into too much mischief?”

This must be Weasley's father; he could see the resemblance now, in the hair and eyes. The Potions Master scowled a bit at the mention of the twins, but Mr. Weasley seemed used to that sort of reaction.

“His potion work is shoddy at best, and he spends far too much time messing about instead of concentrating on the work at hand.” Harry knew all that to be true, although he might have phrased it a bit softer.

“Always did have trouble putting his mind to task if it didn't interest him, that boy.” Mr. Weasley sighed, taking no offense at Snape's brisk tone. Perhaps the man was used to that as well, if they were on first name basis.

“Indeed.”

“I'll have Molly send a letter along, maybe stir some sense of purpose into him,” Mr. Weasley chuckled. “Or at least scare him a bit into doing his work.”

Snape let out an amused smirk at that, apparently in on whatever joke had Mr. Weasley chortling.

“Well this is me. Good seeing you Severus, do drop by for tea one of these days. I know Molly would love to feed you up some.”

“Perhaps.”

Then Mr. Weasley was hopping out with his nose back in the file.

Their stop was at what must be near the bottom of the entire Ministry. There were torches lining the narrow corridor, giving off cold blue light and flickering shadows. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor and there was a heavy sort of chill in the air.

“Here it is, Room 3,” Miss Reid said, stopping them about halfway down the hallway. “So, just like I explained on my last visit: we go in, present evidence, let them try and defend what awful people they are, watch them fail miserably, wait for a decision from the Wizengamot representatives, and then wait politely until we’re in private to cackle in victory about the Dursleys being hauled away in chains.”

Harry managed a little smile at that, although he still didn’t believe it would happen. Snape snorted.

“Everyone in that room is under strict magical vows not to reveal any details of this case, so don't worry about anything getting spread about,” she said, more serious than before. Harry nodded.

“Let's go, then. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we get to our victory dance.”

Harry doubted very much that Snape would ever find occasion to do anything so inelegant as a victory dance, but it was fun to imagine. He took one last deep breath, smoothed down his formal robes from their ordeal in the phone booth and elevator, packed his heavy cloak away in his satchel, and nodded to Snape and Miss Reid.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Snape gave him a weighted look that held far too many things for Harry to parse, so he just tried to school his face into something resembling a calm, indifferent mask.

“It will be fine, Mr. Potter,” the man murmured to him, voice low and inviting no argument. “Even if by some miracle they avoid any sort of harsh punishment, you will not be returning to that house or those... people, again. You have my word.”

Harry wanted to believe him. Snape had been honest with him from the start. But it was hard, after so many years of pain and suffering, to even consider that it would end so easily.

“Yes, sir,” he said instead, neither a confirmation nor a denial of the statement. Just an acknowledgment that it had been made. Snape seemed to understand, though, and didn’t push for more than that.

Miss Reid led the way past the heavy wooden door into Room 3.

Inside was a medium sized, ovular room. Miss Reid took them down a narrow aisle separating three rows of wooden benches. They were mostly empty except for a sleepy looking wizard near the middle on the left and an older witch with knitting needles floating in front of her and crafting what looked to be a rather large pair of yellow and brown socks.

After the benches, there were two tables on either side of the aisle, like Harry had seen in muggle courtrooms on daytime telly. In the center of the open floor there were two uncomfortable looking chairs with what seemed to be heavy chains hanging off of them. At the back of the room were more rows of benches, these ones layered on top of each other like the bleachers at his primary school. There were about five or six witches and wizards dressed in plum colored robes, each embroidered with a little silver W, milling about them. There was also a young looking wizard off to the side with a pile of parchment and quill held at the ready, probably a scribe for the court. The last person was a formidable looking witch in sea green robes conversing with one of the plum clad women.

“That’s Madam Bones in the purple, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. She’s very fair and level headed,” Miss Reid whispered to Harry, pulling out the middle chair for him at the table on the left. “She’s speaking to Mrs. Frida Larsen, Head of Magical Child Services. I heard she’s taken a keen interest in seeing this case through to the bitter end.”

“And the others?” Harry nodded at the rest of the court members, who had noticed their arrival and were unabashedly staring at him with interest. Professor Snape took the chair on the far end, leaving the other one for Miss Reid, and poured himself some water from the glass decanter on the table.

“Vicer Naves, bit pompous but usually willing to listen. Rosellin Parkinson, has a reputation for her quick temper but I think it’s mostly for show. Julius Mordred, kind of a bore but always thinks through his decisions. Gregor Tavi, makes excellent blackberry preserves.” Miss Reid pointed to each member as she spoke. “The scribe I don’t know, must be new.”

Before Harry could comment, Madame Bones finished her conversation and took her spot at the centermost point of the risers, where a podium stood.

“Ah, welcome Mr. Potter, Miss. Reid, Master Snape. The accused should be here momentarily and then we shall begin.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than a hidden door to the side of the room opened up to admit three red-clad Aurors and Harry’s aunt and uncle. Petunia looked more bedraggled than Harry had ever seen her before, in loose fitting grey clothes and her hair looking as if it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. Uncle Vernon just looked deflated, like he didn’t understand what was happening and why he couldn’t bluster or shout his way out of it. He reminded Harry of one of Dudley's birthday balloons once its helium was slowly losing potency.

The sight cheered him a little.

They were led not to the other table, but to the two chairs in the middle of the open space in front of the risers. The Aurors took position at the edges of the room after making sure they both sat. Harry was slightly disappointed to see that the chains were not put to use. Auror Shacklebolt was one of the three escorts and he sent Harry a wink on his way past the table.

“Now that all are present, I call to order the case of Potter v. Dursley in the matter of unfit guardianship.” Madam Bones addressed the room at large, her voice loud and commanding. “I am Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mrs. Petunia Dursley and Mr. Vernon Dursley, you are accused of multiple counts of child neglect, abandonment, abuse and gross negligence towards your underage nephew, Mr. Harry Potter. How do you plead?”

There was a short burst of whispering at Harry’s name but it quieted at a raised hand from Madam Bones.

Harry looked at his aunt. She was deathly pale and as thin lipped as Harry had ever seen her, but there was a hate burning in her eyes so deep that he had to stop himself from flinching away.

“I refuse to be put through this farce, you people have no right to hold us here. We aren’t freaks like you, like him!” She pointed a bony finger straight at Harry, who shrank down in his seat despite his earlier resolve.

“Mrs. Dursley, you will comport yourself in a respectful manner or I shall be forced to have you removed. You may be muggle, yes, but the crimes you are accused of were committed against a member of our community and therefore you shall be judged thusly.”

Petunia sneered but managed a spiteful, “Not. Guilty.”

‘Very well. And you, Mr. Dursley?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Vernon mumbled into his chest.

“Madam will suffice.” She turned to Harry’s table. “Miss Reid, I believe you have evidence to the contrary to present?”

“Yes, Madam Bones.” She stood up and opened her dragonskin briefcase. “I have here several pensieve memories of various incidents provided by Mr. Potter, along with a medical scroll detailing current and past suffering from Madam Pomfrey, current Healer for Hogwarts, who very recently did a full exam of Mr. Potter. There is also written testimony from a Mrs. Arabella Figg, a squib that lives a few doors down from the Dursleys and was often asked to watch Mr. Potter, confirming many of the accusations leveled against the accused.”

Little vials of swirling bright liquid were set next to a slightly scrunched looking scroll and sheaf of parchment. Harry had not liked the idea of having such awful memories floating about for anyone to see, but had finally conceded that it would probably help a lot, as long as they were returned to him at the end of the day.

“You can’t trust what he says! That boy is a liar and an ungrateful wretch,” Petunia spoke up, glaring over at him. Harry did his best not to react. “He was sorted into Slytherin, for God’s sake.”

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with Slytherin?” Rosellin Parkinson scoffed down at his aunt. “That was my house, after all.”

Petunia didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and Harry could see Snape smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“You will have your turn to speak, Mrs. Dursley, after the evidence is reviewed,” Madam Bone said coldly, glaring down her nose at Petunia, who quieted once more.

Harry then had to wait patiently while the six of them each stuck their heads in bowls of smoky liquid and witnessed some of Harry’s most awful memories. He reached a hand into his satchel and stroked a sleeping Jax.

“Why don’t they have a lawyer?” Harry asked Miss Reid, after a few minutes of nothing but the clicking of knitting needles.

She snorted softly. “The crazy bint didn’t want any freaks trying to defend her and refused one.”

Harry resisted the urge to gape, although he really shouldn’t have been at all surprised. His aunt was probably in such deep denial that anything could really happen to her that she was probably seeing pyramids.

When the judges finally resurfaced, there were a lot more pitying glances thrown his way than Harry would have prefered. Vicer Naves looked particularly incensed and seemed ready to rain down hell on Harry’s relatives. Madam Bones forestalled any such rantings with a raised hand, although she had gone noticeably paler and there was a steel in her eyes that had not been quite so prominent before.

“Did you strike this child on the head with a frying pan?” She questioned Petunia, who seemed to realise what those bowls and talk of memories had been about and flushed an angry pink.

“It wasn’t hard--”

“Did you refuse to take him to a healer after your son broke Mr. Potter’s arm?” Madam Bones did not let her finish.

“It was just a sprain, he healed fine--”

“Did you take your belt to him after he spilt a cup of tea because you bumped into him?” She directed this one at Vernon, who flinched and only managed a nod. Harry still had scars across his shoulders from that one; his uncle had been partial to an embellished buckle at the time.

“Did you make this child cook and clean for you on a daily basis or else face harsh punishment?”

“The boy needed to learn respect,” Petunia hissed

“Did you keep him in a cupboard?” That brought a tide of angry mutterings from the judges. Harry could see Naves fingering his wand. From his left, Snape was gripping his empty glass so hard Harry was surprised it didn’t shatter.

“We were doing what was best to keep his unnaturalness away from our son, we didn’t need him infecting Dudley with his nonsense.” She looked ready to continue ranting, but Vernon tugged on her dingy gray sleeve.

“Um, Petunia, sweetheart, maybe we should--”

“Shut it, Vernon! It's not like the freaks were ever going to let us out of here anyway.”

“Mrs. Dursley! I have warned you about your behaviour,” Madam Bones called down, very little patience left in her tone. “Now, the scroll and testimony please?”

Miss Reid quickly floated them over with a flick of her wand, and Madam Bones snatched them expertly out of the air. She took a moment to settle a tiny pair of reading glasses over her nose before perusing the documents, the frown lines on her forehead growing more pronounced the further along she got. When she finished, she handed the scroll to the green clad witch to her left and the pile of testimony to her right.

The click clack of knitting needles was nearly driving Harry spare by the time they all finished. He refused to look any of them in the eye, hating the pity he knew would be there. Instead he fumbled over getting himself a glass of water before Snape took over and poured for him.

“Breathe, Potter. It’s nearly done,” the man murmured softly, bent close enough to him that Harry could feel his long hair brush against his ear. Harry struggled to follow the advice, gulping down cool water.

“Well, the evidence against you is frankly staggering,” Madam Bones said after everyone was caught up and a small discussion had occurred. “Have you anything to say in your defense?”

“We never asked to be saddled with the boy. We were only trying to keep him in line and prevent any of my sister’s gift,” Petunia spat the word with such venom that it left no one uncertain what she actually meant by it, “from invading our home and family.”

“So you do not deny willingly committing these hateful acts?”

Vernon tried to tug at her arm again, looking faintly sick and not the least bit purple in the face, which was something Harry had rarely witnessed. But his aunt ignored him and then literally spat on the polished marble floor directly in front of Madam Bones’ podium.

Harry did let out a gasp then, he had never once in his life imagined his aunt doing something so...dirty. He glanced at Snape next to him, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating what he’d just seen, but Snape looked just as stunned.

Madam Bones on the other hand, looked wholly unimpressed.

“Very well. A moment while we confer.” She turned her back on his relatives to talk quietly with her coworkers; it did not take long.

“Mrs. Petunia Dursley and Mr. Vernon Dursley, in the case of criminally unfit guardianship over your nephew, Mr. Harry Potter, we find you guilty. You are both sentenced to forty years in Azkaban. Mr. Potter, you are hereby remanded into the temporary custody of Master Severus Snape, as your current Head of House, until other arrangements can be made. Your son,” she checked a paper on her podium, “Dudley, will be sent to his aunt’s residence. Where I hope to Merlin he is treated better than you did your own nephew. That is all, Auror Shacklebolt,” she called to the man who was trying quite unsuccessfully to hold back a smug grin. “If you would be so kind?”

“It would be my genuine pleasure, Madam.” He motioned at the other Aurors, who fell in to converge on the Dursleys.

Pertunia started screeching expletives worse than an angry Jax, but Harry could only sit there in numb disbelief that anything had happened at all. He had not expected anything. No matter the obvious effort Miss Reid and Auror Shacklebolt, and even Snape had put into it. He had come along today ready to accept literally any other outcome.

A hand on his shoulder made Harry jump badly enough to knock one of his knobbly knees against the underside of the table.

“Apologies.” Snape said, removing the hand. “Are you fine to leave now, or do you require a few more moments?”

Harry looked around in confusion; while he’d been distracted, the chamber had emptied except for him, Snape, Miss Reid and Madam Bones, who was talking quietly to the barrister.

“We can--” Harry attempted, but found his throat too dry to continue and took a sip of cool water to soothe it before trying again. “We can go, I would really like to leave now.”

“I imagine so,” Snape answered. “Come, I believe this calls for a celebratory meal.”

Harry did not feel much like eating, but didn’t argue. He did manage to thank Madam Bones with a proper bow and very little stuttering. She had the courtesy of not looking down at him with pity, but instead insisted on a firm handshake.

“You know, my niece Susan is in your year, Hufflepuff. Perhaps you’ve met?”

“Oh, um.” Harry thought hard but could not recall any Susan Bones, “Sorry, I don’t share any classes with Hufflepuff this year.”

“No matter,” she waved away Harry’s embarrassment. “If you do see her, do say hello for me. I’m sure you’d get along fine.”

“Yes, Madam.” If Susan was anything like her aunt, Harry was sure they probably would.

“We really must be going now, Madam Bones,” Snape said, thankfully cutting off any further talks. Harry was really not in the right state of mind to be carrying on anything like intelligent conversation.

“Of course, of course, Master Snape. A pleasure to see you, as always.”

“You as well. In this case, I find myself most pleased by the outcome of the day.” They shared a steely look of grim satisfaction before Snape steered them out of the room.

“You look like you could use some peace and quiet, Mr. Potter,” Miss Reid said as they walked to the elevator. “I’ll leave you in Professor Snape’s capable hands, and we’ll have a follow up in a week or so, how about that?”

“That sounds fine, thank you,” Harry replied numbly, although she didn’t seem to mind the tone.

“Very well. Here,” she retrieved a small wrapped package from her briefcase and handed it to Harry, “these are yours. The paperwork has to stay for evidence purposes, but we agreed beforehand on the memories, so there you go.”

Harry’s hands clenched around the package, unused to adults following through with their promises. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Not a problem. Ta for now,” she waved, stepping into a packed elevator. “See you soon.”

Harry and Snape elected to wait for the next one, mostly so Harry could take a few silent moments to himself before having to face crowds of people again.

~~~~~~~>

Severus Snape carefully watched as Potter pulled himself together enough to board the elevator. Though he was unsurprised at the outcome of the trial, Potter seemed to be. Severus could understand somewhat. The boy had probably spent the entire process telling himself nothing was going to come of it. Severus knew that kind of hopelessness, had lived with it until he’d turned seventeen himself and was able to escape his own bastard of a father for good. Sometimes Severus wished he’d done it sooner, but there had been his mother to think about.

Until there wasn’t.

He was not even surprised that Potter had been placed under his care, however temporarily. It had happened twice before in the decade he’d taught at Hogwarts, and never lasted more than two months either time. It was a hazard of the job; Minerva had been drafted at least twelve times in her tenure.

For now, though, he needed to get some food into the boy, or barring that, at least a spot of tea. He looked about ready to collapse from the strain of the day’s events.

They made it out of the lower levels of the Ministry without incident. The Atrium was less busy now that the morning rush had passed by.

“You have used the Floo before, Mr. Potter?” he inquired. The boy nodded absently. Severus noted he had one hand resting inside his satchel. No doubt petting that serpent of his that had nearly choked the life from him that morning.

He led them to an open fireplace and handed Potter a pinch of gritty powder. “The Leaky Cauldron, then.” He waved the boy ahead of him; Severus would rather follow behind to make sure he went to the correct place. It would not do to have Potter fly off to destinations unknown while in such a state.

When he himself arrived safely at the pub, it was to the sight of Potter scowling at the soot all over his formal robes. He seemed to have taken a bit of a dive out of the hearth.

“Scourgify,” he cast quietly, disappearing the mess. Potter looked up at him with a grateful nod.

“Thank you, sir.”

Severus was not used to being thanked sincerely by Potters, and did not quite know how to deal with such things. So he only nodded sharply and led them to a free table in a secluded corner of the pub.

Tom arrived mere seconds after they sat, grinning at them with what few teeth he had left.

“Misser Snape, a pleasure, not seen you in quite a mo’.” The barman's eyes alighted on Potter. “An’ who’s this then? Can’t be young Harry Potter, by my stars.” Potter shank away from the grinning barkeep and then looked annoyed at himself for doing so.

“Indeed, Tom. We had some business in London that couldn’t wait for the end of term. Two bowls of stew, if you would be so kind.” It was an obvious plea for privacy that Tom picked up on with no trouble.

“O’course, be back in just a tick.”

Potter spent the time waiting for the barkeeper's return fiddling with the utensils on the table and staring around the pub without actually looking at anything. The boy was still in shock. Severus took a moment to thank Merlin that the child was not one for hysterics when faced with such life altering events. Although Severus himself felt a near overwhelming sense of smug vindication at Petunia and her husband’s fates, he understood that Potter might need some time to adjust.

A distraction would perhaps help. Severus cast about for a conversation topic after Tom deposited two servings of hearty stew, along with a basket of thick cut bread and a pair of butterbeers.

“Enjoy, I'll be sure ta keep the riff raff outta your hair, professor.”

“My thanks.”

Tom puttered off and Severus watched Potter pick at a piece of bread without actually eating it. The stew was acceptable, if a little bland, though Severus appreciated the warmth it provided.

They sat like that for a good few minutes before Severus spoke.

“Your robes are better fitted than one would expect from a first year with little means to their name.”

That got a reaction out of the boy, who jumped a bit and flushed slightly. Severus took another bite of stew.

“I thought I might need a pair of nice ones.” A fumbling deflection, but a good start.

“If I am not mistaken, they look to be Twilfitt and Tatting's work, a rather higher end tailor. Surely you could have found suitable robes somewhere that would not have drained your meager funds quite so badly?”

Potter huffed and took a few bites of his own meal to avoid answering right away. If anything, at least it was getting the boy to eat.

“Would you believe me if I said I used my fame to get a discount?” he asked, finally meeting Severus’ eyes for the first time in hours. There was a self-deprecating look to them, and Severus allowed an amused smirk to answer for him.

“Alright, sir. You caught me.” He paused to eat more, and probably gather his thoughts. “Although to be perfectly honest, I had fully intended to use the funds from my summer job to pay for my school things. But when I went to Gringotts to open an account, the goblins kindly informed me that I already had several vaults to my name, even if I can only touch the trust my parents left me until I come of age.”

The boy gave him a serious look, and Severus did not need his skill at Legilimency to see he spoke the truth.

“And the reason you did not inform me as such when I gave you the key to said vault?”

Potter shrugged, face unrepentant as he dabbed bread around the bottom of his empty bowl. “I was curious to see when the Headmaster would see fit to return to me what was mine. I didn't really see the point to telling you I already had access when you obviously were doing just that; and not trying to play a game.” Potter paused, chewing bread slowly. “I do appreciate everything you've done for me, sir. Although I still don't quite understand why you're doing it.”

That makes two of us, Severus thought, finishing his own meal. “Thank you for explaining. I see more evidence every day that you were indeed placed in the correct House. It is a wise habit, to keep things close to the chest.” Severus pointed his spoon at the boy, who looked a bit stunned that he was not being yelled at for lying to a teacher, if only by omission. “Though you must keep in mind that I am here to help you, Mr. Potter. And if there is something that threatens your safety or the safety of those around you, I expect to be told at once.”

A shadow seemed to pass over the boy, but Severus couldn’t decipher its origin or meaning.

“Of course, sir,” Potter conceded, much too easily for Severus’ tastes, but he wouldn’t push the child too hard. Potter had an obvious and understandable distrust of adults, but (as much as it pained him to admit of any spawn of James Potter) the boy was smart and cunning. If something were to happen, Severus trusted him to at least see that Severus was best placed to help rather than hinder.

For now, Potter seemed to have regained some of his momentum. It was time they returned to the school so that he could see to fixing whatever havoc Albus had waged on his classroom whilst they were away.

The heavy weight of guilt that rested in the back of his mind and spoke with the voice of Lily seemed to have lost much of its mass, for which Severus was very grateful.

Chapter Text

The school term continued on, no matter how much Harry wished he could take time to himself to process everything that had happened. There were essays to write and Quidditch games to attend, studying to do and his own back to watch.

Harry had waited with a heavy sense of dread for news of the trial and the circumstances that necessitated it to leak. For people to begin whispering about him as he passed them in the corridors like they had at the beginning of the school year. He waited for the pitying glances and well-meaning platitudes. The prying questions thinly veiled as concern for his well-being. He'd spent ten years with nobody caring one whit what happened to him, or about how he was treated, and now they pretended to care? The idea of it made Harry seethe inside.

But there were no looks or whispers. There had been a few curious questions about where he and Snape had gone off to, but Harry brushed them aside with a vague excuse of having business at Gringotts that couldn't wait, which satisfied most of the Slytherins. Malfoy still insisted on blathering on about Harry’s formal robes and how his Mother had promised to get him three new ones over the holidays but only two had been ready in time for their Yule Ball.

“Did you plan on changing three times during the party?” Harry couldn't help but ask as he stowed away his freshly laundered robes; the elves had even used a sandalwood scented soap, apparently picking up on Harry’s preference from his semi-frequent visits to the kitchens.

Malfoy sniffed, looking at bit put out as he stroked Jax, who was coiled in the blond's lap and becoming entirely too spoiled. “It's the principle of the thing.”

Blaise, from his place lounging at the head of Harry’s bed, muttered something pointed about strutting peacocks in Italian that Harry understood enough of that it startled a laugh out of him. Blaise smirked and Malfoy glowered at him, spitting out some (no doubt scathing) remarks in rapid fire French, which Harry gathered his friend did not understand.

Harry rolled his eyes at the resulting bout of multilingual bickering. He didn't know how long the two boys had known each other, but the way they constantly fought resembled what Harry assumed having siblings would be like. He wondered if he'd ever be close enough to someone, other than Jax, to inspire that sort of easy camaraderie. Would he reach a point where he didn't have to second guess every word that came out of his mouth? To not have to worry about offending the people who, for some unknown reason, had befriended him?

The playful bantering that Blaise and Malfoy seemed to derive so much pleasure from looked amusing from the outside, and Harry hoped he'd be able to achieve that level of closeness at some point. For now, he just hissed to Jax that it was time to go out into the common room and work on his Defense essay.

“You can nap in front of the fire,” he coaxed when the serpent seemed reluctant to leave Malfoy’s lap and his generous pettings.

“Fine, but I want an egg later,” he hissed petulantly, slithering away from the pouting blond.

“You’re hungry again already? You just had one yesterday.”

“I'm a growing snake, I need nourishment,” Jax huffed, licking at Harry’s ear as they left the dorm. Blaise and Malfoy were now arguing about who had the best tailor and where one should go to acquire proper formal accessories. It was all a bit too posh for Harry and he quickly made his escape.

~~~~~~~>

A few weeks after the trial, Harry had finally convinced the house elves to send up some of his preferred foods at dinner time. It had taken a fair amount of negotiating with Fitzy, and a standing specialty order of a muggle brand biscuit that the elves had trouble getting their hands on normally (but apparently craved to a great extent,) but Harry eventually started getting pots of various spicy Indian dishes and plates of warm naan appearing at his end of the table. It was a hit with most of his year mates, though a fair few begged off the spicier options. The older years took an interest as well, congratulating Harry on his negotiation skills as they stole scoops of fragrant food.

“Impressive, Potter,” Gemma Farley said, grabbing pieces of garlicky flatbread. “Took me ‘til third year to even find the kitchens. And I only ever managed to get them to send up lavender Earl Grey in the mornings, and that wasn't until late last year. I'd give points if I could.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied, fighting back an embarrassed flush as the prefect returned to her place further up the table. He was unused to so much attention from his Housemates, though he supposed since it was pretty positive overall that it didn't do any harm. It might even be helping to establish his place within Slytherin: a bit of proof that it wasn't a fluke that he landed here at the beginning of the year.

It wasn't just his own House that took notice of the change. At one dinner a Ravenclaw girl with Indian features and a long braid approached their table. She looked vaguely familiar; they probably shared Herbology.

“Hello, is that chana masala? How did you get it? Would you mind if I had some? I'm Padma Patil,” she said in a rapid volley of questions, tagging on the introduction as an afterthought with a nervous sounding giggle.

Harry just stared for a moment, startled, while Patil’s eyes flicked from their group to the food and back. Giving himself a mental shake, Harry put on a slightly more placid face, the one he used when people started asking about his scar. Not too open, but not really giving anything away.

“Hello,” he returned the greeting, thinking quickly. This was a good opportunity to build connections in the other Houses. He already had Longbottom in Gryffindor, and perhaps could persuade Granger in a pinch. He didn’t know quite what he might need them for, but it was a good idea to try and lay down some groundwork early. Now that the Dursleys were as out of the picture as it was possible to be without actually dying (not that he’d mind that outcome overmuch either,) it was time to start building towards his future in earnest. And, Harry thought, gathering some allies would be a nice way to start.

“I’m the reason for this.” He gestured at the steaming dishes, now noticeably picked over, though there was still a good amount of the chana left, it being one of the spicier options. “I have an arrangement with the house elves.”

Patil’s eyes widened. She was wearing kohl around them, which Harry thought was a bit much for an eleven year old. Though he had noticed quite a few of his Slytherin yearmates also wore some form of makeup; maybe Harry was just out of touch again, as he so often was.

“Oh really? Do you think you could ask them to send some over to Ravenclaw too?” She looked so hopeful, and Harry figured Patil was probably homesick. He wondered if he would ever get a chance to feel that way. Maybe when he went wherever he ended up for the summer, Harry would feel it for Hogwarts.

He pretended to ponder the request, biting his lip in feigned uncertainty. “I don’t know, it took a lot of effort just to get this much, I’m not sure if I’d be able to negotiate a whole other House table.” He widened his own eyes a bit; it was kind of fun, seeing how much he could pull off with his mostly untested skills.

Patil seemed to go for it at least, because she flapped a hand at him and looked apologetically worried. “No, no. Not the whole table, just the end where I’m at, like you did here.” She gestured at the Slytherin table, giving her braid a nervous tug where it rested over her shoulder. “I can do something for you in return? I have a bit of pocket money, or I could help you with some school work?”

Harry let her stew for a few more moments before giving a reluctant nod. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I don’t need any money, but how are you at Charms?”

Patil beamed at him, letting out another giggle, although this one was much less nervous sounding. “It’s my favorite subject!”

Well that was convenient, seeing as Harry was still complete pants at it. Millicent did her best to help, but she wasn’t the most patient study partner. Harry did fine on the written aspect but still struggled with the practicals. A few extra boxes of muggle biscuits would be a small price to pay for some eager help from the Ravenclaw.

“Then you have a deal, I’ll speak to the house elves tomorrow.” Harry held out a hand, feeling as if this were a proper occasion for a shake. Patil clasped it firmly, sealing the deal with a determined look on her face.

“Can I get some of that chana now? I accidentally skipped lunch because I was in the library, so I’m starving.” Patil giggled, and Harry tried not to let it show how much he knew about actual hunger.

“Of course, take as much as you like.”

The girl did so, piling a plate high with rice, chana, and naan before fairly skipping off back to the Ravenclaw table with a final giggle. Harry waited until she was seated again with her back to him before dropping the facade, slumping down a bit on the bench. It was a little exhausting, holding in so much and projecting only what he wanted seen. He would definitely need more practice.

Blaise gave him a soft clap from across the table. “Nicely done, Harry, there’s hope for you yet.” He winked at him and Harry resisted the urge to kick the other boy in the shin. Maybe someday they would reach the point where Harry would be comfortable displaying such mindless retaliation to ribbing, but he didn’t feel quite there yet. So instead he very maturely stuck his tongue out at his friend and continued with his own meal.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with your shoddy Charms work anymore,” Millicent quipped next to him, where she had been picking at the new food with uncharacteristic delicacy. “I was about to go spare.”

Harry snorted. It was kind of nice, being mocked in a friendly way. It was far different than the malicious way his relatives had gone about it, tearing Harry down to his very core and yet finding ways to go deeper still. Not this, though; what Blaise and Millicent were doing seemed to be paving over those old wounds, burying them under winks and nudges and deadpan deliveries that made Harry want to laugh out loud, though he managed to restrain himself most of the time.

“See if I help you with our next potion practical,” Harry bantered back, still getting the hang of doing so, but his friends were patient with him, despite what Millicent might have to say on the matter.

“Pssh, my potion work is fine.”

“You nearly created mustard gas in the last lesson, not even Longbottom managed that.”

“That was a one off, the powdered claws all look the same, anyone could have grabbed the sphinx instead of hippogriff.”

“Not if you bother to read the labels.”

Millicent just rolled her eyes and snorted, waving away the aspersions on her potion skills. “Whatever, Potter, hand over more of that aubergine goop, I liked that one.”

Harry dutifully passed the bowl of baingan bharta over, not bothering to correct her on the name, Harry doubted she cared overmuch about the semantics. It did give him a warm feeling to see his friends enjoying the food, it was nice to have something in common as basic as that. It brought a bit of normalcy into Harry’s otherwise hectic life.

Although Harry had never been a good judge on what was normal, this felt like a step in the right direction at least.

~~~~~~~>

A quick word to the house elves solidified Harry’s side of the bargain, and soon he saw a marked increase in his Charms ability. Patil was a strict tutor, belied by her tendency to giggle and wear the occasional garishly colored eyeshadow. She had more patience than Millicent by far, which also helped. Patil was also good at explaining things in a way that Harry could better grasp. Not that Flitwick was a bad teacher per se, he just tended to throw the incantation and wand movements at them without really going into any detail about what they were doing or why they were doing it that way.

Patil on the other hand, took the time to explain properly the reasoning behind things. Soon Harry was feeling much less like he was flailing about and more as if he were actually learning. He doubted Charms would ever be his favorite subject, but at least he wasn’t going to fail spectacularly at it.

The tutoring sessions soon turned into mutual studying, once Harry was finally able to get past his mental block. They were joined by Blaise and Millicent more often than not, and sometimes Longbottom would pop up, although that was rare, now that Granger was running her own group with what looked to be an iron fist.

“She’s a bit scary when she’s focused on schoolwork, or making schedules for everyone, or her books, or well, anything really,” Longbottom explained as he slowly backed away from their table towards Granger’s mountainous workspace. “But it’s really helping me out, so...” The Gryffindor flushed in embarrassment, like he was afraid of hurting Harry’s feelings because he wanted to study with his crazy housemate instead.

Harry resisted the urge to snort; he was picking up bad habits from Millicent and Snape. “It’s fine, Longbottom. I’ll see you on Sunday, yeah?”

The boy gave him a relieved look, letting out a huff of breath like he’d been holding it the whole time he waited for Harry’s reaction.

“Yeah, good, that’s good.” He leaned back in and whispered, like he was afraid of being overheard. “You’re still the best at potions, but don’t tell Hermione I said so, she can get a bit... tetchy.”

“Of course, you have my word.” Harry gave the other boy a serious nod, ignoring the elbow Blaise was digging into his side.

“Cheers, Potter, I’ll see you later.” And with that the Gryffindor turned to head over to his housemates, nearly running into two of the three tables he passed but managing to make it without any major disasters.

Blaise tapped the table with his fancy eagle feather quill, commenting dryly, “That boy will either end up the worst of the whole year, or turn out to be a sleeper genius.”

Harry nodded, shuffling his notes for an excuse to use his hands. “He’s not stupid, I can tell you that much, he just lacks focus.” He eyed the Gryffindor table from under his lashes. They were being a bit louder than the surrounding groups, but not by much. Most of it was caused by Weasley, who had received a screaming letter at breakfast one morning haranguing him at length about his work ethic in a shrill voice before bursting into flame. Weasley had since wisely joined Granger’s study group.

“His parents were powerful, that whole family has been. It’s good that you’re establishing yourself with him now,” Blaise said contemplatively, “in the event that he does surprise everyone.”

Harry hmm’d in agreement before pushing the matter away in favor of actually studying. Patil had arrived at the tail end of their conversation, but didn’t push for details about who they had been discussing; she was much more focused on getting work done. Millicent eyed the Gryffindors but didn’t add anything, although Harry got the feeling she agreed with their assessment. It would be interesting to see either way.

~~~~~~~>

The weather grew warmer once again, although the snows seemed to cling to the highlands with the tenacity of one of his Aunt Marge’s bulldogs. Eventually, green started to seep back onto the grounds and Harry was happily able to resume his outdoor time.

Jax was especially excited; now that he wasn't sleeping nearly so much, the serpent was feeling a bit caged in. Harry felt bad about that, they'd spent so long hiding away that it should have been second nature to continue. But they had both tasted freedom and were loath to be stuffed back into such confined spaces again. It was bad enough that Jax spent so long riding around in Harry’s satchel, expansion charms notwithstanding. The snake was growing and they needed to figure out a better way to go about it. Harry doubted he would be allowed to carry Jax around on his shoulders all day and he was uneasy with the thought of leaving him in the dorms alone.

Maybe under his uniform? If he wanted to take a break from the bag and stretch out a bit? The school robes were loose enough that they could probably get away with it in the more unobservant classes.

For now, they walked along a muddy path, enjoying the open air. It was still chilly out but the fresh scent of wet trees was doing wonders for his head. They'd had Defense last that day, and Harry was getting close to giving in to the need for a headache potion. The migraines just seemed to get worse as the year went on, and always in that particular class.

It wasn't as if the subject was challenging in any way. They mostly read and listened to Quirrell’s stuttering, rambling lectures. Harry was still convinced the man was putting on an affectation, but had been unsuccessful in figuring out why. He shared his suspicions with Blaise and Millicent, who agreed there was something fishy about the professor.

“Nobody smells that strongly of garlic without a reason,” Blaise muttered, wrinkling his aristocratic nose.

Jax had tried to sniff out anything amiss with the classroom, to try and see if there was some magical object that was causing the headaches, but the garlic drowned pretty much everything else out.

“I kind of got a hint of something oily and heavy, but I couldn't really separate it out. Sorry,” his serpent hissed, nudging at the side of Harry’s head softly. Harry stroked the snake in thanks.

“We'll figure something out.”

At least the attempts on Harry’s person had petered off for the most part, although he wondered if the mystery assailant was just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. Perhaps something else was occupying their time? Harry would keep his guard up in any case, and now that Jax was awake and aware much more often, he could do the same. Maybe the snake would notice something Harry hadn't.

They went down to the lake, where Jax terrorized the toads and Harry tried his hand at skipping stones (with limited success.) His friends had not joined him. Blaise had taken one look at the muddy ground and quickly turned tail for the common room. Millicent hadn't even made it that far, begging off to go brush down Maximus, who had been shedding his winter coat all over the place.

Harry looked out at the smooth expanse of the Black Lake, wondering if the giant squid hibernated in the winter or not, if it was just as glad for the change in season. He also wondered if he should learn to swim. Harry had always been jealous that his cousin got lessons and was able to go to the public pool during the hot summer months, while Harry had to stay back and work the garden or on any other number of chores.

It might be nice to learn, it couldn't hurt at the very least. Unless there were creatures out there, under that dark expanse, that would love nothing more than to drag unsuspecting students to their doom. It seemed pretty likely, the more Harry thought about it. The school did not seem overly concerned with safety, if the rumors floating around about a giant three headed dog prowling the forbidden corridor were to be believed. Which made Harry more curious as to how many mythological creatures were real and roaming the earth, if there was a cerberus right under their noses. Perhaps those old epics were more biographical than not.

He wouldn't be able to take Care of Magical Creatures until third year, though, which was a bit annoying, but Harry could always read ahead. This newfound freedom to read and have as many books as he could ever want was a bit intoxicating if he spent too long thinking about it. The library portion of his trunk was slowly acquiring more and more volumes on countless topics that Harry had absolutely no time to actually read at length. He was looking forward to the summer, when he'd be able to spend hours at a time doing just that with no expectation of essays or the feeling that he was forgetting to do something.

Harry loved learning, but sometimes wished he had more hours in the day to pursue a random topic that would lead him on a trail through various other subjects just to see where he might end up.

His pondering was interrupted by Jax slithering up his leg to drape across his shoulders.

“Let's go back inside, it's getting colder and I want some warm potatoes,” he hissed in Harry’s ear, curling close to absorb what little warmth Harry was giving off.

“The toads too fast for you?” he teased, booping the serpent on the snout as they turned back towards the castle.

“Those hoppy lumps?” Jax hissed derisively, turning his nose up in a very Malfoy-like manner that had Harry holding in an amused laugh. “No, I just find myself in the mood for some more challenging prey.”

“So, root vegetables?”

“Precisely.”

Harry did laugh then. Jax joined in with hissing giggles after a moment of trying to hold up the snooty facade. Some of the passing students gave them a wide berth, side-eyeing the crazy boy and his hissing snake. Harry didn't mind so much; them scrambling away was better than trying to confront him.

Dinner was just getting started in the Great Hall, he hadn't realized they’d been out so long. Maybe next time he would bring one of his books along. Harry slid into his usual seat, Jax slipping under his robe to hide and steal more of Harry’s warmth. A few passersby seeing him was fine, but Harry didn't want to push his luck too much.

Malfoy was down the table a few spots, trying vainly to get Crabbe and Goyle to eat with a modicum of decorum. It wasn’t going too well, judging by the frustrated look on the blond's face and the amount of food already dribbled down the fronts of the hulking boys.

“Small bites, Vince.”

“Why? I'm hungry; the bigger the bite the faster I'm not hungry anymore,” Crabbe said in a bewildered voice, taking another massive spoonful of kidney pie. Harry couldn't fault his logic. Malfoy just sighed exasperatedly and picked at his green salad with a delicate looking fork, taking little bird bites and employing a cloth napkin with precise motions, as if he could make up for his companions’ lack of manners by sheer force of will. Harry applauded the effort, even if it made Malfoy look like there was a stick shoved somewhere it ought not be.

Jax poked his head out of Harry’s left sleeve to snap up one of the roasted potatoes he'd set aside for the snake, while Harry himself enjoyed the curried ones.

Blaise slid into his usual seat across from Harry and raised a dark eyebrow at him. “Your sleeve feeling a bit peckish?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He didn't want any of the toads out by the lake.”

“I should think not.” Blaise looked faintly horrified at the mere thought. “Filthy, muddy things.”

Harry snorted, imagining Blaise as a snake and turning his snout up at everything but the cleanest, pure white mice hand feed to him. He would probably refuse to slither on the floor unless it was freshly waxed and mopped, and would absolutely never set a single dark scale out on the dirty ground.

Harry had to stop thinking about it, lest he burst out laughing. Blaise might poke fun at Malfoy’s more snobbish tendencies, but he had just as many quirks of his own, although, thankfully, they tended to be less annoying. It was obvious Blaise had grown up wealthy and wanting for nothing, but seemed to have come out the other side a tad less haughty about it than Malfoy. More open to socializing outside of Slytherin House, at least.

Which was a good thing, as their study group had somehow acquired another Ravenclaw, Sue Li, who was quiet but excellent at Transfiguration. And a muggleborn Hufflepuff of all things, Justin Finch-Fletchley. Blaise and Millicent had been a bit cold and wary towards the boy at first, though Harry was unsure if it was because of his House or blood-status. Finch-Fletchley seemed alright to him, sharing an interest in potions and acting pleasant enough towards everyone. He’d stumbled upon their study group one day when all the other tables had been filled and never left, inserting himself with an ease that Harry envied.

The Hufflepuff eventually wore down Harry’s friends with his happy smiles, affable manner, and willingness to work hard at whatever they happened to be doing. He even got Millicent to put in some effort on her latest potions assignment, something even Harry had been unable to do. So, he didn't mind the addition to the group too much.

Though if it grew any bigger Harry didn’t know quite how he would feel about it. Small groups were fine; he could keep an eye on what everyone was doing. The bigger it got, the more risk something unexpected would happen.

~~~~~~~>

As the weeks passed, it grew warmer and wetter outside; spring was well on its way. Their walks took them all over the grounds, though they steered clear of the groundskeeper’s hut, not wanting another confrontation with the large man. Jax also smelled something off about that whole area, like hot ashes and rotten eggs. Harry couldn't smell anything, but he'd long come to terms with his inferior sense of smell and took his familiar at his word, keeping them well away from the hut.

One Saturday, they were wandering close to the forest edge when Jax suddenly went stiff all over and hissed in a low, threatening way Harry had rarely ever heard. He slipped his wand out of his pocket and took a defensive stance, eyes scanning the tree line.

“What is it?” He hissed as quietly as he could, not taking his eyes off the dark forest. Had the shadows always been that deep?

“Blood,” Jax answered, slithering silently forward, purple tongue flashing out to taste the air. “Magical blood, something very bright.”

Harry crept after the snake, curious in spite of himself. If a bright creature was hurt, maybe they could help. Then again, what if the thing that hurt them was still out there? Before Harry could call a halt to their tracking, Jax hissed out to him.

“Here, look.”

It was a little pool of silvery liquid that seemed to give off a light of its own. Harry crouched down to get a better look. It was blood alright, but not any kind he'd ever come across at the apothecary.

“It leads off that way,” Jax pointed with his snout, before looking back at Harry. “Should we follow it?” he asked, making it clear that was precisely what he wanted to do.

“We probably shouldn't,” Harry said uncertainly, standing up and brushing the dirt from his knees.

“Are we going to anyway?”

“Yeah...” he answered after a moment spent wrestling with his more rational side. His curiosity won out in the end and they followed the trail of shining drops into the forest.

After a couple minutes Harry had to light the tip of his wand to see through the dense foliage. He spotted a lot of different plants growing wild under the trees and made a note to come back sometime with a proper basket to gather some for his potion stores.

The drops increased in frequency the further in they went, leaving more little pools and broken branches in their wake. Harry’s eye was caught by a few golden strands of hair hanging from one of the disturbed bushes.

A closer look showed it to be unicorn hair, one of the more rare and expensive ingredients offered at the apothecary. Harry pocketed the strands without a second thought, they were very useful. And also probably a huge clue as to what they were tracking.

“Jax,” Harry hissed to the underbrush. It was too dim to see his friend, the snake’s dark green scales blending in too well. “It's unicorn blood.”

“That makes sense,” came the answer from about two feet in front of him, “explains why it smells so pure.”

Soon enough they came to a clearing with the wounded animal collapsed against a large oak tree. Its gleaming sides were heaving and its eyes looked feverish and wild. The unicorn's mane was tangled with twigs and leaves, not surprising given the amount of hair Harry had pocketed as they followed the trail. There was a gash in its neck that was sluggishly pumping out more of the silver blood onto the forest floor. He couldn't tell if it was a cut or a bite from so far away, and he didn’t want to get any closer for fear of being impaled on the wickedly sharp horn sticking out from the animal's head.

“What should we do?” he hissed to Jax, who climbed up to his shoulders, tongue flicking out to taste the air. The unicorn was making hurt noises, high pitched whinnies that hit Harry like a brick.

“We should go back and find help, maybe the groundskeeper will know what to do.”

But before Harry could make a move, a dark shadow swooped into the clearing and onto the frightened beast. It looked like a giant bat at first, with the way it moved, but then Harry saw a pale hand reaching out to grasp the deadly horn and force the unicorn's head to the ground.

Jax tightened around him as Harry dropped as quietly as he could to the forest floor, extinguishing his lit wand. He kept one hand on Jax, the other gripping the slip of polished wood with white knuckles. This was an evil being. He didn’t need the drop in temperature or the hiss in his ear about darkness and rot from his serpent to tell. They needed to stay very still and quiet, there was nothing they could do for the unicorn now. No matter how it pained him to see the shadow-man lunging down to latch on its bleeding neck, drinking the silvery blood like some deranged vampire.

Harry had read about vampires, though, and they never went after unicorns. There was something he couldn't remember about them that made the blood a detriment to any who ingested it. That was why it wasn't used in potions, why Harry hadn't recognized it at first.

What kind of being was this, then? That risked so much to kill such an innocent creature? Evil.

Harry shivered, holding Jax closer still, scared like he had never been before. Not even at Halloween, with the troll. Snape had been there then, had protected them. They were all alone out here. They never should have followed that trail.

Eventually the unicorn gave a final, weak kick and went still, the light it gave off slowly fading from the clearing. Harry could feel a dampness on his cheeks, a little startled to find he'd been silently crying. He wished he'd brought his invisibility cloak with him; it was stupid to leave such a useful tool behind, especially with how this year had been going. Although, with their luck, Jax would just sneeze a dozen times in a row and give their position away in any case.

The shadow-man kept drinking until the glow faded completely, the only sounds in the clearing that of his revolting slurping and the pounding of Harry’s heart, which he feared was loud enough to carry across the open space. Then the shadow-man stood and laughed in a high pitched shrieking way that made Harry’s own blood turn to ice and all the hairs on his body stand on end. Jax burrowed deeper into his clothes, shivering.

Harry feared he might wet himself if this went on any longer, but the shadow-man flew away into the trees with one last cackle a moment later, leaving them alone with the corpse of a unicorn. Harry's hands were trembling, as were his knees and arms and just about every other part of himself that he could sense. There was also a headache brewing behind his scar, as if he were sitting down to a Defense class. Which was almost laughable, considering what had just happened.

He waited a solid five minutes before daring to move.

“Jax?” he questioned the trembling serpent. “Are you okay?”

“I don't know. That was so scary, I don't want to be in the forest anymore. I'm sorry I dragged you out here.” His friend sounded so guilty and frightened, Harry patted at the trembling snake through his robes.

“It's not your fault. I should have known better. Let's just go, we need to tell someone about this.”

“Okay,” Jax whispered, coiling tightly around Harry’s middle like he hadn't done in a long time.

They made their way slowly out of the forest, following the trail of gleaming blood back the way they had come. It was such a relief to break through the tree line into the dubious brightness of dusk that Harry nearly collapsed. He was covered in dirt and twigs and there were probably leaves in his hair, making it even more of a bird's nest. But they were out of the forest and away from that thing, so Harry picked up the pace and fairly ran towards the castle.

“Harry?” Jax hissed from his hiding place, as he slowed to a fast walk up the gravel path to the main entrance.

“Yeah?”

“That shadow-man, he smelled like garlic.”

Chapter Text

Severus had just sat down to a well deserved plate of shepherd's pie. It had been a long day of grading subpar essays and samples of brews that did their utmost to resemble so much toxic sludge. He was looking forward to a relaxing evening; there were no Saturday detentions to supervise for once, giving him an evening free to catch up on his backlog of Potioneer Monthly. He was looking forward to eviscerating everything that idiot Peters had published.

That was, until Potter appeared at his elbow, looking pale and shaky and as if he been dragged a fair few miles through the brush.

Severus slowly lowered his fork back down, a creeping feeling of dread overtaking his plans for the evening. Ignoring the whispers rustling through the Great Hall, Severus lifted a single eyebrow at the boy.

“May I help you, Mr. Potter?”

The boy’s eyes darted around the room and along the teacher's table briefly before he managed a quiet, “Can I speak with you privately, sir?”

It seemed as if even that small effort had cost Potter a great deal to utter. So Severus nodded sharply and rose from the table, gesturing to his temporary ward to follow him out of the Hall.

Whatever had happened, he knew one thing for sure: Potter would never have come to him if the need was not dire. Despite what Severus may have feared at the beginning of the school year, Potter was not his father’s son, not in any significant way. The boy was quiet (far too much so, if Severus were being completely honest,) thoughtful, and intelligent enough to know not to waste time on foolish jokes.

As soon as they settled in his office, Severus summoned a strong tea; the boy looked about ready to fall off his chair.

“Drink.”

Potter did so, after a moment of just holding the delicate cup in trembling fingers. A little color returned to his pale face and Severus felt they could continue without danger of fainting. He laced his fingers together on the desk and waited expectantly for an explanation.

“Jax and I were taking a walk around the grounds,” the boy began, voice a little shaky but determined, a hand drifting unconsciously to his middle, where Severus assumed the snake to reside. “Jax smelled something and we went to investigate.”

“A magical something, I presume?”

Potter nodded, taking a fortifying sip of tea before continuing.

“Blood. It was blood.”

Severus listened as Potter described following the trail into the Forbidden Forest and the wounded unicorn it led to. He valiantly resisted pinching his nose and sighing at the blasted foolhardiness of doing such a thing. He was seriously considering reevaluating his earlier opinion about the boy, it seemed some of James Potter’s recklessness had trickled down in spite of Severus’ more fervent wishes.

When Potter described the shadow-man and subsequent death of the unicorn, Severus did his utmost to remain impassive and not give in to the urge to shake the boy for even being in a position to witness such a thing. That would not be advantageous towards gaining Potter’s trust or maintaining his own sense of control.

“I assume you hid yourselves as best you could and did not try anything brazenly heroic in an effort to save the beast?”

Potter lost what little color he'd gained and shook his head swiftly, green eyes a bit wild behind his glasses. “No sir, I'm not an idiot. I would never put Jax in that sort of danger.” Severus noted he did not mention concern for his own safety, although considering that Potter seemed never to be parted from the serpent, the distinction was a moot point for now. He doubted it was an issue that could be resolved easily in any case, and there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Was there anything else that you noticed about this man? Height? Build? A description will be needed if a search is to commence.”

Potter looked stunned that Severus was taking him at his word about a unicorn slaughtering shadow-man roaming the school grounds. Which he supposed was to be expected from a child raised in such a manner that bred an inherent distrust in authority. He doubted the boy had met more than a couple of adults even willing to listen to him tell a tale, let alone believe it. Severus was frankly surprised Potter had come to him at all. Grateful, yes. Incredibly so, given the severity of the situation.

“Jax,” another unconscious hand to his middle, “he says the shadow-man smelt like garlic.” Potter did not elaborate further, indeed did not have to.

Quirrell.

Severus had been suspicious of the man almost as soon as he'd come back to the castle with that infuriating stutter. Although admittedly, some of it might have been spite over the fact that he had been passed over for the Defense position once again, and for their erstwhile Muggle Studies professor, no less.

The fact that Severus had caught Quirrell snooping around the entrance to the ridiculous obstacle course Albus had set up to guard that infernal Stone no less than five times this year was justification enough to be leery of the man. Add to it the obviously feigned stammering and sudden penchant for absurd headwear and overfondness of garlic...

The man asked too many questions of the other staff, dancing around points like a drunken moth. There was a darkness to Quirrell that had not been there before, one hidden by offensive smells and artificial mannerisms that did well enough to hide the sharpness of his eyes from those not looking.

Severus was always looking.

He could not afford to be unobservant or complacent; life inevitably found a way to make him pay for such slips.

Potter was staring up at him with a hesitancy that showed how little he expected Severus to believe him.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, I will look into it immediately.”

That earned a sceptical look, one Severus assumed the boy too exhausted to try and mask. After a moment of internal debate, and despite Potter’s most recent act of foolhardiness, Severus decided to share an inkling of his true thoughts, if only to discourage any further reckless undertakings.

“Mr. Potter, what I am about to tell you will not leave this room. Am I understood?”

The boy straightened, nodding seriously. “Of course, sir.” Truth, that much Severus could sense.

He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. The room was already muffled, but the efforts themselves lent towards the seriousness of the situation. “I have had my own suspicions of Professor Quirrell. You have no doubt noticed his stutter is an affectation?”

Potter nodded once more, which Severus found satisfying. Although it was still frustrating that an eleven-year-old could see what the majority of Severus’ coworkers did not.

“I have been watching the man, apparently not as closely as I should have been. Rest assured I will get to the bottom of this.”

The boy looked, if not completely reassured, at least less shaky than when he'd approached Severus in the Great Hall.

“You would do well to be alert and aware whilst around Professor Quirrell. I do not believe that he yet suspects anyone to be suspicious of him, and it would be a detriment and dangerous to act out on such knowledge.”

The boy was quiet for a moment, as if struggling through a decision to tell Severus something that was no doubt very important. He took a calming breath and waited Potter out; he could not force the child to do anything he didn’t want to.

Well, he could. Although that would undoubtedly cause more harm than good.

“Sir?” Potter spoke finally, looking as if it cost him a great deal to do so. “There is something else. I'm not sure if it's connected, but you should know in case it's affecting the other students as well.”

Severus waved a hand for him to continue, dreading what disaster was about to pour forth from the boy’s mouth.

“Whenever I'm in Defense I get headaches.” He touched his forehead; Severus wondered if it was an accident or purposeful that it was over the scar. “It's been happening all year, and lately it's been getting worse and worse.”

Severus held back his instinctive need to pinch his nose. “Why did you not come to me about this sooner?”

Potter’s answering shrug told him enough. Severus rose from the desk and went to his potion cabinet, disabling the wards and grabbing a hefty blue bottle of Headache Cure. He brought it back to the desk and set it before his frowning ward.

“A sip before class. If the pain persists, come to me immediately as it is no doubt something much more serious than an overabundance of garlic.”

Potter hesitated only a second before grabbing the potion with a murmured thanks.

Settling back behind his desk, Severus paused a moment before summoning his usual meal tray for when he worked late, the house elves having helpfully doubled the amounts. And added a serving of fragrant samosas that Severus certainly had never requested. Potter seemed to perk up a bit at the sight of them though, failing to hide a small smile. The house elves had evidently taken a liking to the boy.

Well, Severus mused, It was about time someone did.

“Eat. I'll not have my ward wasting away and I suspect dinner to be near its end. I shall escort you to the common room afterwards,” Severus commanded, pulling his own bowl of warm stew closer.

The boy hesitated less about eating than he had about confessing a chronic pain. Small steps were still steps.

The samosas were not terrible.

~~~~~~~>

Harry took a long shower when he eventually made it back to the dorms. It didn’t help to rid him of the dirty feeling that covered him as much as he'd hoped. Harry suspected it went more than skin deep. What they'd seen in the forest had been brutality beyond anything Harry had experienced. It had left him feeling sickened and afraid, knowing that something so pure could be subjected to such malicious violence. That the perpetrator had laughed.

He did not even hesitate before taking a dose of Dreamless Sleep that night.

There were a few questioning glances the next morning, but a serious look from Harry dissuaded anything further.

“I've learned to not fight that stubborn face,” Blaise quipped, with a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. He then punished Harry by having him recite their History essays back to him in Italian, which served the dual purpose of helping him with the language fluency and to cement the various dates and names of the goblin rebels in his mind. One would think so many bloody wars would be interesting to learn about, but the dry, monotonous way Binns recited from his notes just seemed to make everything dull.

Dull was something Harry had no problem with at the moment.

He was grateful their next Defense class wasn't until Tuesday. He wondered what Snape was going to do with the information Harry had given him. Would he go to the Headmaster? Or confront Quirrell himself? Harry doubted the second option, it seemed too bold for the Slytherin Head of House.

Harry didn’t quite know how he felt about Dumbledore knowing. On the one hand, the man was clearly powerful and it was supposed to be his duty to keep the students safe. But he had hired Quirrell in the first place, and Harry had seen no evidence that he cared one whit about anything that didn’t play into his hand in some way. The manipulations he'd done in Harry’s life before he'd ever set foot in Hogwarts was proof enough for that.

He would just need to keep a sharper eye on everything. With Jax back to his normal awake self, there was even less that slipped by them.

Including the time an entire shelf of books in the library had tried to bury him. Jax had hissed a warning just in time for Harry jump back from the avalanche of heavy tomes. Madam Pince had descended on him with a fury that had Harry stumbling back, but thankfully an older Ravenclaw had seen the whole thing and calmed the librarian enough that Harry could make his escape back to the study group. Although his heart was still racing; Madam Pince reminded him of his aunt.

“I smelt the garlic again, right before that wave of magic,” Jax hissed from under Harry’s robes.

“That makes sense. If Quirrell’s willing to kill a unicorn and drink its blood, I doubt he'd have any qualms about offing a first year.” The idea was less scary than that of there being two awful beings roaming the school, but Harry just wished he knew why he was being targeted.

Were his essays that terrible? Was he just a random target of an insane man? Or was it something more sinister? Had Quirrell been a follower of the Dark Lord? Was he angry at Harry for what had happened that night when he was a baby?

That just wasn't fair. Harry had no idea why it had gone down that way, or if he even had anything to do with it. He couldn't even remember anything that had happened.

Harry should have expected something like this to happen. His life had never resembled what anyone would call fair, and he didn’t see a reason for it to start doing so now. There were only a few weeks until Easter break, perhaps this would be solved by then. Or Harry might die in a presumed freak accident.

If that happened, he wondered if Snape would dig for the truth, or if he wouldn't care enough to. Harry still doubted the Potions Master’s motivation in helping him so much this year, with the Dursleys and telling him about the various ways the Headmaster had interfered in his life. The Dreamless Sleep and Headache Cure.

The troll could be explained away as the man protecting the school at large, but the other things? Listening seriously when Harry told him of Quirrell. Letting him use the classroom during the Christmas holidays to brew. Going through all the effort of the trial against Harry’s relatives.

These were personal things. Things that showed Snape was paying attention to him and... invested in the outcome. Harry was not used to such benevolent scrutiny. Not towards himself just as he was.

It couldn’t all be because of his mother, could it? Snape didn’t strike him as the sentimental type. Although, Harry still had trouble reading the motivations of children his own age, so he was probably missing something obvious.

Pushing the matter from his mind, Harry rejoined the conversation at his table. Finch-Fletchley was babbling at Millicent about the various uses of cat hair in potions, which had her at least looking at the Hufflepuff instead of doodling on scrap parchment. Sue Li was in hushed discussion on inanimate transfiguration and how to extend their transformed times with Blaise and Patil.

Harry seemed to have been left to his thoughts without question. Which he appreciated, hoping none of them had noticed his near miss with the books earlier.

He gave Jax a few comforting pats before joining in on the potion talk. He'd read recently about Polyjuice and what a disaster it would be if someone used animal parts for the final step instead of human. Finch-Fletchley thought it was hilarious and started contemplating aloud what various teachers would look like all furry or feathered.

“Do you think someone would be able to fly that way? Or would we be too heavy? What if you only got the beak? I bet S--” Finch-Fletchley cut himself off, apparently remembering his current, emerald clad, company. He flushed and gave a coughing sort of laugh before changing the subject entirely.

Harry very nearly followed Millicent in her amused snort, restraining himself, but did allow a shared raising of eyebrows with his friend over Finch-Fletchley’s head. The Hufflepuff was certainly an interesting addition to their study group, even if he did still need a little training in subtlety.

~~~~~~~>

The Headache Cure worked very well, for most of the duration of Defense. It was a marvel to be able to sit there and actually pay attention to what was happening around him rather than just trying to hold in pained whimpers. Harry still acted as if his head hurt, in case it was a directed attack; he did not want to show his hand.

Quirrell was the same stuttering, fumbling mess he had always pretended to be, although Harry noticed a bit of raggedness around his edges. The man looked genuinely tired and his eyes held a fever that had not been there before. Whatever he was trying to accomplish, be it Harry’s death or something else more sinister, it couldn’t be going well. He also noticed the professor reaching up to adjust his turban more often than seemed necessary, a nervous tic that did not look feigned for once.

It had been difficult for Harry to enter the classroom that first time after the incident, crowding behind Millicent’s broader form. His nightmares were now filled with the pained screams of dying unicorns, sprays of shining silver blood, and high pitched laughter. He was dangerously close to breaking the dosage requirements for the Dreamless Sleep, consequences be damned.

Harry had managed, however, taking his usual seat in the back corner with Millicent and Blaise on either side of him. Quirrell could do nothing to him in a full classroom, and Harry was clear-headed for the first time in months. He could endure the lingering glances from the man that he thought no one noticed. He would scribble his usual amount of notes and rub at his forehead and count down the minutes until they could escape the classroom.

Jax was a comforting weight across his shoulders, under his school robes. They had agreed beforehand that it was best if the serpent was close, in case something happened.

It was a fortunate thing that Defense was the last class of the day on Tuesday, because Harry doubted he’d be of any use in another after the stress of being in the same room as the shadow-man for the first time. Quirrell was not an intimidating figure, he should not make Harry break out in a cold sweat. But he’d seen what the man was capable of first hand, he knew the evilness that lay under that stuttering demeanor.

Harry hoped Snape would be able to do something soon.

~~~~~~~>

The spring holidays arrived much sooner than Harry expected, as distracted by the Quirrell problem as he had been. He and Jax had cut their outdoor time down to near nonexistence, only venturing out if Millicent wanted to come along or under his cloak. The cloak limited their range of movement though, and Jax tended to sneeze just at the wrong time and scare all the toads away. So they stuck to the library study group, the Slytherin common room and other populated areas of the school. He wore the cloak to the tutoring sessions with Longbottom, who had improved exponentially over the year (enough so that Harry doubted he needed the help all that much anymore,) waiting until the Gryffindor left to don it again for the trip back.

Snape had pulled Harry aside after a potions class to inform him that he was making headway in the matter and to remind Harry not to try anything foolish, as if he believed that Harry was about to fly off and confront Quirrell at the first opportunity. That sounded like a monumentally foolish thing to do and Harry didn’t have even the slightest urge to try it. He’d seen what the man was capable of in the forest, and he’d seen what Snape had done to that troll. Harry knew how to turn a matchstick into a needle...

Blaise and Millicent were both staying at Hogwarts for the break. In fact, most of Slytherin House was staying behind. Apparently, Easter was not a big thing in most wizarding households. Which was understandable; Harry had been surprised to find that so many of them celebrated Christmas instead of the traditional Yule. Malfoy had gone on and on about the subject when Harry had mentioned it, complaining about the needless melding that the two holidays had undergone and how it was damaging to his own sense of self. Harry suspected the blond just liked the idea of getting gifts for nearly two weeks straight, seeing as the traditions had petered off quite a few generations ago.

Harry remembered reading about such things while sitting in his dim cupboard and waiting for winter to end. He thought he might take some of them up in any case, now that he was free from his muggle relatives. Samhain seemed a more somber ritual than the modern Halloween, which fit Harry’s mood about that time a lot better. Perhaps he would do more research on the matter after the current crisis was dealt with.

Harry was grateful for the break from classes, not that he’d been struggling, but with so much weighing on his mind lately it had been more difficult to concentrate. The added free time would give him an excellent opportunity to catch up on his work. Blaise seemed to think it a good time to test Harry’s progress in Italian by refusing to speak English the entire time, which had the added benefit of annoying Malfoy enough that he flounced off with Crabbe and Goyle more often than not, usually with a muttering of French.

It was a nice, calm break. Harry should have known it wouldn’t stay that way.

It happened when they were all out by the lake. Harry had finally convinced a sighing Blaise to go outside by asking in near perfect Italian, and Millicent had tagged along. It was the second to last day of break; what few students had gone home would be coming back tomorrow and classes would resume the following day. Jax was down at the waterline chasing toads and Millicent was trumping them both at exploding snap.

The noise of the game was the reason Harry had not heard the approaching footsteps, or perhaps it was a stealth spell at work. Either way, he had just played a card and the next thing he knew there was a shout and flash of red light, then everything went black.

Harry came to in darkness. A depressingly frequent occurrence in his life.

What was unusual this time however was the way he was bound hand and foot, ropes tight enough to cut into his bony wrists. He was laid out on his back on what was either a very dirty floor or the ground. Harry was going with ground, judging by the breeze and occasional chirp of birdsong.

Jax. Where was Jax?

“Jax!” Harry hissed frantically, the situation becoming apparent as the shock wore off.

There was no answer.

Where was his friend? His only family? “Jax?!” Harry thrashed in his bonds, needing to get away, needing to find his snake.

There was a whimper from the right. “Harry?” a voice croaked out.

“Blaise? What happened? Have you seen Jax?”

A cough and some rustling, Blaise was probably tied up just like him. “I can’t see shit, are we blindfolded?” He let loose a string of Italian swearing that would have Harry blushing at its vulgarity if he had any spare attention to spend on it.

“Millicent? Are you here too?” A grunt from the left confirmed it.

Were they alone? Or was Quirrell just standing over them, watching them struggle? Harry hushed the others and listened closely, but he couldn’t hear anything other than their quick breaths and the normal sounds of the forest. That’s where they had to be, or at least Harry hoped so; he didn’t know what would happen if they’d been taken somewhere else.

“Can any of you get loose?”

A few moments of rustling clothes and pained grunts later answered that. Harry tried concentrating on the ropes, like he used to do the door to his cupboard. It was no use, though, it felt like his magic was just slipping around the knots like oil and water.

“I think these are enchanted against magic,” Harry told them, feeling his heart speed up and sweat starting to dampen his clothes.

“Oh, very good Mr. Potter. Quite astute. You would have no doubt made a fine wizard; too bad you’ll never get the chance.” A cold voice said from right in front of him. Harry kicked out with his bound legs, hitting nothing but air and earning a high pitched laugh for his trouble.

“This is certainly not how I would have preferred to do things, as my master had urged discretion, but you have just been a bit too slippery for that. And now that the blasted Stone is out of my reach and that greasy traitorous dog of a Potions Master is hounding my feet, I fear my time here is limited. I will, however, exact the revenge my master so deserves before I leave.”

Holding back a scared whimper, Harry took a page from his aunt’s book and spat in the direction of the voice.

“Finally decided to drop the act, Quirrell?” he asked, putting more bravado into his voice than he actually possessed. They needed time, he had to keep the man talking. Maybe Jax was out there, waiting for the right time to strike?

Another high laugh, this one more crazed than the last.

“Oh very clever, Potter. I had wondered if you’d figured it out. Nobody else thought to suspect p-p-p-poor st-stuttering P-P-Professor Qu-Quirrell.”

A choked gasp from his left: Millicent. Harry hated himself for dragging his only friends into this. He should have known better, he should have kept a closer eye on their surroundings. This was all his fault.

“It wasn’t hard, you’re a terrible actor. I had you pegged for a fake from the first class,” Harry boasted, trying to stall some more.

“Did you now? How interesting. I suppose there’s no need for these anymore, then.” There was a tugging at the cloth covering his eyes and suddenly Harry could see again. Quirrell was grinning maliciously down at him, wand in hand and looking two seconds away from frothing at the mouth. “It will be good to see the fear in your eyes as I kill your little friends first. Can’t have any witnesses now, can we?”

Harry frantically looked around the clearing for anything he could use. Everything was blurred a bit without his glasses, but he could see rocks and branches strewn about. Blaise was next to him, trying to put on an impassive face, but his dark skin was ashy and his pupils retracted in fright. Millicent looked angry and scared and about three seconds away from either bursting into tears or trying to gnaw her way to freedom.

“Leave them alone! They won’t talk, they’re Slytherins. They know about discretion,” Harry tried, but Quirrell just laughed again, conjured a wickedly curved knife and approached Millicent, who tried to shrink back but only managed a few inches before Quirrell was on her with knife raised.

“Can’t be too careful with throwing around Killing Curses, don’t want to give away our position. Don’t worry Miss Bulstrode, this will only hurt for a second.”

Thump!

A tree branch came flying across the clearing and knocked Quirrell off his feet, the knife dropping from his hand. Harry grunted at the effort the wandless magic had caused, he’d not done something like that in a long time. And never anything so big.

Good thing Millicent was a quick thinker; she rolled over to the knife and managed to free her hands and feet before Quirrell could regain his.

She slid the knife across the leafy ground to Harry before picking up rocks and sticks and anything she could get her hands on to chuck at their professor, who did not appreciate the bombardment, nor the insults she was hurling along with them.

“You’re a terrible teacher and you reek of rancid garlic! My cat’s taken shits that looked better than you!”

Harry would laugh if he wasn’t so busy slicing Blaise free. The boy gave him a grateful nod and only fought a little when Harry pressed the knife into his hands. Quirrell had taken their wands, he would need the weapon.

“ENOUGH!” The man shouted, cutting his own wand through the air; a shimmering shield appeared, protecting him from Millicent’s onslaught. The girl backed up to stand with them, hands gripping a thick branch with shaking fingers.

“I will not be taunted by children,” Quirrell sneered, his pale face flushed and turban becoming a bit unraveled. “I was willing to make this a quick death, but now I think I’ll enjoy watching you suf--” He paused, head tilted as if listening. Harry couldn’t hear anything, but it could just be a diversion.

“Master, you are not strong enough...” Harry did hear a muttering then, as if there were another person in the clearing, but unless they were under an invisibility cloak, Harry couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

“Of course master, if that is your wish.”

Harry was about to bend down and grab a rock of his own when Quirrell started unwrapping his turban with purpose. It was such an odd thing to do that Harry froze, uncertain what such an act might foretell. The clearing went eerily silent as the wrap fell away, no birdsong or crickets. A coldness seemed to seep into the air; it would have made Harry shiver if he wasn’t already awash in adrenaline and fear.

“Harry Potter.” The voice was cold, high, and did not come from Quirrell. It made the hairs along his arms stand on end and a chill run up his spine.

Quirrell turned his back to them, which would have been an excellent time to flee, if they weren't all frozen in place by the horror that was attached to the professor’s head. It looked like what a face might, if sculpted from lumpy clay by a blind six-year-old. It looked half melted, with sharp teeth and red eyes that burned like hot coals.

“Harry Potter,” the thing repeated, looking Harry right in the eyes and sending a white hot pain through the scar on his forehead. Harry held back a cry by sheer force of will and glared at the face. “Look at what you’ve reduced me to. Mere shadow and vapor. You will pay dearly for such crimes; I promise you that.”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Blaise started muttering beside him, sounding more scared than Harry had ever heard him, Millicent doing the same on his other side. Which confirmed what this half-melted parasite on the back of their Defense teacher’s head was.

“The Dark Lord,” Harry managed, feeling dangerously close to crying himself. “Voldemort.”

“Oh very good, Harry Potter, it will be satisfying that you know who it truly is that will be killing you.”

“But you’re supposed to be dead! Everyone said you died that night you killed my parents.”

The face scoffed, glaring red eyes at Harry and sending another stab of pain through his scar.

“As if I am beholden to such a thing as death! No, Harry Potter. I did not perish, but you will. Kill them.”

And suddenly Quirrell was spinning around and charging. A flick of his wand sent Blaise and Millicent flying into nearby trees with solid thunks. Harry didn’t even have time to raise his fists, useless as they were, before the man was on him, cackling madly and trying to strangle Harry with his bare hands.

It hurt. Sweet Merlin, it hurt so much. Like fire and sandpaper and all those nights spent starving in his dark cupboard all alone. It wasn’t fair, they had finally been free. He and Jax were supposed to have escaped all the torment. They were supposed to be happy now, safe. Harry should have known better, that nowhere would ever be safe.

He screamed. In pain and anger and frustration that his life had been so short and miserable. Hopefully Jax had gotten away, he could make a life for himself. He could survive even without Harry.

The thought was devastating and he couldn’t stop screaming.

It occurred to him, through the haze of pain, that he shouldn’t have so much breath for screaming, that Quirrell should have choked the life from him by now.

Harry forced his eyes open to see that the man was also screaming, no longer laughing or grinning but trying to pull away from Harry.

Who had apparently grabbed onto his wrists in an effort to stop him. Where their skin touched it was red and bubbling, like a Boil Cure gone wrong. It hurt Harry to touch him, but it looked like it hurt Quirrell more to be touched by him. Filled with a new determination, Harry grit his teeth and latched a hand onto the man’s face, watching the burning spread and ripple along his skin. It smelt horrible, like charred flesh and burnt hair. Quirrell tried to force him off but Harry held on; if he was going to die he was going to take this bastard with him.

Quirrell collapsed onto the ground screaming and flailing weakly. Harry hoped the Dark Lord riding the back of his skull was eating dirt. The skin under his palms was blackened and sunken in, Quirrell’s movements reduced to twitches and spasms. The last thing Harry saw before falling off of him and passing out was the light leaving his one remaining eye.

Dead then.

Good.

Chapter Text

Severus was using the break to take inventory of the student stores. With only a couple days until classes resumed, he wanted to make sure that everything was up to standard. He would have started it sooner if there hadn't been that blasted crisis with Hagrid trying to keep a bloody dragon in his hut. His wooden hut.

It had taken a great deal of subtle maneuvering (and a scorched cloak) to get the beast ready to ship off to Romania without any of the students noticing. Albus had taken charge of the actual delivery, thank Merlin. This was worse than the time the man had tried crossbreeding a cockatrice with a roc, the ultimate results of which had been thankfully unsuccessful.

Severus made an agitated tick next to sage on his list. Why Albus allowed such things to happen right under his nose, Severus was sure he'd never know. Hagrid was a genial enough man, a good groundskeeper and loyal to a fault, but his tendency towards bringing dangerous creatures within easy reach of children was not something Severus approved of.

It was a miracle no one had been mauled by the cerberus that had been placed on the third floor. A decision he had been strongly against, but overruled on.

Another sharp tick next to powdered tiger claw.

At least this Quirrell problem should be fixed...

No sooner had the thought occurred then the angry hissing of a snake sounded from behind. Severus turned to see Potter’s familiar racing along the stone floor at top speed right towards him. It had crossed the entire length of the classroom in a startlingly short amount of time. Severus very nearly drew his wand but hesitated. He knew the snake to be intelligent, that it would not be so agitated without reason.

It stopped in front of him, rising nearly its full length from the stones and glared up at Severus with jewel bright eyes, hissing pointedly.

“I don’t understand you, but I assume it has to do with Potter and we should make haste?” The serpent bobbed up and down in the approximation of a nod at the boy’s name.

Blast. He should have known things would not be so easy.

Abandoning his list, Severus gestured to the snake to lead the way, falling behind with long strides. The familiar really was remarkably fast.

Severus’ mind raced over the possibilities of what could have befallen his ward. Had there been an accident? Had the boy been experimentally brewing on his own without proper knowledgeable supervision? Or was it something more sinister? Had Quirrell made a move against him, in revenge of Severus getting that bloody Stone out of the castle? Why target Potter though?

The answer for that was easier to imagine than Severus would have preferred. What use would somebody need for both unicorn blood and a Philosopher's Stone? His left arm tingled with half forgotten pain and Severus resolutely ignored it.

The snake led them on a surprisingly concise route through the castle; it had apparently been paying quite a lot of attention whilst being carried around all day. Severus made a note of the fact.

There were a few students roaming the halls, though they lept out of the way at the sight of an angry snake rushing at them, followed by their fearsome Potions Master. Severus would have enjoyed the dramatics of the scene if the situation were not a dire one. Though he supposed listening to the rumors that were sure to pop up after this would be quite entertaining in themselves.

The snake led them free of the castle and out onto the grounds. It was approaching midday, the sun shining brightly overhead. He could hear the laughter of students enjoying their free time and see a game of pick-up Quidditch being played over at the pitch. The serpent led them down to a secluded part of the lake, one Severus remembered coming to often himself as a student.

“Has he fallen in?” he asked, pointing at the lake, but the snake hissed in what Severus was fairly sure was a negative. That was a relief at least.

The serpent paused at the site of an abandoned card game, the things strewn all around as if tossed. There were indications of at least three students, and one set of larger footprints in the soft earth of the lakeside. He was just about to follow the trajectory of the steps when the snake beat him to it, slithering off with purpose. Severus was unsurprised when the trail led them into the forest.

It was an easy enough one to follow, Quirrell (he was fairly certain that was who was behind this) was no master thief. He left clearly visible footprints and a line of disturbed flora in his wake. Severus did not need his skills as a spy and tracker to follow such blatant signs. Even if they were to somehow lose their way, Potter’s serpent seemed more than capable of sniffing the boy out.

He came across Blaise Zabini first, unconscious with a knife next to him. The boy was crumpled on the ground as if he’d been tossed into a tree. A quick check found a strong pulse, so Severus left the boy there; he would be safer silent and unmoving. He cast a protective charm over him just in case and moved forward slowly, his own steps muffled magically.

He’d lost sight of the serpent in the dimness of the forest, but that did not matter as he came through the next layer of trees into a clearing. Quirrell was indeed there, or what Severus judged to be the remains of the man. His face was so blackened and charred it was impossible to tell. Potter was on the ground next to the body, his snake coiled atop him and hissing frantically, licking at his face and nudging at him with its little head. Severus dropped all pretenses of being cautious and hurried forward, kneeling next to the boy.

He was pale and covered in sweat, that unruly mop of hair matted down with dirt and perspiration. The stark whiteness of his skin made the angry red of his scar stand out all the more.

Severus reached carefully around the snake to check his pulse, finding it weaker than Zabini’s had been but still very much there. He let out a breath he’d been unaware he was holding. Which had the unfortunate benefit of getting a nose full of the stench of burnt flesh.

“You stupid boy,” Severus murmured, allowing himself a moment to brush the hair from his ward’s face. There was an emotion rising in him that he did not care to examine further, so he pulled his hand back and continued his examination in as stoic a manner as he could manage.

Potter’s hands were bright red, as if scalded, and there were rope burns around his thin wrists, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. A whispered episkey fixed the wrists but he’d need a salve for the palms. The snake was hissing even more frantically at the boy’s continued unresponsiveness. Severus, not wanting to be on the receiving end of such venomous ire and needing answers himself, pointed his wand at Potter again.

“Rennervate.”

~~~~~~~>

Harry awoke to Jax trying his best to lick his eyeball and hissing expletives that he really shouldn’t even know.

“Shit, Harry, wake the fuck up!”

He was confused for a second before everything came flooding back. He let out a broken, gasping sob and clutched the serpent to him, not caring about the pain it caused his hands.

“Jax! My Jax. I thought you died! I thought that bastard killed you. I was so scared, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Harry frantically patted down the snake’s sides, looking for injuries.

“I’m fine, he didn't even see me.” Jax wrapped himself around Harry’s upper arm, looping his neck once and tucking his head under Harry’s chin. “That fucker hit all of you with a red spell and laughed and floated you away into the forest. I went to get Snape.” He paused, sounding ashamed. “I didn't think I could take him on my own, that unicorn...”

Harry hushed his friend, stoking the tight coils on his arm. “That's good, you did good. He probably would have killed you if you'd tried.”

It was then that the implications of the words hit him and Harry finally noticed the Potions Master kneeling on the ground next to him, scowling and looking even paler than usual.

“Mr. Potter, I believe I explicitly stated that you were not to engage in reckless behavior.” It sounded like a harsh reprimand, but Harry could see the worry buried beneath the words and in Snape's drawn face. He much prefered that to an overly emotional display, he shuddered a bit at the thought.

“Apologies Professor, it won't happen again.” Harry's voice was raw from screaming. Snape nodded seriously, black eyes glaring down at him.

“See that it does not.”

Harry took a breath, trying to ignore the awful smell of burnt hair and meat from right next to him.

“Blaise and Millicent? Did you find them?” He looked around the clearing, it was empty but for the three of them and a body.

A body that Harry was not going to look at.

There could be more bodies in the woods. His friends. It was his fault, he should never have tried to make friends.

Snape held up a hand as if to calm him. Harry hadn't noticed his panicked breathing and struggled to get it under control. There were spots dancing in front of his eyes and the world seemed suddenly muffled.

“Mr. Potter, calm yourself. Take deep breaths, in... and out. In... and out.” Harry did as Snape commanded, unable to do much else. Jax was a warm comfort around his neck, proof of life, and he concentrated on that.

“Mr. Zabini is fine; if you permit me, I shall go search out Miss Bulstrode. Was there anybody else here?”

Harry didn't know how to answer that. Had the Dark Lord perished along with Quirrell? Harry doubted it, but then why had he not taken the chance to kill Harry while he was passed out? Did he need a living host to do anything? Had he fled?

Harry just shook his head.

Snape looked ready to question him further, but seemed to hold himself back. Rising from the leafy ground, he asked, “Do you know where she might be?”

Harry pointed to where Millicent had been flung, his fingers shaking. He watched as the Potions Master strode into the trees, leaving him and Jax alone next to a man that Harry had killed.

He looked down at the mangled mess of Quirrell. The entire right side of his face was blackened and sunken into his skull. There were red blisters marring the rest of his face and along his neck. One eye socket was empty and oozing, the other stared out blankly. His jaw was hanging open, unhinged in a death scream that showed off bloody teeth and a torn, burned through cheek.

Harry had done that. He had killed this thing that had once resembled a man. He had done it with intent and purpose and fury. He had been so angry at the unfairness of it all and taken the opportunity to end it without hesitation. What kind of person was he? That he did not even consider stopping once it became apparent that Quirrell was no longer a threat?

“I killed him, Jax. He was going to kill me, and the others. I thought he had hurt you, or worse, and I killed him.” Harry could not look away from the corpse, memorizing every detail of the blistered and cracked skin.

Jax tightened further still around him, a rolling pulse of a hug. “Good. I wish I could have bitten him,” his serpent hissed lowly, rubbing his head under Harry’s chin.

The words both warmed him and sent an icy chill down his spine. Jax cared so much, would do anything to protect him and Harry loved him just as fiercely. But he didn’t want the snake to feel the same things he was feeling now. He didn’t want Jax burdened with the guilt of taking a sentient life. No matter how evil it had been.

His friend deserved better than to become a murderer. Harry would do his utmost to make sure that never became a possibility.

He was still staring at Quirrell when Snape returned, Millicent on his heels. She looked a little banged up but more angry than teary.

She nodded sharply at Harry, gaze drifting to Quirrell. She turned a bit green around the edges and clutched at the branch she was still holding.

“Wait here, I will go revive Mr. Zabini and then clear up this mess.”

Millicent thankfully did not seem inclined to talk and Snape soon returned with a ruffled Blaise in tow. His wide eyes were stark against his dark skin and he looked from the body to Harry and back with an indecipherable expression.

Harry figured he should probably stop sitting next to a corpse and tried to stand on shaky legs. He nearly managed it, but Millicent had to brace him a bit. Harry allowed himself to lean into her sturdier frame, just a little, as they backed away from Quirrell.

He turned to Snape and managed to croak out, “What happens now?” He had just killed a man. In self defence, yes. But that did not change the fact that there was a body on the ground that would never move again.

Snape motioned them further away, to the edge of the clearing and turned them away from the sight.

“Now, you will all stay here and look into the forest or up at the clouds while I deal with the matter of your erstwhile Defense Professor, who took it upon himself to flee his position due to undue stress. I doubt Hogwarts shall be hearing from him again.”

Snape said it in such a pointed manner as to leave zero doubt to which story they were to use if anyone asked.

Harry, Blaise, and Millicent all nodded silently and huddled together, pretending not to notice the sounds of rustling fabric, the murmured incendio, and the wave of heat behind them. They ignored the increased stench of burning flesh, coupled with fabric and hair.

A tugging at his arm distracted Harry from his forced study of a caterpillar eating a leaf. A glance down showed Blaise clutching at his wrist, the tremors in his arm enough that they clashed with Harry’s own shaky limb. Blaise wasn't looking at him, could very well be staring at the same caterpillar. Harry hesitated, unsure, before twisting his arm so that they were holding hands instead, fingers tangled tightly enough to settle both of their tremblings, ignoring the pain it caused his reddened palm.

Harry, leaning against Millicent and holding onto Blaise with Jax wound securely around him, felt much less likely to fly apart at the seams.

Eventually the crackling behind them stopped and Snape came back to them, footsteps deliberately loud on the soft dirt.

He passed them their wands without a word, as if they'd accidentally left them behind in class. He stood with his arms folded before him, contemplating them all with a critical eye. There were ashes clinging to the hem of his black teacher's robes.

“I shall escort you all to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey will treat any injuries you may have sustained in your bout of friendly dueling.”

Silent nods.

“You will then follow me to my office, where you will provide a full explanation.”

More nods.

Snape studied them for a moment before gesturing to the trees and their way out.

Harry couldn't help glancing behind them as they followed the professor. All that was left of Quirrell was a slightly darker smear of dirt at the center of the clearing.

~~~~~~~>

It took until a clucking Madam Pomfrey had them sit on separate beds for Harry to realize he was still holding hands with Blaise. He let go with a slight jerk, embarrassed to be clutching at his friend like a frightened six-year-old.

He wasn't scared. He wasn't anything. Harry felt numb.

Madam Pomfrey admonished them for their foolishness, but gently. She rubbed a cool cream on Harry’s palms; it smelled of mint and aloe and drew the pain away like... well, like magic.

“Now keep that on there for at least five minutes, then you should be right as rain.” She patted the arm not currently occupied with a snake and Harry managed not to flinch. Although that was probably more due to the shock than any fortitude on his part.

She also gave them all doses of Calming Draught, eyeing them shrewdly as if she suspected they were not telling the full truth, but with Snape lurking in the corner she didn't question too deeply.

The Draught got his shaking under control and sent a little warmth into his limbs, although that just seemed to highlight the chill that permeated the rest of him. He stroked Jax absently, after wiping off the healing salve. Harry would wonder what was to happen next, if he had the energy left to fight the haze of numbness. Instead, he just waited patiently while Madam Pomfrey fretted over Blaise’s scraped up wrists.

~~~~~~~>

Severus made sure the children were given a stronger Calming Draught as soon as they made it to his office. Potter was clearly suffering from shock and the other two did not look far off. He also transfigured the two high-backed chairs opposite his desk temporarily into a more comfortable settee. The trio sat close together with Potter in the middle. Severus would not be surprised if the choices were deliberate, in an effort to block away as much of the world from the boy as they could. Potter had friends, even if he was too self-deprecating much of the time to see it.

After everybody was settled, Severus calmly demanded an explanation of exactly what had happened that afternoon. It took the full power of his not insignificant Occlumency talents to remain so for the length of the tale. Zabini and Bulstrode did most of the talking, in hushed, small voices. When it came time for Potter to speak, they pressed in closer to the boy in solidarity. Potter’s voice was still raw from the ordeal and he didn’t meet anybody’s eyes the entire time, instead petting his familiar and staring into the middle distance. His eyes were vague but still unfairly reminiscent of Lily without his glasses to shield them. In fact, Potter favored his mother a lot more than Severus had first realized. They shared the same small, pointed nose and long eyelashes, although Potter’s were obviously of a much darker shade. The curve of the mouth was the same as well, and Severus got the feeling that, once he was fed properly and given the chance to grow, the boy would have the same lithe build. Severus doubted he would ever gain much real height, however, given the abhorrent malnourishment in his formative years.

Pulling away from that train of thought before it threatened to put cracks in his mental barriers, Severus made a mental note to return to the forest and retrieve Potter’s eyewear so that he was no longer assaulted by unfair visions of the boy’s mother.

He made the children drink a strong tea, laced with a hint of soothing honey and lemon while he thought on the story. It seemed a desperate move of Quirrell’s, to just abscond with students under his care when his real prize was found to be out of reach. There was nothing to gain from it. He supposed Zabini would perhaps bring in a handsome ransom from his mother, and the Bulstrodes still held a significant number of seats on the Wizengamot that could be used for political favors. Why Potter then? He was Heir to a Noble House, but one that was at its end if the boy did not care to propagate in the future. He had money, for certain, but nobody to send to for ransom with Black in Azkaban.

Which left the obvious nature of his status as The Boy Who Lived. There were any number of reasons for wishing him harm if that were the case. And harm had certainly seemed to be the top priority on that madman’s mind. One did not Stupefy, truss up, and try to murder children if they wished to gain any monetary or political profit. Which in turn led Severus to believe he was not getting the full story out of the three Slytherins huddled across from him.

“Are you certain that you’ve told me everything? Even a seemingly insignificant detail could prove essential.”

He noted the hesitation in Zabini’s eyes, and Bulstrode’s determination to not show fear. Potter just continued to stroke his serpent, sharing his cooled cup of tea with it.

Severus resisted the urge to sigh. Reticence, while an excellent skill to develop, was frustrating to deal with when he was trying to help. Severus didn’t make it a habit of trying to help very often, despite all the effort he had put through this year in regards to Potter. He was usually of a mind that it was advantageous of his snakes to figure their own way out of their problems, or else how were they to learn to be self-sufficient? With the obvious exceptions of such life threatening situations as today’s, and things well out of control of the student in question.

“Mr. Zabini,” he murmured, voice low, meeting the boy’s tired eyes and not looking away.

It only took a few moments for him to slump in defeat, breaking contact to dart his gaze around the room. As if frightened a specter was going to glide through the walls to eat at his soul.

“Sir. I, um, I don’t know if it was real, or if we were just imagining it...” Zabini’s normally placid features were pinched tightly and he was tapping the fingers of one hand on his knee in a nervous tick.

“Whatever it was, I need to know.”

A long pause followed before Zabini opened his mouth to speak once more, but Potter beat him to it, meeting Severus’ eyes for the first time since they’d left the forest.

“It was him,” he said, voice heavier than any eleven-year-old’s should be. “Voldemort.”

~~~~~~~>

Harry felt the flinches on either side of him, a prickling of guilt making its way through the numbness. Even Snape had paled slightly, not quite managing to hide an arm twitch. He explained the parasite on the back of Quirrell's head, the way it had taunted him and laughed. The malformed heaving mass of it, with bright red eyes. Blaise’s tapping fingers migrated from his own knee to Harry’s and he grasped the other boy’s hand in apology. For interrupting? For dragging them into this in the first place? For his own existence in general?

Blaise squeezed his fingers and Harry tried to pretend that it wasn’t the only thing holding back a tide of tears. The shock was receding slowly, due to the Draughts or tea or just time itself Harry didn’t know. But he wished the coldness would come back long enough that he didn’t break down in front of everybody.

Millicent laid a hand on his other knee, as if sensing the turmoil within him. Harry had no idea what he had done to deserve such compassion.

Snape accepted their story without much further questioning. Harry got the feeling the Potions Master, at least, had never quite believed the Dark Lord gone for good. Although why that was, Harry couldn’t begin to fathom. Paranoia maybe.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping more tea and collecting their thoughts before Snape finally spoke again.

“Mr. Zabini, Miss Bulstrode, will you be fine in making it to the dorms on your own? I wish to have a private word with Mr. Potter.”

The two hesitated, glancing down at Harry between them. But he released Blaise’s hand and waved them off, if a little listlessly.

“It’s fine. I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

Snape escorted them to the door, murmuring something too softly for Harry to make out any details. Harry resisted the urge to pull his legs up and hug his knees, the settee seeming much too large now that he and Jax were the only occupants.

“Now, Mr. Potter, I cannot help but feel you have not been entirely honest with me about this situation,” Snape said once he was seated back behind his desk. He didn’t look particularly angry about the statement, just generally tired and strained, which was something Harry could relate to. He did wish he knew how the man could tell he wasn’t being fully forthcoming about what had transpired all year. Experience dealing with sneaky people, he supposed. “It worries me that whatever you’re holding back might be even worse than the shade of the Dark Lord.”

Not feeling up to hiding it anymore, nor indeed seeing any point in it, Harry shook his head.

“No, sir. Just more of the same, really. Quirrell, he’s been trying to kill me all year, trying to make it look like an accident. I guess he just got fed up with subtlety.”

Snape looked pained at his confession, pinching his nose and taking a deep breath. Harry didn’t see what the big deal was, the man was dead now. Harry carefully did not think about the fact that he was the one to have killed him.

“Mr. Potter, why did you not speak of this to me before? I would have gone about this in an entirely different fashion.”

Harry shrugged again, uncomfortable. “We didn’t know who it was until very recently. We took precautions, never wandering around alone without my cloak, keeping to the railing on the stairs...”

“That day I caught you?”

Harry nodded, picking at the cuff of his robe. There was a loose string.

“Mr. Potter, Harry.” That made him look up. Snape was leaning forward across the desk, the curtains of his hair doing little to obscure the worried look on his face. It was not something Harry had ever expected to see on the man. “You must promise to tell me if something like this happens again. I know you are used to looking out for yourself. That relying on other people, especially adults, is a foreign concept. But I must insist in this. There are people who care for you and you would do well to see that.”

Harry met Snape’s black eyes, saw the genuine emotion in them and nodded.

“I’ll try, sir,” he finally managed. It was the best he could do. Harry didn’t know why Snape cared so much, but he could see the advantages in it, if he were willing to give some of himself in return. Which was something of a paradigm shift for him; Harry did not trust easily. He got the feeling Snape was the same way, which made it easier to agree.

The Potions Master nodded, perhaps sensing that it was the best answer he was going to get out of Harry.

“Sir? Do you know why Quirrell made his move today? Why he gave up on trying to be sneaky about it?”

Snape sighed a little, rubbing at his temple between strands of long hair.

“I would hazard a guess that it’s because the Headmaster is away on business at the moment, and the fact that the prize he sought no longer resides in the school led him to rash action.”

Surprised that Snape had given him that much, Harry risked pressing further, for curiosity’s sake.

“He mentioned a stone...”

The Potions Master eyed him, but seemed to weigh in favor of talking. “As it is no longer here, I see no reason not to speak of it, as long as rumors do not develop.”

“Of course, sir.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone was being held here as a favor to one of the Headmaster’s friends. It stands to reason that Quirrell would want to get his hands on it for the same reason he was hunting unicorns.”

The Philosopher’s Stone, Harry had come across something about that in one of his books. It was niggling the back of his mind, not a potion text but something similar...

“Alchemy?”

“Just so, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Slytherin.” The praise sent a warmth through his core. As useless as House Points seemed at the moment, he couldn’t help but bask a little in the positive attention.

The rest of the information on the Stone came back to him as he thought about the unicorns. He’d looked up the properties of the blood. It could prolong life, but at a terrible cost. The Stone, on the other hand, had the power to give eternal life at no detriment. The thought sent a chill through him, completely obliterating the recent warmth that had been there.

“He wanted to bring the Dark Lord back for real, didn’t he? The Stone would have done that?”

Snape nodded seriously, mouth tight and dark eyes glinting in a dangerous way that Harry did not have the skills to fathom.

“Given what you have told me of this afternoon, I believe that to be the case. I had thought him just the normal type of greedy sneakthief, which was why I convinced the Headmaster to simply remove the Stone from the premises. Had I know he also held murderous intent, I would have gone about things in much more subtle manner.”

Harry ducked his head, admonished.

“Sorry, sir. I just didn’t think it was important enough to bother anyone with.” He’d told when they’d found Quirrell in the forest, because it had been a clear and present danger. But Harry supposed he had grown complacent with the attempts on his life, had thought maybe he deserved it for whatever reason.

“Harry, that is precisely why you should have come to me the first time it happened. Although you have shown yourself to be an exceptional student and very self-sufficient, you lack the cognizance of your own worth. It is a dangerous way of thinking and not one a Slytherin should make a habit of.”

Harry nodded. It was a hard lesson to learn and he had spent most of the year trying to better himself, even going so far as to prosecute the Dursleys. Something he would never have dreamed of doing a year ago.

“I’ll try, sir, it’s just hard. Sometimes. Remembering that we’re not alone anymore.” He stroked Jax, who had migrated from circling his arm to draping around his neck like a loose scarf.

“Understandable, just know that my door is always open and I expect you to use it if you feel even slightly threatened. Now, do you wish to sit for a moment more or to return to your friends?”

Harry stood at once, if not quite eager to face the rest of the world, then at least anxious to check on Blaise and Millicent. As difficult as it was to think highly towards his own safety, he found it exceedingly easy to worry towards that of the ones he cared for.

The walk back to the dorms was mostly quiet, though Snape did talk a little, maybe in an effort to lighten Harry’s mood or for reasons all his own.

“Out of curiosity, Mr. Potter, how much English does that snake of yours understand?”

Harry thought about it as they walked, Snape’s usual long strides shortened in deference to Harry’s exhaustion, although he doubted the man would ever admit to such. After a short conference with Jax, he answered.

“He recognizes some names, because Malfoy has been spoiling him in an attempt to teach him.” Harry had sat through many an hour of the blond trading good scritches and treats for Jax correctly pointing to the people he named. Harry figured it was more Malfoy that was getting trained instead of the other way around, given the smug look Jax got around the other boy whenever he started up. “Mostly Slytherins, but a few others. Yours and the people in my study group, and for some reason both of Malfoy and Blaise’s prized tailors. They argue about clothes a lot.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Snape’s mouth at that. “Well, do pass my compliments to your familiar, he did well in finding me quickly.”

Harry did so and Jax fairly preened at the praise.

Snape left them at the entrance to the common room with one last meaningful glance before striding off in a billowing of robes.

The common room held quite a few lounging students but not the two he was looking for, which worried Harry. Thankfully they were both in his dorm, which was odd when he stopped to think about it; he was unaware girls were allowed into the boy's dorms.

Blaise and Millicent were both sitting on the end of Harry’s bed, speaking softly, but rose when he entered. There wasn’t anyone else present, except Maximus, who was taking the opportunity to shed all over Malfoy’s bedspread.

Harry let the door close behind him, unsure what to say now that the shock had mostly worn off and they were all safe again. He took a couple steps into the room before stopping and just staring at his friends. If they even were that anymore after this.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, as the silence finally became too much. It seemed to ease something in the room at least, because both Blaise and Millicent apparently found it an appropriate time for a group hug.

Harry barely even struggled, even though Millicent was much stronger than Longbottom when he attempted the same. Thankfully it ended soon enough and Harry could discreetly wipe away the wetness from the corner of his eyes. Well, the others didn’t mention it at least, which was pretty much the same thing really.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Harry,” Blaise said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. “We owe you a Life Debt for this, not any sort of forgiveness.”

Life Debt? No, that couldn’t be right.

“Millicent is the one who got hold of the knife,” he tried, uncomfortable with the thought of anyone owing him in so powerful a manner when he didn’t feel he deserved anything of the sort.

“Which you made possible by bashing that bastard with a huge bloody branch, wandlessly,” Millicent scoffed, although Harry could hear the admiration in her tone.

“That wasn’t a big deal, I’ve been floating stuff around since I was nine,” he demurred.

“You also managed to make sure that stronzo would never be able to hurt anyone else ever again,” Blaise countered, making it clear they were not about to back down.

“I don’t know why that happened, how I was able to do what I did.” Harry slumped down onto his bed, the reality that he had killed a man crashing over him anew. He could almost smell the burning flesh. “He only grabbed both of you because you were with me.”

He told them about how Quirrell had been trying to off him all year, how it was Harry’s fault that his friends had been in danger in the first place.

Millicent just snorted and plopped down next to him. “So you’re saying that because a madman decided to target you that it’s your fault and not that of the bastard that planned to kill a few children?”

Harry ducked his head. “It sounds dumb when you put it like that...”

Blaise sat on the other side of him, knocking shoulders softly. “Face it, Harry, you’re stuck with us now.”

Harry sighed and didn’t try to argue anymore. It was nice, in a way, to know that they would be there for him, that they weren’t running as far away as it was possible to do after the day’s ordeal.

It didn’t stop him from having Jax lick at Blaise’s ear just to hear the other boy squawk, though.

And later that night, he didn’t question the request to share some of his Dreamless Sleep.

~~~~~~~>

Severus resisted the urge to bash his own skull in with one of the many twinkling, spinning trinkets that littered Albus’s office. He had been going over the events that had happened in the Headmaster’s absence and the man didn’t seem in the least concerned, a front that Severus felt slighted at being shown. He deserved transparency in these matters more than most. Though asking Albus to be forthcoming in any matter not to do with muggle sweets was like trying to count the individual grains of sand on a beach.

“My boy, the matter seems to have righted itself. Do not fret so over what might have been; the child is safe down in the dungeons under your esteemed care and there is not even a hint of Tom’s shade anywhere near Britain. I believe he has returned to lurking the forests of Albania for the time being.”

“Safe, Albus? Is that all that matters to you? The boy has killed a man. In a manner he has no clue as to why or how it happened. He is suffering worse night terrors than when he arrived at the school from the abusive clutches of the people you stuck him with. He doesn’t trust anyone save that familiar of his and perhaps two of his yearmates. And where do you propose he stay safe when the year ends? Have you made arrangements for his summer residence?”

Severus knew he was being too emotional, giving too much away. But he had been arguing with the Headmaster for what felt like hours and getting nowhere. Albus did not want to pursue the Dark Lord’s shade, feeling it better to sit back and observe. An idiotic stance in Severus’ opinion; they should strike while he was still weakened. Such delays would only cost more lives in the long run. He knew why Albus was doing so, that damnable prophecy. The man put too much stake in it.

“I am working on it, I should have a solution in short order. There are still nearly two months of school remaining. Fear not, you shall not have to carry the burden of custody much longer,” Albus said with a twinkle, neatly sidestepping any accusation thrown his way.

Severus took that as his cue to depart, seeing no reason to stay and keep beating against a brick wall.

There was still time, it was true.

~~~~~~~>

The weeks leading up to the end of the school year seemed to fly by for Harry. He spent much of it trying to distract himself with studying for the end of year tests, getting no objections from his friends, who he suspected were doing the same.

At one point he had been summoned to the Headmaster’s office. It was on a Saturday and Harry was not in such denial to think it could be about anything other than Quirrell. He didn’t want to face the Headmaster alone though, as cowardly as that may seem. He didn’t trust the man or his intentions. So he went to Snape first, who was grading what looked to be a mountain of essays in his office. He set the quill aside at once at Harry’s admittance, however, so he didn’t feel as if he were interrupting vital work.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?” the Potions Master asked, dark eyes doing a quick sweep, as if he expected to find some sort of injury. Which Harry couldn’t really blame him for assuming.

“The Headmaster has summoned me,” he said, reining in the urge to scuff his boots on the stone floor. “I figure it’s probably about what happened and was wondering if you should be there also, to corroborate the story?”

He felt stupid, asking for help like this. But Snape nodded at once and stowed away his writing things. “Very well, an astute idea. It was good of you to come to me.”

Harry felt a wave of relief, trying hard to hide how much it affected him that Snape was not turning him away out of hand.

The walk to the Headmaster’s office was silent. Jax was hiding under his robes but keeping alert. Even though Quirrell was gone, he did not want to let his guard down.

They stopped in front of a stone gargoyle and Snape spoke a password, peppermint humbugs and it leapt aside. Harry supposed that was the point of the odd anecdote at the end of the summons note. Though why the Headmaster had not simply stated that was the password, he could not fathom. Nor why they would need a password at all. Wasn’t the Headmaster supposed to be available to all the students? He hadn’t even known the way to his office until Snape led them there.

Beyond the gargoyle was a moving staircase, like a curved stone escalator, that took them to a heavy wooden door that Snape rapped sharply on.

“Come in, come in,” called the voice of the Headmaster.

“Ah, Harry my boy, thank you for coming at such haste. And Severus, what a pleasant surprise.” Harry got the feeling that despite the twinkle in the old man’s eye, he was not best pleased that Harry had arrived with backup. “Sit, no need to be so formal. Lemon Drop?”

He offered a dish of the sticky yellow sweets and Harry was quick to decline, the Potions Master following suit.

“Now, I had meant to speak with you earlier about the matter of our erstwhile Defense teacher, but I fear I have been quite busy with a dragon issue.” He said it in a way that Harry figured was meant to sound adventurous and grand; it might have, if Harry were a few years younger and not suffering from so recent a trauma. And perhaps coming from a different source.

He was unsurprised that Snape had told Dumbledore about what had happened. From his understanding of the last war, the Headmaster had been integral in the fight against Voldemort. It still did not make him more willing to talk about personal matters with his Head of House. What would the man deem worthy of keeping secret? Although from the sounds of Dumbledore’s following questions, he had not mentioned Quirrell's year long vendetta nor that it was Harry who had witnessed the unicorn slain in the forest. Half truths to give the illusion of telling all. It was something Harry would like to learn.

“Then there is the manner of the man’s death,” Dumbledore finally brought up, after a convoluted conversation that Harry suspected was meant to put him at ease before the real stuff came about. “You must know that you are not responsible, that self-defense of that magnitude was a perfectly reasonable response to the situation,” the old man said with a heavy voice and no twinkle whatsoever in his eye. Harry could almost believe he meant what he said, if he hadn’t been so duplicitous in every other aspect of Harry’s life.

“Do you know why my hands burnt him like that?” he asked instead of scoffing or storming out or throwing the expensive looking dish of sweets against the wall.

Dumbledore paused as if contemplating how or if he should answer.

“I find myself curious to that as well,” Snape spoke from beside him. The Potions Master had been mostly silent the entire meeting, adding only the occasional aside to the discussion.

“Of course,” Dumbledore answered, eyes back to their usual twinkle. “I do have a theory, of course.” He turned his attention to Harry.

“The night Voldemort came to kill you, your mother sacrificed herself in the attempt to stop him.” Harry managed a nod, feeling the way Snape tensed beside him. “I believe that sacrifice laid a protective magic over you, one weaved of deepest love. And if there is one thing that Voldemort, with all his power and intelligence did not understand, it was that greatest of magics: love, pure and unconditional. It would be anathema to him in life and, as you so spectacularly displayed, completely destructive to him in the half-state he holds now.”

It sounded like a load of crock to Harry, but he had seen for himself the way Quirrell’s face had bubbled and blackened and cracked; kept seeing it over and over every night. The other thing the Headmaster had said was what intrigued him. The Dark Lord had come for him specifically? A baby? Why?

He doubted he would get anything else from Dumbledore on the matter. He doubted the old man had even meant to let that much slip. So Harry asked something else.

“Do you know where I am to be placed for the summer?” As much as he hated the idea of Dumbledore having any sort of say in the matter, Harry was not naive enough to think he would keep his hands out of it.

If the old man was startled by the change of subject he didn’t let it show, instead giving Harry what he supposed was meant to be a grandfatherly smile.

“Indeed I do, and since you and your current guardian are both here, we may as well begin arrangements.”

Next to him, Snape went still. Harry was unsure if he was relieved to be rid of Harry or if it were something else. It couldn’t be something else. It was never something else.

“Now, I believe you are acquainted with young Neville Longbottom?” Harry nodded warily; he liked Longbottom well enough, but he did not like the implication of what bringing him up in this conversation might mean. “I have been in talks with Augusta Longbottom, and she has graciously agreed to take you on for the summer holidays.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Was he mad? Harry wasn’t going to go off and live with Longbottom’s mad Gran. He had heard enough stories about the strict witch during their tutoring sessions to last him a lifetime. There was no way she would permit Jax to stay with him; as he heard it, she barely tolerated Trevor. Harry held no doubt she would look after him in a proper way, with food and shelter. But he also saw all the restrictions she placed on Longbottom, not even allowing him his own wand even though he got the feeling they came from very old money. He would not be permitted to go to his summer job either, Harry would bet. He balked at the thought of such limitations put on his hard earned freedom.

“No.”

That at least got a reaction out of Dumbledore, if only a blink.

“Pardon?”

“Apologies if you did not hear me, “ Harry said louder, enunciating clearly. “I said: no. I will not be placed with the Longbottoms.”

He could see Snape trying and failing to hold back a smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Why, pray tell, are you so against the placement?” Dumbledore asked, probably just to humor him.

“I have my own reasons. And apologies again for my rudeness, but you have no control over where I am to go when not in this school. Though I think that fact may have slipped your mind with all the work you have, dealing with dragons instead of protecting the students under your care from a possessed madman.”

That knocked the sparkle out of his eyes. Harry was surprised at his own daring, in speaking to an authority figure that way. But Dumbledore was just so infuriating with the way he was trying to control every aspect of Harry’s life. What gave him that right?

“What is it that you propose to do then, Mr. Potter? A minor cannot be left to their own devices, no matter how resourceful that individual might be.” No more calling him Harry, good.

“I’ll stay with Professor Snape. He already has guardianship over me, granted by the Ministry. He knows of my needs and has made it clear that he cares for my continued well being.”

The smirk had fallen from Snape’s face and he looked momentarily stunned before hiding that behind an impassive mask. It was a risk to suggest, and mostly a bluff to see what the Headmaster would have to say to it. If he insisted that Harry be placed with the Longbottoms, there was nothing stopping him from just running away. But if the gamble paid off, and he were able to stay with Snape during the summer, it would at least be a quantity he was familiar with.

The Potions Master was giving nothing of his own thoughts away and Harry hoped he hadn’t overstepped.

Dumbledore spent a few moments stroking his long beard and glancing between the two of them.

“Very well, I see no reason to deny such a thing, unusual as it may be. Severus will make a fine guardian, I am sure.”

Next to him, Snape let out a strangled sort of sound that could mean anything, but nodded all the same. A little bead of hope started to form in Harry’s chest.

Snape stood suddenly, in a dramatic sweep of robes that was probably unnecessary but impressive in any case. “If that is all, Headmaster. I have a lot of grading to do and Mr. Potter, I am sure, needs to study.”

“Of course, of course. I had not meant to keep you both so long, I do tend to ramble.”

Taking that as a dismissal, Harry followed Snape out of the office and down the spiral stairs. The Potions Master was taking the moving steps at a trot and they were soon pacing down the corridor with a haste that had Harry struggling a little to keep up. It did much towards smothering that little bead of hope that had started to bloom.

He was panting by the time they made it to Snape’s office, which the man noticed and grimaced at.

“Mr. Potter, sit down before you collapse.” Harry did so, nervousness and the early signs of a panic attack making it hard to catch his breath. “Drink this.” A cup was thrust into his hands; it smelt like tea mixed with some Draught of Peace. Which he supposed was a sign that man wasn’t too angry with him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he told the floor as he drank the tea. Jax poked his head out of a sleeve to take a taste, hissing grumpily at the bumpy ride. “I don’t have to stay with you, I shouldn’t have presumed. I can find somewhere else...”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, and Harry finally looked up to see the man had his own cup of tea. “I admit that it is a surprise you would even consider me as possible guardian. I am not a nice man. But I find I am not as...averse to the idea as I might once have been.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what to say to that, and so kept drinking his tea. Which seemed to be a running theme for whenever he visited this office.

“Oh, indeed,” Snape muttered into his own cup.

~~~~~~~>

Harry kept the news of his summer plans a secret almost all the way up until the Leaving Feast. When he’d finally told Blaise and Millicent where he was going to be staying, Malfoy had managed to overhear and shouted it for everyone in the common room to hear.

“You’re staying with Uncle Sev?!” The blond gaped at Harry before noticing everyone was now staring at him and flushing to the roots of his hair, whispering an apology as if that would pull back the entire rumor mill he’d just started.

Harry sighed and sank as far down into the couch as he could, using Millicent’s taller, broader frame to hide from the whispers exploding all over the room.

“I mean, that’s brilliant. You’ll come over to the manor this summer of course. Uncle Sev always comes to visit.” And he was off again, babbling about his home and the peacocks and how he had his own Quidditch pitch. Blaise made a rude gesture behind the boy’s back that had Harry and Millicent both snorting quietly; Malfoy remained oblivious.

The Leaving Feast was just as grand as the Welcoming one had been, but Harry found he was able to enjoy much more of this one, with his stomach now used to three full meals a day. He still snuck a few treats away, out of habit. Although he got the feeling Snape would be a far better guardian than the Dursleys ever were, that bar wasn’t set too high to begin with.

Slytherin had managed to win the House Cup, though Ravenclaw had beaten them out for the Quidditch one.

The results for all their tests had come back a couple days prior. Harry, to nobody’s surprise but his own, was top of the year in potions, although Granger had come in a close second. The Gryffindor had taken every other top slot, but Harry got the feeling that if Millicent hadn’t been so lazy with her essay work she would have easily taken the Charms one.

Malfoy had spent a good few hours muttering about being beaten out of the Transfiguration top spot by both Granger and Sue Li. Harry had suggested the blond spend more time studying and less picking on the other students and maybe he’d do better next year. That had made Malfoy sputter and huff and flounce off, which had been Harry's intention all along so he called it a win.

After the feast, even though he had eaten enough to nearly burst, Harry could not sleep. He felt restless.

Grabbing his cloak out of the specially locked compartment in his trunk, he scooped up Jax for one last walk around the castle.

He was going to miss the place, even though he had almost died here countless times over the year. It still felt more welcoming than Number Four ever had. He would miss the wide open grounds and flying on the rickety school brooms and the absolute vastness of the library. He wondered what Snape’s house was like. If he had any land or maybe just a small garden. If it was even a house at all, the man could very well live in a flat. Harry wondered if he’d get his own room...

Jax, at least, seemed to approve of the decision. The serpent liked Snape, which amused both of them to no end. The Potions Master was still a bit wary since the near-choking that had occurred earlier in the year.

Whatever was to happen would happen, Harry just needed to be ready to roll with it. They had made it this far. Freed from the Dursleys and fully immersed into the magical world, the good and bad. Harry and Jax would see it through and come out the other side stronger for it.

Feeling like he might be able to finally get some sleep, Harry turned them back towards the dungeons and the start of their next step in life.